Funny Bone

by Daniel W. Kelly

  With the first contact of Tim’s tongue, Ken groaned into Scott’s mouth. The groan transferred from Ken’s mouth to Scott’s and then back again as Tim traveled all the way up their ass slots, starting his journey over from the bottom once he reached the top—giving new meaning to the term “doing laps.” His initially slow exploration of their assholes soon grew more frenzied. He began licking his way up quickly, jumping back and forth, drilling his face between each of their asses, munching and slobbering all over them.

  Scott and Ken stopped kissing for a moment to chuckle softly at the furious attack and Tim’s saliva soaking every strand of hair sprouting from the area surrounding their assholes.

  “Okay, the all-you-can-eat dessert buffet has run out of donut holes,” Scott said, climbing off Ken.

  Tim, still on his knees, stared dizzily, his cheeks glistening with his own mouth juices.

  “I think I can see birds flying around his head,” Ken joked.

  Scott directed Tim, bending him over the couch in the exact spot where Ken had just been. Tim immediately arched his back in anticipation.

  Scott leaned over him and whispered in his ear, “You stop this at any time if it’s not right for you.”

  “You must be joking.” Tim snickered.

  “So much for being compassionate,” Scott said. He dropped to his knees and gulped down Ken’s swollen cock, coating it with gobs of glistening spit, and then turned his attention to Tim’s raised cheeks. He dug his face between them and quickly lubricated him orally as well. Tim was watching this entire process over his shoulder. Between his legs, a long stream of precum poured forth.

  Scott moved aside and separated Tim’s ass. Ken dropped down and placed the head of his soaked cock into the opening. Hands free, he simply pushed forward, spearing Tim slowly.

  The fucker and the fuckee vocalized in unison, Ken exhaling his appreciation while Tim gasped his. Ken rebounded as soon as he was all the way in and immediately began riding Tim’s ass.

  Scott massaged Tim’s glutes, separating and bringing the cheeks together in time to Ken’s thrusts. He and Ken sucked face while Ken kept up his pelvic motion.

  “It’s good, right?” Scott asked him. “He’s got a beautiful ass.”

  “He’s fucking gorgeous,” Ken said. “And so are you.”

  “Give it more conviction, hot Ken!” Tim barked with his usual power bottom high-maintenance aggression.

  Once again, Ken was provoked to play dirty and began slamming his hips against Tim’s buttocks with hard thwaps. Tim reached back and found Scott’s hands. Ken stacked his hands on top of theirs and the three intertwined fingers.

  Scott stood and inched his cock into Ken’s mouth to prep it for his turn. When he was good and wet, Ken pulled his own cock out of Tim, then moved aside. Scott swiftly stepped in and mounted Tim, then just stayed in his anal embrace for a moment. He draped himself over Tim’s back and whispered in his ear, “It’s me, Kooky Bear.”

  “Go, KooKoo,” Tim said.

  With a message that direct, Scott didn’t hold back. Tim wanted to be fucked by a bear. Fucked good and hard. Scott pounced on him, nailing his body into the couch. Fucking like an animal, basically.

  Tim began whimpering as his tunnel was intruded mercilessly. Scott’s cock was creating a burning friction within him. He’d wanted this for so long, imagined sacrificing himself to Scott, having Scott’s solid furry frame plastered to his. The combination of Scott’s sexual experience and knowledge of his desires were making for a fuck he had never fathomed. He was on an emotional and physical high and his balls felt like they were on fire.

  “Oh-God-Sco-oo-oo-ot-that’s-so-oo-oo-oo-go-oo-oo-oo-oo-od!” Tim nearly sobbed as he edged toward emotional and erotic euphoria, his sustained tone skipping with each of Scott’s repeated crash landings on his pelvis.

  Behind them, Ken witnessed about four years of pent-up barbaric hunger being unleashed. It was breathtaking. Also kind of scary. He backed up for fear of getting hurt.

  “I want to look at you,” Scott finally broke in as Tim’s cries of pleasure reached a fevered pitch. Scott pulled out and sat on the couch. He held his cock up.

  Tim climbed onto the couch with one foot on either side of Scott, squatted, slipped all the way down to Scott’s balls, and then tightened and loosened his anal muscles without moving. He reached out and stroked Scott’s beard.

  Scott smiled without saying anything. Tim dropped all his weight onto Scott’s crotch and held him. Tremors ran through Tim’s small physique.

  Ken positioned himself behind them. He’d smeared his own precum over the head of his dick. He got down and lifted Scott’s legs just enough to lick his asshole a few times. He placed the head of his cock against Scott’s pulsing opening and allowed it to slip in. He slowly fucked him, lying on Tim’s back as Tim and Scott began to share their deepest, longest kiss ever.

  Tim reached in between his and Scott’s stomachs so he could masturbate. Sweaty, hair-matted torsos were sandwiching him together, and Scott was parked way up inside him.

  “I love you guys,” Tim said, and then panted with each expulsion of cum that landed on Scott’s chest and belly.

  “I’m sending you all my love, too!” Scott gasped, and as Tim’s ass clamped down with each ejaculation, Scott’s climax filled him.

  Ken withdrew from Scott, and without removing himself from Tim’s back, he yanked himself to climax. His cum spurted onto the top center of Tim’s parted cheeks and slid its way down and around Scott’s cock as if to cement it within Tim’s opening.

  The three lay crushing each other, syncing the rise and fall of their breathing, sucking in the damp scent of sweat and sex.

  As the silence descended, Tim spoke. “I can’t believe you two would take advantage of me at such a vulnerable time in my life.” His charming mischievous grin spread across his face.

  Scott looked over Tim’s shoulder at Ken and shook his head. “And we were worried about his fragile emotional state.”

  “Why do I get the feeling we were just totally manipulated into cheating on each other?” Ken asked over Tim’s shoulder, one eyebrow arched with suspicion.

  “I won’t tell either of you. Promise,” Tim said. “Let’s order pizza.”

  Chris & Jake: Hard at Work

  With mine and Jake’s budding butt buddy friendship, I had asked him if he would be my unofficial trainer and show me some exercises to help me get into better shape. He’d been flattered to be looked at as an authority (did he really not know he was a walking beefcake spread?), and so we had been meeting before work in our company gym in the basement three times a week for about three months.

  Now, believe me, I love my job and the company I work for and everything, but when I refer to the company gym, I don’t mean some sort of state-of-the-art place filled with trainers like you see in those guilt-trip New Year’s resolution gym membership ads on television. This was pretty much just a modestly sized room that had some standard equipment in it: a rack of dumbbells of various sizes, a few bench presses, a couple of rowing machines, a few elliptical machines with busted programmable features. Basically, the kind of crap you’d have in the “home gym” in your own basement.

  And that was really all I needed. Jake had tried to talk me into getting a major membership at the gym where he pumped iron, but I’m pump shy; I can’t work out in front of other people. And the great news is, it was rare that anyone used the stuff in our company gym, especially if you got there as early as Jake made me.

  So, as always, it was just the two of us.

  I was in a simple cool retro video game T-shirt and knee-length khaki shorts, but Jake took these things seriously. He was in some tight ass, athletic short shorts and a baggy jersey shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Really, he didn’t even need to say anything to ignite motivation. He could just stand there and I’d want to risk a hernia to get a better physique.

  But he did coach me and spot me and all that good gym buddy crap. We’d do t
he round of the gym’s limited equipment, with him making sure I worked my entire body. After the first day, I thought I would never walk again, a feeling reminiscent of the one time I’d been lured into a one-night stand with a blind date after he whipped out his ten-inch cock.

  In only a couple of months, I was feeling much stronger and flexible with better stamina. As soon as Jake could tell things were getting easy for me, he would mix it up. So today he was demonstrating a whole new set of routines to push me to my limits. Learning new stuff is hard when you’re so distracted by the line of sweat running down the back of your trainer’s shirt and the crack of his shorts (sort of like a sweat thong). It also didn’t help that Jake had this habit of swatting my ass to signal that I needed to amp it up during reps. Clearly, it was a habit from working out with straight guys, so I had to tell myself (aka: my dick) that it was a “he-man” slap, not a “he wants that man” slap.

  Here I am trying to be all sexually correct despite Jake’s manliness pouring from his pores as I’m on a mat doing stomach crunches and he’s hovering over me coaching me to “pump it out,” when all of a sudden, I drop back to the mat in exhaustion to see his crotch about three feet above me, being seriously grabbed.

  “You need a little coaching there yourself?” I asked flippantly.

  Jake flashed his boyish smile as he looked down at me and said, “Sorry, dude. I haven’t fricking beat it in days and those babies are all swimmin’ around in there. We on for tonight?”

  It was Friday, and we were indeed scheduled for me to fuck his straight ass good—part of the reason I’d been trying so hard to get in better shape for fear he would suddenly decide he should find a gay guy with a better body to fuck him on the Friday nights after his colonics.

  “Yeah, of course.” I shrugged, still on my back breathing heavily—and still looking up as he scratched his balls shamelessly. “You sure you can wait that long, or should I get out my umbrella-ella-ella?”

  Jake laughed. “Dude, I can’t help it. My balls are itching and burning. I need to empty ’em out. I might have to take care of things before we change for work.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” I asked, mostly joking.

  I guess the fact that I wasn’t totally joking caused Jake to miss my satirical tone. His gorgeous face lit up. “Yeah, man. It’ll totally psych me out for tonight.”

  In an instant, Jake whipped his tight shorts down to his calves while aligning his sneakered feet on either side of my head. An avalanche of ass and jockstrapped balls came crashing down on my face. I was in too much physical agony from working out to in any way dodge and roll.

  “Jake! We’re at work!” I let out a muffled warning into the moist, taut interior of his jockstrap. My cock had been immediately stunned into life to see that he was actually wearing a fricking jockstrap at work—to exercise with me.

  “Come on. Don’t you guys find this kind of stuff hot?” he asked, already yanking the material of his jockstrap into the crevasse between his balls and thigh and plopping his sack onto my mouth.

  I was forced to have an intimate conversation with his cool, sweaty, shaved testicles. “What if someone walks in? Are there cameras?”

  “Then just help me get this over with quick. Suck on my balls while I jerk it.” He grabbed his already erect cock and began beating it. “No one ever comes down here this early anyway, and there are no cameras in this dump. What would someone steal? The one-pedaled stationary bicycle?”

  Terrified I was going to get caught and lose my job, I opened my mouth wide and let him tuck his entire teabag neatly into it. Funny thing about teabagging—there’s really no room to do anything but let it sit in there and steep once it’s been dunked. So I just kept my nose pressed against the soapy musk of his sweaty perineum and let his frighteningly close-shaved ball sack leak lightly salted perspiration onto my tongue. I could feel his balls jostling within my open mouth as he yanked on his meat.

  “Here, lick my asshole.” He vacated my mouth and squatted his monster tan cheeks on my lips.

  I struggled to bring my hands up and grab the straps of his jock to keep him from suffocating me as I took care of my obligation and stuck out my tongue. What do you want from me? The guy was giving me free training sessions three days a week.

  His asshole was scorching hot on the tip of my tongue, not to mention dank and slick with the sweat that had been squirting out of it as we’d trained. Yeah. I was literally licking the sweat out of some guy’s ass crack. How many times had I heard performers speak that order in pornos and thought—who the fuck would do that?

  How I wished I could reach my hand down to my own throbbing cock and take care of my own business.

  “Damn, dude! That feels nice!” Jake exclaimed from somewhere way up above the place where his genitalia was getting a tongue bath. “Keep doing that. Oh yeah. Right like that. Flicking the tongue really fast. I like that.”

  Great. Now my tongue was going to suffer from as much muscle fatigue as the rest of my body. When it was time to do this again at my apartment later tonight, would my tongue be up for the challenge? I’d definitely need to pop some ibuprofen when I got to my desk. I sure hoped it knew to direct its healing powers to my tongue muscles.

  “Chris, man, I need you to stick your fingers up my ass.” Jake’s voice was heavy with the exertion of beating furiously on his cock.

  I squinted to try to get a sight on his asshole from this close-up. His big muscle butt was blocking out the light and creating serious shadows. I sucked on two fingers, figuring he was a big boy and could take it. I drooled wetly, then reached my arms around his big buttocks so I could pull them apart. I could barely see my target, but I knew by the slight circle that was his cute goatee of asshole hair that I was on the mark. Laying the bottom of my middle finger over the top of my index finger to create a dart, I laid them against the pucker and pushed up.

  “Oooooh daaaaamn!” he cried, and I could actually feel the stiffening of his big beefy body on my face. “That’s it, man!”

  I drilled baby drilled. I showed no mercy. I yanked and twisted and poked and prodded furiously into that amazing tightness. I was going for the oil gusher.

  “I’m cummin’, man!” I heard him shout, and the filthy words seemed to echo off the gym dungeon walls.

  Don’t even ask me how the next few moments happened without any consent on my part. My fingers were still being crushed by his asshole, but there was also a rigid plumb cock rammed down my throat. The fucker had shifted just enough to shove it in my mouth.

  The only sound echoing off the dungeon gym walls now was the terrifying gagging of me drowning in cum. Sorry to be gross, but in order to save myself, I shut off my throat valve. Not only did that cause my mouth to flood, but that shit went right up my nose as well. I choked and coughed, now trying to push his heft off me.

  Here I was thinking this fucker just assumed because I was gay I was a cum guzzler, but he later explained that the only reason he did that was because he panicked and was afraid of shooting all over my clothes or onto the gym mat. I gained new respect for him knowing he was such a quick thinker and had my raggy gym clothes’ best interests at heart.

  Jake finally sprang off my fingers and out of my mouth, and with me really unsure of what had just happened and how I was going to survive a cum drowning, it was a good thing that I heard him hiss, “Someone’s coming!” because I automatically swallowed hard out of sheer terror.

  Jake was already halfway across the gym, his shorts back on and his swagger completely back to normal as I tried to lift myself off the mat. I heard him give a manly, “Barry, my man! What’s up?”

  When I was finally able to stagger onto my feet and quickly wipe at my mouth to clean off any possible spillage (checking my nostrils for cum drips as well as I snorted down any that might be stuck in my nasal passages), I tried to just as nonchalantly walk across the gym to greet one of our fellow workers, who was in a sweat suit, ready to hit the elliptical like he did some mo
rnings when he couldn’t make it to his own gym. Forget cum. Now I was choking on my heart.

  “Damn, Chris.” Barry gave me a slug on the arm. “He must be working you hard. Your eyes look like they’re about to fall out of your head.”

  I just smiled wanly, afraid that if I spoke, a cum burp was going to send a sour stench into the center of our small circle.

  “I never feed him more than he can swallow,” Jake quipped, trying hard to contain the laughter that was a part of an in-joke I had not exactly agreed upon.

  “Go easy on him, buddy.” Barry winked at Jake. “I’ll see you guys upstairs in a little while.”

  Jake and I had barely entered the empty locker room when he burst out into fits of laughter, whipping beads of sweat from the tips of his Caesar cut.

  “Why do I even hang out with you?” I griped.

  As if to remind me, Jake swiftly yanked his shorts back down and revealed that meaty set of buns so perfectly framed in his jockstrap.

  “Oh yeah…that,” I mumbled, but Jake was too busy getting ready to hit the skanky basement showers to hear me.

  Discharge

  Moose wasn’t a nickname he had chosen. It had been given to him back in high school because of his bulky frame, the thick layer of baby fat he couldn’t lose, and, well, because of his daily morning stops at a local deli on the way to school for a breakfast of freshly made chocolate mousse. As a result, in ninth grade he’d come into first period Earth Science a few minutes late one morning while gulping down the last scoop of his mousse…having forgotten there was a test that day. All the students in the quiet room had turned and stared at him as he stood frozen in the doorway, his lips rimmed with chocolate mousse. His teacher, Mr. Rizzo, standing at the front of the room, had pointed at his messy face and simply asked, “Mousse?” The students, not educated on the differences between mousse and pudding, assumed the teacher was calling his student a moose, and suddenly, there’d been an outburst of voices from all sides of the room booming the word “MOOSE!” in a relay of response catcalls. And so the name had stuck.