Featuring American Actor, Aldo Ray
CHAPTER ONE: The Reluctant Take
Aldo Ray stood under the cheap klieg lights of a San Fernando Valley soundstage that smelled of stale smoke, sweat, and Pine Sol. Fifty eight years old, broad rugged face flushed ruddy under the makeup they had slapped on to hide the broken capillaries, piercing blue eyes narrowed against the glare. Graying dark hair combed straight back, full lips clamped around a half chewed cigar. Six feet of once bull necked Navy frogman bulk gone soft with years of booze, bad luck, and three divorces that had picked his pockets clean. Heavy dense chest hair curled out the open collar of his cheap suit shirt; the same thick mat matted his powerful arms and trailed down to the dense gray flecked bush framing his uncut cock. He needed the thousand cash in his pocket by nightfall. Child support for Claire, Paul, and Eric did not wait, and the residuals from his Columbia contract days had dried up years ago.
The director, some fast talking kid who kept calling him Mister Ray like it still meant something, pointed at the couch. Just like we rehearsed. You walk up, cigar in mouth, give the kid the business. Camera loves that hairy chest and that foghorn voice of yours.
Aldo grunted, the sound low and raspy as gravel in a cement mixer. Yeah, well, I done worse for less. Lets get it over with before I change my goddamn mind.
The young man, slim, dark haired, twenty five, already on his knees in nothing but a jock, looked up with eager eyes. Aldo stepped forward, thick thighs straining the fabric of his trousers. He unbuckled slowly, the metal clink loud in the quiet set. Thick fingers fished out his heavy, uncut seven point five inch cock. The veiny shaft hung low, foreskin half covering the large flared head, heavy balls swinging in their loose sac beneath the dense bush. He slapped the warm meat across the kids cheek once, twice, the wet smack echoing.
Suck it, boy, Aldo rasped, voice pure foghorn gravel. Make it worth the plane ticket.
The young man opened wide. Full lips stretched around the thick girth as he took the head, tongue swirling under the foreskin, tasting the musky salt of an older man who had been drinking since breakfast. Aldo grabbed the back of the kids neck, not rough but firm, the way a constable used to handle a drunk. He pushed deeper, hips rolling lazy at first, then picking up rhythm. The young man gagged softly, spit drooling down his chin and onto those low hanging balls. Aldo pulled out, slapped the glistening cock across the flushed face three times, left, right, left, then fed it back in, fucking the eager mouth with short, deliberate strokes.
Attaboy, he growled, cigar still clamped between his teeth. Take every fat inch. Christ, you kids today no shame at all. He glanced over his shoulder at the director and cameraman gesturing for more. Aldo shrugged out of his suit jacket, let it drop, then unbuckled fully so his pants sagged to mid thigh. His firm but sagging ass, dusted with dark hair, flexed under the shirt tails as he kept the kids head bobbing.
Memories flickered, those long ago Henry Willson pool parties, where beefy screen hunks learned quick that a little cock sucking could keep the contracts coming. Aldo had watched, stayed mostly clear, but the lesson stuck. Now here he was, living it for cash.
Enough, he muttered. He hauled the young man up, spun him, and shoved him face down on the couch. The kids pants were already around his thighs. Aldo straddled him, spit thickly into his palm, and slicked his throbbing cock. The large flared head nudged the tight pink hole. Easy now just like the Navy taught me, slow and steady till she opens.
He pushed. The young man groaned. Aldo grunted as the head popped past the ring, hot and velvet tight. Fucking hot, he rasped out, voice cracking like an old record. He fed another thick inch, then another, until his dense bush ground against smooth ass cheeks and his heavy balls nestled against the kids taint. The young man was panting, pushing back, hole clenching greedily around the veiny invasion.
Aldo started slow, hips rolling, pulling out until only the fat head stretched the rim, then slamming back in balls deep. The wet slap of hairy groin on smooth flesh filled the room. He picked up speed, thick powerful limbs driving hard, sagging ass flexing with every thrust. Sweat rolled down his weathered neck, matting the chest hair that rubbed against the kids back.
Oh me! Oh! Oh! the young man cried.
Quit your complaining, Aldo growled, foghorn voice laced with that old resilient chuckle. You like getting fucked, do not ya? Feel that big Italian American cock stretchin you wide? Yeah, you do.
The young man moaned louder, pushing his ass back to meet every brutal thrust. Aldo leaned down, hot beer and cigar breath on the kids neck, full lips brushing skin. The young man twisted, trying to steal a kiss. Aldo jerked his head back.
Damn, boy, take my pecker! Take it all! He rammed deep and held, grinding, letting the kid feel every pulsing inch. You like it, boy? You like my fat dick up your ass?
Yeah you do! Aldo barked, and started pounding again, hard, fast, hips smacking loud: SMACK SMACK SMACK. The young mans hole was sloppy now, stretched wide, taking the veiny cock like it was made for it. Aldo grabbed the kids shoulder, yanking him back onto every thrust, bull neck corded with effort.
Get ready for it, he warned, voice raw.
He pulled out suddenly, cock glistening, and stroked fast with one meaty fist. A guttural roar tore from his chest. Oh yeah, Im gonna cum, UGH! and thick ropes of hot cum blasted across the young mans back, splattering his spine, shoulders, and chest. One powerful spurt caught the kids open mouth, salty and bitter. The young man shuddered, eyes closed, rubbing the load into his skin while his own hand flew on his cock.
Aldo, still breathing hard, shoved the spent cock back between those cum slick lips. Clean it up, boy. Every drop. The young man sucked greedily, tongue swirling under the foreskin, milking the last beads. Aldo finally pulled free, cock softening, and rolled off. He sat on the edge of the couch, pants still tangled at his thighs, shirt soaked with sweat. He brushed a hand across his eyes, the same hand that had once held a rifle in the Pacific and later signed autographs for fans who still remembered the hairy chested tough guy.
Jesus H. Christ, he muttered, gravelly voice tired but carrying that old blunt humor. Played a lotta parts in my day. This one this one takes the cake. He looked at the young man, then at the director. We done? I got a plane to catch and alimony to dodge.
The lights stayed hot. The camera kept rolling. And for one more day, Aldo Ray had made his buck.
Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of American actor, Aldo Ray or any person named Aldo Ray. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.
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