Wild Boys

by Richard Labonté

  I released my grip on his sack, rolling his balls around the palm of my hand. “Grab your ankles, boy, and hold on tight. You’re in for one hell of a ride.”

  Groaning heavily, Ryan did as I ordered.

  Slowly I pulled my dick out of his ass, relishing the friction of his muscular ring against my cock. I positioned my swollen cockhead against his hole. “Beg!”

  Ryan hesitated. I gave his balls a reminder tug. “Please, Sir, fuck me,” he moaned. “I need your dick—bad! Fill my hole!”

  He didn’t sound very sincere. That was all right—I wasn’t feeling very particular just then. I shoved my cock in all the way to the root and ground my bush against his ass, wriggling my cock around nice and good for twenty or thirty seconds, then roughly yanked all the way out again.

  Ryan gasped.

  “Once more!” I ordered.

  “Fuck me, Sir!” he cried a little louder and without delay this time. “I gotta have it!”

  I pressed my swollen head into his ring, plunging deep inside him; moved it around, feeling his warm insides; and pulled out fast, gasping myself at the sensation.

  This time he didn’t have to be told. “Fuck me!” he screamed, half in pleasure, half in pain. In truth Ryan likes his sex raw and rough. And if I do say so myself I’m damn good at delivering.

  Again he begged, “Fuck that ass as hard as you can, you fucker!” I could tell my boy was enjoying himself, and it made me work all the harder to pleasure him.

  Over and over again we repeated the sequence. I shoved my fuck pole into that poor boy’s butt while his thighs bucked wildly and he held on to his ankles for dear life. Every time I pulled out, he begged louder and louder for me to plug up his hole again.

  I rode his ass like never before, filling his chute with a hefty serving of cock, roughing up his hole in the process. I didn’t really give a shit about anything except my own need to get off.

  I felt that tightening deep inside my balls as they got ready to erupt. “Fuck, boy, get ready! I’m coming. I’m gonna shoot. Take it, you little shit! Take your daddy’s load!”

  Suddenly Ryan twisted around, wanting to watch my face as I shot. My next thrust missed his hole completely, and I shot thick, creamy come into that damn rubber until I thought it was going to burst from the pressure.

  “God damn!” he cried in desperation. “Shove it back in! Quick! I want to jack off with you inside me. Please, Dan!”

  I didn’t care for his ordering me around, so I smacked his ass, hard. Put off balance by the slap, Ryan tumbled to the kitchen floor.

  There he lay, sprawled out before me, his torn Jockey shorts soaking up the puddle of our sweat that had streamed off our bodies. I sank down to my knees between his spread thighs, grabbed the condom by its tip, and yanked the rubber off. Holding the condom up in the air, I let my come slowly drip out onto his back. There was more than enough fluid to write FUCK ME across his broad shoulders. Jesus, he looked hot!

  Finished with my graffiti, I collapsed on top of him. He felt exactly like a man ought to feel: sweaty and sticky and, best of all, still horny as hell.

  “Shit, why couldn’t you have just stuck it back in me?” he complained. “You know I love having your cock deep inside me.” He wiggled his butt against my still stiff dick. “It always feels s-o-o-o good, having your cock up my ass.”

  I laughed. “You whore!”

  Still, it’s nice to be wanted; but I’d just gotten off and was feeling very content—I didn’t want to move a damned muscle.

  “Tell you what…” I moved up a little and nestled my cock and balls in the puddle of jism that had pooled in the small of his back. “Let’s wait a couple of minutes. Then you can go get me a washcloth. After you’ve cleaned me up—”

  “Aw, come on, Dan, no!”

  “Shush! After you’ve cleaned me up, you can fix us some dinner. Then maybe, if you’re really good…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I was thinking—my cowboy boots are awfully scuffed up.”

  “Yeee-fucking-haw!”

  THE DEVIL TATTOO

  Jonathan Asche

  As soon as I got home from work I went to my bedroom, unbuttoning my shirt as I walked down the hall, eager to get out of my office drag.

  Parker smiled when he saw me. “Hey, bro. How’zit goin’?” He was sitting on the edge of my bed, turning a DVD over in his hand—a title he’d taken from my porn stash in the cabinet beneath the nightstand. He was in his underwear.

  My greeting wasn’t so casual. “When the fuck did I ever say it was okay to come in here?”

  “Easy, easy. Just needed to borrow some lube. Figured you’d have some.” He squeezed his crotch; his smile became a sneer.

  Two months ago my niece Shayla called, saying she’d applied for a job at a nursing home in Sarasota and wanted to know if she could stay with me—temporarily, until she had the funds for an apartment—if she got it. Shayla looks like she stars in vampire porn. I agreed to let her stay, confident no nursing home would hire her. Five weeks later I learned just how badly I misjudged Shayla’s employability.

  She didn’t say anything about Parker until she showed up with him on my doorstep. He was her fiancé, though Shayla might as well have introduced him as her future ex. He was young, a mere twenty-three, though still an older man in my nineteen-year-old niece’s eyes. There was plenty of hard living in those twenty-three years; the crude tattoos on his arms and the scar across his forehead were at once badges of honor and warning signs. He was out of work, but Shayla assured me he was hunting for a job. In the past week I hadn’t seen much evidence that he’d looked any farther than my refrigerator—or, apparently, my porn collection.

  “You could get Shayla to get some lube on her way home from work tonight.”

  Parker chuckled, bringing a muscular leg up on the bed and leaning back against the pillows. “Shayla…shee-it, she’s fine an’ all, but”—another crotch squeeze—“I’m horny now.”

  My anger wavered, like he knew it would. “Shayla tells me you’re queer,” was Parker’s ice-breaker when we first met, though he assured me that “it ain’t nothin’ to me you like suckin’ dick.” But I expected him to be uncomfortable in my presence, at best; hostile at worst. I was prepared to—eager to—evict him in either case. Instead, he provoked me in a wholly unexpected, and more confusing, way: seldom wearing a shirt, often lounging around the house in his underwear; not bothering to close the bathroom door completely when he showered, as if daring me to step inside for a better view. “Goddamn, Parker, put some shorts on,” I overheard Shayla chastise him one morning. “What if Uncle Marty saw you? You know he’s…” Like seeing Parker nude would drive me to rape.

  Seeing him on my bed now, I thought her fears might be justified. He had the rippling torso worthy of a gladiator. Despite the ink coverage on his arms, back and calves, his torso was only covered with hair, save a rendering of a cartoon devil just south of his belly button, peeking over the waistband of his white briefs. Lucky devil. His right hand rested over his crotch. I resented that hand for what it covered up; just the thought of the bulge beneath made my cock tingle. Compounding my resentment was my suspicion he’d put it there deliberately, just to fuck with me.

  “Too bad for you I got home early,” I said, trying to look him in the eyes; trying to keep an edge to my tone.

  “Maybe,” he said. “So this the kinda’ shit you’re into?”

  Parker held up the DVD case: Hot Cream Topping 2, one of the nastier titles in my meager collection. The picture on the cover showed a rugged muscle-bear type licking a cum-covered cock nestled between a pair of plush asscheeks. “It was on sale,” I offered. “You wanna borrow it?”

  He shook his head, chuckling ominously. “That’s good,” he said, dropping the DVD on the mattress and getting to his feet. Standing, he stretched his arms over his head, letting me see his muscles flex, letting me get a good look at the bulge his hand had covered up. By the time he dropped his arms
he had a smirk on his face. When he walked toward me I unconsciously took a step back.

  “Shayla don’t know this, but when I was livin’ in Atlanta this dude paid me fifty bucks to video me naked.” His hand went to his full basket on the word “naked.” Still heading toward me, he continued: “Paid me another fifty bucks to jack off.”

  You could’ve held out for two hundred, I thought. I would’ve said it except now he was directly in front of me, so close I could feel his warm, smoky breath when he asked, “What would you pay to watch me jerk off, Marty?”

  The collar of my shirt suddenly felt two sizes too small.

  “How ’bout suckin’ my cock? One hundred? Two hundred? I’ll even come in your mouth for free.”

  My response sounded like a death rattle. “I don’t intend to pay you anything.”

  “That right?” His arms were suddenly around me and I inhaled sharply, bracing myself for violence. I had twenty years on Parker and my body wasn’t as ripped, but I’d maintained a solid physique. Still, I’d cultivated my muscles for show, not self-defense.

  Parker squeezed me against his chest, rubbing his crotch against mine, the gesture more joking than erotic. His hands went down my back. “I see you lookin’ at me, checkin’ out my ass, trying to see my dick through my drawers. Bet you jack off every night thinkin’ ’bout sucking my cock.”

  Not every night, I thought.

  His hands rested on my ass, squeezing it as if he were testing it for ripeness. But it didn’t matter if his intent was to mock. For the briefest moment I reconsidered my refusal to pay for the privilege of blowing him.

  Parker withdrew his hands from my backside, keeping my wallet as a souvenir. I shouted at him to give it back to me, but he jumped away and onto the bed, bouncing as he hit the mattress.

  “Let’s see if you can afford me,” he cackled, opening up my wallet and rifling through my cash. “Only thirty-seven bucks? You won’t get much for that, Marty.”

  I pounced, landing on top of him. I got the satisfaction of knocking the breath out of him, but Parker quickly recovered, forcing me off him and rolling on top of me. “Give me back my money and get the fuck out of my house,” I hissed through gnashed teeth, reaching for his throat. Brawny as he was, Parker was surprisingly agile, quickly getting astride my chest and pinning my arms to the mattress with his knees, ripping a sleeve of my shirt in the process. Nevertheless, I bucked and kicked and flailed beneath him, determined to regain the upper hand and my wallet.

  “Whyn’t you calm down dude, an’ I can make this fun for both of us,” Parker drawled.

  That’s when I became acutely aware that his crotch was inches from my face. Also, I had a hard-on.

  “You want this?” he asked tauntingly, holding my wallet over my head. “Or do you want this?” His other hand slipped inside his underwear and grabbed his cock.

  “Get off me, you fuckin’ redneck,” I spat.

  “How’d you know I like dirty talk? Tell me some more, like how bad you wanna suck my cock.”

  “You seem to be the one wanting it.”

  “What guy don’t like gettin’ a blow job? ’Specially from someone really likes suckin’ dick. Don’t get me wrong, Shayla’s a great girl an’ all, but she gives head like she lost a bet. But I can tell by lookin’ at you, you know how to appreciate a cock.” His hand reached deeper into his briefs, pulling the waistband down to expose his bushy brown pubes, as well as the devil tattoo. Satan was winking. The musk of his balls reached my nostrils, weakening my resolve.

  He tossed my wallet over his shoulder. “I’ll let you get that if you’re nice to me,” he trilled. “You gonna be nice?”

  My eyes were on Parker’s hand moving inside his underwear, manipulating his cock and balls. I was hypnotized; I was powerless. I nodded. “I can be nice,” I said.

  Parker chuckled, and then pulled out his dick. My opinion of him of him went up several notches—make that several inches. It was a stunning penis, with a meaty shaft and a full, succulent head. I don’t claim to be a size queen, but his cock was long enough to make my mouth water, and it wasn’t even hard (yet). As much as I wanted this shiftless piece of white trash out of my house, at this moment I wanted him in my mouth.

  Parker leaned forward, his knees digging painfully into my arms, bracing himself against the headboard with one hand. The other hand held his cock, batting it against my lips. I raised my head off the pillow trying to capture his dick in my mouth. He jerked it away, cackling, then dipping his cock toward my face like it was a chew toy and I was an eager puppy. And like a puppy, I lunged, my tongue seeking and rewarded with a taste of his dick. Parker let his cockhead linger on my tongue, letting me trace the rounded edge of the crown and press into the piss slit, only to pull away, laughing as I strained to follow it.

  “You want it bad,” he said.

  My head fell back into the pillow and waited. Seeing the way he was pulling on his swelling dick, I knew he’d want it worse, and he’d want it soon.

  Parker pushed his semi-hard cock down to my mouth. My tongue made tentative contact, prodding the underside of his cockhead, tracing the seam up to the dewy slit. He was still smirking, but the coldness in his eyes was melting. I opened wide and seized Parker’s cock between my lips, again raising my head off the pillow to take as much of that meaty prick into my mouth as I could—quickly, before he could snatch it away. Parker let out a guttural groan: “Aw, shit.” His smirk was gone. He let his cock remain where it was.

  My tongue followed the engorged veins on his shaft as Parker fed his dick deeper into my mouth. I didn’t care that my arms, still restrained by his weight, were becoming numb, or that the muscles in my neck were knotting up, or that a searing pain was burning across my shoulders, I was determined to swallow Parker’s cock all the way to the root.

  Parker’s pelvis dipped and rolled as he fucked my mouth, the movements of his body making the mattress rock and creak rhythmically, creating a backbeat for the wet slurping of his cock sliding between my lips. Adding to the soundtrack was Parker’s breathing out obscenities like they were erotic mantras: “Oh fuck shit yeah goddamn fuck yeah.” It was all music to my ears.

  But I had to stop. “Get off my arms! I think they’re turning blue.” Like my balls.

  He climbed off. I immediately got up, making him suspicious. “Where the fuck you think you’re goin’?”

  “Not going anywhere,” I said, my tingling fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. My arms felt like rubber. “You’ll still get what you want.”

  Parker’s suspicions weren’t calmed when I took off my pants. “I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout returning the favor.”

  My cock felt foreign in my still-sleepy hand. “Relax,” I said, stroking my pulsing hard-on as I approached the bed. “You won’t have to do a thing.”

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how Parker flinched when I climbed back onto the mattress, or how he scooted back as I crawled toward him. “What’re you afraid of?” I chided. “I just want to suck your cock.”

  He let out a relieved sigh as I lowered my face between his legs. His stiff cock, harnessed at the base by the waistband of his cheap white briefs, throbbed against his belly, spitting out precum that collected in his navel. He giggled and convulsed beneath me as I dipped my tongue into the salty, syrupy pool, and loudly sucked up his juice. His body jerked when my mouth moved to his cock; he gasped sharply when I swallowed his prick whole. He placed a hand on top of my head, combing his fingers through my salt-and-pepper hair as he whispered more amazed obscenities: “Oh dude fuck oh shit yeah.”

  I pulled on Parker’s underwear. “I want to lick your balls,” I rasped.

  He helped me strip off his drawers, eyeing me with equal parts anticipation and mistrust, leaving me to wonder when he threw his underwear in my face if the gesture was playful or contemptuous. Regardless, I held the briefs to my face, inhaling the scents trapped in the fabric: the cloying artificial fragrance of detergent unable
to hide the natural, manly smells of musk, sweat and just a hint of piss. “Dude,” Parker said, aghast at my excitement in sniffing his underwear, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to sell them to me later.

  Tossing the briefs aside, I dove back into Parker’s crotch. While mouthwatering on its own, Parker’s cock looked more delectable with his balls exposed (I prefer seeing the cock and balls, which was why glory holes, so often created for the dick only, never fully excite me). Though Parker didn’t bother with manscaping, his nut sac, now drawn tight over his balls, wasn’t overly woolly. I playfully jostled his egg-sized testicles as if testing their weight on my tongue, then, finding them sufficiently heavy, licked his ball sac all over, until the curly hairs were slicked down flat by my spit and the thin, sensitive skin of his sack was wet and glistening. All the while Parker was moaning drowsily, as if about to drift off to sleep. I sucked one of his balls into my mouth and tugged, jolting him out of his reverie. “Oh, dude, fuck!” His cries became louder when I returned to his quivering cock.

  “Goddamn,” Parker gasped, again grabbing a fistful of my hair, holding my head as his dick disappeared into my gullet. His other hand pounded the mattress, as if the pleasure was too much to bear. I reached between my legs, tentatively stroking my dripping cock and shuddering. If Parker was close to coming, I wasn’t far behind. As sweet as a mouthful of Parker’s load would be, I thought he should get more than the best blow job of his young, delinquent life.

  The devil above his cock was giving me a thumbs-up.

  My lips traveled down his shaft and over his balls. I slipped my hands under his thighs and tried to lift his legs. Parker resisted.

  “Whoa, what the fuck? I didn’t say nothin’ about touchin’ my ass.”

  “I’m not going to touch it, I’m going to eat it.”

  “I…uh, don’t know.” But I could tell he was intrigued.

  “C’mon, Parker.” I tried again to lift his legs. “You can’t tell me you get rim jobs on a regular basis. Most straight guys have to pay hookers extra for what I’m going to do for free.”