Approaching Storm

by TallyMans

25 Jul 2019 1318 readers Score 8.6 (34 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


Gathering Clouds


1


The noise is deafening. The band plays on the stage set-up in the corner of the large room. A twanky-sounding tune streams forth from the mouth of the cowboy hat wearing woman behind the microphone, she sways as woman if she were possessed by the music. Her tale of woe sung with a sorrowful wail fills the jam-packed room.

“Enough of this sad shit,” a man shouts, “sing a happy song. I don’t wanna hear this shit.”

She sings on. The twang of her southern alto drowns out the interrupting drunk.

He moans and complains, louder, drowning out the strumming guitars and the soft beating drums.

“Play a happy song, dammit, Dee-Dee,” a very sad and loud drunk man bemoans, again, to the wailing lady on the stage.

“Pipe down, bud,” a man shouts out from one of the bar stools.

“FUCK YOU!” the drunk squeals, “FUCK YOU, FUCK ALL OF YOU, YOU STINKING ASSHOLES!”

“Awright, Max, that’s enough of that, “a hulking burly broad-shouldered man presses the drunk’s man’s fingers against his back and ‘gently’ walks the drunken man to the front door and tosses him out, like yesterday’s garbage, out the door.

Seated on two barstools at the bar are two men who have been watching the fray with the drunken patron.

“There is always one, uhhh,” the man seated on the left side says.

“Yep, some cannot hold their liquor,” the dark-haired heavily muscled man seated next to the lighter-haired man.

“I am Ron,” the man on the left, who is also the lighter haired of the mix matched pair.

“I’m Jacob,” the muscle man replies.

“What’s that on your right arm, there?” Ron asks.

“My wife’s initials,” Jacob asks.

“Oh?” Ron sighs.

“Not one of my brighter ideas,” Jacob says, “…considering we divorced six years ago.”

“Mmm, “Ron sighs, again, “…and now you are marked with the woman’s initials.”

“…and I am remarried, too,” Jacob says, “…the women do not even share the same initials, which is no surprise, uhh?”

Jacob does a nervous laugh at the stranger’s marriage tale.

“What is your wife’s name?”

“Darlene,” Jacob answers, “My second ball-and-chain.”

Jacob does his nervous laugh again.

“Yeah, having J-O-E on your right arm, ain’t welcomed by her, I bet.”

Jacob nods his head, ‘yes.’

“You are quite a strapping guy, you lift?” Ron asks as he looks over the burly muscled guy in the stool next to him.

“Yeah, I go down to a friend’s gym, Reid’s Body Shop,” Jacob answers, “Over in Raleightown.”

“That’s where I’d seen you,” Ron says, “You are quite the strapping guy, not too easy to miss. Not that you want to.”

Ron gives his new friend a wink.

Jacob takes a gulp of his drink. It is a brown liquid.

An alcohol-less glass of watered-down Coco-Cola. Jacob is not one to drink, alcohol, but he likes the atmosphere at the bar. A place where he can be a man among other men, besides he and Darlene had just had one of their drop-down drag-out verbal fights and he needed to exit the situation.

“How tall are you?” Ron asks.

“6’2.”

“Your weight?” Ron further queries with another personal question.

“210 lbs.”

“Whew, man,” Ron says, “You are some tall drink of water.”

“A bucket,” Jacob says, offhand, a slight laugh.

His statement even strikes him as odd once the two words passed over his lips.

“Hey, Josh, be back in a sec,” Jacob says as he gets up from his stool and strolls in a rush to the men’s bathroom.

 

 

 

2


The bathroom door swings open. One of the urinals against the wall is occupied, the sound of piss hitting the back of the white ceramic bowl echoes through the cramped small bathroom.

The massive figure at the bowl fills the full space in front of the piss-station. The man’s shoulders are wide, expansive. His bulk engulfs the available space in the room, but he is 6’2”, over 210 lbs., and a bear of man. Dark chest hairs peek out from under his button-down shirt, as numerous button-snaps are undone, revealing much that is underneath.

“Oh, hey, Jacob,” Ron says as he unzips the fly on his jeans.

Ron does a quick glance toward his urinal pal, what he sees is quite impressive.

Ron averts his eyes back to the tile wall in front of him and looks down at his cock that pokes out of his unzipped and unsnapped jeans. He stands with his legs spread as he empties his own beer-filled bladder.

“Your wife like that cock of yours, Jacob?”

“What?” Jacob says.

“Your heard me,” Ron questions, “Does that cock get serviced enough, uh, by your woman?”

Jacob looks down at the limp cock that dangles between his legs. He gives it a gripping tug, filling the blood creep into the veins, making it grow massive as he realizes that his wife has not ‘serviced’ him as the stranger, Ron, suggested.

“No, she doesn’t,” Jacob answers, “My ex-wife, Jo, was quite a cocksucker, not so with Darlene.”

“I suppose I can remedy the stress you are feeling, Jacob,” Ron says as he turns to the man with his cock poking out the fly of his jeans like a striking snake, “I suppose you have some venom that needs swallowing.”

Jacob moans as Ron tightens as grip on the dangling hard cock in front of him.

One of Ron’s agile fingertips draws a line down the center of Jacob’s open shirt, brushing through the dense trail there in his midst. His finger had started on the square jaw of the hulking man and made its way south, before being stopped at the last button of the opened shirt.

Not stopped by the last of the shirt, Ron grabs the protruding cock, letting that same fingertip trace the outline of the hard cock. The cock reacts to the delicate touch, giving up some of its clear man-juice by forming a tiny drop on the glaring red vein-swelled cockhead.

Jacob lets a deep guttural moan as he leaks more drops of his valuable protein.

“You need to cum, don’t ya, Jacob?” Ron asks in a delicate voice.

Jacob moans.

“Good.”

 

 

 

3


 

Ron squats down, his knees on the filthy piss-soaked tile floor in front of the dual urinals. Like a cheetah pouncing on its prey, Ron leaps into action, swallowing the fleshy-snake with its peeking and weaving head out of the burly man’s open jean-fly.

Sucking sounds soon fill the tight space as the slobber drips from the corner of Ron’s mouth as he bobs, like a jackhammer, on Jacob’s 9-incher. His motions are swift, precise, as suction pulls liquid deep from within Jacob’s throbbing balls.

Bubbles of white slobber are escaping from the overflow with each slather of Ron’s tongue on the swelled cock in his mouth. The saliva and cum mix in an abundance of tasty juice, which seeps down Ron’s throat as he applies more pressure from his learned oral skills on the cock prominently displayed before him.

Jacob’s cock curves to the ceiling in the bathroom, the upward bend, ever-so slight, with each plunge into Ron’s mouth, the swollen cockhead brushes the roof of Ron’s mouth. This gentle scraping electrifies Jacob, sending shivers through him as Ron swallows his wand.

Ron lets his hands drift to the ass of the man whose cock fills his mouth. He uses his strong fingers to shove Jacob’s ass, which forces the throbbing cock harder into his mouth. Ron’s fingers weave a delicate net of interlocking paths through the forest of butt hair on Jacob’s ass. Gentle slaps fuel the growing intensity of dripping cum spigot that is in his mouth.

Just beyond the door to the bathroom, the men can hear the racket in the bar. Another man can walk in at any moment and catch the pair engaged in their tryst.

Jacob does not move.

Ron does not move, except to pump the cock in his mouth like an oilrig.

The gyrations are slow, deliberate.  Gentle, yet a degree of roughness that a man enjoys as his cock is swallowed like a child’s lollipop.

Jacob sighs a loud gut-retching moan.

“UH! UH! UH!”

Ron does not let up on his sucking. He gulps down harder as he is rewarded with a large dollop of pre-cum down his throat. The man’s cum is salty. Deep protein richness in the white milky cream sloshing down his throat causes his cock to leak on the wet floor of the bar’s bathroom.

4


 

On the other side of the bathroom door, another loud outburst is heard. The noise is getting louder and louder.

“Get up! Get up!” Jacob says in a frantic pace, “I hear someone a-comin’.”

The sound of the bathroom door opening, as it swings on hinges.

Ron stands and rapidly turns his body to the urinal in front of him.

Jacob hastily tucks his still hard and throbbing cock into his jeans. There is no mistake to him and to Ron that he is hard. The bulge is undeniable.

A bearded burly biker dressed all in black, a red bandana wrapped snug around a mop of black oily hair. A chain on his belt connects to a billfold in his back pocket. The man’s face is shaggy with an unkempt beard marring any signs of skin between the patches of visible face.

The surly biker looks to the nervous two men, who eyes linger on him, acting as if they have been caught at doing something.

The biker nods his head. The two men respond, accordingly.

Jacob walks out the still swinging door.

Ron waits, catching a fleeting glimpse of the biker’s dick as he unzips the fly on his leather pants and pokes it out of the opening. He wipes the cum-spittle from the edge of his mouth as the biker watches him do it.

5


 

A forceful slap on the shoulder of the seated man at the bar draws the attention of the patrons at the bar.

“Give me a beer, Max, will ya,” Ron says as he sits on the empty stool next to Jacob.

He glances to the crotch of his newly minted friend.

As he sits, he whispers into the ear of his fellow barstool-companion.

“Your cock is still hard, ain’t it?”

Jacob does not answer.

Max, the bartender, places a longneck down in front of Ron. He grabs the beer and swigs down a hearty gulp of liquid from the brown longneck bottle.

“Mmm, I needed that. I had a salty taste in my mouth.”

Ron lightly kicks Jacob’s dangling left boot under the bar. He leans into the man, who had earlier had his cock in his mouth.

“You want me to finish what I started?” Ron asks.

Jacob’s bulge jumps at the suggestion from Ron but no reply comes from him.

“Your cock wants me, too.”

The bar is still loud, still noisy and the volume is cranking up.

Jacob looks to the clock above the cash register. It reads, 11:37 p.m. Darlene is probably worrying why he has no returned home. He lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes the last cold swig of the Coco-Cola from the glass. He clunks the glass down on the napkin in front of him on the bar. He rises from his seat.

“Where ya goin’, Jacob?” Ron asks.

His answer is short, to the point, annoyance in his voice.

“Home.”

As he walks out the door, a burst of cool night air hits him square in the face. A storm is coming as the wind whips through the parking lot stirring up the dust and the gravel.

6


 

“Yo, bud,” a pair of hands manhandle Jacob on his shoulder, a tight squeeze of the ten fingers on his shoulders.

‘It’s him,’ Jacob mouths to himself, that irritant from the bar.

“You want me to finish up on that cock of yours?” Ron’s voice yells into his ear.

He looks to the man who has a devilish leering gaze on his face.

He looks eyes-to-eyes into the man acting like a wild-out-of-control next to him before the world suddenly starts fading into a gray blanket-like mist. A sharp pain pierces him on the base of his skull as his feet gives way and he collapses into the white sandy gravel.

“You are comin’ home with me, Joe.”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Whaaaaaaaaaa,” Jacob mumbles before he shakes his head one last time as he snoozes in the rough gravel road of the parking lot.

The End