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,”

“Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

“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…

The Bimbofication of Wing Mao

Here’s the entirety of The Bimbofication of Wing Mao, a new tale of hardcore interracial AW/WM bimbo action! It’s part of the Bimbofication of Woman series, and is available in The Bimbofication of Woman, Vol. 2!

Wing Mao was in the library, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t study. Normally she remembered everything she read, and she read plenty. She’d gotten through her first three years of college in only two years on that brain, all while playing cello in the university orchestra as well.

But today — and increasingly on recent days — Wing had trouble concentrating because she kept running into him. He was Delroy Hopkins, a blond god, rugby jock and broad-shouldered hunk who made Wing’s mouth water.

She had never had a real crush on a guy. She’d seen guys she thought were hot, but Wing was always too serious to have a heart-stopping, shrieking-hot, life-consuming crush even when all her friends did in middle school.

But lately every time she saw Delroy, Wing wanted to beg him to give her just one kiss. It was all she could think about when he was nearby. She was too scared to ever ask, or even to speak to him about any topic.

“Man, how much of this do I gotta learn?!” he said with a scowl aimed at the bespectacled nerd beside him — seemingly a tutor. Delroy sighed and leaned back. “It’s a nice day, I wanna go to the beach.”

“You have to learn all of it, the test is tomorrow,” said the squeaky-voiced tutor.

Delroy sighed again and looked up. For the first time ever, he made eye contact with Wing, who blushed but couldn’t turn her head away. Delroy smiled at her. There was a flash of recognition. Did he notice that they had seen each other around campus on many occasions? Or was he too oblivious? Guys as sexy as him probably just didn’t register sad-faced nerds like her, Wing thought as she pretended not to notice his eye contact.

He looked back down at the book. Wing was overwhelmed by every feeling in the book — lust, love, fear, loneliness, envy, rage, sadness — all at once. She closed her laptop, gathered her books and darted out of the library so quick it attracted attention.

She didn’t care. She couldn’t be near him anymore. Her face was bright red, and her pussy was wetter than it had ever been. She ran towards the beach, just a few blocks from the campus library. The GHU-San Diego campus went right up to the beach.

When she got there, she felt faint and ducked into the first nice-looking establishment she saw. It was a bar, but it was early so few people were there. It was not crowded and reasonably clean, and she felt safe there.

She took a deep breath. She took out her cell phone to make it look like she was trying to make a phone call, but she had no one to call. She was utterly alone.

There was a fortune-telling machine against the wall. It was just a ceramic Gypsy woman, and a box where you could put a quarter in. It said it would tell you your future.

A trio of sexy Asian college girls came in. Ohmigod, you are such a dumb whore! There were dressed like sluts, and they giggled like blondes, and they had makeup, tits, skirts that ended just below the labia. Where did those guys go? Aren’t they such idiots?! Wing was jealous, even if she felt bad about being jealous. They could have gotten Delroy in a heartbeat. They could have gotten any man.

They were looking for someone, someone who wasn’t there after all, so they left. Wing watched their bubble-butts walk out, and she listened to their hot-chick giggling while they discussed where to go next to look for their boyfriends, or whichever guys they were currently pursuing.

Wing had never in her life done something irrational. As soon as she realized that, she wanted more than anything to put money in that fortune-telling machine. She rarely had change on her, but tonight, she happened to have a quarter. It was only twenty-five cents.

She slid it into the box. The Gypsy woman whirred, and the mechanics within it clanged. There was a puff of smoke. A sound emerged, like a dying robot. She didn’t know if it was supposed to act like this or if it was broken.

But then a slip of paper was printed out the bottom. She took it and read it.

Congratulations, Wing Mao, you have won a wish! Choose wisely! You have five seconds or the wish will be gone forever!

Wing’s heart skipped a beat. The rational part of her mind wondered how the machine knew her name, and wondered why it gave her a wish instead of telling the future as the marketing indicated. But she had only paid the machine in the first place due to the irrational part of her mind, the same part that made her come in this bar in the even firster place because her crush on Delroy was so irrational it was nearly trumpian. So the rational part of her mind was not in control of anything at this moment, which Wing was strangely fine with — she didn’t want to use logic or reason. She didn’t want to make sense. She wanted Delroy. She wanted her wish.

Even as her intelligence debated what to do, that irrational part of her mind took much less than five seconds to make a wish.

I wish to be a bimbo, like those sluts, just for one day.

Angry with herself at wasting a quarter, she hurried onto the street. She didn’t want anyone to see that she had paid for a fortune from a machine. She threw the paper away, not noticing that the writing on it had disappeared after her five seconds were up.

She stumbled down the street and giggled at herself. She righted her legs. Am I… taller? She felt taller.

Why am I wearing heels? Why am I walking successfully in heels?

She didn’t even own heels. She didn’t own them because she couldn’t walk in them, but all of a sudden she wore stiletto heels and she wore them so well she could have danced a ballet in them. Her sweatshirt and jeans were gone too, replaced by a low-cut sapphire-blue dress that showed off her cleavage.

A passing storefront with a reflective window proved what had happened: the fortune-telling machine worked. She looked like a hot, slutty Asian chick, like one of those girls from the bar, like someone who would be popular, like someone Delroy Hopkins might screw.

Again, the rational part of her mind formulated a very sensible plan, but her bimbo mind ignored it. She knew what she wanted to do, and it wasn’t go back to the bar and investigate the machine. It wasn’t check to see whether the “magic” had simply changed her hair, makeup and clothes or if it had actually made her tits and ass bigger, her thighs and waist smaller and her cheekbones more pronounced. The rational part of her mind whirred with questions. What would happen if I paid another quarter? Could I have wished for a million wishes? Will this wish backfire?

But Wing didn’t want to listen to that rational part of her mind. She had something else in mind.

When she got to the library, Delroy was there, leaning back in his chair. No one wore stiletto heels and a skimpy dress to the library, so every single person there turned to stare, jaw agape.

She walked right to Delroy, whose wide-eyed stare was enough to make Wing giggle like a skank. It was obvious what he was going to say before she even asked her question.

“Hi. Do you want to come with me?” she asked.

Delroy jumped over himself to say yes, not even asking who she was or where she wanted to take him. He pushed his tutor out of the way and left his books behind as he hurried to her side. Wing giggled and took hold of his belt, which he had dangling between his legs like a cock. She pulled on it and guided him away, into the back of the library.

There was a room there she knew of. The library put books needing to be reshelved there. The shelving guys — they were mostly high schoolers doing community service — only worked during the day, so no one would be there now.

It was just a small closet with a table, crowded high with textbooks. She brought him in there, hopped up on the table and smiled. “Delroy, I want you to fuck me.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Magic,” she said. She kissed him on the lips. He hesitated like he wanted to ask for more information, but didn’t want to ruin the situation. She smiled and kissed him again. “Would you believe me if I said it was an ancient Chinese secret?”

He gulped. “Not really…” It didn’t seem like he cared too much though.

At first, he was surprised by how quickly this happened that his hands stayed limp, his mouth not reacting to her kiss. But then his instincts kicked in as her tits brushed over his chest. He moved his head, his tongue planted into hers, and his hands gripped her delicate shoulders.

He let out a little roar and shoved all those books off the table. He grinned, his deep-dimpled cheeks making Wing’s heart swoon. She wanted him so badly.

“You’re the sexiest chick on this campus,” he said. He bit his lip. “I really like you a lot-“

“Oh, Delroy, you barely know me,” Wing said with a blushing giggle.

“I know… But I can tell,” he said, and it really seemed like he meant it. “You’re so special to me, even if we don’t know each other yet. We will. I can sense the future, you know. I’m a bit of a fortune-teller myself. It’s not an ancient Chinese secret, but it’s… I think we might be together for a long time, miss… whoever you are.” His broad chest heaved nervously. That made Wing excited because she never thought tiny, delicate Wing Mao might make a huge stud like him so exhilarated he lost his breath just kissing her.

He took off his shirt, and Wing lost herself again, kissing his throbbing chest muscles. Her tongue traced a line up to his neck, which smelled like days-old cologne. Her fingers undid his belt, and his jeans plopped to the floor.

Somehow her dress came off. Wing hadn’t put it on, so she didn’t even know how to take it off, but it seemed Delroy figured it out. Wing was too overwhelmed by passion to even notice, not until her bare skin puckered in the chilly library air.

His kisses traveled down her body. He kissed her neck, her breasts, his lips roaming down her flat belly and round hips. She moaned, and for once, the sound that came out wasn’t an unappealing frog-like grunt but a low slow-burning moan of sheer pleasure that made Delroy moan in sync with her.

In the tiny library closet, their voices resonated and echoed, forming a coccoon of their own lust. She was surprised to see him lower his head, his tongue going to her womanhood without her prompting him to do it.

Her entire body tightened and crooned as his tongue hit her clitoris. A bolt of pleasure shot up her spine. She clutched his powerful shoulders and back muscles, and writhed as his tongue explored her body.

He plunged into her pussy, then back up to her sensitive clit, which raged and sang and pulsated beneath his ministrations. He lapped at her as though his life depended on it, his easygoing-jock attitude replaced by eager solicitude.

“Are you ready?” he asked breathlessly.

He didn’t need to specify what he was asking after. She nodded and leaned back. She spread her legs. He stood up, and she got her first look at his hefty thick cock.

He placed his dick right on the surface of her pussy and held it there with a smile on his face. “You want it in you, baby?”

“Yes!”

“You sure?!”

“Yes, please! Fuck me, Delroy! I’ve been watching you for so long, I need you!”

He grinned broadly and did it. His cock sunk into her body, and Wing moaned again. Her fingers dug into his meaty shoulders, as her blood turned to pure lust in her veins. The sounds they made together grew so loud Wing was sure people outside the room would be able to hear.

Wing could see it on his face when her words sunk in — she had accidentally implied she’d been watching him for a long time — he looked momentarily worried that she might be a stalker. But then he moaned as a pang of pleasure shot up his spine, and he ignored his confusion.

Instead he fucked her harder, ramming his dick in her pussy now that it was clear she could take it. Each motion of his powerful hips made Wing feel it throughout her body, every part of her tightening and relaxing in sync with his gyrations. His muscles tensed, and she threw her head back, unable to suppress a loud shout as pre-orgasmic bliss wracked her body.

He kissed her again. “Baby…” he said with a blush. “You, uh… you really like me, right?”

“Of course!” she said, so aroused she was almost ready to cry. It felt like her entire body was about to shatter, like she couldn’t take any more pleasure and one more good stroke from his dick would be enough to make her fall into a million little pieces of orgasmic bimbo-confetti filtering to the floor.

“You wanna really show how much you like me?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes!”

“Can I stick it in your ass?” he asked. Then before she could answer, he leaned in and moaned into her ear. “You’re so beautiful, baby, I need you. I need every part of you. I gotta have you, please say yes, I need to be inside you.”

“Yes! Oh fuck, hell yes!” she moaned, so aroused right now she didn’t even need to think about it. She wanted it so bad she could cry.

He grinned and kissed her. “Thank you, baby, you’re the best. You’re the sexiest chick in the world.”

She giggled. He pulled out of her pussy, and Wing felt a brief loneliness at the lack of stimulation. Her womanhood felt empty and unloved. But that lasted for only a moment.

Delroy pulled her ass right up to the edge of the table, and he even used a thin Accounting 101 workbook to prop her hips up a little bit. That bared her ass and forced her cheeks apart.

Wing had never had anal sex. She’d never even thought about actually doing it. But she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this right now.

Her legs in the air, toes curling as though she could grip his shoulders with them, Wing bit her lip. She felt an intense onrush of pressure in her ass. She held her breath.

“Oh, baby, your ass is so good,” he said. His eyes closed and he took deep breaths like this hurt for him more than her.

But the pain was actually very dim and distant. There was a twinge of pleasure as well, and even though that pain was objectively stronger, all Wing’s mind could focus on was the growing chorus of bliss welling up inside her. It was her ass, on fire, tight and soft, moist, full, empty, potent and weak, pounded away at and made tender love to all at once.

She tried to grab for his chest, to massage and knead those bulging muscles. But her arms were too short, his chest too far except when he was at his apogee, all the way inside her ass, and then her fingers could glancingly get ahold of his chest. She tweaked his nipples and felt his muscles roiling beneath her grasp.

Had she even taken his entire cock within her? She couldn’t tell. She wanted to feel it, to feel his manhood and see how much was left outside her ass.

But when she tried to move her hands, all she could do was flail uselessly. The sensations boiling over from inside her were too intense to focus on anything else. All she managed was to moan and grunt and spit and squirm like a wild animal.

And then she felt him slide the last of his dick into her. She didn’t need to use her hands, she could sense that that was it. They became like one beast, rutting wildly, writhing in each other’s arms.

Wing’s body moved uncontrollably while she reacted to the sensations around and within her. Every part of her body tingled and shook. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood, while his blond jock body turned ruddy as he reached his own orgasm.

It all ended at once, and the most intense sensations of her life overwhelmed her. Her thin, delicate bimbo body shook like a beat-up old car shedding parts as it barreled down the road. Her tits vibrated beneath his tongue, her sensitive nipples sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

She had no idea how long that orgasm lasted. She was only aware that it was done — sweat streaming down her body in rivulets, fingers tightened into claws that drew a few drops of blood from his chest — because someone knocked on the door. The sound snapped her out of her stupor.

Hey, uh… the librarian just called security, whoever’s in there. You should probably… Well… Just to let you know, security is coming. Whoever was there on the other side of the door chuckled. I mean… security is “traveling to this location”, not cumming.

Wing blushed. Her face was already red from sexual exertion, but now she blushed on top of that. The closet stank of sex. She would have gladly stayed there with Delroy forever.

But he pulled out of her. Tremendous relief flooded her ass, and she could feel juices trickling out of her body. She moaned again. She bit her lip and hopped off the table.

“Wow,” he said. “Thanks a lot for that. That was… crazy. Can I have your phone number?”

She giggled but didn’t answer. She bent over to display her ass to him as she grabbed her clothes. She shook her ass in his direction, and he stopped with his pants halfway up in the air. He growled at the sight of her jiggling asscheeks. He massaged her flesh, but then she giglged and pulled her ass away.

“Damn, you are amazing,” he said. “Please be my girlfriend?”

“Delroy… I don’t know if I’m that kind of girl,” she said. “I don’t always act like this.” She slipped her dress back on. He retightened his belt and put his shoes on. His bare, muscular chest was still shirtless, a few beads of sweat clinging to his flesh.

“I don’t care how you act usually,” he said. “Just be with me. Here.” He ripped out a page from a textbook and wrote his phone number on it. “You can call me too.” He paused, then added some more letters and numbers. “And here’s my email address and my screennames on Yahoo, Facebook and AOL instant messaging. And here’s my dad’s landline number, that’s where I’ll be on vacation from school. Oh, and here’s my street address and my frat’s address. They have a landline too but I don’t remember the number-“

“Delroy, relax, that’s fine. I have plenty of ways to contact you-“

“You can send me a postcard or something. Or call me collect, that’s fine. Is that still a thing? You can text me or… I don’t have snapchat, but I’ll get it-“

“Delroy, shut up.” She giggled. His lips slammed shut. She kissed him. “I’ll call you,” she said. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for another go.”

The door opened suddenly, and two dour security guards glared. They both looked a little upset at first, as though they had expected to see two fat library nerds making out. They were relieved to see two sexy people, who weren’t even naked. It must have stank like sex though, Wing thought with a giggle.

“What are you two doing in here? Why is your shirt off, young man?”

Wing laughed out loud. She grabbed that Accounting 101 workbook. “I was just looking for this book, for my class. I’m studying to be an accountant.” Delroy chuckled to himself as though it was impossible for hot chicks to become accountants. Wing smiled at the security guards. “Delroy here was just helping me find it. He’s so helpful.”

Delroy smiled too. He ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “That’s true. I am helpful. I took my shirt off because… Her dad’s a dermatologist, I wanted her to see this mole I had and send him a photo. Skin cancer is a serious problem.”

“That’s true. Don’t worry though, Delroy, my dad said it looks benign,” she said.

“Phew. Thanks, ma’am. I’m going to put my shirt on and do my homework now! I’m excited about responsible behavior!” Delroy said with a wide grin. He put his shirt on and pushed out past the two security guards, who glared at him. When Wing walked out, they moved out of the way to make room for her.

When she was out in the hallway, she moved towards the exit, while Delroy walked back into the library itself. The two security guards went into the closet to put the books back on the table Delroy had knocked them off of.

That meant she had a few more seconds to connect with him. He walked backwards, bumping into a book-cart and smiling at her, beaming like he was shocked about what had happened. He held up one hand to wave, while his other grabbed his crotch, cock outlined briefly by his clothes.

“Bye, baby!” he yelled so loud the other library patrons turned to look at him.

Wing blushed like she was still shy, but she wasn’t. She just pretended because she knew it was sexy to be demure. She waved back after him, then turned around and walked out the door into the chilled night air.

She didn’t know how long this bimbofication magic was going to last, but she intended to have as much fun as possible while it did.