Tag Archives: shower

First-Time Jocks in the Campground

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Campground, a new story by Happiest Ending!

Wayne stomped away from the campsite feeling like a spoiled child. He was twenty-one, but he was acting like a brat. He knew that. He just couldn’t stop himself.

Sheila had gone, and everyone else was fucking. Balls slapped against pussies and asses, and men grunted while women moaned. Almost the entire GHU football team was here, and they had all brought a girl. Now Wayne was the only single one in the whole site. He couldn’t bear to stick around, that was why he left.

It would be too humiliating to simply walk around the campground alone. He couldn’t do that. He had hated going anywhere alone ever since coming to college — back in high school, he was the most popular kid around, the star football jock and all-American handsome stud, and he always teased the kids who ate lunch alone.

But nearly everyone on his college football team had been the most popular kid in their high school. Wayne wasn’t special anymore. He wasn’t even the star quarterback, just a backup. Everyone thought the kicker Ronaldo Tironi was the sexiest player on the team, and he wasn’t even American — he looked more like an underwear model than an athlete anyway, Wayne thought.

Ah, yeah, suck it, bitch…

Sheila had gone because Wayne called her a bitch. He didn’t say it in an insulting way. A lot of other guys said that when they fucked. It was just dirty-talk, he thought. Wayne had, admittedly, said it a bit early — she was just starting to suck his dick when he said it — and he hadn’t said it in a sufficiently light-hearted manner like the others.

So now his entire team was off fucking their girls, probably trading females without him. His dick could do nothing more than painfully wither to full limpitude. It was so unfair.

He had grabbed his shower stuff simply because he wanted his teammates to think he was walking away for a purpose, not because he was a loser whose girl had dumped him. Maybe, he thought, they’d think she was going to fuck around with him in the shower. He headed towards the showerhouse simply because he had nowhere else to go.

Since no one was in there, and Wayne had everything he needed, he thought he might as well take a shower. He was going to do it eventually, and he’d rather do it now, when no one was around, instead of later, when all the drunk rednecks and fat-ass bikers who camped here would be showering. Wayne showered with his teammates a lot, but he didn’t cotton to the idea of showering with a bunch of fat old strangers.

The showerhouse was empty, which was nice. Wayne was glad to see that there was even hot water. The showering area was open to the stars, like an inner courtyard surrounded on all four sides by a square shelter with toilets, sinks and a baby-changing station.

The shower didn’t relax him. Even with no one around, the bikers whooping drunkenly and the prospect of strangers coming in any time were nerve-wracking for Wayne. He showered quickly.

Then someone did enter. Wayne’s heart skipped a beat, picturing some massive biker with a big swinging dick advancing towards him like the climax of a prison movie.

But it was a small man, skinny, weak, not a biker at all. He had an idle grin on his face as he entered. He glanced at Wayne but didn’t say anything to him.

Wayne didn’t want to look weird, so he turned around. It looked like the small man was going to brush his teeth, and Wayne intended to look the other way until he was gone.

“Hi,” said the man, startling Wayne. He turned around to face him. The other man looked up at him. “I’m Holly.”

“Oh. I’m Wayne,” Wayne said. He had never met someone new when they were both naked. It was awkward. He couldn’t look down without seeing Holly’s cock and balls. He couldn’t bring himself to look in any direction — what was the etiquette in a campground showerhouse anyway? — so his head rigidly stared forward, above Holly’s head, at the wall behind him.

“You look horny, Wayne,” Holly said with a giggle. Wayne realized only then that he was gay — he had a lilting flamboyance that strongly suggested it — and became nervous. He thought he should cover his crotch but that seemed silly, since Holly had been looking at it for some time now.

“Oh.” Wayne bit his lip.

“I can help,” Holly said softly. He really did sound like a woman, Wayne thought. He had a light voice with a singsong note to it, and he carried himself like a girl. Holly reached for Wayne’s dick. Wayne watched his hand move as though in slow motion. He told himself to leave, or just to tell Holly to fuck off.

Hairback Trade: Rim the Roughneck

Here’s the entirety of Hairback Trade: Rim the Roughneck, a new tale from the Str8 Trade universe! It’s the first in an ongoing series of gay erotica about sexy men with hairy backs!

When Shane arranged for the encounter at Site G9, an oil rig in a remote part of North Dakota, he was deliberately vague about what he wanted. Roughnecks were one of the easiest kind of straight guy to suck off — the only hard part was getting to them at their workplaces. When they were off, they fucked women, no matter how ugly or skanky. But when they were stuck on oil rigs far from civilization, Shane could have his pick. There was a tradition on oil rigs — it’s not gay if the nearest woman is a hundred miles away was how it was put to Shane. That was a tradition he could get behind (or more often, in front of).

The locker room stank to high heaven, which meant Shane was rock-hard from the moment he walked in. He loved the smell of sweat and toil, filth, grease and raunchy bodyjuice. The men were loud and boisterous. He had insisted he get his pick before anyone showered, so the scent was freshly rank.

Space was at a premium, and the locker room was crowded. About fifty hairy, unkempt men were crammed in, asses to elbows. When they saw Shane, everyone fell silent. He squeezed through the crowd as someone began to hoot.

“Who you gonna pick?”

“Pick Albert, he got a big ol’ schlong-“

“Fuck you, man, shut yer mouth.”

But Shane knew whom he wanted. He just wanted to take his time. He brushed past all of the men, most of whom were naked, or at least stripped to their boxers. He snaked his tongue into the nooks and crannies of their bodies, teasing bits of armpit sweat, biceps, and even a lick of one plump young hairy buttcheek.

“Albert’s over there-“

“He’s the one you want, I’m sure-“

“Shut the fuck up!”

Albert was indeed very hot. Shane went over to him — it was clear which one he was because he was blushing and insisting Shane not choose him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a jutting jaw, the kind of guy who seems more handsome than he really is, a bit too tall and scruffy for most women (though Shane suspected that, when he cleaned himself up and went out on the town, he was very successful with chicks). He had a deep voice, a hairy chest and a grizzled chin. Shane licked his pecs, prompting a torrent of laughter.

The other guys all suggested Albert because he was the most classically handsome, the one that gay guys had hit on the most in the past. Shane wouldn’t have turned him down.

But Shane had promised to pay for all of these men to have a wild weekend off, as long as he got his taste of whichever one he chose. He did not want Albert. Shane liked a particular kind of man. Albert was entirely too handsome.

He had known who his target was before he ever got to North Dakota. He wanted Joseph, the one they called Tex. He sucked on Albert’s nipple, his pec nervously throbbing and flexing in Shane’s mouth, while everyone else sighed with relief, thinking they had not been chosen. Albert groaned — he had probably suspected he’d be the one picked. He endured Shane’s tongue on his chest and belly like a man letting his doctor palpate him, just getting through it and rolling his eyes until it was done.

But then Shane pointed to Tex, who was shocked at the sudden reversal. Everyone laughed like it was a joke.

Tex was not classically handsome at all — he was craggy, rough, grizzled, with a big nasty scar running across his neck like he had been nearly decapitated once. He was also very hairy, especially on his back, a thick nest of kinky black hairs extending down to his ass. That was what Shane wanted.

He loved hairbacks, and Tex’s hefty body and hairy back were exactly what he had been searching for. Tex blushed — he was very tan, so it wasn’t real obvious at first, but when the other roughnecks realized that Shane wanted Tex instead of Albert, they clapped and hooted and slapped Tex’s ass until he barked at them to stop. Soon Tex was beet-red even through his tan skin.

“Hey, why you wanna service him? He’s a hairy motherfucker!”

“Yeah, I thought he’d be last on ya list, princess.”

“Gays like it dirty, man, don’t you know anything?”

“When did you become a gayologist?”

Shane smiled. He kissed Tex right on that scar on his neck. He bristled a bit but allowed it. His whole body was stiff like a robot. Shane rammed his hand down Tex’s paper-thin white boxers — were they prison-issue boxers? They looked like it, Shane thought — and grabbed his dick. It was throbbingly huge, and it perked up like he was very horny, or maybe he just liked attention.

“I like hairy backs,” Shane said. He turned Tex around and licked all the way up from the small of his back to his shoulders — as far as Shane could reach on his short legs. He snuffled down every drop of sweat he found. There was so much hair that Shane’s tongue got stuck there, and had to push through the fur. Tex bent his knees a bit, sticking his ass out and lowering his back enough that Shane could run his tongue all the way up to his neck.

The roughnecks cheered as Tex snorted and chuckled. He sort of dance a little on his feet, like an athlete warming up before practice. Shane kept a tight hold on his limp dick the whole time.

“Get down on all fours so I can lick your butthole,” Shane said, blushing. He had to whisper it to Tex, who cheered even though he looked mortified. He got down on all fours and covered his head, so his face was near the shower drain, just in front of the bank of lockers against one wall.

Shane planted his face right down there in the crack of Tex’s ass. It was so hairy that Shane’s tongue couldn’t even get to the hole. He encountered a thick tangle of greasy hair, and Shane began by teasing it clear with his tongue.

“Ah, fuck…” Tex moaned. He covered his face and howled into the floor like a sad wolf. The sound boomed and echoed in the metal-walled showering area.

“He’s lickin’ ya ass like a inside-out lollipop…”

“Damn, Tex, I ain’t nevuh realize how hairy you is. You like a sasquatch.”

“No wonder girls ain’t into ya, man, you gotta shave!”

“Fuck you!” Tex roared. He lifted his head up to reveal a bright red face. His scraggly beard hairs quivered. “Y’all wanna shave my back and my ass?”

“No way!”

“Fuck that shit, I ain’t goin’ near it!”

Tex frowned. “See? I can’t shave it myself,” he said. He groaned and looked behind himself at Shane’s face disappearing between his cheeks. He gagged at the sight. “Aw, fuck I feel it! I feel it, man! His tongue is in my ass, man, I feel it!”

He didn’t actually feel it — Shane didn’t say anything, but Tex was mistaken: Shane had made contact with his asshole, but hadn’t actually gotten his tongue in there yet. He just teased the rim and sucked up all the sweat and grime from his crack.

“He got his tongue in there, man! I ain’t know they put their tongues in there! I ain’t know they did that!” Tex said. He laughed nervously, a deep belly laugh that made his asshole flare and open wide.

Shane used the opportunity to plunge his tongue all the way in. He got a burst of stale, stinky musk on his tongue. It made him croon and moan. He had rarely gotten such a delicious asshole, and he was glad — this was already worth the thousand mile trip to this remote section of North Dakota.

“Aw, fuck! Aw, fuck!” Tex looked like he was about ready to cry. He gasped and moaned while his friends hooted and teased him. He stuck his face up in the air. His muscles were all tense, perfectly still except for his ass, which undulated uncontrollably. He rubbed his ass all over Shane’s tongue.

“Holy shit, Tex, you really into that. If you like stickin’ stuff up ya asshole, I got somethin’ you could try.”

“Texans are always into it. Texans love butt-stuff. That’s a fact.”

“Fuck you guys.” Tex’s voice was weak and distracted.

“Only thing in Texas is queers and steers, and I don’t see no horns on you,” someone said, prompting a chorus of laughter from the others. He got down real low and squeezed Tex’s cheeks like a doting grandmother. Tex swatted his hands away.

“Get off me, man.” Tex let out a long, slow growl. He probably intended for it to be menacing, but he was so aroused it just sounded like a seductive moan.

Now that Shane had been lapping at for a few minutes, Tex’s ass was wide open. Tex cringed and squirmed as Shane’s tongue filled him up. Shane could feel Tex’s spongy prostate, and he teased it, giggling into the man’s hairy asshole when it made Tex shake and gasp.

When Shane reached underneath Tex’s body, between his legs, to grab his dick, Tex chuckled. “Ah, damn, he’s jackin’ me off, man, he’s jackin’ me off… Ah shit, ah shit…”

“You lookin’ pretty nice bent over on all fours, Tex. He got ya asshole all loosened up with that tongue… You wanna fuck?”

“I will destroy you if you try anythin’, man,” Tex said with a grunt. He lifted his upper body off the ground, groaning as though it hurt to do so with Shane’s tongue in his ass. Tex reached for his friend to punch him, but he twitched and fell back onto his hands and knees as Shane’s tongue rammed into his prostate.

The other roughnecks burst into laughter. They teased the red-faced Tex mercilessly as Tex shuddered and shook. His cock leaked precum into Shane’s fingers, and his hairy ass clenched around Shane’s face.

“Gonna ride you like a cowboy, hoss!” said one redneck, a lean and lanky one with a colorful tattoo of a bald eagle on his lower back. He had a big, long dick swaying between his legs. He mounted Tex’s back, just in front of Shane’s face in his ass. He plopped himself on Tex, bare cock and balls landing on Tex’s writhing back muscles.

“Get off me!” Tex yelled. He squirmed and would have thrown the would-be cowboy off his back, but the man just stood. He hesitated there, waiting with his balls resting on Tex’s spine. He cackled until Shane moved his tongue from Tex to the other man’s ass, so quick nobody noticed until it was too late.

He just rammed his tongue in for a second, and the other man blushed a bright red. He danced away so fast he slipped on the wet floor and landed in a pile of roughnecks. Shane giggled, crawled over and threw himself on the same pile.

“Fuck you!”

“Get ya cock off me, bitch!”

This tiny showering area was seemingly made for maybe twenty men — there were fewer than two dozen showerheads. But there were fifty men in here, and they all had tried to stay as far away from the rimjob as possible. So all fifty men were crammed in a space so tight they rubbed up against each other. They didn’t seem to mind too much — that kind of situation happened a lot on oil rigs. But it did mean that, when the one guy darted away and into the crowd of men, he knocked just one or two people over. The whole space was so crowded that it caused a chain reaction, and soon most of the men were in a hairy, muscle-bound pile of flesh.

And that was where Shane went. He knew it wouldn’t last long, and it wouldn’t be as sexy in reality as it seemed in his mind — these kinds of things never really were. The men disentangled themselves pretty quickly, and Shane just stuck his tongue out to lick whatever he could get. That meant he got a lot of dusty elbows and glancing licks, a few brief touches of limp cockmeat, that was about it.

But Shane hardly minded. The sexiest thing about it was not so much that he got to touch lots of men, it was that they pulled away from him so forcefully that, when they stood, they were in an even smaller area. They were virtually dry-humping each other now. Shane saw fat redneck cocks disappearing into hairy assholes, muscles rubbing on muscles, hands tightened into fists that dangled stiffly at their sides.

“I’ll kick ya ass, man, I swear to God. You had best get ya dick off my ass.”

“Jerry’s hard!”

“No, I ain’t man, I just got a big dick.”

“Ah shit that hurt, you accidentally kicked me in the nuts when you knocked into me, man.”

“How do ya know it was an accident, fucker?”

They continued to trash-talk each other. They continued to demand that the others spread out some more, since there was a pretty big area in front of Tex, but no one wanted to get close to the action. The ones who were nearest complained about “splashback”, while the others complained about the smell of roughneck sweat filling up the shower. Tex still blushed a deep beet-red. He had plopped himself down on his ass on the floor. He looked at Shane with a big nervous grin on his face.

“So, uh, you wanna suck my dick now?”

“Hell yeah, but only if you promise to let me deep-throat you,” Shane said, prompting a nervous giggle from Tex — even his giggles were so loud and baritone they echoed — and laughing jeers from the others. Shane got down on the ground, laying on his belly.

He plopped Tex’s fat cock in his mouth. It was salty and hot, iron-hard already. It filled up Shane’s throat, prompting a torrent of choked gags as Shane took in as much as he could.

He was a very good deep-throater. Shane was a perfectionist though, so he was disappointed when Tex’s fat cock proved to be too thick to swallow all the way. Shane got just close enough he could feel Tex’s wiry pubic hair on his nose.

“Damn, Tex, he got you deep!”

Tex threw his head back and moaned so violently it sounded like a cry for help. He covered his eyes with one hand. His powerful torso trembled. His muscles all flexed at once.

An explosion of salty precum hit Shane’s tongue. He moaned and swallowed down every drop, gurgling moistly to make enough noise he could be heard over the catcalls and laughter. It was clear no one had ever deep-throated Tex, at least not anywhere’s near as deep as Shane got.

“He suck you off better than Mariah!”

“He got better tits than Mariah too! She got them saggy old titties!”

From their continued joking, Shane gathered that Mariah was a prostitute who charged them only five dollars for a behind-the-dumpster blowjob. Every time they had leave in town, they swore they’d get a different girl — a non-whore — and seduce her, and every time, the vast majority of them ended up getting a blowjob from Mariah, the possible-tranny behind a dumpster.

“I swear, I touched ‘em, they ain’t real-“

“No tranny would get saggy tits put in, man, that ain’t how they do sex-changes!”

“You don’t know jack-shit about trannies! Maybe she’s pre-op!”

A loud, powerful howl emanated from Tex’s throat. It made him wince and blush as his coworkers all fell silent, watching his muscles writhe and squirm beneath Shane’s mouth. His cock was on the verge of orgasm: Shane could feel that in the throbbing of his shaft and the juicy heaviness of his balls, just beginning to rise up in his sac.

Shane pulled off. Tex barked incomprehensibly, his whole body jerking in frustration. Shane licked a trail up his chest, sucking off every drop of sweat. Tex had been sweaty from the day’s work, and he hadn’t showered yet, so there was a layer of dusty, sun-drenched musk, clinging to his hairy flesh. Shane teased every kinky black hair with his tongue, cleaning all the sweat off his pecs, his flat but not six-packed abs, his bulging biceps and firm calves. He even sucked on Tex’s hairy toes.

But beneath the day’s sweat lay a more fresh musk, a rutting smell, like pure, bottled sex itself. That was the sweat generated right now, by Tex’s fucking. It had both a sourness and a sweetness that made Shane crave more. This, he thought, should be bottled and sold in gay nightclubs. It was intensely salty, with a metallic afternote that reminded Shane of licking the filthy steel floor and walls of the oil rig’s showering area.

Shane plopped his ass down on Tex’s cock. Tex’s eyes were closed, both forearms covering his face. Shane lowered himself on Tex’s cock, grunting when there was a burst of pain. Tex’s dick was thick enough to hurt even for Shane’s well-practiced ass.

“Fuck him, Tex! Fuck him! Hell yeah!”

“We ain’t gonna have to settle for Mariah this weekend! We gonna get that Asian chick!”

It sounded like they all agreed to fuck the Asian prostitute, like they had been planning on saving up to fuck her anyway. They clapped and hooted, cheering Tex on.

Shane timed his orgasm perfectly — he was an expert at doing that. He faced Tex and rode him in the cowgirl position, so when Tex reached his own climax and Shane allowed himself to do so at the same time, Shane sprayed his wad all over Tex’s hairy chest.

Tex gasped and boomed, his callused fingers gripping Shane’s ass and holding him down deep on his cock. Hot cum spurted into Shane, each drop teasing his prostate into releasing more orgasm in Shane’s veins. It flowed through him. He moaned loud enough to be heard over the cheering and jeering of the other rednecks.

“Aaaaaaaaah!” Tex moaned as pleasure wafted through his body. His muscles tensed. A symphony of emotions played out on his face — pleasure from the orgasm, of course, but also disgust at the sight of another man’s cum plastering his chest hair to his skin, humiliation at the realization that his friends were going to tease him for getting cum on his body, pride that his own fuckery and big cock was going to get a nice weekend off for all of his buddies, and a bit of fear like he thought it might hurt to have cum on his chest.

Finally it was all over. Tex gasped and his whole body jerked. His cock twitched within Shane, who threw his head back and howled as his own orgasm continued. The dick in his ass sent wave after wave of white-hot pleasure up his spine. His toes curled, and his fingers tightened into claws that dug at Tex’s meaty chest.

“Alright, gayboy, you got what you paid for,” Tex said, his voice weak and breathless. “You can get off me now.”

“Okay, okay,” Shane said. He sighed. He didn’t want to get off just yet. Luckily both he and Tex were sweaty enough to be slippery. When Shane leaned on Tex’s sweat-and-cum-coated chest to support himself, his hands slipped right off. Shane landed with a grunt on Tex’s chest, his cock still in Shane’s ass. Shane moaned as a post-orgasmic burst of bliss hit him, while Tex grunted and shook like a wet dog — it wasn’t clear if he enjoyed his limp dick in Shane’s ass or if his sense of disgust outweighed it, especially now that Shane leaned forward, balls dragging on Tex’s belly, smearing his cumwad all over his hairy torso.

Finally Shane rolled off. They both breathed an intense sigh of relief. The ruddiness drained away from Tex’s face, and he watched with a bemused, faintly disgusted look on his face as Shane licked all the sweat off Tex’s hairy chest.

“Alright, you got it all, man,” Tex said after humoring him for a few minutes. “You’s actin’ like a dog tryin’-a get all the peanut butter off the floor, man. It got all stuck in my chest hair and shit. You ain’t gonna get every drop.”

“Okay,” Shane said, but he didn’t stop licking until Tex physically removed his face from his strapping muscles.

Tex stood up and shook. He smiled wanly at his friends. “Damn… I gotta get a shower, man, all y’all best get out the way. I’m gettin’ a showerhead to myself too, you best believe that.”

“Man… I think we should get blowjobs from Mariah early, man. Barely costs a thing. We’ll be ready to go later on when we get laid-“

“You ain’t nevuh gonna seduce no girl, man.”

“Fuck you, I get plenty of girls. Remember that chunky female wit’ the lips-?”

As though they had forgotten what just happened moments ago, they all ignored Shane. They went straight to their shower. Shane stood there and watched. He stretched his sore legs as he signed the checks written out to each of them — that took a long time even though he had filled out the checks beforehand. He just needed to sign them.

But Shane dragged it out to take as long as possible so he could watch them crowd into the showers. Tex quietly showered by himself, but the others were at two or three to a showerhead — these were not ordinary showerheads, they sprayed in a wide arc, so it was just barely enough space for several men. Shane lazily jacked his limp dick as he watched them bump into each other, show off their muscles and argue about who was going to fuck which prostitute in what order this weekend.

Eventually he was ready to go. Shane loved hairy-backed men, and Tex had been a perfect specimen. But there were more. There were thousands of studly hairbacks in this world, and Shane couldn’t wait to track down every single one of them.

A Muscle-Bound Cop Came Through the Irontop Gym

Here’s a new sample chapter from A Muscle-Bound Cop Came Through the Irontop Gym, the first story in a new series of hardcore gay gym and muscle-themed stories!
Gary was the only credentialed, licensed physical trainer at the Irontop Gym of Cleveland. That meant he was the only one who could work with clients who were there for genuine medical reasons — insurance would only cover physical training if it was conducted by a licensed trainer. As a result, Gary spent a lot of his time working with disabled people, the severely obese, the elderly and others who needed a lot of assistance when working out.

He enjoyed his job. He liked helping his clients get fit, even if they were not hip or attractive people. But sometimes it was boring. His buddies and coworkers were assigned hot young toughs whom Gary drooled over from afar, the kind of healthy young men who didn’t need a physical trainer anyway. He had always pictured himself working with those kinds of muscle-studs, but he had come to accept the reality of his career.

It had been more than a year since he had a client worth remembering. But when he met Randall Rosenstein, his heart started pounding. He had been picturing a portly accountant — wasn’t Rosenstein a Jewish name? — but Randall was actually a cop. He had been shot in the thigh and was only now recovering fully. He hadn’t walked for seven months.

The first part of his physical training was done; he could support himself with both legs, and his quadriceps were working fine. The Irontop Gym didn’t have all of the equipment necessary for someone truly weak, but now that Officer Rosenstein was able to walk and work on his own, he was coming to the Gym, which meant Gary was now working with him several times a week.

He was a burly cop with a flat smile, a military-style buzzcut and a burly body. His dark blond body hair poked out from the plain white t-shirt he wore to work out. He explained that he had always had a six-pack and was annoyed that he didn’t anymore — seven months of no walking would do that to anyone.

“Well, sure we can try to get that back, Officer Rosenstein,” he said. “A six-pack is difficult at your age, but not impossible. It’ll take a lot of work.”

“I’m fine with hard work. Sit-ups, huh? I’ve been doing like fifty sit-ups a day.”

“That’s not necessary. Sit-ups are not a very good way to exercise your abs,” Gary said, then got down on the mat in front of Officer Rosenstein to demonstrate. He supported himself on his elbows and toes, keeping his back flat. “See? Holding this for thirty seconds a time burns more calories than a sit-up, plus it works all of your abs: top, bottom, obliques, the whole thing. It puts less strain on your back than a sit-up too.”

He stood and Officer Rosenstein got on the ground to try. He wore only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that was too small for him. Gary almost had to catch him as Rosenstein used the injured leg to support himself, but he was able to keep his balance as he got on the ground.

Gary touched his back to help him keep his back straight. He shuddered with sexual desire when he felt those corded back muscles; luckily, Officer Rosenstein was fully focused on keeping his balance and working on those abs, so he didn’t notice Gary’s lustful look at his back.

After that they went through a standard routine. Gary alternated between normal arm and shoulder exercises, exercising his legs only lightly while he got the hang of Rosenstein’s abilities and his needs. He was doing very well, and aside from some stiffness, had a full range of motion, which boded well for his recovery.

Finally they were done, and Gary went into the locker room with Officer Rosenstein to show him where the towels were. In truth, there were signs everywhere, he didn’t need to show him the towels. But Gary always liked having a reason to go into the locker room, and he rather hoped to come up with an excuse to shower with Officer Rosenstein.

Officer Rosenstein looked around the locker room to see if anyone else was there — there wasn’t. It was deserted, and their footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor. Rosenstein looked at Gary and raised his eyebrows as though asking a question.

“Looks like we’re alone…” Officer Rosenstein said.

Gary nodded. He got the impression Rosenstein was saying he wouldn’t mind a blowjob, but Gary wasn’t sure that was it. A lot of guys knew that they could get their nuts drained at the Irontop Gym — it had that kind of reputation, and nearly every franchise had one gay man like Gary to service the straights. But Gary still felt nervous, and didn’t want to make the first move.

Rosenstein sighed. “You gonna ask me anything?”

“Uh… Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

He smiled. “You’re gay, right?”

Gary nodded.

“That’s cool… Most of the time when a gay dude gets me alone, uh… Well, usually… I mean… A lot of gay dudes are into cops,” he said.

Gary nodded again. “Yeah. Uniforms are sexy. That’s true.” Gary got horny listening to Officer Rosenstein stutter over his words some more; a part of Gary wanted to let him keep going — there was nothing sexier than a hot straight guy embarrassed around a gay man — but most of Gary wanted to make an offer. “Officer Rosenstein, are you asking for a blowjob?”

Rosenstein blushed. It didn’t look like he blushed often, so Gary was proud of himself. He didn’t wait for an answer, it was obvious what Rosenstein wanted to say.

Gary got on his knees and grabbed right for Officer Rosenstein’s crotch. He still wore those short work-out shorts that Gary thought were so sexy he didn’t want to take them off. Rosenstein’s cock throbbed through the fabric; it stirred, beginning to get hard as Gary slowly stroked the shaft.

“Your dick looks pretty excellent, officer,” Gary said.

“Open that shit up,” Officer Rosenstein said, working Gary’s jaws apart as he dropped his shorts. He wore a cheap old jockstrap, bulging with crotch hair sticking out the sides. Rosenstein blinked as though surprised he had said that, “Sorry,” he said. “Usually when there’s a gay dude sucking me off, it’s some cheap man-whore trying to get off without a prostitution charge.”

“You do that a lot?” Gary said before diving down Rosenstein’s thick rod. He swallowed it down to the root in one go, his nose nestling in Rosenstein’s crotch hair.

“Ahh… Well, I can’t arrest ‘em all. It’d take forever to process ‘em,” he said. “And ‘sides, I’d probably get some gay rights group on my ass.”

“Sounds hot.”

“Not in my ass, on my ass.”

“You ever punish a perp with cock?” Gary said. He tried to speak with Rosenstein’s moist, precum-leaking cocktip in his mouth, so the words were slurred, but Rosenstein seemed to understand what he meant.

Rosenstein chuckled. “There’s a lot of frat boys out there who think the law don’t apply to them,” he said. “I’d never victimize ‘em, of course. But I do have a lesson plan ready for whenever I meet some smart-mouthed kid who thinks he knows everything.”

Gary couldn’t say anything else because his mouth was full, and Officer Rosenstein was holding his head in place. His fingers spread through Gary’s hair as he began thrusting his hips. It looked like Rosenstein was about to continue his story about the frat boys, but stopped to focus on the blowjob.

The salty pre-orgasmic taste of his cockshaft overwhelmed Gary’s senses. His fingers were stretching up and under Rosenstein’s plain white shirt, but Gary barely paid any attention to the man’s stony pecs or the tufts of thick pubic hair that covered his torso. Officer Rosenstein moaned like a man who wasn’t used to getting such a good blowjob.

He lost his abandon as his dick throbbed and his balls crawled up in his sac. Gary made a moist, mewling sound, suckling every drop of precum he could get.

Salty-sweet cum hit Gary’s tongue, and he made another savoring sound. He moaned around the torrent of semen that filled his throat then, as jet after jet of milky-white cum coated his throat.

Officer Rosenstein slowly pulled out and took a deep breath. “Damn…” he said, “You should give those manwhores lessons, man. You could teach them a thing or two.”

The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel

This is a sample chapter from The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel, a new All-Strong League story by Randall Eisenhorn.

Late night shifts at the Whiteland Hotel were slow and boring. Adrian didn’t mind it, because he could watch TV and goof off on the Internet, which is realistically what he would have been doing at home. But still, the interminable quiet was dreadful, alleviated only by the occasional pandemonium of a drunken group of hotel guests coming back to their room. It was not usually an exciting job, but it had some perks.

“Hey hombre, you speak English?” asked a man’s deep voice. Adrian was startled to see an almost-naked man there. He was a barrel-chested semi-pro football player who had checked in a couple hours before, in advance of a game tomorrow. He stood there in plain white boxers from which a few tantalizing pubic hairs poked through, and he swayed on drunken legs.

Adrian was only half-Latino, but he looked Hispanic enough that he was used to being asked if he spoke English — a lot of the Whiteland Hotel’s staff were Spanish-only, after all. “Yes, sir. I checked you in when you got here, Mr. Walters.”

He leaned in close and peered at Adrian as though checking to see if he was lying. The man, Lloyd Walters was his name, scratched his balls through his boxers. For a moment his thick cock was outlined by the dingy fabric of his shorts, and Adrian’s heart raced as he pictured this brutish jock naked. Lloyd’s rancid breath was beer-soaked and hot. He produced a twenty dollar bill and gave it to Adrian.

“Go get me a hamburger. Can you do that? Or is there one that delivers?”

“I can arrange for a delivery,” Adrian said, glad that his connection at the scuzzy twenty-four hour hamburger joint across town finally came in handy.

“Good. Get me the biggest hamburger they got and everything they put on it,” Lloyd said carefully, as though describing brain surgery, “But not any kind of mushrooms. And make it rare.”

“Okay.”

“No, wait… Is this a nice place?”

“Well… It’s the only place that’s open this late, sir.”

“Then medium-rare. I can’t be shitting all over the place at the game tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.”

Lloyd sauntered back into his room then, and after a few minutes, two cheap floozies crept out the door. Their just-fucked hair made it obvious what had happened; they giggled quietly, whispering, no doubt bragging about how they had just fucked a football pro (or semipro, close enough, Adrian thought).

Adrian’s friend arrived soon after that, with a bag containing the greasy hamburger. Adrian gave him a tip and then brought the food to Lloyd’s room. He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder.

“Come in!”

Adrian walked in to see a stark naked Lloyd, sitting on the bed. He was sweaty and relaxed, sprawled out on the bare mattress. His limp cock was still moist, plastered to his thigh and gleaming in the dim light. The sheets and blankets were in a ball on the floor.

The smell of the hamburger aroused Lloyd from his soporific, drunken daze, and he took the bag from Adrian. He nodded to the sheets and blankets. “Can I get some clean sheets brought in?”

Adrian nodded. “Sure.”

“You might wanna… get rid of those,” Lloyd said. “Both those girls was anal virgins, if you get my drift.”

Adrian saw the moist sheets dotted with blood, and he nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walters. I’ll send the cleaning staff right in.”

“They’s prolly women, right? I should put some drawers on.”

Adrian hesitated. “They would probably prefer it, sir.”

“Ain’t you polite?” Lloyd grinned. “Cleaning staff hot?”

“Eh… They are all older Mexican women, sir. The youngest is still a grandmother. They have a… steely handsomeness, but I’m not sure they would appeal to you,” Adrian said. “Didn’t you just…?” he nodded towards the door.

“We finished like an hour ago, so I’m ‘bout ready for another go-‘round” Lloyd said. “And they barely sucked my dick at all. Silly little college brats can’t suck cock worth a damn.”

“I see. Well, I do not think the cleaning staff will be interested,” Adrian said.

“You look like you got nice cock-sucking lips there,” Lloyd said.

Adrian was so shocked he didn’t have a response. He had been propositioned by straight bucks here at the Whiteland Hotel before, that part wasn’t new, but a semipro football jock like Lloyd? That was a first, especially since he had just fucked — normally straight guys were only interested when they were so horny they didn’t care where they stuck their cock. But no matter how virile he was, Lloyd couldn’t be that horny again just an hour after sex. “Yep,” Adrian said, finally forming a word then blushing at how stupid he sounded.

“You got something to do with those lips?”

Adrian dropped to his knees and kneeled in front of the bed. Lloyd leaned back on some pillows he had propped up, and then grabbed for the hamburger bag. He took it out and the cloyingly greasy smell filled the room.

Lloyd opened his bathrobe, his heavy cock dangling between his legs. It smelled delicious — especially with the odor of beef on top, Adrian thought, giving it a tantalizing meatiness. He opened his mouth and sucked it down to the root, determined to give Lloyd a blowjob he’d remember for a long time. The flavor of his stale sweat and the remnants of his heterosexual fucking overwhelmed Adrian’s senses as he slathered his tongue up and down the shaft.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Lloyd said. He groaned deeply then turned the TV on to Cinemax, where softcore lesbian porn was playing. He belched loudly. “Damn, I should take you with me to away games. Call you my personal ball boy.”

Adrian’s tongue slathered up and down his shaft as he wished Lloyd was serious, but knew he wasn’t. Straight guys said that kind of thing a lot when their cock was in Adrian’s mouth, but they always changed their mind once their balls were drained. Lloyd took a big bite from his hamburger, as Adrian moved down to his balls.

He knew girls always hated sucking balls, but he loved them, especially when they were swollen like Lloyd’s, and dripping with the remains of his wild rutting earlier. Adrian could taste layers of sweat and feminine lotion still trapped in the hairs of his scrotum.

Moving back to the shaft, Adrian deep-throated his cock. Lloyd gripped Adrian’s ears tight, putting his hamburger down so he could use both grease-slickened hands. He pushed his dick all the way down Adrian’s throat and held it there as he groaned.

Cum came pouring out of his cock with such an uninterrupted stream it was as though he was pissing down Adrian’s gullet. Lloyd’s whole body bucked as his chest and neck turned reddish. Adrian managed to swallow almost every drop of the pearly sweet cum. Lloyd grunted, sounding like a bodybuilder working hard on his biceps, and his balls slapped against Adrian’s chin.

“Oh fuck yeah, you got a comment card or some shit?” Lloyd said. “I’m gonna tell the manager you’re good at your job.”

“You’ll be given an evaluation form when you check out sir,” Adrian said breathlessly as he wiped cum from his lips. He didn’t want to waste any. “I’m glad I could make your stay at the Whiteland Hotel more pleasing. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

The Soggiest Biscuit

This is a sample from The Soggiest Biscuit, a story in the Kappa Gamma Pi project from Eroticature.org.

I thought that the Goldendale Hills University fraternity suspensions would kill my social life after spring break. Thirteen students had been hospitalized for alcohol poisoning, and one exchange student from Norway had died at the other campus (which wasn’t even our fault!). So Kappa Gamma Pi and nine out of ten fraternities were suspended, the only one spared being the Betas, who were the biggest nerds in the history of nerddom.

But the suspension didn’t turn out to be that bad. The sororities hosted more parties, and though alcohol was tougher to find — no liquor stores within thirty miles would sell to us — we made do and managed to have a good time.

However, those of us who lived in the fraternity houses were not allowed to have any social functions. That meant no visitors. The fraternity lawyer had said we couldn’t even let our parents come in for a meal. “Pick-ups and drop-offs only.”

Previously there were always girls coming in and out, either somebody’s girlfriend or a skank or slut or whoever was around, either sleeping one off or taking one in the ass… That was not happening anymore. Frat brothers with girlfriends still found times and places to fuck them, but there were no girls at the frat house, and wouldn’t be until the end of the semester (or maybe longer, depending on how long the suspension ended up lasting).

Without girls, our normally slovenly behavior got much worse. Previously, we had had to clean up in order to get chicks to come to our parties, and we could often get fat chicks to clean for us. Without visitors, that didn’t happen, and before long dishes were piled high in the sink.

John Tucci, a senior, was first to go naked. We had always done some streaking, and Tucci once stayed naked during an entire party, but without girls to annoy, he stopped wearing clothes at the house. It was not surprising that he was first to do so because he had an enormous cock that he bragged about every opportunity.

He had been a star wrestler and swimmer until being arrested for pot a few months ago. I had become intimately familiar with his body as a freshman when I shaved him — he was by nature very hairy from head to toe, and both of his coaches made him shave. Now that he was off both teams, he had announced his intentions to get as hairy as “God intended”.

“Damn it, Tucci,” I said as he walked past me one evening. His hairy ass was about as high as my face when I sat on the couch, so when he turned around, the meat of his left ass-crack slapped against my cheek. “You fucking hairy-ass wop, put some damn clothes on! This frat ain’t yer locker room.”

Tucci looked down at me. The other frat brothers there fell silent, and my heart dropped as I realized what I had done. Tucci was the oldest, biggest and richest person in the frat, so he was in charge in every way. He did not like being challenged. Plus, I had broken a rarely-enforced house rule that I could tell he was about to call me on.

“What did you just say?”

“I mean, this fraternity ain’t your locker room.”

“Would you call your country a cunt?”

“No, Tucci, you know that. It’s not Pledge Week. We can call it a frat-“

“The rule applies year-round, Kevin, as I think you are well aware! You voted to make the rule permanent, didn’t you? You spoke in favor of that!”

“Yes, I did.” I couldn’t believe I had said frat. I had never messed up on that during Pledge Week, that was why I felt confident making it a permanent rule.

“Well, since I am the oldest senior in the house at the time of the infraction, I get to punish you however I see fit. Hmmm-“

“Tucci!”

“Shut up, Kevin,” he said. “If you complain I can make it worse.”

“You’re not supposed to-“

“That’s complaining!” Tucci shouted. The other seniors who were watching TV with me chorused their agreement. I couldn’t see, but I could tell what they looked like — beaming, glad to have something to do to alleviate the boredom. I should have seen this coming. I could have made sure a freshman fucked up before I did.

“As punishment for complaining, get on your knees and suck my balls,” he said, pausing as the other frat brothers laughed and called for everyone else to come down and watch. “Keep on sucking until I finish your other punishment.”

I thought about refusing, even about just running out of the house. But that’d be it for my social life for pretty much ever, whereas if I just did as I was told, I would be forgotten about tomorrow. It was only a big deal if you fought back.

I got on my knees and ignored the jeering catcalls of my frat brothers. They were chanting, Teabag him! Teabag him! They laughed as though this was the first teabagging they had ever seen.

As I knew he would, Tucci arranged himself to teabag me backwards, so that his hairy taint was in front of my nose and eyes, and so that everyone watching had to see Tucci’s huge, thick cock. As he always did, Tucci said, “No homo” and then made the sign of the cross over the crucifix that dangled between his hairy pecs.

“Ten, nine-“ Tucci began counting down as he lowered his balls into my mouth.

I tried not to let it bother me. He was obviously just trying to drag this out. His taint smelled of rank body odor, and I gagged even before he started. Everyone clapped and laughed.

His balls touched my tongue, and I gagged again. I sputtered. His balls were so hairy it was like swallowing a blanket, I thought, a big wooly blanket. His hairy Italian sac had so much scrotum flesh I choked as it spilled out past my lips.

I was on my knees, forced to lean backwards to fit between his legs, facing upwards into his taint. I trembled and almost fell, having to grab his trunk-like thighs for support. That made everyone laugh even harder.

My chin shook. I desperately wanted to empty my mouth of his ballflesh, but I knew it would make my punishment for worse. My tongue involuntarily lolled around in my mouth, and Tucci’s dark, uncut cock got hard with no one touching it.

The entire fraternity was there, it sounded like, laughing at me with his balls in my mouth. They were talking but it was hard for me to hear over the deep, half-drunk hilarity of the other frat brothers.

There was a burst of frenzied movement. Much laughter. Tucci announced something, told someone to go make sure the front door was locked. What was happening? I couldn’t tell.

Then my blood ran cold. I heard someone say, “So he’s gonna be a human biscuit?” I knew what that meant.

Someone else took my head and gently lowered me to the ground as Tucci squatted, careful not to let his balls slide out of my mouth. I was laying on the floor on my back, and Tucci got on his knees, so I was squashed by his hairy taint and ass. Drool was dripping out of my mouth in buckets, matting Tucci’s hair to his thighs.

Tucci leaned forward so he was on all fours, effectively lifting most of his body off my face. He craned his neck behind his muscular back to look down at my face, then guffawed as he stared into my frantic eyes smeared with his taint-sweat.

“We’re gonna play Soggy Biscuit,” Tucci said, leering down at my face. “And you’re the biscuit.”

“Won’t that mean you get cum all over your balls?” someone asked, and there were a few nervous titters of laughter.

“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” he said. He was still on all fours, so his great pendulous balls dangling in my mouth. The taste was growing worse, as my stale spit mixed with the sweat dripping down from his asshole. The taste was grimy, sandy, salty, revolting.

I suddenly gagged, and almost bit involuntarily but managed to force it back. The whole fraternity was looking at me. They had started the game already, everyone standing in a circle and jacking off the man to their right. Normally, they’d cum all over a biscuit or cookie, and whoever came last would have to eat it. It was a silly game, but I didn’t usually mind it because the left-handed people always lost.

But this time, I was going to be the biscuit. I had already lost before we even begun.

I choked again, bent my neck involuntarily and almost spilled all of Tucci’s balls out of my mouth. A big blob of spit slowly dripped out of my mouth and onto the floor, where it landed in a big stinky pile.

“Make some noise, tea-boy,” Tucci said. He liked to do this when getting freshman pledges to suck his balls — since he had such a big dick, pretty much all of his punishments involving whipping it out and making someone suck on some part of his genitals. He always told them to make some noise, and I knew what he was going to say next. “It’s not a proper teabagging unless you make some noise.”

I slurped, hocking up a loogie and a mouthful of spit. Again I choked and spat it out, and this time his balls did leave my mouth for a moment. They were splayed over my nose and eyes. Luckily for me, the other fraternity brothers were all focused on jacking each other off, except for Tucci himself, who was laughing uproariously and didn’t notice.

His balls were so slick with my spit they flowed like water over my face. The coppery taste of his ball hair overwhelmed me again as his scrotum filled my mouth. My own spit, and maybe some stomach bile, was dripping in torrents down the side of my neck. A puddle had formed there, a great stinky puddle of Tucci’s ball-filth and stale bodily fluids.

The hardwood floor hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, so it was disgusting to begin with. I tried to think about something else, about what I was going to do on my summer vacation, but all my mind would focus on was the grimy ballsweat taste in my mouth. Was it ever going to go away? I had visions of wiping my tongue off with steel wool after this.

I was so intent on the teabagging I barely noticed Tucci take both of my hands and wrap them around his cockshaft. He was crouched overtop of me on all fours, his body hair scratchy against my own torso. He was humping my chest like a dog while I fumbled with his dick awkwardly.

There were eleven frat brothers there, not counting me or Tucci, and they all stood in a circle around me. I could see through my spit-clouded eyes, though my vision was obscured by the fuzzy hair of Tucci’s ass and lower back.

Tucci whispered something to a freshman, who giggled and left the room. I was suspicious. This was surely going to be something terrible, I thought, but my mind was occupied as I saw the first man close his eyes and begin to cum.

It was Charlie, a stout sophomore with powerful biceps and tattoos all over his belly. He was being jacked off by Spencer, who hesitated and screwed up his face in disgust as he realized what was happening. Charlie grabbed his own dick and fell to his knees in front of my face.

I closed my eyes until the circle chanted for me to open them, and then Charlie shot his load onto my face. Most of it was on my nose, some dripping into my open mouth, and the last wad landed on Tucci’s scrotum, where it slowly dripped into my throat.

I gagged again, at the smell mainly, since his cum was flooding into my nostrils. That cottony sour scent always made me want to throw up, and this was even worse because it wasn’t going away. It was pooling there on my face, and every time I inhaled, I got a fresh dose of it.

“This is the most legendary teabagging ever,” Tucci said with a grin.

 

No Homo: Soldiers

This is a sample chapter from No Homo: Soldiers, the newest entry in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica. This series is unique in that it is among the most explicit and extreme gay erotica out there while containing no gay sex — that’s right, there’s no sex act that’s indisputably actual sex and totally gay! It’s the ultimate in straight guy domination and humiliation!

Also try the Omnibus Edition, which contains No Homo: Soldiers and ten prequels, outlined here.

 

Tony Giadalucci was glad to be away from New York. Boot camp was nothing at all like he expected — it was both better and worse, he thought, or at least that’s how it seemed his first few days. The best thing about it was being far away from the city and the stultifying neighborhood he had grown up in. He had always dreamed of finally getting away from it all, and could barely believe it had actually happened. The worst was the conditions he was forced to endure, which seemed primitive even by the low standards he had expected. His father had told him to expect to live rough during basic training, and he was willing to accept that. He thought leaving the city would mean a peaceful life (aside, of course, from the potential for being assigned to war).

But boot camp had proven to be more difficult than his father had let on. Tony was supposed to be bonding with the men he went through training with. They were going to be friends for life, virtually brothers, he thought. But that wasn’t happening. He still felt estranged from the men around him.

Tony had always been the biggest, strongest and most confident kid in his class. That was what had gotten him in trouble back in New York, after all — he had thought himself untouchable, and let that attitude get the best of him; he had almost gotten in enough legal trouble it would have ruined his Army career before it even started. His father had had to pull some favors to get him out of it, and Tony was determined to put it behind him.

But it seemed his squad was composed largely of men like him, men who were used to being the struttingest cock on the walk. They all saw themselves as the best and toughest in the barracks — at Camp Steelman, all of the barracks formed a unit that worked together, and Tony’s was known as Zeta Squad. Among the other Zetas, Tony was not the biggest, definitely not the most confident and only the strongest in his own mind.

He was used to the strict schedule of military life due to his father’s stern parenting style, so most aspects of Army life suited him well. He didn’t mind having his bedtime and wakeup time strictly regulated, constant demands for perfect obedience, cleanliness and punctuality. The one activity he immediately hated was showering. Tony had played football throughout high school, so he was used to group nudity.

But Camp Steelman’s makeshift showering facility was a wide open area, surrounded by their own barracks so it was effectively private but still felt public. The lack of any ceiling was especially bad, the four showerheads being mounted to a steel frame with a hose attached; it rained their first day, cold water from the sky mixing with a lukewarm shower. It looked like something from a prison in an old Western movie, Tony thought.

The showerheads sprayed warm water, which was better than Tony’s father had told him to expect, but still required six men to share each showering space. They had been told it was built that way, but rumor had it that it was built for three men per head, and they were simply being forced to cram inside to save on time.

Regardless, Tony found the environment too tight for comfort. That first night in the shower, he accidentally touched his first six bare penises ever. It was difficult to avoid accidentally brushing up against his fellow squadmates, some of whom seemed to make no effort to prevent it. Limp cocks had a spongy quality he found revolting, and that he had never noticed in touching himself.

Most of his squadmates had the good sense to not bring attention to the awkwardity of the situation, and silently nodded an apology on those occasions when some accidental touching was unavoidable. That was the way straight men should handle things, Tony thought, just pretend it either didn’t happen or wasn’t a big deal, and don’t ever talk about it.

But there was one recruit who had no shame — in large part, Tony assumed, because he had the largest dick of anyone in the squad. It hung between his legs like a baby’s forearm, swinging with every step he took. He was Hawthorn Kyle, a burly Texan with an accent so thick Tony could barely understand what he said. “First one to get a hardon in here gotta suck us all off!” Hawthorn brayed through his own laughter the first night in the shower. It was a joke he would often repeat.

The first one to get a hardon was Ransom, a thick-bodied black man who thought it was hilarious. He held his hands above his head and guffawed, looking down at his own rod. He swung it to and fro as though trying to “accidentally” hit the others with it.

One by one, the rest of the squad realized he was rock-hard, his veiny black cock throbbing. He briefly touched Tony’s thigh with it, and Tony gasped as though he was bitten, pushing away from him.

Unfortunately, Tony stumbled backwards right into that burly redneck, Hawthorn, who wrapped his arms around Tony. Tony squirmed out of the bear hug, but not before feeling Hawthorn’s big farmboy cock and balls drag along his thigh.

“I ain’t control it,” Ransom said with a grin. “It just happen. It just happen. My dick is used to visiting pussy, y’know, it ain’t used to this kind of faggotry.”

Tony managed to slip out then, before things went any further. He heard a rumor that Hawthorn and some others stayed behind for a circlejerk, but they all denied it when asked later. He just went back to his bunk and wiped off the last bit of soap from his biceps and armpits with a towel.

He was humiliated. Nobody else treated it like a big deal, but it was for him. He sulked on his bunk that evening. The fact that nobody treated him bad or teased him for touching two cocks, one erect, right there in front of everyone, that confused and unnerved him. Back in high school, if there was a freshman in the showers with him and his fellow varsity wrestlers, they might have put their balls on him. That was the height of humor during high school.

It would have been embarrassing, all anyone would have talked about for weeks. The victim would have never lived it down. If that had happened here at boot camp, Tony could have survived it — he was big and tough, he could have fought Hawthorn or Ransom and won, gotten his revenge. Things would have made sense.

But now nobody cared. They all laughed at him at the time, but now they had forgotten. That was somehow worse because Tony couldn’t regain his manhood by punching someone. The humiliation was slighter, but permanent. He would look like an asshole who can’t take a joke if he made a big deal about it now. All he could do was pretend not to be ashamed.

Tony was the victim of another of Hawthorn’s shower “jokes” a couple days later, when he stumbled into the shower along with the others half-asleep from a day spent running and digging, interrupted only by bouts of intense book-reading. He could barely keep his eyes open, and stumbled into his squadmates’ muscular bodies several times. He didn’t even notice how much contact he had this evening, thinking only about how tired he was as his hairy crotch rubbed into Ransom’s thigh.

Hawthorn’s trick was to pretend-hump a man from behind, as though ass-raping him, and then getting an extra laugh by going all the way and making penis-to-ass contact. He even moaned like a porn star after acting classes, a deep, undulating sound that made Tony shiver at the thought that it was Hawthorn’s real orgasm moan.

Somehow, a couple of the recruits found it funny. Tony had to admit he chuckled the first time it happened to someone else, but when he felt Hawthorn’s wiry pubic hair on his own ass, it Tony didn’t see the humor in it at all. Hawthorn wrapped one furry forearm around Tony’s shoulders and held him in place as he squirmed.

Tony yelped and tried to pull away. But the more he moved, the more contact he had with Hawthorn’s hoggish manhood. He had never been a small guy, but most of his squadmates were taller and heavier, and Hawthorn in particular had almost a foot and more than a hundred pounds on Tony.

He felt a twitch moments before Hawthorn let go, and Tony wondered if the big farmboy stopped only because he was about to get a hardon from the friction alone. Tony stumbled forward and collapsed onto of his other squadmates, Rod. They both tumbled to the ground, their dicks rubbing against each other.

The other men cheered and hollered, whooping as though they were strippers mud-wrestling for an audience. Tony and Rod both blushed and stumbled to their feet. For a moment, Tony was on his knees and saw nothing but dicks all around him. Black, brown and white, some uncut with cheesy foreskins waiting to be washed, others neat and circumcised like an unwrapped present that Tony didn’t want.

Hawthorn wrapped one muscular arm around Tony’s shoulder in a friendly way, though Tony hated the feel of his corded biceps and coarse blond body hair grinding against Tony’s own body. “Hey, sorry, dawg, I ain’t mean to knock you over and make out with Rod. You two looked real special together-“

“Fuck you, man,” Tony said. “I ain’t into that homo shit.” He pushed away from Hawthorn.

“”Naw, man,” Hawthorn said, “This is boot camp. This is a strictly no homo situation, man. It don’t count here. You city boys is just touchy about it.”

“Yeah,” said one of the other rednecks, Marcus. “You gotta deal with a little man-on-man horseplay. This is the Army. It don’t count here. It ain’t gay. It’s brotherhood. No homo.” Marcus slapped Tony on the ass and whistled at his muscular cheeks jiggling.

He had already been through worse, but somehow Marcus’ hand on his bare ass sent Tony over the edge. He roared and punched Marcus right in the nose, knocking him to the ground in a burst of blood and saliva.

Memories of bullying from high school flooded back to him. Tony had always been the tough guy, the one on top, and he thought less of the little pissants who allowed him to push them around. He knew he was in trouble from the fellow recruits’ nervous stares as they rushed to help Marcus, but all Tony could think about was that he was glad that he didn’t let Marcus turn him into one of those whiny little pissants he used to beat up.

He was, he thought, on top once again, and once again, he was in serious trouble. He definitely didn’t feel like he was developing a fraternal bond with his fellow soldiers.

“I will not tolerate this kind of monkey business!” Sergeant Railton screamed into Tony’s ear. “You are a soldier, not the country’s gayest frat brother! We do not tolerate horseplay in the showers!”

Tony was still naked and wet from the shower, dried blood on his knuckles. He wasn’t ashamed of his body or his dangling bare cock, but he still felt open and vulnerable. He stood at attention in the back of the barracks, his squadmates were in their bunks pretending not to listen. Only he, Marcus and Hawthorn were at attention, everyone else having successfully distanced themselves from the shower fight.

Railton continued screaming insults at him — without cursing, as drill sergeants were no longer allowed to curse at recruits — wearing barely more than Tony was. Railton’s short, squat frame was thick and padded with muscle, and he had to look up to peer into Tony’s eyes. He wore only a pair of dingy brown Army-issue boxer shorts and a matching wifebeater. The commotion in the showers had drawn him from his living quarters when he was trying to get to bed, and it had given him a sour disposition.

“Are you picking up what I’m putting down, boy?” Railton asked, over and over, in louder and louder tones, Tony screaming his agreement back increasingly loud as well. Railton was so close they were virtually kissing, and Tony could taste the sergeant’s stale spit on his tongue. More than once their lips fleetingly touched.

Railton grabbed Tony’s balls with one hand and pushed him against the wall. He didn’t squeeze, but he held on firmly. “I get the feeling you ain’t payin’ attention to me, son,” he said. Tony gasped, every muscle and instinct in his body demanding that he punch Railton and get out of there. He bit his lip as Railton continued, “So now that I know you are focused, let me reiterate: I am not gonna let you make a fool outta me. I should send you to Leavenworth for a couple months for assault, just to send a message to all these other punks. But I like the way your marbles hang to the left.” He gave a light squeeze on Tony’s balls, which sent a shiver of pain up his spine. Tony tried not to wince, tightening his torso to stop himself from shuddering.

Railton turned and stopped at Hawthorn, who stood, his own cock and balls cradled by tight briefs, blond hair poking out the top. His massive dick was plainly visible pressing against the fabric.

“For starters, you three can get out there and be on watch all night long, in your all-together. Yer privates gonna take over for the privates out there now. Go on, take ‘em off,” Railton said. “You gonna have to prove you deserve to wear clothes on duty, boys, and I need to see you can behave like professionals even when you’re naked. So let’s go, flash those vaginas so we can all see if you’re still virgins.”

Tony, Hawthorn and Marcus nervously stripped, Tony instinctively covering his crotch with both hands until he saw that both Hawthorn and Marcus were openly flaunting their cocks. They both seemed to have that redneck penchant for casual male nudity, so Tony wasn’t surprised by their lack of modesty. He felt like he stood out covering himself, as though others would see it as a sign he had a small cock (even though they had all seen him naked already, so they knew that wasn’t true), so he let go and allowed his dick and balls to hang free. They followed Sergeant Railton out of the barracks into the warm night air.

The two privates on watch were surprised to be interrupted, and it took them a moment to register that their commanding officer was there. Then they both jumped to attention and saluted. Normally, Railton probably would have punished them for being idle, but they weren’t asleep, Tony figured, so Railton evidently didn’t plan on making a big deal out of it. He obviously had more important punishments to dole out. They scampered away, glad to be done early for the night.

“All three of you gonna stay on watch all night, and don’t you dare let me catch you sleeping,” Railton said. As he said it, Tony had a sinking suspicion that was exactly what would happen — he had never been good at staying awake when he was bored and tired. Railton then went over the usual spiel about watch-duty, and how it was vital to discipline, etc, and so on. Tony wasn’t impressed but he nodded sagely as though he thought it was important.

Finally it was over, and Railton’s half-naked, hairy body saluted before turning around and returning to the officer quarters. Tony and the other two saluted back, feeling the cool night breeze blow across their naked bodies.

“That coulda been worse,” Hawthorn said.

“Yeah, I thought we was really gonna be in some shit,” Marcus said. “I can’t be gettin’ in trouble. If’n I get kicked outta the Army, I’m goin’ back inside for two more years.”

“Inside? You mean prison?” Tony said.

“Yep.” Marcus nodded. “I was already in for a year, and I’m only allowed out on conditional release. My public defender said that means I gotta get through my first tour of duty without getting arrested, or I serve the rest of my sentence, plus probably some time in military prison.”

“What’d you go in for?” Hawthorn asked. Tony noticed he was scratching his dick with more vigor than seemed necessary, almost jacking off.

“Inciting a riot,” Marcus said.

Hawthorn whistled, and an awkward silence ensued. Tony wanted to ask if Marcus had done it, and exactly what sort of riot he had incited. But he gathered that would be rude, and it seemed even the lumbering brute Hawthorn had enough sense not to ask either.

In fact, Tony noticed after a minute or two, that Hawthorn was no longer paying attention anyway. He was openly stroking his meat, which was half-hard, his muscular body dimly visible in the night light.

“Hey, man, quit it! He’s jacking off!” Tony jumped to his feet and looked away.

But Hawthorn just laughed, followed by Marcus. Both of them had Southern-tinged guffaws, and Tony realized that neither considered group masturbation off-limits. He felt like a squeamish fool and blushed, glad nobody could see it in the darkness.

“I can’t just sit around naked all night without jacking off,” Hawthorn said. “Texas boys like me got Texas-sized balls, man. We gotta empty ‘em.”

“You ain’t just supposed to be sitting around naked all night,” Tony said. He sat back down, away from Hawthorn. “You’re supposed to be on watch. You ain’t watchin’ if you’re jackin’ off.” He noticed how he was picking up a Southern accent from these two.

“If Canada chooses tonight to invade, I will take those maple-niggers down!” Hawthorn said, laughing at his own joke. Marcus joined in, though Tony found his use of the n-word more casual than he would have liked. It made him uncomfortable, and he was glad Ransom and Malik (the squad’s only black guys) weren’t there to hear it. “I don’t need clothes to kill a man.” Hawthorn flexed his biceps. “I got these guns.”

“You talk tough,” Marcus said. “But I don’t know if you can back that up.”

“Quit talkin’,” Hawthorn said. “Or I’ll be jacking off all night. I can’t cum with you yammering on.”

They both fell silent then, waiting until finally the smell of cum blossomed, and they both turned up their noses. Hawthorn shot a load onto the grassy lawn outside the barracks, even his moans bearing all the twang of his hillbilly accent. He laughed as he turned around and sat back down.

They continued talking all night and as the sun rose over Fort Rumblemore. Tony was surprised to find they had a lot in common, and he enjoyed their stories of hunting trips and life in the country, while they were fascinated by his urban New York upbringing. Tony felt his muscles relaxing when the warm morning air hit him, and the birds began chirping. As he drifted off to sleep, he realized that he, Marcus and Hawthorn were now casual friends.

Tony blinked his eyes open to see Sergeant Railton standing over him, rays of the early morning sun illuminating him from behind.

“What was the last thing I told you, private?” Railton barked.

Tony jumped to his feet, cursing Marcus and Hawthorn for not waking him in time. Marcus mouthed I’m sorry at him from behind Railton.

“Sir, you told me not to fall asleep, sir.”

“I told you not to dare to fall asleep,” Railton said. “And then you did exactly that.” Railton was wearing only running shoes and green PT shorts, soaked in sweat, even less clothing than the night before because the shorts were only a few inches down his thigh. His burly middle-aged chest was hairy and covered in moisture as well, and he smelled strongly of rank manhood.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sir… I was very tired, sir”

“That is not a great excuse, Giadalucci.

“Sir, I-“

“Shut the fuck up!” Railton said. He pointed to the ground. “Sit down!”

Tony did as commanded. He was nervous. Right in front of his face was Railton’s crotch, his bulging genitals clearly visible in the sweat-stained shorts. The acrid smell of his groin assaulted Tony’s nostrils.

“They say that scent is the sense most strongly tied to emotion,” Railton said. “So if I can make you associate a scent with ‘staying awake’, you’ll be able to stay awake better when you smell that scent in the future. Does that make sense, Private Giadalucci?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“So I’m going to rub my balls on your nose,” Railton said. He smiled cruelly as Tony looked up to see if he was joking — he was not. “And you’re going to stay right here, on watch, until morning duties begin. That’s two more hours. You’re not going touch your face for two hours, so you’ll be smelling balls the entire time.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Tony said when he realized Railton was expecting a response. Tony still tried to convince himself Railton was joking though. If drill sergeants weren’t allowed to curse, surely forcible teabagging was against the rules as well.

“And in the future, if you need to stay awake, you can ask one of your fellow soldiers to rub his balls on your nose. I’m sure any of them would be happy to help out,” Railton said. “Or you can just be a man and stay awake on your own. Your choice.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Tony said. His heart pounded as he decided Railton was definitely not joking.

Railton dropped his shorts and jockstrap, revealing a hairy bush and a thick cock. It gleamed with sweat, and the smell was already overwhelming, Tony thought, even from a few inches away. He couldn’t believe this was really happening to him, and his mind went back to the paperwork he had signed upon arrival — hadn’t there been something about what to do if you were sexually harassed or assaulted? He thought so but couldn’t remember and didn’t know if this would count anyway.

“Keep your eyes open, private, or I’ll stick it in somewhere much worse,” Railton said. “Don’t ever just close your eyes like that. You’re on watch, after all, not serving as Chief Bottom for the San Francisco Pride Parade. You have to be looking around.” Railton whacked Tony’s face with his limp dick, leaving a film of slickness on his skin. The smell of crotch hair and muskiness overwhelmed Tony, whose eyes began to water.

Railton turned around, revealing a wide ass thick with dark hairs. Tony instinctively pulled back, frightened by the smell of stale ass-seat. But the wall was behind him and he was pinned against it. Railton spread his own asscheeks as he plopped backwards, placing his asshole square on Tony’s face.

The sound of Hawthorn’s surprised gasp, and Marcus’ pitying sigh, hit Tony even from behind the mountain of flesh in front of his face. He hoped nobody else was walking by the barracks this early in the morning, or they would surely see Tony with his face buried in middle-aged man-ass.

Tony gagged and choked as Railton slowly wiped his body upward. His asshair was plastered to Tony’ skin with his early-morning jog sweat, which seeped into Tony’s nose and mouth. He choked on the biting, acrid flavor, and had to force himself not to vomit.

Railton ended with his ass almost sitting on Tony’s scalp, his low-hanging balls stretched across Tony’s face. His scrotum had a moist silkiness that Tony found disgusting, in addition to the smell and flavor that made his stomach retch. There seemed to be so much ball flesh it was almost encompassing his entire head.

“Do you think you’ll be able to stay awake until morning duties?” Sergeant Railton asked. “Private? Huh?”

Tony didn’t want to open his mouth, knowing it would allow some of Railton’s balls to enter. He couldn’t stand the thought of actually being teabagged. He just nodded, wincing at the ballflesh spreading over his face and leaving a film of manjuice over every pore.

“Answer me, Private Giadalucci. You ain’t getting out of this without putting my balls in your mouth anyway,” Railton said.

“Sir, yes sir. I will be able to stay awake until morning duties,” Tony said, lowering his head just enough to speak without swallowing Railton’s balls. His voice broke, which was embarrassing, but he wasn’t sure anyone could tell because it was muffled by Railton’s genitals and ass, pushing Tony’s face against the wall. He realized Hawthorn would never let him live this down — he’d forever be known as the Ballsweat Private, he thought.

Railton’s fingers grabbed Tony’s chin and worked it open. Tony didn’t fight back despite an intense natural urge to do so — his father had done two months at Fort Leaventhworth Military Prison, and Tony had no desire to see if it was still the same. Tony had spent one night in jail after a drunken party with his friends went haywire the morning after, when the girl they had all been with turned out to be a transexual. Tony did not want to repeat that experience, especially not in a military prison.

He gagged as Railton slowly lowered his testicles into Tony’s mouth. First one, then the other tumbled into his trembling throat, sitting there in a sticky, sweaty mess.

“If this is what it takes for you to stay awake,” Sergeant Railton said, raising and lowering his hips as though fucking Tony’s throat with his balls, “Then I expect you to ask your squadmates to teabag you every time you are on watch, soldier. If that don’t get you to improve your willpower, nothing will.”

Railton moved around a little, swaying his hips to make sure his ballsweat coated every inch of Tony’s mouth. Then he stepped away and put his shorts back on.

“You got a pubic hair on your left cheek, private,” Railton said. “I’ll be back in two hours. If you don’t have that pubic hair there still, I will throw your butt in military prison for dereliction of duty. You’ll suck on a lot of balls there, boy. So you stay still and quiet until I get back. If that gets tough, remember that this can be the last time you ever taste balls.”