wives – Mansploitation

The Solomon Islander

Rob is in the Solomon Islands, where he meets a well-muscled stud, Hadisi Mae. Before Rob knows it, he’s on his knees servicing this magnificent Melanesian alpha! Can he please Hadisi?

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob watched the musicians play. The air was humid and even in the limited clothes he wore, he was already hot and sweaty. He thought he should change into the traditional garb of a Solomon Islander man, but he already thought the locals were making fun of his appearance and he didn’t want to worsen that problem — a dozen children had gathered to laugh at him and shout at him in their language (probably Kwara’ae, but Rob couldn’t be sure). It wasn’t meant to be mean on their part, but Rob still didn’t like looking like an outsider. Among other reasons, it meant he was less likely to get the kind of open, frank conversations he needed with the locals.
The village was beautiful, and was worth the trip. Rob had never seen anything like it, not even in all his voyages around the Pacific and abroad. He stood underneath a house — all of the homes here were on elevated stilts — as the music began.
It was very nice music, in its own way. Rob wasn’t about to throw away his Violent Femmes albums and listen to nothing else, but it was appealing in its way. It was called “bamboo music” in English: it was created by slapping bamboo tubes with an object, or slamming the bamboo tubes down on an object, usually a rock but sometimes a sandal or whatever else was at hand. It produced an oddly compelling percussive tune that Rob enjoyed. There was a pleasant fluteiness to the music’s breathy tenor, like a panpipe with a rhythmic drum-like sound or perhaps more like another percussive idiophone, a mbira or a Jew’s harp.
But the music wasn’t really why Rob was here. It was the purpose of the trip, but it wasn’t why Rob had made the trip — he worked for a world music company, looking for new styles to record. He could have declined this voyage, however. There was a new woman working for the company who was Papuan — not the same as a Solomon Islander, but still, it gave her a racial and cultural link that Rob simply didn’t have. He could have begged off the trip and given it to her. He was busy with the liner notes for a Hawaiian album, and Hawaiian music was where the money was. Releasing records of Solomon Islander music was only commercially viable because they weren’t going to spend much on it and it made the company look better to have a wide variety of styles available. As far as Pacific Islander music went, people only really bought Hawaiian ukulele-pop versions of well-known songs. Slap a handsome Hawaiian dancer on the cover, and you got yourself a top one hundred world music hit. They had a Hawaiian model right now who had dimples that could make any album fly off the shelves of suburban Starbucks the world over.
There he was. Hadisi was his name.
He was a popular local singer and bamboo player. Hadisi was tall, a bit lanky but well-muscled, with a smattering of kinky yellow-white hairs on his chest. He had wild hair and a beard too, both jutting out in every direction as though bits of his head were trying to escape. He was, like many Solomon Islanders, blond despite having dark skin and very curly black hairs. The gene that causes blond hair among Melanesians is completely unrelated to the gene that causes blond hair among those of European descent, so Hadisi’s hair was yellow-blond but different than blond white people’s hair, and even different than African black people with blond hair — it was yellower, like the color of a sun-drenched hay field. It was common for children here to be blond, but most of them outgrew it and developed black hair by the time they were adults. Hadisi was an exception.
He was also ungodly handsome, which was why Rob’s company wanted to sign him and his village band. If anyone were going to make this album a success, it’d be Hadisi and his jawline, his toned muscles and his deep-dimpled smile. No one was going to buy it because they loved bamboo music, so the only audience would come from dilettantes, collectors and middle-aged ladies at Starbucks who thought the exotic guy on the cover was hot.
When the concert was over — or at least, when most of the musicians had gotten tired, and the children lost interest, leaving only a small cadre of performers and listeners behind — Rob went to talk to Hadisi. He lived in a small house with his parents, his brothers, his siblings and a few hangers-on of unclear relationship to Hadisi.
“Do you know Bob Marley?” Hadisi asked when Rob finished explaining his sales pitch. The company was going to pay Hadisi’s village ten grand in US dollars for the rights to the recording. The wantok system of mutual support meant the benefits of the money would be spread out among Hadisi’s family and neighbors. Rob had made sure to specify that he needed some photographs for the album cover, and that Hadisi needed to be in them. But Hadisi didn’t seem to notice that part, and his family didn’t see past the top-line number. Hadisi gave no indication he heard any of it, he was just waiting for an opportunity to ask about Bob Marley.
“Uh, no… Bob Marley died forty years ago,” Rob said with a smile.
Hadisi looked disappointed. He argued in his own language with his family — from the body language, it sounded like people had been telling Hadisi his idol was dead for a long time. Hadisi sniffled but shrugged it off. He went into a backroom and picked up an old beat-up improvised guitar. It was a crudely carved wooden box with strings stretched over it. The neck was irregular and inconsistent, and it sounded out of tune (or more likely, was not capable of being tuned).
“I can play Bob Marley, we play that on bamboo all the time,” Hadisi said. His lilting, singsong accent was smooth like melted butter. He was well-educated in English, more than most of his fellow villagers, whom Rob found impossible to understand. Most Solomon Islanders spoke a pidgin language they called Pijin, which was recognizable enough to hear a few English words, but not enough to communicate in. The villagers here mostly didn’t even know Pijin — they only spoke the local language — much less standard English. Hadisi, however, had left the Solomon Islands to work in New Zealand for a time, so he had learned English well enough to communicate.
Hadisi plugged out a recognizable version of “No Woman, No Cry”, which Rob enjoyed even if he was also annoyed — the one constant as a scout for a world music record label is that even in the most remote, uncontacted areas, everyone wanted to record a cover of a Bob Marley song. At least, Rob thought, it’s not “Redemption Song”.
He clapped politely when Hadisi was done. He hadn’t known the lyrics aside from the chorus, but still, Rob had heard worse versions of “No Woman, No Cry”. He was mesmerized by Hadisi’s body anyway, his muscles gleaming and flexing in the dim light of his house. A man who looked like that could sing all the Bob Marley songs he wanted, even “Redemption Song”.
“That was so good, Hadisi, I would love to put it on the album,” he said with a smile. “But I’m not sure we can. We’d have to get permission from the Marley family. That will cost a lot of money.” He paused. “Do you know ‘Sugar, Sugar’? That’s a Bob Marley song, we might be able to do a cover of that. It’s not written by Bob Marley, so it’s cheaper.”
“I do not know ‘Sugar, Sugar’,” Hadisi said. It didn’t sound like he had ever heard it. It was definitely one of the more obscure Marley tracks, so Rob wasn’t surprised. That was why he had brought it up.
“Ah, well, that’s too bad. Honestly my boss is going to want more traditional bamboo music than that. If it is a success, we’ll consider doing it again with covers of popular songs,” Rob said. “Come along, Hadisi, can you show me some places we could take pictures at?”
Hadisi nodded and led him out of the stilted house. Rob was glad to get away from crowded house and the children who poked and prodded at Rob’s straight hair. Hadisi was visibly calmer once he was away from them as well. He ran his fingers through his dense, wild afro of yellow-blond hair.
“My father is stupid,” Hadisi said. He held Rob’s hand as he led him through the village and out into the rainforest. “He does not think you will pay. I know about American music business though. I know the man who works in the music store here in the Solomons. He knows everything about it. He tells me that you will pay. You are a real record company, like Island Records.”
“Yes, I promise we will pay,” Rob said. He felt like a giddy child getting excited about holding hands with Hadisi. In the Solomon Islands, public displays of affection between men and women were not appreciated, not even holding hands. But same-gender friends frequently held hands. Rob loved the feel of Hadisi’s work-coarsened hands, and he enjoyed being close to the man’s powerful body. Rob cleared his throat. “That’s what we do. I’ve recorded albums all over the world. We always pay, I promise.”
“You are a good man, I am thinking that.”
“Oh. Good. Cool-“
“You can be send money to my father?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yes, the ten thousand American dollars. They can be sent to my father, yes?”
“Uh… Well, our protocol is to send it to the chieftain or mayor. That was the older gentleman, right? We-“
“No. It can be sent to my father,” Hadisi said. He didn’t make eye contact with Rob. He bit his lip. “He is stupid and foolish and he does not know about reggae music. He has not been gone to New Zealand.”
“I won’t hold that against him.”
“But he is smart about money. He is good with money.”
“Okay… Hadisi, I can’t do that. It’s not up to me where the money goes. My company has a policy. I think it’s agreed upon with your government. We don’t have any way of proving who performed on the recording and even if we did, we have no way of paying them separately,” Rob said. “The money has to be sent to your leader. He’ll divide it up, according to whatever process you folks have for that. Do you need money?”
Hadisi nodded. He stopped walking at a copse of trees. He gestured for Rob to continue. There was a sharp embankment, and then a wetland valley beneath it on the other side, where a dizzying array of flowers stretched as far as Rob could see. There must have been a hundred thousand varieties, no two plants even looking like the same species. Rob gasped.
“Wow, what is this place?”
“It is flowers. It is where we go for… Uh… I do not remember the polite English word. Kissing girls. It is where we kiss girls, and sometimes marry them,” Hadisi said with a grin. He had deep dimples. Rob blushed as he felt a surge of desire again, like a boy watching his idol. Hadisi was ungodly handsome, he thought, he probably brought every girl in the village here to “kiss”, or whatever verb Hadisi had been trying to think of. “It is good place to take photograph, yes?”
“Oh, yeah, good idea, Hadisi, this’d be perfect,” Rob said. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Hadisi nodded. “That is why I am needing money. You can send it to my father. He will make sure I am able to marry her. I must pay for the wedding. We are already bush-married, but my father says it must be made official in a church. That means I must pay for my bride-“
“Oh! It’s like a dowry?”
Hadisi nodded again, but he was hesitant like he didn’t really know the word dowry. “It is must to be paid for, or I can not marry her. It is bride price.”
“Oh, sorry, Hadisi, you must love her?”
“Yes, I love her very much. I want to bring her here and do kissing with her,” he said. Once again, it was clear kissing was not what he was actually thinking of.
“Hmm, interesting,” Rob said. He cleared his throat. “Would you ever… let a man touch your dick?”
Hadisi shook his head virulently no. “What? I am bush-married, I have woman for that.”
“I see-“
“When I did not have a girl, there is a weak man who would come to visit, but I did not need him often,” he said. He stood up and bristled a bit, like he felt challenged. He jogged on his feet and flexed his chest. Rob felt a shudder of arousal, and his dick twitched in his pants. Hadisi’s nervous smile showed off his dimples, which made Rob desire him even more.
Hadisi went on to tell a long and involved story, the bulk of which was about an unscrupulous trader (the “weak man”) who purchased fish from the village. He often underpaid or tried to trick them into accepting less money than they were due, and Hadisi had many, probably untrue, stories where he used his wit to protect his people. “He distracts the men with his mouth!” Hadisi said over and over. Rob had trouble getting a word in edge-wise — Hadisi was very upset, though he said he had never personally been fooled. “I am very wise, and my father knows about matters of money,” Hadisi said. “I do not lose money to him. Or my manhood.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Interesting… So he does…? You said he sometimes does things with you? With his mouth?”
“Not me, I have a girl. I do not need that.”
“Excellent, good, I know you love her,” Rob said. “Would you let me do those things to you? I’ll pay you. You can pay for your marriage with it-“
“You want to do those things? You mean the mouth, right? Not cheating my family out of fish?”
“That’s right, not the scamming,” Rob said.
“You will pay me for it?”
“Yes,” Rob said. “I’ve got the money right here. You never even have to tell your father how you got it. You can tell him we gambled or something.”
Hadisi’s eyes lit up. “Like Texas Holden poker card game?”
Rob chuckled. “Yeah. Like that. Do you people play poker here?”
“Not in this village. They do it in the village along the river that way. They have a man who lived in California,” he gestured vaguely to the north. “You would like it there. The men all do… that. They are all weak, and stupid. Their women are loose. That is why they kiss with each other instead.” He dropped his pants and waved his dick in Rob’s direction. “They are not good at bamboo music though, do not pay them for music.” He stroked his dick as he peered into Rob’s eyes. “You swallow on it, yes? And in the buttocks?”
“Yes, definitely, both,” Rob said. He kneeled in the moist soil of the flowered valley, surrounded by multicolored blossoms. He reached into his wallet to pull out a wad of cash, which he handed over.
Hadisi counted the money. He didn’t even seem to notice when Rob got a taste of his cock. Rob’s tongue snaked out and planted right on the tip. Rob peered up to test Hadisi’s reaction, but he was intensely focused on counting the money.
So Rob swallowed his fat cock, which was nice and thick but not so big it was difficult to suck. It perked up almost right away in Rob’s mouth, and he used both hands to keep it stimulated. He slathered spit up and down the shaft.
“Ah, you are good at this,” Hadisi said. He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes.
One of Rob’s hands snaked up to his chest. Sometimes men didn’t like it when he touched their bodies like this, but Hadisi didn’t seem to mind. When Rob’s fingers closed around his nipple, Hadisi even shuddered and let out a moan like he liked it.
He deep-throated Hadisi down to the root, his nose nestling in the man’s kinky pubic hairs. A few drops of precum escaped down his gullet. Rob guzzled down all of it, savoring the flavor and the creamy texture.
The taste was different than he was used to — that wasn’t a surprise. Rob had been traveling long enough to know that cum tasted differently in different parts of the world. He assumed it was due to diet. Indeed, Hadisi tasted a bit like the tropical fruit he ate, but with a savory note to it, he tasted like the local fruits after they had been cooked into a savory stew, he tasted like the fresh, crisp air of this blossomed valley and a bit of the salty, astringent tasted of unadulterated male musk.
His mouth was moist and loud, because Rob knew that’s how men liked it. He choked up so much spit it soaked Hadisi’s crotch, and it made Hadisi grunt and groan. Hadisi bit his lip.
“I hope my wife is like you,” Hadisi said. It sounded like he was not hopeful that would be the case.
Rob licked a trail up Hadisi’s crotch to his chest. He wanted to keep going and maybe even get to kiss Hadisi. Rob licked until it was clear Hadisi was in the former category, he was visibly uncomfortable with it when Rob’s tongue got to his neck, so Rob stuck with the man’s ropy-muscled chest.
The layer of thick blond hairs on his torso tasted a bit coppery like any man’s body hair, but there was an underlying note of sweetness that Rob enjoyed. He ran his tongue through the thick fur, lapping up every drop of sweat. Hadisi ignored it at first, seemingly just happy that Rob wasn’t trying to kiss him on the neck or lips, but then he laughed like he was ticklish. Rob’s hands caressed Hadisi’s plump asscheeks and trunk-like thighs.
Rob spat into his palm and used it to lube up his ass, since there obviously was no lube here. He had taken enough cock in exotic locations that he didn’t think it would hurt too much, even if Hadisi did have an exceptionally large member. Rob knew how to take it.
“Are you okay, Hadisi?”
“Yes!” He was nervous, but, it seemed, enthusiastic. He blushed and looked down. “I am ready to do buttocks.” He smacked Rob’s left asscheek and watched it ripple.
That made Rob smile — it was funny how some alpha male behaviors were universal. He backed his ass up to Hadisi’s crotch until he felt that hot slab of meat pulsating in his crack. It stayed there, wedged between his cheeks. Hadisi humped it up and down at first, teasing Rob, the throbbing of his shaft sending tendrils of pleasure up Rob’s spine from his ass.
Then Hadisi gripped Rob by the back of the neck. He squeezed tightly to hold him in place. Hadisi sucked in breath and gritted his teeth. Rob nearly slipped in the moist ground, and he dropped to all fours. Hadisi went with him, both of them ensconced in the flowers that blanketed the forest floor here.
A jolt of pain hit Rob, who bit his lip. Hadisi’s cock slipped in, and the pain melted away into a wave of pre-orgasmic bliss. The pressure was intense since Hadisi had a thick manhood, but Rob took a deep breath and relaxed himself.
Hadisi worked it in inch by inch, with workmanlike precision. He didn’t even appear to be enjoying it at this point, looking at his dick disappear inside Rob like a carpenter watching his project come together. But once he was done, and his cock fit entirely within Rob, Hadisi let his passion flow through him. He kept one hand on Rob’s neck, while his other caressed Rob’s smooth back.
He began to flex his hips, gently at first. He worked his dick in, then almost all the way out, then back in again. Once he got into the swing of it, Hadisi closed his eyes once more.
“Ah, yes…” Hadisi continued to speak in low, crooning tones, but he spoke in his own language. Rob didn’t need a translation to know he was speaking like he would with a girl, saying things that, in English, might be called sweet nothings. Since Rob didn’t speak the language, they were even nothinger to him right now, and he moaned with desire. Hadisi ramrodded Rob like he was Hadisi’s beloved. He made love to Rob’s ass, grinding and rubbing himself over every inch of Rob’s body.
An orgasm erupted within Rob, who jacked himself off onto the flower-strewn forest floor. He moaned and squirmed, writhing atop the massive cock he was impaled on. He clenched and grunted.
“Oh god, Hadisi, ram it in me…”
Rob lifted his head up and leaned his body back against Hadisi, who leaned against a tree. The motion and the tightening of Rob’s ass sent Hadisi over the edge, just in time for Rob to feel the orgasm flowing through his muscles. His blond chest hairs and black skin trembled behind Rob’s body.
A burst of hot cum sprayed within him, followed by more, copious jets of creamy goodness filling him up inside. It kept coming, Hadisi’s body heat and his sticky juices seeping to every corner of Rob’s body. Rob shuddered as the cum coated his prostate, keeping his own orgasm going while Hadisi grunted in his ear.
His hot, tropical breath condensed on Rob’s cheek. Hadisi wrapped both of his ropy-muscled arms around Rob’s body and kissed him on the back of the neck. His tongue teased Rob’s earlobe.
“Ah, yes… You can come back, you know,” Hadisi said breathlessly, even before his orgasm was complete. His voice broke and his muscles flexed against Rob’s back. “Just do not tell my girl why. Once we are married…”
“Hmm…” Rob knew he wouldn’t be back. “If I can, yeah…” Unless by some freak coincidence this bamboo-music album became a platinum best-seller, there was no way his company would release another album of it anytime soon.
“That is good,” Hadisi said. “Thank you.” He pulled his dick out and chuckled when it finally plopped out limply. He wiped it off with a leaf. “If you come back, will you bring me a new Bob Marley cassette? Mine is old and it will not be working for much longer.”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “Sure.” He planned on mailing the cassette, assuming he could find one. If the locals saw him delivering Bob Marley recordings, they’d never play traditional music for him again. He breathed deeply as his ass recovered, sweet relief flooding him. Hadisi stood over him, cock dangling between his legs while he recounted the money.
“Stay here,” Hadisi said. “I will get the village together so you can take the photo here. Do you want me naked?”
“Oh… Well… Yeah,” Rob said. They’d have to put a black bar over his cock, but they could arrange it so it still showed off his six-pack abs, muscled chest and handsome face. That would be a great way to attract the horny housewives in Starbucks. “If that’s cool… Yeah, naked would be great.” But Hadisi was already gone.
Rob pulled out his camera to get ready. He needed to decide where to take the picture. This trip to the Solomon Islands was going better than he had hoped. He wasn’t sure how well the album would actually sell, but at least he had it made and he had even gotten his first-ever taste of Melanesian meat.

The Fat Cop

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Dairyman

Bart Dazzle is at it again, this time touring Vermont for big-bodied alphas! His target today is a buttery dairy farmer with a physique so massive you could, and he might, worship it for days! Angus Butterman has got manhood, manmeat and dairy cows in equal abundance, and he has a need that only Bart Dazzle can satisfy!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Them city-folk stay useless, Angus Butterman thought to himself. He got no surprise in him to see the strange out-of-towner approach the farm only when it was too late to matter. All the smarts in the world won’t help if you’re too late to do anything.
Angus was a towering bull of a man, at well over six feet tall and as hefty as a heifer and a half. He was burly and bristly like a barrel full of push-brooms, and his big round face was windswept and dour, like a cow that outgrew its pasture. He wore only his overalls now — he took off his shirt because the sleeves were soaked with cow blood, but he had worn an apron that protected the overalls, so they were dirty only with dust and mud and dried-on whatever, not fresh cow blood. His big muscle-bulging arms flapped as he washed his hands. That was the last of the blood.
He stood by the well near the green barn as the out-of-towner approached, looking frightened of the farm, Angus thought. Scared of work, of getting his hands dirty. He probably had never seen an animal get slaughtered for food, had no idea how much work went into putting a meal on this spindly girlish man’s plate.
All that was more or less true. The out-of-towner was named Bart, and he was indeed from well out of town. Bart was here in Vermont because the governor, Hartfield Merriment, was a delicious ball of flab and machismo that Bart had wanted to worship.
Governor Merriment had turned out to be just as much fun as Bart had hoped. He was jolly and jiggly and roly-poly and he tasted like apple cider vinegar. Bart loved it. But he had gained access to the Governor’s Mansion by purporting to have great knowledge in agricultural policy. He bullshitted his way in, only to find that little lie snowballed, and Bart had to spend weeks reading up on the matter or he was gonna look like an ass and would not get to taste Governor Merriment’s man-meat. He ended up proposing a policy that had to do with calf births. It was so obscure and stupid he figured they’d just ignore it, and indeed, they did. It was a real policy, it’s how they do it in England. It was plausible anyway. Not that Bart actually wanted it implemented, it was just a way in.
That led to Bart sticking around in Montpelier to taste the roly-poly meat of the fire chief, the police chief and this short-order cook with a body like a melted brickwork, and all the while he was trading himself off as an expert in calfbirthing.
In fact, everyone in the Vermont state government in Montpelier called Bart “The Professor” because he had said he studied at Oxford in England. That was why the Mayor came to get Bart when he heard the beloved cow Daisy Sue, in a small farming town nearby, was having a bloody and dangerous labor — she gave birth first to a deformed and dead calf, then continued with a live one.
From Bart’s perspective, that was a disaster. He did not know anything about calfbirthing, and he was going to look like an idiot if he pretended.
He was dreading it the whole way, but he felt an obligation to at least try, and he hoped he looked confident as he came into the Butterman Dairy. Angus Butterman met him by the green barn, where they had planned to meet up. The birthing cow was in there.
He hoped he didn’t mess this up too badly. The worst he could do was not help, right? Just look confident and don’t do anything important. Ask for hot water. Say reassuring nothings. Clean and sanitize. Ideally without touching anything, because Bart saw a human birth once and it was disgusting. So many body fluids of every color going in every direction, and cows were way bigger than a woman. Dear god, that was going to be awful. Shoulda worn a hazmat suit.
It was probably all over and done with anyway. How long could a calfbirth take?
Cows know how to give birth in the wild. Surely they can just figure it out. It can’t be that hard for a cow to give birth to a calf. That’s like all a cow does in its life.
But as Bart approached the farm, he saw Angus Butterman standing there like an imposing statue, and Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Angus was handsome. He stood heavy and plodding, his belly substantial but not fat — he was strong enough to heft a year-old calf like it was a sac of potatoes, and he could lift a sac of potatoes like it was just a single spud. His whole body was thick all over, and Bart could already taste his hairy flesh on his tongue.
“Hmmmm…”
“Hayuh, stranger,” said Angus Butterman. He shook Bart’s hand. It was a weak, lily-livered handshake. Angus rolled his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Bart, I was sent here by the Mayor, I heard… — I heard you were having problems with a calf-“
“No. I fixed it. It’s fine. Daisy Sue is fine.” His voice was flat and rumbly like a dormant volcano. He had his thumbs hooked into the straps of his overalls, which pulled the fabric forward and made his pale, powerful chest partially visible. He was just as hairy as Bart had hoped.
“Oh. Well, thank god, cuz I don’t really know jack about calves!” Bart said. Then he blushed — Angus frowned like he didn’t appreciate Bart’s blasphemy. Bart cleared his throat. “I know more about humans, I’m not actually a veterinarian.”
“Hmm.” Angus paused. “Perhaps you could make yourself helpful and bathe me.” He snortled. He thought that would show this uppity doctor from the city — he assumed Bart would never agree to bathe someone, especially not a rural farmer with a broad body and chunky ass. It would be too humiliating.
But Bart’s eyes opened wide. “Sure! Okay. I mean… yeah. Yes. Sure. I’ll help you bathe,” he said. He smiled bashfully. “I mean… that might be a good idea. I could check you for, uh… wounds, and…” He paused for a long time, nearly drooling at the prospect of manhandling this mountain of a man. “Uh… other… issues. Anatomical… irregularities.”
Angus frowned. Bart spoke in a way he found most unfamiliar, his accent being neither New England nor New York nor Canadian — the only accents Angus was familiar with. It was vaguely British but not convincingly so. He didn’t think he was from the South either. Angus’s accent, on the other hand, delighted Bart. His baritone voice had a trace of holler and a hefty dose of yip, but it was long and low like an elegant moo. It sent a frisson of desire up Angus’s spine.
Angus cleared his throat. “Come,” he said.
He was surprised that Bart would agree to bathe, but Angus wasn’t going to turn him down. He was a big enough man that he found it difficult to bathe himself. That was more laziness than anything else, but he usually had his wife at least scrub his back.
“You have a beautiful farm,” Bart said as Angus led him into a barn. Bart’s smile faltered when he saw the “bathing” facility — there was no showerhead at all, just a hunk of steel that was an old-fashioned tank heater, attached to a hose that led to a copper tub. It looked like a torture device from a steampunk movie, Bart thought. Where on earth would Angus get such a thing?
The copper tub filled with hot water as Angus, ignoring Bart completely, drained the tank. The water steamed and sizzled, but it rapidly cooled when out of the heater. Then Angus stood and removed his overalls. The water was very hot — nearly boiling, Bart suspected, when it first came out of the tank.
Those overalls slipped to the ground, and Angus’s wide ass flapped free. It was broad and fleshy and firm and jiggly when he stepped into the tub. Bart couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was glad to see Angus had a giant dick too. It hung between his legs as thick as a calf’s thigh. It was uncircumcized and veiny, and it made Bart lick his lips in anticipation.
Angus tottered when he lifted his leg to get in the tub. He grunted and heaved, asscheeks squeezing, cock flopping and Bart blushed with hot desire.
“Hmmm… So, Mr. Butterman, is there something I can do for you? Needs you could use satisfaction on?”
“Get the soap and the brush.” He pointed to a table by the wall.
“Sure, sure, but that’s not what I meant.” Bart got the soap and the long-handled brush. The soap was foul-smelling and astringent, and the brush was wiry like a toilet brush. Bart wasn’t sure what the normal procedure was, but he just got his hands wet and worked up a bunch of suds with the soap. “I mean other than this.” He clasped his hands on Angus’s legs and began massaging vigorously.
“You… are not using the brush?”
“If I encounter a part of you that is too dirty to clean with my hands, I will use the brush,” Bart said. “But I don’t mind doing the work by hand. I do like to get my hands dirty, you know. Not all out of towners are ineffectual weaklings.”
“Hmmph.” Angus narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not argue the point. he sighed as he leaned back in the water, and he allowed Bart’s slim hands to knead the tight, sore flesh of his back. Angus’s back muscles rippled beneath his touch. Angus let out a long low moan.
Not even Angus’s wife rubbed his back so vigorously. Angus licked his teeth to avoid accidentally smiling. Even with Bart not facing him, Angus didn’t want to smile. It simply wasn’t proper. He nodded and harrumphed, spreading his legs so Bart could more easily get all around his thighs. Bart’s delicate hands brushed up against his balls and his shaft, while Bart’s head was right behind one fleshy asscheek.
The stranger’s hands were soft and warm. They’d be good milking hands. A cow could tolerate those easy. Angus had big rough hands from a lifetime of work. He could milk a cow when he had to, but that was largely automated these days. In fact, his milking machine was on its last legs. Angus spent his time supervising the farm and the production of milk, cream, sour cream, cottage cheese and Honduran-style crema. The Butterman Dairy filled orders for companies throughout New England and in Ontario and Quebec.
Angus snorted. Bart’s massaging hands went from Angus’s thighs to his chest — he avoided the private areas for the moment. His hands caressed that barrel-shaped body, and he even planted his lips on the side. He slurped up the bathwater that clung to his now-clean skin. Angus furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand.
“So, you didn’t answer me,” Bart said. “What can I do for you? Not something medical.”
“What?”
“There must be something you want.”
Angus chuckled, his big chest shifting up and down when he did. His deep voice echoed in the high-raftered barn. “There’s a new milkin’ machine on the market. Costs a pretty penny though-“
“I’ll buy it for you.”
Angus looked down at him. “Pardon?”
“I’ll buy it for you if you do something for me,” Bart said. He blushed at Angus’s intense, sour-faced stare. His giant body loomed overhead like an idol. Bart looked down, then hugged his torso. “Will you… lay with me? Treat me like a woman. Stick your dick in me.”
Nearly toppling over, Angus jumped with a start. He was not accepting that. Jacking off was taboo in Angus’s household. He was a god-fearing man.
But in his view, obscenity was worse than some minor, harmless masturbatory indiscretions. As long as he didn’t touch another man in such a manner, Angus didn’t see it as a grave sin. He could allow the mincing stranger to service him. It was not motivated by lust, after all, nor even greed.
But Angus just nodded — he thought he would lose his farm if he didn’t get that milking-machine sooner or later — the other dairies in the area already had it, and they were able to produce twice as much milk from the same number of cows, and with fewer workers. He still stood there, ignoring Bart as though he didn’t understand what Bart had offered.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“You had better actually buy me the machine,” Angus said flatly. His hand formed a fist. “I will have you lynched, mister.”
Bart shivered in fear. Angus had said that so nonchalantly that Bart assumed it could only be a real threat. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow through,” Bart said.
The idea of jacking off with a man wasn’t entirely alien to Angus Butterman. He’d done it before. There was a worker on his dairy farm who had the silhouette of a woman in the right light, and he enjoyed servicing the meats of men with stubborn stiffies. Angus had gone to see him on many a night when his wife wanted nothing to do with him. She said Angus was too big, like trying to lay beneath a buffalo, and so their marital bed was only visited a few times a year. Angus found alternative means to satisfy his urges, in an entirely Christian way.
Bart kissed his cocktip, which made it tremble and shake. Angus smelled strongly of sweat in his crotch because Bart hadn’t scrubbed him yet, just rinsed and massaged him, and he didn’t intend to. He loved a stinky man. Angus could scrub later.
He stroked his dick while slurping on just the tip. He had a feeling it would get magnificently big and he was right — it grew from merely impressive to a full twelve-inch long monster that made Bart shiver again with both terror and anticipation. That was going to hurt in all the best ways, he thought.
“Put your mouth on it, deeper,” Angus said, reaching down to shove Bart into the position he wanted. He seemed to think Bart didn’t know how to do it. Bart didn’t correct him because he enjoyed a pushy alpha — Angus thought he was the worldly expert!
He wrapped Bart’s lips around his cock and began to pivot his hips, forcing more and more of his giant dick into Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and warm and a little bitter from the soap that had dripped into his crotch. Bart had to lean over the lip of the tub to get deep in there, which he did with his hands clasped on Angus’s trunk-like thighs.
“Ah, my…” Angus bit his lip to avoid taking the Lord’s name in vain. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. His dick was so wet it dripped — and not with bathing water either. Bart drooled over it, desiring to have every inch of it throbbing in his throat.
Angus was as hard as pig-iron now, his dick pulsating in Bart’s mouth. His massive dairyman body rippled with each wave of pleasure to wrack his frame. His biceps and thunderous thighs all flexed and relaxed in sync with the cavernous moans that came from his chest. He gripped Bart’s head and held on tight, so he could deeply hump his manhood in Bart’s mouth. His entire foot-long manhood stabbed into Bart’s throat and stayed there before he began to rock back and forth.
“Ah, yes, yes…” Angus’s baritone voice gurgled moistly. His sweaty balls slapped against Bart’s chin.
It was one of the best cockshafts Bart had ever tasted. He thought maybe rural people had better dicks. There was something tastier about their manhoods, more pleasing in the way they plowed into his throat. They acted more on instinct maybe, less self-conscious, more primal and bestial. Whatever it was, Bart adored it, and he savored the sour flavor of Angus’s manhood.
Despite his lungs crying out for oxygen, Bart opened his throat wide and let Angus take charge of it. Plowing back and forth, Angus used and abused his throat, as more moans escaped his chest, and precum coated Bart’s tongue.
Then Angus let go just long enough to step out of the tub, while Bart took a hoarse gasping breath. Angus rammed his dick back in before Bart could even get his breath back. Bart kneeled before his awe-striking body.
“C’mon, boy, take the whole thing, good, good… You’re no doctor… Are you a con artist? That Governor Merriment is a fool…” Angus said as though that was a well-known fact.
When Angus finally let him take another breath, Bart rolled away and gasped. He grinned as he wiped spit and salty precum off his lips. “You wanna cornhole me? In the ass?”
By the standards of a rural farm community like this little town outside of Montpelier, that was a very obscene way to put it. Angus flared his nostrils. Bart had no idea how offensive Angus found his words, but Angus had that New England taciturnity, and he did not say anything about it. He just grumbled inwardly about rude city-folk. He really needed that milking machine.
If that’s how people in New York talk, I’ll be glad to never see another one, Angus thought. Nobody had told him Bart was from New York, it was just where Angus assumed all out of towners were from. Maybe Canadian actually, Angus thought now, that might explain the accent.
In any case, Angus wasn’t going to turn down a chance to blow a nut, plus get a milking machine out of it. In fact, he was glad to spoil such a foul-mouthed man’s bottom, he thought. He would never have done it to someone he thought of as clean and good-hearted.
“Bend ovaah,” he said with an angry snort.
When Bart didn’t move quick enough, Angus bent him over the copper tub. He bade Bart to stick his ass high. It was an awkward position for Bart, who had to keep his face above the water, which now steamed lightly as Angus’s bodily dirt and grease floated on the surface.
“Hmmm… Spread ‘em, stranguh,” Angus said with a thick-voiced chuckle. He had to stand on his toes and lean forward in order to line his cock up with Bart’s ass. He used his other hand to separate the cheeks and then wedged his dick in.
“Oh god, damn…” Bart said, having no idea that blasphemy spurred Angus on to treat him even crueler.
Angus kneaded the soft flesh of Bart’s delicate asscheeks. He slipped his dick in and Bart cried out as a burst of pain hit his backside hard. His eyes opened wide and his face dipped into the water that stank of Angus’s sweaty body. The pain quickly melted away, leaving behind a slowly simmering sense of bliss.
The moan that escaped from Bart’s lips was an intense chest-rattle that made Angus think he was in blinding pain. That seemed right anyway. Angus had no idea that Bart genuinely thought he was handsome — people simply didn’t talk about men in that manner in rural Vermont. So Angus assumed Bart was mentally defective in some way, like a hobo or a mental patient, and that he enjoyed the pain. It was no skin off Angus’s nose.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Bart favored the physiques of big men, and he loved big cocks, and he was good enough at taking on massive manhoods that the pain lasted only a few seconds. Even the pressure was not unbearable. It was made more intense by the heavy body resting upon Bart’s thin back.
“You are… a most low man,” Angus said dourly, chewing on his lip as he struggled to ram his dick all the way in.
Finally Bart took a deep breath and took in every inch of Angus’s dick, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He again doused his face in the now-lukewarm tub of water, which exhilarated him. “Yes, Angus, get deep in me!”
Angus frowned but did so. It was also rude, he thought, to call a stranger by his given name. But if he got one of those modern milking machines, it would all be worth it.
And besides that, Angus decided, this felt good enough to do it even without the milking machine — it was just plain good. His wife never let him plow into her like this. She didn’t want to do it unless they were planning on having another child. Angus accepted that even if he disliked it.
But Bart, it seemed, would take anything — Angus had no idea Bart had a minimum weight — so Angus could plow in as hard as he was capable of. He made Bart grip the far edges of the copper tub, which rocked as Bart was rollicked back and forth by the intense feel of Angus’s heavy cock.
“Oh god, shit… I— oh fuck-!” An orgasm ripped through Bart’s body.
Angus gripped Bart by the hair hard. “Do not curse, little man, and do not take the Lord’s name in vain-” He too cut himself off, his voice breaking as he orgasmed at the same time.
Bart blushed, his mind whirring as he realized he had been blaspheming for several minutes. He was nearly bent all the way over the tub now, his head on the far side of it, so his own cock sprayed its wad into the water.
“Oh — oh-!” Bart couldn’t think of any non-curse word — was ‘crap’ offensive? He had no idea. All he did was howl and scream as his prostate sent wave after wave of pleasure through his body, which was painfully pinned in place by Angus’s powerful body pressing down on him.
Then, all in one fumbling motion, Angus went to the floor and dragged Bart with him. They were both on their sides, writhing and undulating, Angus’s strong limbs flapping around. Bart was swallowed up by his bigness and covered in the water that still clung to his barrel-shaped torso.
“Aaaaaaaah…” Angus moaned and snorted, sniffling, getting himself a nose-full of Bart’s sweat from the back of his head. But it was Bart who got more sweat in his face, with Angus’s body all around him. Everywhere Bart looked was frenzied male flesh rolling and flexing. He slurped every bit of it clean, unable to resist even as his ass cried out for mercy.
Then, it was over. Angus backed off, and his dick slid out.
“Shit…” Bart said again, then clasped his hands over his mouth. “Sorry. That’s a bad habit.”
“I should think so,” Angus said with a judgmental snort. He slapped his own belly, making his muscles ripple. Bart leaved over and kissed his hairy chest.
“I’m really sorry,” Bart said. “Maybe I could hang around your farm for a couple days and keep you satisfied.” Bart suspected there were farmworkers around too, which might give him plenty enough variety to be entertained.
“That would be acceptable. It will take you some time to arrange for that milking-machine as well.”
“Oh, right, sure,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I stay here? In this barn?”
“Here? This is where all the men come to bathe- Oh.” Angus realized that was precisely why Bart liked it. Angus smirked and stood. He waved his dick around above Bart’s face, making a few drops of either sweat or cum or both — Bart couldn’t tell — plop onto his lips. Bart swallowed them up. They were sweet and salty and delicious. “Fine,” Angus said.
He waddled away, putting on his overalls only just before he stepped outside. That left Bart in the barn alone, to work out a plan to seduce as many farmworkers as he could find!

The Married Cop

When Avery is robbed, he meets up with a cop with a wife and a physique Avery could… and just might worship for days! Officer Heartley is a bull-headed macho cop who needs to get a little relief, and Avery is all too happy to help out!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was furious about his hotel room being robbed. It was only eighty dollars, but still — having security to prevent this sort of thing was exactly why Avery was loyal to the chain. He had explained this to the manager in no uncertain terms, and he had gotten a refund as well as a free day in the room. That was worth more than what he had lost.
There was nothing to do now, however, but wait and pace. The police were on their way, supposedly. Avery knew the police wouldn’t do anything for eighty dollars, but he wanted to make his statement. This was an annoying distraction when he was trying to be more productive in his life. He wanted to hurry up and file his complaint so he could get back to work.
When the cops arrived, however, Avery was at a loss for words. His blood ran hot and his cock twitched in his pants, his annoyance at the robbery having vanished. One of the officers was a skinny young woman, but the other was a sturdy older man. He was Officer Malcolm Heartley, and he had a square jaw like a superhero.
“Sorry to hear about ya troubles, sir,” Officer Heartley said with the most delightfully full-bodied voice, all baritone echoes emanating from beneath his scruffy throat, a somewhat awkward tremble to it — he was one of those delightfully strong men who weren’t swaggerous and cocky. Avery thought a note of unconfidence made him even more handsome. “So you sure there ain’t nothin’ else missin’?”
“Yeah, that’s it, thanks,” Avery said. He blushed a little because he could feel Officer Heartley looking at him. He wished he could come up with a reason to make Officer Heartley stay.
“Alright, thank you for callin’ it in,” Officer Heartley said. Avery could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t think they would find the money. The woman cop said they would keep looking for the culprit, but Avery didn’t find her very convincing. It was only eighty dollars, after all, Avery thought, surely there were more important crimes in this city.
“Thank you for your help, officer,” Avery said. He clasped Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm in hand. He shook the woman’s hand too, but he was so blinded by Officer Heartley’s strength and the body heat radiating off him that he shook her hand in an automaton trance.
And that was that, Avery’s distemper was gone, and the hotel-room robbery seemed like a memory from his distant past. Avery loved older men with fantastic physiques, and Officer Heartley was a perfect one. He was dark-skinned, thick and jowly, but not fat, just muscle and meat all over, you could tell he was used to home-cooked meals in a warm home. His face had a few wrinkles under the eyes, and his beard hairs were flecked with gray.
“We’ll call you if we learn anything,” said the perky blonde cop. She was hot too, beautiful really, Avery thought, but he had no interest in her. She was lost in the alluring aura emanating from Officer Heartley.
But he couldn’t stick around. The florist trade-show was over. It was time to go back home. He checked out of his room.
He sat down in the hotel lounge to work on the novel he had promised himself he’d finish a rough draft of on this trip. It took a few hours to get his focus back. He took several breaks, and drank a ton of coffee in a coffeeshop next to the hotel.
He finally got a little writing done around eight o’clock, and he went down to the hotel bar to celebrate afterwards. He was just about to sit when he realized he shouldn’t reward the hotel for letting someone steal from his room. He should go to a different bar.
He had no sooner walked outside, however, when he saw a police car pull into the parking lot. It was Officer Heartley, and he rolled down his window. “Hey, there you are. We caught the guy who had your cash, we can give it back if you come with me. You gotta fill out some forms.”
Avery got in. “Really? You caught him?”
“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you. But he hit a couple hotels in the area, apparently he hacked a swipe card that works in any of them. One of the hotels caught him on camera,” Officer Heartley said as he drove away and Avery buckled his seat-belt.
“Where’s your partner?”
“Oh, we’re off now. She’s out with her hot new boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re off-duty?! That’s so sweet of you to come get me!” Avery said.
“Well, you know… I don’t like out-of-towners gettin’ the wrong impression ‘bout my town,” Officer Heartley said. “You single?”
“Yes I am,” Avery said. He cleared his throat. “What about you?” He made sure to speak in a slow, seductive tone. Officer Heartley had to know what that meant.
“I’m separated. My wife left me.”
“Oh you poor baby, it must have been a long time since you’ve been with a woman,” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s well-muscled forearm.
He nodded.
“Well you know, I have a magical power,” Avery said. “I can make guys forget about their wives. Who’s got a mouth, an ass and a need to please? This guy!” Avery pointed to himself.
“That’s… I don’t do that, no thank you, sir,” Officer Heartley said, but with a nervous tremble to his voice. Avery could tell he wanted to do it. He was responding to Avery’s flirtatious tone. But a lot of guys did that because they liked the attention, it didn’t mean they were interested. Especially once they were married, many guys were desperate for someone to call them handsome.
“Hmm… That’s unfortunate. Tell your wife I’m going to steal every inch of her husband.”
After a long pause, Officer Heartley said, “I’m not going to tell her that.”
They pulled into the police station then. Avery went in with him, filled out the requisite paperwork and saw the skeezy-looking guy who had been caught. He was sitting there in a hallway in handcuffs. Avery didn’t know that’s who it was until Officer Heartley pointed him out.
When he had his eighty dollars back, Avery headed out to the parking lot. Officer Heartley brought him to the police car. Then he sat behind the steering wheel and didn’t say anything. It looked like he was waiting.
“Officer Heartley?” Avery wondered if he had done something wrong. “Hey, uh… are you okay? You don’t have to take me back to the hotel, I can afford a cab. Or an uber. Or I can walk, it’s like five blocks.”
“Shush…” Officer Heartley said with a desperate gulp. He opened the door for Avery to get in. “I ain’t pervy.”
A long pause ensued. Avery wanted to say fine, but he had just been shushed, so Avery didn’t say anything.
Finally Officer Heartley spoke again. “You, uh… My wife… My wife used to be so different, y’know. I don’t think I changed that much since we got married. We used to go out and she wanted to, y’know…” He glanced at Avery. “Like… she wanted to suck me off, y’know, in the bathroom.”
“What?”
He blushed. “No, I mean, she don’t have a bathroom-fetish, I just mean we’d go out somewhere and she’d wanna bang in like a closet or bathroom or something. She’d wanna suck my dick.” He paused. “But now, she just like… She don’t even wanna look at me. She got kinda fat and her hair is always a mess and she don’t shave her pussy no more, she barely even shaves her armpits, and if I mention it at all, she freaks out, but she is always calling me a fat-ass and when I fart she calls me a nasty shit.” Then he whispered hoarsely. “It makes me feel bad.”
“Oh, you poor baby…” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s belly. He wasn’t fat, but he had a belly there. He looked like he probably had a six-pack back when he met his wife, so any amount of fat might have seemed like a beer-gut to her. Officer Heartley’s muscles rippled beneath his uniform shirt. “You can tell her how you feel. Tell her it hurts your feelings.”
He rolled his eyes. “I, y’know… I can’t say that.”
“You said it to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re… you know.”
“So you can tell a guy you barely know, but not your wife?”
He shrugged. “She won’t care. She’s…” He whispered again. “She’s such a bitch.”
“Do you want me to-?”
“Shush. Don’t say it,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest of his squad car. It was parked in a row of other squad cars. No one was behind them, just a solid fence with barbed-wire atop it, so they couldn’t be surprised. In the main part of the parking lot, officers currently on-duty met with their partners and sipped coffee before getting in their own squad cars and driving off.
Officer Heartley unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out. It was big and fleshy, and Avery thought you could tell just by looking at it that no one had been treating it right in a long time. He bet Officer Heartley’s wife even got mad if he jacked off to Internet porn, so Heartley was probably in a world of frustration.
Sure enough, it twitched as soon as Avery touched it. “Oh, it’s so big! Your wife must have loved taking it in her ass when you two were just dating!” Avery smiled at the frustrated look on Officer Heartley’s face. He suspected that, if he kept bringing up anal sex, Officer Heartley would be unable to resist. “I know I couldn’t resist begging for it in my tight asshole if we dating and I was a girl. I would crave this cock all up in me. What was her pussy like?”
His dick twitched beneath Avery’s fingers. Officer Heartley moaned. “Ah, shit, man, it was velvety and smooth and… damn, I want that again. Shit…”
Avery breathed heavily, and he tried to sound as girlish as he could. Officer Heartley’s eyes were closed, his great cavernous chest heaving as he breathed and Avery stroked his dick, slowly and unctuously at first, sliding his hand up and down. He paused to spit onto his palm, which made Heartley moan again when Avery resumed stroking.
“Were you a cop when you met her?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to be. I told her that on our first date,” he said. His voice sounded croaky and tense, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. “But I was just a painter then.”
“Oh?!” Avery snaked his other hand into Officer Heartley’s pants, from which his cock stuck out through the fly. He handled his sweaty balls.
“Shit, man, that feels so good…” Officer Heartley said. He settled back in his seat like he was ready for this to last a long time.
“I know. I think you’re really handsome in that uniform. And I bet you’d be just as handsome in anything else,” Avery said. He unbuttoned the bottom of Officer Heartley’s uniform shirt, making his undershirt-clad belly visible. He bent over and kissed his belly, blowing a raspberry as though it was a baby’s hairy belly. Officer Heartley laughed and his dick twitched in Avery’s hand. “You’re so manly, your wife is stupid if she doesn’t suck you off all the time.”
Officer Heartley glanced at him, his eyes open now. He watched his cock pulsate, a few drops of precum leaking out and lubricated Avery’s fingers. “Man… I dunno.”
“Nothin’ wrong with men makin’ each other feel good. You just close your eyes and let me make you feel good. Is it okay if I put my mouth on it, sweetie?”
He grunted and gritted his teeth as though being called sweetie turned him on. He shook his head. “Wait… I mean…” His pecs bounced beneath his shirt. “I mean…”
Avery could tell he was wavering. Avery moaned right in his ear. “Oh, sweetie… Your dick needs to get wet, I can tell. It’s so dry. Your balls are so full they’re going to burst, you poor baby.” He unbuttoned his uniform shirt the rest of the way. “What if I just put the tip in my mouth? Okay? Just the tip? I won’t do nothin’ else until you tell me it’s okay.”
His voice was breathless and jagged. “Yeah. Just the tip, okay. Okay.” He put one meaty hand on the back of Avery’s head and guided him down to his cock. Avery opened up and put his cocktip on his tongue, then slurped exuberantly. He spat up plenty of spit that ran down Officer Heartley’s shaft and soaked his crotch.
Now that he was so close to Officer Heartley’s body, he could smell his unwashed clothes — was he in trouble with his wife? Staying in a motel? Possibly, Avery thought.
“Just the tip, okay?” Officer Heartley said, his voice a low throaty rumble.
Avery made eye contact with him, but Officer Heartley immediately closed his eyes. Flopping his hard dick over his face, Avery let out a long cooing moan and called Heartley his baby again. “My sweet little baby… Ooh… Your dick tastes like candy, baby, I wanna make love to your cock.”
“Just the tip.” His voice sounded like he wanted to be firm and confident, but it came out as weak and wavery.
“‘Course, baby, just the tip,” Avery said, trying to hide his disappointment. He used one hand to stroke his shaft, while he kept his mouth on just the tip, suckling loudly, moistly. He had to cram his head in between Officer Heartley’s massive body and the steering wheel.
“Hey! Alan! You in there?”
“I’ll go see, he probably knows where it is.”
Avery heard that, but he couldn’t see because his head was in Officer Heartley’s crotch — and he didn’t even know Heartley’s first name was ‘Alan’. He assumed it was other cops getting into a patrol car. But when he heard their voices getting closer, he lifted his head.
Luckily, the sun shined into the windshield; it would have been blinding, but these patrol cars had glare-canceling windshields. It did make it impossible for anyone outside to see into the car from this angle, however, which was good because Avery saw a pair of uniformed officers some thirty feet away. If it weren’t for that glare, they would have seen Officer Heartley leaning back and then seen Avery’s head pop up from his crotch.
“Shit! Someone’s coming,” Avery said.
Officer Heartley opened his eyes, roared in frustration and jumped into action. He forced Avery’s head back down where it couldn’t be seen, his hard dick still leaking precum onto Avery’s face. He turned the engine on and rammed the car into drive.
“Shit!” Officer Heartley grunted, his voice desperate and plaintive, dick leaking precum over Avery’s cheeks. He drove to the right — which was not the way out of the parking lot, but did mean the officers would be on the driver’s side, so they wouldn’t see Avery without coming very close to the car.
“Where are you going, Alan?”
“Hey, did you see that memo from the DA? We wanted to ask if you knew about the plea forms, how does that work? Sheila said she never heard of them.”
Officer Heartley’s face was ruddy. He rolled down his window and waved as though this was normal, and nothing was wrong. “Hey guys,” he said. His mind whirred, his cocktip now back in Avery’s mouth. “Uh… Yeah… Plea forms are the same thing as those D9s. Just tell Sheila that, you need D9s.”
The other two cops exchanged glances that were both confused and enlightened — that was a helpful answer to their question, they were simply confused because Officer Heartley had a tense, pained expression on his face. But they just assumed he wasn’t feeling well, or had gotten in a fight with his soon-to-be ex-wife on the phone — perhaps, they thought, that was why he had been sitting in his car in this parking lot for a long time.
They just watched the squad car drive all the way around the parking lot, finally leaving onto Poplar Avenue and nearly going the wrong way on it until Heartley realized what he was going. He drove south into downtown.
“You still got your hotel?”
“No, I checked out,” Avery said.
He barely even noticed his hand pressing down on Avery’s head. He didn’t really intend to get deep-throated. That was an uncomfortably pervy idea to him. But he had an instinctual urge to push Avery all the way down on his shaft, plus he wanted Avery to keep his head down. So he did it without thinking about it, without even noticing until he realized Avery’s nose was in his pubic hair.
“Oh god…” Officer Heartley moaned.
His cock tasted amazing: salty and warm and musky, Avery crooned and sucked it all down. He didn’t care about his own throat crying out for oxygen and relief. He wanted to taste Officer Heartley until he had had enough and couldn’t take it anymore.
He drove to the most rundown motel in the bad part of town, a motel that was well-known as the epicenter of the city’s red light district. That was where all the hos brought their johns. Officer Heartley felt disgusted with himself going there at all for non-law-enforcement purposes, but it was where he had driven without thinking about it.
“I’ll get us a room,” he said. He took a deep breath. His cock ached. He wanted to get go at it all night like his wife used to do. He wanted to have so many orgasms it made up for the years his wife had been ignoring him.
But first, he had to awkwardly put his dick back in his uniform slacks and get out of the patrol car. It must have been obvious he had an erection, and he was pretty sure there was even a wet spot on his crotch — he was too excited and exhilarated and mind-bogglingly horny to even look down.
He raced into the front lobby and virtually tossed some cash at the dour-faced man behind the counter. “I need a room!”
“How many hours? Officer?” the man asked. He looked at Officer Heartley as though he thought he was catching him doing something wrong. He probably assumed a cop would only be here because he was getting free services from a prostitute. But Officer Heartley was too horny to stop and explain that he was just jacking off.
“Uh…” He had no idea what was normal. “Overnight.”
“You’re thirty bucks short,” the man said.
Officer Heartley cursed and scowled and handed over his credit card. That hardon wasn’t going away, it just kept throbbing painfully in his clothes.
It took forever, but finally Heartley got his key. He darted out into the parking lot again, and motioned for Avery to come to him. They scampered to the room, Officer Heartley’s pants already coming off even before he opened the door.
He dove onto the bed on his belly — which caused intense pain in his still-erect cock — then he rolled over onto his back. In seconds, his dick was out the fly and in Avery’s mouth. He let out a long, low sigh.
It took a few seconds for either of them to notice that the door was still open. Avery had barely gotten the fresh taste of precum in his mouth before he got up to slam the door shut. He returned to swallowing Heartley’s shaft.
“Oh god, yes…” Officer Heartley held onto Avery by the back of his head, fucking his throat deeply.
It was all over in seconds now. Officer Heartley’s balls crawled up in his sac, and his veiny shaft pulsated in Avery’s throat. Hot, creamy cum coated his mouth and slicked down to his belly. It was thick and warm, and it sat hotly in his stomach.
He tasted salty and sour and a bit sweet, with a strongly musky taste that Avery adored. There were flavors of steel and copper and unwashed fabric, cocoa butter and cheap deodorant. Avery guzzled down every drop, smiling at the sight of Officer Heartley writhing violently beneath him.
Then at last he pulled off, grinning at Officer Heartley’s shocked expression. “That was not just the tip,” Avery said coyly. He stroked his limp dick.
“Yeah, well… I changed my mind.” Officer Heartley groaned. “I paid for this room all night and I busted a nut in about five seconds.”
Avery giggled. “You didn’t think this was all over already, did you? I’m going to stroke your dick until it falls off. And then I’ll find another penis to attach, and I’ll stroke on that till it falls off.” He playfully groped Officer Heartley’s chest beneath his uniform shirt.
“You got spare penises?” He chuckled dryly. He was about to speak again, when there was a loud moan in the hotel room next door.
They both blushed and smiled. This motel rented rooms by the hour to prostitutes, and it seemed there was one such transaction going on right next-door. Officer Heartley sighed and stood up. The moaning from next-door was not too loud — they could only hear the man, whose deep voice was easily audible. Avery could hear a woman’s practiced heavy breathing only when he pressed his ears against the wall.
He yelped and stepped away when a woman let out a little yelp. “I said not to pull my hair,” she said. “Quit it, get off me.” There was a loud thump, it sounded like she had pushed the man off her and he fell off the bed.
“You bitch! I paid for an hour, you best believe I am getting all sixty minutes! I swear I’ll call Bernard-“
“He says no one can pull my hair, not for no amount of money, cuz my hair could fall out-“
“I wasn’t gonna pull ya hair out, you fuckin’ cunt! I just needed somethin’ to grab onto. Ya tiny-ass titties ain’t enough-“
“Oh, you’re complainin’ ‘bout my size? I thought you stuck your nipple in my pussy until I opened my eyes!”
Avery listened to the argument with wide eyes and baited breath. Should he call the police? He realized he didn’t need to just as Officer Heartley was redoing his belt and running out the door. “Stay here,” Heartley said.
Avery didn’t want to get in the way, so he followed orders. He stayed with his ear to the wall so he could hear. Both the man and Officer Heartley shouted at once, as Officer Heartley pounded on the door. Then when it was opened, there was more shouting, with the woman joining in this time.
“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know what was going on here!”
“I do know! I could hear every word-“
“Oh? What were you doing in this place? Huh?”
“Not any bit of your business, motherfucker, it was totally legal,” Officer Heartley said.
Avery poked his head out the door and was shocked to see that the man being led away in cuffs was another cop. Officer Heartley had arrested a state trooper. The woman in the hotel room glanced at Avery without noticing him.
Then Avery just sat and waited in the hotel room. He was glad to have the chance to recover. After a few minutes, he went over and talked to the prostitute. He helped her fix her hair and makeup. She said she didn’t want to file any report about the cop who had attacked her, but Avery talked her into doing it. Some other officers arrived then — Heartley had shown up at the police station, his uniform shirt still unbuttoned and askew, his hair a mess, so he had endured great ribbing and later got written up for dress code violations.
He told them about the state policeman, so others came out take a statement from the prostitute.
Finally the door opened, and Officer Heartley returned to the hotel room. He had fixed his uniform and his hair only to realize he had waited until too late — by the time he came out of the station men’s room looking like a professional, he was no longer needed. He was off-duty again. So he had gotten scrubbed up just to come back to Avery.
“Goddamn,” Officer Heartley said when he saw Avery sitting there on the bed. Avery immediately dropped to his knees and grabbed for Heartley’s crotch as though he was in desperate need for more cock. He didn’t even let him drop his pants, he just undid the fly and started slurping on it until Officer Heartley made him stop long enough to take his pants off.
“Do you wanna stick me in the ass?” Avery asked. He shook his ass towards Officer Heartley. “Please? I want to feel your cock inside me… You can ramrod me so hard, harder than your wife ever let you, I bet. I’ll never make you stop. And you can cum inside me, okay? You can drown me in cum…”
“Shit, boy, don’t talk like that, you’re gonna make me nut…” Officer Heartley closed his eyes again. He stood there, impatiently waiting as Avery took his pants off.
Then, at last, Avery got to back up on his dick. Like a lot of guys, Officer Heartley didn’t really know how to plow a man in the ass, so Avery had to take charge. Heartley just stood there by the bed while Avery lifted his ass up.
He ground his ass against Officer Heartley’s cock, letting it rub against his asshole. He clenched his hole too, making Heartley grunt and writhe. Avery reached behind himself and guided it into his ass.
“Oh, god, it’s so big!” Avery exclaimed. That was not a lie — it was big — but Avery only said it to puff up Officer Heartley’s ego. Besides that, he knew the position he wanted and it might take some effort to talk him into it. “Oh… I don’t know if I can do this,” Avery said.
“You said you could take it no matter what-“
“I didn’t know it was gonna be so big… You’re gonna ruin my ass, it’ll feel so good I never wanna do it again,” Avery said with a plaintive wail. “Hmm… Here, give me your arm.” He backed himself up farther, making Officer Heartley’s whole body shake as his dick sank deeper onto Avery’s ass. Avery took Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm and wrapped it around himself, in a loose chokehold. That both provided more support and allowed Avery to lick and kiss every inch of Officer Heartley’s arm. “There you go, you’re so strong… I’m sure I can take your dick as long as I feel your strong arms around me, sweetie. That way I’ll know you’re keeping me safe.”
“Hmmm…” Officer Heartley grunted and bucked. His voice broke in Avery’s ear.
Avery loved getting plowed by older men like him. Officer Heartley was so handsome and macho and desperately horny. He craved affection — his wife was mean to him, and his fellow officers always gave him shit, and the civilians he interacted with almost universally hated him — so when Avery moaned and begged for more cock, that was nearly enough to make him cum all by itself.
“Oh god, get it deep in me!” Avery cried out. He wondered if there was anyone else in the motel who could hear that. That made him giggle, burying himself back on Officer Heartley’s cock.
He was all the way in now. Officer Heartley’s ex-wife had never taken it in the ass like this. She’d let him put it in her butt when they were dating, but only a few times, and only until it started to hurt — with a cock like that, it hurt right away. So he’d never had anal sex to completion, never got his entire shaft in her ass.
But Avery took it easily, with just a bit of struggle. Avery exaggerated it over and over to puff up Heartley’s ego. “It’s so big!” He even bit down on Heartley’s forearm, prompting a grunt from Officer Heartley’s lips.
Then they both went down to the bed, Avery squashed by Heartley’s massive bear-like body. Heartley finally began plowing without Avery needing to take charge. He pounded away, sticking his entire foot-long dick in, then pulling out and marveling at Avery’s asshole twinkling, begging for more.
“I’m gonna nut…” He grunted right into Avery’s ear. His wife used to like it when he said that. It was enough to trigger her orgasm, as it triggered Avery’s right now. But now she thought it was gross when he said it, or when he said anything else during sex, or anything at all about sex any other time.
Cum flowed into Avery’s ass. Even though he had already shot his wad once, he shot a huge load again — he must have had a lot built-up in his balls, Avery thought. It dripped out Avery’s ass and onto the motel mattress.
Finally he was done. Avery pulled off him. He had shot his own wad onto the mattress too, and it was now soaked.
Avery wrapped one arm around Officer Heartley’s meaty belly. “We made a big mess, and we’ve still got all night.”
Officer Heartley kissed him chastely on the cheek. “I’ll rent another room, baby. You’re worth it.”
Avery sighed and kissed each of Officer Heartley’s hairy asscheeks. “Let’s make this one filthier first.”

The Custodian

Turner Coop is a recovering crackhead and a custodian at the local college, and he’s got a physique Avery craves. When they run into each other one day, Avery is willing and ready to service every inch of Turner’s manhood. Can Turner accept?

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Avery stood by the door to his English classroom, waiting. He always ended up here a few minutes before class let out — he was in the next class, Advanced Poetry-Writing Techniques with Frau Klomp. He had been looking forward to that class all last semester, and it had proven as rewarding as he hoped. He only had time on Sundays, so it was a special Sunday-only summer class.
But Frau Klomp didn’t really follow a schedule very closely. Her previous class was supposed to let out at eleven o’clock, but she usually didn’t dismiss until eleven-fifteen, sometimes even later. Avery could tolerate this inconsistency, though many of his fellow students hated it — they had other classes, work schedules, girlfriends and boyfriends, etc., that made it difficult to accept an unpredictable ending to the class. And today was Father’s Day, so most likely a lot of people had plans.
Avery, however, didn’t much care about Frau Klomp’s inconsistent schedule, except that it was annoying to show up early and have to wait in the hall.
“Howdy, fella, glory be to God,” said Turner the custodian. He jawed and jived, smiling charismatically at the college students as they streamed past him in the halls. “You there, nice to see ya again. You still got the Lord’s joy in ya heart, I feel that! Heck yes!” It wasn’t clear he was actually talking to anyone specific. He was just generally saying things, aiming them at whoever happened to be within his field of vision at the time.
Avery’s heart skipped a beat. He’d had a crush on Turner for a long time. He didn’t even get why exactly. Turner wasn’t some handsome sex-god — he was a weird Christian custodian. He was dirty blond with a mustache like a 70s porn star, a great thick one that ran down the sides of his mouth, like he was trying to grow a goattee and but the lower part could only grow by dripping off his upper lip. He was a bodybuilder, but he didn’t have an excellent body — it was fine, adorable in Avery’s eyes — Avery didn’t much like that vascular bodybuildery look — because he had (supposedly) spent forty years as a homeless crackhead. Considering his age, that suggested Turner had been a homeless crackhead when he was a teenager back in the early days of crack — Avery thought that was very possible, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. In any case, he had become a born-again Christian who “sculpted God’s temple” in the gym every day just a few years ago.
So his wiry-hobo frame had gradually filled out, until he was bulging all over with thickness and firm muscle. He looked like his body didn’t quite fit on him, like he had combined a thin man’s body with a hefty man’s muscles.
But the mustache was what really drew Avery in. He did admire a man with a proper ‘stache.
“You still prayin’, Jay-Bay?!” Turner slapped palms with a fat black football player who laughed politely (and who made a face like his name was not anything similar to Jay-Bay). “The good lord loves ya!”
“Yeah…”
Turner pushed his mop bucket through the halls. He whistled loudly. He attracted a lot of attention, both for his dirty mullet and his mustache, as well as his frequent exhortations to pray. He’d been nearly fired for it twice because students complained about his proselytizing. It did not look like any of those actions resulted in him stopping.
“Who’s got the love in they heart? Do you, huh? Li’l fella, huh?” He tried to slap palms with a short young man walking by, but he nervously shuddered and quickened his pace. Turner watched him go. “Don’t worry, God loves ya just the same, boy!”
He got to work mopping the side corridor, the foreign language hallway, which didn’t have much activity on Sundays. Turner nodded at Avery who was still standing there by the door.
“How you doin’, God’s son?”
“Uh…” Avery had never actually spoken to Turner. He blushed. “I’m… cool.”
“It’s a glorious day, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, yeah-“
“A glorious day fo’ the Lord! Hallelujah!”
“Hmm-hmm.” Avery was interrupted by the arrival of a woman.
She pushed in front of Avery, ignoring him completely, and said, “There you are! I need the keys.”
“What for?”
“I gots to drive, baby,” she said as though he should have known that.
It was obvious this was Turner’s wife. Avery had noticed the wedding ring, but he had never seen her before. Another factor that made it obvious she was his wife was that she looked, like Turner, like she had been smoking crack for decades and quit recently. Her hair was thin and straw-like, her skin yellowed, her body portly and lumpy in all the wrong ways.
Somewhat less obviously, Avery thought she was on crack again. There was a trace of herky-jerky in her movements, her voice had a warble-grunting tone to it, and her eyes had that cloudy look of a crackhead. Avery was no expert, but she looked like a current-day crackhead.
Judging from the disappointed, betrayed look on Turner’s face, he knew it too. Turner’s mustache quivered. A long silence lay between them like a coffin, and Turner was, for the first time since Avery had seen him, speechless. She fluttered and jittered like she didn’t notice the penetrating stare from her husband.
He looked down his nose at her, kindness in his eyes and sternness in his voice. “Baby, remembuh the decisions you wanna make, remembuh the life you chosen to lead, glorifying our God above-“
“Just gimme the damn keys, Turner,” she snapped. Then she added, “I gots a doctor’s appointment.”
Turner sighed and took the keys out of his pocket. He handed them over to her. Avery kept his head down, pretending he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t believe Frau Klomp hadn’t yet dismissed her class. She was still deep in the throes of a lecture, it looked like through the little window in the door. Did schedules mean nothing to her? Not everybody has the free-wheeling, haphazard lifestyle of a college English professor. She probably has literally no deadlines that matter. Avery did.
“See you, baby, I love you and God loves you and-“
“Same to you.” She virtually sprinted away from him.
Turner watched her go. He hung his head and shook it. He glanced up at Avery and frowned. “I ain’t nevuh gonna see that car again,” he said. He took a deep breath. “You ain’t looking to sell a car on the cheap, is ya?” He chuckled.
“Actually…” Avery had an idea. He could handle skipping one poetry class. “I do have a car I want to get rid of. It’s a Geo Metro, it works just fine but it’s not worth that much money anymore, it’s all beat-up. No one will buy it. It runs, no problem.”
“Really? How much? I can fix it up, yessuh, I can make it run good as new, I know all ’bout cars. The good Lord give me a mind that works like that, ya see-” He pointed to his head. “I got that mechanical brain, ya feel me? Spark plugs and that. Transmission. Mufflers. Carburatuhs. They don’t make cars with carboratuhs no more, but you know, I knows about ’em.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. “I’ll-“
“Startuh! I can fix a startuh, no problem.”
“Okay that’s great. I’ll give you the car for free, if you do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Stick it in me.”
For the second time in a long time — possibly the second time since he quit smoking crack — Turner was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak but only grunted. His eyes opened wide. “The car?”
“No, I mean, I want to jack you off, and I want to lick your dick, and I want you to stick me in the ass. I know it isn’t Christian and-“
“Yeah.” Turner grabbed Avery by the head and led him forcefully — not aggressively, but firmly — into the walk-in supply closet in the foreign-language hallway. Turner’s mustache quivered on his upper lip like he was upset. His powerful arms exuded heat, and the smell of his deodorant-clad armpits assaulted Avery’s nostrils.
Avery wondered if he had miscalculated. Was Turner going to beat him up? Was he being brought into the closet just for that purpose?
“What’s ya name, son?”
“Avery.”
“You Christian, Avery?” Turner asked, and Avery nodded. Turner shook his hand in the tiny closet. “Oh that’s a good fella. I got nothin’ against no kinda folks, just so’s ya know. I loves ’em Islam’slims, with the-” He pantomimed a turban or some other head-covering. Avery just smiled and nodded as the door to the closet closed. Turner went on to make more gestures that apparently referred to Muslims, but it was dark in the closet, so all Avery could sense was some quick furtive hand movements. Then Turner turned on the single bare lightbulb, bathing the closet in light.
“Oh, I-” Avery blushed as Turner took his shirt off. His bare chest muscles rippled as though he had to use every single one to take his shirt off.
“Hmm-hmmm…” Turner let out a little moan even though nothing had happened yet. Avery hadn’t even touched him.
That was because Turner believed strongly that fornication was wrong — also that any ejaculation outside the confines of a marriage was wrong or at least less than ideal. He thought that accepting money for jacking off — or a car, in this case — was sinful. But he also believed that God forgave anything, especially sins that were inspired by momentary lust and an inability to overcome God’s urges. Besides that, Turner had long ago decided that the greatest sin was destroying his body with crack. Anything that wasn’t that was a minor sin in comparison — he wasn’t hurting anyone, except his wife — and that marriage, he thought, was all but over — and he was only doing it because he was overwhelmed by need and want and desire.
So the sooner he could make himself feel like he was “overwhelmed”, the sooner Turner could abandon his inhibitions. God would forgive anything if Turner was too aroused to control himself, and so that is exactly how aroused Turner endeavored to be.
“Hmmmm….” This time his voice was a low, throaty growl that made Avery shiver. Turner’s hand slipped onto Avery’s shoulder. Turner leaned in and kissed Avery right on the lips. His mustache scratched at Avery’s upper lip. His tongue plunged into Avery’s mouth, and the dusty, sun-choked flavor of his mouth hit Avery’s senses. Avery swooned, and his arms fluttered around Tommy, then wrapped around his shoulders and held on. Turner’s muscles rippled as he kissed Avery passionately — awkwardly at first, then passionately, so it felt like Turner forgot partway through that he was kissing a man. It felt like how he might have kissed his wife, at least back before she stole his car a few minutes ago.
When jacking men off and swallowing their loads, getting them to ramrod him like a prisoner, Avery found they were rarely willing to kiss. They were more likely to give him a reacharound than lock lips with him. He didn’t mind so much. Kissing was optional as far as he was concerned, but he did enjoy it.
So he was shocked that Turner kissed him without even a trace of hesitance. Avery hadn’t even asked him to. He stood there limply for a moment, letting Turner’s tongue explore his mouth. Then Avery’s hands gripped Turner’s chest through his coveralls.
“Boy, you makin’ me forget my religion, and on Father’s Dady!” Turner said softly, his throaty voice echoing in Avery’s ear. “Get on ya knees. You got nice soft, silky lips. Lemme feel ’em, okay? I wanna feel ’em all nice and moist on my dick. Lemme feel it.”
Avery was going to say yes, but Turner kept talking — just like he usually did, except he talked about Avery jacking him off instead of his love for God. Avery didn’t want to interrupt him, so he simply sunk to his knees without another word. Turner ran his fingers through his tangled mullet and gently pushed down on Avery’s shoulders until he was in position.
The closet filled with the scent of cleaning fluids and bleach, which clung to Turner’s bleack-speckled coveralls. Avery’s dick rocketed to attention even before he had gotten to his knees, as the smell of Turner’s manly body and his heavenly crotch got Avery’s blood flowing. He unzipped the fly of Turner’s ratty old coveralls and reached in.
“Hmmm, boy, yeah, you got nice fingers too… You makin’ me forget ’bout sin, yessuh, you makin’ me forget!” Turner said with a whoop and a slap of one palm on his thigh. Avery hadn’t even touched his dick yet, and it was one hundred percent limp still, but Turner was acting like it felt really good. Avery inhaled the zesty must of his unwashed crotch.
And then Avery finally did get his fingers on Turner’s cock, squeezing through the fly and into the humid jungle of his groin. It was hot in there, and Turner’s shaft was greasy and throbbing, veiny even though Avery only barely touched it with his fingertips. The darkened, moistened crevice of his crotch smelled strong, the scent leaking out through the open fly of his coveralls. It was funky and sour, sweet like baking bread, the warmth and humidity of it wafting out onto Avery’s face even before he had gotten the zipper fully down.
His dick was slippery with sweat, and it pulsated beneath Avery’s touch. Turner’s whole body shook from that barest of touches. He leaned back and rested his hefty arms on the shelves of the supply closet. That put his crotch at a perfect height for Avery to nuzzle. His cock slipped into Avery’s mouth.
“Take it out, boy, take it out and make it wet, make it nice and wet…” Turner closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. “Dang, boy… Dang, I say!”
Avery was surprised at how big it was. He had had no reason to think it wouldn’t be big, he just generally assumed that men with huge dicks talked about it a lot and found reasons to bring it up. But Turner, it seemed, was too Christian for that. Turner was short and skinny, tautly muscled but skinny, so it seemed like all his body parts should be small.
But his cock was well over ten inches long and so thick Avery struggled to swallow it. Avery battered it with his tongue, and he held it with two hands while he aggressively worked the tip. He hocked up a mountain of spit that ran down the veiny shaft and soaked into Tommy’s off-black, off-blond, off-gray pubic hair.
When he was fully erect, Turner slapped Avery over the face with his rod — that was something Turner remembered being done to him in his crackhead days. Or had he just witnessed it in prison? He couldn’t remember now. All that seemed like distant memories. Everything from when he was smoking crack was just filed into one confused bucket, and Turner couldn’t get anything coherent out of that bucket.
“Aaaaah…” Turner recalled now. Back when he was living on the streets, man stuff was something that just sort of happened — he’d wake up sixty-nining a man and have no idea why or when he started. Not just men, mind you, he’d participated in some massive orgies, spent hours licking tight pussies and generally just gotten laid way more often than you might think a hobo did.
It had happened a lot less since he quit the drugs, and even less since he got married. He couldn’t even remember the last time he got jacked off by a man. There weren’t nothing wrong with it, as he saw back before he became a Christian. Nowadays, of course… everything that ain’t Christ-full is a sin, and Christ was nowhere to be found in this funk-stinky closet. Turner moaned and gripped Avery’s head, drilling back and forth as he slid his dick down Avery’s throat.
“C’mon, boy, get it down deep…” His voice was hot, gruff, urban and throaty, and Avery wanted to tease him so he’d keep talking and making demands. So Avery just licked his shaft instead of jacking on it. That was hot enough to get Turner hard, but he still found it frustrating. “C’mon, boy, what’choo doin’? You just playin’? Ain’t ya? You ain’t takin’ nothin’ seriously, I see that. You wanted to jack on it, so put it in ya mouth, son, and swallow.”
“Hmmm… Okay,” Avery said with a flirty giggle that made Turner grunt. Avery deep-throated his shaft in one smooth motion. Turner grunted again, and his whole body shook.
“Damn…” Turner couldn’t remember if he’d ever been jacked off this good by a male. His cock throbbed at full erection, and it rubbed in Avery’s throat, which squeezed the shaft and sent wave after wave of pleasure through Turner’s body.
He stood on his toes and threw his head back so hard his mullet slammed into a shelf, and Turner groaned in pain. He lifted his hands up, unsure if he should hold Avery’s head or not — would that be too gross? Would Avery dislike it? Would it make Avery go slower or worse? Turner didn’t want to do anything that would interrupt the mind-blowing pleasure suddenly flowing through his veins.
“You ready… to smash?” Avery asked with another flirty laugh. He recognized that Turner liked that feminine sound, so he did it again and again as he turned around and bent over.
“Hmm-hmm…” Turner couldn’t believe how much like a female Avery’s ass felt. It was plump and smooth and round and had a very feminine shape. He turned out the light, bathing the closet in darkness and making it almost impossible to tell that Avery was not a woman. Turner murmured a brief prayer begging for forgiveness, but he reminded God that he had merely fallen prey to a victimless (nearly-so) sin because he was so uncontrollably horny since his wife no longer jacked him off.
Should I divorce her?
That thought sent a chill up Turner’s spine. He didn’t want to divorce her. His church didn’t even allow it. He couldn’t even ponder that. He’d have to find a way to make the marriage work.
The nice thing about cornholing males, Turner thought but didn’t say, was that anal was “allowed” — not really “allowed”, of course, but anal wasn’t especially prohibited if it was with a man. Turner hadn’t cornholed his wife in the ass because that was a sin (and because she said no). Jacking off with a man was already lust, and that’s a sin in the Bible, so what did it matter in which hole it occurred?
Turner grinned, glad that it was too dark in here for Avery to see how excited he was. He hadn’t cornholed anyone in the ass in years, and he didn’t do anal sex with his wife because it was forbidden in the Bible, or so Turner did believe. He spread Avery’s cheeks and slipped his dick in, awkwardly at first because it was dark and he was unpracticed — and he didn’t want to touch Avery’s ass any more than absolutely necessary.
“Damn!” Avery bit his lip as a jolt of pain hit him. His asshole stretched. Once the tip got in though, he accommodated Turner’s cock the best he could, and he was able to allow more and more of that massive slab of manhood to fill him up.
“Shit, boy, take it…” Turner murmured, his voice soft because people could be heard walking by the supply closet. It wasn’t lockable. Someone could come in any time. That seemed unlikely, simply because nobody here had any reason to open the supply closet, except for Turner himself.
Avery’s head hit the door, making it rattle. He gasped and tried to squirm away, but Turner was oblivious — and didn’t care that much about being caught — and just kept cornholing. Avery let out a howl of desire, which he covered up by biting his lip. The door would have rattled loudly on its hinges, but Avery instead pressed it hard, forcing it to sit tautly in its threshold rather than loosely moving with Avery’s writhing. Vast pleasure wracked Avery’s body, making him writhe and twist in Turner’s grasp. Avery panted and begged for more.
Turner moaned. It was a loud sound, but it didn’t carry well and its origin wasn’t obvious to the few students walking past the closet. They looked around, but assumed it was someone making a joke. Avery would have screamed if he could, but the pleasure that exploded throughout his body was so intense it was all he could do to breathe heavily.
“Shit…” Avery whispered. He jutted his ass back to meet Turner’s dick, until his smooth cheeks rubbed against Turner’s coarse pubic hair. Turner’s balls slapped against his asscheeks.
“Here I go, boy, take it, you gonna take e’ry drop, right? I don’t wanna pull out. Don’t make me spill my seed-“
“No, don’t pull out. Cum inside me, please, please…” Avery said breathlessly. He leaned against the door, just inches from the people filing by in the hallway.
Cum sprayed into him, great creamy torrents of it. His semen was thick and warm, the heat seeping into Avery’s flesh in waves. Turner kept going — he’d been trying not to masturbate lately, and his wife hadn’t been putting out — because he was so horny it hurt. His balls felt over-full, like he was a young man again, and all he could think about was creaming Avery’s ass with his load.
It kept flowing, wad after creamy wad jetting into Avery’s guts. Avery jacked himself off onto the door itself, but Turner didn’t even notice that. He was entirely focused on his own desire. A part of him did notice his cell phone beep, but he ignored it. He just gripped Avery’s asscheeks and held on tight.
“”Hell yeah, boy…” Turner moaned. He stayed in, even as his dick limpened. He didn’t pull it out. He just watched it throb in Avery’s clenching ass.
Eventually, however, Avery had had enough. He pulled off Turner’s cock and sighed. He grabbed some paper towels from one of the shelves and cleaned his ass off, and Turner’s cock too. When he touched the shaft, Turner’s whole body shook and his muscles flexed all together.
“Damn, Turner, that was good,” Avery said with a giggle. “I’m glad you decided to sin with me.”
“Will you go to church with me on Sunday?” Turner asked even before his breathing had recovered. He wiped sweat off his forehead.
“Uh…”
“I done somethin’ wit’ you, you should do somethin’ wit’ me,” Turner said. “I tell you what: I meet you early, okay? You pick me up in the car you about to give me. You can touch me up all kinda ways. Once we get there, I gonna be recommittin’ myself to a life of virtue, and so will you, I hope, wit’ God’s love. We both gonna be seekin’ forgiveness, and we gonna get it, son.”
“Oh, uh, well… Okay,” Avery said. He sighed. Had he really just agreed to go to church? At least, he thought, he’d get to mess around beforehand. He’d have never agreed if he was foggy with post-nut brain.
Turner finally remembered his cell phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket and scowled. “Car’s gone. She said it got stolen.”
“You don’t believe her.”
“She done sold it, I know that. She got a big ol’ bag of crack. I bet I won’t see he for a couple days, she gonna be talkin’ ’bout she at her sister’s,” Turner said. He sighed. “Guess I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Yeah, see you then,” Avery said. “I can’t wait to make you forget about her.”

The Carpenter

Morgan Cartwright is a bitter man with a powerful need… one that the cute little twink Kwan Tung is eager to help out with! Can Morgan land the job?

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Read the whole thing here!

Morgan pulled into the house on Maple Street, lost in thought about his daughter. She was dating a man whom Morgan hated. He hoped to come up with a way to get her to dump him. Failing that, he could try to intimidate the boyfriend. He’d done that before.
He was a towering, intimidating figure. He used to be outright muscular, and he was still just as strong. But he was past forty now, and he had a scruffy, hair-covered body. His dirty blond hair was in a long tangle behind his head, his arms ropy and strong but not “cut” like he had been when he was just out of high school. Back then he had a six-pack and thought it would never go away. He could eat anything he wanted to and still he had not a trace of fat. But not anymore. He had a daddy-six-pack and a dad-bod and a dad-beard — he was no longer stacked and he never would be. He wore the same ratty jeans nearly every day. He had on a red flannel shirt and a wifebeater underneath that, so he could take off the shirt if it was too hot in the house.
He knew a lot of females were intimidated when he did that. But he never hurt them, and he didn’t care about making them uncomfortable. If they couldn’t handle letting a carpenter in, they shouldn’t stay home alone.
He grunted and lifted up his toolbox. This was just a railing on a deck, that was all he needed to do here. It wouldn’t take long.
He could already sense that this house was going to have a single housewife here, and she was going to act like Morgan got pushy about asking her out even though he didn’t. He didn’t even flirt with women anymore. If this bitch filed a complaint against him…
He was already fuming about it even before he knocked on the front door. Bet she’d be pretty. Cocktease, but pretty as heckfire… Her name was Asian… Hmm-hmm… Pretty Asian lady actin’ too good fer herself…
The door opened, and Morgan’s jaw dropped. He stood there, unmoving and silent, his hand still upraised and ready to knock even though the door had opened.
It was a man, a very slim, feminine man with a flamboyant lilt to his voice. He had slightly dusky porcelain skin, totally smooth and unmarked. His body had an undeniably female shape, which Morgan couldn’t tear his eyes away from, but he was definitely a man.
“Hi. You must be the carpenter,” said the twink, stretching his long, smooth legs. Did he even shave those? Morgan thought not, they were too perfectly clean. Morgan wanted to lick them from toe to hip.
“Uh-huh.” Morgan grunted. His dick swelled in his filthy jeans. He readjusted himself as he stepped in, so he could walk normally. The homeowner — whose name was Kwan Tung — walked towards the sliding-glass door in the back of the living room, and Morgan watched his ass sway. He wore tight workout shorts which showed off his plump asscheeks.
Morgan’s heart raced, and he felt redness blooming on his chest and shoulders. He wanted Kwan so bad it hurt. He didn’t know why, it was just the feminine energy maybe. He seemed warm and soft, and he probably smelled like a woman and danced like one too, Morgan could just picture Kwan up on stage at the stripclub, pulling those shorts down to reveal perfectly plump asscheeks and a tight hole.
“The deck’s out here,” Kwan said. He opened the sliding-glass door and Morgan followed him out there. Kwan pointed to the wood at the base of the stairs. “So the railing totally fell off in that windstorm we had. It had been loose for awhile. I meant to do something about it, but I never got around to it. Now it fell apart. So I took off what remained of the railing, and I bought the wood down there for you to use.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that enough wood?” Kwan giggled and blushed. “I mean, I know, you can never have enough wood. Or at least I can never have enough wood.”
“Uh-huh.” Morgan wasn’t even looking at the wood or the deck. He couldn’t think about carpentry right now. His eyes roamed up and down Kwan’s body, imagining what he would look like without any clothes on. He probably had a tiny dick, Morgan thought, just an overgrown clitoris…
Kwan clapped his hands and jumped a little on his feet. “Ooh, did you want something to drink? I made some limeade last night, just to use up some limes. I don’t need that much sugar. You want some?”
“Yeah. Cool.” Morgan grunted. His dark green eyes narrowed to slits, again watching Kwan’s ass sway as he went back into the house.
Left alone, Morgan was able to think for a minute. He calmed himself. He was just horny because his wife wouldn’t put out anymore. He hadn’t fucked in six months. Actually, he realized with a fright, it had been almost a year. What was the point of being married if your bitch-ass wife never even gave you a handjob?
He got out his hammer and some nails, and picked up a piece of wood. He was still frazzled, but once he got started, he thought he could focus enough to keep working.
“Here you go,” Kwan’s delicate voice rang out. He placed the glass of limeade on the table on the deck. It looked cool and delicious, but Morgan didn’t go drink any yet. He didn’t want to go near Kwan and risk becoming uncontrollably aroused. Kwan smiled at him. “I’m just going to do my yoga.”
Morgan assumed that meant Kwan was going inside. He started work, avoiding looking at Kwan. But when he finally lifted his head — having started cutting the wood into shape with a saw — he witnessed Kwan’s ass, cradled by those tight shorts, high in the air.
He was doing his yoga routine right there in the backyard, on a bright pink mat. He wore only a light half-shirt that bared his flat belly and those short-shorts that barely covered up any of his thighs. His asscheeks were partially visible.
After a few minutes, Kwan got up and squealed. “Is that my phone ringing? I hear something!” He ran into the house, brushing past Morgan, who moaned quietly at the touch of Kwan’s smooth body.
Morgan found himself walking into the house even though he had no reason to. He grimaced. He didn’t know what was going to happen now. He hadn’t even put down the saw, which was still in his right hand.
“Hello?” Kwan answered the phone. He scowled and put it down. “Damn telemarketers.”
“Hmm-hm.” Morgan licked his lips and came closer. He put the saw down on the counter. What was he doing? He really had no idea. A part of him realized he wanted to cornhole Kwan, but much of Morgan’s mind refused to accept that. He would never cornhole a man (at least not sober and not in prison or in the Army or various other places where it was acceptable).
But still, he put one of his massive paws on Kwan’s delicate shoulder and pushed down. Kwan looked at him with big wide eyes, which he batted seductively at Morgan.
“Are you okay?”
Morgan cringed and his voice broke. “Please…?”
Kwan blushed. “Did you… need something?”
Morgan’s Western twang echoed in Kwan’s ears. “Please, man… I need somethin’ impo’tant, yessuh. A man gots needs, ya feel me? Real needs. If’n they ain’t respected, you know… I ain’t down wit’ nothin’ unbiblical. But, y’know… God forgives, yessuh, I’m a believer, yes.” He pushed down harder on Kwan’s shoulder. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. But his dick had never been harder. Morgan knew his words didn’t make sense, he couldn’t stop babbling like a moron. “I need summfin’, I got love in my heart. I got a wife, man. You know?”
Kwan still hadn’t gone to his knees, though he felt Morgan pushing him down. Kwan smiled and placed one finger on the bare part of Morgan’s chest, above the cut of his wifebeater. Morgan shuddered and moaned. Kwan smiled. “I’d never want you to cheat on your wife. Is there something I can do to… relieve your urges?”
Morgan grunted. His dick twitched in his jeans. “Man, please… I ain’t… It, uh… It ain’t…”
“But I think as long as you don’t mess around with a woman, you’re not really cheating on her. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah. Yes. Yeah, I mean, yeah, that makes sense. Uh-huh. Yessuh, uh-huh.” He pushed down harder and came so close his steel-like dick was palpable on Kwan’s flesh through his jeans. Kwan smeared some of the sweat that had collected over Morgan’s upper chest. Morgan moaned. “Man… I ain’t-“
“Hush, you don’t need to worry about that, Morgan,” Kwan said. “You’re a man. You have manly needs. Right, Morgan?”
The sound of his own name coming out of Kwan’s lips made Morgan moan again. His free hand — the one not on Kwan’s shoulder — touched the gentle curve of his waist. He looked so much like a woman.
When Kwan realized Morgan was too nervous to say anything further, Kwan said, “Morgan, I’d like to jerk you off. Is that okay-?”
“Yes! Oh god, yes!” Morgan pushed down on Kwan’s shoulder even harder, then added a second hand. He realized Kwan was still resisting and stopped. But he bucked his hips, virtually dry-humping Kwan’s belly and crotch. “C’mon, man, do it, do it, do it, okay? I need it. I need it. I need you, c’mon. You’re so hot. I ain’t like that.”
“I’m going to get on my knees now-“
“Yes! Yeah, c’mon, hoss! Do it! I need it so bad-“
“But Morgan, relax for a minute. You need to be calm. I don’t want you acting like a caveman and face-plowing me. Can you stand still like a good boy? Let me take charge?” He patted Morgan’s meaty side, and Morgan moaned loudly. His whole face was red, cock ready to burst out of his jeans. Kwan touched his dick through his pants and Morgan buckled. He had to lean against the kitchen counter for support.
“Yeah, yes, okay. Please, man? I need it so bad!”
“Good boy,” Kwan said softly. “Take off your shirt.”
Morgan let out a growl of frustration and ripped his wifebeater in his haste to take it off. His broad, hair-swaddled chest heaved for air as he was too excited to breathe normally. He was dizzy with desire.
“Do you have muscles? I only like to jerk off men who could defend me… you know, against, like… bandits, and stuff.” Kwan giggled as Morgan frowned but flexed his arms. His hairy armpits were bared, and Kwan sucked on each nipple, while his hands caressed Morgan’s biceps and triceps.
“Man… Oh god…” Morgan’s whole body undulated. His hard dick was painful now. He was sure he’d blow his wad the moment it got into Kwan’s mouth. He could already picture it. It’d feel so good rubbing over Kwan’s soft lips, spurting his seed over his face. Morgan touched those lips with his fingers without even thinking about it. His pinkie slipped into Kwan’s mouth, and again, Morgan’s knees buckled.
“Hmmm… You’re so strong,” Kwan said with a flirtatious laugh. “Okay, Morgan, you can take your pants off now.”
Morgan moaned. He raced to undo his belt. His jeans plopped unceremoniously to his ankles, and his dick popped out the fly of his boxers, which were soaked with precum. Kwan licked a trail from Morgan’s nipples to his belly.
“C’mon, man, swallow it… I need to get my dick wet…”
Finally Kwan reached Morgan’s crotch, and he hesitated for just a moment. Morgan’s whole body twitched. Kwan opened wide. He popped the tip in his mouth, and sure enough, Morgan’s orgasm began immediately.
As soon as Kwan’s tongue touched his cocktip, Morgan felt the most amazing pleasure of his life. He had to lean against the counter for support, and he gasped and bit his lip with such enthusiasm blood trickled down his chin. He sucked in his breath.
His whole dick was in Kwan’s throat. Nobody had ever managed to swallow his entire dick, not like this, with Kwan’s nose nuzzling Morgan’s crotch, Morgan’s cock filling up his neck and making him choke lovingly on its veiny shaft.
Kwan didn’t stop. He deep-throated and slathered it with spit, suckling like he hoped to get a prize out of it, while his hands stroked Morgan’s heavy balls and his thick asscheeks.
Finally a burst of creamy cum hit Kwan’s belly. Kwan didn’t let up, no matter how his lungs cried out for oxygen. He breathed the best he could through his nose and around the shaft throbbing in his throat.
The taste was warm and salty, sour and sweet and potent all at once. Kwan loved the taste of cum, and burly middle-aged blue-collar redneck cum, he thought, was the best. He liked how Morgan was unadulterated — he didn’t trim his pubic hair, he didn’t wear cologne, just plain unscented deodorant, and he had corn starch in his crotch because his balls got sweaty sometimes. He didn’t shave his chest, and even his scruffy beard was only there because his wife bitched about it so much he stopped shaving to piss her off.
He shot a massive load too, all built-up from months of frustration. Kwan’s eyes welled up with tears from lack of oxygen, but he refused to disappoint Morgan, so he didn’t pull off, even as more and more cum spurted into his belly.
Morgan’s whole body shook as he underwent the orgasm of a lifetime. Then he took a deep breath, looked down at Kwan as though he was done — though his cock hadn’t moved, and still throbbed veinily against Kwan’s tongue — and opened his mouth to speak. “Uh-” was all he got out, however, before his voice broke and his knees gave out.
“Shit…” Morgan’s red face shook as he slid to the kitchen floor. His cock slipped out of Kwan’s mouth only because Morgan lowered himself, shaking with every inch rubbing over Kwan’s cum-covered tongue.
Kwan let out a sputtering moan as he chased Morgan’s limpening dick. Every time he touched it, Morgan grunted and Kwan giggled.
“C’mon, lemme lick it clean,” Kwan said, and Morgan assented, though he twisted and heaved for air with every touch of Kwan’s tongue on his sensitive dick. “Hmmm… You taste so good… Your wife is a lucky woman.”
Morgan scoffed. His face was ruddy and sweaty. Kwan kissed his chest and his neck, leaving his lips soft enough to avoid giving Morgan a hickey. Morgan barely noticed his kisses, not even when Kwan’s cum-streaked lips kissed Morgan on his mouth. Morgan let Kwan’s tongue enter his mouth, while Kwan caressed his muscles.
Finally Kwan pulled off him. He stood, his bare ass just inches from Morgan’s face. Morgan felt another surge of horniness, tempered by the fact that he had just cum.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Kwan’s ass would feel like though. It looked so tight. Was he intact? He couldn’t be, Morgan thought, no way. He certainly didn’t act like he was intact.
Morgan kissed Kwan’s bare white asscheek, his scruffy beard rubbing against Kwan’s smooth skin. Kwan giggled and pushed his ass onto Morgan’s face.
But Morgan stood. He blushed intensely. He couldn’t believe he had kissed a man’s ass, literally. He sniffled and sucked his teeth like a macho again, and he shook his dick until the last few drops of cum slipped onto the kitchen floor.
“Alrighty then,” Morgan said with a grunt. “I guess I’ll go fix ya railing.”
“Thanks,” Kwan said. He watched Morgan go back outside, and then Kwan cleaned himself up. He could tell he was going to get anal. He could have done it right then and there probably. But he wanted to give Morgan time to build up more cum in those low-hanging daddy-balls. Kwan wanted to feel a massive load exploding within him.
He also wanted the railing built. That was a real job that Kwan actually needed done.
So he didn’t go outside until the railing was finished. Kwan knew the effect he had on horny men, and he didn’t want to risk that Morgan would wind up plowing him all day and never finish. It’d happened before.
Kwan put on a thong and a nighty that barely covered his torso and ended just below his hips. It covered up his crotch and his ass, but only just barely. He knew no men could resist him when he wore this outfit.
When Morgan was finished, he came in. Morgan had told himself he wouldn’t cornhole Kwan in the ass. Getting mouth off a man was one thing, but anal? Morgan didn’t think he could bring himself to do that, not even with a very feminine twink like Kwan. Outside of prison, etc. He wasn’t a booty bandit.
But he looks so good…
Having not actually seen him for several hours, Morgan was able to convince himself that it wouldn’t be an issue. He had been unspeakably horny earlier because of his wife constantly blue-balling him. He wasn’t horny now, since he had gotten the orgasm of a lifetime from Kwan already. He didn’t need to bust a nut.
When Morgan walked into the house though, he saw Kwan’s thong-clad ass poking out from that negligée he wore and Morgan’s whole body shook once again. That was a woman’s ass. Morgan really felt like he could look in Kwan’s crotch and find a pussy. He knew that wasn’t true — he had actually seen Kwan jacking off — but it sure felt true. Morgan could picture it. The negligée even made it look like Kwan had small perfectly formed tits, which seemed reasonable since he was small and Asian, if he were a woman, he’d probably have tits about that size and an ass just like that, and Morgan would be unable to resist trying to fuck her.
The only difference between that and this was that Kwan was not female. It seemed like a minor problem to Morgan’s dick, but his mind felt it was important.
Kwan was bent over by the oven, putting a load of sliced carrots in there. He had had them all arranged in a baking dish, but they slid all over each other as he placed the dish in the oven. He pushed them back into a single-layer, working quickly and gingerly because the oven was already hot. He swayed his ass back and forth in front of Morgan’s face.
“Sorry, I just wanted to cook these carrots,” Kwan said. He still hadn’t turned around, so he only knew Morgan was there because he heard him. “They’ve been sitting in my refrigerator for weeks, I wanted to cook them. They were starting to get floppy.” Kwan giggled. “I know you don’t have that problem.”
“Hm-hmm.” Morgan grunted. He came up behind Kwan, his jeans rubbing against Kwan’s ass. “Hey, uh, man, can I cornhole you-?”
Kwan closed the oven door. He turned around and blushed. “Won’t that hurt? You have such a big dick.”
“Man…” Morgan blushed. “Man, I mean… I’ll do it however you want. Man, please… I need it. I’ll cornhole you so right, man-“
“But your dick is so big,” Kwan said with a nervous, blushing giggle. He rubbed his hands over Morgan’s hairy, bare belly. “It’ll hurt real bad.”
“I’ll be nice. I’ll be so gentle,” Morgan said, his voice breathless and wavering.
“Will you lick it first?”
“Yes!” Morgan blanched. He had never licked any ass and wasn’t sure he wanted to do it.
But then he remembered how bare and smooth and perfectly clean Kwan’s ass was. He could eat that. It would be cleaner than his wife’s pussy, and he used to eat that all the time, back when he thought it might help his marriage.
“Okay! But you have to be so gentle! You’ve got the biggest dick I’ve ever taken,” Kwan said. That part wasn’t strictly true, but Morgan did have a big dick and Kwan knew telling him it was the biggest would ensure he was genuinely gentle. Plus it made Morgan puff up his muscles and chew on his lip swaggerously. Kwan pulled down Morgan’s pants and bared his dick again.
This time, however, Kwan didn’t want to do it in the kitchen. He grabbed Morgan’s cock and led him down the hall, into the bedroom.
“Take your clothes off, sweetie,” Kwan said. He handed over a tube of lube. “And put plenty of this on your cock.”
Kwan kissed his nipples and massaged his back as he did. Morgan hurried to take his clothes off, then used most of the tube on his dick. Then Kwan climbed up onto the bed on all fours, lifting his ass high in the air.
It was perfectly round and plump and juicy. Morgan took a deep breath — surprised to find that Kwan’s ass smelled like rose and lavender — before kissing first one cheek, then the other. Kwan wiggled his ass. Morgan’s dick throbbed.
He put his tongue out, surprised to find that Kwan tasted just a bit of salt, but was otherwise mainly flavorless. He could smell a bit of that floral soap too, but the actual taste of his ass was neutral. His tongue slid into the crack of Kwan’s dick and again was surprised at how tasteless it was — just a bit salty and musky.
The closer he got to Kwan’s asshole, the more Morgan realized it tasted exactly like a pussy — a clean, fragrant pussy, unlike his wife’s. By the time Morgan’s lips got to that tight hole, his hesitation had vanished. His tongue plunged right into Kwan’s asshole.
Kwan cried out. There was a burst of pain too, which was a surprise — Morgan’s tongue was massive, and he shoved the whole thing into Kwan’s small ass. But that was just because Kwan was surprised at how eager Morgan was. His soft tongue soon turned that pain into pleasure as it teased Kwan’s prostate and filled his ass with moisture.
“Oh god,” Kwan’s voice was high and wavering. He squirmed beneath Morgan’s scruffy head, which scratched at his ass.
“Hmmm… You taste real good,” Morgan said. He returned to lapping at Kwan’s ass, alternately exploring his insides and slathering his sphincter in spit.
Kwan gasped. “You’ve got the greatest tongue, sweetie. I’m nice and wide open now, you can ram me.”
“Oh god, thank you, baby, thank you, I need this,” Morgan said. He had never begged a woman like this. He still didn’t quite understand how Kwan could have this kind of effect, but he couldn’t deny how he felt. He needed to get into Kwan’s ass.
He spread his cheeks with both hands, eyes opened wide at the sight of that hole, which was tight and loose at once, stretched from Morgan’s tongue yet ready to clench tightly at a moment’s notice. Morgan rammed the tip in as quickly as he could.
Kwan grunted and shook. A jolt of pain ran up his spine, but Morgan patted him patiently and caressed his smooth back, which minimized the agony and made it manageable.
“‘S okay, baby, I’m-a make nice, sweet love to you,” Morgan said. His voice was throaty and moist. “Does it hurt?”
“Just a little,” Kwan said, his voice a faint whisper. He mewled and clawed at the ground. “It’s okay though, baby, you can keep plowing.”
“I won’t hurt’cha,” Morgan said. He felt an almost-uncontrollable need to plow as hard as he could, but he didn’t want to hurt Kwan. He wanted to experience every moment of this. He figured that, if he plowed gently now, Kwan would adjust to him, and then Morgan could go to town. He’d never been able to fuck a girl in the ass and have her take the whole thing enthusiastically. He could tell that Kwan would let him do that, if only Morgan could go slow enough until he was ready.
So he drilled his dick in, inch by inch, stopping every time he saw Kwan shake or shudder. Morgan was so excited to bust a nut that he hadn’t taken a breath since this began. When he started to get dizzy, he forced himself to breathe as he slid another inch of dickmeat into Kwan’s ass.
“Hmmm….” Kwan moaned. He reached behind himself to pour more lube onto his ass. That helped Morgan’s cock slide in, and soon, Kwan felt Morgan’s balls slap against the bottom of his ass.
“Oh… Ah… Uh….” Morgan was going to say something, but the pleasure coursing through his veins was too intense to form any words. All he could do was writhe and pump, grinding his hips over Kwan’s ass.
“Cornhole me, daddy,” Kwan said, cringing, his voice breaking. He sucked in his breath as Morgan began to pound. He went slowly at first, removing his dick in one long motion, and then ramming it in in a slightly swifter motion.
When Kwan moaned orgasmically, Morgan plowed a little harder. Kwan’s feet lifted off the ground and he threw his head back to moan. He clawed at the air in front of him.
“Oh… Oh…” Kwan’s face turned red. “Can I bite on your arm when the pressure feels too good, daddy?”
He placed one thick forearm in front of his face. The pleasure in his cock was so intense he barely even noticed Kwan bite down on his muscles and suck on his arm-hair.
But he could sense Kwan relaxing, his ass opening up, and Morgan rammed back and forth harder to compensate. He moaned, his baritone voice echoing in Kwan’s ear, as Morgan squirmed atop him.
Somehow — Morgan hadn’t noticed this happen — he was on top of Kwan, pounding away at his ass. Kwan was tiny and couldn’t quite support Morgan’s body, but he didn’t mind, he liked the feel of Morgan’s rough-stubbled chest rubbing over his smooth back.
Morgan pulled his face back and kissed him on the lips as he orgasmed suddenly, deep into Kwan’s ass. Kwan moaned and came at the same time, shooting his wad onto the floor. Kwan squirmed and gasped, kissing Morgan back but also nibbling on his lower lip when the feelings got to be too intense to take.
A massive load of cum drained into him. Kwan was shocked it was so big considering he had already cum once today, but Morgan’s balls were on overtime now that he had started plowing again. It had been so long. Morgan moaned directly into Kwan’s ears, and he left a layer of sweat on Kwan’s smooth back.
“Goddamn.” Morgan’s voice broke. A few more drops of cum filled Kwan’s ass.
“Hmmm…” Kwan moaned and sucked on the meaty muscle of Morgan’s forearm. “Hmmm… You’re an excellent carpenter.” He giggled.
Morgan ignored him. He kept on grinding his dick in Kwan’s ass, working out every last drop of cum. His balls were tightly drawn up against his body. Morgan’s whole body buckled atop Kwan’s back.
Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, and Morgan pulled off. His cheeks were bright red. His cock gleamed with moisture. Morgan was too shocked and a bit ashamed of himself to respond. All he could do was sit there on the floor by the bed and watch as Kwan cleaned his ass off.
“Oh you poor baby, you’re so tired,” Kwan said. He kissed Morgan chastely on the lips as he wiped his cock off with some tissues. “Do you want to take a nap with me? I’ll rub your back.”
Morgan was too tired to even say yes. He didn’t think he’d gotten a backrub since high school He sprawled out on Kwan’s silken sheets and let his muscles all relax at once. He was sound asleep from the moment Kwan’s delicate fingers touched his shoulders.
Kwan rubbed his back for a few minutes, then curled up next to him like a cat and went to sleep. He nuzzled Morgan’s bicep.
“Thanks for the railing,” Kwan said. “Maybe when you wake up, I’ll think of something else I could hire you for.” But Morgan still didn’t wake up, so Kwan just kissed him on the cheek and slept in his arms.
It was the best sleep of Morgan’s life, and his nap ended up taking all night and into the next morning. He awoke to the feel of Kwan’s soft body rubbing over him, Kwan’s tongue cleaning some of the night-time sweat off his chest. Morgan sighed and smiled.
He thought he might never leave here.

The Dad

Avery is after a studly baseball coach for a kids’s team, and he just might land his man! Once the game is done, Avery’s favorite dad-coach Gordon is in need of a little release and some affection, which Avery is eager to provide!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was at the baseball game at Dirkfield Park, but not to watch the baseball, or the kids, or even the parents in the bleachers. The strongest dad was always the team coach, Avery had learned that a long time ago.
The pattern held true today too. He was Gordon, mid-forties, rustic, bearded, thick-bodied and flat-bellied but not skinny, he bulged all over, like his body didn’t realize how muscular he was. He was good with kids. Judging from the callused fingers and the scuffed workboots in place of athletic shoes, he was some kind of blue-collar worker, but Avery didn’t know what he actually did for a living.
The impatience was clear on Gordon’s face. The third-graders were not capable of playing baseball to any significant degree. Not a single real hit had been had all night. Gordon shouted encouragement when they got close, and he futzed with the pitch-machine every few minutes, growing increasingly exasperated with it. He seemed to hold out hope that they would play some real baseball at some point, but that hope was eternally dashed.
“Okay, Jakey, run! Jakey, take your base! Jakey, we’re counting that as a hit! You have to run! Jakey! Jakey! Jakey!”
“Austin! You can’t sit down in the outfield, bud! Stand up!”
“Watch the game! Where is right-field, bud?”
“Throw it to second-base! J’waun! Second-base! That’s not second-base! J’waun! J’waun! You have to pay attention — J’waun, I’m sorry, I’m not yelling at you. Just… It’s hard to get your attention sometimes. Please watch the game… No, don’t throw the ball to me!” Gordon hung his head and took a deep breath. “Okay, J’waun. That was a good throw. But it also matters that you throw it to the right place.”
“No, I’ve told you a million times, no phones in the outfield! You’re supposed to be watching the game! Playing! You’re supposed to be playing the game! Watch for the ball! You might have to catch it!”
“Fox! Fox! Fox! Fox! The ball, Fox! Look at the ball! Fox! Don’t close your eyes! Fox!”
It didn’t help that it was a hot, humid night. It didn’t even cool down once the sun set. Even in the darkness, the humidity was like a swollen woolen blanket that filled the air and refused to let any heat dissipate. Avery handed Gordon a bottle of water from the vending machine between innings. Gordon took a long swig from it, some of the water slipping out onto his scruffy cheeks.
“Thanks, man,” Gordon said with a nod. His voice was croaky and crass, hoarse like he chain-smoked, or used to. There was a southern twinge to his voice, though Avery didn’t think he was from the south. He sighed.
“Good game, boys, you’re doin’ great.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “You’re doin’ real great.”
Avery thought Gordon was great, the way he milled about dumpily in his ill-fitting clothes (which occasionally bared a flash of his hairy belly or well-muscled back), his uncaring swagger and focus on the game, the work-built muscles — you could tell he didn’t go to a gym, at least not regularly enough to matter, but he must have worked his muscles all day every day. The one thing that annoyed him was that Gordon’s wife was there in the bleachers too. She was a shrill harridan with dark hair and thin lips. She looked drunk too, Avery could tell. She sipped from a thermos in a way that seemed more suggestive of wine than water.
Avery thought it was adorable how good he was with the kids. He was patient and supportive and he always remained positive even when the kids made error after error after error. He kept that wan, well-practiced smile on his face no matter what.
“Okay, Fox, that was… Remember throwing? We practiced throwing. You can’t run the ball back to first, you have to throw it. Remember your hands! Remember your hands! Remember your HANDS! Good hustle, J’waun!”
It wasn’t until the next inning switch that the wife went to Gordon with a look of fury on her face. She ignored her own son, and she murmured intensely with Gordon. Gordon looked hurt, his square jaw quivering. She wagged her finger at him.
Avery felt instinctively protective of Gordon. He wanted to help. But Gordon didn’t say anything at all, at least not that Avery could tell. This was a one-sided argument.
“Well, fuck you, Gordon! I don’t need you, and I don’t need this shit!” she shouted. The kids and parents all stopped talking. Everyone looked over there as Gordon blushed. His wife was drunkenly bold though, and seemed uncaring of being the center of attention. The parents looked away, but not the kids, who were halfway on the field and halfway off it.
Gordon said something softly.
“Oh go fuck yourself! I’ll make a scene! I’ll make a real big scene! I’m a drunk, everybody! I’m a drunken hag, and I’ve ruined Gordon’s life! He woulda been a contendah!” She cackled. “You’re shit! You know that? You’re a big pile of hairy redneck shit, and you can’t blame me for that.”
“At least he’s not a drunk moron shouting profanity at a little league game!” Avery said. He stood up and went to Gordon’s side. “Ma’am, I thought it was inappropriate when you tried to score coke off me earlier, but I didn’t want to make a scene. Since we’re past that point now-“
“Wha-?” She cocked her head to the side as though ransacking her memory. (That hadn’t happened, she hadn’t tried to score coke. Avery just wanted to change the terms of the debate. The other parents all clucked their tongue and looked at her with cross eyes.)
“If you want to go snort coke, go do that but don’t corrupt the rest of our children,” Avery said as the crowd of parents murmured their approval. “They don’t need to see you off your mind on Peruvian marching powder.” Avery had to suppress a giggle. Nobody here, he guessed, knew anything about cocaine or that ‘Peruvian marching powder’ was not real slang for it. They all nodded and furrowed their brows at her.
A few people hollered at her to leave. She blushed and looked around as though trying to remember if she had actually tried to buy cocaine off Avery. It seemed she couldn’t rule out the possibility that she had done so and then forgotten. Avery guessed she probably used coke — she looked like the type — and he was glad to have guessed correctly. Avery smiled, clutching Gordon’s side and feeling the coarse hairs on his belly through his shirt. “I really think you should go so the kids can enjoy the rest of their game without you bringing down the tone,” Avery said.
There was a long, awkward pause. Finally she belched. “Whatever.” She looked at Gordon and scoffed. Then she tottered away. She had only just gotten off the field when she turned around. “Martin, sweetie! Call Mommy when the game is over!” Their boy, Martin, blushed and looked away like he might be able to pretend she wasn’t his mom (he wasn’t even standing in the direction she waved; she was too drunk to actually find him in the crowd of children).
Gordon took a deep breath. “Thanks, uh…” He paused.
“No problem,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.” He addressed the silent bleachers. “Okay, play ball. And someone call the cops to report a drunk woman leaving the park.” He looked at Gordon. “What does she drive?”
“Blue hatchback with Delaware tags.”
“Oh a Delaware bitch? Never marry a Delaware bitch, Gordon. That’s Rule One,” Avery said softly. He laughed and clutched Gordon’s bicep. “She’s remarkably stable and nice for a Delaware bitch.”
Gordon snorted. “Where were you eight years ago?” He clapped his hands and looked back at the players. “Okay, play ball!” He said it in a much more masculine and authoritative way than Avery had, so the kids erupted in activity right away.
After that, Gordon’s team, the Lammerdale Lions, was at-bat, so Gordon had less to do. One of his assistant coaches hung out by the pitcher’s mound to remind the children how to hold the bat, while Gordon stayed in the dugout with the other kids. That gave Avery plenty of opportunity to sneak peeks at his ass.
“Are you okay?” Avery asked. It was blatant how the other parents kept sneaking judgmental glances at Gordon, as though it was his fault his soon-to-be ex-wife was a drunken bitch.
Gordon shrugged. “She always been a bitch, hoss. Don’t worry.” He paused and cleared his throat.
Avery smiled. “The game is almost over. If you send your kid home with someone else, you could stay and clean up with me.”
“Why can’t my kid be there for that?”
Avery shrugged. “You never know what else we might do. I could help you forget about your ex-wife. I have a couple tricks that are very effective at that…” He licked his lips, loudly and moistly smacking them.
Gordon turned to face him and his eyes opened wide. “I ain’t down with that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Avery was disappointed, but he hadn’t given up. A lot of guys said no right away. That didn’t mean the answer would be no forever. It just meant they needed to prove to themselves that they weren’t too eager. Plus, he thought, it was easy to say no when it was just a theoretical option. When Avery was actually on his knees ready to swallow, Gordon might reconsider. There was still five and a half innings left (though the game would be called two hours after it began no matter what, so it really only had about twenty minutes). That was enough time for Gordon to change his mind.
“Yeah, good hit, Jakey! You got deep on that one!” Gordon shouted when one of the players actually hit the ball. It wasn’t even a foul, it was the first real, actual hit of the night. Jakey waddled straight for the bleachers to tell his parents. “No, Jakey! Run to first! Jakey! Jakey! Stay on the field! We practiced this!” But Jakey ignored Gordon and tried to get his parents to congratulate him, even as the entirety of the crowd shouted for him to run for first. Everyone wanted to see an actual baseball play occur.
Jakey got tagged out before he made it to first-base, which was impressive because the first baseman failed to catch the ball and then spent two whole minutes struggling to pick it up with his mitt. So all in all, that play took more than five minutes from when Jakey picked up the bat to when he finally made it back into the dugout. Five minutes for nothing to happen, one-quarter of the remaining game-time.
Baseball, Avery thought, was interminably boring. If it didn’t exist and somebody invented it, everyone would say “that’s not a real sport, it’s statistically indistinguishable from doing nothing”. Avery really did not like baseball. But he had to watch a couple games as part of his idiotic P.E. class — he couldn’t graduate without it.
Not that he really wanted to graduate anyway.
He entertained himself by watching Gordon’s ass in his tight baseball pants. They were wrinkled and unironed, a light gray with a green stain on the left ass. Avery drooled at the sight of his plump ass, and was he aiming it towards Avery? As he leaned over the dugout wall, it kind of looked like he was.
Gordon loved baseball. Unlike Avery, he not only thought it was a good sport, he considered it exciting. He spent hours at the batting cages nearly every weekend; he watched every Orioles game and nearly every other major league game; he even watched the Japanese, Mexican and minor-league teams (he had favorite teams in every league). He owned all the gear and could recite all the stats for his favorite players. He knew every World Series victory, the points and the plays — he could give you the play by play of every World Series game, and he could name every player and their vital stats too.
So he did get very frustrated watching the children play, dropping the ball over and over, failing repeatedly to swing the bat and generally just making more errors than Gordon had ever thought possible. But on those rare occasions when a kid did do it well, when it all worked — when his boy had caught the ball and dived for second-base to successfully tag a runner out — it seemed like a magical sport. Gordon thought less of anyone who considered baseball boring. It was the most elegant sport in the world.
When it worked, it was like ballet, he thought, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
It was hard to remember its elegance when the children were literally tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the ball. Gordon also found it distracting right now because this sissy was visibly checking him out.
But he soon realized no one was looking at him — the parents mostly just watched their own kids. People generally assumed Avery was Gordon’s weird little brother. They didn’t notice Avery staring at Gordon’s deliciously unkempt ass, thigh muscles fairly bursting from those tight baseball pants.
Eventually the inning was over, and Gordon went back out to be first-base coach. Avery had to sit by himself and wait. He was bored and didn’t have a very good eyeline of Gordon’s ass anymore. He did have a bulge in his crotch too, Avery could see that, but it stopped being exciting after a minute or two (a minute or two of absolutely, totally nothing happening whatsoever — Avery didn’t see why sports needed to have times when nothing happened. That was so boring it made the technically exciting parts of the game more boring by contagion).
But before Avery found a place to sit where he could see the game — and Gordon’s ass — easily, it was called. The two-hour mark was reached. In the end, no one could remember if the score was 9-2 Lions or 7-4 Pirates. So the Lions told their kids they won, and the Pirates told their kids they won, and everyone was happy.
When the dust had settled and the kids were all gone, it was just Avery sitting there in the dugout, while Gordon collected the bats and balls scattered around the field. Gordon had sent his boy home with a friend.
Avery picked up some of the empty soda bottles left behind in the bleachers. He tossed them in the recycling bin. Then he came up behind Gordon and whistled at his bent-over ass. “Damn… If your ass was a Chinese restaurant, I’d have the pu-pu platter.”
Gordon stood and blushed. “I ain’t into that.”
“I know. But I bet you could use a nut,” Avery said. “Come on… I’ll pay for all your team’s pizza parties.”
“What?”
“You guys have a pizza party after every game, right? Why not let me pay for it?” Avery said.
Gordon’s eyes opened wide. “You serious?” He came into the dugout. “Man…” He hesitated, then came closer, to where Avery sat on a bench. He didn’t say anything, but he got close enough for Avery to touch his dick through his baseball pants. Gordon closed his eyes.
“You ever done this before?”
Gordon scoffed like that was ridiculous. His dick twitched in his pants. Avery pulled them down, revealing an overstuffed jockstrap with pubic hair bristling out of it. Gordon closed his eyes. “Not sober.”
“Hmmm… What’s that mean? You do it drunk?”
“Don’t talk so much, man,” Gordon said. “If you’re gonna do it, do it.”
“You get drunk and do it a lot, huh?” Avery grinned. He lowered Gordon’s jockstrap, revealing a thick, meaty dick. It was already beginning to get hard, making Avery think Gordon must be exceptionally horny.
“No!” Gordon rolled his eyes. He flopped his cock over Avery’s face. When he had first hooked up with the woman he later married — that bitch who made a big drunken mess of herself in front of everyone — she used to suck his dick all the time. Gordon loved it. He acted it out now out of habit — he gripped Avery’s head and drilled his dick in until Avery gagged. Gordon blushed. He didn’t know why he loved it so much when she used to gag on his dick. That sound just made him so horny.
So when it was clear that Avery wasn’t going to complain about that, Gordon smirked and slipped his cock in deeper and deeper. Sure enough, Avery’s moist sputtering and choking was clearly enthusiastic in a way his wife had never been. She did it because she wanted to land a man, and she thought that was what Gordon required.
But Avery wanted to do it. He did it because he loved the feel of a man’s cock sliding down his throat, despite Avery’s instinctual urge to choke on it. Avery actually loved the feeling of his throat constricting around a man’s cock, and he loved the wave of pleasure he could see run up Gordon’s barrel-shaped chest.
Slobbering all over it, Avery murmured and cooed. He made a big mess with all the sticky precum coming out of the tip of Gordon’s cock. “Hmmm… You taste so good… Your wife is a dumbass for leaving you…”
“Yeah she is.” Gordon’s scruffy beard hairs quivered.
“Is the divorce final yet?”
“Nah. She’s just livin’ with her sister,” Gordon said. “Quit talkin’ so much, man. Or if you gotta talk, sound like a girl.”
Avery used his high-pitched feminine voice, acting as flamboyant as possible. “Hmmm… How’s this? I wish I had titties so you could lick ’em clean… or whatever boys do with boobs, I don’t know. Can I suck on a finger, Ralphie-poo? I wanna taste every part of you.”
Gordon grunted and groaned. No one had talked to him like that in a long time. His wife used to some, but even more than her, an old girlfriend did it; she used to talk dirty, beg him to let her suck his cock, request that he not shower so she could taste his unadulterated flavor. It felt like no one would ever talk to Gordon like that anymore.
Somehow being a blue-collar redneck had gone from stud to ugly tubby lardass even though his appearance hadn’t changed that much — women just interpreted it differently now that he was older and still had a blue-collar career and his thick body didn’t have that almost-six-pack he’d always had. He’d gained about fifteen pounds on his high school body, but it seemed like so much more.
He let Avery suck on his middle-finger, which was dusty and warm, while his dick jabbed Avery in the face. Every time it touched his skin, Gordon gasped and turned a little redder. He couldn’t believe how horny he was.
And Avery just teased him. Avery chased his dick with his tongue, giggling when he got a good taste and it twitched, and just that tiny moment of tongue-to-cock contact made Gordon’s whole hefty body shake.
“Hmmm… Will you let me lick your balls? Please….” Avery asked as though that was a debate — no one ever said no. He smiled as Gordon plopped his hairy sac onto Avery’s tongue.
“Goddamn…” Gordon moaned. He was already on the verge of orgasm, so it was nice to get his balls licked for a moment. That felt good but it also delayed his cock, so he wouldn’t cum too quickly. He figured if he looked like he enjoyed this too much, Avery would keep following him around and begging for more.
“Lemme hit that ass,” Gordon said. He blushed. He hadn’t meant to request that, he just thought it and his mind was too horny to censor himself. His cock throbbed though, and all he could think about was pounding it into some tight hole. He wished he had let Avery beg — he might have been able to get some more money out of it. Gordon grunted. He leaned forward and slapped Avery’s smooth ass.
“Hmmm… Will your dick hurt? Will you be gentle with me?”
“No.” Gordon grunted, his country-boy accent getting more intense as he lost his inhibitions. He was actually from Boston, but the longer he worked as a small-town plumber, the more of a country accent he acquired. He touched Avery’s ass again. It was so plump and round, like a woman’s but not like his wife’s, like a different, better woman, not even like his wife had been when she was younger.
Gordon slammed his dick in. He hadn’t intended to take his shirt off. But once he felt that tight ass clenching around his cock, Gordon saw that his shirt was just going to get in the way. Gordon didn’t want to do anything that made this less intense.
“Ah, shit, man…”
So he dropped his shirt on the dusty ground and plowed in deeper. His wife had given up the ass a couple times before they got married, but never once afterwards.
His belly jiggled and he sighed. For the last couple years — for most of their marriage — she had never fucked him without complaining. She complained when he didn’t initiate it. She complained when he did. She complained when he hadn’t showered. She made him shower and brush his teeth and shave before fucking (shave both his chin, his chest and his crotch). She made him lick her pussy, which she never once shaved after their marriage. She made him do extra chores. He used to do them and then initiate sex, but she’d just add additional chores at the last minute, no matter what, so he stopped doing any work until she put it on a list before sex. He didn’t put forth a lick of effort unless he got some sex out of it.
But jacking off was so easy now; it didn’t take any effort. He didn’t need to do anything but focus on ramming his dick all the way into Avery’s ass. He didn’t make Gordon stop to brush his teeth again; he didn’t answer emails on his phone, he didn’t complain to his sister that Gordon’s balls were “too wrinkly”. He just bent over and took it.
Gordon sighed grandly. “Damn, man, you feel good, shit…” He bit his lip as an orgasm exploded within him, not even noticing that Avery was already shooting his own wad onto the ground. “Sorry, almost done,” Gordon said, his voice breaking and strained as he came. He didn’t even get why Avery squirmed, orgasming beneath him. He was shocked because his wife had never responded like that. Avery felt so good he screamed into the night air.
Hot cum flowed into Avery’s ass. The feeling was melty and warm, and it was sticky, coating his flesh with creamy goodness. Avery let out a long, low howl that echoed in the stone dugout.
It had been a long time since Gordon blew a nut. He jacked off often enough, but that didn’t keep his balls from exploding now with years of pent-up cum. Even when he and his wife had had awkward, tense sex before she moved out, it had been so difficult it never really felt right, like he got blueballs even though he did fuck her.
But now, this time, it made Gordon’s whole body tense and shake. Sweat trickled down his broad back and into the crack of his hairy ass.
“Shit…” Gordon let his cock slowly flop out. He sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall of the dugout. “That was awesome.”
Avery smiled. “I know. You do that real good.” He stood up, hands still exploring Gordon’s bare chest. “Lemme know when you’re ready for me to pay for a pizza party.”
“Okay. You ain’t gonna give me the money now?”
Avery giggled as he put his clothes back on. “If I gave you the money now, how would I incentivize you to come see me again?” He walked away. “Just gimme a call. I’ll come over and make you forget about her any time you want.” He paused. “Anytime I don’t have class.” He paused again. “No, anytime. I don’t care about class.”
Gordon looked down at his dick, gleaming with remnants of Avery’s ass. “Cool,” he said. “I’ll definitely call you.” He paused. “Wait, I mean… We got an afternoon game next Sunday. I’ll, uh…” He realized he probably sounded desperate and nasty, but he didn’t care. He needed to do this again. Avery’s ass was mesmerizing until he got his pants up and Gordon could finally look away. “I’ll call you then.”

The Stripper

Lemond is a stripper who needs a break… and a few extra dollars! Avery is glad to help out in return for a swing on Lemon’s huge throbbing slab of mahogany meat!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery had never been to a high-class bachelorette party. It was not at all what he expected. The bride-to-be was Daphne Jardine, a wealthy heiress to a chandelier fortune. Avery didn’t know her that well — she was just a friend of a friend whom he saw often at parties — but she had insisted he come. Avery only agreed because he hoped to see a stripper. Avery was a great admirer of the male form, and strippers often had incredible physiques.
When he arrived, however, at Daphne’s ancient mansion, Avery decided that wasn’t going to happen. This wasn’t that sort of party. People who owned mansions like this didn’t hire strippers. He didn’t realize Daphne was this rich.
A butler showed Avery to the party, which consisted of a half-dozen women drinking champagne. The decorations were present, everywhere, scattered expertly, chic and expensive, covering every part of the mansion, but they had a certain soulless quality — Avery could tell that some servant had put them up, not someone who actually wanted to attend the party. There were streamers and a golden goblet for the bride to drink out of, and the giftbag included a skin cream with actual diamond dust in it.
“Oh my god, Avery! I’m so glad you’re here!” Avery’s friend Mandy hugged him. She whispered in his ear, “Oh my god, Daphne has such a stick up her ass, it’s… like a whole tree.”
“Woo, we’re partying! Let’s bring out the cake!”
“Yeah! Oh my god, Daphne, do you know what your fiancé is doing tonight?”
Daphne sat, skeletal and grimly smiling — she was skinny and well-manicured, with brittle hair and a saccharine smile — and shaking her head. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me what men do on their bachelor parties.”
“You know what they’re doing…” Avery said with a laugh.
Daphne shot him an angry look. “I told him no stripper, if that’s what you’re implying, Avery. We are remaining loyal to each other. He wouldn’t do that to me.” She shuddered.
“Okay, sorry….” Avery murmured. He rolled his eyes. The putative stripper was the only reason Avery came.
But now, it seemed, she was opposed to strippers. As a servant of some sort — some sort of “games maid”? Avery didn’t know — brought them out a game to play, Avery considered leaving. This felt more like a child’s birthday party thrown by the servants than a real bachelorette party.
The music playing, Avery realized, was a nocturne by Chopin. What kind of bachelorette party played classical music?
The game was essentially Duck, Duck, Goose, but with little penis-shaped cookies — it might have been fun with a bunch of silly girls, a male stripper and enough alcohol that they were all drunk before beginning the game. With just Daphne and some other haughty bitches, none of whom would drink enough to get tipsy much less drunk, the game was a somber, annoying diversion.
There was a knock on the front door — the cavernous main hallway had an echo, so the knock was audible even in the party. Everyone turned to look at Daphne, but she just said to wait. “Velma will answer the door. I believe this is all the guests, right? Are we missing someone? No one else was invited.” Daphne furrowed her brow.
Avery sat in grim silence. No one wanted to start the next round of this utterly idiotic game knowing that whoever the new partygoer was would interrupt them momentarily. Avery looked among the women here — who was missing? Most of these women showed up to parties together, that was how Avery knew them. Mandy was an associated hanger-on who used to work with Daphne at her feminist bookstore, and she was how Avery came to know Daphne and the others. Now Mandy’s eyes twinkled in Avery’s direction.
The door opened, and in walked a tall, broad-shouldered black man in a fine suit. He had dimples like LL Cool J and light brown skin, with a broad chest that barely fit in the suit. It was a plain navy blue suit with an impeccable alabaster tie. He walked with swagger and a thick jaw, and the bulge in his pants attracted Avery’s eye.
“Daphne Jardine?” he said. He had a clipboard in hand.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been served,” he said. He handed over a stack of documents to her.
Daphne’s face turned into a bitter scowl. “I’m being served! You asshole! It’s my bachelorette party! How dare you?!” She called out of the room. “Velma! How could you let this man in? He’s not from the party! Velma! I swear to Christ, I’ll have your son deported-!”
“Daphne, wait! Wait!” Mandy got up and went to her.
But Daphne was in a rage, screaming at Velma in the hallway. Velma quaked and backed away from her. “Don’t tell me to wait, what is this? Is it that jerkoff from the City Council? I told him I read the code, his patriarchy won’t bring me down,” she said to the black man who had served her with papers. His eyes were opened wide like he was shocked she was upset. Daphne wagged her finger at him. “Are you a real process server? I’d like to formally dispute that I was properly served-“
“Daphne, what are you being sued over?” Mandy asked with a big grin on her face. She pointed to the papers in Daphne’s hand.
Daphne sighed and shook her head. “The city council has a bee in its bonnet about my store. They’re claiming that a bookstore is a Class D commercial establishment, but the definitions provided in the zoning code make it clear that Class C is the more appropriate fit. That’s for retail stores that aren’t everyday shops like gas stations. The examples given in the city code include a CD store — the zoning guide was written in the 90s — which is pretty much the same thing as a bookstore, right? Why would it-?”
“Daphne, look at the papers,” Mandy said, exasperated.
Daphne nodded and glanced at them, but it was obvious she was too worked up to really process what she was reading. She looked at the black man. “You! What are you still doing here? This is a private function, and you’ve done what you were hired to do, you jackal! You court-sponsored… hound!” Her face was ruddy, veins popping against the skin of her neck.
“Hey, lady, relax,” the black man said with a sigh. He straightened his tie.
“Daphne! Read the goddamn papers!” Mandy said.
“Now? I have lawyers for that, Mandy,” Daphne said. She finally looked at the papers and read the words. “I’m being sued for… improper use of party-related materials and utter craving for mahogany manmeat. What does that mean? I don’t use mahogany, that’s endangered, I would never do that! This inaccurate accusation will not stand! I’m being persecuted!” It was apparent she was still worked up because she said manmeat like she didn’t recognize it. She looked up. “I will be contacting the National Organization for Women and-“
The black man looked at her. “That’s right, but don’t worry, I’m here to work on both of those charges with you! I am… the Mahogany Miracle!” He shrugged his suit jacket off, and Mandy squealed, followed by the other girls, at the sight of his incredible shoulders straining against the tight fabric of his button-down shirt.
Mandy pressed play on an app on her phone, and the sound of pulse-pounding hip hop filled the air. Avery hurried to turn off the Chopin, though no one could hear it anymore.
“Wooooooh!”
“Oh my god, that’s so crazy!”
“He’s a stripper!!!!”
Finally it began to feel like a real party. The Mahogany Miracle — who later said his real name was Lemond — took his tie off and wrapped it around the back of Daphne’s neck like a lasso, and he pulled her closer to him as he danced. He puckered up as though to kiss her. He had good instincts though, and when Daphne frowned a little, he let go — obviously she didn’t want to kiss him. She was still fuming about the City Council’s zoning regulations.
So he kissed Mandy instead. She was coming up behind him, pretending for the benefit of the other girls that she was going to grab his ass. Then he turned around, took her in his arms and plowed his tongue into her throat and they swooned together like the hero of some romance novel.
Mandy squealed and grabbed at Lemond’s back. His shoulder muscles barely fit in that shirt, which looked like it could pop right off.
“Woo-hoo!” Avery danced with some of the more demure women, hoping to get the party going. Most of these women were too high-class to have ever seen a stripper before, and Avery thought they’d be more comfortable with it if they started off dancing with him.
“Dance with him!”
“Avery! Avery! Avery!”
Avery hadn’t even realized that some of the women were chanting for him to get the next dance — Lemond the Mahogany Miracle was surrounded by Mandy and a few other relatively bold women, while Avery and the other prudes danced in the other side of the room. Now they all began chanting for Lemond to come to him.
At first it seemed Lemond would refuse, that he would say he didn’t dance for men. But then he shrugged, took one step and ripped his button-down shirt off, buttons flying across the room. One button landed in Daphne’s glass of champagne, and she squealed in both shock and delight.
“Oh god…” Avery murmured to himself. Lemond had an impeccable chest, with big mountainous pectorals and a six-pack more perfect than Avery had ever seen. He looked good in his slacks, a big bulge plainly visible in his crotch. His chest was smooth, unblemished, gleaming with a few beads of sweat that had collected there as he danced.
Avery blushed and pantomimed a fishing rod, as though he had lured Lemond, who grinned and played along — neither could speak because the music was too loud. Lemond shimmied over to him, and leaned back to outstretch his chest.
“Body shots!” Avery shouted, and got on his knees right in front of Lemond. He put his tongue out, touching the firm flesh of Lemond’s waist just above his pants, while Mandy poured a bottle of champagne onto Lemond’s chest, so that it ran between his pecs and poured directly into Avery’s mouth.
“Hell yeah!”
“Body shots! Oh my god!”
That helped loosen things up. Avery was glad for that; it felt more like a party now, even if Daphne herself seemed glum. The girls took turns taking body shots off his chest, until those slacks were soaked with champagne.
Then he ripped the pants off, revealing his trunk-like thighs, toned calves and the sausage-hugging banana hammock he wore over his cock and balls. Avery’s jaw dropped — he had never seen such a huge package before. The banana hammock briefs were much too small for him, just like the suit, and if he hadn’t shaved it, most of his pubic hair would be visible. As it was, his heavy cock and balls weighed down the tiny spandex material so much that the root of his shaft was visible.
Mandy took her body shot with her tongue out, running over the round bulge of his cock through those briefs. The girls all squealed and clapped.
It was shocking, Avery thought, how the presence of a handsome stranger changed these women’s willingness to do stuff — he was quite sure that most of them had said they didn’t suck dick at a party last year — they had said oral sex was “oppressive to women in developing nations”; they certainly didn’t lick some stranger’s cock.
And now here they were, kneeling while a man whom none of them knew dragged his dick over their faces.
He was really very handsome, Avery thought, Mandy had chosen well. He was dimpled and charming when the music stopped, with a lilting, smooth voice. He came across like the streetwise older brother on a Nickelodeon kids’ show.
Finally, he let Daphne take that banana hammock off. She gingerly squealed, giggling, blushing, halting several times as she stuck one finger under the fabric and pulled it down. His thirteen-inch cock popped out, limp but meaty, and it slapped at her wrist.
“Oh my god! It felt like a leg of lamb!” Daphne screamed so loud that the “games maid” came to make sure everything was alright. Daphne held her hand up as though they were going to worship any body part that had touched Lemond’s body.
At last, the bachelorette party continued apace, and Avery felt right. Lemond flopped his dick all over Avery’s face — most of the girls hadn’t quite taken it that far, but Avery made it clear he’d love to. He even stuck his tongue out, chasing Lemond’s shaft as it heavily slapped him all across the face.
“Hmmmm… I’m not s’posed to let you lick it,” Lemond said with a wink. “My agency has a rule against that.”
“I just stuck my tongue out,” Avery said. “I wasn’t trying to lick it, it’s not my fault your dick keeps moving around all over my tongue.” He blushed, running his tongue from the root to the tip before Lemond moved on.
By then, some of the girls had passed out, or were nearly there. Even Daphne was half-asleep. Most of these girls didn’t really drink very often. A few glances of champagne was enough to make them sleepy.
Soon enough, the party was over. It happened quickly once it got closer — every time somebody passed out or called for a rideshare, there was one fewer person actually partying, which made the others more and more tired. Even Daphne “retired to her bedroom” with a guilty look on her face that suggested she was going to fuck herself with a dildo until she could forget about Lemond.
The only people left were Avery, Mandy and Lemond, and with the music off, all they ended up doing was sitting around and talking. Mandy was drunk, but neither Lemond nor Avery had had anything to drink. Lemond rolled them up a blunt with the weed Mandy had brought.
Before he lit it though, Mandy begged off. She said she had a headache and thought the weed would just make her throw up. She told them to go ahead and smoke it though.
Lemond talked about his career as a rapper as he lit it and passed it to Avery, who was entranced by that fat cock sticking to his thigh. Lemond, as it turned out, was more realistic than most of the aspiring rappers Avery had met — he wasn’t trying to be a gangsta, he didn’t care about street credibility at all — he was a kid’s entertainer. He had released an album of songs about counting, letters, body parts and colors. It had done well, he said — he didn’t make much money, but he was about to go into the studio for a follow-up, and this time, he had a much better contract.
“But for now, you know, I still gotta strip to make ends meet. This month is tough,” Lemond said. “There ain’t a lotta call for strippers in March. It’s been a dry spell.
“Oh that sucks,” Avery said. “I wish I knew of some more parties coming up you could strip at.”
Lemond shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. Lemme know if you get an idea,” he said. He handed over a business card. Then he sighed. “I guess I should go. Technically they hired me for another twenty minutes, but…”
“I… I have an idea,” Avery said. He licked his lips and looked at Lemond. “If you stick it in me, I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
Lemond looked at him as though his knee-jerk reaction was to say no. Then he shrugged. “Make it eight hundred.”
“Fine.” Avery considered haggling, but he could afford it, and Lemond had been so charming, he didn’t want to nickel-and-dime him.
Lemond sighed and leaned his head back as though this was a huge imposition and he was exhausted. Avery wondered for the first time if he had been working up to this — was he a hustler? He had been hesitant, yet willing, to dance for Avery all night, and now he was hesitant yet willing? If shaking his ass for Avery had been uncomfortable, why would he agree to plow into him? Lemond grumbled a bit, but it was too realistic, like Lemond knew the best way to get more money was to pretend he needed to be convinced to do it.
Oh well, Avery shrugged. That was part of being into rough trade, he thought, sometimes you got hustled.
“Your cock is so big,” Avery said as he picked it up with one hand. He sunk to his knees between Lemond’s legs, while Lemond lit up his blunt and took a deep drag off it. The fragrant smell of weed filled the air. Lemond’s dick was so big Avery couldn’t wrap his fingers all the way around it. “It’ll be a challenge to swallow.”
Lemond snorted. “You can’t deep-throat it, no one can,” he said like he hated having a big cock. But a smile flickered over his lips too.
“Well, I can’t wait to try,” Avery said. He let the tip fill his mouth. There was still a good ten inches of dickmeat left to slurp on, but Avery just focused on the tip at first.
“Man… I can’t believe I’m lettin’ a man jack me off,” Lemond said as he smoked on the blunt. “I ain’t like that, you know? Don’t fall in love with me. I can’t look, I gotta cover my eyes.” He leaned his head back and put one of his forearms over his eyes. He left enough room for him to keep smoking on the blunt.
Avery had to roll his eyes. This had passed the point of believability — Lemond was too focused on smoking weed to lie effectively. If he was really this nervous about being with a man, he wouldn’t be ignoring Avery to smoke the blunt. Who got off from a man for the first time, made a big deal out of it and then ignored it to smoke some weed?
But Avery wasn’t going to accuse him of being a hustler. He was plenty handsome, after all, that wasn’t a trick.
His dick firmed up in Avery’s mouth, but it was too big to really get hard without some serious deep-throating. Avery took a deep breath and used his own fingers to pry his jaw open the best he could. He let that massive rod slide down him.
“Damn, I never had a man jack me off like that,” Lemond said with a sigh. “You really get deep.” Then his whole body startled and he blurted out, “I mean, I never had a man jack me off at all.” He laughed nervously. “See, uh… Cuz it’s my first time.” His eyes opened wide as a visible shiver of pleasure ran up his spine. “Goddamn… You can get awful deep on there…”
Avery was an expert at swallowing dick. He had been practicing on loosening up his throat for years — he did exercises daily — and was glad to see that was paying off. He pulled off and hocked up a big mouth full of spit. Lemond watched with a cocky grin on his face. Avery moaned through the moisture in his mouth, murmuring, “Hmmm… I wanna taste your whole dick in my throat…”
Lemond licked his tongue. The clue was in his mouth, Avery saw, which was grinning and pursed, excited, glad to get a nice mouth, while his eyes showed the shock he was trying to display — he was a good liar, it was just hard to lie with your mouth. Lemond’s eyes had never been jacked off by a man, but his mouth was a hustler.
Saliva slid down his shaft as Avery slammed his head down. He choked but kept going, hands roaming up to Lemond’s gorgeous pecs. Soon he gagged over and over, producing more spit that helped lube up Lemond’s throbbing manhood, and his nose pressed into the shaved skin of Lemond’s crotch.
“Goddamn, holy fuck, you’re — shit!” Lemond’s voice broke, and he writhed on the chair he still sat on. His muscles all flexed and he grunted loudly. He dropped the blunt on the floor. Thirteen inches of stripper manmeat flooded Avery’s throat, stretching it and making him sputter. His jaw was sore.
Though Avery’s mind cried out for oxygen, he didn’t want to stop just yet. He didn’t mind his lungs desperation or the heaving, retching his body went through. The fact that this was slightly painful just made it hotter, he thought, and all the tension in Avery’s body was in Lemond’s too as he approached his orgasm. The only difference was that Avery’s lithe body twisted, while Lemond’s thickness flexed and firmed up. Lemond gasped and shifted around on his chair. Soon he was literally on the edge of his seat, licking his lips, gripping Lemond’s ears to keep his face angled the right way.
At last, Avery pulled all the way off and gasped loudly, hoarsely, for air. He grinned at the shocked look on Lemond’s face. “Hmmm… Your dick tastes so good.”
“I know, baby.”
“You wanna stick it in me?” Avery said. He turned around, still heaving for air and dizzy from lack of oxygen. He showed off his bare ass, lowering his face to the floor. “C’mon, I wanna feel you inside me.”
“Hell yeah, lemme in there,” Lemond said. He wedged his dick between Avery’s cheeks. “You feel how big that is? Huh? You gonna take that whole thing in there? I bet you can.”
“I can… You won’t be gentle, will you?” Avery asked with a giggle.
Lemond chuckled. “Not if you don’t want, baby,” he said. He aimed his dick for the hole as he smeared lube over the shaft — he had apparently brought his own lube. He bit his lip and slid the tip in. Avery grunted and tightened his body instinctively, before taking a deep breath and relaxing it. He sighed. Lemond slapped one asscheek, then he grunted like he had forgotten he was supposed to be reluctant.
“Shit, you as smooth as any female, I like that in a man-” he winced and cut himself off again. “Not that I ever did it before. I like — That’s why I was, y’know, reluctant, I wasn’t sure I could handle a man’s ass. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Cuz… it’s your first time?” Avery said with a tense giggle. He had to suck in his breath to relax his ass more and more, as that entire thick shaft slipped in deeper and deeper. “That’s good lube,” Avery said between gasps.
“Yeah, it’s Shaft-Slipper, you ever heard of it? Good stuff, it’s what I always bring to shows.” He paused. “With women, I mean. Women pay for, you know…” He shuddered and his voice broke. His dick was all the way in now, all thirteen inches throbbing in Avery’s ass. Lemond backed his cock up, slowly at first as he began gyrating his hips.
“Women pay you for anal? You’re an… anal gigolo?” Avery giggled. It was getting easier to concentrate even with that forearm-sized cock stretching his asshole, and he felt thin slivers of pleasure flowing through his veins.
“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, some of ’em, uh… really love anal,” Lemond said.
“I… don’t believe you,” Avery said, his voice hoarse and breathless. He slid his ass back on Lemond’s cock. “You cornhole men for money all the time, right?”
Lemond smirked but shook his head. “I swear, you’re my first.”
Avery rolled his eyes. “No woman pays to get fucked in the ass by a thirteen-inch cock.” He grunted, reaching behind himself to guide Lemond’s dick in and out. “Only a man would ever do that.”
Lemond grumbled without answering. He wrapped one of his massive biceps around Avery’s head, so Avery’s face was ensconced in his stone-like muscles. His other arm held Avery’s ass firmly in place. “Women love me,” he said, ramming his dick in, the entire shaft in one motion that made Avery howl with pleasure. “They’ll pay anything for my meat…”
Avery’s cock throbbed, precum dripping onto the floor. Avery’s hands flailed, the sensations coursing through his body so intense he couldn’t even jack himself off. He was impaled on Lemond’s rock-hard shaft, and the best part was how Lemond seemed distant now, moaning, groaning, but still just heavy breathing into Avery’s ass — was Lemond really enjoying this that much or was he exaggerating for Avery’s benefit? It was impossible to be sure. Avery squirmed in his arms, gasping, licking, sucking all the sweat off his body.
“Hey… I really need the money, man,” Lemond said. He whispered directly into Avery’s ear. “I’m desperate. You wanna gimme another five hundred bucks? I’ll admit it, you were right, I’ve stuck men before. I’m not proud of it, I just… I need the money, and I need it now.”
“Oh god, stick it in me!” Avery slammed his own ass back and forth the best he could, but he was curled up in Lemond’s arms. Lemond was motionless right now, his cock standing up straight within Avery’s ass. Lemond breathed heavily, his hot air condensing on Lemond’s ear.
“I will. I want to. For five hundred dollars… I’ll do something nasty,” Lemond said. Then he whispered right into Avery’s ear as though it was a secret. “I’ll give you a reacharound and let you kiss me for five hundred dollars. That’ll be thirteen hundred total. No checks.”
“Okay, yes! Yes!”
“You got cash?”
“Not with me! Not all of it! I swear, I can get you the rest! I swear! Do it!”
“Don’t mess with me, man, I’ll mess you up, and not in a way you enjoy,” he said.
“I won’t! I’ll pay!” Avery felt tears in his eyes. He wiggled this way and that on Lemond’s crotch, but he couldn’t move forward or back because Lemond’s powerful arm held him in place.
Lemond thought for a moment, then sucked on Avery’s earlobe and said, “Fine.” He turned Avery’s head to the side, planted his lips on Avery’s and his tongue invaded Avery’s mouth. At the same time, his hand wrapped around Avery’s cock and gave it a stroke.
Avery had never felt anything like this. He had been swallowed up by Lemond’s massive body, and all he could do was take it. He’d never taken dick like this. Lemond’s tongue explored his mouth, while his hand expertly ran up and down his shaft. Avery’s fingers clawed at his stone-like body, which Lemond ignored.
The most intense orgasm of his life smacked into Avery like a train. He would have cried out loud but his mouth was clogged with Lemond’s tongue, so all he did was whimper. His ass loosened, then clenched tightly as Lemond plowed in.
Cum flew over Lemond’s fingers and onto the floor. Lemond had been holding off on his own orgasm, wanting to make Avery cum first — he’d been doing this often enough he had remarkable control over his cock. Once he felt that first spray of sticky cum on his hand, he rocked his hips back and forth a few more times and let his orgasm happen.
Avery shuddered and sobbed — he’d never cried during an orgasm before, but the pain in his ass was so intense he couldn’t help it, even if he didn’t feel the pain — he was aware it was there; he couldn’t help but be aware of the biggest dick of his life throbbing in his ass — it was like a distant pain that was happening to someone else, and Avery could sense it but not experience it.
Instead, he experienced an orgasm. Red-faced and panting, he accepted every drop of Lemond’s load as he begged for more. Avery felt cum trickling throughout him, Lemond’s sticky wad jetting into him deeply, seeping into his flesh until Avery could feel it all over.
His tongue slathered spit over Avery’s face, which was a little sour and salty because he had been slurping on Lemond’s dick earlier — Lemond didn’t like that, but he’d done this often enough it didn’t bother him as long as it was his own precum. He did gag at the taste, but he knew that just turned some men on even more. When he gagged, his broad chest muscles all flexed against Avery’s smooth back.
At last, Avery fell limp, and Lemond knew that meant he was done. He backed up slowly, grimacing at the sight of his shaft stretching out that tight hole. It was full of cum, which seeped out and coated Avery’s ass.
“Shit…” Lemond said with a dry chuckle. He slapped Avery’s cheek. “I’m glad I did that, even if it was… y’know, gross.”
“Right.” Avery was breathless. “And it was your first time.”
“Uh-huh.” Lemond stood. He wiped his dick off and put his pants back on. He didn’t bother to put his pants on too. “I’m all done, man, I’m off. So… I’m leaving.”
“Okay, cool,” Avery said. “Thanks for the dick… Your first time.”
“Right, yeah, first time. I jacked off a man,” Lemond said absent-mindedly. He wasn’t really trying to lie effectively now. “Gross. That was gross. Cuz I never did it before.” He sighed as he got dressed. “You gotta get your phone out.” He snapped when Avery didn’t immediately jump into action. “You got PayUp, right? Go get yo’ phone. You best pay me. Lemond always gets paid.”

The Mandingo Bottoms

In pre-Civil War America, Master Taggart likes to watch his wife get it in every direction from the big black bucks he keeps as slaves. When one of them doesn’t cooperate the way he’s supposed to, Master Taggart has an effeminate slave climb on top and teach that mandingo a lesson in the power of Twink on Top!

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Master Taggart had less control over Desmond and the other slaves than he thought. That was because he had little conception of his own vulnerability — he thought that the slaves did what he said because he was a respectable white landowner.
But that wasn’t the case at all. Perhaps when it had first started, but that was years ago, before Desmond even got involved. Nowadays the Negroes of the Taggart Plantation did what Master Taggart said only because he ordered them to do things they wanted to do anyway.
Most importantly, he ordered them to fornicate with his wife while he watched.
Master Taggart enjoyed handling himself while his slaves fucked his wife. He loved getting close enough that their juices and their sweat splashed on his face, despite it making him gag and wrinkle his nose as though he disliked it.
Desmond had no interest in participating in that. If Master Taggart had told him to do it, he’d have made a good effort, but he would struggle to get hard. Desmond had little interest in women’s bodies, and he did not admire fornicating with them.
But that was okay. Master Taggart had no interest in making Desmond do that. He liked mandingos — big, horse-cocked Negroes with bulging muscles and massive bodies. He liked watching them plow and plunder his delicate wife.
Only she wasn’t so delicate anymore. That was what the other slaves said more and more often these days. They had enjoyed fucking her when she was tight and clean, but the more she got it, the sloppier her womanhood was. She had also let herself go over the year, and now had stringy, greasy hair and a saggy body, with tired eyes and yellowed teeth. Desmond had never thought she was attractive, but nowadays she was downright ugly.
“I ain’t gonna put it in that bitch today, she don’t look cleverly at all,” said Tyrell as they all walked towards Master Taggart’s mansion just past the plantation proper.
“Yeah, she too sloppy.”
“Nasty-ass too. I put my dick in her bottom last time and the whole thang slid right in. She didn’t notice,” Charles said with a rumbling laugh that echoed in the nearby woods. He was the tallest one there, nearly seven feet tall, built like a bear and with a great big smile. “I barely even got hard. I gots a freak to plow Desmond instead.”
Desmond blushed as everyone laughed at him. He was proud of his position, even if he knew most Negroes would be ashamed of it. He was a mandingo as well, in the sense that he had a massive dick, but he was not a mandingo in any other way — Desmond was short, skinny and weak, with a feminine lilt and a girlish flair in his mannerisms. Master Taggart only included him because he helped get Missus Taggart ready. That used to be a multihour affair, as she made up her face and her hair and tried on multiple dresses, while the mandingos hardened their meats in the next apartment. All that preparation was just so Charles, Tyrell and the others could make her wet and filthy. Nowadays she mostly didn’t bother to fix herself up.
Master Taggart waited with a solemncholy expression on his face, sitting upon the front porch of his mansion. He was excited to see them, and he jumped to his feet. Desmond went, as he always did, right for Missus Taggart, whose private quarters were in the back of the house. As he walked around the lawn, he heard Charles complaining about her slack womanhood, and the others chorusing their agreement. Desmond did not hear Master Taggart’s responses.
“Let’s get you lookin’s pretty, Missus Taggart,” he said when he saw her sprawled out on a couch. He still assumed that Master Taggart would talk the men into giving her a flourish. He always did. Lately they had been saying every time that they weren’t going to put their manhoods inside her because she was unpleasant, but when they actually laid eyes upon her bare body, their baser instincts took over, and Master Taggart didn’t need to be stern with them.
She was lazy. She frowned and nodded at Desmond. She had a faint mustache, and her overgrown womanhood peeked out from under her dress, which had grass stains all over it — was that the same dress she had worn last time? She was dirty as a punk, Desmond thought but wouldn’t ever say.
“You think that’s gonna humiliate me?! Negroes don’t shame that easy, Massah Taggart. I’ll do it, no problem.”
“Oooh, Charles’s on it now…!”
“Massah Taggart!”
The sounds of the mandingos in the front room drifted back here. Missus Taggart ignored them as she lazily brushed her hair a few times. She plastered on some lipstick and pursed her lips to get even coverage.
Desmond kind of wished he was up front with the others. He loved watching Charles fight, which happened often. He always took off his clothes for a fight, so Desmond got to watch his sweat-slickened muscles and his hoggish manhood dangling between his legs.
Every once in awhile, Charles let Desmond jerk him off, and Desmond would even get to finger his asshole — Charles was unique among the other slaves in that he loved having a finger in his asshole. He wasn’t even ashamed about it. He begged Missus Taggart to do it when he fucked her, despite the other slaves teasing him for it.
“Desmond! Get over here!” Master Taggart yelled.
Desmond shrugged. He looked at Missus Taggart, who lounged on her couch watching the sun set. Desmond sighed and went to the front of the building. After a brief delay, she followed him.
The other Negroes and Master Taggart had moved into the drawing room, where Charles scowled though he didn’t seem angry — he looked to be patronizing Master Taggart, the only person in the apartment who looked serious. The Negroes all smiled like this was a big prank.
“You too Sharon, come in here!” Master Taggart said. He smiled at his wife as she strode in lazily behind Desmond. Charles sneered at the sight of her. “This nigger here doesn’t want to fuck you. He says you’re too loose for him.”
Sharon sat on a chair. She smiled and looked at all the other slaves. “Fine. The rest of you will do.” She spread her legs, revealing a hairy womanhood.
The five remaining slaves exchanged nervous glances, then approached. They were younger than Charles so it wasn’t surprising that they were more willing to debase themselves with a loose woman. Besides, they were the ones who had loosened her in the first place.
She undid the plain strings that kept their rough canvas breeches up, and the room filled with the smell of their unwashed crotches. Desmond straightened his neck at the sight of five massive cocks thwacking against each other as she took turns sucking on each one. They raced to stiffies in seconds.
“Get offa my dick, Tyrell, she want me first.”
“She gonna get me, nigguh, don’t you get in my way.”
“Boys, let’s not fight,” she said. She took both dicks in her mouth, lazily sucking on each cocktip. She seemed to like thwacking them across her face so that those big brown knobs smushed against each other.
Desmond enjoyed watching, though he felt useless. Normally he had made her look beautiful, so watching the Negroes render her a nasty, cream-covered mess was a transition he loved seeing. But she started off nasty now, and it was possible she hadn’t even washed since the last time, so she might still be covered in dried cum.
“Charles, go on…” Master Taggart wasn’t watching his wife. He watched Charles. One of his hands ran up and down Charles’s broad back muscles.
Charles sighed and shook his head. “You think you hurtin’s me, Massah Taggaht, but you ain’t. Ask any of these nigguhs, I mess wit’s Desmond all the time.”
“Yeah but you don’t jerk him off!”
The other Negroes all laughed as they took turns dipping their manhoods into Missus Taggart’s hairy hole. Despite plowing her, they more closely watched Charles, who stood and stretched his legs as he approached Desmond.
Having heard what Charles and Master Taggart said, a part of Desmond knew what was happening. It made sense and it was precisely the kind of thing they would both do. Master Taggart would have thought that making Charles submit to Desmond would humiliate him.
But that wasn’t the case. Charles loved a finger in his ass and would probably enjoy more or less anything Desmond might do to his body. White men didn’t understand that kind of thing. They always thought of it as the height of utter submission to have a man’s prick inside you. Negroes like Charles didn’t see it quite the same way, a fact that Desmond had come to cherish because it meant men like him occasionally got to top men like Charles.
But as Charles actually sunk to his knees to get started, Desmond realized he had never been with a man like him. Their difference in height was extreme — Charles had at least a foot and a half on him. Desmond only stood as high as Charles’s nipple-line, and his entire body was skinner than one of Charles’s corded muscle biceps.
“Go on, Charles, jerk that nigger off,” Master Taggart said. His hands were in his trousers already, stroking his meat.
Charles sighed on his knees. He had to stoop all the way over to get his face in line with Desmond’s crotch. He undid Desmond’s leather breaches and then was surprised like he hadn’t seen it before when he saw Desmond’s throbbing, half-hard cock.
“Forgot you had meat like a big nigga…” Charles sniffed. He ignored the hooting of his fellow slaves, who barely seemed to be paying attention to Missus Taggart even as their balls slapped together between her legs. Desmond had grown to love that sweaty thwacking sound, the splash of their precum and her feminine secretions, the shine of their throbbing black cocks as they penetrated her over and over.
“I know, sweetie,” Desmond said, too shocked to think of anything witty to add.
Charles had a massive mouth to go along with his other body parts, so he swallowed Desmond’s meat easily. He did choke at first when Desmond jabbed into the back of his throat, and he wrinkled his nose at the taste, but he didn’t hesitate in continuing to swallow Desmond’s cock to the root.
That sent a shiver of pleasure up Desmond’s tender frame, as his hands fluttered. Desmond gasped. He wasn’t expecting Charles to do it with such ease and with such little hesitation.
As Charles teased Desmond’s meat with his tongue, Desmond straightened his back and moaned. He instinctually gripped Charles’s head with both hands — because that was what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off. He felt like he should hold Charles’s head in place and throat him, compete with the others on the sound his balls made when they slapped against his chin, paint his face with his precum — that was also what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off.
But would Charles accept that? Would Master Taggart? He walked around the room with his own white cock in his hands. He jacked himself off as he encouraged Tyrell and Wendell in their double-plowing of his wife’s holes.
Then he came over to Desmond, who spewed precum into Charles’s sour-facing mouth. Master Taggart stroked his chin and watched carefully, like he was an academic carefully scrutinizing test results. He massaged the rippling muscles of Charles’s shoulders, which bucked and flexed as he tried to deep-throat Desmond’s dick, and Master Taggart thwacked his cock on Charles’s neck and the side of his face.
What had begun as easy because Desmond was soft became difficult now that Desmond was hard. It was the only anatomical trait that Desmond and Charles had in common — massive cocks.
“Wreck his throat, Desmond, don’t be a durgen. This is supposed to be a punishment.”
“He don’t see it like that, Mastuh Taggart,” Desmond said. His voice was jagged and weak because Charles’s mouth was making him feel so good he couldn’t stand it. Desmond’s whole body roiled.
The other slaves laughed and confirmed it, but that just made Master Taggart red-faced and blustery. “You all are unchristian perverts,” Master Taggart said. “I should make you study the Bible again-“
“No way, Massah Taggart! That’s some borin’ mugwort, Massah!”
“You know bendin’s yo’s wife ovuh fo’s a bunch of niggahs ain’t in the Bible neither, right?”
Master Taggart scowled and stamped his feet as though working up a chivey. “You are all ruining this for me!” Gimblet-eyed, he looked to his wife, who seemed to be half-asleep, barely aware of the trio of cocks ramming into her body. “You most of all! Why did you have to get so loose? Why did you get so dirty?!”
“My fault? You-” Missus Taggart stopped sucking Tyrell’s cock long enough to shout, but then Tyrell pushed his precum-leaking meat back into her. She never finished whatever she started saying, and she seemed to instantly lose interest in shouting recriminations at her husband, who in any case was back to watching Desmond’s dick disappear down Charles’s throat. Tyrell’s manhood had a way of doing that.
“Let me in there too,” Master Taggart said. He stepped towards Charles’s face with his erect white dick in hand.
Desmond groaned. He didn’t like sharing. Charles pulled off his cock, looked up at Master Taggart and growled. “Massuh,” he said. “You asked us ovuh here to fuck yo’s nasty-drippin’s wife. That’s what we agreed to. I tol’s you I can jerk off this lavenduh nigguh, sure, cuz he pretty and he treat me right.” Charles wrapped one powerful arm around Desmond’s small, yet plump, ass. Desmond blushed and hugged Charles’s broad body. His muscles rippled beneath Desmond’s touch. Desmond’s hard, spit-moistened cock rubbed against Charles’s pulsating pectoral muscles. Charles leaned his head way down to kiss Desmond on the lips. That made Master Taggart groan, and Charles laugh. Charles spoke pot-valiantly, “So I gonna let this pansy make sweet love to me. That’s cuz I like him. I don’t like you, and I ain’t don’t like yo’s wife. So you can watch if’n you want, with that puny little meat, and you can even jack yo’self off. I won’t lose my temper if you get some of dat weak nut on me. But don’t you dare try to put yo’s own dick anywhere inside me.”
“Charles-!”
“Hey! A nigger is speaking!” Charles barked. He stood up as though he was going to attack Master Taggart, who turned pale-white and nearly collapsed. His knees buckled. Charles cleared his throat. He stood so his limp cock was right in front of Master Taggart, who was short enough that, on his knees, his face was at navel height, just barely above that throbbing, veiny slab of mandingo meat. Master Taggart gulped like he had trouble avoiding looking at it. Charles grinned. “I can describe yo’s birthmark, Massuh Taggaht, on yo’s ass, and I know if they check out dat ass, they gonna find it’s loose like you been lettin’s me plow you. So don’t make me go to the courts with that shit. Cuz yo’s wife gonna testify on my side, know that.” Master Taggart looked to his wife, whose mouth was full of cock. It wasn’t clear if she heard what was happening. Master Taggart blanched, and Charles placed one meaty hand on his shoulder. Master Taggart shuddered when Charles’s limp cock touched his thigh. “She ain’t on yo’s side no mo’, Massuh.”
Master Taggart looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. Tears twinkled in his eyes and he sniffed to avoid crying. Even as he was overcome by humiliation, however, he didn’t stop masturbating.
A part of Desmond was disappointed that Charles had stood up to him. He was glad that it had happened, but he was annoyed because he assumed it meant Charles would no longer do what Master Taggart said. The only reason Charles bottomed for Desmond was because he was told to.
It wasn’t a disaster, of course — Desmond bottomed for Charles all the time. It had just been nice to try something different, Desmond thought as he prepared to bend over for Charles’s cock.
But that wasn’t it. Either Charles didn’t realize he could do whatever he wanted — which was very possible, as Charles had always been beetle-headed — or he genuinely wanted to bottom. In any case, he got down on all fours on the ground, sticking his ass high in the air.
“Holy heckfire!” Desmond said, making Charles laugh. When he laughed, his body rippled and his gigantic asscheeks jiggled up and down. That sent a wave of desire through Desmond’s body.
Could he really do this? It was physically difficult. It simply felt wrong to line his tiny body up with Charles’s herculean frame. But ever fiber of Desmond’s being told him to do it, to ignore Master Taggart’s frenzied, humiliated sobs and to simply ram his dick in.
So that was what he did. He had to get up on his toes to put his cock in Charles’s ass, which was so tight he hit resistance right away. Charles bucked and grunted. For a moment it sounded like he was going to say it hurt and back out.
But he didn’t. He groaned and awkwardly stretched two arms behind himself. He spread his asscheeks. His powerful thigh muscles flexed.
“Tarnations…” Desmond muttered to himself as he slid more and more of his cock in. Charles’s ass so was tight that, at any given moment, it felt like he couldn’t possibly take any more dick. But every time Desmond pushed, a bit more slipped in, and another wave of even more intense pleasure washed up Desmond’s body.
As he began humping more and more violently, he slammed his hips in. That was just like Charles rammed him, as hard as he could, as aggressively as possible, like he thought Desmond was made of glass and he wanted to shatter him. Desmond had never minded because he liked being treated like that, but it was nice now to turn the tables.
Much to Desmond’s surprise, Charles had no compunctions, it seemed. He took every inch of Desmond’s dick, with a loud struggle at first, but Desmond had found the pleasure spot deep within him, and Charles groaned with desire with each thrust of Desmond’s cock inside him.
It felt like both he and Charles were nearing their climaxes when Desmond realized that Master Taggart had left the room. He hadn’t noticed that.
Then the door opened and Master Taggart walked in with a rifle in hand. “Hey-a, you niggers! I am takin’s charge of this sit’ation, you best believe that!” He pointed the rifle at Charles, whose asshole clenched around Desmond’s dick. “I am the white man here. That means that what I say goes, and I say-“
He stopped talking because Desmond plucked the rifle right out of his hands.
The slaves all burst into laughter. Missus Taggart hadn’t been paying attention because she was focused on the cocks thwacking over her face, but she realized what had happened and laughed as well. Master Taggart was confused at first. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the gun was not a magic spell, it didn’t give him automatic victory over larger men. He had to actually be willing to use it.
Desmond held the gun in his hand. He had never held a rifle. He didn’t even know how to use it, but it didn’t look like Master Taggart realized that — probably because Master Taggart hadn’t known how to use it either. At least Desmond was self-aware enough to know that he was ignorant about it.
“Stop blustering and lower yourself to your knees, Master Taggart, so you can watch me plow him,” Desmond said. He handed the rifle over to Tyrell, who had finished spewing his cream all over Missus Taggart — Desmond knew it was safer to give the gun to someone who might know how to use it. Desmond knew how to wear a dress and fix a white woman’s hair, not use a rifle.
Though Charles was up in the boughs about getting plowed, he didn’t find it easy. He had been scooting around the room as he was penetrated by Desmond’s big cock, and now they had ended up very near to the mandingo gangbang, where four Negroes continued to ram their meats into Missus Taggart.
Desmond always enjoyed watching this. It aroused a wistful feeling within him, because he always thought that, if he were were a white woman, he would be even sluttier than Missus Taggart. He’d just go live in the slave quarters so they could fuck him at every opportunity.
Slipping his head between her legs, Desmond sucked on two pairs of heavy balls as they slapped against each other. He watched those massive cocks slide in to her womanhood and her rear, just a few inches from each other. He buried his nose in the sweet, stinky flesh of his fellow Negro slaves — none of whom would have ever let him do this if they weren’t fucking a white woman at the same time. Charles was the only one who did anything like that, so this was one of Desmond’s few opportunities to get at the other mandingos.
As he watched frothy cum leak out of her and drip into both men’s swinging shafts, Desmond felt his own orgasm coming on. He lowered his head and planted his face into Charles’s meaty back, while Desmond kept ramming his cock in and out of Charles’s backside.
“Tarnations, nigguh,” Charles said breathlessly. He shot his own load into the palm of his hand, gasping and writhing beneath Desmond’s lithe body.
His orgasm overwhelmed him, and Desmond sighed into Charles’s shoulders. The sound of Master Taggart’s sobbing faded into silence in the back of Charles’s mind, while pleasure wracked his body so hard it hurt. He was dimly aware of Tyrell laughing as he threatened Master Taggart with the rifle, but that seemed very distant to Desmond.
He existed in a nether-state like that for what felt like forever, hovering with his cock in Charles’s clenching ass, feeling his mountain of muscle contorting beneath his touch. Desmond spasmed and shook.
Hot cum sprayed into Charles’s ass. They both sighed as it flew, spurting forth and coating his insides. It was thick and creamy, and it stuck to his flesh, clinging to his skin where it dribbled out and down between his asscheeks.
Finally it was over. Charles roared, sending Desmond back to reality. He shook the daze out of his eyes, slamming his dick in to shoot the last few drops as deep as they would go in Charles’s backside.
Then Desmond gingerly climbed down. His knees felt weak, and his balls hung low.
The other slaves were just finishing up with Missus Taggart, who lay sprawled out in her own post-orgasmic daze on the couch. The only person in the room who wasn’t satisfied was Master Taggart, who sobbed into his arms on the floor, too upset even to tell his slaves to feeze.
“You fuckin’ niggers!” He screamed through his tears.
“Yeah, that’s exactly the kinda nigguhs we is,” Tyrell said, and the others laughed.
They helped Charles to his feet. They would normally have teased him a bit, maybe a lot — when they lost bets and had to submit to each other’s cock, it was treated as humiliating, but no one treated Charles that way both because he was big and scary and because he had chosen it. Tyrell even slapped his ass in a chummy way, not realizing that that would send a shiver of pain up Charles’s back. He grunted in agony.
“Sorry, nigguh,” Tyrell said. “You looked like you enjoyed that though. I ain’t nevuh thought you’d have a freak to let a girlie-man climb atop you.”
Charles stretched his trunk-like thighs as they all strode out, bare cocks dangling between their legs. He smiled. “I ain’t think I’d like it either. But I did, sho’s nuff.”
“Yeah,” Desmond said, his voice sounding weak and tinny in comparison. “Me too.”
After a long pause, Tyrell added, “Shut up, Desmond. We all know you was into it. That ain’t nevuh been a question.”
“I felt you a-lickin upon mah balls too, don’t think I ain’t notice that!”
Desmond blushed, and Charles laughed. He clasped Desmond and held him close. Desmond’s face rubbed against Charles’s sweat-dappled torso, which smelled of sweaty manhood and funk. Charles chuckled out a deep barrel laugh. “‘Course he liked it, and he gonna like it again real soon.”

The Masseur

Avery visits the New Age healing spot of a hunky Native American masseur known for seducing married women. Luckily Avery’s got enough dough to get a little more than a massage.

Can Avery talk Johnny Redcob into giving up a taste of his alpha male meat?!

Read it now as an ebook!

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Avery nervously approached the trailer on the side of the road. The “Redcob Healing Lodge” was a trailer that had been adapted into a New Age center for massage, healing and enlightenment. It wasn’t in a trailer park, it was just a trailer in a dusty spot off the road. The land was Johnny Redcob’s — he had gotten a chunk of the land from the government when it was given to his tribe, the Towunkim. It did not look like a New Age center. It looked like a hobo encampment that could only attract one hobo. There were tee shirts and jeans hung up to dry, a beat-up acoustic guitar slowly rotting in the rain and a dismal arrangement of mismatched lawn furniture.
New Age culture was not Avery’s cup of tea, so the lack of an authentic New Age vibe was not a problem for him. More than one of his friends had gone the New Age route. He never saw the appeal. It seemed like bullshit to him, or considering that he was in New Mexico, maybe he should say it seemed like muleshit to him. His friends swore that positive visualization and crystal energy would get him into a more exciting, successful life.
But in the end, Avery had found success with a massage parlor back in West Virginia, and he used the real world, the “old” age, to do it. His friends were still meditating on crystal balls and promising themselves a glorious future. Meanwhile Avery was opening a new location and looking into a flower shop as well.
When Avery knocked on the rickety door to the trailer, he heard shuffling from inside. Something clattered to the floor.
“Hang on, Nancy! I’ll be right there!”
The door opened. Johnny Redcob was shirtless, exactly as he had been described to Avery: a tan-horse stallion, broad-shouldered, bronzed like a sun-aged statue, flat belly rippling with muscle, long flowing hair extending well past his smooth neck. He smelled of sunshine and sagegrass, and his caramel brown eyes sent a thrill up Avery’s spine.
“Oh. You’re not Nancy.” His voice was low and rumbling like gathering stormclouds of sultry silk. When his mouth opened, a breeze picked up and sent a few stray strands of his hair aloft. The wind smelled of meadows and leaf litter, a heady mixture of sunshiney brightness and earthy rot. Johnny Redcob frowned at Avery and ran his fingers through his hair.
“No, sorry, I’m Avery Flowers,” he said. “I heard you give a mean massage. I can pay. What’s your normal rate? Two hundred dollars? Here.” He handed over the money before Johnny Redcob could answer.
Johnny Redcob frowned again, but Avery smiled like he didn’t notice. Avery knew very well what was going on here. Johnny Redcob purported to be a New Age healer and masseur, but that was almost entirely a cover for his real passion: seducing married, mainly white, women. Nancy must have been his latest conquest, Avery thought.
When Johnny Redcob did accept real money in exchange for an actual massage — as opposed to just using that as an excuse to get a woman away from her husband — he did not charge anywhere’s near two hundred dollars. That was a deliberate choice on Avery’s part, to make sure that Johnny Redcob would let him in. Avery could afford it.
“Yes. That is correct,” Johnny Redcob said, his voice flat and grim. “Two hundred dollars. That is my normal rate.” He paused, then angled his body away. “Come in.”
There were a few beads of sweat clinging to his chest. He inhaled deeply of the man’s musky scent as he walked in. It was nose-wrinkling, fresh yet dirty, stale and clean and sweet all at once. It made Avery want to lick his broad chest clean. Inside the trailer, it smelled like incense, with potent clouds of patchouli and sweetgrass filling the air.
“So, Johnny, do you do good business here?”
He scoffed. “It is okay.” He washed his hands at the sink, then relit an incense stick that had gone out. He set up a fold-out massage table and motioned for Avery to climb up it. “Take off your shirt,” he said. “And your pants if you wish for me to massage your thighs as well.” He frowned like he hoped Avery would decline a thigh massage.
“I do,” Avery said. “Thanks so much for this, by the way. I’m traveling through New Mexico and my normal massage guy is back in West Virginia.” A long silence drifted through the trailer like a tumbleweed as Avery took his clothes off. He felt skinny and weak in comparison to Johnny, whose muscles shifted with every step he took, as though it required every scrap of muscle he had to take a single step. Johnny Redcob seemed oversized in the cramped trailer, like he had been built for one much bigger than this.
Johnny Redcob turned on a CD player, but what came out of the speakers was loud hard rock. It was a driving, dirty rhythm that Johnny Redcob turned off. “Sorry,” he said as he changed the CD. “I forgot who was here last.” He turned it back on, and bird sounds came from the speakers. That was followed by some slowly rising New Age music, building in waves and eddies, gradually growing to a crescendo over the next few minutes.
Avery climbed onto the massage table. It smelled very feminine. He could tell that few or no men had used it. He settled down with his face in the hole in the headrest. He wore only his boxers, making him feel vulnerable beneath the grasp of Johnny Redcob’s bear-like paws.
The massage was not the point of this visit, but still, it did feel good. Johnny Redcob was hesitant at first — probably because he wasn’t used to massaging either men or strangers. But once his hands started moving, he relaxed somewhat. He had been a trained, licensed masseur at one point; he’d simply let his license expire years ago.
“So, do you share this place with a girlfriend, Johnny?”
He bristled. “I do not have a girlfriend.”
“Oh? A big handsome lug like you… You must have girls? They probably follow you around like ducklings.”
“Not exactly,” Johnny Redcob said. He flared his nostrils and worked his hands lower on Avery’s back, massaging his hips and his spine. “I… I do know some women.”
“I figured as much.”
“Are you married, Mr. Flowers? Girlfriend?” It sounded like he didn’t really want to ask but felt compelled to make small-talk. He also would rather talk about Avery than himself. He was close enough that Avery could feel his hot breath on his back.
“Please, call me Avery, and no, I’m not married,” Avery said.
“I see.”
“So you’re not in any kind of a committed relationship?” Avery asked.
“No. I am alone. I practice a life of solitude and reflection,” Johnny Redcob said, his words framed by the chirping words and swelling strings of the New Age music pouring out of the speakers. His hair seemed always to be blowing in a breeze, though Avery did not see or feel a fan in the trailer. He seemed to want to say more, and Avery waited for what felt like a long time. Johnny Redcob’s hands continued their movement on Avery’s smooth back, while Avery imagined all the things Johnny Redcob wasn’t saying. Then, at last, he dragged a few words out of the canyon of his throat. “I am not a prairie, I am a mountain,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.
“You sound like you need… a soft touch,” Avery said. He turned his face to the side and opened his mouth. “I can help with that.” He licked his lips seductively and wiggled his ass. “I am a great admirer of the male physique, and yours is one of the best I’ve seen. I’d love to appreciate it closer.” He licked the air in front of his face, just in case Johnny Redcob was too dense to pick up what Avery had put down.
Johnny Redcob stopped massaging for a moment, his hands resting on Avery’s thighs. “That is not necessary.”
“Why don’t you see how much money is in my wallet?” Avery said. He pointed to his pants, crumpled up on the floor. “You can have all the cash that’s in there. I’ll jerk you off. I do it real good.”
Johnny Redcob hesitated. His hands hovered over Avery’s upper thigh, very close to his cock and balls which rested between his legs. Avery couldn’t see because his head was still aimed through the opening in the headrest.
A surge of anxiety went through Johnny, who was in desperate need of money and was struck by ambivalence about the strange man’s offer. He had been furiously brainstorming ideas to make money when this man had appeared. So he was not about to refuse now.
He went to the wallet and opened it up. His eyes bugged out for a moment. He had already received two hundred dollars, but now he pulled out another three hundred. He sighed and folded the money up into his jeans pocket. That was too much to refuse.
Johnny Redcob wrinkled his nose. This would not be the first time Johnny Redcob made money with his cock.
“You are just passing through this town? You are not staying?” Johnny Redcob wouldn’t want anyone to find out he had done this — not for free and certainly not for money.
Avery sat up. “There is not much in New Mexico that could force me to stay here for longer than a day or two,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about that. I don’t know anyone here, and I probably won’t meet anyone either. It’ll be our little secret.” He batted his eyelashes.
“I see,” he said gruffly. His eyes were downcast. His muscles had tensed up.
“Do you want a massage?”
“What?”
“Who massages the masseur? If you want, I’ll rub your back,” Avery said.
Johnny Redcob scowled. His strong jaw quivered like he was going to say no, but then he sighed and agreed. He replaced Avery on the massage table, which he was too tall for. His feet dangled off the end, and his shoulders were too broad as well, so he had to grip the side of the cushioned table with both hands so his arms didn’t dangle. He looked like an overstuffed meal. His muscles shone brilliantly, all ruddy and tan, nervous sweat dripping down him.
The lines of Johnny’s meaty back curved and flexed as he got into position. There were still a few beads of moisture there, which Avery made sure not to disturb at first. Once his hands had begun massaging the muscle of Johnny’s back, Avery leaned down and sucked up every drop of sweat he could get to.
It was salty and sweet, a little sour, a lot salty. The taste brought tears to Avery’s eyes. There was something intensely distinct about it, something floral and musky, like he had burned so much of the potpourri-scented incense that it had seeped into his flesh. Avery’s tongue snaked down to the small of Johnny’s back, just above his firm asscheeks.
Johnny Redcob didn’t respond. His back was flexed and hard like stone, and he groaned like the massage felt good, but he didn’t relax even for a moment. That wasn’t a problem for Avery, who loved muscles anyway. He enjoyed caressing his rock-hard body, feeling the warmth of his recently-worked limbs and back.
His ass was hugged by tight jeans. There was no way to lower them with Johnny Redcob laying on his belly, so Avery had him roll over. He hesitated at first as though he was going to refuse.
But then he did, and his strapping chest muscles were just as hard as his back, just as meaty and inviting. Since he hadn’t complained before, Avery lowered his head and again sucked off his sweat where it collected in between his mountainous pectoral muscles. He traced a trail down the center of Johnny’s flat, hairless belly with his tongue.
His flesh quivered and trembled as though he was either ticklish or nervous about being licked by a man. It had to be the latter, Avery thought, whoever heard of a ticklish Native American?! He threw his head back and closed his eyes, while Avery’s hands undid his belt and then slowly worked his jeans down. Beneath that he wore plain white boxers, perfectly clean, made of silk and with the Arrizzini brand stitched onto the waist.
“Arrizzini silk boxers?” Avery asked. He was surprised to see a low-rent healer and masseur in such fancy underwear — they probably cost a thousand dollars or more. “Those are nice.”
“They were a gift from… Well, they were a gift,” Johnny Redcob said. He covered his eyes with his muscled forearm while Avery pulled the boxers off. Johnny’s massive cock flopped out, still limp but inviting and tasty-looking. Avery carefully folded those boxers and placed them on the nearby couch.
“From a lover?” Avery asked. He imagineed Johnny Redcob with some wealthy older woman who showered him with gifts.
Johnny Redcob flared his nostrils. He didn’t answer. He bit his lip a few seconds later, when Avery wrapped his hand around Johnny’s thick prick. A loud groan escaped from his lips.
Despite his apparent discomfort, as soon as his dick began to perk up in Avery’s hand, Johnny Redcob clearly enjoyed himself. He closed his eyes and moaned. His dick was floppy and thick, meaty like an uncooked sausage at first. But within a few seconds, it was as hard and throbbingly veiny as the rest of Johnny Redcob’s shining bark-brown body.
It stood straight up from Johnny’s crotch, the jet-black pubic hair neatly trimmed, his cock pulsating in Avery’s hands. Johnny Redcob winced as though it hurt at first, but soon he removed the forearm blocking his eyes. He kept his eyes closed at first like a little boy scared to watch a horror movie.
“This feels very good, Mr. Flowers,” Johnny Redcob said, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. He sounded polite, like he thought he was obligated to compliment Avery’s skills.
“Johnny… Call me Avery,” he said, speeding up his stroking of Avery’s dick.
“I would… I would rather not,” Johnny Redcob said. “You are my client. I feel we should remain professional.” His eyes fluttered open. He strained to sit up, his six-pack abs flexing as he did so. He rested on his elbows on the massage table, looking down as his dick which disappeared beneath both of Avery’s hands. He was broad enough he struggled to fit on the massage table at all, and he had to wrench his elbows underneath his back to rest his weight on them.
Avery giggled. “Okay, whatever. I’m going to jerk you off now, okay? I bet your girlfriends don’t deepthroat you very often, do they? Girls suck at sucking cock.”
Before Johnny Redcob could answer — he opened his mouth to say something but was cut off — Avery dived down onto his dick. It tasted like a desert sunset, warm and inviting, with a taste like salty sand until the first drops of sweet and sour precum leaked out. It was bright and clean and it made Avery moan with desire. This, he thought, was exactly what he hoped Johnny Redcob would taste like.
A loud howl of desire escaped from Johnny’s lips, but once again, he cut the sound off. Instead he forced himself to grunt, to pretend he found this satisfactory but not really pleasurable. It was obvious from the cascading constellation of expressions on his face, however, that this was the best dome he’d received in some time.
Hoping to impress Johnny, Avery forced his head all the way down, until his nose collided withJohnny’s dense nest of trimmed pubic hairs. He slathered spit up and down that throbbing shaft, letting it drip down and soak his inner thighs.
“Ah, yes…” Johnny Redcob threw his head back again, still resting on his elbows. He licked his lips. His long black hair reached all the way to the massage table beneath him.
A cell phone chirped. At first neither of them reacted. Avery focused on deep-throating the best he could, ignoring his own choking as he shoved that massive prick down his throat. He loved the struggle to swallow alpha cockmeat, and he loved watching big men like Johnny Redcob react.
Johnny Redcob reached for his pants on the floor, but the feelings roiling his body made it hard to concentrate. Johnny Redcob rumbled and grunted. His dick twitched within Avery’s mouth.
“Lemme get that…” Johnny’s voice trailed off and he lost interest. After another few chirps of the phone, however, he reached down and picked it up. He sighed. He answered it, his voice breaking as he let out a shudder of intense pleasure. The precum flowed freely into Avery’s mouth. “Nancy?” He bit his lip and rumbled, Avery’s tongue caressing the underside of Johnny’s cockshaft. “Hello. Yes. I am okay. I just… I dropped something on my foot.” His voice sound tense and clipped.
Avery loved teasing men. Now that Johnny Redcob was on the phone with one of his girlfriends — probably a married chick — Avery suckled on his cock noisily. He hocked up a big ball of spit, let it run down the shaft and then sucked it back up, making a loud, moist sound like someone trying to use a straw to get at the last bit of coke in the bottom of a cup.
“I do not know. He is your husband, Nancy, I can not solve this for you. Tell him to advertise his business. That is what I do,” he paused and blanched, groaning again. “It is a real business. I have a client here right now. His name is Mr. Flowers. Yes. That is what I dropped on my foot, his briefcase.”
His tongue traveled down Johnny’s shaft to his moist cocktip, where the taste of salty precum was fresh and springlike. Avery moved back down the top of the shaft, encircling it with his tongue and licking the entire slab of meat.
Then he moved even lower. He licked Johnny’s hairy ballsack, and allowed each ball to fall in his mouth. He suckled on them each separately and then together, gurgling and looking up at Johnny Redcob in the eye. That made him blanch and look away again.
“I am sorry, Nancy. I can not talk now. I have a client,” Johnny Redcob said. “If you are busy, you do not need to come over today. I have… I have many clients today.” He paused and sighed. “No, Nancy, they are not all women I have sex with. Mr. Flowers is not a woman I have sex with! He is real! Do you want to hear his voice?”
He held the phone up, and Avery pulled off his balls. He had to pause for a moment to gather up his focus — he wanted to sound like a professional businessman, which he was. He cleared his throat. “I am paying for your time, Mr. Redcob. Please do not waste my money with a phone call to your girlfriend. I am a very busy man.” He added, “I am a businessman-” thinking it would make him sound like a professional, but it just made him sound like a child playing at being a grownup. He blushed. That part, he thought, was accurate — Avery was a businessman.
“Yes, see, Nancy? I have to go.” He was about to hang up the phone, then stopped himself. He whispered as though this next part was a secret. “Yes. I will go to the school, I will see his play. I will be proud of… the boy. I will see you there. Tell your husband I am the school’s cultural sensitivity advisor. Goodbye, Vanilla Tits.” Johnny Redcob glanced at Avery like he was uncomfortable with whatever pet name his girlfriend called him — Avery couldn’t hear, but from context he guessed it was something equivalent to vanilla-tits, like caramel-cock. Johnny’s skin was a creamy, caramel-like nut-brown, so it made sense. He hung up the phone and tossed it onto his pile of clothes on the floor.
“Was that your girlfriend?” Avery asked. He kept on stroking, using both hands. He wiped his lips off. He fully intended to get Johnny’s cock in his ass, but he hadn’t actually agreed to that, so he needed to finesse it just right to make it happen.
“She is not my girlfriend,” Johnny Redcob said. He did not proffer a preferred term to describe her.
“I see. You do have sex with her?”
“You are my client, not my therapist,” Johnny Redcob said. “If you are going to get me off, put your mouth on it.”
“I bet your dick would feel good in my ass,” Avery said with a grin. “I don’t have any more cash, but I can write you a check for five hundred dollars. Do you trust me that it will clear, Mr. Redcob?”
Johnny Redcob hesitated. His dick twitched beneath Avery’s grasp. Johnny Redcob frowned. “I do not trust you,” he said. “You must write me a check for five hundred and fifty dollars. I will take it to a check-cashing place. They will take it. The fifty dollars will cover the fee.”
That seemed like a hefty fee, but Avery had been wealthy enough for a long time that he didn’t know what a more normal fee was. Was that typical for a check-cashing joint? Sounds like a good business to be in, Avery thought. He nodded. “Fine,” he said. Without letting go of Johnny’s cock, he pulled his checkbook out of his pants pocket and handed it to Johnny. “You fill it out. I’ll sign it.”
As Johnny Redcob wrote his name on the check, Avery bent over in front of him. Johnny Redcob got off the massage table, his rock-hard dick sticking straight out. He ignored Avery, who stuck his ass in the air and backed up into Johnny’s crotch. That hot dick rubbed between Avery’s cheeks.
Since Johnny Redcob didn’t respond right away — finishing up writing the check — Avery had to reach behind himself to aim Johnny’s dick in the right direction.
A shiver of pleasure shot up Avery’s spine. His ass stretched to accommodate Johnny’s cock, which was an iron rod of manhood slipping into his tight hole. Avery moaned.
“Aw… I need my Nancy…” Johnny Redcob reached back down and picked up his phone.
At first Avery was disappointed, thinking Johnny Redcob wanted to talk to his girl. But instead he just flicked through the photos saved on it, until he found a few pictures of a pretty blonde woman with big hair and bigger tits, bare, giggling as she posed on the same massage table Johnny Redcob now stood next to. Johnny Redcob looked intently through the boudoir photos on his phone, ignoring his dick sliding into Avery’s ass.
That was fine with Avery. He liked controlling the rhythm anyway. So he backed his ass up, groaning as he struggled to accept every inch of Johnny’s cock. He bit his lip.
“Goddamn, Johnny!” Avery’s face tensed up.
Johnny’s dick was just big enough to be a bit of a struggle. Avery liked that. He loved the slow-melting feeling of pain turning bit by bit to pleasure. With every thrust of his hips backward onto Johnny’s manhood, Avery felt a little more bliss flowing through his veins and a little less agony.
He was so focused on the arduous sensation of cramming a large cock in his ass that when he finally got it all in, and his asscheeks slammed into the solid crotch of Johnny Redcob, Avery was surprised. He grimaced and began rocking back and forth.
“She will never leave her husband for me,” Johnny Redcob said. “He is a loser.” He used only one hand to hold the phone now, staring at it wistfully while his other hand gripped Avery’s asscheek. He gingerly held on. He flexed his hips for the first time since his cock had entered Avery’s ass.
Soon Johnny’s reluctance diminished. He kept staring at his phone, but he used one hand to guide his dick into Avery’s asshole. He moaned. He ground his hips, moving his cock in a wide circle within Avery’s body, making sure he touched every inch of Avery’s insides. His muscles rippled.
Then finally he dropped the phone. He rubbed Avery’s back with both hands, and at last gripped Avery’s thin shoulders.
“You make me feel good,” Johnny Redcob said as though he had thought this would be painful for him. His awkwardity was gone now, and he began to hump away at Avery’s ass like he did this all the time.
All at once, silence exploded within the trailer. The New Age CD had ended. Now the only sounds were the heavy breathing of two pairs of lungs, as well as the faint tinkling of crystals that dangled around the trailer. The more powerfully Johnny Redcob thrust, the more the trailer shook and the more the crystals chimed when they bumped into each other.
There was a loud knock on the trailer door. “Hey! Johnny Redcob! Get out here!”
Johnny Redcob sighed and leaned his chest over Avery’s back so he could look out the window. He furrowed his brow and opened it. “Henry?”
From his vantage point, Avery couldn’t see anything but the upper half of Johnny’s body — that was fine with Avery, who didn’t really want to see anything else. He reached up with his head so he could lick Johnny’s erect nipples, which made Johnny Redcob shudder and frown. Johnny Redcob poked his head out the open window, trying to speak as though his dick was not balls-deep in Avery’s ass right now.
“Henry?!”
“Is my wife here, Johnny Redcob?” He sounded belligerent, like a middle-aged man who didn’t often get in fights but was willing to do so right now. “Is she there?”
“No, Henry.”
“Someone’s here! Don’t you lie to me, Johnny Redcob!” Henry’s voice trailed off then. “Whose car is this?”
“I am with a client, Henry. He is a man. He is not your wife.”
“She’s been coming to see you! She-“
“She has headaches, Henry!”
“I know! That’s the problem! I know how you cure headaches!”
“She has real headaches! Actual headaches! I am not sleeping with your wife, Henry!” He wasn’t moving anymore, so his cock was perfectly still in Avery’s ass. That was fine with Avery, who twitched and moaned as quietly as he could beneath Johnny’s broad body. Johnny’s dick pulsated against Avery’s sensitive prostate, sending shivers up his spine as he endured intense pleasure.
“Why should I believe you?”
“You should not believe me! You should believe your wife. You trust her. She trusts you. She trusts you so implicitly it has not even occurred to her that I could attempt to seduce her — I wouldn’t. But she doesn’t know that. She only wants an actual massage, Henry,” Johnny Redcob said. He groaned and shuddered a bit, but managed to keep it low-key so Henry couldn’t see. He held Avery in position beneath him.
There was a long silence. Johnny Redcob made eye contact with Henry, who glowered at him. Avery struggled to avoid crying out. He had to bite on his lip hard enough to really hurt.
“Your wife is not like Nancy,” Johnny Redcob said. “Go now. I have a client.”
Henry sighed. “I never thought you gave actual massages for money,” he said.
“I… I have not always done so,” Johnny Redcob said.
There was another long awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” Henry said. “Just… Tell my wife she does not need any more massages. We can’t afford it anyway.”
“Yes, fine, I will tell her. Go away, Henry,” he said. He shut the window and groaned. He shook his head, making his long hair move in the faint fan-created breeze of his trailer.
Avery bit his lip and moaned. Henry’s truck started up, and the engine rumbled as it backed out onto the road again.
This time, as soon as Johnny Redcob started moving, they both could feel their orgasms growing slowly within them. Staying nearly still while Henry was outside had sent them both to the edge of their climax.
So from the moment Johnny Redcob moved, they both moaned in sync with each other. A fresh spasm of pleasure rocketed through Avery’s body, making him tense up and clench. His own climax began, his cock throbbing in his hands as he sprayed out a thick wad of cum.
Johnny Redcob rammed back and forth for a few seconds more before he hit his own orgasm. His broad muscles all flexed at once, and he pushed his manhood deep within Avery. He wrapped those powerful arms around Avery’s more delicate body, and he even leaned his chest down, his twitching pecs rubbed against Avery’s back.
He groaned deeply. His whole body vibrated and grew warmer, his breath condensing moistly on Avery’s neck.
Finally a spurt of cum hit his insides. Avery moaned loudly, his whole body twisting beneath Johnny’s chest. His prostate came alive again, and sent a torrent of energy through Avery, who twisted and squirmed under Johnny’s muscular grasp.
“God, yes! Nancy!” Johnny Redcob bellowed, his deep voice echoing in the tiny trailer. He gasped. Beads of sweat appeared all over his chest, his shoulders and his forehead.
He shot a nice, huge load. His cum had an especially creamy texture, a sticky feeling that seeped into Avery’s body. He could feel Johnny’s wad spreading within him, its heat and its savory thickness soaking into his flesh from inside out. Avery sighed and twitched.
Johnny Redcob was motionless for a moment. He threw his head back like he was going to howl, but only grunted. Then he rotated his hips a few times, sending intense waves of both pain and pleasure through Avery’s body. The motion made a big mess too, turning Johnny’s load into a frothy slop that bubbled out of his ass.
At last Johnny Redcob pulled out, and when he did, his initial reluctance returned. He glared at Avery’s ass as though he hadn’t intended to stick him in it. Then he gingerly dabbed at his dickshaft with a wadded-up tissue.
Avery stood and stretched his legs, wiping his own ass off as well. He threw the tissues away. He reached his head down and kissed Johnny Redcob on his corded-muscle bicep, licking up all the sweat that had collected there.
“Thanks, Johnny Redcob,” Avery said with a smile. “Hope you didn’t mind messing with someone besides a married white woman.”
He sniffled. “That is not all that I do.”
“Oh? One of your girls is not married?”
“One of them is Laotian,” Johnny Redcob said. “It does not matter. I will be very angry if your check bounces.”
“It won’t, don’t worry,” Avery said. He slowly put his clothes back on, while Johnny Redcob kept wiping his dick off.
When Johnny Redcob saw that Avery moved slowly because he liked watching Johnny’s naked body as he cleaned himself, Johnny Redcob frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. He quickly put his boxers back on — not the fine silk Arrizzinis, but a different pair of tattered brown boxers. He put a black t-shirt on and a leather vest over that.
Avery was disappointed. He wouldn’t have minded staying here for weeks if Johnny Redcob would keep treating him like that. But Johnny Redcob had married women to seduce, and Avery Flowers had studly men to seek out, so it was time, Avery thought, to strike out once more. It was time to find a new man.