My son, My trade

The following is a work of erotic fiction depicting graphic sexual scenes and is meant to be enjoyed by a mature audience. 

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Summer was drawing to a close.  Labor Day was right around the corner.  It had been a lucrative one for Buck Hauser.  Over the past ten weeks his son's pussy had brought in close to 15K.  Cash.  Tax free money.  Kid would be going back to school soon.  Senior year.  Money wouldn't be quite as good since Marc had to spend a good part of fucking time on his studies and sports.  Maybe a quickie here and there during the week.  Come weekend they could try and make up for lost revenue.   

Yup, things were looking up for the Hauser’s.  Buck was even considering making some improvements to the long-neglected house on Arthur Ave.  He couldn't have anticipated that he was soon to be in for the shock of his life.  Well, not as big a shock as discovering that his all-American, good looking kid was a cocksucking pussy boy.  But a shock all the same.

It happened on a hot, humid late afternoon.  Those dog days of summer had really dragged out this year.  Seemed there would be no relief from the oppressive heat.  The window air conditioner in the main room of the house, although running constantly, did little to dispel the clamminess.  Buck supposed he should have broken down and picked up a new, more powerful unit.  It's not like he didn't have the money.  The one in Marc's window was sufficient for the size of that room.  With all the action that went on there they needed to keep the temperature comfortable.  Buck usually spent his nights camped out on the couch in his underwear. 

Not that he stopped to think about it much, but this past summer had taken him way beyond the scope of what would be considered normal parenting.  Between boozing and fucking he'd made some effort to raise the kid after his wife ran off with a visiting conventioneer.  At least kept clothes on his back, a roof over his head and food in his belly.  Let the kid do pretty much what he wanted long as he didn't get into any trouble.  Marc seemed like he was turning out alright, something of a wonder considering he had a mother and father who freely fucked around on each other and paid little mind to him.  His grades were good, friends seemed decent and he was proficient at b-ball and other sports.  Who would have thought he was taking it up the ass from just about every Tom, Dick and Harry in town?

Buck wasn't the most demonstrative of men but he had some affection for the lad.  Despite his parental failings he figured Marc felt the same.  Whatever parental skills he was lacking were supplemented with the assistance of some of his buddy's wives.  He fucked most of them in return for their generosity.  Both then and now Buck was a handsome and virile guy in a rugged, working class sort of way.  The husbands of most the women he banged were the ones he knew had banged Greta, his Swedish ex, at one time or another.  It was almost like payback.

With parents like his it shouldn't have surprised Buck too much to discover his good son had grown into a promiscuous boy whore.  From the time they got hitched Buck knew Greta, a real looker, was taking every dick in town, including his friends and his own brother. That's how he met up with her, a random fuck on a Saturday night behind some honky tonk bar.  She was pretty enough, he was always horny.  There was no love involved.  Buck wasn't the type of guy who got into that emotional stuff.  It just wasn't in him, same as it hadn't been with his father.

Being brutally honest with himself he had to admit he was just as bad as Greta.  He was fucking around on her every bit as much as she was fucking around on him.  For him, it was alright; for her, not so much.  A classic double standard.  They had more than a few knockdown, drag out fights when she'd come home in the wee hours of the morn smelling of booze, cigarettes and sex.  The baby would be crying in his crib, had been all night, while Buck lit into her for doing the same thing he'd done countless times.  And then they'd fuck.  A good fight always meant a good fuck afterwards.  She battled with her pussy, him with his cock.  As he pumped through some other man's cum she'd whisper in his ear the identity, or identities, of the sperm donors, spurring Buck to greater fuck heights. 

Didn't miss her when she was gone.  How could he?  He never had any real affection for her.  His big ego was just bruised that she left him.  Didn't look good for a man's wife to take up and run off.  But good fuckin' riddance.  Bitch showed nary an ounce of caring about the kid, just hitching up with a guy and blowing town.  Hadn't been heard from since, not that Buck gave a flying fuck.

So on that fateful afternoon there he sat on the couch in front of the A.C. with the television tuned to the sports channel.  Yanks were having an afternoon game and getting beaten badly.  He was stripped down to his shorts and enjoying an ice cold beer.  The crushed cans on the coffee table revealed it was his third.  He hadn't bothered to shave today and it showed on his square-jawed face.  He had worked the morning shift at the local bar, Ralph's Place.  Axel, a pony-tailed biker, had relieved him at two. 

He was loudly giving Boone hell for what he believed to be a stupid managerial decision when the front door opened.  Marc had earlier gone out, probably to hang with his friends.  Hopefully to hang with his friends, that is.  Kind of early for him to have returned home.  Then again, it was hot as hell out there. 

There came muffled voices, footsteps in the hallway.  Buck straightened, turned his head to the doorway and bellowed, "In here."  The blow came when the visitor appeared in the threshold.  Buck's eyes flared and a chill went through him.  Standing there in halter top, short shorts and sandals was his ex-wife, Greta! 

"Well, don't look tooooooo excited to see me," she chirped while chomping on gum from the side of her mouth.  Opening her arms wide she invited, "Come on and gimme a hug.  For old time's sake."  When Buck made no move to accommodate she shrugged, waved a hand at him and said, "Oh, well.  I tried."

Buck was stunned and speechless.  He honestly had never expected to see his ex again.  Many years had passed but she still was an attractive woman, in a cheap sort of way.  Her hair was dyed and teased in a style from years past, makeup too heavy and her jewelry looked cheap.  Thinner now than she had been, but still displaying huge jugs.  She looked worn and used, older than she truly was. 

Her eyes were appraising him as well.  "Lookin' good there, Buck.  Kept yourself in shape.  Then again, you always was a good lookin' sonofabitch."  Buck was suddenly aware he was bare legged and chested but made no move to cover himself.

"Oh yeah," she went on, suddenly remembering.  "This here is Artie (pronounced "Ahhh-ty").  He's my man now.   Artie (Ahhh-ty), this here is Buck, my ex."

"How ya doin'?" the man behind her in the doorway said without bothering to step forward and offer hand.  Buck hadn't even noticed him there.  He'd lurked in the shadows of the hallway when Greta trounced in.  Buck was all at once taken by the image of those regulars at the race track when his father had taken him as a kid.  Those men, usually scrawny, dressed in cheap slacks and jackets with elbow patches, a ratty bowler atop their head, cigarette perched behind their ear and racing form tucked under their armpit.  This guy might not have had all the embellishments but he embodied the type.

He was of average height and slim, wearing loud plaid slacks and a faded polo shirt a size too large for his frame.  His slicked back hair was short and too black for a man of his years, obviously a cheap dye-job like Greta's.  Buck took him for mid-forties.  He had bright beady eyes, a pencil-thin mustache above his equally thin upper lip and a soul patch under the lower.  Cheeks were pockmark blemished and his nose was a ruddy drinker's rouge. 

Buck gave the man a disgusted look and, finding his voice, directed his attention to his ex.  "What the fuck are you doing here?  And what'd I tell you about bringing your strays to this house?"

Offended, Artie made like he was going to advance on Buck.  Buck started to rise, unconcerned.  He could easily take this cheap man.  But Greta stepped in between them and, placing her hands on Artie's puffed up puny chest, urged him back.  Artie was all manufactured indignity, a tough guy with nothing to back him up. 

"Artie, Artie calm down.  I told you he was gonna be like this," Greta soothed the man's wounded ego.  "Prob'ly be better if you waited outside while I talk to Buck.  Don't worry about me.  I'll be alright, baby.  Go out on the porch and have a smoke."

"Hot as fuck out there," Artie snorted, his eyes still challenging Buck.

"There's a bar down the end of the block.  We passed it comin' in.  Why don't you have yourself a drink and wait for me there.  Okay, baby?"

"Well, alright," the indignant greaser responded, shaking off his anger.  "Just don't take too long, hear?"

"I won't, baby.  Me and Buck just need to have a little chat is all."  Coddling him like a wounded child she patted one side of his craggy face and moved in for a little kiss.  Artie took the opportunity to seize her by the waist, draw her against him and cup a breast while making a point of slipping his tongue into her mouth.  It was all a show for Buck's benefit.  One sharp eye was on the other man to gauge his reaction. 

"Oh, Jeez!" Buck muttered contemptuously, rolling his eyes and blowing a raspberry.  "Get  him the fuck out of here!"

Breaking the kiss Artie smiled nastily at Buck and said, "I'm goin'!  I'm goin!"  With a pat on Greta's ample rear he turned, went down the hallway and exited the house.  Only the smell of his cheap after shave remained. 

Greta looked at Buck coyly and said, "Artie's really not a bad sort of guy.  Once ya get to know him.  I met him at the lounge at the race track a few weeks ago."

BINGO!

"Artie, he's havin' a run of good luck," she went on.  "Won three trifectas that day.  And he's been on a roll ever since.  Bought himself a mobile home with some of the money.  Used, but it's real nice.  Asked me to go around the country with him."

"So what the fuck are you doing here?" Buck demanded.

"Well," she said, somewhat reservedly.  "I was thinkin' since, y'know, I haven't seen my Marky in a long while that maybe, y'know, he might want to come with us and we could, y'know, get to know each other."

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Buck snickered.  "First of all, the boy hates to be called Marky.  Second and last, he's not going anywhere with you and your latest fling."

"Aw, Buck, why you gotta be like that?  I come in here all nice and stuff and you gotta be all mean and growly.  Dontcha think a mama wants to spend some time with her baby boy?"

"You haven't cared shit about him in seventeen fuckin' years!" Buck bellowed.  "Not since the day you shot him out have you cared about him.  You were out there fuckin' around while the kid was in his crib!"

"So was  you!" she shot back.  "You were every bit the man whore, screwing every bitch in town!  So don't you go putting it all on me."  Moving away further into the shadowy room and taking stock she said, "Jeez, Buck.  Dontchya know how to clean?  This place is a pig sty."

"Like you were ever home long enough to be a housekeeper," he challenged her.  Waving an arm to the pile of boxes along one wall of what was once the dining area he informed her, "All that shit is what you left behind when you took off."

Spinning her head around to face him with mouth open she gasped and dramatically clutched a fist to her chest.  "All these years you kept my stuff!  Aw, Buck, how sweet of you."  And she began rummaging through the treasure.

"Pack all that shit up into your mobile home, collect your riff-raff boyfriend and get on the road.  Without Marc." 

"I'm not leavin' until I see my son," she informed him.  "The decision is gonna be his.  Not yours.  Not mine.  Now, instead of runnin' your gums if you help me out we can move all this into the camper and save some time." 

Clenching his teeth and steaming Buck growled, "Gladly.  Anything to get rid of you for once and for all." 

They spent the better part of the next hour transporting boxes from house to mobile home.  Artie was nowhere in sight.  Greta idly chattered all the while as if they were two old friends who had reunited.  Buck responded with grunts.  By the time they had finished they were both sweat soaked.  Greta grabbed a can of soda from the fridge; Buck, a beer.  She threw herself into the love seat.  He tolerated her company from the sofa. 

"Wonder what's keepin' Artie?" she queried.  "Guess I'm gonna hafta drag him outa the bar.  Hey, is Ralphie still around?"

Ralphie, his best man, the one she fucked in the limo on their wedding day. 

Before he could respond the front door was opened and foot falls sounded in the hallway.  "Artie," she shouted out shrilly.  "We're in here."

But it wasn't Artie who stood in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face.  It was Marc.

Before Buck could say anything Greta was on her feet and throwing her arms around the boy.  "You must be Marc!  Oh, you're such a good looking boy.  I'm your mama!"

Marc was stunned.  This woman, this stranger, was hugging and planting little kisses on his face while he stood there with his arms safely out perpendicular to his body as he quizzically looked over her shoulder at his father. 

"Oh, come in!  Come in, baby.  We got so much to talk about," she babbled, taking his hand and pulling him into the room. 

Just then the door creaked again, feet shuffled down the hallway and Artie reappeared.  Buck rose threateningly, prepared to toss them both. 

"Artie!  Artie!  Come in.  Come in," Greta motioned with her arm excitedly.  "Artie, this is my son, Marc.  Marky, this is my man Artie!"

Bewildered by this quick turn of events Marc turned to face the man who was approaching him with hand thrust out.  When Artie saw Marc he stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth dropped and he went pale.  Marc gasped, his eyes flared and a small smile formed around his sensual lips. The exchange was not lost on Buck.

Instantly he knew.

Earlier Artie had stepped out on the cement and brick front porch in a bit of a rage.  With all the things Greta had told him about her ex, who the fuck was he to put him down?  A stray, he said. Made him sound like a mangy dog.  Arthur Henry Benson was no stray!  Okay, so maybe he was no hot shot corporate executive or somethin', but neither was the other guy.  Sittin' there half naked in his shack of a house on a weekday afternoon drinkin' beers.  Who the fuck was he to talk? 

Retrieving the pack of smokes from his breast pocket Artie lit up a Chesterfield and looked up and down the street.  Not much doin' here.  Just a bunch of old houses so close together they could almost jump in each other's windows.  Cripes, if one of 'em caught fire the rest of the block would go up in smoke.  Actually reminded Artie of the neighborhood he grew up in, although his home town was more city.  Stepping down the crumbling steps he thought of catching a few winks in the mobile home while Greta hashed things out with her prick ex.  Instead he sauntered down the street in the other direction. 

It was sticky hot.  Artie hadn't made it to the end of the block when he began to reconsider.  His balls were already sweaty.  The cool air in the camper would be much better than this.  But he was still steaming from Buck's treatment and needed to walk off his rage.  By the time he made it to where the road bisected with another he had stripped off his polo shirt and tossed it over one shoulder.  That felt a little better.  Standing at the corner in his once-white "wife beater" he contemplated his next direction.  There was the bar a few doors down.  A cool one would taste real good right now.  The opposite way was the rinky-dink park they'd passed when they pulled into this sleepy town.  Knowing how he got when he was pissed off and drinking Artie wisely decided to opt for the park.

It was only a block and a half away.  Although the grass was cut it didn't look like much other maintenance took place here.  There was a teeter tooter, monkey bars, swing set and slide for the kiddies, a basketball court and a couple of barbeque pits, tables and benches for family outings.  Off in the corner was a brick building he figured housed the rest rooms.  Artie selected a bench situated under a grove of maples and paused to rest.  Lighting up another cigarette he leaned back with his legs stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles and his arms splayed across the edge of the table top.  Felt better under the shade of the tree. 

Sure was a nothing town Greta came from.  No wonder she bailed out.  The Greta he knew liked action.  There seemed to be little of it here.  Artie wasn't stupid when it came to dames.  He'd known enough of them.  He pegged Greta for a broad who liked to have a good time from the moment he spied her at the track.  It was why he decided to bring her along on his excursion.  It's not like he was in love with her or nuthin'.  If she got on his nerves out on the road he could always leave her ass somewhere.  He'd miss those big tits of hers, though.  He really got off slidin' his dick between them.  And he supposed he owed her.  Ever since they hooked up he'd been on a winning streak with the horses.  Maybe she was his lucky charm.

Artie casually tossed the butt away, checked out the time on his watch and contemplated walking back.  Greta wanted to see that kid of hers, but it looked like he wasn't around.  Artie couldn't figure it.  She said she hadn't seen him in something like sixteen or seventeen years so why was it so important to take a detour and see him now?  And then talking some wild idea about bringing him on the road with them.  Artie wasn't so sure about that.  First he'd have to meet the kid.  Probably was a moot point anyway.  There seemed little possibility that angry ex of hers was going to let her take the kid anywheres.  Which worked for Artie.

Rising from the seat Artie paused to stretch and eyed the latrine.  He could do with taking a leak before venturing back to the battleground.  Trodding down the well-worn path he approached the building.  It was one structure split in half, one side for ladies and the other for the men.  Artie pushed on the steel door.  The rusted hinges groaned as the heavy door swung inward.  Artie's nostrils were all at once assaulted by the tangy odor of stale piss.  Sunlight filtered through open louvered windows high up near the ceiling.  The walls were all concrete block with the paint job peeling.  There was one sink, its faucet dripping, one toilet stall and one stained urinal.  There was also a boy casually standing with his shoulders pressed against the wall and one leg bent up with raised knee so that the sole of his sneaker was also flush with the wall.

Artie was momentarily taken aback by this unexpected encounter.  He hadn't seen another soul in the park until this moment.  Had the kid been there all this time?  He was a good looking youth, maybe in his late teens.  Wearing nothing more than athletic shorts slung so low on his slim hips that his pubes would have shown (if he had any) he was a boy with the beginnings of a man's body.  His arms, chest and legs all displayed lean, hairless muscularity.  Confused, Artie swallowed hard, nodded at the lad and stepped up to the urinal.  He took the customary stance, unzipped, hauled out his cock and let the piss rip.  As it splattered against the yellowed porcelain he glanced over at the boy.  Sonofabitch if the kid's eyes weren't focused on his pissing cock!  To cap things off his wet tongue slithered out from between his lips to glide over the top one hungrily.

Artie had never before been cruised in a public john.  Hell, he'd never been cruised at all.  But that's what this shameless kid was doing.  To him, a middle aged ordinary (or so he liked to think) man.  While he might not be movie star good looking, or built like a he-man, Artie was sure of one thing.  He was gifted with a big dick.  Now Artie, he was a tit and pussy man.  But somehow the thought of this boy, who looked like every teenage's girl's dream, cruising an old small-time racketeer like himself aroused Artie's libido.  Tentatively he shifted position so the boy had a better view of his piece.

The lad's eyes flared when he got an unobstructed look.  Artie noticed that his irises were like sparkling emeralds.  This kid truly was teenage perfection.  Artie shook off his last drop of urine and then gave his unit a squeeze.  The kid looked up, making eye contact with him, and reached down to fondle his basket.

"I'll suck it for you," he said in an unexpectedly deep voice that made Artie's back hairs stand.  "For a twenty," he added.

"You'll suck me for free, you little hustler," Artie growled.  "Now get over here."

Marc pushed off the wall and was squatting on the grimy floor in front of him in less than a flash. For a moment he stayed there with forearms on his spread thighs, hands dangling down, as he excitedly appraised this man's equipment.  While he certainly didn't have much else going for him this mister had one large, ferocious looking cock.  It was more like a trunk, in Marc's estimation a good seven inches soft and stirring.  Midway it flared out like a python which had swallowed a mole.  The head was shaped like a bullet and no wider than the rest of the remarkable shaft.  His hairy balls were real danglers, sagging heavily between his less-than-muscular thighs.

"Whatchoo waitin' for, kid," Artie barked.  "I ain't got all day."

Marc reached out to take the one-eyed monster in his anxious hand.  The dick instantly reacted by pulsing and thickening.  Marc played it like a guitar, strumming it with all five fingers.  The thing fattened in his grasp until his fingers could no longer meet around its circumference.  It lengthened and rose, defying its formidable weight.  Marc was awestruck.  In his rather short "career" he'd seen some mighty big dicks but this one was the total package.  At full mast it had to top ten glorious inches.  The piss slit was obscenely yawning open.  As Marc hungrily observed, a pearl of manly nectar bubbled from the hole.  Marc hastily leaned in and swiped up the offering with his tongue.

"Got a lot more where that came from, ya little slut," Artie snarled.  "If ya want it, ya gotta work for it."

Marc looked up at the seedy little man through those innocent emerald greens and slipped his lips around the cock head.  He sucked on the knob, using the tip of his tongue to tickle the trigger on the underside.  The blunt crown sported a nice, deep cum hole which he dipped into as he suckled and was quickly rewarded with more fresh dick slime.

"That's it, kid," Artie gushed as he gnawed on his bottom lip with nicotine stained top teeth.  "Tongue that slit, ya little cocksucker.  Gonna make Artie's balls boil over in no time."

Marc hefted the nut sac in one sweaty hand as he mouthed the cock head, squeezing those orbs filled with his favorite nectar.  Artie's big dick responded by flexing heavily and leaking even more tangy juice.  Marc swirled his tongue around the dome while his free hand pumped the thick rod.  The midriff was so thick he would have needed two hands to encircle it.  The expectation of how it might feel stretching his pussy caused Marc to voraciously gobble down a good half of Artie's meat.  With the head knocking at the back of his throat and the core of it stretching his wet lips wide Marc slovenly suckled the bestial schlong. 

Artie didn't care who the fuck came walking through that door.  This kid was one talented cock sucker.  He didn't think his big boy had ever been treated as good.  It took all his restraint to keep from grabbing the lad by the back of his head and raping his face hole.  The teen was sucking like a wet vac while flicking his tongue over every sensitive nerve along the shaft and causing Artie to moan.  It had been hot enough as it was in this shit box without the kid turning up the body temp.  His A-Shirt was stuck to his skinny torso and sweat was trickling down his bony back.  Good thing his pants and boxers were pooled around his ankles otherwise he'd have really been burning up. 

Artie flinched when Marc's hands shot around to grasp his flat ass.  At the same time the young man made a cock-stuffed, savage howl and went down on the bull meat.  In one hearty gulp Artie's prick head was lodged down in his slick, smooth throat.  The outrageous gut of it blocked the passage, preventing it from going further.  But it was enough.  With every bit it miraculously buried in his face Artie's wild pubes were poking up Marc's nostrils.  Artie's eyes shot wide and he emitted a high pitched gasp.  His entire frame shuddered and his legs went weak.  If the kid hadn't had him by the ass he might have stumbled backwards.  Nobody had ever taken all of Artie before.  There were times he considered his oversized beef to be a curse. But this teenager, a boy, had effortlessly wafted down every bit of it!

There was little shortage of amply sized studs in town so Marc had his share of experience with handling just about anything.  His elastic throat conformed to any width or length.  A few short years ago he might have suffocated on a piece like this one but Marc had mastered the art of breathing strictly through his nose.  Each time he took in air he got a heavy waft of Artie's acrid bush.  Instead of revolting, it aroused him.  It was the way a man was supposed to smell.  While he couldn't control the tears escaping from the corners of his eyes and rolling down his stuffed cheeks or the snot leaking from his gasping nostrils, he could hold a dick down there for an interminable length of time.  The muscles of his throat were caressing the lying beast, his tongue was at work on the lower half and his lips were chewing on the hairy base.  Marc Hauser was any man's best friend.

Never coming entirely off it, Marc began to glide back and forth on the big dick.  He backed off until the midriff bumped his lips and the head was just at the entry to his throat and then swallowed it back down.  His throat constricted and contracted around the huge flesh pole as he deep fucked it in his good looking face.  His lips were pressed firmly against the warm, wet skin and his tongue was constantly swirling against the hot meat.  All sorts of wet, sluicing sounds echoed against the cement walls as he shamelessly devoured the heavily pulsing prick.

Coming out of his state of shock, Artie took Marc behind the head and began thrusting into the boy's open mouth.  All sorts of enticing choking sounds emanated from the kid as Artie fucked his face.  The truncheon slammed down his throat with each deliberate thrust, the enlarged midriff fighting to make its way through the blockade.  Marc sputtered, snorted and coughed but he valiantly took all that this slimy little man had to give.  He man-handled Artie's swinging sac, yanking on those balls and squeezing as if attempting to extricate their potent cream.  Marc's shorts had ridden up his athletic thighs and his big boy dick was up and at attention.  Marc wrapped a fist around his meat and began frantically jerking it. 

"Fuckin' cock suckin' faggot!"  Artie huffed.  "Teach you what happens when you peek at Artie's big dick!  Didn't know what you was in for, didja?  Gonna fuck this mouth of yours so's you can't talk for a week."

As Marc slurped and sucked on the big plunger he whimpered encouragingly.  He liked when a man got aggressive.  Somehow he had the idea that wasn't usually this guy's style, that he was more milquetoast.  True or not he had definitely gotten into this scene, shoving that meat in and out of Marc's mouth with real gusto.  Marc's emerald orbs rolled up blissfully each time the cockhead speared his throat.  Artie was talkin' all kinds of dirty smack and working himself up to the pivotal moment when he would shoot his babies down this kid's gullet. 

But Marc had other thoughts in mind.

Wasn't an easy feat but Marc managed to fight Artie off.  Before the man could object Marc was up, ripping off his shorts and moving over in front of the sink.  Cocking one knee up on the stained porcelain he arched his defined back and thrust his high, perfectly contoured rump out at Artie.  Taking himself by his hinds Marc parted his butt gash and revealed his sweet pink hole to the other man's wondrous eyes.  Many times as it had been fucked, Marc's resilient hole looked as if it was fresh, tight and untapped.

Looking provocatively over his shoulder at a drooling Artie he huskily invited, "You want to fuck me, mister?"

Breathing heavily and hardly believing his luck Artie shuffled up behind the able-bodied boy, hoisted his club and poised it at Marc's asshole.  Didn't seem possible that something as big as his cock could fit into that winking space.  Working up some nicotine phlegm Artie spat it onto his fingers and worked it around Marc's hole.  Maybe that would help. The kid's button felt all soft and puffy and his luscious crack was totally hairless.  Artie's cock throbbed maddeningly.

Fuck Greta, her ex and whatever was transpiring down the street in that run-down house.  Artie had found himself a piece of ass.  While they fought it out he was getting laid.  Was a first for him.  He'd never fucked a boy before.  Heck, he'd never made it with any guy.  But this young man, he was one hot tomato!  If his boy pussy was near as good as his cock sucking Artie just might consider leaving Greta behind and taking this little hunk, whoever he was, cross country with him.  Kid gave a far better blow job than her, anyways. 

Artie pressed his oozing dickhead against Marc's ass lips, which obediently pulsed open for him.  He was pleasantly surprised with how effortlessly he sunk inside.  It was all warm, slick and cozy inside.  All at once Artie was struck by the realization that someone else's dick had been up this pussy recently.  His entry had been swift because the filthy slut was full of another man's cum!  In fact, it hadn't been long before he wandered into the park that Marc had gotten plugged by the two township maintenance workers who maintained the place.  Both nearing retirement age, one black and the other Puerto Rican, one mowed the grass while the other attended to garbage and bathroom cleanup.  And they both took turns fucking Marc in the john. There was more than one load up the x-rated athlete's ass, making it easy to accommodate Artie's rectum wrecker. 

With Marc's moist channel hugging Artie's straining cock he burrowed through until the midriff bulge was flush against the opening.  With his nicotine stained fingers on Marc's lean, strong hips he commenced fucking as if punishing the boy for being a bathroom whore.  His big plunger soared through the boy's slick ass chute, pumping the living hell out of him.  Marc took every hit square on, grinding his ass back against Artie's pistoning penis and chewing on it with his insides.  Claude and Jose had nice, hardy dicks on them but couldn't compare to the pussy stretcher on this fella.  So far Artie was serving him half his length, a hearty appetizer before the main event.  It was more than enough to rub against his prostate and wrack his body with spine-tingling, toe-curling, hair-raising sexsations. 

With hands clutching the side rims of the seedy sink Marc raised his head to gaze into the cracked, filmy mirror in front of him.  It provided him with a grainy view of the man at work behind him.  A fuck machine in motion Artie somehow looked more desirable now that he was incensed with lust.  His greased, swept back hair was now dangling down over his brow and at the sides of his face, flailing around as he savagely fucked.  His pasty complexion had taken on a ruddy glow.  His beady little eyes were now bright and aglow with sexual adventure.  Sweating profusely he pulled the t-shirt up over his head and hooked it behind his neck, all without losing a fuck beat.  His sunken chest glistened with perspiration, the hair circling his rather large nipples matted and wet. While he was still no Buck, Rick or Ralph in the looks department, with the cock on him he was king.

Pressing a hand in the small of Marc's back Artie ground the flared midsection of his hog against Marc's rear.  Marc desperately wanted to get that pregnant bloat through his sphincter and take it completely but his body inexplicably fought against it.  Gritting his teeth Artie pushed and prodded, verbally ordering Marc to open up for him.  Marc huffed and puffed, bore down on it and attempted to accommodate.  Cripes, the fat hogs of those two raunchy multi-tattooed bear bikers he'd simultaneously taken in the bar basement the other night might not have been as wide as Artie's one man show, but close.

Artie was relentless; Marc, determined.  The cock fought a good battle and ultimately submerged victorious.  When the huge swell stretched his ass lips impossibly wide, then sunk inside Marc's mouth and eyes shot wide open.  Victorious, Artie recklessly thrust the entire length of his organ inside the boy.  To Marc it felt like a clenched fist soaring through his channel.  He saw stars when the torpedoed head ripped through his inner sphincter and punched up into his belly.  The pain was intense.  He hadn't felt this way since his first time.  Rather than fighting it Marc cherished the torment.  This was the way he always figured it should be with a man.  Sweet, blissful fucking was for girls.  Savage, brutal fucking was for men.  And although he didn't much look like it below the waistline this guy was all man.

Artie banged Marc's pussy with unrestrained intensity.  The gigantic truncheon tore through the boy's squirming guts, causing the youngster to gasp and groan.  Marc's strained asslips were obscenely pulled out each time the bulging midriff ripped free.  Before the folds could even attempt to regather the swell was breaking through again.  Marc's pussy lips had never before been fucked in such a manner.  He braced himself against the sink, his hands clinging so tight that his knuckles had turned white, and took the defiling fuck.  Artie's enormous bull meat was constantly crushing his boy clit and causing his dick to throb maddeningly.  Rarely before had he been consumed by the intoxicating combination of paralyzing agony and exquisite ecstasy.  Cherishing the discomfort he managed to lurch his over-stuffed ass back, meeting Artie's forceful thrusts head on and kissed the massive rod with his wrecked ass lips.

"Fuck, yeah!" the panting man snarled.  "You like Artie's big dick, don't you boy?  Gonna tear up your little faggot ass an' make you Artie's fuck whore!  You ain't gonna be good to no other fucker's cock once I'm finished with you."  Artie found it stimulating to be so aggressive.  It wasn't normally a trait of his.  He usually laid back and let the bitch do all the work.  Something about this brazen youth had released a smoldering lust within which Artie now had no intention of containing.  He assaulted Marc's cunt with a fury, pounding that cum-soaked pussy with every bit of his energy.  Despite all this the wonder kid still managed to work the bludgeoning behemoth, clenching his meat on the withdrawal and gaping at the re-entry.  Asshole or cunt, Artie had never felt anything as exquisite.

With major meat raping his sensitive 'state Marc found himself unable to delay his release any longer.  While the seedy man slot-fucked him deep and hard Marc tensed, shivered and, with a strained cry, sent a powerful spray of teen cum splattering against the rear wall of the sink.  Marc's violent spasms caused his boy cunt to clamp down and tug on Artie's prick but the seamy man didn't slow down for one moment.  Artie gut fucked Marc clear through his orgasm. Marc's beguiling irises were rolled up under his eyelids and his good looking face held a beatific glow as volumes of seed were gloriously pounded out of his teen prick.

As Marc's pussy flexed around his man pole Artie knew he, too, was going to cum.  Breathless from his high-powered exertions he still raced toward the finish line, frantically humping the magnificent hole.  Sweat was liberally pouring off him as he recklessly pounded Marc's ass.  Huffing and grunting Artie tossed back his head, planted his beefsteak deep and, with an almost girlish cry, shot his wad.  Marc could feel the hot load pumping into him.  This little guy certainly was a big shooter.  Rich man cream kept squirting from his agitated meat to flood Marc's already soaked guts.  Marc used everything he had to grip that cock, which seemed to be expanding even larger with each spasm, and work it through its release.  Artie was lost in another dimension.  Bright lights flashed before his wondrous eyes and he thought certain his life essence was being drained from him.  Getting off had never felt quite like this before.  It was beyond explanation, beyond belief. 

After he was thoroughly spent and they came apart Artie became strangely sheepish.  Fuck if this kid hadn't gotten to him.  Marc was all excitement, acting as if he'd just won a polo match.  Or something.  While the boy went into the stall, presumably to drop some of that spent cum, Artie splashed water onto his face, cleaned his dick and paper towel dried himself off.  He was combing his disarrayed hair back into place when the kid came out of the head, all smiles.

"You from around?"  That deep voice on the kid made Artie's balls tingle once again.

"Nah," Artie managed.  "Just passin' through."

"Too bad," Marc replied suggestively, pulling his shorts on.  He muscled his way in front of Artie and took over clean up at the sink.  While pulling his shirt back into place and tucking it into his slacks Artie watched the boy bent over the sink, his ass jutting out, as he washed his face and ran water through his short, dark hair.  Cripes, he was getting horned up all over again.  Had to get himself the fuck out of here.  Needed a smoke.

"Well, um, see ya, kid," Artie mumbled nervously.  Marc came up from the basin, turned to face him and shook his head like a wet dog.  Droplets of water sprayed about him.  With a broad, endearing smile that made Artie's dick twitch he said, "Yeah, sure, mister.  Hey, it was great!"

Almost diffidently Artie nodded his head and backed out of the raunchy place.  His legs were weak as he made his way to a picnic bench and sparked up a cigarette.  A short time later Marc came out of the rest room, smiled widely when he saw Artie sitting there and waved before he trotted off out of the park and out of sight.

Artie sat there for a while, treating himself to a second stick, and contemplated the unexpected encounter.  One thing for certain was that he had just had the best lay of his life.

"Artie, say hello to Marky," Greta was jubilantly saying.  Artie, not certain what to do, mumbled something.  Marc was thoroughly enjoying the man's discomfort. 

"Marky," she went on, "Just before you came in I was about to tell your Daddy, well, ask your Daddy if maybe, just maybe, you could come with us.  You know, take a holiday, see the country.  Whatchya think?  Is that somethin' you might wanna do?"

Buck was already up off the couch protesting.  But Marc barely heard him.  His eyes were on an astonished Artie, a man-eating grin spread across his good looking face.