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MATT STORIES

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STORIES

 

Airport Security
by Derek Adams
Art by Matt
 


Honcho, 1990 April

Smart travelers don't wear cock rings through metal detectors ... or do they?

 

Ed woke me up early that morning when he wedged the head of his nine-inch prong between my swollen, sticky ass-lips and started prying my sphincter open. "Jesus, man, it's still dark outside," I mumbled sleepily. Nevertheless, my groin started to tingle as soon as my aching chute sounded the alarm that there was a full-scale invasion underway. Ed always wakes up with a hard-on when we get together. I only get out to Seattle once in a while on business. But when I do, I always give Ed a call because I know he'll be ready and able to ride my ass long and hard-any time of the day or night.

He had turned me every which way but loose that night. And when we'd finally gone to 'sleep, his thick cock was still crammed up into me. Then there he was, all ready to go at it again. I groaned as he reached around and started playing with my thick nipples, pulling down hard on 'em and rubbing his hairy chest across my shoulders. I was lying on my side and he was already stuck in deep, so I pulled one leg up towards my chest to give him a clear shot at what he wanted.

"Go easy, man," I moaned. "You already fucked my balls into a knot last night. Keep this up and I'll have to get my damned asshole relined with PVC piping."

"You've got a hot ass, Nick," he growled in my ear. "I love to feel it grabbing my big hard dick." Any further protest from me stopped when he started working my ear and neck over with his hot tongue, his stubbled chin prickly against my tender skin. His big, callused hands alternately massaged my pees and slid up and down over my hard, smooth torso. He traced the ridges on my belly with his thick fingers and his pubes ground against my smooth ass cheeks as he stirred his big prick around in my guts.

Even though my fuck tunnel was tender at first, I got into it soon enough. Then my own dick swelled up hard as a rock, poking at my belly button and leaving little drops of clear ooze to mark the spot. I grunted as he pulled all the way out of me, then rammed back in up to his short hairs. Out he came again, his cockhead smashing into my big nuts as he tried to find my gaping shitter again. His aim improved with the next stab and his sword went right back into the sheath. Ed roared with pleasure and gave my butt a hard smack with his palm. Then he pulled back my nuts and crushed them against the shaft of his dick as he reamed my hole like a madman.

"Fuck my ass," was about the only thing I could think of in the way of conversation, so I kept repeating myself. Ed was real good at taking instructions and he kept jamming into me like I was the last hot bottom alive in the civilized world. He was pounding the bejeezus out of the little pleasure knob tucked up inside of me and my cock head was all flared out, fit to bust, leaking clear juice in a steady stream. I reached back and started slapping his hairy ass, making him plow into me even more vigorously. Every time I smacked him, he'd pull my fat balls down harder--so I kept it up till my biceps were starting to cramp. Then I clamped my asshole down tight so I could savor the feel of every veiny inch of his dick as it pistoned in and out.

Suddenly Ed roared like a bull and tightened his arms around my chest. His big prick started flexing inside of me and next thing I knew, he started squirting hot cum by the quart up into my guts. Then he got real still and just lay there, breathing raggedly--short, hot bursts of air against my neck.

"That was great, Nick," he whispered at last. "Now it's your turn, buddy." He reached down between my outspread legs and started jacking my meat, pulling on it real slow, his fingers massaging it from pubes to tip. When he got to the top, he tugged on my foreskin, stretching it up over the swollen head, pinching it hard.

"I see you're still wearing your present," he chuckled when he'd traced my cum tube back down to my asshole, tickling it with his fingers. He'd given me a silver cock ring the night before. He put it on as soon as I came through the front door, first slipping my fat balls into the loop, then threading my limp dick through as well. It pressed tight up between my legs and I could see it glistening among my pubes when I looked down.

"Does this mean we're engaged?" I'd laughed when he looked up from putting it on me.

"Let's just say it means we're going to be engaged in some serious dicking tonight," he'd wryly retorted. "It'll keep your fat hose up front and center so I'll have something to hold on to while I go riding."

The damned thing had served its purpose, keeping me hard even after I'd come three times. When I went to sleep, I still couldn't get it off. Then it was doing its work again. What a great gift!

I rolled up on top of him, careful to keep his cock up my ass. I wanted to writhe against the thick mat of hair that covered his chest and trailed down over his belly while I jacked off. As I reached over to the nightstand to dip my fingers into the tub of grease there, the luminous dial of his alarm clock caught my eye.

"Holy shit!" I yelped. "Is that damned thing really telling me that it's a quarter to seven?"

"Afraid so, Nick," he said, reaching between my legs and grabbing my balls.

"I've got to be at the airport in less than an hour," I screeched. "I have a sales meeting in Chicago that I can't miss." I sat up and scrambled out of bed, Ed's cock slithering out of my slimy asshole with a loud slurping sound. I ran for the bathroom, showered and shaved in less than ten minutes, then hurried back to the bedroom to dress. Ed was still sprawled out on the bed, his dick stretched out on his belly, up to his navel.

I tied my tie, then leaned over to give him a farewell kiss. "Sorry to have to run like this, man. I'll be back next month. Okay if I give you a call?"

"What do you think?" he growled. "That dick of yours looks like it's trying to climb out of your trousers."

"Yeah, I know." I looked down and saw the thick ridge trailing off towards my left hip. "It's all your fault. Unfortunately, duty calls."

I flew down the stairs, jumped in• to the rental car that I'd parked behind Ed's pickup, backed out into the street and headed for the freeway on-ramp. I made it through downtown without too much trouble. Then Iran smack into a big traffic tangle at the Boeing turnoff. The cars were inching along and I didn't seem to be able to slow the steady progress of the hands on my watch-no matter how I cursed at it.

I finally arrived at the airport just in time to see the 8:15 United flight taking off into the wild blue yonder as I was entering the parking garage. I cursed my luck and tried to figure whether I could get to my meeting on time if I caught the 10:05. It would be tight. But I could probably do it.

I changed my ticket and called my secretary to alert her to my delay. She offered to put all my stuff together and take it to the meeting for me. I thanked her profusely and hung up, figuring I might as well get a bite of breakfast as long as I had to wait. There was a lounge in the con• course, so I headed down the long corridor to gate 23-B. First, though, I had to go through the airport security. So I threw my bag on the conveyor belt and stood in line, waiting my turn. Then, when I walked through the metal detector, it went off with a startlingly loud buzz.

"Empty your pockets, please sir," the guard said. I dumped out my change and keys and tried it again. The damned thing still buzzed. "Just a moment, sir," the guard spoke again, only not so friendly this time. She unclipped the walkie-talkie from her belt and called for assistance.

In less time than it took to think about it, two guards appeared through an unmarked door down the hall. They were quite a pair. The one in the lead looked like the Incredible Hulk, only he was blond, not green. His pecs and biceps were doing their best to fight their way out of the khaki uniform he was wearing. As he looked me up and down, his pale gray, wide-set eyes narrowed into slits. The other dude was short and slender, his head coming only up to his partner's shoulder. A thick black moustache almost hid his full, red lips--but not quite. They came to a halt directly in front of me, legs spread, arms crossed. Neither one looked like he'd ever learned to smile.

"What's the trouble, Maggie?" the short one asked, his voice surprisingly deep for his size.

"This gentleman sets off the metal detector, even after he's emptied his pockets, Chris."

"It must be the machine," I complained.

"The machine was just overhauled yesterday, buddy," the short one, Chris, said gruffly. He looked me up and down like I was an international drug smuggler.

"Would you please come with us, sir," Steve, the tall one said, barely moving his lips.

I walked meekly between them, back to the unmarked door they had recently exited. Next they led me down a long, bare hallway, lined on both sides with doors. Then they stopped at one, unlocked it, and motioned me inside. The place was bare except for an old steelcase desk, painted industrial beige. There weren't even any windows in the place, just three bare fluorescent tubes in the middle of the ceiling. It was stuffy and hot.

"Take off your clothes, sir," the tall one said.

"What!" I gasped. But I stuffed my tie in the pocket of my suit coat and took it off. Then I unbuttoned my shirt, acutely, aware that their eyes were watching my every move. The short one moistened his red lips with the tip of his tongue as my thick-nippled pecs came into view. I tensed my belly as I pulled my shirt tail out of the waistband of my pants, popping up a whole washboard of ripples.

"Now the shoes and trousers," Steve demanded.

"Hurry up, fella--we haven't got all day," Chris snapped, showing his authority.

I finished undressing and stood before them in my underwear, hands primly folded over my crotch, the muscles in my arms and shoulders slightly tensed. I glanced down and noticed that my tits were sticking straight out from the mounds of my smooth pecs, still tender and swollen from all the attention Ed had given them the previous night. Then I imagined Chris's full red lips brushing against them and I shuddered slightly.

"Drop your shorts, man," Chris snapped, losing patience with me. I stepped out of the BVDs and dropped my hands to my sides. My big balls hung down heavily against my muscular thighs and my hooded cock gave a little throb every time one or the other looked at me.

They both stepped forward and stood close to me. Chris looked down at my crotch and for the first time I saw a smile cross his face. His mouth curled up at the corners and his bushy moustache curled down. Nice, I thought.

"What's that, man?" he asked, his stubby forefinger jabbing me right at the base of my cock.

"Oh, shit," I moaned. "That damned cock ring! I was in a hurry this morning and I forgot to take it off. Actually, I couldn't get it off ... if you catch my drift."

"What do you make of this, Steve?" He gave his partner a sly smile, ignoring my little attempt at humor.

"Hell, Chris, I think this calls for a body cavity search," Steve said.

"Bend over, buddy," Chris snapped at me.

"Hold it just a damned minute, you two," I sputtered, trying to sound more offended by this turn of events than I actually was. "There's no way in hell I'll stand still for ..."

Steve cut my protest short. With one smooth movement, he spun me around and slammed my upper body down on the cold desk top, taking me by the wrists and extending my arms over my head. Then my ass was in the air on the other side of the desk, my dick and balls dangling down between my legs.

"Spread 'em, fucker," Chris barked. He grabbed me just above the knees and scissored my legs wide apart. I squealed in pained surprise when he jammed two fingers deep into my asshole. He popped them back out and I heard him whistle. "What's this look like to you, Steve?"

"Hell, Chris, if I didn't know better, I'd say this dude's ass was full of Vaseline. Right, buddy?" he sneered at me. "Your fuckin' asshole's knuckle-deep in petroleum products!"

Of course Ed had packed about a third of a tub of the stuff up my fuck-hole the previous night so he could slide and glide with the least possible friction. But I decided to keep my mouth shut. Since my shitter was already being pried open, it seemed to be the least I could do.

"He asked you a question, buddy. Answer him!"

"I got a friend who's a proctologist," I shot back.

"Very funny, jerk-off," Chris snarled, flicking his thumb and forefinger against my nuts. I yelped and my poor aching balls tried to scamper up against my cock-shaft. But he grabbed them in his fist and yanked them back between my legs. "You've got balls like a frigging bull, man," he growled. Then when he leaned down and licked them--poking the tip of his tongue against my quivering fuckhole--I flexed my ass muscles and eagerly pushed back against his mouth.

"I'm convinced this man is carrying something up there; I just haven't reached it yet." Chris had stopped rimming and started talking again, jamming his fingers back into me, mashing my prostate with a bony knuckle and causing my limp prick to start swelling up, getting ready for action. "Hey, Steve, this joker likes it," Chris chuckled wickedly, using his free hand to swat my ass till it was hot and tingling.

When his fingers were in as far as he could push them, he swirled them around, stretching me open. He sure knew how to put all the right moves on my pleasure button. I groaned and spread my legs a little wider apart.

Suddenly his fingers were gone and my ass-lips were kissing the empty air. Then I felt a new pressure against my hole. When I peeked back over my shoulder, Chris was pressing his nightstick between my outspread cheeks. Hell! These boys liked to play the same type of games that I considered myself an expert at. Not surprisingly, I went up on the balls of my feet and thrust back my hips, anxious to become acquainted with the leather-sheathed stick.

"Hey, Steve! You've gotta see this. This fucker's asshole is actually reaching out for this thing! Should I give it to him?"

"Shit yes, man. First let him swallow the stick. Then see what that hungry hole can do with your prick."

Chris thrust forward and my asshole clamped down on the nightstick. When he rammed it in all the way to the rawhide wrappings on the handle, I grunted like a fucking pig in heat, my ass cheeks knotting up like rocks. I could feel my nipples stiffen against the steel top of the desk and my nuts were pulling up tight against the shaft of my cock. As Chris stirred the stick around inside of me, his fingers massaged the swollen ridge of flesh that ran between my asshole and the thick silver band of the cock ring. Next the head of my dick flared out, popping back the skin around it. Then I could feel the juices starting to ooze out of my piss slit as he continued pummeling me with the nightstick.

Suddenly he stopped what he was doing and turned his attention to my balls. He pulled the sack down tight and wrapped a thong around the two big globes. I groaned softly and my prick swelled up even harder, if that was possible. I really dug getting my balls manhandled and this Chris dude couldn't seem to leave mine alone. I heard something clink as he tied a couple more knots in the leather string. "You take care of my keys," he chuckled. He let go of the thong and it felt like my nuts stretched down to my knees. I felt the keys on his heavy key chain slapping against my calf as they swung back and forth between my legs. "Now I know where they'll be," Chris continued, giving the string a sharp tug.

He started stirring the stick around in my chute again--pulling it all the way out, then slowly pushing it in till my ass-lips kissed the tip end. My nuts were rubbing against the mass of nerves at the head of my dick and I was squirming on the top of the desk like a puppy when its master comes home from a hard day at the office--ready for anything the two of them wanted to dish out.

"Hold on to him, Steve," Chris ordered. "I'm going to find me a bigger probe." I heard the unmistakable sounds of a belt buckle and a zipper being worked. Then Chris yanked his stick out of me and something else moved into position--something big, judging by the way it felt.

"Holy fuck!" I screamed as he suddenly shoved deep inside of me.

"You like that, don't you?" he said, slapping me on both cheeks, as though to prove his point. "My cock's even better than the nightstick isn't it?"

It's always the little studs who blow me away. What this Chris character lacked in height, he more than made up for with the size of his cock. I'd just spent the night with a man who'd reamed me for hours with a nine-inch probe and now, with Chris's bigger, fatter prick inside me, I felt like I was going to split open from my asshole up to my throat! I tried to relax and give the little bastard room. But he was tunneling vigorously, the head of his dick already jamming into unexplored territory. The further he plowed, the bigger his dick felt, stretching my guts and ass-ring to the limit. I couldn't feel even the trace of a pube tickling my ass-lips, signaling that he might be somewhere near the end of the line. Finally I hollered again, unable to take it in silence any more.

"Shut this fucker up, Steve," Chris commanded.

Steve clasped both my wrists with one of his big hands and quickly undid his pants with the other. A long, veiny dick popped into view, the distended piss-hole staring at me like a sightless eye. When Steve slammed his meat into my mouth, my protests stuck in my throat. Then my tongue started lapping the underside of his meat, causing his thick cum tube to press down against my tongue like the old-fashioned wooden depressors my doctor used when I was a kid.

After what seemed like an eternity--or at least twelve inches--Chris's bush scratched against my smooth butt before he braced his hands on my waist and started with the old in-and-out. Thank God I was still full of Ed's spunk and lube! Otherwise this dude would have been drilling me dry! Meanwhile, Steve had reached under me with his free hand and started massaging my chest. When his thumb brushed across my left nipple, my body tensed and it occurred to me that he'd found one of my favorite toys--if only he'd know how to play with it.

He did. Steve caught the thick fleshy point between his thumb and a forefinger and started twisting it roughly. Then Chris decided I'd been a bad boy and started spanking my ass, the slaps cracking out loud in the stark cubicle. I, in turn, started bucking my ass and flexing my hole around his huge pole, just to show my appreciation. But this caused his keys to slam noisily against the steel desk every time he rammed it home, stretching my hairy sack and sending little electric shocks of pleasure up to my belly.

Steve was also making good use of my mouth. My nose was buried in his thick blond bush and I could smell the rich, funky odor that rose from between his legs. I used my tongue to its best advantage, lapping over every hard, veiny inch of his fat prick as he fucked my face. He was starting to groan, and, from the way his dick head was swelling in my throat on the downstrokes, I could tell it wasn't going to be long before his cream started to pour.

I was right: his first shot slipped down to my belly before I even got a chance to taste it. I pulled back just enough to capture the second spurt on my tongue, swirling it around in my mouth for a bit before I swallowed greedily. I kept on sucking for as long as he cared to shoot--and was digging in his cum-hole for the last succulent drop--when his dick slipped out of my mouth and bounced against the top of the desk.

Chris pulled out of me just long enough to flip me over on my back and put his keys on my belly. Steve clamped his hands back on my pecs and Chris climbed up on the desk to join me. His fucking dick was almost as big as he was. It was one of the big, cylindrical smooth types--big at the head, even bigger at the center, massive where it anchored between his hairy thighs--a real column of flesh that would probably make me walk bowlegged for a week before he was through with me. The head was bright red and flared out like a ripe mushroom. It was drooling juice out the hole in the tip. And the look in his eyes told me he was getting right up there and having a good time every step of the way.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and he dug back in. My ass was gaping by now and I offered no resistance as he slammed it home in one long stroke. The keys slipped off to one side and my nuts followed, stretched up on my belly. This made my asshole slam shut, squeezing the base of his prick like a cock ring. Chris gave me a leer and tugged on my balls again. My asshole spasmed as he pulled out till only his cockhead was wedged up inside of me. I tightened my legs around his narrow waist and vacuumed his cock back into my butt.

"You keep that up, you little fucker," I groaned, "and my dick-grabber will bite that piece of meat of yours off right at the base."

"Hey, Steve, it's a damned good thing this bottom man hasn't got teeth down here. He's got one hell of a grip."

"You boys just keep up the good work and I'll show you what kind of grip I've got." I tensed my whole body, sucking my belly back towards my spine and gyrating around the axis of Chris's throbbing pole. "Hey, blondie," I continued, "why don't you put that pretty dick of yours back in my mouth so my tongue'll have something to do?"

Steve dangled his flaccid dick just above my lips. I reached up and latched on to it, sucking it down my throat till I had him up to the short and curlies. I grabbed onto the solid mounds of his ass and pushed my head into his crotch. He tightened his hold on my swollen nipples, pulling them out from the knotted muscles of my chest.

My own cock was in desperate need of attention. My cock ring had caused all the veins to pop out along the sides and the head was practically purple. I abandoned Steve's ass, grabbed it in both hands and started jacking, keeping up stroke for stroke with the little stallion between my legs. He threw back his head, flared his nostrils and all the muscles in his compact body strained against his furry pelt as he opened the floodgates to my butt.

He groaned and snorted and hollered as he unloaded shot after creamy shot of jizz into me. Blondie blew too, steamy gobbets of cum squirting down my throat, warming my belly. Finally, Chris dug in one last time, shuddered and fell forward heavily, struggling to catch his breath. And there I lay, about ten seconds away from getting my cum-swollen rocks off.

"Guys," I pleaded, "I've got to cum or my nuts are going to explode."

"What do you think, Chris?" Steve asked, a sly gleam in his gray eyes as he looked down at me.

"Well, maybe we'd better," Chris replied, lifting his head off my sweat-soaked chest.

They pulled me off the desk, stood me up between them, then knelt-Steve in front, Chris behind. Steve's mouth closed over my swollen cock while Chris swallowed my aching balls. Then they both started sucking like vacuum cleaners until the jizz started spouting out of me in white, sticky spurts. The two of them swung on my boy-toys till I threw back my head and howled with relief. When my nuts were finally empty, I sank down between them.

"Well, Steve, what to you think?" Chris asked. "Is he clean?"

"Yeah, I suppose our search has been thorough enough. What do you think, sir?" He turned his gaze to me, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"It's by far the most thorough search I've ever been subjected to," I replied, smiling at Steve, then looking over my shoulder to give Chris a grin as well. They were both licking their lips and looking like cats who'd found the key to the canary cage.

We got dressed and they escorted me back to the security checkpoint. "No problem, Maggie," Chris said, all seriousness. "This gentleman is wearing an orthopedic device that he just forget to mention to you. Nothing to worry about."

I collected my bag and made it to the flight without a minute to spare, trying my best to remember what the hell I was supposed to talk about at the meeting that afternoon.

 

The End


 

VICE DICKS IN A VAN
By Bram
(Honcho.Oct.1986)

 

 

Patrolman Frank Biasi took another look at his digital watch: 2:25 am. Jesus, the night was dragging! He'd been on lookout duty since midnight, keeping his eye on a yellow house where nothing whatsoever was happening. In fact, nothing had happened at the house since Friday afternoon, when he and his partner, Patrolman Kent Bannister, had parked across the street. Now it was early Monday morning, and Frank was beginning to worry about the accuracy of the tip that had brought them here.

The tip had come from a junkie who'd been a pretty reliable informant in the past. Supposedly, a package of maybe ten pounds of cocaine was to arrive at the yellow house within a week. A bald Mexican male in his late forties, sporting a Pancho Villa moustache, would be making the delivery — supposedly. Sergeant Niles had received the tip. And after quickly getting the captain's approval, the sergeant had rented the camper from which Frank and Kent were now keeping watch. Niles had instructed them to stay in the camper until he told them they could leave and to hold the noise down. They had enough supplies to carry them through the week.

The camper was a heap of banged up aluminum mounted on the chassis of an old Dodge pickup truck; that was the best Vice could do with its lousy budget. It made a good cover and it was livable, but it had one major problem: The only window the two patrolmen could use for surveillance was at the head of the bed, over the cab of the truck. The only other window was over the table in the middle of the camper, on the wrong side. Niles was adamant that the camper had to be parked on the side of the street opposite the yellow house, preferably one or two doors down. Following his instructions meant that the only window facing the yellow house was the one over the bed.

Which was okay during the day. The guy on watch could stretch out on the bed while his partner occupied the bench by the table. At night, however, both men had to lie in the cramped bunk — one observing, the other sleeping. Frank had tried sleeping on the bench, but it was too short and too narrow. And there was nowhere else in the camper to stretch out. Except the bed.

To make matters worse, Saturday had brought one of the city's rare heat waves. By midday Sunday, the temperature in the camper had climbed past the 100 degree mark. Both officers had stripped to their shorts.

Frank glanced at his partner snoring lightly beside him. He and Kent had worked together a couple of times in the six months they'd been assigned to Vice, but they hadn't really gotten to know each other. Before the assignment began, both had been a little wary of the close confinement, but as it turned out, they'd hit it off right from the start. Kent was gregarious and a hell of a storyteller. Frank was more introverted, but he made a great audience.

As Frank gazed more closely at his rugged partner, he was a bit shocked to see an erection jutting out of Kent's blue boxer shorts. Frank, too, had begun to suffer bouts of horniness. He wasn't used to three nights without sex. At 24 and not exactly ugly, he had never lacked for female companionship. There were a couple women he saw regularly, plus he had a few pickup bars he liked to hit on slow nights. His six foot, basketball player's frame, shaggy brown hair, soulful brown eyes, and full brown moustache got him all the attention he could handle from the opposite sex. As he lay there with his eyes on the quiet yellow house, he began to replay Thursday night in bed with Janice. His cock reacted by filling out and digging into the thin mattress beneath him.

He heard Kent stir, and he glanced at his partner once again. Kent must be used to getting it regular, too, he thought. Kent was 27, a blue eyed blond with neck length hair, a moustache, and a trim beard. He was married to a real beauty, a former stewardess. At five feet ten and about 185, Kent was built like a halfback — which he had been, in high school. He was in great shape, Frank couldn't help noticing; Kent had told him he worked out in the Depart-ment gym.

When Kent stopped stirring, his right leg was pressed against Frank's. Frank was astonished by the jolt the contact gave to his own erection.

Frank was straight, absolutely straight — which made him fairly unique among the single men living in the city. He hadn't done anything with another male since those jerk off sessions in Joey Aiello's basement when he was 13 — and since Sandy Eldridge let him go all the way with her that first night he helped her babysit. What he was feeling now could only be the desperation of a body cut off from sex for three days and nights. Any port in a storm, as they said.

Meanwhile, Kent's leg seemed to be rubbing against Frank's, and Frank was getting hotter and hotter. He couldn't move; he was right on the edge of the bed as it was. Feeling trapped, he shifted onto his left side, hoping to break the contact. As Frank turned, Kent, still snoring, moved again — into the space Frank's body had just vacated. Now Frank was leaning over Kent to avoid falling off the bed. Worse, Frank's throbbing erection was piercing Kent's thigh. Frank was terrified that his partner would wake up and find him in that condition.

Kent shifted again. He turned his head toward the wall and moved his right arm, which had been resting on his chest, to his side, imprisoning Frank's cock between his wrist and his thigh. Kent snored on, but his wrist was rubbing Frank's increasingly sensitive cock against his thigh. Frank was now on the verge of coming all over in his tented jockey shorts and Kent's side.

Near panic, Frank decided to try to shove Kent's body toward the wall, by using his left elbow as the fulcrum and his own body as the lever. However, from his awkward position, as he nudged Kent he lost his balance and toppled right on top of him. Immediately, Kent's arms and legs went around him; he held Frank tightly; his hands began kneading Frank's back and ass. Now Frank was really shocked. "Hey!" he burst out, but just as he did, he felt Kent's lips against his own.

Kent inserted his tongue into Frank's mouth. Frank resisted. Then he stopped resisting. The whole thing was beginning to feel . . . wonderful.

He caressed Kent's tongue with his own. He twisted and writhed against Kent's chunky body. He rubbed his cock up and down Kent's groin. He explored Kent's muscled back with his hands and squeezed his tight ass. He began to lose himself in wave after wave of pure lust.

Before he knew it, his cock was erupting. He came more powerfully than he could remember ever coming before, into and through his jockey shorts. As his load spilled out of him, he continued pistoning his body against Kent's. Within seconds, he felt Kent arch back and shudder. Kent's huge prick throbbed against his stomach, and something wet spread across his abdomen. Then Kent slumped into the mattress.

Frank lay there, utterly spent, on top of him. Through a haze, he sensed Kent kissing him lightly on the shoulder.

After a couple minutes, Frank rolled onto his side on the edge of the bed and Kent slid his body toward the wall. Frank resumed lying on his stomach and looked out the window at the yellow house. He hoped the Mexican hadn't arrived while he and Kent were getting their rocks off. He heard Kent snoring softly again.

Not a word had been spoken.

Nothing was said during the day, either. Frank opted against taking a nap because of his nervousness about Kent's presence on the bed. He couldn't quite understand what had happened the night before. He could understand how sheer horniness could drive them both to seek release, but he couldn't grasp why the experience should have been so satisfying. He couldn't begin to fathom how he could have enjoyed kissing another man. That wasn't something the sessions in Joey's basement had prepared him for.

By midnight, after working lookout on the four to twelve shift, Frank was exhausted. Kent had napped for most of that shift — on the bed next to Frank. But Frank was careful not to look over at the body asleep beside him. He didn't want to start another chain reaction.

He woke Kent, and they switched positions on the bed. As Kent moved over him, Kent's groin grazed Frank's butt. For the second time, Frank got a strong jolt along the length of his prick. As he slid to the window side of the bed, he remained on his stomach — to avoid showing Kent his obvious hard on.

He fell asleep almost immediately. When he drifted back to consciousness, he had the most delicious sensation in his genitals, as if damp feathers were engulfing his cock. At first he thought he was with Nancy, who gave incredible head. Then with a start he remembered where he was. In the dim light, he peered over his chest and observed his long, narrow cock sticking out of his shorts and bobbing in and out of a mouth framed by a blond moustache and beard. As his vision cleared, he saw that Kent was lying on his side, with his knees bent just under the window. Kent had removed his shorts, and the tip of his uncapped erection was within an inch of Frank's cheek.

As he sucked, Kent ran one hand along the inside of Frank's left leg and the other across his firm stomach and hairy chest. Frank was stunned by the latest turn of events, but he surrendered to the sheer pleasure emanating from his saliva covered cock. Kent moved closer to Frank; his thick, seven inch plus cock pressed against Frank's cock. The pressure caused Frank to turn his head, and as he did, Kent's hard on jabbed him in the mouth. Without really thinking about it, Frank opened his mouth . . . and tasted.

He ran his tongue over the smooth surface; the taste was strange but undeniably pleasant. He savored the musky aroma from Kent's crotch. Kent started a short, gentle piston action that sent his cock in and out of Frank's mouth. Frank found the sensation very exciting. He had a sudden, overpowering urge to bring Kent's cock to explosion. He snaked his arms around Kent's torso and grabbed the man's butt to synchronize the movement of his head and Kent's prick. He began sucking that hard cock in earnest.

At the same time, he continued to relish the wonderful waves of bliss that the mouth on his own cock was providing. Simultaneously both heads started picking up the tempo. Frank was delirious.

Kent lifted his left leg, and Frank found his fingers moving toward Kent's exposed anus. He pressed one finger into Kent's chute; he thought he heard Kent groan. When he had worked his finger up to the knuckle inside Kent's hot asshole, Kent's whole body shuddered and his prick rammed hard into Frank's throat, causing Frank to gag slightly. Instantly, Frank's mouth was filled with a warm, slightly salty liquid that had an unusual but not unpleasant taste.

While Kent was flooding Frank's mouth, he stopped working on Frank's cock. But once the spasms had stopped, he resumed sucking with a new vigor. He applied his hand to Frank's long, hooded cock in a joint sucking and jacking movement. Frank was overcome. A tremendous explosion wracked his entire body, and he couldn't help crying out. Kent continued sucking, but he slowed his rhythm. Eventually, he removed his mouth from Frank's cock and placed his hand protectively over it.

Frank lay in a very contented stupor. Kent jumped off the bed and almost immediately climbed back on and peered out the window. Then he stretched out, leaned over Frank, and licked some of his own cum off Frank's chin. After that, he kissed Frank. Frank opened his mouth and the two tongues stroked each other.

Kent resumed his vigil; Frank slipped back into sleep.

Again, not a word.

Nor was there any discussion of their sexual activities the following day. While Frank acted as lookout, Kent provided his usual endless stream of chatter — simultaneously bouncing his little red ball, his trademark, all around the camper. He talked about investigations he'd worked on, his years in the Navy, his football days, and his family. He told several hilarious stories about scrapes he and other officers had gotten into. Frank contributed appropriate commentary. He would have preferred to talk about what they'd done the last two nights, but he just couldn't bring himself to steer the conversation in that direction.

He was appalled by how quickly he seemed to have turned queer. Christ, he'd even enjoyed cocksucking!

When he took over the observation post at midnight, he figured he and Kent would have sex at some point during the night. Kent had seemed to make that even more of likelihood when he suggested, in midafternoon, that they both remove their shorts. Tuesday had been even hotter than the two previous days, and that fact formed the pretext for Kent's suggestion. Frank had agreed that it was a good idea, so he was working his shift entirely nude. Kent lay naked beside him.

About an hour after Frank started his watch, he felt Kent's body pressing against his hip. Glancing to his right, he noticed that Kent was lying on his left side and that it was Kent's ass that was nudging him. Kent seemed to be trying to push him off the bed. Then Frank saw Kent's sturdy cock standing out perpendicular to his tapered body.

Frank's cock responded by extending to its full length. He turned onto his left side to avoid being forced onto the floor. From that position, Frank's erect cock was penetrating the crack in Kent's butt. Frank wondered if Kent could actually want to be fucked in the ass. As if in response to the unspoken question, Kent raised his right leg, spit twice onto the fingers of his right hand, and began rubbing the spittle into his asshole. Frank spit into his right hand and spread the spit along his cock.

Kent did want to be fucked, and Frank was aching to oblige him.

Positions were adjusted. Frank shoved his left arm under Kent's torso and forced him a bit closer to the wall. Kent took Frank's left hand and placed it over the left nipple on his furry chest. He squeezed Frank's fingers on his tit, indicating what he wanted Frank to do. Frank started rubbing and pinching Kent's nipple. Kent arched his head back slightly and moaned. With his right hand, Frank guided his hot prick into Kent's tight asshole. Kent reached back with his right hand to assist. After some initial resistance, Frank's thick eight inches began sliding into Kent's puckering asshole. As he speared his partner, Frank moved his right hand around to grasp the man's massive cock.

While Frank was inching his raging prick into Kent, he kneaded Kent's nipples and pumped his cock. Kent started to whimper when Frank's balls touched his ass. Frank had never felt anything so tight and so thrilling in all his life. He began pistoning in and out of Kent's searing asshole. "Harder!" Kent grunted.

It was the first time either of them had spoken during sex.

Frank didn't really need the encouragement. He picked up speed until he was battering Kent's ass with all the force his athletic frame could summon. He could feel the camper rocking with their frenzied movements. He knew he was building to a fantastic climax; it was as if his cock was being milked by the incredible spasms within Kent's hot, sticky tunnel. By this time Kent was groaning incoherently. Frank gasped, "I'm — coming!" And come he did. It felt like he was being drained from eyeballs to toe tips. Within seconds, Kent cried out, "Fuck!" and he shot off all over the camper wall.

For a couple of minutes, neither could move. Then Frank released Kent's shrinking cock and slid his hand up to Kent's chest. Kent placed both of his hands over Frank's and squeezed. Frank kissed Kent in the nape of the neck. Kent groaned and sighed.

After another few minutes, Frank withdrew his depleted cock from Kent's asshole. He got off the bed, located the paper towels near the sink, wet two and washed himself off. He then wet two more, returned to the bed, and washed around Kent's asshole. "Thanks, lover," Kent whispered. Frank climbed back on the bed and resumed his lookout.

* * *

"Do you really enjoy getting fucked up the ass?" Frank asked after Kent had gone on duty at eight. This time he was sufficiently troubled by what had happened to initiate a discussion.

"Don't knock it till you try it," Kent shot back. His eyes were fixed on the yellow house. "I was in the Navy for two long years, much of that time on a sub. You get pretty fucking horny on those trips and some of the guys start to look damn attractive. One thing leads to another and before you know it, you're sucking and fucking with other guys. And if you want to get sucked, you'd better learn to suck. The same with fucking. You want to get your rocks off in some tight asshole, you better learn to take it up the ass yourself. After a while, you really dig it."

Kent glanced over at his partner and saw a look of real concern on his face.

"Look, we've all got different degrees of heterosexuality and homosexuality in us. Under the right circumstances, a guy who's mainly straight will act like he's gay. It's just the homosexual element that was always in him — that's always in everybody — coming to the fore. Don't let it bother you."

"I'm gonna have to think about that one for a while."

"You enjoyed what we did, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Frank admitted.

"Well, when we get out of here, you'll still enjoy fucking your girlfriends, and I'll still enjoy fucking my wife." Kent gave Frank a sly look. "Maybe tonight we can see if you enjoy getting fucked — if you're game."

"I don't know. We'll see."

Kent flashed a dazzling smile and winked.

At 9:30 that night, shortly after dark, the Mexican described by the snitch approached the yellow house. He was carrying a package, and as he came down the sidewalk, he kept looking around to see if he was being followed or observed. As soon as he entered the house, Frank alerted Kent, who went to the radio and called Sergeant Niles to report what Frank had seen. Niles put that information, along with what the junkie had told him, into a search warrant affidavit. He rushed the affidavit out to Judge Brewer's home, where the judge read it and signed the warrant. About an hour after the Mexican entered the yellow house, the Vice Squad burst in, apprehending the courier and two of the City's top coke dealers. They also found nearly seven pounds of cocaine in the opened package.

"Great work!" Niles told the two patrolmen. "You guys have performed over and above the call of duty. But I'd sure hate spending four days cooped up like that — with either one of you."

"Oh, it wasn't so tough," Kent allowed, then turned directly to his partner. "Frank here isn't bad company, once he loosens up with you."

Frank flashed a dazzling smile and winked.

 

The End


 

The Trucker and the Farmhands

By Frank Brooks

Art by Matt

 Honcho, 1990 March

 

 

 

How can you keep 'em down on the farm once they've seen some action at the truck stop?

 

 

Me and my best buddy Jeff were neighboring farmhands who got an early start learning what our dicks were for. We learned from watching each other, and from the men who stopped at the highway wayside conveniently situated between our farms. We learned to suck the dicks of hot men through the wayside gloryhole and we argued about which of us had sucked off the most cocks, the biggest cock, and the cock with the biggest, creamiest, saltiest load.

 

One afternoon during my eighteenth summer I was sitting naked in the wayside john working on my stiff eight inches when this trucker walked in. I'd have known he was a trucker even if I hadn't just heard his big semi rumble to a stop outside. He reeked of diesel fuel and wore the kind of boots and jeans I'd seen on so many truckers. Through the gloryhole of my stall, I watched him swagger up to the urinal and unzip his fly with big, grease-grimy hands and a thrill shot through my cock.

 

Although I'd already sucked off a few traveling salesmen and tourists that afternoon--and was burping up the peppery taste of fresh man-cum--my mouth watered for the trucker's salty prong. So I stuck my freckled nose in the hole to let him know I was interested.

 

He hauled out his sweaty prong, and to say it belonged on a donkey was no exaggeration. I'd never seen a cock that big--and in my short but eventful life I'd seen a lot of cocks. Not only was it huge, but it was juicy and uncut besides. My tongue hung out, salivating for a taste of it. The trucker pissed, then swung toward me and shoved his cock straight in my mouth.

 

"Suck it, kid." The big man pressed up against the partition, grinding his enormous cock in my mouth and throat until he nearly dislocated my jaws!

 

Although I was sputtering like crazy, my tongue churned and my lips smacked. The salty, sweaty, uncut taste of his juicy man-cock made me groan with lust. His foreskin slid as he fucked his cock in and out. And I wiggled my tongue under it, against the underside of his dickhead.

 

"Great!" he moaned, his cock bucking as I stroked his pleasure spot with my nimble tongue. "Kid, you're fucking ..." He gasped suddenly, and his cum exploded down my throat. "Ahhhhh!" he sighed. "Yeahhh!"

 

My mouth filled and overflowed with jism. I started to cough while trying to gulp his thick load, and his man-spunk dribbled down my chin and neck and between my pecs. I was working my own cock in a frenzy and suddenly I was gone, my eyes rolling back, my loins bucking, the core of my twanging body scourged with electric pleasure. Jism spouted from my cock and splattered audibly against the stall wall in front of me. And as I came, I sucked down mouthfuls of the hot cum that jetted nonstop from the trucker's cock. When it was over, I slumped back, trying to catch my breath, trying to regain my senses. I was fucked out.

"Thanks, farmboy, you do a good job." The trucker hauled his cock back through the hole and packed it up in his jeans. "You want more of this big fucker, be here next Saturday around two. Don't be late, 'cause I won't wait around. Hear?"

 

For most of the following week, although I was dying to tell Jeff about the trucker, I held my tongue because I wanted that mammoth man-cock all for myself. Finally though, one afternoon when Jeff was bragging about some ten-inch cock he'd sucked, I couldn't hold off. "I sucked a trucker the other day who's got at least a foot," I boasted. "And he shoots quarts."

 

Jeff guffawed. "Sure. And my ma's the Queen of Spain.'"

 

"Bunghole! I can prove it. I'll bet you a dozen fucks up the rear that my trucker's got at least a foot-one inch for each ass-fuck I'm gonna give you."

 

Jeff hesitated, mulling it over. He was sure I was lying but what if I wasn't? He hated getting fucked. "Twelve inches? You're crazy!" he said at last. "Sure I'll bet. I'm gonna enjoy reaming the shit outta your ass, fuck-butt."

 

I wasn't worried; either way I would win. I loved getting screwed as much as Jeff hated it.

 

Shortly after noon on Saturday--we didn't want to be late--me and Jeff packed ourselves into the same wayside toilet stall, both of us buck-naked, both our dicks up and throbbing. Over the next two hours nine men came in, but only six of them wanted blowjobs. I sucked off three and Jeff sucked off the other three. Then we waited, going out of our minds with horniness because we were saving our loads for the trucker.

 

"This better not be some kind of joke," Jeff growled, fingering the lube that was leaking down his cock. "I almost lost it when I sucked that last guy's load. I've got fucking blue balls, man."

 

"It's worth waiting for," I said, trying to convince myself as much as Jeff. I was so horny I was tempted to sixty-nine with Jeff and get it over with. There was a good chance the trucker wouldn't show. In the past, I'd been stood up by men more times than not.

 

Two o'clock came and two o'clock went. No trucker, and Jeff was grinding his teeth. "Bullshitter," he growled. "I'm gonna ram your butt till my cock comes outta your mouth."

 

"Give him a few more minutes," I said, although in the state I was in I didn't care anymore if the trucker showed or not. My asshole was aching for the feel of a hot cock up it, and I was ready to turn up my ass for Jeff then and there.

 

At two-ten, just as Jeff was getting ready to mount me, a semi rumbled to a stop outside.

 

"It's him," I said, and although I was excited, a pang of disappointment twinged through my asshole.

 

Both of us swallowed and we got down on our knees in front of the gloryhole, our cocks in our hands, our heads pressed together as we strained for a look. The trucker's boots scuffed the concrete walk outside and then he banged through the screen door and stood in front of us, his square jaw dark with whisker stubble, his hands on his hips. The bulge in his jeans looked like it contained a coiled cobra. He saw our gawking faces and his grim look changed to a smile.

 

"What's this--two farmboys?" He hauled out his cock and waved it at us and it swelled to a full erection in three shakes.

 

Jeff gulped, and so did I. His cock looked even bigger than I'd remembered it. I knew it was the biggest cock Jeff had ever seen in his life.

 

The trucker released his cock and it stood up at an acute angle--its foreskin peeled halfway back from its glossy, purplish knob, its piss-hole wide open and oozing lubricant with each powerful throb. The trucker stood there at least a minute, letting his massive cock drip and dance before our bugged-out eyes. A strand of lube glided from his cock tip and dangled like cow's spittle before a powerful cock-flex finally flicked it off. When the trucker lazily massaged his bulging nut-sack, me and Jeff licked our lips, our flaring nostrils catching the scent of sweaty balls and uncut cock. Our right hands jerked rhythmically up and down our own cocks.

 

"I wanna suck it!" Jeff rasped. "Please, man!" He opened his mouth wide and stuck out his dripping wet tongue.

 

The trucker laughed. "I don't think you can get it in your mouth, farmboy--but if you'd like to try ..." He moved up to the hole and torpedoed his cock through it, laughing as he nearly knocked our heads off. "Suck it, farmboys!"

 

We went for the big cock like a pair of starving piranhas. Our lips were all over it--and our tongues. We licked so wildly that we ended up tongue-kissing each other as much as slurping the man's cock. The sizzling head-meat seared our tongues. Cock-lube smeared across our lips and cheeks. Jeff peeled the man's foreskin completely down so we could lick the flared edges of the knob. The salty, musky flavor drove us nuts.

 

"Lick the head!" the trucker moaned. "Jesus, lick it, suck it!" He dropped his jeans and pressed up against the gloryhole, rubbing his cock and balls in our faces. "Pleasure me, you horny cocksuckers. Suck my cream, you hungry little bastards! Shit, this is heaven!"

 

We went crazy, licking the sweat off the man's nuts, nuzzling down and sucking his crotch. The smell got us drunk. We growled and muttered, our faces flushed and sweat-misted, our eyes glazed with cock-worship and lust.

 

"Measure it," Jeff whispered. "Quick!"

 

I picked up the tape measure I'd brought along and stretched it along the top of the man's cock-shaft. Cock-lube moistened the tape just past the twelve-inch mark. I smiled and Jeff shook his head. "You were right," he mumbled. "Jesus God, a foot!"

 

My smiling lips stretched around the moist knob and slid down the shaft a few inches. I was salivating profusely. The trucker groaned, his cock swelling even larger in my mouth. As I bobbed my head, Jeff sucked the man's balls.

 

"Oh man!" the trucker panted. "What a coupl'a mouths!" He ground himself against the partition, his cock on the verge of exploding.

 

"Let me," Jeff said, trying to take the cock away from me.

 

I let him have it, glad to be able to breathe again. Cocksucking the trucker was like having a fist rammed down your throat. Jeff went down on the man's spit-drenched prong, his eyes crossed with ecstasy, and as he munched I gave him a kiss on his bulging cheek. He looked like he was trying to swallow a rattlesnake.

 

"Uhhhhh!" the trucker groaned. "Yeahhh!"

 

As he sucked, Jeff jerked the trucker's foreskin up and down with one hand and massaged the man's balls with the other. I got down on all fours and started sucking Jeff's cock, tongue-bugging the underside of Jeff's knob as his cock flexed and vibrated. Jeff was so turned on that suddenly he was coming. So I took his load in hot, creamy spurts. Jeff groaned deliriously, his toes practically clenching the floor.

 

"I'm coming!" the trucker grunted. Jeff gasped and the trucker groaned as a load of thick man-spunk gushed into Jeff's mouth. "Ahhhhhh!" the trucker moaned. "Eat it!" The stall partition shook as the humping, climaxing trucker pumped his load down Jeff's throat. "Drink my cream!"

 

Jeff's mouth overflowed and the trucker's hot cum dripped on my back. I released Jeff's cock and kneeled beside him, licking the rich man-spunk off the trucker's huge balls. The trucker was shooting so fast and profusely that as much spunk bubbled out of Jeff's mouth as he managed to swallow. But I lapped up every drop of it, listening with satisfaction to the man grunting like a rutting bull. Finally I swallowed most of the man's cum, but not all of it.

 

When the trucker pulled out of Jeff's mouth, I immediately grabbed Jeff's ass and made him bend over the toilet and brace his hands against the seat. He was so dazed he hardly knew what was happening.1 spit the trucker's cum I'd saved into my hand and used it to grease my cock and Jeff's asshole. "Easy," Jeff managed to croak.

 

"Sure, buddy," I said, and I shoved my cock between his butt cheeks and straight up his cum-greased asshole in one smooth thrust. Jeff groaned, arching his back, and I bit him on the back of the neck. "Jeff!"

 

 

Jeff was panting. He grabbed his cock and started beating it. His asshole contracted and I started sliding my cock in and out. "Man!" Jeff groaned. "That feels good!" And to my surprise he started to rotate his ass and squirm.

 

"I'll be damned!" the trucker said, watching us through the gloryhole. Then he got up and came around and started rattling the stall door and I reached back and unbolted it before he broke it down, and he squeezed in behind us. His cock was still ramrod stiff and he

 

tightened up and been split in two. Luckily, as the trucker's cock prodded my asshole I couldn't help wiggling with desire to be penetrated. I was dying for it. The man's cockhead slipped inside me like a Vaselined fist and the rest of his cock followed, easily sliding into me, stuffing me like I'd never been stuffed before.

 

"Yeahhhhhh!" I groaned, my eyes nearly popping out, my body vibrating with electric excitement.

 

"Yeahhhh!" the trucker echoed, hugging me around the loins, humping me fast and hard. "Tight ass you've got! Yeahhhh!"

 

My dick flexed so hard inside Jeff that I nearly lifted him off the floor. I chewed my lips to keep from screaming, then gnawed into the back of Jeff's neck. My vision blurred. I was aware only of the trucker's cock grinding like a red-hot billyclub inside me and of my own cock squirming in Jeff's asshole. Pleasure shot all the way to my toes.

 

Jeff panted, beating off as I writhed against him and fucked his ass. "Screw me, man! Fuck me!"

 

I sank my teeth deeper into his neck and humped.

 

"Fuck him," grunted the trucker. "And fuck you, you little bastard!" He plunged his cock so deep inside me I thought it would come out of my mouth. "Wiggle that hot, tight, farmboy butt!"

 

Tears ran down my cheeks. Pleasure saturated my every cell. I fucked in a frenzy, delirious, hardly aware of where I was. All I cared about was the pleasure, the screaming, mounting, endless pleasure.

 

"Tighten it!" panted the trucker. "Wiggle it! Ain't nothing sweeter than a farmhand's butt!" He grunted with each grinding thrust, leaning low over me, licking my upper back. His hands slid up and down my flanks, smearing the sweat that trickled from my armpits.

 

Me and Jeff whimpered, our assholes stuffed with hard cock, our bodies writhing. The trucker pinched my nipples and it was all over. My jism erupted into Jeff's guts and I howled with pleasure.

 

"Shoot it!" the trucker panted. "Fill up his tight little ass!" He twisted on my nipples and rammed me, his cock torturing my prostate until I screamed.

 

"Ahhhhhhh!" I whined, fuck-itch shooting to my concrete-clawing toes, flashbulbs going off behind my eyeballs. I squirmed and humped and screwed, sandwiched between Jeff and the trucker, pumping my endless load up Jeff's tightly clutched asshole.

 

"Cream, you little bastard!" roared the trucker. Then suddenly his cock was like a volcano erupting inside me. I clung to Jeff, whimpering as the spasming bull of a man fucked his molten pellets of jism up my shitter. "Oh!" the trucker panted. "Oh yeah!"

 

Then Jeff exploded. Writhing under me, wiggling his muscular butt, he jacked off all over the toilet and against his belly and legs. His jism shot all over, some of it hitting the wall. With each ejaculation of his cock, his asshole tightened mercilessly around my spurting cock and the two of us moaned in unison. I reached down and caught a handful of Jeff's fresh cum, which I smeared on my face and licked off my hand. I caught more jism and fed it to Jeff and he licked my hand clean.

 

The trucker pulled his cock out of me and zipped up his pants. "Wish I could get a picture of you two like that," he said. "Be here next Saturday, same time, and I'll bring my camera. Hear?" Me and Jeff grunted. The trucker swatted my ass and left.

 

I flexed my cock inside Jeff. "One fuck down and eleven to go, buddy," I said.

 

"Yeah," Jeff said. "I know." He wiggled his butt and I started to screw him again.

 

"Next Saturday the trucker fucks your ass," I panted. "I'm gonna enjoy watching him ream you out. He's got twelve inches, you know."

 

"I know," Jeff grunted, beating off his cock as I rammed him deep. "I know."

 

 

by Grant Matthews

Art by Matt
 


Honcho, September 1992

 

 

He gobbled up my nine-incher before I could take a deep breath, burying his nose in my nut sack. Then I grabbed his ass and crammed my head between his legs, returning the favor.

 

It was too hot to sleep.

I sat in the window of my tiny bedroom, naked, smoking a cigarette and hoping to catch a stray breeze. The sweat was trickling down my sides and beading up in the mat of hair that covered my chest. When [ ran a hand over my bare torso, perspiration poured down my belly, trickling over my nuts before dripping onto the window-sill. Then I flicked my butt down into the alley below and started to go into the kitchen for a cold beer.

I had just stood up and finished scratching my balls when I heard a door open across the alley. My neighbors had recently installed a wooden lattice above the railing for privacy, but I could still hear their comings and goings if] chose to listen. Usually I didn't, but a woman's voice caught my attention.

"You be careful now," she admonished. "This neighborhood is getting dangerous."

"Yeah, sure," a man's husky tenor replied. "I just hope no chick tries to molest me or anything." After he said this he cleared his throat and chuckled nervously.

"I'm serious," the woman continued. "You go down Mercer, then turn onto Eleventh. It's better lighted. Good night."

My ears pricked up at what the guy had said. I don't know why--maybe it was the sexy edge to his voice, or maybe I was just so full of cum I was ready to hump the bedpost--but I believed him when he said he didn't want a girl to molest him. He hadn't said anything about a horny guy, though!

Forgetting about the beer, I grabbed the cut-off sweats I'd discarded earlier, slipped into my tennis shoes and dashed downstairs.

I stood in the lobby 'til the guy passed by, then quietly slipped out and sauntered along behind him. I was pretty sure it was the same guy. For one thing, there wasn't another soul on the street and for another, he looked like the type of guy who wouldn't think twice about venturing out on his own.

I like my men big, like I am, and this dude was at least six-four. His plain white T-shirt clung to his wide shoulders and his narrow waist. The shorts he was wearing also fit like a glove, cupping his full, rounded buns and riding up in the crack of his ass. My cock stirred against my thigh as I thought about what I'd like to do with him if I got a chance.

I kept a good half-block behind him, not wanting to spook him by coming up on him too fast. For the tune being, I was content to look at him. It was plain that this dude had been doing some serious work on his pecs. They bulged out, threatening to spit his T-shirt wide apart. Never mind the enormous lump packed in his crotch, tucked off to the left side.

I couldn't yet tell much about his face, but he had a lot of darkish, unruly hair that fell across his forehead, a prominent nose and strong jaw line. Sometimes, when he'd stop, he'd bend down and bury his nose in a flower, breathing in deep, then sighing audibly as he exhaled. I was beginning to wonder if the dude thought he was a king-sized honeybee or something! Whatever, thinking about him had definitely taken my mind off the heat.

We must've walked ten blocks or more when all of a sudden my damned shoe came untied. I knelt to retie it. But when I looked up, the hunk was nowhere to be seen. "Shit," I muttered, frantically looking all around.

I walked to the corner and looked both ways, but the streets were totally deserted. I was about ready to give up and go home to beat off. Then I figured I might as well go another block or so, just to double-check.

Before long the neighborhood houses and apartments gave way to a wooded area that bordered on the park. The streetlights were pretty few and far between here. But the moon was out, so I wandered along, cursing my shoelace for foiling my big attempt at cruising.

I was about half a block from the main entrance to the park when I suddenly heard a noise behind me. Before I could even turn around, an arm snaked around my neck and snapped my head back. I was getting ready to plant an elbow in the gut of the asshole trying to mug me when his hand clamped down on my balls, squeezing tight enough to make me change my mind.

"You shouldn't follow me," a familiar voice hissed in my ear.

"Huh?" I croaked, the pressure on my nuts making my voice unnaturally high and squeaky.

"Even big boys like you can get in trouble," the guy chuckled, literally picking me up and carrying me into the bushes--no easy feat, considering. I weigh one ninety-five!

As we headed deep into the undergrowth, the twigs and branches lashing against my bare skin, I was still trying to decided whether to be scared or turned on when I got unceremoniously dumped on the mossy ground.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I snarled, scrambling to my feet.

"You're gonna have to fight to get away from me, big boy," he growled. "You shouldn't follow guys when you don't know what you're messing with."

"Piss off," I snapped, my vanity badly bruised. I was going to say something else. But the dude lunged at me and we both went rolling over and over in the moss and twigs and dead leaves.

"You're pretty strong, big boy," he panted, grabbing my wrists and forcing my arms up over my head.

"Just watch," I gasped, bucking up under him and throwing him off of me. Grabbing for the neck of his shirt, I spun him around. The fabric gave way and ripped noisily, exposing his eye-popping torso to view. I noticed that he was hairless except for a downy patch of fuzz between his pecs and up over his collarbones. Then he came at me again.

We kept at it 'til he knocked the breath out of me and straddled my chest, digging his knees into my biceps and pinning me to the ground. I fought to gasp some air back into my lungs. Then I simply lay there, glaring up at him.

"Looks like I won, big boy," he wheezed, grinning down at me in triumph. There was a big chunk of moss on my chin and a twig hanging from my hair, damn near poking me in the eye. The guy reached down and brushed away the twig, then flicked the moss away as well. "You've got real pretty lips, big boy. Do you know how to suck cock?"

This was more like it! I felt my cock stir and my balls loosened up a bit from the tight knot they'd bunched up into when I was fighting. "I might," I said evasively, not wanting to seem too easy. "You got a cock worth sucking?"

"You decide, big boy." He then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and tugged them down till his equipment spilled out, the head of his meat smacking me on the lips. It was worth sucking--damned straight! The dude was sporting a prime piece of tube-steak, long and thick and juicy, with a knob on the end that looked like it could choke a guy.

I parted my lips and rolled my head back and forth on the ground, flickering my tongue across his piss-hole. Before long his schlong reached an advanced stage of arousal. Then I swallowed it whole, savoring every tasty inch.

"Hey, big boy," he purred, "you've done this before, haven't you?"

I shook my head from side to side, gently trapping his shaft between my teeth. His prick ballooned to gargantuan proportions. Then I gave a second demonstration of my deep-throating skills.

"Oh, man, you're good. Suck my cock. Oh, yeah!" He put one hand behind my head to brace it and reached back to my crotch with the other, fisting my meat and giving it a long hard pull. "Nice," he muttered, pinching my foreskin and tugging it out tight.

My hips bucked when he worked his thumb down into the sensitive sleeve and mashed it against my cock-snout. I sucked in my cheeks and went to work, tonguing his cum-tube as my head bobbed back and forth. But the handsome stranger seemed to want something else from me.

"Hey, big boy," he called out, distracting my attention. "I can suck cock, too!"

Scrambling to his feet, he peeled out of his shorts and hunkered down over me so we were mouth to crotch. He gobbled up my nine-incher before I could take a deep breath, burying his nose in my nut sack. Then I grabbed his ass and crammed my head between his legs, returning the favor.

His prick was like a steel bar by then. But I swallowed every inch. Then I slyly rubbed my thumb along his smooth crack, causing him to shudder convulsively.

All of a sudden, he grabbed my ass and flipped us over so I was on top. His hands slipped up under my belly and he laced his fingers around the head of my meat. Then I let go a breathy sigh and wiggled my hips.

When I started teasing his asshole with one finger, he began to spread his monumental thighs wider and wider apart. Finally I couldn't resist any longer. So I hauled off and crammed my finger all the way into his tight, slick hole.

He wriggled with pleasure and started doing some pretty amazing things with his tongue, sending sparks shooting through me, head to toe. I stirred my finger around in the springy, hot channel of his ass until I found his joy-knob. Then, bingo! His rosy pucker snapped down so tight I thought my finger would be squeezed into smithereens.

Before long, I had two fingers from each hand buried up to the second knuckle. His sphincter acted like a frigging rubber band, stretching and tightening, depending on how much pressure I put on his cock and balls. Then his abs rippled against my chest and his head slammed up between my legs, and I knew he was close to firing his load.

With every poke I gave his asshole, his hummed groans became more and more urgent. To bring him across the finish line, I took a long slurp off his juicy rod. Then he flailed his arms and started blowing, shooting his thick warm cream into my mouth.

I swallowed it all, milking every last drop before I let his prick slide out from between my lips and flop onto his belly. My fingers snaked out of his butt. Then I reached down to grab him behind the knees, pulling his legs up onto my shoulders.

His asshole was still gaping just the way I wanted it. Watching his spongy ring quiver and flex caused my nuts to snap into a knot. Then I squirted into his mouth, feeding him a healthy helping of frothy spunk.

After he was convinced that nothing more could be coaxed out, he pushed me off of him and straddled my waist, his hands planted squarely on my sweaty chest. Looking down at me and grinning happily, he started kissing me, letting me suck his tongue clean, scooping every trace of myself out of his hot mouth. Then we both began to giggle foolishly.

"You're something else, big boy," he said as he stood up and hauled me to my feet. "I'm glad I let you follow me."

"Right," I shot back, tossing him his shorts.

"Where're you headed?" he asked as we emerged from the bushes, back onto the sidewalk.

"I'm going to walk you home," I stated, tossing him an appraising glance. "I gotta make sure no girl tries to molest you or anything like that."

The dude gave me a puzzled look, then burst out laughing, startling the sleeping birds in the trees around us. "I'll be damned," he gasped. "You really are something!"

I threw a protective arm over those big shoulders of his and we headed off into the night.

 

 

WORKING HARD

By Derek Adams

 

Art by Matt
 


Honcho, July 1991

These blue-collar stiffs had all the right tools for the job!

 

I looked up when I heard the car door slam. My buddy Matt Grimaldi was standing beside his wife's blue Capri, pounding his fist on the roof. His wife Jeannie screamed something at him, then took off, tires squealing. Matt stormed past me without a word and headed into the factory. I locked up my old Dodge pickup and jogged over to the gate, trying to catch up. By the time I worked my way through the night-shift guys heading out into the parking lot, he was out of sight. I looked for him in the locker room, but Bud Childers pinned me down with pictures of his newest lady love and I gave up my quest. Hell, I knew I'd see him out on the shop floor.

I saw him, alright. About a half hour into the shift there was this big commotion over in the lathe area. Guys were pouring from their work stations, crowding around, watching something. I shut down my drill press and walked over to check it out. Matt was standing in the center of a circle of men, his big hands balled into fists. Two men were down on the floor and a third was circling Matt, trying to stay clear of his long reach.

"Let me through," I shouted, shouldering my way to the front of the excited crowd. Somebody had to do something before whatever the hell was going on got even more out of control. Matt's a hell of a big dude and he's as powerful as he looks, but I wasn't afraid of him. Hell, we've been buddies for years. Besides, I'm every bit as strong as he is, with the same broad-shouldered, barrel-chested build. Our body types are damn near identical, except for the fact that Matt is dark and hairy as a bear and I'm blond and my body's smooth as a baby's butt. We both wrestled in high school, so I knew I could take him if it came to that.

"Matt!" I yelled. He spun around and came at me, fists raised. I sidestepped his powerhouse right. Then he clipped me on the side of the head with his left, knocking me to my knees. I saw stars, but I clambered back to my feet and my brain flipped over into fighting mode. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, man?" I growled, ducking as he swung again.

"Fuck you, you bastard!" he screamed, a wild look in his eyes. Old Matt was totally freaked out by something, that much was obvious. His chest was heaving and the veins in his arms and neck were standing out like cords. I was afraid the poor fucker was going to have a stroke!

"Calm down, dude," I urged, searching for an opening. Suddenly the foreman's voice cut through the buzz of the crowd, high-pitched and angry. Matt looked around for a split second and I rushed at him, catching him in the gut with my left shoulder. He went sprawling and I stayed with him, determined to hold him down. I figured I might not get a second chance. It took every ounce of my strength to pin him, but I managed it. He fought like a madman, his head snapping from side to side as he struggled to throw me off. Then all at once he went limp and the crazy light died out of his brown eyes, leaving him looking dazed and disoriented.

"Pete?" Matt looked up at me like he was just now seeing me for the first time.

"It's okay, buddy. You're gonna be alright. You just must've freaked out or something."

"Jesus," he muttered, his breathing starting to return to normal again. "I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Me? Hell, that's not likely. I can whip your ass any day," I boasted. "I'm afraid I can't say as much for Chisholm and Deakins."

"Oh, shit," Matt muttered.

"What the fuck is going on?" Anderson, our foreman demanded, keeping well out of range.

"Everything's under control," I assured him, standing up and pulling Matt to his feet.

"Here," Anderson said, tossing me a key. "You take Grimaldi up to my office and talk some sense into him. This ain't 'Wrestlemania' you know."

"Thanks." I led Matt over to the stairs and we climbed up to the catwalk that led to the offices on the second level.

"You got an hour to get your friend back in shape to work," Anderson hollered, trying to sound tough. "Anything else like this and Grimaldi's out of here!"

Matt and I stepped into Anderson's stuffy office and I locked the door behind us. My pal slumped into the chair in front of the old oak desk, his shoulders sagging. "What's up, Matt?" I asked, tossing my protective goggles onto the desk.

"Deakins was ragging me, and I wasn't in the mood for it. Jeannie and I had a big fight last night. Another one. This time I think it's curtains for us."

"What happened?"

"It's more like what didn't happen. We don't have sex any more."

"Shit, man, you've only been married for six months. You haven't had time to get tired of each other."

"It isn't that. She says I'm too big, so she doesn't enjoy doing it."

"Well, they didn't call you 'Horse' in gym class for nothing," I chuckled, vividly remembering how big Matt's prick was. It hung down between his legs, long and thick, gnarled with prominent veins. The damned thing looked scary, even when it was soft. Didn't scare me, though--far from it. I'd thought about servicing that big piece of meat lots of times since I'd known Matt. Simply thinking about it made my dick start to stir in my Levis.

"They called people lots of things in gym class," Matt countered, looking over his shoulder at me.

"Yeah," I agreed, nodding ruefully. "Like 'faggot' for instance."

"That word was only mentioned once."

"I know. You took care of that. You also spent most of your senior year working nights to pay for the guy's dental work."

Matt chuckled, his deep voice booming in the small room. "Hell, Pete, I wasn't going to let them hang that label on the only guy who could pin me to the mat."

"Yeah. I always appreciated that. Now, why don't you just sit back and forget about Jeannie." I put my hands on his shoulders and started massaging the knots of muscle in his thick neck. "Man, you really need to relax."

"That feels good Pete," Matt sighed, rolling his head around slowly. "You've got great hands."

"Take off your shirt, man," I suggested, "then I can really do you some good."

Matt sat up and peeled out of his T-shirt, throwing it on the floor at his feet. I set to work, stroking the dark hair on his brawny shoulders. Damn, he felt good to me! The heat from his body was warming more than just my hands as I massaged the knots and kinks. "You sure as hell are tense," I muttered, trying to take my mind off how much I wanted to jump him.

"I'm also so horny I could fuck a knothole," he groused. "I haven't had any relief for weeks. That started the big fight last night." He was silent after that remark, leaving me to my thoughts. I worked his neck and shoulders thoroughly, then let my fingers splay down over his massive chest, tangling in his dense mat of silky fur. It felt so frigging good I started working my way down till my fingertips grazed the tender flesh of his nipples.

"Unh," Matt grunted, shifting in the chair. "What are you doing, Pete?"

"Feels good, doesn't it?" I countered. When Matt gave a nod, I touched his tits again and discovered that they had already sprung up into hard, meaty points. He groaned softly and I could see the lump in his crotch shift slightly. I was beginning to come up with a plan to relieve his tension--and my own!

"Give me twenty minutes and I'll make a new man of you," I proposed, my own hominess overriding my brain.

"Come on, Pete. You know I'm straight. First of all, you couldn't get me turned on. Second of all, you couldn't do anything with it if you did. I can jack off by myself."

"I'm not talking about jacking off, Buddy--I'm talking about some good old, raucous, no-holds-barred sex. Whaddya say?"

"I don't think so." Though he was saying no, his tone told me he was thinking about it.

"Twenty minutes," I repeated, my dick pushing down the leg of my pants. "You don't have to do a fucking thing you don't want to do."

"What the hell? I couldn't feel any worse than I do now."

"Get out of your clothes and lean up against the desk, buddy. I'll do all the work."

Matt stood up, took off his work shoes and stepped out of his pants.

"The boxers, too," I ordered, quickly stripping down myself. When I got a look at him in the buff, my cock sprang to life. He was one hell of a man! The hair on his chest trailed down the middle of his hard gut, fanning out over his lower belly and ending in a dense thatch above his big root. His legs were thick with muscle and covered with more of the same silky fur. The white athletic socks pulled up around his thick calves made him look all the more sexy.

"You look ready for something," Matt quipped, staring pointedly at my crotch.

"You'll be ready yourself, soon enough," I shot back at him. "Leave it to me." I dropped to my knees and braced my hands against the edge of the desk. When Matt leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest, I buried my face in his sweaty bush and took a deep breath. The smell of him made my cock snap up against my smooth belly and set my asshole to fluttering! He was horny, alright. I could smell the cum that was backed up in his fat, low-hanging balls. He tensed when my tongue first made contact with the skin at the base of his cock-shaft, but he didn't push me away.

I licked down the length of his cock, tracing the big vein that ran along the top of its shaft, all the way to the ridge of his purplish crown. He was clipped tight, the knob on the end bare and swollen. When I used my tongue to caress the fat head, Matt groaned and his dick gave a throb. Then I opened wide and sucked the tip end into my mouth.

"Jesus, Pete," Matt yelped. I would have answered, but my mouth was full and I planned to have it even fuller in short order. I liked the taste of him as I slipped the first couple of inches of his huge hose between my lips. When I gently bit down on the shaft, it jerked. By the time his knob was pressing against the back of my throat, he was getting hard in a big way.

"Oh, man," he moaned as I opened my throat and pushed down till I had him buried deep in there. I almost thought I wasn't going to get him in to the hilt, but I thrust forward one last time, butting my forehead against his belly. Then I massaged that big stiff cock with the muscles in my throat, keeping my tongue busy on his bulging cum-tube.

Matt was definitely getting into it. His hands were on my shoulders, holding me in a steely grip. I pulled back long enough to dig around in his cum-hole for some honey. Then, my tongue all slick and slimy, I leaned forward again, deep-throating him to the hilt. He started helping me out with some hip action and his rocks started to bounce against my chin.

In the meantime, I slipped one hand back to my own ass, tickling my manhole with a forefinger till it gaped hungrily. I wedged a finger up my butt, shoving it in 'til I made contact with my joy-knob, sending a shock of pleasure right through me. By the time I had three thick digits crammed into my shitter, I was getting big ideas about what I was going to do with Matt's massive pecker. I'd been fucked in my day, but I'd never run across anyone who could match old Matt for length or thickness. His cock was a good eleven inches from the piss-hole to the base and damn near as big around as a beer bottle. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to take it up the butt, but I sure as hell was ready to give it a try.

When he was so hard that his knob was choking me, I came up off of him and scrambled to my feet. I turned around and put one leg up on the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. "Fuck me," I barked, looking back over my shoulder at him.

"What?" He was looking at me in disbelief, his monster prong so hard it was pointing up at the ceiling. His balls were starting to climb the cords as well, forming a big, hairy knot between his massive thighs. I reached back and grabbed his dick, pulling him toward me.

"I said, stick your big cock up my asshole and fuck me."

"I'll split you open, Pete," he protested.

"Just fuck me man. Do it!" I lined his knob up with my tingling ass-lips and pushed back. Matt grabbed me by the hips and punched through my ring, slipping me about three inches on the first try. "Feed it to me," I howled, my body tensing as he rammed me again. Shit! That fucker was huge! My asshole burned like crazy, but my dick was poking me in the gut, so I wasn't about to complain.

"Damn, you're hot inside," Matt muttered, tentatively humping my hole. I pushed my ass back, but he moved back as well, leaving me wanting more dick up inside of me.

"Come on, dude; fuck me. Stick it in me 'til your nuts are trying to climb inside as well. Fuck my ass like you've always wanted to fuck some broad's pussy. I'm built to take it man. Just fuck me till I beg for more. Unhhh! Jesus, that's it!"

Matt took me at my word, plowing deep in my straining guts till I thought I'd split open. I could feel every hot inch of him as he speared me right down to the short and curlies. When I reached back and grabbed his hairy ass, the muscles in his big butt flexed and quivered. After I slapped his rump a couple of times, he kicked into high gear.

"God damn, buddy, you sure as hell do feel good," Matt groaned, his face pressed against my back. "I ain't never had my cock this deep in anything before. I can feel your chute grabbing me all the way up."

"Oh, yeah," I groaned in agreement. "Your big dick fills me up just right. Now keep on digging."

Matt pumped me again, damn near making me lose my balance. I was breaking out in a sweat by then, my whole body hot as a firecracker. "Play with my tits," I barked, grabbing his hands and slapping them on my pecs. "Pull on 'em hard. That's it. Twist those fuckers! Oh, man, that feels hot."

Matt mauled my nips 'til my damned nuts practically snapped up into my armpits. Suddenly, he pulled his cock out of me, leaving my chute empty. "What the hell?" I yelped.

"Get up here on this desk," Matt ordered, grabbing me and spinning me around to face him. "I want to see your ugly mug while I'm fucking you, Pete."

I grinned lustfully and scrambled onto the desk, lying back and spreading my legs wide. He took aim and rammed back in, damn near shoving me off the other side. I grabbed the edge of the desk and held on tight. He was pumping like crazy, reaming me out up to my frigging tonsils. His big knob raked over my prostate on every stroke, making my toes curl. I knew I was getting dangerously close and I wanted him to blow with me. I sucked my belly in tight and fluttered my ass-ring all along his pistoning rod. He was looking at me intently, his eyes glazed with lust. The sweat was pouring off of him too, running down his sides and onto my thighs. His hands were on my forearms, squeezing so hard my fingers were going numb, but I didn't give a damn. My best buddy was fucking the shit out of me, and enjoying every stroke!

"I'm gonna cum," he growled, his hips slapping noisily against my ass.

"Do it!" I shouted, as he rammed the knob in my butt that final, magic time. I blasted cum up onto my heaving chest and belly as he dumped his load up my aching butt. I felt every shot as it gushed into me, hot and creamy. My second blast caught me under the chin and ran down my neck, onto Anderson's paperwork. That would give the bastard something to think about! Old Matt kept humping 'til his prick started to go soft. Then he slumped forward and looked at me shyly.

"You blew without even touching yourself," he marveled. "How'd you do that?"

"You jacked me off from the inside out, buddy," I said. "Pretty slick, huh? Maybe I'll show you how it's done sometime."

"We better get back before they come looking for us," Matt said finally, pulling out of me and winking lewdly. "This might be tough to explain to a casual bystander."

We hit the shop floor about ten minutes later. Matt left me at my station and started back over to the lathe area. "Thanks, Pete," he said, turning and putting his hand on his neck. "You know, my neck is still a little stiff, buddy. I'll buy you a beer after work if you'll massage it again."

"I'm feeling a little tight myself," I chuckled. "I think we just might be able to help each other out. Later, dude."

"Later."

I watched him go, then switched on my machine. Damn, Matt had a nice ass. Never been punched, either; I could guarantee you that. Hell, I'd give a week's pay to ride for an hour between those fuzzy cheeks. I wonder if ...?

 

 

 

By Derek Adams

 

 

Honcho, March 1992

Tom Trucker to the rescue!

 

 

I hadn't originally intended to drive all night, but I was strapped for cash and all the motels that still had vacancies were too rich for my blood. I pulled into an all-night diner for a quick piss and spent a few minutes with my California road map. U.S. 395 looked like my best and only bet to make it up to Reno, so I got my thermos filled with black coffee and hit the road again, resigning myself to an all-nighter.

The roads were empty and my new Porsche was purring along the mountain roads like a big, powerful cat. With the heater roaring and an old Sting tape packed into the cassette deck, I was as cozy and comfortable as I would have been at home, curled up in front of the fireplace. I punched the accelerator as I started up Sherwin Summit, the first of many passes I had to cross to reach my goal.

I don't know whether it was the warmth in the car or the rhythmic throbbing of the engine. But before I'd put too many miles between me and my last stop, my cock and balls were stirring and I had a warm tingling sensation in the pit of my belly. I knew from past experience that the only cure for a feeling like this was to take the situation in hand, so to speak. Besides, I was starting the climb to Deadman's Pass, a name that had caught my eye while I was studying the map earlier. I chuckled slightly as I thought that maybe a hand-job would be just the ticket to put some life back in the old Deadman.

I spread my legs and tugged at the left leg of my shorts, letting my cock and balls bounce down against the warm leather of the seat. I gripped the steering wheel firmly in my right hand, then let the left one slide down over my hard gut and into my lap. As I ran a calloused forefinger over my nut sack, the fat globes shifted around, sending a wave of pleasure washing through me, head to toe. My dick stirred and started getting bigger, the veiny shaft inching alone the inside of my bulging thigh. I kept on teasing at my nuts, tugging the coarse hairs growing on the bag till my toes were damn near ready to curl.

The next time I looked down at my cock, it was ramrod stiff, a big drop of goo glistening on the tip in the pale glow of the dash lights. I caught it on a fingertip and smeared it over my bulbous dick-head, making it throb and pulse excitedly. I milked the old guy a couple of times and soon had enough lube to slick down my palm, readying it for some serious action.

By leaning forward in the seat, I was able to bring my right tit into contact with the thumb on my driving hand. My nipple popped out into a thick knot and my pulse shot up about ten points. I was as hot as the engine in my car as we both raced up to the crest. What with my thumb teasing my nip and my palm heating up my prick, I was pretty damn likely to beat the car over the top.

My asshole started spasming and my breath was coming in shallow gasps as the summit of Deadman's Pass came into view. I gave my dick a final quick shake and a squeeze, then howled out my relief as the first shot worked its way up the cum-tube from deep in my guts. I felt the sticky heat as the first spurt of jizz gushed out of me. I clamped my thighs together, trapping my cock between two walls of hot, solid muscle and let my pungent cream pump 'til I was drained dry.

When the last shudder had passed through me, I reached down and dipped my finger into the white mess trapped between my legs. I touched my finger to both tits, then popped it into my mouth, sucking it clean. I scooped into my cum pool a second time and traced a shiny line up over the ripples in my belly. I knew from experience that the smell and feel of my own juice would have me all revved and ready for the next pass looming on the horizon.

I suppose there had been warning signs posted along the road, but I didn't see any of them. The first I knew about any roadwork in the pass was when I shot through the orange and white barricade that blocked my lane. I hit the brakes and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, but it was too late. My left front wheel hit a huge pothole and the car veered out of control, crossed the other side of the highway and slammed into the guard rail. I was pumping the brakes like mad, but the shrieking of metal against metal seemed to go on forever. When the noise finally stopped.

My life flashed before my eyes when I realized that I was now heading down the side of the mountain. I only had one headlight left, so I couldn't see much. But I could sure as hell tell that it was a long way down. I braced my arms on the wheel and closed my eyes, regretting the fact that I'd never see my twenty-second birthday--or anything else, for that matter.

The car stopped abruptly, throwing me forward against my seat belt and shoulder strap. When I opened my eyes, I saw the boulder that had saved me, making a deep Vee in the hood of my poor, wrecked Porsche. I sat there for a few moments, too shaken to move. Then I saw the first little tongue of orange licking at the paint on the crumpled fender. The damned car was on fire!

I fumbled with the catch to the seat belt, finally forcing my trembling fingers to press the right spot. The door was stuck. But I put my shoulder to it and it finally opened, spilling me out onto the rocky slope. Then I scrambled to my feet and climbed the steep embankment back up to the highway.

No sooner had I put a foot onto the ground, than a huge ball of orange name erupted below me. The names shot high into the air, quickly engulfing the remains of my car. I sank onto my knees, shivering uncontrollably as I realized just how close I'd come to being wiped out. Somehow I managed to crawl over to a flat boulder by the side of the road where I sat down, hugging my knees to my chest as I began to feel the cold mountain air swirling around me.

I don't know how long I sat there, getting colder and more frightened by the minute. I tried to stand up, but my knees didn't seem to want to work for me. The truck's lights came into view and I raised my arms, frantically waving. I heard gears grinding and the huge eighteen-wheeler rolled to a halt beside me. The driver's door swung open. Then someone jumped down out of the cab.

"You alright, fella?" the man boomed in a deep baritone. I nodded weakly. "Anyone else down there?" be continued, gesturing down the slope at the burning wreckage of my car.

"Just me," I croaked hoarsely. "I guess I didn't see the construction warnings."

"You sure as hell must not have," he agreed, his hand wandering down to adjust the bulge in his crotch. "Come on with me, bud. I'll take you on to the next town."

"Thanks, mister," I said, pushing myself up off the rock. I got to my feet, but that was about all I could manage. Suddenly, I got real dizzy and started to pitch forward. I would have landed flat on my face, but the trucker caught me in his arms and carried me over to his rig. I weigh a solid one-eighty, but the dude acted like I was light as a feather. The hairs on his forearms tickled against my back and legs as he hauled me up into the cab and deposited me on the seat beside him.

"You sure you're okay?" he rumbled as he scrambled up into the cab and shut the door.

"I ... I don't know," I slurred, not able to tell if I was injured or just scared stupid. He flipped on the overhead light and I got my first good look at my rescuer. I couldn't seem to walk, but I could still see and this guy was well worth looking at. He was broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his thick chest stretching the plaid fabric of his shirt taut. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but the two days growth of stubble on his cheeks and chin made it hard to tell. All I was sure of was the fact that he was ruggedly handsome and that he fit my idea of a trucker, right down to the ground.

"I've had paramedic training. Do you mind if I look you over?"

"Please go ahead," I agreed. The warmth of the cab was starting to revive me. But I was more than ready to accept any assistance he cared to give, so I just lay there, limp against the seat.

"Open your eyes and look up at the light," the trucker commanded, his breath hot against my neck. I looked up, painfully aware of the heat of his big arm against my shoulder. "Look down for a minute, then look up again."

I did as he said, focusing on the bulge in his crotch. Something was straining against the faded fabric of his Levi's, and it didn't take a doctor to figure out what it was! I was beginning to hope this eye exam would go on all night.

"Hey, buddy," the truck driver rumbled, "I said to look up again."

I averted my eyes to the ceiling again, embarrassed about getting caught staring at his basket. When I got around to sneaking a glimpse of his face, his sensuous lips were curling up at the corners in a little smile. "You don't seem to have a concussion," he announced after I'd repeated my eye exercise about three times. "Let's check you for broken bones."

"Sure," I mumbled as his big hands slipped down over my shoulders and along my arms. He squeezed my biceps appraisingly, then checked out my forearms. Satisfied that no bones were broken there, he proceeded with the rest of his exam.

"Take a deep breath," he hoarsely commanded, his hands gripping my ribcage. I sucked some air into my lungs, savoring the scent of sweat and musk that was filling the cab with a rich, funky animal odor. He stroked my sides, his hands sending shocks of lust up and down my spine.

"A quick once-over on the legs and we'll be all finished," he announced. He lifted my right leg and rested it against his shoulder. I squirmed with pleasure as his palms slipped up my calf and over the silky skin on my thigh. "Let's see that other leg, dude." I raised my left leg and he repeated the examination, his fingers straying up into the leg hole of my shorts.

"Looks like you've pretty much survived without any major problems--unless, of course, you consider this a problem."

I looked down and saw my dick hanging out the leg of my shorts--the veiny shaft all swollen, the head puffed up full and tight. "Just happy to be alive," I blurted out, stupidly grinning up at him.

"I bet I could make both of us a lot happier," the truck growled, grazing my ass hole with his finger. I pushed my hips forward and gobbled him up to the second knuckle, squeezing my ring down tight. "I'll drop a couple of flares to keep anyone from slamming into us, then I'll be right back." The trucker popped his finger out of my butt, sniffed at it and gave me a lewd wink. "Climb on up into the back," he said, disappearing into the night.

I crawled back into the sleeper section, shed my shorts and sprawled out on the bunk's rumpled sheets. I popped a finger into my mouth, got it good and wet, then rubbed my spit liberally on the lips of my hot hole, ready to show this trucker stud just how much I appreciated his attention. My bung quivered in anticipation of being stretched wide and deep.

He was back in record time. I heard the cab door slam, then heard buttons popping as he got himself stripped down. When his head popped through the curtains I wiggled my ass seductively, leaVing no doubt as to what I wanted.

The first time I saw him naked, I knew what I wanted alright, no doubt about it. He was a big, hairy, muscle-slabbed bear of a man with a huge cock hanging between his thick thighs. I abandoned any ideas I may have had about lying there, waiting for him to make the first move. Scurrying over to him on my hands and knees, I buried my face in his crotch.

He smelled strongly of sweat and piss, an odor that made my asshole quiver as I began licking his big, fuzzy balls. I clamped my hands down tight on his hairy ass, feeling the mass of muscle flex as I went to work on him with my lips and tongue. I sucked his nuts 'til the coarse hairs on his bag were dripping with spit, then I began lapping at his thick, rubbery cock-shaft.

He was uncut, the foreskin drooping a good inch beyond the swollen knob on the end of his meat. I licked all around the base, tugging at his wiry bush with my teeth, then went for the shaft, slowly tracing his swollen cum-tube all the way out to the end. He was getting hard, his prick just at that rubbery stage that would conform to the curve of my throat.

I kissed the slime off the tip of his meat, opened wide and lunged forward, ramming the bulbous head of his dick deep into my tight throat. He grunted and the muscles ridging his hairy gut popped out in sharp relief. His balls were swinging back and forth between his thighs, starting to bounce up and down on their long cords. I took a deep breath and swallowed him right down to the base.

From the sounds the dude was making, I could tell he was appreciating my technique to the fullest. He started massaging my shoulders, working the muscles with his powerful hands. He soon worked his way down to the globes of my ass and started kneading them Vigorously. His thumbs wormed their way into my crack, pulling my cheeks wide apart. Then I heard him grunt with pleasure as my pink man-hole flashed into view.

I only came off his root when I thought I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. The third time I tried to swallow it, it was so hard that I couldn't stretch my throat muscles around it anymore. I gave it up and started polishing the huge purple knob on the end, sucking the honey out of him and swallowing it hungrily.

He was frantically finger-fucking me now, working two, then three thick digits deep into my butt's tight, hot channel. I took a final nip at his ample foreskin, then flipped over onto my back, pulling my legs up tight against my chest.

"Fuck me, trucker," I growled, my whole body tingling with anticipation. I didn't have to ask him twice. He planted his hands against the backs of my thighs and punched the business end of his stiffer against its target.

One mighty thrust of his hips and I had about six inches of big meat wedged up my chute. I lay totally still, my eyes locked on his as he waited for permission to probe deeper.

"Fuck me!" I howled, reaching up and tangling my fingers in the dense mat on his broad chest. He rammed me again and my asshole was skewered to new depths. He didn't stop till he was in to the hilt, his balls slapping against my tailbone. I could feel their heat as they pressed tight against my asshole, trapped between our heaving bodies as he strained to bury every last bit of his cock in me.

Just as I was adjusting to the size of the enormous post plugged deep in my gut, he pulled out all the way, leaving my steamy hole gaping. He waited till my ring started to tighten up before he slammed into me again, then drove it home in one brutal thrust that left me gasping for breath. My cock was so hard it felt like it was ready to explode and the honey was pouring out of me like water out of a drainpipe in a rainstorm.

He kept this up 'til my eyes were rolling back in my head, then he changed his tactics. All of a sudden, the trucker started going slow and easy, stirring his long prong around in my manhole, teasing my joy knob with the blunt snout of his cock-head.

I took advantage of the lull to explore his big body, running my hands over every heroic inch of his torso. He was starting to sweat, the silver stream of salty water trickling down his sides and running down his neck through the valley between his bulging pecs. I stroked his chest, plastering the long silky hairs flat against his swarthy skin.

By the time he really started pumping me again, he was dripping sweat. It splashed off his forehead and chin, down onto me as I writhed and squirmed below him. Even the dense bush between his legs was plastered flat against his belly and thighs, making his meat look even longer. I pulled him down onto me and ground my hips against him, his heat burning me like a fever.

He licked the tender lobes of my ear, down across my neck and along the curve of my mouth, pumping and probing in the same way his cock was reaming my ass. Sparks of pleasure started shooting through me. Then my aching prick ground against his belly, and my balls mashed tight against the shaft as he humped me with wild abandon.

I could tell the dude was as close as I was; he was whimpering and his dick-head was swelled up about the size of a tennis ball. So I wrapped my legs around his waist and rode his bone for home.

"I'm gonna blow," he rumbled, his lips moving against my mouth as he spoke. I clamped my ass-ring down as tight as I could and he totally lost control, humping me like it was the end of the world. I started pumping cream between our sweat-slick bellies, churning my scum into a frothy mass that ran down my sides, mingled with his sweat. He shuddered and bucked. Then his prick flexed wildly and I felt the heat pouring deep into my guts, flooding my asshole with his spunk.

By the time the trucker stopped humping me, I was damn near numb. He rolled over onto his back, pulling me along with him, his prick still buried deep. I snuggled against his slippery chest, my ears filled with the pounding of his heart. He lay real still for a while, his hands cupped over the lush curve of my tight butt. Then he grunted and tentatively pumped his hips.

"Wanna go another round, buddy?" he asked, tightening his grip on me.

"I'll go all night with you, mister," I retorted, lifting my head and looking him straight in the eye. Hell, I was happy to be right where I was. I'd lost my car and all my luggage. But I was still alive and kicking, and I had a hot man's meat rammed halfway to my tonsils. It looked to me like I'd survived Deadman's Pass and had another vacation tale to tell my buddies when I finally got back home.

 

 

by William Cozad

Art by Matt

Honcho, September 1993

 

 

His scalding hot jism shot deep into my bowels, whitewashing them, the same way he'd earlier whitewashed my tonsils. After a while he lay still on top of me, catching his breath. Then his big dong softened and plopped out of my butthole.


The cross street was blocked off to traffic with a yellow plastic ribbon and a police car parked broadside. A crowded had gathered at the corner. As I approached, I heard the cop explain what was going down.

"There's a man with a gun in the building up the street. He's threatening to kill himself and take somebody with him. Stay out of the line of fire," he warned.

I took a look a the cop who was controlling the intersection. He was a big man. Six foot, two hundred pounds. Wavy red hair and freckles. Bushy red 'stache. Emerald green eyes. Thirty-something. He looked real macho in his blue uniform with the silver star on the shirt. His gun hung on his right hip, his communications gear draped over his left shoulder

It was a tense situation. The cop listened to his walkie-talkie while shouting at people to stay out of the street, away from possibly ricocheting bullets. He explained that the negotiating team and a shrink were talking to the gunman on the phone.

I waited around for the hour or so it took for the cops to nab the deranged man and take him away in the back seat of a squad car.

"Now it's Miller time," the cop said, chuckling to break the tension.

The crowd dispersed; the show was over.

I looked at the big red-haired cop and shook my head. "Gets hairy being a cop, huh?"

"Yup. I'm outta here. Off duty."

"I'd like to buy you that Miller," I blurted out without thinking.

The redhead stared at me, both scaring and exciting me at the same time. Our eyes locked. Then I smiled and he smiled back.

"Tell you what. Meet me near the station, Seventh and Main, in say, half an hour."

"I'll be there," I promised, grinning broadly.

At the appointed time and place, the red-haired cop showed up, driving a new red Pontiac Fiero and still wearing his uniform. When he opened the passenger door, I hopped in.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Uh, would you like to go to my pad for a beer?"

"Sure. Best offer I've had all day."

I gave him directions to my place. Inside my apartment I got the cop a frosty bottle of Miller and one for myself. Then we sat down on the couch.

"So what's your name, officer?"

"Sullivan. Frank Sullivan. But most people call me Big Red."

"Irish?" I asked.

"Hundred percent. Third generation cop. But you didn't invite me over here to swill suds and sing Irish ditties, did you?"

"Uh--no, sir."

"You wanna suck my dick, don't you?"

"Well ... I would like to get to know you better."

"Way to do that is just take it out and get acquainted." The cop tapped his fingers on his fly.

I was hungry for cock. But cop cock was something else, something I'd never had before. Gazing into his dazzling emerald eyes, all I saw was lust, pure lust. Bravely, I dropped to my knees between his splayed legs and rubbed his basket.

"Go on. Take it out, buddy. No problem," he coaxed.

Unzipping his fly, I hauled out a soft milky-white cock, around five inches with a network of blue veins below the surface. It was clipped and had a big mushroom head.

"Lick it. Get it hard. Oh, yeah, that's it. Got a sweet tongue, nice lips," the copper sighed.

Holding the cop's cock like a precious jewel, I laved it with frothy spit. Before long it got hard, expanding into what had to be nine inches of randy fuck-meat. His balls were the size of jumbo eggs. His bush was flaming red, proving that he was a natural redhead.

"Suck my nuts, buddy. Oh, yeah, I like that," he groaned.

I slathered his balls with spit. When I sucked both of them into my mouth, his giant cock throbbed.

"Now get down on my cock and suck it," he growled.

I sealed my lips around the crown and gobbled up his cock. I think he was as surprised as I was by how easily I managed to take the whole thing down my throat, like a snake unhinging its jaws to devour a rodent. His wiry red pubes tickled my nose.

He rubbed my hair, then pulled it. I got a hard-on from sucking on the big cop dick. But when I started to rip open the metal buttons of my jeans fly, he shoved my hands away.

"Just suck me for now. I don't want to look at no cock and balls while I get a blow-job. Just service me," the cop insisted.

It wasn't like I had asked him to sixty-nine. But experience had taught me that some straight studs were just too uptight to let you enjoy yourself.

"Yeah, you suck good, buddy. You must've had lots of practice to suck that good. No broad has ever been able to deep-throat my dick like you do. Lets me know what I've been missing out on."

I was swinging away on the officer's cock, teasing the underside with my tongue, adding pressure on the cock-head, swallowing excess spit, letting some of it drip down his shaft and moisten his red pubes. All of a sudden, he clenched his hands on my head and scooted to the edge of the couch. Then he really began to batter my tonsils!

Since my mouth was full of hot cop cock, I couldn't speak. But I managed to communicate my thoughts with him by tapping out a Morse code on his cock with my tongue:

*Yeah, that's a real beautiful cock you got there, you redheaded pig. You probably wish I was a broad with painted lips who'd smear lipstick all over your dong. Pity. You'll just have to settle for an experienced cock lover who's sucked all sizes and shapes and colors of cocks in my cock-sucking career ... although I admit I've never had a redhead before. Never had the opportunity. You're my first cop, too. See, I'm an equal opportunity cocksucker. I'm good at it too, had plenty of cum trophies to prove it.*

"Oh, yeah, buddy. I'm getting close. Real close. Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum. Cumming in your mouth, cock-sucker!" the redhead bellowed.

With the cop's big rod down my throat like a Roto-rooter, it began slashing loads of jizz. I couldn't taste the spoo 'cause he had that big dick crammed in so far. But that was okay. I could feel it shooting off like a rocket.

When he finally pulled his prick out of my mouth, I became aware of my own needs once more. My raging prick throbbed in my shorts, spurting a juicy load in them.

The cop picked up his Miller bottle and guzzled the foamy beer. "Best blow-job I can remember," he said.

"Glad you liked it."

"I see by the wet spot in your jeans that you got off."

No thanks to you, I thought, unimpressed by his macho attitude. I figured he'd used me and would soon split. Maybe lean on me about keeping my mouth shut about what we did. But man-oh-man, was I in for a surprise!

"Now it's time to please you, buddy," the cop suddenly announced.

"What you gonna do, pay me?" I quipped.

"Hardly," he laughed. "Although I think you're a whore at heart. Most queers are."

"You seem to know a lot about it for a so-called straight man."

"Well, I'm sort of rusty at this cock-sucking business. I mean I ain't been sucked off by another guy since I was an MP in the Army. You'd be surprised at the soldiers who'll suck your dick and more to get out of trouble when they're caught."

"Why don't you do that as a cop?"

"Because there are plenty of women around. Some just like ya because of the uniform."

"Well, it was fun, Big Red. A pleasure to meet you and everything." I was fed up with his hetero bullshit.

"Ain't over 'til the fat lady sings," he said.

"What are you talking about?"

"The opera. In this case, the crotch opera. You don't think I'm gonna pass up the opportunity to get me some man-pussy, do you?"

"I don't do that sort of thing."

"Sure you do. All queers do."

"Wish you'd stop using that word," I snapped. "I don't call you a pig."

"Doesn't bother me. Especially in a hot sex scene. Matter of fact it makes it hotter."

"You turn me off the way you talk," I shot back. "I'm not a slut. You can't treat me this way."

But the red-haired cop wasn't about to take no for an answer. Already he was grabbing my ass. It wasn't long before he'd ripped open my fly and pulled down my jeans and briefs.

"Hot-looking bubble butt. Not a hair on it. You were born to be fucked, with a keister like that," the cop said with a leer.

"I'm no whore," I protested.

But he deftly wormed his fuck-finger into my sweaty crack. When he punched into my puckered hole, I began to weaken.

"C'mon, give it up, buddy. You know you want it," he rasped.

In one quick maneuver he was off the couch and I was lying on my belly with my butt propped up in the air. Looking over my shoulder, I was too scared and aroused at the same time to protest. I watched while he took off his gun. My mind was reeling but my cock was hard as a rock.

When the cop mounted me, he was still in uniform. But his giant prick stuck out of his fly like a nightstick. To get things started, he slapped my tender butt cheeks with his hard cock. Then the redhead spread my butt cheeks and spit a gob of frothy goo in my crack.

"Oh, yes, do it to me," I groaned. "Stick it in me! Shove that big meat up my ass. Sock it to me."

"See, I was right," the cop boasted with a grunt. "I can read people. Ain't been a cop all these years for nothing. And I for damn sure know when somebody wants to get fucked. Especially with my big dick--it's outfitted with radar for a hot hole."

I buried my face in the throw pillow, too scared of that big cop cock to watch it penetrate me. It could split me in two, of that I was sure.

"Shove it in!" I shouted, wanting to get it over with.

To my surprise, the cop was gentle enough, the way he pried open my ass-ring and eased in the first few inches. But after that, it felt like a fence post wedged into my hole. Never had I taken on a cock that was quite that huge.

"Fuck me! Fuck me with that big cock dick," I moaned.

"You got it, buddy. Every inch."

He pumped slow and deep, reaming my hole. Somewhere along the way the pain disappeared. Of course I could still feel it, all nine inches. But I'd passed the point of no return and realized that I could take it all. What's more, I wanted it all!

"Screw me, you fucking pig," I gasped. "Oh- my God, I love it. I want it. More!"

The cop drilled into my butthole, his bull-nuts slapping against mine. The heat and friction made the cum boil in my balls. But I didn't want to shoot too soon.

"Keep fucking me. Never stop," I pleaded "Do it to me. Faster!"

By then the red-haired cop was really tearing up my asshole. I tried to wait for him to cum. But it wasn't possible. When my cock rubbed against the couch cushion, it suddenly exploded, spurting all over the place. Not only that, but my asshole also spasmed wildly around the cop's cock.

"Keep gripping my cock with your tight butthole," the cop urged. "Oh, fuck, I'm cumming!"

His scalding hot jism shot deep into my bowels, whitewashing them, the same way he'd earlier whitewashed my tonsils. After a while he lay still on top of me, catching his breath. Then his big dong softened and plopped out of my butthole.

When he stood up I swooped down on his cock and swabbed it clean, tasting the salty jizz and tangy ass juices on it. Then the cop and I both polished off our brews and he put his gun belt back on.

"Gotta run," he said.

The evening ended more abruptly than I would have preferred. But that wasn't the last I saw of the redheaded cop. Every time he got a hankering for a piece of male ass, he'd come sniffing around my apartment, looking for action. And you know what? Call me a sucker if you will, but I was always willing to give generously of myself whenever the man in blue came calling.

 

by Roland Graeme

Art by Matt

Honcho, April 1991
 

I'd recently broken up with my lover, and now I seemed to be going through a series of phases: from monogamy to promiscuity to celibacy, in rapid succession.

It was weird to be "available" again--cruising the bars every night, going home with a different trick each time. I was turning into a safe-sex slut. But in all honesty most of these one-night stands weren't all that satisfactory. The guys I met all seemed to be obsessed with getting their rocks off as quickly, efficiently, and anonymously as possible. I like a good orgasm as much as the next guy, but after a couple of weeks of this frenetic activity I found myself longing for a little real, prolonged intimacy. Finally, I decided to cool it--staying home and restricting myself to hand jobs for a while.

Maybe, in time, I would get my lust for variety out of my system, and connect successfully with just one man again. In the meantime, I reminded myself, a lack of sex had surely never killed anybody!

So I avoided the bars, and made a point of not calling my gay friends to find out what they were up to. I even started going down to the gym for my workouts at odd hours when I knew the facility wouldn't be crowded with humpy, muscle-bound numbers. I was willing to try anything to avoid sexual temptation!

One night, I was working out as usual, huffing and puffing at the squat rack with a heavily loaded barbell balanced on my shoulders, when I sensed rather than saw a guy come up to stand behind me. I completed my set, deposited the weights back on the rack, and turned around to face my admirer.

"You seem to be working up a nice sweat," he commented, with a sly smile. It was none other than Joe, an old workout buddy of mine. Joe was bisexual and he was one of the few guys I'd made it with who hadn't tried to screw me, despite my gnawing anal hunger for his big Italian-American dick!

I hadn't seen Joe for some time, although I knew he still belonged to this gym. Sociable type that he was, he probably trained during the peak hours, when the place was mobbed.

Our physical relationship, brief but intense, had taken place a couple of years ago, before I met my lover. Joe stood out in the gym because he had a fantastic, tight-muscled body, and was really into performing forced reps.

The first time we'd made it together was one night when he invited me over to his place. It wasn't long before we were in bed together, trading hand jobs. I went down on Joe, which drove him wild, but that's as wild as he got.

We got together several times after that. I invited Joe to fuck me, but he was reluctant. He insisted that he wasn't really gay--he just liked a little man-to-man action now and then. This struck me as bullshit, and, despite the pleasure I took in his body and cock, I gradually got bored with our limited range of activities.

Now, I enjoyed seeing him again--and I began to wonder if I hadn't made a mistake by allowing myself to be so easily discouraged! We chatted for a few minutes; Joe complimented me on my obvious progress, his dark sensual eyes sweeping up and down my body appreciatively.

I finally asked him, right out, how his social life had been going lately.

"Great," he boasted. "I'm in therapy now ... and I've been fucking a lot of women. Mostly girls I meet right here, in the gym. Jesus, man, some of these women bodybuilders are like hellcats in bed! They just can't get enough!"

I looked at him rather dubiously. It wasn't that he didn't look fuck-able. He was more muscular than ever, and his gym attire--shorts, sneakers, tank top--left little to the imagination.

His cock was making a particularly large bulge in the pouch of his jockstrap, distending the front of his shorts and drawing one's attention to his crotch. No question about it at all, Joe was an exceptionally handsome, desirable young stud.

But I couldn't help doubting that "therapy" had succeeded in making him one-hundred-percent heterosexual. He might be fucking a lot of women, but it was interesting that they were all athletic women. And he wasn't volunteering any information about whether or not he was still jerking off over his collection of (all-male!) bodybuilding videos, and still inviting guys from the gym over to view them with him.

On the other hand, who was I to judge anybody else, after some of my recent escapades?

"How about you?" Joe asked, as though he wanted to change the subject. "Are you still seeing that same guy?"

"Not as much as I used to," I answered. "It's not really working out so hot between us."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. I'm getting plenty of action elsewhere." I don't know why I said that; maybe I wanted to do some boasting myself. He smiled again, just as suggestively as before.

"Listen," he said, "I've got to go finish my routine. Why don't you come on over to my place later and we'll talk? We have a lot to catch up on."

"All right," I agreed. "I'll see you in about an hour, then."

I completed my own workout, showered, and got dressed. I was glad that I had worn decent clothes to the gym, for a change.

"What've you got to drink?" I demanded, the moment Joe let me into his apartment. "I'm damn thirsty after that workout."

"There's a case of that imported beer you used to like, in the fridge."

I drank the beer recklessly, and as Joe kept breaking out fresh cans, our conversation became less trivial--more confidential and intimate. I soon found myself blurting out the whole story of my failed relationship with my lover, and my limited successes in bed with other men!

Joe's expression while listening to me had turned serious, even glum. "I'm sorry to hear all this, really I am." He reached for my shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "In spite of the fact that things never quite worked out that way between the two of us, I'll always think of you as a good friend."

I nodded. "All right, I believe it. Now can we just drop the whole subject and move on to other things?"

"What other things?"

"You were boasting down at the gym about how you've been fucking all these women lately. Are you going to tell me you'd pass up a chance to fuck me? Or don't guys turn you on at all anymore, now that you've become such a big macho stud?"

Joe looked at me for a moment longer, studying the expression on my face. Then, as though able to see past my cynical, indifferent facade to the sexual desperation deep inside me, he pulled me into his arms and ground his mouth down hard over mine.

I parted my lips automatically, accepting his tongue as it plunged all the way into my mouth. I locked my arms around his neck and pressed my body tightly against his.

I undulated my hips, rubbing my thighs and groin slowly back and forth over the bulging crotch of Joe's tight jeans. In short, I behaved like a real male whore!

I shuddered and gasped delightedly, surrendering myself completely to the erotic sensations rippling through my flesh. I had missed this, the physical closeness of a man; the feel of his hands on my body; the knowledge that soon I'd be satisfied.

Joe's fingers moved to capture the solid mounds of my buttocks. I wore only thin cotton briefs under my pants and my flesh yielded to his touch. Then he grasped the material of my fly and yanked it open, pushing my trousers away from my hips. I felt Joe's fingers move across the seat of my briefs.

"Nice ass," he mumbled. "Real nice!" Without shame, without hesitation, I reached for the waistband of my briefs and tugged the flimsy undergarment down to my ankles. Stepping out of the underpants quickly, I came back over to stand directly in front of my bisexual friend.

"Do you like what you see?" I asked brazenly, as I lifted my cock away from my balls, stroked it lightly with my fingertips, and smiled down at Joe wantonly, drunkenly.

"Sure I do! Do I have to prove it to you?" he retorted, reaching out for my cockhead, cupping it in his warm hand, rubbing it with the flat of his palm and tormenting it with his busy fingertips! Joe fumbled with his clothing. In a moment, he was naked, erect and ready! Just the way I wanted him!

My eyes gleamed with delight, widening with eagerness at the sight of him. Slipping down onto my knees, I reached for his cock and used my hand and mouth, my lips and tongue, to drive him wild! In the frantic way I remember, he drove his hard dick back and forth, slamming the whole length of it down my throat.

When his prick-shaft throbbed extra-hard within my lips, I pulled my mouth off him, rose suddenly, and retrieved a condom from the pocket of my discarded pants. Using my teeth to tear open the tiny foil packet, I straddled Joe--positioning us both the way I wanted, then lowering myself into his lap as my fingers deftly rolled the rubber down over his rigid cock-shaft. I aimed carefully, making sure my asshole was relaxed so that it could stretch itself, could slid down around his phallic bulk to form a second sheath for the piston of his stiff Italian dick. We both groaned aloud as I lowered myself onto him. His latex-coated cock filled my asshole with a completeness that took my breath away!

I threw my head back as I began to ride those hard, hot inches. Then Joe took control, getting a hold on me as he shoved the whole length of that thick shaft up into me. Already he was driving me over the edge.

"Hurry," I begged, moving myself faster, harder against him, fucking myself on the rock-solid bulk of his prick. "Oh, please! Fuck me! Fuck me! Cum in me, Joe!"

"I am cumming, you hot-assed, ball-breaking bastard!" Joe shouted. "I'm cumming right now!" He dug the tips of his fingers into the taut flesh above my hips and thrust himself, forcefully, deep into my ass!"

"Yes! Give it to me!" I roared.

"Take it!" he growled back.

I could feel the strength of him inside me, spurring my own flesh on to greater heights. Leaning forward, I covered his trembling lips with my own· mouth and stabbed my tongue far into his mouth.

The muscles between his shoulders were like iron plates beneath my fingertips! I dug in, steadying myself, and rocked my body back and forth, fucking myself into a frenzy on his spurting cock. I could feel the force of his blast expanding the tip of the condom deep inside my butt. The sales of my feet slammed loudly against the floor. The chair swayed precariously under the weight of our twisting, humping, shuddering bodies!

My pecs pressed against his sweaty face. Joe turned his mouth in toward the hard curved mounds and nipped at the muscular flesh, capturing the swollen point of my nipple between his teeth.

I felt the tendons in my thighs stretch taut, felt my sphincter muscle flutter, my cock throb and jerk and smolder, my insides quake!

"Come on, buddy, let it happen," Joe growled. "Cum big. Make it good. Cum with my dick up your ass!

Moaning, shivering, thrashing about, I gave way to the spasms of orgasmic release, my hot, pent-upload shooting wildly.

Joe fucked me right through my orgasm--continuing to thrust in and out of my plowed ass until my prick. spurts slowed to a trickle, and my thrashing limbs came to a halt. I had shot all over his chest, blasting hot cum all across his pecs. I slid out of Joe's lap slowly and collapsed on the carpet. My butthole was still quivering and I knew I'd been fucked silly. Joe got down and stretched out beside me.

Slowly--reluctantly--we drifted back toward planet earth, fighting for breath, shivering from the intensity of what we'd just been through together.

Joe had certainly come a long way since our last sexual encounter. I had a gut feeling that, with patience and the proper encouragement, I could help him to realize even more of his potential!

 

Honcho Magazine ~ 12/1991

by Charles Chessher

Artwork by Matt

The department had used him as bait once too often. When they approached Chris Dawson again, he balked. "Why me?" Leaning forward, the police rookie probed Sergeant Bailey's eyes for clues. "Wha'd I do to deserve this?"

"Look, Dawson, this ain't my gig, okay?" Bailey crammed an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth and leaned against the front of his desk. He rested his beefy fingers on his crotch, which protruded admirably. Then he met Chris Dawson's gaze with eyes hardened by fifteen years of police work. "Orders from above."

"The captain?"

"Higher. Much higher."

"The chief?"

Bailey nodded. "The D.A. is puttin' the squeeze on the department again. Elections'll be comin' up in a couple of months."

"Shit." The blond rookie cop sank back against the office chair and sighed. That time of year already! He caught his boss's chestnut-colored eyes again. "I didn't get credit for the last operation, did I?"

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"I'm being groomed for the queer detail, right? If that ain't punishment, I'd like to know what is!"

"Hell, some of your cohorts would give a nut for a chance like this," Bailey snarled and shook his head in disgust. "Did you ever consider we need you for this sting? You got a damn good reputation, Dawson. Don't spoil it now."

"Why the fuck can't you put me on somethin' else, Sarge? I'd be great in the drug unit. I'm gettin' typecast."

"Hell, nobody really believes you're queer, if that's what you're thinkin'."

"Yeah? Well, I ain't so sure."

"Look, we don't need you on the drug detail. The feds got that covered-with the resources to back it up. You got a good-lookin' mug, Dawson. I hear your baby-blues send them queer boys reeling."

Chris Dawson snorted and rested his head in the palms of his hands. He shook his head in disgust.

"You can help us snare some of 'em. Like before."

The rookie looked back up at his immediate supervisor. "They're ..." He scratched at his hair, which had been sheared to a burr. "They're just people, dammit! Seems to me this city has a lot more serious--"

"You turning liberal, Dawson?" Bailey plucked the cigar from his mouth and leaned closer, curling his lips into a snarl. "I don't need no bleedin' hearts in my unit, hear?" He spat out the words, each louder than the last. "The D.A. wants some headlines before the elections--or else."

"And if I refuse the assignment?"

"It won't look good in your file." The bulky, forty-year-old desk sergeant walked to the other side of his desk and sank into the black leather chair. "It won't look good at all."

Dawson was caught between a rock and a hard place, and the twenty-three year old rookie didn't like the feeling. He could refuse the assignment and kiss his chances for a promotion to the uniformed detective unit goodbye. Or he could cooperate and suffer--like before. But no doubt his conscience would gnaw at him again and he'd get that creeping pain in his stomach. Like when he'd busted the dudes in the "Fruit Loop" sting.

Peg would be displeased no matter what. She was headstrong, his long-legged wife of eleven months. If she'd had her way, he'd be out of police work entirely. She hadn't figured out that police work was already in his blood. If anything, she'd go before the force would.

Dawson hadn't bothered to tell her, for example, that already he had his career path charted in his mind: detective, inspector, assistant chief and finally, if things worked out as he hoped, chief. He and Peg did agree on one thing: the detective unit would be a hell of a lot safer than patrolling the streets or working undercover. But he'd have to be promoted to be eligible for detective rank. One last sting could be his ticket out of undercover. Peg knew that. Still, she'd be royally pissed that he'd be peddling his wares to the gay community. Again.

- - -

"Why are you so quiet?" Peg asked during dinner.

"Just thinking." Chris shrugged his brawny shoulders.

"Okay, out with it." His wife leaned forward.

"Huh?"

"Give it to me straight."

He drummed his fingers against the table. "I have to go undercover again."

"Like before?" She glowered at him.

He nodded.

"How much longer do you have to do this before those jerks promote you?"

"There's more competition nowadays, Peg. You know that."

"It's time you considered doing something else."

"I told you before. I don't know anything about interior design."

"I'd teach you."

"All those fairies would wear thin, quick."

She smiled wryly. "And they're not now?"

"Touché," he replied sheepishly.

"I'll think about it, okay?"

"Sure." She clanked her glass against the table.

"I promise."

She glowered at him and took another drink.

- - -

He was wired, and that made Dawson nervous because he had to worry about the wires poking through his T-shirt if he moved the wrong way. He'd been instructed to cruise the southern tip of sixty-acre Pease Park, which was near downtown. In addition to homosexuals, the area was frequented by all manner of "undesirables," including drug dealers, street people, and winos. Dawson loitered in sight of the tea rooms near some picnic tables, just off the main running path.

As the afternoon wore on, the good-looking rookie handled his responsibilities dispassionately and with aplomb. He was a professional and, by God, his career destination was big-time police work. He had put his emotions on idle and already he'd snared three men in his beefcake trap.

Lolling on a park bench during a lull, Dawson extended his bronzed, muscular legs and thrust his crotch upward for maximum effect. He closed his eyes and arched his head toward the sky to catch the summer rays. The warmth of the sun set his mind adrift. Maybe he should let himself go, quit working out at the gym, even gain a beer gut. Maybe then they'd quit asking him to show off his stuff.

Opening his eyes, the rookie looked down at his own sculpted physique. Damn, he was one hot motherfucker! The thought triggered a sudden dick spasm, and Dawson knew he couldn't wean himself from the attention, the admiring rubber-neck glances his body gained from men and women alike. Those grueling three-hour workouts at the gym--sure, he could give those up, no problem. But the results, no way! He'd worked too hard sculpting a body that--if working undercover hadn't precluded it--would do the city's annual police calendar proud.

Suddenly something happened to dispel Dawson's reverie. Something he'd never have expected.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dawson spotted two men approaching from the parking lot. They walked right up to him, like they knew him or something. They shot the shit for a few minutes, then introduced themselves.

One of the dudes was larger than the other. The smaller man was a redhead with a wiry build. He called himself Greg. Pete, the other dude, was dark-haired and bulky and he looked to be over six feet tall. Neither seemed queer. But why else would they be standing there, talking with him? They were both older than he. Mid-thirties to early forties, Dawson guessed.

He tried not to, but after a while Dawson grew to like the dudes. He almost forgot he was in the park to arrest queers so the D.A. could get re-elected. Maybe they wouldn't come on to him. But their eyes lingered in places where straight dudes usually don't. And the larger dude, the one who called himself Pete, kept scratching his crotch. Dawson hoped the guy had jock itch or something. He'd already decided he didn't want to arrest them.

When Greg planted one foot on the park bench, Dawson had a bird's-eye view of the redhead's crotch. Pete stood on the other side of him, and both men were peering down at him, leering. Suddenly, Dawson felt his own cock pulse, and he flinched. His heart pounded. Acid dripped in his stomach. What the fuck was happening? Was this guilt by association or something? He'd heard if you play a role too long undercover you start to identify with it. But until now he'd never believed it. Maybe these two dudes who didn't seem queer knew something he didn't. Could see something he couldn't.

"We got an apartment near here," Pete spat out. "Wanna come over? Down a couple of beers? Shoot the shit?"

Dawson bristled. No blatant sexual solicitation, but damn close. Would the detectives listening at the other end of the wire interpret the dark-haired dude's offer as such? The detectives were stationed with the recording equipment in the back of a van parked some fifty yards away. Were they nudging each other knowingly at this very instant?

"I'm game," Dawson finally said to Pete.

Pete smiled, nudging his redheaded friend in the ribs.

Dawson turned off the sound to the wire by pretending to scratch his crotch. He looked from Pete to Greg, then toward Pete again as he rose from the bench. "You lead the way."

As the trio passed the van on the way to Pete and Greg's apartment, Dawson knew the detectives would be scrambling. He and the two dudes he'd just met would be long gone by the time the detectives figured out he'd purposely turned off the sound.

Pete and Greg had a small apartment in a complex two blocks from the park. "Take off a load," Pete suggested, directing Dawson to an overstuffed dark blue couch. The hunky brunet sat beside him. Then Greg plopped down in a chair on the other side of the blond stranger.

"Lived in the city long?" Greg asked the undercover cop.

"Couple of years. You?"

"The same."

"What about you?" Dawson asked, looking over at Pete. "How long you lived here?"

"Too damn long. Tryin' to get me a gig together so I can get the fuck outta this place."

"Know what you mean," Dawson said, laughing. "Place can be a downer sometimes."

When the rookie cop took a chug form his beer bottle, the very first swallow went to his head. "Good brew," he said, his heart pounding fast and furious.

The three started talking some more then, and Dawson's heart pounded harder. Damn! He was getting zonked--fast! His ears rang. The room swirled. The dudes leered. He closed his eyes, and his dick pulsed again--harder this time, and more than once. Suddenly, Chris Dawson felt out of control. Was it his imagination? He looked down at his crotch and drew back in horror. He'd sprung a hard-on. An undeniable, steel-hard boner!

"You got two experts here who can take care of that for you," Pete offered, reaching out for Dawson's crotch.

"That's right," Greg added, stretching to touch him, too.

At least he'd had the presence of mind earlier, while he was in the john, to stuff the wires in his shoe. The blond cop looked wide-eyed from Pete to Greg, then back to Pete. His mouth slackened. "Look, this is not--"

Greg smothered Dawson's words with a kiss while Pete fumbled inside the cop's running shorts. Finally, locating the treasure, he pulled the blond's dick and balls free.

"You got a big dick--like me," Pete remarked.

Greg drew away from Dawson's mouth and looked. "Big balls, too! Some damn basket for such a young dude!"

Dawson's mind was still swirling as the two men lifted him from the couch to the floor. He was too weak to resist, and they quickly stripped him. Except for his shoes.

When Pete reached to untie the running shoes, the cop bolted upright. "Leave them on, okay? I like to leave them on."

"Sure thing, dude," Pete said, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever turns you on."

As the two men worked him over, Dawson tried to relax, yet the tension mounted. Finally, he devised a mental key. In his mind he repeated: in the line of duty, in the line of duty, in the line ... a silent chant.

Greg took the cop's throbbing cock in his mouth while Pete spat in his own hand and stuck his finger in Dawson's butthole to loosen it. After a few moments, the redhead drew his mouth away. Then he thrust his own dick toward the blond's mouth. "Suck it, dude."

Dawson hadn't had a dick in his mouth since he had been a college kid, but he warmed up to the challenge directly. Greg and Dawson sucked each other's cock while Pete jacked himself with one hand and played with the blond's quivering hole with the other. Then Dawson stopped sucking Greg's dick long enough to look up at Pete.

The dude would make one fine cop, for sure! Broad shoulders and muscular arms. A dark brown mat of hair on his upper chest narrowed to a line that plunged to a flat stomach rippled by muscle.

Dawson could smell the man-scent of Greg's hot dick. He looked up to see the gaping pee-slit lunging at him. "Take my cock back in your mouth," Greg demanded, his voice raspy with desire.

Dawson complied, and while he was sucking the redhead's dick, he felt Pete lift his legs off the floor. The pleasure was intense now, and Dawson realized for the first time the narrow line between pleasure and pain. Dawson flinched as Pete's huge erection probed his butthole, but Greg pinned his arms against the floor and continued sucking Dawson's cock. A menagerie of intense images and sensations shot through Dawson's mind, and then his body, rapid as an assassin's bullets. He gave of himself like he never thought possible, letting go, floating to a plane where pleasure was unceasing, guilt a hazy memory.

They'd conquered his resistance, and his body was the victor's spoils. He was theirs now, duty-bound to please. He let his cock swell in Greg's hungry mouth. Pete was inside him, then, and Dawson gasped. He dug his fingers into Greg's arms, taking a deep breath and willing the pain to subside. But Pete pushed further, and the cop gasped again. "Oh, man!" For an instant he doubted he could endure it. Yet he had to. He was theirs.

Then it changed. He'd crossed the line, and the pain softened to pleasure. Indescribable pleasure. Pleasure that cascaded throughout his entire body. Dawson sighed as the two men worked him over. Then the cop found himself throttling Greg's cock and balls with his tongue.

He couldn't go on much longer. It felt too damn good. Pete had thrust inside him five, six times and already Dawson was about to lose it. Gasping again, Dawson sighed and let loose his load, slamming his cum inside the redhead's mouth; an instant later, the redhead came in Dawson's mouth.

Greg's cum was sweet--just a hint of muskiness. Dawson gulped, and Pete fucked him harder then. Sweat dripped from Pete's underarms. Finally, Pete gasped, "Oh, sonuvabitch!" Then Pete arched his head toward the ceiling as he shot his hot juice inside the cop's squeaky-tight butthole.

- - -

After Dawson left, Pete opened the doors to the wet bar and tested the equipment while Greg looked on.

"Think we got him?" Greg asked.

"Looks like it was working."

"That closet case needed it bad, didn't he?"

"I'll say. Hottest damn butt I've had in a while. A long fuckin' while! Dora, she don't give me none from the rear door, if you know what I mean." He elbowed his partner and sniggered. "You think he can lead us to something bigger?"

"The queer dude? You bet! Hell, they all do drugs, 'cause they're so unhappy and all."

"So they say. But it better be big. Washington will want to see some results from all this money we're spending."

"They'll get their money's worth."

Grinning wryly, the larger man with the code name Pete turned to look at his partner. "How about your ole lady? She ever give you any butt?"

"Any damn thing I want," he lied.

- - -

Inside the Dawson condo, Peg put the finishing touches on her husband's favorite meal. She never knew exactly when Chris would walk in the door, so she'd learned to keep her meals simmering. Humming softly to herself, she padded to the dining area and dimmed the lights, then brought out the candles. They would make love that evening. She'd see to it!

- - -

Driving home, Chris Dawson was still reeling from his sexual encounter with the two men from the park. Perhaps it had been a dream. Yet he knew better. The sex part had seemed real. All too real. His ass was still hot from Pete's cock, and his own prick continued to throb from Greg's suck-fest. Suddenly, an irresistible urge came over him. He knew he had to shoot again. He had to!

Dawson looked at his watch: 8:15 p.m., with dusk imminent. The parks were relatively empty this time of evening. The joggers would have gone home to replenish burned calories. The cruisers would come out later, when darkness fell. He stopped the unmarked police car in a secluded area at Pease Park. He sat quietly for a few moments. No one was around. Slowly, he pulled his running shorts down so he could get to his cock and balls. He looked down. Damn, he had a good set of equipment!

Dawson wouldn't need to jack off long to reach a climax. In his mind, he relived the afternoon's sex encounter with the two good-looking dudes, embellished it even. Finally, he felt his balls surge. As he slammed his load against the floorboard, the young cop found himself repeatedly mouthing one word from the chant he'd used earlier to calm himself: Duty! Duty! Duty!

Chris Dawson cleaned himself off with a towel from his workout bag. Suddenly he knew damn well he had to have dick in his butt again. He had to!
 

 

by William Cozad
Art by Matt
Honcho, November 1992

 

I had a thing about older men and the heftier the merrier. To others Mo might seem like a tub of lard. But to me he looked like more to love.
 

------------------------------------



I met him when he came into the place where I worked. It was a lunch counter, but the boss got the bright idea to put in some pinball machines. In order to do that, the place had to be rewired.

The electrician was a short, stout man named Mo. He wore a utility belt slung low on his hips. Matter of fact, you could see the crack of his ass. I also noticed that he was nearly bald, but he had beautiful big blue eyes.

Mo went to work in the basement, locating the source of power to the building. He mumbled something about ohms and watts that I didn't understand. But all I could think about was his bare butt.

I had a thing about older men and the heftier the merrier. I wasn't sure, but the way he'd looked at me showed a hint of interest. All I could do was to sort of gawk at him and think about how I'd like to chew the fat. To others Mo might seem like a tub of lard. But to me he looked like more to love.

Long after the boss had left for the day, Mo finally finished rewiring the place for the pinball machines. I closed up. Then I threw together a big club sandwich with double the amount of ham, turkey and cheese that the boss approved of.

"Made you a deluxe sandwich. Thought you might be hungry after all that work. It's on the house, of course."

"How nice of you. Looks good. I'm famished."

Mo devoured the sandwich with gusto. It looked like he really enjoyed it. Some guys eat to live. But it was plain that Mo lived to eat.

When I looked at Big Mo, all sweaty and licking his chops, it made my cock buzz. He was looking right back at me with a gleam in his eye. So I launched into a chummy conversation.

"How'd you become an electrician?" I asked.

"To me it's just a game you play, like you be a fuse and I'll blow you."

He was talking my kind of talk. I knew he was definitely interested. But I liked to be a prick-teaser. So I took off my soiled white apron and thrust my crotch toward the counter top.

"Enough meat in the sandwich for you?"

"Could always use a little more," Mo replied, staring right at my bulging crotch.

"I always get horny after work. Usually I just go back to my room and beat off. But sometimes I can't wait and I do it right here."

"Don't let me stop you."

The sex stench in the air was thick, both of us clearly in heat. I'd already closed the Venetian blinds on both the front window and the door to assure that no passerby could see inside. So I didn't hesitate to unbutton the fly of my 501s and whip out my long, fat, engorged prick. Then I slapped it on the Formica counter.

Mo reached right over and touched my cock. "Looks like you need some attention," he remarked.

"Got that right."

Standing up, Mo took off his utility belt. Then he leaned right over the counter and took a lick at my dick.

"Oh yeah, that feels good," I moaned, stretching out on the counter and stroking my randy prick for the electrician.

Mo was only too eager to help me out. Holding my cock, he licked it up and down the veiny sides. "Big dick. Beautiful piece of meat," he exclaimed. "All hard and juicy."

I was leaking lots of clear pre-cum and my cock was hard as a rock. "Blow me, big guy," I cried.

With the same enthusiasm with which he'd gobbled up the club sandwich, Mo devoured my pecker.

"Oh yeah, take it all the way down your throat. Doing real good," I encouraged him.

After Mo had slurped and slobbered on my cock for a while, he paused and licked my nuts, then went back to blowing me.

"Keep sucking me. I'm so fucking hot I'm gonna blow. Oh, fuck, it's cumming!"

Mo did his damnedest but he couldn't contain the load. When I shot, my jizz drooled out the corners of his mouth. It was one of the sexiest sights I'd ever seen. But there were bigger and better things waiting in store.

Suddenly, Mo stood up and dropped his blue twill work pants down around his ankles, then tugged down his yellow-stained briefs. Out plopped his trimmed, stubby cock. Though I half-expected his crotch to be bald like his head, it turned out to have lots of chestnut-colored hair.

Scooting off the counter, not bothering to hike up my britches, I knelt on the floor and grabbed hold of his slab of meat. "Fat cock, just the kind I like," I rasped.

Never mind that Mo's thighs were flabby and his belly bulged so that he probably had to look in the mirror in order to see his cock when it was soft. He had big hairy bull-nuts that drove me crazy! I started by licking them and sucking each one into my mouth.

"Go down on me," he begged.

Gobbling up his cock in one swoop, I took it all the way down my throat. It was a real mouth stuffer, plump as a ballpark frank. But Mo clasped his hands around

my head and pumped away, poking his prick all the way down my throat, in and out, in and out, rocking on his piano-like legs.

"Getting close, baby. Gonna do it. Gonna shoot off!"

When I buried his bone down my throat, he blasted big globs of the gummiest jism I'd ever tasted. It was thick as molasses, I swear, and just as sweet. After Mo gushed, he got weak in the legs and had to lean on the counter for support. But I wasn't about to let him get away.

With a sudden burst of energy, I got behind him and grabbed hold of his meaty butt-cheeks. My cock bounced around between my thighs. Then I looked up in awe.

Mo's ass was a work of art to be studied and admired before being pillaged and plundered. Right then and there I decided to get me a piece of his fat ass. But first I sniffed his crack, then nibbled at his butt-cheeks.

"Big buns. Like the people at Wonder used too much yeast. But I don't care. I really like them. They're gorgeous ... make me want to sink my teeth right into them," I swore.

"Looks like I've found me a real chubby chaser," Mo chuckled.

"I fucking dig men with lots of meat on their bones. Big love handles. Flips me out."

Enough conversation. I went to work with my tongue, licking his enormous butt. It was a struggle, but I finally managed to spread his cheeks. Then I gazed into his hairy crevice, deciding it looked like a big gash, only with bull-nuts swaying below.

It shocked the shit out of him when I buried my nose right up his crack and started licking away, snorting and drooling like a pig.

"Oh, yeah, baby. Eat my ass," Mo groaned.

I responded with my tongue, swirling it between his huge mounds, and lapping up the funky crack. Then I darted it right up his pucker, discovering that he had luscious, velvety ass-lips which snapped at my tongue.

"Rim my butt," Mo coaxed. "Oh, you're precious."

I grabbed hold of his bull-nuts and tugged on them while I ate him out.

"Oh, good Lord, nobody's done that to me in ages. What a thrill. Clean out my hole," he wailed.

It was sweaty and musky but not foul at all. Not that I would have cared at that point. All I wanted was to chew his ass, then stick my hard dick in there.

"Oh, that was wonderful. You've got a marvelous tongue. I don't remember the last time anybody made me so hot."

"Gonna fuck you, big daddy!"

"Oh, baby, I don't know. It's been so long ago. Don't think I could stand the pain," Mo wavered.

"Sure you can. You'll love it. Don't think I cleaned out your ass so you wouldn't have to use toilet paper, did you? After I rim a hole, I stuff it. So get ready," I warned.

"Go slow, baby. Be gentle."

That was all I needed to hear. Thank goodness my cock was long and fat and stiff as a crowbar when I got really turned on. It took plenty of cock to wedge between those brawny thighs and plug a big butt like Mo's. But he was all lubed with spit and ready to plow. So I slapped my hard cock against his jelly buns and poked it into his steamy crack.

Right on target, I lunged forward and managed to get a little more than half my shaft in his hole. When Mo wiggled his butt around, it felt like the vibrations from leaning against a washing machine.

"Screw me. Do it, baby. Fuck my hole," he bellowed. Reaching up under his soiled white T-shirt, I got my hands on his big tits. Mo's nipples grew hard when I tweaked them. Then I worked the rest of my cock into his butthole.

"Fucking you, big daddy. Fucking you in your big butt," I cried, amazed at how tight his hole was.

Leaning back, I watched my big dick burrow up his fat hole. It was quite a sight to behold. But before long my hips wouldn't stay still any longer and I began to ram him hard and deep.

"Fucking you in your ass. Take it. Take my big dick. Yeah, that's it. Move that butt. Ride my cock. I'm gonna do it, fatso. Aw fuck! Dumping my load up your fat ass."

Somehow I managed to get about three-fourths of my bloated meat crammed into his hole. Then I tore up his ass, slamming my prick in and out, in and out, faster and harder.

"Oh, yeah. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Keep fucking me," Mo grunted.

I kept slamming into his ass until I almost passed out, drilling it, giving it everything I had until I couldn't stand it any longer. My balls became sore from the torture of smashing like a demolition ball against his butt-cheeks. Then they exploded with a bang.

Gobs and gobs of hot ball juice blasted like molten lava deep into the nether-regions of his bunghole. When Mo pushed my cock out, along with it came a streak of creamy white jizz trickling down his thigh.

"My God, I've never been fucked like that before in my life. Not ever," he breathlessly exclaimed.

After the electrician had caught his breath, he turned around and faced me. His face was beet red and he was drenched in sweat. but his cock was poking out below his belly like a divining rod. When he lay down on his back on the floor, I initially thought maybe he'd fainted from exhaustion.

"Wipe that drool off your face," I said.

"Why?"

"Because I want a clean, dry place to sit down" I quipped.

Mo grinned as I kicked off my Levis. Then I plopped down on his face and growled, "Rim my ass, you fat cock-sucker. You wanna fuck me, you gotta get it all wet and juicy."

I think Mo was as excited by my lean, muscular body as much as I was by his fat bag of bones. Truth be told, no one had ever eaten my ass with such deep tongue action, so much relish. He was about to get me off with the rim-job. But I didn't want to neglect his fat cock.

Scooting down, I spread my butt cheeks and impaled myself on the stubby prick.

"Oh, baby, your butthole is so hot, so tight. Nothing's ever felt this good before," Mo said with a satisfied sigh. "Get ready for the fuck of a lifetime," I said.

Lifting up, I started to bob my ass around. When his cock lunged all the way inside me, I clutched it with my butt the way you'd hold onto the horn of a saddle. Then I rode him wild and hard.

"You're tearing up my ass with that spike," I hollered. "I love the feel of your fat gut rubbing against my cock and your soft bush tickling my balls."

Leaning forward, I got my mouth and my hands on his nipples, alternately biting and pinching them. "Fuck me, baby," I encouraged him. "Cum up my tight ass."

All the friction of my cock rubbing against his flab got me hard as iron. Pumping up and down, I rode his cock for all I was worth. Mo was breathing hard, his mouth wide open and his tongue out like a lizard ready to catch a fly. But I worked his cock with my asshole and fisted my prick until the inevitable happened.

I wasn't sure who eventually came off first, him or me. At the exact same moment my balls blasted and blew big globs of creamy jizz all over the place, my butthole spasmed around Mo's cock and he shot his wad deep into my bowels. When I lifted up and backed off of his cock, I could feel his jizz squishing around inside my ass-guts.

"Whew," I sighed, swiping the sweat from my brow. "I nearly blew a fuse from all the excitement."

"What did you expect?" Mo countered. "I'm an electrician, for Christsakes."

"More power to you," I quipped, copping a quick feel of Mo's bountiful behind.
 

by John Martin
Art by Matt

Honcho, June 1989


There was one job he couldn't do himself!

 

In the summer of 1960, I resigned my commission in the United States Navy and moved to San Francisco, where I rented my very first, very own apartment. Until joining the Navy, I'd lived first with my family in Illinois, then on campus in a frat house. I felt giddy with freedom, and I was eager to try my wings and soar over the most beautiful city I'd ever seen.

We'd made port in San Francisco several times during the duration of my enlistment and while my brother officers whored in the honky-tonks on Market Street and Broadway, I'd wandered the hills like a nomad who'd found his home at long last. And I too had whored with the best of them while home-based in Manila where some of the most beautiful women in the world reside. Sex wasn't just available in the Philippines; it was inevitable--and sailors were natural prey, ready, willing and eager to spend their American dollars for Tanduay rum washed down with San Miguel beer before nights of sweating, rutting lust in the brothels of the red-light district.

Most of my shipmates thought they'd died and gone to Fuck Heaven, but the sex, good as it was, palled on me, and I'd return to the ship after liberty, drained of desire, but vaguely unfulfilled. Something was missing. Finally, I used boxing as an excuse not to party.

I boxed in amateur bouts for the Navy, just making the light-middleweight division at one hundred and fifty-six pounds on a five-foot-ten-inch frame. With long arms, I had a great reach and had developed a powerhouse punch, so I easily won more fights than I lost and only got knocked out once with a left hook that had permanently pushed my nose off to the right side. I declined the Navy's offer to re-break and set it, deciding it gave me a rake-hell look that I liked much better than the almost girlish face I'd always frowned at in the mirror prior to that K.O.

My apartment, anyway, was in a reconditioned old Victorian located right on the panhandle of Golden Gate Park. It needed paint and a general overhaul, but I loved the high ceilings and Queen Anne windows looking out onto the park. I'd rented it through an agency and had been informed that a building superintendent--or "super" as we called them back then--had just been hired and would move into a small back apartment very soon. I was told he would be available for light plumbing or reconstruction chores I didn't have the know-how to do myself.

About a week after I'd moved in, I was repairing a sash cord in one of the front windows. It was one of those fine, fresh, cool summer days without a cloud in a cerulean blue sky infinite as the meadows of heaven. A figure appeared in the distance, running like the wind, naked but for shorts and tennis shoes. Runners were rare in those days, jogging being all but unheard of. I stopped what I was doing to watch.

As he came nearer, my breath caught in my throat. I'd never seen a man so handsome. His hair needed cutting, but it was thick and black, held back from his eyes with a red bandana but sweat-stuck to the back of his thick neck. His physique awed me, with muscled shoulders and fierce arms. Even from a distance I could see his hands were huge, but finely formed, His massive chest tapered down into an incongruously tiny waist and flat belly. As he ran past, I gaped at his ass, like iron melons wrapped in the satin of his shorts. His legs were long and tanned and I knew they could crush the breath out of any man lucky enough to be wrapped in them.

I pulled away from the window and caught my breath. What in the hell was I thinking about? "A man lucky enough to be wrapped in them!" What kind of perverted thinking was that?

I couldn't stop myself. I leaned out the window for another look. He was running back in my direction and when he was opposite the house, he stopped, ran in place for a few minutes and shadow-boxed lightly to cool down. Then he headed for my building! Seconds later, my doorbell rang. Almost in a trance, I pushed the release for the front door and stepped into the hall.

He ran up the steps, scarcely out of breath. From somewhere he'd gotten a white towel to drape around his shoulders. The size of him dwarfed the towel; it didn't even cover his nipples which were the size of fifty-cent pieces. His chest was hairless, but a line of black fur rimmed his belly button and looked like it spread out on its way south. Even for world peace I couldn't have taken my eyes off him.

He grinned and held out a big hand. "Sorry, man. I forgot the front door key."

"That's OK," I managed, drowning in his blue eyes. "You live in this building?"

"Yeah. My name's Jeff Clark. I'm the new super."

"John Martin. You wanna come in for a drink?"

"Great! Just cold water, if you've got it. I don't even have a refrigerator yet."

I hurried into the tiny kitchen for ice, amazed at how I felt--like I was coming down with something--hot and cold flashes plus a turned-on feeling I couldn't identify--deep in the pit of my stomach.

Putting two glasses on a tray I returned to the living room. Jeff sat on the open window's ledge. "I'm too sweaty to sit on the couch."

His body glistened and I thought to myself, "Then why don't you sit on my face?" and almost dropped the water in shock.

He got up to take a glass and sipped at it slowly, studying me. I could feel the heat radiate off his body.

"Looks like you're fixing the windows. Need any help?" he asked.

I jumped at the chance to have him stay. "Yeah. It's kinda tricky doing it alone."

We worked well together, chatting amiably about nothing in particular. I was wearing just a T-shirt and jeans and several times our arms touched and I could feel his sweat. And his scent almost finished me off--fresh perspiration mixed with the green grass he'd crushed under his running feet. I couldn't stop looking at him and I knew he felt uncomfortable under that constant scrutiny.

Finally, I had to say something about it. "I've never seen a more muscular body, Jeff. You ought to model for those physique magazines."

Grinning, he flexed his shoulder and upper arm muscles and I almost dropped to the floor. "Thanks. I do pose--but not for the magazines. I make a little extra dough posing at the Art Institute." He reached out and touched my chest. "Looks like you got a pretty good body yourself. You work out?"

There was nothing even remotely sexual in his touch, but my cock started to harden. I moved away, afraid he'd notice. "No, but I do a little boxing. Light-middleweight."

"Groovy, man! Maybe we can mix it up a little sometime."

I thought about being in a clinch with him, wrapped in those massive arms, crushed against, that chiseled chest. "You'd make hamburger outta me, Jeff."

"No way, man, I'm a gentle giant. I used to be self-conscious about being so big, but now I dig it. Drives the ladies crazy."

And not only the ladies, I thought; I've got an eight-inch cock and a slop jar full of balls and I'm obviously going totally nuts, getting a hard-on from you just touching me!

"I gotta run, Johnny," Jeff said, grabbing up the towel from the floor. "I'm in Apartment B--like in Back of the Building. No view, but it's light and clean. You need me for anything, give a holler."

I stared at the door after he'd left for a full minute, seeing his broad back, that incredible ass. Then I undid my slacks and fell back on the couch to beat my meat. In seconds I shot my load, then I dropped off to sleep, Jeff's face in my mind's eye.

The next two weeks flew by. I got a job with a stockbroker on Montgomery Street and worked on my apartment in my spare time. Jeff came into and out of my life fairly often. We'd meet in the hall or he'd offer to help with some of the redecorating and in return I'd cook spaghetti and make garlic bread that we washed down with red wine. Even in clothes, he looked magnificent, but I thought I was doing a little better job of not devouring him with my eyes. Finally, confused and guilty over dreams I couldn't help--vague, unnerving dreams of hard cocks and sweaty balls, of sucking mouths and tight assholes--I decided to avoid Jeff Clark.

I spent more time prowling San Francisco and couldn't help but notice the number of gay men throughout the city, restless men, prowling for sex and not too discreet about it. Intrigued, one night I followed one of them into a bar in North Beach. The place was packed with young, good-looking men and they all turned to look as I pushed through to the bar. Flushed and strangely exhilarated, I ordered a beer and tried to keep my eyes to myself. The jukebox was turned up loud and the voices were raucous with laughter and good cheer.

I had just about worked up enough nerve to look around when somebody tapped my arm. A short blond with a pug nose and a naughty leer sized me up. "New in town, handsome?"

I blushed furiously, a habit I hadn't broken from childhood. "Yeah."

"Lookin' for a little action?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know--you want a knob-job?"

It took me a minute to figure that one out, then I blushed again and found I couldn't speak.

The cute blond winked. "Every guy in this joint is dying to cop your joint, butch. But I've got a car parked in the alley so that gives me extra points. Come on," he urged. "I give great head."

Ears ringing, I put down my beer and let him lead me out the door. Behind us, applause broke out amid cries of, "Pushy bitch!" and "I wanted that trick!" and "Suck him silly, Mary!"

In a daze I followed him down an alley while he chattered merrily on about how great it was to live in San Francisco. I climbed in the back seat of his car, not knowing what to do, but I needn't have worried. In a flash, he had my fly open and my cock out of my shorts. "Yum-yum. A nice big fat one. Pull your pants down, handsome, so I can get at your nuts, too."

Whores had sucked my cock but it had been with a professional detachment that always turned me off. The cute blond went down on me with little yips of pleasure. He sucked my cock like a man who loved what he was doing. I spread my legs and watched in wonder as my thick prick disappeared between his gulping lips. He made appreciative sounds deep in his throat and noises like a man slurping down hot soup. I tried to relax, but my nerves were raw and I could hear street sounds and see shadows as figures crossed the alley. Then nothing mattered as I could feel my climax building and building. Gasping, I grabbed the blond's head and pushed my cock deeper into his throat where it exploded and I came until I saw stars.

The young man cleaned me up with his tongue. "Jesus, butch, you sure know how to give a guy a good time!" He licked the still-dripping slit on the head of my dick and slipped a card into my hand. "My telephone number," he explained. "Give me a call--anytime. For you I'll make a house call. Now either put that big thing back in your pants or I'll suck it 'til you cry for mercy."

I had to get back to my apartment. Had to think. Sort things out. Figure out why I'd enjoyed the blow-job while at the same time making mental notes on how he managed to suck such a big cock down his throat without suffocating--as if I too intended to suck a cock myself someday.

Jeff was sitting on the front steps when I got out of the cab. He grinned at me as I walked toward him. "You got lucky, huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Pecker tracks, man--on the front of your pants."

I looked down to see dried semen on the front of my slacks. "Just a blow-job," I managed.

"Just a blow-job, the man says! Johnny, I'd rather get my cock sucked than eat when I'm hungry!"

I hurried upstairs, stripped and fell into bed. That night the cocks I dreamed about hung between Jeff's legs and the sucking mouth was mine.

On the following Saturday, Jeff forgot his outside key again and rang my bell. To apologize for disturbing me, he returned to my apartment after his shower with a six-pack of ice-cold imported Mexican beer. It was a warm day and he came dressed only in a pair of very short cut-off blue jeans. I opened us each a beer and returned to the living room to find him sprawled on the couch, legs spread wide. The bulge on his inner left thigh was enormous and I could distinguish his cock from his balls. My eyes--almost of their own accord--kept running over his naked chest and down to his flat belly and the mound of meat in his crotch.

Jeff had been dating one of the students at the Art Institute where he modeled and her sexual appetite seemed as voracious as his own. "I'm beginning to think I'm a satyr or something, Johnny," he told me, one big hand absently rubbing his crotch. "I just can't get my rocks off enough. We must screw four or five times a week and I still beat off a couple of times a day."

Just the thought of Jeff's big fist filled with cock began to make me hard.

Jeff took a long swig of beer. "So you got a blow job the other night, right?"

I could only nod.

"Man, I love getting sucked off. My idea of bliss would be to find somebody who'd suck my cock all night long." He looked out at the afternoon sun. "Or all day long, for that matter."

I could see the bulge in his shorts growing even larger. I couldn't make myself look away.

Jeff reached down inside his shorts to rearrange his obviously hardening cock. "Listen, Johnny, don't get mad at what I'm about to say, OK? I mean you don't look even remotely gay, but I get the feeling that if I dangled my dick in front of your face you wouldn't exactly be pissed off, right?"

I tried to make a denial, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. I just kept staring at his crotch.

Jeff got up, kicked off his loafers and dropped his shorts. He had an inch on me both in length and diameter and although I hadn't seen that many, his cock was the most beautifully formed I'd ever seen. Semi-hard, it pulsed over plum-sized balls. He moved closer and the heat of him almost knocked me out. "You ever sucked one of these before, Johnny?"

"No."

He reached down to feel my hard cock. "Man, you are really hot for me, ain't you? Your dick's harder than a crowbar." Then he put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me into his crotch. Putting my arms around his hips, I brought him closer and rubbed my face in the hotness of his raging meat. "Suck it, Johnny. You know you want it."

"I don't know how, Jeff! I want to, but I don't know how!"

"Just do what I tell you. Lick it first; get it good and wet. Ohhhh, yeah, man, lick it with that hot, long tongue of yours. All the way down."

I couldn't believe how good he tasted, how incredible it felt to be licking flesh that hard, yet covered with skin so baby-soft.

"My nuts, Johnny. Lick my nuts. Yeah, man, you're doing just fine. Now lick the head of it like you were licking an ice cream cone."

His bulbous pink dome was even more delicious with the tiny pearl drop of pre-cum on it. I licked it, then put it in my mouth and started sucking. "Easy, man. Watch the teeth," Jeff ordered. "Good. Suck it a little harder and try taking more of it in your mouth. Atta-boy. Suck, Johnny, suck my big, juicy dick. A little deeper, a little deeper. Wrap your tongue around it, man. OK, let me see if I can get it in a little deeper. Relax your throat and just take it easy, Johnny. You're doing fine, just fine. Yeah, suck it a little harder."

I gasped and gagged on the length of it, the width of it. "Easy, Johnny. Go back and just suck the head of it. We got all day, man. Hell, we got all night--all weekend! You wanna suck my cock all weekend, Johnny?"

I took it out of my mouth and looked up into his blue eyes. "Jeff, I wanna suck you cock for the rest of my life."

He touched me with an imaginary wand. "Poof! Wish granted. Now get your clothes off. It'll be more fun for you that way and I can play with your cock, jack you off maybe. I can't do more than that, Johnny. I won't suck it or let you put it up my ass, but I'll play with your cock and balls while you suck mine, OK?"

"Anything you say, Jeff. Just feed me that hunk of meat again."

"Lay down on the couch and put your head on the arm of the sofa, man. I'm in the mood to fuck your face and that way you can get it down your throat a little deeper."

I did as ordered and he knelt over me. I was between those in· credibly muscular legs at last. I licked his inner thighs and worked my way up to his dangling nuts. "You're a natural born cock-sucker, Johnny," he enthused. "Now open wide and watch those teeth. I'm gonna slow fuck and deep fuck you." His cock hit the back of my throat and I gagged again. "Relax, man, breathe deeply and just let it sink down. Great! It's almost all the way in, Johnny. Can you feel my balls on your chin? Yeah, you can feel those big nuts banging on your face, can't you? Now wrap your tongue around it and suck while I pump. Ummmmmmm, man, you are sucking like a pro! Suck it! Suck it! I'm gonna shoot you a nice juicy load!"

I grabbed his ass to haul him deeper and I could feel his body tense, then tremble. His balls drew up and his cock expanded, fiery hot. "HERE IT COMES, MAN. SUCK IT OUTTA ME, JOHNNY, SUCK IT OUT!"

He pulled out only enough to keep me from strangling on his come as he shot spurt after spurt into my mouth. At first it tasted a little salty, then it became ambrosia and I sucked harder, milking every drop of his juice into my hungry throat.

Finally, he pulled out and fell on top of me, holding me close in his massive arms. "I'll belly-rub you 'til you come, OK, Johnny? By then I'll be ready for more sucking and we can try some different positions. This is gonna be great man. You'll be my cock-sucker and I can come over anytime I want to for blow-jobs, right? You'll suck my cock any time of the day or night, right?"

His belly-rub was taking its toll. Wrapping my legs around him, I shot my wad, gasping with delight. "Yes, yes, yes! Anytime--anywhere. I'll be your sucking machine, Jeff! I'll suck you twenty-four hours a day!"

By Sunday night I knew Jeff's cock as well as I knew his face--maybe better.

 

TOILET PAYBACK

By Randy Archibald - Illustrations by Matt

May 1996

Gas station ass-pumping

Brick swerves to miss the black European going-too-fast luxury sedan careening in front of his hot top-down sports car--from high-speed lane and into right lane of the Texas Interstate beyond him. Fucker barely misses Brick's left fender. Not much afternoon traffic on the torrid sun-drenched highway--no need to take such a chance, cause a wreck. Flips him the bird. "Asshole," Brick sputters between clenched teeth. Doesn't look to the side as the big car crosses over one more lane.

 

Brick needs gas. Hasn't stopped for hours since Abilene. Hot. Sun beating on his mostly bare body. Feels heat building between his legs. Touches himself through faded denim, thumb stuck inside between buttons of his fly, feeling himself, feeling sweat run down inside his legs, soaking cut-off jeans, making him think about--feels like someone's slurpy-wet tongue lapping him there. Torrid thoughts. Service station sign above an exit beyond. Maybe a truck stop. At least he sees lots of trucks around.

 

Crosses his sports car over to the exit lane and eases her up the ramp. Flips a skimpy tank-top over his upper body. Gasses up. Washes the windshield and looks around at the service station. Lots of trucks parked around the perimeter but no diner. Unusual for a truck stop. Place seems desolate to him. No town nearby, just plunked down in the middle of dry, open Texas space. No one moving around. Pays his bill with a credit card. Needs to piss. Says to the attendant, "Hey, man. Can I have the key to the men's room?"

 

"Around back, It's open," Attendant says.

 

*Oh, man*, Brick thinks. Those Texas drink-o'-water cowboys. Skinny and tall. Legs as long as Brick's legs and lower abs together. Jeans so tight Brick doesn't see how he even moves. Black Western boots. Dick bulging through the worn crotch. Long and obvious. Brick licks his horny lips, rubs his own dick through his cut-offs. Won't miss any possible chance; needs sex. Says, "Hot, huh?" Nothing back from Attendant except a steady gaze and a flat reply: "Yeah. Texas."

 

Brick goes around the building. The restroom door is ajar. Goes into the men's room and pulls the door closed behind him. Hard to see in the murky light from a single wall fixture. Clean but luxuriant-stale-piss man-smell. Thousands of men have been here. Turns Brick on to think about all those cocks pulled out. His eyes adjust to the dark and he sees two enclosed stalls. And two urinals. No partition between them. *Bet some dissolute cruising goes on here. Probably need to be here at night, though. Too wide-open for daytime action.* Crosses to a urinal, tears open the buttons of his cut-offs, and flips his dick out over his skimpy underwear. Stretches it with his hand to get it free to piss.

 

Just beginning to feel bladder relief when the door opens in blinding light from the Texas afternoon sun. Looks over his shoulder and sees a hulking outline in the doorway. Brick turns away to protect his eyes and feels a little nervous standing there with his dick flopped out with nothing to hide it--even if he's pissing and perfectly legit. Of two minds: wants to cruise, but afraid of taking a chance. Hopes the guy goes into a stall. Safer to start something there.

 

Brick is aware of motion at his side. BigGuy stands at the other urinal. Brick looks to one side. Careful. Sees the bottom of guy's fly at the level of his own belt loops. Guy's that tall. Brick wants to stare, but thinks better of it. BigGuy just stands there. Doesn't open the fly of his jeans. Brick stands there with his own dick hanging out and other man's not, and the situation begins to arouse Brick. He nearly panics as his dick distends toward the urinal. Thank God he's pissing so it won't get real hard.

 

"Think you're pretty smart, don't you?" BigGuy breaks silence.

 

"Wha-What?" Brick sputters and his mouth goes dry.

 

"Don't like obscene gestures."

 

Brick and looks up at BigGuy's face to see the driver of the European black luxury sedan. What are the chances of the guy finding him here? "Didn't mean anything. Honest," Brick says. Brick's dick withers up, scared, as his piss flow terminates.

 

"I got an obscene gesture for you."

 

"Hey, man, really. I'm sorry."

 

Brick turns to watch BigGuy sidle back to the door, walking as smooth and natural in Western boots as Brick can imagine, flip the overhead light switch, and fumble with the door handle. 'There--no chance of being interrupted," BigGuy says. Brick realizes he's locked the door.

 

Brick starts stuffing his floppy dick back into his cut-offs. BigGuy moves back over to the urinals and grabs Brick's forearm. "Leave it be." Pulls Brick's hand over and sticks Brick's fingers into the top of his fly. "Unbutton it, boy."

 

Been years since anyone called Brick *boy*, and a shudder of craving careens through his entire body. He quickly complies with the order. Gets his fingers wrapped around buttons and pulls them apart. Has a little trouble because BigGuy's wide Western belt is still buckled. Brick feels the thick mat of bristly hair on the inside with back of his hand as he works he buttons. Hungrily starts to reach into the now-open fly, but BigGuy shoves. Brick careens against the urinal.

 

"Whaddaya think you're doin', cock-sucker?" BigGuy pulls the tail of his red-and-black plaid Western shirt out of his jeans. BigGuy unbuttons his shirt and Brick feels his own breath heave when he sees the dark-brown-haired massive chest. BigGuy tosses the shirt over the wall of one of the toilet stalls. "Think just any faggot gets to touch my dick?" He laughs. Reaches up and rubs his own left tit with his right hand and purses his lips with pleasure, expelling a long hissing breath.

 

Brick is confused. BigGuy obviously wants something but Brick is not sure what.

 

"Let's see what you've got, boy," BigGuy says, and that unaccustomed tremor of excitement shudders through Brick's body again at being called *boy*. "If you go around flippin' the 'fuck you' sign to people, you better have something pretty sensational to fuck with, or you're just a little cock-tease, right?"

 

Brick holds onto his dick and thoughts of sex with BigGuy shoot through his head ... but he can't get it up. Too scared. Or confused. How'd BigGuy know he was here?

 

"Pump it, Boy. Get it hard. Can't fuck like that," BigGuy says.

 

Brick wants to know what's going on. Can't figure BigGuy out. "I'm not sure," Brick says. Pulls on his dick, stretches it out, pulls, stretches, pulls, stretches, rubs the underside of the head, and it begins to get a little hard, but falters because he's feeling skittish.

 

"Not enough of a man to get hard, huh? Well, let's see your skinny body, boy." BigGuy takes hold of Brick's tank top and pulls it up over Brick's head. Brick raises his arms to let it slide off, but doesn't know why he's suddenly so compliant. And his dick begins to harden.  Brick looks up at BigGuy and feels him roll Brick's right tit between his fingers, first gently, then harder. Then BigGuy twists-twists-twists and pulls and gouges it with fingernail. Brick says nothing, but looks down at his dick bouncing to eight inches of attention. Begins to get nearly full hard-on, proud of his nice, smooth classic man-meat with its triangle-shaped head, flange pulsing with heat and shaft waiting to be sucked, pounded, surrounded by ass. He fantasizes about the different ways BigGuy might want him to shoot, shoot, shoot the load gurgling up in his big round balls.

 

"Faggot likes a little pain, huh, boy?" BigGuy snaps him back to the moment.

 

Brick, throat parched, face burning, dick standing straight out, and heart beginning to pound, says, "Yessir!" Been years since he responded to treatment like this. Usually the top-man, but he wants to service BigGuy. Will do anything BigGuy asks, Brick knows, without thinking.

 

"Outta them shorts."

 

All Brick has to do is pull his feet together and give a small tug at the top to get the worn, frayed denim to fall to the floor. His underwear is a black thong, the pouch cupped up under his balls helping hold his not-quite-hard cock out straight. BigGuy grabs the string side of it, says, "Might have know'd a faggot would be wearing one of those things." BigGuy yanks, tears it off, scraping Brick's balls, rubbing it mercilessly against Brick's asshole as he pulls it up and away. Brick's chiseled chest heaves a sigh of desire as the rough treatment engorges his member even more.

 

BigGuy looks him over. Rubs the hairy back of his hand between Brick's bulging but nearly hair-free pecs and down to his washboard stomach. BigGuy grabs a handful of Brick's reddish-brown pubic hair. What there is of it is thick, but the fan doesn't spread out far from his crotch. Brick feels suddenly very underdeveloped next to this hairy BigGuy.

 

"You think you can fuck anything with that?" BigGuy slaps the head of Brick's dick. It finally gets fully hard, stands straight out, reddened and formidable. "Down, boy."

 

Brick falls to his knees.

 

"Now, boy, take mine out. Compare your sick little dick with some real man-meat."

 

Brick reaches BigGuy's fly and sticks his hand into the moist penile hideaway, hairy and hot. Feels for tumescent skin and grabs a big hardening dick. He pulls out an ugly monster with a purple head and veins bulging on the underside. Not much longer than his own, but thick, man, thick, with a hood of foreskin sliding back and forth over it even when it's hard, and the blood pounding. He can almost see blood surging, and he salivates to have his mouth filled with that hard fuck-pole. Rubs it with his shaking, sweaty hands. Stammers, "Oh, man, wow. Please, sir ..."

 

BigGuy pulls his jeans down to his knees and whips around. "Not yet. Heat up my ass with your tongue, cock-sucker. Fuck me with your tongue." BigGuy's body seems ageless. Brick thinks he's maybe fortyish; but this body, this burly backside, muscles sliding against muscles in the hairy brawny ass cheeks, the mammoth brawny but well-defined thighs, have the strength and agility of a twenty-year-old. Brick is transfixed by the pure male power before him.

 

Brick hardly ever rims, but this time BigGuy has him so hot, so submissive he'll do anything to get to suck that rod eventually. No, not rod: shaft. No, not shaft: obelisk. He can feel the back of his throat longing, aching to be fucked, assaulted, stuffed full by that bone-hard shank. Brick buries his face between the bulbous but firm-as-can-be rump, the muscular buttocks. He feels two mounds of muscle squeeze together over his face, dark hair scratching his cheeks and nose, then relaxing to let his tongue in. Flex, relax, flex, relax, flex, relax--and BigGuy moaning in pleasure and Brick assaulting that manhole with everything his mouth and tongue and face can give.

 

Brick sputters between completely unclenched jaws, muscles relaxed to the tearing point to get his tongue out as far as possible. He doesn't look to either side but buries himself in that man-flesh, fucks that magnificent ass with his tongue, his lips sucking the pucker hole, his nose caressing the hair-lined butt cleavage.

 

With one hand Brick finds and massages Big-Guy's testicles, balls as big as eggs, hanging low, the silky pouch slapping his chin as he works the ass-crack. With his other hand he whips his own dick, hard as a rock, his nuts pulled up in their ball sack smoldering, steaming with juice bubbling up to shoot. He can feel it getting primed.

 

And out of the blue--fuck it!--BigGuy's beeper goes off and he wrenches his ass away from Brick's craving-lusting face, leaving Brick's mouth hot and dry and famished for more of that sweaty musky manhole.

 

And BigGuy says into the phone he unhitches from his belt, "Yeah. Okay. Got the fucker right where we want him." And he clips the phone back on his belt. He sits on one of the toilets. "Come over here, ass-breath."

 

Brick crawls over and BigGuy sticks up one boot then the other for Brick to pull off. BigGuy steps out of his jeans and, stripped completely, bends double and backs his rump up to Brick. "As you were, ass-eater," he barks.

 

Brick's head whirls circling, careening out of control. This guy a cop? Got friends who are going to beat the shit out of him? Just for flipping BigGuy the bird? Is he trapped? Fuck. Where's his car? But he's got no choice now. In spite of fear and danger, Brick doesn't need an engraved invitation but dives for that sweet smelly crack and smothers his face in that brush-surrounded pucker hole.

 

Brick hardly hears the door open and doesn't register the other guy's presence in room until it's too late and he's scared shitless. There's Attendant, jeans seeming even tighter pasted to skinny legs and no shirt now, but his crotch is stuffed with maleness, obviously hard and straining against denim down his thigh. *What kind of set-up is this?* Brick wonders, face flushing with alarm and excitement.

 

"What the fuck's goin' on in my john?" Attendant bellows.

 

BigGuy reaches out his hand and strokes Attendant's crotch and says, "Thought you'd never get here." And Attendant pulls his boots and jeans off and moves close to Brick and says, "We know you can gobble ass; now work on this dick, cock-sucker."

 

Attendant's cock is longer than BigGuy's, but not thick--weirdly skinny and distended, with a pink spongy head almost twice the width of the shaft--inflexible, stiff as a nine-inch piece of inch-and-a-quarter wooden dowel, which is what it feels like ram-ram-ramming the back of Brick's mouth until he relaxes and opens his throat and lets it slide all the way in. He wraps one hand around Attendant's scrotum, the male-bag hanging down seven inches with its smooth golf ball sized orbs swinging back and forth between sinewy muscle legs as Attendant grinds his hips.

 

And BigGuy moves around behind and squats down behind Brick and flips his tongue into Brick's asshole. BigGuy sputters and gurgles. Sucks the hole good like Brick did his. Brick is surprised and impelled to excitement beyond frenzy. Big Guy's thick bearish face-stubble scrapes Brick's crack and BigGuy's rough horse-tongue penetrates his anus, and Brick has to stop flailing at his own dick to keep from cumming.

 

Then Brick clenches his lips around the base of Attendant's cock, nose nuzzled into sweaty hair wet with his own slurping, as he feels BigGuy ease first one finger, then two, then three inside his shit-hole. Brick shivers with pleasure and rams his ass back onto BigGuy's hand, sweltering from the heat his own body is creating--heat of desire for BigGuy's cock up his ass. Attendant says, "Like that, don't you, faggot?"

 

"Uh-huh," Brick sputters through his spit and snot. Water stings his eyes, choking his breathing. He gobbles long skinny dick and at the same time pushes his butt back into BigGuy's hand and finds his own dick again with one hand and begins to stroke-stroke-stroke himself, as ruttish as he's ever been in his life and just wanting BigGuy to fuck him, fuck him, fuck him with anything first, but soon stick that big fat uncut monster up his hole and pound-pound-pound his groin against Brick's waiting quivering man-butt. He pulls his face away from Attendant just long enough to growl, "Fuck me, sir. Stick your fat ugly dick up my ass."

 

And BigGuy does. He pulls his fingers out of that lusting hole. Almost sends Brick careening, except he's anchored to the spot, impaled on that long skinny piece of man-dick skewered down his throat and about to make him cum as it pounds his face and he has one hand on his own hard dick and the other on Attendant's balls, trying to stuff them into his mouth, too, and BigGuy screeches through clenched teeth, "Gonna fuck your faggot ass. Gonna shoot my load inside your tight little queer rectum."

 

And Brick feels BigGuy ease that bludgeon--that fat penis that Brick still hasn't had down his throat and knows he wants to taste but is going to have it the other way--and BigGuy eases that fat tube up his ass-ramp and inside, then lunges and is in up to his balls, big balls swinging and slapping Brick's balls hard-hard-hard. And BigGuy thrusts inside, and Attendant thrusts down his throat, and Brick beats his own fat dick furiously and he hears first BigGuy moaning that low rumble ready to ejaculate up his ass--after only a dozen powerful thrusts--and Attendant screaming, "Ahhhh!--I'm gonna give him my load," and just as he lets go Brick pulls back slightly so the jism doesn't just splash down his throat but coats his taste buds, and he can savor the maleness, the salty-sour flavor that turns him on enough to make him cum--as his balls churn his own slime into his hand feeling his anus clench around BigGuy's still-hard dick and squeeze every drop of semen from that club into his manhole.

 

And Attendant takes hold of Brick's wrist and pushes the hand to Brick's mouth and makes him lick his hand clean, mix his own cum with Attendant's cum. And Brick loves the taste of his maleness blended with Attendant's.

 

And Brick thinks it's over, but BigGuy yanks his still-hard dick out of Brick's tender-fucked asshole and whirls him around and crams that juicy oozy hardness into Brick's mouth mixing all the slurpiness together and grabbing Brick by the back of his head and fucking his face relentlessly--it would take some hard pumping for him to shoot again immediately.

 

But BigGuy is not to be denied, and Brick collapses to his knees in unbridled lust, and Attendant kneels down and massages Brick's balls and squeezes his nipples from behind, and Brick gets hard again, and BigGuy crams-rams-jams that monster dick down Brick's sore throat, and, after a few minutes, shoots Brick's waiting hungry mouth full of another load of man-slime. Brick feels his own dick shoot a load, this time almost painful in overcoming his body's natural desire to relax after spending itself on the first giant orgasm.

 

And Attendant says, "Here's my card. You made the grade. You passing through again or live here in Weatherford, don't matter. Call ahead and BigGuy and I'll arrange some entertainment for you--just us or truckers or cowboys or whatever you want. Y'all just call ahead, y'hear?"

 

Back to

MATT

 

 

 

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