writing – Mansploitation

The Fat Jock

Davy is the biggest linebacker on the football team, and he’s too big for most women… That means he’s just perfect for Bart! Bart loves big bellies, big guys and big meat! Can Davy satisfy his expansive needs?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“C’mon, man…” Zack pleaded. His dimples were maddening though. Davy Mitchell hated Zack’s dimples and his handsome face. Every moment he was near Zack, he got angrier. He wanted to punch Zack into the dirt.
Of course he couldn’t do that. But he had other plans that would feel almost as good, he thought.
Zack Beauchamp was a freshman and a backup lineman. He would be taking Davy’s place when Davy graduated this year. Zack was younger than Davy. He was smaller, more handsome, cleaner, smarter, more articulate and more charismatic. He had a normal voice. He was majoring in a real subject, math, and he did all of his own work.
In contrast, Davy had an Asian nerd do his homework, even the ultra-simple coursework from his communications-major classes — he could do that. Communications assignments tended to be things like “find a YouTube video of a person communicating and write four sentences about it” — dummy work. Davy could do that. He was not a retard.
But football practice took so much time. How did Zack find the time to go to practice and learn math? Davy felt like he didn’t have enough time to write four sentences about a YouTube video. Hell, Davy felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day to shower and shave and eat eight thousand calories.
And Zack did math?!?!?!
Davy did need help for some of his academic work, because he wasn’t a good student. Math was hard. English was easy, but writing essays took forever. History was too much memorization. Science was hard, plus you had to go to labs and that took a lot of time. Davy was glad no one took attendance for him, and his Asian tutor was prompt and reliable.
But he had noticed and been hurt by the fact that his coaches never once asked if Davy could do the work on his own — they simply assumed he needed a tutor to cheat for him. They didn’t even think he could do communications on his own, and that was just basic speaking and writing. A smart parrot could earn a communications degree.
Ultra-handsome Zack could probably earn a communications degree in a weekend.
Zack was good at math; he actually liked math. Davy thought that was preposterous. He had thought it was a joke when Zack said it. He didn’t even really realize it was allowed for a football player to take real classes and do the work.
How the fuck do you enjoy math? It’s just numbers!
Davy hated Zack, who always had a girlfriend even though he was Christian and didn’t have sex. He was blond and he had blue eyes, and girls loved him. He didn’t even have a very big dick — it wasn’t small enough that Davy could really make fun of him for it, but it was hardly large, not like Davy’s horse-like slab of meat, which would have reached his knees if Davy were an average height. Zack was just a perfect specimen of man, seemingly constructed to please women — the opposite of Davy, who was also a perfect specimen of man in his own way, a way that turned women off and sent them running… into Zack’s well-toned — but not bulky — arms.
“No way, get down on your knees,” Davy said. He crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his plump pectoral muscles.
Zack blushed as the other seniors laughed. They played along because Davy was a senior like them, but they all liked Zack. They felt sorry for him. Davy didn’t. Zack sunk to his knees in front of Davy, who wore only a jockstrap — everyone in the room wore only their jockstrap, because they were hazing the freshmen.
Davy’s ball-hairs barely fit in the jockstrap, and they jutted out, making him look like a sasquatch who had been stuffed into some ill-fitting human underwear. He didn’t wear the fashionable, colored jockstrap that some of his teammates wore — including Zack, who had a pink jockstrap on — pink — that’s right, pink — and apparently the girls liked it for some reason; pink had become fashionable and no one told Davy, who had teased Zack for his jockstrap a month ago only for his teammates to tell him that rappers wore pink underwear now. “It’s a thing these days,” they said.
Davy had scowled. He’d been looking for a chance to humiliate Zack since then. He wished he was from an earlier era, he thought, when masculinity was more simple.
Zack wanted to come to the Kappa Kappa Pi party tonight, but it was only for upperclassmen. Zack said he was in love with a girl who would be there. Davy hated him so much. Team tradition dictated that any player, including Davy, could veto a freshman’s party invitation. Even if Zack were cool, Davy might have refused an invite for Zack, as that way the party would have a better ratio of females to males. It made sense to reduce the cock-count.
But Davy knew he wasn’t going to get laid regardless. The girls would squeal at his size and laugh at his jokes and say he was so cool, but then they’d all go upstairs with the handsome players. Davy was fun to tease, but not to fuck.
“I… I promise I won’t flirt with any girl, Davy. I swear. I have a girlfriend.” He sniffled. “Please, c’mon, man.”
Davy shook his head. “No way, bitch. You wanna come to the party? Get ready for tea!”
His teammates laughed and clapped to cover up their anxiety when Davy dropped his jockstrap. His foot-long dick flopped out, and those massive balls dangled. Davy jogged in place a little, making his cock and balls jiggle right in front of Zack’s face.
“Lean your head back and open up-“
“Ew, c’mon… at least take a shower first,” Zack said, his cheeks turning bright red.
Davy blushed too, because his teammates laughed at his naked body. They showered together all the time, of course, it wasn’t abnormal to see each other’s dick. It was unusual, however, for only one of them to be naked at a time though, and anywhere other than the locker room. That didn’t happen a lot.
But Davy decided to lean into it. That was what he had always done when people teased him. He pretended it didn’t bother him, that he was deliberately cultivating it. He hadn’t showered today. He stretched like he was going to work out, jogging in place with a big goofy grin. “Gotta get myself nice and sweaty,” he said as he jogged.
As he moved around and stretched, Davy turned around and bent over, pretending to be stretching his legs and his back. It had the effect of making his big hairy asscheeks spread right in front of Zack’s face.
“Ah, nasty!”
“Stick ya tongue in there, Zack!”
The teammates roared their laughter, applauding and shoving Zack’s face towards Davy’s ass. His thick kinky black hairs were plastered to his flesh. He was so tall that he had to lower his ass quite a bit, kneeling awkwardly, to get his cheeks right in front of Zack’s face.
Zack blushed and looked away. He looked like he was considering leaving — he didn’t need to do this, after all. But his girlfriend wanted to come to this party, and he had promised her an invite.
Blushing intensely, Zack nodded. He closed his eyes. He thought this wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t looking. He also didn’t want to admit how big Davy’s cock was. He winced as he felt Davy’s massive body approaching. Zack snuck a peak just in time to see those low-hanging balls drop right into his open mouth.
“Ew, nasty!”
“Teabag him!”
“Drink that ball-sweat, freshman!”
The other seniors laughed and slapped Davy’s asscheeks because that made more sweat trickle down into Zack’s throat. They all winced when they touched him because they were intimidated by his size, and a little grossed out by the sweat dripping from his hairy ass. Zack cringed and wiggled like he was trying to escape. There seemed to be an infinite amount of scrotum flesh filling up his mouth. It coated his tongue with hairy, salty sweat, and it made him gag loudly. He retched. His stomach twisted. Above his face, Davy’s strapping muscles all tensed at once as he wiggled his dick, making it drag over Zack’s nose.
“Ah, shit…” Davy was still soft, of course, but he moaned as though he was about ready to cum. He even gave his dick one long strong to make sure everyone on the team knew how big it was. It was the one aspect of his big body that he could really show off — not to girls, of course, but at least he could ensure his teammates knew he had a bigger dick than any of them.
His cock and balls flopped over Zack’s retching face. Davy took a deep breath. “Lick my balls, punk!” He guffawed, his big barrel voice echoing against the walls.
Then, at last, Davy pulled away. He cackled and danced around the room, his heaviness making the floor creak and the shelves vibrate until an empty beer bottle toppled over. His cock jiggled up and down along with his belly, which shifted like a sac of potatoes dangling in front of his chest.
For some reason, Davy pulling his balls out of Zack’s mouth made the taste worse. A gritty salty texture coated Zack’s tongue. He thought he might never taste anything else again. He gagged furiously, his face bright red.
“Zack’s a bitch now-“
“How’s them balls taste, boy? You wanna taste some more?”
“Zack’s the new team ball-boy!”
Zack blushed. He had always been the sexiest guy in high school, the one all the girls had a crush on. He was more popular than the quarterback. He hadn’t taken well to being a mere freshman and a second-stringer, especially while a big dumb loser like Davy was a star. He wasn’t used to being teased or hazed — he was always on the other side of that equation. Zack’s blood boiled.
“Hey, fuck you, dumbass! You’re a fucking retard, Davy. There’s no reason for you to go to the party cuz no girls will ever mess with you and your hairy ass!” Zack said, his face turning red.
The laughter and jeers stopped. The fun hazing atmosphere of the room died. Davy glared at Zack.
“What’d you say to me, you little punk?!” Davy shouted. His voice was so deep it rattled the windows and made everyone in the house, even the freshmen downstairs, fall quiet. Davy grabbed his horse-dick and waved it in Zack’s direction.
Before either of them could say anything else, however, the quarterback Jimmy (and team captain) stepped in between them. “Zack!” he barked. “Get downstairs! You have to respect the seniors, freshman. That’s a rule. Davy might be an ugly sonofabitch, but he’s still a senior.” He paused. “And you’re not allowed to call anyone retarded, except actual retards — I mean, not anyone, not even them. That’s a rule. You can get kicked out of the whole university-“
“Fine, fuck you! I don’t need your stupid party!” Zack screamed. He stormed out of the room and out of the house, cursing himself — why had he gone through with it if he was just going to stay away from the party anyway? He had only licked Davy’s balls because that was the price of going to the party.
The room was quiet for a moment. Everyone looked at Davy, who blushed. He didn’t want to be naked right now, but he didn’t want to look vulnerable by putting his jockstrap back on. The fact that he was the only one in the room with a lot of chest hair — which had gone well over into his back now, since he stopped shaving his chest and there was no one in his life who would help him shave his back — and the only one who didn’t have a six-pack seemed glaringly obvious right now.
“I do get laid,” Davy said. He didn’t intend to sound defensive, but he winced as the other seniors snickered. They must have been more aware than Davy thought that he didn’t have sex very often. Davy frowned. “Look… Girls do dig me. He don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Yeah, sure, Davy, we know,” Jimmy said with that charming grin of his. “Zack’s not allowed to be disrespectful like that anyway. He’s a little puke.”
“Yeah, you’re a tough guy, Davy, we know girls aren’t so into that-“
“We should get Davy laid! Hey, remember that fat chick at the Wendy’s? Who’s got her number? She had a nice ass, and she was like six and a half feet tall-“
The door opened, and Bart walked into the Kappa Kappa Pi house. The seniors in their jockstraps all furrowed their brow. None of them had ever seen Bart before. Davy smiled at him.
The others were all shocked that Davy was naked and seemingly unembarrassed about it. Bart smirked and waved his limp-wristed hand at Davy.
“Who’re you?”
“Hey, man, uh, sir, this is… How’d you get in the house? Who are you?” Jimmy was the team captain, and the “responsible” one, so he addressed Bart.
“I teleported in,” Bart said with a giggle. He gently pushed Jimmy out of the way with his limp wrist. He approached Davy. “I’m here to service this amazing slab of manhood. Evidently the girls around here don’t know what to do with him. You’d think college girls would be smarter than that, but I guess they don’t teach classes in manhandling meat. I blame the liberals.” Bart glanced at Jimmy’s crotch as he walked by. “You’ve got a nice dick, Jimmy. But it’s a little small for me.” The other players chuckled as Jimmy blushed. Bart grabbed Davy’s thick meat and stroked it. “This is more like it.”
Davy put his arms on his waist and sniffled. “Yeah, man, y’all don’t even know. Real men get their dick wet, y’know, and-“
The other players erupted in laughter. Someone slapped Davy’s ass. He blushed intensely and closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was going to get off with another man, especially in front of his teammates. But Bart had appeared at the perfect moment — no one would remember the freshman being a moron and calling Davy out on being poor with women; they would only remember how the guy said Bart’s dick was too small for him and said that only Davy was horse-cocked enough.
And he wasn’t even going to have to deal with Zack at the party either.
“Holy shit, is he doing it?”
“Davy! Davy! Do the Gravy-Boat, man!”
The Gravy-Boat was a dance that Davy did in the endzone sometimes — he didn’t score often, so it didn’t happen too much. He blushed as Bart dropped to his knees in front of him and nodded. Bart had seen the Gravy-Boat before, but he enjoyed the idea of watching it from up close and personal.
Davy blushed. He had never intended for the “Gravy-Boat” to be a thing. He was just trying to impress a girl when he came up with it, though she had only laughed at him — why was it, he thought, that when a dimpled man dances in the endzone, girls think it’s sexy? When Davy did it, girls thought it was hilarious, not sexy, while those very same hot dudes made jokes about Davy causing an earthquake.
It was barely even a dance. He just leaned forward and wiggled his ass, then leaned back and wiggled his ass, then back and forth a few more times. Since he was naked and Bart was right in front of him, Davy waggled his sweaty cock and balls in front of Bart’s face, then turned around and shook his hairy ass in front of his face. Bart watched studiously as though it was an informative documentary.
“Gravy-Boat! Gravy-Boat!”
The other players laughed more loudly than was really appropriate — they were nervous about the stranger seemingly ready to jack Davy off. A few of them even left the room, not wanting to watch; the remainder told themselves and each other they didn’t want to watch, but didn’t want to seem so squeamish as to leave.
Davy stopped dancing, too embarrassed to continue. His face was like a hairy, stupid-looking cranberry, which made Bart laugh. The room fell silent and awkward, and Bart was about to swallow Davy’s dick in front of all these jocks.
But then George Hill pushed through — he was a wide receiver, and he also had a huge cock like Davy’s. He had his jockstrap down just enough to bare his dick, which was uncut and fleshy. He flopped it between his fingers, running past Bart.
“Dicktap!” he screamed.
He thwacked his dick against Davy’s shaft and his balls, hard enough to make Davy oomph and pull away. Davy cried out, “shit, man, ow!” He said more but the team erupted in laughter and applause, drowning out Davy’s breathless howls of pain. They clapped George on the shoulder as he stepped back.
This was a game that had become popular at GHU over the last couple years, among the athletes, especially on the football team. It was called Dicktap. The “game” was to simply hit someone else’s cock and balls (mainly the balls, since it hurt) with your own cock. It wasn’t really much of a game, but Bart enjoyed watching it as the other players all started trying to get a dicktap on George, who danced away and out of the room. It was traditional to only dicktap the person who had previously dicktapped you (so Bart didn’t know how the tradition had begun in the first place).
“C’m’ere, George, I’ll knock your dick clean off!”
“George’s dick really hurts, that’s not fair!”
Bart took advantage of the confusion to get started. Davy loomed overhead, momentarily distracted by the fading pain in his balls and by the commotion from the other players. Bart took his dick in hand and stroked it. Again Davy didn’t seem to notice, not right away. A lot was going on all at once, and his teammates kept bumping into him as they chased George out of the room.
Then Bart swallowed his dick, and Davy couldn’t help but notice that. He grunted. He didn’t mean to be loud, but that voice like an idling eighteen-wheeler made it so loud that everyone fell silent.
The remaining players (a dozen or so) all turned to face Davy, whose face remained a bright red though he tried to look confident and not nervous. His dick was limp still, but throbbing. Bart could sense the erection bubbling up inside him.
“Shit, he’s really doing it…”
“Davy’s crazy!”
“That’s so nasty!”
Davy grumbled. His mouth creaked open amid an assortment of sarcastic snickers and patronizing chuckles. His cock twitched and jerked in Bart’s mouth. Bart wanted to impress the others, so now that they were paying close attention, he slammed his head all the way down. He deep-throated Davy in one smooth motion.
A spine-tingling moan filled the air. Davy leaned against the wall and gripped it tightly, his fingers turning white. He closed his eyes once more, then thought that made him look weak. He shouldn’t look embarrassed, he decided, he should look like this was no big deal and he did this all the time, like it was the others who were weird for not having ever done it.
“Fuck, that’s nasty! He’s deep-throating Davy!”
“He’s doing it!”
His cock was rock-hard now, and its size couldn’t be ignored. None of the players mentioned how big it was though, because none of them wanted to acknowledge that it was bigger than their own dicks. Even when they played Dicktap, no one ever acknowledged differences in cock-size. It was an unwritten rule of jock life: pretend you’ve never looked at anyone’s cock before.
Precum flowed down Davy’s shaft and coated Bart’s face and tongue. He kept deep-throating, even as his lungs cried out for oxygen and his stomach churned. His nose nestled in Davy’s unkempt pubic bush, while Bart’s soft hands stroked his hairy balls and taint.
“Is he doing the Gravy-Boat again?” The other players giggled. Davy wasn’t trying to do his dance, but he was shaking because his dick felt so good, and he was trying to avoid making a lot of noise — he thought that would lead to more teasing — so it rather looked like he was trying to do the Gravy-Boat without removing his dick from Bart’s mouth. His assflesh trembled and his muscles all flexed at once.
“Goddamn, Davy…”
But Davy’s desire to avoid making too much noise backfired. He snorted and sniffled, which made him sound like a tired horse as his muscles sweated and he began to plow down Bart’s throat. Then he grabbed the back of Bart’s head and rammed his dick in, swaying his hips from side to side as though trying to plow into every inch of Bart’s face.
Bart’s hands flailed. He grabbed Davy’s asscheek with one hand, while his other hand tried to reach Davy’s nipples — Davy was too tall, so Bart just teased the lower edge of his sweaty pecs.
“You ever done this before, Davy? You look like you’s an expert. You gonna stick him in the ass next?”
Davy shook his head. He said no, but all that came out of his mouth was a creaky grunt. He had to focus to say anything articulately. “No, no way, man,” he said, sounding like he was already on the verge of orgasm. “Jackin’ off so much ain’t right, it’s unbiblical.” Davy wasn’t really Christian, or at least not seriously Christian, but it was the only objectively reasonable excuse he could think of. A part of him did want to plow into Bart’s butt, but that seemed too gross and off-putting; he certainly wouldn’t do it in front of his teammates anyway.
His sac slapped against Bart’s chin so violently ballsweat dripped down his body. Bart was good at keeping his mouth open and loose, so Davy could just ram his dick in and out.
“Ew, Davy’s gonna nut!”
“That’s Davy’s O-face, man, looks like a caveman holding in a fart.” The other players snickered and pinched Davy’s hairy ass to tease him.
“Holy shit, he does-“
“I bet he does fart when he cums-“
They all began imitating Davy’s supposed orgasm-sounds. They hooted like a cumming gibbon and slapped their own thighs to make a loud, fleshy rippling noise. They guffawed while Davy blushed, both in arousal and embarrassment.
He howled and panted like a wolf when he finally came. Davy used both of his paw-like hands to hold Bart’s face in place, as Davy ignored his friends teasing and poking him. Cum poured down Bart’s throat.
It was salty and sweet, and it was a huge load, even more than Bart had gotten out of him the last time. The flavor was intense, sunny and grassy; it tasted like a football field, he thought, he could even taste the plastic padding of a uniform and sweat-stained cotton fabric of Davy’s too-small jockstrap.
“Ew, he’s swallowing it!”
“Davy’s cumming!”
“Dicktap!” Someone tried to get a Dicktap on Davy as he came, which prompted laughter even though it didn’t work — Davy’s entire dick was in Bart’s mouth, and his balls were inaccessible. So he just flopped his dick over Bart’s face and the root of Davy’s dick.
Bart was dizzy, about to pass out from lack of oxygen. Davy firmly kept him place until every last drop of cum had escaped from his balls, filling Bart up with so much fluid he felt full. He couldn’t believe Davy had shot so much — it was those massive baseball-sized balls, he thought, pumping him until the cum piled up in his throat and slipped out, coating his chin and plopping onto the floor. He was groggy as Davy finally pulled away and sighed.
“Davy! Davy!”
“Do the Gravy-Boat!”
As the last pangs of his orgasm coursed through him, Davy managed to do a Gravy-Boat. He shook his limpening dick over Bart’s face, then spread his asscheeks and wiped his sweaty crack over Bart’s nose. Davy cackled as his friends slapped his hairy cheeks, then jokingly wiped their hands off on each other.
“Ew, ass-sweat-“
“You gonna smell like a gravy boat, man…”
Bart laid back and sighed, satisfied as a smug kitten. Davy started drinking, still stark-naked — the girls weren’t supposed to come over for a few more hours, so there was no reason to put clothes on yet. That meant Bart still had plenty of time to worship every inch of his raunchy linebacker body.

The Raunchy Hillbilly’s Feet

When Miles hears tell of the filthiest hillbilly in West Virginia in jail, he heads right over to bail him out. It’s the raunchy Cooter Wilde, who’s willing to let Miles worship every inch of his dirty feet… with a little monetary persuasion!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The blank page beckoned. Miles was trying to write a book, and it wasn’t going well. He only ever had ideas when he was driving. As soon as he sit himself down to write, he couldn’t think of anything. Literally all he had written so far was “hero… tall”
That wasn’t much to start from.
He was distracted by the cops who had just walked in. Miles was told by a writer friend that he should go to a coffee shop. “You’ll focus better that way,” that idiot writer friend had said, dumbly. Miles wasn’t focusing better at all. He had gotten more done that one time he tried to write drunk at home. What he wrote turned out to be incomprehensible garbage in the morning, but at least Miles felt like a writer for awhile.
“I don’t wanna buy any sandwich today,” one of the cops said to the second cop, “cuz I arrested Cooter Wilde last night. I still feel dirty, I don’t wanna eat nothin’ I gotta touch.” They both laughed.
“That boy is the filthiest hillbilly in West Virginia. What’d he do? Sell meth again — I’m sorry, sell meth barefoot on the street corner — that oughta be even more illegal than selling meth in shoes. Fuckin’ nastier than a dead dog in heat.”
“Nah, all he did yesterday was show up drunk to Lipsweet and refuse to leave. He told me he don’t make meth no more cuz of something to do with the Chinese. I didn’t quite get it. He don’t like Chinese folk, or at least not Chinese meth-dealers,” the first cop said, snorting back laughter. “He was barefoot too, once again. That motherfucker…”
“They let him in the bar without shoes on?”
“I don’t think Teddy noticed his bare feet, he was too distracted by Cooter puking all over the jukebox. He tried to kick him out, but you know how strong Cooter is, especially when he’s drunk.”
Miles couldn’t resist that. He was already googling the local jailhouse and the procedures to bail someone out. If there was a filthy, perpetually barefoot hillbilly in jail, Miles was going to go worship his nasty, disgusting feet or do everything he could to make it happen.
So he drove straight to the jail. Miles loved foot worship. He loved everything about (male) feet: the funk, the nastiness, the smell, the taste, the texture, he loved them clean, he loved them (especially) dirty, he loved taking clean ones and making them dirty, he loved taking dirty ones and making them clean.
It was all he could think about when he tried to start writing this children’s book — which he was sure would be more popular than Harry Potter if he could just focus on it.
But who could focus on wizards and gremlins and a tall hero if there was a nasty hillbilly whose feet needed worshiping?
Miles drove straight to the jailhouse. He wanted to go right there to avoid any awkward questions if those cops from the coffeeshop happened to see him bailing Cooter Wilde out — that wasn’t illegal necessarily, but they might think the only reason Miles would do something like that was because he and Cooter were in business together (presumably the meth business).
So he went right there, while those cops were still sipping coffee and eating donuts. He had never bailed anyone out of jail. He went to the desk sergeant, who looked at him like he was an idiot. Cooter didn’t need to be “bailed out”, he had merely been cited for drunk in public, drunk and disorderly, open container violations and fourth-degree menacing. That meant thousands in fines but no jail time, so there was no bail. He was only in jail still because he was sleeping off the booze.
When Miles was led into the jail, his heart pounded. There were a couple hot guys in there. One young black man with massive feet attracted Miles’s eye.
But he managed to focus — finally — and went to Cooter Wilde’s cell, which he shared with a few other drunks sleeping it off.
Miles liked feet, so he wasn’t so worried about his men being imperfect in other ways. They could be a little fat, a little skinny, a little old, whatever, it didn’t much matter to Miles. But Cooter Wilde was absolutely perfect — Miles thought every part of him was hot.
He was short and thickly built but not fat; he looked like he wanted to be fat but didn’t eat enough, his oversized heft overflowing from overtaut skin. His thighs were muscular like a horse’s haunches. He had a big torso and no belly to speak of, though he was far from having a six-pack. Perhaps his greatest non-foot feature, however, was his beard, which was big and bushy like an Old West gold prospector. It was coppery — the hair on his head, a tangled, greasy mullet, was dirty blond, but his beard hairs were gray-tinged copper like a nest made of wire covering his cheeks and chin.
His feet were bare, and they were magnificent specimens indeed. Miles was an experienced connoisseur of men’s feet. He had massive feet, even bigger than seemed appropriate for his body, and there was a tuft of hair on the top of each foot and a few more hairs on each toe. His feet were dirty, literally filthy, covered in dust and and caked with dried mud, which it looked like he had scraped off over the night. Miles could still see it sticking to his skin though, a thin layer of dirt. He had been given jailhouse sandals, which sat, unused, by the door.
You could just tell at a glance that Cooter was the kind of man who did not wear shoes often. He had the feet of an outdoorsman. Miles saw the signs. Bet they’d taste so good… And you could lick them for hours, with calluses like that, Cooter wouldn’t even notice.
“Ya ain’t allowed to be barefoot in jail, Cooter,” the desk sergeant said with a resigned air — obviously they’d had this dispute before. His name was Officer Heartley, and he also had magnificent feet. Miles had partaken of their glory on a few occasions, when Heartley was feuding with his wife and needed a place to stay.
But his feet were never one tenth as filthy as Cooter’s. How did they even get filthy like this in a reasonably clean jail? Miles wondered but did not ask.
“I is layin’ down,” Cooter said without getting up. His chest rippled, greasy sweat glistening. “They say I can takes ‘em off when I lay my ass down.”
The cop didn’t dispute that, but he scowled. “You gettin’ picked up.”
Cooter hadn’t looked over to the door yet, so he hadn’t seen Miles. He thought that the cop was asking him a question. He snorted. “Ain’t no one gonna pick me up. Just lemme walk outta here.”
“You do got someone pickin’ you up,” the cop said. He held up his breathalyzer. “You think you can pass?”
Cooter sat up and furrowed his brow. He looked at Miles. “Who’uh you?”
“My name’s Miles,” he said. “I’m here to offer you a job. They said I’d have to pick you up at jail-“
The cop snorted, and Cooter laughed with him. “I ain’t the havin’-a-job kinda guy, Miles. Who told you to hire me?”
“It’s complicated,” Miles said. “But I’ll take you home whether you take the job or not.”
Cooter shrugged and agreed. The cop breathalyzed him — he wasn’t allowed to leave jail until he had a blood-alcohol-level low enough to drive, even though he wasn’t driving away from jail. He blew a .01, which was well below the cut-off. Cooter cheered like being sober was an accomplishment he had not often achieved.
Once they got out into the parking lot, Cooter winced at the bright light. Then he said, “Math can go fuck himself.”
“Oh.” Miles raised his eyebrows. “Math can go fuck itself?” He unlocked his car, and they both got in.
“I don’t owe him jack-shit, he ain’t need to send you,” Cooter said. He belched loudly in the passenger seat of the car. Then he winced because some of the stench of his burp stuck to his beard.
It was only then that Miles realized Math was a person. That made more sense. “I don’t know any Math,” Miles said. “But I am partial to some multiplication.”
“What?”
“Just a joke. I’m not part of… the same thing, the Math person that you know, he didn’t send me.”
“Then why’d you pick me up?”
“I heard you were the filthiest hillbilly in West Virginia. Is that right?”
Cooter grinned. “I am as dirty as a hog in a brothel, yessuh, tha’s fo’ sho’,” he said. “But I ain’t make the acquaintance of e’ery hillbilly in West Virginny.” He slapped his belly and pulled his shirt off. He belched loudly. “So you pickt me up outta jail cuz you like filthy hillbillies?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Uh, I like the filth, and uh… I appreciate certain kinds of manhood. Well, most any kind of manhood really, as long as it’s, you know… a good one,” he said. “I just like the feet of men. I’m a connoisseur.”
“That ain’t a word I done got to know in an intimate fashion,” Cooter said. He had a deep-holler-heavy baritone that boomed and rattled. “But I is pickin’ up what you puttin’ down.” Cooter looked at him distastefully and belched again, this time aiming it right at Miles’s face. Miles winced at the rancid taste, but he actually found it a turn-on. His dick throbbed in his pants. “Don’t play, man, I can tell what you is like. Whatchoo want wit’ me?”
“I wanna lick your feet.”
There was a long pause. “I ain’t think that’s what you was gonna say. I ain’t predict that ‘t all. I thought you was gonna say you wanna buy meth.”
“Oh, uh… Yeah, I’m not into that,” Miles said. He blushed. “I like feet, and yours are so nasty and disgusting. Will you step on my face? Lemme suck on your toes.”
Cooter shook his head. “I ain’t down. I don’t much cotton to unbiblical affairs. I mean… not countin’ fuckin’ girls in the pussy, or in the butt or mouth, I mean. And… you know, beatin’ up punks and shit.”
“Oh, you’re a churchgoer? Well that’s cool, I don’t wanna make you-“
“No I don’t go to church. I… Okay, full disclosure, mothahfuckah, I ain’t all ‘bout the Bible, okay? No spillin’ your seed.”
“The only part of the Bible you believe in is the part about spillin’ your seed?”
“I… I don’t murder neither.”
“So two parts?”
“I gots a right to my beliefs,” Cooter said with a chuckle. He patted his jiggling belly. “You got smokes?”
“No. I’ll buy you some if you take your dick out.”
Cooter agreed readily and Miles pulled into a gas station. He bought the cigarettes, handed them over to Cooter and then had to go back in to buy a lighter — the cops had confiscated Cooter’s and never gave it back. When Miles pulled out of the parking lot, Cooter unzipped his jeans and pulled them down far enough to bare his massive dick.
“Shit… Why ain’t you come by the jail last night?”
“What?”
“You wouldn’t gotta pay me nothin’, I’d have been passed out,” Cooter said. He looked out the window, not looking at his cock or at Miles, who snuck glances at his massive, greasy hog while driving on the highway.
“I’m not into sucking unconscious feet,” Miles said. He slowly reached over to Cooter’s cock to give him a chance to say no. Cooter sighed but allowed it. Miles gave it a stroke and a shiver of excitement ran through him. “Can we go somewhere and I’ll suck your feet? I’ll suck your dick too, but it’ll be mainly the feet-“
“I ain’t… into feet.” Cooter said, facing still aimed intently out the window. Miles stroked his limp dick.
“That’s fine. I’ll pay you two hundred dollars.”
Cooter snorted like that was nowhere’s near enough.
“Three hundred.”
“Three grand,” he said. He looked at Miles finally, and waved the paperwork the desk sergeant had given him. “I owe seventeen hundred in fees, man. So you pay that and gimme three hundred on top of it, and you can do anything you want to to my feet.” He blushed and held his hands up. “Not anything. You can lick ‘em and shit.” He blushed even brighter and his eyes opened wide. “Not shit! You can’t shit on my feet!”
“That’s fine, that isn’t what I wanted to do,” Miles said with a giggle. “Just suck ‘em clean, and for that much money, me and you both have to cum on your feet and I’ll suck the cum off-“
Cooter looked like he might throw up. “I’ll cum on my feet, yeah, that’s fine. Gross, but fine. But you wanna cum on my feet too? I dunno, hoss, that sounds weird.”
“Well… I can’t dispute that,” Miles said. “It is weird. But for three grand…?”
Cooter shook his head and covered his face. “Fine. Yes. But you can’t tell no one.”
“I won’t. I doubt I know anyone in the same social circle as you anyway,” Miles said. “You got a place we could go?”
“Yeah, fine,” Cooter said. “Get off the highway up here.” He quickly directed Miles off the highway and onto a dirt road. It led to a cabin in the woods. It was a ramshackle old thing with no electricity — though there was a generator — nor even plumbing; it had an outhouse out back. There were no signs of habitation, but it did look like people came here regularly. Miles suspected there was a meth lab, marijuana field or something similar nearby; he didn’t share that suspicion with Cooter.
Cooter wore camo pants and a wifebeater, which he took off and plopped on the floor. He sighed and patted his belly. Then he blushed and looked at Miles. “So, uh… how do you… do this?”
Miles just dropped right to his knees and put his lips on Cooter’s left foot. Cooter grunted. Miles’s tongue lapped at the hairy spot there, leaving a layer of saliva, then his tongue moved down lower and lower, to his toes.
Cooter still stood there awkwardly. He hadn’t expected it to just happen. He wouldn’t have started standing in the center of the cabin like this. He wanted to sit, or lay down, but it looked like Miles was intent on licking his foot.
It had seemed gross right up until it began. Out in the car, Cooter thought it was disgusting, and couldn’t believe he had agreed to it. But now he realized it was just like a cat licking him — a little ticklish and not at all sexy, but it wasn’t nasty. He could just ignore it, stand here for awhile, blow his wad and make three grand.
Miles’s tongue slipped between his toes. Cooter lifted his foot to give him easy access to it, leaning against the wall for support. Miles sucked on each toe — making Cooter chuckle ticklishly a bit — as he got all the grime out from between the toes.
The bottom of Cooter’s foot was the filthiest piece of flesh Miles had ever licked. Cooter hated wearing shoes or socks. He kept them in his car because a lot of stores wouldn’t let him in barefoot. Because of that, he often wore the same socks on those occasions when he had to wear socks — he just kept them in his car and didn’t wash them.
So the bottom of his feet smelled like socks that were so dirty they never dried out, remaining perpetually moist with foot-scent. He was covered in dirt and bits of asphalt sticking to the padded calluses underneath his foot. He had thick calluses there, Miles could feel them like armor, especially under his heel.
Miles noisily moistly sucked every inch of Cooter’s left foot, while Cooter looked on dourly. Cooter’s heart raced but his dick remained limp.
Much to Cooter’s surprise, he did get hard slowly. He wasn’t even aware of it until Miles pulled those camo pants down and directed him to sit on the couch. Cooter’s big round face was bright red, and he panted a little.
When did I get turned on? Cooter realized only as he sat that he was eager to get a nut off. Up until now, he had been weirded out and grossed out and desperate to start drinking again — Cooter was rarely sober for long. But now his dick was erect and throbbing, and the touch of Miles’s tongue on his foot made him croon with desire.
“Shit…” Cooter said with a blushing chuckle. “You ready to jack me off?”
Miles nodded. He hadn’t even touched Cooter’s right foot yet, but he decided to leave that for the moment. He went straight to Cooter’s cock, planted his lips on it and blew a loud, moist raspberry. That made Cooter laugh uproariously before Miles began mouthing it off in earnest. It sent a thrill up Cooter’s spine.
His chest muscles jiggled, that unkempt beard shaking as Cooter bit his lip. He howled. He still felt a little queasy from his hangover — though that had mostly subsided — but this blowjob was already making him feel better. It made him hungry, which was always a sign that he had sobered up too much.
“Goddamn.” Cooter gritted his teeth. He touched Miles’s head, guiding it up and down on his fat cock. Miles’s nose buried itself in Cooter’s fleshy crotch, and then Miles pulled off to suck on his sweaty balls. Miles moaned so loud it made Cooter laugh again. “Shit!” Cooter said, shaking like this felt so good it hurt. “Get deep on it, man-“
“Are you ready to cum?” Miles asked. He asked it first with his mouth full of hairy ballsac, but that didn’t produce any intelligible words, so he let both balls spill out of his mouth, while Miles’s hand caressed Cooter’s left foot.
“Nah, man, it’s only been-” Cooter’s voice broke because Miles went back to slurping on the tip. He gasped. “It’s only been a minute, I don’t cum that quick.” He tried to laugh, but he was on the verge of orgasm so all that came out was a nervous tremor. “Shit, boy, damn!” He growled and plowed into Miles’s face just once before letting go again. Precum streamed down his shaft.
“It’s been like ten minutes,” Miles said, giggling. “Time passes when you have fun.” He placed his tongue out, right on the tip of Cooter’s fat prick. He tasted sour and salty precum, intensely funky, like semen that had been stored in a dirty sock drawer.
He used both hands to stroke Cooter’s cock as quickly as he could. Miles was an expert at getting reluctant men off even when they didn’t know how to do it, so he was able to bring Cooter to orgasm that way, aiming his dick right for Miles’s open mouth and his tongue.
But that isn’t where he shot it. Once Cooter grunted, closed his eyes and bucked his hips, one wad of cum hit Miles on the tongue. Then he pulled Cooter’s dick away and aimed it for Cooter’s right foot, the one Miles hadn’t touched yet. It was still sweat-covered, filth-encrusted and stinking of hillbilly raunch, with bits of who-knew-what from the jailhouse floor. There was paper and fuzz, a twig, clumps of something black clinging to his hairy feet.
Now there was a layer of cum too, ropy wad after ropy wad landing on his stinking foot. It slid over the top and between the toes, running in rivulets down the side to coat the bottom and the heel.
“Shit, boy, shit! You oughta give lessons!” Cooter wailed, a big barrel-shaped belly-laugh exploding from deep within him, voice breaking, orgasm making his hefty hillbilly body jiggle. He slapped his belly over Miles’s face before finishing his load, then he sighed and fell limp on the couch.
His whole body was spent, but his foot was perfectly cum-coated and nasty. The smell of the semen mixed with his natural foot odor, making them both more intense and more potent. Miles inhaled deeply before he got to work sucking Cooter’s foot clean.
It was so foul it brought tears to his eyes. Miles winced and gagged but kept going. He wanted to taste it all.
There was bitterness from those flecks of something black — plastic? Miles wasn’t sure, it had a certain human quality, like it was bits of pure body odor, but he suspected it was plastic from some kind of strap that had been over a person’s ass — it stank of ass. There was bits of cottony fuzz, soaked in foot-sweat — those were from the jailhouse slippers they made inmates wear if they came in barefoot.
The sweat and cum made a veritable puddle of fluids on every surface of Cooter’s foot. Miles slurped it down like the last bit of soda in a bottle. Again it made him gag, the snottiness of Cooter’s cum making the raunchy taste of his foot stick to Miles’s mouth. He thought it might never go away.
Miles kneeled in front of Cooter with his foot on his face. Cooter pressed down with his toes on Miles’s mouth because he thought it was funny. He had even forgotten that Miles hadn’t cum yet and that he had agreed to let Miles cum on his foot. He just chuckled as he played with the inside of Miles’s mouth, making him gag over and over.
And then Miles buckled, choking on the massive toe on his mouth. He stood, holding Cooter’s foot, aiming his dick at it.
Cooter groaned and covered his eyes. “Ah, shit, nasty, you is doin’ it…” His big cheeks were bright red from his orgasm, but now they went flush, the color mainly covered up by his redneck beard.
Even with his eyes closed, Cooter could feel sticky cum all over his foot. He had never touched another man’s cum, he thought, and it was just as sticky and creamy and stomach-churning as he had suspected it would be.
It poured over his foot, sticking to his skin and coating his toes. He felt it sliding into the intertoe area and groaned, assuming it would be there until he showered — which didn’t happen often, and this cabin had no plumbing, so it wouldn’t happen again until much later, probably when he next visited his mama — but then Miles sucked it all back up.
He didn’t miss a drop. Cooter had been looking away, but now he was intrigued and entranced, and no matter how much it churned his stomach to see a man slurping cum off Cooter’s foot, Cooter couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was so gross it felt good, and the sensitive flesh of Cooter’s foot reawakened his now-finished orgasm.
At last, Miles was done. He dropped Cooter’s foot, but curled up around him on the floor, hugging his ankles and nuzzling his left food. It just smelled like spit now, but Miles still liked it.
“Shit, man,” Cooter said. “That was a fine way to earn three grand.”
Miles giggled and nodded. He hugged Cooter’s feet closer and kissed each one. “Yeah. If you wanna come with me to the bank, I can get the money now.” He laughed. “Well… lemme take a nap first. You tired me out, Cooter.”
Cooter shrugged and agreed, cuz he seemed tired too. Miles fell asleep there, ensconced in the feet of the filthiest hillbilly in West Virginia. Despite the success in nabbing Cooter and his disgusting feet, a flurry of disappointment remained in Miles’s belly — he had not written a word in his book today, and it seemed clear he wasn’t going to.
A hero, tall.

The Married Cop

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

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Smokin’ Sheriff

Rob buys a remote cabin and is visited by the suspicious local sheriff, who demands, expects and receive some ultimate alpha-male service!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob settled back in his new chair. It still felt new, it needed to be broken in, his ass still needed to find its groove in it. But it was fine, and it felt right beneath him. All of his furniture still had that uncomfortably new mystique to it. He felt bad about using it because it all looked so impeccable. It needed some scratches and stains to make this cabin look lived-in.
It was a vacation home out in the woods, in rural North Carolina, in the Appalachian west of the state. Rob had never been here before he bought the cabin, sight unseen. He needed a place to go, to sit and relax, to focus on his novel, and to generally get away from it all. He knew it was a risk, to buy a cabin he’d never seen in a state he’d never been to.
But he was satisfied. The water and power worked, which was the most important thing really — he didn’t want to rough it, he just wanted to relax in the woods. The rest of it could be repaired.
He thought he might fix the cabin up too. He could hire people to expand it, maybe add a second floor. Maybe a garden. He didn’t intend to be here that often, so it’d have to be some easy-to-maintain stuff (he didn’t want to hire a gardener), like maybe some azaleas, that would be nice.
For now though, he just wanted to make it feel like home. He wouldn’t be able to write much as long as it felt like a house he was housesitting for a couple weeks. It needed to feel like a home.
But the chair still felt brand-new. It felt like he was sitting in a showroom chair in a furniture store.
There came a knock at the door. Rob frowned. He didn’t have any neighbors, and he literally knew no one in the area. He’d only been here for a week, after all. Who could be at the door?
He wondered if he was in danger just moments before he opened the front door. Damn it, I should have looked out the window. He didn’t really know how safe this region was. But as far as anyone knew, no one lived here — you had to come into the driveway to even see that his car was here. The cabin had been vacant for years before he bought it.
It’s a cop.
“Oh, uh, hello…” The first thing Rob noticed was that he was a cop. The second thing he noticed was that he was intensely handsome. He wore a brown sheriff’s uniform shirt and brown slacks, which his thick-built body filled out perfectly. He was middle-aged, his face craggy, eyes a bit sunken and dark brown. He wore a wide-brimmed hat but Rob was pretty sure he was balding under that, and he had a jaw-heavy swaggering look to him.
His chest was broad and strapping, the hair visible in how it pressed against his uniform shirt, in the breast pocket of which was one thick cigar. The badge above the cigar gleamed with sunlight that filtered down through the trees above.
“Howdy,” said the sheriff. He tipped his cap to Rob. “I’m Sheriff Torkelson. Reynard Torkelson.” He peered into the house, making a big show of it, like he wanted Rob to notice he was doing it. “Nice cabin.”
“Uh… Thanks. Can I… help you?”
“Is it alright if I come in?” His voice was deep and serious, echoic like his throat was a high-ceilinged vault. This didn’t sound like a friendly call, and Rob was too intimidated to ask why the sheriff wanted to enter. He frowned when Rob didn’t immediately say yes.
Rob knew he should say no. His lawyer friend always said to never invite a cop into your home. But Rob wasn’t being investigated for a crime, right? He didn’t know if that applied right now.
“Sure.” He opened the door for him.
“That’s mighty kind of ya,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He tipped his hat again before entering the house. He didn’t exactly search, but he did look around, peering in every room as he spoke. “We gots a bit of a problem in these parts… girls.”
“Girls? They’re a problem? I-“
“Sorry, not the girls theyselves. We like girls. Girls is right nice indeed,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He opened the door to the bedroom, then looked in the closet, which was empty. He even tapped on a few of the walls and listened to see if there were hollow spaces. “The problem, you see, is that some silly punks think us rednecks don’t mind them usin’ these cabins for they purposes… You feel me? Huh? You pickin’ up what I am puttin’ down?”
After a long pause, Rob said, “No. Not at all. Is something wrong?”
“You a pimp?”
“A pimp? Is that a joke? No, I’m not a pimp,” Rob said.
“Hmm-hmm…. Why’d you buy this cabin?”
“I just wanted a place to relax in, you know… I’m writing a novel, and I want to focus on it.”
“You bought a cabin just to write a novel?”
“I bought a cabin to relax in. The current reason I want to relax is to focus on my novel. But I-“
“What’s ya novel about?”
“A time-traveling orphan who tries to found a modern, democratic society in ancient times, and discovers he accidentally became Romulus and Remus,” Rob said. When the Sheriff looked like he didn’t know what that meant, Rob added, “They’re the mythological founders of Rome. So he discovers that he founded Rome, it was only slightly democratic and only for a couple centuries before it became an empire. So it’s ironic-“
“He became two people?”
“What? Romulus and Remus? That’s two people.”
“Uh, well, yeah, it’s kind of a symbolic thing. He ended up having to make up a cofounder because of politics, he needed someone to offload decisions on. It represents his dual nature, he never intended it to be a founding myth like that. But he came from the Trojan War-“
“Hmmmm…” He peered at Rob. “So you ain’t pimpin’ girls out at this cabin?”
“No! No, officer! No, sir, I mean, sorry, sir. No, sir. No, sheriff.”
“You sure?” He chewed on his lower lip. He got up real close, his rancid breath condensing on Rob’s lips.
“Yes!” Rob said. “I don’t do that! I’m not a pimp! I… I’m from a wealthy family.” He blushed. “Not asking for special treatment, I just… I don’t need money. I wouldn’t pimp out any women, I don’t need the cash and I, you know…” Rob didn’t want to add that he could hire as many high-value escorts as he wanted. “I don’t need women. I’m not even… I don’t even like women. I mean, I don’t — I’m not into sex with women. I’m single.”
The Sheriff glared at him like he didn’t believe him. Rob affected a flamboyant stance with a limp wrist and laughed nervously. The Sheriff forcibly turned Rob around and looked at his ass through his khakis.
“You expect me to believe you come out here to this cabin just to write a goddamn book?”
“I mean… I guess so, yeah, I… It’s not that weird. I own eleven houses, this is just the most remote one,” Rob said. His voice sounded squeaky, his feet frozen to the spot he was in. “I swear, I’m no pimp, I swear. I probably won’t ever have visitors here. I mean, maybe some guys, I like to jerk guys off.” He blushed. “I mean, not like, in a weird way. Just, you know… Sorry, I’m… I like, you know… I don’t hang out with women. Well, sometimes, I have female friends. But not in North Carolina.”
The Sheriff licked his lips again. His eyes roamed up and down Rob’s body. Was he checking him out? Planning on hitting him? Rob had no idea. He couldn’t make eye contact with Sheriff Torkelson’s deep, foreboding eyes.
“Why you so scared if you ain’t doin’ somethin’ you ain’t supposed to? Huh?” He touched Rob on the cheek with one callused finger.
“You’re just… really intimidating,” Rob said with a nervous laugh. Then he added, “And handsome.”
For the first time, Sheriff Torkelson looked confused. He dropped his hand. “What?”
Rob looked down at his feet. “I… I just really want to jerk you off while you smoke that cigar. You can ram me up the ass too.” He laughed hysterically. “Sorry, sorry, I know, you, uh… You got a great body.” Rob was so scared he closed his eyes and sat down on the brand-new couch. “I swear, I couldn’t pimp out any females, I don’t even know how that works — vaginas are weird!Sorry, I-” Rob gasped when he looked up.
Sheriff Torkelson had unzipped his slacks and let a fat cock flop out through the fly. He stood there like he hadn’t noticed his dick was out, as he got out the cigar. He clipped it with a cigar cutter, then he put it in his mouth and began puffing on it even before he lit the cigar with a zippo. “Hmm-hmmm…”
“Oh, uh… You…” Rob wasn’t sure what he should do. He obviously wanted to get on his knees and start worshipping Sheriff Torkelson’s manhood. That was what Rob’s instincts told him to do, and if he was more comfortable with his surroundings, that’s what he would have done. Back at the mansion in California, that’s what he would do.
That massive cock hung so thick and meaty, inviting, a bit glistening with sweat from being cooped up in his uniform slacks. Rob gulped. Could it be a trap? Maybe Sheriff Torkelson would wait for him to do it, then charge him with assaulting an officer or ruining the dignity of a Southerner, something like that.
“So you said before you wasn’t gonna have no visitors?” His cock jiggled. Smoke bloomed from his mouth as he took his first full puff on the now-lit cigar.
The bitter scent of tobacco filled the cabin. It was probably soaking into the upholstery and the curtains. Rob didn’t mind. He would have objected in any other of his houses, but not here, both because Torkelson was too intimidating to object to anything he did and because a rustic cabin like this ought to have a smell to it. Maybe it would seem more like a home. As it is, it only smelled of air freshener and dust. Tobacco might improve it.
“Well, I dunno, I guess, I might, maybe, I hadn’t really planned on not doing it. But I wasn’t going to make any friends around here. I did want to renovate the place.” He paused. “So there’d be, you know, workmen around-“
“See, you could pimp out some girl to ’em. That’d be a handy excuse to bring men over here, to let ’em see ya merchandise.”
“Oh, but, I won’t! I don’t have any girls! I don’t like girls! I never have! They talk too much! And boobs are, uh… I don’t… I’m not into boobs. Tits. Breasts.” All words for mammary tissue felt wrong coming out of Rob’s mouth in this moment.
Sheriff Torkelson rolled his eyes and sighed. Then, like he was speaking to a child, he said, “So what’re you waiting for?” He leaned forward, which made his fat cock jiggle and angle towards Rob.
“Waiting for what?!” Rob squealed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that long dick, dangling between Torkelson’s legs.
“To jerk me off.”
“I didn’t know you wanted me to!” Rob tried to bite back a sob. A few tears did leak out, but he couldn’t even decide if they were tears of joy and desire or fear and terror (or just plain irritation from the cigar smoke). He gulped. “Oh! You want me to!” Rob looked up and made eye contact with Torkelson for the first time in awhile. Rob had been entranced by his cock ever since he took it out.
His dick was hard already. Rob got close to it and sunk to his knees as though to beg at or worship Sheriff Torkelson. Then he planted his tongue on the tip, only for Torkelson to immediately take it away. He barely got a taste of the musty manhood reeking of cigar smoke, but it was enough to tantalize Rob.
“Whatchoo doin’, boy?!” Sheriff Torkelson barked, and Rob backed away, squealing. “I ain’t say to put nuttin’ in ya mouf!”
“Oh!” Rob scooted away and plopped back onto his ass on the floor. “Sorry, I-! I didn’t — I wasn’t sure what you meant, I don’t…” He went pale as could be.
Sheriff Torkelson guffawed and got closer to Rob again. He swayed his body from left to right, which made his cock sway too like a cobra waiting to pounce. He straddled Rob and flopped his limp dick over his face. “You can put’cha mouf on it. I was just playin’ witcha, boy.”
“Yeah. Okay. Sure. Cool. Okay.” Heart racing, Rob opened his mouth again, eyeing Sheriff Torkelson suspiciously. His tongue again snaked out, and touched his shaft.
This time Sheriff Torkelson leaned into it. He slid more of his limp, ultra-thick cock into Rob’s mouth, and the taste of his powerful manhood flooded Rob’s senses. Rob straightened his back, letting his tongue slather spit onto that shaft, which was so thick he could barely fit it in his mouth. And it wasn’t even hard yet!
Then Torkelson ashed on Rob’s forehead. He took a deep drag and exhaled it onto Rob’s face. The acrid scent of cigar smoke filled the air, making Rob’s eyes water again. He coughed on Torkelson’s dick, which now tasted bitter and gritty from cigar ash.
Amid silence’s reign over the cabin, Torkelson jutted his hips forward, forcing his dick down Rob’s throat. Rob was finally starting to relax enough he could swallow it without feeling abject terror. That cock was magnificent and salty, deliciously savory on Rob’s tongue, and it filled up his throat as though it had been made for it.
It twitched and slowly firmed up in his throat, as Rob concentrated on taking every inch without gagging. Sheriff Torkelson was relentless — not exactly aggressive, he just kept plowing in deeper, seemingly without paying much attention to his dick. He focused on the cigar, taking deep drags off it and blowing it into Rob’s face. Every time Rob gagged, Sheriff Torkelson chuckled dryly. His face aimed, flat and expressionless, down at Rob’s frenzied gagging and open-mouthed gasping.
Obviously, Rob thought, Torkelson liked the feel of his bottom’s mouth and throat clenching when he gagged. Once he realized that was what Sheriff Torkelson wanted, Rob let himself gag over and over, which in turn made Sheriff Torkelson gasp and moan. Spit ran down his cockshaft and soaked into his pubic hair, even wetting his brown uniform slacks.
Then he gripped Rob’s head and held it in place, using one hand on his forehead, the other on his chin, while he puffed on the cigar between his lips. He pumped his waist to jam his dick down Rob’s gullet, and the unwashed musk of his cock assaulted Rob’s senses, bringing tears to Rob’s eyes.
His hairy ballsac slapped against Rob’s chin. “Ah… yes… That’s nice… That’s real nice,” he said.
Rob gasped for air, his hands clasping Sheriff Torkelon’s powerful thighs under his slacks. Rob chased that cock with his mouth as Torkelson teased him by swaying it left and right, forcing Rob to dart his head back and forth after it. His cocktip dribbled both spit and precum onto the floor. Then he allowed Rob to swallow it to the root again.
This time, it must have felt exceptionally good, because Torkelson sucked in his breath and stood on his toes. He pulled out of Rob’s mouth without warning, inserted his lips into Rob’s mouth — not even kissing him, literally pouting his lips directly in — and then blew a fat cloud of smoke.
Rob hoarsely gagged and Sheriff Torkelson rammed his cock back into Rob’s waiting mouth. He sighed like that was scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach.
“Damn…” He grunted and ashed again on Rob’s forehead. He smeared the ash over Rob’s face.
Sheriff Torkelson laughed as Rob choked. He pulled out to let Rob take a breath.
When Rob had recovered enough to speak, he said, “Sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say!” Rob didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “Your dick tastes real good-“
“Hmm-hmm…” He let his erect cock ram over Rob’s face as though looking for a hole to put it in. Precum coated Rob’s cheeks.
Rob was breathless and still scared. He grabbed Torkelson’s cock with both hands, only for Torkelson to slap his hands away.
Wrinkling his nose, Torkelson said, “You ready to get it up the ass?”
“Yes. Oh god, yes!” Rob blushed. “Please cornhole me.” He couldn’t get up because Sheriff Torkelson still straddled his chest. Torkelson’s cock rubbed over Rob’s cheeks and chin. He ashed once more on his forehead.
Sheriff Torkelson frowned like he expected Rob to get up and bend over now, even though that would be difficult until Torkelson got out of his way. He raised one eyebrow at Rob, who realized he was supposed to make it happen anyway.
“How do you wanna do it?” Rob asked. He arduously scooted down, making Sheriff Torkelson’s sweaty balls rub over his face. Rob stuck his tongue out and licked a trail all the way between his legs. Once Rob was out from under him, Torkelson finally dropped his pants and his underwear all the way down.
“However you want, you in charge here,” Sheriff Torkelson said. His voice wavered as Rob caressed each cheek and planted his tongue in his hairy crack. Torkelson leaned forward enough to give Rob easy access to his ass.
Rob didn’t typically give rimjobs, but Sheriff Torkelson had nice big plump asscheeks, especially for an older man, and a lot of beautifully funky hair that Rob wanted to suck clean. He dove between those cheeks and noisily, moistly, slathered spit up and down the crack of his ass.
Eventually Rob laid on his back on the edge of the couch. He lifted his feet up. He liked getting rammed in this position by men because it made them uncomfortable — Rob’s cock and balls were plainly visible, right in front of their faces when they looked down. They couldn’t watch their dick slide into his ass without seeing him jack off at the same time, so there was no way to pretend Rob had a vagina.
That didn’t seem to slow down Torkelson at all though.
“Hmmm… Good boy, I like that, I like it,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He had to bend his knees to get his dick low enough to line up with Rob’s ass. He drilled in with a loud sigh, just the tip at first, and he ashed his cigar — this time right on Rob’s chest. “I liked how you licked my ass a bit there. I didn’t even gotta tell you to do that.”
“You’re welcome, sir, I’d like to do that again one day soon,” Rob said with a plaintive moan, as pressure erupted in his ass. He liked to tease his men, and he figured the promise of a rimjob would bring Sheriff Torkelson back.
He sucked in his breath when Sheriff Torkelson’s cock slid deeper into his ass, nicely greased up with his spit. Rob focused on keeping his head still, so the ash on his forehead wouldn’t spill. That helped distract him from the pain of Torkelson’s magnificent cock ripping him open, and it made him relax his ass so Torkelson could plow into him hard.
Unable to stay perfectly still, Rob writhed but kept his head motionless enough. He felt every trickling particle of ash that slipped down his face or into his scalp. There was a scorching sensation each time Sheriff Torkelson ashed, but it wasn’t enough to burn him.
It just distracted him from the overwhelming pressure in his ass, as that thick cock slammed into him. Rob gripped the meaty, furry chest of Sheriff Torkelson’s old-man body, giggling at the sight of his shocked reaction. Torkelson pounded away, holding Rob in place as though he was inexperienced at ramrodding a man who wanted it.
“Damn… Ya booty do feel like a pussy,” Sheriff Torkelson said with a sigh. He pistoned his hips, forcing his cock all the way in. He smiled for the first time since he had come in, a real smile, not a threatening grin. He stuck one finger in Rob’s mouth and rammed it all the way down, as though to test Rob’s gag reflex.
Rob was overcome by a potent desire. He was only vaguely aware of his own hand jacking himself off. That felt like a dim and distant thing, even as he exploded in cum and pleasure wracked his body. His prostate sent wave after wave of liquid bliss coursing through his veins, yet still, Rob’s focus was on that pile of ash on his forehead.
“Shit…” Torkelson sighed and shot his own wad deep into Rob. He smiled at the sight of the neat stack of ash still there. He liked to see Rob writhing on the cock impaling his ass while keeping his head perfectly still.
“Oh god!” Rob couldn’t stop screaming now. It was a good thing this cabin was far from any neighbors. He threw his head back, and at last that ash slid off, as the most potent orgasm of his life hit him hard.
It wracked his body so intensely it hurt, and Rob moaned loudly. Much to his surprise, Sheriff Torkelson leaned down and kissed him on the lips — Sheriff Torkelson was actually just as surprised, he did it entirely out of instinct, because this was the position he usually fucked his wife in. He would never have kissed a man at all, especially right after that man jerked his cock, but when he did it instinctually, he leaned into it and pretended he had wanted to do it all along.
Both men jizzed at the same time, Rob spraying a fat wad over his face, while Torkelson’s cock jetted cumload after cumload deep into Rob’s body. It was hot and creamy, and Rob felt it seeping through his flesh.
Rob fell limp, and Torkelson let his cock slowly slide out, while Torkelson kept his face right in front of Rob. Rob kissed him again, and their tongues interlocked. Torkelson rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away until his dick was dangling limply between his legs. He puffed on his cigar.
“I kissed you there as a reward for takin’ my dick so damn good,” Sheriff Torkelson said. He grunted. “And for not bein’ a pimp. I’m glad to see that.”
“Uh-huh…” Rob felt like going to sleep. He wanted to go break in that new bed. The mattress had seemed so comfortable in the store, and now he couldn’t wait to sleep on it.
He smiled as Rob closed his eyes, curling up on the couch. “You gonna sleep here?”
“I’ll go to bed later…” Rob murmured softly. “You can let yourself out.”
Torkelson was about to do so. But Rob looked so delicate, his trim body surely going to be cold once he got over his post-orgasmic rush. So Torkelson scooped him into his burly arms and carried him into the bedroom. He deposited him gently on the bed.
For just a moment, Torkelson considered getting in bed with him. He was off-duty — he had stopped by on his way home — so he could text his wife that he was working all night at the jail, and then just stay here. He could mess with the out-of-towner all night.
But no, he thought. Torkelson quietly dressed and left, feeling a pang of regret as the door slammed shut. His wife expected him home, and if he took the long way, when he got there, he’d be ready to fuck the hell out of her.

The Idiotic Lifeguard

When Rob seeks some work as a ghostwriter, he didn’t think it would involve interviewing a hunky but dim-witted lifeguard! His name is Gavin, and he’s willing to get down and dirty with Rob in exchange for a little consideration…

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Nobody hired writers who seemed like businessmen, even if that’s exactly what Rob was — he’d started a business as a ghostwriter. Clients hired writers who seemed like J.D. Salinger or Stephen King: a little socially awkward, a little artsy, a little weird.
And the nerds who filled the Dynamic Enterprise offices were more than a little socially awkward, not to mention weird, themselves. They would have likely been intimidated if Rob said straight up, “hey, I can write ten thousand words in a day so I’ll write your stupid thing in a week rather than dilly-dallying for months like most writers”. So instead Rob dressed in a flared cuff and a colorful shirt, accentuated his flamboyant side and spoke of how his “muse spouted a stream of inspiration to fill the world with words”.
They seemed to like him. He was probably by far the coolest person to ever come into this place — which was an IT company that provided support for something to do with the Internet — Rob didn’t quite grok it when they explained what it was. He would figure it out as he wrote the “biography” of their company.
“Do you think that would work? Or does it need to be the story of a specific person? Sorry, I dunno how that works,” said a bespectacled man in an ill-fitting suit. “I don’t, uh, read a lot. Except for, like, technical manuals.”
“Certainly, certainly, people do write books about a company, rather than a specific person, sure. I find it interesting-” Rob leaned forward and put one finger on his lips as though pondering. “-that you used the word biography. Fascinating. That’s the story of a life, and I think a company can have a life… can be a life, a growing, adapting, evolving thing-“
“Yeah, like a shark.”
Everyone in the conference room turned to look at the man walking in, and they all exchanged knowing glances. Rob’s jaw dropped because the newcomer was handsome — Gavin, a blond god with broad shoulders and a square jaw, dimples like a heartthrob and a smooth chin. He had a goofy grin like a cartoon character, and his eyes flitted brightly around the room as though expecting his shark comment to get a big reaction.
He was so handsome he made Rob’s heart skip a beat, but everyone else sighed inwardly, rolled their eyes and looked away. Did this guy have a reputation?
“I, uh… I’m sorry?” Rob said.
The blond man, Gavin, came in, carefully carrying eight coffees in two cardboard holders. He didn’t seem to have realized he could carry them like a waiter, on his forearms, and instead he awkwardly leaned back and pinned them against each other. It looked like they might spill at any moment.
“Oh, uh, I- Uh — ” Gavin was distracted by setting down the coffees. “You said something about growing and evolving, right? I have this game on my phone-“
“Yeah, thanks, Gavin-” said one of the programmers.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“-And it’s about a shark, like… you’re a shark — you’re not really a shark, I mean, you’re, like, totally playing as a shark? You see? There’s evolution. Cuz you can eat like… fish and, uh…” He spaced out for a moment, chewing on his lip. “Bigger fish, and like… like, you spend points on growing and evolving.” He ran his fingers through that incredible blond mane reaching almost to his shoulders. It was ragged and uncut, and it made Rob’s eyes open wide. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair. “So, uh… sharks do that. Grow and evolve. They can evolve into killer whales, I think, at like level 30. I don’t think real sharks do that.”
“Thanks, Gavin, for the coffee.”
“Thank you, Gavin.”
They all repeated that, one by one, until Gavin got the hint and left. Then they snickered, each of them seemingly thinking of all the snarky comments they didn’t want to say. Were they being nice to Gavin because they were nice people? Because he was nice — if ditzy? Because they were told to be nice to him?
“Sorry,” one of them said. “He’s… a great guy. Not the best assistant.”
“He’s the worst assistant. Totally incompetent.”
“Honestly we only hired him because he was a lifeguard who saved Mr. Winthrop’s daughter at the beach.”
Rob’s ears perked up. Finally, one of the nerds had said something interesting. A beachfront rescue by a lifeguard is worth writing about. Rob could stretch that into 15,000 words, maybe 20k. “Can I ask him more about that? That would be a great scene for the book.”
“Really? It’s a bad business decision. He’s not even a good assistant,” the man said as he sipped from the coffee and sighed. “This is definitely soy milk. Jerry, this is for you, he mixed us up again.” He rolled his eyes. “We have two Jerrys and a Barry, and that blond dumbass can’t ever keep us apart.”
They traded coffees until they got the ones they wanted, and Rob took a few more notes. Of course, they hired him, and they didn’t even balk at Rob’s rate. He would have this written in less than a week, he thought. When Rob had floated “something like a novella”, they nodded along, so he was going to write it at maybe 40,000 words. He could bang that out in a weekend if he went to a coffeeshop with broken wifi.
Even more excitingly, they arranged for Rob to meet with Gavin at lunch the next day, to find out more about Gavin’s heroic rescue of the little girl. Rob got a skeleton of the book written containing just the facts — that was already fifteen thousand words — and wrote down some questions to ask Gavin.
That near-drowning-cum-job-offer was the only human-interest story in the company’s history, so it was going to have to have a lot of emotional resonance, Rob thought. He hoped Gavin had something interesting to say. Without that, this corporate bio was going to be dry as a desert. Nerds are boring, and the companies they found are even worse.
Rob and Gavin met up at a coffeeshop near the company’s headquarters, where Gavin filled (incorrectly) coffee orders for most of the programmers. Rob was a little early, to get his laptop set up. Gavin showed up and went straight to the counter without noticing Rob.
His ass filled out his slacks nicely. He had big thumping thighs too, Rob thought, and his shirt hung off him like a dream. He must have the most exquisite back. He was a lifeguard too, he probably has great shoulders. Rob straightened his tie.
His physique was probably stupendous. Rob was picturing it as he waited for Gavin to notice him. When he did, he nodded and waved like they were old friends, and he almost forgot to pick up his coffee and key lime pie.
“Oh man, you’re outta them? Shit, dude, that’s… ah, totally lame,” Gavin said. “Do you have more in the back?” He loved the key lime pie here. He batted his eyes at the portly girl behind the counter, who blushed and licked her lips. Gavin had no idea he was flirting. He acted that way with most girls, and he just assumed he was charismatic. The portly girl batted her eyes and ran into the back to get more of the key lime pies.
Finally Gavin sat down with a slice of key lime pie and a “coffee” that was more whipped cream than anything else. It looked like a milkshake. He must burn off so many calories to eat like that and have a body like this, Rob thought to himself, wondering if he still worked as a lifeguard. That would explain it.
“So, uh, Gavin, thanks for meeting me here. Can you tell me more about Mr. Winthrop’s daughter?”
“Oh, yeah, man, she’s sweet as pie-” He pointed to the key lime pie. “And, uh, she’s like, nine, I think, or something. She really likes the boy band Slap Five. They suck though, really, it’s like so awful.” He beatboxed his impression of a tinny pop melody. “So lame.”
“Sorry, Gavin, I’m not asking about her in general. Can you tell me more about the time you rescued her from downing?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, totally,” Gavin said. He took a big bite of key lime pie, leaving a brilliant green streak across his lower lip. “I was like, a lifeguard, like, on this beach, you know, on the Pacific Ocean. I was still living in Southern California then. And so-” He again paused to take a bite, then spoke with his mouthful. “There’s like, all these swimmers and shit, and Robby Munter said his cousin once got, like, nibbled on by a shark or something, but he didn’t get eat up cuz he drank a lot of coffee and that makes you taste bitter to sharks or whatever, like-“
“Gavin?”
“Yeah, sorry, I mean, Jean. She was like… a little girl. And I swam her into shore. And the other lifeguard on duty was this chick who got knockers out to here, man, seriously, I saw ’em once, shit, they were like fireworks, sherrrrplooowfat! And-“
“Gavin?”
“Totally, totally sweet, man, she’s got big nipples too. She’s got a boyfriend though, I think they’re married now. He’s like Persian or something. It’s ridiculous.”
“Can we get back to the story?”
“Is Persia where the cats come from? My mom has a Persian cat, it’s name is Rample and it smells like cheese.”
“Okay, Gavin, can we please talk about Jean?”
“Yeah, sorry — can we go outside? I hate being inside,” Gavin said. He flashed those big dimples and got up before waiting for an answer. Rob sighed and went with him. It was kind of cold outside, and it wouldn’t be as easy to use his laptop with the glare and the wind. But he could just record Gavin and write down what he needed later. Besides that, it was hard to say no to someone with a smile like Gavin’s.
And the way his arms nearly bulged out of that button-down shirt. It made Rob’s heart flutter. He loved macho men, and Gavin was one of the best he’d seen in a long time.
Gavin fidgeted with his tie as they sat down at the coffeeshop’s patio. Then he frowned and quickly untied it. “Is it okay if I take off my tie, sir?”
“Um, yeah. You know I’m not your boss, right? I don’t care what you wear-“
“Thank you!” Gavin quickly unbuttoned his shirt, then leaned back to display his chest for the sun. He was bronzed a deep tan color, and his body was perfect, shimmering a little in the sunlight, his six-pack rippling, his pecs flexing as he stretched. “I hate wearing shirts, man. I was a lifeguard for nine years. Shirts are like prisons for your chest, man. Totally.”
“Yeah. Cool. Okay. So… uh, Jean?” Rob looked around. This wasn’t the kind of coffeeshop that would tolerate a diner drinking coffee shirtless, but he didn’t tell Gavin that.
“Right, yeah. She’s cool. She’s sweet, man.”
“Tell me about the rescue, Gavin.” Rob was still a bit turned on from the sight of Gavin’s bare chest, but his annoyance was enough to make him wrinkle his nose. Gavin was so dumb and so easily distracted, it was a wonder he ever even functioned as a lifeguard.
“I don’t know, man, she was like waving her hands and stuff.” He shrugged. “There’s not much to say. I swam out there, brought her back to the shore. She was fine. She told her daddy she almost drowned, and that was the same day I got in a fight with my boss about boobs and I got fired. So he gave me a job here.”
Rob rubbed his forehead. “You got in a fight about boobs?”
“Yeah. He said Lindsay Tanner had better boobs than Sally Anne Whitaker-“
“The actresses?”
“Yeah.”
“And he fired you because you disagreed?”
“It was total bullshit! Lindsay Tanner looks like she has manboobs-“
“Gavin… I’m going to leave that part out of the book,” Rob said. “I’m just gonna say you were late a lot, so you got fired, okay?”
“Cool. I was late a lot. He said that was a reason to fire me too. Did you see Sally Anne Whitaker in River of Screams? Man, in that white blouse when it got wet? You could see the full tit, man, totally. Nipple and everything. Don’t you think she’s hotter than Lindsay Tanner-?”
Rob smiled. “But yes, I agree with you, Sally Anne Whitaker has marvelous breasts. I’d love to lick them or whatever.”
“Yeah, licking’s cool.”
“Okay, well…” Rob sighed. “I’m going to have to add something to make this a more interesting story, okay? Something besides ‘she waved so I swam out there’. Was there a bad undertow in that area? Rumors of sharks? Electric eels? Stinging jellyfish? Drug cartels in motorboats? Industrial pollution? Was she injured? Was she mentally ill? Did the beach management play a negligent role?”
Gavin said no to all that, and when Rob ran out of ideas, Gavin cleared his throat. “Hey, man, so you’re like… totally into stuff, right?”
“Yes.” Rob didn’t know what Gavin was referring to, but he was a great admirer of the male physique, and Gavin’s was remarkable, so Rob intended to agree with him as much as possible. He liked agreeing with handsome men.
“So, like… I know this guy… He was like totally, like, he was really cool, but like… he knew this guy who was like older… older than you, but older than him too, and… totally… like, I, uh… he said that, like, this guy… like… sometimes did like… where he paid money… uh for things, like…” Gavin’s deep voice grew increasingly pinched as he rambled and blushed. “For… things… you could do. Like… for… in exchange for money… Do guys really do that?”
Rob scrunched his eyebrows. “Yes, that’s right. Guys sometimes exchange services for things.”
“Really?!” His big blue eyes lit up.
“Yes, Gavin.” Rob smiled and patted Gavin on the bicep. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?”
“Yeah! I live right over there,” he said. He got up and nearly left his shirt and tie on the chair. Rob got it for him and followed him out the door. The shirt smelled of him, of sunlight and seaspray and sand. Rob walked a little behind him so he could see his ass sway in his tight slacks, and his brown back glisten in the sunlight. He went across the street to a small apartment building.
When he had opened up the door to the lobby of his building, he looked back at Rob a little fearfully. “So, uh… what do you want to do? I mean… jacking off, right? You’ll swallow my cum, right? Girls never want to do that.”
Rob smiled. “I would be glad like to jack you off and swallow your cum, Gavin. I’ll give you-” Gavin blushed and pumped his biceps, cheering himself on. Rob waited for him to stop, by which point they were at his apartment door. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
“Oh.” Gavin looked crestfallen as he opened the door. “Ryan Delgado said he got two-fifty, y’know… to cornhole a man.”
“Oh? You’d be willing to do that — fine, that’s a lot of money, but I’ll do it,” Rob said. “I didn’t think you’d do me up the ass.” Once the door to Gavin’s apartment swung shut, Rob came up behind him and kissed the broad, smooth flesh of his back.
Gavin laughed a little nervously, which made his back muscles flex beneath Rob’s kisses. “Sweet, sweet. You’re not gonna tell the guys at work about this, will you? They’ll make fun of me.”
“It’s our little secret,” Rob said. “Why don’t you sit down, sweetie?”
Gavin obediently sat. He blushed until his tanned cheeks were almost burgundy, and he unzipped his slacks. He kicked his shoes off, and in seconds, he was down to his boxers. He sighed like he had been waiting do that for a long time. “Shit, I love a mouth. I don’t care who jacks me off. There used to be this chick who’d get me drunk and suck me off. She was like… super-nerdy. Like you don’t even know, like… she was weird. She did math. For fun! Like homework, but like… no school! It was insane! And, uh, like… she looked like a total nerd. She wore glasses. But she loved my cock-“
“Uh-huh. Don’t talk about ugly girls when I am on your dick,” Rob said. He got down on his knees in front of Gavin on the couch. His hands reached up to tweak Gavin’s nipples, making his pecs ripple and bounce. A nervously aroused laugh came outta Gavin, whose cheeks turned red. Rob pulled his fat cock out of the fly of his boxers and put the tip in his mouth.
Gavin murmured, “okay, sorry,” and put his hands behind his head. He leaned back on his couch as his dick stiffened up in Rob’s mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”
What was he apologizing for? If Rob’s mouth wasn’t full, he would have asked. Rob slurped on the tip of his still only part hard cock, and Gavin again laughed like a teenage girl with a baritone voice. His movement made his dick jab around in Rob’s mouth, which also made it hump the surface of Rob’s tongue.
That sent a wave of pleasure into Gavin’s body and a wave of arousal into Rob’s. Both men’s dicks raced to full erection, and Rob energetically slathered spit up and down the shaft. Gavin su ked in his breath.
Soon his was rock-hard, throbbing, leaking a few drops of precum down his throat. It was salty like the sea, warm and smooth. Gavin kept laughing every few seconds, sounding almost like he was ticklish though Rob could tell that wasn’t it — he was nervous.
“Shit, man, you feel just like a girl, that’s awesome. Ryan Delgado said his dude had a mustache and it scratched at his dick-” Gavin made a face like that was the grossest thing he had ever heard. “-but you have a smooth face, that’s nice…” And his voice broke, making him groan and grip Rob’s face. He plowed into and out of his mouth all without missing a beat as he talked. “And you’re not as old as he is. That’s cool, I dunno if I could get jacked off by a really old dude. Like really old. That’s so weird. Like… maybe if he paid a lot of money, y’know.”
Rob pulled off his cock and smacked his lips. He nodded, but he mostly ignored him as Gavin kept talking about how weird it’d be to be jacked off by an old dude. Rob was mollified that he apparently did not count as an “old dude”, though Gavin did call him “too old for college girls”, and Rob explained that there was no such thing. Rob may have appreciated the male physique, but he enjoyed the feminine one as well.
But with Gavin’s cock now fully erect and throbbing in Rob’s grip, both men were ready to move on. When Rob touched Gavin’s cock just a bit, the result was a painful-looking spasm of sensations erupting within Gavin’s body. The sound he made may have been a moan originally, but it turned into ironically moaning laugh partway through.
Once Rob had lubed up his ass carefully, backed himself up and lowered his ass onto Gavin’s dick. Gavin remained seated on the couch, head leaning back, like he didn’t want to touch Rob any more than necessary. His eyes opened wide as his knob teased the rim of Avery’s asshole.
But he kept talking, even as his dick throbbed and spewed precum. “Old people are crazy, like my grandmom goes to the cable company to pay her bill. Like she actually goes to the cable place. Like in a car. Like… in person. They have, like, a window.” His broad chest muscles rippled as he suppressed another nervous laugh. “Ah, shit, I love anal, girls never wanna do it, damn…”
“Uh-huh.” Rob had to lean with one hand on Gavin’s firm chest, holding onto him for support. An intense pressure shot through his body, and Rob let out a little, desperate grunt. Gavin’s muscles rippled, and Avery gripped the flesh of his bicep. He had rarely felt skin that musucular.
That touch finally made Gavin shut up for a couple minutes. He even lifted his head to watch, eyes slowly widening, as his dick squeezed into Rob’s tight ass. He watched as though flummoxed, like he couldn’t understand why his dick was doing that.
“Oh that’s so weird — it’s like… just like a girl, totally,” Gavin said. He scrunched his eyes shut tightly. He now faced Rob’s back as it slid up and down, but his eyes remained shut like there was a horror film on he didn’t want to see. His hands roamed in the air above Rob’s back. “Oh god — shit.” Gavin’s voice broke again, and turned serious. “Goddamn, man.”
Rob had to laugh, now that Gavin had stopped, as though Gavin had thought this was all a joke right up until this moment, when he felt an intense pleasure gathering deep in his loins. Rob stroked himself off with one hand, while the other leaned back and kneaded Gavin’s chest.
An explosion of pleasure in Rob’s body made him throw his head back and moan. Obviously, Gavin’s dick was knocking on Rob’s prostate, which always felt even more amazing when the top didn’t understant what he was doing.
His ass rose up and down, Gavin’s cock stroking his insides and sending shiver after shiver of pleasure up Rob’s spine. His whole world exploded in sparks of desire, and Rob writhed like he was in pain impaled on that spider’s spiked body, Rob cried out, muffling the sound at first before remembering he didn’t need to. He let out a howl as he reached his own orgasm just seconds before Gavin did the same.
Cum flew out of Rob’s cock and into his free hand, while Gavin’s load filled him up. It sprayed through every corner of his insides, sending a wave of mind-numbing pleasure through Rob’s body. It kept coming too, over and over, as Gavin’s dick moistly explored his ass. Rob had never felt anything quite like this.
His orgasm seemed to last an hour, and there was fluid everywhere. But somehow, intolerably long after it began, it was over, and Rob fell limp. There was so much cum inside him Rob could smell it, even though none had spilled and in fact Gavin’s cock remained in his ass, limp and spent. So why could Rob smell it? It wasn’t his own cum. Whatever it was, it was strong, and it made Rob want to fuck some broad.
Gavin’s ass wetly slid out of him and flopped onto his thigh. Gavin let out a sweat-soothing groan, while Rob squeezed next to him on the couch. Gavin’s body heat enveloped him.
“Shit, man,” Gavin finally said. “It’s so cool, that, like… I can do that and it isn’t even gross, y’know, I can just picture a girl. Totally.”
Rob leaned in to kiss Gavin on the neck. “Yeah. I did it better than any girl though, didn’t I?”
Gavin blushed. “Yeah.” He looked down. “I still like girls though, totally. With boobs — hell, yeah-“
Rob shrugged. “I just wanted to point out that I’m better.” He wiped his dick clean, as Gavin did the same thing with a paper towel. Rob went to his wallet, stretching his sore legs. “Let me give you the money.”
“Cool. Awesome,” Gavin said. “Are you gonna… wanna do this again?”

The Professor

Avery accidentally catches his hunky professor Studman in the act of taking advantage of a woman, and Avery is eager to show discretion… in exchange for a chance to swing on Professor Studman’s big throbbing meat!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was trying to nab one of the college’s janitors. But he was handsome enough, and charming enough, to get loads of females hanging off his every word, even as a janitor.
That was disappointing. If Avery could ever spend some time alone with him without any women around, he was sure he’d get to swing on his meat. The janitor really did have a remarkable physique.
Avery forgot all about him, however, when he showed up to the first day of his creative writing course. He’d had the impression the teacher was a woman. He saw the name on the course schedule, of course: Studman. But he thought that was too on-the-nose to be a man’s name.
But as it turned out, Professor Studman was a handsome hipster with brilliant eyes and a foppish smile. Avery was one of the few min in his class because women thronged to him. They liked his dimples and his hair, and his body — tall and athletic but not muscular. He was also the coach for the girls’s field hockey team. He had a gorgeous head of straight black hair that went nearly to his shoulder, and he had a perpetual five o’clock shadow and deep foreboding eyes.
“You know, when I was navigating the Zambezi with my guide Labotako-” He pronounced that name as though he fluently spoke whatever language it came from, “I learned that, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, they don’t take attendance in schools. Children have to pay for their education, and therefore they always attend. Labotako said their kids never play hooky. Labotako slapped his son every time he complained about going to school. So I’m not going to take attendance in this class either.”
The girls all oohed and aahed, gazing into his eyes. Avery thought this was silly. Professor Studman was hnadsome, but he wasn’t worth this reaction. These classmates would surely not have been impressed if a tubby slob said he beat his daughter when she skipped school, but they swooned over Professor Studman’s five o’clock shadow and abusive river-guide.
But Avery decided to just get into it. He was here to learn creative writing — his last year at GHU he had been told he was short one English credit — and, it turned out, daydream about making out with Professor Studman. This wouldn’t be the first time a handsome man blinded a bunch of women to his obvious douchebaggery. Avery thought of himself as immune, simply because he didn’t care about Studman being douchey. Women needed to justify finding a man attractive and well-formed. Avery simply accepted that this douchebag was a joy to look at.
Professor Studman wore a plain white tee shirt that showed off his forearms, which were well-muscled and taut, with a plain tribal tattoo sneaking down from his bicep. There was a blazer on the chair — he had worn a jacket over a tee shirt to class today, Avery thought, what a pretentious asshat.
Yet oh god he was handsome… Avery could feel the waves of desire from the women all around him. No wonder this class was so popular. The other two men in the class, sitting a few rows away from Avery, looked about ready to strangle Professor Studman.
“As the great Ursula Leguin said, art is an attempt to speak that which can not be said in mere words. In this class, we will learn the words that can express the inexpressible, the ineffable wonderness of our lives. Creative writing is a way to construct a window into reality itself,” he said. He smiled, showing off deep dimples. Some of the girls audibly swooned. “I met Ursula Leguin in a bar in Melbourne. She was there with some bikers — or bikies as they say in Australia. We did shots of whiskey until she took me to an Aboriginal farm where I learned to play the didgeridoo. Have you ever heard the didgeridoo?”
He went on, talking about how wonderful Aboriginal culture was. Nobody, as far as Avery could tell, paid much attention. The girls just smiled and nodded, and Avery had to admit he did the same — Professor Studman was just so damn charming.
The assignment after the first class was to write a description of your home without using any sight words — no color, no shape, no patterns, just sounds, textures and smells. Avery had to admit it was a good exercise for a creative writing class.
How many of the women in this class would have an affair with Professor Studman before the semester was out? Avery would have gambled on at least twelve. He was that kind of professor.
They were first assigned to write an actual story three weeks into class. Avery did a lot of writing anyway, so he thought it’d be easy. He ended up spending most of his free time for an entire week getting it done. It was a little tale about a parking lot that had a large volume of LSD spilled on it during a concert, resulting in it gaining sentience. There were even some anti-Trump messages embedded within, which Avery knew was sure to get him attention from Professor Studman.
But he ignored the story. Studman just wrote A+ on the paper and added a note on the end that said creative concept, well done! Avery was a little disappointed. He was hoping for more feedback than that.
Was there any market for short stories? The two girls Avery shared it with thought it was excellent as well. He wondered if it was sell-able. Did Playboy still publish literary shorts?
He came to Professor Studman’s office one Monday morning to see if he had any advice. His hand hovered over the door before knocking because he was unsure if he would be in the office. Avery had lost the syllabus with his office hours on it, and that info wasn’t available on the class’s official webpage because Professor Studman said that he had refused to work on a webpage ever since doing shrooms with Prince Kuni Asaakira of Japan, when they both decided that the Internet was a “soul trap that would sap its users of their intellect, their attention and their wellbeing”.
There was a loud cracking slap-sound emanating from the office and then a grunt of pain.
“You asshole! She’s such an ugly bitch anyway! How could you be with her? You know she likes jocks!?!”
The door ripped open, nearly knocking Avery over. A woman walked out — she was Jess Weatherspoon, one of Avery’s classmates, a beautiful blonde with narrow hips, frazzled hair and messed-up makeup. She glanced at Avery but didn’t register his presence. She just stalked out towards the main door.
“Hi, uh… Professor Studman?” Avery said as he came in the doorway.
“Oh come on in, Avery,” he said.
Avery was blinded by desire. Professor Studman was changing his tee shirt, another one of those plain white shirts he wore all the time. His silver-dappled chest hair entranced Avery, who couldn’t stop picturing himself sucking on the scruff of Professor Studman’s neck.
“You should know that she was upset because I refused to give her an extension on our latest assignment,” Professor Studman said. He carefully folded the tee shirt he had taken off. Avery noticed that there was lipstick on it — the same color smeared over Jess’s lips when she walked out — and that it was a Gucci shirt. How much had Professor Studman paid for a completely white tee shirt? That was now ruined?
“Oh? She looked more upset than that.”
“She’s very sensitive. Jess doesn’t understand a lot of things. She’s young and foolish,” he said. Then he was quick to add, “but she’s very smart. She will grow wise with time.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. “So you haven’t been… messing around with her?”
Professor Studman frowned. “That’s a rather inappropriate question. I don’t wish to discuss my private arrangements.”
“I see.”
A long paused grew between them. Studman looked Avery in the eye and raised his eyebrows. Avery didn’t say anything. Studman cleared his throat, and then he shattered the silence. “I was hoping I could rely on your discretion.” He stood but only for a second before he painfully winced and sat down again. Avery stared at his crotch for the brief moment it was visible, and Avery was sure he had a huge hard-on in his khakis.
Obviously, Jess had blue-balled him.
“Well, I’m very discrete by nature,” Avery said.
“Yes… You know, among the Maori of New Zealand, there are these people called whackawahine, and I-“
“I’m not that interested in the whackawahine,” Avery said. “I’m sure they’re marvelous… but I’m much more interested in you.”
“Ah, I, uh…”
“Perhaps you would be willing to treat me like a nubile young coed,” Avery said. He stood up and came closer to the desk. He licked his lips.
“I… I find the word coed, when used as a noun to refer to a female, offensive,” he said. He gulped. “It is patronizing and dismissive of female accomplishments, and it implies that women’s ability to keep up with male students is a-“
“You don’t need to impress me, Professor Studman. I already think you’re handsome,” Avery said.
“Oh…” He shrugged and grunted. “I see. I…” He blushed and bit his lip.
Professor Studman ran his fingers through his salt-peppered black hair. He glanced towards the door to his office. Avery locked it for him.
“I would be glad to, uh, let you — for your discretion — I, uh…” he said. He straightened his tie.
“So you’d be willing to let me… do things, in exchange for that discretion?”
Studman closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, then. I mean… I don’t want to do… y’know… There are certain things I won’t do-“
“Don’t worry, I’m a bottom. I won’t try to make you take it in the ass or anything like that-“
Professor Studman sighed again, this time louder, relieved. He rolled his eyes. “Ah, okay, good. You don’t need to be crass. It’s not about gender, it’s not about genitals, it’s about feelings, and reconnecting with the primal part of your soul-“
“Professor Studman?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up and stand so I can swallow your dick,” Avery said. “Your pretentious preening is not hot. You don’t need to impress me.”
He frowned and stood. “I am not pretentious. I simply value my experiences and the knowledge I have gained as a lifetime explorer. That’s what I call it, by the way, have I said that?”
He had said it numerous times in class. He saw himself as a “lifetime explorer”, like that was what he identified as; instead of “American college professor” or “writer and traveler”, he introduced himself as a “lifetime explorer”. He had spent a long time explaining why and what that meant, but Avery had been gazing into his eyes at the time and imagining cuddling with him in a ski lodge. Now he explained it again, and this time Avery could more easily ignore him because he got to slide to his knees in front of Professor Studman’s body.
He grabbed his dick through those pristine khakis — which were also name-brand, it seemed, though Avery didn’t recognize the Italian brand on the label when he pulled them down to Professor Studman’s ankles. He smelled strongly of cologne, something fancy with an odd melange of scents.
“Hmmm… That cologne is hot,” Avery said. He pulled down his silk print underwear too, revealing a hefty tan cock and trimmed pubic hair. That made Avery giggle. He was both excited by how big it was and a little annoyed — just because it would have been karmic justice for Professor Studman to have a tiny dick. No wonder he was so confident, Avery thought.
“It’s only available in Khabarovsk, in Russia,” Professor Studman said. “I went there last spring to see the romashka bloom — that’s chamomile, by the way. They use the blossoms to make this cologne. It’s a reputed aphrodisiac blessed by a Siberian shaman.”
“Hmm-hmm…” Avery kissed the tip of his dick, and Professor Studman grunted. Avery snuck his tongue out, sliding it left and right over the tip of his thick cock. He didn’t lick it just yet, he was still teasing Professor Studman, whose face turned ruddy.
“If you’ve never seen the romashka blooming in Russia, I suggest you go. It’s exhilarating-” His voice broke as his dick twitched, and he blushed. He began speaking more quickly, almost frantically fast. “They have vast meadows teeming with romashka, and the entire field is the purest white dotted with the yellow suns of their stamens. They have long said such fields are the tears of God looking down upon the evil man does to man.” His dick throbbed mightily, growing hard as Avery teased it with his tongue. Professor Studman’s eyes opened wide. “Uh… It makes me feel… I mean, seeing those daisies — they’re a member of the daisy family — it reminds me… the feelings do remind me, I mean… of you… I mean the feelings now remind me then of… those fields and, uh-” He groaned loudly and stopped talking.
“You don’t need to sweet-talk me,” Avery said. “I like dick. I don’t need ornate speeches about Russian flowers to jerk you off.”
“No, I, uh… I…”
“You can just say jerk me off, Avery.”
“No.”
Avery smiled. “Okay, well, you can keep seducing the air with your sweet nothings, if you like. I’m just going to swallow your dick some more.”
“I am, uh… I once studied love-making with the same Tantric teacher who taught Sting. I had the chance to meet Sting once but I turned it down. I don’t think celebrities are that interesting. I don’t click on celebrity news on Facebook.” He paused, then blurted out, “I don’t use Facebook! I don’t, uh-” He bit his lip as a shiver of pleasure ran up his spine.
Avery giggled. Professor Studman had been pretty slow to get fully hard even though he had been hard just moments ago, with Jess. Avery wasn’t worried he’d fail to get an erection, he was just slow and nervous. Professor Studman was probably unused to performing without a woman worshiping every word that came out of his lips.
For the first time, Avery wondered if all this stuff was nonsense. When did he find the time and the funds to travel so much? Who went to Russia to look at flowers? He had assumed Studman was exaggerating some, but seeing him with his guard down made Avery wonder if it was all made-up.
It couldn’t all be fictional. He did come across as well-traveled. But Avery had trouble believing all this. Still, it didn’t much matter to him — lots of attractive guys were bullshitters. It was cute, Avery thought. Usually it had more to do with bullshitting about athletic accomplishments and bedding beautiful women, but this wasn’t so far off.
In any case, once Studman was hard, Avery was ready to get stuck by that beautiful slab of veiny manhood. He thwacked himself across the face with Professor Studman’s cock, giggling at the sight of his nervous face grunting each time.
“Have you ever been with a man before?”
“Uh… in India, I was… no.” Studman said. “No, I never have.” He sucked on his lip. Avery suspected he was about to tell a lie that would sound impressive, but he couldn’t focus enough to come up with one, so he had told the truth.
Avery bent over and grabbed the surface of Studman’s desk. He lowered his head and jutted his ass up to meet Professor Studman’s cock. He rammed into his crotch first, just rubbing his asscrack of his moistened dickshaft as it throbbed and leaked precum onto his smooth flesh.
“Hmmm, pound me… Live life to the fullest, Professor Studman! This is the chance to explore your lifetime!” Avery giggled. “Go’n, stick it in.”
He had to crane his head to see Professor Studman’s tense face. It was obvious he had hoped Avery would actually guide his dick in, so he wouldn’t have to do it. He closed his eyes, gripped his cock and then let go. He paused.
“Do you not wanna do it?” Avery asked. “Cuz if you’re too inhibited and inexperienced, I can understand that.”
“No! I… I don’t have hangups,” Professor Studman said. “Of course. You know the Malays say that-“
“Unless there’s a handsome Malay with a hardon here, ready to stick it in me, I don’t much care, Professor Studman,” Avery said.
He gritted his teeth and did so, just to prove that he could. He sighed with relief when his dick slid in, then he tensed up all over again. A shudder of pleasure ran through him.
“Ah, uh… Yes, ah…”
It was just the tip. Avery had to reach behind himself to guide Studman’s cock the rest of the way in, grimacing as he focused on relaxing his ass. There was a little pain, but Avery had come to expect that — Studman’s dick was big enough to hurt, but also big enough to give him the prostate orgasm of a lifetime.
“You can pound me hard, Professor Studman,” Avery said through gasps of pleasure. “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I’m no college freshman hiding from my daddy…”
“I don’t mess with underage girls. I check their ID,” he said.
“Like a true gentleman would.” Avery giggled. “Has the queen given you a knighthood yet?”
For the first time since Avery had met him, Professor Studman chuckled like he genuinely thought that was funny. “Only British subjects are eligible for a knighthood,” he said. He gripped Avery’s asscheeks, grimacing and sucking on his teeth as he did. His cock slid in the rest of the way, and he held his breath, watching it throb in Avery’s ass.
At last, Studman began pounding in earnest. Avery could just grip the desk and enjoy the show. His prostate rang out with every thrust of Studman’s cock into him, over and over, its thick shaft stimulating every inch of Avery’s insides.
He was really very good once he got into it. Avery could tell that he had relaxed, that he could forget for at least a few seconds that he wasn’t with a beautiful woman. Avery moaned in as feminine a voice as he could, while jolts of pleasure shot up his spine.
“Hey… Professor Studman? Did you read my story?” Avery asked. He had completely forgotten that that was why he came here to begin with.
Studman stopped moving. “I skimmed it. It was good, I could evaluate it without scrutinizing every word-“
“Because I’m not a hot chick, you saw no reason to really read it?”
He didn’t answer. He just resumed gyrating. He chuckled dryly. He placed one hand on Avery’s shoulders and lightly caressed the back of his neck. He leaned over and sucked on Avery’s left earlobe.
That made Avery shudder and shiver. It tickled a little, and it ratcheted up the orgasmic pleasure gathering deep within his body. Avery moaned. “Oh god… Girls love it when you do that, right?”
“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t love it too,” he said.
“I do… I still want to know — do you think I could sell it? The story I mean.”
Professor Studman laughed. “Yeah, if you go back to the fifties when people paid for short stories,” he said. “Assuming your audience is limited to present-day people: No.”
“Oh. Okay, I guess that’s kinda what I thought-” Avery’s voice broke as another wave of pleasure crashed over him. He lifted one leg and gasped.
The movement knocked a few things off Professor Studman’s desk, but he didn’t complain. He grunted too, his cultured demeanor vanishing as he neared his orgasm. He was normally so controlled that his frenzied pounding and the sweat dappling his shoulders seemed more exciting than they should be, like watching a man turn into a werewolf. Avery smiled as his most potent orgasm in recent memory filled his mind with intense pleasure.
He had to admit Studman was good. That was another thing Avery was kind of surprised by — he rather thought Studman would remain clumsy and reserved even with a raging hardon. But with Avery at least, when he finally neared his climax, Professor Studman plowed into him with wild abandon.
At last he was done. “Aw… yeah, shit, yeah…” His pretension was gone as his whole body quaked. Cum flew into Avery’s ass and coated his insides.
He shot great creamy gobs of it, and it filled Avery up more and more with each passing second. His balls slapped against Avery’s ass as he kept gyrating too. Much of his cum spilled out and into the crack of Avery’s ass.
“Ah… goddamn,” Avery said. He threw his head back. His own orgasm felt so good it kind of hurt.
Then, finally, it was over, and Avery lowered his head to the surface of the desk. He stared, eyes open but unfocused, at the form in front of his face while Professor Studman drained the last few drops of his cum into him.
Eventually he was done, and Studman sighed.
He felt tremendous relief and a second rush of bliss in his veins when his dick finally plopped out of Avery’s ass. Avery sighed too, falling limp onto the desk.
That was when Avery noticed the form he had laid his head on. It was a passport application form.
It took Avery a few moments to process that and what it meant. A passport was valid for ten years. If he needed to apply — not renew, for that was a different form — then that meant he hadn’t left the country (at least not legally) in a decade or more. He hadn’t been to Khabarovsk (wherever that was) last spring because he hadn’t had a passport.
“What’s this?” Avery held the form up. It was blank, so Avery couldn’t technically be sure it was for Professor Studman — perhaps he was filling out an application for his mother, for example — but his reaction made it clear that he didn’t want anyone to see it.
He snatched the form out of Avery’s hand, dick still dangling moistly between his legs. His khakis were still around his ankles too, so when he moved, he stumbled and fell over the desk.
Avery looked down at him and scoffed. He goosed Studman’s plump asscheeks. “You don’t have a passport.”
“No, I… It’s just a paperwork error. The government, y’know… Trump’s fault, most likely,” he said.
“Hmm-hmm, yeah, that seems likely,” Avery said. He wiped his own ass off, casually, using tissues from the box on Studman’s desk. Avery took a few steps away, still holding the box, while Professor Studman stood up. With his khakis still around his ankles, Studman couldn’t easily reach Avery or the box of tissues, and it was obvious he wouldn’t pull his pants up until he cleaned his dick off — those pants and the underwear were both name-brand, after all, he wouldn’t want to goop them up with bodily fluids. He looked ridiculous stumbling around his office with his pants and drawers around his ankles.
“Gimme those tissues,” he said, blushing. It looked like he was not used to the experience of blushing. He dabbed sweat off his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “It… I trust I can expect your discretion? Regarding the passport as well as the… everything else… Since, y’know…”
“I have lots of discretion. The part of my spleen that secretes discretion is also the part that loves getting slammed by you,” Avery said. “So why don’t I come back next week?”
“Fine. Yeah. Sure. I’m fine with… y’know…” He gestured to Avery’s ass and gulped. “That’s fine. No need for blackmail. Just, uh… come over to my office. We’ll talk… plot structure.”
“Good. Make time for me,” Avery said before handing the tissues over and walking out the door.

The Parole Officer

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

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

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

The Hustler

Rob stumbles across an alpha male biker in need of cash, a place to stay and a chance to get a nut off, which are all problems Rob is eager to help solve. That means Rob is in for a night of raunchy action, dominance and a mind-blowing orgasm.

Can Rob handle the firm hand of his new friend?

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob sat in his coffeeshop, looking at the novel he had just finished writing. He had finished it too recently to edit it now. It was tough to edit something right after you wrote it. But his deadline was tomorrow, so Rob was trying to gin up the energy to do it anyway.
He didn’t really have to meet the deadline. Most freelance writers were so flaky, he was seen as “on-time and ultra-efficient” if he was less than a week late. That would give Rob a few days to decompress, then look over the novel with a fresh pair of eyes.
He just didn’t want to have this Mafia romance hanging over his head any longer.
He idly googled the Mafia. There needed to be some fact specific to the Mafia that worked into the plot. Right now, it was just a story with criminals in it — that they were Mafia was mentioned in the prose, but not demonstrated through an action. They were just generic criminals so far. Rob needed to add a tidbit that directly related to some Mafia word like omertà or consigliere. But not as hokey or well-known as those, it needed to be something else.
A goombah was a man’s mistress. That could be something, Rob thought, but women might find it offensive, even if it was only a villainous kidnapper’s woman.
He kept scrolling through lists of Mafia slang. Most of them had the same twenty or so words.
Who’s that? Someone caught Rob’s gaze.
There was a man outside, hanging out near the motorcycle shop on the street. He caught Rob’s eye. He looked vaguely bikerish, but Rob didn’t get the impression he had any intention of going into the motorcycle shop next-door. He just milled about near the practice-lot for new motorcyclists and smoked a cigarette.
The man was medium-height but well-muscled, his broad shoulders showed off by a sleeveless shirt. He had a scruffy mustache and a scruffier beard, and dark eyes, with long black hair that was tangled and greasy.
He threw his cigarette on the ground. Then he curled his lip at a young black man walking by. They both nodded at each other as though they knew each other — there was hostility though, like they had fought once. When the black guy went past, the biker licked his teeth and watched him go. He exhaled a long plume of smoke.
As soon as he snubbed out his cigarette, the white man with the black hair lit another one. Was he waiting for someone? Rob sensed an opportunity for rough trade.
He paid for his coffee and put his laptop away before heading out to his car. He knew from personal experience that the best way to get a hustler off the street was with a car. That would signal that Rob had some money, and it would get the hustler somewhere more private.
He pulled to a stop in front of the bike shop. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
The hustler scowled and looked in the passenger side window. Cars streamed past Rob on the street. “What?” he barked into the window.
“Hey, how you doin’? You know cars? I could use someone who knows cars. My car’s making this noise, it’s sort of a thwump-thwump-“
“You lookin’ for a mechanic?”
“Bah, you know, they’re all crooks. They’ll cheat me, I know it. They always do. I usually just look around for someone who might know what they’re talking about. You’re into motorcycles, right? You must know about cars.” Rob gestured towards the motorcycle shop.
“You payin’?”
“Yeah. Of course. I’ll treat you right, I swear.”
The hustler shrugged and nodded. He got in the passenger seat. “Yeah. I know cars. I mean, sort of.”
“Cool, sweet.” Rob cleared his throat. “I’m Rob.”
“Glasser.”
“Cool, Glasser, sweet,” Rob said. “So-“
“What sound is ya car makin’? I don’t hear nothin’.”
“Oh, not this car,” Rob said. “It’s my other car, back at my place. I’ll take you there. Where do you live, Glasser?”
He shrugged. “Around.” He let out a shiver. Now that he was out of the cold air and the light drizzle, he found it more difficult to keep himself from shivering.
“You got a girlfriend?”
Glasser scoffed like that was absurd. “I got females I mess wit’.”
“Uh-huh. Sweet. Cool.” Rob smiled at him as he got on the highway. “So, uh… you horny?”
“Always.” Glasser crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window. That position accentuated his pecs, which pressed against his too small tee shirt. His biceps gleamed with either sweat or rain or both.
“You wanna… y’know… do somethin’ ‘bout that?” Rob asked. Glasser ignored him, just staring out the window. Rob gingerly touched Glasser’s left bicep. Glasser still ignored him. Rob squeezed his arm and caressed it, his fingers slipping under Glasser’s sleeveless shirt to his shoulder. That made Glasser’s muscles all twitch at once. With one hand still on the steering wheel, Rob massaged Glasser’s back with his other hand. “Can you take your dick out?”
Glasser sighed like that was a huge imposition. His mustache quivered. He unzipped his dirty camo pants and took his dick out — again, he looked back out the window, avoiding Rob’s gaze. He had a hefty dick, plenty thick and tanned a dark brown, just a shade darker than his skin.
He just took it out and let it flop against the fabric of his rain-soaked pants. He didn’t play with it or anything. It just lay there like an abandoned sausage.
“You have a nice cock. I really do have a car at home that makes a thwump-thwump sound. I think something’s loose in the undercarriage,” he said. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you can fix it tonight.”
After a long, pregnant pause, Glasser said, “I might need tools.” His dickfat jiggled when he spoke. He exhaled another plume from that ever-present cigarette.
“I’ve got some tools. If there’s something you can’t do tonight, then we’ll work something else out,” Rob said. He grabbed Glasser’s limp cock with one hand. He didn’t sroke it, he just held on like a handle, gauging Glasser’s reaction. Rob faced the road, so he couldn’t see his face, but he sensed only a blankness from him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, staring out the window intently like he might see something interesting if he looked hard enough. It was dark out though. There was nothing to see but the streetlights and the other cars whizzing by on the highway. His dick throbbed and jostled in Rob’s grip.
“Okay, cool, thanks,” Rob said. He gave Glasser’s cock a squeeze and a stroke, and still Glasser ignored it.
Glasser ignored Rob’s finger as it moved in a little circle over the spot on the underside of his cock, right where the glans met the shaft. His dick was heavy and thick. Rob stroked it with just one finger at first. He rubbed that finger from tip to root and back, while Glasser sighed.
At last, Glasser looked away from the window and watched Rob stroke his dick. He didn’t say anything.
“You let guys jack you off a lot?”
“No.”
” I’ll pay you. Hundred bucks, if you let me swallow your cum. Plus fifty to fix my car,” Rob said. “You need a place to stay?”
Glasser didn’t answer, but he grunted in a way that made the answer clear — yes. He watched his cockshaft as it flopped limply in Rob’s hand. Rob stroked slowly. He made no effort to get it hard, he was just playing with it the best he could while still driving the car with the other hand.
“You want a drink?”
Glasser glowered for a moment, then said, “Can’t. Gots a parole officer who gonna test my piss tomorrow.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Rob said. He kept stroking. Glasser’s limp dick was hot and moist with sweat. Rob was pretty sure he was trying hard not to get an erection yet. Was that to hold out for more money? Just plain anxiety? Did he drink enough he actually had trouble getting an erection? Or did he just want to prove he couldn’t get hard for a man too easily?
Pulling off the highway, Rob slowed down the car but sped up his stroking. He squeezed a bit too. That made Glasser grunt.
His cock pulsated and twitched. It began to firm up in Rob’s mind. Glasser returned to looking intently out the window. At least now there were things out there — a gas station, a dog running along the side of the road, a woman parking.
“I wanna swallow your cum.”
Glasser chuckled throatily — it was a dim, minimal chuckle, but still, it was the strongest emotion he had shown yet. “That’s nasty.” He paused. “Don’t show me ya mouth. Some perverts do that, they jerk a man off and swallow and then open up so I can see — that’s fuckin’ disgusting. Don’t do — I mean, I ain’t sayin’ I let fellers jerk me off. I don’t do that, no sir, not on the regular. I just…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.”
“I used to, alright? When I was doin’ drugs, I mean, I used to let all kinda boys handle my meat,” Glasser said. “That’s all. I ain’t doin’ it no more.” He sniffled. “After tonight.”
“Okay. Cool. I get to be your last, huh?” Rob said with a laugh. He pulled into his driveway and put the car in park in front of his garage. Then he lowered his head to Glasser’s crotch and deep-throated him to the root, all in one smooth motion.
“Shit…” Glasser said. His eyes opened wide — not that Rob could see it — and he had to hold back a gasp. He didn’t know it would feel this good right away. He sucked in on his cigarette then coughed, which rammed his cock deep into Rob’s throat.
Rob grinned as he choked. Even though he couldn’t see Glasser’s face, he knew what was happening. Glasser was shocked at how good this felt but he was trying to hide it. He could sense it in Glasser’s feet curling and lifting off the car floor, in the tensing of his thigh muscles and the sudden explosive erection — his dick got noticeably more erect just in the moments it took Rob to go from playing with it to swallowing the whole foot-long shaft.
Betcha no women swallow him that deep, Rob thought… He would have said it out loud if his mouth weren’t full.
Glasser growled, a low rumbling sound that bounced out of his mouth through his gritted teeth. He lifted his ass off the seat and grabbed Rob’s head with both hands.
“Take it, man, swallow it, swallow that shit, sissy, c’mon…” Glasser said. His swarthy face turned reddish. He grunted loudly, like an angry hog, and he gripped Rob’s scalp tightly. “Don’t stop, man, I’m gonna nut.”
Rob wasn’t expecting him to cum so quickly, especially since it had taken Glasser awhile to get hard. But Rob didn’t mind — he thought he could get another load out of Glasser tonight. Hot streams of jizz poured down Rob’s throat, and he choked loudly even as he managed to get every drop down his gullet.
His lungs cried out for oxygen, but Rob managed to avoid spitting out the cum that flowed deep into his throat. Glasser held him tightly, all the way down on that massive dick, which tasted of rain and dirty clothes. His cum, on the other hand, was bright and warm and sunny, creamy like… well, cream, and salty in a good way. Rob savored the taste as it pumped down his gullet.
“You’s makin’ a sloppy mess, sissy,” Glasser said, heaving for air as he orgasmed in Rob’s mouth. He frowned, gripping Rob’s hair even more tightly. He bucked his hips, forcing his dick all the way in once more for the last few wads of cum. It coated Rob’s throat and sat hotly in his belly. “Goddamn…”
When he could resist no longer, Rob sputtered, unable to avoid making a big mess of cum that spewed out and soaked into Glasser’s pubic hair. It coated the surface of his jeans too. Even when he thought ht was done spitting up, Rob moved his head just an inch, which triggered both another explosion of pleasure in Glasser and a gag that roiled Rob’s body. Rob retched up a mouthload, while Glasser let out an involuntary moan that turned into a stonefacing grunt. He kept Rob’s dick in place, forcing him to choke up again and against, the sensation massaging Glasser’s sensitive shaft.
At last, Rob pulled off completely, forcing his head away from Glasser’s cock cuz Glasser held on tight like he was never gonna let him take a breath. Rob grabbed a coarse lungful of air, while Glasser sighed. Then Rob moved to kiss him on the lips, an instinctual move he didn’t think Glasser would accept. Glasser gently pushed and then rudely slapped his cum-dripping face.
“Don’chu dare kiss me.” He coughed, making his dickfat jiggle once more as it rapidly limpened up. “You nothin’ special, pansy.” Glasser wasn’t about to admit that that was an especially good dome — he would never admit that because it sounded too queer to say out loud. But it was obvious from his breathless reaction and the way his whole body went limp at once as he let go of Rob’s head. Rob at last pulled off and took a big, deep breath, which made a hoarse sound that filled the tiny cabin of the car.
“Hmmm… Damn, you… got dick… for days,” Rob said. He gave Glasser’s cock another stroke, which made Glasser gasp and his whole body squirm.
Glasser smacked Rob — not as hard as he could but hard enough to hurt. Glasser hadn’t wanted to squirm like that, it made him feel weak. “I ain’t say you could swallow it.”
“Oh, sorry, okay,” Rob said. He wiped his face off. “You wanna come in-?”
“Pay me, bitch.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Rob pulled out the hundred dollars he had promised and handed it over. He pointed to the garage. “Did you want to work on the car tonight? You could sleep tonight instead and do it tomorrow-“
“You got electricity in ya garage?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll work tonight.” Glasser got out of the car — only then putting his dick away and realizing how much cum had gotten on his pants. He went out to stand in the rain to “wash” the stain off some. “Just go to bed, sissy. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight and finish the car tomorrow.”
“Oh. I…” Rob wanted to ask if Glasser was going to ram him in the ass. He had hoped to do more than just play with his dick for about three minutes. But he sensed that the more he pushed right now, the less cooperative Glasser would be. “Okay.”
Rob went inside. He first made himself some food — just pasta with a bunch of leftovers mixed in, but he made sure to pan-fry some onions and garlic in butter — no one, he thought, could resist that smell. He knew it was smellable out in the garage too.
But Glasser still didn’t come in. When Rob went out there to check on him, he was pretty sure Glasser hadn’t been doing any work until Rob came to the garage door. Then he slid under the car and pretended to be doing something.
It soon became obvious that the car was fixed. Glasser wasn’t going to come in the house until Rob was in bed. Rob just shrugged — a lot of men will do what they have to for money, but not sleep with men, or kiss them, or even hug them in some cases. Obviously Glasser was one of those kind of guys.
Rob put a pillow and blanket out by the couch, plus a bowl of food in the kitchen. He thought he’d get Glasser later tonight or very early tomorrow morning — he’d be horny again then, and he’d probably want money to go out drinking after meeting with his parole officer.
Then Rob turned out the lights and went to bed. Sure enough, he heard Glasser come in about twenty minutes later. Rob didn’t go out. If Glasser was homeless — which now seemed like a real possibility — he probably wanted a chance to be in a home, by himself, to relax. He heard Glasser turn the TV on — that took some fumbling with the remote, but Rob didn’t go out there to help. He let Glasser figure it out on his own.
Rob was just about asleep when the door to his bedroom opened up. His ears twitched. Glasser’s baritone burp filled the air (it smelled like the leftover pasta Rob had left out for him).
“Hey. I’m gonna ram you. Don’t say nothin’,” Glasser said. He pulled the covers off Rob and dragged his shorts down. Glasser was already naked, his dick already hard because he had found some hip-hop videos on the TV, which were thinly disguised softcore pornography. He slid his dick between Rob’s cheeks and climbed into the bed with him.
Rob wanted to ask a bunch of questions — did Glasser want a ride to his parole officer tomorrow? Did he want to use a condom? Did he want the lights on? Did he want Rob to get on all fours? That was the position men seemed to want the most often — because it didn’t require them to look at Rob’s face, his breastless chest or his cock and balls. From behind, Rob looked very feminine except for the short haircut. But then, it was dark in here anyway, so Glasser could have easily pretended Rob was female in any position.
In any case, Glasser didn’t seem too concerned about that. His hairy chest scratched at Rob’s smooth back, as Glasser humped his dick between Rob’s cheeks.
“Shush…” Glasser said after he let out a groan. He kept on shushing Rob, even though Rob barely peeped. It was Glasser who kept grunting and clucking his tongue against his teeth whenever Rob didn’t move in the direction he wanted.
Glasser brought the covers back up as though he wanted to cover this up, so no one could see what was happening. He lifted his hips up to give himself some leverage, then aimed his dick for Rob’s asshole.
“Open that ass, punk, lemme in,” Glasser said, whispering breathlessly into Rob’s ear. He slapped one of Rob’s cheeks just as his dick pushed in.
Rob grunted. At last, he finally made a sound, and Glasser erupted in a torrent of hushing. Rob squirmed as pressure hit his ass, an intense pushing sensation that was hard to take at first — this was all going so fast. After waiting for hours, Rob was finally getting rammed by his favorite hustler yet, he just needed a moment to adjust.
But Glasser wasn’t waiting a moment. He gritted his teeth and pumped his hips once more, forcing more of his dick down and into Rob’s ass. He was relentless.
He pushed Rob’s face into the mattress. “Lift ya asshole up.” He lifted his own body up as he rammed all the way in and out now. Rob had to raise his hips to meet Glasser’s cock, and soon Rob was knelt over instead of on all fours. He cried out and groaned, but Glasser again shushed him. “Quiet, keep it real quiet…”
Glasser had gotten into the habit of plowing men on the downlow, in the darkness and quiet, during his first stay in jail. Back then, he had been in a small local jail with a sheriff who strictly forbade premarital sex and even circlejerking — that was what Glasser’s biker gang traditionally did when they got arrested, to “christen” their new cell. So Glasser had started ramrodding his cellmate with the lights off, as quietly as possible, and with blankets covering him.
That was why now, even though the positioning made it awkward, Glasser tried to keep the blankets covering up his crotch and Rob’s ass. He had to use one hand on that so he could only use one hand to hold Rob in position. He pressed down on Rob’s head, which meant he couldn’t hold onto Rob’s ass — instead, every time Rob moved too much, Glasser growled to signal he should keep his ass high. And when Rob’s motion made the blanket fall away, Glasser smacked his asscheek.
“Shush, I’m gonna nut now, I’m gonna nut…” As Glasser felt his orgasm approach, he collapsed onto the bed. This felt good. It was like making love to a woman. He pulled the covers over Rob all the way up to the neck. That made it easy, especially in the dark, to pretend Rob was a woman — Glasser wasn’t pretending that, but he felt he needed to leave the option open, so he could, and so he could tell others later (not that he would tell anyone about this) that he had had to pretend Rob was a woman in order to ram him.
But actually, Glasser didn’t pretend that at all. He just wanted to bust a nut. He slid onto his side, and wrapped both hands all the way around Rob’s chest. He even kissed Rob’s cheek and nuzzled his neck as he orgasmed.
“Ah, goddamn, yeah, keep ya asshole open, keep it open…” Glasser moaned right into Rob’s ear. His breath condensed on his cheek. “Keep it open, pansy, lemme fill you up…”
Rob sprayed his own wad onto his belly and into his hands, just as he felt Glasser’s muscles spasm against his back. The petrichorian smell that clung to his unwashed body was overpowering now that it was trapped by the sheet, and since Rob was smaller than Glasser, he was buried in the scent of Glasser’s chest hair and armpit sweat.
Cum flew into Rob’s ass. Glasser was one of those who stayed still as he came, his dick all the way in, spurting wad after wad of white-hot cum. It was creamy and thick, sticky, seeping into Rob’s flesh. He felt it flowing within him.
Glasser was motionless for what felt like forever, as liquid orgasm coursed through his veins. He hadn’t blown a nut this good since prison. He attributed that to Rob having a nicer ass than most of the common prostitutes he hooked up with on the street. Being able to mess around in a bed instead of behind a dumpster helped a lot too. And Rob was clean enough to kiss, not that he intended to do any kissing.
After one final spurt of jizz up Rob’s guts, Glasser began humping again, very slowly, just grinding, sliding his half-hard dick around within Rob’s ass. He grunted along with Rob when the pain grew more intense, and Rob clenched, sending a wave of pleasure through Glasser’s post-orgasmic body.
“Shit…” Glasser said. He sighed, and for just a moment, he stayed there, breathing heavily, dick sliding moistly out of Rob’s ass. He kissed Rob’s cheek. It was affectionate and intimate, and Glasser loved it.
But he couldn’t let himself continue that. He rolled over and off Rob’s back. Rob took a deep breath.
“Thanks,” Rob said.
Glasser stood and lit a cigarette — mainly because he knew Rob didn’t allow smoking in the house and he wanted to show he did whatever he wanted, that he wasn’t letting some man be the boss of him. The smell of tobacco filled the air. Glasser smoked quietly, standing near enough to the bed that Rob could hug his hairy thighs and clean his dick off with a tissue.
Then Glasser grunted and walked out of the bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch, asshole,” he said. “You owe me fifty bucks for the car and two hundred for plowing you in the ass.” He paused. “Get me up at nine o’clock and drive me to the parole office. You better buy me breakfast too. Not Burger King.”
“Okay.”
Glasser went back into the other room to sleep on the couch. Last thing he did before going to sleep was sliding Rob’s ipad into the backpack he brought over here. No punk, he thought, deserves to go without being robbed.

The Cocky Thug

Alboroto is a badass and a ladysman, but when he gets in a bad spot, a weird gringo white dude is willing to give him a few dollars in exchange for a swing on his alpha male meat!

Not that Alboroto needs any help…

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob settled into his motel room at the Top Inn and got to work. The weather was beautiful, and the beach was not far from here. He really wanted to go out and bask in the sun, swim in the sea for the first time in years, not to mention eyebang the hunks and hotties whom he suspected would be there. Riverside, California seemed to be full of studs.
So that was what he needed to get done today. He had already written most of it. He just needed to churn the ending out, then he could go out guy-watching — Rob appreciated the male physique, and Riverside was full of splendid examples of it. Any city with this many men had to leave most of them unsatisfied, since there weren’t anywhere’s near as many sexy women that Rob could see.
When he reached a good stopping point, he decided to take a break. All he had to write was another four thousand words or so for the ending, and he’d be done for the day. Rob could write ten thousand words a day without breaking a sweat.
He resolved to at least sketch out the chapter, but then he nearly bumped into the bare, bulging bicep of a young Latino man walking by. Rob caught a whiff of his cheap cologne and a few sweaty notes that made his dick chub up.
The Latino didn’t notice that he had nearly bumped into Rob because he was on his cell phone, clicking his tongue against his teeth as a feminine voice yelled at him. His pants were slung low, and his muscles bulged from his wifebeater, atop which hung a couple shimmering chains.
“I told you, chica, I’ll buy it. I promise. Yo’ birthday ain’t till tomorrow, right? I ain’t late. I’ll pawn some chains, baby, don’t worry. I never let you down,” he said. “Yeah. Alright, baby.” He sighed and whispered. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. I, uh, I love you, chica. C’mon… I love you. I was drunk then, but I love you, c’mon…” He looked at the phone and tssked his tonge against his teeth again. He put the phone back in his pocket — she had already hung up. He shook his head and lit a cigarette.
“Girl trouble?” Rob asked.
He glanced at Rob like he hadn’t known he was there. He nodded noncommitall and mumbled something like wuzzup.
“I’m Rob,” he said. “I’m a writer.”
“Cool.” He took a drag on his cigarette.
“I’ve got two hundred and three dollars cash in my wallet. I’ll give it to you if you let me jerk you off,” Rob said. He was blunt since it appeared this guy was not going to engage in a conversation.
The Latino looked up at Rob — though built like the proverbial brick shithouse, he was not tall — and glared at him.
He sneered. “Gringo… You should not be talkin’ ‘bout cash in this city,” he said. “I am gonna take yo’ two hundred and three dollars. And I will also let you jerk me off. Those two things ain’t related. I am robbin’ you, motherfucker, I ain’t yo’ rent boy.”
“Uh, okay,” Rob said. “Can we use your room?” He didn’t want to give this guy the chance to steal his laptop. He wasn’t writing this plowing lesbian story all over again, and he hadn’t backed up since Monday.
The Latino nodded, then let him in. He had the room next to Rob’s. As soon as he walked in, he took off his shirt. He kept his chains and his backwards baseball cap on, and he didn’t lower his pants. “You’ll lick balls, right?”
“Yes, sir, I will,” Rob said. He blushed at the sight of the Latino’s rippling muscles. That made Rob’s face and chest turn red, and his dick got a little harder in his pants. The Latino beamed like he didn’t get called sir a lot, which is exactly why Rob had done it. “What should I call you, sir?”
“Gimme that money and start,” he said, sneering at the question he refused to answer.
Rob’s hands shook as he pulled out his wallet. He had exactly two hundred and three dollars in there. He tremblingly handed it over to the Latino, and his hands fumbled with the Latino’s fly.
The word Alboroto was tattooed on his belly; Rob didn’t know what it meant. It looked like a nickname, so that was what Rob decided to call him. He unzipped Alboroto’s jeans and pulled his long, thick dick out through the fly.
“Get to suckin’, gringo,” Alboroto said. He crossed his arms over his bare chest.
Rob kissed the tip to tease him. He produced a mouthful of spit and spat it out on Alboroto’s shaft. Then he sucked the spit back up and repeated that a few times, as he licked the sides and rubbed the entire cockshaft over his lips.
But he didn’t actually put it in his mouth yet. Rob loved provoking macho alpha males like Alboroto, who kept his chin up, avoiding looking down at Rob. His arms were over his chest, and every few seconds he scoffed like he was annoyed Rob hadn’t made him cum yet.
“What do you need to buy for your girlfriend?” Rob asked. He thwacked that massive cock over his face. It was only half-hard yet, throbbing and meaty, slick with saliva. He kept his tongue out of his mouth, rubbing Alboroto’s dick over it as he talked. “Is it a present? I could help. I know a lot about what girls want.”
“What do you know about girls?”
“I’m a romance author.”
“What?”
“Remember I said I’m a writer? I mainly write romance for women,” Rob said. He licked cocksweat off his own lips and rubbed his tongue along the veins that lined Alboroto’s shaft. Rob giggled. “I know a lot about what they want.”
Alboroto scoffed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Man, that ain’t relevant. My girl don’t read some gringo’s romance-” He paused like he had just realized something. “Oh. I mean, she read some shit on her kindle-“
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“She read yo’ shit?”
“Well, I dunno about that, prolly not me specifically,” Rob said. “Is she into rugby jocks?” He deep-throated Alboroto’s dick one time, just lowering his head all the way until he gagged and sputtered. His nose nestled in Alboroto’s trimmed pubic hair. Alboroto gasped. His knees buckled and his dick perked up in Rob’s mouth.
His muscles roiling, jaw trembling, Alboroto mumbled something that Rob didn’t understand. It was clear that he was saying that he didn’t know what rugby was and he didn’t pay enough attention to his chica’s interests to know if she read romance novels on her kindle.
Rob pulled off and smiled up at Alboroto, who had a flat expression on his face though his suddenly pulsating cock suggested he was enjoying the dome very much. He just didn’t want to admit it. He shifted his weight.
Rob took a deep breath. “Your dick tastes so good. I bet your chica loves sucking on it.”
He flared his nostrils. “No. She-” His voice broke as Rob deep-throated him again. Alboroto grunted as he again covered up how aroused he was. “She only sucks dick if I, uh… If I do…” His voice trailed off. He looked down at his cock disappearing down Rob’s throat. “I mean, she sucks me off whenevuh I tell her to.”
Rob pulled away and clucked his tongue. “Oh, you poor baby. I think all girls should suck their man off every day,” he said. Always tell ‘em what they wanna hear…
“Hell yeah, you should run for president,” Alboroto mumbled. He groaned as his dick spasmed in Rob’s mouth.
“Is it okay if I lick your balls, sir?” Rob asked. He giggled and blushed.
Alboroto nodded. “Yeah, man, open up. You like that?” Alboroto loved it when his girl sucked on his balls, but she hated it and had only done so once.
“I love it. I bet you have tasty balls,” Rob said with a laugh.
“Si.”
Rob turned his head upwards and opened his mouth. Alboroto pulled his heavy, hairy ballsack out of the fly of his jeans, and he plopped it right in Rob’s waiting mouth. Instantly the flavor of Alboroto’s sweat assaulted Rob’s senses. He moaned and gurgled, producing more saliva and tickling Alboroto’s scrotum skin.
Alboroto grunted and heaved some more. He kept his arms folded over his chest, accentuating his thick pecs; his muscles kept tensing and flexing and he had to force his hands to remain in position. He closed his eyes and moaned, but bit his lip to stifle it.
“You okay, man,” Alboroto said with a dry, throaty chuckle. He wrinkled his nose. “You okay at this. I had better. Pity you ain’t got tits.”
Rob said he was sorry for not being a girl, but his mouth was full of sweaty balls, so all that came out was a moist, muffled sound. He licked Alboroto’s scrotum, lapping at it as Alboroto shifted his weight. His eyes bugged out like he had rarely had someone suck his balls so perfectly.
Finally Alboroto couldn’t bear to keep his arms folded over his chest anymore. He smacked the motel room wall behind himself and threw his head back. He groaned so loud the sound resonated in Rob’s ears, and he could even feel the vibrations in Alboroto’s cock.
“C’mon, lick my dick.” He grabbed Rob’s head as though going to throat him down. But then the feel of Rob’s hair stopped him — it was short and entirely too masculine. Alboroto didn’t want to touch him.
But he was enjoying the dome. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He put his arms over his chest again, though he found it difficult to keep them there.
Alboroto had never gotten dome from a man before. He would have never admitted that. When he was eighteen, he spent three weeks in prison. When he came back, he told his friends that he had turned a inmate into a whore and had throated him until he begged for mercy.
None of that had been true but it had made Alboroto seem like a real gangsta. He was glad to have an opportunity to really do it for once, so now he could truthfully say he wasn’t a bullshitter about this (or at least, it wasn’t completely bullshit). His friends still called him Violador sometimes in reference to it.
But he couldn’t admit, even to himself right now, how good the dome from Rob was — he always swore that prison dome was sloppy and crappy. Alboroto had been complaining to his friends for years about how he needed a girl who would suck his dick like a good, submissive bitch should.
“Swallow it deep, man, get it all the way in there… Bajo”
He wondered if he should ram this gringo in the ass. A part of him said no, of course not, that was too gross. But another part of him said to do it. He had been bragging about plowing that man in prison — he had told people he rammed that prison punk until he cried — so maybe it would be good to actually do it once. He’d never tell his friends about this one, but at least he wouldn’t be lying when he said he did it.
In truth, his friends would not think less of him for ramrodding a man. That would simply make him an hombre, which was fine. In his culture, men were either hombres who rammed or pasivos who got rammed. It wasn’t bad to be an hombre. That made you a real man, especially if you rammed your pasivo in a hard and cruel way.
So that was what he intended to do. But first, Alboroto called his friend Jamaal. “Yo.”
Yo, sup.
“You got that Carter Ave deal, right?
Yeah. Why you callin’ ‘bout that again?
“Just wanted to make sure, nigga.”
Whatchoo doin’?
“Gettin’ head. You wanna hear?” Alboroto smiled and held the phone low, right next to where his cock plunged down Rob’s throat. His dick was rock-hard now, precum flowing like piss. If he wasn’t distracted by his discomfort with being with a man, Alboroto thought he would have cum already.
Sounds nice, man. I thought yo’ chica wasn’t doin’ that anymore-
“Shut the fuck up, nigga. My bitch does it when I tell her to.”
So that is her?
“I ain’t say that. I ain’t say it was a her at all. I gots me a prison bitch, Jamaal.”
Oh yeah, right, just like that one in prison, huh?
“Fuck you.”
E’rybody know you a big bullshitter, Durango. Tha’s prolly some whore you paid like two bucks for dome.
“Man, Jamaal-“
How much she charge to take her teeth out first? You know you gonna have to pay for antibiotics, right? Would-a been cheaper to pay more fo’ a better whore.
“Ram you, Jamaal! Shut your mouth,” Getting annoyed, Alboroto resumed throating Rob down, since at least that way he could express his frustration, even if it wasn’t aimed at the right person. He gripped Rob’s head with one hand, holding the phone with the other — a few minutes ago he had found it distracting to touch a man’s hair, but now he was both hornier and more distracted, so he didn’t think of that. “Yeah, you here that, Jamaal? Huh? That’s my balls slappin’ on my bitch’s chin.”
Oh yeah? That must be nice. Ain’t nobody evuh manage to suck my dick that deep, y’know. Mouths don’t come that big.
“I’m gonna come throat yo’ face next,” Alboroto said with a snarl. He hung up the phone and threw it on the bed. He closed his eyes and mumbled to himself. He should never have called Jamaal. Jamaal was going to tell everyone that Alboroto was mess with a toothless herpes-ridden crackwhore.
He tried to banish those thoughts from his mind. He focused on the pleasure twinging up from his veiny cockshaft as saliva dripped down it in clumps, landing in his shortened pubic hair — his chica demanded he keep himself trimmed. He pumped his hips, slamming his dick down deep in Rob’s throat.
“You gonna make me nut, boy…” Alboroto said. He didn’t mention that his girlfriend’s toothy, off-rhythm sucking never brought him to orgasm so easily, on those rare occasions when he talked her into trying it.
When he felt an orgasm coming on quickly, Alboroto grabbed Rob and pulled him off his dick. He felt momentarily disappointed as his dick was now without attention. It felt cold, and it throbbed like it demanded someone touching it, sucking on it, taking it inside some tight, dark hole.
“You gonna give up the ass, gringo?”
“Yes, sir,” Rob said. He teased Alboroto by standing up and stretching his legs. He knew he had a nice plump ass, which he displayed after dropping his jeans. He made a big show of slowly bending over the bed, knowing that Alboroto would just get more frustrated as he waited. “Do you have lube?”
Alboroto nodded. He pulled a tube out of a duffel bag, out of which he had been living for the past month. He poured the lube onto the top of Rob’s asscrack, so it seeped down into his hole. It was cold at first, and Rob let out a shiver.
Then he felt an explosion of pressure in his asshole. As always, it hurt at first, more than it felt good, especially this time since Alboroto was not trying to be gentle.
But within a few seconds of that throbbing brown meat entering him, Rob moaned as a shard of pre-orgasmic pleasure hit him. He was already rock-hard from the taste of Alboroto’s dick, and now his excited prostate sent him to the next level.
“Ah, yes, stick it in me, Alboroto…” he said. His voice broke and he hung his head.
“You ain’t gotta tell me that,” Alboroto said. He saw Rob’s wallet on the floor and fished it out as he worked his dick in, centimeter by centimeter. He didn’t want to steal the man’s credit cards, that was too dangerous, but he did want to see if he had any emergency cash. Sure enough, there was a folded-up fifty dollar bill, which Alboroto pocketed. He wanted to distract the gringo, so he grabbed his own clean wifebeater and used it like a tether in the guy’s mouth.
Rob bit down hard on the fabric, which smelled of Alboroto’s sweat and his cheap cologne, a generic-brand body spray by the scent of it. That made Rob’s dick throb and leak precum onto the mattress — Rob loved the funky smell of unwashed men.
“Gonna ramroad you the way a vato should,” Alboroto said. “Get on your back, bitch.” His chest was dappled with sweat. He dropped the wifebeater, pulled his dick out and rolled Rob over. Right after being released from prison when he was eighteen, Alboroto’s uncle had told him how a real hombre should ram his pasivo. He said that the pasivo has to be on his back, with his legs in the air, both because that was similar to a position you might fuck a woman in and because it meant he couldn’t run away — Alboroto’s uncle had been in prison off and on throughout his life, in the US, Mexico and also Guatemala briefly.
Now he really wanted that position, even if it did mean he’d be able to see Rob’s cock as he jacked himself off. That just seemed gross. Alboroto couldn’t imagine how anyone took dick in the ass and liked it, and seeing Rob’s hard cock made it impossible to avoid thinking about that.
So he closed his eyes and pumped his hips. His cock was all the way in Rob’s ass. That had been so easy, and it felt so good, he didn’t even notice that he felt no real resistance. He had never fucked a girl who didn’t complain about his dick in her ass. It was nice to be able to pound away as hard as he could, knowing he wouldn’t have to hear constant whining and telling him to take a break.
He held Rob’s feet in position, and he was so aroused he didn’t even notice Rob’s leg hair scratching against Alboroto’s flesh. Alboroto slammed his dick in and out, marveling at how tight Rob’s ass was, yet loose enough that Alboroto could ram him hard.
The more he plowed back and forth, the less inhibited he got. Alboroto slapped Rob’s asscheeks, which his girl hated, and smiled as that made Rob clench and moan.
Waves of pleasure erupted from deep within Alboroto. He was about to orgasm when his cell phone rang. He knew who it was even before he pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket. It was his chica, Rosa.
“Keep quiet, man,” he said. He answered the phone. “Hey, baby.”
You pawn those chains yet?
“It’s been like twenty minutes, chica.”
So? My birthday is still tomorrow, and if you think I’m lettin’ my sister show me up, you got another thing comin’.
“Baby, I tol’ you, I’d buy it,” he said. He sniffled. Alboroto spoke quietly and plainly to her, his bravado largely gone. He kept plowing as he talked, but he moved his hips slowly, both to keep himself from orgasming as he talked and because he didn’t want to make noise. He sighed.
Don’t you roll your eyes at me, nigga. I can hear you-
“You can’t hear my eyes roll.”
Yes, I can, you no-good asshole. You fuckin’ some slut right now?
“No, baby!”
I want that perfume, Durango. You promised it. You always say that you buy me nice things because you’re such a gangsta, but you never actually do it-
“I said I’d do it! I’ll buy it!” he said. He stopped moving with his dick all the way in Rob’s ass, so deep Rob’s balls even touched Alboroto’s crotch-hair. His dick throbbed against Rob’s prostate, making Rob writhe as he tried to avoid crying out. Alboroto was very annoyed, especially that she had called him Durango — that’s what she always called him, but Rob had started to call him Alboroto because he didn’t know his real name and it was tattooed on his belly. Alboroto had never gotten his girl to call him that. She constantly “forgot” and called him Durango. He felt like a loser complaining about it to her, but it did annoy him, and as he had been listening to Rob moan about how much he loved Alboroto’s cock sliding into him, Alboroto was now reminded of why he liked to be called by his street name.
The perfume was one recently released by a Latina rapper named Reinita Ray. Alboroto didn’t see what the big deal was — it was just a perfume — but his girlfriend idolized Reinita Ray, and her sister had gone to a concert that Alboroto had “accidentally” (but really on-purpose) forgotten to buy tickets for. So he couldn’t fail to buy the perfume as well.
You had better, nigga. You gonna pawn those chains?
“Nah. I’m robbin’ this gringo instead. Don’t call me again, I’m in the middle of a robbery,” he said. He hung up the phone before she could say anything. He turned it off. That oughta sound like a real gangsta, he thought to himself, and it wasn’t even a lie, not really.
He rammed so hard his balls slapped against Rob’s asscheeks. One of his hands had wandered over while he was on the phone, and now it rested above Rob’s neck, holding him in place. Alboroto gave him a squeeze.
It wasn’t tight enough to strangle Rob, but it did get his attention. His mind was swimming with pleasure, as he stroked himself off and wiggled on the bedspread. The blankets and sheets were wadded up by now, on the foot of the bed.
It was obvious Alboroto was about to cum. Rob orgasmed as well, his prostate singing and tingling with every thrust of Alboroto’s cock into him. Rob’s entire body tensed and clenched. He threw his head back and screamed so loud people outside the motel room could hear.
As cum flew over Rob’s stomach, Alboroto wrinkled his nose. He knew a lot of hombres didn’t allow their pasivos to jack off while they got rammed — he wished he had thought of that before, because now he could smell semen, which made his stomach churn. He even saw it trickle down Rob’s flesh, most of it going over the side and onto the mattress, but one rivulet ran down to Alboroto’s cock. If he wasn’t on the verge of orgasming as well, he would have stopped to punish Rob for getting cum on him.
“Take it, man, yeah…”
But he didn’t want to stop, even if he did feel another man’s semen coating his dick. That made him shudder with disgust. His muscles tensed. His gold and platinum changed tinkled when they clanged against each other as he rammed.
“Take it, gringo, yeah, you gonna get filled up…” He moaned as he came. He forgot about pretending he would rather be plowing a girl — he would, of course, but only if she had an ass exactly like this gringo. He strangled Rob for real, for just a few seconds, long enough to make him wiggle and clench his ass again. It felt like he was tearing that ass up, which made Alboroto feel like a tough guy, like his father.
“Oh god, Alboroto, your dick is so perfect…”
He slammed his dick in and out, even as it became uncomfortably sensitive. He liked hearing Rob enthusiastically beg for more, and he liked watching how every thrust of his hips made Rob squirm a little more. He also liked how his cumload made a big mess the more he rammed, big waves of bubbly, frothy cum coating his crotch and soaking into the mattress.
“You done, punk? Huh?” Alboroto asked — his uncle had said this was how you finished inside a pasivo in prison, so Alboroto wanted to try it out — “Huh? Answer me, bitch. You want me to pull out? I ain’t gonna pull out till you beg me to do it. Gonna stay inside ya-“
“Don’t ever pull out,” Rob said, his voice weak and tremulous. His entire body shook as aftershocks of his orgasm washed over him. He moaned again and clutched the mattress beneath himself.
Alboroto’s dick slowly limpened inside Rob’s guts. “Tell me when you done, bitch. Tell me…” His menacing voice trailed off as he realized this wasn’t going to work. Maybe in prison where you weren’t doing it on a comfortable bed, and you didn’t have nice lube. But here, this gringo was in no hurry to get Alboroto to pull out. That meant Alboroto had painted himself into a corner — he was too proud to remove his cock without hearing Rob beg, since he had sworn he wouldn’t. If Rob wasn’t going to beg, there was nothing Alboroto could do without losing face.
“Can you move your dick a little to the left?” Rob asked. “There’s a spot there…” He groaned and smiled as Alboroto’s dick shifted and another wave of pleasure hit him. In actuality, there was a lot of discomfort too, now that they had both cum. But Rob liked making things difficult for Alboroto — it brought out the machismo in him. Alboroto’s muscles tensed and flexed.
“Ain’t gonna pull out till you make me, bitch. Beg me for it,” Alboroto said. He spat on Rob’s face, but Rob just sucked it up. That made Alboroto gag, as did the sight of his dick in Rob’s hairy, frothy-cummed asshole. Could he just pull out? Embarrassing himself in front of some random gringo who wasn’t even from Riverside shouldn’t be a problem, he thought. But he still didn’t want to do it.
Rob grinned. It finally got uncomfortable enough he gave in. “Please, sir, take your dick out, so I can clean it off.”
“Alright,” Alboroto said, relieved to be done. He pulled his dick out, deliberately keeping his head up so he didn’t see it — he didn’t want to know how nasty his cock looked right now. He hadn’t thought to make his bitch clean his dick off, but that was a good idea.
Rob used kleenex to wipe the shaft off. He used most of an entire box, sopping up all the cum and the assjuice and the spit that still clung to it. Then he kissed Alboroto’s dick right on the shaft.
Alboroto shuddered as his knees buckled. His dick spasmed, reawakening all of the pleasure that had diminished since he finished plowing. His voice broke as he mumbled for Rob to quit playing with it. “Damn, gringo. You really like cock, huh?”
“I like your cock, baby,” Rob said. He leaned back on the bed, naked, until Alboroto barked at him to get dressed.
“We done now, gringo. Unless you got more cash I ain’t rob off you yet,” he said. He put his wifebeater back on.
Rob slowly put his clothes on while Alboroto grinned at him. Rob made a kissy face, and Alboroto looked away. “Hey, Alboroto,” Rob said. “I don’t have any more cash. But I’ll write you a check for a hundred dollars if you kiss me, with tongue. You don’t have any way of knowing if the check will clear. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“No way! Fuck no! I ain’t no kinda pansy,” Alboroto said. His blood boiled, but his anger came mainly from the fact that he knew he was going to say yes — a hundred bucks and all he had to do was spend a couple seconds pretending he was with a girl? He could do that. “Absolutely not, gringo. That is fuckin’ nasty.”
But then before Rob could say anything, Alboroto grabbed him in his arms and threw him back on the bed, where Rob felt the wet spots and smelled the cumstains they had just created. Alboroto’s muscular chest flexed beneath Rob’s grasp as Alboroto kissed him right on the lips.
His tongue plunged into Rob’s mouth and stayed there, completely still, not moving even when Rob’s tongue touched it. It was like Alboroto thought sticking his tongue in Rob’s mouth was okay, but moving it around made it feel too weird.
To Rob, Alboroto’s awkwardness made it even better. That was what he liked. It was, objectively speaking, the worst kiss ever. But Rob got to grope Alboroto’s strapping back and even his plump asscheeks beneath his jeans, before Alboroto finally pulled away.
He growled. “You best write that check, bitch. And if it don’t cash… I swear to God, I will track you down. Your address is on the check, y’know.”
“Oh right,” Rob said, making it sound like he had really forgotten that. The address on the check was in Florida, and if Alboroto did go there, he’d find just a UPS store. But Rob didn’t let on. The check would clear.
Alboroto beamed like he had just gotten away with something as Rob wrote out the check. He put machismo in the memo line. “I’ll leave that top line blank,” Rob said, “since you don’t want to tell me your real name.”
He nodded and swiped the check. “Now get out, bitch.”
Rob did as he was told. He was glad to be away from Alboroto safely, even if he was also going to miss that cock.