“You wanna grab a hammer and help me pound out this drywall?” asked Bubba, looking hot as fuck in his tighty-whities as he prepared to replace the rotted wall above the kitchen window, a cigar gripped between his teeth.
“I’d rather you pounded me with that hammer between your legs,” I answered directly, my eyes on his bulge.
“Damn, boy,” he laughed, his briefs tenting. “You’re as dirty as your mama.”
Bubba had moved into the dilapidated house across the street from my mom and me about a month earlier. Mom first spotted him from our front window. He was shirtless and making trips to his truck as he removed piles of neglected shit from the house. With his beard and muscular bod, I thought he was hot as fuck. And I wasn’t the only one to notice.
“Looks like that burly man is gonna fix up the place,” Mom announced, her gaze fixed upon him. “I should bake some cookies to take over there, welcome him to the neighborhood.”
Mom hadn’t baked cookies for anyone, including me, since Dad walked out on us more than five years ago. Two hours later, Mom clicked her way across the street in a pair of high heels that hadn’t seen the light of day in years, carrying a warm plate of Toll House cookies. She returned an hour later, her hair mussed up at the back of her head, her lipstick smeared, and her legs unsteady as she hobbled back into the house.
Mom started going over to Bubba’s a lot after that, always with some muffins she baked, or a slice of her meatloaf, or a jar of her chicken soup. And an hour later, she always hobbled back home, sweaty and disheveled, a button sometimes missing from her blouse. It didn’t take rocket science to know they were fucking. I just wished I had the nerve to go over there and offer myself up to Bubba, like Mom. Luckily, she would solve that problem for me.
“Bubba’s renovating his kitchen,” announced my mom one Saturday morning. “I’d like you to go over there and help him.”
“Do I have to?” I protested, not wanting to appear too eager about spending a morning ogling Bubba up close.
“Your daddy’s not around to teach you these things,” Mom replied. “Plus, I want Bubba to get to know you. If I play my cards right, he just might be your new daddy.”
“Mom, I don’t need another daddy,” I groaned. “I’m eighteen for Chrissake.”
“Stop back-talking me and get your ass over there,” Mom commanded. “And you better promise to be helpful to Bubba.” That was an easy promise, as I planned to be extra helpful to him.
Bubba answered the door in a pair of sweaty, tighty-whities, the outline of a thick cock protruding at his crotch. His hairy chest was matted with sweat and flecked with bits of renovation debris. “Can I help you?” he asked in a puff of smoke, a cigar gripped between his teeth.
“I’m—uh—Billy,” I introduced. “My mom sent me over to help you.”
“Your mom?” he asked incredulously, eyeing me up and down. “Who the fuck is your mom?”
“Sharon,” I answered as he stared at me blankly. “Umm—the one you’re fucking.”
“Shit, boy,” he laughed. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that. I’m fucking half the bitches on this street. It’s like fuckin’ Desperate Housewives around here.”
“The lady who brings you all the food,” I replied, gesturing to our house across the way.
“Ahh—the one with the big tits,” he smiled satisfactorily. “Sure, boy. You’re welcome to help me out. I’m demolishing the kitchen, if you wanna come in here and join me.”
Bubba led me through the torn-apart house. Through the living room, I could see into his bedroom with nothing but a mattress on the floor and a big bottle of lube next to it. I got hard imagining myself on the mattress, on all fours, with Bubba plugging me from behind.
“Why are you in your underwear?” I asked, trying not to stare at his package.
“The AC is out,” he shrugged. “It’s much more comfortable to work like this. And it looks to me that you’re not the type to have a problem with that.”
I lowered my eyes and turned three shades of red in embarrassment as we finally entered the kitchen, which looked like a war zone. Bubba grabbed a hammer, intending to repair some rotted drywall above the kitchen sink.
“You wanna grab a hammer and help me pound out this drywall?” he asked, the cigar still gripped between his teeth.
“I’d rather you pounded me with that hammer between your legs,” I answered directly, not seeing any reason to hide my intent since Bubba clearly had my number.
“Damn, boy,” he laughed, his briefs tenting. “You’re as dirty as your mama.”
“I bet you I can get even dirtier,” I taunted.
“You ever had a dick up your ass, boy?” Bubba asked, placing his cigar on the remains of the kitchen counter before pulling me toward the bedroom.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been fucked many times,” I lied. The only thing I’d ever had up my ass was a hot pink dildo with corroded batteries that I had fished out of my mom’s bathroom trash.
“Well, I hope you like it rough,” he warned, pushing me down on the mattress in his room. “Because I don’t play nice when I’m fucking ass, you hear?”
“Yes, Bubba,” I answered, sliding down my shorts as he greased up his cock with a couple of pumps from the bottle of lube on the floor. I turned my head briefly and got a glimpse of a massive cock swinging between his legs. He had to be ten inches or more. Fuck.
His hand was suddenly on the back of my head, pushing my face into the mattress. “Raise your ass a little higher,” he instructed. “Yeah, that’s good. That’s the angle I like when I fuck faggots like you.”
I could feel the tip of his cock pressing against my puckered hole. His hands went to my hips. And with one, quick thrust—WHAM—Bubba was inside me, tearing apart my virgin hole.
“FUCK,” I screamed, biting the nasty, cum-stained sheet that was under me.
“Yeah, boy,” he jeered. “Take this big, fuckin’ cock.”
The pain was excruciating at first. It felt like Bubba had shoved a baseball bat up my ass. Tears flooded my eyes, but I wasn’t about to give Bubba the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I took some deep breaths as he continued to pound my hole and, suddenly, the pain began to subside. There was a rhythm to his madness and, once I gave into it, his big cock began to feel good inside me—really good.
“You gonna take my cum?” asked Bubba as he pummeled my hole, his hairy balls slapping against my smooth ass.
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “I want you to seed this fuckin’ hole.”
“Spoken like a true cum dump,” Bubba praised. “And you’re about to get my cum.”
He was jackhammering me hard, thrusting into me at a violent pace. My hole felt destroyed, and I wondered how much longer I could endure his assault. Mercifully, Bubba soon began to emit a low growl that grew in intensity until he was grunting out his load inside me.
“FUCK,” he bellowed, his body quaking on top of me. “Take this fuckin’ nut.” I then counted ten—eleven—twelve blasts of cum as Bubba flooded my guts with his warm load. My knees gave out and Bubba collapsed upon me, his sweaty body pressed into mine. “Damn, you gotta a hot cunt on you, boy,” he grunted breathlessly, his cock still buried in my depths.
And that’s when we heard it—the shattering of glass. I turned my head to the doorway and could see my mom standing there, a plate of Toll House cookies broken at her feet, the shards of glass littered amongst the crumbled cookies.
“I baked y’all some—some cookies,” Mom stammered. “The front door was unlocked, so I let myself in when no one heard me knocking, and then I saw you two . . . fucking,” her voice trailed off before she turned on her heels and ran out of Bubba’s house, her hand covering her face.
“What the fuck’s got into her?” Bubba asked, pulling out of me, his cum gushing out of my wrecked hole.
“She’s upset,” I explained. “She thought that maybe you could be my new daddy.”
“Shit, boy,” Bubba laughed, rising from the mattress and pulling on his briefs over his wet cock. “You can call me daddy the next time we fuck. That kinda shit turns me on.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
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