It was Saturday night and Bruce was back from work, hot and sweaty in his suit and tie he stomped into his house on the hill on to the wooden floorboard of his pristine school masters house he got with his job at the boy’s college. He rubbed his crotch and rubbed his bell end through his trousers and adjusted his balls he sniffed his palm it smelt of balls sweat ripe he thought, his arsehole twitched, he felt a bit horny, he decided it was wine time. Bruce was 59 big juicy pecs and butt hairy crotch and arse and chest, muscle bloke, bald head with big black moustache.
The Pinot Noir stained the glass a bruised purple, Bruce sat in his leather wingback chair, the hide creaking under his six-foot-five frame, his woollen suit trousers had grown tight on his tree trunk legs in the chair he felt his underpants creek up in between his sweaty hairy arse cheeks, it was kind of uncomfortable but also felt good up his perineum, he sat deeper in the seat his underpants went right up his crack his arsehole twitched again and then his bellend twitched he flicked his big nipples through his shirt, he was horny, it felt horny. His study smelled of old parchment, piss, cum, man sweat, expensive tobacco, and the lingering scent of floor wax from the halls of the boys' school he commanded. He ran a thick finger over the edge of his silver-streaked Mustache, feeling the coarse hair prickle against his skin. At fifty-nine, and because he was big and bald Bruce possessed the kind of presence that silenced a room without a word he was a big bloke, big chest big back, his chest was big , juicy, he had big pig nipples that had gotten big from being worked on for years, nipples stood up perky, hairy., and a dense thicket of curly grey chest hair peeked from the open collar, he smelt his armpits and the stink mmm he got horned from his own man scent, smelt like his balls sack, pungent was a manly stink he reached down with both fingers and squeezed and flicked at his juicy big man nipples again, the pinch went straight to the bellend of his ten incher in his tight trousers. He felt the itch. It wasn't a physical ailment, but a hunger—a specific, predatory craving for the sight of a Mans big bare bottom that was his Achillies heal, big muscle rugby arses, or football players he wasn’t picky. He saw allot of lad’s arses at his job at the men’s college, well they were men not lads really 18-24 years old. He had to go to speak to one of the lads that day in the changing rooms the amount of men’s arses that were on show had lead to his hard cock now sat in the chair it was time to go on the apps he wasn’t a gay man he was just into mask man to man stuff mainly male to male spanking, he had always been a sporty bloke, ex-army, and male dominance and punishment had always been part of his life now he had a weakness for dom sub male on male spankings, he felt spankings given and taken were ways to show how masculine you are, he had started doing this first with his mates at college and then in the army and now with local fellas who were the same. He didn’t see it as gay but as but as male bonding.
He had been whipped and spanked by blokes and had given some bare ass whippings himself, this was his secret side no one knew. Bruce had looked at his body before and thought he was big muscle like a gorilla, with big juicy perky nipples on his juicy pecs. Nipple play was ok between guys nothing was off the table, in playing dares with a guy, it was macho fun that’s how he saw it.
Bruce had been married he saw this as just masculine man stuff from time to time, he had fooled around with other teachers at college it was not a big deal, he had a fetish for man to man spanking, it felt dirty, horny, reminded him of his spankings across his bare bum in Scotland his home, as an older teen. He found man to man boy sir fantasy horny and dirty. He flicked his nipples remembering spanking he had dished out bare arse.
He was feeling dominant tonight, he wanted the thud of palm against flesh, the sharp intake of breath, and the surrender of a masculine ego. Bruce reached for his phone. He opened the app, a discreet corner of the digital world where the power dynamics of the town were inverted menspankmen. He scrolled through the local profiles,
Fat horny arses on show, a few blokes said hi, a few horny lads, Bruce unbuttoned his trousers to let his hard on free, and took a gulp of wine, maybe he could have a wank spank bloke tonight.
his eyes scanning for a particular kind of geometry: thick thighs, big bum bloke, a masc looking bloke. A notification pinged. A new message from a user named 'RugbyKing88'. Bruce tapped the profile. His breath hitched. The photos were candid, shot in a gym mirror. The man was a mountain of muscle, skin tanned and glistening with sweat hairy chest, A massive chest, arms like carved oak. The guy had sent a pick of his naked front with out the head thick black hair in his crotch, low hanging balls sack and a circumcised cock standing to attention it looked just like Bruces cock he thought maybe a bigger bellend. He arse pic was outstanding, big bare bottom on show, the back of his legs where hairy and pure muscle leading to a big round fat pudding arse, huge round white cheeks, milky white, with dark hair coming from the centre and dark hair on his legs outlining his big arse.
Bruces nob had become hard in his under pants, with a wet patch looking and this guy’s arse, that’s an athlete’s bare arse, he felt so horned looking at this big back and then this fat round bare bum. He rubbed his nob a bit and messaged the mystery man, on the app it said they were close.
Bruces was filled with horny adrenalin, this was dangerous, horny, and dirty. The woods were quite dark, it was unlikely anyone would be around, but it felt dangerous meeting this guy he hadn’t seen a face pic of. Bruce was usually a dom, but the naked stranger had asked to switch spankings, we take it in turns he said.
Bruse did not know it but the man in the pic was Alan Griff. Alan was 6ft 3, tanned, big white arse, short back and sides thick blonde and grey hair. Alan lived in the cul-de-sac at the bottom of the hill. He was the town’s golden boy, a retired rugby star who carried himself with the effortless swagger of a man who had never been told 'no'. He was married, a family man, the epitome of straight, macho masculinity. To the town, Alan was a pillar of strength. To Bruce, looking at the caption under the photo—'Need a firm hand to put me in my place'—Alan was a target. Bruce typed back, his pulse drumming in his throat.
Bruce: you are not far mate; that’s a big fat arse you got
Alan: yes, I work on it mate I eat to get it bigger
Bruce: well, you’re a big bloke you look great
Alan: can I see your arse?
Bruce: I am mainly top though, ill send my cock and chest
Alan: up for a switch tonight mainly
Bruce thought about it, the guy was so hot, he was a bit drunk and thought yeah ill take a spanked arse
Bruce: I’m up for it mate I give hard and fast bare bottom, and I expect it back the same
Alan: ideal mate, sounds masculine bloke to bloke
Bruce: its just blokes taking it
Alan: the woods then I know a place where blokes meet
Bruce: the Woods?
Alan: at the top there’s an old broken down mans bog you know it?
Bruce: actually, I do
Alan: the entrance is under a tree, its not that hard to get in, ill stand by the stump and hold the door open from inside if you will see me there just come to where the entrance should be your will see a felled tree, ill be in the bogs.
Bruce: ok mate yeah,
Alan- look mate, this is bloke to bloke arse spank, I’m going to film it just our arses
Bruce: yeah, ok mate
Bruce: 20 minutes
Bruce’s cock was hard now he took off his trousers and underpants off, he stood their bare backside, his low hanging balls swaying under his hard 10-inch circumcised cock, he poured some more wine and drank it down. Could this happen he thought, he squeezed his nipples through his shirt, his cock jerked hard as he did it.
Bruce wanted his arse spanked and he wanted to spank this big fat rugby mans white arse.
The drive up the hill was a blur of adrenaline and suffocating doubt. Alan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, feeling a swarm of butterflies fluttering not just in his chest, but deep in his gut and pulsing up into his arse. He was terrified, and that terror was fuelling a fire in his loins that he couldn't extinguish. He pulled over at the edge of the trailhead and got out on foot to the mans abonded bogs, he crawled under the tree trunk into a small toilet with three urinals and white stained tiled walls, most of them were in tact but the top near the roof all the tiles were black and had fallen to the cement floor and smashed, it stank of commercial bleach and man piss, there was no Alan had brought his phone and light attached to his tripod he set it up he wanted to get a film of his bare arse spanked, he had found these vids really horny before and wanked to the films of his bare bum getting a smack.
He reached for the flask of whiskey he’d brought, unscrewing the cap and taking a long, burning shot. The liquid seared his throat, grounding him. *I’m not gay,* he told himself, the thought a mantra. *I’m not attracted to men.* He thought about the threesome he’d had with two local women just last week—the heat of them, the way he’d dominated them. That was who he was. He was the big man, the rugby star, the alpha. But there was a hole in his masculinity that only this could fill. He craved the discipline. He remembered being a teenager, the raw, dirty excitement of spanking matches with his brothers in their bedrooms, the bare-bottomed chaos that always ended with them wanking together in a feverish, masculine haze. To Alan, this wasn't about romance or identity; it was man-to-man. It was primal. It was a dirty, secret necessity. But as he stepped out into the toilets, his cock was already rigid, straining painfully against the fabric of his dark blue tracksuit. He couldn't believe he was doing this. The thought of the local He had messaged Bruce specifically: *Film it. *
He hears something outside, he looked and saw a guy in an army jacket and army shorts black socks and a black t, the man was bald with a dark heavy moustache, it was Bruce, he went to open the door, Bruce climbed under the fallen tree and inside the door and got to his feet. He looked at Alan; he recognised him straight away as the local rugby bloke down the road. He looked at the only light in the room on the phone tripod, it was a bright circle the tripod was at waist height he didn’t say anything to Alan, he stepped back and looked the view of the phone, he figured out it would cut the top halves of them off, missing there faces he was fine with thins, now he could enjoy the horniness of making the man spank arse film. He looked at Alan, the heat between them was unbelievable he noticed Alan hard nob in his tracksuit, Alan had large pecs he could see through the tracksuit. He noticed Alan was drinking whiskey. He looked at Alan and said ‘Dutch courage mate’ Alan said yeah but I’m up for it hard you know, Bruce said ‘good I give hard and take’ Alan offered Bruce a swig of the whiskey they both stood in silence getting a few swigs in. Alan could see Bruce had big pointy nipples in his t shirt and big muscle in his legs he wondered how big his arse was. Suddenly Bruce grabbed Alan
‘you first married man’
Bruce commanded, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. Alan felt a surge of shame and heat. He was the biggest man in the area, a local legend, and here he was, being ordered around like a schoolboy by the headmaster. The power shift was intoxicating. He stepped forward, his breath hitching, with a sudden, forceful movement, Alan gripped the waistband of his jogging bottoms and yanked them down. He didn't stop until they were pooled around his ankles, exposing his massive, milky-white backside to the night air and the unblinking eye of the camera. He knew he had a big, fat rugby man's arse—broad, muscular, and primed for impact. He looked back over his shoulder, seeing Bruce standing there, watching the view with a look of pure, concentrated lust.
He turned him around and put his hands on top of his head, and Alan obliged and put his hands on top of his head, Bruce pulled at the tracksuit bottoms and pulled them down swiftly Alan shuddered, he had no underpants on, he stood there his fat creamy bum cheeks bare, and Bruce just spanked him 20 times hard and fast with his palm, smack smack smack
Alan’s heart hammered. He imagined the video—the sight of his own bare bum being smacked wobbling, the red marks on his skin for all eternity on a digital file. "Spank me, mate," Alan groaned, his voice thick and needy. "Hard. Give it to me hard." Bruce didn't need to be told twice. He stepped in, his large, calloused hand hovering for a second over the pale expanse of Alan's left cheek. *WHACK! * The sound was like a gunshot in the silent woods. Alan’s body jolted, The flesh of his arse rippled and bounced like bread dough. "Hnnng!" Alan cried out, a guttural sound of shock and pleasure. *WHACK! WHACK! SLAP! * Bruce unleashed a flurry of strikes, his palm landing with punishing precision. Each blow sent a shockwave through Alan's system, the pain instantly transforming into a searing, electric heat. *THUD! WHACK! * "You've been a very bad lad, haven't you, Alan?" Bruce murmured, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. Alan couldn't answer. He was lost in it. He felt the sting, the burn, and the overwhelming sense of surrender. He focused on the camera, imagining the image of his massive, reddening arse shaking under Bruce's heavy hand. *SLAP! CRACK! * The strikes grew harder, faster. The milky white skin was rapidly turning a vivid, angry crimson. Alan’s hips bucked instinctively, his rigid cock with every impact. the release of tension flowing out of him in ragged gasps. "More! Please, more! I’m not a whimp" Alan said, his face pressed against the bonnet. Bruce obliged, delivering a final, brutal set of ten. Each strike was a crushing blow that left Alan breathless. *WHACK! * *WHACK!* *THWACK! * By the time Bruce stopped, Alan was shaking violently, his backside a glowing, pulsing scarlet in the moonlight. Bruce stepped back, his chest heaving. He looked down at his own trousers, where his 10-inch circumcised cock was standing at full attention, straining against the fabric. He looked at the camera, then back at Alans red bare arse. Your turn, alan stepped out of his tracksuit bottoms and yanked Bruce to bend over, bruce undid his trousers and his fat army man arse was revealed right you Alan said, he spanked his cheeks straight away with fury and anger really hard and fast,
That all you got mate said Bruce
He grabbed Bruce towards him almost over his knee so he could spank his arse harder he did
That’s it said Bruce that’s getting me hard he gave him 20 then a second break then 20 more then a second break then 20 more, then a whiskey break and 30 more both men stood now red bare bums on show, hot and sweaty with red arse cheeks.
The air in the derelict toilets was thick with the smell of bleach, stale urine, and the heavy, musky scent of two aroused men. Bruce and Alan stood facing each other, chests heaving, their bare backsides glowing a vivid, angry crimson from the reciprocal thrashing. Alan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his eyes dropping to Bruce’s lap. He let out a low, shaky breath. "Right then... we're both hard as roosters here. How about a gentleman's wank to finish it off?" Bruce let out a rough, guttural chuckle. "Hmph. I'm game, mate." "We cum together," Alan proposed, his voice regaining some of its rugby-captain authority. "When the first man looks like he's going to blow, the second guy pushes through. Agreed?" "Agreed," Bruce grunted. They both reached down, their large hands wrapping around their shafts. Alan stared, mesmerized, at Bruce’s twelve-inch length, framed by a thicket of coarse black pubes. Bruce, in turn, eyed Alan’s ten-inch circumcised cock and the heavy, low-hanging weight of his balls. "This ain't gay," Alan muttered, his grip tightening as he began a rhythmic, furious motion. "Just blokes being blokes." "Mmm, exactly," Bruce groaned, his eyes closing as he accelerated his pace. "Just masculine stuff." The only sounds in the room were the wet, slapping noises of palms against skin and the ragged, synchronised breathing of two mountain-sized men. *Slap. Slap. Slap.* Sweat poured down their muscular frames, dripping from their chests and bellies. "Hnnn... fuck," Alan gasped, his pace becoming frantic. He stopped for a second, his voice strained. "Turn round, Bruce. Show me that fat army arse one more time." Bruce obeyed, pivoting on his heel and bending slightly to present his reddened, pulsing cheeks to the camera and the man behind him. The sight of that massive, beaten backside acted like a trigger. "Oh, fuck! Here it comes!" Alan yelled. Alan’s body jolted, his back arching as he shot a thick torrent of cum. Bruce, seeing the reaction and feeling the sudden release of tension in his own core, relaxed his anus and pushed hard. He let out a loud, triumphant "Aaaagh!" as he erupted. The two streams collided, joining in a messy, white splatter across Bruce’s fist and Alan’s cock. They stood there for a moment, panting in the silence, covered in their own heat. "Fuck," Alan whispered. The adrenaline vanished, replaced by a sudden, crashing wave of shame. Before Bruce could even turn around, Alan was moving. He yanked his tracksuit bottoms up over his rugby thighs in one blurred motion. He didn't say goodbye. He didn't look back. He scrambled out from under the fallen tree and bolted into the darkness of the woods. Bruce remained in the centre of the tiled room, the bright light of the tripod illuminating the cum dripping from his hand. He stared at the door, the silence of the forest settling around him. He wondered if the "golden boy" would ever have the nerve to come back.
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