by Xavier Mayne
“A few hour?” Nestor asked. “I only bring twelve condoms.”
Virgil laughed. “Well, it’s a start. Let’s see how many we can burn through.”
“You are a true gentleman,” Bryce said. “But first, I do have one question. Why was that awful man attacking you back at the truck stop?”
Virgil sighed and shook his head. “I’d never met him before, only knew him by reputation. Name’s Archer. He’s pretty well-known for being an ornery son of a bitch. Turns out he’s also the brother-in-law of a guy I spent some recreational time with last month. Now, I don’t seek out married men as a rule. Don’t like being caught up in domestic drama. But he didn’t let slip that he was married when he slipped it to me, so I didn’t know until later. Well, apparently his wife found out what he’d gotten up to with me, so now he’s telling people a story about how I raped him, which is completely untrue—all I did was ‘accidentally’ show him some porn with bi dudes in it and he was all over me. Anyway, his wife’s brother got all lathered up about defending his virtue or reclaiming his good name or whatever. So when he recognized my rig, he thought he’d pay me a call and kick my spleen for a while. It ain’t the first time something like this has happened, but it’s definitely the worst beatdown I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. If you hadn’t come along with that wrench, I might’a ended up in the hospital—or worse.”
“It was nothing,” Bryce said with perhaps a bit too much modesty. “Please don’t tell anyone about it. I don’t want people thinking I go around knowing how wrenches work.”
“People are not going to think anything bad about you, Bryce, because they’d be too scared that you’re gonna whip out your wrench and crack some heads. By tonight you’re going to be a truck stop legend all up and down the highway.”
“I have always said that there are only two things in this life a man can truly call his own: his reputation and his moisturizer. And now,” Bryce said, touching a delicate hand to his throat as if receiving the best-actress Oscar, “truck drivers will know my name. Truck drivers. This is the greatest day of my life.”
Virgil cast a look toward Nestor, eyebrows raised. Nestor shook his head subtly. “He always say that. Every day.”
Virgil grinned widely. “You the man, Bryce. You the man.”
“Oh my,” Bryce gasped. “No one’s ever called me that before.” He said it to himself several times, trying it on for size. He quite liked it.
About an hour later, Virgil pulled off the interstate toward a small knot of buildings clustered near the off-ramp. Bryce, who had fallen into a dreamy daze thinking about truckers mouthing his name, roused himself as he felt the truck slow. Virgil guided the rig into the parking lot of an old but well-kept motel that stretched, low and long, away from the frontage road. He parked at the far edge of the lot, and the rumbling diesel engine fell silent.
“Welcome to paradise,” Virgil announced as he swung the door open and hopped down. He held up a gallant hand to help Bryce and Nestor out of the cab.
A buzzing neon sign showed Virgil’s characterization to be literally true: Motel Paradise, it read, in lurid reds and blues. They walked to the office where Bryce noticed a tiny rainbow flag tucked in the corner of the front window. Virgil opened the door, and a melodic tinkle announced their arrival.
From an office behind the front desk appeared a short, muscular man with a tight T-shirt and a broad smile. “Virge!” he called, jogging around the desk and grasping Virgil’s hand in his.
“Michael, it’s always great to see you.”
“Listen to you,” Michael scolded. “You talk like we ain’t buddies.” He grabbed Virgil’s jaw with both hands and pulled him into a kiss that was both athletic and passionate. The men stayed clinched together for a long minute.
“The great plains are full of wonders, Nestor,” Bryce whispered.
Nestor made no reply other than to adjust his pants.
“Can you take a little time?” Virgil asked, once he had the use of his mouth back.
“And disappoint the desperate hordes of weary travelers clamoring for a room?” Michael pointed out to the parking lot, in which no car—or anything else—stirred at this hour. “Hell yeah, I can take some time if you’ve got some to give.” He winked, making clear the kind of “giving” he was interested in receiving.
“In that case, I’d like you to meet Bryce and Nestor, my companions for this trip to the coast.”
“So pleased to make your acquaintance,” Bryce bubbled as he shook Michael’s hand.
“And I yours,” Michael replied. He took Nestor’s hand next. “Oh, what soft hands.”
Nestor beamed. “And yours, so strong,” he murmured.
“Well, gentlemen, shall we?” Michael took a key from the pegboard behind the desk. “Your favorite room is available,” he said to Virgil, shaking the key ring.
“As long as you’re willing, I’ll work myself in anywhere.”
“Oh, fuck, the way you talk,” Michael whispered, wiping his brow. “Follow me, gents!” He held open the door to the office and then locked it behind them.
Virgil’s favorite room was all the way at the end of the motel, farthest from the street. Michael jiggled the key in the knob and shoved the door open. The men stepped into a gleamingly clean and spacious room containing a wide bed and a whirlpool tub in the far corner, surrounded by mirrored walls. It was the roadside motel version of a honeymoon suite.
“Ah, even better than I remember it,” Virgil said, looking around the room. “Love the new color.”
“I’ll tell Trish you approve of her interior design skills,” Michael said as he shut and locked the door.
“Where is the lovely ball and chain?” Virgil asked.
“She’s at one of her artistic retreats. You know, where a bunch of women get together, tell feminist stories around the fire, and don’t shower. I assume there’s lots of weed ’cause she’s always very relaxed when she gets back from one of those. I think it does her good to go be a hippie lesbian for a while. Plus, it frees me up for visits from old friends like yourself.”
Virgil smiled. “You two really have married life figured out.”
“Am I to understand,” Bryce said after clearing his throat delicately, “that you are… married? To a woman?” He was unable to suppress a wince.
“In fact I am. To the best woman in the world. Been ten years now.”
“But I had assumed, since you and Virgil….”
“Oh, don’t misunderstand. Virgil’s definitely going to pound my ass until I forget my own name. It’s part of the arrangement Trish and I have. She goes to her retreats where they spell womyn with a y, and she can munch all the pussy she wants. And I occasionally entertain transportation specialists like Virgil here.”
Bryce, whose eyes had rolled back in his head at the mention of the P-word, managed to remain upright through sheer force of will.
“He was my first,” Michael continued. “And still the best.” He pulled Virgil to him and they kissed again, clutching at each other with greater purpose.
This was just the tonic Bryce needed to recover his senses. “Nestor, be a dear and run a bath,” he instructed. “I think the show’s starting.”
Nestor stepped lightly over to the whirlpool and turned on the taps. He availed himself of the bubble bath that sat on the edge of the tub, and soon a mountain of suds rose into view.
“Delightful,” Bryce said, managing to tear his eyes for just a moment from the athletic grappling at the foot of the bed. “Thank you, dear.” He turned back to watch Virgil pick Michael up and throw him without ceremony onto the bed. He pounced like a jungle cat, full of raw but sinuous energy. He tore Michael’s shirt open, then threw the scraps of fabric to the side. Well-worn jeans followed, and then Virgil threw off his dingy white T-shirt.
“Ooh,” Bryce exclaimed at this sudden vigorous motion. “Nestor, love, is the bath ready?”
Nestor reached through the bubbles to feel the water, then n
odded. “Is ready.”
“Excellent,” Bryce replied. “Shall we?” They began removing their clothes.
“You two aren’t going to join us?” Virgil asked, removing his mouth from Michael’s for the first time in a long while.
“Oh, of course we will, dear,” Bryce replied. “But there is really nothing better than relaxing in a nice tub and watching two manly men handle each other. Nestor and I are specialists of a more delicate type, and our particular skills will come into play once you have worked out your more aggressive appetites.”
“Your friend talks pretty,” Michael offered from under Virgil. “Let’s give him something to talk about.”
Virgil made answer by pouncing again, pressing Michael flat against the mattress as he devoured him with an onslaught of kisses and nips all along his neck and chest. Michael groaned and swore when Virgil bit down on his nipple, and as he arched his back in ecstatic surprise Virgil lunged, taking most of the man’s meaty pectoral muscle into his mouth and sucking the flesh against his teeth.
“Oh my,” Bryce whispered to Nestor from across the mountains of bubbles in the tub. “I have a new appreciation for our country’s transportation infrastructure.”
Just then Virgil, scrambling for better purchase on the slick bedspread, splayed his legs wide and attacked Michael’s other nipple. The view from the foot of the bed was expansive.
“And to think,” Bryce remarked, staring at Virgil’s mounded buttocks as they strained at the faded denim that covered them, “he spends all day just sitting on that lovely mass of muscle, rather than using it for the purpose God intended. Such a pity.”
“But he gonna use it now,” Nestor sang lightly.
“Of that I have no doubt.” Bryce settled back into the tub to watch the show.
Virgil reared back, grabbed Michael under the knees, and lifted his legs nearly up over his head. He pushed the smaller man’s legs wide, and looked down at him with a grin. “You been savin’ yourself for me?” he asked with a growl. “That ass of yours is the tightest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Michael looked up, his face contorted with lust. “Bust me wide open, you motherfucker.”
“That’s the only way I know how to do it.” Virgil let go of Michael’s ankles and drove his fingers into the slender gap between Michael’s obscenely spread buttocks. He tugged the man’s cheeks wide open. “But first, I need a taste of that ass.”
Bryce and Nestor jumped in surprise at the sound of Virgil’s mouth smacking into Michael’s ass, but then craned forward to see the stubbled friction that was making Michael squeal in delight. Virgil slurped and smacked and chewed, his cheeks pulling in from the force of his suction, his jaw working open and closed feverishly as he ground his face into Michael’s ass. Without warning he pulled back, and the sudden release of suction made a wet popping noise that filled the room. With a growl he lunged forward again, tongue already fully extended before making contact between Michael’s twitching buttocks.
“Such raw power,” Bryce murmured. “I haven’t seen anyone suck like that since… well, when was the last Vin Diesel movie?”
“All muscle, no acting,” sighed Nestor, shaking his head mournfully.
Back on the bed, Virgil had apparently concluded his asshole appetizer, for he pulled off and this time simply stared down at Michael’s no doubt well-chewed ass. “Are you man enough?” he asked, jeering, as he held up his middle finger.
“Fuck yeah,” Michael replied, as if he’d been asked whether he wanted another beer.
Virgil stuck his middle finger into Michael’s mouth, then pulled it out slowly, dripping a string of spittle with it. He looked at it for a moment as it gleamed, and then without further ceremony, he jammed it into Michael’s ass.
“Well,” murmured Bryce. “That escalated quickly.”
Virgil withdrew his finger, then slammed it roughly back into Michael’s ass. He repeated this motion several times, each more quickly than the last, until his hand was a blur of motion. Michael’s grunting began to quiet.
“Are you man enough for two?” Virgil asked.
Without warning Michael lurched up and slammed his fist into Virgil’s solidly muscled chest. “Make me feel it this time, bitch.”
Virgil’s reply was to yank his finger out of Michael’s ass and then shove it brutally into his mouth, forcing the smaller man back down onto the mattress. He jammed in his index finger as well, and forced both fingers in and out of Michael’s mouth. Michael’s voice could be heard, but with Virgil’s fingers in his mouth he could not be understood. Finally, Virgil withdrew.
“Come at me, motherfucker,” Michael yelled, his face red and furious.
“Fuck you,” Virgil replied, and with corded muscle standing out the length of his entire arm, he drove his fingers into Michael’s ass.
In the bath, Nestor leaned his head on Bryce’s shoulder. “The way they talk,” he whispered. “So romantic.”
“It is a moving sight, isn’t it, darling?” Bryce agreed.
Virgil twisted his arm wildly, corkscrewing his fingers into and out of Michael’s ass. “You like that, fucker? You like that?”
“Is that all you got?” Michael jeered. “Pussy.”
“You man enough for three?” Virgil snarled back.
“I could hardly feel two, so do your worst.”
Virgil yanked his fingers out and with lightning speed jammed them into Michael’s mouth. This time two more joined in, stretching Michael’s jaw as they worked their way between his lips. After just a few seconds of this Virgil pulled his hand back. “You want all four, fucker?”
Michael’s response was to spit a huge glob right into Virgil’s face. It ran down his cheek, until his tongue darted out and he spat it right back into Michael’s open mouth. He jammed his fingers together into one impossibly large battering ram, placed it against Michael’s already bright red pucker, and pushed. Hard.
Michael let out a shriek that he quickly clamped down on, but his fierce eyes never lost contact with Virgil’s. “Fuck you!” he bellowed as Virgil’s fingers disappeared with agonizing slowness into him.
Virgil grunted with the effort of driving his spit-slicked fingers into Michael’s writhing ass, but he was unrelenting. He brought his full weight to bear, and gradually his knuckles pressed against the buttocks that could spread no wider to accommodate him. He let out a vicious yell, glorying in his accomplishment as Michael struggled, red-faced and grimacing, to adjust to the intrusion.
Virgil, however, did not pause to allow the other man to catch his breath. His biceps gathered into melon-sized mounds as he wrenched his hand, twisting and jabbing, forcing Michael’s ass open from every angle. “You dirty little fucker,” Virgil growled. “You want this, don’t you? You want me to tear you open.”
“Fuck you,” Michael retorted, his voice still gruff but growing ragged with the strain. “You ain’t man enough.”
Virgil’s response was a guttural yell that filled the motel room with incoherent animal lust. He yanked his hand out of Michael’s ass, but then used both hands to pry the man open even wider. Two, and then three fingers of each hand wriggled into the bright red ring of muscle, and with the muscles of his back arching with effort, he pulled his hands apart. Michael’s voice leapt up an octave as his eyes rolled back in his head and his spine arched as if he were trying to get away from the prying hands.
“Gotcha, fucker,” Virgil taunted. He spat mightily into the yawning gap opened by his fingers, and laughed out an unhinged, bestial roar of victory. “Your fuckin’ ass is mine, bitch.” He hocked another glob of spit into the chasm.
“Shut up and fuck me,” Michael spat back, “if you even can, you fucking pussy.”
A sinister snarl spread across Virgil’s face, and he chuckled ominously as he spat once again into Michael’s ass. He finally released his grip on Michael’s legs, allowing them to drop to the bed on either side of him. He shuffled himself back, placing his feet on the pink carpet, and yanked Mi
chael’s legs toward him.
Michael raised his legs to give Virgil access to his ass, but Virgil shook his head. “I don’t want to see your faggot face when I fuck you,” he grunted as he grabbed Michael roughly and flipped him over onto his belly, then yanked his hips up until he was on his knees. “That’s better.” He quickly unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and slid them off his slim, naked hips. A truly enormous penis stabbed out from his body.
“Oh captain, my captain,” whispered Bryce reverently.
Virgil grinned at Bryce as he placed the tip of his enormous uncut cock against Michael’s inflamed and hungry ass.
“Nestor, quick!” Bryce called as he launched himself out of the tub. As he reached the bed he looked back and with the sure hand of a veteran fielder caught the foil square Nestor had whipped toward him. In one fluid motion, he tore the packet open and popped the condom into his mouth, then grabbed Virgil’s cock authoritatively. Virgil took a step back, clearly startled. Bryce smiled politely as he quickly and professionally skinned back Virgil’s foreskin. Then he leaned down and swallowed half the organ in one sure swoop. Just as quickly he pulled back, leaving the condom perfectly placed on the bobbing erection. He straightened up, smiled brightly again, and patted Virgil on the head. “There. You may now bust him open, motherfucker.” Bryce giggled and stepped lightly back to the tub.
Virgil shook his head in smiling wonder as Bryce settled back into the suds to watch the main event. But Michael’s crouching ass soon drew his attention back to the job before him. He spat into his hand and rubbed it once down the length of his hard cock, then placed it at the entrance to Michael’s once-private place. He leaned forward and landed his hand on the back of Michael’s head, pushing him down to the mattress and pinning him there as he lunged forward.
The invasion of Virgil’s cock into his ass seemed to push all of the air out of Michael’s lungs. Virgil reared back and threw himself forward again, violently driving his hips against Michael’s buttocks with a mighty slap. For the first time since their grappling began, Bryce saw a flash of fear streak across Michael’s face, as if he were genuinely uncertain whether he could accommodate Virgil’s massive member. But he closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they had the familiar fire of lust resurgent in them. He reached back and grabbed Virgil’s buttocks, his grasping fingers leaving trails of white skin that bloomed pink, driving Virgil even harder into him.