Straight to the Point 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Illustrations by Michael Kirwan  
 Story by Pal George   

 

 

Previously published in Inches magazine - November, 1998

 

Cash coaxes cock from Texan trousers

 

My master plan of getting my buddy Sam drunk on his twenty-fifth birthday had failed. I'd been wanting to get into that cowpoke's tight jeans ever since I'd met him. Two months ago, he moved to this one-horse, East Texas town and went to work at the same plant as me. We were on our way to the store to pick up some six-packs when my red '57 truck broke down in front of Mr. Lovejoy's Victorian mansion.

"Try it again, Stu," Sam suggested, his deep baritone voice making my balls rumble.

"She won't budge," I sighed, my heavy cowboy boot pumping the accelerator as I tried to start the engine once more. Finally giving up, I slumped back in the worn bench seat, stretching out my lanky body. "Helluva birthday, huh, buddy?" I mumbled, my dark green eyes taking another gander down between Sam's meaty, spread thighs. I just knew I'd missed my chance of ever seeing the cock that was making a huge bulge in his tight jeans.

"Don't sweat it, man." Sam glanced out my cracked windshield at the spring storm brewing in the north. "Whose house is that?" he asked, noticing the big ol' mansion perched up on the hill.

"Mr. Lovejoy's," I answered, wondering if I ought to tell Sam just how well I knew the guy. Mr. Lovejoy and I met six years ago when I was eighteen. It was after baseball practice, and I was walking home. Mr. Lovejoy's big black car pulled up beside me. He buzzed down the window and told me he'd pay twenty-five bucks to suck my cock. I nervously agreed, and Mr. Lovejoy and I have maintained our arrangement ever since, with a pay hike of course.

"Looks like he's home," Sam said, opening the door of my truck. He stood out on the sidewalk straight and tall, stretching his long arms high above his tattered straw cowboy hat. "Let's go ask 'im if we can use his phone."

Reluctantly, I got out the cab of the truck. Sam and I headed up the steep steps leading to Mr. Lovejoy's house. Thunder rumbled in the distance, lightning flashed all around us, and our long legs skipped every other step. We were a little out of breath when we finally reached Mr. Lovejoy's expansive front porch. Sam rang the doorbell, then leaned against the white house and crossed his cowboy boots. One of the fancy double doors creaked open, and Mr. Lovejoy's toupee-covered little head popped out.

"Stuart!" Mr. Lovejoy's effeminate, raspy voice greeted us as he flung back the door and stood there, wearing a burgundy smoking jacket. His beady little brown eyes roamed Sam's and my beefy, buffed bods, drinking us in. "You naughty man," he gushed. "You haven't been by lately." His eyes were fixed on Sam's handsome, smooth, angular face. "But you're here now," he added. "And you've brought this tasty young man with you, too. Please, come in."

As Sam and I stepped into Mr. Lovejoy's expansive entry hall, I wondered what Sam was thinking. Mr. Lovejoy closed the door and locked it, then turned around and commenced to staring at Sam's statuesque body again, which towered over his own. "Let's go into the drawing room and have a drink first," Mr. Lovejoy suggested. He scurried past me and led us down the end of a long hall.

"What the fuck's goin' on here, Stu?" Sam mumbled under his breath.

I glanced over at Sam's perplexed face. "It's a long story," I mumbled back, motioning for Sam to come on. "I'll tell ya 'bout it later, okay?"

"Okay," Sam conceded. "Just tell the little fella we wanna use his phone, and let's get the hell out ta here."

"It's not nice to whisper," Mr. Lovejoy quipped, flinging open the double doors of the large antique-filled room. He sauntered over to the bar and grabbed a crystal decanter filled with bourbon. "On the rocks, or with water?" he asked, reaching for a fancy glass.

"We ain't here for a drink," Sam sneered. "We just wanna--"

"I know why you're here," Mr. Lovejoy interrupted, slamming the glass down. The gutsy little fucker marched right over to Sam and knelt before his towering body. "And I know what you want," he stated, his small hands suddenly unbuckling Sam's wide Western belt and unfastening his jeans.

"Stop it!" Sam's deep voice commanded, his big hands swatting at Mr. Lovejoy. He stepped back and started fastening his jeans. "Stu might be into this shit, but I ain't."

My cheeks turned red.

Mr. Lovejoy placed his hands on his narrow hips and glanced up at Sam's angry face. "Do you want your fifty dollars or not?"

"Fifty bucks to suck my cock?" Sam asked. Mr. Lovejoy nodded. A strange look came over Sam's face. It was like he was putting two and two together. He glanced over at me with a knowing grin and then looked back down at Mr. Lovejoy. His hands began to busily reverse their actions. "Have at it, little fella," he snickered, popping open his button fly as he stepped closer to Mr. Lovejoy's kneeling body.

I watched eagerly as Sam's big hand dove deep inside his drawers and pulled the cock I'd been hankering to see. His huge-ass nuts were the first thing to appear above the elastic waistband of his white briefs. Suddenly he moved his hand and there it was. The fucker was a foot long! His smooth, thick shaft was wide as a wagon-hitch with a big ol' blunt pinkish-white head on the end of it the size of a doorknob! His thick, ample foreskin was wrapped cozily around the underside of the swelling crown. Lots of long, thick, coarse brown hairs sprouted out between the split of Sam's denim shirt and sprinkled his plump nuts. As I watched Sam fist his monster cock, my prick started moving inside my briefs, my stiffening, fleshy shaft pulling itself free from my tangled nest of black pubes.

"Delightful," Mr. Lovejoy gasped, clapping his small hands together, watching Sam's huge cock hardening before his eyes. Sam winked at me as he reached down and pulled his denim shirttail up out of the way. Mr. Lovejoy leaned forward, took hold of Sam's rigid cock, and swallowed that big head with one gulp.

"Ya like suckin' that big cock, don't ya?" Sam grunted, thrusting his hairy pelvis, ramming his long rod down Mr. Lovejoy's throat. Gagging and choking on Sam's thick fucker, Mr. Lovejoy nodded. "Suck it harder," Sam hissed through gritted teeth, wrapping his big hands around the back of Mr. Lovejoy's scrawny neck.

The sight of my beefy buddy power-fucking Mr. Lovejoy's throat made me hotter than a whore on Saturday night. I jerked open my belt and jeans, slung my chunky thumbs inside the waistband of my briefs, and anchored them underneath my swollen, hairy nuts, freeing my fully erect cock. About the time I commenced to fisting my shaft, Mr. Lovejoy dragged his well-stretched lips off Sam's rod for a breather. His beady little eyes darted back and forth from my hard cock to Sam's.

"Why don't you come and take my place, Stuart?" Mr. Lovejoy suggested, huffing and puffing.

My dark green eyes glanced over at Sam 's handsome face for his reaction. "Don't make a damn to me, buddy," Sam sneered. Then he peered down at Mr. Lovejoy's wrinkled face. "Long as I still get my fifty bucks."

"Good," Mr. Lovejoy said, elated and scrambling to his feet. He took a seat on one of the dark red velvet sofas at either side of the fireplace.

I shuffled over in front of Sam and squatted down. He grabbed his thick shaft at the root and aimed it toward my creamy pink lips. Placing my hands at either side of Sam's thirty-inch waist, I leaned forward, opened my mouth real wide, and engulfed about a third of Sam's thick cock, my wet lips gliding down his long rod. Then, like the seasoned cocksman I am, I commenced to deep-throating his fleshy tool, his prickly brown cock hair tickling my nose on the down-strokes. The salty taste of his cock flesh tingled my palate, and the potent odor of his sweaty pubes made my bobbing head woozy. My steely cock was sticking straight out between the gaping tail of my black Western shirt--my flexing, hairy nuts dangling over the elastic waistband of my briefs--and my tight asshole puckering against the stretched cotton seat of my drawers.

Still feverishly going after Sam's beef-stick, my thick fingers crawled inside his white briefs and slid them down his firm, round hips, below his deep, hair-filled ass crack. He moaned deeply when my fingertips found the tiny wrinkles of his buried shit-hole. I massaged his tender anus carefully, yet effectively.

"Wish ya'd stick that hot tongue of yours in there," Sam grunted, fucking my warm mouth sure and steady.

I dragged my drooling sore lips off his monster cock and raked the back of my hand across my wide mouth. "You got it, buddy," I panted.

"I'm not paying extra for this," Mr. Lovejoy stated, watching Sam spinning himself around on the heels of his cowboy boots, lunging over the other velvet sofa, and grabbing the back of it.

At this point, Sam was so worked-up from the excellent head-job I'd been giving him, I don't think he gave a damn about the money anymore. He was more concerned with reaching back and parting his hairy ass so my pointed tongue could reach his puckered chute. Breathless from the beauty of Sam's buxom butt, I placed my hands on his firm hips, planted my sweaty face between his spread ass, and commenced to chowing down on his succulent manhole, swirling my slimy tip around his raspberry wrinkles.

"Yeah, lick it," he howled, grinding his hairy hips against my smothered face and lapping tongue. I dipped my slippery tip into the core of his puckering folds and commenced to tongue-fucking his tangy butthole. "Man, oh, man," he gasped, arching his broad back, banging his buxom butt back on my impaling tongue.

My slobbering muscle darted in and out of his tight asshole briskly, riding his pulsing ripe rim. Sam continued banging his sweaty ass against my face, sending my rigid tip spiraling deep inside his warm rectal tunnel. As my hard nuts eased their way up toward the base of my twitching cock, pre-cum beaded on my wide piss-slit. With the way Sam was carrying on, I didn't figure he could last much longer--I damn sure knew I couldn't!

"I'm gonna blow," Sam's baritone voice growled, his hairy ass slapping against my flustered face faster and harder, his big fist whacking the hell out of his monster meat.

"Not on the sofa!" Mr. Lovejoy screeched. "Not on the sofa! " He hopped off the velvet couch and ran over to our beefy bodies.

But Mr. Lovejoy's warning was too late. I could tell from the walleyed fit he was pitching that Sam had already started firing his loaded cock pistol.

While Mr. Lovejoy raved on about his precious sofa, Sam's strong sphincter squeezed my flicking tongue as he deposited all of his jizz on the dark red velvet upholstery. I reached down between my spread thighs and commenced to beating my pulsing cock to climax.

"Oh, dear," Mr. Lovejoy sighed mournfully, watching syrupy cum oozing out my crimson piss-hole, trickling over my jacking fist, and dribbling onto the oriental carpet. " Not my rug, too!"

After we'd both emptied our loaded chambers, Sam flipped himself around and flopped his hairy ass down on the cum-striped velvet seat. I slumped to my bony knees and rested back on my haunches. Mr. Lovejoy yanked a linen hanky from the sleeve of his smoking jacket, got down on his knees, and tried feverishly to blot the glistening pools of my slimy jizz from the rug.

Madder than a wet hen, Mr. Lovejoy finally gave up. "I have a good mind not to pay you at all," he huffed breathlessly as he walked back over to the other sofa and plopped down.

"Calm down, little fella," Sam spat.

I could feel this whole scene getting ugly. "He's right, Sam," I began, quickly coming up with a scheme to get me and Sam out of this mess. "Mr. Lovejoy shouldn't pay us since we came on his sofa and rug."

"Fuck that shit," Sam snapped. "A deal's a deal."

I looked Mr. Lovejoy right in his beady little eyes. "Would you pay us if I let Sam butt-fuck me?"

"You always know how to soothe my ruffled feathers, Stuart," Mr. Lovejoy gushed. "Of course I'll pay you for that." He got up off the sofa, walked over to a marble-top table, and opened a jeweled box.

"Have ya lost your fuckin' mind?" Sam asked gruffly. I shook my head, hastily stripping off my clothes. "Ya really want me to fuck ya?"

I met Sam's glare with willing eyes. "I'm game if you are."

 

 

























 

 

Sam stared at me for a moment and then stood up.

While Sam shucked off his duds, I sprawled out across the sofa flat on my belly. Mr. Lovejoy came toddling back over with a yellow condom and handed it to Sam. He took it, put it between his pearly white teeth, and ripped it open. His cock was still rock-hard, so all he had to do is place the flat yellow disk onto his huge red cock-head and roll it down his shaft. Then Sam mounted me, his weighty body pressing against my broad back and round ivory hips, his hot breath blowing across the back of my chunky neck. He reared up a bit and drooled spit into my deep ass crack and smeared his slimy saliva around with his finger, greasing my nervous asshole.

"I'll go easy on ya, buddy," Sam mumbled into my blushing ear as his big fist shoved his rubbery knob between my hairless hips. I lay there very still, trying my hardest to block out the impending pain coming my way. "Damn, your hole's tight," he growled hoarsely, pushing the tip of his cock-head against the core of my tightened shit-hole.

When his huge cock-head finally popped, literally, through my seldom-fucked anus, I buried my wincing face against the arm of the sofa to keep from hollering. As he slowly eased about half of his thick fucker up my stretching pink rim, I clawed the dark red velvet upholstery, my tensed body squirming like a worm on the end of a hook. Sam kept on grunting until he'd managed to slide every rigid inch of his cock inside my burning rectum. Then, without so much as giving me a second to get used to it, he started fucking my stretched rim with long, piercing strokes.

I figured if I'd survived being bucked off the roughest bull in the county, I could surely survive this. I took Sam's hammering like a man. Mr. Lovejoy stood there right beside us with his hands on his narrow hips, looking at us like he was studying a painting.

"Man, this feels good," Sam groaned, placing his big hands at the small of my back for leverage as he commenced to drilling my tight shitter with all his might.

Sam fucked my round butt harder, faster, and deeper than it had ever been fucked before--it felt like his cock-head was inside my belly! And, finally, it started feeling damn good, too: his thick meat flying in and out of my hole; his huge nuts smacking against my butt cheeks; the belly of his rubbery shaft gliding briskly across my tingling prostate. The only trouble was, it didn't last long enough to suit me. Before long, Sam commenced to bellowing like he had right before he came the last time. That nipple lodged deep in my guts suddenly started expanding as his warm jizz gushed into the tiny balloon.

"Don't come on the sofa again!" Mr. Lovejoy yelped, watching me humping the velvet upholstery as my second hearty load squirted out my convulsing slit.

Sam yanked his erupting cock out my dilated shit-hole, popped the spent rubber off his cock, and started rubbing the belly of his shaft between my bucking ivory hips. I continued grinding my spewing cock against the soft dark red velvet until I'd spewed the last smidgen of my slimy cum.

I turned my head in Mr. Lovejoy's direction to see why he was being so quiet. He was so busy groping his crotch that he'd forgotten all about the sofa. When a wet spot soaked his gray pants, he collapsed into a little bamboo chair next to the fireplace, huffing and puffing.

So it turned out all right. Poor Mr. Lovejoy got more than he'd bargained for: a stained sofa and rug, plus being out the fifty bucks each he paid me and Sam for fucking. I sure got what I wanted, and Sam had a pretty good birthday after all.

 

 

























 

 

 

THE   END

 

[NOTE] The last illustration was created by Michael for the story,

but the publisher did not use it in the printed magazine.

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They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
used on another website or blog; posted to any internet or computer newsgroup, forum or media sharing site;
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