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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@elros-apolo
Sergeant Bennett was smoking his fat cigar just outside the Army recruitment office in the student union. Jesus, he was fucking hot, his muscles bulging out of his uniform, the phallic cigar gripped between his teeth as his eyes bored into me. He had been trying to recruit me ever since I had stopped by his table at the career fair a month prior, my only objective being to ogle his incredible body up close.
“Riley,” he called out to me in a puff of smoke. “Have you thought any more about a career in the Army?”
“Yeah—uh—I dunno,” I stammered. “I’m not sure if I’m a good fit for the military.”
“There’s never been a better time to enlist,” he ignored my reluctance with a quick drag on his cigar. “We’re offering tuition reimbursement and signing bonuses of up to $50,000 depending on whether you—”
“Sergeant Bennett,” I decided to level with him, “I appreciate your interest in me, but I have no desire to enlist in the Army.”
“Why not, Riley?” he demanded, rejection in his voice.
“I’m gay,” I blurted out.
“Is that all?” the sergeant laughed. “Homosexuality is not prohibited in the military. In fact, LGBTQ soldiers can serve openly without any fear of—”
“Look, I know all that lip service shit,” I interrupted. “But given the current political climate, I wouldn’t feel comfortable serving as an openly gay soldier.”
“Okay, Riley,” he threw up is hands in defeat, his cigar gripped between his teeth. “It’s fine if you don’t want to enlist, but would you do me a favor and sign a Form 9 for my records?”
“What’s a Form 9?”
“It’s merely a non-binding declaration that you’re not interested in enlisting at this time,” he explained. “It just helps with my numbers so my superior officers know that I’m making contacts on campus and not jacking off in my office all day.”
“Yeah, okay,” I agreed, mentally cataloging in my spank bank the image of him jacking off in his office—all day. “I’ll sign the Form 9.”
“Great,” he exhaled in a stream of smoke. “Follow me.”
He led me into the recruitment office, which had a small waiting room, the walls covered in patriotic Be All You Can Be posters. The room reeked of old cigars. Sergeant Bennett’s private office was just beyond.
“Are you allowed to smoke in here?” I asked as we entered his office.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want in here,” the sergeant shot back, taking a seat at the big, leather swivel chair at his desk. He then perched his cigar at the edge of an ashtray on the desk.
Also on his desk was a photo of him dressed in fatigues at an airport. He was on bended knee with a pretty, blonde girl in a summer dress covering her mouth with one hand in shock as he held out a diamond ring. “Now close that door behind you,” he commanded.
“You still want me to sign that Form 9?” I asked awkwardly when he made no attempt to produce the document for me.
“Yeah, I’ve got your Form 9 right here,” he gave a devious smirk as he unzipped his pants and pulled out a massive cock. “It’s a 9-inch slab of Grade-A meat.”
“What—what about your fiancée?” I stammered, gesturing to the girl in the photo on his desk. “Aren’t you like engaged or something?”
“Aren’t you like gay or something?” he sneered in a mocking tone. “It’s pretty obvious that you’ve wanted my cock for a long time now. So get the fuck on your knees and—suck—my—big—fucking—dick.”
“Yes, sir,” I dropped to my knees, eager to get that tube steak down my throat, his cum in my belly.
“That’s yes, sergeant, to you,” he corrected as he pushed my head into his crotch. “Now get to work on this big dick.”
Obediently, I began to suck him, straining my jaw, attempting to take him to the balls. Jesus, his big one was a jaw breaker. Mercifully, I soon managed to get him all the way down.
“Yeah, deep throat that big cock,” he growled, his balls mashed against my chin. “I learned a long time ago that gay dudes give the best head around. Yeah, choke on my fatty,” he grabbed me by the ears and began to face fuck me.
After pounding my tonsils for several minutes, he pulled out his cock and began to beat the side of my face with it. A hollow thud echoed in my head with each thwack.
“I want to taste your cum so bad, sergeant,” I moaned as he cock beat me.
“You’re not gonna taste my cum, boy,” he snickered, “because I’m going to shoot it up your ass.”
Rising to his feet, Sergeant Bennett pulled me off the floor. In a blur, he spun me around and bent me over his desk. My face was inches from his burning cigar and the photo of his fiancée. Pawing at my shorts, he soon had them at my ankles, my rounded ass exposed to him. My hole was his for the taking.
“Fuck me,” I begged. “Give me that big dick.”
“As if you had a choice in the matter?” he laughed sadistically as he spit on my hole, rubbing his saliva into my sphincter with his rounded cock head.
“FUCK,” I screamed as the sergeant pushed into me with no warning, his huge cock head routing my depths. His thick cock stretched my hole like a rubber band that was about to snap.
“Yeah, take this big dick,” he smacked my ass, delivering a series of deep thrusts into my bowels. “Open that cunt for me.”
My hole was on fire. It felt like I was being fisted, his massive cock thicker than my forearm. But I gritted my teeth, riding that fine line between pleasure and pain. Slowly, a euphoria began to consume me, my sphincter relaxing, his big one sending waves of pleasure throughout my body.
“Christ, you can take a fucking,” he praised me, pummeling my ass with unfettered power. I’d never been fucked so hard, with such intensity. “That’s why I love fucking gay guys like you,” he dug into my shoulders. “You gay dudes know how to take a big dick.”
Raising himself on the balls of his feet, he slid deeper into my bowels, his big dick breaching my inner-sphincter, my eyes rolling back into my head. His rhythm was steady, deliberate. The sergeant had just one mission—to cum up my ass.
“Fuck—I’m about to nut,” he warned, his cock engorging within me, straining against the abused walls of my fuck canal. “You’re about to get my load.”
“Breed me,” I pleaded, his cock a piston in my bowels. “Dump your load in me,”
“As if you had a choice,” he reminded me once more with a fiendish laugh. He then delivered one, final thrust into me before his cock detonated in my guts.
“FUCK,” he growled like a grizzly bear, shaking the walls of his office as his cum spewed into my bowels, filling me with his seed. “FUCK—FUCK—FUCK,” he repeated.
I remained immobile upon his desk as his huge cock ceased to pulse within me, his balls completely drained within my deep chasm. He took a deep breath and gave a broad stretch as his spent dick remained inside of me.
“You’re dismissed,” the sergeant announced suddenly, extracting his spent cock from my wrecked hole, his pearly load leaking down the back of my ballsack. “Pull up your shorts and get the fuck out of my office,” he barked.
“You—you want me to sign that Form 9 before I go?” I asked, yanking up my shorts over my used ass, his viscous load squished between my butt cheeks.
“There’s no such thing as a Form 9, you dumb fuck,” Sergeant Bennett laughed, stuffing his wet cock back into his pants before reaching for his cigar on the desk. “I just made that shit up to get your slutty ass in here.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“I’ve finished replacing all the rotted siding on the back of your house,” Dan reported, standing just off my front porch, his work truck parked behind him, emblazoned with his Handy Dan logo. He had been working shirtless all morning, driving me wild, his hairy body matted with sweat and flecked with debris. “I’m gonna go grab some lunch and then I’ll be back to finish up the trim and painting,” he informed me. I wanted Dan for lunch, that big sausage stuffed into his work pants.
“Where you headed for lunch?” I probed.
“I dunno,” Dan scratched at his hairy torso. “Probably just the McDonald’s at that gas station up the street.”
“I have some pasta salad in the fridge that I planned to have for lunch. There’s plenty to share,” I offered. “If you’d care to join me.”
“Thanks. That sounds mighty nice,” he smiled broadly beneath his thick stache. “Lemme just get my shirt from my truck.”
“No need for a shirt. We’re just two guys,” I insisted, not wanting him to cover up that deliciously hairy chest. “I often go shirtless around the house,” I added, a total lie.
“This pasta salad is delicious,” Dan remarked moments later, sitting across from me at my kitchen table in all his shirtless glory. “Did your wife make it?”
“No, I made it,” I smiled bashfully. “I’m not married. I’m actually gay—I like men.”
“Oh—my bad,” he apologized awkwardly. “I’m not so good at picking up on—”
“Don’t apologize,” I interrupted. “How about you? You got a wife?”
“Nah,” Dan dabbed his stache with a paper napkin. “Came close to getting hitched a couple times but, at the end of the day, most women just can’t handle me.”
“I understand,” I nodded. “I’m sort of in the same boat with men. But I’ve learned to enjoy being on my own. You probably feel the same.”
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I get real lonely sometimes. And it’d be nice to have someone around to fix me a tasty pasta salad like this.”
“Oh—it’s just a little something that I threw together,” l blushed, taking a bite of salad, his eyes appraising me.
“Is this the part when you ask me to fuck you?” Dan blurted out.
“What?!” I nearly choked on a piece of pasta. “Are you saying you’d like to fuck me?”
“Why the hell not?” he gave a devious smile. “I haven’t had pussy in almost six months, and it looks to me like you’re jonesing for my cock.”
“Have—have you ever fucked a man?”
“Nope,” he admitted. “But I’m game to try. Can’t be much different than fucking pussy. A hole is just a hole, right?”
“I think you’ll find my hole is better than the fishy hole that you’re used to,” I stood up and led Dan to my bedroom.
“You want me to shower first?” Dan offered, kicking off his work boots in my bedroom. “I’m pretty rank from working out in the sun all morning.”
“No need,” I assured him, coming in for a hit of his man funk, breathing him in as I kissed the scruff at his neck. “I like the way you smell—like a real man.”
I then tested the waters by locking lips with Dan, his mouth opening, receiving my tongue. His thick stache tickled my upper lip as his tongue probed my mouth, our saliva commingling.
“Mmm, you taste good,” he remarked as our lips parted.
“I’d like to taste more of you,” I shared, my lips traversing his ample, hairy pecs, working my way down his treasure trail with wet kisses against his soft fur.
“I’m warning you—it’s a big one,” Dan informed me as I knelt before him and undid his pants like a kid eagerly opening a gift on Christmas morning. A hard, massive cock that was easily north of nine inches suddenly smacked me in the face.
“Christ, you’re hung,” I marveled, grasping his big one in my right hand, unable to get my fist around its tuberous circumference. “Dude, you’re like pornstar big.”
“I told you most women can’t handle me,” he chuckled. “Now you can see why.”
“Well, I’m no woman,” I winked up at Dan, taking his helmeted cock head into my mouth, his salty precum coating my tongue. Unhinging my jaw, I took him balls deep, his cock head breaching the upper regions of my esophagus.
“Christ Almighty,” he gasped, his meaty hand at the back of my head, his full, hairy balls mashed against my chin. “Ain’t nobody has ever been able to deep throat me all the way. How the fuck are you able to—?”
“Lots of practice,” I admitted, extracting his big dick from my throat, surfacing for air. “If you think that feels good, just wait until you’re balls deep in my tight cunt.”
“I don’t think I care to wait,” Dan pulled me upwards, his meaty hands hooked under my arms as he tossed me onto the bed like a rag doll. Foreplay was over. The man was ready to fuck.
“There’s lube on the bed table,” I gestured to it before pulling off my shorts and briefs, tossing them on the floor. “You’re hung like fuck, so you’re gonna need to use a lot of lube.”
I watched as Dan stepped out of his work pants, crumpled at his feet, and reached for the lube. Deftly, he slathered his enormous fuck tool, readying it for my hole. Like a baseball player, swinging his large, wooden bat, he stepped up to the plate.
“Go slow at first,” I cautioned, pulling my knees to my chest, exposing my eager hole to him. His meaty hands were suddenly at my thighs, his weight against me as his rounded cock head made contact with my puckered sphincter.
“That’s it,” I encouraged as he breached my orifice. “Just go slow and—HOLY FUCK,” I screamed as he impaled me with a violent thrust.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he marveled, licking his lips as he ignored my pain, delivering a series of deep thrusts into my bowels, his balls mashed against my hole with each plunge into my abyss. “Your cunt feels so fucking good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” I winced, my hands gripping his hairy forearms as I rode out the pain, his cock routing my depths, stretching my hole to the max.
“Your cock feels so fucking big inside me.”
“That’s because my cock is fucking big,” he laughed, smacking my ass. “And, Jesus, you know how to take it.”
He had moved his muscular arms to either side of my body, planking above me with his meaty hands pressed into the mattress. The angle was incredible, my eyes rolling back into my head as he pushed deeper into me. Leaning forward, his hairy torso rubbing against my cock, our lips met.
It was like fireworks in my brain as he kissed me, his cock plunging my depths as our tongues danced. I wrapped my arms around his torso, pulling him into me, willing him to consume every inch of my body, every ounce of my soul. Jesus, the man could fuck.
Our lips parted as Dan began to pound me harder, jackhammering my quivering cunt with a fierce intensity. My hole was on fire, the friction increasing between his massive cock and my abused fuck canal. I dug my fingers into his sweaty back, his swelling cock a piston in my bowels. Dan's breathing became rapid and shallow, his body on the precipice of orgasm.
“You want my cum?” he demanded urgently, his balls smacking my ass with each deep thrust. “You ready for my load?”
“Breed me,” I begged, my sphincter clinched at the base of his cock, milking him. “Shoot that load in me.”
As if on cue, Dan’s engorged cock executed my command, unleashing a torrent of cum into my guts. “FUCK—FUCK,” he grunted, his body shaking as his cock and balls pulsed rhythmically, his seed spewing into my depths.
“Fuck, I needed that,” Dan collapsed upon me, his big dick still buried in my bowels as we both caught our breath. I reveled in the fullness of his cock inside me, his load swimming in my void. Holding this hunk of a man in my arms, our bodies still conjoined, was nirvana.
“Are you still hard?” I asked in shock after several minutes, Dan’s cock still buried deep within me.
“Yeah—uh—one more fun fact about me,” he laughed sheepishly, “is that I can stay hard for like a really long time. It’s another reason why no woman could ever handle me.”
“Well, like I said, I’m no woman,” I reminded Dan as he propped himself back up on his strong arms and began to pump another load into me, my body begging for more and more of his seed.
It was nearing dusk when Dan finally left my bed, having dumped four loads in me over the course of the afternoon. I had never been fucked with such intensity—or longevity—in all my life.
“I gotta piss,” he announced, ambling to my bathroom. “There’s not enough sunlight now for me to finish your siding,” he called from the bathroom, his strong stream splashing into the toilet bowl. “I’ll have to come back in the morning,” he flushed the toilet.
“I have a better idea,” I smiled as he emerged from the bathroom, his big dick swinging between his hairy thighs. “How about I make us some dinner, and you can stay the night?”
“Does stay the night mean I get to fuck you some more?” Dan asked, returning to my bed, his weight upon me, his big cock seeking shelter within me once more.
“I think you already know the answer to that,” I whispered in his ear, wrapping my legs around his meaty ass while he began to pound yet another load into me.
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“FUCK,” I screamed in pain as Beau shoved his big dick up my ass, my virgin hole torn in two, the American flag a witness to our ungodly fornication. He had promised that it wouldn’t hurt—a total lie. But I didn’t care. I wanted Beau to be my friend in the worst possible way, even if that meant taking his cock up my ass.
Keep reading
Mr. Flanagan was on the rooftop of Club Spurt, partaking in their annual St. Paddy’s Day celebration, when I spotted him in the crowd. It had been a few years since he taught me world history in high school. And though his thick, ginger beard had begun to go silver, he still looked hot as fuck, his muscular pecs covered in a soft fanning of fur. Back in school, I had always fantasized about bending over for my hunky, ginger bear teacher with the big bulge. Maybe now was my chance?
“Hey Mr. Flanagan,” I called to him, parting a sea of gay guys in Kelly green to get to him. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m—”
“Braxton,” he boomed, pulling me into a bear hug, his hairy body pressed up against me. “Of course I remember you. You were always one of my favorite students,” he smiled, his eyes traversing my body when he said the word favorite.
“I—uh—I didn’t know that you’re gay,” I stated, assuming the obvious based on the fact that he was shirtless and wearing little more than green beads and a fedora at a gay St. Patrick’s Day party.
“Yeah,” he smiled openly. “The wife and I—well—we split up about a year ago. I finally decided to come out of the closet and be the real me. Best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Wow—good for you,” I praised him. “Embrace your inner bear, Mr. Flanagan.”
“Call me Conor,” he insisted. “You’re not a school boy anymore,” his eyes once again lingering on my body.
“I guess not,” I smiled bashfully. “I—uh—I like your green beads,” I reached out to grasp them, my fingers brushing up against his hairy pecs. “Where’d you get them?”
“They’re giving them out at the bar, if you flash your cock to one of the bartenders,” he laughed. “It doesn’t take much for me to pull out my dick. Maybe that’s the Irish in me?”
“Maybe,” I chuckled, wishing I had been at the bar when he pulled out his dick.
“You got any Irish in you?” Mr. Flanagan asked.
“No—not a drop,” I admitted. “I just like to come out for the green beer.”
And then Mr. Flanagan leaned into me, his hairy pecs pressed into my body. “I can put some Irish in you—a thick shot of my own Irish Cream,” he offered, his breath hot at my ear and laced with beer. “And I promise it will be more than a drop.”
Before I could respond, Mr. Flanagan grabbed me by the hand and led me across the rooftop bar to a single occupancy bathroom that was tucked away in one corner. Latching the door, he began to undo his shorts. Was this really happening?
“Bend over that sink,” he ordered, pulling out the thickest beer can cock that I’d ever seen, resting upon a set of bull balls covered in ginger fur.
“Jesus, you’re thick,” I gasped, reaching for it, unable to wrap my fist around his shaft. “I’m not sure if I’m gonna be able to—”
“Nonsense,” he cut me off, pulling out a bottle of lube from his pocket. “We’ll get you good and ready for this big dick.”
“You—you brought lube to a St. Patrick’s Day party?” I asked, astonished.
“I bring lube everywhere,” he laughed. “I never know when I’m gonna run into a hot former student who’s jonesing for my cock,” he winked. “Now bend over that sink before someone wants to use this bathroom.”
Dutifully, I pulled down my shorts. Bending forward and gripping the sink, I presented my ass to Mr. Flanagan.
“Yeah—look at that pretty cunt,” he growled, probing the knotted folds of my sphincter with his meaty finger, slicked with lube as he readied my hole for him. “I’m gonna enjoy wrecking this tight ass.”
From the mirror mounted above the sink, I looked back at Mr. Flanagan, our eyes meeting as he grabbed me by the hips and began to push into me. He bit his lower lip, staring down at his cock as he strained to push inside of me.
“FUCK,” I gasped, my hole torn in two. I gripped the sink harder, a flash of pain bolting through my body. “Push in slowly,” I begged. “You’re thick as fuck.”
But he didn’t push in slowly. Digging his fingers into my hips, he pulled my body into his while thrusting his cock deep into my depths. “HOLY FUCK,” I screamed, his balls mashed against my hole, total penetration achieved.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he marveled, beginning to deliver a series of deep thrusts into my bowels. “I’m gonna have to hold back or I’ll nut too fast.”
In that moment, I prayed for him to nut fast. The pain was unreal. It felt like a baseball bat had been rammed into my guts. I gritted my teeth, willing myself to endure his assault. But then it happened, my sphincter giving up the fight, my body opening up to him. The pain was replaced by intense waves of pleasure.
“Yeah, open that cunt for me,” Mr. Flanagan encouraged, sensing the change in me. “Yeah, that’s it—take this big fucking dick.”
“Fuck me, Mr. Flanagan,” I begged. “Fuck me with that big dick.”
“I told you that you can call me Conor,” he smacked my ass playfully. “No need for formalities when I’ve got my dick inside you.”
“I prefer to call you Mr. Flanagan,” I protested, my head hitting the mirror as he pounded me. “It’s—”
“Naughtier?” he hit the nail on the head with a deep thrust in my bowels. “Yeah, I get that. The naughty student taking his perverted teacher’s big cock. Shit—I would’ve loved fucking you back when you were my student.”
“I would have let you,” I replied.
“Yeah, and I would’ve gone to jail,” he laughed, smacking my ass again. “But I tell you—this hole would have been worth a trip to prison. Fuck, you’ve got a cunt made for cock.”
He moved his hands to my shoulders, bending me forward and raising my ass. The angle was incredible, his thick cock sliding even deeper into my recesses. Increasing his pace, he began to jackhammer the shit out of me, my hips pounding into the edge of the sink over and over again.
“You like this big cock?” he asked, his body slamming into me repetitively. “You like this big cock in your tight hole?”
“Yes,” I answered breathlessly, his balls smacking my ass with each thrust. “Your big dick feels so good inside me, Mr. Flanagan.”
“You want some cum, boy?” he taunted, his fat one routing my depths. “You want me to shoot my load up your ass?”
“Breed me,” I begged, clinching my sphincter at the base of his cock, jerking him inside me. “Fucking seed my hole.”
“That’s what I want to hear from a cock slut like you,” he growled slapping my ass with his open palm. “You’re about to get my nut. Fuck, that’s good—Yeah—Grip that cock—Fuck that feels good—SHIT—OH FUCK—Yeah—Don’t stop—FUCK—FUCK.”
Slamming me hard against the sink, I felt his body quake from within me, his beer can cock spraying in my depths. Rope after rope of his load coursed through my guts, coating the walls of my abused fuck canal. “FUCK—FUCK,” he continued to grunt, his balls giving up the last of his seed.
Mr. Flanagan pulled out of me, his pearly load dripping down the back of my ballsack. “Turn around,” he ordered me, spinning me around and pushing me down on my knees. “Taste that Irish Cream,” he demanded, shoving his cummy cock down my throat, his creamy load coating my tongue.
“Fuck, that was good,” I stood up on my wobbly legs, savoring the last taste of his cum on my lips. “I’ve wanted your big dick for so long, and it was even better than I expected.”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Mr. Flanagan winked, stuffing his cock back into his shorts. “Now you can tell people that you’ve got a wee bit o’ Irish in you.”
“That was more than a wee bit that you pumped into me,” I smiled, pulling up my shorts over my used ass.
“I—uh—I better get back out there,” Mr. Flanagan announced awkwardly. “I’m actually here with a buddy—Mr. Ricci, who teaches biology. He came to our school after you graduated.”
“Is he Irish like you?”
“No,” Mr. Flanagan laughed. “Mr. Ricci is actually Italian, and damn proud of his heritage. You got any Italian in you?”
“Not yet—but we can change that,” I winked, as Mr. Flanagan gave a knowing smile. Five minutes later, he returned with Mr. Ricci, who stuffed me with his thick Italian sausage as Mr. Flanagan watched and waited for his next turn with my sloppy cunt.
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
The bartender’s handsome face was turned to the side, taking the order of some other guy as I approached the bar. A red tie for Valentine’s Day dangled provocatively between his meaty, hairy pecs. Christ, he was gorgeous with his scruffy face and ice-blue eyes. I wanted him in the worst way, but I knew the odds were stacked against me.
“You’re coming with me to Club Spurt tonight,” my roommate Kyle insisted earlier that evening. “It’s their big Valentine’s Day bash where they auction off their hot, shirtless bartenders at the end of the night.”
“Isn’t that prostitution?” I quipped.
“Not when it’s for charity,” Kyle insisted with a devious smile. “Whoever bids the most on each bartender gets to play Seven Minutes In Heaven with him in one of the VIP rooms at closing—no questions asked—with all proceeds going towards the new downtown LGBTQ resource center.”
“I’m not going,” I refused. “First, I have no money to waste on a meathead bartender who won’t be into me and, second, I’m not yet ready for the gay bar scene.”
“You and Tanner broke up two months ago,” Kyle groaned. “You need to get your ass back out there and live a little. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Club Spurt was wall-to-wall guys when we arrived, their Valentine’s Day bash being one of their hottest nights of the year. Guys dressed in their most provocative attire raved on the dance floor to the sound of a booming bass, the club lights flashing and silhouetting their eager-to-score bodies. I wanted to turn around and go home for a night of Netflix in my pajamas, but Kyle wasn’t having it.
“Get your ass to the bar for a drink,” he insisted. “And let me know which bartender you want me to bid on for you. We’re getting you some action tonight—even if we have to pay for it.”
And that’s when I saw him—the hottest bartender there—taking orders with a red tie dangling between his meaty, hairy pecs. He mixed a vodka tonic for the guy next to me before fixing his eyes upon me.
“What can I get you?” the hot bartender asked, melting me with his dashing smile.
“I—uh—I’ll have a rum and coke,” I stammered, my heart pounding in my chest.
“You got it,” he winked, filling a tumbler with ice and then pouring my drink. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Jake,” I smiled bashfully as I watched him work.
“You gonna bid on any of us bartenders tonight, Jake?” he asked, handing me my drink. “My name is Zach, if you want to bid on me.”
“I doubt you’d want to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with me,” I admitted. “I mean, you’re way out of my league. Your biceps are thicker than my thighs.”
“Well,” he leaned across the bar, his breath hot at my ear, “maybe I like a pair of skinny legs wrapped around my muscled ass when I’m balls deep in a hot twink like you.”
Time stopped in that moment. My mind reeled. Had the hottest bartender at Club Spurt just made a pass at me? I felt lightheaded, on the brink of passing out, when Kyle was suddenly pulling me away from the bar.
“Of course you’d go for the hottest bartender here,” Kyle laughed. “Did you get his name so we can bid on him?”
“Yeah—Zach,” I replied, his name warm on my tongue.
Kyle quickly disappeared to find the bidding table near the DJ booth. He returned a few minutes later with a look of disappointment on his face.
“I hate to break this to you, but your heartthrob has the most bids so far,” Kyle reported. “Zach is clearly the favorite here tonight, with bids already above $250. I can’t go much higher than that for you.”
“It’s okay,” I assured Kyle. “Just getting to flirt with him at the bar was all the fun I needed tonight.”
But that was a lie. Knowing that some other guy would garner the winning bid for Zach that evening was soul crushing. And it didn’t help that Zach kept catching my eye all night, winking at me from his post at the bar as he watched guy after guy trying to grind up against me on the dance floor.
“Let’s go back home,” I begged Kyle at the end of the night, just before the DJ announced the winners of the Valentine charity auction. “I know there’s no way that I won Zach.”
“We’re not leaving,” Kyle refused. “I’ve got some money on that one,” he gestured to a hot, muscled bartender with a handlebar mustache and a sleeve tattoo.
One by one, the DJ announced the winning bids, with Kyle losing out on his bid for the inked hottie. The DJ finally got to Zach, saving the best for last. I wanted to climb into a hole, unwilling to witness some other guy winning the man of my dreams. And so it was a huge shock when the DJ called out my name with a winning bid of over $600 dollars.
“What the fuck?!” I turned to Kyle in total shock. “Did you—?”
“It wasn’t me,” he began to explain in shock just before Zach suddenly appeared at my side, pulling me towards a VIP room off the dance floor for our seven-minute grope fest as the crowd cheered us on.
“How—how did this happen?” I asked Zach as he closed the door to the room, locking us inside. But he ignored me, pulling me into him. His lips were suddenly at mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth, his kiss melting me.
“I’ve wanted to be inside you all night,” he confessed, his hands undoing my pants. “We’re gonna have to make this quick—we’ve only got seven minutes before the crowd expects us to emerge.”
Zach wanted to fuck me? Was this really happening?
Within seconds, we were both naked, with the exception of Zach’s red tie, still dangling between his hairy pecs. His hands were all over me, his cock raging hard with anticipation. Jesus, he was hung, easily over eight inches. He swooped me off my feet effortlessly, his muscular body pressed up against me as he carried me to a black, leather couch.
Reclining me against the cushions, Zach promptly pushed my legs up to my knees and dove into my hole, eating me out like he was ravenous. His warm, wet tongue on my hole drove me wild, my toes curling as my sphincter began to open for him.
“Fuuuuck, that feels good,” I moaned, caressing the nape of his neck as he devoured my cunt. “Fuck me,” I begged, my hole ready for him. “Fuck me with that big cock.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Zach winked, coming up for air, his chin wet with saliva. Instantly, I could feel the rounded tip of his ample cock head pressing against the folds of my cunt, breaching my fuck canal.
“FUCK,” I gasped as Zach plunged into me, instantly balls deep in my bowels. Instinctively my legs wrapped around his meaty ass, pulling him deeper into me.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he marveled. “You’re not a virgin are you?”
“I’m hardly a virgin,” I laughed, bracing my hands against his hairy pecs, the red tie swinging in unison with each thrust that he delivered. “But I’ve never been fucked by a dick this big. You’re hung like fuck.”
“It gets the job done,” Zach smiled modestly, before picking up the pace, delivering a rapid succession of deep thrusts into my bowels. “We gotta make this quick,” he announced, the sound of the crowd just outside our room. “They’ll break down the door if we’re not out of here in a few minutes.”
Keeping his promise, Zach began to pummel me hard, fucking me in that rapid rhythm that a top will employ when he’s ready to dump his load. If given the choice, I would have allowed Zach to fuck me all night long, seeding my ass with load after load. But I had to be grateful that this hot hung top was inside me—even if it was all just because of a charity auction. Deep down inside, I knew our encounter was just a one-off, but I was okay with that. Zach was giving me a memory that I would never forget.
“I’m getting close,” he warned urgently, pulling me back to the moment. “You cool if I dump in you? Shoot my load up your ass?”
“Yes,” I begged loudly. “Breed my fucking hole.”
Instantly, Zach shoved deep inside me, my eyes rolling back into my head, as his cock began to throb in my depths. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, willing him to deposit his seed in my darkest recesses.
“FUCK—FUCK,” he grunted, collapsing into me, his load spewing in my bowels, a distinct warmth emanating from deep inside of me. “Yeah, take my fucking nut,” he moaned, as I wrapped my arms around his torso, his back sweaty with exertion.
“Shit, we better get back out there,” Zach declared, pulling out of me abruptly, his pearly load spilling out from my wrecked hole. The crowd outside our door had begun chanting, “TIME’S UP—TIME’S UP,” over and over again. Fuckers. Seven minutes was much too short. It was time for our walk of shame.
“Thanks for giving me the best Valentine’s Day ever,” I said bashfully as we quickly dressed, the crowd growing louder at the door. “Do you maybe want my number—I mean, assuming you might want to see me again some other time?”
“Some other time?” Zach laughed, pulling me into him with a kiss. “You’re coming home with me tonight, you silly boy. Who do you think placed the winning bid in your name?”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“What are we doing?” my cute, hairy fuck bud asked pensively, looking into my eyes, his hand resting upon my belly just as he was about to pull down my boxers.
“We’re hopefully about to fuck,” I laughed, wanting him to shut up and ride my big cock.
“And that’s all we’re doing—just fucking?” he sneered. “That’s all there is to this?”
“Jesus, man,” I sighed. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden? We’ve been fuck buds for over a year. No strings. You know what this is.”
“Maybe I want more than that,” he shrugged in resignation.
“Dude. You know that I’m not gay,” I argued. “Playing around with guys is just about getting off for me.”
“So I’m just a piece of ass to you?” he sneered. “Your personal cum dump.”
“Don’t do that—don’t put words in my mouth,” I protested. “You’re my best friend. But I can’t be your boyfriend.”
“Then why don’t you have a girlfriend?” he demanded. “And when did you last fuck some pussy?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I haven’t had pussy in a long time. I haven’t, you know, needed that with you around to drain my balls.”
“And why do you kiss me when we fuck?” he demanded. “Last time I checked straight guys don’t kiss when they dump their loads in some faggot.”
“Don’t use that word,” I insisted. “You know I would never call you that. I kiss you because—because I like it. I love kissing you when I’m inside you.”
“Is that why you told me you love me—when you fucked me last night?” he inquired.
“I—I don’t think I said that,” I stammered. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he insisted. “You came up my ass and then, when you collapsed on top of me, you whispered—I love you.”
“Well, I was shit-faced drunk when we fucked last night, but I do love you,” I acknowledged, pulling him into my arms. “It’s not easy for me to admit that to myself.”
“So you’d rather walk around pretending to be straight when, in reality, you’re in my bed every night?” he began to cry, his face buried in my chest, his tears wetting my chest hair.
“It’s not that simple,” I exhaled, rubbing his back. “I’m not as strong as you. You’re not afraid to be who you are. But when I start to think about you—about us—it scares the shit out of me.”
“You don’t have to be scared to be who you are,” he encouraged, raising his head from my chest and locking eyes with me. “I’m here with you.”
“I just—I just don’t know where to start,” I lamented. “I’m not the type to broadcast my feelings to everyone I know.”
“Then move in with me,” he suggested. “The rest will fall into place.”
“You want me to live here? You wouldn’t get sick of me?” I asked, my heart swelling unexpectedly at the thought of living with him.
“The only thing that sickens me is waking up to an empty bed every morning with just your crusty cum on my sheets,” he laughed, kissing my neck. “Tell me you’ll move in with me—that you’ll be with me.”
“Yes, I’ll move in,” I beamed, pulling him in for a kiss. “I want to be with you.”
Satisfied with my response, he pulled down my boxers and took my hard cock into his warm mouth. I moaned in response as he wetted my cock with his tongue and then straddled me, taking me into the depths of his firm ass.
“Maybe we can rent a U-Haul this afternoon?” I suggested, grinding my balls against his tight hole. “I can start moving in my things.”
“That sounds great,” he agreed, bouncing up and down on my big dick. “But not your couch. That ugly motherfucker is going to Goodwill.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“What are we doing?” my cute, hairy fuck bud asked pensively, looking into my eyes, his hand resting upon my belly just as he was about to pull down my boxers.
“We’re hopefully about to fuck,” I laughed, wanting him to shut up and ride my big cock.
“And that’s all we’re doing—just fucking?” he sneered. “That’s all there is to this?”
“Jesus, man,” I sighed. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden? We’ve been fuck buds for over a year. No strings. You know what this is.”
“Maybe I want more than that,” he shrugged in resignation.
“Dude. You know that I’m not gay,” I argued. “Playing around with guys is just about getting off for me.”
“So I’m just a piece of ass to you?” he sneered. “Your personal cum dump.”
“Don’t do that—don’t put words in my mouth,” I protested. “You’re my best friend. But I can’t be your boyfriend.”
“Then why don’t you have a girlfriend?” he demanded. “And when did you last fuck some pussy?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I haven’t had pussy in a long time. I haven’t, you know, needed that with you around to drain my balls.”
“And why do you kiss me when we fuck?” he demanded. “Last time I checked straight guys don’t kiss when they dump their loads in some faggot.”
“Don’t use that word,” I insisted. “You know I would never call you that. I kiss you because—because I like it. I love kissing you when I’m inside you.”
“Is that why you told me you love me—when you fucked me last night?” he inquired.
“I—I don’t think I said that,” I stammered. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he insisted. “You came up my ass and then, when you collapsed on top of me, you whispered—I love you.”
“Well, I was shit-faced drunk when we fucked last night, but I do love you,” I acknowledged, pulling him into my arms. “It’s not easy for me to admit that to myself.”
“So you’d rather walk around pretending to be straight when, in reality, you’re in my bed every night?” he began to cry, his face buried in my chest, his tears wetting my chest hair.
“It’s not that simple,” I exhaled, rubbing his back. “I’m not as strong as you. You’re not afraid to be who you are. But when I start to think about you—about us—it scares the shit out of me.”
“You don’t have to be scared to be who you are,” he encouraged, raising his head from my chest and locking eyes with me. “I’m here with you.”
“I just—I just don’t know where to start,” I lamented. “I’m not the type to broadcast my feelings to everyone I know.”
“Then move in with me,” he suggested. “The rest will fall into place.”
“You want me to live here? You wouldn’t get sick of me?” I asked, my heart swelling unexpectedly at the thought of living with him.
“The only thing that sickens me is waking up to an empty bed every morning with just your crusty cum on my sheets,” he laughed, kissing my neck. “Tell me you’ll move in with me—that you’ll be with me.”
“Yes, I’ll move in,” I beamed, pulling him in for a kiss. “I want to be with you.”
Satisfied with my response, he pulled down my boxers and took my hard cock into his warm mouth. I moaned in response as he wetted my cock with his tongue and then straddled me, taking me into the depths of his firm ass.
“Maybe we can rent a U-Haul this afternoon?” I suggested, grinding my balls against his tight hole. “I can start moving in my things.”
“That sounds great,” he agreed, bouncing up and down on my big dick. “But not your couch. That ugly motherfucker is going to Goodwill.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not ten feet away from me in the clubhouse showers was my golf idol, washing his incredible body. After soaping his meaty ass, he reached down and gave his legendary big cock a quick tug. In that moment, I knew I wasn’t going to leave those showers without his load up my ass.
“Holy fuck,” I exclaimed a week earlier when my dad gave me the news. Branson Packer, my favorite golfer and a rockstar in the world of professional golf, was offering a one-time, private session with him at our local golf club for a thousand bucks a pop. My dad had scored me a session to celebrate my recent college graduation. “Holy fuck,” I repeated again, hugging my dad.
“Watch your language,” my dad joked. “I know how much you like Branson.”
I didn’t just like Branson, I idolized him. For starters, he was fucking hot. ESPN had named him as one of the ten fastest-rising golfers in the sport. And PGA Magazine had done a recent pictorial feature on Branson with a photo of him teaching golf to his toddler son while his gorgeous wife watched adoringly. But the real reason I idolized Branson was because of his big cock. There were countless fan-based blogs devoted to photos of his massive bulge in his golf pants, enough to rival Jon Hamm. The guy was clearly packing.
“Let’s see your swing,” Branson directed a week later as we began my private session on the driving range of the golf club. Feeling a bit nervous in front of him, I teed up the ball and managed to drive it a little under 200 yards down the range.
“Not bad,” Branson observed. “But you need to rotate your hips a bit more when you swing. Here, lemme show you,” he said while coming up behind me and placing his hands on my hips. I got a whiff of his intoxicating cologne, which drove me wild. With his body pressed into me, Branson led me through a series of hip rotations. His massive bulge was pressing into my ass, and it felt like he was getting hard. Jesus, I was turned on.
I could have stayed that way forever, our bodies pressed together, but we then left the driving range to play nine holes while Branson continued to critique me. I’d like to say I learned a lot from his instruction, but I was far too distracted by his handsome looks and his massive bulge. Christ, I wanted his cock. It took all my strength to keep from begging him to fuck me behind the sand trap. Before I knew it, we were headed back to the clubhouse.
“For the last part of our session,” Branson said, leading me to the weight room, “I’m gonna show you a few strength-training exercises that can improve your game.” We were alone in the weight room, where Branson noted that my hamstrings seemed tight. Pulling out a yoga mat, he had me stretch back as he raised my right leg over my head.
“This stretch will really open you up,” Branson advised, kneeling between my legs and putting his weight into me as he continued to press my leg over my head. My ass was slightly raised, and soon I could feel his bulge mashed up against my ass. It occurred to me that I’d been fucked many times in a similar position. Like at the driving range, I could feel Branson getting hard. As his cock rocked against my hole, I let out a soft moan.
“Well—uh—it looks like our time is up,” he suddenly stammered awkwardly. “I’m gonna hit the showers now, but you’re free to spend more time in the weight room. The clubhouse closes down in an hour.”
As Branson stood up, I could see he was clearly hard, his big cock straining against his golf pants. Spend more time in the weight room, he had suggested? Fuck that. Joining Branson in the showers sounded far more promising. I quickly stripped down and wrapped one of the complimentary clubhouse towels around my waist as I headed to join him.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I entered the showers. Not ten feet away from me was Branson, washing his incredible body. He soaped his meaty ass and then reached down to give his legendary big cock a quick tug. But he didn’t stop there. With a little more soap applied to his cock, Branson began to rub one out. This was the stuff of dreams—wet dreams. In that moment, I knew I wasn’t going to leave those showers without his load up my ass.
I stood frozen for a minute, my mind racing as to how to play this opportunity while Branson continued to jack his cock under the warm shower, his left hand bracing the wall. Should I take the shower head next to him and drop the proverbial soap? Or should I be more direct and just ask Branson if he wanted to fuck me? In the end, I didn’t have to decide. He was looking right at me.
“Sorry, bro,” he half-apologized as he continued to jack himself. “Things are—uh—difficult with my wife right now, and I just need to rub one out before I go home.”
“You want to talk about it?” I offered, hanging up my towel and taking the shower head next to Branson.
“Shit. I might as well tell you. It’s gonna be all over the news,” he began. “TMZ has a sex tape of me fucking an 18-year-old waitress after a tournament in Scottsdale last month. The bitch set me up, hoping to get some cash out of me. I told my wife about it last night. My agent said they’re releasing the sex tape tomorrow.”
“Fuck. That really sucks,” I sympathized.
“Well, the worst part is my wife has cut me off,” Branson shared. “No more sex. Probably for good. And I’m too afraid to fuck some other bitch, now that all the news outlets are gonna be tailing me, waiting for me to slip up.”
“You can fuck me,” I offered.
“Shit, man,” he exclaimed, his cock getting harder. “I was hoping you’d offer up your ass, especially from the way you’ve been grinding against my cock all day.”
“You ever fucked a guy?” I asked, reaching for his cock, teasing him with some slow strokes.
“Yeah. We had a cum dump who used to come around and take our cocks when I played college golf. I dumped so much cum in him,” Branson chuckled, “I’m amazed he never got pregnant.”
“I’d carry your baby,” I joked, turning to brace myself against the wall, presenting my eager hole for his use while Branson spit on his cock.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” he grunted, pushing into me. His hands went from my hips to my shoulders as he began to pummel my hole without warming up.
“Christ,” I gasped. “Slow up a little. I need to adjust. You’re thick as fuck.”
“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch,” he sneered, a marked change in his demeanor. “I get to set the pace here. Your ass is mine now.”
I took some deep breaths, clinging to the shower wall as he hammered away at my tight hole. After a few moments, my hole relaxed and started to feel good—really good. His big dick exceeded my expectations. Without realizing it, I began to emit a low, rhythmic moan with each thrust that he delivered.
“You better shut your fucking mouth,” Branson admonished. “I can’t risk getting caught in here with my cock up your ass.”
I nodded solemnly, gritting my teeth as Brandon continued to use my hole. Suddenly, his breathing intensified as he began to emit a series of low grunts. It felt like his big cock was increasing in size within me.
“Aww, FUCK, man . . . SHIT,” he growled, his hands digging into my shoulders as his balls released his load inside me. I could feel his body quaking as blast after blast of his cum flooded my guts.
“Fuck, that was hot,” I exclaimed as he pulled out of me, his load washing down my leg in the warm shower water.
“Clean yourself up,” Branson ordered, washing off his cock under the shower head, “And then meet me at the lockers. I need to talk to you.”
I dutifully complied and then wrapped a towel around me. He was waiting for me on a locker bench, his hair wet and a towel still around his waist.
“You don’t have to worry,” I spoke before he could say anything. “I’m not gonna run to TMZ and tell them you fucked me.”
“Nah. I trust you,” Branson replied, brushing the thought aside with a wave of his hand. “My caddie quit on me this morning when I told him about the sex tape. He doesn’t want to be associated with me and all the bad press. You think you might want his job? It pays well.”
“Me?” I asked incredulously. “You want me to be your caddie?”
“Yeah,” Branson smiled. “I’ve got a few tours on the horizon, leading up to Augusta in April. You know the sport really well and . . . I kinda like you.”
“Wow,” I exclaimed, unable to believe my ears. “But will you—will you want to—”
“Will I want to fuck you?” Branson interrupted. “Hell YES. As much as you’d like. You’ve got a sweet cunt, and there’s a lot of long nights in hotel rooms when I’m doing tournaments.”
“Then I’m game,” I announced. “I’m honored to be your caddie.”
“Awesome,” Branson replied, opening up his towel to reveal his big dick, which was hard again. “Now why don’t you climb on this cock so we can celebrate? I’ve got another load in these balls for you.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“You wanna fuck me on this chair?” he asked, throwing down a towel before kneeling upon the cushion, his meaty ass presented to me, begging to be fucked. I had never fucked a guy before. But what good is a business trip away from the wife and kids without a little fun on the side?
The hotel bar was hopping earlier that evening when I took a seat at the bar, ordering a scotch on the rocks—a double, I decided. It had been a long but successful day of meetings, and I looked forward to unwinding a bit before my flight home in the morning. And I’m not ashamed to say that my goal was to pick up some easy bitch and then smash her pussy upstairs in my room.
I had never cheated on my wife before but desperate times call for desperate measures. After ten years of marriage, and two kids, my wife took her pussy off the market. I was thirty-five years old and staring down the rest of my life with just my right hand for satisfaction. But I had to be careful. I wasn’t looking to blow up my marriage by knocking up some needy bitch who wanted to be my second wife. And so a business trip provided the perfect opportunity to play around discreetly.
I scanned the bar, sipping my scotch, trying to find an easy bitch who might be up for an anonymous rendezvous in my room. But most of the women there were either not my type—I wasn’t that desperate—or appeared to be already paired off with another dude. By the time I was on my second round, the situation began to look grim.
“Is this seat taken?” asked a young guy, gesturing to the empty barstool next to mine. He was handsome and dressed nicely as if he was going on a date, likely followed by an evening of easy sex. Lucky bastard. “Mind if I have a seat?”
“It’s all yours,” I sighed, gesturing to the barstool, my dream of dipping my stick evaporating quicker than the scotch in my tumbler.
“You from around here?” he asked me while signaling to the bartender for a beer.
“Nah—here on business,” I answered. “You?”
“I live here in town,” he replied. “Lemme guess—you’re looking for an easy hookup while away from the wife?”
“Jesus,” I gasped. “Am I that transparent?”
“Not really,” he laughed. “But it’s a hotel bar. Almost every guy here is just like you, married and looking to dip his stick while away from the old ball and chain. That’s why I come here often—it’s a great place to score.”
“Good for you,” I snickered. “But I’ve been sitting my ass here for nearly an hour and haven’t had the slightest bit of luck in scoring some snatch.”
“Maybe you need to revise your parameters,” he suggested. “Think about maybe—?”
“Maybe what? That ugly bitch over there in the corner?” I pointed to a homely looking cow who looked like half the weary mothers in my wife’s book club. “No thanks,” I spat. “I’m not gonna fuck some baggy cunt.”
“That’s right—you need a tight cunt,” he observed, looking down at my crotch. “Something that can handle that big dick you’ve got.”
“Fuckin-A,” I agreed loudly, the scotch coursing through my veins. “I need a tight cunt for this big dick.”
“You wanna fuck my tight cunt?” he dropped the bomb, his eyes locked on mine.
“THE FUCK?!” I spat, nearly spraying my scotch. “Dude, I don’t fuck—”
I started to say it—that I don’t fuck faggots. But then I remembered my place, that I was in a busy bar, that I didn’t want to draw unwanted attention by dropping an inappropriate slur.
“I don’t fuck dudes,” I finally spat quietly, trying to temper myself. Before the guy could say anything, before he could try to sink his hooks into me any further, I threw down two twenty dollar bills for my drinks and quickly took my leave.
I went up to my room—alone—the night a complete waste. I called my wife and listened to her drone on about her day, not really listening to her. I said goodnight to my kids, telling them I would be home the next day, telling them to be good for their mother. And then I fired up some porn on my phone.
It wasn’t doing it for me. I was angry at the porn dude, his big dick balls deep in some screaming bitch’s wet pussy. I wanted to be that dude. My dick—not his—was supposed to be in some bitch’s snatch. And then I thought back to that brazen dude downstairs in the bar—that faggot—and the tight cunt that he had promised me.
I had always been indiscriminate in college, fucking just about any bitch with a pulse—just never a guy. Yet I fucked more than my share of ugly bitches when I just needed to get my rocks off. And then there was that one bitch—just that one time—who was on the rag but let me fuck her backdoor. Jesus Christ, it felt good—the tightest hole my big dick had ever met.
What the hell was wrong with me? I had a tight, easy hole presented to me on a silver platter, and I had walked away from it. All I had to do was go back down to the bar and claim it. I don’t know if it was the scotch or my desperate need to get laid, but all I wanted in that moment was to get my big dick inside the dude from the bar.
He was still at his barstool, nursing his beer, scanning the room for his next target. He did a double take when he saw me, his eyes searching mine for meaning. With a subtle cock of my head, I gestured towards the hotel lobby and the bank of elevators stationed opposite the bar. Throwing down a ten for his beer, he quickly followed.
“You tell no one about this,” I cautioned as soon as we were alone in the elevator.
“Dude—who am I gonna tell?” he laughed. “That’s why I cruise this place. Like you, all I want is some quick, easy, anonymous sex.”
“What’s in it for you?” I demanded. “You gotta husband or a boyfriend you’re cheating on?”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “I just like to get my ass fucked. And a hot, married guy like you—in a nice hotel like this—sure beats giving up my ass in a toilet stall down at the truck stop.”
I ignored that image as we departed the elevator and made our way to my hotel room. Once inside, he wasted no time in stripping down. I had warned him in the elevator that I didn’t want any kissing or romantic shit. This would be sex, pure and simple. Honoring my request, he made a beeline for a chair in the corner as I undressed.
“You wanna fuck me on this chair?” he asked, throwing down a towel that he had swiped from the bathroom before kneeling upon the cushion. His meaty ass was presented to me, begging to be fucked.
“Works for me,” I replied, my eight-incher already raging hard, eager to do the deed.
“Damn, you are hung,” he observed, turning his face over his shoulder, his eyes wide with excitement. “Get that big dick in me.”
“I—I don’t have any lube,” I stated, suddenly aware that it wasn’t something that I had packed, and not wanting to rub my dick raw in a dry hole.
“No worries,” he replied. “I came prepared—my hole is already prepped and ready. Just shove it in and wreck my cunt with that big dick.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I taunted, pushing my rounded cock head against his puckered hole, his sphincter tightening in response.
“FUUUCK,” he screamed as I impaled him with one, quick thrust, my big cock charging into the depths of his bowels. “Christ, you’re thick.”
“That’s it, bitch,” I slapped his ass, my dick reveling in the warmth of his tight fuck canal. Jesus, it felt good. Even better than that one bitch who’d given up her ass to me in college. “Take this big—fucking—cock.”
“Yeah—fuck me with that big cock,” he begged, gripping the back of the chair, my big dick pummeling his insides. “Fuck me good.”
It had been a long time since I had all out fucked a warm hole. Even back when my wife had been spreading her legs for me, sex with her was expected to be romantic and gentle. I had to be tender and sensual, a kind lover. I didn’t need to be kind to this slutty dude who was giving up his ass to me. In fact, he wanted it rough and mean.
“Fuck me harder,” he pleaded as I jackhammered his ass. “Fucking give it to me. Fuck me with that big dick.”
The naughty talk was a huge turn on, my dick harder than it had ever been since my college days. Gripping him by the shoulders, I unleashed a violent assault on his ass, my strong cock a battering ram in his bowels.
“You like this dick up your ass?” I demanded, sweat dripping down my chest, my balls smacking his hole over and over. “You like this big cock in that tight cunt?”
“Yes,” he exhaled, breathless, his cunt quivering as my big dick pummeled him harder and harder.
Jesus, his cunt felt amazing. I didn’t want the encounter to end—but that wasn’t exactly up to me. It was then that I felt that all-too-familiar throb in my balls, the cum rising in my shaft, my cock swelling against the walls of his fuck canal.
“SHIT—I’m about to bust,” I warned urgently.
“Breed me,” he begged. “Fuckin’ shoot that load in me.”
Instantly, he got his wish. “FUCK—FUCK,” I grunted, my cock spasming in his depths, spewing my load into his bowels. “Yeah, bitch—take my fuckin’ nut.”
I couldn't recall the last time I had an orgasm that good—possibly never before. My body convulsed as my balls emptied into him, an ejaculation of epic proportions.
“Fuck, I needed that,” I exhaled as I pulled out of him, my pearly load dripping from his wrecked hole. With his duty complete, he promptly dismounted the chair and, turning around, dropped to his knees and sucked my cock clean—the dirty fucker.
“Thanks for the dick,” he winked, rising up from his knees on wobbly legs, reaching for his crumpled clothes on the floor. He quickly dressed, pulling up his pants as my load trickled down the inside of his thighs. And then he was gone. Transaction over. Mission complete.
I tried to go to sleep. It had been a long day, and my brain was fogged with scotch and coital bliss. But I couldn’t sleep. I wanted more. I was such an idiot. I should have invited the guy to stay the night—pounding load after load into him until I had to grab my shuttle to the airport. Maybe it wasn’t too late?
He was on a barstool again when I made my way back downstairs to the hotel bar. But he was chatting up some other dude—his next cock. This dude could have been a carbon-copy of me: mid-thirties, married, business attire, sipping a scotch. I had lost my chance for a second round. Fuck.
But then some other young guy noticed me as he sat at the bar. He was handsome and dressed nicely, like he was going on a date. He gestured for me to take the barstool next to him, asking me if I was from out of town.
“Lemme guess,” he ventured, eyeing my wedding band, “you’re looking for an easy hookup while away from the wife?”
“Yeah,” I locked eyes with the new guy. “You wanna come up to my room and fuck?”
I missed my airport shuttle the next morning—and my flight—while balls deep in the new guy. I eventually called my wife and told her that I needed to stay an extra night for some unforeseen business. Maybe a couple more nights, I added.
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“FUCK,” the muscled, bearded trucker grunted, gripping the headboard of the motel bed with his tatted arms as his cock erupted in my mouth. Greedily, I devoured his warm load while looking up into his grateful eyes.
I first spotted him while checking into the motel. He had just pulled his rig into the side lot reserved for tractor-trailers. Strutting across the parking lot, he looked hot as fuck in his worn jeans and sleeveless flannel shirt, a Peterbilt trucker’s cap upon his head.
But the real fun began later when I spotted him at the vending machine by the stairs. Crumpled dollar in hand, he was wrestling with a weighty decision between Coke, Sprite, or Dr. Pepper.
“Sorry,” he apologized as I waited patiently beside him. “I can never decide what I want to drink.”
“I don’t have that issue,” I replied brazenly, my eyes locked on his bulging crotch. “I know exactly what I want to drink.”
“You dirty slut,” he laughed. “You want some cum?”
“Fuck yes,” I nodded, licking my lips.
Two minutes later, having abandoned his vending machine conundrum, his naked, hairy body was atop his motel bed. Deftly, I climbed between his muscular legs and took his eight-incher down my throat. His girthy cock was immense, my jaw straining to accommodate that big dick.
“Fuuuuck,” he exhaled, his hands caressing the back of my head as I took him balls deep, his hairy balls mashed against my chin. “I love giving a load to a motel fuckboy like you.”
“Do you want to fuck me?” I surfaced with saliva on my chin, fumbling to slide down my shorts.
“Nah,” he declined. “It’s been a long day on the road. I’d rather just relax and let you do all the work.”
“I can ride you,” I persisted. “You don’t need to do a thing. I’ll have you shooting that load up my ass in no time.”
“Tempting as that may be,” he chuckled, “I’m more in the mood tonight for a good dick suck.”
“Fine by me,” I winked, slapping his big tool against my face before taking him to the balls again.
Expertly, I sucked him, the heady aroma of his curly pubes filling my nostrils and driving me wild. His precum was copious, and fucking delicious—a tantalizing appetizer to the meal to come.
“Fuck, you can suck a dick,” he marveled. “I’d still be married if my ex-wife could’ve sucked me half as good as this.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied quickly, returning to my work. Emboldened by his praise, I increased my pace, my head bobbing up and down on that big cock. His toes curled as I deep throated him with each downbeat.
Locking my lips around his big dick, I sucked him ravenously, sliding up and down his thick shaft over and over. Fondling his hairy balls with one hand, I teased his nips with the other, pinching them and rolling them between my thumb and index finger.
“You found my cum button,” he moaned. “You’ll have me shooting in no time if you keep that up.”
He wasn’t kidding. His balls began to tighten as his cock swelled in my mouth. Gripping the back of my head, he forced himself past my tonsils as I struggled to breathe.
“FUCK,” he grunted, gripping the headboard of the motel bed with his tatted arms as his cock erupted in my mouth. “Yeah, take this fucking nut.”
Rope after rope of his creamy cum spewed down my throat, his big cock throbbing with each orgasmic ejection. Greedily, I devoured his warm load while looking up into his grateful eyes.
“Fuck, I needed that,” he exhaled slowly as I released his spent cock. Reaching for his wallet on the bed table, he pulled out some cash. “Twenty sound good?” he offered.
“No—I’m not—I mean, I don’t—”
“Shit. Must be my lucky night,” he cut me off, stuffing the worn twenty back into his wallet. Reaching for the TV remote, he thanked me for the blow job and pointed to the door. My work was done.
“Where the hell have you been all this time?” my girlfriend complained as I walked into our motel room empty handed. “And where the fuck is my Coke?”
“Shit. Sorry, babe,” I apologized while doing an about face. “I forgot about your Coke. I’ll be right back with it.”
To my delight, the trucker was back at the vending machine by the stairs when I approached. Feeding a crumpled dollar into the machine, he looked surprised to see me again as a Dr. Pepper tumbled down the shoot.
“I’m thinking I could go another round,” he smiled wickedly, adjusting his package. “You want to ride it this time? Take my nut up your ass?”
Thirty minutes later, I stumbled back into my motel room, weak on my legs, the trucker’s warm load swimming in my abused bowels. Once again, I had forgotten my girlfriend’s Coke.
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“You on Grindr?” I asked sarcastically upon finding Trent, my dad’s hot, much-younger boyfriend, on his phone in the kitchen.
“No,” he chided. “I was texting with your dad. He had to go into the office today, but wants you to mow the lawn. Oh . . . and he wants you to fuck me.”
“Wait, what?” I asked incredulously, nearly spitting out my first sip of coffee.
“He wants us to fuck,” Trent repeated, pulling down his shorts and bending over the kitchen counter. “Your dad said you’re a man now, and that it was only fair that I offered up my hole to both of you since I’m living here.”
“Jesus,” I exclaimed in disbelief as I pulled out my hard cock and began to push into Trent’s tight hole. “You sure about this?”
“Yes, your dad was clear,” Trent answered, pushing his ass against me, taking my cock into his depths. “He wants you to fuck me.”
“You’re cunt is really wet,” I noted with surprise.
“Your dad just dumped a load in me before he left for work,” admitted Trent, raising his ass higher to take me deeper.
“Yeah, I thought I heard him grunting through the wall this morning. He sounds like a bear when he cums,” I laughed, pummeling Trent’s used hole.
“Fuck, your big cock feels just like your dad’s big dick inside me,” Trent moaned, gripping the counter. “I want you to cum up my ass . . . I want both your loads inside me,” he begged.
“Well, you’re about to get your wish,” I warned, grabbing Trent by the hips as my balls prepared to empty inside him. “SHIT . . . Yeah, take this motherfuckin’ load,” I barked.
“Mmm, yeah,” Trent moaned, reveling in the warmth of my seed inside him. He then popped off and licked me clean. “This needs to stay between us,” he warned.
“What?!” I demanded. “You told me my dad wanted us to fuck?!”
“Yeah, that was a lie,” Trent confessed with a shrug. “Grindr was slow this morning, and I was in the mood for more cock.”
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I offered. “I won’t tell my dad that we fucked if you let me breed you again . . . and you mow the lawn for me.”
“Fine by me,” Trent agreed, gripping the counter as I pushed back inside his sloppy hole.
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“You’re getting hard, bro,” Ryan observed as he grinded his ass against my cock through our shorts. “You wanna fuck my ass?” he then asked with a twisted smile.
It had been leg day at the gym, and I was stretched out on my bed moaning after a grueling workout.
“You OK, buddy?” my roommate Ryan asked while passing by my bedroom.
“Yeah, I’m just sore as fuck from the gym,” I admitted sheepishly.
Ryan got on the bed next to me. “Where does it hurt?” he asked.
“Mostly my thighs and my hips,” I winced trying to stretch my legs. “I totally overdid it today.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Ryan assured me. “Here,” he said while climbing on top of me. “I know a great stretch that a trainer once showed me.” Ryan straddled me in a cowboy position, much like when my girlfriend rides my cock.
“What the fuck, man?” I asked incredulously.
“Shut up a minute and be patient, bro,” Ryan scolded. “I know what I’m doing.”
While continuing to straddle me, Ryan leaned back and placed both of his hands on my thighs, pressing my legs outward and down into the bed. “This stretch works the quads and the hip flexors. It’ll release that tension you’ve got in there.”
He was right. The stretch instantly made my legs feel better. It was also having another result.
“You’re getting hard, bro,” Ryan noted.
“What the fuck do you expect, man?” I replied. “You’re rubbing against my dick.”
He pushed himself up higher and began to bounce on me. “You wanna fuck my ass?” he asked with a twisted smile.
I had never fucked a dude, and I had no clue that Ryan liked cock. “Are you serious?” I asked.
Ryan began to slide down my athletic shorts and released my rock hard cock as he said, “I’m not kidding, bro. I want you to fuck me.”
Ryan next slid down his own shorts, spit on his fingers, and wet his hole. Before I knew it, he was sitting on my dick.
“Fuck, your cock feels good,” Ryan moaned as he took my entire length inside of him. My balls were smashed against his tight hole.
Ryan then began to ride my cock. It felt incredible. My girlfriend likes to ride me in the same position, but I still have to do most of the work with her. Not so with Ryan. While using his muscular legs, he pushed himself up and down on my cock as he milked out my load. His tight ass was pounding my balls, and I could feel they were getting close to emptying.
“Dude,” I said urgently. “I’m about to nut.”
Ryan began to buck even harder on my cock, crying out, “Yeah, man. Fuckin’ breed my hole. Gimme that nut.”
That kind of talk is a total turn-on, and I was soon unleashing a massive load inside of him.
“Fuck, man,” Ryan moaned. “I can feel that warm load swimming inside me. Fucking hot.” Ryan then popped off me and licked my cock clean.
“You feel better now?” Ryan asked as he collapsed next to me on the bed.
“Fuck yeah, man,” I eagerly responded. “So, a trainer taught you that stretch?” I inquired.
“Nah, bro. I made that up,” Ryan confessed. “That stretch is a great trick for scoring cock. Works for me in the gym sauna every time.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
My hot-as-fuck boss stared me down, his hands on his hips with his big, hard cock bulging in his tight suit pants. Mr. Bateman had been riding my ass hard all day—but not the way I wanted. Married with kids, I assumed his cock would never be mine. I was wrong.
I would have likely quit my job if I hadn’t been so attracted to Mr. Bateman. He had a good fifteen years on me, but he was fucking hot. His suits were tailored to flatter his muscular physique. His hair was always coiffed in perfect place. And when he wasn’t yelling at me, his dashing smile fucking melted me.
But it was Mr. Bateman’s massive bulge, always straining against his tight suit pants, that got me really worked up. Jesus, it was huge. And the angrier he would get, the bigger and harder his dick would grow. Lucky for me, he was always angry.
It had been a particularly bad day at the office. Mr. Bateman was shouting constantly at me, and always by my last name: “Stevenson! Where are we on the Adams case?” and,“Stevenson! I need you to call that cocksucking opposing counsel and tell him to go fuck himself!” My nerves were frayed by the end of the day, and I needed some cock.
I had always been a faggot for glory hole cock. It started in college, continued through law school, and had persisted with my job at Mr. Bateman’s law firm. There was an adult arcade on my way home from the office. It was a shit hole with a persistent odor of man funk and floors perpetually sticky with cum. Needless to say, I fucking loved the place. Some days, sucking cock there was my only salvation from Mr. Bateman—a reward for surviving another day in the office with him.
Feeling stressed out on this particular day, I decided to stop off at the adult arcade on the way home from work. I needed to blow off some steam—by blowing some cock. And you can imagine my excitement when I pulled into the parking lot of the arcade and the only other car in the lot was Mr. Bateman’s red Porsche.
“What’s with all the suits today?” the twink arcade clerk asked as I shoved him my ten bucks to get inside. I quickly raced to the glory hole booths in the back and found just one booth occupied. I had him! I entered the adjacent booth and, almost immediately, Mr. Bateman’s big cock came through the glory hole.
“Suck this cock, faggot,” Mr. Bateman’s inimitable baritone ordered me through the partition. I dutifully obeyed and promptly took his cock down my throat without saying a word, not wanting him to know it was me. I licked, sucked, and slobbered all over that big cock, thankful to finally have it down my throat.
“Fuck, you know how to suck a dick,” Mr. Bateman moaned through the thin wall. It was the first time he’d ever praised me for anything. Emboldened, I buckled down and went to work on that big cock, pulling out all my best tricks and techniques. Soon he was warning, “I’m about to cum, faggot. Get ready for my cum.”
Mr. Bateman soon unleashed his thick, warm load in my mouth. Fuck, it was delicious. He pulled his spent cock back through the hole as I struggled to swallow all of his cum.
Suddenly, Mr. Bateman’s booming voice came through the partition wall once more, saying,“Stevenson! I want you to suck my cock at the office tomorrow. This place is a shit hole.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
My roommate Rocco was on the couch naked, one hand massaging his balls while the other scrolled through pussy porn on his phone, when I came home late from my Friday night shift at the restaurant.
“You score some pussy at the clubs tonight?” I asked.
“You think I’d be jacking myself on the couch if I did?” he laughed, putting down his phone.
“Yeah—guess not,” I smiled. “You want me to suck you again?”
“Jesus,” I exclaimed as I came out of the bathroom and found my fuck bud Tommy’s dad staring me down in the hallway. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Where’s Tommy?” he asked, making no apology for startling me.
“He already left for work,” I answered. “He had to go in early, but said I could hang here this morning, if I wanted.”
“I could hear you two in there fucking all night,” Tommy’s dad complained, eyeing the door to Tommy’s room. “You his boyfriend now?”
“No. We’re just fuck buds,” I replied awkwardly. “Wait—are you wearing Tommy’s briefs?”
“Yeah,” he answered, a devious smile on his face. “You like them on me?”
“Uh huh,” I stammered, dumbfounded by this sudden turn in events. I had to admit he looked fucking hot in those briefs, better than Tommy.
“You want some more cock, boy?” he asked, pulling down the front of the briefs and releasing a thick cock with a huge head that was rapidly getting hard.
But before I could answer, Tommy’s dad was pawing at me, pulling off my boxer briefs, and pushing me down onto the hallway floor. “Fuck me,” I begged. “Gimme that big cock.”
“You’re gonna get it alright,” he replied, spitting on his cock and pushing into me. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he exclaimed. “How many loads did my son dump up in here last night?”
“Three,” I gasped, gripping the rug under me as he pummeled my hole.
“Well you’re about to get one more,” he advised, pushing my face into the rug as he raised my ass to go deeper. His cock felt incredible. His big helmet head had found my sweet spot, and I soon felt my own load rising in my shaft as he continued to jackhammer me.
“I’m gonna cum,” I reported urgently.
“Yeah? Let’s cum together, boy,” he replied, giving me a deep thrust as he reached around to finish me off with his cock buried in me. “Aww, FUCK … SHIT,” he bellowed, releasing his load into my depths as my own load sprayed all over the hallway rug.
“That was fucking amazing,” I praised as he pulled out of me, his cum gushing out of my wrecked hole and puddling on the rug with my own load.
“I gotta get ready for work,” he declared, heading toward his bedroom. “Clean up that rug and get the fuck out of here before I’m done with my shower.”
That evening, I rang the doorbell to their house at around 11 pm. “Hey, buddy,” Tommy greeted with a sly smile on his face. “I didn’t think we had plans to fuck again tonight.”
“Yeah—uh—I’m actually here for your dad,” I replied uneasily. “He just texted me.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
“Just put it in the fridge,” my hot neighbor Josh instructed as I came through the kitchen door, my wife’s casserole in hand. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, his muscular, hairy body in nothing but a pair of CK boxer shorts. It was my wife’s idea to bring him food, though I suspected he really just needed to fuck an easy hole—mine, to be exact.
“What’s in the casserole?” he asked, as I placed it in the fridge next to at least six other covered dishes.
“It’s Lilly’s famous Mexican lasagna,” I answered. “350 for 45 mins.”
“Great,” he answered flatly.
“How you holding up, buddy?”
“I’m fine,” he shrugged.
“You don’t look fine,” I observed. “You haven’t left the house in days. And when was the last time you shaved and put on some clean clothes?”
“What the fuck do you expect?” he barked. “My wife, the love of my life, left me for her fucking yoga instructor. And not to sound ungrateful, but all the neighbors like you keep coming by and dropping off food and wanting to know—”
“Lilly and I just want to help,” I cut him off.
“Yeah?” he laughed mockingly. “Well, if Lilly really wanted to help, she could come over and offer up her pussy pie instead of another fucking casserole. What I really need right now is to smash some pussy—to get laid.”
“Lilly isn’t going to let you—”
“I know,” he put up his hand, his tone suddenly softer. “I’m sorry. I should never have suggested fucking your wife. It was out of line. Forgive me.”
“It’s okay, Josh,” I put my hand on his beefy shoulder. “Fucking my wife isn’t an option. But I’m down to let you fuck my ass.”
“The fuck?!” he spat, knocking my hand off his shoulder. “Since when do you take cock?”
“Uh—since college,” I informed him. “I only ever dated girls, but sometimes enjoyed getting dicked down by a hung dude. Most of my buds used my ass when they weren’t scoring pussy, which meant my hole got used a lot.”
“Lilly know this about you—that you take cock?”
“Jesus no,” I laughed. “She’s puritanical when it comes to sex. She couldn’t fathom that I could love her but still enjoy getting my ass railed. So what do you think? You wanna wreck my hole?”
“Sorry, bro,” Josh refused, shaking his head. “There’s no way I could stick my dick in you. I have no interest in fucking a dude.”
“Then maybe you should tell that to your cock,” I observed, gesturing to his tented boxers, the bulbous head of his cock beginning to peek out of the fly. “It sure looks like that big dick could use an easy, warm hole right now.”
“Christ,” Josh exhaled, running a hand over his short-cropped hair. “If I do this—if I fuck your ass—you gotta promise that it never leaves this room, okay?”
“You have my word,” I traced an imaginary cross over my heart. “I would never tell a soul.”
“Good,” he nodded. “So how about you drop your shorts and bend over that counter there?”
“You—you wouldn’t rather fuck me upstairs in your bed?”
“Jesus no,” he spat indignantly. “The thought of fucking your ass in the bed I shared with my wife is fucked up. Now bend over that counter if you want this big dick.”
Obediently, I dropped my shorts and bent my body over the kitchen counter, my easy hole presented to him. I looked back as Josh pulled down the front of his boxers, resting the waistband under his balls, his eight-incher already rock hard and searching for a warm hole. His hands were soon on my hips, his rounded cock head pressing into the folds of my sphincter.
“Dude, you gotta spit on it first,” I cautioned, not eager to be dry fucked by his hung cock.
“Oh—right,” he laughed at himself before expelling a thick wad of saliva onto my hole, rubbing it in with his cock head.
“That’s better,” I began to comment before he suddenly rammed the entirety of his thick eight-incher inside of me. “HOLY FUCK,” I screamed, gripping the counter, my hole torn in two.
“Yeah, it’s a hole splitter,” he gloated, digging his thick fingers into my hips, his cock a battering ram inside me, owning my ass.
“Slow down,” I warned, my body slamming against the counter in a rhythmic motion. “You’ll bust your nut too fast if you don’t pace yourself.”
“Oh—I’m already about to shoot,” he replied, his cock swelling inside of me. “Get ready for it—FUCK—FUCK.”
“Yeah, breed me,” I pleaded, elated to have my hung neighbor’s seed inside me, yet disappointed that the ride was over too quickly.
Over and over he grunted, his warm load spewing in my depths. I counted twelve seismic throbs in my bowels before his cock stopped throbbing, the last of his seed given up to me. But then something miraculous happened. Josh kept going.
“Are you still hard?” I asked incredulously, his big dick still pounding away in my seeded hole.
“Yeah,” he laughed sadistically. “I can stay hard for multiple rounds. It’s probably one of the reasons why Kara left me. She hated that I can go for hours.”
“It’s no problem for me,” I assured him, grinding my ass into him. “You can fuck this sloppy hole for as long as you want.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he smacked my ass. “Lilly is gonna be ready to send out a search party for you by the time I’m done with this sweet cunt.”
“You like my pussy?” I asked, his balls smacking my hole audibly. “You like your big dick in my tight hole?”
“Fuck yes,” he bellowed, pushing my face down against the kitchen counter, raising my ass. The angle opened me up, allowing him to drive even deeper into my bowels. Jesus, it felt good.
Over and over Josh jackhammered my hole, pummeling me at an unrelenting pace. His stamina was incredible. The man was a fuck machine, using my available hole like a pocket pussy.
“You ready for some more cum?” he announced urgently, his big dick swelling in my depths once more.
“Yes—breed me,” I begged, a deep throbbing in my depths.
“FUCK—FUCK,” he grunted, his second load exploding in my void, a torrent of cum mixing in my depths with his prior load.
“Mmm, yeah,” I moaned. “Seed my cummy hole.”
When his cock stopped throbbing, when the pulsing in my depths had ceased, I thought the ride was over. The man had dumped two massive loads in me. There couldn’t be more. Surely, the well had run dry. I was wrong.
“Are you still hard?” I asked in awe, Josh pounding me once more, his big one continuing to route my depths.
“Yeah, man,” he shoved hard into me. “I told you I can go for hours.”
And he did—two hours, to be exact. Orgasm after orgasm. Load after load. I lost count of how many times his balls contracted and dumped yet another fresh load in me. The man was a cum factory, and I was merely present to catch his seed.
The sun had set by the time Josh finally called it quits and pulled out of me. A flood of cum instantly expelled from my destroyed hole, trailing down the insides of my wobbly legs.
“Here’s some paper towels,” he grabbed a roll off the counter and tossed it at me. “I’m gonna jump in the shower. You can see yourself out.” And as he turned towards the stairs, Josh looked back, a pearly drop of cum dangling from the tip of his spent cock, and said, “Be sure to thank Lilly for the casserole.”
“How did it go over there?” my wife asked as I returned home moments later, a gallon of Josh’s warm cum swimming in my wrecked bowels. “I was beginning to worry when it started getting dark. How’s Josh doing?”
“He’s a mess,” I reported. “But he was super excited about your Mexican lasagna. I think it really lifted his spirits. I was thinking maybe you could whip up your tuna casserole for me to take over there tomorrow night?”
“Certainly,” my wife agreed, wrapping her arms around me. “Josh is really lucky to have a good buddy like you.”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “Sometimes a man just needs another man to help him through the hard times.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.