Broke Down in Northern Arizona

[JohnnyStGermaine]

(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.

[john54476]

Glad you decided to post it, got me good and boned with a pre cum fountain, wish I had been there

[kurbydog]

Fucking hot!

[tankonpoint]

That encounter is so 🔥!

An unfortunate event bringing two pigs together for a hot session is a big turn on for me.

Thanks for posting! 

[BBFloridaguy]

Great story! Very hot and really makes a cock get hard. Love it and hope you write more. Thanks

[plisken]

wow - would let my car run dry anytime for such a fuck

[str8mature5]

Had me hard the hole time!

[Willing]

On 11/9/2021 at 7:21 AM, str8mature5 said:

Had me hard the hole time!

Me too💧🍆

[Willing]

16 minutes ago, Willing said:

Me too💧🍆

Now I'm wet ,eating my pre cum 💧💋

[Movietheaterslut2]

This is a great story!!🔥🔥🔥

[seattlebbbtm]

Excellent tale

[Josh1959]

Thanks man. Super hot story. Loved it.