A 31-year-old F250 moved down Hawkins Lane, a narrow two-lane highway south of Madison. The driver sawed at the wheel to keep the truck within its lane while tapping the top of it to the beat of the old rock ‘n roll song playing over the radio. He was younger than his truck by ten years, with a lanky build, an inch shy of six foot and struggled to put weight on his one hundred fifty-three-pound body. He wasn’t the strongest man around, but he had stamina, something he demonstrated often with one guy or another.
His given name is Waylon Gene McKinley, but to his family, friends, and fuck buddies, he was Mic.
Mic pulled into the drive that cut through a stand of trees, winding to the back of a sixty-acre plot that backed up to Clear Water Creek. He came to the open pasture that had not been grazed in a decade, wildflowers now growing in large patches across the rolling ground. He followed the drive along the familiar path, first along the edge of the pasture with the old barb-wire fence lining both sides of it, then cutting across an open yard area, terminating at the front of a two-story farmhouse.
Mic climbed out of his truck, slammed the door closed to make sure it latched, and strolled across the patchy yard to the old cinder block steps that carried him up to the porch. He sees empty beer bottles at the swing and rocking chair at the right side of the porch, knowing they were from the night before, the guys sitting there watching another sunset.
He doesn’t knock, instead turns the knob and pushes the door open.
Five Minutes Later…
Mic was on his knees, naked, tugging on his cock. He looked from John Henry in the old recliner, feet up, manipulating his cock through worn jeans, to Gus lying on the sofa, left foot on the floor, right one up on the sofa, manipulating his cock through worn and frayed jeans. Both men are shirtless and are touching themselves as Mick gets himself erect.
John Henry is 32, five feet eight-inch average build, and Mic knows within the jeans is a cock that will get to a nice seven inches. Mic looks over to Gus. 35, five feet ten-inch lean build and beginning to push out on the jeans an eight-inch cock that curves perfectly for fucking ass.
Mic wonders who to approach first as his hand slides down his seven-inch cock. He feels its straight shaft and flared head, and as he strokes it, feels the swing of his nuts. The coffee table is between him and Gus, so he moves on his knees to John Henry. The footrest goes down and the legs spread apart, making room for him to move up between them. He buries his face in the crotch, mouths the tube of flesh evident within the jeans, stretching out to the right side. He moves his mouth along it until he reaches the head and feels it flex with his ministrations.
Standing on his knees, Mic looks at John Henry smiling at him as he undoes the jeans then takes them by the waistband. The ass comes up letting him slip them down the legs. No underwear, as he knew, and the cock flops back against the abdomen. He works the jeans off each foot, then bends to the cock, captures it in his mouth, and sucks. He sucks as if starved for it, noisily, sloppily, drool trickling down the cock and dripping off his chin. He buries the cock in his mouth; nose pressed into the pubic hair. He inhales capturing the man’s scent.
“Goddamn, that boy can suck cock,” said Gus.
“Yes, he can,” John Henry replies as he reclines back and watches Mic suck.
Mic glances over at Gus, sees him holding his cock that has slipped through the fly of the jeans, slowly stroking it while watching him. It makes his own cock flex to watched with such lust.
Mic moves up and down on the cock until he feels it flex against the roof of his mouth, and John Henry takes his head, holding it in place. John Henry then fucks his mouth, pumping hips upward, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until he is nearly choking and drool drips onto the tightening nut sack.
“Fuck I’m going to cum,” said John Henry, and he pushes Mic’s head off his cock. “You want to eat my first load?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mic.
John Henry pulls Mic back down on his cock and he pumps his hips until he cannot hold back. He shoves upward and blasts the back of Mic’s throat with his first wad, then he settles down, pulling the mouth down on his cock as it erupts wads after wad.
Mic sits up, wipes his mouth with his forearm, smiles at John Henry, then crawls to Gus. He tugs the undone jeans off then captures the cock in his mouth and sucks. He sucks as he did John Henry, nosily and sloppily. But Gus never takes his head instead, just lays back letting him do all the work.
Mic strokes the shaft and sucks the head. He moves his mouth up and down it, from arrow shaped head down to its base. He tugs on the nuts and manipulates the head until getting Gus to respond to him.
“Fuck, you son of a bitch; suck me. Suck me off. That’s it, show me how you like it.”
Mic moves on the cock, sliding his lips up and down it. He keeps up a steady pace wanting to push Gus to his limits. Then Mic wants to push him past those limits until cum fills his mouth. As he sucks, he feels John Henry touching him, rubbing a hand over his ass, then fingers slipped between his cheeks. A finger bores into him, digging as deeply as it can, twisting and pumping through his tightness, loosening him for fucking.
“Fuck, you got a nice ass,” utters John Henry.
Mic moans around Gus’ cock as the finger works his ass.
He buries Gus into his mouth and holds still as John Henry penetrates him. He feels the cock stretch him open and slowly sink into his depths. Hands hold his waist and he begins to move on Gus as John Henry begins to fuck.
Mic sucks and takes John Henry’s fuck. He rocks forward with every shove into his depths. He moans whorishly, loud and uninhibited, and it makes John Henry fuck harder. The sound of hips smacking against his ass echoes in the room.
“Fuck him, John Henry. Fuck him,” said Gus as he begins to pump his hips, unable to hold back.
Gus comes first, shuddering with release as his cock ejaculates wad after wad into the suctioning mouth. Once spent, he falls still and watches Mic squeeze his cock from base to head, drawing out every drop of cum, licking it off his cock, all the while rocking with John Henry’s fuck.
John Henry grabs Mic by the hair and pulls his head back, and Gus looks at the lean body pulled up and bent back, the hard cock flopping around as John Henry fucks with a brutal pace.
“That’s it; fuck his ass, John Henry. Fuck it. Don’t stop,” said Gus. He considers taking Mic in hand to give him some relief, but he just lays still watching, knowing it makes Mic a better fuck to keep him on edge.
John Henry cries out, slams his cock into Mic’s depths, hips pressed against the ass, and shudders and jerks with his second release.
John Henry lays back in his recliner watching Gus fuck Mic. Mic is on his back on the sofa, head bent against the back of it, knees pushed down either side of his lean torso. Gus is holding them down while fucking the upturned ass. John Henry can see nearly every inch come into view then watches Gus shove every inch back into the ass. A slow pace, pulling nearly out of the ass, Gus fucks Mic while holding the legs down, keeping Mic pinned to the sofa.
Mic’s cock drools on his stomach as he talks trash Gus, pushing him to fuck harder.
“Come on, fuck my ass. Fuck me. Fuck me. Give me that cock.”
Gus leans forward, bracing his hands on the back of the sofa, stretching out over Mic, and he fucks harder, faster, until hips are smacking against the upturned ass. The old sofa squeaks, then bangs against the wall in rhythm with their fuck. And Mic takes it, holding his legs pulled back and apart.
John Henry watches the fuck, the sounds of it making it more arousing, until he is stroking a very hard cock.
“Fuck Gus. Pump that shit in me. Fuck me. Fuck me, ya bastard,” Mic cries out.
“Goddamn it,” Gus exclaims and he shoves into the ass and shudders with release.
As soon as Gus steps back, Mic is up, moving to John Henry. Cum trickles from his fuck stretched hole and his cock is rock hard and dripping. He has yet to cum but will do so soon. He backs up to John Henry and eases his ass down on the cock John Henry is holding up. He leans back against the man and moves his body, undulating it to work his ass on the cock. He feels their sweat slick skin rub hotly against each other as me fucks his ass on the cock. He takes his own cock in hand and strokes it, smearing its slick. He moves steadily, determined to get John Henry off again. He tilts his head back and moans as he feels John Henry kiss his neck and shoulder. Hands hold his waist loosely, doing nothing to prohibit his movements, and he keeps moving his ass on the cock.
Gus is suddenly between their legs, and Mic watches him take his cock and suck as he moves on John Henry. It takes no time at all, and he needs to cum. He wants to cum. He works his hips with exaggerated movements pumping his cock into Gus’ mouth, then when he is at the point of release, he pushes Gus down on it all the way as he pumps a load down the throat.
“Fuck!” exclaims John Henry.
Mic feels the hands tighten on his waist, then pull his ass down on the cock as it spurts wad after wad into his depths.
Three Days Later.
Mic stays horny, always thinking of his last fuck, this time with John Henry and Gus, which makes him think of his next fuck. It is Wednesday evening, and he has just left the tavern where he met some friends for a burger and a couple of beers. He is heading to his apartment to change clothes, to get out of his good jeans and shirt. He’ll put on something old and frayed, something he doesn’t care about getting messed up. In fact, he hopes his clothes do get messed up, for it’ll mean he had a good time. A damn good time.
Dressed in a worn and frayed pair of jeans that ride low on his short waist, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, he paces around his apartment, knowing it is too early. It’s Wednesday night, and he knows about one in the morning is the time to show up at the old truck stop on the north side of town. Tyson will be working the nightshift and sometime between one and one thirty, that nasty trucker, Mason, will be coming through on his regular haul from Dallas. At that hour, it’ll just be the three of them at the truck stop, because it is too far from the interstate for a regular customer base during the late-night hours. Looking at the clock, he still has three hours to kill, so he drops down on his sofa and turns on the television. He finds a movie he has seen before, but enjoyed, and knows it’ll take most of the time he needs to kill.
Mic pulled into the dark parking lot, only the canopy lights at the diesel pumps creating a bright spot in the darkness, otherwise only the interior lights of the store shining out of windows through stickers and posters. Tyson’s old Cherokee was sitting next to the building and at one diesel pump sat Mason’s rig. Mic smiled, for Mason was early.
Entering through the side door, the one the truckers utilized, Mic came into the corridor that passed the toilets and men’s shower room. From the corridor, he could see Tyson is not at the check-out counter, then he heard a shower running and he began to unbutton his shirt as he went in.
Tyson’s apron and clothing lay on the vanity and at the lockers opposite, Mic knew one contained Mason’s clothing. He tossed his shirt next to Tyson’s clothes, then stripped off his jeans and put them with his shirt.
Naked, he tugged on his cock, feeling it stir with his arousal. Then he headed to the shower room wondering what mischief he would find Tyson and Mason. Mason was about five feet nine inches tall with a lean body and a nice curved eight-inch cock with a wide flared head. Mason knew how to use it to make a bottom see stars. Tyson was younger than him by a year, only twenty, and was about five feet six inches tall, average build, except for the thick seven-inch cock that hung between his thighs.
Tyson was behind Mason, who was bent over, hands braced on the tile wall. As Tyson fucked, Mason’s cock was swinging heavily between the thighs. Mic crossed the narrow room, went to his hands and knees and crawled to Mason until he could raise up and capture the cock in his mouth.
Mic sucked that cock greedily, working his mouth on it until Mason was struggling to stand. Drool dripped from his chin as he moved his lips along the curved shaft until the flared head tried to slip through them. Then he released it to catch his breath, gasping for air, and he saw Tyson tighten his hold on the man’s waist. He knew Tyson was getting close and held his open mouth for Mason to uncontrollably fuck it. Right on cue, Tyson fucked harder, hips smacking the man’s ass. The sound of it echoed in the tiled room challenged only by Mason’s moans and grunts. And for Mic, it pushed Mason to fuck his mouth. Every time Tyson shoved every inch of his cock into Mason’s ass, Mason shoved cock into Mic’s mouth.
“Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to cum,” Mason exclaimed.
“Yeah, cum for me. Do it, bitch. Cum in that whore’s mouth. Do it. Do it,” Tyson exclaimed as he fucked with a stamina that belied his lean frame. He held Mason by the waist and hammered his ass, and in turn pushed Mason to do the same to Mic’s mouth.
“OH fuck!” Mason exclaimed, and he shoved forward, nearly choking Mic, and came. With every ejaculation, he jerked and shook, until spent. Mic nursed his spent cock, then slid back until leaning against the wall so he could watch Tyson fuck to release.
Tyson pushed Mason forward, pressed the side of the head against the wall and had Mason’s spent cock right in Mic’s face, and he fucked. Fucked with a brutal pace, hips smacking against the ass until it reddened. Then he shoved into Mason’s depths and came.
Mic lay on the floor on his back. The left leg against Mason’s chest as he held the right one against his own chest while Mason fucked him. Tyson stood over them, naked, tugging on his cock, watching Mason’s cock come into view then disappear into Mic’s ass. Mason fucked with a slow steady pace, relishing the feel of his cock sliding through that loosened opening.
“Come on, Mason, fuck me. Fuck me harder,” uttered Mic as his own cock flexed over his stomach then drooled on it.
Mason just smiled, knowing he was in control of this fuck, and he kept his pace slow and steady, pushing all the way into Mic, then tugging outward until nearly slipping free.
“Jesus, Mason, fuck that ass,” Tyson encouraged as his own cock hardened with his manipulation.
“Let me suck that,” said Mason as he kept working his hips.
Mic saw Tyson smile, then step up to Mason and smack him in the face with his cock, then he put the head of it to the lips.
“Suck it. Suck my cock,” uttered Tyson.
Mic watched Mason take the cock while continuing to fuck him. Mason never lost his rhythm, just fucked steadily while sucking Tyson’s cock.
After what seemed only a few seconds, but Mic knew it was much longer, Tyson was on his knees wiping leaking cock across his lips. He opened his mouth and took the cock as Mason leaned over him, both of his legs against the chest, and began to fuck harder. To fuck faster. Every shove inward rocked him.
Tyson pumped cock into his mouth and Mason hammered his ass, and he took it, took both of those cocks until Mason was trying to jam deeper into his ass. Then his mouth flooded with cum.
Mason had cleaned up and hit the road, and Mic was holding Tyson’s body folded in half, the feet pointed up with legs against his chest. He pushed Tyson against the wall and pumped cock upward into the ass. He watched Tyson’s tilt back with the mouth hanging open. He heard the moans and grunts, and it pushed him to keep fucking.
Mic fucked until breathless, and he eased Tyson to his feet, spun him around, and penetrated the ass again, pushing him against the wall as he fucked. He kept Tyson pinned to the wall increasing the pace of his fuck. He fucked until gasping for breath and he needed to cum, then hammered his cock into the depths of the ass and cried out as he came.
They showered while giggling like fools, making crude jokes about their sex, and once dressed, Tyson went back to the front of the store for the long hours until Cheryl arrived to do the early morning shift and Mic eased out the side door, climbed into his old truck, and headed home for a few hours of much needed sleep.
Friday.
Mic was driving through town, heading to the north side. He was going to Hank’s Auto Repair, wanting to arrive right before closing. There was nothing wrong with his truck. What was wrong was Waylon Gene McKinley was horny, had been all afternoon just thinking of that twenty-six-year-old ass and cock. Hank Bishop had worked his ass off to get his own shop. From sixteen to graduation from high school, Hank worked at his uncle’s shop over in Glendale after school and on Saturday mornings.
Mic sat at the Third Street intersection, waiting on the light to change while thinking of Hank. Five feet ten inches tall, a lean muscular body from working out with weights, which he now kept in the back of the shop to use at the end of a day’s work. He pictured the now familiar body, smooth skin, impossibly white without a blemish and very little body hair, except the thick wavy black hair on his head and pubic hair that fanned out over a nice, thick, nine-inch cock. It would be ramrod straight when erect and thick enough to feel when stretching his hole wide open. He tugged on his own cock feeling it stir with his anticipation.
The light changed and Mic took off, accelerating faster than he should and he forced himself to slow down. He would get there when he wanted, and he just needed to be patient.
Mr. Sulivan’s Chevy truck was on a lift with Hank underneath it when Mic pulled into the parking lot. Hank looked his way and smiled, then turned back to his task.
Mic parked next to the Land Cruiser, a fifteen-year-old model that replaced the 4Runner and climbed out of his Ford. He straightened his black tank top and pulled his cap low on his head as he crossed the drive entering the shop.
“I’ve got to finish this for Mr. Sulivan is coming in the morning to pick it up,” said Hank.
“Go ahead, I’m not in a hurry.”
“Yeah, right. I see that hard cock in your pants,” Hank replied, chuckling.
“I can’t help it. I just get horny thinking about you fucking my ass.”
“In due time,” Hank uttered in a whisper as he turned his attention back to getting new shocks on the truck.
Mr. Sulivan’s truck was parked outside, and all the vertical lift doors were down and locked, the closed sign facing out at the office door. In the stockroom, sitting in the back corner, was a cot with one purpose.
Mic was laying on it on his back, thighs pressed down against his chest, ass turned up upward, taking Hank Garrison’s thick nine cock. It piston in his depths making him grunt and moan and beg to be fucked.
“Fuck my ass. Fuck me. Pump that cock in my ass,” Mic exclaimed.
Hank pushed down on Mic’s thighs and fucked harder, pulling nearly every inch out of the ass, then shoving it back into Mic’s depth, hips smacking against the ass. The cot squeaked and screeched across the floor, then it was tapping the wall with the steady rhythm of Hank’s fuck.
“Goddamn, fuck me; fuck me, you son of a bitch,” uttered Mic.
The sound of hips banging against ass was a staccato of sound echoing in the small room.
Hank pulled out of Mic, cock flexing up and down as he stood at the foot of the cot.
“Roll over and get on your knees,” Hank barked.
Mic was on his knees, and Hank quickly had his head pressed against the block wall and cock buried in his ass, fucking it.
“Pump that shit in me. Come on, cum in me,” Mic uttered breathlessly as he rocked with Hank’s fuck, his own cock swinging between his thighs, rock hard and dripping.
“Fuck,” Hank uttered as he held Mic in place and fucked. He fucked with long strokes, tugging his cock outward until nearly slipping free. As Mic begged to be fucked, he pulled out, let his cock hover between them, then punched back through the closing asshole. He kept doing it, over and over, making Mic shudder with each penetration. Then he buried his cock inside the ass and fucked hard, banging his hips against the ass. He reached around the waist with his other hand and took the dripping cock, stroking it, feeling how it made Mic push back on his cock then rock forward.
Mic came first, spraying the wall with cum, then rained it down on the cot. Hank felt the ass spasm around his cock and he long dicked it, swung his hips as much as he could, working his nine inches in the battered ass until he couldn’t hold back, and he buried it in Mic and shuddered and jerked with release.
“Fuck,” Hank uttered breathlessly, as he pushed against the ass as his cock spurt the last of his load.
Hank sat on the cot, back against the wall. Mic was facing him, moving up and down on his cock. The ass felt good on it, tight enough to feel along every inch as Mic rose, then went down again. Mic’s cock dragged along his stomach leaving a slick trail and he wanted to take it in hand, manipulate it until Mic moved with greater authority, but his hands were full, an ass cheek in each one so he could guide Mic in the pace of his movement.
Mic smiled at him, then leaned back bracing with the left hand on the cot frame and his own cock in the right. Stroking cock while working ass up and down, the intensity of it was pushed Hank, his cock so sensitive to the ass moving on it, he began to breathe hard and held Mic’s ankles in a death grip.
The cot squeaked and rocked as Mic’s ass slammed down on his cock, faster and faster, until he needed to cum. Mic cried out, and his movements became jerky, the ass slamming down on his cock and grinding against his abdomen. He watched Mic close his eyes and tilt his head back, then shudder as cum rained down on face, neck, then chest and stomach. Just to see the ejaculation was enough but to capture the scent of cum just made his own release more intense. He pushed upward and shuddered with release.
Mic drove home feeling the wind swirl around in the cabin of his truck. He was shirtless, letting the air dry his sweaty skin. He raked a hand through his sweaty hair, then smiled at why he was such a mess. Hank had worn his ass out and he felt the satisfaction from it. Even feeling cum leak from his ass wetting the seat of his jeans had some pleasure to it, something to remind him of the sex with Hank.
Pulling up to an intersection, stopping for the red light, he saw Noah Matthews pull through on the cross street in his open CJ7. Noah had to be nineteen now and he wondered what it would be like to fuck around with him. Then he wondered if Noah would be willing. He knew Noah worked at his dad’s tractor dealership, and he began to scheme on a way to get around Noah. Then he wondered what Noah might be willing to do, for he was willing to do anything Noah wanted just to get that boy naked.
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