JohnnyStGermaine

Pete had always loved his uncle Rob. Of course, now that he was a man grown, and their relationship had… changed... he'd taken to calling him Uncle Rub. The older man would use every opportunity to touch him. A firm hand on the shoulder. A soft, playful pat on the cheek, often in response to some smart ass comment. Pressing his crotch against his pert, twenty year old ass when trying to pass each other in the cramped hallway at the packing plant. Pete, of course, didn't mind. It drove him wild. Keeping himself from tearing the man's pants open to get at the giant sized tool the outwardly benign affections were secretly promising. As soon as they were alone, probably in Rob's run down house on the other side of the county, clothes would get strewn everywhere and Pete’s ass would be taken quickly and with whatever lube was handy. After Rob came deep up his nephew’s guts, only then would they take things more slowly. Leftovers would get eaten, reruns would be watched, as they languidly embraced and played with each other. A familiar alert noise sounded from his uncle's phone, and Petes curiosity was titillated. His uncle smiled as he tapped out a response. The phone went back on the bedside table, and his uncle rose and rummaged around in his closet. “Who was that?” Pete asked, lazily jerking his cock. Rob turned back to him, holding several lengths of nylon rope, and a shoebox. “Do you trust me?” “Sure, I do, Uncle Rub.” Pete smiled, “I like it when you tie me up.” “I know you do, boy.” Rob came back to the bed and took out a blindfold, “but tonight, I'm getting some help from friends.” “Who?”. Rob smiled warmly at the young man he'd grown to cherish, “That isn't for you to know.” the blindfold slid over his head, and all was darkness. Pete could feel rope being tied at his ankles, then his legs being raised and secured, his hole spread wide. Then his hands were cuffed together and secured above his head to the head board. The bed in front of him sagged. He heard his uncle spit then felt the cock head re-enter him. The dick sank into him all the way, making him moan. He felt his uncle’s strong body lowering onto him, making him feel complete. “You know I'd never let you be hurt, right son?. “I know that pretty damn well, sir.” “And you know I've always done right by you since your daddy left?” rob gently withdrew. “Yes, sir.” “Good. So right now, who's your daddy?” Rob thrust in slowly but steadily. “Oh god, you are, sir.” “That's right.” thrust. “You're a good boy, Pete.” His uncle proceeded to throw a pretty rough fuck into him. Pete was moaning and the creaking of the bed was particularly loud such that he did not hear the front door open. “Wow.” A husky voice said from the doorway. “Hey!” Rob greeted the newcomer, “Go ahead and get nekkid. I'll be done with the little bitch soon.” Hearing his uncle refer to him as a bitch made Pete’s dick grow even harder. Knowing he was about to be fucked by a complete stranger that he'd never see was also driving him wild. He couldn't help but moan. Rob was also going wild on his hole and was soon delivering the second load of the night. The bed shifted as his uncle disengaged and left the bed, only for a new weight to make it sag. “Fuck, look at that wet pussy.” the strange man said. Pete felt a cock at his hole, and it was thick. He felt a finger get placed over his left nostril and the familiar smell of poppers. He huffed deeply on the bottle his uncle was holding to his nose. Right as the rush hit, the dick entered him. He heard the screen door open again. But his mind was filled with the wide cock that was filling his asshole. “Hey gents!” His uncle greeted, loudly so that Pete could hear. “Come on in, get comfy. Here are the rules. Don't hurt my boy. There aren't any condoms in this house so don't ask. Feel free to fuck his face, but all loads go up his ass. Call whoever you think would like to use Michael Miller's only son as a cumdump. I'll be nearby. I got a cute piece of tail I'm gonna be using in the next room. Have fun.” This information hit Pete like a semi truck. His dad was the most hated man in Armstrong County. And his Uncle just invited whoever wanted to use him. “Oh, and make sure he takes some poppers on occasion, and let him out of the restraints every hour or so. Don't want him hurt, just used.” Over the next six hours Pete’s cute little ass was gangbred. After the first hour his hands were freed so that his throat could be fucked as well. Two hours in, and he had nine more loads up his cunt. But the men showed no signs of stopping. The screen door opened frequently, and Pete could hear his Uncle having sex with a woman in the room down the hall. When his legs were freed and he was allowed to stand Pete could feel a trickle of semen down both his legs. He was bent over the dresser and fucked up against it for a short while, but ultimately placed on all fours on the bed so he could be spit roasted. Eventually the blindfold came off and light momentarily blinded him. “How are you doing, son?” his uncle asked. Men, some strange, some familiar, all naked, filled the room, along with the haze of pot and cigar smoke. “I’m doing great, daddy.” His uncle smiled and nodded, “Yes, you are, son!” A gentle hand pushed Pete onto his back. “Where’s your woman?” Pete asked, already having an inkling of an answer. “She bugged out when she got hers. But I’m still raring to go boy.” With that his Uncle Rub guided his hard cock into his dripping hole. Pete moaned around the familiar stiffness and clamped his pussy muscles down around it. Seed squelched out along the shaft as it drove in and out, and Rob moaned his own pleasure as he blasted his second load of the night. When Rob got off of his nephew, the nice man who owned the Flying J down the road got on top and slid his cock inside. Pete diligently wrapped his arms and legs around the new man, and silenced the man’s cry of passion with his lips. The man fucked him briefly, came, and then left. Rob watched as the rest of the men all fucked his boy, put their clothes on, and wished them a good night. When it was over the boy’s bed was soaked with sweat and spilled seed. Not exactly fit for sleeping on. Pete was too exhausted to stand, and like a good dad, Rob picked the young man up and carried him down the hall.

New cities are rife with new opportunities to get off. That had been the primary motivation for Bruce to go to this boring convention in Cheyenne. The flight had been a really uncomfortable puddle jumper straight from Coeur d'aLene, but he’d had a decent night’s sleep in the hotel down the road from the convention center. The day had been filled with lectures, meet and greets with industry leaders and surprisingly good food. Thai food was hard to come by in his neck of the woods and Bruce was now thoroughly hooked. What was unsurprising was the degree of sexy guys he saw walking around. A meeting of forestry professionals would prove nothing less. And by “forestry professionals” what the brochures meant to say was “hot as fuck lumberjacks”. Bruce had booted up Growlr the second the convention started but he noticed no other travelers as the first day ended. The next day he noticed someone new who was definitely in the convention center with him. A quick message between classes received a response quickly and soon enough Bruce was unlocking his private pics for a hot daddy bear named Steve. This guy must have been severely closeted because there was no clear pic of his face. The best one was him sitting naked on a small waterfall, out in their shared element. Bruce could tell the man was older, around his fiance’s age. And that made him chub up in his suit pants as he sat in a lecture about the emerald ash borer. They quickly agreed to meet for lunch. It went splendidly. They both cared deeply about the rainforest of the Pacific Northwest. They both lived in small timber towns with their male partners and they both were way into each other. “Ya know, there’s a small cadre of us who get together every year.” Steve said after a sip of beer, “Call it a subcommittee.” “What gets discussed?” “More like what gets done.” Bruce’s eyes went wide, “What?” “There’s only about six of us.” Steve said, “You’d make seven, and I think you’d be a hit” he chuckled, “You’d probably be the youngest guy there.” bruce was growing painfully hard. He’d seen hundreds of sexy lumberjacks all day, and his mind raced at the thought that there was a small group of guys who met every year on the last night to have an orgy. “I’m in.” He was in all right. The messages had already been sent and the pic of his muscle ass was already making the rounds. That night when he knocked on the door he made sure he was douched out, and had a message from his fiance telling him to have fun. Steve opened the door and the smell of cigar smoke wafted into the hallway. “Come on in.” He smiled wide as introductions were made and beers were opened. A guy close to his own 28 years was naked, on his knees, servicing three burly, hairy men sitting in wing backs by the snow swept balcony and Bruce felt similarly inspired. He shucked his clothes quickly and was soon bent over the sofa, with Steve eating his ass expertly. One of the guys who had been hanging back and watching approached, opened his jeans and fished out his dick for Bruce to suck. He did so with gusto. This was the guy who’d taken out one of the executive suites. An industry rep from a tool company, and now Bruce had his tool working its way down his throat. He worked the cock like his next upgrade lease depended on it. And if he worked magic it just might! and he seemed to be doing a good job because the middle aged man said, “Let’s get him ass up on the bed.” Steve agreed and the two men led him to the bedroom and the other guy who'd been standing back watching joined them. “Hey, come on!” One of the men in the wing backs called out, “Don’t go walking off with the new meat so soon!” “Don’t worry,” Bruce said loud enough to be heard, “There’s plenty of me to go around!” Steve laughed, and Mark, their gracious host asked, “Have you ever been gang fucked?” “Not since college.” Bruce said, struggling not to sound too nervous. “Well don’t you worry.” Mark continued, “You can tap out whenever you wish and Mikey can easily take care of the rest.” He picked up a bottle of lube from the bedside table and began to work it into his ass, as Steve fed him his dick. He’d been tense when he was bent over, but on his hands and knees on a soft bed, had relaxed Bruce a lot. And soon enough he was loose enough for two fingers. Then three. Then Mark’s dick. Mark was perfectly average, which suited Bruce fine. He hadn’t had this much action in a while and needed to start slow. Then again, his new definition of slow was getting spit roasted by strangers. A thought occurred to him and he reached down and checked the cock spearing him. As he suspected there was no condom on it. He’d been warned that they played raw, and Bruce had weighed the risks. A bunch of rural bound guys meeting together once a year. If this was the craziest sex these men had all year, then he felt a little safer with the knowledge that he was the first new guy in three years. He felt Mark pick up the pace, then moan loudly, pressing his crotch tight against his ass. He was getting bred. He’d gone to a stranger’s hotel room, got fucked bareback, and was now eagerly taking the man’s load. Steve pulled his cock out of his gasping throat and moved behind him. Bruce was still wrapping his brain around what was happening when Steve’s larger cock took a swipe across his winking hole, picking up some stray bands of Mark’s semen that had leaked out of his ass. Then he entered the willing hole. Bruce moaned as the larger cock penetrated him and looking around he noticed all the other men were standing around the bed jacking off and watching the man in his early fifties bareback his ass. One of the burly bears who had earlier been blown by the guy his own age approached and gave him his own thick dick to suckle upon, and Bruce did so gratefully. He’d never done anything this wild before and needed to focus on pleasing them all anyway he could. If he got distracted and touched his own cock, it would explode. Steve’s hips slapped into his upturned ass and bawdy talk began to circulate around the room. “So Andy, how does it feel about to be on the other end of things?” “Honestly, I’m a little jealous, but I gotta tell ya, it’s pretty fucking hot.” the younger man said, “I can’t wait to eat all of your loads out and feed them to him with his legs in the air.” “Ah!” the older man replied, “Its important to set goals for yourself.” An hour and a half later Bruce was helping Andy fulfill that wish. The bearded face above him was dribbling a long course of semen from his mouth and it was falling into his own dark beard as Andy fucked his no longer tight hole. There wasn’t much, as he’d begun to leak after the fourth man, and was flipped over on his back, right onto the puddle. He’d been assured that less would spill out of him that way by Mark, who’d wanted a second round with him. They’d all get second rounds inside him. Andy and Steve took thirds. And somewhere in the midst of it all Bruce had come all over his own hairy chest and face, shouting his pleasure around a cock. By midnight, he was exhausted. They all were, and they all had flights to make. One of the guys arranged for a taxi to get him the three blocks back to his own hotel for which he was grateful. He’d never been so thoroughly fucked in his entire life and was relishing the soreness in his ass. Bruce collapsed on his bed, naked with his ass up, and quietly seeping a small trail of cum onto the sheets.

I'm glad yall are liking my hard work!

(this story originally appeared on my old tumblr blog sometime in 2014 or 2015, new edits applied) Steve knew this was going to be indelicate. As things often were when covering up his dumbass older brother’s mistakes. Fortunately, he had a set of keys to the vehicle that had been junked. All he had to do was talk his way into the junk yard. Easy as pie. He had grown up with Mr McAlister's son Gary and he might be able to pull the right string by bringing a bottle of Jameson. It didn’t go well. Turns out five years away at college can change a place, and the people in it. Drew McAlister is now one of the coordinator’s of Hope Baptist’s AA program. And he didn’t take kindly to the proffered bottle of whiskey. “Sir, I’m very sorry.” Steve had to get a handle on the angry junkyard owner quickly, or he might wind up getting his ass beat, “I haven't talked to Gary in a long time, I didn’t know.” “He tells me you haven’t called him up since you all moved away.” Drew said, his anger finding a new source as his eyes narrowed, “I know full well what happened between you two and frankly I don’t give a cold shit. But when you left you cut off the place that what raised you.” Steve was numb. His dad knew?! And he was right, so he nodded, “I did. I had to do what I could so I wouldn’t wind up like my brother.” That admission seemed to mollify Mr McAlister a little, “I saw you on the news a few years back, you spoke well.” Steve smiled, despite his ongoing fear, “Thank you.” He’d always been frightened of the gruff man from deepest Appalachia. “Quite a few folks started changing their minds about things after seeing you on tv.” “That don’t make things any easier comin home.” Steve said, letting the drawl slip back into his voice… for the moment. “Listen, son.” Drew McAlister said, coming out from around the desk, “Why are you really here.” The younger man hesitated. “Why do you need back inside a car your brother junked weeks ago?” Steve sighed and looked around the small dingy office. It wasn’t likely to be bugged, “You know he’s in jail now, right?” “Uh-huh.” “You know what he’s in jail FOR, right?” Drew nodded, then a dawning of realization crossed his face. He nodded and grabbed his baseball cap off the desk, “Follow me.” They walked out the back door and into the labyrinth of overgrown piles of rusting cars and building materials.Steve had known that some vehicles were worth more for spare parts than they were for the recycling plant in Youngstown, and some of these piles would sit here for decades than be sent to a blast furnace. Fortunately, in better times, his brother Al had invested in a 1975 Dodge Charger. It HAD to be around here somewhere, rusting here after getting totaled. It was proving to be an agreeable summer day and Drew had opened his shirt, letting the ends flutter in the occasional cool breeze. Steve couldn't help but steal a glance at the hot, hairy dad muscle and chub up a little in his shorts. He got control of himself in time to realize that they’d stopped amidst a row of more recent vehicles. “So son, here’s where you gotta make a choice.” Drew was looking down at him, in the alpha male way that had always intimidated him as a teenager. “By all rights it should be your brother here, trying to talk his way out of a stretch in the pen. But he don’t have anything I want, so you better make it worth it.” With these words Mr McAllister began to unfasten his pants. “Fuck.” Steve muttered. “Yeah, that too.” Drew said, not stopping “Now get on your knees and start suckin.” Steve did as he was told before the cock could even escape the white briefs. They were yanked down and the young man breathed deep of the crotch that produced his first boyfriend. All sorts of wild questions flowed through Steve’s mind as his mouth made contact and began to work the hardening cock. I’m sucking my ex-boyfriend’s dad. Fuck. I want him in my ass. Did he and Gary ever… He sucked the eight inches furiously. Like a starving man and his hands were helping, feeling the fuzzy balls with one, while they other trailed up his torso feeling the furry belly and pectorals of a man old enough to be his father. This was beyond what he’d expected of a summer back in his hometown. He had expected to be a social pariah given his vocal advocacy that ran counter to the way most of this town chose to live. He had feared violent reprisal. Instead, the most macho guy in town had him on his knees, and held his head still while he fucked his talented throat. “Damn boy.” Mr McAlister said, “You’re just as good as Gary.” Steve was shocked by these words and met Drew’s eyes. The older man nodded, “Better believe it, boy.” He slid his cock out of his mouth, “Keep your mouth open.” Steve did so, and was rewarded with a load of spit, drooled out of the older man’s mouth and into his own. “Swallow.” He did as ordered, feeling some of this hard man slide down his throat. Drew nodded, “Get naked… Now!” he added with some bluster to his voice when the young, beardless man hesitated. Steve rose and shucked his t-shirt, shorts and sandals in an instant. He had been wearing a jockstrap on account of the walk out to this part of town and was about to pull it down, when Drew raised a hand, “Leave those on, I like jocks. Back on your knees, son.” Steve lowered himself back to the grassy, but graveled ground and opened his mouth for the cock once more. Drew had divested himself of the work shirt, his pants, his underwear, even his boots and socks. They were both bare assed in the middle of a grimy junkyard and Steve couldn’t be happier. The softened cock re-entered his mouth and stayed there,” Look up at me, Steven.” Their eyes met, and Drew sighed a little. Steve immediately registered the taste of warm piss on his tongue and fought off the urge to spew it from his mouth. “Keep eye contact, boy.” Drew ordered and the young man complied, “Good. Now start drinking it.” A questioning look flashed across Steve’s eyes. Sure, he’d been pissed on. Sure, he’d taken piss in his mouth, but he’d never swallowed. Just somehow it seemed a step too far. But if he wanted to keep his brother out of prison, he’d have to be accommodating for his ex-boyfriend’s dad. He swallowed and discovered that it wasn’t so bad at all. The acrid feel continued down his throat but was soon relieved by the next mouthful. Gulping sounds escaped his body and he started to moan. He was getting painfully hard drinking the middle aged man’s piss. “That’s it, boy.” Drew said encouragingly. Watching the younger man’s throat and mouth work swallowing the contents of his bladder, “That’s a good boy.” He moaned as he was starting to harden up, “You’re just as good at that as Gary.” Soon enough the torrent subsided to a trickle, and Steve felt like his guts were full with urine. “Too bad things didn’t work out between you two.” Drew said appraisingly, kneeling down in front of him, “It would have been nice to have two boys in the house.” Their lips met in a kiss and Steve let the thought of living with father and son fuck machines swim in his mind. Gary had been insatiable. Everyday before school in his room, during lunch in the boiler room, then after school behind the band bleachers, Steve had opened his ass to his best friend. Drew’s tongue made his way into his mouth and his arms around his shoulders and it pulled the young man back into the present. Steve moaned into the kiss, so much like his long lost love, but different. The older man wrapped one arm around his lower back and guided him back onto the grass. Steve instinctively raised his legs and wrapped them around Mr McAlister’s waist. “When was the last time you were fucked, son?” Drew asked, coming up for air. “Last week.” Steve answered as the older man rustled in his pants, “I was in Cleveland visiting friends and they both fucked me.” “Good.” Drew said retrieving a tube from his pants pocket. It was vaseline. He squirted some out and began to massage it around Steve’s hole. The younger man whimpered at what was coming. He didn’t normally get barebacked, but knew enough to realize that a condom wouldn’t be a part of the equation today. With his other hand, Drew moved aside the fabric of Steve’s jockstrap and freed his dick. The older man bent down and suckled on it for a while as he eased fingers into Steve’s eager hole. The younger man came close to cumming, but Drew knew when to ease off. He had been lubing his own cock as well and now lined it up to the greased asshole. “You ready, son?” Steve nodded, “Yes, sir.” Drew slipped his head inside and the young blond sighed in satisfaction. He held it there for but a moment and then eased more of it within. Steve’s legs tightened around his waist, and Drew couldn’t help but thrust the rest of his shaft into the welcoming, tight, warmth. He leaned down and kissed the boy as he gasped and moaned on the hard cock inside him, buried to the hilt. Arms wrapped around eachother and held each other tight. Their torsos mashed together and arms holding each other tight. Mr McAlister’s legs were up against the upturned thighs of the young man beneath him. It felt so right, and so good. And Drew began to move. He made gentle, shallow thrusts, not wanting to break the full body contact they had going. The boy felt perfect. Just like his own son when they were together, which was far too seldom these days. Chicago wasn’t far, but work kept them both busy. Drew was now determined to get back there more often. As he thrust into Steven Grady, the son of one of his best friends, and slid his tongue against his, Drew didn’t entertain any ridiculous thoughts of the two lads getting back together and him having four willing holes to choose from. It was just far too unlikely. This was it, and he was going to make the most of it. He was going to make love to this lonely young man and hopefully give him reason to come visit more often. Their mouths mashed loudly, and they were both moaning in the quiet calm of a gentle fuck. But the occasional thrust onto his prostate was driving Steve wild. “Fuck, boy.” Drew said, breaking off and looking into the young man’s eyes, “I’m not going to last much longer.” He said, picking up a little speed. “Oh fuck!” Steve moaned, “Right there! Right at that.. speed… ohhhh… FUUUUUUCK!!” Drew felt the cock between their bodies pulse and seep warm cum, smearing the seed into the hair on their bellies and chests. The asshole around his cock constricted his shaft like a boa constrictor, the pressure on his own dick going past the breaking point. Drew began to thrust uncontrollably, still holding the lad tight about the shoulders. “Gawd! Fuck, boy. Here it comes!” Drew announced into his ear before making several deep, hard thrusts into him and tensing and trembling with each one. Steve held onto the older man as he unloaded his DNA inside his ass. The moaning in his ear subsided as did the trembling, the balls deep thrusts and Steve massaged the shoulders he’d been holding onto for no more than ten minutes or so. Frankly, he was surprised they’d made it three. Mr McAlister was hot, and he’d always thought so. Now one of his teenage fantasies had come true. But he couldn’t keep his original mission out of his mind. “Hey, Mr McAlister?” The older man chuckled as he recovered, “Call me Drew, son.” He laughed, pushing and holding himself up, “You gotta load of my cum up your ass, and my piss in your belly. And I’m still inside ya, boy. So for fuck’s sake, call me Drew.” Steve chuckled, marvelling that the cock inside him still hadn’t gone soft, “Ok.” “What is it?” Drew asked, wondering what thought could have broken the boy out of a post fuck bliss. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.” Steve said, leaning up to draw the middle aged fuck-god into a kiss. There would be plenty of time to get to the shitty old Dodge, grab the bag of meth from under the wheel well and toss it into the Mahoning River. For now, Steve was happy. Full of every fluid a sexy dad could offer and, for now at least, none of it was going anywhere.

(This story originally appeared in 2014 on my now defunct tumblr blog) I was in trouble. I was in very, deep, inescapable trouble. Here I was stranded on the side of the road, because I had ignored the last fuel for (x) number of miles signs back near Gallup. All told this was one of the worst places in America to run out of gas. The nearest town’s highlight was a trailer park full of Mormons and a crater from an ancient meteor strike. No fuel for dozens and dozens of miles. And it was getting dark. I popped the hood under the waning light, and opened the trunk; the universal sign of distress on the road. When I opened the trunk I remembered I had an Obama 08 sticker on the bumper. And an HRC equal sign. Given where I was stranded both of those things could make some serious anger come my way. Before I could really think about what to do, I heard a vehicle approaching behind me. Turning to look I spied a pickup truck slowing down as it passed me, then start backing up. The middle aged guy who got out of the driver’s side was amazing. He was easily six and a half feet tall, broad shoulders, and his arms looked like he could benchpress my skinny hipster ass. “You need a hand, pal?” he asked, his voice was a clear baritone that made me a little weak in the knees. His jeans were packed full at the crotch and so was the plain, stained t-shirt he wore. “Uh… yeah! I kinda fucked up and didn’t fuel up past Gallup.” “That is a pretty good fuck up.” He chuckled jovially, “I live just up the road and have some fuel I could give ya.” “Really?” I asked, almost incredulously, but I didn’t want to offend either. “Sure.” He shrugged, “Only problem is I’m coming off of a twelve hour shift and might not be able to drive ya back here, so if you don’t mind crashing on my couch?” “Sure, thanks… uhh I’m Matt.” I reached out my hand. He smiled and shook it, “I’m Zeke.” I got a little fascincated by the gray that was creeping into his beard. Fuck this guy was hot. There was a bit of an awkward silence which he broke, “You need to grab anything?” I chuckled, “Yeah, just give me a minute.” I reached into the car and grabbed my laptop bag, my accordion and my backpack. I tossed these into the extended cab to his own upturned eyebrow at the bulky leather case. “What’s in the big case?” he asked curiously. “An accordion.” I said without a hint of irony. Here I was, a twenty four year old, college educated, shaggy haired, skinny musician of obscure instruments with a mustache that has seen waxing recently. I was probably so far outside this guy’s experience he’d probably have me hiking back to my car in less than an hour. As he drove and the miles sank by I began to regret brining the accordion, but it was too fucking expensive to leave in a car overnight in the middle of the desert. “So where are you headed, you playing in a band?” he asked. “Yeah, actually.” I said, “I kind of.” I fumbled over some words then got out, “I’m meeting friends in Flagstaff to play a gig in the park downtown tomorrow night. We’d been practicing back in Dallas for a while and I kinda wanted to drive out here to clear my head before the show.” “Cool.” He said, “What kind of music do you guys play?” I smiled a little bit, here we go! “We’re kind of gypsy punk. There’s a guitarist, a drummer and a bass player, but also a violinist, and me on the accordion.” “Oh!” he said with a boom of recognition, “Like Gogol Bordello!” I was stunned. “Yes! Them and Caravan Palace are our huge influences.” “I love Gogol Bordello.” Zeke announced, turning on his blinker, “I drove to Vegas to see them. Great fuckin show!” We turned up a dark dirt road, in the distance I could see the lights of some houses out on the scrub plain, but with the sun down it was hard to tell where the road began and the darkness ended with the headlights. The truck stopped soon in front of a darkened house, maybe a hundred feet off the main road. We got out and Zeke helped me carry my stuff inside his darkened ranch style home. As lights went on I could tell he lived alone. No woman alive would have put up with exposed beams in the walls, and sheets of dry wall stacked in the living room. “Did you just move in?” I asked. “Yeah… five years ago.” He chuckled, “Wanna beer?” “Absolutely.” I set my stuff down near the couch and he passed me a can of Tecate. He’d been living here for five years and hadn’t gotten much done around the house in the interim due to a demanding job all the way down in Globe. “I moved here for the job from Phoenix, but my boyfriend at the time didn’t want to so we called it quits.” Zeke said, “We still get together whenever I’m in town though.” I breathed a sigh of relief after swallowing some beer, “Oh thank the gods!” I leaned back on the plush couch with a chuckle, “I was afraid my queer ass was going to get kidnapped into a Mormon fringe cult!” Zeke laughed, a big throaty laugh, “You read too much Huffington Post!” That little taunt made me laugh, because it was fucking true, “But seriously,” he dead panned, “They’re in the house down the road.” We laughed some more. A television lay dark, and I asked, “Wanna hear some of my band’s recent practice sessions?” he assented and I hooked the laptop to the flatscreen. I kicked off my sandals so I could crouch to see the HDMI port. “You smoke?” he asked. “Not cigarettes.” “Good!” he got up and disappeared down a hallway. By the time he got back I was pressing play on the sound file. It was one we were proud of; a cover of Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream Its Over”. Zeke sat back on the couch with a tray and a bag of weed. I helped pick out the stems and seeds and we smoked. It was some really good bud. “Yeah,” he said lazily, “I have it mailed from a friend in Oregon. It’s the only thing that can help me unwind these days.” “I just jack off.” I admitted, “I can’t afford to smoke good weed, so I just go without most the time.” We were stretched back and listening to the hyper, jazzy punk that was playing on the speakers. It seemed a little odd being juxtaposed with the heady, relaxing buzz now coursing through our brains, but Zeke was really digging it. “I’m gonna hafta come out and see your show tomorrow,” he said, “this is good. This is a lot more punk than gypsy, but I’m loving it.” He said with a smile and stretched out. The couch wasn’t big, so when he spread his arms over the back of the couch he basically had put his arm around me. I smiled and melted into him a little bit, but not too much to be presumptuous. I nestled into his shoulder and puffed on the last of the joint. “You really got it down to the nub.” He said. “Don’t burn yourself, dude.” “I have nimble fingers.” I admitted, with the best side-eye I could muster. He caught it and smiled, and pulled me into him. “Wanna fuck around, kid” he whispered into my ear and I shivered. I put the roach down on the arm of the couch and cupped my hand on his crotch. “Yeah,” I said with a wicked little grin, I groped him, feeling his growing stiffy and not immediately registering just how thick it was becoming, “weed always makes me horny.” He moaned, deep from his diaphragm and turned my face to his. Our lips met open, and immediately our tongues were getting to know each other. My hand went from groping him to his pec, and I squeezed gently. He pushed me back onto the cushions and moved on top of me, mashing our mouths together, and then making a trail down my neck. I groaned, joyfully. Zeke’s hands went under my They Might Be Giants shirt and tugged it off my head, exposing my pale skin, covered in light brown hair. He made another trail down to my left nipple and sucked it hungrily. I gasped over and over again in sheer pleasure. His hands were undoing my belt and unzipping my pants when he went to my right nipple and slowly started to tug down my pants. He met some resistance as the denim bunched up at my mid thighs. He chuckled, “What the… fucking hipster legging crap!” He declared with no small amount of sarcastic bluster as he tore my pants down my legs and threw them across the room. I laughed giddily. I was in a blue pair of cheap underwear I had dyed myself, and he smirked at the little panties. The older man gripped my growing erection through the cloth and began to jack me. His other hand worked into the leg of the undies and started to fiddle with my hole. I was moaning wildly on his couch when his finger entered me. “You get fucked on the regular, boy?” he asked, with no small amount of authority in his voice. “Yes, sir.” I said, knowing exactly where this was going, and wanting to help it along. “Good.” He said, pulling out his finger, “Bathroom’s down that hall on the right, Fleet enemas are under the sink.” He pointed to the hall and I got up and made use of his facilities. Here I was, on some god forsaken stretch of I-40 about to get my fuzzy hipster ass plowed by a hot rural daddy bear. “And put those little fag panties back on when your done in there!” his voice boomed through the house. I shuddered in expectant delight! I finished put my underwear back on and ventured out into the living room. Zeke stood shirtless, packing a bowl. We each took a hit, and after taking the bowl off of me and placing it on the kitchen island that overlooked the living room he pulled me by the neck into a kiss. His hands ventured back into my briefs and his fingers dove into my crack and across my hole. I whimpered into his kiss. Zeke then shoved me over the back of the sofa and shoved my undies aside, exposing my hairy hole. He shoved a finger into the first knuckle and I gasped. His finger was followed by his tongue and I was a quivering mess hanging onto the back of the couch. He continued to tongue and finger fuck me for a good while, spitting into my hole to help things along when needed. Every time I heard him spit and felt the wetness splat against my crack I’d gasp, knowing what he was prepping me for. Finally he pulled away and dragged me off the couch by my waist. He motioned me to my knees and I came face to face with the monster his genetics had made. His dick was wide as a can of Redbull and nearly a foot long. I gaped, not sure what I’m supposed to do with it and its wide dripping piss slit, when he gripped the back of my hair with his fist and sank his cock in. I choked and he said, “Calm down, and take it. You’re not singing tomorrow, right? So fucking take it!” I repositioned his cock, slightly, and swallowed as it approached my gag reflex. His length sank down, but only so far. I was still a few inches away from his pubes. But he let up on me, content with the progress I’d made, “Good boy. That’s how a good boy sucks his daddy’s dick, isn’t it?” I nodded when I came up for air, “Yes, sir.” He smiled, leaned down and kissed me, “Up. Come on.” He said, and led me down the hall, past the bathroom and into a bedroom strewn with clothes, and dominated by a king size bed. He picked me up and tossed my smaller 5’8” frame onto the bed, and climbed on after kicking off his boots. We made out some more, smoked a bowl from a bed side table, and continued making out as I worked his jeans off his legs. “You play raw or wrapped?” he asked. “I’m on cool.” I said, purposefully not answering him, hoping this man I’d just met would take the lead and breed me deep. “Good.” He said with a smile, “I’m undetectable so we should be good.” “Yes, sir.” I continued kissing him, and groped the monster cock between our bodies. He smiled and led kisses down my furry frame, ending again at my asshole. He pushed my legs up and I gripped them in my arms as his tongue renewed its assault. He grew impatient with the cloth obscuring my hole, so he tore the cheap fabric out of his way. I was shocked, but too turned on to give a shit about cheap briefs. I was clearly in the hands of a master. At forty-five Zeke knew well his craft, and was working me in a frenzy. I needed cock. Desperately; as if I was still the seventeen year old virgin who’d never been fucked. “Oh, god, Zeke… please, uuuuhhh.. fuck me…” “What’d you say, boy?” he spit into my hole. “Fuck me!” I said louder. “With what?” he spit once more. “With your cock!” I moaned, sounding like I was crying, “Fuckin, breed me, daddy!” He dug into the side table and came back with a bottle of lube. He spilled some over my asshole and worked in into me with his fingers, while he lubed his dick with the other hand. Zeke positioned himself and pressed the head of his wide cock to my hole and began to press forward. I opened to him, more easily than I ever had for anyone, and I’d never seen a cock as thick as his. I needed to be rimmed this good from now on, I thought as he began to sink his girth within me. “That’s a good boy!” he moaned with a dopey smile on his bearded face. “Oh daddy.” I uttered, higher pitched than I meant, and amazed at how full my ass had become. He bottomed out and bent over between my legs. I let go of my knees and wrapped my legs around his waist. Our mouths met again and we wrapped our arms around each others shoulders, pulling us closer together. He began to hump. Gently, but authoritatively. He claimed me at both ends, with cock and tongue, and I moaned into his mouth with appreciation. I hadn’t been taken like this in over a year, not even by the hot middle aged dude I met busking downtown last summer. Zeke picked up the pace and held himself upright with an elbow on either side of my head. I got the feeling he hadn’t had any ass in a while, given that he lived in Chambers, Arizona, hundreds of miles from the nearest gay bar and surrounded by desert. Despite the long absence of raw boy hole in his life, the man above me lasted a good long while. He’d pump furiously into me, his sweat dripping from his body and face, then slow down and lower his mouth to mine. His perspiration tasted marvelous. A delicacy, and I tasted it on our lips. When he’d backed off from his orgasm long enough he’d start up again. Time became an inconstant. It ceased to have any meaning with my ass and prostate under constant assault by this big bear of a daddy. He fucked me silly. I tried to make words, but they just devolved into moans, groans, and long drawn out vowels. I came twice; a torrent each time erupting from my cock and coating the hair on his chest and belly. He scooped some up each time and tasted, loving the taste of pliant boy juice. After the second time, he began to fuck me hard. And he became a lot more aggressive; which was perfectly fine by me! “Open your mouth, you useless hole.” He demanded. When I opened up, he spit into my mouth. I swallowed. “Again.” He said, not missing a punch to my prostate. His next load of saliva missed and hit me on the face. He spit again, hitting me this time square on the tongue. "Swallow it." I did. A strong hand went to the base of my throat while he wrapped his other arms around my neck. Then the jack rabbiting began. I lost all control of myself, and I came again. I nearly blacked out. My eyes refocused on his face, inches from mine. His breath hot on the side of my face as it screwed up tight and he growled, loudly. He held himself balls deep inside me as he unloaded his seed. His teeth clamped down on the side of my neck and bit down. He wanted to mark me, inside and out. Claim me. And all I could do was hang onto him. To wind my arms and legs tighter around him, moan at the hickey he was leaving on my neck, and marvel at how drained dry my balls were. He reached over to a control behind the bed, and the lights went out. We slept there, just as we lay, with his cock deep inside me. The next morning he fucked me again, with no less vigor. Then we made breakfast and went to take care of my car. Back at the house I updated my bandmates on my arrival time, douched again, and we fucked yet another time. This time, with him holding me by the ass against whatever walls and surfaces we could find. We then loaded up his truck and drove to Flagstaff. The show went well, although it wasn’t a big crowd it was very energetic and was picking up what we were putting down. My bandmates met Zeke at the after party in a bar downtown. Terry, the drummer, instantly saw the appeal. Zeke was also enamored with the almond complexion and bright green Mohawk of the Texas born Lebanese drummer. Zeke had made reservations at the Monte Vista and the three of us went back there and had a wild night. Terry was a bit of a spanking bitch, and we had a good time fucking him at both ends. By the end of the night me and Terry had assholes dripping with cum and Zeke had been seriously satisfied. Terry decided to drive back to Dallas with me and we spent two days at Zeke’s house getting our holes reamed. Zeke broke out his leather gear and we became his bitch boys. I got piss showers from both of them and Terry eventually took his fist. We implored Zeke to think about moving to Dallas. I suppose the absence of our willing holes would prove to make a more convincing case. Only time would tell.

Would love to hear more of what was surely an awesome night!

The font color is making this difficult to read.

Can confirm.

Having been raised Christian and then follow a neo-pagan path I can certainly understand how fetishizing a toxic concept, like sin, can sap it of its destructive power and become a source of strength, or creation. In that regard, let me share my deepest wish. I wish to be led into a wooded glen, with a small campfire burning, and made to kneel. I will be tied to metal stakes in the ground and fucked. Over and over and over again. Man after man breeding my guts with their collective seed, and as each man cums I send an oath to Frey, the Norse god of fucking, of dicks, and of manhood. Many mainstream fuckers, who wouldn't think twice about raw dogging me in a dark room, would call me sinful. I'd call myself sated.