Tag Archives: gay muscle

First-Time Jocks in the Dorm

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Dorm, a new story by Happiest Ending! It’s full of outrageous interracial action!

Meathead made no effort to hide the fact that he was jacking off. Almost as soon as the lights went off, Meathead took his dick in hand. He had porn magazines — actual magazines, as though this was the nineties — stashed under his mattress. Greg was too embarrassed to even say that he was awake.

Greg rather liked it better when Eduardo — or “Meathead” — was always gone. Greg had been terrified when Meathead showed up to the dorm in September. He had been a huge, hulking brute, like the bullies who had teased Greg back in high school but somehow even bigger and hairier though he was barely older than those bullies had been. He didn’t look like a college freshman.

Greg was no weakling anymore either, but Meathead made him feel like that ninth-grade loser all over again. Greg was on the golf team, so he was a jock too — he even had an athletic scholarship. But no one really thought about golfers like that.

Meathead played football. He was a tight end, and he was tall and dark-skinned because he was half-Latino, and he had a face like a retarded bulldog, or at least that was how Greg saw it. He was widely regarded as stupid, which was how he had gotten the nickname (and why he had gotten a flotilla of Asian math nerds tutoring him and taking tests for him).

But Meathead had had a serious girlfriend at the beginning of the year. Her name was Suzie; she was beautiful, and she was a total bitch. Greg was not surprised that she had dumped Meathead. He wished she hadn’t only because Meathead went from spending all his time with her to spending all his time naked, flopping his massive dick in front of Greg’s face.

And now he was jacking off, not even trying to hide it. Greg rolled over. He coughed lightly, hoping to make sure Meathead knew he was awake.

But Meathead just ignored him, pounding away. He used both hands. The porn magazine rested on his strapping chest now, he wasn’t looking at it anymore. The smell of precum filled the tiny dorm room, made even more powerful by the added astringency of his sweat — Meathead seemed to sweat constantly.

Meathead stood. Was he still jacking off? Greg thought so. Was he looking at him? He stood over the bunk beds where Greg lay. Greg had his eyes closed and he didn’t want to open them.

“Hey, Greg, you awake?” Meathead asked. His voice was impossibly deep — was he really a freshman? It seemed unlikely — and it made Greg’s whole body cringe.

Greg had the lower bunk, so if he sat up, his head would be right at Meathead’s crotch height. He knew that well because he was often sitting there reading when Meathead came back to the dorm and worked out, or sometimes just stood there naked on the phone with his girl.

“Meathead, man-“

“Hey, you wanna jack off? C’mon, let’s circlejerk,” Meathead said with an excited leer. He sat down on Greg’s bunk at the foot of the bed. Greg rolled over and sat up.

Downlow Muscle at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Downlow Muscle at the City Barbershop, a new story by Calvin Freeman!

 

Sharif didn’t take his suit off. He just pulled his dick out through the fly and let Omar go to town. He said over and over that he was “fine” with letting Omar suck him off, but it was pretty clear that he didn’t want to do it. He only agreed because he wanted to seem as tough as a rapper.

His cock throbbed and leaked precum down Omar’s throat. Omar loved guzzling down every drop, made even tastier because of Sharif’s stiff nervousness. His muscles were rigid beneath the suit he wore uncomfortably because he didn’t really fit in it. Sharif grunted, trying to maintain his tough demeanor despite his anxiety.

The only reason Sharif was here at all was because of Craig, or Craig Jay, as he went by in the rap world — Omar still knew him as just plain Craig though, because they had grown up together. They had been friends for a long time, and then they grew apart — Craig became a thug and a dealer, while Omar came out of the closet and became a barber.

And then Craig did a guest spot on a single released by local legend (and Craig’s long-time boss) Waystation. The song became a surprise national hit, and Craig released an album of his own that made him the most unlikely rap star of the year. Craig had never been much of a gangsta, Omar thought, but he played himself off as plenty tough on record.

Sharif rapped too, but he wasn’t very good and that wasn’t why he was here. His hair was in tight, perfectly done cornrows, so he didn’t need a haircut. He came in wearing that fine suit. When Omar caught a glimpse of him while he cut someone else’s hair, he just saw a large body and thought it was some fat guy in a black coat.

Then he realized it was a suit, not a coat, and that Sharif wasn’t fat at all — he was a bodybuilder. He had competed in the Mr. Texas bodybuilding pageant and come in second place a few years ago. He stood nervously near the door until Craig was ready for another customer.

“Yo, man, Craig Jay wanna me to be…” Sharif grunted and bit his lip. “I mean… Yo, nigga, I got… I got a message.”

It had been a busy day, and Omar had other things to do. He sighed. “What? What are you talking about? Who are you?” He only then realized that Sharif mentioned Craig Jay, which was Craig’s performing name. “Oh, Craig? The Craig Jay?”

Sharif nodded. He nervously bit his lip. He looked around the barbershop, where Omar’s coworker James cut a little boy’s hair while his grandfather watched. Everyone was silent because Sharif had mentioned a celebrity and they wanted to hear.

“You work for Craig?”

Sharif shook his head. He sighed. “Yo, I mean…”

Omar paused. “If you have a message, aren’t you supposed to say it?”

Sharif had a bone-rattlingly deep voice, which contrasted with the nervous quaver in his throat. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. We, uh… We can’t… I can’t, uh, give this message… here.” He glanced at the little boy. “It ain’t, like… child-friendly.”

A long awkward pause filled the air. “Are you threatening me?” Omar didn’t really think he was simply because Sharif looked like he would have been comfortable delivering a threat, so his obvious discomfort implied that was not it. But Omar lived in a tough neighborhood and felt he needed to consider the possibility of violence.

Sharif’s massive shoulders flexed as he gasped. “Nah! No! No way, man, that ain’t… It ain’t a threat.”

Omar shrugged. “Okay, well, why don’t we go into my office?” He led Sharif into the backroom, where he had a small office. Sharif sat down across from Omar, who smiled at him. “So how’s Craig? Is fame treating him okay? I know he-“

“I dunno, nigga.” Sharif said. He leaned his head back. “Okay, look, man, you gotta suck me off.”

Omar was taken aback. This wasn’t too surprising — Omar worked at a City Barbershop, a chain that had a reputation as a place for straight black men to get blowjobs on the downlow. Omar was well-known for sucking off thugs precisely like Sharif. But they rarely wore suits or came in delivering a message from a celebrity, so Omar assumed there was more to this story. “Oh. Well-“

“I mean, you ain’t got to. I guess. I dunno. I mean, Craig ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout makin’ you do it. He say you was gonna want to,” Sharif said. He stood up and lifted up his button-down suit shirt for a second, revealing his flat belly and bulging pecs — he showed off his body for Omar’s benefit, but he was nervous enough that he didn’t give any thought to how to do that: he simply lifted his shirt up to display his muscles for a second, not doing it in a sexy or seductive way. “I’m s’posed to let you suck me off. Craig say he won’t hire me — I’m a bodyguard, that’s what I do — he say he won’t hire me unless he knows I’m a real nigga. He say he wanna know I can perform.”

“Ah….” Omar had to suppress a giggle. He had a feeling this was more of a joke than a real requirement. Craig was a stoner-slacker who would probably never even bother to call Omar to ask if this had happened. Sharif could simply lie. Craig would always take the path of least resistance, and he would definitely never retract a job offer to a muscle-bound thug without a very good reason.

“Keep the suit on,” Omar said. “I like sucking off men in a suit. It feels like I’m giving a blowjob to James Bond.”

He came around to the front of the desk and sunk to his knees in front of Sharif. He unzipped his slacks and pulled his dick out too quickly for Sharif to get nervous.

First-Time Athletes at the Massage Parlor

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Athletes at the Massage Parlor, a brand-new story by the bestseller Happiest Ending!

Chase could tell from Robby’s expression that he wanted a “happy ending”. Chase couldn’t wait to get to the end. He kneaded Robby’s taut young flesh, making him moan but stifle it with his forearm. Robby wasn’t really here for a massage, but Chase didn’t intend to quit it early.

“You can roll over,” Chase said.

Robby hesitated. Chase knew exactly why — because he had an erection. Robby’s babyface tensed up. He gasped and bit his lip. This was why he had come here, after all. Robby didn’t really want the massage, it just felt less nasty to do it like this.

“O-Okay.” Robby’s voice broke. He hated how young he looked. He was almost twenty, but he looked like he was about twelve from the neck up. He had a lean and lanky body, not real muscular — no matter how much Robby ate, he couldn’t gain weight — but plenty strong. He played basketball for the GHU team and endured constant teasing about how skinny he was. He didn’t think it was fair, since a lot of his teammates were just about as skinny.

“Do you have any areas of special concern on your front side?” Chase asked. He made sure to speak as flamboyantly as he could, to make sure Robby remembered that he was gay.

“Uh… No.” Robby rolled over. The towel covering his crotch fell off too quickly for Robby to stop it, and he gasped. He closed his eyes. He had never had a stranger look at his cock, outside of his doctor, his coach, his teammates, and various other exceptions that kept filling his mind — this certainly felt new, even if it wasn’t. Chase wasn’t even the first gay man who had seen his naked cock. But Robby felt vulnerable.

“Okay. Well. Okay. Sorry.” Robby saw his dick, half-hard, flopping against his leg. Chase avoided looking at it, but that didn’t make Robby feel more comfortable.

“You don’t need to apologize. You’re fine,” Chase said. He giggled at Robby’s awkward expression. Chase massaged Robby’s stomach and “accidentally” let his elbow touch Chase’s cock, making Robby’s whole body shake. “I think I see the problem. You’re stressed. Do you have a girlfriend? I bet you don’t.”

“I don’t.” Robby’s voice was weak and wavering. “So, like… you’re gay, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Do you know about…? Well… I know you know about, y’know… penises.” Robby still sounded like he was about to cry. Chase had to hold back laughter. Robby cleared his throat. “Like… about how, y’know… they work.”

Chase frowned. “I’m not a doctor, you know that, right? You need a urologist if there’s-“

“No, I mean… Like, if I’m not… using it right? You know about that?”

Chase raised his eyebrows. Robby peeked at him, then slammed his eyes shut again. Chase smiled. “It’s not a medical issue, right?”

“No. Well, wait, maybe it is!” Robby gasped. “Look… I… How long is normal?”

“Oh, don’t worry about size, you’re plenty big enough, you-“

“No, not that. Not size. I mean how long… of time? Like how long does sex really last? Cuz in porn it lasts a while, but they take breaks, I think-“

“Don’t worry about porn, Robby,” Chase said. “Most straight men only last a few minutes. If you can make it five minutes, you’ll be doing better than most.”

“Oh.” Robby looked crestfallen.

Chase giggled. “You last less than five minutes?”

Robby blushed. “I mean… I only, y’know… I’ve only had sex three times, okay? It isn’t, like… Are you required to keep that confidential? Like a doctor?”

“Well, no, confidentiality doesn’t apply to masseurs. But don’t worry, I won’t spread it around,” he said. “I don’t think three times is a strange amount, Robby. You’re too stressed, that’s probably why you cum too quickly.”

“Oh. Will you, uh… gimme a…? Robby’s voice trailed off. He glanced at his cock.

“You want a happy ending?”

“I mean… I just, I got this girl later, I don’t wanna… She said I was a teenager, she said I acted like a teenager-“

“You do have a bit of a babyface.”

“I know! I hate it!” Robby’s eyes opened wide and he threw his hands in the air.

“Relax, relax,” Chase said. “I’ll give you a happy ending, no problem. Honestly I’m not sure if it will fix your hetero issues, but I’m not exactly hetero-competent, so I can’t help you too much with that. Just calm down and don’t worry so much. When you’re fucking her, focus on something little — you have to move your dick, but focus on something else, something more minor, like licking her neck or her ear. Whatever she thinks is hot.”

“Ear?”

“Yeah, chicks dig that.”

“Really? Ear?” He touched his ear.

Chase giggled. He grabbed Robby’s dick, making Robby’s whole body shake and squirm. “Really. Ears.” He paused. “Maybe I’m more hetero-competent than I thought!”

“Okay. Thanks!” Robby said, his cheeks bright red. Then he gasped as his dick throbbed in Chase’s hand.

“Now hush. Let the professional do his work,” Chase said. He began rubbing his hand up and down Robby’s shaft.

The Las Vegas Impersonator

Here’s the beginning of The Las Vegas Impersonator, a new yaoi MM novelette by Lee Lane Lamplight!

 

Kyle shivered a little when the elevator door opened. Elvis stood there in front of him. He was young, glorious Elvis, radiantly macho as he stood there with a big grin on his smooth face. His hefty body barely fit in his white shirt beneath a black jacket. That little tendril of hair that hung over his forehead was like a beckoning finger, demanding Kyle enter the elevator and suck his body clean.

It wasn’t really Elvis, of course. Elvis would be elderly if he were still alive. This was a man named Rank Teravalo. He worked here at the Count Castle Casino in northern Las Vegas. Kyle worked here too, though he was nothing more than a blackjack dealer. Rank was an Elvis impersonator, and he performed a retro-rockabilly show five nights a week.

“Howdy,” Rank said. He still had that Southern accent. It clung to him and it required active thought to switch himself back to his ordinary dialect (he was an Italian-American from Queens).

“You sound tired,” Kyle said. He didn’t want to embarrass Rank, so he just got in the elevator and stood there awkwardly. He was sure he hadn’t hidden how much Rank turned him on. Rank was sexy, handsome and deep-dimpled. He was a bodybuilder too; some of the casino patrons referred to him as Muscle-Elvis because he was substantially more muscular than the real Elvis had ever been. Kyle had had a huge crush on him from the moment he first saw Rank with his chest bursting from the up-collared shirt he wore over jeans that hugged his plump ass. Kyle had stood there drooling at him from the audience.

“Yeah, you seen them old broads?” Rank asked. His accent was cute, Kyle thought, because, when he dropped character, he still spoke like a Kentucky country singer but with the diction of his New York City home. “There’s a big party of ‘em ‘round he’e, uh-huh. They all over the place. They’s a fuckin’ bachelorette party, swear to God. What kinda old lady got a bachelorette party in Vegas? The bride’s like sixty.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Kyle said. “Old ladies need loving too, Rank. You shouldn’t hide your sexiness from them.”

Rank smiled. “I don’t need some lady older than my mom pinchin’ my ass. One of ‘em I think was tryin’-a get her finger in my asshole, man. I swear, she was tryin’ to finger me, like she thought I might have a treasure hidden in there.”

Kyle giggled. “Oh you’re just playing, I know you love it when women fawn all over-“

The elevator rocked and trembled. A loud beeping sound filled the air, then it slowly trailed off like some piece of electronics somewhere in the machinery was dying. Kyle and Rank exchanged nervous glances as the elevator came to a screeching halt.

“Oh shit.”

“Is this broken?” Kyle went straight to the elevator door. He managed to force it open with Rank’s help, but behind the door was just stone wall.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…” Rank went to the emergency phone, but it rang before he could even touch it. A security guy was on the other end of the line. “Uh, hello? Error signal? Yeah, the elevator’s stuck. We’re in here. Two people, just me and Kyle. Rank Teravalo and Kyle…”

“Martin.”

“Kyle Martin.” He laughed. “Shut up, Jamaal, I ain’t like that. When’re we gettin’ out of here? Well call him up, asshole! I don’t care!” He chuckled. “Yeah, there’s a patron in here too. She’s an old lady who got a lawyer on retainer. She say she gonna sue yo’ ass, boy.” His Kentucky accent gradually dwindled now that he was stressed and out of that Elvis-mindset. He angrily slammed the phone down. “Fuckin’ Jamaal, he’s an asshat. Fuck that guy.”

“What’d he say?”

“He’s calling maintenance, he said it was lesser priority cuz there weren’t no patrons in here. And he thinks…” Rank glanced at Kyle and bit his lip. For a moment he really looked like Elvis, and Kyle blushed.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Did he say something about me?”

Rank blushed and winced. “No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It wasn’t… Man, just… I said it, it wasn’t no thing, man. I was just kiddin’-“

“What? What did you say?”

Rank sighed. “Man… It ain’t a big deal, alright? But a couple days ago, I told Jamaal you was, y’know… I know you want me, alright? I seen you lookin’ at me, and shit… And Jamaal was sayin’ I should let you take a swing on my meat.” He grabbed his cock through his tight bell-bottom pants. “He said since we stuck in here anyway…”

“Oh.” Kyle blushed. He hadn’t realized how obvious he was checking Rank out. In his defense, it was almost impossible not to — he was simply stacked all over, and he was dressed like an attention-grabbing idol, so he was hard to ignore.

A very tense air filled the elevator. Kyle forgot his annoyance and fear at being stuck in the elevator. All he could think about was Rank’s body and that handsome face. He giggled to relieve the tension in his mind.

Asian Alpha: The Hardest Yakuza

Here’s the beginning of Asian Alpha: The Hardest Yakuza, the newest gaysian MM erotica story by the great Rick Mann!

Minoru threw away the half-used limes and lemons, their little squashed wedges sitting like dead soldiers on the cutting board behind the bar. He wanted to signal that it was almost closing time. He made a loud noise clinking glasses together as he cleaned up the bar.

There weren’t many people here still, and he thought they’d leave soon. They usually did. They were too polite to stay until closing time and make Minoru tell them to leave.

A shiver of desire ran through Minoru’s body as he raised his head and caught a glimpse of that new man. Minoru thought he was so sexy it hurt to look at him. He was Japanese, but he was built, Minoru thought, like a Russian bodybuilder, with a squarish jaw, bulging shoulders and crude, deep eyes. Minoru knew — or strongly suspected — that the man was covered in colorful tattoos as well, but he couldn’t see them because they were covered up by his ill-fitting suit.

The new man was yakuza. They all were. Minoru was a bartender at a yakuza bar. No one had ever told him that; he simply figured it out when he saw the entirely male clientele and saw how they interacted with each other. It was the only thing that made sense.

Tonight, Minoru hadn’t sold a single drink of alcohol. No one told him why, but he had overheard hints that clarified — these man had some sort of duty that led to them being forbidden to drink for a period of time; that duty was satisfied as of today — that was why they had come out to celebrate — but the no-drinking rule still applied, hadn’t been lifted and wouldn’t be violated except on pain of death, even if the reason for it no longer applied.

One by one, the yakuza had gone upstairs. Again, no one told Minoru why but he had a good guess — girls. There were prostitutes in the apartment upstairs (he had seen scantily clad women coming and going in the night-time), and each of the men took turns having sex. They may have paid, Minoru thought, or gotten freebies because their organization ran the brothel, though Minoru suspected it was the former — the yakuza were generally too organized and strict to give freebies, or even discounts. It was more likely that the men’s boss paid for them all.

“You want a free ride on a girl?” asked one of the yakuza, sliding into a seat at the bar.

“I’m sorry?”

The yakuza was a young man with a cocky glare. He dressed flashy for yakuza, with a brilliant purple ring on one finger and a colorful tie. He smiled charmingly. “We are celebrating because…” He sniffled. “Because we have reason to celebrate. We are… If you would like to spend time with a girl, I will not charge you. The fee has been arranged. You may go upstairs and take your pick. Except not Etsuko. She is my favorite.”

Minoru’s heart sped up. He knew he shouldn’t be too nervous — this wasn’t a movie where he might say the wrong thing and get killed for looking at a yakuza wrong. They weren’t anti-gay either. Minoru was actually surprised that this pimp-yakuza didn’t already know Minoru was gay — at least some of the men here did know, so they must not have been spreading it around. This was one occasion when Minoru would rather that they talk about him behind his back. It would have been easier than coming out of the closet over and over.

“Uh, well… I am… Thank you very much for the offer,” Minoru said. “But I am not interested in females of any kind.”

The pimp-yakuza frowned. He glared at Minoru, inspecting him closely like a professor grading a paper. Then he cleared his throat and smiled. “Ah, yes. I see. That is okay. That is good. That is better than okay, it is good. I would rather have the man on the first floor of the brothel be… Well, it is good to know the girls do not need to worry about you developing an interest in them,” he said. “That is fine.” He paused and looked over the men. “Are there any men here you would like to… spend time with? Provided you do not emasculate them, you may-“

“Him.” Minoru pointed to the new man. He did it out of pure instinct, without giving it a second thought, even as his mind told himself to say no. It would have been wiser, he thought, to avoid any entanglements with the yakuza. But he had already said it.

“Hachiro?” He sounded like Hachiro was not an option available to Minoru. “He is… I did not think he was handsome.”

“Well, he’s…”

“You like muscles, it is okay,” the pimp-yakuza said. He smiled. “Do not ask him many questions. He is… He will look like he will hurt you, but he will not hurt you. He will not answer any questions. He is very dumb.” He turned to Hachiro. “Hachiro! Come here.”

European Trade: The Frenchman

Here’s the entirety of European Trade: The Frenchman, a hot new story by Gavin Rockhard! Beware: this tale of gay erotica contains a baguette!

Kyle didn’t discover that the men were lumberjacks and that they were on strike until much later. When he happened upon them, they appeared to be a couple dozen of the most muscular men he had ever seen, lounging around, drinking coffee and looking nonchalant when pretty girls walked by. It was a very sedate strike.

Kyle was here in France — visiting from his native Canada — in order to taste the masculine fruit of the country. And there was no sweeter fruit than these lumberjacks. Their muscles bulged against the black and white-striped shirts they wore, with low v-necks that showed off their strapping chest muscles.

One, in particular, attracted Kyle’s gaze. He was tall, broad-shouldered, mustached and grizzle-chinned, with a tattoo of a French flag visible on his chest and one of Marianne on his left bicep, which was bare beneath a sleeveless shirt.

“Bonjour,” Kyle said. He knew his French was good, if Quebecois-accented. “Je m’appelle Kyle.”

The man grunted. He screwed up his nose when Kyle sat next to him at the little cafe table. He looked like he was about to say something, but then a pretty middle-aged woman walked by, gabbing on her cell phone. The man watched her with intent interest.

“I would like to pay you money,” Kyle said. He blushed, momentarily at a loss for words as the man glared at him.

“I am on strike,” he said.

“No, no, I’m not going to pay you for your job, I have something special in mind,” Kyle said. “I want you to come back to my hotel room. I’ll pay you five hundred euros.”

“Quoi?”

“Five hundred euros. You just come back to my hotel room, and… y’know, let me do some stuff.”

“Quoi?”

“You know…”

“You show me,” he said as though he had a good guess and simply wanted confirmation. He frowned. “Under table.”

Kyle looked among the other lumberjacks, who smoked cigarettes and lazed like they were taking the day off instead of striking. One of them looked at the man as though he wanted to know what was happening, but he did not ask.

Shivering with fear and anticipation, Kyle dove underneath the cafe table. Tourists walked by, sneaking glances at him. The man wore blue pants made of some thick fabric; back in Canada, Kyle would have guessed they were Dickies but he wasn’t sure if that was a thing in France. He didn’t what he was expected to do, but he stuck his head between the man’s legs and kissed his cock.

“Tu es sale.”

The man wore no underwear. His massive, limp dick was palpable beneath the fabric of his pants. He laughed a deep, baritone boom when Kyle kissed his dick. When he laughed, his dick twitched.

The man stood up, and Kyle crawled out from underneath the table. The man stood there. He lit a cigarette. When Kyle stood near him, the man pointed to the ground. He ashed right on Kyle’s head.

“Crawl,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer. He just turned around and walked away, and Kyle got down on all fours. He followed after him, keeping his head up and as close as he could get, so he could smell the man’s thick asscheeks.

He didn’t leave the cafe. He walked to the counter, and Kyle blushed intensely. The pretty girl clerk looked at him with a curious expression as she sold the man a baguette. She smiled flirtatiously at him, and she called him Hugo.

Hugo smiled at her. “Tu es très jolie,” he said. He kissed her on the lips, and she swooned into his arms.

For a moment, Kyle thought he was forgotten, that Hugo was going to take this girl into the men’s room and fuck her. But the girl pushed him away. She squealed and slapped him lightly, though she laughed and blushed as though she was happy to have kissed him despite the slap.

Hugo left her with a shrug, like he didn’t care that she had rejected him. He returned to his table, grabbed the beret he had left there, finished his coffee and walked off. He didn’t glance behind him at Kyle, who scampered after him.

“I thought we’d go to my hotel room. I’ll suck your dick and lick your asshole and you can fuck me,” Kyle said. “I’ll do anything you want. Five hundred euros.”

“Oui.”

“Okay. Thanks, Hugo,” Kyle said. “My hotel is-“

“Non,” he said. He stopped walking. They were in the cafe’s backyard. It didn’t appear to be used very often, but it was maintained. It was a small grassy plot that faced a cobblestoned alley. There was a row of shrubs that prevented anyone from seeing fully in, but the yard was not concealed — no one could see anything roughly below Hugo’s waist. Of course, people in the cafe’s kitchen could see through a window, but it seemed Hugo didn’t much care about that.

Hugo took off a hunk of the baguette with his teeth. He loudly munched on it, while Kyle settled on his knees in front of Hugo’s body. His face was just inches from Hugo’s crotch.

“Is it… do you want me to just…?”

“Suck,” Hugo said, his mouth full of bread. Crumbs landed on Kyle’s face. “Sucer.”

Kyle unzipped Hugo fly and pulled his pants down. He wasn’t wearing underwear, so his thick cockshaft popped right out. It hit Kyle in the face, making Hugo laugh.

“You have a big dick.”

“Oui,” Hugo said. His face was flat and expressionless. He puffed on the cigarette in one hand, then took another bite of the baguette. His burgundy beret almost fell off his head.

Kyle kissed his cocktip again. It twitched just like before, but now Kyle could taste the musty smell of his sweat. His uncut cock tasted something like a vineyard, Kyle thought, not the wine part, but the unused mash, the waste left over after making wine — he had gone on a tour of a real French vineyard before he found Hugo. It was musty and sweet and strong, and it made Kyle’s dick hard.

“Colette,” Hugo said. His voice was as grim and flat as his face. Kyle didn’t know what he meant at first, but then Hugo repeated it. “Colette.” He took a few steps closer to the window that faced the cafe’s kitchen. Kyle had to scramble after him to stay in front of his still-limp cock. That placed Kyle up against the ancient brick wall of the cafe, while Hugo’s big body filled the open window into the kitchen. “Colette.”

That pretty waitress from inside walked in there from the cafe. She scoffed at Hugo. “Eh, Hugo, go away, I am busy.”

From her position in the kitchen, she couldn’t see that Hugo’s dick was out, and she couldn’t see that Kyle was letting that entire shaft drop into his mouth. He suckled on it, as passionately as he could without making much noise. He wasn’t sure if Hugo was deliberately hiding the blowjob from Colette, but he didn’t want to make more attention than he had to — he didn’t even really want this to be public, that wasn’t something Kyle liked. He would have rather taken Hugo into a hotel room and had his way with him.

“I have written a poem,” Hugo said. His dick was beginning to get hard now that Colette was paying attention to him.

She blushed and laughed again. She waved him off, but she also moved closer, washing dishes near enough to the window that she could hear him.

“Let me see your breasts,” he said. His cock throbbed in Kyle’s mouth. “Or just one. They are so beautiful, they are like poems of the flesh. My words can never be as inspired as they are.”

She undid her blouse, and let one of her tits fly free. She made it look rather casual, as though it was an accident, though she had clearly done so deliberately. Hugo lowered his head and tried to suck on her nipple, as his dick fully perked up to full erection in Kyle’s mouth.

“Hush, Hugo, I am married,” she said. She took her breast away and covered it up. “Let me hear your poem.”

He straightened his back. His dick twitched in Kyle’s mouth, and he lit another cigarette. He exhaled the smoke away from the cafe. He put the baguette down on a table that sat out back — it had a wobbly leg, so it tottered when he put the baguette on it. His heavy, hairy balls rested on Kyle’s chin, dripping sweat onto him while the first few drops of salty precum hit his tongue.

You are pretty like Paris

When it lights up at night

You are an oasis of illumination

In a desert of night-time

You are where the camel drinks at last

Before it dies

Under the fierce Algerian sun

You are my canteen

The final drink

The last one I need

To die on sand, satisfied

And thirst, quenched

Vous êtes jolie comme Paris

Quand il allume la nuit

Vous êtes une oasis d’illumination

Dans un désert de nuit

Vous êtes là où le chameau boit enfin,

Avant qu’il ne meurt

Sous le soleil algérien féroce

Vous êtes ma cantine

La boisson finale

La dernière que je dois

Pour mourir sur le sable, satisfait

Et la soif, trempé

She blushed and smiled. “That is very pretty, Hugo,” she said. She patted him on the muscular belly beneath his lumberjack’s shirt. His skin puckered at her touch, and his dick twitched. She bared her tit again for him, making him growl with desire. She covered it back up with a giggle. “But you did tell the same poem to Maria last week. She has told me about it.”

Hugo’s mouth opened but no words came out. His deep voice rumbled. He had obviously not meant to get caught at this. She laughed at his reaction, then turned around and walked away.

“Damn it!” Hugo snorted when she was gone. “Merde!” The kitchen was empty.

He pistoned his hips before Kyle could react. That pushed his entire cock down Kyle’s throat. Kyle choked and spasmed, and his own dick leaked precum into his fingers. His head banged painfully into the wall behind him.

He slathered spit all along the shaft, coughing up so much saliva it dripped in clumps. Hugo’s muscles bulged beneath his black-and-white striped shirt, which had a few dark spots now where he sweated through it.

Kyle’s hands stretched up to Hugo’s chest, slipping under that shirt to massage his hairy muscles. He had a thick nest of fur there on his torso, which Kyle loved. He wished he could get up and lick his chest clean, but he had a feeling Hugo would not allow that.

As Kyle groped Hugo, Hugo groped as well — his hands slipped into the window, where he felt around until he found a cheese plate. He pulled it out. The smell of funky cheese filled the air, overpowering even the precum and sweat scent of Hugo’s cock.

As he pumped his hips, fucking Kyle’s face, Hugo ignored his choking and his frenzied sucking. He just grabbed the baguette he had half-eaten, and he made himself a cheese sandwich, just by ripping off hunks of bread and cheese. He ate it vociferously, crumbs landing all over Kyle and even on Hugo’s dick so Kyle could taste the bread and the sour cheese.

All of a sudden, Hugo pulled off Kyle’s face. He jammed the baguette into Kyle’s face as though trying to make him deepthroat that as well. He laughed cruelly when the baguette just left crumbs all over Kyle’s cheeks.

“Lick my ass. Lécher mon cul.”

Then he turned around. His asscheeks were big and plump and tanned brown. They were hairy, but not extremely so, they were just hairy enough for Kyle. He dove his face between those cheeks.

Hugo grunted like he was surprised. Kyle loved licking ass though, so he enthusiastically lapped at the sweat that trickled between Hugo’s cheeks. His body was big and plump, so his ass was juicy. Kyle’s entire face fit between those delicious cheeks. He sucked every inch of Hugo’s funky hole.

His eyes and his nose were covered by sexy manmeat, but Kyle could hear that something was happening. Hugo shifted his weight a little, like he faced a different direction now. Hugo said something and laughed — was that aimed at Kyle? He couldn’t tell.

Eventually Kyle had to come up for air. He was still pinned between the wall and Hugo’s big ass, but he could see just barely that there was a white-faced mime in the alley. He must have been walking by and seen Hugo getting his ass licked.

Now the mime was bent over, leaning against the fence with his ass in the air. He wiggled his ass like a dog trying to scratch an itch. That made Hugo laugh, and Kyle joined in — the mime was making fun of them. He was in the same position as Hugo, moving his ass as though an invisible man licked it.

Kyle licked all the way from the top of Hugo’s ass, right at the small of his back, down his asscrack, over his hole and through the funky hair of his taint. Kyle’s head appeared on the other side of his body, where Kyle swallowed his heavy ballsac.

Hugo grunted. He lifted his balls up, then plopped them back in Kyle’s mouth a few times.

Sensing that Hugo was ready to move on, Kyle stood up, very slowly, keeping his tongue out so he licked Hugo’s cockshaft then all the way up his chest and over that black-and-white striped shirt he still wore.

He nearly managed to lick all the way up to Hugo’s face so he could kiss him on the lips — Kyle thought some straight European men would be willing to tolerate that — but Hugo roughly pushed his face away. Probably because his tongue had been inside Hugo’s ass just seconds ago, Kyle thought.

Oh well, that was okay with him. He knew what he wanted to do next. He dropped his own pants to bare his ass, while Hugo watched. He reached into the kitchen again, this time pulling out a bottle of red wine and a glass. He poured himself a drink. He laughed at the mime who mimicked everything Hugo did.

The mime finished his invisible wine and smashed the invisible glass on the road. Then he grabbed an invisible ass and pretended to fuck it, making Hugo laugh some more. The mime was really very good, Kyle thought.

As Hugo actually bent Kyle over for real, the mime beckoned for someone. Kyle blushed as he realized he was about to have an audience.

He bit his lip and threw his head back as Hugo rammed his dick in without a word of warning. He didn’t use any lube at first, but he started to spit on his cockshaft once he felt resistance. The pain in Kyle’s ass was extraordinary, and he moaned in both desire and agony.

It turned out the mime beckoned a musician, an accordionist who laughed when he saw Hugo fucking Kyle. The accordionist began playing musette music, which made the entire experience seem almost romantic to Kyle. The crooning accordion filled the air, covering up the sound of Kyle’s gasping as he accepted more and more of Hugo’s meat.

“Ooh la la,” Kyle said through his moans. His prostate came alive and sent tingles through his body. His pleasure grew in waves with every touch of Hugo’s cock inside him.

Hugo’s sausage-like fingers grabbed ahold of Kyle’s back and held on. His dick was all the way in Kyle’s ass now, his balls slapping against Kyle’s thighs. Kyle squirmed. Hugo grunted.

The tune coming from the accordion changed to a new song. Kyle recognized it but he couldn’t place it at first. He was too overwhelmed by sensations from deep within him to think about it.

It was only when Hugo began singing that Kyle recognized the words and placed it to the tune — it was “La Marseillaise”, the national anthem of France. It was a bloody, martial song and, despite the romance of the accordion, that atmosphere shone through because Hugo sang it with his deep, baritone voice, crackling, booming, pumping his biceps and his pecs on the accented words. He sounded like a soldier marching off to war, Kyle thought, covering up his own moans so he didn’t overpower the sound of Hugo singing.

At last an orgasm ran through Kyle’s body. He loved cumming with a straight man’s cock in his ass because it always made the straight man react — Hugo stopped singing for a moment. He grumbled, then groaned in surprise as Kyle’s asshole clenched around his cock.

When Hugo began to gyrate his hips again, the pain was worse than ever on account of Kyle’s orgasm-tightened ass. That didn’t last long, however, as the smell of cum filled the air, crowding out the bleu cheese and wine that still lingered, and the passion of Hugo’s fucking made Kyle relax

Now he shuddered, aftershocks of his orgasm wracking his body. He was fully limp though, barely able to remain on all fours in front of Hugo, with his ass in the air and his head on the ground.

Since Kyle no longer jacked himself off, Hugo could — and did — treat him like a ragdoll. He held onto Kyle’s asscheeks tightly, riding him, grinding his dick inside Kyle’s body as though he needed to fuck every inch of Kyle’s innards. He grunted out a few indecipherable French syllables.

Once he finished his wine, he smashed the delicate glass on Kyle’s back. A few shards of glass sprayed onto the ground at Kyle’s feet, and the slight twinge of pain made Kyle writhe. The smell of wine was strong now. Kyle squirmed but Hugo kept a tight grip on his body.

“I will drown your ass now,” Hugo said with a broken moan. “Je vais noyer ton cul maintenant…”He slapped Kyle’s cheeks and watched them ripple. His own muscles flexed and rippled as well, as an orgasm washed over his body.

His lit cigarette fell out of his mouth and landed on Kyle’s back, scorching him briefly before it rolled off him and fell onto the ground. He yelped a little, as the pain reawakened the exquisite sensations in his asshole.

Hugo fucked relentlessly, still breaking into the words of “La Marseillaise” every few seconds as the accordionist continued the song (or maybe started it over, Kyle couldn’t tell). Hugo grunted and roared as he fucked, and cum spurted out of his uncut cock.

It filled up Kyle’s ass, dripping into every corner of his body. He shot so much that some of it slipped out his ass, coating his butt and his inner thighs in creamy goodness. It was hot and thick, and it made Kyle moan when he felt wad after wad of semen land on his prostate.

He squirmed. He moved his ass back and forth, fucking himself with Hugo’s dick. Hugo stood perfectly still. He lit yet another cigarette as he still moaned with the power of his own orgasm.

“Ooh la la…” Hugo murmured with a dry, throaty chuckle.

Then his dick was perfectly limp. Kyle pulled off him and sighed. The most incredible relief of his life flooded his body now that his ass was empty. He turned around and dove his face between Hugo’s lumberjack arm and his body. As Hugo breathed heavily, and the mime and accordionist walked away, Kyle licked all the sweat that had collected there in Hugo’s damp armpit.

At last it was over. Hugo flopped his limp dick between his fingers, and he wiped his shaft off with the last little bit of baguette. He rammed the crusty, ass-and-cum-soaked bread into Kyle’s mouth, laughing when it made Kyle cough and choke.

He pulled his pants up, took a drag off his cigarette, then glanced towards the street. There was a pretty girl walking past, and Hugo’s eyes lit up.

“Money,” Hugo said. “Argent, maintenant.”

Kyle had forgotten he hadn’t actually paid yet. He pulled out his wallet, carefully counted out five hundred euros and handed it over. Hugo took it, nodded, then took the rest of the cash out of Kyle’s wallet. He pushed Kyle away and walked out to the main street, calling after the pretty girl.

“Antoinette! Antoinette! Attends-moi!”

Finally left alone, Kyle sighed. He pulled his own pants up and leaned against the fence. Inside the cafe’s kitchen, Colette had returned with a plate of dirty dishes. He wrinkled her nose at Kyle as though she either thought he was homeless or knew he was a tourist and didn’t like them.

But she didn’t tell him to leave the yard, so Kyle just stayed there, smelling the wine, bleu cheese and cum, the combined scent of which would forever make him think of France and the sexiest French stud he had ever met.

He smiled. This European tour, he thought, was going to be even better than he had hoped.

Downlow Thugs at the Irontop Gym

Here’s the first chapter of Downlow Thugs at the Irontop Gym, a fantastic new tale about muscular black alphas and the lusty twink who services them!

Kyle loved his job at the Irontop Gym of Compton. He had initially thought he would feel out-of-place — he was a flamboyant twink, and the regulars here were burly macho thugs. The Irontop Gym appealed mainly to men, and in Compton, it was strictly Nine Tats gang territory. That was where all the top gangbangers in the city worked out. But it also had a reputation that helped make it an ideal workplace for Kyle.

That’s because everyone knew the Irontop Gym was a place straight men could swing downlow… very low on the downlow. He loved the muscular sweaty bodies all around, demanding service and release. What happened here, stayed here, so a lot of men got their nut off and then went home to their wives, bitches or hos, pretending nothing had happened. And the pay wasn’t bad either — Kyle was a licensed physical trainer, so he did alright.

Most of his clients were not very sexy though. The handsome studs and thugs who filled the gym, and who occasionally asked for a blowjob, were mostly too poor to pay for a trainer. Even if they did want to hire one, they’d feel self-conscious hiring a slim gay man. That wasn’t very gangsta.

But Kyle did okay on an hourly wage and the extra money he got from the older gentlemen who actually needed a physical trainer — he got paid from their insurance companies (or Medicaid, though Medicaid paid so little that Kyle barely even thought of it as a portion of his income). Whenever he didn’t have a client, he kept his eyes open for someone who might give him a taste of their cock.

When he saw Samson, Kyle knew he’d be tasting that meat sooner or later — he just moved like a straight nigga who let gay men suck him off. He had that horse-cocked swagger that made Kyle’s knees weak. Samson was middle-aged, at forty-one years old, though you’d never know it from looking at him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a dense mustache and a square jaw. He wore low-hanging gray shorts and a white wifebeater that revealed the layer of salt-and-pepper hair covering his broad chest.

“Yo, you my trainer?” he asked. He had a deep, gravelly voice that made Kyle’s knees weak.

Kyle nodded. He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. For a moment he thought he wouldn’t be able to do this, that he’d react like a lovestruck teenager and there was nothing he could do about it.

But at last his professionalism took over. “Yes, sir. My name is Kyle,” he said. “Let’s talk about your goals. I got the medical sheet from your insurance company, but what are your personal goals? What do you hope to gain from our meetings?”

Kyle took a deep breath. Samson had taken a bullet to the thigh a few months ago. He lifted up his shorts to show Kyle the scar. Kyle touched his trunk-like thighs, and his hands shook he was so aroused. He caught a peek of the dingy white pouch of Samson’s jockstrap peeking out from the leg of his gray shorts.

The din of the gym filled Kyle’s ears, drowning out Samson’s voice. All Kyle could think about was that delicious-looking bulge in Samson’s shorts. He inhaled deeply of the musty scent that wafted off Samson, who had a permanent scowl on his face.

“Yo… Kyle,” Samson said. It took him a moment to remember Kyle’s name. He rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. Was he angry? He came across as angry, Kyle thought, his heart pounding, but Kyle felt sure he always looked like that. Samson was an intimidating man. His pause hung in the air like a stormcloud waiting to burst. He glared at Kyle. “You gay, right?”

“Uh… yeah,” Kyle said.

“You distracted cuz you wanna suck my dick?”

“Uh…”

“I ain’t mad atcha,” he said. “You got somewhere quiet? You can suck me, Kyle. Then we do our work togethuh. Got it?”

“Well, uh, I…-“

“Shut up. Say yes or no.”

“Uh, yes.”

“Good,” Samson said. He stood up and turned around, so that his big plump asscheeks were right in front of Kyle’s face. Kyle drooled. He had to force himself to stand. He gestured towards the back of the gym.

“Uh, there’s a storage closet back there.”

“Let’s go, nigga,” he said. “I’m glad you ain’t white. I don’t like letting white queers suck my dick. Feels like a surrender.”

“Uh-huh,” Kyle murmured. He was too distracted by his own erection and the rippling of Samson’s muscles beneath his shorts and his wifebeater.

The closet was mostly empty, just a few exercise machines that weren’t in use. There was a bench press in the center of the closet, and it was there that Samson sat. He continued scowling in Kyle’s direction.

“Don’t mess around, nigga,” Samson said. “I ain’t come here for a blowjob, I still got shit to do. We ain’t makin’ love or whatevuh. Be quick. Just drain my nut so we can move on. Got it?”

Kyle nodded and sunk to his knees.

“Nah,” Samson said. He caught Kyle’s chest and lifted him back up to his feet. “Use yo’ words, nigga. Tell me you understand me.”

Kyle blushed. “Uh… I’ll be quick. I’ll suck you off as quick as I can. I won’t mess around.”

“Good.”

Samson spread his legs so the edge of the bench was beneath his crotch. That gave Kyle perfect access to his dick. Kyle stroked it through his gray shorts, but then Samson snorted liked he thought Kyle was being slow. Kyle blushed and pulled those shorts down.

He had a massive cock, which made Kyle grin. He had rarely seen anything so huge. It was long and thick and dense and fleshy, and Kyle could feel it throbbing even though it was still limp. He flopped it against his face. He kissed the tip and let his tongue tickle the piss-slit. Normally Kyle liked to tease straight men like that, but it seemed Samson didn’t want to take the time. So Kyle put the entire tip in his mouth and started sucking.

“Yeah, good boy, keep suckin’ just like that,” Samson said. He groaned as his dick stiffened up, and all that flesh turned from soft and clammy to hard and moist, throbbing in Kyle’s throat.

Fuck you, nigga! Come here and say that to my face! There was an argument out in the main gym. It sounded like a crowd formed and cheered the combatants on. All Kyle could hear was cheering and hollering.

The cock in his mouth was so thick he could barely fit in at all, but the more he sucked, the more he could swallow. It tasted like pure, unadulterated manhood, and the flavor reminded Kyle of all the imagined sex he had here — whenever he was bored at work, all he had to do was glance around to see overstuffed basketball shorts, pubic hair peeking out above the waistband, gruff voices echoing and cocky swagger everywhere he looked. Normally when he finally found a nigga willing to get his nut off in Kyle’s mouth, Kyle ended up disappointed — the reality didn’t live up to his imagination. But Samson was exactly what he had hoped, and it reminded Kyle of all those other men whose cocks he had only sucked in his dreams.

Come at me then! That fight sounded like it was getting more serious.

He considered going up there to stop it, but he knew that was silly, not just because he didn’t want to stop sucking Samson’s cock. Kyle was a weak gay twink — he was in good shape, but he was skinny and small. There was no way he could break up a fight, and anyway the bodybuilder Alain worked today as well. He would be able to stop the fight. Before Kyle even thought of that, he thought he could hear Alain’s Senegalese accent resonating in from the hallway.

“Ignore them niggas,” Samson said, flaring his nostrils. “You wanna suck my dick, you focus on my dick. I ain’t lettin’ you suck it on a fuckin’ lark or whatevuh, nigga. We ain’t stoppin just cuz some niggas is throwin’ punches up front.”

Kyle nodded to show his understanding. He certainly didn’t want to stop, and it did sound like Alain had broken up the fight before it got too serious. Wanting to be sure Samson appreciated the blowjob, Kyle looked up at him — straight thugs loved it when cocksuckers made eye contact — and grabbed his big meaty hands. He guided them to the back of Kyle’s head.

“Oh? You want me to facefuck ya, huh?”

Kyle nodded.

“You into that nasty shit, nigga?” Samson said. He started grinding his hips, shoving his dick in as Kyle struggled to open his throat. Samson muttered to himself. “Get that shit in there, nigga. You wantin’ this, don’t try and fight back now.”

Kyle wasn’t trying to fight back, but Samson’s dick was simply too big to deep-throat. It was all he could do to get half of it in his mouth, which felt like it was going to make his neck explode. He enjoyed the sight of Samson’s massive body swaying, rubbing, humping his face. Samson periodically glared into Kyle’s eyes, his harsh thuggish glare sending a wave of submission, fear and arousal through Kyle’s body.

“Keep on lookin’ me in the eye. When you suck a superior nigga, you look ‘im in the eye. That shows respect,” Samson said. Whenever Kyle accidentally closed his eyes, Samson gently pried them open again. He sneered at Kyle as he spat in his hand and lubed up his cock with it. His arrogant look made Kyle shiver with terror.

But Kyle loved every moment of it. He always enjoyed massive dicks sticking in his throat, leaking precum into his belly, and the swinging of heavy balls against his chin. His favorite activity was submitting to big thugs like Samson, allowing them to use his throat to satisfy their own carnal desires.

A brief spurt of pain erupted in Kyle’s nose — Samson had found a clothespin, which he used to shut Kyle’s nostrils. That forced Kyle’s throat to open even wider a few seconds later, and the last of Samson’s cock squeezed down his throat.

“Yeah, bitch, you a fuckin’ legend, nigga, hell yeah…” Samson said. He sounded surprised that he was enjoying this at all. His gravelly voice resonated in the tiny closet. He lightly tapped Kyle on the back of the head whenever he tried to pull away to take a breath, and he used both hands to hold Kyle in place. “Don’t quit now, nigga. You got me started, and I ain’t gonna stop ‘less you force me to.”

Kyle had no idea how long that lasted. He was dizzy from lack of oxygen, and all he could think about was his strained throat sputtering and choking. His face was a deep burgundy shade as his lungs cried out for air.

“Yo nigga, you ready fo’ nut? Huh? You better be, cuz it’s comin’.”

At last it was over. Samson stopped moving with his dick all the way down Kyle’s gullet, so Kyle could feel his balls crawl up in his sac where it rested against Kyle’s chin. Kyle’s hands gripped Samson’s plump brown asscheeks the best he could with Samson sitting down on the bench — he was leaned forward enough that Kyle could stroke the sweaty crack with both hands.

Samson grunted and groaned, lips moving like he was talking though no words came out. He closed his eyes as the first drops of cum spilled down Kyle’s throat. Kyle felt it pouring down his throat like he was chugging sour beer, and he loved the feel of Samson’s balls draining down his throat while they throbbed against his chin.

“Fuck yeah, nigga, swallow that shit… don’t spill none…”

Since Samson’s dick was so deep inside Kyle, his cum sprayed right into his gullet. Kyle didn’t taste it at first, he just felt the creamy heat seeping into his stomach and spreading to every corner of his body.

But when Samson finally pulled out, his dickshaft brought so much cum up with it that it coated Kyle’s tongue. He sighed as the flavor of semen finally overwhelmed his senses.

“Damn, nigga…” Samson chuckled. “You sure you wanna be a trainer? If you was my ho, I’d treat you right. Just consider it, nigga. You sign up wit’ me, and I’ll make sure you get fucked silly e’ry day.”

A blossom of desire exploded within Kyle, and if he weren’t out of breath, Kyle would have screamed “yes!” without a second thought. But by the time he recovered, it was clear that Samson was kidding, and even if he weren’t, Kyle didn’t want to be a ho. He was sure Samson’s idea of treating a ho “right” was not going to be as much fun as Kyle wanted.

Samson tucked his dick back in his jockstrap. He frowned at Kyle. “You feel better now, nigga? Can you concentrate on my leg instead of my cock?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle said. He blushed, but Samson was entirely right to do this — now that he had tasted Samson’s cock, Kyle could focus. “Let’s get your leg stretched out. Stretching is very important to the healing process, that’s actually more important than the exercise.”

The Big Book of Reacharounds

This is a sample from The Big Book of Reacharounds, a new massive megabundle — with more than 80,000 words compiled from dozens of books, each one full of hardcore gay reacharound sex!

For a man approaching fifty (or maybe even past it, Edward wasn’t sure), Samson was surprisingly limber. This was proved by an encounter they had in the middle of March, when Edward yelped when he saw out of the corner of his eye a person leaping over the fence into his backyard. It took Edward a few seconds to realize it was Samson (why not just knock on the front door? He’s allowed to do it, he did it last time) The fence was a good seven feet high, but Samson was strong enough he had hefted himself over in one smooth motion.

Edward had to laugh because his first thought, when he saw the dark blurry man-shape dive into his backyard from above, was ninja! But of course it was only Samson, dressed in a blue denim shirt and dickeys, with a name tag over his chest. It looked to be a janitor’s uniform.

He beamed drunkenly at Edward through the sliding glass door, and tottered slightly. He made that jump drunk, Edward thought, impressive.

“Yo, baby, you lookin’ at one employed nigga,” Samson said, his smile broad as he danced a little jig and came into the dining room.

“Oh, congratulations,” Edward said, too tired to be all that impressed.

“I even gotst me an advance on my salary, so I got some new drawers at home,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Edward said. He really wanted to get to sleep — if Samson wanted a blowjob, Edward would gladly oblige. But he wasn’t a social worker. “So that’s cool-“

“I’s workin’ at the community college. Shift custodian, yessirree.” Samson looked down at Edward, eyes flashing with horniness. “I’m-a get real nasty wit’ you tonight, boi. You ready for that?”

Edward’s voice broke. He wasn’t exactly afraid but something about Samson was so intimidating he couldn’t help but shrink back. “Oh… Okay.” He paused — last month, he had seen Samson with a girl, so he assumed that was why he hadn’t been looking for sex recently. “What happened to yo’ girl?”

“She doing six months now, on a resistin’ arrest beef,” Samson said. “And she don’t get nasty neither. You lick ass, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Edward said. He actually normally did not eat ass as a rule, but Samson had such a big, perfect ass that he decided to make an exception. If there was ever going to be an ass he would rim, it would be exactly like Samson’s, so he might as well go for it while it was right in front of him.

“Hot fuck, yeah,” Samson said, grinning like a fool. “Go’n make me a sandwich while I get ready.” He stripped off his shirt.

His powerful chest and its silvery fur loomed in front of Edward, who had difficulty focusing on what he wanted to say. “I, uh… I ain’t, uh… I don’t got no, uh… bread.”

“You got no bread?”

“I’m on a low-carb diet.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a, um, diet, where you eat low-carb, like food with no carbohydrates.”

“You don’t eat bread?”

“Not really. I can have five carbs a day, but I don’t normally buy bread. I have meat and cheese-“

“Then bring me that, man,” Samson said. He looked at Edward as though he had grievously wounded him. “And something to drink. They breathalyze me every night, so no alcohol. You got juice or milk-?”

“No,” Edward said as he went into the kitchen. Samson scoffed in disgust. “All that stuff has carbs. There are low-carb drinks, but they taste like ass.”

“You don’t like that?”

“They don’t taste like your ass,” Edward said. He put the last of his lunch meats together on a plate with a few slices of Muenster cheese. Then he got a glass of ice-water and brought it out to the living room.

Samson was there doing jumping jacks. He wore only those damn prison boxers, which were already tinged with sweat. He stopped doing push-ups and smiled at Edward. He gestured towards his ass, where the boxers were plastered to his skin with sweat. “I made it extra-spicy for ya. You gonna enjoy this one, nigga. Taste like aaaaaaass!”

Edward blushed. “Oh, yeah, okay…”

Samson dropped his underwear and got on the couch. He turned the TV on and started flipping as he began eating the meat and cheese. He frowned at Edward. “Get bread, bitch, next time you go shopping.”

“I’ll do a lot of things for you, Samson, but I’m not breaking my diet, and if I have bread in the house, that’s exactly what’ll happen. You know how cruel gay guys are to fat gay guys? You can bring your own bread,” he said as he sunk to his knees in front of the couch. He kissed Samson’s dick as Samson glared down at him. “What?” Edward said, glad to have an opportunity to assert his role. “If you don’t wanna do this without bread, that’s fine. You can go home.”

Samson curled his lip. “Fine. What about bagels?”

“No. Also carbs.”

“English muffins.”

“Also carbs. Anything bread-like, Samson. No flatbread, no pita, no naan, no pancakes, no waffles, also no to rice, noodles, pasta and fruit.” Edward sucked on the tip of Samson’s cock, the anger melted away on Samson’s face.

But he did sniffle before muttering “Fine.” Then he barked out, “You got porn on here?” as he flipped through the channels. He stopped at a beach-themed show of some sort, where he ogled the bikini-clad beauties.

“I got gay porn,” Edward said, giggling at Samson’s awkward sneer. “You can use my laptop.”

“Suck my balls,” Samson said.

At first Edward thought it was just a rude way to say no, then realized Samson wanted him to actually suck his balls. So he got down between Samson’s thick hairy thighs and snarfed down the man’s entire sac. Samson moaned and lifted his hips so Edward could get even lower.

Then Samson growled. “You don’t eat fruit?”

Edward said no without removing Samson’s balls from his mouth, so it was an indistinct muffled sound. But he also shook his head, and Samson seemed to get it.

“That’s some crazy faggot diet.”

Edward shrugged. He gurgled loudly on Samson’s balls, juggling them with his tongue. They were fat, heavy balls, low-hanging without having that old-man droopiness that was so unappealing. They were still tight and juicy.

And they tasted spicy with fresh sweat, while still having a thick muskiness from being cooped up in those prison boxers for so long. Samson tasted so strong his scrotum’s acrid scent brought tears to Edward’s eyes.

Then without warning, Samson lifted his legs up. Edward moved onto his hairy taint, sucked it clean and lowered his head even further.

“Look me in the eye when you lick my asshole,” Samson said. Then he added as though he had forgot, “Bitch.”

Edward’s tongue plunged in. He had only tried this once before, and hated it so much he immediately stopped. But Samson’s plump ass was so inviting the taste was nearly enough by itself to make Edward cum. It was bitter and savory, and it brought tears to Edward’s eyes.

“You nasty in all the right ways, faggot,” Samson said. “You should get locked up wit’ me sometime. I would treat you right, boy… I mean, I’d treat ya wrong accordin’ to the Bible, but I’d make you my perfect little prison bitch.”

He lapped at that brown hole, savoring the musky flavor. Samson looked him deep in the eye, a bit shocked as though he never thought someone would willingly lick his ass.

Samson stood up quickly. He grabbed Edward by the hair, and pushed his cock into Edward’s ass. Blinding pain hit him, but Edward yelped with excitement instead. He hadn’t thought Samson wanted to fuck him as well.

“I ain’t gonna kiss you on account of you got ass on yo’ face,” Samson whispered, “But I give you a reacharound.” His callused hand wrapped around Edward’s cock. That sent a shock through Edward’s body — Samson seemed so macho that Edward would have never thought he’d give a reacharound, especially that he would volunteer to do so. That simply wasn’t something straight men did.

Edward was already on the brink of orgasm, so Samson’s clumsy stroking sent him over the edge right away. Semen sprayed over Samson’s hand and the floor beneath Edward.

Samson groaned in disgust but didn’t stop stroking. He came seconds later, spraying his hot load deep into Edward’s body. He bucked and jerked as though his orgasm was painful.

“Yeah, all up in ya, bitch,” Samson said. “Did you like that?”

“Hell yeah.”

Wrinkling his nose, Samson said, “Weird. No one’s ever said yes before.”

Samson sighed. He pulled his cock out, then used his prison boxers to wipe the santorum off his shaft. He tossed the stinky boxers on Edward’s head.

“You want these? There yours,” he said,” I ain’t want ‘em. I give you permission to jack off wit’ those, but you ain’t allowed to think about me taking dick. I only give it, even in yo’ imagination.”

“Yes, Samson.”

No Homo: Soldiers

Here’s a sample from No Homo: Soldiers, an entry in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica that’s too hot for gay sex! The most recent entry is No Homo: Jocks, and if you’re interested, please let me know (either in a comment here or email at eroticatorium@gmail.com) what theme you want to see next — I’m currently deciding between Workers and Thugs…

 

Warning: This sample is full of outrageous dry-humping (that’s actually quite moist) and teabagging!

Hawthorn knew he was going to get a boner when he did the rescue swim. He always had during practice but managed to hide it. They were only short swims anyway. It wasn’t a gay thing, he told himself over and over. It was just the close contact, pressing his dick against someone else’s body and rubbing it back and forth as they swam.

But the day had come when he was going to have to take someone — the muscled beefcake Tony — on a four lap rescue swim of the pool. His form had to be perfect, and that meant his dick would be nestled in Tony’s tight Italian asscrack.

Tony looked like a model, Hawthorn thought, or like what Hollywood would consider a perfectly handsome leading man. He was just slightly grizzled, perfectly built with a V-shaped torso and a square jaw, a deep voice and sultry dark eyes. Hawthorn was a little jealous — he knew he was a country bumpkin in the eyes of these city folks. He was big and a little plump, dumb and naive. In truth, he didn’t know what was going on a lot of the time, he really didn’t understand the slang the others used, just pretended he did, and felt overwhelmed by the pace of modern life. He wanted to be back on the farm he had grown up on, where things made sense and he always knew what he was supposed to do next.

He wrapped his arms around Tony’s muscles, thick black hairs scratching his skin. The Italian stud’s tight six pack rippled as he lay as still as possible. He was trying to make it easy. Hawthorn’s dick was wedged between his asscheeks. He got into the correct rescue swim position easily and began his laps.

The two moved through the body effortlessly, Tony’s heavy body easily carted along by Hawthorn’s heft. They were the two biggest men in the squad, that was why they had been assigned together. Tony had already done his rescue swim and did fine, with no boner at all that Hawthorn could tell. Tony’s rippling back muscles and tight ass squeezed on Hawthorn’s body, making his dick grow harder and harder with every motion through the water.

Hawthorn remembered the punishment in the shower a few weeks before. He had felt dirty then, Ransom’s big black cock shooting a load over his back, and he realized he was going to do the same thing. His dick was wedged between Tony’s asscheek just like Ransom’s had been before, and he was getting hard only a few strokes into the rescue swim.

He tried to shift his weight to hide it, but Railton called out for Tony to begin struggling — this was supposed to be a mock rescue, after all, and actual drowning victims fight back against their rescuers. Hawthorn knew that would be it: if Tony started moving, Hawthorn had no hope of reducing his erection.

When Tony’s body began twisting and fighting against him, Hawthorn had to hold him right in position, which meant every time Tony moved, Hawthorn humped him. The movement caused further friction, making his hard cock leak precum into the water. He didn’t think Tony could tell, but it was hard to say. Between the cheering and catcalling from the surface, the splashing of water and the sounds of cars driving not far away, Hawthorn couldn’t hear anything Tony was saying.

He had a good grip on Tony, immobilizing him with his head above water. Tony’s muscles contorted beneath him, and he squeezed his asscheeks together. Hawthorn felt the tightness around his dick and knew there was no stopping his orgasm. He hoped the water was warm enough Tony wouldn’t notice.

Almost done, Hawthorn paused, tired, and Tony took the opportunity to renew his struggle, apparently trying to give Hawthorn a real test. Aside from the embarrassment over his imminent orgasm, Hawthorn enjoyed the rescue swim test — it was like a combination of wrestling and swimming, two of his favorite activities.

Then his climax came. He stifled a grunt, and timed his swim strokes to the thrusts of his hip, hoping to mask the feel so Tony wouldn’t notice. But as he did it, and the hot cum bloomed above Hawthorn’s crotch, he knew there was no chance of that. It was obvious, the water was cloudy, and he could even taste it. Tony may have been able to taste it as well.

But maybe Tony will be too embarrassed to bring it up, Hawthorn hoped. He was a proud, straight macho who wouldn’t want to admit something like that, or so Hawthorn hoped. Tony had seemed prone to embarrassment so far, like most city boys Hawthorn had met.

Railton liked to tease the recruits as they tested, and when Hawthorn and Tony got near the ladder out of the water, having finished the rescue swim, Railton only nodded at them to continue. Hawthorn’s heart pounded as he realized he wasn’t done yet, and Tony struggled against him.

“Come on, Sarge, he’s done!” Tony called out.

“One more lap, I wanna see better form, Hawthorn. I know you know how to do it better than this,” Railton said.

Hawthorn moved his arm, remembering his lessons in rescue swims. He was touching Tony’s nipples now, which grew hard in the cold water. But Tony had given up on fighting back, no doubt wanting the whole experience to be over.

Unfortunately for Hawthorn, he was a randy young buck who had always gotten erections easily, so by the time they were done, he was hard again. His exhausted muscles were almost ready to give out, he thought, but he managed to get through the last lap.

Tony crawled up out of the pool, followed by Hawthorn, whose Army-issue swimming trunks were tented by his hard cock. Hawthorn blushed when he saw his fellow squadmates giggling at him.

“That bastard had a boner. I think he nutted on me!” Tony screamed. He clawed at the small of his back as though he might still get the cum off him.

Hawthorn wanted to defend himself from his snickering squadmates, but his massive cock strained uncomfortably against the fabric of his shorts.

“Get over here, Private Kyle!” Drill Sergeant Railton said. He narrowed his eyebrows at the sight of Hawthorn’s huge cock. He pulled Hawthorn’s shorts down and Hawthorn’s half-hard, dwindling cock popped out. He wasn’t sure if it was obvious that Tony had been right, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to Tony’s continued complaints. Drill Sergeant Railton’s interest in Hawthorn’s dick was more important, it seemed, much to Hawthorn’s delight.

Somebody else whistled. “No wonder he can suck it himself.”

Railton openly stared at his thick manhood, and Hawthorn, for the first time in his life, felt embarrassed about it. “That rod might be bigger than regulation, son,” Railton said to scattered, nervous laughter. “We might have to chop a bit off.”

Hawthorn was glad to see Railton being jovial for once, and not obviously mad that he had nutted on Tony. No one seemed to care about that except Tony, who was washing himself off in the pool.

“Can you really suck your own cock?” Railton said. “Let’s see it.”

Hawthorn pulled his shorts the rest of the way down. His dick was already hard and cummy, but he sucked the tip down. He had only ever done it once before, just licked it a few times because he discovered that he could. He didn’t like the taste, and it felt faggy too him even if it was his own cock.

“Suck it, suck it!” Ransom shouted. “Deepthroat it, bitch.” He and Malik laughed but stopped when Railton glared at them.

“If I ever hear you two talking to a real woman that way,” Railton said. “I’ll have you court-martialed before you can blink.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Malik and Ransom said in unison.

An awkward silence fell over the squad, and Hawthorn wondered if he wouldn’t be able to finish. He didn’t want the guys to start ragging on him for being slow, because if he got more nervous, he might lose his erection. He had just cum on Tony’s back, so he was glad he was still a young buck, who hadn’t had any pussy lately, so he was pretty sure he’d be able to bust a nut.

“Come on, son,” Railton said. “We ain’t got all day. You ain’t datin’ it, just a booty call.”

There was more scattered laughter from the recruits, and Hawthorn sucked with renewed vigor. He got almost a third of the way down the shaft, straining his neck and beck to do it. Precum slid down his throat.

“Lemme help,” Railton said, placing one of his hands on Hawthorn’s head. He gently pushed, and though it strained Hawthorn’s neck, he got another inch or so in his mouth.

Finally he felt his nuts draw up in his sac and cum flowed into his mouth, down his throat. The familiar, but gross, flavor of sour-salty cum flooded his senses. Hawthorn gagged and spat it out, rolling onto the ground before jumping to his feet to scattered applause.

“Alright,” Sergeant Railton said. “We had our fun. Let’s get cleaned up for mess.” He looked to both Hawthorn and Tony. “You two hit the showers.”

Tony was obviously pissed. Hawthorn wasn’t surprised, but he was annoyed — everything rolled off Hawthorn’s shoulders, and this wasn’t the first time he had done something that he saw as a minor faux pas but those around him saw an egregious offense. Hawthorn didn’t let anything bother him in the long run. What good was it being upset over things that already happened?

But obviously Tony didn’t take that route. He glowered, with his hands across his chest. He looked like he was considering whether he could get away with strangling Hawthorn right there.

“Man…” Hawthorn said, putting on his biggest, most easygoing grin. “That was fucked up. I can’t believe I did that in front of Railton, and he was sort of fucking my face with my own dick. Did you see that?”

“I was in the water. Trying to get clean”

“Oh yeah,” Hawthorn said. “Sorry about all that. It was… I didn’t try to do it. It just sort-of happened.”

“You virtually raped me!”

“I didn’t stick it in!”

“You came pretty damn close.”

“Don’t tell me you never had an accidental boner,” Hawthorn said. “Did you say you was a wrestler in high school?”

“That is not the point. I never came on somebody’s back,” Tony said.

“Well, Ransom already came on me, remember that?”

“That wasn’t my fault. You wanna hump him, you be my guest,” Tony said.

Hawthorn sighed. “You ain’t being very cool about this.”

“You did hump me. That’s not very cool either.”

“But it was an accident!”

“So? You want me to have a little accident too?” Tony asked. He pantomimed humping Hawthorn’s thigh thigh.

“You don’t even wanna do anything like that,” Hawthorn said. But he saw Tony raise his eyebrows and realized that wasn’t true — he wished he hadn’t said that, as it implied he would allow Tony to do so if he did want to. Which, it seemed, he did.

“I don’t want to,” Tony said. “But I will.”

Hawthorn sighed again. It would hardly be the worst thing that had ever happened to him — for country boys like Hawthorn, campouts and hunting trips often led to much more compromising sexual adventures than a little dry humping. But he still didn’t want to go through with it.

Tony pulled his own shorts down, followed by Hawthorn’s. His fat limp cock was wedged between Hawthorn’s cheeks.

“Hey, this is more than you did to me. You’re almost fucking me!” Hawthorn said.

“You was pretty damn close to fucking me,” Tony said. He began grinding his dick in between Hawthorn’s sweat-lubed asscheeks.

“We wasn’t naked though,” Hawthorn said. He always tried to act confident, even when he wasn’t, but bending over so Tony could hump his asscheeks was making it hard to feel confident. He thought it would be almost easier to actually be raped than this weird pseudo-sex. But he certainly didn’t want to admit that.

“Well, consider that your punishment for doing it without permission,” Tony said. His dick was getting hard and leaking precum, which lubed him up. The stickiness was spreading up to the small of Hawthorn’s back and down to his taint.

“This is fucking gross,” Hawthorn said.

“I agree, that’s why I was disgusted you started it. You better tell people, if anyone ever brings it up or makes fun of me, you tell people that I humped you back.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hawthorn grunted in shame. “I’ll make sure everyone knows about this. I’ll put it on my fucking resume.”

“Ah shit, here it comes, get ready,” Tony said with a laugh. He stopped humping with his cockhead just poking out above Hawthorn’s hips, so his load shot across Hawthorn’s back. He had a huge wad of cum, warm and sticky on Hawthorn’s flesh all the way up to his neck.

The semen sat there, so hot it felt near burning on Hawthorn’s skin. He tried to wipe it off with a hand but had trouble reaching behind himself, so he had to use his own bath towel. He still felt filthy as he straightened his back, avoiding eye contact with Tony.

“Alright,” Tony said. “Now we’re even.”

No Homo: Jocks

Here’s a sample from No Homo: Jocks, a new story in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica that’s too hot for “gay sex”! This entry is all about college jocks hazing the freshmen on the wrestling team!

As soon as he got to his first practice on the college team, George regretted signing up for wrestling back in high school. The team had been short one man, and the coach, his mother’s boyfriend, insisted he join up, just so he could put it on his college application. Since George’s admission to college was in doubt, it seemed like a good plan. Colleges were competitive in 1951 on account of so many soldiers attending on the GI Bill, and George needed to do something to differentiate himself from all the other high schoolers with good, but not great, grades.

But then in his first, and only, match on the high school team, he drew three weak opponents, defeated them all and became the team savior. There was even a college scout there who signed him up on the spot for a scholarship at Goldendale Hills University, the elite private school in Mississippi.

He was elated then. But when he showed up for orientation in the required suit and tie, he realized that staying on the team was a prerequisite to keeping his scholarship, without which he had no hope of continuing his education. It had all seemed so simple before it began.

So George knew he needed to learn how to wrestle for real. This wasn’t his rinky-dink little town in southern Mississippi, this was a major sport at a big school. He’d be competing against the cream of the crop.

That put a lot of pressure on him, which wasn’t helped by his heavy workload. As a pre-engineering student, he would be taking a lot of dense math classes that he was sure he’d struggle with. The thought of being unable to balance his work and school, and having to go home to his mother a failure, made his heart race.

The first practice was easy enough. It was a lot of running and some other general exercises, along with a bunch of yelling from Coach Winnow about representing the university well. George was fit and quick, and a few of the clumsier boys attracted Winnow’s ire that first day, so George managed to acquit himself well.

As that first practice ended, George and the other wrestlers kneeled, listening to Coach Winnow go over the sports program’s rules. “That means that if I find out any of you are breaking the law, or consorting with girls, or anything like that, you are off the team,” he said. Then he looked around nervously. “Anybody here Jewish?” Nobody said anything. “Then I expect all of you at chapel on Sundays too. And if you’re Catholic, you can go to Saint Andrew’s. The college sends a bus in the morning, and I know Father Murphy, so I will make sure you’re there. No excuses.” He motioned into the crowd of young men, and one of the other wrestlers stepped forward.

Wayne Dashell was tall, and looked too old to be in college, George thought, at least twenty-five (though he later claimed to be only twenty-one). He had a thick shock of dirty blond hair and a smattering of it on his chest, which was broad and strapping, his muscles straining against the singlet he wore. He was the oldest and biggest senior, and he grinned like a cocky bastard as Coach Winnow introduced him.

“Most of you’s already met Wayne. He’s the team captain. What he says, goes. If he tells me you ain’t giving this team everything you got, then you are off the team,” Coach Winnow said. “Now go shower up.”

They walked slowly towards the locker, but then Winnow clapped and shouted something angry that George couldn’t quite make out. He gathered the gist of it was “Run, shitheads!”, since that was what everyone else did, so George sprinted the rest of the way to the locker room. The crowd of wrestlers were so intent on following Coach’s directions, they almost charged en masse into a colored janitor who pushed a mop bucket through the hall.

George and a few other freshmen in front fell in a pile near the colored janitor, who just smirked and walked away. George squirmed as he tried to free himself from the writhing pile of freshmen. Wayne and the other seniors laughed and threw their sweat-stained practice singlets at them as they went by. More than a few stripped even further than that, standing there in the hall in the nude as they watched the freshmen scamper away from their jockstraps.

Freshmen pile on!

Spitting away the salty fabric of someone’s undershirt, George rose to his feet. He tried to appear nonplussed by it, but he had always been a clean boy and didn’t like this kind of close contact with other men and their clothes. He knew there’d be a lot of hazing here at college though, so it wasn’t a surprise.

The upperclassmen stood imposingly above George, here in the hall, right outside the locker. No one was around, but still, George was shocked — in his hometown, men just didn’t get naked outside of the locker room. He stood there dumbfounded as one hairy Italian-type man bared a thick hairy prick. He wagged it in George’s direction.

“Hey!” Coach Winnow barked from the gym. “Git in there! What’d I tell you about strippin’ off in the halls? There’s wimmin on staff here, Joey!”

Joey smiled proudly but did as he was told; he waited for Coach Winnow to turn around, then grabbed his crotch and spat on the ground. George followed the last of the seniors into the locker room. It was not a large room, and George felt cramped immediately. There wasn’t really enough space for the entire team to change at once. He felt more than one limp, greasy cock brush against his hand as he found an empty locker. It looked like the others by and large weren’t upset by it, so George pretended he didn’t mind the nudity and cock-contact either.

George was nervous. He had never liked naked showering with his teammates, and at his high school, his mother had intervened to get him out of it. He had always claimed the humidity upset his lungs, but in truth he was self-conscious about a smallish penis. He hoped nobody noticed, especially as he saw a few of the freshmen, including Wayne and Joey, were noticeably huge — that was probably why they were so willing to get naked in the hallway.

“Freshmen get the Corner!” the seniors called out as they lined up at the shower entrance. They were naked, sneering and carrying thick wooden paddles, which they had gotten from a closet in one corner of the locker room. The Corner apparently referred to one showerhead that stuck out more than the others, and looked older, as though it was a relic of an earlier showering area that had later been expanded. This one showerhead was large enough that its spray covered the entire corner with vaguely rust-flavored water, which freshmen were required to share so the older players could shower freely in the modern-day showerheads.

The freshmen were lined up at the entrance, where the seniors and juniors barred entry. The two biggest seniors were right there watching as the freshmen got ready. They had their hands on their hips, thick cocks swinging between their legs. Since both men were very tall, their crotches were at most of the freshmen’s belly-height, or even higher.

Let’s see ‘em, nitwits! We gotta examine yer meat! Better meet the minimum or you get beat!

George’s heart skipped as he saw what was happening — before going in the shower, all the freshmen had to compare cocks with the five head seniors. Anyone smaller than all five got a paddling on the way in. The upperclassmen inside the shower brandished paddles and smiled at the younger men.

“It’s for your own good!” Wayne called out as the fourth freshman in line, a ratty, lanky kid with a faint mustache, winced. “Paddling makes your dick bigger!” The other seniors laughed and hooted as though they really believed that.

The lean freshman bent over and blushed, but the seniors weren’t so quick, telling him to wait until everyone had gone through the line. He was the first to be singled out for his small penis, which was a relief to George — he hoped he would pass the exam, but he was glad to at least not be the first to fail.

“What’s your name, little boy?”

“Travis Barnett,” said the lean kid, while the other seniors began quickly checking through the other freshmen. “I’m not a boy. I’m almost nineteen.”

“You got a cock like a little boy.”

Travis, who blushed beet-red, was still the only one pulled aside when George got to the front of the line. As soon as he saw the seniors’ naked cocks, he knew he would be paddled too. They were huge, seemingly impossibly huge — he didn’t think cocks came that big, much less that all five of them would be so gigantic.

Joey, that hairy Italian barrel-chested swarthy bastard was at front. George had never liked Italians very much. Joey whacked his own dick against George’s, smiling as he said, “Hey boys, I think we gotst another one.” He seemed to delight in watching George squirm at their cock-to-cock contact. George thought this kind of touching was inappropriate, maybe even sinful, but he wasn’t surprised that Joey didn’t see things that way — George’s pa had always said Italian men were like that. If’n you ever get locked up, George, pull whatever strings you have to so you ain’t got an Eyeteye for a cellmate, they’ll take your manhood like it were’t nothin’. George had always assumed that was his father exaggerating, as he was prone to do, but he felt sure that Joey was dangerous.

“Lookit him, he got a dick like my thumb,” Joey said.

They all crowded around to look. Joey’s dick was at least ten inches long and as thick as George’s forearm. He took his own dick and George’s in the same hand, stroking both shafts together. Joey was at least twice as long as George, and even thicker in comparison.

Damn, Joey, you touchin’ him!

“Cuz I ain’t mingherlino,” Joey said. It was obvious that he didn’t really speak Italian and he used that word — whose meaning George didn’t know — without really pronouncing it right. He probably had only a vague idea what it meant himself. “You squeamish weaklings are worried you’ll get hard if you touch another man.” He laughed and rubbed his entire hairy body against George’s, to prove that he didn’t get hard.

George blushed beet-red, though he tried to look stoic. Next to him was Travis, the puny redneck who looked like he was on the verge of tears as he and George were led into the shower.

“Bend over and grab your ankles, you pencil-dicked freaks!” Joey bellowed. He looked on hungrily at the pair of fresh-faced freshmen stammering as they got into position. George’s cock had never felt so small. “Come on, girls, grab your ankles. Keep your butt up!”

George did as he was commanded. He grabbed his ankles and tried to ignore the hot, humid shower air wafting over his suddenly open asshole.

The first sharp crack of pain made him yelp, and the whole team laughed, even the other freshmen. Make the fresh piggies cry! But when Travis started sobbing after his first hit, everyone soon started to ignore George.

Toughen up, little piggie!

The sound of the paddle slapping against Travis’ ass caused George to feel like he was being hit all over again; it made his ass-cheeks twinge with remembered pain. The upperclassmen switched between paddling Travis and George, but when it became apparent that George was not reacting much and Travis was crying, they gradually forgot that George was supposed to be paddled too.

If you don’t stop crying, we’ll give you something to sob about, you little weakling!

Shove the handle up his ass!

He stood up when it was done, gently rubbing his red asscheeks. George pretended to be in more pain than he was, in the hope that everyone would forget he was still owed more paddling. Travis had difficulty staying still, and so Wayne was holding him down as Joey whacked him with the paddle. Wayne’s blond hair shook and dripped with shower water as he hugged Travis tight. He even made sure to line his crotch up with Travis’, so as Travis writhed in agony, his small cock pressed against Wayne’s oversized meat.

The most disconcerting aspect of all this, George thought, was that a couple of the seniors were starting to get hard. They weren’t quite erect, but George saw their cockshafts jerk to attention when Travis’ thick cheeks jiggled. Back in high school, when someone had a boner in the shower, the rest of the team teased them about it mercilessly. He was shocked that the wrestling team here at GHU took it so lightly. No one even seemed to notice, even when Joey’s hand instinctually fluttered to his own dick; he gave it a stroke. George gasped (and he thought some of the other naked freshmen nearby did the same) — he masturbated himself right here in front of everyone, only for a moment and he didn’t blow his wad, but still, as far as George was concerned, that was beyond the pale.

Any girl who sees that is gonna laugh at you, limp-dick!

Finally it was all over. The seniors laughed at Travis’ red, tear-stained face, but one of their buddies had run by the shower to tell them something about a party with girls, and now the seniors were in a hurry to finish up and get out of there. They continued calling Travis a girl as they showered, however, and Travis stayed there pretending he wasn’t on the verge of tears.

Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed that George didn’t get all of the paddlings he had been promised. He hurried up and got out of there as soon as he could do so without attracting attention. He avoided making eye contact with Travis on the way out.