by Rob Rosen
He mashed his ass down and his mouth in, grinding into my lap and my chest all at the same time, until I didn’t know where my body ended and his began. Then he rode me like the pro that he was, raising his rump and then slamming it down, up and down, each time with a loud grunt, causing me to quicken my pace on his cock, a trot to a gallop in no time flat.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he rasped, his mouth still pressed onto mine.
“Mhm,” I agreed, my body drenched in sweat as I pummeled his ass, ramming it with wild abandon.
“Make me come. Make me come. Make me come,” he pled, the words hiccupping out of his mouth as I pumped his ass and cock.
I sped up, working his shaft rapid-fire fast. He ground his ass one final time onto my lap, forcing my cock to slam up against his granite-solid prostate. And then he shot, drenching my belly in hot come, erupting over and over again, causing his ring to tighten around my prick, which then also shot, repeatedly, filling that rubber and his ass with a massive load of my own.
Our moans and groans ricocheted around that trailer of his, which now shook as we rocked back and forth on his tiny cot. He then collapsed into me, chest to fuzzy chest, sticky belly to sticky belly, his mouth nuzzling into my neck, a perfect fit if ever there was one, a giant puzzle piece and much smaller one locking together.
We sat there like that, endless minutes ticking by as our breathing returned to normal. “Next time, I might just lose,” he whispered into my ear. “Just so I can fuck you.”
“Easy for you to say,” I whispered back, taking a tiny lobe into my mouth. “It’s not your money I’m betting with.”
He shook with pleasure and pressed in even closer, if that was humanly possible. “You just made ten-grand,” he said. “I think you can spare it, my friend.”
I laughed, reaching my arms around him in a tight embrace. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Didn’t you bet on me to win?” I could already feel his cock miraculously begin to harden again, pushing gently into my stomach.
“Oh, that I did, Gus. That I did.”
“But not the full thousand?” My own cock began to stiffen and fill up his hole, inch by rigid inch.
“Oh yes, the full thousand…five times over.”
And then his laughter echoed my own as he slowly started to ride my cock again. “I made you fifty-grand, Stu?”
“Mhm, enough for an entire season’s worth of bets.”
He leaned back to stare me deep in the eyes once again, those blue eyes of his glinting in the light, just as mesmerizing as the rest of him. “Sounds like a winning season then, Stu.”
“Now that’s a sure bet, Gus.”
Free Willy
I’ve always had a penchant for going commando. Oh sure, it saves big bucks on boxers, but mostly it’s because I long ago found that if I cut holes in the front pockets of my pants, I could play with my cock any time of the day. It looks like I’m searching for some change or car keys or the like, but in actuality I’m pulling my pud, stroking my rod, yanking my nuts, and trying my darndest not to shoot a load down my leg—and all in broad daylight, for the whole world to see. Or, that is to say, of course, not see.
Oh, and of course, if I can reach in, my cock can also come out. In fact, freeing Willy has become a sort of favorite pastime of mine.
Sitting at my desk at work, safe in my cubicle, I pull my prick through the hole, where it juts up, hard as granite, resting comfortably inside my pocket as I squeeze and tease my leaking helmeted head. On occasion I even sheath the beast and rip off a heavy one, a mere few feet away from several coworkers on either side of my cubicle walls.
And, best yet, I’ve never been caught.
That is to say, I’d never been caught before now.
Like any pastime, mine became second nature, a habit—and one that I’d grown lazy trying to keep a secret. And secrets, in any environment where people are trying to get ahead, are better kept hidden, locked away—or, as the case may be, zippered up.
“Hi, Brad,” said my coworker, Lou, that fateful day. “What’s up?”
I hated Lou. I mean really and truly totally fucking hated. See, the guy was always trying to one-up me, stealing my ideas and then taking the credit, undermining me in front of the bigwigs. Plus, he was handsome as all hell and well aware of it. In other words, he was an egotistical prick. Meaning, hate was not too strong a word.
This is why, when he walked around my desk and stood behind me, I knew something was wrong. “Um, not much up here,” I replied, clenching my jaw. “Something you lost?”
He laughed and bent down, his breath warming the nape of my neck. “Nope. Something I found, though.” Then he did something that surprised the shit out of me. On my desk, he tossed a come-filled rubber. A blue one. And one that I recognized from the day before.
My heart skipped a beat. “Couldn’t wait until you got home, Lou?” I asked, trying to stall the inevitable.
“I might ask you the same question; it was in your trashcan,” he whispered in my ear, low and deep and wickedly calm.
“Um, you in the habit of rummaging through the trash these days?”
Again he laughed. “Never know what you might find,” he replied, before adding, “What you might find that can be used to your advantage, I mean.”
A pit the size of a lemon instantly formed in my belly. “You can’t prove it’s mine,” I whispered, quickly tossing the evidence back in the trash.
He reached around and began typing on my keyboard, opening up a site that grew that pit to watermelon-sized proportions: www.bradjacksatwork.com. There was a single icon on the all-white screen. “It’s amazing how small they make cams these days, Brad,” he said, staring at the screen, his face two inches to the side of my own, his taut body leaning over the side of my chair as he clicked the link. “Small enough to tape to the underside of a desk even.”
My screen filled with an image of my lap, then of the head of my cock poking up and out of my front pocket, and then of a blue rubber getting slid over it, and, after a quick jerk-off session, that same rubber, the rubber now in my trashcan, turning white from within. “Shame,” he told me, “if this ever became public.”
A red flush of rage rose up my neck. “What would it take for this to go, um, away?”
He didn’t answer my question. Instead, he spoke in my ear, “That must be a big dick you got there, Brad. I mean, for it to reach out of your pocket like that, all thick and hard and slick.” I gulped, surprised at the turn in the conversation. And then he upped the ante. “Can I see it?”
I turned to look at him, his eyes right in front of mine, sparkling blue beneath the harsh overhead lights, his breath mixing with my own, and I asked, “Um, are you trying to get me fired or get me off, Lou?”
He smirked and looked up and over my computer, outside of my cubicle, making sure the coast was clear. “Why would I want to get you fired?” he asked, his hand gliding over my arm, which he squeezed tightly, sending a surprising jolt to my crotch.
“Because,” I replied, “you hate me, you want my job, and you’re a nasty son-of-a-bitch.”
“All true,” he said, with a nod of his head. “But then I saw this video, and well, other thoughts occurred to me.”
Despite the fact that I hated the asshole’s guts, my cock began a gradual lift. I reached into my pocket and pulled my stiffening rod up and through the ever-present hole. “You want to see my cock, Lou?” I whispered in his ear, my dick growing harder with each passing second.
“Yeah,” he whispered, now staring down at where my hand had disappeared. “Show it to me, Brad.”
I grinned and removed just the head, which was pink and thick and wet. Then I put it away, just as quickly. “Show’s over,” I said. “Now go sift through someone else’s garbage, asshole.”
“Free Willy for me, Brad, and the video goes bye-bye,” he whispered into my ear with a low, steady groan.
At hearing him use my own exact choice of words, I couldn’t r
esist the temptation. Again I reached in and again my dickhead poked out. With one of his hands, he pretended to type on my keyboard, with the other, he reached down and stroked just the tip of my cock. A shiver ran down my back before swirling in my gut. “Okay,” I said, nervously staring ahead at my screen. “Is this video as good as gone now?”
He reached further inside my pocket, grasping my shaft in his big, strong hand as he slowly stroked it. “This one, yes,” he replied. “But that cam’s been filming for a month.”
I reached down, gripped his arm, and removed his hand from inside my slacks. “Fucker,” I spat. “Now get the hell out of here.”
He moved away and stood behind me, his hands now resting on my shoulders while he leaned down to whisper one final thing in my ear. “Okay, but don’t you want to see mine now?”
“Huh?” was all I could manage, my dick still hard and, of all things, growing surprisingly harder.
“Fair’s fair, right?” he asked. “Don’t you want to see my cock, Brad? To compare notes?”
I pushed my stiffy back down and waited for it to subside. Then I stood up and walked outside of my cubicle, with Lou following close behind and my heart racing a mile a minute. When we reached the end of the hallway, I opened the conference room door, both of us quickly stepping inside. Lou locked the door behind us and turned on the occupied sign as I wiped away the sweat that had formed on my forehead. I then waited for what was to come next, knowing we wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Okay,” I said. “You want to see me fired. But releasing those videos won’t do much for your own credibility.”
He grinned, revealing perfect white teeth. “Unless they get released anonymously.”
“Oh,” I managed, my mouth round, jaw limp.
“Yeah, oh,” he echoed. “Anyway, I don’t want to see you fired.” To which he quickly amended with, “Well, I did, until I watched those videos. Now I just want to see you naked.” He moved in closer, then closer still. “Don’t you want to free Willy for me, Brad? Don’t you want to whip it out and show it to me? I know you like whipping it out. I know because I watch you do it every day. In fact,” he said, reaching into his slacks and pulling out his pocket, revealing a wide hole at the other end, “in fact, look at this neat trick I learned from you.”
I matched his sinister grin with one of my own. “Always stealing my ideas, Lou.”
“Hey,” he said. “Whatever it takes to get ahead. And speaking of heads, why don’t you show me yours again.”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” I said, backing up.
“That why your dick’s getting hard, Brad?” he asked, pointing at my obvious lumpage. “You want to fuck said asshole? Fill it up like you do those rubbers of yours?” His own slacks began to tent out. I stared down at them, mesmerized. Again he moved in, backing me up against the conference table. “You want me to free my Willy for you, Brad? Huh? You wanna see it?”
I nodded and stared as he reached into his pocket and maneuvered his prick through the hole, until it pointed up, with just the come-slick head pointing out. My cock bounced, eager for its own release. I reached inside my slacks, as he had just done, and revealed an equally wet head, which I ran my fingers across, getting them sticky before I sucked them dry. He eyed me, hungrily. “Wanna taste?” I asked.
“It’s all I can think about, Brad, watching it every day, wondering what it feels like, smells like, tastes like.”
Again a red flush crept up my neck, only this time I was hot with something other than rage. “So you, um, you watch me play with myself every day?”
He nodded. “And I stroke my cock, trying to imagine what yours looks like, hidden as it always is inside your pocket.”
I stared into his eyes as I unbuttoned my slacks. He looked down, his lips parting and his breath growing ragged. I reached for the waistband and revealed my trimmed black bush and then just the base of my cock. “The cam gets tossed tomorrow,” I told him as I slid my pants down just a bit more.
“Yes. Gone. Now please show me the rest of it,” he pleaded as he stroked his rod inside his pants, watching, waiting.
Slowly, inch by inch, my cock came into view, straining against the elastic, until, finally, Willy was indeed free, jutting straight out and to the side, curving its full seven thick inches. He moaned, grateful for the show. “Your turn,” I said. “And if you’re not completely naked in a minute, mine goes back inside, never to be seen again.”
He winced. Clearly, I now had the upper hand.
In a heartbeat, his shoes were off, and then his socks. He grabbed for his shirt, yanking it out of his pants and unbuttoning it, revealing a tightly packed chest, trimmed in a dense matting of red hair and a spray of freckles. The shirt was thrown to the floor and then the pants were opened and shoved to the ground. And there Lou stood, his arms behind his back, and his cock, thick and veined, pointing up at me.
I grinned. “You dye your hair?” I asked, pointing to the top of his head.
He blushed. “Otherwise, I look like Howdy Doody,” he said. “Not exactly an executive-to-be look.”
I stared at his fat six inches, with the surprisingly vivid red mound of pubic hair just above, and at his heavy nutsack, also covered with the same red hairs, and said, “I see your point.”
“Great,” he said, with a lustful leer. “And I see yours.”
I laughed, menacingly. “Nope,” I told him, pulling my pants back up. “You saw mine. Past tense.” Then I grabbed for his clothes and ran for the door before tossing his wardrobe in the hallway. I then closed the door and locked us in again.
He stared at me, his face as white as the rest of him. “Please, please get them back.”
“The videos you took of me, are they on the server?”
He immediately got my drift. “Yes, I can erase them from in here. Only, please, go get my clothes back.”
“Fine,” I said, reaching into my shirt pocket to take a quick pic of him with my cellphone, nude and helpless as he now was. “Erase the videos, asshole.”
He did as I told him while I quickly retrieved his clothes. Then I locked us both back inside the conference room, first making sure that the jack-off videos were wiped clean away. He then looked up at me and smirked. “You don’t play nice.”
“I learned from the master,” I said. “Now, you fucked me over, figuratively, and I’m gonna fuck you over, literally. On the table. Let’s see if all that red hair travels southward.”
Flustered, he hopped on the table, getting on all fours and spreading his meaty thighs apart. Again I took the camera phone out, snapping a pic of his hair-rimmed hole and swaying, heavy balls. “Stop it,” he whined.
“No way,” I replied. “Revenge is a bitch. And an even bigger one than you.” I reached out and slapped his rigid cock. It swayed from side to side. “Push it down. Show it to me.” He did as I said, and I leaned in and took another photo. “Now finger-fuck yourself.”
Panting, he said, “Wet it for me, first.”
I craned my neck in and took a deep whiff of his musky hole, and then I lapped at the ring, zooming in around the pink, crinkled center. He moaned when my tongue delved inside. When it was good and wet, I backed away. “Now, go fuck yourself, Lou.”
This time I filmed the event as he reached around with both hands and teased his hole with his index fingers before inserting both of them inside. With my phone now full of enough incriminating evidence, I put it away and undressed while he continued playing with himself. When I was naked, I joined in, adding my own finger to the mix, shoving it in and up and back. Now both he and the table rocked and groaned.
“Fuck me, Brad,” he rasped. “Fuck my hole.”
I reached for my pants and removed the rubber I always kept in my back pocket. “Turn around, Lou,” I said.
He flipped over and sat on the edge of the table, staring at me and then at my dick. “Man, that’s a nice cock, Brad,” he said. “Even better than I imagined.”
I didn’t admit it, bu
t his was just as impressive, thick and straight, with a fat, wide head. I walked in and positioned myself between his legs. Then I slapped his face. “No more filming,” I said, just before I gave him a hard kiss, staring deep into his cold, blue eyes before rolling on the rubber and pushing him down on the table.
He laughed. “I’m still gonna get that promotion before you do, Brad.”
“The only thing you’re gonna get promoted to is my bitch,” I said, with a sneer. “Now lift those legs and show me that hole of yours.”
He held his legs up and apart for me as I moved in and positioned the head of my cock up against his winking ring. He glared up at me, with a mixture of both longing and hatred spreading across his strikingly handsome face. “Fuck you, Brad” he said, hocking a loogie on my chest.
I wiped his spit off as it dribbled down my torso, then spread it around his crack. “No, Lou,” I said. “Fuck you.” And then I rammed my cock up his chute like a rocket.
He sucked in his breath and clenched his asshole, but soon enough relaxed and allowed me to fully penetrate him. I reached down and gripped his cock, which was fat with coursing blood. I glided my rod up to the hilt, until my balls rested snugly against his fuzzy ass. Then I retracted, slowly, popping my prick out and jamming it home again, all the while jacking him off.
I stared down at him, at his lean, hairy body, covered as he was in all that neon orange. He was, just about, the most beautiful bastard I’d ever seen. Or fucked. Which means that saying must really be true: beauty is only skin deep.
He smirked and said, “At least you’re good for something.”
Again I slammed my cock inside of him, as he, in turn, bucked his ass into me. Then I leaned in and down. “Maybe this’ll shut you up.” I mashed my mouth on his while I continued fucking and stroking him. He moaned and grabbed my back, pushing me in even deeper, harder, all the while edging me closer, sucking me inside of him with his powerful ass muscles.
“Shoot it,” he eventually rasped, biting down on my lip.
My cock went into overdrive, piston-fucking his tight asshole as his prostate grew just as rock solid as his prick. And then I shot at the same split second he did, our mouths pressed up tightly together, muffling the sounds of our moans, while I filled that rubber of mine up with ounce after ounce of white hot come and he shot one heavy load after the next, drenching our bellies and chests in sticky, aromatic spunk.