Tag Archives: bathhouse

Twink on Top: The Male Cheerleader

Here is the beginning of Twink on Top: The Male Cheerleader, a hot new tale in the Twink on Top series!

Charlie was insulted when he found out the girls just assumed he wanted to suck off every football player on the team. It was an accurate guess on their part, but they had no reason to think that except a general stereotype of slutty gay men. So Charlie really wanted to decline the plan they had come up with.
He didn’t decline it, but he wanted them to think he might.
The cheerleading squad consisted of fourteen girls and Charlie. They were best friends, and the girls were almost as slutty as Charlie. That was half the reason he had joined the cheerleading squad. He figured he’d be surrounded by sexy straight guys all the time.
That prediction was proven correct, but it was less satisfactory than it seemed. At first Charlie was overjoyed to watch the cheerleaders take turns sucking off Malik, the quarterback, but soon it became old hat. He watched them take turns “reverse-gangbanging” every guy on the team, or almost every guy. Not every cheerleader participated, but most of them did. They thought it was hilarious; they tried to make it like those interracial gangbang porn, with lots of trash-talking and awkward-looking positions, but with lots of girls and one man.
One of the few players they didn’t think was sexy was Gaspack. He was a linebacker, and like most linebackers, he was huge.
He wasn’t fat, but he hardly had a perfect body either. He was one of those men who was too muscular to have a six-pack. His belly jutted out with the sheer power of his oversized frame. He had an ass that just didn’t quit — too plump to be a “bubble-butt” but plenty round and thick and inviting. Charlie just wanted to spend hours covering it in whipped cream and licking it off.
They called him Gaspack because he supposedly used to light his farts on fire back in high school. Charlie thought that was gross and nonsensical and kinda cute. Gaspack was goofy, with a big round face, a perpetually uncombed shock of thick black hair, and an awkward sprinkling of tufts of hair over his strapping chest.
At a giggley late-night drinking session on Saturday, Charlie and the girls had rated the members of the football team. The discrepancy over Gaspack’s ranking was tremendous — Charlie rated him rather highly, while the girls uniformly put him on the bottom of the list.
That was what had sparked the girls to come up with this plan, which Charlie had agreed to because it was hot even if he also found it insulting.
“Hey, so we’re having a sauna, Gaspack, and you can come in if you want…” said Suzie, the head cheerleader.
Gaspack’s eyes opened wide. Everyone else in the locker room fell silent. They usually did when one of the girls came in. Gaspack had never been invited into the sauna with the cheerleaders before.
He grinned like a goofy bastard, and he even did a little dance there in front of Suzie. That made his jockstrap bounce, and his pecs shake. Suzie squealed a little, disgusted because of his big caveman-like face leering at her. She blushed.

Shower Tales: The Hammam

This is a sample chapter from Shower Tales: The Hammam, a story in the No Homo: Soldiers series.

Bayram Macar was unsure what to do after he moved into his new home. He decided to train in the workout area behind his tiny cottage. It was public enough he knew his employer would find out he had done so, which would surely raise his esteem in Mr. Burakgazi’s eyes.

There were weights and medicine balls and ropes there, in a small cement patio. It was plainly visible from the main house, and looked like it had once been the servant’s quarters, or possibly even a slavehouse at one point in Turkish history.

Nobody from Bayram’s village had ever become a sponsored wrestler, but he had been undefeated for the last two years and fought in the heaviest weight class. So he felt certain he would bring glory to the Burakgazi Corporation, which was paying his salary.

A man in traditional Turkish robes appeared, with dark sunglasses. Bayram moved to stand up, suspecting he was Mr. Burakgazi, the man who lived in the main house and ran Burakgazi Corporation. He stood there like a man who expected everyone to respect his authority.

“Mr. Macar,” he said, “Come with me.”

Bayram followed, but was surprised to find Mr. Burakgazi wanted to walk next to him, rather than in front of him. Mr. Burakgazi wrapped one arm around Bayram’s sweaty back.

“It is good you are exercising. If I have not assigned you other duties, you should be training from sunup to sundown. That includes meals and rest periods, of course. If you are not in your cottage, I expect to find you here at the bathhouse.” He pointed to a small structure near the edge of the Burakgazi estate, beyond which were the factories. “All of my local workers are allowed to come here when they are taking breaks. Come now, let us bathe together.”

Bayram agreed. That was a good sign, he thought. Turkish men went to the bathhouse together as a sign of friendship and trust.

He walked towards the bathing area, where a pool of water looked warm and inviting. But Mr. Burakgazi stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, holding up an oil pourer. “Let me see my new acquisition.”

Bayram bristled at the word acquisition, but he stood still. He was a professional oil wrestler now, after all, and would soon be able to compete for a world champion. He knew he could expect to be ogled at quite a bit, though he came from a very modest village, where not even old women were allowed to watch wrestling matches.

“I may require you to perform for business associates,” he said. “That is why I need you to be available. You may have time off with permission beforehand. You may also request visitors at your cottage, but only sparingly, and no women. I do not want you distracted. If you feel you must fornicate with a woman, I will provide you with a prostitute at my discretion. But I will not do so lightly. It is a grave sin, after all.”

“I do not use prostitutes.”

“You will if I tell you to,” Mr. Burakgazi snapped. “Some men require it to fight at their fullest potential.” He kneaded his fingers into Bayram’s muscular chest. “But as I said, I prefer to use other means to keep men satisfied.”

“Okay…” Bayram said. He was feeling nervous about this arrangement. When he was offered a job doing what he loved, he never second-guessed himself, he just accepted it. He thought being a professional athlete was the ultimate goal. What else could he want?

But now he felt obliged to Mr. Burakgazi, who had made sure his contract included a pullout penalty. If he quit not, he’d owe a lot of money. He’d done the math though, and if he wanted to leave right away, he could save all of his pay for three months and that’d be enough.

Mr. Burakgazi casually massaged Bayram’s arms and chest as he repeated the manor rules. He tweaked Bayram’s nipples and made him flex each muscle in turn. He kissed Bayram’s biceps and pecs.

Bayram felt an uncomfortable stirring in his crotch. He felt an urge to touch himself, and wished he could leave to take care of his problem in private. Mr. Burakgazi undid Bayram’s suspenders and let his pants fall to the ground.

“You are a healthy young man,” he said approvingly. He stuck his hand in Bayram’s briefs and cradled his cock. “Virile and strong. That is good.”

Bayram was so nervous he couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could focus on was the man’s hand caressing his deck and holding onto his balls. Mr. Burakgazi gave them a light squeeze.

“When a superior compliments you, Bayram, it is polite to say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Call me sir,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good. I am a big believer in politeness and behaving properly, according to your station,” he said.

Bayram felt his dick growing hard and pulsating in Mr. Burakgazi’s hand. He gasped, winced and looked away in embarrassment. “Mr. Burakgazi, I don’t like you touching my penis-“

“Sssh,” he said. He put one finger on Bayram’s lips. “You work for me now, Bayram. Every inch of you works for me. You can trust me. I don’t want to hurt you.” His left hand caressed Bayram’s plump young ass and ran softly up his rippling back muscles. “You trust me, right?”

Bayram thought about it and said, “Yes, sir.” He was beginning to have doubts, but he did still ultimately trust Mr. Burakgazi. He had been given a job, an advance on his salary, a place to live that was nicer than he had ever hoped, a doctor whom Bayram could see as often as he wanted.

“I’m giving you a lot, Bayram,” he said. “Because I care about you. I want you to succeed. And I know big strong men like you can’t succeed with bulging nuts like these.” He gave Bayram’s balls a little squeeze and chuckled at Bayram’s wince of pain. “I could hire you a female, but that would be degrading for both you and her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Close your eyes, Bayram.” Mr. Burakgazi waited until Bayram had complied, then continued speaking softly. “Pretend it is a beautiful girl touching your penis, a beautiful virginal girl.”

Bayram tried to, but all he could picture was Mr. Burakgazi’s soft, middle-aged face. He didn’t say anything though, because he could feel his dick leaking precum. It was working despite himself, it seemed.

He moaned and grunted as an orgasm shot through him. Passion and lust coursed through his veins, and for a moment, he could really forget it wasn’t a woman’s gentle hands on his cock. His genitals were perfectly cradled by soft hands, which he covered in thick sperm.

Mr. Burakgazi held up his hand, a puddle of cum in his cupped palm. More semen was smeared across his finger and wrist.

Bayram took a deep breath and sighed, glad to have that over with. It was just a handjob, he thought, glorified masturbation really. And was it more sinful than masturbating oneself? He had to ask the imam, he thought, though the local imam worked for Mr. Burakgazi as well.

“You made a mess on me, Bayram,” Mr. Burakgazi said. He sounded displeased.

“I… uh, I’m sorry, let me get you a towel,” Bayram said. He thought about defending himself, pointing out that Mr. Burakgazi had been in charge of where his dick was aimed, and had ordered Bayram to close his eyes, so how could he have cum anywhere else? But he didn’t think that would go over very well.

“No, not a towel. I want you to clean this up,” Mr. Burakgazi said. He moved his hand closer to Bayram’s mouth.

Bayram’s nose quivered at the cloying, cotton-lemon scent of cum assaulting his nostrils. It sat there, snot-like in Mr. Burakgazi’s hand. What was he expecting Bayram to do?

“Open your mouth, Bayram.”

Bayram did, telling himself that it must be a prank, that Mr. Burakgazi was a good man. Surely he wouldn’t make him eat cum.

But moments later the salty flavor of semen did overwhelm him. Bayram bucked and gagged but swallowed it down, then kept gagging as Mr. Burakgazi made him suck each finger clean.

“Good,” Mr. Burakgazi said. “You should exercise for the rest of today.”