Author: admin

Hello I am Jaren. I was very very horny that evening and wanted to suck a dick, becoz it’s my favourite thing to do when I am horny. I couldn’t get a dick immediately; even on a dating app it takes some time to enquire and set a meeting/date. So I wanted a guy whom I knew just like a friend about whom I knew already. I had a crush on my friend  in school we used to hang out almost everyday, but he is not my best friend, I never let him be or it would get awkward if I ever got a chance to touch him. I thought about it a long time, I had my dinner and surfed YouTube for a while then I thought to tell him that I am gay (just trying to get in his pants). So I did so he said it was no problem with him , everything was chill , he said it was really good to have a gay friend. I did not understood what he meant. Then he sent me his dick pic, I did like him and his dick was good too that I wanted his dick right there and then. He asked me to video call and masterbate for him, I wanted him so I did as he said. That’s it for that day. 

Next day in the evening he messaged me again and I started flirting with him and making him horny and that worked;he asked me if I want to meet him and give him a blowjob I said yes ! I lied mom saying that he is coming to take his book that I have and I left my house. I am very daring when it comes to suck a dick, my house is in the middle of know where ,we don’t even have street lights so we decided to do it in the dark near my house in the dark. We first started chatting randomly. Then to my surprise my dad was coming from that route and luckily we hadn’t started doing anything. He said, “don’t stand in the dark”, then I replied saying it’s alright. He agreed and went home. No body else comes through this route other than  my father so we were relived after that. 

So we started kissing still being alert. He had the juiciest, plum , large lips. He entirely drenched inside of my mouth with his tongues saliva. We entangled the tongues sucked each other lips, softly caressed lips with teeth. Slowly the body place started I put my hands in his pants and I grabbed his ass tightly and fingered his ass while still kissing him. Then he grabbed my breasts and started sucking my nips with his tongue: biting, kissing, licking. It gave me the best orgasmic pleasure and then I wanted to feel his bodys heat in the cold weather so I went into his tshirt and hugged him very hardly, he too did the same, I felt the heat, it was calming and warm . Then I came out of his tshirt and went directly for his dick. First I rubbed his dick with my hand, then I kissed and licked the dick with his pants on and slowly doing the same with each layer of his clothing going out of my way making my way to his dick. I grabbed my hair and started deepthroathing me . I gaged a few times but he did not minded. He then was going to cum and he saw me and told that he is going to cum, I grabbed his ass with my hand and did not let him remove his dick from my mouth because I wanted his cum in me. He came. It was real pleasure. He asked me if I liked it and I answered him with a strong kiss. Then he stroked my dick hard because I still hadn’t came. He  got a miss call from his dad so we have to finish up and he did not wanted me to go without cumming. So he stroked and stroked while stroking we kissed completely getting into each other’s face. Then I came and we had our final kiss and he left saying that he want to do much more to me and we decided to meet more once we find a place to do the real thing. 

He was a beautiful young man. He’d been in the games shop fronting on Madison Avenue in the Pinch district of Memphis, Tennessee, about half dozen times in the last two months. He always came at the same time, about 7:30 p.m. It was late, even in the summer, for a beautiful nineteen-year-old young man like this to be out alone, especially in the red-light district of Memphis, and Sam, the proprietor of the games shop, had asked the young man about this. That’s how he knew Ryan Reynolds was only nineteen—a really good age for the clientele Sam had on the other end of this store, the less-conspicuous enterprise opening behind this one onto Monroe Avenue.

Ryan was a race mix of white and black. But he had all the really nicest attributes of each: curly black hair, light-coffee skin, but otherwise Greek good looks and physique, small of stature for a young man his age but really, really finely honed of slim, willowy body, with a good chest and narrow waist and hips. Sam wouldn’t have had trouble guessing the young man was a dancer just by his looks and how he walked. To Sam’s experienced eyes, Ryan had submissive written all over him. He hadn’t been sure when the young man first came into the store that Ryan understood or as yet accepted where his preferences were centered, but how he acted in the store and what he wanted to look at as he became comfortable being there indicated he was at least working that out.

The young man always came to the store with a pair of ballet slippers tied together and draped over his shoulder. He obviously had an Xbox at home, because he’d gone straight for the Xbox games in the front display room of this store, which offered both video games and comic books. He’d linger at the more expensive action games, but the few times he bought anything, it would be the cheaper, $10 games.

He’d seemed a bit lonely and, over the visits, Sam had sounded him out on his circumstances, using the opening of coming in at the same time of day and always having those ballet slippers.

Sam learned that, at nineteen, Ryan was a year out of high school and was working—he worked on a tree removal crew—rather than doing any more school. He was the one who went up into the top of big, old trees they were taking down and did the rope work. The dancing lessons he been taking for some time made him flexible and dexterous enough to work up at the top of the trees. He wasn’t afraid of heights, which helped tremendously. He lived at home and he couldn’t afford more schooling. He didn’t particularly like book study anyway, and wasn’t that good at it.

He was a dancer. He lived to float across stages.

He didn’t have parents who were around in the evening. His dad, who had been black, was a long-distance truckdriver, or so Ryan had been told. He’d been at long distance for as long as Ryan could remember. Although a variety of big bruiser, muscular black men visited Ryan’s mother at their small bungalow on Court Avenue, Ryan couldn’t tell if any of them was his father or not. He could say that they were men he increasingly fantasized about himself, though, as he matured into having his own sexual urges. There had never even been a mention of a marriage between his mother and any of these men.

His white mom was a ballet instructor at the nearby Ballet Memphis, on Madison Avenue, south of Overton Park. Not having anyone to take care of Ryan when he was younger meant she brought him to the dance studio with her. It had been natural that he joined the classes himself, and he had the right body and talent to be a male dancer. Her position made his tuition free.

She taught there in the evening, arriving as Ryan’s late-afternoon ballet class was letting out, and she and Ryan ate dinner near the theater before he came back to the Pinch District area and she started her evening classes. Ryan would be in bed when she got home, but she often didn’t come home alone. Often in the morning, when Ryan got up, there would be a muscular black man, half naked, sitting at their kitchen counter, drinking coffee. His mother was particularly drawn to black men. In time, so was Ryan. Ryan looked forward to those mornings, as seeing these men got him horny. This is how he’d gotten clued in that he liked men. He hadn’t done anything about that yet, though. The men who came to his house were sniffing around his mother, not him.

Ryan and his mother lived not far from Sam’s games shop, which was between where Ryan was taking ballet lessons as part of his mother’s compensation package and where the Reynolds lived.

Once Ryan had gotten comfortable with Sam, a big black bruiser like those who visited his mother, their limited small talk while Ryan was perusing the games and comics in the front room of the store became freer and more open and Sam sensed that Ryan’s interests in coming here went further than video games. Evidently, someone had told the young man about the room behind the front display room, which was another display room. Back there was an adult bookstore that also had more racy video games—specializing in gay ones.

With each successive visit by Ryan, Sam got stronger vibes that Ryan was interested in men. Sam most definitely was interested in Ryan. He was a delicious little piece. The ballet shoes also fed Sam’s greater interests as well as the more expansive games shop business in the building that ran from Madison Avenue back to Monroe. Behind this front showroom was the adult section showroom. But behind that was an area of peep show booths and then a couple of dressing rooms that could, for a price, also be undressing rooms. Then, discreetly fronting on Monroe, was a gay porn theater, with a stage set up for stripping and pole dancing.

Ryan, all grace, beauty, and willowy body and moving around the games store with ballet slippers draped off his shoulder, had given Sam an idea—and hopes. To liven up the porn movies, he occasionally brought in a stripper or pole dancer. Sam hired male dancers. Sam also fucked male dancers.

The guys who came to the movie house liked them young—the younger the better, although they didn’t want to get into trouble. Nineteen was a perfect age for them—they were developing into the bodies of men and the interests, uncertainties, and speculation about their sexuality, but they were still malleable, flexible, and more curious than wise. From the second time Ryan appeared in the store, Sam started cultivating the young man, with the hope and plan to put him on the stage in the movie house and maybe even more.

Sam wanted to fuck Ryan. There was an innocence and purity about Ryan that Sam wanted to debauch.

From the second time Ryan was in the store he increasingly showed interest in what was behind the beaded curtain doorway that led into the adult section of the store. On the third visit, Sam invited him to go back and take a look. On the fourth visit, he gave Ryan some freebee time in the peep show booths. Ryan stayed in the booth as long as Sam let him. By the end of that visit, Sam knew that Ryan was interested in men. He didn’t know if Ryan had done it with men, but he’d be just as happy if Ryan hadn’t yet. He was most interested, of course, if Ryan would do it for men, starting with dancing the pole for them. And he most certainly was interested if Ryan would do it with him.

* * * *

“I might have a deal for you. You might even have been thinking about wanting to do it yourself.”

Sam had come up to where Ryan was looking, while sort of trying not to show he was looking, at an animated gay pornographic comic book in the adult section of the games store. Sam had let Ryan pass into the room fifteen minutes earlier after the young man had looked at the Xbox games in the first showroom. Sam had watched what games Ryan looked at and he had one of them—a new, expensive one, “Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice”—in his hand. Also in the hand was a small, shiny red-silk jock strap.

“A deal for me?” Ryan asked. His eyes went to the game box. He took in the jock strap too, but it was sort of bunched up and he didn’t appear to have any idea what it was. He certainly didn’t act as if it was threatening in any way.

“You’re always coming in with those ballet slippers hanging over your shoulder. And you’ve said you stop in here after dance classes. Have you had a lot of dance classes, Ryan?”

“I’ve been taking dance since I was five,” the young man said. “My mother’s a teacher at the school. It’s something we can do together.”

“You do it at the same time?”

“Well, no, not usually. When there are productions we’re together. There aren’t many male dancers. They always need me. But usually my classes are in the late afternoon, after work. My mother teaches classes in the evening.”

“So, she’s not around in the evening.”

“No, not usually.”

“And you’re free then to do what you like?”

“Yes. It used to be that she’d check up on me in the evening, make sure I was home and doing homework and stuff. But she’s loosened up since I got out of school and gotten older. The evening’s when I like to play with the Xbox games, though so I don’t go out much, or anything.”

“But you like it too, don’t you? Dancing, and being in productions?”

“Yeah, I like dancing. It’s something I can do, and do well, that other guys aren’t doing. But I’m also into sports,” he said, somewhat defensively. “I played soccer and basketball at school and was on the swim team. The dancing helped me with those. I play pickup ball still when I can. I like moving around at the top of trees, high off the ground too. Maybe I’d be in the circus if there was one around here.”

“Yes, I can see you’ve got a good body, Ryan. A great body. And I can understand where dancing would make you really flexible and fast with the reflexes. Do you just do ballet, or do you do other dancing too? Modern dancing?”

“Yeah. Modern and tap, everything. My mother makes sure I can do more than ballet.”

“Do you use a pole ever when you dance?” Ryan moved to a slightly guarded look. “It’s OK if you do,” Sam quickly added. “You’ve looked at some of the magazines in this room. You see that it has some of the guys dancing on a pole. They have great bodies, just like you do. Have you ever thought about—?”

“Yeah, I do dancing like that,” Ryan broke in. “Not at the dance school, but I was looking at these magazines and at a couple of the films you let me see in booths. I thought I could do dancing like that—so I’ve tried it out. Without the pole, of course . . . at home when I’m alone. We do have a pole holding up a beam in the basement at the house. It’s thicker than the ones I see in the videos. But I’ve been using that to practice. I think I’ve got the moves down pretty well. I think I could do it fine on a thinner pole.”

“Would you like to have an audience for it?”

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked. His eyes got big when Sam switched the game box to under his other arm and shook out the red-silk jock strap. He let it drape down from his fingers.

“You know what this is, Ryan?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, hesitantly. “It’s pretty skimpy, though.”

“It would look great on a finely honed body—one like yours. You ever worn something like this when you were practicing dancing the pole?”

“Well, I do it with just my briefs on—nothing that skimpy.”

“But you’d like to dance in this. It would be like the costumes you dance in for your mom’s productions.”

“Well, it’s like what I’d wear under the costume.”

“But you’ve thought of how much freer your movements would be—how much better your muscle definitions could be seen just in something like this, right?”

“I guess so.” Sam could see the young man’s hand brush his crotch, like it was getting tight down there. The man hoped that was what the effect of this discussion was.

“You’d look really good dancing the pole in this, Ryan?”

“I would?”

“Absolutely. We have a theater back beyond the area with the film booths. It’s got a stage and a pole and all. And a sound system. We could play some background music for you. You could wear this. There are guys back there now. They’re watching a movie, but I know they’d like to see you dance—like you’ve seen in the magazines here and in the movies you’ve looked at in the booths. You could try it out to see if you liked it. You’re a really good-looking guy”—Sam was avoiding calling him a young man, but that, in fact, would be his biggest attraction to the guys in the theater—“and I think with a great little body like yours, the guys would really like to see you dance. You’ve thought about doing it. I know you have.”

“Just wearing that?”

“Yes, just wearing this. And not wearing this when you comfortable with that.”

“Naked?”

“Yes, naked, Ryan. Like the guys you see in the peep show films. You’ve danced the pole in your basement, haven’t you? I know you have.”

Ryan’s blush and failure to verbalize an answer confirmed that.

“You’d look as good as any of those,” Sam continued. “The men would love watching you dance the pole—just like you like to watch what men do in these peep show videos. They’d send money up to the stage, I’ll bet, and you could afford those Xbox games you’ve been looking at.”

“Like that one in your hand?” Ryan asked.

“Not this one, Ryan. You wouldn’t have to pay for this one. I brought this one here because I saw you looking at it—not just today, but the last couple of times you were in here. You could have this one if you wore just this jock strap and you danced for the men for fifteen minutes. You dance for free in your mom’s productions and in your basement. Here you’d be paid and men would watch and admire you.”

“Fifteen minutes? On a stage, with a pole? Now?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, now. I think you’ve been thinking of doing this in front of guys. You’ve put all of this work into your dancing. I think you want to show it off—and to guys who can think about you like you think about those guys on the poles in the magazines and the movies I’ve shown you. Don’t fight it, Ryan. I’ve watched you. It’s what you want. Follow your natural wants. Dance for the men.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You’ve looked at other, more expensive Xbox games in the other room. I’ve seen you do it. I’ve seen you look at ‘Bless Unleashed: Ultimate Founders,’ for instance. I’ll give you that one too—the two Xbox games—if you put this on and dance the pole for the guys in the theater. Fifteen minutes. Two expensive Xbox games for fifteen minutes of dancing. You do it once and if you don’t like it, you wouldn’t have to do it ever again and you’d still have these games. You’d be working a paying job.”

“I guess maybe I could.”

“But you’d have to slip the jock off for a couple of minutes at the end.”

“Get naked, on stage. For both of those games?”

“Yes. I think you want to get naked for men, Ryan. You’ve developed a great body. I think you want men to see it and admire it.” This was going down better than Sam expected, so he pushed it.

“And then you could dance just for me, Ryan. We get along good. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I think I can help you get to where you’ve been dreaming to go.”

Sam had been saving this card. He knew the young man pined for him—that Ryan kept coming to the store as much to be with a big, black dude as to look at the games. Sam was banking on Ryan wanting him so bad that he’d lay down and open his legs to him. The young man had told Sam of the black bruisers who visited his mother and revealed, whether he meant to or not, how they turned him on. Sam was just such a black stud and he was attracted to Ryan as much as Ryan could possibly be attracted to him.

“Just for you? Just you and me? Dancing?”

“That and more, Ryan, if you want . . . when you’re ready. Have you ever been with a black man?”

“No,” Ryan whispered.

“But you’ve been thinking of it, haven’t you? A lot.”

Ryan didn’t answer.

Sam took the young man’s hand and moved it to his crotch. Ryan didn’t take it away. Sam unzipped himself and moved Ryan’s hand inside his fly. Ryan didn’t take the hand away then either. “Maybe you’d like to pick out a third game yourself,” Sam said.

* * * *

Ryan danced for about twenty guys in the theater just wearing the red-silk jock strap. The performance had been a surprise appearance, so, although the men in the theater were quite enthusiastic—QUITE enthusiastic—to see Ryan’s dance, there wasn’t much tip money. They hadn’t brought much money to spare. They were making a lot of cell phone calls, though, in addition to taking cell phone photos, applauding, reigning wolf whistles down on the young man, and otherwise letting him know they were impressed. The noise level doubled when, near the end of the dance, the jock strap came off, the spotlight zeroed in on the totally revealed delicious body for two seconds, and then the lights went out.

Sam was there, at the beaded-curtain entrance to the backstage, when Ryan came off the platform, the jock strap hang from a wrist. Sam had four Xbox games under his arm. Ryan had gotten to pick one of them out himself.

“They loved you, kid,” Sam said. “But it was a surprise you were going to dance. Did you see them making calls on their phones? If you take a break and go back on in a half hour, I think you’ll find the theater packed and they will have brought tip money.”

“Another dance?” Ryan asked. He was flushed. The dancing he’d done had been exhilarating. He’d never felt so free and so much the focus of attention. This was much more attention his dancing had gotten than the recitals and musicals he’d been in in the Ballet Memphis.

“I’d add another game. I brought ‘Red Dead Redemption 2.’ I know you’ve looked at that.”

“Sure, why not?” Ryan said, all smiles. He would have gone back on without an incentive. The reception had been exhilarating. He’d never been in the spotlight, the focus of attention, like that before.

Sam had been right. The theater was packed when Ryan went out to dance again. It was a small theater, but there were well over fifty men in the audience now. And they’d brought money. Sam had been out there, talking to the men while Ryan was on break, spending his time looking over the game boxes Sam had given him. Before he went on again, Sam told him that if he left the pole a couple of times and came over to the front of the stage, there’d be men who would put money in the waistband of the jock strap. Ryan could have half of what the men gave him. Sam, of course, would take the rest for having set all of this up.

“When they put the money in your band, most of them will want to feel you up too. That’ll be OK with you, won’t it? You’ll find you like that.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And I think we won’t turn off the lights so quickly at the end this time. OK?”

“OK, fine.”

And they did feel him up, and he did like it, although he was embarrassed that it made him go hard. They seemed to like that just fine, though.

Ryan was backstage, just inside the beaded curtains covering the doorway into the dressing room area, counting the money he’d pulled out of his waistband and off the floor when Sam came to him.

“There are some guys here who will pay you—us—big bucks if you’ll let them . . . you know.”

“Let them what?”

“They want to fuck you.”

“Fuck me . . . I’ve never—”

“On stage, with the others watching.”

“Shit.”

“I know you want to do it, Ryan. That you’ve been working up to doing it, not just looking at magazines and movies. We’ve talked. I know you haven’t said outright . . . but I know what you want. I think you want it from me. You do this and we’ll see.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“The opportunity is now. It’s great if you’ve never done it before. There’s a guy here who’ll pay $250 if you haven’t. And a couple of other guys who will pay $100 each for seconds. That would be $225 to you . . . easy money, on top of the tips for dancing the pole, and it would get you beyond whatever barrier there’s been to what you want—what I know you want.”

Ryan, of course, had no idea at all what men were really willing to pay for this sort of first-time performance.

“I don’t know.” It was easy for Sam to say—big, black, beautiful Sam, who Ryan had been fantasizing about for weeks—but not so easy for Ryan, even though he’d been fantasizing about doing it with men for months. He wanted to please Sam. He wanted Sam . . . he’d been telling himself that was what he wanted.

“I know you’ve been curious about the sexy game Web sites in the booths that are for pay. There’s one you asked me about. ‘Cock Ville.’ You go with these guys, Ryan, and I’ll buy you a year’s subscription to ‘Cock Ville’. It wouldn’t be in your name, so nobody but you and I would know you had access to it, but you’d have the password. You could watch when you wanted to and when your mother and her boyfriends weren’t around. A whole year of it. What do you say? We could watch it together sometime.”

* * * *

Ryan and Sam didn’t get the chance to discuss the “will you or won’t you?” further as they moved into one of the dressing rooms between the movie theater and the video game store. Twenty minutes later the question had no meaning.

Three men were waiting for them in the dressing room. The first gang bang would not be on the stage.

All three had their pants and briefs off and their cocks out and in their hands. Sam just stood back as the three men, one on the hefty side, with a beer belly, and middle aged and the other two younger, but more scraggy than the older guy, each handed Sam a wad of cash and then, together, hustled Ryan over to the single bed in the center of the room and forced him down on his back, his legs dangling over the foot of the bed. Ryan gave a plaintive look at Sam, who raised the hand he was holding the wad of cash the three men had given him. He gave the young man a quizzical look. Resigned, Ryan gave a nod and laid back on the bed and closed his eyes.

One guy held Ryan’s shoulder down on one side and the other younger guy did the same on his side. The older, heavier guy stood between Ryan’s legs at the foot of the bed and pulled the red-silk bock strap off the young man’s legs, leaving him naked. At a signal from the older guy, the other two grasped Ryan’s legs under his knees and pushed his knees up into his chest, rolling his pelvis up. The heavier guy dropped to his knees and pressed his face between the young man’s butt cheeks, going for the hole with his tongue and eating Ryan out. His hands snaked their way up the young man’s torso and worried his nipples with pinching fingers.

Ryan didn’t resist them after they’d gotten him immobilized. He lay there, panting and groaning, the mantra “I wanted this. I wanted this. They’re paying me for it. I wanted this” going over and over in his mind. His arousal skyrocketed as the older guy ate him out.

They were going to fuck him. They were going to fuck him. They say it’s painful at first, but you get over it, he told himself. It’s something you have to do to get to where you want to go. He was beginning to get pleasure out of the tongue working his hole and beginning to move his pelvis against the tonguing. He yelped when the man bit him on the buttocks, first on one side and then the other, but then the man started covering Ryan’s cock, which had gone hard, with his mouth and was sucking it, and Ryan let out a long moan. Ryan’s arms were free, and he moved his hands down to run his fingers into the hair on the head of the man eating him out and to hold the head to him, signaling surrender. His mouth became otherwise occupied then as one of the other guys, standing beside him, forced his shaft into Ryan’s mouth. He’d seen this being done in the videos. He gave the cock suck.

I wanted this. I wanted to learn how to do this. I’m getting paid for this.

In short order, expelling the shaft from his mouth, digging his fingers into the side edges of the bed, arching his back, and crying out, “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck,” Ryan began to writhe within the grip of the three men, but to no avail. The shafting had begun.

The heavier man had come up on his feet, hovered over Ryan, put the bulb of his erection in place, and was working his way into Ryan’s channel. He relentlessly worked at it. Ryan gave up on his struggling and collapsed on the bed, the man on each side of him holding him down, as the cock gained purchase and the man fucked him and fucked him. That phase—the “no longer a virgin to a man’s cock” phase—was over in under ten minutes. The man was excited at being able to deflower a young honey, and he wasn’t a long-laster to begin with. At least, to Ryan’s benefit, he also wasn’t overly big.

The next two weren’t overly big either. The first one to fuck Ryan after the heavier man was done turned Ryan onto his belly, at the bottom edge of the bed. Ryan’s feet scrabbled at the bare wood of the floor behind the bed until the man was in good, and then he just lay there, as the man covered him, the heels of his hands pressed into Ryan’s shoulder blades, and fucked him in the doggie position. The third man took Ryan in the same position. Ryan didn’t resist either one of them. After the first time—a first time he’d fantasized about having, if not like this—it didn’t seem to matter anymore. All three stretched Ryan’s channel and filled him and worked him. All three possessed him and breeded him. None of it was as good as Ryan imagined it would be—not yet, anyway—but all of it gave him hints of how it could be, how it could get him off good too. And he could make money out of it.

And it was done now.

Ryan’s first three men weren’t all that big in the cock and they didn’t take long in getting off, but Sam was a big, black bull. He was monster hung and he took his time.

Sam was seeing the three men out of the room and counting their money when he looked over at the bed. Ryan was lying there, on his belly, one leg and an arm dangling off the side of the bed. His eyes were following Sam’s movements.

“You OK there, Ryan?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Ryan answered in a low voice.

“You made $225 off just this. We haven’t counted your dancing tips yet. Bet it pays better than chopping down trees does.”

“Good.”

“You wanted to get to here, didn’t you Ryan? You’re still good with this?”

“Yes,” Ryan answered. Then, with a groan, he rolled over onto his back on the bed, gripped his legs under the knees, and spread and raised them, exposing his dilated hole. His slender legs went up into a V and he pointed his feet daintily like he was in the ballet. This was going to be the good part. “I want you to—”

But he didn’t have to complete that sentence, Sam was already stripping, and standing there, naked, in all of his big, black, muscular, hung, beauty. Ryan’s comment was a long, deep moan.

Sam fucked Ryan for nearly an hour, holding him in various positions, taking his time possessing and working Ryan’s channel with a mammoth cock, making love to him with his voice and his hands and his cock, showing Ryan how good it could be. Sobbing and whispering, “Yes, yes, like that,” Ryan opened fully to the big, black bull. Giving it all to him.

Afterward, Sam, holding Ryan in close embrace, whispered, “Do you think you can . . . do you want to . . . will you—?”

“When is the next time you want me to dance the pole?” Ryan asked.

“Two days? Friday evening? There’d be quite a crowd. I’d give you another Xbox game. ‘Sword Art Online: Fatal Bullet’ maybe? You don’t have that one yet, do you?”

“OK.”

“And will you . . . ? Can I line up a few men? Will you take cock for money again?”

“Sure.” It’s what I want; it’s what I want, Ryan kept running through his brain.

“On the stage, with other men watching?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want, Ryan. That’s what the men want too.”

“VinnyMuscleStallion?” Coach Stan queries his mentee and Tri-State Wrestling Fed Champ BlackAlpha after their workout.  “Yeah, he deserves a title shot. The Stallion has paid his dues and then some,” replies the ebony muscle hunk. “But it will be two Faces, two Heros in the ring. Some fans always want at least one Alpha Heel,” objects Stan. “I can be a nasty Heel if need be Coach.  You saw me take down JackedStud and RedDante.  And Vinny can play dirty.  He’s not afraid to dish out a low blow,” says the champ, adding “Have you ever thought of challenging the Stallion’s Coach, Daddy Dom Sal? He’s a definite Heel and you’re a Hero so it would meet your criterion for a hot match.” Mulling it over, Stan arches his brow at BlackAlpha. “If I lost, I’m not sure I could handle Sal’s 9” cut cock. You remember he and I double penetrated the blonde Tarzan JackedStud but I’ve never been fucked by such a large cock.” BlackAlpha grins “Well, I’m confident you’d whip his candy ass just like JackedStud did at Sal’s own ring. And your 8.5” fat cock is more than enough to split apart the Muscle Daddy’s ass. The more I think about it, the more I love this idea. Two Muscle Daddies, and one of them’s gonna get demolished and fucked.”

A few days later…. “Coach Stan?” Vinny asks his mentor and trainer Daddy Dom Sal at the local Bay Ridge diner. “I got a call from BlackAlpha’s promoter,” explains Sal, “The champ wants to give a shot at his title but thinks a Muscle Daddy vs Muscle Daddy match should happen first. Thinks it will be a huge draw with a nice purse and it can be held in the Williamsburg Arena this Friday night.” “What’d you say?” asks the smooth olive-skinned muscled Stallion. Sal shrugs and replies “I told him hell yes, I’d like a piece of ebony ass after I take the Coach apart. But I insisted on one condition.” “Which is?” “Said I wanted a first to cum match followed by stakes.” “Wow” says Vinny, “I’d pay to see that spectacle, two Muscle Daddies trying to milk each other.” “He thinks he can beat me cause JackedStud did but I know different,” says Sal.

When Friday night arrives, the Williamsburg Arena is crammed with loud and rowdy fans. They’re buzzing in anticipation over seeing Coach Stan go toe to toe with Daddy Dom Sal. Stan arrives early and does a light chest and arms workout to get a nice pump going. At age 51, the Coach has stayed very fit, having built a chiseled physique during his lengthy stay at Green Haven Correctional Facility where he trained BlackAlpha. Standing at 6’1” and weighing 220 pounds, he has smooth 50” pecs and defined 20” biceps with washboard abs that verge on an eight pack. He now keeps his pits and crotch area shaved, the latter to highlight his 8.5” cut beast. Tonight he wraps a cock ring around his balls and the base of his shaft, which pump up the Coach’s big cum veins.  He knows Daddy Dom Sal may be unable to control his horniness once he sees such a perfect tool.  He stuffs his impressive equipment into his royal blue Speedos with the word “COACH” in gold letters on the back and laces up his matching size 12 blue boots. “Ready Coach?” asks BlackAlpha as he puts his handsome face in the doorway of the locker room. “Yep champ!” responds Coach Stan before double bi flexing for his mentee and trainee.  The black titleholder whistles at the sight of his muscled mentor and bulging package “Wow, you sure are bro!”  

Just then Daddy Dom Sal struts into the locker room. Seeing his rival Daddy’s biceps flexing, Sal snarls  “Save it jobber bitch for the ring. You’re not impressing anyone here old man.” Coach Stan retorts “Fuck you!” and makes a move towards Sal but BlackAlpha blocks his path. “Now, now, you Muscle Daddies,” says the champ, “No reason to mix it up in here. After all, we were allies against JackedStud when we took him to school.” “Yeah, well, that was then and this is now.  Coach Stan’s gonna learn what it means to be heeled by an Alpha Dog. When I milk him dry, the jobber will be moaning like a true bitch,” replies Daddy Dom Sal. Again Coach Stan begins to advance but BlackAlpha holds him back and wraps him in a royal blue cloak with gold trim before escorting him from the locker room to the backstage curtains.

Truth is Sal has lost only once and that was to the blonde behemoth JackedStud. Otherwise he’s destroyed other would-be Alphas, including his trainee Vinny, and bred them with his 9” cut cock.  At 46, Sal is younger than Stan. He too has kept himself in peak condition. He’s got a height advantage at 6’3” and he weighs 225 pounds. His pecs and biceps are the same as Stan’s at 50” and 20” respectively. Like Stan, he’s bald but, true to his Daddy Dom nickname, he sports a black and silver speckled closely cropped beard with beautiful green eyes. His 9” cut monster is obscenely thick and perpetually semi-hard.  

Tonight Sal gears up in his signature red Speedos with the initials “DDS” in white lettering on the back covering his ass. Sal puts on his matching size 13 red boots with white laces. He pauses by the full length mirror to admire his chest sprinkled with trimmed white hair. The rest of his Muscle Daddy body is all smooth to accentuate his defined muscles. “Yo Coach!” VinnyMuscleStallion says as he enters the locker room.  “Vinny my man!” responds Sal as he looks away from his handsome as fuck face and body in the mirror. “Showtime Daddy Dom!” says Vinny as both can hear the roar of the Williamsburg crowd.

“NOW FOR OUR MAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING,” shouts the ring announcer, “A SPECIAL ‘FIRST TO CUM’ STAKES MATCH BETWEEN TWO OF THE SEXIEST MUSCLE DADDIES IN THE TRI-STATE FED IN WHICH NO HOLDS ARE BARRED!”  The fans erupt in a frenzy as the announcer continues “INTRODUCING, FIRST, A MAN WE’VE ALL COME TO LOVE SINCE HE WAS RELEASED FROM PRISON, THE DADDY HUNK WHO TRAINED YOUR CHAMP, BLACK ALPHA, YOUR HERO, COACH STAN!!!” 

The crowd cheers wildly as Coach Stan, clad in his royal blue cloak, walks through the curtains brimming with confidence and grinning widely. He ambles down the ramp way fist bumping onlookers along the way. The fit Muscle Daddy struts up the metal stairs and slides between the top and middle ropes into the ring. He unhooks his cloak to reveal his hunky upper torso with those large pecs and big nipples then goes into a crab pose to flex his chest, shoulders and biceps for the adoring fans who chant “COACH!  COACH! COACH!” There’s a smattering of boos as well but the crowd seems firmly on Stan’s side.

“NOW INTRODUCING THE OTHER MUSCLE DADDY, THE BIGGEST HEEL IN BAY RIDGE BROOKLYN, THE ALPHA WHO WAS A TEN-TIME DEFENDING TRI-STATE WRESTLING FED CHAMP BEFORE RETIRING UNDEFEATED IN THE RING, THE ONE AND ONLY SAVAGE DADDY DOM SAL!!!” The fans turn to the curtains to see VinnyMuscleStallion pull them back for the Daddy Dom who marches through the opening and down the ramp way. The crowd lets out a torrent of boos and jeers even though they realize Sal is a respected Alpha Heel. Sal points up at Coach Stan and shouts “COMING FOR YOU OLD MAN!” which enrages the fans. Stan just smiles down at Sal and yells back “OH YEAH BITCH, OH YEAH?”

Vinny follows Coach Stan wearing his Italia tank top showing off his 22” pecs and perfectly shaped chest that stretches the fabric of the tight tank. He’s grinning and fist bumping his way down the ramp way.  When the two hunks arrive at the ring, Vinny makes a big show of escorting his trainer and mentor up the stairs where he pulls the top and middle ropes apart so Sal can step into the ring. A few chants of “VMS! VMS! VMS!” are heard but most of the fans are booing and shouting obscenities at the Daddy Dom. 

Suddenly BlackAlpha wearing a tight white tank and jeans appears behind the ring post in Coach Stan’s corner and hollers “Hey Stallion, what the fuck are you doing? This fight’s between our coaches, our Muscle Daddies!” Vinny literally smirks at the ebony champ “I’m in my Daddy Dom’s corner chump. Deal with it!” The crowd can’t believe the Stallion’s disrespect for the nine-time Tri-State Wrestling Fed champ and starts to chant “CHAMP NOT CHUMP! CHAMP NOT CHUMP!” but BlackAlpha just grins and retorts “OKAY PONY BITCH, OKAY!  I’M GIVING YOU A TITLE SHOT AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME?”

With Vinny and BlackAlpha now glaring at each other down in their mentor’s respective corners, the ref calls Coach Stan and Daddy Dom to center ring. He says the first to cum loses the match and gets fucked.  The ref adds that it’s no holds barred and his role is really to just declare the winner after the cum load. Coach Stan reaches out to fist bump Sal but the Heel just snorts “All nine inches ready to ram your ass!” The ref motions the two Muscle Daddies to their corners and the crowd quiets waiting for the bell.

DING!  DING!  DING!

The sexy Daddy Hunks move towards center ring and, as if on cue, both raise their thickly muscled arms and engage each other’s hands above their heads in a classic test of strength. The two men’s sculpted chests collide and their faces grimacing come so close they could kiss.  Sal has a small height and weight advantage and begins to press down on Coach Stan. He manages to pull down Stan’s arms and bend his wrists backwards. The older wrestler grunts hard as he feels Sal take charge and drops slowly but surely to one knee as the fans fret. Sal, pushing harder, forces the hunky Coach down onto a second knee. “JUST WHERE YOU BELONG, ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES!” hollers Daddy Dom Sal.

But Stan wriggles his wrists free of Sal’s grasp and reaches forward quickly, grabbing his rival Daddy’s thick quads then LIFTING them skyward and SLAMMING the Heel onto his back shaking the ring. The fans react with an explosion of cheers for BlackAlpha’s mentor as he reverses an early humiliation.  Still holding Sal’s quads, Stan gets up and looks down at Daddy Dom before hooking his calves in his smooth armpits. “THIS RING NEEDS TO BE SWEPT!” barks Coach Stan with a devilish gleam in his eye.  With Sal flailing his arms on the mat, the Coach starts to walk around the ring firmly holding Sal’s legs and literally using his back as a broom sweeping to the right then to the left as Stan owns the Heel to the fan’s delight.  Sal’s not happy as he’s in no real pain but is being taken for a ride by the older Daddy to his dismay.

Knowing this bit of domination over the bigger hunk won’t force a cum load, Stan suddenly drops Sal’s left leg and heaves the Heel up and over onto his chest before yanking on his right leg and contorting his back in a single legged crab. “UUUGGGHHHH” yells the Daddy Dom but just then he feels Stan’s free hand reach down and into the leg hole of his red Speedos to apply a BALL CLAW to Sal’s impressive equipment.  “AAAARGGGGGHHHH” screams the younger Dom as his balls are squeezed and twisted.  He feels his 9” shaft thickening quickly as his nuts are tortured. “HOW’S THIS FEEL BITCH?’ shouts Stan.

Sal knows his balls are a huge vulnerability. He could cum without Stan jerking his cock if his balls are roughly manhandled like this for more than a couple of minutes. The horny fans are eating this up yelling “MAKE HIM CUM! MAKE HIM CUM!” Sal knows he has to act quickly or the match will end early and he’ll be fucked into tomorrow by Coach Stan. Mustering his strength, Sal pulls his leg towards his head then KICKS backwards as hard as he can, sending the Coach hurdling back towards Sal’s corner.  CLANG! Coach Stan’s back hits the top turnbuckle. He’s a bit stunned but not hurt and immediately tries to move out of the corner back to Sal who’s just rising from the canvass after his kick out. “OH NO YOU DON’T!” chides the Stallion from the apron as he grabs Coach Stan’s forearms and yanks them backwards on each side of the ring post. Sal grins malevolently as he walks towards the momentarily incapacitated Coach.

With BlackAlpha trying to get the ref’s attention to stop Vinny from interfering, Sal begins a barrage of jabs and upper cuts POUNDING the older hunk’s smooth round pecs then BLASTING his near eight pack.  POW! POW! THWACK! POW! POW! THWACK!” As Stan starts to sag onto the middle turnbuckle, Sal reaches in and grabs the waistband of the Coach’s royal blue Speedos then yanks it out so far that Stan’s caramel colored balls make a fleeting appearance. Sal then SLAMS his fist into Stan’s upper abs. WHAM!  “OOOHHHFFF!” groans the champ’s hunky mentor.  With Vinny still holding Stan’s arms, Sal pulls his opponent’s left leg up and over the middle rope on one side of the ring post then pulls the left leg up and over the middle rope on the other side almost splitting apart the Coach. “AAAAAGGGHHHHH!” shrieks the veteran as his groin is stretched to the max. Sal winks at Vinny before shoving his hand into the pouch of Coach Stan’s Speedos. His fingertips graze Stan’s hardening 8.5” cock before applying a wicked BALL CLAW of his own and TWISTING Stan’s nuts into a pretzel. “OHHHHH. FUUCCKKK!” cries the Coach as his eyes are bulging and watering.  Sal’s claw is made even easier by the cock ring around Coach’s big balls plumping them up.  The Williamsburg Arena fans boo louder than ever as Sal totally owns Stan.

After about thirty seconds, Sal releases the claw and, as the ref finally approaches the corner, Vinny lets go of Stan’s arms and raises his own as if he had done nothing.  The Coach’s body sags and his ass drops down onto the bottom turnbuckle clearly needing a moment to recover.  But Sal leans down and wraps his forearm around Stan’s neck and drags him up and onto his feet then rushes the champ’s wobbly mentor forward towards center ring before BULLDOGGING his face into the mat. BAM! Coach’s well-defined muscled body flips involuntarily onto his back and convulses for all to see.

BlackAlpha can’t contain himself. He jumps over the top rope in Stan’s corner and advances on Daddy Dom Sal but the ref blocks his path to shouts of “NO! NO!” from the fans. The ref pushes the champ back into the corner and motions him to get out of the ring. The ebony hunk reluctantly steps between the top and middle ropes back onto the apron just as Muscle Daddy Dom Sal kicks Coach Stan back onto his chest and leans down to grab the back of his royal blue Speedos. He then yanks upwards giving Stan the WEDGIE of his life, which compresses the older hunk’s cock and balls. “NNNGGGGHHHHH!” screams the humiliated Daddy. Holding Stan by the back of his gear a few feet off the ground, Sal quickly drops to one knee while extending the other and releasing his grip so Stan’s package SMASHES into his knee.

The announcer blurts out “FANS, I’M NOT SURE HOW MUCH MORE STAN CAN TAKE!” Sal wastes no time pulling Coach’s head into a tight side headlock and dragging his unsteady body to the nearby ropes.  There, he immediately turns Stan around and LOCKS his arms between the top and middle ropes before taking both hands and DIGGING them into the Coach’s beautiful pecs in a massive PEC CLAW.  “PLEASE MAN, PLEASE!” begs the champ’s coach and mentor as Sal moves his right hand south and inside the waistband of Coach’s Speedo again, applying yet another BALL CLAW while feeling wetness on his hand.  “STAN MY MAN, YOU’RE JIZZING!” exclaims Sal as he paralyzes the hunky ebony veteran wrestler.

Without warning, Sal releases the pec and ball claws then grabs the sides of Stan’s Speedos and peels them down his legs and off, exposing the Coach’s very hard and thick 8.5” beast with a string of pre-cum falling toward the canvass. Stan has only his royal blue boots on as some in the audience whistle at the sight of his perfect cock and the cock ring wrapped around his balls and the base of his shaft.  The 46-year old Heel flips Stan’s pre-cum smeared Speedos to Vinny and vaults over the top rope. He gets behind the naked bound hero and wraps his left arm around Coach’s waist while encircling his hard shaft with his right hand.  As the fans start shouting “NOOOOOOO!” Daddy Dom flashes a cocky grin and begins milking the black Daddy. Stan starts moaning and Sal whispers into the Coach’s ear “So fucking responsive!  I love it!”

Just as Sal adds a dry humping motion into Stan’s crack, he feels his own quads being grabbed and “FFUUCCCKKK!,” he shouts as he is pulled backwards and off the apron. He falls onto his ass on the padded floor to the laughter of the fans who are relieved to see Coach spared more humiliation. Sal looks up startled from his fall to see BlackAlpha staring down at him and laughing with the crowd.  Vinny tries to run around the padded floor to Sal but the ref turns him back. Before Sal can recover, the champ reaches down and yanks Daddy Dom’s red Speedos down his legs. Shouts of “WHOA!” are heard from just behind the barricade as the fans close to the ring see Sal’s hard cock spring free…all nine inches of it. BlackAlpha says “JUST MAKING THIS A FAIR FIGHT DADDY!” as he scoops up Sal across his 6’4” 245 pound muscled frame covered by his tight blue tank and rolls his body under the bottom rope back into the ring.

Stan meanwhile has untied his arms from the ropes and, as soon as Sal comes to a stop at his feet, he reaches down and wraps his arms around the Daddy Dom’s waist. Stan yanks Sal’s back up against his chest before dropping to one knee, extending the other, and SLAMMING Sal onto his outstretched knee. CRACK! “AAAAGGGGHHHHH!” screams Sal but before he knows it Stan scoops him up one more time and CRACK! Another OTK back breaker!  Stan now bends the bigger Daddy over his knee, pressing his quads down with one hand while wrapping his other around Sal’s nuts before YANKING and TWISTING them. Sal’s shrieks fills the Williamsburg Arena as the Coach takes control of Daddy Dom to the fan’s delirious cheers. Holding his rival Daddy in place, Stan begins to jerk his cock and sees a bead of pre-cum  leak from Sal’s slit. Vinny jumps over the top rope and heads towards the two wrestlers but BlackAlpha bounds over the top rope in the far corner, rushes at the Stallion and CLOTHELINES his upper torso SLAMMING the Italian American stud onto his back hard as the crowd goes wild. BlackAlpha then drags Vinny by his thick black hair to his feet and whips the stud around and over the top rope onto the floor.

Coach Stan discards Sal’s naked body off his knee. He stands up and strikes a double bi flex pose for the adoring fans.  With his cock fully erect and leaking, and with his cum veins throbbing, the Coach reaches down and drags Sal to his feet before hauling him up onto Stan’s broad shoulders.  With one hand on Daddy Dom’s throat and the other wrapped around his hard 9” shaft, Stan parades Sal around the ring in a TORTURE RACK while jerking the Bay Ridge Heel to the roar of the fans who sense victory is close.  Sal can feel his climax getting close and worries his fuck hole is about to be destroyed by Stan.

BlackAlpha, having walked back to his Coach’s corner, leans against the turnbuckles and watches Stan’s impressive domination of the Daddy Dom Heel. He grins widely as Daddy Dom is taken to school by a true  Hero. Sal is moaning and groaning in the torture rack as his back is compressed and his cock stroked. Suddenly BlackAlpha feels his head covered by “WHAT THE FUCK?” wet and sticky royal blue Speedos….Stan’s Speedos.  A revived Vinny has snuck up behind the champ and from the apron shoves one leg hole of the trunks over and around BlackAlpha’s neck then yanks the champ’s head backwards. As the fabric covers the black stud’s nose and mouth, he smells his Coach’s pre-cum.  Vinny runs the other leg hole over the top of the ring post, locking the ebony stud’s head against the post.  From outside the ring, the Stallion pushes BlackAlpha onto his knees in the corner then wraps his 22” left cep around the champ’s throat, squeezing hard and clamping on a SLEEPER. The black HERO’s arms flail wildly as Vinny crushes his windpipe. Stan is facing the opposite way. He hears loud boos and is confused as the fans were cheering his torture rack of Daddy Dom Sal just a moment before.  

BlackAlpha’s flapping arms and legs slow and finally droop down as the champ gasps and goes to sleepy land in the Stallion’s Alpha man vice. “YES!” shouts Vinny as he RIPS off his Italia tank revealing his amazing upper body, including 54” smooth pecs, and quickly ties BlackAlpha’s left wrist with it before tying the other end of the tank to the metal strap between the post and the top rope. As the crowd boos the Stallion’s Heel turn, Vinny RIPS BlackAlpha’s white tank off his sculpted torso and immediately ties the champ’s right wrist with it before tying that arm into the metal strap on the other side of the ring post.

The crowd is stunned at the sight of the unconscious ebony hunk bound to the corner with Stan’s own Speedos and the torn tank tops of BlackAlpha and the Stallion. Stan still has Sal in his torture rack but, as he turns back to his corner, his confident grin turns into a look of horror. The Stallion shouts “SORRY STAN, YOUR SLEEPING CHUMP IS ALL TIED UP WITH NO PLACE TO GO!” as boos rain down on the Bay Ridge hunk. The Stallion smirks and unbuttons the champ’s jeans before pulling them down his thick black quads revealing the stud’s gold thong barely containing his 9” thick manhood.  Stan hasn’t stopped milking the Alpha Heel in his RACK AND JERK and Sal moans “HELP VINNY!  I’M GONNA CUM!” The Stallion doesn’t hesitate, rushing forward, leaning down and SPEARING Stan in the lower abs toppling him backwards as Sal crashes to the canvass and the ring shakes like a proverbial earthquake.

Stan lands on his back and Daddy Dom Sal finds himself lying next to his tormentor. He realizes he has to act swiftly and rolls his body chest first onto Coach Stan’s magnificently muscled body.  The two men’s pulsating cocks rub against each other momentarily until Sal slides up and school boy pins BlackAlpha’s mentor.  As the crowd jeers, he takes his hard cock and BITCH SLAPS Stan’s face spraying pre-cum on his cheeks. He then reaches backwards and begins to milk the ebony hunk’s thick 8.5” cock once more feeling the popping cum veins. Stan starts moaning and the fans wonder if he’s about to blow.

Sal laughs now as Vinny says “MAKE THE BITCH SUFFER FIRST DADDY DOM!” Sal nods yes then grabs Stan’s neck and stands up, pulling Stan’s head between his thick legs. Both men’s cocks are at full mast as Daddy Dom reaches downward to wrap his arms around the Coach’s waist before HOISTING his ripped body skyward. All in the Williamsburg arena know what’s coming and it isn’t pretty. The hot Muscle Daddy drops to his knees SLAMMING Coach’s head into the canvass with a sickening THUD!  Stan’s body twitches and convulses as Sal welcomes the boos of the crowd with a cocky grin. He rolls over to the Coach and flattens his chest against his back grinding his hard cock into the older man’s ass crack.

Coach Stan is dazed from the brutal piledriver. Sal’s in perfect position to take him doggy style before he even cums. Before Stan’s fuck hole is penetrated, however, Daddy Dom Sal remembers he must force the Coach to cum first. He slides off Stan’s body then stands and kicks him in the obliques forcing him onto his back spread-eagled with his hard cock slapping against his washboard abs. The Daddy Dom grabs Stan’s wrists and pulls him closer to the still sleeping BlackAlpha. He then clambers up the ropes in the corner and stands up on the ring post with his 9” thick cock standing upright above the fallen champ’s head. Indeed, the crowd gasps as Sal’s cock leaks a string of pre-cum onto the ebony stud’s bald head before he BLASTS off the post and SLAMS hard onto Stan’s exposed chest knocking the wind out of his vulnerable and now gasping opponent. Sal hooks and lifts Stan’s right leg while pounding the canvas “One! Two! Three!” proving he could pin the Coach as the crowd boos the Alpha Heel from Bay Ridge. 

Daddy Dom Sal, in full Heel mode now, forces an unsteady Stan to his knees and positions him inches away from the champ who begins to stir inhaling the man scent of his mentor through the fabric of the wet royal blue Speedos. Vinny goes to the same corner and says “Let’s give Stan something to shoot at!” as he peels BlackAlpha’s gold thong down and hooks it under his smooth balls. The fans gasp as the champ’s semi-hard 9” cut cock flops out.  Sal kneels behind Stan and wraps his 20” bicep around the neck of his rival. He begins his own SLEEPER causing the Coach to gasp and his arms to flap wildly. The fans yell “NOOOOOOOO!” as Sal commands Stan to jerk his 8.5” cock. “CUM ALL OVER THAT BITCH!” shouts the Daddy Dom as he owns the hunky trainer’s body. Stan steadies his right arm and captures his fat hard cock, already lubed with his pre-cum. Still gasping in Daddy Dom’s grip, Coach Stan dutifully obeys his Alpha Heel and begins stroking his shaft and cock head. ‘THAT’S IT COACH! WHO’S YOUR DADDY?” asks the dominant muscle beast as he relaxes his grip enough to allow Stan to respond “YOU ARE DADDY DOM SAL, YOU’RE MY DADDY” as he strokes his cock harder and faster. BlackAlpha is now fully awake and sees Stan, almost in a trance, jerking as he stares at the champ’s hardening cock.

“NOOOOOOO!” shouts the champ through the blue fabric as he realizes that Coach is close to exploding. Vinny grins at Daddy Dom Sal as he watches his Alpha Heel own the sexy as fuck ebony Daddy. Coach Stan can’t hold on. The sight of BlackAlpha’s thick cut cock now spurting pre-cum onto the mat sends him over the edge and he DETONATES a massive cum load, coating the ebony champ’s chest, abs and cock. “AAAAAUUUUUUUFFFFFFFFFF” moans the Coach as Sal tightens his SLEEPER grip around his neck. The Coach becomes dizzy and his eyes roll backwards until his whole spent body goes limp.

Vinny leans in and grasps BlackAlpha’s cum-coated cock then jerks it up and down. The champ tries to repress his climax but the sight of the unconscious muscled black Daddy and his semi-hard dripping 8.5” dick before him is too much. Within seconds, the Stallion’s hand job has the black stud SHOOTING ROPES of cum onto Stan’s face and smooth chest. The crowd watches in stunned silence as Daddy Dom Sal and VinnyMuscleStallion own the Daddy mentor and his mentee champ in the Williamsburg ring.

The ref steps in to raise Daddy Dom Sal’s hand in victory as the announcer shouts “AND HERE’S YOUR WINNER, THE MUSCLE DADDY WHO MADE THE EBONY HERO BLOW HIS LOAD, DADDY DOM SAL!!!” The crowd boos wildly as Daddy Dom snickers and flashes them a big grin. He lets go of Coach Stan whose head topples forward onto BlackAlpha’s abs then brushes his semi-hard cock before landing on his chest below the bound champ. Daddy Dom gives a thumbs up to Vinny as he grabs Coach Stan’s ankles and drags his body back to the opposite corner. He yanks the Coach up and drapes his arms over the top ropes on each side of the ring post. Stan’s face falls on the top turnbuckle as his body slumps into the corner. He seems to be waking up but has no fucking idea where he is or what’s about to happen.

Daddy Dom Sal spits on his right hand while his left hand holds Stan’s neck in place. Kicking the Coach’s legs apart, Sal slides his wet fingers up and down the loser’s ass crack until he finds his pucker and inserts three digits all at once. Coach’s eyes bulge open as his prostate is tagged by the inserted fingers. His cut cock begins to power up again in the corner. “GONNA FUCK YOU HARD COACH BITCH! Vinny yanks BlackAlpha’s head up so he can watch the action in the opposite corner but the most the champ can see is Sal’s backside and bubble butt as he lines up his cock and DRILLS Coach Stan going balls deep and slapping his own nuts against the older Muscle Daddy’s cheeks. “NNNNGGGGGFFFFFF!” moans Coach Stan as his ass is taken by the Bay Ridge Heel. Sal pulls almost all the way out then RAMS all 9” in once more. Without hesitating, the Daddy Dom starts thrusting in and out of the Coach’s fuck hole. Stan’s cock, hard as a rock again, bounces up and down leaking jizz with each pounding his ass receives. The crowd is no longer booing as it watches a total ALPHA own the HERO’s ass with no mercy.

A few chants break out of “POUND THAT ASS!  POUND THAT ASS!” as Daddy Dom Sal feels his climax rising. Coach Stan suddenly hollers “YES ALPHA, FUCK YES…OWN MY BITCH ASS…CUM DEEP INSIDE MY JOBBER HOLE!!!” The fans join in “CUM DUMP STAN! CUM DUMP STAN!” and Sal obliges them as his massive member SLAMS in one last time and stays deep inside the Coach as it EXPLODES a ton of cum inside Coach’s chute coating his bowels in hot white man juice as the crowd actually cheers crazily.  Just then Stan, his prostate tagged one too many times, moans like the bitch Daddy Dom predicted he would become in this ring and CUMS HANDSFREE shooting past the ring post. 

Vinny leans down and whispers in BlackAlpha’s ear “That’s you chump…defeated, dominated and fucked after our title match!”  “In your Pony dreams,” the champ mumbles through the wet fabric of his Coach’s Speedos but truth be told the ebony hunk is impressed and a little intimidated by what’s gone down.

Later in the locker room, Daddy Dom Sal and Vinny stand in adjacent shower stalls. Daddy Dom asks the Stallion “Are you worried you humiliated the champ too much tonight?” “Nah, the bitch can take it. I wanted to destroy his confidence. He knows I can sleeper and demolish him,” says Vinny with a cocky grin. “Yeah, but maybe he’ll come loaded for revenge!” replies the Muscle Daddy as he soaps up his 9” cut cock. “Oh, he’ll come loaded all right, Daddy Dom, loaded with cum in his big balls,” laughs Vinny. “Well, let’s hope that cum explodes as you rail his hole and not inside your sweet ass Stallion!” says Sal.

Several shower stalls over BlackAlpha soaps up Coach Stan’s back. “Don’t worry Coach,” assures the champ in a low voice, “They were fucking Heels and didn’t play fair. Gonna teach that Pony to respect a  true Alpha.” “Let’s hope so,” replies Stan, “My ass is so fucking sore from Sal’s big cock. At least your title fight will now be Heel vs Hero. Vinny showed he can Heel with the best of them tonight.” “Yup, I told you the dude’s not above going low.  We both found out the hard way. Gonna take him down brutally and pound his ass.” Stan turns around and sees that BlackAlpha’s cock is all horned up at that thought. The Coach can only wink and grin at his muscled protege.

My pleasure is to introduce you to a new, sympathetically roguish, thus appealing character Josh. He lives, picaresquely, by his wits and his comely butt – leaving chaos in his delighted wake. A natural phenomenon, Josh looks younger than his biological age. He plays that for all he can, then moves on. If you like him, he may reappear one day – here on GayDemon.

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“Pre-cum cock juices mix with salivary gland secretions to pool in readiness for spurts of sperm to brew a slurry for thirsty throats,” managed our Biology teacher on a single breath. “Your task is to take at first only the cock’s helmet for tonguing – just the tip, mind you – and nibbling with your lips its frenulum,” he pointed specifically on the chart.

Unzipped his fly. Flopped out.

With me on the floor kneeling up, his eyes directed into mine a clear message to perform.

Classmates looked on expectantly. It was the beginning of the term. Ours, a special school.

I wanted to swallow but, cautioned to keep saliva “in readiness,” I stretched enough for my tongue to reach the velvety cushion which was firming. At my tongue’s touch, it quivered. Exploring the texture and the taste, I decided to kiss it.

My pucker scored a hit evidently. Mr. Gunn seemed to want more. Lips pursed, then nursed the whole of it, my tongue skidding around while he sighed. To keep myself steady, I reached for his thighs.

Some treble-voiced, smart-ass behind me said, “He’s into it.”

A smarter-ass corrected, “He’s onto it. Look at that!”

My lips were working their way toward Mr. Gunn’s fly when I remembered I was supposed to nibble – only I couldn’t, not with the head already past my teeth. So, I did the next best thing, I used my tongue’s tip on his frenulum. He had just shown us where that was.

The liquid in my mouth now received some more for my efforts. Right from that little slit (I could feel it coming out).

“Easy now,” Mr. Gunn cautioned, his man’s fingers gripping my ears. “Let’s pause, so the class and you can view a video x-ray of what’s going to happen shortly.”

I wiped my mouth on a sleeve and thought to swallow.

His cock still on display, our teacher became objective once more.

“You’ll note,” he resumed his lecture, pushing aside the chart and clicking on the room’s big screen, “this side-view x-ray shows a penis rather the size and shape of mine being welcomed into the mouth of an upturned boy’s head rather like Josh’s here. See how high the back of his tongue rides up? That’s a reflex to be trained otherwise. In the proper practice of fellatio, the recipient’s tongue must lie flat. See, there it goes – lowering itself.”

Aside, he said, “He was receiving verbal instruction of decided insistence that included a threat to cause my…I mean, theoff-camera aide to tighten his grasp where…oh well, it doesn’t matter.”

Indicating the screen, “There! The penis meets and pushes that annoying little dangler, the uvula. Those heaving motions are another negative reaction kicking in, the gag reflex. A real man’s penis will not be daunted, as you can tell. It plunges through to massage itself into the upper throat.”

My head swiveled for sight of an aide. Would one appear if I were to choke?

“Josh and I will demonstrate.”

Positioned, my ears in his grip, did I have a choice? Salivary glands went into expectant overdrive.

Against my face and with me making a terrible series of noises from beyond his depth in my throat, Mr. Gunn evidently enjoyed the applause his use of my upper anatomy received from the class.

Oxygen-deprivation, I learned, brings to one’s inner vision constellations of flickering stars.

Not an astronomy lesson, but memorable.

He released me with a word of thanks and returned to his charts. The newest showed “the paths taken from both testicles and associated glands, the Cowpers and vas deferens among them, to meet in the penis’ urethra and to proceed along its length to exit the glans.”

To me, he said, “Josh, as you’ve caught your breath and are yet on your knees, do your inquisitive classmates a favor. Open wide, suck in some air, and I’ll illustrate how this appears when viewed exteriorly.”

I was fucked. In..my..throat. Down and back – way down and back – way, way down (my nose pinched closed) – for his ejaculations to pour forth at full-depth.

* * *

At recess, other boys asked whether I had been afraid. “Not really, because Mr. Gunn’s such a good teacher. Experienced, you know. I was confident he wouldn’t go too far.”

“You almost threw up.”

“No, I didn’t. No way any boy can throw up when his gullet’s sealed by a plug of hard flesh as far as he was. Stomach contents can’t even get to the nose ’cause it’s blocked inside.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Practice, you know.”

“You practiced that – with Mr. Gunn?”

“Duh! Of course. If we didn’t, the demonstration wouldn’t have been perfect.”

“Damn, there’s the bell. Recess is over. Time for math class. You with us?”

“No, it’s back to the Biology lab for me. This hour, Mr. Gunn’s got another section of the Sex Ed course. He’ll be repeating the same lecture, so he needs me.”

* * *

A new day.

“Good morning, students. Settle in, please, and follow carefully my explanations. This chart shows clearly the location, just inside the anus, of the initial set of circular sphincter muscles – external and internal – the area known as the anal canal. A particularly erogenous zone, one amply provided with thousands of responsive nerve endings not shown here.”

He moved his pointer, “There are the anus’s longitudinal folds named the columns of Morgagni.” Mr. Gunn turned his head, “After the Italian anatomist who discovered them three hundred years ago.” Back to his revealing chart, “Anal sinuses and crypts – those grooves – separate the folds. Anal valves join the lower ends of the anal columns to form the pectinate line. See that here, it divides the upper two-thirds and lower third of the anal canal. Taken as one, all this constitutes the entry point to our principal destination, the mucosally lubricated rectum, which runs along here. And, right there, the crucial placement of the prostate gland. Exactly where Nature intended it for one of intercourse’s treasured outcomes – to induce the fuckee’s experience of spontaneous orgasm.”

Putting down his pointer, our admirable teacher looked at me – naked on the single bed in front of the class – and smiled. “Josh, if you’ll shift so that your head hangs back over the foot of the bed, the class can view my use of your throat to lubricate my erection,” he glanced to our eager witnesses, “to effect smooth initiation of copulation.”

A hand interrupted, “Teacher, aren’t we going to see an x-ray of how this works?”

“Apologies. Of course. Josh’s preparedness – he’s so willing – distracted my concentration.”

I sat up to see the x-ray video. Sure enough, grainy though it was, we could see clearly a backside bent at the waist over what looked like Mr. Gunn’s desk. Approaching and nudging in came a large cock which skewered slightly down, then slightly up through what could only be the subject’s anus and into his rectum. Its head tapered and spread the way our teacher’s did. The way it traveled reminded me of a sped-up, silent movie loop I once saw of a car heading in and backing not quite all the way from a garage door. Over and over. Looked like fun. I was going to play the garage’s part.

“All right, Josh, back you go,” he snapped his fingers.

I opened wide, inhaled and let out a few deep breaths, and felt the head on my taste buds. His cock’s soft underside passed my upper teeth and touched the roof of my mouth. He went to my gag point, squashed my uvula, and triggered all sorts of mucus and phlegm from my throat’s conniptions. I retched the way he liked, so he retreated, cock all covered with the stuff he’d use to penetrate my ass.

“On your knees facing that way,” I was directed. Standing with his feet on the floor, he reached for my hips and pulled my back end to the end of his big, fat cock. To add to its juiciness, he drooled spit on my target and began to wedge his way in. Made a show of it.

Some kid blurted, “Look how Josh’s eyes pop!”

Mr. Gunn indulged in tormenting my outer sphincter with mini-thrusts. The wider part of his cock necked into place, heightening my sensation and sending its bulb into the opening of my rectum. Enticing – oh, how its being there caused me to itch for more!

He didn’t disappoint. No, he sank further. Made a play of rocking sideways as if coaxing me to widen. Thumbs stroked in opposite directions from where he pinioned me. I sighed. He brushed my scrotum – a first!

I moaned and edged back. Wrong!

He tugged to tell me he’d make the moves. Content that I understood, he pushed a little and circled inside, inflaming me by caresses to my channel’s tissues. In his grasp, I became molten. Sensing perhaps my back socket’s capitulation, he fitted himself to me like a gun in its holster. Slowly sensuous insertions, quick withdrawals – maddening! From those commandeering pelvic jolts, my heart hammered. Blood pounded in veins and arteries to the soles of my feet, to the tips of my fingers, to the top of my head.

I collapsed face down on the bed, Mr. Gunn continuing to contend at cock’s length with the challenge of rendering for the class a topnotch fuck. I began to vibrate something fierce. Lost in reaming me, he went berserk. A chesty rumble turned into a growl, then a howl when his sex emptied great feral gushes into my depths.

He faltered.

Fell on me.

Not dead, he had etiolated himself. Fatigue soaked him as thoroughly as his cum did my rectum. We heard him wheeze for air, unaware perhaps that his length remained immersed. His weighty size had me trapped.

“Somebody, help roll him off. I can’t breathe.” It’s a miracle my whimpered plea reached the front row boys. Two sprang up. I think they wanted a close-up view of the huge slab of meat in my butt. In any case, they pushed and shoved until I could slide from the cock in specific and the man overall.

All eyes saw me putting on my clothes. Then, with a glance around, I realized lower tract action was starting. I darted for the restroom. What went in so copiously had to come out.

* * *

At lunch, boys surrounded me. Speculations abounded about the school nurse having called an ambulance to haul Mr. Gunn away, we guessed to a hospital.

“Did he have a heart attack?”

“Maybe a stroke?”

“What did it feel like to be pronged like that?”

“How do you feel?”

In my best, most grown-up voice, I waxed psycho-philosophical, “Mr. Gunn’s relentless pursuit of obsessive possession and conquest got the better of him. Last hour was supposed to be only a demonstration, not a volcanic blow-up. Surges of sexual energy brought to the surface formerly cloaked emotional emptiness – you know, the way ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny.”

The way their boyish heads canted this way and that, brows knotted with unspoken questions, steps were taken to open space between us, I could tell I’d gone too far, let too much out of the bag. Time to go.

I gobbled the rest of my food while whispering heads speculated. With my book bag in hand, I chose the nearest door that lead outside.

* * *

“Josh? Josh who?” Principal Randolph asked. “We’ve no student registered here named Josh or Joshua.”

Upon assurance from the students that “Josh” and Mr. Gunn were acquainted, that Mr. Gunn and Josh had rehearsed their demonstrations for Biology class, Principal Randolph scratched his balding noggin and called the hospital.

Queries stopped. The man listened. “What do you mean, he’s never awakened? He’s dead?”

Listened a little longer. Said a thank-you. Opened a file cabinet to check the syllabus for Mr. Gunn’s Biology course. Looked at the boys.

“Young gentlemen, as scheduled, your Biology’s Sex Ed oral practicum will be in the Biology lab first thing tomorrow morning. I will be your substitute teacher. We will carry on. Get a good night’s rest. Eat a light breakfast and drink plenty of water. Don’t want you becoming dehydrated. Oh, and bring a small towel.”

* * *

I share with other writers on this site the need for encouragement from readers such as yourself. Your appreciation, shown by the thousands of you who have read, or at least looked into my previous eighty-two tales, can be registered most tellingly below – by your rating and commenting on the above. If you write, you’ll get a response!

* * *

My partner and I have been into top and bottom fisting scenes for more than 15 years. Before Covid-19 arrived on-the-scene, we frequented fisting parties here in Munich, and other locations such as Berlin, Vienna, Milan and on the Greek island, Crete.

It was at The Illumined in Milan, Italy that I first had my entire arm up a man’s ass. I walked into a room with a row of three slings to find a middle-aged man resting in the middle sling. I walked over, stood at the foot of the sling and stroked his inner thighs. When my fingers slipped between his asscheeks and found his entrance to pleasure, he nodded his head quickly several times and smiled. He waved off the use of gloves so I dipped into his Crisco can and generously lubed my hands and lower arms midway to the elbow.

His hole was not yet sloppy but I didn’t have to do much stretching to slide a hand inside. He groaned as I penetrated his sphincter. I started sliding in and out slowly to spread the Crisco, lubing advanced territory. I kept getting deeper and deeper while this guy kept a broad smile on his face. He didn’t even break a sweat.

When my elbow disapeared in his hole, I started to sprout a boner; the situation was getting exciting. i can routinely take an arm to the elbow, so this had a lot of potential.

I slowly slid my other palm flat against my lower arm already inside my victim and pushed to stretch his hole wider open. I interlaced the fingers of both hands to form one large fist. I fist fucked him with this large club-like fist. The sling-bound fistee started moaning loudly. He babbled in French and raised his head and spoke but I shrugged and told him in English I didn’t speak French. He gave a disappointed nod of understanding and added a “thumbs up,”

Going deeper with both hands wasn’t possible without really wrecking his ass, so I removed one arm and pushed deeper, expecting him to stop me at any moment. When my shoulder and chest pressed against his asscheeks, I knew I wasn’t going in any deeper. My hand had long ago rolled into a fist and I used that and both hands pulling his hole wider open. After a few minutes of punch fisting he signaled he had had enough. I grabbed a roll of paper towels and cleaned the Crisco from his ass and my arms. This session had lasted for nearly an hour.

I noticed another guy leaning against the wall behind me, watching. After I was finished wiping away the Crisco, this guy walked over, physically picked me up and literally threw me into the next sling. Fuck, I love being manhandled. He just stood there looking at me. I didn’t know what to say or do. He reached down, grabbed my nutsack and stretched it, forcing my balls to the bottom of my sack, stretching the wrinkled skin smooth and thin.

He broke out into a big smile as he let go, dipped a hand into my Crisco can and generously greased his hands and lower arms. He took time to loosen my hole and then pushed his hand of pointed fingers inside. His hands were on the large size and gave me that full feeling that brings me so much pleasure. Fuck, this guy was an excellent fister. Pushing in, twisting, pulling back, making a fist and pushing deeper. Suddenly, with his fist inside me, he shoved his cock inside and stroked himself for a few minutes. I love that, makes me feel the fister is realty in charge, doing what he wants.

After what I thought was about thirty minutes he pulled out, cleaned up the Crisco, pulled me out of the sling and then he crawled in.

This guy had a well-fisted hole, likely had stuffed some large toys in there, too. His hole was already getting sloppy. He may have already been worked on in the large red fisting room on the top floor. I played in his hole, slightly beyond my elbow and we both enjoyed the session, nothing spectacular like with the other guy. I leaned down and took his seven or eight inch dick in my mouth and blew him while fist fucking him. He fucking loved that.

I thought he was about to come when he suddenly raised his head and excitedly said something in French. I told him I don’t speak French. He said, “No come.”. He quickly formed fingers of one hand into a circle and pushed the index of the other hand in and out of the circle…the international sign for fucking.

He raised up as though he wanted out of the sling, so I grabbed the paper towels and cleaned us up. He jumped out of the sling, grabbed me and , gave me a kiss with a lot of tongue and spit. He pushed me to the floor on all fours, knelt behind me, smeared his precum on my hole and pushed in. My hole was still open from the fisting he gave me earlier so no foreplay needed.

This hot French dude fucked as well as he fisted. He fucked hard and deep and I was in love again. I felt his big cock getting harder and he quickly pulled out and sprayed my ass and back with his warm, thick seed. I milked the last of his sperm out, squeezing with my ass muscles and sliding forward and backward with small movements.

After resting behind me for a few minutes he got to his feet, reached down and offered a hand to pull up. As I stood in front of this sexy man, I realized my knees were burning. The rough fucking has scooted me around in the floor, unknowingly grinding my knees into the salt-covered floor.

Sa!t is spread all over the floor at fist parties to breakdown the J-Lube that drops to the floor during fisting sessions. Don’t want anyone slipping and falling, spoiling their fun.

We have been to The Illumined twice, both times for extended fisting weekends. It never closes, open 24/7. And, a lot other sex goes in there besides fisting. I love the gloryholes, yeah.

---

I have some other stories I will soon be posting, fisting and others.

I finished school for the day. It was tiring, and my last class of the day, P.E, made me hard seeing all those guys in the dressing room. Luckily, I had slightly baggier shorts so no one saw my hard-on. I just wanted to smell someone’s manly underwear. I know, I know, but I just wanted to experiment. Sure, it sounds gay to say it, but I swear I’m bisexual. At least, I thought I was. 

Tits turned me on, and when I sat down on my bed after coming to my dorm, I pulled out my phone. I surfed a few websites for porn, but none of it really turned me on. I decided to go a step further in my experimentation then and there, and I looked up gay chat rooms. There were a few ads that popped up immediately, but a real website popped up finally after a minute. I loaded in and typed in a random nickname. I picked out the name biguy20. 

Messages flew by so fast that I couldn’t see them. The few that did pop out were twisted such as people into fucking dogs. I ignored them, and then I saw my profile messages icon light up. I figured it was an ad about one of those cam sites, a bot. But I tapped it anyway; there’s no harm in that. 

What I got was different than I expected: there was a message from a guy named worshipme. I was surprised that it wasn’t a random bot, so I checked it immediately.  A message waited: “Hey, I have a proposition.”

I typed back immediately: “hey, what is it?” I wait for a minute, no response. I click off and look for anyone looking for role play. My message box lights up again, and I check. 

“I’ll pay you to dress up for me and suck my cock.”

“Dress up? What do you mean?”

“Like a sissy. I want you to wear panties and a dress for me, dude. Send me that pretty face.” I was surprised by his forwardness. It made me reluctant to type back, but I eventually started typing. 

“I don’t have panties.”

“Doesn’t matter, I have what you need. You will wear my clothes, I have some for sissies like you.” 

“I’m not a sissy.”

“Okay, sure. Where do you live boy?’

“I live in San Jose.”

“Me too, shit you’re close bitch.”

I pause, a warning bell going off in my mind. He’s calling me a bitch already? I don’t even know this guy. I thought about sending him an angry reply, but I decided to ignore it. It made me feel a little weird, but I didn’t think much of it. 

“Yeah…”

“Here’s my address, be here by ten pm bitch.”

– – –

I didn’t know why I was doing this. My legs were cold as hell as I walked through the cold night air of San Jose. He was mean to me, but I listened anyway. I didn’t know what to expect, aside from my first taste of cock. How big was he? Would he be gentle? Shit, I should’ve mentioned that I’m a virgin. 

I neared the address, my google maps yelling at me to cross the street. I neared a rare house in the city, and I was surprised by how nice it was. It was three floors, and the house was just beautiful from an architectural point of view. This guy was rich or something. Something about that made me understand why he was dominant in the chats. The guy has money and tons of it for sure. No wonder he’s paying for a suck, I thought. 

The door beckoned, so I went up to it and rang the doorbell. The door slid open almost immediately, and I saw the chatter from online. He was a tall guy, with a black beard and short black hair. His eyes were piercing emeralds, and his chest was so much more defined than mine. I felt drawn to him, but a little scared too. 

“Are you biguy?” the man grunted. I nodded. He reached out for me, and I took his hand. He pulled me inside, and I followed as his pressure increased. His hand was beefy and much bigger than my skinny hand. I looked around the house and saw nothing out of the ordinary. 

We traveled up the staircase twice, passing by a number of rooms. The final steps neared, and I started to run out of breath. He continued nonetheless, and we finally made it to the top. We entered his bedroom, and he turned towards me. 

“What’s your name?” the man asked. 

I stutter for a moment, “C-Colin.” I watch him head over to the room’s closet. He rummaged for a moment, and he returned holding a dress, bra, and panties. “You really want me to wear that stuff?”

“Yes. Wear it. I can double the pay if you say something for me.” Holy shit. He would pay me 100$ just to say something for him and wear an outfit. Well, and suck his cock of course. 

“Okay!” I said instantly. He turned with a smirk, seeing a huge smile on my face. 

“Say you’re a sissy bitch. Say you’re Colin, and that you love to suck cock for money like a prostitute.” He waited expectantly. I didn’t know what to say, not exactly expecting that. His demeanor changed as I paused, thinking. He then frowned, and he started to go back to the closet. 

“Wait! I’ll say it! I’ll do it!” I blurt. Fuck! I don’t know why I said that. The man turned back again, with a smile on his face. He came up to my face, and he pushed the clothes into my hands. His body towered over mine. He must’ve been at least six foot five. I was only five foot seven. 

“My name is Mike. You will call me daddy, sir, or master while wearing these clothes. Got it?”

“Yes…I got it.” I said, really wanting that money. 

“Go get dressed.”

– – –

I walked into his bathroom, put his clothes on the sink counter, and I stripped out of my clothes. My skin felt cold in the room as I stood there naked. I took a deep breath, and I grabbed the bra off the pile of clothing. I slipped it over my chest, and I looked at myself in the mirror. The bra fit me well enough, though it did feel a bit tight. My nipples rubbed against the cups, but it didn’t feel bad at all. 

I put on the panties next. My dick felt a little compressed in them, but I was glad it wasn’t too tight. I really appreciated how airy my under regions felt with them on, and the fabric was cool against my skin. I put on the dress next. None of the clothes were as weird on me as I thought they would be. In fact, I felt kind of sexy. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I looked like a lesbian pretty much. A girl with her hair cut short. 

I sucked in some air, and I opened the bathroom door. I thought I heard a camera flash somewhere, but I didn’t see any so I didn’t think any of it. I saw Mike sitting on the bed. 

“Colin you look so fucking hot,” Mike said. I blushed, and I looked down at my feet, hesitating. “Come here, kneel down in front of me.”

I did what he said, staring up at Mike as he sits on the bed. The carpet was soft against my legs and palms as I knelt. 

“Remember what daddy said to do?” Mike asked. I slowly nodded. I closed my eyes.

“I’m a sissy bitch, daddy. I’m Colin, and I love to suck cock so much.” I finish, and Mike stares at me with a frown. He shakes his head. 

“That won’t do, not at all.” Mike made a tsk tsk tsk sound.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean!” I start to stand. 

“You forgot to say that you love to suck for money like a prostitute. Don’t make me spank you, bitch.” 

“Wait!” I drop to my knees again. “I love to suck cock for money, like…”

Mike stares at me hungrily, waiting for me to finish it. “Like a prostitute.”

Saying that to someone I didn’t even know made me feel so humiliated. This guy was different than anyone I had ever met. His eyes met mine, and I glanced away immediately. 

“You have permission to suck daddy’s dick now. Suck it, bitch.” Mike pulls his cock out of his pants, and he’s already hard. Holy shit, his cock is easily at least 9 inches. It throbs in front of my face. Mike lays back on the bed, and I hear a slapping noise as he strokes a little bit. 

I think for a moment. I could turn back now and leave, I could just go. But his cock looked so amazing. I wanted to suck it. I rise from the floor and climb onto the bed, and I see Mike smiling at me, or past me I couldn’t tell. 

“Give daddy your hands, Colin. You’re a good sissy, right?” Mike questioned me. 

“Yes, daddy.” I stretched out my hands for him, and I looked at him as his hands traveled behind his back. It came back in front of him, and I started to shake as I saw him holding metal handcuffs. I held back protest, worried that he’d reduce the monetary pay. 

“Good boy, good job keeping your hands there. You’re a good sissy.” I blush again. Mike snapped the cuffs onto both of my hands, and then he laid down again. “Suck it.” 

I neared his cock, positioning myself between his legs. He looked down at me with a sneer, but I didn’t care. I propped my hands against his thighs, and his dick slapped my face. I stared at it with shock and arousal, and I licked the tip. 

“Good job, Kirsty.” 

“Colin.” I reminded. Mike didn’t say anything. I stare at the length of his cock, and I worried about getting it all in my throat, it was so big. I put my lips on the tip and started swirling my tongue on the tip. Then I took a few inches in my throat, sucking it slowly. His dick was so hot in my mouth, his flesh warming up my throat. His mushroom tip felt so good as he pushed into my mouth. 

I then felt Mike’s hands grab my head, and I stared up at him, confused. He started pushing me up and down on his cock faster than I expected. I started going farther and farther down the length of his cock, and it slammed into the back of my throat. I audibly gagged, but he kept pounding me. The pace increased until he was slamming in and out of me. He was skull fucking me like a bitch. I frantically breathed through my nose, but then I felt a slap against my face and I whimpered on his cock. My air supply started draining. 

I felt another slap as Mike moved one hand away from my head, relenting slightly. My throat felt like it was being torn up from the amount of thrusts. My lips were going to be bruised after this. 

Throughout this, the sound of Mike’s moans echoed throughout the room. His dick quenched any sort of resistance I could put up. Despite the forced breath play, my dick was protruding from my panties. I felt a weird feeling building up in me as he continually forced me to submit to his desires. 

Suddenly, a liquid shot into my throat, and I started choking on his cum for a moment until it sputtered back out against his dick. He held his dick there until he heard me swallow. I swore I was crying by the time he let his dick flop out. His soft dick was fucking bigger than my hard dick! How! I coughed against the bed, and then I felt something around my neck. 

“Mike? You’re hurting me!” I croaked. A cloth appeared over my face, and a weird smell infiltrated my nose. I lost consciousness within seconds. 

– – –

I woke up on Mike’s bed, a bit dazed. I noticed Mike by the door, fiddling with something. I tried to stand up, but my legs didn’t want to cooperate. I tried to call out for Mike to ask what happened, but I felt something wedged between my lips. I grabbed at my mouth, and I felt a ball in my mouth. Holy shit, the fucker ball-gagged me! I frantically tugged at my head, but it wouldn’t budge, the strap was secured in such a way I couldn’t get it. 

Mike heard me struggling on the bed, and he turned, holding a camera. I watched with horror as he approached me, filming me as I struggled on the bed. I screamed into my gag as he climbed onto the bed. He grabbed my legs and pulled me toward him. I stared up at him with puppy dog eyes, but he shook his head. I let out a loud cry of frustration, but was met with a hard slap. 

The man who had lured me inside now straddled my hips. The camera still watched me, documenting him touching me. “Mmmm!” I yelled. Mike shook his head again, and he gave me an even harder slap. 

“You are not leaving this house ever. You’re my bitch now. You’re my fuck toy, my slave, my cumslut, my personal toilet. You’re going to service me whenever I want it, wherever I want it. The only time you will leave this house is with a nice shock collar that only I control. And you will wear it with pride in public as I make you my sissy wife. You’re so fucking perfect. I love you.” And with that, Mike finished his speech by kissing the ball gagging me. 

I stared at him, tears streaming down my face as my new reality set in. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t auction you like the others, I’m retiring from the slave trade. I just needed someone to keep me company, and you’re that person. Colin Cotton from 945 Salem St. I have your social security number, I have your id, I have everything that gives me info on you. I fucking own you bitch. I have footage of you agreeing to this, and I have the chat messages, plus a bit of photoshopped embellishment.”

“Mmph!” I cried, drool dirtying up my dress. I rolled around on the bed as he cruelly continued to fill me in on the details. 

“I’m going to make you my willing slave. You’re mine. I will break you eventually, and sometimes you’ll get to cum. I hope you don’t make me cage up that pretty cock. Now, I’m going to give you an opportunity to prove how happy you are to be my live-in slave. You’re going to make me dinner, and if I don’t like it, I’m going to fucking rape you, and then I’m going to let anyone that pays even ten bucks rape your tight virgin ass. Got it?” 

End of Part 1

At school, I was the focus of the scum generally referred to as ‘The Bully.’ His name was Morgan, but due to his size, he got known as Conan. He beleaguered my entire high school career because of his domination. I was subjected to constant pushing, shoving, and smothering by him. I was always up against a wall or on the ground, swamped and controlled by his large body.

Morgan was a big guy and by the time he was seventeen, already stood six-foot-three-inches tall and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. My diminutive one hundred thirty-pound body was no match for him. What made matters worse was that his hygiene was not exactly exemplary. He was always sweaty, and his smoker’s breath was constantly in my face as his coarse and grubby hands relentlessly tormented my head and torso. Embarrassingly, the worst aspect of his persecution was admitting to myself how much I got turned on by Morgan’s torment.

I was also frequently aware of his stiff cock rubbing against me during my torture sessions and I wondered if he derived sexual pleasure from his supremacy over me. He always referred to me as ‘Slave-Boy’ during these encounters. Morgan was very sexy despite a rather bad acne condition, despite finding that condition somewhat off-putting, I reasoned would no doubt pass after a year or two. Even after my school days had ended, I often thought about him.  

Over the ensuing years, I attended college, graduated, and then settled down to life in a pleasant town. Fortunately, because of the design work I did, I was able to work from my home, only having to spend one day a week at the offices of the company that employed me.

My small home got purchased at a low cost but needed a lot of fixing. Systematically, I worked through a to-do list, and after a year, I had almost completed the renovation. One of the final tasks that I had to tackle was to replace my closed system fireplace. The existing one in the house got neglected by the former owner and was beyond repair.

I contacted a local heating company that then sent their sales representative for a quote. After selecting the fireplace I wanted, he informed me that their technician would be visiting me in two days to install the unit.

Two days later, after responding to a knock at the door, my heart almost stopped when I opened the door to find that Morgan, my high school bully, was their technician. He was even taller and broader than when I had last seen him. Although his acne was gone, there was ample evidence from the scaring it had left. Morgan looked as bewildered as I did, and after introducing himself, he asked, “Aren’t you Reilly?”  

After I nodded uneasily, he entered the house with an uncomfortable smile. As he busied himself, we swapped our life histories of the past five years.

He told me that he had been married but was now divorced. Fortunately, no kids had resulted during the marriage. To get away from his family and ex-wife, Morgan had requested a transfer to our local fireplace branch a few months before.

Morgan had grown sexier since our school days. He still gave off the masculine scent I remembered from years before, but being less squeamish than I was at school, it did not bug me any longer. His enormous hands were rougher than I remembered. Given his job, however, I supposed that was to be expected. He wore a brown two-piece overall with his name and company’s logo embroidered above the top pockets. His boots were colossal, and I felt sure he could fall asleep standing up. I even got to see his hairy tradesman’s crack while he installed my fireplace.

Morgan did a great job and in three hours, his work got done. As Morgan was leaving, he asked if he could pop in from time to time, as he did not know anyone else in town. I responded affirmatively but mentally chastised myself after he left. What the hell was I thinking? Sexy as I Found him, becoming a straight man’s GBF was not what I had in mind.  

At seven p.m. two days later, he phoned me. Morgan had just eaten a takeaway and asked if he could pop in for a visit and bring along a few beers. Having eaten my supper earlier, I answered that it would not be a problem. He arrived ten minutes later dressed in his work clothes. Every fantasy I had ever had about him came flooding back.

‘You are a real fool,’ I mentally reminded myself.

After consuming a beer, he asked if he could use my toilet. Upon closing the bathroom door, I remembered I had a stash of gay magazines in the loo. I had a WTF moment, figuring that our ‘budding’ friendship might just have run just its course. After returning, however, he said nothing about the magazines, and we continued chatting.

A while later, following a pause in our conversation Morgan sheepishly said, “I’m sorry.” Noticing my quizzical expression, he continued, “That I was such a shit to you in high school.”

I smiled benignly before asking, “Why did you torment me?”

He shrugged and then replied, “Because I was jealous of you.”

“What… Why?” I stammered incredulously.

“You were smart, good-looking, everything I’m wasn’t. I came from white trash, and you were clean-cut and cultured.” Smiling forlornly, he then continued, “I was and still am a smelly oaf. Besides, back then my face looked like an acne war zone,” and then, he laughed before continuing, “I’m sure you have never even had one pimple in your life,” he uttered before we both chuckled.

He went on to tell me that he had left everything he owned with his ex-wife, whose redneck family were carbon copies of his clan. Morgan then informed me that he had to get away from the rut that his life had become, having grown sick and tired of it all. Upon visiting me in my beautiful home, Morgan realized what a fuck-up he had made of his life, adding that he was happy he had moved to this new town and was positive about rebuilding his life here. Although he was presently living in a dingy room attached to the back of someone’s house, the peace was well worth it.

“I’m in total awe of you, buddy,” he concluded.

Before he left, Morgan told me that he was very pleased that he had bumped into me and hoped we could be friends. As we walked toward his pickup, he asked if I could cook. Surprised, I replied that I believed I could. He then asked if I would consider teaching him because he was currently surviving on eggs, pasta, and takeaways. I instantly invited him to dinner two days hence, suggesting that he could then make up his mind about my culinary skills. After accepting my invitation, he climbed into his vehicle and drove off.

Two days later, on Saturday, Morgan arrived at seven with a dozen beers in hand. He was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals. His legs were bandy and hairy, and I finally got to see his huge feet. They were broad and magnificent, and I had to restrain myself from not blatantly staring at them. 

At around eight, we sat down to a leisurely dinner. Morgan continually complimented me as he savoured his food. As our conversation flowed, it astonished me how enjoyable I was finding my former tormentor’s company. We were both very relaxed, and Morgan was liberally putting away the beers. The night flew by, and before we realized it was one a.m.

Morgan then asked if I liked country music. After nodding my head affirmatively, he retrieved a CD from his vehicle. We then listened to one of his favourite tracks with the lyrics; ‘It’s a quarter after one, I’m a little drunk, and I need you now.’ As the song ended, he pushed the repeat button before asking me to dance with him. Flabbergasted, I allowed him to embrace me before we swayed to the music.

I was confused and puzzled at this point. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I asked myself.

Was this a straight guy, feeling rejected and sad, and just needed someone to hold his hand after one too many drinks?

When the song again ended, he pushed the repeat button once more, and we danced again. This time Morgan held me a lot closer, however, and I could feel that his cock was rock hard. Ironically, as the song ended a quarter after one, we stood silent for a moment looking at one another. I broke the silence by suggesting that he use the spare room, given his alcoholic consumption. Nodding somewhat sheepishly, he followed me to the spare bedroom.

When I arrived in my bedroom, I was excited but confused. The firmness of his grasp displayed a sensuality he had never revealed before. Much as he had intimidated and excited me before at high school, our encounters were devoid of passion. Tonight, Morgan had turned me on incredibly, but I did not want to read too much into the overtures of a well-oiled straight guy. With discretion having conquered lust, I fell asleep a short while later in a state of bewilderment, with his manly smell lingering in my nostrils.

I received two phone calls from Morgan the following week. During the second call, he asked when he could begin his cooking lessons, after which I invited him to dinner on Friday night.

He arrived at six, again wearing shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt. As we prepared our simple meal together, Morgan was quite handy in the kitchen, and by eight o’clock, we were enjoying the fruits of our combined labours. As before, whenever he needed a smoke he went outside, politely ignoring my invitation for him to smoke in the house.

Later, Morgan asked if I minded him having a joint. Although I didn’t smoke weed, I always had special chocolate cookies that did the same job. He was very excited about this prospect. After consuming my cookies, a short while later, we got nicely chilled.

“When I tormented you at school, I always rushed off to the toilets afterward to wank,” Morgan suddenly confessed. “You cannot believe how much I wanted to fuck you.”

Comprehensively gobsmacked, I quietly asked, “Why didn’t you ever ask?”

“Well, firstly, I was sure that you would refuse. Secondly, that would’ve given you the upper hand, and you could’ve exposed me as a homo in revenge,” Morgan replied. We both giggled at the comment.

After a long pause, Morgan self-consciously added, “I would love to fuck you, Reilly.”   

As I nervously got up to fetch us two more beers, Morgan grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. Seeing the apprehensive look on my face, he said, “Relax, buddy, I won’t hurt you.”

“Well…Who is going to fuck me?” I mischievously asked.

“Huh… Sorry, but I don’t understand,” Morgan countered.

“Well… Is Conan or Morgan going to fuck me?” I mischievously asked.

There was a flood of realization that blossomed on his face. Then, observing me with a naughty grin he measuredly stated, “Well… I suppose Conan has waited long enough.”

“Cool,” I replied. I had no idea where this bravado emanated, but I was as horny as hell by now.

“Do you realize that Conan likes it rough?” Morgan roguishly advised.

I answered with a ‘so what’ gesture. As I once more tried to arise to fetch us two more beers, Morgan again restricted my body. Cupping my head in his left hand, he pulled my face towards his open mouth and kissed me firmly. Lifting his body, he then pulled me under him before pinning me down under his enormous frame. He then began tugging on my lips with his teeth. He was gentle at first, but soon picked up his gnawing tempo.

After letting go of my lip, his lustful eyes sparkled with sexual tension. “If you thought your bullying days were over, Slave-Boy, well, the bad news is that they’ve just begun all over again.”

Whimpering, I answered, “Yes, Conan.”

What was happening transcended every youthful fantasy I had ever imagined.

With a wicked grin, he closed in on my mouth and continued his attack on my lips. Both my ears soon followed, with me pleading for mercy. I had initiated the sex game and was very happy to play the role of the sexually vanquished. I did my best to ‘resist’ his domination, uttering all the appropriate faux protestations. Morgan was in heaven as he comprehensively took control of me.    

Later, when we arose from the sofa, he ordered me to the bedroom, where I got commanded to strip. As Morgan walked around my naked body his eyes scanned every inch of me. He then sat on the end of the bed and pulled me over his lap before brutally spanking my arse. His huge left hand kept my body in place, as he administered hefty slaps with his right hand. Morgan ignored my playacting as I howled and pleaded, relentlessly whacking my backside.

After lifting me, he tossed my body onto the bed and began stripping. First, he kicked off his sandals before removing his t-shirt and shorts. He wasn’t overly hairy but had enough fur to suit my taste. When his underpants finally dropped, I had an OMG moment. His cock was in keeping with the rest of his bulk. Never mind the toddlers-arm story, Morgan’s knob looked more like a toddlers-leg. It was cone-shaped, with an incredibly thick base that tapered to a foreskin overhang that puckered like a long spout off the end of his dick.

As he climbed on the bed, he instructed me to turn onto my stomach. Pulling my legs apart with his strong hands, I again received a few mighty slaps. Leaning over me while balancing on his left arm, his right hand guided his cock into my arse. Finally, propped up on both arms, I felt the giant cones onslaught into my anxious hole.

As he shoved himself further and further into me, my sphincter stretched wider and wider to accommodate the ever-expanding cone. Three-quarters in, I began to yelp before he speared into me. Thank goodness, I had my eyes closed, or they would have popped out of their sockets. Without pause, he slumped onto me, and pushing his arms through under my arms, placed his huge hands on my head. Next, he started riding me like a bucking bronco while grunting with delight as I squirmed and flailed beneath him.

Plundering my outstretched pucker, he battered me with force. The more I begged for mercy, the more he told me that my body belonged to him. I loved my subjugation and the verbal abuse he hissed at me. After having become, inebriated by his abuse, I eagerly succumbed to the torture and began pleading with him to fuck my arse harder. Lifting onto his knees, he pulled my right leg up and began thrusting his huge cock entirely in and out of me. I cried out in ecstasy as he battered my hole relentlessly.

As his massive hand constricted my throat, I began gasping for air. Inexplicably, I started unloading the biggest orgasm of my life a minute later without even touching my cock. As I convulsed in the throes of passion, he began spraying my bowels full of his cream. With both of us sweating like racehorses after a steeplechase, he collapsed next to me on the bed. Panting for the next few minutes, we just lay there exhausted. No words got exchanged as we gathered our composure.

Later in the kitchen, we each drank a large bottle of water.

After we finally got back to bed, there was a complete change of tempo. Morgan’s turn had finally arrived, and he was very loving as he caressed and kissed me with unbelievable tenderness. Moving his body behind mine, he began his next entry of my butt. This time it was slow and gentle. Once he was inside me, he magically moderated his pace. Rhythmically fucking me, we restfully swayed to and fro as he made love to me, constantly kissing and nibbling on my ears and neck.

After an hour-long visit to paradise, we unloaded in a cloud of rapture as we savoured our bliss for several moments.

“So which lover do you prefer?” Morgan eventually asked.

“Do I have to choose?” I answered, giggling.

“Reilly, that was the best sex I have ever had,” Morgan stated. “By the way… How did you cope with Conan?”

“I like both of you guys and would be happy to continue this threesome,” I impishly replied.

Chuckling, Morgan answered, “Well… Both of us will be happy to ensure your continued pleasure.”

With a serious look on his face, he then asked, “Would you consider renting your spare room to me?”

He looked dejected and puzzled when I answered, “Absolutely not.” Relief returned to his face as I added, “But if the two of you would consider moving into the main bedroom with me, the answer would be an absolute yes.”

After giggling for several minutes, we were sound asleep shortly after.

In our somewhat cramped apartment, our lust didn’t suffer, but we sometimes had a stagnation. But we’re moving soon, into our own cosy house.

A friend of Tom’s probably wanted to do him a favor because my boyfriend had given him hints.

The friend was on a business trip and needed a house sitter. That’s where we came in. And later the winter garden.

First we were sitting in front of Danny’s flat screen and watched a movie. But then he pulled me up by the hand and excitedly I followed him into the spacious winter garden, which I had not yet entered, but apparently Tom did.

He had prepared a bowl of strawberries and a second one of blueberries, as well as champagne.

What did he have in store? A romantic picnic? I thought to myself.

As I entered, the stagnant humidity hit me unexpectedly. As in midsummer, although it was only spring that woke up outside. Here were orchids and other flowers that preferred this climate. Wondrous shapes, psychedelic colors, some goblets appeared quite erotic.

Did he want more, far more? My abdomen tingled. First he played various jungle songs from pop music, I know a cliché, but Tom used that to dance closely with me. I felt more and more that another jungle was coming to life with him. Not to speak of my own wilderness. I felt his aroused hardness close to me and he obviously mine.

Then he gently laid me on the yoga mat and energetically attacked my mouth with his lips and tongue. It drove into me hot and burning. Our tongues swirled around each other like a double star. A heated jet stream of pleasure made me produce precipitation on the tip of my cock so that I was ready. More than ready.

But then he interrupted our beginning supernova and fed me with relish alternately strawberries and blueberries.

We took off each other’s t-shirts. I sucked with great joy on his juice-stained finger. He groaned. I tugged and licked his chest buds. They became wonderfully stiff.

Then he pushed me back on the mat and kindled the fire in me by means of my breast buds, which he tasted devotedly. Then he kept pouring some champagne into the thimble of my belly button and slurped it out of it.

How furiously he tore off my pants and underwear. Now he drank my juice of precum lust, sweet, salty and lovely. His lips took me deep into the dark, wet cave of his lustful mouth.

I was already pounding violently, longing for his tongue and more. I had the urge to thrust into him. He allowed me to do as I pleased. He sucked with gentle force, but not fierce at all. My stream of love entered finally his throat and a little scream was uttered from the top of my lungs.

His longing was more than evident when he took off his jeans. Oho! How wicked! He wasn’t wearing underpants. His erect tail is a real hummingbird that pulsed powerfully. He couldn’t wait to dive deep into me and rummage through my most secret place.

Then finally he came over me, propped himself up with his arms and slowly but more emphatically inserted his penis into me. Millimeter by millimeter, I enjoyed the massage with his vibrating piston, which swung with the rhythm of his pulse.

He sank into me to the bottom of my troubled ocean, paused for a moment so as not to come too early. Then he began thrusting, swaying his hips so that he touched every side of my muscles that had stretched to swallow him hungrily.

As he pounded me furiously, he kept on fucking my mouth with his lecherous tongue. I felt alight and languorous at the same time. Switching back and forth. I gasped with delight.

His thrusts became more and more intense. He clasped me like a warrior his treasure, touched my P-Spot and caused heavy shivers in me. I felt hot and cold.

We both joined the chorus of uncensored lust. He gave me a deep kiss, as if I had artistically licked myself, I tasted my bewitching aroma on his trembling lips.

We became more and more euphoric, buried in each other as if the night would never end. I groaned as if in a strange language and he moaned profoundly as he let his white, slippery, sticky river pour into me. Hot and volcanic.

After we passed the main act, he stayed in and on top of me. I had the feeling that we were steaming immensely, that he glowed inside me, that I had to be luminescent. Like human fireflies.

When he pulled his exhausted warrior out of me, perfumed by my scent, we still cuddled tenderly while I enjoyed the lazy emotion of how his semen gradually wetted me on the outside like balm of the morning.

As a result, our bumbling love life was immensely enlivened and got an immense upswing until the next fresh impulses.

“Because the only thing that punk rock should ever really mean, is not sitting around and waiting for the lights to go green.”   Frank Turner

---

Nail made his way through the late-night traffic. It was after two in the morning on a Saturday. He knew most of the other traffic was going to or coming from a club, a bar, or a music venue. He was coming from the restaurant where he had been working ever since he was seventeen, four long years ago. He had been busboy, then a dishwasher and finally, this past winter, made waiter. With tips, he was making enough money to not go a week without decent food or pay the power company reconnection fees when his power got shut off for non-payment. But he still had to watch his spending, still not able to afford internet or cable, relying on the library for the former and friends for the latter.

Turning down Central Avenue, he shifted through gears of his nineteen-year Civic, a car he bought from a cousin for cheap because the air conditioning had stopped working. It still wasn’t fixed, but the car ran well and required little maintenance otherwise.

He passed through Sol, then turned left at Five-Points, going out to the Morningside neighborhood. Off the main road sat a large housing development that was finally turning around, but by the road the two apartment complexes still languished with little or no upkeep. Nail turned into the second one and eased through the complex to the back side where his one-bedroom ground level apartment was located.

Pulling into a parking space, he glanced over at the old Jeep Cherokee two spaces over. Despite it being parked in darkness, he knew every detail of it. The missing plastic fenders, the bent tailgate, faded paint, and an interior ragged out from abuse. The fact the inline six still ran was testimony to its endurance. Its presence let him know Fletcher was waiting on his return, no doubt looking to crash for the night.

Nail made his way along the broken sidewalk around his building to the backside. As he came to the recessed area for the entrances of his apartment and neighbor, he first saw the familiar black sneakers, then the faded jeans, and as he drew near, the rest of Fletcher sitting on the walk leaned back against his door.

“Hey,” uttered Nail.

“Hey.”

Fletcher got to his feet and moved to one side, letting Nail unlock his door and enter the dark apartment with him right behind. As Nail turned on a light, then emptied his pockets on the kitchen counter, Fletcher came into the room and leaned against the sofa taking up much of the living area.

“You want to tell me?” said Nail, knowing something happened between Fletcher and his father. Ever since his mother left them, his father had become worse. At times belligerent to the point of being abusive.

“Same shit, different day. The fucker is drunk off his ass and…” Fletcher replied, letting the sentence hang in the air.

“Well get the blanket and pillow from my closet. I’ve got to get to bed. I’m scheduled to open in the morning.”

“Again? Damn, this is the third weekend in a row you closed, then opened.”

“I know, but they’re short staffed and relying on some of us to take up the slack, besides, I can use the extra money.”

“There’s that,” Fletcher uttered as he left the room to get the blanket and pillow.

Fletcher was on the sofa, blanket pulled up his neck, staring up at the ceiling. Nail was in the kitchen for a glass of water. He set the glass on the paper towel to dry, then headed for his bedroom. Stopping at the door, he looked back at him, wondering how long he could take it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Nail.

“No.”

“Well, get some sleep. Maybe we can do something tomorrow night. Did you know The Skids are playing at the Milestone?”

“Yes, but I’m broke as shit until payday.”

“I may have a line on tickets. Maybe we can go.”

“That would be great.”

“Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. I should be home by six.”

Despite his fatigue, every muscle aching in protests to his long shift on his feet, he lay awake thinking of his own life, and that of his friend. Fletcher never had a chance. His parents considered school stupid, something for rich kids, and that he needed to learn how to use his hands, learn a trade, like his father, a mason. So, Fletcher was stuck home with no family support and a bigger problem with his father a drunk who couldn’t hold a job. Fletcher knew dropping out of high school had been a mistake but after what happened, it was no surprise. Now he struggled to make a life for himself and felt his desperation grow day by day, month after month, to get away from his father. For the last four years, with no diploma, a drop out, painted as unreliable, he suffered through one shitty job with low pay and part time hours after the next. Currently he worked at the car wash on Monroe Road, but with tips, it looked promising he might finally be able to get his own place.

Then Nail thought of his own life. He had finished high school, and planned on college, first the community college then a major university to get a degree. But life doesn’t play out the way one hopes. He didn’t have the financial means for community college and his parents were in such a dire situation financially, a student loan was out of the question. So, he graduated high school and started his own path through one shitty job after the next until he finally got hired at the vegan place on 23rd, working his way up to waiter.

He knew how others saw them. He remembered the name calling as Fletcher, Payne, and he walked down the corridor between classes. “Losers,” “Trash,” and one Nail thought hilarious, “Punks.”  He knew the punk movement of the seventies and early eighties, had read about it, and listened to the music. The push against unfair norms, economies not working for the average person, and a desire for an unjust world to burn. And there was the look of those in the movement, a look they had copied in their own way. Considering how the country was more an oligarchy than a republic and the current pure fascism of some, he felt that way now, so maybe he was a punk, just decades too late to be an actual part of it. Thinking of it, he knew for sure Payne had been one.

But Fletcher never seemed to have the rebellion needed to be a punk. There was something about him, a reserve, a shyness around others, which kept him to the side. As he had contemplated before, Nail thought of his friend and how he seemed unhappy in a way he was not. While he dated and picked up girls, Fletcher seemed to get worse with being introverted. He tried to set Fletcher up, but time and time again there was always an excuse not to follow through.

Nail felt lucky he was able to meet women that wanted to go with him. He knew his reputation among friends and how he seemed to always have a different woman, thus the derogatory nickname. One he can still remember obtaining one night at an abandoned parking lot they had been partying in as teenagers. He had Sharon, no it was Cindy, in the back of Payne’s old station wagon. They had moved from groping and just messing around, to him on top fucking her. He had been right at the point of coming when Payne had opened the back and yelled “nail her, nail that ass.”

It embarrassed Cindy so, she had pushed him off as his cock was spurting his load. The mess he made and having her react as she did, embarrassed him, but he never could shake the nickname. Payne, then Fletcher began to call him Nail.

Fletcher still kidded him about it, and how he hooked up all the time. When he asked Fletcher why he didn’t date anyone, or just hook up, there had been the closing in, the eyes cutting away, and some excuse that grew more irrational as they grew older. He had wondered about Fletcher’s sexuality. There was times Fletcher would stare at some guy, eyes following him around a room. And when he met new people, it was the guys he would get tongue tied, uttering his name too low to hear and unable to converse with them without stuttering or saying something silly or out of context. What if Fletcher is gay? It would explain so much. But the thing he didn’t understand was why Fletcher, if he was gay, never acted on it, or come out to him. He had to know it was not something that would affect their friendship.

One day, he had to find a way to talk to him about what was bothering him, and if he was gay, let him open up about that too. He just didn’t know how to do it.

Fletcher stretched, pushing his feet against the arm of the sofa. He looked around the small apartment and knew he was alone. He glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly eleven. It was Saturday and he didn’t have any hours at the carwash, nor did he have anything to do. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling wondering what it would be like to have a normal life. To have a home that appreciated him, supported him, not one he fled far too often, crashing on Nail’s couch. How much longer would Nail let him do it, he didn’t know, but if Nail every got a girlfriend he knew it would have to end.

He lay still, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the footfalls from the apartment above. He tried not to do, but he was feeling sorry for himself, and it only made it worse. Was he ever happy, and he remembered his childhood and the times he got to stay with Nail or Payne, and how they played cards, or explored the creek that ran behind Nail’s house, or simply watched television until it was nearly night time.

Nail.

He tried not to do it, but he thought of him physically, the masculine body and the gravely voice. If only Nail was like him. It would be so easy. Someone he knew, someone he could trust. Someone that wouldn’t make fun of him or make disparaging remarks. It embarrassed him to think of his friend in such a manner, especially knowing Nail wasn’t interested in guys.

But it wasn’t always Nail he wanted. Up until a little over three years ago, it was Payne. Payne was the one that made him feel breathless, the one he struggled not to stare at when they were hanging out. He remembered how Payne read all the time. Sci Fi and fantasy and history, none more so than books on the founding fathers. His favorite was Thomas Payne, thus the nickname. The man who wrote Age of Reason, something Payne talked about all the time. It seemed crazy to think of it, how Payne held out the most promise of escape, the one surely destined to go to college and become someone, if not famous, at least important. But life is cruel and unfair, and a drunk driver took Payne from them.

He remembered the frantic call from Bobby, then the rush to get to the hospital, only to arrive too late.

He wondered how Bobby was doing. It had to be rough, but he hadn’t been able to go over since the funeral. He couldn’t face them. It was too painful. The theft of one of his best friends, and the one he adored in ways he still could not admit to anyone, not even Nail.

“Fuck,” Fletcher uttered as he rolled off the couch.

In Nail’s bedroom he looked in the corner of the closet for some of the clothes he kept there, then went into the bathroom to shower. In the shower, the water as hot as he could stand it, he soaped up then stood in the spray to rinse off. Turning under the spray, he caught sight of himself through the clear shower curtain. Even though he was distorted and partially obscured by the mirror getting fogged up, he saw someone he didn’t really know. He was twenty, not yet twenty-one. He had been the youngest of the three of them, a birthday not until the third of December, and he had looked even younger, less mature. Even now, he saw a teenager, not a young man. He couldn’t make his age fit the boy in the mirror.

He had to admit he was attractive. The girls called him cute, something he didn’t like, for Payne and Nail had been handsome. He was always the cute boyish one. It insinuated immaturity, making him more insecure about himself.

Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, he slipped out of Nail’s apartment, locking the door with is key. Why he never went in on his own was one of his hang ups. It felt like an intrusion, a violation of Nail’s personal space, so he always waited for him to get home. Nail had told him over and over to go on in, until he finally just stopped saying it.

Checking his wallet, he saw there was still a five and three ones in it, enough for lunch at the fast-food joint, or maybe he would drive over to the deli on 12th Street and get a sandwich. He thought there was enough change in his car to give him sufficient money to go there.

Fletcher drove past the fast-food joint, seeing a line of cars wrapping around the building for the drive through and a parking lot that looked full. He headed across town to the deli. Each stop at a traffic light found him digging around the interior for loose change. He found another dollar in the console and a few coins. In the bottom of the cup holder a couple more coins. By the time he arrived at the small deli, it was getting past the time of the largest rush of patrons. The deli was situated at the end of an old shopping center, the flat metal canopy sagging in a couple of places and several of the other lease spaces empty, the windows papered over and for lease signs prominent on each door. Despite its tired worn appearance, it had a reputation as being one of the best, and a nearly full parking lot in front made testament to this reputation.

Inside the long narrow space, tables down one wall, drink merchandisers on the right with the counter for ordering just behind them, Fletcher got in line debating turkey or ham, then whether, or not he should get water to drink or if he could splurge for a drink. Ultimately deciding against it, never sure what the tax would add to his order.

He was almost to the back before finding a table free, one someone had just vacated and needing cleaning off. He sat down, pushed back to give the woman busing the tables room to clean off his table. While he waited, he watched the other people in the space, seeing most looked professional in khakis or dress slacks, or they were in construction or some other profession of a similar nature with their work pants and boots and t-shirts advertising one company or another. He saw their looks back, the judgmental appraisal of his looks. His jet-black hair cut close to the scalp on the sides but long on top, and the tattoos along his right arm, a sleeve in progress, one telling the story of Alice in Wonderland, albeit in his own style, one more gothic in nature.

He wondered how they would judge him if they knew. Knew he wanted to be with another guy. That he wanted to suck their dick and take it up the ass. Would they see him the same way then? Would he look scary then?

A couple of young guys came in, yellow boots, tight jeans and t-shirts advertising a lawn service. The second guy had the sleeves ripped off his t-shirt, revealing muscular arms with a razor wire band tattooed around one. Some of the young women stared at them with lust, and there was a middle-aged guy that appeared to be doing the same. He wanted to scream. Yell at those staring. Why them and not me? He wanted to know why he was someone to avoid but they were not. But he knew they were better than him in the way people measured others. Their worth, money wise, the person inside be damned. Payne was right, we’re just fucking commodities to the economy.

A waitress brought Fletcher’s sandwich to his table, and he turned his attention from the other patrons to it. He ate slowly, enjoying every bite, for most lunches were not this good. Payday wasn’t for two days, and until then he would be back to noodles and whatever else he could scrounge up at home.

“Fletcher?  Hey, Fletcher,” someone called out.

The voice was familiar, but different somehow and Fletcher looked up to see a tall, thin guy standing before him. Short blonde hair and a boyish face, dimples, blue eyes and all. He stared up not sure he knew this person before him. It looked like Bobby, Payne’s brother, but the height was wrong, and the look was different, not as rough around the edges. Black jeans with a chain wallet, black jacket over a black mesh shirt revealing the lean body within.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah,” Bobby replied, laughing. “It’s me, Fletcher. Damn, what has it been?”

“About three years.”

“Of course.”

“How…how have you been?”

“I’m good. It was tough at first, you know, but…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothing. Just trying to live. You finished high school?” Fletcher asked, trying to remember how old Bobby would be now.

“Yep, last spring. I’m at the community college taking some courses and working part time at the Humane Society.”

“Really? The Humane Society?”

“I help with the feeding and cleaning out the stalls and walk the dogs.”

“You like it?

“Yes, I do. The dogs are far more grateful for what we do for them than some people would be.”

Fletcher smiled, seeing a bit of Payne in his brother.

“You dating anyone?” Bobby asked.

“Huh? I…no…not really.”

Bobby smiled as if he knew, then he looked back at two guys in line about to come up to the counter to order.

“Hey, my friends are waiting, but let’s get together and do something. You still hanging out with Nail?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, it was good to see you. But the guys are waiting, so I’ve got to go.”

“See ya,” Fletcher replied, still shocked at the person before him was Bobby.

He watched him and his friends order, then after a wait, take white bags for each of them and head out. Bobby looked back and waved just before going through the door, and Fletcher waved back, feeling foolish for he was thinking it, considering Bobby in the same way he had always considered Payne.

Nail came out of the bathroom towel drying his hair. He looked into the living area at Fletcher sitting in the side chair staring out the window. It was worse of late, and he knew what was going on. He had denied it to himself for a few days, but it was so obvious now, there was no denying it. Ever since Fletcher ran into Bobby, there had been an anxiousness, an unease, and on more than one occasion, he thought Fletcher was going to say what was going on with him.

At lunch the day before, Bobby and a couple of his friends came into the restaurant. He overheard their conversation about hooking up with guys and joking about it. So, Payne’s brother was gay. It didn’t really surprise him, not when he thought back on it. Payne had often gone at lengths to argue for their rights and fair treatment, and Nail wondered if Payne had known his brother was gay. There had been no doubt about Payne’s sexuality. Payne had been straight, one to chase after the girls nearly as much as he did. Only difference, Payne didn’t follow through sometimes, let his inner demons pull him away. If only they had known how bad it had been.

The real surprise came later, when he brought the guys their check. He still saw Bobby’s expression, the casual look of someone who was comfortable in their own skin.

“Hey, Nail, do you think I’ll be able to talk Fletcher in going out with me? He keeps looking at me as Payne’s little brother.”

Nail had stammered and made himself busy giving the other two their checks before trying to answer. How could Bobby know such a thing when he wasn’t sure? Did Fletcher say something to Bobby, make some confession that confirmed his sexuality? He asked Bobby if he had asked Fletcher, getting a negative response. Bobby said he just knew, then asked if he should just be the one to ask. Nail remembered how he had laughed, Bobby acting so naïve but confident at the same time, much like his older brother had been. This conflicted nature that demonstrated the human condition and all of its conflicted aspects.

He heard his response play over and over in his head, the one he uttered as he took their money.

“If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him. Fletcher will never make the first move.”

Looking across the room, considering Fletcher’s actions and responses in the past, he knew Bobby was right. He could see it now. What he worried about was how to let Fletcher know, for he thought it would give him some relief. But wasn’t it something Fletcher should do when he was ready? He worried Fletcher was too shy, too introverted to make that first step. He crossed the small hall between the bath and his bedroom to get some clothes, then he would make them something to eat by warming up the food he had brought from the restaurant.

Coming out of the bedroom pulling on a t-shirt, Nail decided to wait a bit longer. He would let Bobby approach him, ask him out on a date, then everything should fall into place. Or so, he hoped.

Fletcher slapped his thigh with the towel he had used on his last vehicle of the day. Crossing the lot headed to the building to clock out, he turned to see the large SUV pull away, the black body shiny in the bright daylight. It was four o’clock on a Saturday, and he was off from the carwash until Monday.

Clocked out, he checked his timecard again, seeing the total hours for the two previous weeks and what to expect in his bank account on Monday. It was enough to repay Nail and stash a couple of hundred into the savings account he opened, the goal being to save enough to move out on his own.

He was pulling out of the parking lot when an old Volkswagen Golf flashed its lights then slowed to turn in next to him. He saw the driver was blonde headed, then he saw it was Bobby and he eased back from the street into the parking lot. The Golf eased off the road and next to him.

“Hey Fletcher, you finished for the day?” asked Bobby.

“Yeah, I was just headed home.”

“What are you doing later?”

“Huh…I…nothing. Maybe watch television.”

“I want to go to this Vietnamese restaurant over in Sol. Will you go with me? My treat and I could pick you up at, say six thirty?”

“You want to go to dinner with me?”

Bobby laughed then leaned out the window, looking up at Fletcher.

“Yeah, I do. Will you go out with me?”

The way Bobby said it brought Fletcher up short. Surely, he didn’t mean it that way. He wasn’t thinking of it as a date, was he? He looked around like he did every time he was afraid someone was nearby that could overhear.

“Fletcher, man, it’s okay. Do you want to go to dinner with me? If not, just say so and I’ll leave you alone.”

“That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

“Do you think,” Fletcher began, leaning out and lowering his voice, “do you think I’m gay?”

“Fletcher, I’m not sure for you’ve not said one way or the other. But I am, gay that is, and I hope you are too. I hope you are, and you want to go with me to dinner.”

“I…”

“Fletcher, it’s okay. Just be honest with me.”

Fletcher looked at Payne’s little brother, but that description was fading. He saw a young guy that was interested in him and wanted to go out to dinner. He felt his heart racing and his mouth was suddenly so dry his tongue felt stuck in place. But he knew what he had been feeling ever since first running into Bobby. Yes, he wanted to go out with him. So, what if Bobby was Payne’s little brother. He was only a few years younger and eighteen at that. It was now or never, for he knew if he turned down Bobby, he would keep turning down others.

“Bobby…I would like to go to dinner with you.”

Nail comes in from work at the restaurant and finds Fletcher at his door. He’s not surprised but he is surprised to see Fletcher dressed nicer than he had ever seen him. Jeans that were not threadbare and a shirt that looked pressed.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Hey…I was wondering…” Fletcher fell silent, and Nail went to his door and unlocked it, trying to keep things normal between them. “Can we talk a minute?” Fletcher finally asked as he got to his feet.

“Yeah, of course,” Nail replied, going in letting Fletcher follow.

Keys tossed on the kitchen counter, then cellphone, and wallet. Nail sensed Fletcher standing behind him and he turned to face him.

“Okay,” said Nail facing him. He saw the nervousness, like Fletcher was about to jump out of his skin.

“Come on, Fletcher, relax. There’s nothing you could say that would be that bad. Just spill it.”

“I’m going out tonight and…eventually it’ll get around. I know it will, and…I can tell you anything?”

“Fletcher? Come on, man.”

“Okay, okay, its like this. I’m going to dinner with Bobby…Payne’ brother,” Fletcher blurted out, then struggled to hold eye contact with Nail.

Nail smiled, shaking his head. He stared at Fletcher until he had his undivided attention.

“Fletcher, it’s good. That is great. Bobby is grown and if he is anything like Payne, then I’m sure he made the first move. In fact, I know he did. Right?”

Fletcher looked down but not before Nail saw the smile.

“Yes,” Fletcher whispered.

“Bobby reminds me of Payne. He has the same confidence and even more extroverted,” said Nail, then he fell silent for a few seconds. “And he doesn’t seem to have those inner demons,” he whispered, looking up at Fletcher.

“I don’t think so either.”

“Is this you coming out to me?” Nail joked with a grin.

Fletcher laughed, the first time in a long time. “I guess.”

“When are you meeting him?”

“Well, he was to come to my house but…”

“Can he pick you up here?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. Call him. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get a shower. I feel like shit.”

Bobby pulled into the parking lot at the old warehouse that now housed artist studios and a gallery. The security grilles were down and most of the lights were off. They had dinner, then hung out a bar for a drink, Bobby paying for everything that gave Fletcher mixed feelings. He liked not worrying about money and being treated to dinner and drinks, but he fretted about it, thinking he should be contributing too. The etiquette for two guys was a mystery to him, worrying about every aspect of their date in the moments they were not deep in conversation.

As now, in the parking lot, a place they could be alone. Fletcher’s home was out of the question and Bobby didn’t think his parents would be obliging about them hanging out there. So, like two teens, they were parking at the warehouse. They got out and moved to the front of the car, leaning on the hood. Fletcher looked up at the dark sky at the few stars bright enough to shine through the urban light pollution, and just over the warehouse, a half moon. He wondered if it was cycling to a new moon or a full moon.

“I’m glad you agreed to go out with me,” Bobby whispered.

“Me too.”

“Have you gone out with anyone before?”

“No. You?”

“Yes.”

A silence settled over them. From the distant freeway the white noise of traffic could be heard and somewhere around the old warehouse a compressor or an air conditioner on its last leg was rattling in a new cycle. Bobby slid closer to Fletcher and leaned toward him.

“Can I kiss you?”

Fletcher looked around and grinned foolishly. “Yeah.”

They kissed, then kissed again and grinned at each other. Then they kissed again, Fletcher letting go of his hesitancy. He didn’t flinch when Bobby slipped a hand under this shirt rubbing his stomach. The warm contact sent shivers up his spine, and he pushed his lips against Bobby’s with an increase in his feelings of arousal. The hand moved up and over his chest. It rubbed over his nipples, and he became aware of them, their sensitivity increasing his desire for Bobby.

The hand slipped out from under his shirt, then he felt the tug upward on it. He leaned back and raised his arms, letting Bobby slip it over his head and off. The warm air caressed his skin, then the hand was rubbing over his chest again as lips touched his neck. He moaned, no longer worried how another guy would view him. No worry about being too skinny or not masculine enough. When the hand pushed him to lay back, he eased down on the warm hood of the car. Bobby moved against him, kissing his neck, then down over his chest. A tongue on his nipple, dragging over it until he felt his cock flex in its confines. Then a light bite down on it that made him shudder and cry out. His cock flexed hard.

Bobby took one hand and held it down over his head. With his feet on the ground and laying back on the hood, he was curved back, chest pushed up. The other hand rubbed over his chest, then moved slowly down.

“Please don’t stop me,” Bobby whispered.

Fletcher felt the hot exhale with the soft whisper, then the slick tongue following its curvature. Another hot exhale. “Let me?”

The hand slid downward, straight down the middle of his chest, over his stomach until fingers were slipping under the gap between his loose jeans and stomach.

“Don’t stop,” Fletcher uttered, then moaned as the fingers were slipping underneath his boxers and raking through his pubic hair. Then the first touch. Another’s fingers against his cock, and it flexed with his arousal. The fingers rubbed along its length and toyed with the head, making him cry out.

“Will you take them off?” Bobby whispered.

Fletcher suddenly thought of where they were parked. In the shadows between the only two working security lights in the parking lot of an old warehouse. If anyone were at a window or at the lot’s edge, they could see them. The fingers circled around his cock and squeezed, and he flexed in the grasp.

“Yes,” Fletcher moaned.

Bobby sat up and removed his own shirt, tossing it on top of the car. He jumped to his feet and moved between Fletcher’s legs. He ran a hand up each thigh as Fletcher leaned up and watched.

Fletcher saw his bulging crotch. He felt it too, his hard cock aching for release. And he watched those hands move closer and closer, their aim to give it that release. Leaning up on elbows, he watched Bobby work slowly and with determination to undo his jeans, drag the zipper down, and spread them open. Bobby leaned into the gap and buried his face in his crotch. A hot exhale and the feel of lips on his cock made him moan. The lips moving along this cock as his jeans are tugged down made him moan again. As the jeans slipped easily down his legs the lips closed over the head of his cock and he cried out.

Fletcher raised his hips, letting Bobby slip his boxers down. He watched him ease down between his legs, then a hand guided him to raise one foot then the other. He was stripped naked, his clothes tossed on top of the car. His cock bobbed up and down over his stomach, then drooled, letting the slick pool on his stomach.

He watched Bobby rise, lean over his stretched-out body, take his cock in hand, hold it up, and lick the head. He shuddered, moaned whorishly while watching the tongue try to bore into the slit. Bobby released it and moved to his stomach licking up the pool of slick on it. He felt the slick tongue drag across his flesh. Then Bobby had his cock again, and this time he watched lips press down on the head, and kept going down, letting it slip into the mouth. Inside the mouth was hot, slick and he flexed with the feel of it. He pushed upward and Bobby took it, nose buried in his pubic hair. Then he watched as Bobby sucked his cock. Up and down, over and over, Bobby moved on it. At times slow, agonizingly slow, but then other times with a fast, desperate pace. Far too soon, he was pushed to the point of release. He bucked upward while slapping his hands down on the hood of the car. He cried out, then grunted with each ejaculation as Bobby swallowed around the spurting head.

Fletcher watched Bobby come to his feet, shirt unbuttoned, jeans pushed down, cock hard as rock angled outward. His eyes looked at the lean body with the beginning definition of its masculine form. Bobby grasped his own cock and slowly stroked it.

“Will you do me?”

Fletcher watched the hand move from flared head down to the base. Slowly, gently, and the erotic nature of it made his cock flex and stay hard. He slid off the hood and down on his knees. He looked up at Bobby whose face was in deep shadow. He knew the eyes looked back. He sensed their stare.

“Yes.”

Fletcher took Bobby and stroked down to the base. He felt the veined rock-hard shaft slip through his fingers and when he squeezed, it flexed within his grasp. He leaned to it and dragged his tongue over the head. He tasted Bobby, the odd sweetness of him, and he licked again and again, until Bobby pulled back.

“Stop…stop…too much,” Bobby uttered with a jovial tone. Then he held Fletcher by the head, rubbed the temples with his thumbs, then he pushed forward dragging his cock across the wet lips, over the upper lip, then back across his chin.

Fletcher lost sight of his surroundings. Nothing was in focus, except Bobby’s cock. He pulled back and looked at it in the dim light. The head wet and shiny, the shaft half in shadow, and he moved to it, putting lips around the head, and kept pushing forward until it filled his mouth.

He worked his mouth on Bobby, back and forth, feeling the hard shaft move smoothly through his lips. He was sucking a man. He was sucking his first cock and he closed his eyes and pushed forward until nearly gagging and his nose was buried in pubic hair. The hands moved over his head, fingers combing through his hair. He took his own cock and stroked it back to full erection, the shaft rock hard in his grip. Soon it was apparent Bobby was just aroused as he had been, too turned on to hold out for long. The cock flexed in his mouth, then it swelled thicker. Bobby pushed forward, the head sliding over his tongue, then it gushed cum, thick wads shooting to the back of his throat and quickly filling his mouth. He swallowed, over and over, taking each wad. When Bobby was spent, the hands tightening on his head pushed him back.

“Stop, stop, I can’t take anymore.”

Fletcher took Bobby in hand and slowly stroked him, keeping him hard.

“Will you fuck me?” asked Fletcher.

Fletcher wanted to feel the penetration by a man. He wanted to know what it was like to have a cock piston inside his hole. Looking up at Bobby, he knew he wanted that man to be him. He wanted it to be Bobby who took his virginity.

“Will you?” Fletcher asked again.

“Yes. I want you more than you could know,” Bobby replied, helping Fletcher to his feet.

Fletcher eased back on the hood of the car, positioning himself as Bobby guided him. He raised his legs letting Bobby take each by the ankle. He was spread open. He felt it, the way his ass was made available to him. The feel of warm air moving over him, then the touch. Cock rubbing along the ass, then sliding back and forth along side his own. He took both, holding them together as Bobby pumped his hips. The friction between them was too much and he threw his head back and cried out.

He held Bobby in hand and guided him to his tight opening, while fingering it with his other hand. One finger, then two, then three, Fletcher stretched himself open, knowing the thick cock in his other hand would still hurt. But he wanted it. He wanted to feel it stretch him open and sink into his depths. Desperate with his need, he guided it to his opening.

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” Fletcher whispered.

Bobby pushed, gently, slowly, and Fletcher felt the head penetrate him. He shuddered with its breach of his tightness. Then he held fast to the front of the car as Bobby kept pushing, slowly, sinking into his depths. He felt every inch drag through his tightness. It seemed to take forever, an impossibly long time but finally he felt hips press against his ass. There was the fullness of the penetration, and the gently push against his ass, over and over, as Bobby tried to go deeper.

Fletcher felt alive. His heart raced and he heaved for breath. His skin felt feverish and sweat trickled down his face. He lay back, clinging to the front of the car as Bobby fucked him. A slow gently pace that increased. Grew faster, harder, a physicality that only two men could want. The car rocked beneath him, and he rocked with every thrust inward. He took his own cock and stroked it. His hand was soon slick, and he shuddered with his own manipulation of the sensitive head, and he shivered even more when Bobby sank inward all the way and hammered hips against his ass. The sound of flesh smacking flesh echoed around them.

Fletcher understood his need for this connection with another. He felt the wholeness of it, how it made him feel more alive than ever before. It aroused him, his cock rock hard and thick in his hand, as Bobby moved inside him. He gasped for breath, cried out, and felt cum rain down on his face and chest. He shuddered with every ejaculation from his cock. Bobby held his legs tight and fucked with a brutal pace. Then shoved into his depths and shuddering with his own release.

Nail came out of bedroom rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had gone back out to meet up with some friends at the tavern in Five Points and had not gotten back home until nearly two. He looked in the living room before going into the bathroom and saw Fletcher asleep on it. There was a smile on his face, and he had pushed the blanket down revealing a bare upper body. There were red marks, especially around the right nipple and on the stomach. Round bruising of a mouth that was too rough. One that sucked at the skin. He smiled, suppressing the desire to laugh. He knew Bobby had taken Fletcher. Payne’s little brother had taken Fletcher’s virginity. He entered the bathroom, closed the door, and let the laugh he was holding in escape.

When he had gotten in, Fletcher had still been out, so it was very late when he had done so. Nail wondered where Bobby and Fletcher had done it, neither’s house available to them. He imagined some stall at a club or bar, then in the car parked in a dark alley, or maybe Bobby got a cheap hotel room, one with mirrors on the ceiling and sheets that would glow filthily in a black light. It made him giggle at the silliness of his scenarios.

He shaved and brushed his teeth, then took a long hot shower. With towel wrapped around his waist, he came out to find Fletcher sitting up.

“Hey, you’re up,” said Nail.

“Yes, what time is it?”

“Almost noon. I’m going to that place on Haywood that serves brunch. Go grab a shower and put on clean clothes. My treat.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. I made a killing last night in tips, so my treat. Go get cleaned up.”

The restaurant was busy, but not crowded. The waitress led them to the outdoor seating area, placing them at a two-top along the rail of the raised platform. It overlooked a side garden, a small oasis within the concrete walks and buildings. Drinks were brought and orders placed when Nail faced Fletcher and asked about his date with Bobby.

Fletcher flushed red, then smiled.

“That good, huh,” Nail replied to the look and watched Fletcher nod his head.

“You guys fuck?”

“What?  Nail!”

“Well, I’d like to know. What’s the big deal. I tell you everything.”

“Sometimes too much,” Fletcher replied shaking his head.

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, we did it.”

“Where? That has me more curious than whether or not my best friend got deflowered.”

“Nail!”

“Well?”

“We went to this parking lot at these artist studios, the ones over in…”

“I know where you’re talking about. That old warehouse building on Bohlin Avenue.”

“Yes, that’s the place.”

“And you did it in the parking lot?” Nail asked, looking as if he would burst out laughing.

“Yeah…I guess someone could have seen us if they had been around.”

“Well, it would have been dark in the car.”

Fletcher looked across at Nail, guilt on his face.

“No, you got out of the car? Nasty fucks,” Nail laughed.

“Not so loud.”

“Okay, okay. But what is important; are you two going out again?”

“Yes. Next Friday night. He has to work all week and I’ve got four late afternoon shifts.”

“Next Friday?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m going to Asheville with Emily on Friday, coming back on Saturday. You want to use the apartment?”

“Yes! I mean, if it is okay?”

Nail laughed, then leaned in close.

“Anything I can do to make you happy. You’ve been in a funk for too long.”

Nail’s apartment held their presence within it. Music played softly from an old laptop with the small speakers sitting on the end tables by the old sofa. The smell of food hung in the air, along with the scented candle that sat on the small dining table, the wick still warm. From the living area to the bedroom, clothes lay scattered. A shirt over the back of the sofa, another on the seat of the armchair. On the floor lay socks, one belt, and two pair of jeans. In the bedroom, a pair of boxers lay on the floor by the bed, the other pair hanging from one foot that hung over the side of the bed. The room was dark, the only light what reflected off the white walls from the living room into the bedroom. It made the corners dark in shadow. On the bed, the naked body on bottom seemed to glow with its fair white skin. The other, darker in tone, was like a shadow hovering impossibly in space above. It moved with a rhythm as old as humans. Undulating with flexing muscles, revealing through the smooth skin their form. Then there was the sound. Exhales and gasps for breath. Moans, grunts, and soft pleadings. The whisperings of the most lascivious nature.

“Bobby…fuck me…fuck me harder,” Fletcher uttered, then moaned as Bobby thrust into his depths again.

“OH god…Fletch…I want…” Bobby uttered, moaning with his overwhelming desire, “…I want…take me,” he uttered in a whisper as he fought for control of his own body. He pushed into Fletcher’s depths and kept pushing against the upturned ass. He wanted his penetration to be deeper, to bore into the center of Fletcher’s soul.

“Don’t stop,” Fletcher exclaimed breathlessly. He pushed upward trying to increase Bobby’s penetration. He felt the fullness by the cock inside his hole, and he wanted to increase the pleasure of it. He wanted to be overwhelmed by it.

Bobby stood on knees and held Fletcher’s legs tight to his chest and he fucked with all his strength. The bed rocked, then banged into the wall as the sound of flesh smacking against flesh echoed in the rhythm of their fuck. Fletcher dug his fingers into the straining thighs and begged him to keep going, to fuck harder.

Bobby slowed to a stop, heaving for breath. Sweat trickled down his face and chest and his eyes were glazed over, focused only one thing. Fletcher laid out before him. The head that was turned upward fully revealing the long neck. The flat chest and stomach, the skin glistening in the dim light, and he knew it would be hot to the touch. Then there was the hard cock that rubbed over the stomach leaving a trail of slick.

“Roll over,” Bobby gasped, and he helped Fletcher ease over on his stomach. He looked at the long back and the round ass that arced upward. He watched hands reach back and spread the cheeks. A stroke of his slick cock, he moved down over him and put it to the slick hole that was leaking cum from his first load. He rubbed the head of his cock over it making Fletcher moan and push upward. He rubbed the loosened opening, then penetrated it once again and bore into the depths of Fletcher’s body.

Fletcher pushed upward taking every inch as he buried his face into the bed and cried out. He moaned as cock tugged outward and he grunted with every push inward. Bobby angled his position and hit something inside him that made him see stars and he cried out when it was so hard, his own cock flexed beneath him. Then Bobby zeroed in on the spot and hammered it. It left him breathless, moaning and grunting, and undulating beneath Bobby to increase the feelings that it aroused inside him. He wanted every push inward to feel this way.

Then Fletcher came. His cock exploded with his release, and he shuddered with every spurt, wad after wad, soaking the bed beneath him.

Bobby felt it, the spasm of every ejaculation around his thrusting cock, and he jammed into Fletcher’s depths and hammered his hips against the round ass until he too came. He shuddered and cried out with the first ejaculation, then he jerked and shook with each subsequent ejaculation until finally spent.

“Fuck…Fletch…that was…” Bobby uttered, falling on the bed beside him.

How long they laid in bed afterward their sex they didn’t know. It was late, the sounds of the city outside settled to only the occasional car passing by. Fletcher didn’t know why he thought of it, why now of all times. But he did.

“I miss him, you know,” Fletcher whispered.

“I know.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

Fletcher rolled to his side facing away from Bobby. The bed rocked and an arm wrapped around his chest as Bobby spooned against his back.

“Sometimes I want to call out to him, just to ask a question or to get his opinion, then remember he is gone. He was the best brother a guy could have, but I know for you…I know you loved him.”

“What?”

“He told me once that he knew how you felt about him. He worried about you so much. He could never be the person you wanted him to be, and he feared you would let life pass you by because of your shyness and fear of coming out. He was such a punk, a real rebel at times, but he could have such empathy for others.”

Fletcher lay still, almost afraid to breathe, as he heard about Payne knowing he was infatuated with him. The arm tightened around him as Bobby snuggled up closer. He felt the warmth shared between them. He felt the soft exhales against his neck. He felt secure for the first time in a very long time.

“But Fletcher, I can be the person you need…if you let me.”

Two Years Later

The leaves on campus were turning. Reds, oranges, and yellows mixed with the browns, giving a visual confirmation of fall, even if the temperatures were still in the low eighties. Students came from class heading to dorms or apartments, while some were headed to a late afternoon class or lab. One student, among many, wove his bicycle through the crowd. He wasn’t in a hurry, but he loved to ride fast enough to feel the wind in his face. He stood on the pedals and coasted around a turn then pedaled hard up the incline. Soon he was at the edge of campus, where he crossed the main road and coasted down the incline into the old neighborhood. There were streets with houses and two blocks over, apartment complexes that dated back to the seventies and eighties. It was the cheapest housing, a place for students on a tight budget.

He swung around the corner to get on Elm Street, then turned again into the parking lot of the Tiger Run Apartments, with their pale beige walls and garish blue trim. Pulling up the third building, he stepped over and off the bike, walking it up to the sidewalk.

Backpack still on his back and carrying his bike, he made his way up the old steps. The concrete treads were stained and cracked, and the steel runners and railing had been painted so many times it was uneven and rough. As he approached the balcony he heard rap from William’s apartment, then country music from Wyatt’s, and heading to his apartment, he heard some old punk music that made him slow down. He’d not heard the song in a long time, not since Payne had died. He listened to the familiar lyrics and the rough way they played and smiled.

He swung the door open and entered apartment 34.

“Hey, you in here?”

“Yes,” Fletcher called out, stepping out of the small walk-in closet they had to share. “How was class?”

“Good. Got an 87 on that calculus test and this on my English paper,” Bobby replied, holding up several sheets of paper folded vertically. On the outside was a 92.

“Damn, that is awesome.”

“Yes, it is. I feel like celebrating. You want to go for pizza at the place on Garden Street?”

“Can we afford it?”

“Yep. Mom sent me a few dollars for spending money.”

“You want to see if Kevin and Garcia want to go?”

“Sure, the more the merrier.”

“I heard from Nail today.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He asked Emily to marry him, and she said yes.”

“Wow. That is big.”

“He’s going to take that job in Denver and wants her to go with him.”

Bobby grinned as he moved to Fletcher, hugging him playfully, rocking him back and forth.

“When are you going to marry me?”

Lingam is best translated as ‘Wand of Light’. The phallic representation of the Hindu deity Lord Shiva, the lingam receives, stores, and generates life creating power. When aroused and engorged, it fills the recipient with pleasure and illumination. Every orgasm is a divine experience. And universal consciousness can only be achieved through the lingam.

---

USS Sims FF1059.

Completing his plebe year at Annapolis, Midshipman 4/c Chip Rayno reports aboard for youngster cruise. Homeported in Mayport Florida, the Knox-class frigate is named for Admiral William Sowden Sims, Commander US Naval Forces Europe during World War I.

Built by Avondale Shipyard, displacing 4,200 tons, the 438 foot vessel makes 27 knots. Performing an anti-submarine warfare mission, the fast frigate protects amphibious expeditionary forces, carrier battle groups, and merchant convoys.

Rayno is hand selected for the assignment.

A member of the Navigators, he worships divine masculinity and universal brotherhood. Rejecting the exhausted dogma of traditional thought, the secret society’s mission is the cultivation of a pervasive homosexual moral, cultural, and spiritual ethos in the Navy.

For the next six weeks the crew will indoctrinate him on shipboard equipment, operational procedures, unwritten Fleet rules, and deckplate life. Pursuing requisite qualifications, many lessons not found in any USNA syllabus will be imparted.

In turn, he’ll ignite a spiritual awakening.

* * *

Sims shifts colors and puts to sea.

Assigned to Deck Department, Rayno experiences enlisted servitude. Running with Boatswain’s Mates (BM), he works 12-hour shifts, stands 3-section bridge watch, and participates in special evolutions: sea & anchor detail, general quarters, and underway replenishments.

And there’s no doubt about it: enlisted life on a tin-can sucks.

Figuratively and literally.

Constrained at sea, sailors’ interactions quickly take alternative avenues. With traditional outlets unavailable, non-rates are by necessity vigorously pursued. Exercising appreciable skills, alpha males adroitly manipulate minions’ malleable masculinity.

Insatiable appetites are addressed as carnivores subjugate defenseless bottom dwellers. And while fresh seafood is delicious fare, tantalizing midshipmen, a seasonal delicacy not often found on the menu, always garners special attention.

Rayno understands the realities of life at sea: big fish eat little fish.

And few are smaller than a 4/c midshipman.

His civilian experiences in conjunction with skills honed at Annapolis have prepared him well. There’s nothing like the camaraderie, intimacy, and spirituality of sailing the high-seas with shipmates and brothers, rascals and rogues, and kindred souls.

He relishes the opportunity to suck them all.

And spread the gospel.

* * *

On the fantail a sailor smokes the day’s last cigarette.

Concupiscence stirs inside worn dungarees.

Hypnotically quiet, a blanket of solitude surrounds Sims as she traverses the blazing blackness. Amorphous luminescence drifts by on pellucid Caribbean waters. Beyond the horizon lurk uncharted phantom islands inhabited by revenants and demons.

Rayno materializes from an entanglement of moonlight and shadows.

A clandestine collaboration of convenience.

Taking station, he kneels between the sailor’s muscular thighs. No words are necessary. With steady hands he reverentially extracts the engorged lingam. Experiencing a spiritual convergence, he senses the power radiating from the earthly manifestation of divine will.

Leaning forward, he kisses the blood-engorged god. His tongue instinctively rolls around the glans and consumes the leaking hallucinogenic juices. The natural entheogen induces transcendence replete with synesthesia and altered time perception.

And he commences a spiritual journey.

Pressing firmly on Rayno’s head, the sailor forces himself deeper inside the mouth… seeking and finding quarters down the experienced throat. Surrounded by the immensity of sea and sky, feeling the presence of a higher power, he writhes in immutable pleasure.

The primal act transcends traditional boundaries of masculinity.

And both are connected to the mystical universe.

* * *

Sims is steaming in relatively shallow waters.

Lacking the calm deep of the abyssal plain, strong currents and winds can result in turbulent seas. In berthing compartments throughout the ship non-rates lacking sea-legs flounder… inadvertently attracting the attention of seasoned salts and seadogs.

A plethora of potential prey on parade.

For many innocence will not survive the night.

Deck Department’s berthing consists of 18 racks, standup lockers, a 3-foot square lounge table, and an adjoining head. Located forward of the beam and outboard of centerline, its inhabitants experience tumultuous linear motions and rotational forces about the ship’s transverse and longitudinal axes.

Naked sailors abound.

Cavorting with confidence, seadogs play grab-ass with younger shipmates. The candid homoerotic image, with subtle gradations of light and shadow, is reminiscent of fine art photography. And ample erections increase the eroticism of the composition.

Rayno visually gorges himself.

A profusion of magnificent cocks vie for his attention.

Mesmerized by pervasive masculinity, his spirit soars. Adorned with body-art, many sailors have dramatic and colorful tattoos. Deeply symbolic, intertwined with the mythology of the sea, it’s a tradition that has identified seafarers for millennia.

Several men have mermaids singing to passing ships. Born from the sea, linked with tragedy, mermaids represent the mythological forces of love, allure, and desire. Dangerous temptresses, legends maintain that they often lured sailors to their doom with seductive songs.

It’s a cautionary reminder that the search for love is a dangerous endeavor.

BM1 Bryant surveys the compartment.

Lounging sailors nonchalantly stroke shafts while perusing pornographic magazines – a favorite at-sea activity. Accentuating length and girth, they’re lost in reverie. Indifferent to spectators, they relish the freedom afforded by the exclusive all-male environment.

Not always a solitary endeavor, shipmates often lend a helping hand.

Bryant has a stunning muscular physique and exquisite whiskey complexion… the amalgamation of his mother’s Caribbean heritage and father’s African roots. A dangerous enslaver, his mysterious eyes are dark liquid pools that charm, captivate, and conquer inferior males.

Massive and disproportional, his shaft commands immediate respect. Reaching maximum tumescence – ten solid inches, it radiates furious focused energy. And like the duality of Brahma and Shiva, it possesses the power to simultaneously create and destroy.

1MC: ‘Taps, taps, lights out, the smoking lamp is out, all-hands turn into their own racks. Now taps’.

The ballistic watertight hatch is dogged. White florescent overheads secured. Nighttime red-globed lights energized. Secluded and isolated below the waterline, vibrations reverberate through the shell plating and longitudinal stringers as water rushes past the hull.

Infectious excitement floods the compartment.

The pungent perfume of male sweat and testosterone is palpable.

Experiencing an elevated pulse, Rayno’ body radiates a deeply evocative woodsy scent. The alluring fragrance of Polo cologne by Ralph Lauren. It’s a carefully constructed blend of masculine notes. Leather. Tobacco. Wood. And oak moss undertones.

Feeding on communal energy, sailors with growing grins and erections exchange conspiratorial nods. They maneuver towards Rayno’s bottom rack. Unable to contain their enthusiasm, they shiver from anticipation of the evening’s planned festivities.

Bryant commences the proceedings.

“Midshipman, it’s time to welcome you to the Fleet. Front and center.”

Rayno willingly vacates his rack. Standing at parade rest in front of the excited assemblage, he crisply snaps arms behind his back and spread his feet shoulder width apart. Head straightforward with eyes gazing at destiny. He knows what to expect.

Prior to departing Annapolis several firsties briefed him on the ubiquitous fleet initiation. Eagerly performed on midshipmen, the ceremony commemorates the glorious transformation from contemptible landlubber to respectable fleet sailor.

Submission, humility, and rebirth are central themes in the ritual.

Clad in blue and gold USNA crested tee-shirt and shorts, he’s oddly out of place… one of the few non-naked occupants in the compartment. The incongruity is quickly remedied by the men. After a brief entanglement of appendages all clothing is discarded.

Naked, he’s a tabernacle of physical perfection. Cerulean blue eyes. Luscious lips. Golden curly hair. Flawless bronzed complexion. Chiseled chest. Nubile nipples. Striated abdomen. Narrow waist. Generous genitalia. Alluring ass. Corded quadriceps. Sensual feet.

The cynosure of enlisted eyes, the sailors stare in awe, lost in the adoration of masculine beauty. A gratification of the senses, visually feasting on the perfectly proportioned body, they’re captivated like the Roman Emperor Hadrian by the Greek youth Antinous.

“Get him ready,” Bryant commands.

The spell breaks.

Knowing the routine, sailors escort the midshipman to the small lounge table. Confined in close quarters, their tumescence press against his sensuous body. Taking extensive liberties, inquisitive calloused hands explore the luxurious landscape.

Awakened and engorged with life forces, Rayno’s lingam rises. Twitching with expectation, a small glistening pearl emerges. Not surprisingly, like many midshipmen, he harbors a compelling fantasy of being forcibly stripped and publicly paraded by enlisted men.

Placed atop the lounge table, he is spread out like a Sunday after-church dinner. Gathering around with floodlight-wide eyes, the famished diners visually gorge themselves on the comestibles.

“This is so awesome,” exclaims a smirking BMSN.

“Get your camera,” a BM2 tells a shipmate.

A sailor moves between the midshipman’s spread legs. Running trembling fingers through Rayno’s pubic bush, enjoying the tactile sensation, he’s eager to shear the boy. Employing heavy-duty Wahl clippers, he skillfully removes the dense outcrop of androgenic hair.

The depilation ceremony continues as Rayno is generously slathered in Barbasol shaving cream… an emulsion of oils, surfactants, and alcohol. Singing the famous jingle, employing a well-honed straight razor, with lethal efficiency the sailor eradicates all evidence of the hard earned virility.

Reduced to prepubescence, Rayno is symbolically emasculated.

Jubilant sailors cheer as cameras flash.

The boy’s comportment surprises the sailors.

Most midshipmen struggle and protest the proceedings. But not Rayno. Enjoying himself, he’s grinning and laughing like a grade school kid on the first day of summer vacation. Embracing the moment, his extraordinary character, class, and candor leave a lasting impression.

He understands the importance of ritual in the Navy. Creating a tangible connection to the past, it elevates current consciousness to achieve attunement with organizational values. Playing his part, he’s proud to be on display for the men’s enjoyment and spiritual enrichment.

“Take him to the head,” orders Bryant.

And the procession vacates the berthing compartment.

* * *

The small head with brown speckled terrazzo deck contains one water closet, two urinals, two showers, and three sinks. Maneuvering around the fixtures, the excited pack of sea dogs position Rayno inside a stainless-steel shower stall.

“On your knees,” directs a BM2 with authoritative timbre.

“Hands behind your back,” barks another.

Without hesitation Rayno descends with equanimity. Showing respect, he signals submission to the superior males. With head bowed, peaceful and contemplative, meditating like a disciple at Gethsemane, he silently recites the Midshipmen’s Prayer.

Exercising leadership, walking in the authority he has earned, Bryant holds up his hands and quells the shivaree… commanding silence from his excited subordinates. Jockeying for unobstructed views, sailors grin with the knowledge of the events about to transpire.

Rituals and rites of passage are vital to a sailor’s evolution.

They emphasize shared identity.

Spinning a yarn, the BM1commences the transformative ceremony.

“Since the dawn of time sailors have been protected by Aeolus, god and ruler of the winds. His mistress Eos, goddess of the dawn. And their progeny the Anemori. We pray this humble offering finds favor and brings fair winds. We beseech the Four Winds, Boreas the North Wind, Notus the South Wind, Zephyrus the West Wind, and Eurus the East Wind: grant us safe passage and good fortune on this voyage.”

With the power vested in him as a First Class Petty Officer, Bryant incants undecipherable ancient verses. Communicating with the gods he intercedes on Rayno’s behalf. Obtaining a favorable outcome, he suddenly unleashes a powerful golden stream… symbolically baptizing Rayno.

The warm torrent christens the initiate’s forehead and runs down the radiant face. Entering his mouth, transformed, the wine’s unique gout de terroir resonates on his palate.

“Welcome to the Fleet Midshipman Rayno.”

He’s now a member of the mystery cult of Aeolus – obedient servant of wind and wave.

Applause erupts from the appreciative audience. Stepping up to the stall, additional sailors contribute to the holy consecration. Aiming with purpose, they take turns at the ritual anointment, releasing a deluge. Drenching the boy’s rapturous face.

The procession continues unabated for several minutes.

Once complete, Rayno is ritualistically washed.

Standing under a steaming showerhead, soapy enlisted hands explore ever every inch of his body. Paying particular attention to the inviting ass, sailors compete to breach the oculus. Sliding fingers deep inside, they properly prepare the pliant passageway.

Shampooed and washed, transformed and reborn, Rayno is escorted by jubilant sailors back to the berthing compartment. With the ceremonial formalities completed the initiation transitions to the next glorious phase.

* * *

“Let’s get your certification started,” asserts BM1 Bryant.

“Oh hell yeah! Finally,” exclaims an excited shipmate.

Rayno willingly descends to his knees. Secure in his faith, he dutifully embraces the opportunity to demonstrate unwavering commitment to masculinity. Advancing the sacred proselytical mission, he’ll become the vessel for enlisted seed.

Sailors tremble with excitement.

Bryant confidently strides forward. As the senior petty officer and deckplate leader, the first feeding is his inherent right. Taking charge and enormous pleasure, he smacks his massive appendage across Rayno’s face and positions the swollen bulbous glans on the boy’s lips.

A veteran at feeding midshipmen, he expects significant force and persistence will be required to secure quarters inside the diminutive mouth. Fortunately, neither is in short supply. Feared and respected by his men, many have been on the receiving end of a brutal, impossible feeding.

Rayno has seen thousands of cocks.

But few rival Bryant’s behemoth.

The attraction is undeniable. Taking a deep breath, he inhales the powerful pheromones. The volatilized chemical compounds enflame his qi and energy flows through internal pathways. Extending his tongue, he caresses the spongy head and savors the addictive leaking juices. 

Displaying equal parts determination and skill, he opens wide like an ophidian with cranial kinesis. Meeting the challenge head on, transcending physical limitations, he engulfs the lingam’s swollen crown until it finds sanctuary inside the welcoming mouth.

“Hell yeah. It’s in!” a sailor announces.

Impressed, sailors offer enthusiastic congratulations. Occupying all available real estate, the expansive lingam is wedged tightly between tongue and upper palate. Compressing the tonsils and uvula, it’s housed exactly where the universe commands.

Savoring the sensation, rocking hips slowly but insistently, Bryant works another few inches inside the receptive mouth. Navigating the restricted channel, steadily advancing forward, the flared head approaches the throat’s precipice.

At this point he typically runs aground.

Wedged like a cork in a wine bottle, the enormous head hermetically seals constricted passageways, preventing forward progress. Lacking ability and conviction, suffocating subordinate sailors always petition for mercy with pleading tearful eyes.

But not Rayno.

He defies conventional expectations.

Expanding his mind and throat, calming the turbulence, he confidently steps beyond corporeal limitations into the still point of the turning universe. Lunging forward, impaling himself, he audaciously swallows the whole cock. Balls deep.

The astonished audience gasps in shock.

“God damn. He took the whole fucking thing!” a BM3 shouts.

“Fuck. That’s impossible,” exclaims another.

Bryant is stunned. But the proof is there: lips stretched around the thick base, shaft clearly visible down the bulging neck, bulbous glans protruding below the Adam’s apple.

For years the Southern Baptist petitioned with prayer to know the glory of deep physical unification. But he never expected intercession. With prayers answered, he experiences a paradigm shift and spiritual awakening. And the pervasive presence of a superior power is palpable.

Flooded with endorphins, expanding mindfulness, attaining a state of heightened awareness, his faith in divine masculinity is ignited. Submersed in soothing flowing energy, contemplating the congruence of circumstances, he is captivated by the synchronicity of existence.

Everything in the universe is pulsating, vibrating, dancing.

Imbued with grace, Rayno’ bright eyes radiate benevolence. Increasing suction, with balls two-blocked against his chin, his throat lovingly massages the tumescent lingam. In direct communication with the universal consciousness, he intones thoughts of harmony and peace.

Thrusting in-and-out, Bryant is driven by impulses inherent in the rhythm of the universe. The alluring and flawless dance, like gravitationally bound galaxies waltzing across the cosmos, inspires profound wonder and gratitude for the mystery and miracle of existence.

“Getting close,” Bryant advises.

A prodigious spewer, he shivers, stiffens, and delivers his celestial gift. Filling Rayno with baryonic matter created eons ago by exploding progenitor supernova, the eternal sustenance is ultimately provided by a generous and nurturing universe.

Feasting, Rayno devours the quintessence of life.

Proclaiming the wonder, Bryant invites shipmates to experience the rapture.

Word quickly spreads. Sailors searching for redemption hear the clarion call. Taking a leap of faith, revitalizing body, mind, and spirit through communion with the midshipman, they experience unparalleled clarity and deliverance.

Ritual and religion launch a revolution. 

Rippling throughout the Fleet, enlisted lingam rise in unison… transforming the Navy.

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Comments and readers’ experiences with sailors, afloat or ashore, are always of interest.