Category Archives: American Indian Men and White Men

Twink on Top: The Native American Masseur

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Native American Masseur, a hot tale of Indian sex, rough trade and a massage with a very happy ending! This is part of the Native American Masseur series, which is all available along with much more in Gay Masseur Erotica, Vol. 1!

Timmy was surprised by how nice the massage parlor was. He tried not to act like a New York elitist; that was not easy to do here in Anchorage. It was a nice little town, but it looked like a village as far as he was concerned. There were few cabs, no Thai restaurants, like two black people in the whole city; there was no live theater, at least not while he was here; there was a university, but it didn’t seem to have much impact on local culture.

So he thought the massage parlor would be some low-rent dive. When he saw the Asian women who scurried about in beautiful kimonos, he wondered if he had made a mistake — was this a brothel? He had called and spoke to the front desk. Of course he didn’t ask directly if it was a brothel, they would never have said yes anyway. But he asked about their services, and it sounded like a real massage parlor.

He acted as flamboyant and twinky as possible, just to be sure. He didn’t want any awkward situations with a Chinese woman trying to give him a handjob. He wasn’t positive the girl at the front desk was familiar enough with American culture to get that he was gay, but he gayed it up to the best of his ability. Timmy had always been a pretty blatantly gay man, so he thought he had gotten his point across.

Now he wasn’t sure it was worth it at all. It might have been better to just use the back massager he had gotten for Christmas last year, but he had never really liked it. He genuinely needed a massage — his shoulders were tight, as they often were. His doctor had recommended an occasional massage, which usually worked.

“Sir,” said a gruff, deep voice. Timmy turned around and his jaw dropped. There was a man in front of him — not an Asian man, an American, an Indian, it seemed. “Patuk,” he said by way of introduction. Then he nodded towards the rooms in the back of the massage parlor, and Timmy followed.

Timmy was shocked for a couple reasons. First of all, Patuk was a man; he was not Asian; he was unlike everyone else who worked here. Even more than that, he was sexy. He was ungodly hot, Timmy thought. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long, straight black hair. His jaw was square, his cheekbones high, and he had a thick scar on his neck as though someone had tried to decapitate him.

He led Timmy down the hall, wearing a tight pair of jeans that framed his ass. He wore a plain brown shirt that ended at the shoulder. He looked more like he was on his way to job as a farmworker than a masseur, Timmy thought. Had he come into the wrong place after all? Maybe Patuk was the owner, not a masseur?

“Lie down,” Patuk said. It was impossible to tell whether he was happy with this or not — he looked rather like he was already bored of this massage.

He certainly had that Native American taciturnness, Timmy thought, shivering a little with delight. Patuk had on a sleeveless shirt, so his lumberjack-like biceps were plainly visible. Timmy wanted more than anything to kiss them, but it was obvious Patuk was straight.

“I have trapezitis,” Timmy said. “That means my shoulders are-“

“I know what it means,” Patuk said, glaring at him. “Lie down.” After flipping on a stereo and waiting for New Age music to fill the air, he rubbed oil into his hands. His powerful biceps glistened with baby oil as well, or maybe it was sweat, Timmy couldn’t tell from where he lay on the massage table.

Timmy gulped and laid on the table as ordered. Had he offended Patuk? His brown face was still, like he was thinking about something very important and paying no attention to Timmy. Timmy settled into position on the table.

Laying on his belly, Timmy couldn’t see Patuk. He felt tense though. Patuk was not a very good masseur, Timmy decided before the massage began — he seemed almost hostile. He wasn’t sure he could relax at all. This was not the kind of environment that he usually found in massage parlors. Masseurs were supposed to be kind, friendly, evoking a calm and relaxed atmosphere. Patuk seemed as likely to chop him up with a hatchet as give him a massage, but Timmy was too scared to consider leaving.

But then the New Age music became a bit louder and more engrossing, and the smell of burning sweetgrass filled the air. Timmy felt a momentary surge of relaxation. He had been through enough massages that he was primed to feel the tension melt away when the atmosphere approached that of a more typical massage parlor. He sighed as Patuk finally touched his skin, and calmness flooded his system.

The feeling only intensified as Patuk’s strong hands began kneading Timmy’s back. He was a good masseur, Timmy realized with a start. He sighed. The tension began to drain from his shoulders.

Patuk’s hands were callused and rough, beneath the massage oil he used. He felt like a roughneck, Timmy thought, like he should be working on an oil rig, not in a massage parlor. But since Timmy was gay and Patuk was sexy, he didn’t mind at all. The extra friction from his fingerpads actually made the massage feel a little better, he thought.

His hands moved down Timmy’s back and Timmy had an urge to remind him that he really just needed shoulder-work. But Patuk either forgot or didn’t care, and Timmy was rather enjoying himself. Patuk’s hands worked the flesh of his ribs and his lower back, and he even got close enough that Timmy felt Patuk’s breath condensing on the back of Timmy’s neck.

Then Patuk’s hands reached Timmy’s ass, concealed only by a towel. Timmy shivered with anxiety at the realization that Patuk wasn’t stopping. As a flamboyantly gay man, Timmy certainly had no reason to tell Patuk to stop touching his ass, but he was shocked just the same.

When the towel came off, the warm air made the sensitive skin of Timmy’s ass pucker. The sparse short hairs there stood on end, and Timmy’s whole body quivered with desire.

Much to his surprise, Patuk didn’t just rub his cheeks a bit and move on. A lot of masseurs did that. Instead one of those big, rough hands worked its way between his cheeks. Patuk grunted, but didn’t say anything.

Timmy moaned and blushed as Patuk’s finger teased the rim of his asshole. Timmy’s back arched. He wondered for the first time if Patuk’s machismo, his gruff exterior and his Indian stoicism masked homosexuality. He wasn’t sure — both Indian culture and Alaska itself were different than anything Timmy had known before, so he had no idea how gay men acted here. Maybe this was normal, he thought.

Timmy was so relaxed that when Patuk turned him over, it was like dead weight. He just flipped Timmy onto his back. Timmy’s lean, pale body trembled, his bare dick sticking straight up. Patuk frowned as though he had expected to see a vagina.

Then before Timmy could say anything, Patuk kneeled between his legs and swallowed his dick. His dark eyes flashed upward at Timmy, who moaned. Patuk’s craggy face vibrated as he licked Timmy’s shaft and produced copious spit.

There was something almost machine-like about Patuk’s blowjob, Timmy thought, like he had scientifically determined the best way to get Timmy off and was now following through on the plan. Timmy writhed, his climax already approaching even as he leaked his first drops of precum.

But before he could cum, Timmy guided Patuk’s head down. Patuk licked Timmy’s shaft and then suckled on each ball in turn. He licked Timmy’s smooth sac (Timmy shaved his crotch bald every week) and the first hint of a smile appeared on his face.

Seeing his dark eyes only reminded Timmy how shocking this was. Patuk was as straight-acting as any man Timmy had ever seen. He had rough skin and ropy muscles; he wasn’t hairy, he was too Indian for that, but he had a swarthy complexion, and a few colorful tattoos covering his chest and back. Most prominent was a large eagle — not a bald eagle, but some other kind Timmy didn’t quite recognize — whose wings outstretched from his back, up over his shoulder, to end over his heart.

His mouth moved back up to Timmy’s cock, and he sucked with fervor and abandon. Spit dribbled past his lips and down Timmy’s shaft, pooling there on this bare balls. Patuk let out a low, slow growl, not loud or even especially passionate, but in comparison with his otherwise silent demeanor, it was a compelling sound that made Timmy shudder with anticipation.

“What, uh…-?” Timmy intended to ask what is this? But his mind was distracted by pleasure coursing through his veins, and he couldn’t form the last half of his sentence. It didn’t matter, he thought, since Patuk didn’t seem likely to answer anyway.

Then Patuk pulled off his cock. He looked at it like it was his final meal, and licked its shaft as he stroked it. He spat onto his hand for lubrication — he didn’t spit like a gay man, Timmy thought, he spat like a baseball player or a redneck.

“I, uh… I can’t pay you for this-“

“I am not prostitute,” Patuk said. He glared at Timmy. Despite that, his tone was flat, with no indications that he was offended.

“Oh. Okay, it’s just-“

“I am not prostitute,” he repeated, this time sounding angry enough that Timmy gulped and fell silent.

Patuk climbed up onto the massage table with more limberness than his big body suggested. His broad muscles barely fit up there, but he easily stood around Timmy’s body. He continued to glare right into Timmy’s eyes as though frustrated, and one of his hands wrapped around Timmy’s throat.

For a moment, Timmy panicked. Maybe this was a case of gay rage, he thought, and Patuk was going to kill him because he knew that Patuk was gay. But that didn’t seem likely — ‘masseur’ was hardly the ideal job for someone who wanted to accentuate his heterosexuality, and in any case, Timmy knew Indian culture approved of gays. It didn’t make any sense for an Indian masseur to be a self-hating gay.

“I am not prostitute,” he said again, this time squeezing Timmy’s neck just a little bit. He hovered above Timmy’s crotch, his tight brown ass resting there. Timmy’s dick spasmed and jerked as though trying to find a hole to penetrate.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Timmy said. “I’m gay. I’m sure you figured that out. I, uh… it’s okay to be gay. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Shut up, Timmy, you’re babbling.

Patuk nodded as though he had been waiting to hear that. He leaned in closer, keeping his hand on Timmy’s neck, and kissed him on the lips. He was still crouched over Timmy’s body, his flexible limbs stretching to reach Timmy’s face.

Hesitating, Timmy clutched Patuk’s back, savoring the feel of the corded muscle like coiled rope, and he fingered that eagle tattoo. Then he thrust his tongue into Patuk’s mouth. They both moaned together, though Patuk’s was a low, barely audible sound that made Timmy’s back shudder.

Then he lowered himself down, letting his ass land right on Timmy’s cock. Timmy moaned as his dick disappeared inside the big Indian, who closed his eyes and moaned, the first sound he had made since this began.

Patuk’s craggy face winced a little in pain, but he mainly remained stony as he rode Timmy’s dick. He stroked himself off as well, until Timmy took over, playing with Patuk’s dick with one hand and hefting his balls with the other.

He was uncut, which Timmy liked. He wondered if that was normal for Native Americans. Timmy stretched out the man’s foreskin and played with his sensitive head, which made Patuk writhe above him. Patuk’s muscles flexed all at once.

The first few drops of Patuk’s precum dribbled down Timmy’s hand. He brought his fingers to his mouth to suck on them, only for Patuk to beat him to it. In the end they both sucked Timmy’s hand clean, as Patuk’s heavy balls dragged on Timmy’s smooth belly.

There was a knock on the door, and Timmy gasped. He held his breath.

A Japanese woman’s voice filtered through the doorway. “Patuk? Patuk? Do you have a client in there?”

His voice was clipped and strained, whether from pain and pleasure at being penetrated, or from annoyance at being interrupted, Timmy didn’t know. He scowled. “Yes,” Patuk said.

There was a long pause. Timmy wondered if the Japanese woman knew what was going on in here, or suspected it at least. Maybe that was why it took her a long time to answer.

“Mrs. Donnelly is here,” the woman said. “She said she has a massage scheduled with you,”


“She asked me to make sure you have… uh-“


“The coconut oil, and uh… She asked if you did your tongue stretches. Maybe that was a joke? She laughed-“

“Yes, Kimo, that is fine. Tell her I will be ready shortly,” Patuk said. “Tell her to prepare herself. She will know what that means.”

The Japanese woman outside waited a long time before leaving, without saying another word. Patuk looked momentarily embarrassed. Timmy had trouble focusing with the pleasure of his cock throbbing in Patuk’s tight ass — but Timmy did realize what was going on: Patuk must have sex with all of his clients, or at least many of them, apparently including at least one woman.

“Are you, uh… going to have sex with her?”

Patuk didn’t answer, but from the stoic stare he produced, Timmy suspected the answer was yes. Was he embarrassed because it made him look like a slut? Or because it made him look bisexual? Or some other reason.

As Patuk began lifting his hips again, using his entire body to ram his ass up and down on Timmy’s dick, Timmy felt the man’s erect nipples. They kissed again, and Timmy stroked Patuk’s hard cock.

“Are you going to be able to cum again? With her, I mean?” Timmy asked just because he wondered if he was only going to eat her out — maybe that was why she had asked about his tongue. But he was too aroused to be articulate, so his point wasn’t clear.

Regardless, Patuk didn’t answer. He put his hand back around Timmy’s throat and growled, “Stop talking. I will do my job.”

Timmy didn’t need to be told twice — he didn’t want Patuk to get annoyed and stop. In any case, his climax approached and Timmy moaned. His balls crawled up in sac, as his hand in Patuk’s crotch felt his balls do the same.

They both finally reached orgasm at once. Timmy had an animated reaction. He blushed and gasped; he yelped; he bit his tongue so hard he drew blood; his fingers clenched into claws that clutched at Patuk’s nipples and the tattoo of an eagle that hovered above his heart. Patuk threw his head back, his long hair flowing in front of his face. The crags of his cheeks and chin shook as they both vibrated in sync with each other.

The sound that emanated from Timmy’s mouth was so loud he was sure the Japanese masseuses heard it, but nobody responded outside the room. Timmy writhed, his throat clenched as the most powerful orgasm of his life wracked his mind and body.

“Oh, god, Patuk!”

Hot cum coated Patuk’s insides just as Patuk’s own load sprayed right over Timmy’s chest and mouth. The flavor of his juice coated Timmy’s tongue, and he licked enthusiastically, getting every drop that he could. His muscles flexed all at once, while Patuk’s entire body rippled, from his stoic face down to his tattooed chest and trunk-like thighs. His smooth flesh was dappled in sweat, and a loud euh jumped out of his throat — it wasn’t much, but Timmy suspected it was as powerful an orgasm as Patuk had had in a long time.

Then Patuk pulled himself off. He stretched as he got down off the massage table. He walked stiffly to the counter, where he withdrew a tissue and wiped his ass clean. His powerful cheeks jiggled and he threw the used tissue in a trash can. Then he frowned at Timmy.

“You are done,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his pecs and that eagle tattoo, which rippled as his skin shifted. His bare cock shimmered with remnants of his cumload. Timmy got up, intending to put his clothes back on, but found himself sinking to his knees in front of Patuk.

It was just because he was so used to being a bottom, Timmy felt he needed to worship that cock. He hadn’t even tasted it. He kissed the tip, and licked it down to the root. Patuk sneered a little as though surprised, maybe a bit annoyed at the delay.

“You are done. The massage is complete.”

“Oh… okay,” Timmy said. “Well, that was… uh, good..” This has been a sudden transition, he thought. He was still feeling aftershocks from his orgasm as he hurriedly put on his pants. He could feel Patuk’s awkward stare, glaring at him for not getting his clothes on quickly enough. Timmy was unsure of what had just happened. “Was, uh… was that okay? Is that what you always do?”

Patuk scowled. “You have your massage, sir. Please leave.”

“Oh, I just-“ Timmy started towards the door. His pants were on, but he still carried his shoes and his socks, and his shirt was draped over his shoulders.

“Hush. You may return if you wish,” Patuk said. “Ask for Patuk.” He shoved Timmy outside and slammed the door shut. Timmy was so shocked he stood there for a moment, then headed towards the front door.

Mrs. Donnelly, Patuk is ready to see you now.

Mrs. Donnelly was a plump, yet still attractive white woman with dark hair and a thick ass. Timmy was sure that was who she was because she hurried back as soon as the clerk said her name, and she had a slightly embarrassed blush on her face as though wondering if everyone here knew what went on in the backroom.

He smiled. He was so surprised by what had happened that he hadn’t noticed until now that his shoulders felt better. He grinned. He’d have to get another massage from Patuk next time his shoulders felt that way. He was glad he’d found a good masseur here in Anchorage.

And you thought this town would be boring…

Twink on Top: The Finn in the Sauna

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Finn in the Sauna, a new story from the Twink on Top series! For fifty more Twink on Top tales, check out the first fifty-story boxed set, 50 Twinks Top 50 Tops!

John both cursed and praised his proudful streak after a day of hard negotiations in the far-north of Finland. He experienced a torrent of emotions because he couldn’t tell if he had totally blown it — making his current business venture a failure — or if he was about to call a press conference and declare a success. So a tumult of emotions roiled in his heart as he headed to the sauna. But when he finally settled in at the Irontop Sauna in Rovaniemi one Saturday afternoon to relax, the only feeling he could identify was fear. His business problems vanished, replaced only by sheer terror. Only one other person was in the sauna, and he was frightening.

The other man in the sauna stared at him, sweat dripping from his high cheekbones. He was a tall Finn with deep-set eyes, a grizzled jaw and muscles that went on for days. He looked like a shaved bear, John thought, except for the fact that the hair on his head — long, flowing hair that went past his broad shoulders — was blond like the sun. John had always thought men with long hair were sexy, and this guy also had muscle like a bodybuilder and a square, jutting jaw. He turned John on like few white men ever did.

John was an American businessman who had been living in Finland for two years, so he was comfortable with Finnish culture. He knew he wasn’t breaking any rules of the sauna. But the man glowered at him with unabashed hostility.

A part of him said to leave, begged him to rush out of there before this burly Finn attacked him. He could dress in a hurry, rush out the door and high-tail it to his car in the parking lot. He could call the police, but to say what: there’s a man looking at me? There’s a Finn in the sauna, help!?

Besides, John had been chased around by a bunch of bullies in his time. He didn’t intend to let that happen again; he wasn’t the weakest boy on the reservation anymore. He had never met an anti-gay Finn, but maybe, he thought, this burly fellow would be his first. If so, John intended to stand up for himself. John certainly made little effort to hide his homosexuality, so if there were any anti-gay Finns around, they might come looking for him.

Or it could be a racial thing — no Finns had expressed any racism to John since he came to this country, but they had no exposure to Native Americans aside from old Western movies from decades ago. Several of them had laughed when John said he was a Native American who owned a TV studio; they all thought natives didn’t operate businesses aside from bars, casino, nature trails and New Age massage parlors. The TV studio didn’t even have anything to do with Native American life; John had made a fortune in the US on a channel devoted exclusively to professional wrestling, and now he had come to Finland to start an all-LGBT Europe-wide channel.

The long-haired Finn stood and took a step towards John, whose heart raced. He was a thin little twink who couldn’t defend himself at all. What if this guy really was racist? Finland was very tolerant, but they had a contingent of wildly racist xenophobes who might not like Native Americans one bit. Or it might not even be a racial thing, he thought, this guy might assume anyone who owns a television channel is loaded with cash. Maybe he just wanted to rob John for the most traditional reason: to take his stuff.

“Hello,” said the man in thickly-accented English. His craggy face gleamed with sweat in the haze of the sauna’s löyly (“steam” — though that was a special word, used only for steam in a sauna because it carries spiritual connotations).

“Uh… Hi,” John said. When had the sauna emptied? It was just he and the big man now, and John was terrified.

“My name is Heikki.”

“Nice to meet you, Heikki. I’m John Redleaf,” he said. He held out a hand to shake, and when Heikki’s giant meaty paw collided with his, John shuddered in both fear and desire. Heikki was like a bodybuilder but without that vascular veininess that bodybuilders had, and which John didn’t find appealing. Heikki looked like he had built his muscles through real work, as a lumberjack or ice fisherman or who knew what. John had never felt so slender and weak.

Heikki grunted. “You are… American, yes? Indian?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m an American Indian. Native American. Native American Indian. Not the Asian kind of Indian. American, uh… I’m from Montana. Indian-Montanan. Montanan-Indian. I, uh… That’s in America. In the West. Native Americans…-“ John was too nervous to think of anything meaningful to say right now.

“You are one of the gay. Yes?”

“Uh… Well… Uh… Yeah,” John said. Every part of his being told him to lie. Maybe John’s mannerisms wouldn’t come across as gay in Finnish culture. Maybe Heikki wouldn’t notice the slight lisp or the limp wrist. But John had never, at any point in his adult life, managed to pretend he was straight. In the heat of the moment, he couldn’t even think of how to lie much less how to do it successfully.

“That is good,” said Heikki. “You will do have some sex. Yes?”

“Uh…” John couldn’t tell if that was an offer, a prediction, a threat or a question, or some combination thereof.

Heikki walked away. John breathed a sigh of relief until he saw that Heikki wasn’t leaving. He walked to the door to the sauna and wedged it shut with a chair against the doorknob. Past the door was the “hot room”, where Finns got acclimated to heat before actually coming into the sauna itself. It didn’t sound like anyone was out there right now, making John nervous.


“I have always been seeing Surrounded by Tombstones,” said Heikki. “I have wanted to be doing this for many years.” He flopped his massive uncut cock between his fingers.

That name, Surrounded by Tombstones, sounded familiar but John couldn’t quite place it. Was it a movie? If he wasn’t distracted by Heikki’s shifting heft, his massive thighs and his giant cock, John might have recalled it as a TV show. In the US, it was called Surrounded by Arapaho. It was a Western action/drama show starring Sally Greenwald and Brendan Mitchell. John’s network didn’t air it, so he was only vaguely aware that Brendan Mitchell’s character — a cowboy named Sterling — had fallen in love with a male Arapaho Indian named Okomi. Their forbidden lust was one of the main plotlines on the show.

“Uh, so wait, I’m sorry… You want me to, uh… like suck your dick? Or whatever?” John said.

“Yes, I think we are agreementing,” Heikki said. He blushed. “I am not homosexually oriented. I like Indians.”

“You’re only gay for Indians? Is that… a thing?” John’s voice trailed off because he realized he didn’t care why Heikki wanted to do this. John loved servicing big alpha bears like Heikki, so if that was what he wanted, John didn’t care about how politically incorrect it was.

John shuddered when he reached up and tentatively grabbed Heikki’s cock. It was limp and moist from the humid sauna air, dripping with condensed löyly. Heikki’s muscles rippled like he was uncomfortable with John’s touch, but he sat down next to John on the wooden bench of the sauna.

Before John could get on his knees to suck cock, Heikki’s mitt-like hands gripped John’s delicate shoulders. John nearly fell backwards but Heikki held him in his massive biceps as John swooned. Then Heikki kissed him right on the lips.

It was an awkward kiss for a few reasons. First of all, Heikki seemed to have little experience with this — he seemed like the kind of rural lumberjack who rarely got laid despite his handsome face and bulging muscles; he was too crude and big for most girls, John suspected. Second of all, Heikki was clearly uncomfortable kissing a man. He hesitated at the last moment and his callused fingers explored John’s lithe chest as though Heikki expected to find breasts there. Thirdly, Heikki was simply huge.

He was at least a foot and a half taller than John, and probably outweighed him by two hundred pounds of solid muscle. John lost himself in those arms, and Heikki’s mouth was so big it felt like four Johns could have kissed him at the same time. John wondered if Heikki could swallow his entire head — it sure felt like it.

Heikki’s massive tongue pushed into John’s mouth. It was too awkward for John to lose himself in the heat of the moment, but his dick was rock-hard and he couldn’t think about anything other than the feel of Heikki’s pulsating muscles against John’s smooth skin.

When Heikki pulled away and grinned sheepishly, John reached into his crotch and gave his dick another stroke. Heikki was still totally limp, adding evidence to his claim to be straight — John was shocked; in America, when a man said he was straight but wanted to have sex with you, he nearly always turned out to be gay but in denial. Heikki really, genuinely came across as a straight man who had no idea what to do with a gay man. His dick was like a fleshy uncooked sausage dangling between his legs, behind a nest of curly dark-blond pubic hairs.

John stood and stretched his knees — he had been sitting for more than an hour — he was about to sink to the ground to suck on Heikki’s meat when Heikki dropped to his knees in front of John instead. He kissed John on the lips again, then moved to John’s neck, which he nuzzled with his slightly grizzled chin.

Their heights nearly matched up now, with Heikki on his knees on the ground and John standing in front of him. Heikki’s head was only a little above John’s.

From Heikki’s body language, it was obvious what he was going to do next, but John’s mind refused to accept it. Even back on his (relatively) gay-tolerant reservation in Montana, the sexual roles were pretty well set in stone — John was a twink who serviced bears. Big, strong and/or hairy men were tops, and John was a bottom. When straight or seemingly-straight men had gay sex, they sought out feminine-looking bottoms like John. All that was normal, predictable, exactly what John wanted and needed, back in America.

But maybe things were different in Finland. Much to John’s surprise as he stood there in front of Heikki, Heikki’s hand gingerly grabbed John’s dick. He gave it a few strokes, until precum leaked from the tip.

“Oh, wow, Heikki…” John blushed. He felt tiny. His cock was substantial, bigger than most men, even bigger than most Native Americans who, John thought, always had big cocks. But compared to Heikki every part of John felt small and weak. Heikki’s massive hand stroked John off by itself (most men had to use two hands to jack John off). When John was overcome by shocked passion, he leaned on Heikki’s massive chest, reminding John how tiny he was in comparison. Heikki’s muscles rippled beneath John’s touch.

But John assumed that that was where this ended, as far as Heikki pleasuring John went. Now Heikki would stand and want a blowjob. He’d probably facefuck John violently like macho straight guys usually did — that was fine with John, who loved it when men like Heikki abused his throat.

“You are smooth like girl and tasty on my tongue,” Heikki said as he kissed John’s arm and shoulders. He licked a trail of sensitive skin all the way down John’s chest, as John wondered where he would stop.

Was this really going to happen? A part of John’s mind had realized for several minutes that Heikki acted as though he was going to bottom, but that had been difficult to believe. It simply didn’t happen that way. John barely knew how to top. He had never in his entire life been on top with a man who was so much bigger than he was.

Then before John could process this, Heikki opened his mouth and swallowed John’s cock. He gagged right away as though he regretted doing it, then he let out a loud mewling sound around John’s dickshaft.

John was already hard, and his dick instantly sent pangs of pleasure up John’s spine. John drew in his breath and found he couldn’t bring himself to exhale, like he was worried anything he might do would remind Heikki that he is supposed to be a top.

His hands moved instinctively, and John found himself running his fingers through Heikki’s long blond hair. John had never felt anything so silken and beautiful, and the writhing mass of shoulder muscles beneath it made it even hotter.

“Ah, damn, Heikki, where did you learn to do this? What the fuck is on that Arapaho show?” John said — it seemed that Heikki was too intent on sucking cock to listen or remember any English, so Joh talked to himself. “I should have fucking bought that for my network. Fuck… We need more shows about gay Indians.” Who played Okomi in that show? John couldn’t think about it right now, but whoever it was must be the sexiest Indian in the world, if he had seduced a straight Finn from a continent away. John made a mental note to hire that actor for something, anything at all.

Heikki pulled away and spoke in Finnish. Haluan sinun naida persettäni! John had learned a few words here and there, but he had no idea what Heikki said. He smiled and nodded, though this experience had been so stressful and exhilarating that John’s smile was more of a grimace.

Heikki returned to sucking. It was awkward for him, having to stoop down to get into John’s crotch. To make it easier, John stepped up onto the wooden bench he had been sitting on. At last that meant John towered over Heikki, who was on his knees on the floor. Heikki could more easily suck cock, while John rested on his broad shoulders and massaged the tight layer of back muscles beneath him.

Then at last Heikki pulled off him again. He lightly tapped John’s asscheeks. He turned John around. John’s instinct was that this was it, Heikki wanted to top now, he was going to fuck John — which John was fine with, even if he was a little disappointed that his topping adventure ended so soon.

But Heikki didn’t fuck him in the ass. He dove his face between John’s cheeks and licked his asshole. Heikki shuddered in a mixture of delight and disgust as his tongue lapped at John’s ass. Due to the heat and humidity of the sauna’s löyly, both men were covered in salty moisture, and Heikki guzzled down every drop that clung to John’s flesh.

That didn’t last long before Heikki pulled away again. His big, callused hands roamed all over John’s body. He pushed John to sit back down on the bench.

Heikki stood and stretched his legs. Now that he stood and John sat, John’s face was well below Heikki’s crotch. John had to look up at him like a colossus, half-hard cock throbbing in the air as Heikki added more water to the hot coals on top of the sauna stove (the kiuas). A fresh burst of steam filled the air.

“It is good warm. Air is good for skin. And it is also for sex,” Heikki said. He may have blushed or his cheeks might have just gotten rosier from the heat, John couldn’t tell which.

Then Heikki took a deep breath, sighed and shook his head as he kneeled down on the ground. He sprawled his upper body over the bench John was sitting on. John was entranced by the looping curves of the man’s incredible shoulder muscles, and John’s delicate fingers traced the powerful, throbbing lines of his meaty shoulderblades.

Even though Heikki had made it clear he wanted to bottom, John’s tingled, shocked body still didn’t quite process what was happening, not right away. Heikki sprawled out on the bench next to John with his ass in the air — Heikki was so tall that even knelt over, his upraised ass was well above John’s navel.

It was obvious he wanted to get fucked, but John hesitated. What if he was misreading this situation? What if he accidentally offended Heikki by trying to fuck him?

But then Heikki reached one of his big-biceped arms around himself and rammed his pinkie into his ass to loosen it up. He grunted and his whole body tensed at first, then he relaxed.

Taking a deep breath, John mounted him from behind. “You gotta lower your ass some,” he said as he patted Heikki’s jiggling asscheeks. Heikki obediently lowered his hips until his ass was even with John’s crotch. That forced Heikki to awkwardly half-bend and half-stoop over the bench, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His mind reeled as he slipped his dick into Heikki’s ass. Heikki howled like a wolf, and John again wondered if he had done something wrong. But Heikki made no effort to leave, and John could tell that Heikki’s cock jerked from half-hard to stone-like and leaking precum. He must be into assplay, John thought.

That was confirmed as John slid more of his dick in. Heikki’s ass was not loose, but it was clear he was not a virgin either.

Heikki bit his lip and his muscles tensed all at once. He grunted, half-in-pain and half gasping with pleasure. It was like fucking a statue, John thought, all firm and unyielding. John couldn’t get a good grip, though he greatly enjoyed trying, clawing all over Heikki’s powerful frame.

But that was only the surface of Heikki’s body, which was indeed iron-like all over. He had muscles in places where John didn’t even think there were muscles. Inside Heikki’s ass, however, he was soft and pink and moist, inviting and warm, even compared to the heat of the sauna. John sped up his humping when it became clear that Heikki wasn’t in pain, and he moved from gingerly sticking it in and out to slamming his entire little twink body down on Heikki’s ass.

Like flicking a switch, it was obvious when John hit Heikki’s prostate and got past the big man’s discomfort. Heikki’s muscles all relaxed at once, and touching him was like a big warm, firm pillow. John lost himself in all that flesh, which throbbed and pulsated beneath John’s touch.

He had to stand on his toes, and when Heikki’s body rose a bit, John found himself elevated off the ground. He gripped Heikki’s back with both hands and humped until Heikki lowered himself again.

He even pulled on that long blond hair. It felt like perfect irony, he thought, since he usually serviced straight bears who liked to pull on John’s long black hair as they fucked him. John never understood why straight guys were into it.

But now that he was fucking a straight man with long hair, John totally understood. His delicate fingers grabbed a fistful of the löyly-moistened blond hair and pulled. He didn’t pull hard, just hard enough to make Heikki lift his head up.

Heikki crooned and let out a long, low moan that echoed in the small wooden sauna. John shuddered as Heikki’s asshole clenched. John’s free hand tried to stroke Heikki off but Heikki was so big that John struggled to reach his cock, and when he did, Heikki’s own paws were already furiously stroking his meat.

Then both men came at the same time. John was surprised by how suddenly his orgasm approached — he was not often a top, so he had little experience in this position — and overwhelmed him. His fingers tightened into talons that ripped at Heikki’s writhing muscles, while Heikki’s whole body tensed.

The smell of semen filled the air. Heikki groaned. He sprayed cum over John’s hands and onto the wooden bench beneath him, while John slammed his cock all the way in.

A thick burst of cum spurted out, coating Heikki’s insides. They both moaned together, in harmony like they were singing. The most intense orgasm of his life wracked John’s body. He shuddered and shivered despite the heat of the sauna.

He didn’t know how much he had shot. It felt like a huge orgasm. John could feel it sloshing around inside Heikki’s ass, sticking to John’s shaft and dripping down into the nest of hair around Heikki’s thighs. Every motion either one of them took sent shivers of exquisite afterclimax up John’s spine.

Then it was all over. The sauna seemed impossibly silent. Heikki’s labored breathing was audible, but distant, like the howl of a wolf outside.

John’s cock slowly limpened inside Heikki, whose muscles tightened as John dragged his fingertips overtop Heikki’s taut skin. Heikki gasped for air. Drops of cum dribbled from his cock, which John stroked while they both recovered from the intense orgasm.

Finally John was done. He gently extricated himself from Heikki, hopping off his back and letting his dick plop out. Heikki let out a sound that was half-sigh and half-roar, like an angry bear about to fall asleep.

He turned around, his broad chest gleamed with sweat and cum. John fell into his arms, sat on his lap and nuzzled the filthy flesh of his pectorals. Heikki cradled him close.

This felt more normal, John thought, a little twink like him relaxing in his alpha bear’s biceps. That was something John had done a hundred times before, but never with a big blond-haired muscle-god like Heikki. He traced the bulging curve of Heikki’s biceps as they both relaxed there.

“Thank you, Indian.”

John giggled. “You’re welcome, honky.” It didn’t look like Heikki recognized that word, which made John giggle even more. Heikki smiled along with him.

“We have become dirty,” Heikki said. He stood, looking down at the cum dripping from his chest. He glanced behind himself, where more cum clung to the fine blond hairs of his ass. He smiled awkwardly. He gestured towards the showers — Finns always showered before a sauna, so there were a few showerheads in the other side of the building — and smiled. “We must clean off.”

“Okay, yeah,” John said. “I guess we should.” He stood and stretched his legs as Heikki removed the chair that blocked the sauna door from opening. Then they both headed off to the showers.

“You have hotel?” Heikki asked. John nodded, and Heikki grinned. “You give to me hotel room number. I will come to visit. You will put penis in other Finns?”

“Uh… what?”

Heikki pantomimed chopping wood with an axe. “The men who I am working with, at wood-chopping camp. We all watch your show-“

“It’s not my show…” But it didn’t seem that Heikki was listening.

“And we like the Indian man. It is okay. We are all straight but we are tired of putting penis in each other. We want Indian man. We will come to hotel. Yes?”

John’s knees buckled and he nearly fell to the floor of the showering area. Was this for real? He couldn’t believe his luck. “Uh, yes! Yeah! Of course. Yes. I’ll… fuck any number of Finnish lumberjacks, is that what you’re asking?”

Heikki nodded and smiled. “We will all do it. It is a good show. Surrounded by Tombstones.”

“Yeah. Obviously a great show,” John said. He took a deep breath. “I will definitely start watching it.”

The Quarterback Sees a Masseur

Here’s a sample from the beginning of The Quarterback Sees a Masseur, about a college jock getting a “happy ending” from a masseuse who turns out to be a taciturn indigenous masseur instead! It’s part of The Native American Masseur series!


Nathan excitedly walked into the spa, laughing with his buddies to hide how nervous he was. He felt out-of-place because of his clothes — he had only packed workout clothes, his jersey and the suit Coach made them wear on the bus from Nome. So he wore the suit, minus the jacket and tie, just a button-down shirt and slacks. It wasn’t what anyone else wore to the only spa in Anchorage.

The game was tomorrow. The state football championship match promised to be a close one, and it was all anyone on the local radio talked about. Nathan was nervous about it. As the quarterback on his college team, Nathan was held responsible for the entire team’s performance. It wasn’t fair — he wasn’t even the team’s official captain, that was Roger.

Nathan and the other players all stopped short when they walked into the spa. Nathan was nervous. Why be nervous? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt tremendously out-of-place. This was a sumptuously decorated spa for new age types; there were crystal skulls, something labeled an “aromatherapy alcove” and pretty women in kimonos walking around.

This was not like any part of Anchorage Nathan had ever seen. He grew up in Texas, and had gotten a scholarship to the University of Northern Alaska. Everyone in his hometown thought it was a joke; it was precisely the kind of joke Nathan might have made. But it wasn’t a joke. Nathan was good, just not good enough to get a scholarship to a major school.

But he still loved the sport of football, and he was proud of himself for taking the team to the state championships. Now they had spent a whole day on a rickety bus coming to Anchorage, and everyone was sore, exhausted and too drained to even think about getting pumped up for tomorrow.

So that was why Coach Alupi sent them to the spa to get a massage, to get them in tiptop shape for the game. He even paid for it out of his own pocket.

“Hello, boys, you must be the UNA Bears?” asked one of the Japanese women.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nathan said. He blushed a little at his Texan accent, which had never really seemed all that thick until he moved to Fairbanks, Alaska, where he sounded like a movie caricature of a hillbilly, at least in his own mind.

All of the women who worked here were young, pretty Japanese women. Nathan wondered if Roger had been right — Roger was a linebacker, team captain and the one who had been joking for the entire ride to the spa about how he was going to fuck his masseuse. “Coach wouldn’t have sent us here for a massage. Coach Walton gives massages. I bet this place gives happy endings. If the masseuses are Asian, that’s it, that’s proof. They’ll give you a handjob for free after the massage. They don’t even think of it as sex in Asia, it’s just massaging your dick. Coach Alupi probly-“

“Shut up, Roger, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Coach Walton couldn’t give us each a massage. It would take like all night and all day tomorrow,” Nathan had said. Coach Walton was one of the assistant coaches, and it was he who usually massaged any player who needed it before a game.

But Roger insisted, and the rest of the team had remained noncommittal. At the time, Nathan thought Roger was just talking trash; he always claimed to have girls begging for his cock, but Nathan knew it was all nonsense.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. These Japanese women were beautiful. There weren’t even hardly any Asians in Alaska, he thought, these must be a large portion of the city’s Asian population. He nervously smiled at them.

“Your coach called us boys, he said you each need a full massage from a licensed masseuse,” she said. Her accent was mild, but noticeable. She pursed her lips and smiled. “That means you’ll have to take turns, we only have a dozen licensed masseuses. Could I interest any of you in a chemical peel while you wait? It helps your skin-“

You could interest me in somethin’, but not that…

How will this massage be ending, miss? Happily?

The team laughed. No one really listened to the woman, who blushed and scurried away after finishing her upselling spiel. Nathan felt bad about his teammates’ rudeness, but there was little he could do — since he was new, and he wasn’t Alaskan, the team by and large didn’t care what he thought about anything.

I’m so horny I might blow my load even if she don’t give a happy ending.

Then the masseuses started. They came one by one from a doorway leading to the spa area in the back, and they each took a player by the hand. First it was Roger, the team captain, a burly roughneck’s son with colorful tattoos covering his broad shoulders. He smiled a dimpled grin at the Japanese woman who led him away, then made a masturbation gesture with one hand, making the rest of the team laugh along with him. The Japanese woman blushed as though not sure if the team laughed at her or not, and disappeared with him in the next room.

The next masseuse was another beautiful Japanese woman, this one a little older, but with delicate features and a soft touch. She caressed Tulimaq’s arm, smiling at his nervous shudder, as she led him away. Then came a trio of masseuses, who each led a player away.

That meant Nathan would be next, since they were simply grabbing the player nearest the door, and Nathan was now closest. He now had a sinking suspicion that Roger had been right — this looked rather brothel-y, now that he thought about it, and these women had a flirtatious look as they came into the room to gather up their player.

Then the door opened. The person who came out was a man, a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, straight black hair. He had the gruff, angular face of an Indian, and he was short but squat, strong, looking like an oil rig worker who had gotten lost.

A few people tittered, and Nathan felt the entire team watch him. Someone mumbled something low about Nathan turning gay, and Nathan blushed.

For a moment, Nathan’s heart sank. Did he have such terrible luck that he got the one masseuse here who was not a sexy young Japanese woman? No, he decided, this man must be a customer on his way out.

But then the Indian man stopped in front of Nathan and raised his eyebrows. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Patuk, I’m going to be your masseur today.”

Nathan’s heart thumped. The team oohed as though he was getting in trouble. Nathan stood and blushed. Would it be weird to decline? Would it come across as racist? Would it look like he was a pervert who had just come here to ogle the pert young Japanese flesh? Was this a prank the rest of the team had put together?

But Patuk had such an authoritarian vibe that when he turned to leave, Nathan instinctually followed. Patuk’s broad shoulder muscles rippled beneath his plain white t-shirt.

Beyond the door — the hoots and laughter of his team fading into the background — Nathan followed Patuk down a long hallway. He saw his teammates getting massages in small rooms as they passed. This place no longer looked brothely, he thought. There were posters outlining the major muscle groups. Another poster advertised free mammograms. There was a portly white man giving a massage in one room.

Nathan was both gladdened and disappointed to learn there would be no “happy ending”. He would have been nervous if he thought it was genuinely going to happen, but he was still disappointed that it wasn’t; of course, he was overjoyed this rough Indian masseur wouldn’t be doing it.

They stopped at a massage room, and Nathan walked in. It was warm and smelled of incense. This was definitely Patuk’s assigned room, Nathan decided, as it was clearly Indian — there was Inuit symbolism all over the place, a distinctive quilt folded up on a chair on one corner, a crudely carved statue of a polar bear, and a beautiful painting of a stone inuksuk towering over a coastal scene.

“Take off your clothes and lay on your belly on the table,” Patuk said. His voice lacked all the grace and delicacy of the Japanese woman out front. He wasn’t even looking at Nathan; he just shut the door (which Nathan wished he hadn’t done, none of the other rooms were shut) and lit a pile of braided branches. Then he put out the flame so the embers continued to fume, filling the room with the scent of sweetgrass.

Now Nathan was getting very nervous. Coach wanted them to do this to be relaxed before the game, but it was having the opposite effect. The stiffness in his neck now seemed like a very minor problem.

“Take off your clothes,” barked Patuk, who glared at Nathan. Then he added, “Sir.”

Nathan had always been an obedient boy. That was just how he was raised back in Texas, and as an athlete, he was used to being naked in front of strangers in the locker room. So he quickly took off the button-down shirt and pants, then got on the table. He still wore his underwear, hoping that Patuk didn’t expect him to be fully naked.

Hardcore Hockey Hazing

Here’s a sample from Hardcore Hockey Hazing, a new story from the All-Strong League!


Aaron was excited for his first game, even if he knew the chances that he would play were low, to say the least. He was a second-string goal-keeper, and the starting keeper was Médéric Miroux, a hale and hearty Quebecois who showed no signs of skipping a game. But still, Aaron was a professional hockey player, which had always been the dream of every Indian child where he grew up in Nunavut. He’d be starting keeper in a few years, he was sure of that.

“We’re gonna go out there and give it our all, guys,” said Médéric, who was sort of an unofficial team captain on account of his gregarious and outgoing nature; he had a slightly noticeable French-Canadian accent, but he hid it well.

Médéric had just finished going over the team’s strategy, which Aaron mostly ignored since he wasn’t likely to play today, and if he did, he was goaltender, so his strategy was very simple — just stop the puck if it comes near him. Médéric grinned. “But we got a tradition, and since we have a new guy, we don’t need to draw straws today, to see who’s going to kiss the puck. Quelqu’un doit goûter notre virilité!”

Aaron realized everyone was looking at him as though they expected him to do something. “Uh, what?” His French was poor, so all he got out of Médéric words were someone must…

“Lay down here on the bench, bleu,” Médéric said. That confused Aaron at first, but he recalled that bleu meant rookie.

Aaron was expecting some hazing. Most teams practiced it, in his experience, so he did as he was told. He situated himself on the narrow bench in the center of the locker room, feeling a little vulnerable since he was still in his jockstrap and socks. But it would be too hot to put on his goaltender pads and hockey sweater yet, and the rest of the team was dressed the same (some were even naked).

“Here, kiss this. Put it on your lips, embrasse-ça” Médéric said. He placed a puck right on Aaron’s face, over his lips so Aaron had to make a kissing face just to keep it in position. He laughed as Aaron struggled to kiss it.

Aaron was so focused on making sure he kissed it steadily — he assumed that was the hazing — that Aaron didn’t notice right away the other players taking their jockstraps off. Their hairy long dicks dangled between their legs, and they began stroking themselves to erection.

“Hey, what’s this-?” Aaron was about to get up, then saw that they were waiting for him to fail. He stabilized the puck back on his face.

“This will show how dedicated you are to the team,” Médéric said with a cruel smile. “Someone’s gotta kiss the palet before every game. It’s good luck. Normally we draw straws to see who has to do it. But le bleu always has to do it his first game, that’s a rule.” He paused. “Not really a rule. You can say no. But tu maudis çet équipe, non? Tradition is tres important to this team.”

Much to Aaron’s surprise, they didn’t just jack themselves off. Once they were hard, each player reached over to the cock of the man to his right. This wasn’t a joint masturbation session, it was a circlejerk.

This had all happened so fast that Aaron didn’t really realize what was happening until it was too late. They were going to “christen” the puck by coming all over it while it sat on his face.

Could he say no? Of course he was allowed to, the previous newest teammate, Roger, had said he refused to participate in any hazing; they still teased him about it, but he was on the team. Aaron could do the same thing. Médéric had even told him he could decline.

But he wasn’t drastically opposed to it. If there had been a real reason to do it, Aaron wouldn’t have had any problems with it — if kissing a cum-covered hockey puck improved your hockey skills even 0.1%, Aaron would have done it every day.

On the other hand, maybe this would improve his skills in a way; if he played better with his teammates as a result of this bonding experience, then it would be worth it.

The jiggling muscles of the other players entranced Aaron. He had never wanted to see naked men, but now that they were all he could see, he found himself unable to look away or even close his eyes. The way their body hair and tattoos jiggled as they stroked and moaned made Aaron feel twinges of sexuality running up his spine. His own cock pulsated in his jockstrap.

“Get ready to taste some nut, newbie…”

In any case, he wasn’t going to back out now. Saying no at the beginning was one thing, but dropping out after everyone had started jacking each other off? That was just going to make this worse. He wondered if Roger had said no right away or if he stopped them partway through.

So Aaron sighed, resigned to taste his new teammates’ cum. He had to admit it wouldn’t be the first time. He had traded a few blowjobs on the downlow in his time, though he thought he had put that part of his life behind him — Aaron used to be a shy nerd, but his growing athleticism had made him more confident, and he was now able to get girls often enough he didn’t feel any need to resort to straight trade on the downlow.

The first drops of precum twinkled in the dim light as they fell to the ground. A few drops landed on Aaron’s face, and some of the men thrust their hips in aiming to get their manly discharge on Aaron’s lips.

Aaron gagged at the powerful, salty flavor. His whole body bucked even more animatedly when his new teammates laughed at him — that made it harder to cope with the humiliation and the flavor that coated his tongue.