by Neil Plakcy
The lube was by my side. I reached for it, then sat on the ground and looked up at him. The sun made his blond hairs seem even lighter. His body was dense with them. They wound around his thick calves, circled his worked thighs, made their way up his beautiful crack, and splayed across his lower back. Even the scar on his ass was picture perfect.
He reached behind him and spread his cheeks even farther apart, winking his hole at me. “It’s not gonna fuck itself,” he joked, sliding one of his fingers inside for example.
I spread some lube on his bulbous dick head, then slicked down the length and breadth of his prick with it. He stroked his cock as I pulled and yanked and twisted his balls with one hand and worked his hole with the other.
One finger easily slid in, up and toward the muscular aft. I reached for more of our makeshift lube, then two fingers glided in and up and back, then out, then in, repeatedly, over and over and over, until his ass was bucking into my hand.
“Three,” he groaned. “Come on, three, James. Work that hole. Yeah.”
And so two became three. Three digits grouped together as one. Three long, tapered fingers that fucked him long and hard and deep, until they were battering up against a rapidly hardening prostate.
“Oh, man,” he groaned as he quickened the pace on his cock, aiming it downward as I gave one final thrust. I stared intently between his legs as stream after stream of sticky white come sprayed my once pristine balcony. His whole body shivered and his back arched as one long, low moan erupted from his lungs and rode the wind out to sea. With a final tug, the last of his juice dripped down and pooled around his feet.
Then silence, except for his ragged breathing. Then, “Your turn, boss.”
Music to my ears. My cock was about ready to burst by that point.
We traded spots, with me leaning over the balcony and him on the ground. He spread me open and licked me up and down. I leaned farther out. “Hey, the ocean,” I shouted, glad that I hadn’t been duped. To which I quickly added, “Hey, a finger.” And, soon enough, two, then three, piston-fucking me from ten stories above the city.
My cock was as hard as it had ever been. I quickened my pace on it as he quickened his inside my ass, until we were both in sync. Waves of intense pleasure traveled up and down my spine, through my stomach, and burst inside my cock like fireworks.
“I’m gonna come, Greg,” I moaned, for all the city to hear.
“Come, boss. Come,” he ordered.
I gave my dick one final jack and shot my heavy white load. Rope after rope of salty jizz erupted from my quivering, slick cock, and joined his on the concrete balcony. I held on to the ledge as my entire body spasmed, trying hard to catch my breath.
Then he stood back up and hugged me as we both stared out at the magnificent view. “Welcome home, James,” he whispered into my ear.
“Thanks, Greg, for making it feel like one,” I whispered back.
One final kiss, one final stare into those pools of blue, and one last hug before I cleaned up, dressed, and was out of there, leaving him to the job of finishing my floor.
Oh, the joys of home ownership, I thought to myself as I made my way out of the building.
I returned several weeks later, this time for good. The door, by then, had been set in place. With a feeling of reverence, I unlocked it and made my way inside. The bare walls were now painted, the living room was now carpeted and the appliances were all in place, as was a gleaming, marble-tiled bathroom floor. In the kitchen, the ash-blond hardwood floor had been beautifully finished.
Almost finished, that is.
One small strip was missing, and in its place sat the jar of grease remover, plus a little note for yours truly.
Sorry, it read. Guess I’ll have to come back and finish the job, boss.
I laughed as I made my way to the balcony. Two stains were still evident on the cement. I opened the jar and dropped my shorts. “I think I’m gonna like it here,” I said, lubing up my already rigid shaft, this time aiming it at the sky as I stroked and coaxed it to eruption. “Watch out below,” I shouted to the city that spread out before me like a veritable buffet. “Here comes a big one!”
DEMO DOGS
Dale Chase
The house has to come down. Old and stately, twelve rooms on two floors, it’s been neglected too long to reclaim and besides, I have ideas for a compact rancher that better fits the hilly terrain. My contractor friend Jeff has taken the job of building me a new place and because I want to watch the whole process, I’ve moved into a large trailer on a bluff just uphill from the site. I even had Jeff add a little deck out front.
Now that I’m settled in, with work about to begin, Jeff finds me there. “Lotta money just to spend your days watching men.”
I laugh. “They’re just icing on the cake. C’mon, it’s my dream house. I want to see it born.”
He tells me he’s hired an outfit called Demo Dogs to do the teardown. “Big job,” he adds. “That old place is solid as hell but these guys know their stuff. They’ll demolish it, clear away the rubble, even clear the additional land we need for landscaping and the hot tub.”
“Sounds good.”
“They start tomorrow. Probably wake you up.”
“Not a bad way to start the day.”
Jeff shakes his head. “You’re incorrigible.”
As I watch him drive back down the hill I consider what I’ve taken on: selling my San Francisco mansion and dropping out of the high life in favor of semirural quiet. I’m still only twenty miles from the city, can still get over there if the mood strikes, but for the most part I’m going to live in the woods—with amenities.
Next morning it’s just as Jeff said. I awake to a powerful engine sputtering to life and men shouting. Lying with a hand around my stiff dick I’m tempted to get off but something holds me back. There is promise afoot, after all. Surely there’s a Demo Dog who might like a little action.
It’s late June so I know there will be lots of bare chests. I put on nothing but cutoffs and take my coffee out onto the deck to stand watching as a bulldozer rams the big house’s front porch beam.
The guy driving this massive yellow belching beast wears a short-sleeved chambray shirt that looks about to burst at the seams. Beneath his white hard hat he’s deeply tanned. Even at this distance I can spot a chiseled jaw and rugged good looks. As his dozer chews into the old house with slow, persistent attacks I think of him doing that to me, knowing there’s gotta be a fat dick in those jeans. After a while when the porch overhang has collapsed, he backs up, pauses, and looks my way. Still at the deck railing, I wave. He nods, then goes back to work.
Others drive Bobcats and clear the rubble he creates. Some glance my way but when they stop for what appears to be a morning break, the dozer dude comes up the path.
“You like to watch,” he says.
“Like to do more than that,” I reply because my dick is hard and I can see he’s interested. “Why don’t you come inside,” I suggest.
He nods, rubs his bulging crotch.
As I go through the trailer door he grabs my cutoffs and pulls them down, shoves me to the kitchen table, not bothering to shut the door. Grinding against my ass as I bend to him, he gets a rubber on in record time, then shoves his dick into me, giving me a full-out fuck that I swear sets the trailer rocking. He’s got the fat prick I imagined, totally reaming me, and I’m ready to shoot but then he lets out a few grunts, slams into me, and I know he’s letting go. When he’s done he pulls out, utters a “Shit, man,” takes a couple deep breaths then flips me around and sucks my throbbing prick into his mouth. I shoot like I haven’t gotten off in days.
When he’s swallowed the last of my jizz, he sits back and blows out a long sigh. Standing up he simply nods, zips his jeans, and departs. He hasn’t taken off his hard hat.
Satiated, I decide to get some sun on the chaise. I change to my Speedo, slather myself with suntan oil, and stretch out to the accompaniment of demolition.
&nbs
p; The house doesn’t go easily. It lets out mighty groans and screeches as walls are torn apart, awful wrenching sounds that, with my eyes shut, conjure a terrible dismemberment. I can’t fall asleep with all the noise but I soon find I enjoy the men’s calling out to each other with raucous shouts that most often include the word fuck. I’m also pleased that a breeze blowing downhill keeps the dust off me.
Lazing into midday, I hear work stop again and figure it’s lunchtime. What I don’t figure is another visitor.
“Hey, man,” says someone close by. I open my eyes to see a handsome young Latino standing over me. His dick is out.
“You want it?” he asks.
“Hell, yes,” I say and when I start to get up he says, “No, here.” He pulls a condom from his pocket and readies himself. I glance toward the house but see no one. “They’re down at the trucks eating lunch,” the guy tells me. “Roll over, get your ass up.”
I toss the Speedo and do as I’m told. He straddles the chaise, grabs my ass, and eases his prick into me. “Fuck, yeah,” he says as he begins. He doesn’t seem in any hurry, and sets up an easy stroke, the chaise squeaking beneath us like some old four-poster. I think about the scene should any of the crew finish lunch and come back to the site. But this guy doesn’t seem to care. He’s more interested in giving me a good long fuck and I, greased and sweaty, wallow to the fullest.
Finally, however, the inevitable: “Okay,” he says as he kicks it up a notch. “Okay, okay,” like he’s commanding a spigot be turned on. His strokes are urgent, fast, faster, then his moans climb the scale until he’s into a near wail that is finally overcome by a strangled silence.
He immediately pulls out and climbs off. I roll over to see his dick disappear into his jeans. As he heads back down the path I wonder if word is out.
The demolition takes much of a week, probably longer than necessary due to all the fucking—because word has indeed gotten out and I am blissfully had several times a day. The Demo Dogs just can’t get enough ass.
After the first couple days, I begin to sunbathe nude. Lying greased and glistening, I get hard in anticipation and soon one of the men is on the deck with his dick out, ready for action. One of them surprises me by slipping a condom onto me and climbing on. I lie watching him bounce and squirm on my cock, this tanned hulk taking it up the butt, and I get off big-time in his furry ass.
A voyeuristic game soon develops, with the crew often stopping to watch the on-deck action—which, as a result, becomes ever more bold. One blond bear of a man strips naked and does me standing at the railing, my hard cock pointed at the spectators. Looking down at them as I get pumped by the biggest of all their cocks, I am so crazy with the scene that I shoot my wad unaided, spewing spunk while he drives it home up my rear.
That evening when work is done this same guy comes back up the path, takes me inside the trailer and does me again, only this time it takes hours.
He sucks my dick as I stand naked, then puts me on the bed and sucks still more and when that’s not enough he rolls me over and eats out my ass. He works himself into a frenzy back there, slurping and growling as I take his tongue deep. He’s frantic finally and flips me back over, shoves his cock halfway down my throat and comes in a gusher, me gulping jizz as I feast on the fat salami.
When we’re done I’m thinking he’ll take off but he does no such thing. He stretches out beside me and starts licking my tits while he gets a couple fingers up my ass and I lie there feeling like some toy beneath a lion’s paw. Soon it grows dark and he tells me to get up, get into my shoes. He puts on just his boots and we walk naked down to the site where a half-moon shines on what remains of the house.
“Up here,” he says, moving to the seat of his dozer. “Fuck you up here,” he adds as he climbs into the seat. He’s brought a rubber and has it on by the time I reach him and he pulls me into his lap, drives that big dick up my chute, and sits holding me at the hips as he grinds up into me.
“Tomorrow when I’m working, I’m gonna think of this,” he says. We’re like this for a good long while, him squirming inside me until he finally lets out an “Oh, hell” and rams home another climax.
When I finally climb down from the dozer my knees nearly buckle.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks.
“More than okay. Ecstatic, if you must know, but you guys are wearing me out. Talk about demolition.”
“Too much?”
“No, never too much.”
Next afternoon I’m happily put to the test. It’s hotter now, all the men are shirtless, and I remain naked from the start. I now have no hesitation in walking around on my deck wearing nothing, enjoying both the freedom and the anticipation. At noon I’m dozing on the chaise, awash in sweat, when I feel a hand on my dick. My eyes open to see not one but two of the men—the cute Latino and the burly blond. “Let’s go inside,” says the blond. We’ve never exchanged names and I realize that’s best as anonymity makes for great sex.
“He’s gonna fuck you,” the blond says as he strips.
“And you?”
“I’m gonna watch.”
His drooling dick says otherwise but I go along as the Latino knows how to use that little plug of a cock. Soon I’m on the bed, him riding my ass while the blond sits stroking his dick and taking in the sight.
They’re all into my lube now and we’re soon awash in the stuff, the fuck giving off that squishy slap, me full of juice and looking for more. He’s giving it to me thoroughly and I am riding his dick because there is never enough, and I’m so turned on I’m thinking I might come unaided again but then I see the blond is rolling a condom down his honker. And then he gets up and, swear to God, climbs in behind my guy and apparently shoves it up the sweet boy’s ass so we’ve got a three-way fuck train going. “Yeah, man, yeah, yeah,” the Latino says, and I feel him adjust his stroke to that of the blond ramming dick up his ass. And soon the fuck slap has a grand rhythm, double timing as two cocks work in sync. It feels like they’re both doing me.
Finally the Latino goes crazy, starts spouting off in Spanish, pounding me while the blond growls “Do it man, ’cause I’m gonna,” and both are then lost to the familiar grunts and moans of unloading in a friendly ass. I, of course, with such a powerful rear assault, shoot into the bedding big-time.
I pretty much collapse after this. While the Latino pulls out of me and the blond pulls out of him, I don’t move. Lying flat and totally, happily, wasted I get a “You okay?” and all I can do is raise a hand to wave an answer. I sleep the rest of the afternoon.
The place looks odd when the house is down. The crew works at clearing the site and as truckloads are carted away, I see the hillside like it’s new. Trees and shrubs once hidden come into view and only then do I accept the fact that the Demo Dogs sex party is near an end. On the final day, as they clear the last few scraps, I stand nearby fully clothed, reminding myself there’s a larger purpose here. This wasn’t about sexual services even if it seemed like it much of the time. It was about old making way for new.
I shake every man’s hand when they’ve finished, noting I’ve fucked them all. Nobody says they’ll be back, it’s not that kind of thing, and I almost feel jealous of their next customer, who I hope discovers the real talent of Demo Dogs.
When Jeff comes by later to go over the construction schedule he asks what I think of Demo Dogs.
“Great guys and great work. They were wonderful.”
“Well, you’ll have the construction crew here Monday morning. I hope things go as well with them.”
I smile. “I hope so, too.”
70s PORNA-PALOOZA
Stephen Osborne
When Eric Satterfield’s boyfriend of six years broke up with him, he was devastated.
He found solace, however, in porn.
Eric had never really been into porn before. He’d seen a few movies here and there, of course, but he honestly couldn’t see the fascination some men had concerning it. Why bother with images on a television
screen when you could have the real thing? Several days after Mike had left him for someone else, though, Eric found himself incredibly horny. He toyed with the idea of going out to a bar and picking someone up, but the thought of going through all the motions of chatting someone up left Eric cold. He just wanted to get off. Quickly.
His Internet connection was still on dial-up, so online porn wasn’t an option. Instead, he found himself outside of Nighthawks Video Store. It was late but there were still several cars in the lot. Finally mustering the courage to go inside, Eric pulled the collar up on his jacket, hunched his shoulders, and forced one foot to go in front of the other.
Inside he was surprised at how bright the place was. Shouldn’t it be dim, so faces couldn’t be seen? The guy behind the counter nodded at Eric. He seemed like an everyday guy. Not a sleazeball at all. Patrons (all men and all looking exceedingly normal) browsed the aisles, occasionally picking up an item for further examination. Eric found the DVD rack and located the gay-themed movies. One entitled The Delivery Man Has a Package for You caught his eye. The two guys on the cover looked hot. It would do. Eric snapped up the DVD and took it over to the counter.
The cashier nodded with approval when he saw Eric’s choice. “This is a pretty good one. I’ve lost many a load watching this one myself. Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash,” Eric said nervously. Did people actually buy porn using a charge card, with their name embossed on the damned thing for all to see? Hell, for all Eric knew the FBI tracked sales of gay porn and had a master list of “deviants.” Eric didn’t know what the hell the FBI could possibly do with such a list, but he wouldn’t put it past them to have one. He took his change, grabbed the bag the clerk handed him, and rushed back outside.
