Manhandled (12 page)

The blond had finished eating my ass. He stood up and unfastened his shirt and trousers. He had a long pink cock that he covered
in a clear-skinned condom. He smiled as he wedged the tip of his dick into my muscle. I opened my arms and he lay down on
top of me. He had a fine dusting of dark blond hair across his chest. His nipples were hard and raw; they rubbed deliciously
against my own as he began to pump into me.

I tightened my ass around his long, pulsating shaft, massaging and gripping him. I wrapped my arms around his back and held
him tight, excited by the manly smell of him. He held me by the waist and lifted my ass up to his dick; I humped his cock
hard and fast.

I felt his knees go limp for a second and his body trembled as he came. His cock jerked with the unburdening of his load.
He climbed off me and another man took his place. One after another they came. The faces became indistinct. I swung my body
around so that my face lay under Jimmy’s groin. As another man began to mount my ass I took Jimmy’s cock in my mouth and sucked
him.

From my position beneath him I had a magnificent view of his splayed ass and the huge dick that was hammering into him. A
massive pair of low-hanging balls slapped against his underside. Jimmy’s cock tasted stronger than before; it wept a continuous
flow of precum as he took a pounding from behind. I withdrew him from my mouth as I felt his organ tense. He sprayed my face
and hair with a gargantuan load of strong-smelling cum. I licked a gob from my top lip.

Strong hands took hold of my body and lifted me out from under Jimmy. The man who held me was enormous. He had already stripped
naked and was sporting the biggest erection I had ever seen. He sat me up on the edge of the couch and began to kiss the cum
from my face. He worked his tongue in long, lazy circles around my eyes and nose, devouring every last glob of Jimmy’s seed.
I could smell the beer and cum on his breath. I ran my hands through his thick black hair.

I touched his body—he had huge hard tits, dusted in a coarse layer of dark hair. His low-hung pecs were the size of dinner
plates and his nipples were at least two inches in diameter. I rolled the two hard studs between my thumb and forefingers,
pulling and teasing. I longed to have them in my mouth, to swirl my tongue around their throbbing points and hear him gasp.

When my face was clean of cum, he lifted me up and turned me around so that I was facedown on the hot leather surface of the
couch; I inhaled sweat and sex. He shoved his fingers up my ass; I was loose and relaxed. His fingers were almost as big as
some of the cocks that I had taken that night, but when he stuck his dick into me I immediately knew the difference. My loose,
fuck-worn ass expanded farther to accommodate the Goliath.

I was grateful to the kid who held a bottle of poppers beneath my nose; I inhaled the fumes and suddenly my ass had no problem
in taking the monster cock. He leaned all the way up into my bowel; I experienced the pleasure and pain of a virgin asshole
staked for the very first time. The hands around my waist were like shovels, and they held me rooted to his shaft.

He pulled his cock back. He pushed it forward.

I raised my head and looked toward Jimmy. The men had finished fucking him. His face was scarlet and his whole body dripped
with hard-earned sweat. He crawled across the couch and knelt before me. He smiled and kissed me softly on the lips. I opened
my mouth and the kiss deepened. He tasted of salt, sweat, and cum.

My legs where shaking. The giant was pounding my ass with the kind of force reserved for complete strangers. I pushed onto
him, wanting all of him. Fucking him, fucking me. I gripped his cock, refusing to surrender him. Without touching my dick
I felt the beginning of an orgasm. I held it back but the effort was more than I was fit to sustain. If the man had not been
holding tight on to my ass I would have fallen over flat on my face.

I shot onto the black leather in long, white, ropy spurts; I seemed to spout a gallon of my globby seed. I collapsed forward
into Jimmy’s arms, my heart thundering in my chest. I felt the man pull his cock out of my ass. He took off his condom and
blew his cum all over my back, managing to squirt it everywhere from my ass to my hair. I could feel the warmth raining down
on me. He wiped his dick off on my bare ass.

About an hour later, I went with Jimmy to a cafe. It was quiet, and we took a table in the window. Our clothes hung like damp
rags on our tired bodies. The waitress came over and we ordered coffee. We faced each other across the table.

Jimmy rested his hand on my knee and smiled. His face was as red as my burning asshole felt.

“So what happens next?” he asked softly.

I shrugged. “I’m tired. I have a show tomorrow. I need some rest. Do you want to come home with me?”

He squeezed my knee beneath the table. “Sure.”

Mac O’Neill

H
ey, man, you want a beer?” Greg West asked, glancing vaguely toward the living room where Pete Palmer was sitting.

“Sure.” Pete nervously rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left hand. He was sweating profusely, although
Greg had the windows open and the ceiling fan was rotating above him with a dull, incessant whir, like a misplaced propeller
blade.

Greg had already stripped off his sweaty jeans and sneakers, and was naked except for a worn, institutional-white jockstrap.
He groped distractedly at the white meshed fabric at his crotch and then, bending slightly at the waist, peered into the white
light of the refrigerator. A moment later, Pete heard the unmistakable fizz-pop of cold aluminum beer cans being snapped open,
one after the other.

“Thanks,” Pete said when Greg handed him the cold beer. His piercing blue eyes darted apprehensively over the rough mounds
of Greg’s tremendous physique, taking in as much of his friend’s muscular flesh as he possibly could without appearing to
be too interested. He took a deep, cold chug of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Furtively, his eyes followed
the shifting, marblelike cheeks of Greg’s white ass protruding provocatively over the rear elastic of the jockstrap. For a
moment, his eyes lingered on the definable, unmistakable knoblike curvature of cockhead compressed against the teeming cotton
pouch between the hairy flesh of Greg’s enormous thighs and the flesh of one partially exposed testicle. Throwing his head
back, he took a long quaff of beer and closed his eyes, as though suddenly overcome by a migraine.

The first time it happened, Pete felt as if he had physically left his body and was merely watching, off to the side, like
some impassive, mysterious observer. Then, he couldn’t even admit to himself that his mind could entertain such wanton, unnameable
desires. Yet, there it was, vandalizing his mind; festering beneath the surface, like a bad wound, aching and throbbing, refusing
to heal. He seemed in a state of perpetual arousal. His balls ached, but even worse, his heart appeared to beat only when
Greg was around. Then it happened, as though he had willed it upon himself; the Rubicon was crossed.

They were driving back from a softball game in Orlando one evening when Greg pulled down a dark country road to find a place
to piss. The night was hot and muggy—a typical Florida evening, when the humidity was so sticky and palpable that breathing
was like trying to inhale damp cotton candy.

Greg found a long gravel road leading along the Gulf of Mexico and pulled the pickup alongside a towering growth of sea grape.
Pete got out and walked around to the driver’s side of the pickup. He stretched exuberantly, looking absently toward a small
cay in the Gulf. Greg followed him and casually unbuttoned his jeans. His groin was covered in obscene tufts of wild dark
hair, like animal fur. Pete took a hearty chug from the bottle of beer in his hand, which was now lukewarm, and stared at
the dense overgrowth spilling out of Greg’s open fly. The light from a pale full moon splashed across the calm, glassy Gulf.

Reaching into the fly of his jeans, Greg did a kind of semisquat and pulled out his penis. It was fleshy, heavily veined,
and massively wrinkled, with a good four inches of puckered cowl hanging past the helmet-shaped cock-head. Easing the foreskin
back with his thumb as he had done a thousand times before, Greg let loose a long, steady stream of warm piss. Pete glanced
obliquely, if only momentarily, at the translucent yellow stream; it sounded amatory, like summer rain splattering against
hot pavement.

Greg watched passively as Pete watched him relieve himself. Then, with a slight, almost imperceptible movement, the stream
of warm piss showering from his cock splashed against the sand at Pete’s shoes.
“Hey!”
Pete protested, jumping backward. His eyes shifted toward Greg’s, which were impenetrable in the dark night.

Pete knew he should have objected, but every ounce of logic and reason had deserted him months ago. He wanted this man more
than he had ever wanted a piece of pussy. He wanted his hairiness, the bold, blatant masculinity that reached out and took
whatever it wanted without question. He closed his eyes, surrendering his virility to one more masculine than himself.

“Sorry, man,” Greg half-grinned. With his cock still dangling out of the fly of his jeans, Greg grabbed the sweaty T-shirt
he was wearing and pulled it up over his head, throwing it into the back of the pickup. His chest was sculpted, massive, matted
with tufts of dark hair; as he turned slightly sideways, the bulging flesh of his immense pectorals protruded above his hard,
flat belly like a set of masculine teats. Testosterone and sweat seemed to ooze from every pore of his half-naked body and
mingle with the salty night air, like the scent of some overpowering feral aroma. He didn’t utter a syllable, and seemed acutely
aware of precisely what he wanted and that Pete would give it to him. He gripped his cock.

The fleshy appendage filled his fist. He shook his dick to arousal until it grew in girth and length. Before Pete realized
what was happening he could feel his fingertips stroking the dense cloud of wiry, black pubic hair that stretched above Greg’s
sweaty crotch in a dark, wide triangle to the perimeter of his upper thighs. He buried his face in the dense fur and inhaled
the pungent, musky scent of sex and male sweat.

Expressionless, yet with a tacit air of arrogance about him that absorbed and aroused Pete, Greg stared at his friend down
on his knees before him in the sand. He lifted the swollen meat of his cock to Pete’s mouth, then leaned back against the
hood of the pickup. Pete would do the rest, and Greg would watch and savor the moist warm touch of his friend’s mouth milking
his sex.

Pete pulled the soft fleshy meat from his mouth and admired it for a moment before nibbling and toying with the extended,
velvet-textured foreskin. He pulled back the soft jagged cowl and took the expansive smooth knob of Greg’s cockhead, which
seemed too meaty and voluminous for him to properly service, into his mouth. He sucked hard, awkwardly at first, feeling the
peach-shaped knob dilate and press against the back of his throat. He pulled it from his mouth and licked the underskin of
the enlarged shaft.

Quietly, Greg reached down, grabbed the shaft of his meaty cock in his fist, and inserted it in Pete’s mouth; he felt his
nuts hitch and graze Pete’s chin. He moaned so deep and low in his throat that the sound, both sensuous and solicitous, aroused
Pete’s nipples.

Pete felt his own cock rise again in his jeans, hard and hot against the moist flesh of his inner thigh. He liked being controlled
and subservient to the ex-Marine, and when he felt Greg’s massive hands firmly clutch his head, he moaned spontaneously, his
cum squirting uncontrollably inside his jeans along the hard flesh of his upper thigh.

Greg reached down and cupped Pete’s chin in his broad, rough hand. His cock, corpulent and ridged obscenely with thick, extended
veins, pulsated with sexual ardor. He pumped Pete’s moist mouth with his own distinctive rhythm: fast and hard, then slow
and easy, feeling his supple, enlarged cockhead sliding easily down Pete’s throat, as if the two were intentionally made to
fit each other.

Pete reached up and squeezed the muscular shelf of Greg’s protruding chest, kneading the round flesh in his hands, feeling
the dense hair and thick, gumdrop-size nipples rub against the flesh of his palms. He curled one of his hands into a tight
fist and brought it down hard against Greg’s pecs.
“Oh, yeah,”
he thought he heard Greg moan. He pounded the protruding flesh of chest muscle again, hard, then again, almost instinctively,
as though something dark and nebulous was commanding him to.

Greg moaned again, clasping Pete’s head firmly in his hands, the long stray hairs sprouting from his nuts flush against Pete’s
chin, like a beard. He drove the meat of his shaft deeper into Pete’s throat, causing Pete to gag and gasp for breath. Then,
without preamble, a profuse ejaculate of warm semen gushed from the meaty center of his cockhead, in quick, furious squirts.
Pete swallowed hard, but the cum kept flowing, filling his mouth until it drib-bled down his chin, dripping to his chest like
salty raindrops.