work – Mansploitation

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?

Read it soon as an ebook!

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 Construction Worker

Avery likes to hang out near a construction site, so he can service whichever alpha needs a nut after work. When one older worker comes to him, Avery is eager to help him out by relieving his relentless stiffy!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Elton George virtually sprinted out of the construction site. He tried to slow himself down, to match his coworkers, because he didn’t want to look like a little boy when school just let out. Some of them strode slowly as though it didn’t matter.
Indeed, it didn’t matter. The construction site was miles from the city, there was nothing around here, no place to run to, no reason to hurry. Running didn’t get you home any quicker. They had to wait for the bus. Jambone Construction paid for the charter bus to bring them to and from the construction site every day. So Elton knew they had some twenty minutes, maybe more, to wait for the bus.
“You nasty! You so nasty!”
“She was fuckin’ fat! You should-a saw it when she got outta her car, man, the whole thing lifted up like six inches, and it wheezed like my dad gettin’ outuva chair-“
“You yungin’s don’t even know, the fattest cat is the baddest pussy,” said Cooter, who let out a crass wheezing laugh. Everyone else joined in laughing with him — or maybe at him, or a bit of both. Elton couldn’t decide. Cooter was the oldest one here. The other workers were all in their mid to late twenties, but Cooter was well past fifty years old.
And he wasn’t even in charge of the work-crew. Elton would be ashamed if he was that old and he was still just a construction worker.
“Oh, there’s that creep.”
They all got quiet as they got close to the bus stop. While this area was rural, there was a small building here — a warehouse for a medical supply company. It was not far from the highway and conveniently located between some major cities, so it made sense as a location for a warehouse. There was one employee at the warehouse.
That employee was Avery, who liked to check out Elton and the other construction workers at the end of the day. His summer vacation was almost over, and then it’d be back to college. For now though, he was enjoying the weather and appreciating the physiques of the workers who walked past his warehouse every afternoon.
Hushing up and filing to the bus stop, nobody turned to look at Avery, even though he waved.
“It’s Africa-hot today!”
“I’s sweaty as a hog,” said Paul Del Toro, who had taken his shirt off. Most of the workers did so whenever they got off-duty. It was hot this time of year, sweltering, sweat pouring down their bodies. Paul had a six-pack like a movie star, and he liked to show it off. Elton wasn’t jealous though — Paul had a six-pack and carved muscles but also a weird bulgey butterface, making him as ugly as a punch to the face. Paul glanced over to Avery. “That sissy is watchin’…”
“Sissies ain’t into yo’ stanky ass, Paul-“
“He prolly want my nigga ass,” Jaycee said, prompting an outpouring of laughs, as Jaycee lifted up his shirt as though to show off a six-pack like Paul’s. Jaycee didn’t have a six-pack. He always bragged about picking up chicks, but that was in part because he liked his females as thick as him, or moreso, and didn’t mind what their faces looked like — as he said, I prefers ’em bendin’ over anyhow, so I don’t see they faces much. Jaycee laughed along with them, and said, “Watch, he gonna be cummin’ in his drawers.” He bent over to tie his sneaker, aiming his ass right at the sissy man in front of the warehouse across the way. Jaycee shook his ass.
Everyone oohed and aahed, sneaking glances at the college boy Avery — who was maybe seventy feet away, looking in this direction, but not seemingly aware that Jaycee was bent over and waving his ass at him. Then Cooter — the older white guy with silver hair and a scruffy beard that made him look homeless — rammed one hand into Jaycee’s jeans as he said, “Watch out, he gonna stick it up ya rear, Jaycee!”
Jaycee yelped and jumped away. His deep voice bellowed. “Ah, man, Cooter, you nearly got in my asshole-“
Elton and the others all laughed so hard their sides hurt. That was just like Cooter too — he often called the others squeamish about male contact. He said the younger generations were wusses. Elton had once been pissing on a tree when Cooter came up to piss next to him and talked to him, cock hanging freely, so close Elton couldn’t help but look at it. Cooter hadn’t even realized that was weird. Elton hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from that veiny shaft — which was huge and intimidating, hoggish, knobbled, like an animal’s organ that had been grafted onto Cooter’s body.
“Shit, Cooter, you touched his asshole-“
“Shut the fuck up-” Cooter grumbled. He smacked Paul in the back of the head. “You boys is a bunch of motherfuckin’ squeamish whippersnappers. You know we used to shower after work e’ry day, and now we can’t on account of kids like you boys get all scared ’bout queers as soon as you gotta look at a real man’s dick. A real man can see another man wit’out goin’ squeamy, ya feel me?” He pulled his dick out, lowering his pants enough to bare it and then pulling his shirt off — revealing a broad chest covered in grayish hair — so his crotch was more visible.
“Ah, shit!”
“He whipped it out!”
“That old fart took his dick out!”
“Ah, fuck! Put that old-man dick away!”
“Hey, what’s that? There’s a note.” Jaycee noticed it first. There was a piece of paper taped to the bus-stop sign. Jaycee read it. “Who wants to blow a nut? I’ll give fifty bucks to whoever comes to my warehouse and lets me service their body on the downlow. Signed, Avery. P.S. No condom and yes I swallow.”
A long awkward silence filled the air. Then Paul laughed, and the others all joined in. Jaycee clutched his belly and grabbed his crotch, aiming his cock towards the warehouse. The men there waved awkwardly.
“Yo, man, you nasty! No one wanna do that shit!” Jaycee yelled to him.
“Fuckin’ gross! He prolly takin’ in nut from all kinda hobos and shit!”
“I gots females, man, I got female beggin’ for my meat. Ain’t doin’ nothin’ sissy for fifty bucks!” Vic de Santo yelled, throwing his hands in the air.
“You fuckheads don’t know what’s up, does ya dick even work? How else you gonna pass the time that’s better than dippin’ ya dick in some bitch?” Cooter said, running his fingers through his greasy white hair. His shirt was off, wadded up and dangling from the back of his workpants. He touched his bare chest like he was nervously thinking about it. Again, everyone fell silent as it became apparent Cooter was going to do it. “Fifty bucks? And you get ya dick wet? Man, back in my day-“
“Back in yo’ day slutty dinosaurs sucked you off?”
“Man, Cooter-!”
“You so old, man, I don’t even think he meant you-“
“Yeah, he want some young meat. Nobody do like an old man.”
“He prolly assumed your dick ain’t work, Cooter. He ain’t even think you might do it.”
“He might not even be able to tell that you old, Cooter, he never seen us up close.”
Cooter turned around. “If you fuckheads ain’t bold enough, stay here and pull ya goddamn puds. I’m-a go get my dick wet.” He walked away, towards the warehouse, leaving the others to cackle him up.
“Sorry, uh, Mister Sissy Dude! He ain’t know how old he is, he still think he a young buck!”
“You can just give him some hard candy and he’ll go away!”
Cooter growled as he approached the warehouse. The young sissy, Avery, lounged against the wall. “Hmmm… Hi,” Avery said.
“Howdy. I’m Cooter,” Cooter said. His voice was gruff and rough-hewn, like he lined his throat with river rocks. He looked Avery up and down. “You a punk, huh? You wanna get it up the ass? You gonna pay?”
Avery smiled nonchalantly. “I like to be wooed.” He held out a hand, which Cooter took and kissed the back of. He ignored the whooping shouts from his coworkers. Cooter’s callused hands ran up Avery’s arm, feeling his smooth skin. Then Cooter forcibly pushed Avery face-first into the wall. Avery grunted and gripped the brick. Cooter rammed his hand down Avery’s pants and touched his asscheeks, then his hole. He didn’t finger him, he just touched the rim and let go. Avery’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, you brute! You’re so rough!”
Cooter grunted. “I know you prolly wanted them young bucks, but you got me. They’s all a bunch of squeamish nancies. They scared you gonna turn ’em into bitches.” He put his hands on his hips. “Pardon my French, that’s the word I use.”
“I don’t think that was French,” Avery said with a giggle. He touched one of Cooter’s nipples, then played with some of the sweat-dappled fur of his chest. “You’re all sweaty and dirty.”
“What’d you think was gonna happen? I just got off work.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” Avery said. He leaned in and kissed Cooter on the chest. The taste was sour and salty, with a muskiness like the smell of clothes that had sat in the closet all winter. “It was just an observation.” Avery licked a trail from his chest up to his neck.
But then Cooter gruffly shoved his head away. “Nah. You can touch me below the neck. C’mon, let’s go,” Cooter said. He walked into the warehouse. “Be quick, I don’t wanna miss my bus. And you best pay me. If you stiff me, motherfucker, I will kick your ass so hard ya farts fall out.”
“Yes, daddy,” Avery said. He came up close behind Cooter, whose weathered skin was taut over his looping back muscles. Cooter bristled but didn’t complain as Avery licked his broad shoulders — he had, after all, said Avery could touch him below the neck all he wanted.
Inside the warehouse were long rows of shelves filled with medical supplies. Cooter grunted at the sight of them. “You got Tonaltia?”
“Hmmm…?” Avery’s mind didn’t quite process his question because he focused on the grimy dust that clung to Cooter’s body hair. Avery sunk to his knees behind Cooter, who looked over the rows of goods. Avery pulled down Cooter’s mud-caked workpants, revealing a pair of tattered, threadbare boxers. Avery pulled them down too and kissed Cooter’s asscheeks. His old-man dick flopped out.
“You got Tonaltia here? It’s a lotion, it’s medicated but it’s over-the-counter.”
“I dunno, I don’t think so,” Avery said.
Cooter was quiet for a moment. “If you want, you can pay me in Tonaltia. That’s shit’s expensive. If you got a case of it here-“
“Hmmm…” Avery finally realized what he was saying, and the word Tonaltia hit his brain. “Oh, yeah, we got that. I can say a box got ruined due to mice or something, they’ll send us a replacement box.” He quickly went and found one. It had twenty bottles of Tonaltia in it — worth close to two hundred bucks at retail.
Cooter stood there waiting with his pants and boxers around his ankles. His prick dangled freely. He grabbed the box and seemed satisfied, like he would have gladly walked out with his pants still down. But he stood still, box in hand.
“Alright then, sissy, get to whatevuh it is you wanna do,” Cooter said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his feet, where Avery kneeled once more. Avery didn’t use his hands, he bent his head over and chased Cooter’s cock with his mouth.
Cooter harrumphed and used his hands instead — he grabbed Avery’s head and fed his dick down. “Quit playin’ wit’ it, man, young fellers is always playin’ and shit. Take it serious.” He started fucking Avery’s throat immediately, even though his dick was soft and rubbery.
Avery didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to deep-throat Cooter’s dick while it was still limp, and he slathered it with spit. He suckled loudly, moistly generating as much saliva as he could, until it ran down his chin and onto the warehouse floor.
He gripped Cooter’s asscheeks for support, using both hands there so he could slurp hands-free — he liked doing that because it clearly annoyed Cooter. Cooter didn’t want to touch Avery’s head since he wasn’t wearing that Marilyn Monroe wig — Cooter hadn’t let a man jerk him off without that wig in a very long time; Cooter hadn’t been sober for it for an even long time. Soon he found his dick was rock-hard, balls swinging against Avery’s chin. He grunted. Did this feel better than it did when he was drunk?
At least, he thought, he had months worth of that damn lotion his insurance wouldn’t cover. That was worth way more than the fifty bucks.
“Ah, damn…” A jolt of pleasure shot up his spine. Cooter bit his lip and moaned. He gripped Avery’s head and found that now, he wasn’t so uncomfortable with the clearly-male hair underneath his fingers. It no longer reminded him so much that he wasn’t with a female, and he could picture a pretty woman in his mind — the warehouse was dimly lit, after all, so he could barely see Avery.
Moist choking sounds emanated up from Avery’s lips, and Cooter grew increasingly impassioned. Cooter didn’t sound friendly when he was aroused though, and he kept grunting, clucking his tongue against his teeth and grimacing when he felt resistance from Avery’s throat.
“C’mon, man, open that throat up,” Cooter murmured. “You fightin’ back, don’t fight me, boy!” He let go, and Avery pulled off to gasp for air.
“Hmmm… You can keep throating me down, even if I gag, that’s fine-“
“I know, punk,” Cooter said with an angry snort. He rammed his dick back in even before Avery could gather his breath. As a burst of pleasure ran up his spine, Cooter let out a long chest-rattling sigh.
“Eww! Eww! Eww! “
“Did you see it?”
“I could hear it! It was so nasty! It was the nastiest sound ever!”
“He’s really jerkin’ off that old man!”
Those other younger construction workers must have poked their head in. Avery didn’t see them, but he made as many loud choking sounds as he could when he thought he heard the door creak open again. They all snickered like children and dashed off.
Cooter shouted back. “Man, you youngins best shut ya goddamn mouths! I may be old but I can still whip ya silly bitch-asses!” When he yelled, his hoary old crotch rammed into Avery’s face, his nose nuzzling in his wiry pubic hair.
Avery choked once more, and a big wad of fluids plopped on the ground. That was a loud enough sound that it made the young men outside holler like their favorite team had just scored a goal.
“Shit, Cooter, you are fuckin’ disgustin’!”
“Damn! Didya hear that!”
“Shit, when I fuck girls in the ass, it make more of a thwomp-thwomp sound-“
“But you ain’t got droopy old-man balls like Cooter, his sac goes all the way to his knees and shit-“
“Gray pubic hair prolly smells like a fuckin’ library.”
“Hey, Gramps, is in you in his ass or his mouth?”
“That ain’t no choke, I made girls choke on my meat before, they don’t sound like that-“
“That’s cuz girls don’t like chokin’. They quit when they choke.”
Cooter let out another growl. His dick throbbed, salty precum running down the shaft. He swiped it over Avery’s face, leaving a layer of gleaming fluids there, which seemed to virtually glow in the dim light of the warehouse.
“Shit, I bet his cum smells like Werther’s Originals-“
“Hey!” Cooter shouted. He walked away, dick dragging out of Avery’s mouth. He went right to the doorway, shuffling because his pants and boxers were around his ankles. The younger workers scattered away from the door when they saw him getting close, cock jutting from his silver-tinged pubic hair.
“Gah! Old man dick!”
“Oh shit! He gonna ram you, Jaycee!”
“You motherfuckin’ little shits best get the fuck away from me! We fuckin’ in here, alright? I don’t come to ya mama’s place and heckle you when you fuckin’ her stank asshole, Paulie, don’t you dare come after me!” Avery bristled because he felt Avery come up behind him, licking his back and his ass. Avery’s hands roamed around to Cooter’s front and jacked his dick off right there in the threshold. The other workers ran around in the parking lot making nervous jokes and pretending they weren’t sneaking glances.
“Hmmm… Will you ram me now, daddy? I need your cock inside me. Please? Stick it in me and don’t use a condom, just fill me up with your cum-“
“Quit beggin’, of course I’ll ram you. I just gotta make a point. Stand here and grease yaself up,” Cooter said. He tried to grab Vic de Santo when he ran near the door — attempting to throw cold water on Cooter’s head, though Vic’s water bottle only had a little water left in it, and it wasn’t very cold, so Cooter didn’t notice — to punch him, but Vic escaped from his grasp.
“Shit, Vic!
“Old man balls! Old man balls! That’s what we callin’ Cooter now: Old-Man Balls! Lookit that, man, he got dangly balls-“
Cooter cursed under his breath and turned around. Avery had bent over right there, using the door itself for support. Cooter grimaced and got behind him. With the door swung all the way open, Avery’s head was mostly concealed by the wall, but his ass was plainly visible from outside.
It was so smooth and greasy, lubed up now — the warehouse carried lube, so Avery had opened a bottle — it got Cooter’s attention. He was annoyed by the young men’s caterwauling, but the sight of Avery’s ass got his dick throbbing again. It looked so feminine. His hips were hourglass-shaped, his cheeks plump and perky, his hole tight, begging him to plow into it. He looked more feminine from behind than some of the females Cooter had been fucking lately.
His dick wedged in, and Cooter sucked in his breath. The guys backed even farther away, nearly all the way to the bus stop, pushing each other towards the warehouse.
A throaty sound escaped from Cooter’s throat. He couldn’t believe how good it felt when his dick slipped in. The door swung on its hinges because Avery had to use it for support. He pressed his face against the cold steel door and held onto the knob with both hands.
“Oh shit…” Avery moaned. His prostate sent waves of pleasure through his body. The fact that Cooter was more focused on looking tough for the guys outside just made it hotter — Avery was being used like a toy, his face hidden by the door itself, and only his ass mattered. He couldn’t open it wide enough, but that didn’t slow Cooter down any.
He gripped Avery’s smooth ass and plowed in over and over, bending his wrinkled silver muscles this way and that so the others would notice. He even flexed his fleshy biceps and pounded on his chest like Tarzan, prompting a wave of hoots and laughter from the bus stop.
“Oh god, deeper! I love your old cock inside me!” Avery screamed loud enough for the others to hear.
Cooter licked his lips. His face was red, veins throbbing against the taut skin of his neck, his weathered cheeks glistening with sweat, silver hair matted to his chest with the spit from Avery’s worship.
“Ow, damn, son, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move-” He gripped Avery’s shoulder and held on as an orgasm exploded within him. “I said don’t move, boy! Stay still-” He groaned, voice wavering as he came.
“Oh shit, Old-Man Balls is cummin'”
“Go lick his nuts, Jaycee! You said you wanted to-“
“You prolly got a big ol’ hardon-“
Great wads of cum sprayed into Avery’s ass, more than he thought possible in such an old man. Cooter’s wiry pubic hair scratched Avery’s smooth cheeks. Fluids sloshed around inside him, the heat seeping into Avery’s flesh. Avery cried out, his own orgasm overwhelming him in waves.
Avery shot a cumwad onto the floor of the warehouse, sight of which made the other workers grumble nervously — it was one thing to sneak glances at them fucking, it was another thing to watch Avery shoot his cum on the ground, while Cooter’s gray muscles flexed and glistened.
“Ah…” Cooter didn’t intend to drop Avery to the ground. But the pleasure wracking his body was so intense he couldn’t help but grab Avery by the hair and pull his head up. His intent was just to more tightly control the position of Avery’s ass, but when Avery couldn’t hold onto the door anymore, they both thudded painfully to the ground.
“Shit! Did he just bodyslam that man?”
“Oh god, he’s really cornholin’ him!”
They all rushed the warehouse because, for a moment, it looked like Cooter had rammed Avery’s face onto the cold cement floor. But it hadn’t been as violent as it looked, Avery was fine, a little pain in his ass and his knees, but it was overshadowed by the waves of pleasure wafting through him.
Cooter writhed atop him, toes curling, cock grinding within every corner of Avery’s asshole. His cum was a big frothy mess now and still Cooter plowed, until it had all slipped out into a nasty puddle on the ground.
“Goddamn…” Avery said with a moan, his voice weak and tinny. The guys heard the pleasured tone to his words and stopped short in the parking lot. They nervously looked away.
There was some nervous snickering, but nobody laughed out loud now as they watched Cooter’s wrinkled ass — which was ropy, well-muscled and taut, covered in fine grayish hairs, writhe, dimple, flex, his limpening dick roaming around in the cummy soup that filled Avery’s hole.
“Shit, boys, watch this…” Cooter lifted his upper body off Avery’s soft frame. He grimaced, and the guys watched with baited breath, wide eyes and nervous, voiceless chuckling as Cooter’s long dick slowly slipped out of Avery’s asshole. “Lookit that, he gapes like a porn star-“
“Nobody wanna see that, old man,” Jaycee said quietly, even though everyone stared as it happened.
“Shit…” Cooter moaned. His cock flopped out, and Avery sighed. Avery twitched. He scampered away and jumped to his feet. He blushed at the sight of the strangers all staring at his naked, cum-soaked body.
“Goddamn, Cooter.”
“You really rammed him good.”
Cooter aimed his crotch so his heavy cock and low-hanging balls were plainly visible. “I can break open any asshole so good it falls off. I know how to get my dick wet, on account of I ain’t no squeamish pansy like you little shit-sandwiches.”
Avery hurried into the warehouse while they all made fun of Cooter. Avery got the box of lotion that Cooter had left on a shelf. He brought it back to him, along with his clothes and some wetnaps he used to wipe Cooter’s dick clean.
Cooter grunted and watched Avery clean his dick off. ” Sissies is nice, they clean you up. Girls make you do that yaself-“
Paul snorted. “Yeah, that’s a good reason to do it, Old-Man Balls.”
“Fuck you, young buck-!”
Another argument was about to develop when the rumbling engine of the bus could be heard. It was on its way.
“Ah, shit-!”
“Don’t let it leave, man!”
“Who’s driving today? Wave ya hands so he sees us!”
They all ran to the bus stop, all except Cooter, who stood there with his shirt in hand, ready to put it back on. He paused for a moment, made sure no one was looking at him, then wrapped Avery in his arms, kissed him on the lips, rammed his tongue down his throat and pulled away, all in about two seconds.
“There. I-” He paused to gag because Avery’s mouth tasted like precum. “I kissed ya. You like that, huh? You lemme ram you e’ry day and I’ll kiss you one time. And take ya money and lotion, but I kiss you e’ry day. That make you feel good? I kiss you one time if you lemme ram like that e’ry day, all that gaggin’ and shit, and lettin’ me pound into you. That’s good.” He pointed at Avery as though he was accusing him of something. “Don’t tell no one ’bout the kissin’, and from now on we gotta do that first so you don’t taste like dick when I kiss ya.”

The Boss

Lamar is glad to have work, even if it’s difficult, dirty and remote. He’s gotta shower with other men, including his boss Nelson. When it turns out Nelson has some ideas on how two men can meet their needs far from women, Lamar just might have to swing on the downlow whether he wants to or not!

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Read the whole thing here!

Lamar stumbled through the worksite towards the temporary showers. Moonlight shone upon the upturned dirt and scattered heavy equipment. Lamar’s hardhat almost fell off, but he righted it. He wasn’t drunk, but in the dark and on the uneven surface of the construction site, it looked like he was. He nearly fell several times.
Behind him, the rest of the work crew hooted and clapped. They were drunk. The crickets were impossibly loud here too — Lamar had thought coming here to the middle of nowhere would be a nice, quiet place to relax, but during the day his fellow workers catcalled each other (since there were no women here) amid the rumbling of heavy machinery, and at night, the crickets crippeted, the sound joining with the men to create a lively chorus louder than any city street Lamar had lived on.
He couldn’t complain. He hadn’t come here for peace and quiet, that was just something he had hoped to find anyway. He had come here to escape a debt.
A lot of what he had expected turned out not to be true. Lamar was a strong young man, a high school basketball star and all-around ladysman. His life was made — he was a good student, a good player, a law-abiding kid who wanted to go to college and was good enough to get a scholarship.
Only he wasn’t quite that good. His senior year had been a disaster. It wasn’t really his fault, the team just fell apart. His grades were awful. In the end, he had been offered a five hundred dollar scholarship to a podunk school that cost thirty-eight times that amount per semester. It was a joke.
And so that had been the end of all his dreams. There was no other way to do it, and he had fucked up.
Now here he was, working for his uncle’s friend, Nelson, who helped Lamar pay off his debt and gave him this job out in the middle of nowhere.
The rural construction site was in south Louisiana, near but not quite on the Gulf Coast. Nelson’s crew was building worker housing for an oil rig that would be built nearby afterwards. They were some thirty miles from the nearest road, living in tents, using endless generators to power makeshift equipment with limited supplies. The pay was not bad, especially since it was impossible to spend any of it most of the time.
But conditions were tough. Nature was loud, the work was long, the heat was stultifying, and the lack of electricity made everything boring.
At least the shower — which was just a tent with a hose contraption attached — seemed likely to feel good. It had its own generator to make its own hot water. That had seemed useless when he started and the day’s heat was like a woolen blanket he couldn’t throw off. But he was getting used to it, and it was chilly at night. A warm shower was going to feel good.
It was funny how something you took for granted could become a luxury in a matter of hours. Hot running water is too basic to be thankful for until the moment you don’t have it anymore, and then it’s the only thing that matters.
He stepped into the shower tent and sighed. He was glad to get away from the other workers. Nelson was the only black man on the crew, and he was the crew leader. That meant Lamar was the only black man among the rank and file. Lamar’s arrival had doubled the black population here, and he wasn’t sure that wase a good thing. The others seemed to see him as an extension of Nelson.
The rest were rednecks and roughnecks and other kinds of necks, Lamar didn’t know. He didn’t understand most of what they said, the drawl, holler and stawk in their voices mixing like currents in an eddy, and what came out was an incomprehensible wash of syllables. Nelson was in charge, and it was plainly obvious that none of them liked taking orders from a black man.
Nelson didn’t take any shit from them, but Lamar commanded no such respect. He was a rookie. He tried to let their words roll off him, but it was tough — if they had been outright racist, that would have been easier, he thought. He could fight them or at least dismiss them as ignorant hillbillies in his mind.
But they weren’t racist, at least not openly, not in a way Lamar could be sure he wasn’t imagining. They just gave Lamar all the worst tasks to do. They delighted in making fun of his skinny arms and relative lack of experience. In the showers, they had taken to pretending his dick was small even though it wasn’t.
That was the other reason he was glad to shower by himself at night. He hadn’t realized the only light in the shower tent came from the sun. It seemed obvious now, but he hadn’t even thought about it before stepping into the tent and realizing he was going to be showering in the dark. That must be why they all showered as soon as work stopped, when the sun was just setting.
Still, the shower tent was just a big wide open area, so there was nothing to bump into, and there was enough moonlight that it wasn’t pitch-black. He sighed when he got in, glad to be able to shower without a bunch of white rednecks crowding in around him.
They were entirely too comfortable with man-on-man contact for Lamar’s taste. They had a game they called the Crack Game, which basically meant they tried to thwack each other with their dicks in the asscrack. It wasn’t even a real game, there was no way to win or lose, no points, no beginning, no end. Lamar panicked the first time one of those hairy hillbillies attempted at Lamar, ramming his cock between Lamar’s plump brown cheeks — half the reason he had never joined a gang was that people had been telling him since he was a boy that his ass was too perfect for prison.
These workers were not too perfect for prison. Most of them had records, and a handful were open about being booty bandits. Lamar tried to stay away from them.
He turned the water on, and let it warm up before stepping under the stream. He sighed. He felt the day’s sweat wash over him, and the pounding stream of water pushed anxiety and aches from his labored muscles. He really liked being in here alone in the dark, he thought, deciding right then and there that he was going to continue showering at night as long as he worked here.
“Who dat?” came Nelson’s deeply accented rural voice.
“Lamar, man. I’m just showerin’-“
“I see that. What’d I tell you ’bout callin’ me man, nigga?”
Lamar rolled his eyes. Luckily Nelson couldn’t see that. Lamar said, “Sorry, sir.” Nelson had told him to call him sir so it didn’t look like he was showing favoritism to his friend’s nephew. Lamar had never called anyone ‘sir’ consistently like that.
He took off his hardhat and placed it next to Lamar’s. Since this entire area was technically a worksite, the hardhat was legally required everywhere except the sleeping quarters and the showers. He’d had it on so long Lamar’s scalp was super-sensitive when he first took it off tonight.
Lamar sighed, annoyed that he wasn’t getting his shower alone. That was another luxury that seemed basic until he didn’t have it anymore.
Even though he couldn’t see the man’s crotch, Lamar kept his eyes scrupulously above Nelson’s waist. That was just polite, that was how he and his fellow teammates had done it in the showers in the projects he grew up in — the juvenile shower had individual stalls, but when they moved up to the adult showering area, they did it in small groups of awkward, gaze-avoiding young men. They pretended not to have ever seen each other’s cocks no matter how often they showered together.
But the rednecks here didn’t do that at all. They compared sizes and pretended to masturbate on each other. They grabbed each other’s nuts and held on just to get the other person’s attention.
A part of Lamar wondered if he would feel better if he could be that relaxed and uninhibited. It wasn’t good to be uptight. They were right, it was just nudity. It was just a dick. We all have them, why not let them out? None of the men here had anything to hide. They all had imperfect bodies, with bellies and hairy backs and some of them have little dinky dicks that they weren’t even ashamed of it.
“Woo-hoo! I’m the undisputed champion of the Crack Game! Ain’t nobody can compete with me!” A hillbilly drawl echoed from the campsite. Sound traveled so clearly at night that Lamar could hear it easily even here in the shower. “Got a cock like a baseball bat!”
Lamar shuddered. That was a hillbilly named Cooter, who had a Confederate flag on his belly and a hoggish cock, ugly as a dead baby in a puddle, shit! He had hair on his back, he was one of those kinds of white men. Lamar did not like that kind of white man. Not in a racist way, he felt the same way about an Arab or a Jew or a Mexican whose chest hair had grown up over his shoulders and onto his back. Nah. Lamar don’t play that way. Cooter loved the Crack Game, the other workers must have been playing it outside.
“Cooter is shameful white trash,” Nelson said. He shook his head, wrinkling his nose as he got in the shower next to Lamar. “He dirty.”
Lamar wanted to complain and ask him to use a different shower, further away, but he didn’t dare. He just nodded and trembled.
“You seen that Confederate flag tattoo, right?” he asked and Lamar nodded. Nelson spat on the wooden floor of the shower tent. “He racist as shit.”
“He told me he wasn’t, he said he lost his virginity to a black girl,” Lamar said.
“Yeah, that’s just what he say. It’s true — I think — but he ain’t tellin’ the whole story cuz he don’t know you yet. That black girl was a prostitute his papa bought him. He told me that last year,” Nelson said.
“Oh. Okay.”
“They’s all racist. They don’t like me givin’ ’em orders,” Nelson said.
“They seem to respect you.”
“They do, but they don’t like it,” Nelson said. He cleared his throat and leaned back so the water ran over his powerful chest and big cock — Lamar couldn’t tell how big it really was because he refused to look directly at it, but even out the corner of his eye, he could tell it was big. “You like it here?”
Lamar shrugged. “The pay’s good.”
“That ain’t what I asked, boy. I’m gonna talk to yo’ uncle when I go back to the office tomorrow,” he said. “What should I tell him?”
“Tell him it’s fine, tell him I’m doin’ good,” Lamar said.
Nelson nodded. “Okay.” He paused, then whistled and placed one hand on Lamar’s flat belly. “You got a nice six-pack, boy. You probably get all kinds of girls with that, huh?”
Lamar burned with embarrassment as he mumbled his agreement. The other workers had been making fun of his ladysman smile and taut belly as well. Really Nelson had pretty close to a six-pack too — not quite, there was a hint of pudge there, but it was close enough that Lamar didn’t see much of a difference between their bellies.
His entire body tensed at the touch of Nelson’s hand. Lamar was a star basketball player, so he was used to his coach slapping his ass and rubbing his back. But something about the darkened, humid environment made this more nerve-wracking.
“You doin’ okay wit’out a girl here?”
Lamar nodded, then realized Nelson couldn’t see that. “Yeah,” he said, as casually as he could muster. Nelson’s hand slipped around his belly and clutched the small of his back. It rested there, gripping him loosely. Nelson’s hand was callused and firm, his fingers thick.
“You ever mess around on the downlow?”
His words hung there in the humid shower air. Lamar gulped. “No,” he said. He trembled, cursing himself for looking weak in front of Nelson.
Nelson chuckled dryly. “Really? That don’t sound like the truth, nigga.”
“Well… I mean…”
“You ain’t gotta go on,” he said. “I know what that means, you don’t wanna mess wit’ those rednecks. I don’t mess around with white men neither. Reminds me too much of prison life.”
“Okay.”
“You ain’t no kinda white man,” he said.
“Yeah…”
“You wanna jack me off?”
“No…”
“You wanna take it in the ass?”
“No way!” Lamar yelped and bit his lip as Nelson took his hand and placed it on Nelson’s thick rod. It spasmed as soon as Lamar touched it. Lamar felt a shudder of disgust, as well as horniness, run up his body. He’d been on the DL with some buddies in the past but never an older man like Nelson. Nelson sighed loudly, right in Lamar’s ear. Lamar’s heart raced and he shuddered. He tried to take his hand away, but Nelson held it in place, and Lamar had no choice but to hold onto its hot, throbbing thickness. Lamar gulped. “I, uh… If we on the downlow, that means I get to stick you too, right, nigga?”
“What was that?”
“I mean… sir.”
“Thank you. No, that ain’t right, Lamar. I’m yo’ boss. How would it look if I let you put it in me?” He said, softly, moving his mouth right next to Lamar’s ear.
“Nobody is here-“
“They could walk in,” he said. He kissed Lamar on the ear. “How about this, nigga? I’ll give you a reacharound.”
“What’s that?” Lamar asked before he had even given it any thought — of course it was obvious if you paused to consider it. He blushed, thinking he probably sounded naive. He knew what a reacharound was. His mind simply wasn’t working fast enough to keep up with the reality unfolding around him.
Nelson laughed. “Your uncle ain’t nevuh tell you what a reacharound is? He ain’t tell you ’bout prison?”
“Uh… My mom won’t let him tell me that stuff. She says it’s impolite to talk about prison.”
“Oh, you one of dem sheltered chilluns, huh?”
“No!”
In one smooth motion, Nelson slid behind Lamar. He wedged his dick between Lamar’s cheeks. Nelson was rock-hard, already leaking precum into Lamar’s ass.
“Well, when yo’ uncle and me was in prison together, we had sum rules. The guards took it serious, nigga,” Nelson said. He leaned in close so he could whisper in Lamar’s ear. “They ain’t wanna get involved when inmates get in fights with stiffies. So they make up a rule. You can do whatevuh it takes to blow a nut if the nigga on top give a reacharound. Then you ain’t a bitch, not a punk, you just lettin’ another man use yo’ butthole for awhile.”
Lamar shuddered. He bit his lip and looked down.
“Don’t be like that, nigga. We messin’ around on the downlow,” Nelson said. “Don’t go telling yo’ uncle I hurt you. I ain’t. You can tell me to fuck off if you want.”
A part of Lamar did want to tell him that, but a bigger part of him didn’t want to. Not only would it be easier to just go along with it, Lamar was very horny. He hadn’t realized how much he was going to miss girls. Back when he messed around on the DL in his old neighborhood, Lamar had always sworn he wouldn’t do it again, but when the opportunity presented itself and he was horny… the prospect of getting it in the butt seemed like a good trade for getting to blow a nut himself. He let his stiffies guide him then. It was only after it was all over that Lamar again promised himself that next time he would say no.
He was older now, more mature, better able to handle the sometimes intense horniness arising from his crotch.
“Will you jerk me off too? On the downlow?” Lamar asked. “I mean… since you don’t wanna take it in the ass-“
“Nah, I don’t do that,” Nelson said, taking Lamar’s words as acquiescence. “Thank you, baby. I’ll tell yo’ uncle you doin’ real good. I won’t tell ‘im about this.”
“Okay.”
“It don’t count in the dark, nigga. By the time morning comes around, you gonna be walkin’ normal again,” he said. “And if not, I’ll take you with me back to the office, so you get a whole day to recover. It’ll be like this nevuh happened.”
Then Nelson pumped his hips, slamming his dick into Lamar’s ass. Lamar bucked and squealed. A sharp burst of pain hit him, and he arched his back. Lamar held his breath and gripped the hose supplying his showerhead for support.
“Sssh, sssh,” Nelson said. “When you and yo’ buddies mess around on the downlow, you ever do it in the butt?”
“Uh… no…” That wasn’t true, but Lamar didn’t want to admit it to Nelson.
Nelson smiled. “I ain’t realize that, nigga. Hmm-hmm, I’s takin’ yo’ intactness,” he said. “Sorry ’bout that.” He paused to grab a bar of soap and work up a lather. He used that as lube as he slowly worked more of his dick into Lamar. He handed Lamar the bar of soap so he could use both hands to guide his cock.
As soon as he grabbed the soap, Lamar knew he was going to drop it. It slipped right out of his hand and plopped onto the wet wooden floor. Lamar gasped, and Nelson laughed.
“Go on then, bend over,” Nelson said. “That’s a better position anyway.”
Sharp, shooting pains ran up his side as Lamar bent over. He had no sooner touched the soap when another ray of agony shot through him. Lamar gasped as a deep ball of pleasure boiled up too — it felt distant for now, like it occurred behind all the pain, but it was undeniably there.
“Grab yo’ ankles, boi,” Nelson said.
Lamar did so. He couldn’t decide if this was a more or less painful position than any others. He gritted his teeth as Nelson pushed another inch or two of his dick in, and that pit of pleasure grew stronger.
Then Nelson’s hand crept around and grabbed Lamar’s dick. Lamar yelped again, even though it wasn’t a surprise. He lifted his head as intense pre-orgasmic energy roiled through him.
His ass loosened up enough that Nelson could plow him more easily, a fact that Lamar found humiliating. It was comforting to know that Nelson wouldn’t bring this up tomorrow. Nelson even kissed him on his grizzled neck, his own thick mustache bristling against Lamar’s skin.
Then Nelson’s free arm wrapped around Lamar’s body and held him close. His smooth chest rubbed against Lamar’s back, muscles rippling. Lamar’s dick pulsated beneath Nelson’s grip. Lamar wanted to let go but didn’t. The more he squeezed, the more Nelson’s whole body rippled and his muscles flexed where they pressed against Lamar’s limbs.
“You gonna nut now, nigga?”
“I dunno…” Lamar said, breathless. He wasn’t lying, but as soon as he said it, he knew the correct answer was yes.
Nelson seemed to realize that. He licked Lamar’s cheek. “I love feelin’ niggas orgasm when my dick’s inside ’em. So go on. I wanna feel it,” he said. He repeated himself over and over, his deep, gruff voice resonating in Lamar’s ear. Lamar really wanted to tell him to shut up, but before he could, his orgasm hit him. He moaned and bucked, hips flexing as he pushed his ass backwards onto Nelson’s manhood.
Hot cum sprayed within the shower, mixing with the warm water and slipping between the slats of wood that made up the floor. Lamar writhed in Nelson’s biceps as pleasure erupted deep within him.
Nelson held on tight as the orgasm burst in Lamar’s ass, spreading throughout his body. Then Nelson let out a long low sigh right in Lamar’s ear, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Both of Nelson’s arms wrapped around Lamar’s belly. “Sorry ’bout this, nigga. Might hurt a bit,” he said softly. Then he rammed his dick in and out in a series of long, smooth actions. Blinding pain erupted in Lamar’s ass, and he bit his lip to avoid screaming. The pain grew more and more intense before transforming into intense bliss.
He didn’t know how long Nelson plowed him hard like that. It felt like eons, but was probably only a few seconds. Soon enough, it was over and Nelson held on with his dick at maximum penetration.
Then hot semen spurted out, coating Lamar’s insides. Lamar moaned, embarrassed at how orgasmic the sound was — he didn’t mean to sound like he was enjoying this, even if a part of him did enjoy it. Intense sensations wracked his body, and he cried out as spasms of pleasure spread through his frame. He hoped it sounded like pain to Nelson, so he wouldn’t think Lamar wanted to do this again.
He did want to do it again. He just didn’t want to want to do it again.
He shuddered with humiliation as wad after wad of cum flowed into him. It dripped down his thighs and landed on the floor. The creamy semen seeped into every corner of Lamar’s body.
“Gimme yo’ hand, boy,” Nelson said with a growl. “I don’t like it when my dick just fall out of a nigga’s ass. Keep stroking it, okay?” He placed Lamar’s hand on the root of his limpening dick as he slowly withdrew it.
Lamar gulped nervously but did as he was told. Nelson’s dick was thick and slimy, dripping with shower water, soap suds, dried sweat and sticky semen. Lamar’s stomach churned and he gagged at the warm texture of it.
Finally it was all the way out. Nelson kissed him on the lips, and even shoved his tongue into Lamar’s mouth. Then he stepped away and washed his dick off in the stream of hot shower water.
“You okay, nigga?” he asked.
Lamar winced and straightened his legs. He still felt burning pain, and deep inside, remnants of his orgasm, but he tried to hide it. He mumbled, “Yeah, it’s okay, nigga.”
“What?”
“I mean… I’m okay, sir.”
“Good. I put a tub of aloe in yo’ bunk. It’s under yo’ pillow,” Nelson said as he walked back to his clothes. He didn’t put them on though, he just put that hardhat back on his head — that was legally required, after all — and picked his clothes up. “Put that aloe in your ass. It’ll help,” he said, then walked out of the tent, bare cock flapping in the breeze.
Lamar breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn’t been too painful, he thought, and at least he didn’t get caught. He shuddered at the silhouettes of his redneck coworkers, who were still hanging out by the campfire, hollering at each other and thwacking each other’s asses with their cocks.
The sound of their carrying on filled the night sky. Lamar just smiled, washed his ass off and walked to his tent. That had been humiliating, he thought, but fun as well, and it seemed like a worthwhile trade if it gave him a chance to work here and pay off his debt. Just like Nelson, he remained naked on the walk to his bunk except for the hardhat he kept on his head. The aloe was there at his bunk, just as Nelson had promised, and it did help the pain.
He managed to sink into restful sleep before the rednecks even got back to their bunks, and for the first time since he got there, Lamar felt like he was where he was supposed to be.

The Worker

Robby is desperate for a job, so when he shows up for an interview, he’ll do whatever it takes to get it… even if Mr. Taggart has some interesting ideas on how to meet his needs. Can Robby perform under pressure?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Robby went to the house on Morning Street dressed to work. It was not a business address, it was a private house. Robby tried not to feel nervous about that. He brought along his old toolbelt and a toolbox with almost nothing in it, because he didn’t own very many tools. He read somewhere that you should dress for the job you want, not the job you have. But Robby didn’t have a job — he was an out-of-work carpenter — and the job he wanted was to be a stuntman in Hollywood — he couldn’t exactly wear a burn-suit to meet a potential client.
He liked calling the people who hired him his clients. It sounded highfalutin’. Robby was a general laborer, doing whatever he could to make a few dollars. He was always on the lookout for something he could do to earn money. His mechanical skills made him useful in a lot of situations, it was just hard to find folks — or sorry, clients.
So he had no idea who his client was, but he sounded like a blue-collar kind of guy on the phone, probably middle-aged or older. That was why Robby went dressed to work as a carpenter. He figured someone like that would want a sign that Robby was a serious worker, not a newbie trying to learn on the job, not a hobo wanting to get paid upfront so he could drink all day, a serious worker who came on the first day ready to do whatever needed to be done. That was the kind of worker Robby was.
Or at least the kind of worker he wanted to seem to be.
The client was some guy who said on the phone that he needed a deck built. He had the plans, the permits, the wood, the nails, and everything else that was needed. He just needed someone to do the work. Robby could do that work. He was a carpenter by trade, stuntman by lifelong goal.
Robby knocked on the door.
“Howdy, you must be Robby,” said Mr. Taggarxt, a thickly built middle-aged man with deep, dark eyes and a bristly mustache. He was very tanned, with remnants of perpetual sunburn on his nape and shoulders, and his craggy face was weathered like a soldier, which Robby suspected he was. He had the vibe of an ex-military man.
“Yep. Yes, sir. Hello,” Robby said. “Howdy.”
“Come on into the back, I’ll show you what it is,” Mr. Taggart said. “I got all the wood out back ready for you-“
“Oh sorry, is this… did you…?” Robby wanted to ask if he was hired, but he wasn’t sure if that would seem weak. Had Mr. Taggart already decided to hire him? He had definitely suggested on the phone that he was going to see some other laborers too.
Mr. Taggart screwed up his eyebrows at him. “You okay?”
“I, uh…” Robby didn’t want to suggest someone else might be hired for the gig. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted me to start today. But that’s no problem, I’d rather do it today. I need to make a payment this week.”
“A payment?”
Robby nodded. “I got this debt… It’s child support, honestly, lemme be totally honest wit’ you. I’m a good worker, for real, I just… I got these daughters, man, I ain’t even sure they’s mine, I swear,” he said. “Mother’s a fuckin’… Well, we don’t get along, and she always tellin’ the judge I make a shit-ton of money. Buncha lies and shit.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I gotta make a payment this week.” Robby blushed. He realized only now that talking about this stuff was probably not a good way to get hired for the gig — it didn’t make him sound stable or reliable. But it was too late now.
“I can understand that, yessuh,” Mr. Taggart said. “Go’n then.” He chewed on his lip, like he wasn’t really interested in Robby’s problems but was willing to listen to him talk about them. He opened the sliding glass door to the backyard and pointed to the wood.
He spent the next twenty minutes explaining exactly how this deck was supposed to go. Mr. Taggart was knowledgeable on carpentry, but he didn’t have the time to do it himself. That was inconvenient for Robby — someone who knew how to do it himself was likely to both pay less and complain if it wasn’t quite perfect. Those who didn’t know would accept any price offered, generally speaking, and they wouldn’t even know what to look for to decide if it was well-done.
Not that Robby was going to do a poor job. He was a good worker.
Despite Mr. Taggart’s gruff nature, he came across as fair. He offered an okay price, and he listened gamely when Robby tried to negotiate. He didn’t accept Robby’s counteroffer though, forcing Robby to embarrassedly agree to what Mr. Taggart had offered to begin with.
“Thank you, suh, and I promise I’ll do the best work I can, I swear to God. I’m a good worker, no kidding,” Robby said.
Mr. Taggart nodded like he didn’t really care. He was the kind of foreman who had a way of getting the work he needed from the men who worked for him. He would get it one way or another.
He left Robby to get started on his own. Robby liked that part. He really wished he could work like this and not worry about anything else. He could do the actual building, any kind of mechanical labor would be fine with him. He’d gladly work twelve hours a day if it came with a promise he’d get paid enough to live. It was all the other stuff, the showing up on time, the interviewing, the “probationary periods”, the police, drunk driving laws, safety regulations, all of that stuff made it difficult.
It felt right to work with his hands, to use his muscles to survive and build a deck. He liked seeing the pieces come together.
Of course, not that much actually came together today. It took almost all day to cut the wood to size. He got the posts in the ground for the foundation, and by then, he was exhausted. He was drenched with sweat, his dirty blond hair plastered to his forehead. His shoulders ached, and his thumb throbbed because he dropped a bunch of slats of wood onto it. He kept sucking on it, until he realized he would look like a baby sucking his thumb in Mr. Taggart’s eyes.
Most clients would have come out to check on him at some point, but Mr. Taggart never had. Robby came tentatively to the house and stepped in. He wasn’t sure if Mr. Taggart was the kind of guy who didn’t want his workers in the house more than necessary.
“Hey, uh, Mister Taggart?” Robby called out.
He heard movement down the hall and went that way. Was that moaning? It almost sounded like a woman moaning. Robby was just wondering if he was about to walk in on something when a bedroom door opened.
Mr. Taggart walked out. He left the door open, and the sounds of porn filled the air. A woman’s moaning voice was plainly audible, but it was clearly a recording, not a real woman. Robby blushed, but Mr. Taggart seemed nonchalant.
“You done for today?”
Robby nodded. “Yeah. I think I got pretty far today, you wanna see?”
“Nah. I’m busy now. I’ll look at it tomorrow,” Mr. Taggart said. He glanced into the bedroom. “Sorry. I’s just watchin’ a movie. You wanna see it wit’ me?”
Robby shrugged. He had no idea why he said yes. He hadn’t watched porno with another man in more than a decade — that just wasn’t a thing anymore, now that Internet porn was so common, he thought. Who even watched porno videos on a TV screen? But it was an alluring option. For one thing, it would help cement a relationship with Mr. Taggart. He might be more willing to hire Robby agaian.
This was clearly a VHS tape. That was obvious when Mr. Taggart fast-forwarded it. Robby blushed. Mr. Taggart has a VCR. Who has a VCR? Robby sat back on the bed, on one edge, while Mr. Taggart sat on the other side, then scooted close to the middle.
“You ain’t got no pro’lem beatin’ ya meat wit’ a man, huh?” Mr. Taggart said. He aimed his dick in Robby’s direction and have it one stroke. He chuckled throatily
Robby’s eyes opened wide. “I, uh…” He hadn’t thought they were going to circlejerk, but he kind of did want to do it. The idea held a certain allure to it — it would be exciting and grimy, and the punk-rock girl at the convenience store he had a crush on would think it was sexy.
So maybe, he thought, he should do it. It wasn’t too weird. They probably wouldn’t even touch. Probably.
Would they?
The porno movie was some sort of amateur underground thing. Did the women even realize they were being filmed? Robby got an uncomfortable feeling like they didn’t know. The man definitely knew, the mustachioed freak with the huge dick, he was angling his body so the camera could clearly see his cock where it slid between this one woman’s huge tits. He titty-fucked her, groaning and moaning for the camera’s benefit.
But Robby found it hard to pay consistent attention to the movie. Mr. Taggart’s body heat seemed to fill the bedspace, and Robby couldn’t bring himself to look directly at his dick, yet he couldn’t stop sneaking peeks in his periphery either.
Mr. Taggart flopped his giant dick out as though it was nothing, as though he did this every day. He didn’t drop his pants, just lowered them enough to take his cock out. Robby gulped. There was something about it that demanded he look at it. He couldn’t look right at it because he thought he’d look weird. He couldn’t look away either. He stared at it intently out of the corner of his eyes. That didn’t satisfy either itch — it still felt uncomfortably weird, and he still wanted to look at it straight on.
Was Mr. Taggart expecting him to stroke it?
But Mr. Taggart didn’t say so. He just watched the screen. He hadn’t even noticed that Robby hadn’t taken his own dick out yet. Mr. Taggart was deeply engrossed in the porno. The “college girls” on screen had a pillow fight in their dorm, and Mr. Taggart licked his teeth as the bras popped off and the pillows went flying.
Finally, when Robby was sure Mr. Taggart wasn’t watching, Robby did take his dick out. He was glad he had a big cock. He was sometimes embarrassed by how big it was. Once guys knew, they kept demanding he take it out.
Robby considered leaving. He could just go — he doubted Mr. Taggart would hire someone else instead. By the time he called more people in and found a new guy, Robby could have already finished the deck.
Mr. Taggart took off his shirt. He had a thicker body than Robby, and he was probably stronger. His skin was a rich ruddy tanned-brown, suggesting Mr. Taggart must tan shirtless often. Robby felt small in comparison to Mr. Taggart, but he was younger and had a six-pack, which helped even it out.
“Man, ain’t that chick hot?” Mr. Taggart asked.
“Uh-huh.” Robby had barely paid a lick of attention to the porno. He hadn’t even noticed that he was still totally limp while Mr. Taggart’s dick was rock-hard. He was going to look like a fool if he didn’t get hard.
“You havin’ trouble gettin’ hard? Huh? You wanna play around? I can get you hard.”
“Uh… I’ve never done anything like that,” Robby said. He blushed.
“Oh yeah?” Mr. Taggart asked with a throaty chuckle. “Ain’t gonna hurt. Just men doin’ what they gotta do. It’s always better to have another hand, ain’t it? Feels better than ya own.”
“I, uh… I dunno…” Robby sucked in his breath as Mr. Taggart reached over and gripped his dick. Robby hadn’t taken his shirt off, nor even lowered his pants any more than he needed to. Mr. Taggart’s shirt was off and his pants had migrated to his ankles.
Without taking his eyes off the porno, Mr. Taggart grabbed Robby’s cock and stroked it. Robby gasped.
The most surprising thing, he thought, was that it really did feel good. Mr. Taggart had been right. This did feel better than masturbating alone would have.
His dick quickly firmed up in Mr. Taggart’s hand. Robby had his eyes closed, so he didn’t see it when Mr. Taggart came closer to him, not until he felt Mr. Taggart’s body heat. Then Mr. Taggart grabbed his hand and brought it to his own cock.
“Aaaaah…” Mr. Taggart moaned into his ear. “Ain’t that good, son?”
“Yeah…” Robby had to admit it was good. His own cock felt better than it had last time he had actual sex, and not much had even happened. His own cock felt so good he didn’t pay much attention to his own left hand on Mr. Taggart’s dick.
It was very thick, impossibly so, Robby was shocked by that. It felt fleshier too, like there was tons of loose skin and extra meat in the shaft. He rubbed his hand up and down but that reminded him of what he was doing.
So Robby stopped moving. Mr. Taggart, however, kept jacking him off and pumped his hips in sync with his hand. That way Robby could just grip his hand and Mr. Taggart humped his grip. It barely even felt like he was giving a handjob. His cock throbbed and pulsated.
“You ready, son?” Mr. Taggart murmured. “You gonna feel real good today.”
“Yeah…” Robby winced. What was he agreeing to? He didn’t know, but he wanted it to happen. He was desperate to get his rocks off. No girl had made him feel like this in a long time.
Mr. Taggart knelt down and popped Robby’s dick in his mouth. It wasn’t romantic or sweet, Robby thought, he did it like it was his job. Moist warmth suffused into Robby’s body through his shaft. He moaned too after a few seconds, like he was so nervous about this that there was a brief delay before he actually felt Mr. Taggart’s lips close around his shaft.
But then felt it better than it had any right to. Definitely no woman could ever swallow dick like this.
For one thing, Mr. Taggart was bigger than most women, with a deeper and more cavernous throat, meaning he could simply swallow way more cock. Robby’s eyes bugged out, and he gripped Mr. Taggart’s roughly-trimmed hair. His hands dug into Mr. Taggart’s scalp.
He didn’t plow into his throat though, despite Robby’s instinct to do precisely that. He wasn’t sure Mr. Taggart would be okay with it for one thing, and even more importantly, Mr. Taggart was already swallowing him to the root. There was no need to throat him down. Mr. Taggart’s nose rammed into Robby’s crotch.
“Ah, god — oh — oh shit, damn — I mean — Ooooooohhh…” Robby wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.
His hands flailed above Mr. Taggart’s head, then gripped his scalp again. Then he wasn’t sure Mr. Taggart liked that and stopped. This time, Mr. Taggart grabbed his hand, still without pulling off his dick. He led Robby’s hands back down to his crotch.
Robby gulped and gripped Mr. Taggart’s cock. Mr. Taggart was curled up, so he could swallow Robby’s dick with his upper half ensconced next to his Robby’s body. That meant Robby could easily reach over Mr. Taggart’s body to his rod.
It was rock-hard, precum glistening on the tip. It leaked goop onto Robby’s fingers.
“Shit…”?
He didn’t know why he had been so nervous about this. Mr. Taggart was weird — and his masculine body smelled like Robby’s father — but his mouth felt good on Robby’s cock. Robby couldn’t hold back his orgasm.
But Mr. Taggart didn’t let him cum just yet. Just when Robby was about to blow his wad, he got up and pulled his mouth from Robby’s dick. Robby gasped and for a moment tried to drag Mr. Taggart’s face back to his shaft.
“Gonna sit on ya dick, son, that okay? Jack me off, okay?”
“What? Uh… No way, I dunno…,” Robby said without giving it a second thought. He was nervous, but after having let Mr. Taggart jack him off, he didn’t see any reason to refuse to plow.
Not many girls let him do it in the butt on account of that huge cock — and his penchant for not showering sometimes — but Robby loved it when he did. He had never really thought about cornholing a man instead. It seemed like a reasonable idea now — ignoring all the societal ramifications, he thought, an ass was just an ass. Mr. Taggart had a thick, wide ass like Robby loved.
He sat on Robby’s dick. That was a position that Robby had never tried. His cock was too big for any girl to want that. Robby gulped when it started, his confidence wavering, because this position reminded him how big Mr. Taggart was.
He was thickly built, his muscles flexing as he squatted above Robby’s body. His smooth chest gleamed with sweat, the smell of which had filled the bedroom. Robby no longer noticed it like he had when he first came in and thought Mr. Taggart smelled like his dad. He sure didn’t smell like that now.
He smelled like funk now, and Robby liked it.
Mr. Taggart bit his lip and sunk down lower on Robby’s dick. Robby gasped and lifted his upper body up. He jacked on his breath. Again, just like when they had started jacking off together, Robby couldn’t bring himself to look away from Mr. Taggart’s dick.
It was half-hard now, his erection having diminished as he eased onto Robby’s dick. Now it flopped up and down. It looked huge and meaty. It twitched when Robby looked at it.
He gripped it and gave it a stroke. It was wet with precum, and it was slippery in Robby’s hand. He gulped. He had never thought he could be talked into doing this — the weird thing was: He hadn’t even needed to be talked into it. He had wanted to do it, in a way. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Robby couldn’t wait to see what it was like.
As Mr. Taggart began rising and falling on his dick, Robby again managed to almost forget he was jacking a man off. Even though he couldn’t look away, he still managed to think about the pleasure in his cock instead of that. But every time it twitched, or Mr. Taggart let out a moan, Robby was again aware of its veiny, iron-like shaft throbbing in his fingers. It was slick now with precum and sticky as hell. Some of it dripped onto Robby’s chest.
“Ah, yeah, stick it in me…”
He knew he was going to get cum on him. He couldn’t decide if he should be grossed out or not. He was glad he hadn’t swallowed Mr. Taggart’s dick or taken it up the ass — that was the rule he had set, and he had lived up to it. But getting cummed on was kind of a gray area, wasn’t it?
Robby hadn’t made a decision yet when it was rendered irrelevant by his own orgasm. It felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else. Mr. Taggart’s ass clenched down on Robby’s cock, as he sunk all the way on it. It pulsated against Mr. Taggart’s prostate.
“Damn son, you hump nice….” Mr. Taggart let out a long, cringing moan.
For some reason the low vibrato of his voice was enough to send Robby over the edge. A few drops of cum sprayed into Mr. Taggart’s ass, then more and more. Robby felt it flow and wondered how it could be so much — he’d never shot a load like this. He writhed so intensely he wondered if he looked like a wuss — this felt rather like the first time he’d been with a woman, and had never felt anything so incredible.
He bit his lip and grunted. “Shit, man!” He gripped Mr. Taggart’s hips with both hands and drilled his dick in, grinding it deeply into Mr. Taggart’s body.
Mr. Taggart was expecting that — men who gave him a reacharound usually ended up stopping right as they both orgasmed, which was the worst time to stop from Mr. Taggart’s perspective.
But he was ready so he didn’t get blue-balled. He gripped his own dick and brought himself to orgasm in seconds. An explosion of pleasure erupted in both men. Robby let out a plaintive howl of desire, as his cock throbbed like a beast’s heart. Mr. Taggart groaned like a beast of burden caught in mud, and he threw his head back far. His powerful muscles all rippled and flexed.
A torrent of creamy cum shot out and over Robby’s chest and neck. Some of it splashed on his chin, but Robby’s eyes were closed and he was busy squirming with the intense pleasure shooting through him, so he didn’t notice. He just grunted and sucked on his teeth again.
Finally they were both done. Mr. Taggart remained deeply impaled on Robby’s dick until he had taken in every drop of cum, and squeezed out every drop of his own, each pearly drop dripping from Mr. Taggart’s callused fingers to Robby’s hair-dappled belly.
“Shit, son… Hell yeah,” Mr. Taggart said. He throatily chuckled. He massaged Robby’s chest muscles, smearing his own cum all over it.
Robby didn’t open his eyes until Mr. Taggart finally pulled off his dick, which fell limply against his thigh. Robby sucked in his breath as he watched Mr. Taggart lean down and lick his chest clean. He swallowed up all that cum he had spilled, slurping it noisily, making Robby gag just from the sound alone though he was glad to get the cum off his chest — he decided he wouldn’t tell anyone about that part and he definitely wouldn’t mention that he could taste salty cum on his lips too. Some of it must have splashed up there from his chin.
Finally Mr. Taggart pulled away from him, and Robby slipped off the bed, pleasure still coursing through his veins. He blushed and looked down. “I, uh… I… That was pretty good.” Robby heaved for breath. Now that that was over, he was much more tired than he thought he’d be. The adrenaline drained away, and all that was left as an intense need to lay his head.
Mr. Taggart snorted. “I know.” He reached over to open his nightstand drawer. “How much of a child support payment you got due?”
“Uh… Six hundred dollars.”
Mr. Taggart whistled. “Goddamn, son.” He handed over six crisp one-hundred dollar bills, then placed the stack of more money back in the drawer. He nodded at Robby. “Don’t think you can come back later and rob me just cuz you see my cash, son-“
“I wouldn’t! I swear!” Robby opened his wide. “Promise. No way. I’m not like that.”
“I got security you can only dream of,” he said. He smiled, flopping his limp dick between his fingers. He squeezed out a few drops of cum that he smeared over his shaft. “But if you gots more payments due next month, come see me again. I just might have more work for you.”
“Yessuh,” Robby said. He held back a smile because he didn’t want to seem too eager. That might come across as weird.
“Go’n now, get outta here. I’ll see you tomorrow mornin’, ready to work.”
“Yes, sir,” Robby said. “I’ll be here.”

The Parole Officer

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

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

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

Handjob for a Hitchhiker

Rob picks up a hitchhiker who would never let him get a grope on in exchange for a ride… unless Rob asks in just the right way!

Can Robert figure out how to get a handle on this studly born-again hitchhiker?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob rarely picked up hitchhikers. This man, however, seemed a worthy exception. He was a dirty-blond redneck with dirty skin, dirty clothes and a ripped, lanky body, his six-pack showing from underneath his torn t-shirt. Despite his look, he smelled like cologne because, he said, he had spilled most of a bottle on these pants a year ago and the smell still hadn’t worked its way out.
The hot Kansas sun beat down on the car, but Rob didn’t run the air-conditioner. He just kept the fan on, which was enough — the temperature wasn’t really that high, so the wind kept it cool. Once the hitchhiker’s sun-baked body entered the car, however, the heat radiating off him made the air so warm that Rob had to flick the air conditioner on.
The highway continued through the woods of northern Alabama, which was where the hitchhiker had stuck out his thumb. He’d kept walking as he hitched, thumbing out when he heard a car coming up behind him.
Rob had pulled over to pick him up, and he gave a polite nod before getting in the passenger seat of Rob’s car. The hitchhiker’s ropy muscles dripped with sweat, and the smell of his unwashed body flooded the car and Rob’s nose from the moment he stepped in. He looked homeless, or rather, he looked like he had no stable address — he didn’t look quite dirty enough to be a hobo, but he probably drifted between halfway homes, homeless shelters and various girls’s houses, maybe interspersed with an occasional kindly priest’s couch. He seemed like that type. He kissed the St. Christopher medal dangling over his chest as he settled into the passenger seat. He didn’t put his seat belt on.
“Yee howdy, thanks fer pickin’ me up, hoss, that’s a mighty kindness of ya,” the hitchhiker said with an enthusiastic grin as Rob got back onto the road. “Don’t bother me none where you is goin’ neither. I don’t have a firm destination, myself, I do declare. I got the ramblin’ bug in me. I got a need to get outta here, ya dig?”
“Yep-“
“This town ain’t big enough for me. Name’s Thomas,” he said. “You’s headin’ south. You gonna keep goin’ that? All the way to Oklahoma? That’d be with me, indeedy-doo, but not a bit further south cuz that way lies Texas, and I ain’t goin’ there. Nosir, just ‘bout e’ry sheriff in Texas has got it out for ol’ Thomas Weathers. The Lone Star State ain’t fo’ me!” He paused. “And they got a warrant out on me.” He looked at Rob, then said, having seemingly forgotten he already introduced himself, “I’s Thomas. Thomas Weathers.”
“I’m Rob.”
“Rob, nice to meetcha. You one of them god-botherers?”
“Uh… no.”
“That’s good. Reckon a preacher picked me up ‘couple miles back, and I swear to God after a couple hours of listenin’ to him sermonize, I says to him, ‘you let me out right here, rev’rnd, cuz I’d rather die in the desert than let you talk my ears into committin’ suicide’.” He cackled and slapped his knee. “We was in the desert, see. And I knew Mesa, Arizona was right down the road. Still just ‘bout died of thirst befo’ I got there, yessuh. And a rattlesnake done try and bite me, but I swear to God, mistuh, I chop that damn rattlesnake’s head right off and made a stew outta his carcass. That’s just how Thomas Weathers rolls, hoss, ya dig?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Now don’t get me wrong, suh, I is a believer, through and through. I done saved and lost my soul so many times I got a direct line to both our glorious Lord above and that sulfurous bastard down below, ya dig?”
“Yeah-“
“I just ain’t a preacher and I don’t cotton to none of that reformin’ and repostulatin’ and re-understandin’ that them God-botherers do. I ain’t lookin’ to integrate Hindus into Christ, if ya catch my meanin’.”
“Uh… yeah,” Rob said, though he had no idea what Thomas was talking about. “Right, uh-huh.”
“I got a real understandin’ of my own relationship with God, and He know the demons I got, boy, He knows it all. He puts them demons in those of whomsoever he has faith can struggle onward. A man’s gotta have a code even if he don’t often follow it.”
Finally there was a moment of silence, as Rob was still flummoxed and didn’t know what kind of response Thomas expected. This was a lot more theology than he expected from hitchhikers. The air conditioner whirred, struggling to cool the air down while heat emanated from Thomas’s body. Thomas looked at Rob and sniffled.
“You a sissy?” He even flashed a limp wrist as though Rob might not understand the question.
Rob blushed and nodded.
“Ain’t not a thing wrong wit’ that, lemme tell you.” He paused. “I mean, there’s a lot wrong wit’ it, don’t think I ‘pprove, cuz I don’t. You motivated by lust, reckon, and that ain’t right. Should be motivated by piety. But it ain’t my place to say. A lotta folk get up all up in arms ‘bout shit that ain’t none of they business, swear to God, ain’t that right, sissy? I bet you gonna make me whip it out, huh, to pay for this ride? Ain’t ya?”
“Well-“
“I wouldn’t blame ya for it, nosirree, when I was growin’ up, that’s how it went down. You could always hitch a ride with someone — trucker, most likely — but ya gotta provide gas, cash, grass or ass!” He whooped, hollered and slammed one hand on the roof of the car. “I always had grass on me in those days.” He paused. “Don’t think you gettin’ any of my ass, boy, no way, no how. I’ll visit some very bloody sin upon you, swear to God, and I will gladly do the time behind bars afterwards. I let you look at it, maybe touch it a bit, if you ask me real nice and respec’ful-like.”
“Uh-huh-“
“Now I gots rules, mistuh, lemme tell you that. I don’t do nothin’ weird, no way. Remember, I is a believer and I been saved again most recently just a couple months ago, swear to God. The Lord Jesus Christ is my personal Lord and Savior, amen and amen again!” His voice gradually rose to an emphatic crescendo. “He does warsh me in the blood and the… the, uh… love of His own very son.” It sounded like Thomas had lost the thread of his theology. “Hallelujah!”
“Oh. I-” Rob was disappointed.
“Don’t get me wrong, I is a sinner, that’s fo’ sho’. I am not gonna cast the first stone, no way, I don’t even cast the second stone. I wait, till maybe the twentieth stone,” he said with a dry chuckle. “You can play wit’ it a little, mistuh, but no butt-stuff. That’s it. Just playin’. Ain’t much sin in playin’, reckon.”
“Uh… okay,” Rob said. He loved handjobs, so he didn’t mind that at all. Besides that, he wasn’t sure there was any other way to get Thomas to stop talking.
Thomas snorted and unzipped his dirty jeans. He pulled his cock out and let it flop against his thigh. He lit a cigarette too. Rob normally didn’t let people smoke in his car, but he didn’t want to do anything that would make Thomas want to leave. His fat dick jiggled as the car vibrated underneath.
“There it is, ain’t gonna get hard for ya, don’t even hope fo’ that, man,” he said. “I can’t get hard wit’out the smell of pussy, swear to God, the stronger the smell the better. I loves it, boy, you don’t even know!” Then he added, “You definitely don’t even know.” He licked his teeth. “I don’t fornicate in a pre-marital fashion. I done give in to urges, for sure, for sure! But I ain’t a believer in that kinda perversion. A man ought save his seed for his ever-begotted wife.”
As he drove down the highway, Rob reached over and touched Thomas’s dick. When he did, Thomas’s whole body spasmed like it hurt. He snorted, took a deep drag on his cigarette and looked out the window. His cock was hot and slick with sweat, the kind of slick texture that suggested Thomas hadn’t showered in some time. Maybe weeks.
That didn’t bother Rob at all. He enjoyed a filthy slice of alpha male rough trade.
“Reckon that’s a big piece of meat, ain’t it? I know you ain’t seen a lotta white men wit’ dicks like that, have ya?” he asked. He cackled and nodded as though Rob had agreed with him even before Rob did so. He did have a huge cock, nice and thick, veiny, swarthier than the rest of his flesh.
Rob stroked it lazily as he drove. He didn’t want to rush things. As Thomas had promised, his dick didn’t get hard, at least not right away. Rob liked the squishy soft feel of a limp cock.
“I don’t get no stiffy without a female. I just can’t do it,” Thomas said. “Not unless I get real drunk, and I don’t do that no more, nosir. No gettin’ drunk for me! I shouldn’t nevuh drink so much — or at all — on ‘ccount of I do things that are unchristianlike when I’s drunk, ya see, ‘ccording to God and my mama on her deathbed and several district court judges and a rack of rev’rnds and a few teachers and a whole squadron of social workers, they all agreed on that, I can’t handle my liquor and I need to quit that. Get my life in order. I done do so. All ’bout the Lawd now!” He called out like a preacher. His cock twitched and Thomas cackled, his dusty muscles flickering beneath his torn t-shirt. He stripped it off, revealing his powerful though lean chest. He made his cock twitch again, laughing at Rob’s girlish blush. “He’s twitchin’ at’cha, boy, he sayin’ hello.”
“You sure you can’t get hard? It kinda feels like you’re getting hard,” Rob said. Tommy’s dick was definitely firming up in his hand, no matter what Thomas claimed. His thick dick was poking up now, not roping around, and Rob paused long enough to spit on his palm to provide additional lube. Then he resumed stroking with one hand, his other steering the car down the highway.
“No suh!” Thomas snapped down. He glared at Rob, even as his dick slowly awakened in Rob’s grasp. “Don’t even think that! I is in control of my meat and my decisions and my theological destination, you feel me? I don’t — I is a Christian soul, reckon, I got the power to resist the lusts and urges flowing through mah veins. I do thank the good Lord above every day that he give me something to resist. That’s how a man does prove his loyalty and his faith. You know about faith, my man?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know about faith,” Rob said. He rolled his eyes, which Thomas couldn’t see because Rob faced the road ahead. Thomas’s Christian prattling was getting old quick. When he asked if Rob was a god-botherer when he first got in the car, Rob thought that was a good sign. He thought that meant Thomas was not so Christian, or at least no aggressively Christian.
“Can you make sounds like a girl?” Thomas asked. “I might get hard if’n you can make some sounds that make me think of a girl. A pretty white girl with blond hair and… a Christian soul.”
Rob blushed. “I guess. I can try.” He moaned a little, in what he thought was a feminine tone of voice. He didn’t know how to moan like a Christian girl, but he did the best he could. When he was done though, Thomas just scoffed at him.
“Some girl.” Thomas looked out the window like he wasn’t involved in the handjob Rob was still giving him.
“Sorry,” Rob said. He quickened up his handjob as he felt Thomas’s dick firming up under his fingers. Soon it was stiff and stuck up. The veins that ran up and down the shaft pulsated beneath Rob’s grip. Thomas closed his eyes like he was shocked to see his own stiffy.
A police car drove by, and Rob’s heart flooded with fear. He thought for a moment he had been made. But the cop in the driver’s seat appeared to be focused on the sports car in front of it. Rob hummed right along in the slow lane, attracting no attention. He kept an even speed, a few miles per hour below the speed limit.
A few drops of pearly, sticky precum dripped out of Thomas’s cock, slicking up Rob’s hand, and he groaned like he was disappointed in himself for getting this far. He shook his head. “Can’t believe this, man, ya hand feels like velvet, man, like an Italian whore on payday, like you don’t even know, man… or I guess you do know, it’s ya hand, I guess you’ve used… it.” His voice broke there at the end, and he chuckled at himself.
He leaned the passenger seat all the way back, so he was laying down. His chest muscles rippled, and a few beads of sweat appeared over his wiry shoulders and pecs. He was unwashed, so his sweat made his body hairs cling to his taut skin.
Rob took a break to move his hand from Thomas’s dick to his body. He caressed his muscles, which were work-toned — you could tell he didn’t get a body like this in the gym. He got it working hard on road crews, day labor, that kind of thing; when he described it, Thomas always said, “I work like a dog, man, I do the work they usually hire Mexicans for. I got nothin’ ‘gainst Mexicans, mind you, ‘cept they don’t provide much conversation in English when we’s on the same crew.”
As a wave of pleasure moved over Thomas’s body, he licked his lips and a fresh burst of precum flowed down his shaft. He murmured and groaned, at a loss for words for the first time since he had gotten in Rob’s car, maybe the first time in a long time. He blushed, the ruddiness of his cheeks barely visible through his deeply tanned skin. It was obvious he never thought a handjob could feel this good, especially coming from a man.
Thomas laughed. “This is some kinda nasty, man, swear to God. I ain’t nevuh done nothin’ this nasty, I just need a ride somethin’ fierce. A man can’t walk e’ry hour of e’ry day, ya dig? Don’t think I do this all the time.”
“I won’t,” Rob said. He imagined he could taste the precum that leaked out from Thomas’s cocktip. It would be so salty and strong. Rob had to suppress a moan just thinking about it. Thomas’s cock spasmed and twitched in his grasp, the precum flowing plentifully now.
“Now I done my share of nasty shit, ‘specially before I found God. I don’t behave that way no more, mind you,” he said. “I gangbanged this girl one time — she was a white girl who chose to get fucked by black men, not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’s just sayin’ it — and we was on this hunting trip. I just ‘bout threw up when I realized it was a gangbang. I thought we was gonna take turns, y’know, she’d wash up between each guy. I was a young whelp then, I had balls that controlled me — no, I’m sorry, that ain’t right. I wasn’t controlled by my balls. I was controlled by my lusts and my urges and by Satan hisself, ya dig? He do set traps for the most virtuous of man.”
“Uh-huh-” Precum smeared over Rob’s hand as Thomas’s veiny shaft pulsated like a heartbeat.
“But what happened right then and there was that I got this big hillbilly motherfucker right behind me, and he’s plowing her in the ass while I fuck her pussy. But I can’t even feel her pussy-lips on my dick on account of gobs of cum dripping onto my balls, hoss, I swear, I could hear that shit splashin’ when I got started. And that big-ass hillbilly was behind me, like he was gonna ram me — he ain’t get it in me, he just put it in her ass, but he was in position to ram me, and I could feel his pubes on my asscheek, man, and I couldn’t even smell that slut on account of him behind me. All I smelled was his nasty-ass armpits.”
“Sounds, uh… Kinda hot.”
“It was not hot, you is wrong and unchristian ’bout that,” Thomas said. He scoffed and leaned back. He lowered his pants all the way, and Rob took the opportunity to caress his hairy thighs and chest again. His muscles rippled beneath Rob’s fingertips. Thomas sighed. “You gonna feel me up? Fine. But you can’t, y’know… do nothin’ unchristian about it. No thoughts of a untoward nature.”
“I won’t,” Rob said with a smile. “I’ll keep my thoughts pristine.” He went back to Thomas’s cock, which throbbed mightily. The precum flowed freely.
“You got mighty pretty lips. If I was drunker or I was in lockup — rules is different in there, ya know — but if I was there, I might be able to let you put ya lips on my dick,” he said. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to but couldn’t let himself. “Lemme see whatchoo can do with them lips.”
Rob removed his hand and put his middle finger on his lips. Then he slid it slowly into his mouth, until he deep-throated it. Thomas watched the whole time, staring. Rob did the same thing with each of his fingers, tasting all of Thomas’s salty precum. He kept his face straight ahead, watching the road and the signs zoom past.
“You do real pretty things wit’ ya mouth, boy, but I’s still Christian. Don’t you try and seduce me,” he said. “That ain’t right.”
“I won’t. I’m not trying to seduce you. This was your idea, remember.”
He sniffled. It looked like he had indeed forgotten that he had brought this up first. “I dunno if I’ll be able to cum like this, wit’ you feelin’ me up,” Thomas said, though his voice lacked confidence like he was already on the verge of orgasm. It sure felt like that was the case, Rob thought when he gripped his cock again. It was spasming and twitching, precum flowing like water froma hose now.
“I bet you can do it,” Rob said. He smiled because it was obvious that Thomas was going to cum no matter what he said. Ruddiness bloomed up Thomas’s chest.
“Nah. My heart won’t let me…” Thomas said, his voice already trailing off. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I got principles, man, I won’t cum wit’ sin in my heart. I just… I can’t do it.”
He grunted and bit his lip. His wiry, tattooed muscles all flexed and shook in sync with each other, and a burst of hot cum sprayed over his chest and belly. Thomas grunted, twisting as though his orgasm felt so good it hurt. His face turned beet-red and he gasped. A second spray of jizz got up Rob’s wrist to his elbow, and it soaked into the grimy fabric of Thomas’s pants.
The smell of cottony cum filled the tiny car. Rob giggled, moaning as he felt cum running between his fingers and down the skin of his smooth wrist. He wished he could jack himself off at the same time, but forcing himself to resist was kind of hot too — he kept his attention half-trained on the road, but luckily there weren’t many cars on the highway at this time of day. Rob’s cock throbbed in his pants, demanding attention.
“Aw, fuck, man, man…” Thomas’s orgasm continued, spurting wad after wad of creamy hot cum. It coated his lean belly and scarred muscles, dripping down onto his jeans and his hairy crotch. It soaked his pants, and the sour, salty smell of it filled the car.
“Shit, you shoot a hell of a load,” Rob said, his eyes oepning wide.
Thomas grunted in a way that suggested he heard Rob’s words and maybe even tried to respond. But intense pleasure wracked his body, making him squirm in his seat as a final jet of jizz got him across the chest and even on his chin. His cock pulsated beneath Rob’s touch. No matter how animated and seemingly-pained Thomas’s reaction was, Rob kept stroking. He didn’t miss a beat, even as he felt Thomas’s erection diminish.
His cock slowly limpened in Rob’s hand. A few drops of cum continued to ooze out, and Rob knew from experience they were the sexiest, saltiest, tastiest drops. He wished he could swallow Thomas’s dick and taste his cumload. He was already fantasizing about it — in his fantasy, the car could drive itself, so Rob was able to lean over and deep-throat every inch of Thomas’s filthy redneck cock.
It would taste so good — bad, but in a good way, Rob thought. He loved a trashy man’s nasty dick and cumload. Maybe if he wasn’t driving, he thought, he’d be able to talk Thomas into getting some dome. Most men did agree. Why would you ever turn it down? Rob certainly wouldn’t.
In any case, Rob kept going with his hand on Thomas’s cock until he had gotten every last bit of cum. His dick was still hard but softening swiftly, and Rob stroked it until he had gotten every last drop. The smell was potent, and the feeling of sticky cum on his fingers made Rob moan.
Rob brought his hand to his mouth and licked up every drop of cum he could get. “You taste so good…” he said, blushing as he slurped up all the jizz on his hand.
Thomas grunted, watching Rob eat up cum. Thomas had a sickened look on his face. “That’s unbiblical, sir. You shouldn’t behave like this. God don’t like it.”
But Rob merely shrugged. Then he wiped up all the cum off Thomas’s flat belly, and he sucked all that off his hand as well. He moved slowly just like when he had sucked the precum off his finger, and just like then, Thomas watched as though it turned him on. The intense flavor of salty jizz and dirty manhood overwhelmed Rob’s mind, nearly making him drive off the road as he cleaned the semen off his hand. Thomas grimaced and sneered at him but didn’t make him stop.
“Hope that was worth it, boy,” Thomas said with a nervous chuckle. “Cuz that just might cost you ya immortal soul. I ain’t gonna judge. Ain’t up to me. Reckon you should let Jesus into ya heart.”
“Isn’t it just as sinful for you?”
“What?”
“You got a handjob just like I gave one,” Rob said. “That’s a sin on your part-“
“Don’t work like that. Sin ain’t a mathematical equation,” Thomas said with a whistle.
“So it’s not sinful to receive a handjob from a stranger?”
Thomas shifted his weight in his seat. He tucked his cock away in his tattered boxer shorts, which were plain white and thin — they looked like prison-issued boxers. He kept his shirt off. “It’s a sin to give in to lust, to satisfy one’s urges in a base and villainous way. I let you done that cuz I’s repayin’ ya kindness in givin’ me a ride. I ain’t succumbin’ to no lust. I got resistance in mah heart, you hear? I don’t surrender to the forces of Satan, no sir!”
“Oh…” Rob couldn’t dispute the theology of that, though it sounded like a loose justification. He shrugged. “Fine, whatever.”
There was a long awkward silence, then Thomas lit a cigarette. He sighed. “You got a nice hand, boy. I’m real glad you picked me up.”
“Me too.”

Shovelwork

He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting.

“You feelin’ okay about ya work, Igo?” Lem asked once they got into it. He had a bottle of wine in hand — he kept wine in a cold box outside their heated area and saved it for special occasions. He drank from it, then pushed it upon Igo. “I seen you keepin’ up with them in the shovel room.”
“It is hard work! My shoulders are very tired,” Igo said. He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting, Igo thought — as Lem’s foot ventured to it and Lem picked it up with his toes. He tried gripping the skin on the top of it, but he couldn’t get it up more than a few inches before it slipped out.
“Yeah, man, shovelwork is fuckin’ awful,” Lem said. His eyes were trained on his toes trying to pick up Buck’s shaft. “I did that on my first contract. You nevuh done shovelwork, Buck?”
Buck shook his head. “When I gots here-” He paused as Lem almost got his dick up with his toes, then it slipped out of his foot-grasp again. “Mistuh Chow said he ain’t want me doin’ shovel stuff on account of my ass bein’ tall and big and shit, and he say he need tall guys in the access chamber, and plus I prolly get hit in the head wit’ them shovels.”
“Oh yeah, yeah, they hit me couple times, hurts like hell,” Lem said. He was focused on picking up Buck’s dick with his toes, which distracted him from what he was saying. “And you… taller ‘an me… Buckums.”
Igo couldn’t tear his eyes away from that. Buck’s dong jiggled like jello as Lem slowly perfected curling his toes around the skin atop it. He finally got it up, slowly, gripping the skin tightly. Buck and Igo both sucked in their breath, Buck exuberantly but Igo with shock and disgust.
Lem finally had it up as high as he could, and then he made to sort of bump it in the air — making Igo shy away — and move his foot to the underside of it, so it landed like a flabby sausage on the top of his off-brown foot.
All three cheered, as all three realized they had gotten distracted from the game. Buck and Lem held cards in their hands, and more were spread out on the blanket in front of them.
Lem didn’t keep Buck’s dong on his foot. The whole reason he had started doing that was to see if he could get his foot close to Buck’s balls, so he could yell “balltap!” and kick him in the cojones. He did so and got Buck harder than he meant to. Buck yowled in pain and laughed, leaning back and gripping his balls to protect them from his foot.
“Owwwww, fuck, Lem, fuck-!” He kicked in the direction of Lem but didn’t really aim it. In this tiny space, it was hard to miss, but it was only a glancing blow to the meat of Lem’s hip, as he twisted away. “Makin’ my… balls achin’! Aw, fuck!”
Buck jumped up, and his dick flopped near Igo’s face. He backed off quietly. Buck paced in the tiny space — he could only take a few steps back and forth — as he held his sore balls. “Ow, shit! Lem, I nevuh hit ya balls that hard!”
Lem laughed. “I ain’t mean it, I ain’t mean to hit ’em that hard-” He held his hands up then went back to protecting his own balls. “Don’t — I ain’t mean to-“
“Fuck!” Buck roared and stamped his feet.
“I ain’t mean to kick that hard, sorry, sorry,” Lem said. He was still laughing too hard to sound genuine. “I ain’t mean to.” Then he did a horsey version of Buck’s Appalachian drawl. “Leeeeehm-uh, you’s mayahkin’ muh bawwwhhhls buh ayahkin! Ayahkin!”
“I don’t say it like that-! Fuck you, Lem!”
“Mah baaaaaaawwwhls iz ayahkin like baaaayahkin-“
Buck was laughing too now, as the pain in his balls eased. He had to admit that was funny — he had a comedic soft spot for guys getting hit in the balls. He still held them in his hand, his dong still dangling free. He bent over a little, realizing only too late that that put his hairy ass near Igo’s face. “Oh, my bad, Igo-“
“Shove somethin’ in there, Igo!” Lem said with a howl. “Just grab whatevuh you got ovuh there. He always used ta put his ass in my face till I jammed a handheld radio in his booty.” He made a little psst sound. “Went right up there. Nevuh came out.”

From Buck the Roughneck

Rig E19

The oil rig was loud and dirty and somehow both hot and cold at the same time. It was all right angles and grimy corners, pipes belching steam. Unpainted steel, the smell of cigarette butts and spilled gasoline. Lift this, screw that, loosen those, tighten these. It was all so pointless. It was ugly. It looked ugly, it smelled foul, it sounded alien and harsh and hateful, it felt anodyne and sterile, and the air tasted of poison and loneliness.

From Graham the Lover

Their home was at one end of a long hall. It wasn’t a real barrack, it was a dead-end hall with a disused first-aid clinic in it. They done bunk down here cuz it was more private and roomy than the barracks, and this whole part of the rig was mostly unused. Rig E19 was made for a bigger workforce than it required — automation at work, factories on autopilot, solar power smokestacks be colliding hadrons, barcodes as the Mark of the Beast, black holes for souls, this nigga knows which way the wind blows! — so Lem and Steel shacked up in this big empty dead-end away from the resta the rig. They done set up curtains where they living area began.

From Steel the Roughneck

Steel spread out the blankets on the floor to provide insulation. Covering up the cold steel would help bunches, he thought. The remaining blankets he hung up on the outside wall with duct tape. It got cold as hell — Rig E19 was in the North Pacific, near Alaska. Santa Claus wouldn’t even go here. Rudolph’d go on strike for sure. For sure! That outside wall faced the cold Pacific seaspray, so it was icy as a snooty bitch. The blankets was thin, but they would do for now.
The resta the rig was cold, but the living areas was all heated and done up with blankets and even more space-heaters. It was toasty as toast in there. Fresh out the toaster!

From Steel the Roughneck

This rig was built for more workers than there were — lots of the job had been automated in recent years — so whole wings were no longer used. Mr. Chow said they could bed down wherever they wanted. Buck and Lem chose a corridor that dead-ended at a disused room. They claimed everything from the intersection with another corridor to the dead-end, and they used the extra room for storage. The dead-end was curtained off with sheets and done up with extra mattresses, pillows and space heaters.
He tapped the sheet being used as a curtain. A mat lay right there, like a welcome mat but Mason knew Lem well enough to know it’s real purpose — there were peanut shells under the mat. Lem and Buck stepped over the mat when coming in and out of the dead-end. If anybody snuck in when they were gone, the shells would be smashed under the mat, and they’d know someone had been there without permission. Mason stepped over the mat.

From Roughnecks Got Oral Needs!

Most nights, Buck and Lem showered with each other. This was the winter contract, which was understaffed — more than half of the roughnecks here a couple days ago had left during their leave. Buck didn’t realize how many fewer workers there would be. That was because, Lem explained, the rig was less efficient in the winter, and Mr. Chow actually lost money pumping oil until it warmed up. He kept it going regardless because otherwise the rig would fall apart and be inoperable in the spring, but it continued with a skeleton crew mainly tasked with maintenance. The drill did run, and oil was pumped, but only the minimum needed every day to ensure smooth operation.
Otherwise it was a lot of cleaning, inventory, weatherproofing, organizing, etc. It was intensely boring and not much work. The chill was intense in the unheated corridors now that it was winter. Buck got a thrill out of walking to the shower every night, which he still did in his briefs and sandals (though he now wore his sandals with two pairs of socks). He thought it was hilarious how steamy his chest was, and it set his heart racing. Most night it was literally cold enough to take his breath away, and he could barely breathe the whole way to and from the shower.
Lem did not do that. He was leaner and lankier than Buck, and like the other roughnecks, Lem wore several layers of clothes in the corridors. So Buck got naked in the showers in seconds, while Lem lazily undressed and smoked a cigarette (which he did only to annoy Buck, because Buck kept hassling him about hurrying up).

From Buck the Roughneck

He and Lem got to know each other as they shared a living space — not a real barrack or even a room, they claimed a disused dead-end corridor. They hung up sheets and blankets and towels to make a wall blocking off the dead-end from the rest of the rig, and they covered the floor with mattresses and pillows. With enough space heaters, it made a cozy home fer a nine-month contract.

From Buck the Trailer Trash

Description

Buck was sprawled out on the “bed” — just a stack of pillows and cushions and blankets on the floor. That was where they both slept. They used their bunks for storage.
That’s because sleeping on the floor was more comfortable than the bunks. For Buck, the main reason was that he was six-foot-eleven, and the bunks were seven-feet-long exactly. He had to squeeze in, couldn’t stretch his legs, couldn’t raise his arms, couldn’t sit up without banging his head, and getting out was an awkward and ungainly struggle.
The other big reason was that rig E19 was as cold as a witch’s clit. It was in the North Pacific, and it was cold enough that the inner decks — which were exposed to the water — grew gardens of icicles. The bunks were built into the walls of the corridors, and the corridors were mostly unheated.
A few corridors were heated thoroughly, which was where Mr. Chow told them all to bunk. He let them choose though, and Buck and Lem preferred the privacy of the dead end. They rigged it up with blankets and pillows and space heaters — Mr. Chow provided plenty of space heaters — which gave off enough warmth for the both of them.
The space heater made the bunks much too hot. Some of the other roughnecks jerry-rigged up a system to aim the space heaters indirectly, but it was tough to find a good temperature in those little bunks. If the heat was aimed directly in, the bunk turned sweltering. If the heat was aimed elsewhere, the bunk froze solid. Most of the living areas were, like the dead end, set off with makeshift walls made of blankets and cardboard.
Nobody came to this dead end. There was a door marked “clinic”, but inside was just a bunch of old toolboxes and stacks of rotting first-aid gear. That was all there was, aside from six bunks, in this dead end.
That meant they could string up blankets to form a wall, making the dead-end corridor a room. The corridor itself was narrow, but the bunks were like shelves, and the clinic-cum-closet provided extra space. They kept the door open, so Buck’s feet could aim that way. He had plenty of room to stretch.
The blanket-wall insulated the “room” from the cold corridor, and it was heated by space heaters.
The one downside was that the bathroom was far away. They kept a piss bottle, but dookies required hotfooting it down the glacier-like steel hallway to the nicely heated bathroom. That was where they showered too.

From Buck the Roughneck

Craving the nigga-heavy nights of a crowded cell

Though he ain’t want nobody to know it, Thumper looked forward to work, and the dawn couldn’t come early enough.

Ain’t nobody got time to text a notiony nigga like Thumper, he thought as he stretched hisself home silent as samurai on his lumpy feet. Lingering moonlight bathed his booty in both fog and dim. His brain felt old, but Baltimore was older. The city smelled like the past at night. It smelled like the future during the day, but at night, Thumper recognized streets he grew up on and windows he walked past back when, and he recollected names and faces that done drain away. Nighttime smelled of asphalt and history.
He was glad to go home alone. Them two Jaekwel and Deon smelled like clean knees, but parta Thumper’s noggin craved the nigga-heavy nights of a crowded cell, and he steady checked his phone before finally slipping into a solofied slumber.
Though he ain’t want nobody to know it, Thumper looked forward to work, and the dawn couldn’t come early enough.

From Thumper the Mover