JT nodded, his lips already parting. John rolled a Bettencourt condom over his drooling eight-inch rod. JT dove on it as if he were a cock-addict in withdrawal. I shook my head—he ought to be paying me instead of the other way around!

  I grabbed another condom from the drawer and sheathed my eager cock. JT spread his legs wider as my swollen rod pressed against his hole. He didn’t give up his vacuum suction on John’s cock, though. I eased past his pucker, giving him time to adjust to my presence. I still hadn’t gotten over the irrational worry that such a little guy would split wide open with my fat cock inside him. Even after spending nearly a week trying to satisfy JT’s hungry ass, I found myself checking to be sure he was still intact.

  JT moaned deep in his throat, wriggling that firm ass backward against me. The fake fur tickled my balls. I loved the feeling of his sweaty ass inside the baggy costume. I pulled the suit’s tail to one side, so that I could watch his hole spread for my cock. The triangle of glistening, bronze skin peeping from beneath orange-and-black fake fur begged for attention. I slid both hands inside the costume, kneading the firm ass muscles. I closed one fist over the shaved balls and tugged gently. JT gave a muffled squeal and pushed against my hands.

  Across from me, John grunted loudly. His hands were clenched in JT’s sweaty mane. The sight of his red shaft, glistening beneath its latex coat, dripping with ropes of saliva, nearly sent me over the edge. I watched it slide in and out of JT’s throat, and tried to time my thrusts to match John’s rhythm. As he shoved forward, I pulled back. He met my gaze, and we grinned at one another.

  Soon, we had JT reduced to a quivering wreck, whimpering helplessly as we pounded him. I held myself in check, refusing to give in to the hot waves pulsing up from my balls. I wanted to watch JT while John and I fucked him. I wanted to enjoy feeling his ass muscles spasm over my thrusting cock. I wanted him to keep making those muffled whimpers. I loved seeing him like this: totally out of control with lust. I knew without seeing his face that his eyes would be closed, those thick lashes shadowing his high cheekbones.

  His hands in their furry mitts roamed over John’s body, clenching for a moment on the wide leather belt or around a fold of John’s shirt. I loved those hands. I wanted to do an entire video of JT’s hands.

  Beneath those tiger-striped gloves were long, strong fingers. Wide palms...deep bronze skin...bony wrists corded with tendons. When JT was getting fucked—really, sincerely, deeply fucked—those hands seemed to move of their own volition. They clenched and quivered, slid over every surface within reach. It was as if they were reaching for a lifeline to keep JT from drowning in desire.

  I couldn’t hold back any longer. JT’s hands—even covered in fake orange fur—got me way too hot! I leaned into my thrusts, spreading my thick fingers over JT’s quivering ass to hold him steady. His hot little ass spread wide open, red and throbbing. I felt my balls boil up, spewing my hot cream into the condom deep inside my new star. I shoved hard...once, twice...then I leaned over, running my hands over the fluffy tiger stripes covering his back.

  JT trembled beneath me. His asshole clenched tightly around my wilting cock. I pinned him against the counter, staying inside for as long as I could, enjoying the show across from me.

  John was close to losing it. His face was as red as his cock-shaft. I could see his balls hugging the base of his rod. I slid one hand up JT’s back, tangling my fingers in his sweaty hair. My hand touched John’s. Our fingers twined together.

  That did it. John grunted again, thrusting his hips forward. I could see his balls jerk, shooting his load into JT’s eager throat. JT’s fur-covered hands clamped down on John’s ass, pulling the cameraman deeper inside. He fastened his lips against John’s sweaty pubes and rode his cock like a bronco.

  When John finally pulled his slimy cock free, JT wilted over the counter. I took pity on his quivering body and slid one hand between his legs. I had to step back so that I could see his pretty seven-incher in my fist, and he whimpered when my cock left his ass. Damn, but the guy was insatiable!

  I liked the sight of his perky cock in my hand. Big enough to make a nice handful, but not big enough to look odd on his small frame. Blessedly, he was uncut—wonderful foresight on the part of European parents, I guessed. The only thing Armand Bettencourt likes better than a pretty cock on a willing bottom is a pretty uncut cock. And JT’s cock was one of the nicest I’d seen in a long time. Seven inches, straight as a ruler, with a head that blossomed from the foreskin like a rare purple flower—all atop a firm, heavy set of balls that practically begged you to cup them in your palm.

  JT was so close that all I had to do was pump that lovely rod a couple of times before he squirted cream all over my fist. I loved the little groan he gave when he came—a high whimper like a puppy begging for a treat. I loved the helpless quiver his ass gave when I milked the last juice from his cock. John came around to watch the final drops ooze from our next star.

  “I almost wish we’d gotten that one on film,” he muttered, zipping his jeans. He tossed his slimy rubber into the trash.

  An apologetic cough sounded from the intercom box. John and I turned, looking at the sound booth in shock.

  “Sorry, Boss,” came the tech’s sheepish voice. “We were... er...beating off. We never heard you yell ‘Cut,’ so the remote camera caught everything.”

  I looked over at my cameraman.

  “Hey,” he said with a shrug. “It was your idea to buy that thing, not mine.”

  He grinned, leaning over to help JT to wobbly feet.

  “You said they’d leave my hands free, remember, Boss?”

  The Porn King and I

  Greg Herren

  He is beautiful.

  He is everything I want in a lover.

  Thick, curly black hair.

  Blue eyes.

  Muscles rippling under tan skin.

  A hard, round, beautiful ass.

  The cock of Apollo.

  I first saw him in a poster in the adult book store on Decatur Street. The poster was black with just a picture of him, hands on hips, wearing a jockstrap. His face was smiling, a warm, inviting smile that would melt anyone’s heart and stir their groin. His tanned skin gleamed. The bottom of the poster said, in red capital letters: CODY DALLAS IN THE SEX SENSE. I stared for a few frozen moments, glancing from that pretty face down the neck to the beautifully shaped chest, smooth and silky, down the abs that looked carved of stone, to the top of the jock. His hard-on was unmistakable beneath the white cloth. I walked over to the counter. “Do you have that film?” I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb.

  The counter boy was just that: a boy. He didn’t look old enough to be working in a sex shop. Hell, he didn’t look old enough to have hair on his balls. Bleached blond hair standing up spikily over black roots. A straggle of hair on his chin that was supposed to be a goatee. He weighed maybe 130 pounds. His baggy jeans hung off his hips, a black Marilyn Manson T-shirt hung off his narrow shoulders. Pierced nose and eyebrow. Tattoos on both arms. He grinned at me. Braces.

  “Yeah. Only $59.95, or did you want to rent?”

  “I’ll buy.”

  I walked to my apartment on Chartres Street. Opened the door. Switched on the television with the remote. Opened the box and popped the video in. Hit Play as I pulled off my shirt, kicked off shoes, stripped naked. Reached underneath the couch for the fresh bottle of poppers and the lube. Fast forwarded through the opening credits. First scene.

  It’s him. He is wearing Daisy Dukes and work boots. No shirt. The sun glistens on the muscles in his back. He is trimming a bush with garden clippers. Every movement he makes causes muscles to ripple. Someone is watching from the house. Behind the curtains a face appears. Cut away to from behind the curtains. He looks beautiful, oh so beautiful. And blond. Camera pulls back. The man at the window is naked. Thinner. Not as muscled as Cody. Lean, wiry muscle.

  Cody looks up at the window and smiles. The man in the window beckons. Cody puts the clippers down and walks to the door. It opens.

  I open the bottle of poppers. My eyes are glued to the screen. I lift it up to my right nostril. I close off the left and start inhaling. Deeply. The scent fills my nose, my sinuses, my lungs. I shift it to the other nostril. Inhale.

  My cock starts to stir as they kiss. Tongue. Arms going around each other. Cody grabs the man’s ass with both hands and pulls him closer. Crotches grinding. The blond man has a hard-on. He is massaging Cody’s ass. The poppers start to hit. My cock springs to attention. I start to play with my right nipple, pulling on it, pinching it. It feels good. Cody moves down and starts tonguing the guy’s nipple.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say.

  The blond moans.

  Cody moves down. His tongue shoots out and licks the tip of the blond’s cock. It’s a big one. It’s pink. He starts licking it. Cut to the blond’s face. Eyes closed. Moaning. Yeah baby, suck that dick, suck it good.

  I take another whiff.

  The blond’s big dick disappears. Cody is working it good. My balls ache. I want to touch my cock but don’t. The blond keeps moaning. Yeah, yeah, suck it man, that’s it, that’s the way.

  I can feel Cody’s warm mouth on mine.

  His tongue is velvety.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Suck that cock right.”

  Cody is undoing his shorts. The camera angle shifts to behind him. The blond is hairless and pale. Cody straightens up and the shorts drop. His bare ass is round, hard, firm. There is a thin white line that runs above each cheek and meets in a tiny triangle above his crack.

  It is beautiful.

  “Oh, man.”

  I take another whiff.

  My blood is pounding. I can hear my heartbeat as Cody stands up and turns around. His pubic hair is trimmed. His balls hang, round, heavy. His thick, swollen cock juts out. The blond sinks to his knees behind him. The camera moves to around behind the blond, who buries his face inside Cody’s ass.

  Close up.

  His tongue darts into the hole.

  Cody moans. Eat my ass, baby, yeah, eat that ass right.

  I can taste him. I can feel that hard ass on either side of my face. The blond reaches up and slaps a cheek. Hard. The crack of the slap is like a whip. Cody moans again. A red handprint appears on his left ass cheek.

  My hand tingles.

  “Come on,” I say. I can taste his ass. I run my tongue over my lips. He tastes so good, so clean.

  Cody slips on a condom.

  The blond turns around and bends over.

  “Yeah, fuck me, Cody.”

  I lie back on the couch. My legs go up in the air and apart. My cock is aching, begging me to touch it. I take another whiff. My body starts to tremble.

  He enters.

  The blond’s eyes close and he moans again. Fuck me with that cock, yeah, man, make me scream.

  I can feel it, the swollen head forcing its way into my hole. My teeth start to chatter.

  I reach for the lube and slowly pour a thin stream onto my cock.

  Cody smacks the blond’s ass.

  I jump.

  “Fuck me, Cody, yeah, fuck me, make me your bitch.”

  He’s in all the way.

  It feels incredible. He is filling me up, moving so slowly that my breath comes in gasps. He is teasing me, teasing me with his cock, because he knows that I want it fast and deep and hard. I want him to tear me in half. I spread the lube with my fingers until my whole cock is wet.

  The blond is moaning louder.

  My moans rise to match his.

  The camera cuts to behind. Cody’s hard ass is flexing and thrusting. It is beautiful. I stick my tongue out and taste him again, taste that sweet hole. I can smell its musty odor. I lift the poppers to my nose again.

  Just breathe.

  A side angle now. The blond is turning over and lying down on his back on the bed. Without missing a beat Cody slams into him again. His abs flex. The blond pulls on his dick. The blond’s body reverberates with each thrust.

  I touch my cock. My whole body is trembling with need, the need to release my come, to let it go and spray.

  The feel of his cock in me is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  “Fuck me, Cody, fuck me hard, c’mon.”

  My hand moves faster.

  The blond is alternating between cries and whimpers.

  Cody keeps pounding away.

  I feel it rising, the come boiling in my balls. My cock gets harder. I can feel it rising, moving up into my cock.

  The blond screams, come showering over his chest.

  Cody pulls back, stroking his cock.

  It explodes out of me. My breath comes in stitches. I am panting, my body trembling as my cock fires shot after shot onto my chest, my stomach, my neck, my face.

  My body shakes as I suck in air.

  Cody moans as ropy strings of come squirt out of him, onto the blond’s chest and stomach.

  I stare as Cody bends down to kiss him and rub their commingled juices into the blond’s skin.

  I reach for a towel.

  I wipe down my cock, which is still semihard.

  I press Stop on the remote control.

  I wipe off my torso and my face.

  I pick up the video box and kiss Cody’s face.

  So beautiful.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  I turn off the television and lie back down on the couch. I can feel his arms around me as I drift off to sleep.

  “I love you,” he whispers back in my ear. “I love you.”

  I love you.

  Kiss the Concrete

  Sean Meriwether

  Mark snapped a match and it exploded into a ball of yellow-orange-blue that glinted in the eyes of the blond boy standing next to him. The flame’s reflection faded as Mark touched the match to his cigarette and inhaled. He looked over the blond’s shoulder to the muscular bartender, then exhaled a fog of smoke over the younger man. “I fight,” Mark said and grazed the boy’s lips with his knuckles. “And I always win.”

  The boy reached out for a cig and Mark tossed him the half-empty pack. He lit another match and held it close to the blond’s face, studied his soft features and his cow-like brown eyes. He lit the boy’s bobbing cigarette and examined the mound in his faded jeans. “I never lose,” he said to the boy’s dick. Mark raised his eyes and locked onto the kid’s face, inhaled his sweet breath, exhaled smoke.

  “Ever kill anybody?” The brown eyes widened.

  “Why?” Mark laughed and took a puff, funneled the smoke out through his teeth.

  “Just curious,” the boy mumbled.

  “Want me to kill someone?” Mark placed his thick hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed until his soft face registered pain. “Kill you, maybe?”

  “No!” The boy jumped back and slammed into the bar. He complained in a strained falsetto, “You wanna kill me, man?”

  “Yes.” Mark sipped his beer. He snubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and turned on the boy. “You kids are all the same. Gullible.” Mark stepped away and scanned the bar for a real man to fuck, but it was going on last call and the pickings were meager. He returned to the blond, cupped him by the back of his head and pulled him up close. Mark ran his tongue over the boy’s thick lips, parted them, and licked the wholesome teeth. “Nice,” Mark approved.

  The boy’s brown eyes darted around the room, searched the faces of the other men in the bar, blinked thoughtfully in the muted light.

  “They won’t do it for you like I can.” Mark slid the boy’s angular body up against his own and nuzzled his neck. He groped the boy’s ass through the well-worn denim. His cock itched for action.

  The blond swallowed nervously and looked toward the door.

  Mark breathed in his delicate ear. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. I’m right up the street.”

  “I’m notta queer,” the boy sputtered, but his hands dug deep into Mark’s front pockets and fingered his cock into an erection. The kid tilted his innocent face up into Mark’s and smiled peculiarly.

  “I’m going to fuck you anyway,” Mark said.

  “What?” The kid’s face pinched, then evened out. “Yeah, OK.”

  Mark dropped his hand onto the blond’s shoulder. “Now,” he ordered and maneuvered him to the door, but once outside, the boy vanished from his grip. Mark’s hand clutched frigid air, then instinctively slapped his front pocket. Wallet, gone. “Fuck!”

  He sprinted after the wiry pickpocket, pushing his body as fast as it would allow. Mark’s heavy footsteps echoed along the deserted avenue as he pounded the sidewalk. They swept past his apartment and down into the industrial neighborhood beyond; graffiti’d metal doors and endless brick blurred past. A burning tear ripped into Mark’s throat and he coughed and slowed to a stop. The boy leapt off the curb into the street. He held up Mark’s faded leather wallet and spun around. His cow-eyes slitted down into narrow lines. “Gotcha, faggot!”

  “Asshole,” Mark panted from the curb. He bent over to catch his breath and watched the boy as he leapt around in a circle singing, “Old faggot fuck / ain’t got no luck / with me and my...” The boy’s foot dropped into a pothole, his leg twisted and sent him plummeting forward. He slammed into the pavement with a guttural exhalation. Mark jogged over to the boy who lay like a broken doll. “Man, shit, I think my ankle’s broken,” the blond cried.

  “Not going anywhere now, are we?” Mark squatted down and picked up his wallet, then began to go through the boy’s pockets. “Fucking homophobic thief,” he muttered as he tugged out a wad of tens and twenties rolled together by a rubber band. Mark counted out $320 and shoved it into his own pocket. “Hey, man, that’s mine!” The boy attempted to grab it, but Mark caught him and knelt into his back.

  A car crawled past them and they both looked up into the blank face of the driver, who viewed the scene with the indifference of a camera. The car sped up and squealed around the corner.

  “We can’t stay here, kid.” Mark hauled the boy to his feet and marched him up the metal stairs to the sheltered loading dock. He forced the kid face down onto the oil- and piss-stained concrete platform, straddled him, and yanked the leather jacket off his back.

 

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