“I’m not bullshitting you, pussy,” says the blond. “I can make a dude cum twice, just from pluggin’ his hole.  Hands free.”  The blond dude swigs beer and plunks the bottle on the bar.  “You’re lucky your guy even feels your dinky little dick.”

He speaks slowly, the blond one does, over the very bluesy, very up-tempo music the band plays outside on the patio. The blonde’s voice is scratchy from ambient cigarette smoke. It’s not overly noisy inside the bar, since most everyone is on the patio swaying with the beat.  But it’s loud enough to keep him from being overheard. Except from the bartender, loitering nearby.

His companion says, from under a mass of black hair, “You’re full of shit.”

The blond shifts his jean-clad ass on the stool. He taps a square-toed boot against the bar. Let’s check him out in some detail, because he’s worth looking at.

His mane of blonde hair cascades down the back of his denim vest, covering the logo of his gang. Good thing, too, because the white silhouette of a stallion with an enormous hardon, dripping goo which puddles and forms the letters DLM under the stallion, so often freaks out the squares. Fawn colored peachfuzz traces his strong jaw, brushes his full upper lip, and caresses his chin.  A dark blue bandana keeps his face free of his hair, but a flaxen cascade pours over his forehead.  He’s self-possessed in the way only athletic males in their mid-twenties can be: fueled and uplifted by the testosterone overflowing from their gigantic balls.

He is Snake, an appellation now so old it has become his true name.  Go ahead, ask him how he got that nickname. Don’t be surprised as he thrusts his muscular forearms in your face. See those anacondas? See those cobras? Notice how they are all entwined like the serpents decorating Hermes’ caduceus? Don’t fail to notice that those snakes have extended ophidian penises from their bellies. Now lift your eyes to his face. See? Snake likes to punctuate his demonstrations with a Gene Simmons tongue-waggle and a Hannibal Lecter hiss.

“You can say that all you want,” Snake replies. “But you know I’m right.”

Snake’s drinking buddy has had it up to here with Snake’s incessant boasting.

“I make you cum, bitch,” snarls Skunk, snagging a lock of black hair and flipping it off his face. He lifts a Miller to his lips, staring at his buddy, a challenge in his eye. Foam runs down his chin.

“That was luck, not skill, jackass,” snaps Snake.

The bartender, a statuesque Valkyrie chick clad in a chainmail bikini and thigh high boots, flicks her eyes hungrily back and forth between these two. For the last five minutes, she’s been rooted in place as this recurrent argument unfolds. The patrons queueing up behind her have had enough of fruitlessly waving twenties. They bang on the bar. She jumps and whirls back to work.

Who can blame her?

Given the cascade of hair tumbling over his shoulders, his back, and his face, you might guess Skunk, the black-haired guy, is related to Snake. But Skunk is not Snake’s brother, though the bikers’ll fake it if it turns someone onto the freaky path the two have dedicated their lives to following.  Skunk’s hair is longer and straighter than Snake’s. Skunk is tall and lithe. His muscles move like cords under his skin. He is deep in the process of covering every square inch of flesh with tattoos.  His loose fatigue pants, tucked into his boots, ride low enough on his hips to show a few inches of tattooed skin between his T shirt and the belt loops.  On one bicep, an assortment of disembodied, red-veined eyes gazes upon an African-hued jinni emerging from a mighty bong.  He wears a Diamond Head tee shirt. The sleeves were cut from it long ago. When he lifts his arm to quaff beer, he exposes a sweaty pit rich with damp moss. If you’ve ever hung out in a high school locker room after a wrestling match, you’ve got an inkling of what the musk emanating from his pits can do.

Skunk’s moods are mercurial. His facial expressions are sometimes masks, sometimes reflective of his deep inner seas. Sometimes he wears the goofy, twinkling-eyed, half-grinning look of the class clown who’s just thought up an immature dirty joke. That’s not the case tonight. Right now, Skunk wears the energized half-squint that means what-the-fuck-man-what-the-goddamned-fuck? There’s a tenseness to him you sometimes see when aikido champions face off.

Snake stares back into Skunk’s gaze for fifteen seconds, then sniggers.

“Hey! I hadn’t had any that day,” says Snake.

“Fuck you! I can make any dude juice!” For an instant, Skunk seems to look into himself. He must like what he finds, for he grins savagely. “Tell you what.  That hot blond daddy. Remember him? Yeah, you know you do, don’t bullshit me, Snake! Next time we hook up, I’ll let you watch me with him.”

Snake snorts. “Fuck that! His wife don’t go out of town except once every six months!”

“Yeah, but when she does …” Skunk grabs his groin, rolling his eyes. “Ah, man, it’s like he’s Texas and I’m the drilling rig. All he fuckin’ does is gush!” He shrugs. “And tell his fuckin’ kids to stop banging on daddy’s door.” Skunk sucks down his Miller.  “You want another beer or you wanna go smoke that joint?”

Snake has a point to make, and goddamn it, he’s gonna make it. “You’re full of shit.  I watched you with that guy, that Asian guy. You weren’t halfway in before you spooged –”

“- -hey, motherfucker, that was a tight ass!  It was like, I dunno, molesting a sixth grader. And what about that frat guy — ”

“Not my fault, faggot! He screamed but, hey, who doesn’t the first time they get bit by the Snake? He was a boring fuck anyway. Daddy’s little rich kid.” Snake snorts. “Man, you’d think straight guys would be tougher or something.  I had to get rough to get it in.  When I get rough, I quit looking to make my boy spunk.”

“You get rough a lot, then.”  Skunk signals the barkeeper. She rushes over. The Valkyrie dares a tentative sniff. By the time she bestows a frosty Miller on Skunk, a rivulet of oil begins to slide down each of her thighs.

“I got a huuuuuuge prick,” brags Snake.

The Valkyrie stiffens, then shudders. She grabs a bar towel and mops up cuntjuice from her thighs. No one comments. This sort of thing often happens when Snake and Skunk haunt a bar.

“Mine’s bigger.”

“I make ’em scream.”

“If they scream you’re doing it wrong, dumbass. You know it’s fucking retards like you that give blondes a bad name.”  Skunk flips five bucks to the Valkyrie.  “They like it when they get it from me.”  He palms his groin.   “I’m Trigger.  I’m Mr. Fucking Ed.  I’m the stallion and everyone’s my mare and they always leave dripping my spooge and singing my fuckin’ name.”

Stifling a moan, the Valkyrie retreats.

Snake tosses back beer, not deigning to reply.

“Won that one, huh?” Skunk snorts.” “You got no balls, Snake. Won’t even stand up for yourself.”

The expected counterstrike never gets launched.

Snake has found prey. He swallows a mouthful of beer. His eyes narrow as he studies and strategizes.

It’s familiar prey. Snake’s already hit it once. His name is Justin, who is clearly happy with the girl he met out on the patio. The girl, naturally, is bubbly, happy to be talking to a guy with such a winning smile. Who wouldn’t?  Justin is strong-shouldered and tight-waisted. He telegraphs clean-cut ROTC Marine buck.  His pectoral muscles strain against his T shirt. That shirt is blisteringly white against his obsidian skin.  A faint stripe of hair decorates the crown of his head; Justin, taking the high-and-tight concept to the extreme, has shaved the sides of his head.  Justin grins, and laughs, and seems to be fascinated by everything the girl says. But Snake recognizes a sly look in Justin’s eyes that means the young black stud would rather be nibbling on said girl’s clitoris.

“I got an idea,” Snake drawls.

“Oh. My. Fucking God.”

“Let’s settle this.”

“How?”

“Look.”

Skunk follows Snake’s gaze. He stares at the suave Marine stud without recognition. Then he swivels his face back to Snake. “What. The. Holy fuck?”

“I know him. Met him at a party.”

“And he –”

” –let me be the first dude to fuck his ass. On the condition, I let his girlfriend watch. So, I did, and she did.”

“Aha.” Skunk stares at Justin with renewed interest.

“So, you wanna or what?”

“You know, if you were over there right now, talking to him, we’d be a hell of a lot closer to settling this.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Snake’s stool scrapes on the floor. “Try not to be a slobbering faggot.”

“Don’t fuck it up!”  Skunk calls.

Snake flips him the bird.

The Valkyrie rushes up, plants her elbows on the bar, lifts a lock of Skunk’s hair out of the way, and whispers in his ear: “Are you guys gay?”

“Well, Snake is,” says Skunk. “He’s got an eleven-inch dildo glued to his bike seat. Me? I just take cock up my ass for recreational purposes only.”

The Valkyrie shudders, a splattering sound resonates between her spread legs, the smell of piss fills the bar, and Skunk realizes he’s just made the chooser of the slain cum.

“So,” Skunk croons, “you want my phone number?”

“You’ll do it with me?” The Valkyrie is breathless.

“I’ll do anything to be perverted.”

As Snake approaches Justin, he and the young black Marine lock eyes. They exchange recognition nods. Justin’s face is stony. Suspicious. Snake lifts his jaw, winks, notifying Justin he’s gonna be cool. Don’t worry; Snake’s not going to let anything drop about what happened after that party. Justin looks relieved.

“Hey, Justin.  Long time, no see.” Snake bobs a greeting to the girl. “Sorry, don’t mean to cut in. He’s an old friend. So. Justin. Wanna smoke?”

Skunk plants a hand on Justin’s shoulder. A crude grope, masked as camaraderie.  The warm flesh does not shrink away.

“Snake, my man, I told you, I don’t smoke.”

“This ain’t tobacco.” Snake grins when he sees the girl flinch and turn her head.

Justin says to the girl, “Um, you mind?”

She sighs theatrically. “I’ll go talk to Elena. Hurry back.”

“You bet!” Justin stands. “Come on.”

“Hang on. Gotta get my buddy. He’s got the weed.”

“Huh?

“Him.” Snake points. “His name’s Skunk. Listen. There’s no hiding this. He’s an asshole. But he’s got the weed.” Snake nudges Justin. “And the right idea, if you know what I mean.”

For a few moments, Justin is clueless. Then a lightbulb sizzles into existence over his head. “Oh.” He smiles.

Introductions are made as the trio descends the stairs to the street.  They try to dart through a gap in the traffic. The gap’s not quite big enough; tires squeal, horns blare, and more birds are flipped. State’s bell tower glows under floodlights. The trio cuts down Pullen Road.  It is a Friday, so the night pounds and palpitates with revelers.

“Um. This isn’t the best place to smoke,” says Justin, waving to a hooting band of girls racing round a traffic circle.

“We’re going to the fucking park,” says Skunk. “You don’t really think we’re just going to smoke, do you?”

“So, uh, I take it you and Snake –”

“Tag team. Yep. From way back.”

“Need help with something else,” add Snake.

“Yeah?”

“We got a score to settle.”

“Does it involve fucking?” asks Justin.

“Well, it’s us,” says Skunk. “So, what do you think?”

Justin grins. “You guys are all right. How much weed you got??”

“Fucking pounds,” growls Skunk.

“You shitting me?”

“It’s Skunk,” Snake laughs. “So, in a word, fuck yeah!”

Laughing, they cut across Pullen Road. Justin peels off his shirt, showing off a torso that’s been built up, cut, and defined by long hours in a dojo.  He exudes a dark, oily scent. Both Skunk and Snake drink it in eagerly. The trio darts into the park. They skirt the baseball field and descend into a tree-shaded railroad cutting.    This place is about as private as one can get in the middle of San Sebastian.

“No drunks?” asks Justin, looking up and down the cutting. “This is a first.”

“Nah,” says Skunk. “How do you think we got our beer money? We rolled the fuckers!”

Snake is all business. “Let’s smoke!”

“You guys got rubbers, right?”

Caught off guard, Snake swallows and shoots a nervous look at Skunk. Smooth and suave, Skunk pats an empty pocket in his fatigues.

“Got plenty,” he assures Justin. “Special brand. Real up market. Extra thin. You’re gonna feel everything!”

Marijuana smoke blooms in the air like phantasmal cauliflowers.  The joint’s orange tip reflects in Skunk’s eyes.  He sucks in a lungful and passes it to Justin.  Justin tokes and passes to Snake. Naturally, hands move to groins. Snake and Skunk trade smoldering looks. They know what’s coming up is going to be hot.

By the time the second joint has burned down to a roach, Justin has abandoned himself. He feels as if he’s drifting across a chiaroscuro plain.  Warm fog fills his brain. Most of his awareness has descended to his cock. Justin hears the other two speaking but he regards it the same way an audience might regard a puppet show. He’s relaxed because he, too, senses something hot is about to happen.

He’s out of it.

Toasted like a marshmallow.

You and him? Really? You busted that cherry? Man, this black boy’s got an ass on him!

Laughter.  It was crazy. I like sticking my dick in crazy! Do what you want with him, buddy. He’s wilder than he looks.

Gotta get his ass. Man. Look at it!

Fuck you, cunt, I’m going first.

Stand back, pussy, and I’ll show you how to fuck.

A disembodied hand caresses Justin’s face.  Another cups his butt.  Justin finds himself looking at Skunk’s torso, stripped of that Diamond Head T shirt, carved, defined, and sinewy. So much ink glows on that skin it’s like watching sunrise through a cathedral’s stained-glass windows.   Skunk’s crotch is obscenely tented.  Justin likes that. Yeah, Justin likes being around sexually aroused males. Snake’s hot, beer-scented breath caresses the back of Justin’s neck.  Relaxing, Justin laughs.

“You guys are something else,” he purrs. “Really, we gotta find a chick who’s into four ways.”

Skunk observes the redness in Justin’s eyes, the slack shoulders, the stiff nipples like hard kernels of popcorn.  He grins at Snake, whose blond waves loom over Justin’s shoulder.  “Ready?”

“Fuck yeah,” says Snake.  His eyes narrow to faintly yellowish slits.  “Just play along, Justin.”

Justin giggles. “I’m playing. I’m playing.”

“Now, Skunk,” Snake barks. “Now I’m going to show you how to breed a man right.”

Justin, the world’s happiest stoner, chuckles. “Breed. That’s funny.”

From behind, Snake encircles Justin’s waist. Forearms ripple and biceps bulge as he pulls the hard-Marine body to his. Snake’s fingers dig into Justin’s shorts.

“Going commando tonight?” asks Snake.

“Nah,” Justin sighs, leaning his head back against Snake’s. He coos as Snake nuzzles his earlobe.

Snake’s hand sinks deeper. He feels the waistband and grins. “Jockstrap, huh?” He slips into the steamy pouch. Justin groans. “You smell good, Justin.”

“Didn’t have time to shower, man.”

Snake sniffs Justin’s skin. “Best cologne is a man’s funky armpits.”

Justin shares Skunk’s distaste of deodorant. He is darkly pungent, powerful as the smell of a canvas coffee sack.   He giggles when Skunk buries his face in Justin’s pit. “Man, are you licking me?”

In the moist jockpouch, Snake’s hands grasp Justin’s slowly expanding prong. One hand teases the shaft while the other moves south to cup the black man’s fat nuts. Snake palms the heavy sack, weighing the load of stored cream.

“Betcha could make a lot of babies with this,” Snake growls. “If you didn’t wear a rubber.”

“Fuck yeah,” Justin murmurs. “Hell, sometimes when I shoot, it fills up the rubber and drips down my balls.”

Skunk, who naturally hates rubbers, finds this image hot enough to groan into Justin’s pit.”

“That why you go after white girls? You want ’em to have your kids?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Knocking white chicks up. That’s wild.”

“Hey, Skunk?”

“Can’t talk. Busy eating.”

“Make yourself useful. Strip the bitch.”

First things first. Skunk shimmies out of his fatigues.  He’s naked save for the glorious ink.  The word satyr, tattooed in elaborate gothic capitals, arches over his navel.  Faces demonic and boyish and manly and equine leer from his thighs.  A soft trail of hair, dense but downy, descends from his navel to his groin, thickening to dark whorls rank with rancid pubic funk.  A wrinkled foreskin, like an elephant’s hide, hoods his fat, blunt cockhead.  Flecks of dry smegma crust the exposed edge. Some of these break away as the oily, expanding cockhead pushes its way into the humid night air.  His balls, dangerously swollen, swing in a loose sack between his knees.  He smells like a bin of sweaty Judas Priest T shirts after Rob Halford spooged the concert crowd.

Skunk undoes Justin’s fly. Those nice khaki shorts fall bunched around his feet. Justin’s titanic meat distorts the jockpouch. The strain on the elastic must be enormous. Skunk tries to cop a feel but instead grabs Snake’s wrist. Skunk pats his buddy before letting go.

“Come on, Snake,” Skunk growls. “Show me how fucking good you think you are”

“You heard him, man,” Justin murmurs. “Let’s have a little replay, huh?”

Snake kneels.  He takes in the thoroughbred curves of Justin’s ass. Then his fingers trace the strap clinging to the right buttcheek, following it from waistband to that fragrant nexus between Justin’s legs. Right there, he feels goo, and he scrapes at it. A thick, greasy substance glistens on Snake’s finger.  Snake takes a whiff, then thrusts his fingers at Skunk.

“Smell that, man?”

Skunk kneels and leans forward. Justin’s heavy balls rest on the crown of his head. “Smells like fish sticks.”

“That’s cunt.  That’s a woman’s cunt you’re smelling.  This boy’s been breedin’.”

“Justin,” says Skunk. “you kinky fuck. You already had a woman. You’re in action with us. Then, what, you’re gonna hit that girl at the bar for some?”

“Hey, Snake,” Justin says. “Is your buddy really that stupid?”

“Yep.”

Snake stands.  He crushes Justin’s left nipple between his fingertips.  Justin convulses.

“Not so fucking hard!”

“Oh, come on,” croons Snake. “You like it.”

“Awesome,” says Skunk.  He leans forward, inhaling the miasma rising from the funky jockpouch.  “Fucking awesome.”

“Um, you guys mind hurrying up? I got a woman waiting back at –”

“Don’t worry, boy,” Snake croons into Justin’s ear.  “Snake’ll take care of you!”

Snake sheds his shirt. Except for those serpents writhing on his forearm, his golden skin is clear of ink. Even of hair. His chest is broad and powerful, but not overwhelmingly so. Moonlight casts shadows across his six pack. He unzips his fly and shimmies out of his jeans. His massive dong lurches skyward, never reaching it. The fuckshaft’s just too heavy. It’s anchored in a nest of thick light brown pubic hairs. Wow, man, check that out. There’s a snake — a green mamba — tattooed down the urethra. The head and fangs throb on the cockhead. The tattoo doesn’t end at the shaft’s base; it goes on and on, coiling round Snake’s fat low hangers. The serpent’s slim tail ends well back on his taint.

Snake kneels again and thrusts his face between Justin’s buttocks. A wet smacking sound fills the night.

“Christ,” Justin mutters.  “No woman’ll do that for me!”

He loves feeling Snake’s tongue, lapping like a dog’s, swirling in his trench.

“Hear that, Snake?” Skunk calls. “You’re all the woman Justin needs!”

Snake flashes the bird at his buddy.

Justin’s aroma is a garden of dangerous herbs and sharp spices. Lured by Justin’s potent reek, Snake burrows deeper into the buttcrack.  Slimy buttflesh slithers over Snake’s face, raw and sour.  Pulling back, he peels apart the muscular buttocks.  A chocolate pucker, clenched tight, nestles in the ravine.  Snorting like a stallion, Snake’s tongue charges for that doughnut. How could he resist? The damn thing is simpering at him like a braindead whore.

“Man,” says Justin. “He is good at this!”

Skunk’s chest puffs up. “Yeah, well, I trained him.”

Snake’s tongue dances minuets on the hard ring.  Tightly curled hair abrades his chin.  He is frustrated.  He wants to penetrate, not lick.

“Open up, you idiot!”

It’s not easy to hear Snake since he’s buried so deeply between Justin’s cheeks.

“Work for it!” Justin calls.

Snake reaches into the jockstrap. He cups Justin’s nuts. He begins to stroke them, gently rolling them between his palms.

“Shit!” Justin’s eyes roll up.

Snake’s tongue administers a wet, sloppy Templar kiss. Slowly the Saracen fortress in that obsidian valley begins to open its gates. Justin grunts as the tongue slips into him.

“Oh yeah!” Justin nods. “That’s it! Do it, Snake! Show me what you’re good for!”

Snake embeds his tongue as far up Justin’s butt as it’ll go. Slobber runs down his chin. He thrusts and swirls everywhere. The huge nut of Justin’s prostate throbs against his tongue. The raw tang of gruntbutt sharpens Snake’s hunger. He’s pretending to service Justin’s needs but, dammit, the young black man is here to serve Snake’s lust. Snake’s here to breed. And to put that pussy Skunk in his place.

Snake frees himself from the spit-soaked pucker with a slurp. He stands.

“You do that a little more,” says Justin, “and I’ll marry you.”

Snake and Skunk guffaw. Marriage? Jesus H. Christ, they’re not gay! They’re homosexual perverts! Marriage is for losers.

“You got the stuff, buddy?” asks Snake.

“Right here with the, uh, rubbers.” Skunk pulls a small bottle of lube from his fatigues and tosses it to Snake. He checks Justin. The black Marine’s mind is ten thousand miles away. He pretends to pull something out of his fatigue pocket and pass it to Snake. “Here’s your rubber.”

“Safe sex is hot sex.” Snake smears lube on his raw cock. “Spread ’em!”

Justin leans forward, planting his big palms on his knees, and thrusts his tight, round butt back. “You guys promise not to tell my girl you fucked me up the ass?”

“Maybe,” says Skunk, eyeing Justin’s swollen meat.

Snake lines up. He teases himself with Justin’s wet, sloppy asscrack, sliding, twisting, watching Justin in case the Marine whirls and asks about the non-existent condom.  Justin’s too stoned for this to happen. Snake exchanges evil grins with Skunk. A thrill shoots between his nuts and his cockhead. Time to lock and load.

“Tell you what,” says Snake. “You let me cum in this rubber — while it’s up your ass — and I won’t tell your girl I came in your ass!”

“Deal. Do it that way you do it, buddy!”

“You got it,” Snake grunts. He thrusts, ramming his raw cock up that unsuspecting butthole.

Snake’s blunt pink head rips open Justin’s chocolate ring.  Justin bucks. Low moans oozes from him as the gigantic shaft sinks in.  His hole, like Eve’s, must stretch to take the Snake.

“Damn! Go easy, man!”

“Nice, Justin,” Snake purrs. “Nice.” Eyes closed, he savors the feeling of raw meat squirming on his naked cock.

“Oh, come off it, Snake, you can do better!” Mischief glints in Skunk’s eyes. “Justin’s fucking bored!”

“Fuck you!”

Justin corkscrews his butt half an inch up and down Snake’s throbbing dong. “Man, that rubber feels sweet!”

Snake holsters his cock-up Justin’s chute, shifts his hips so his fat shaft swizzles Justin’s tight rectum, then withdraws. The black ring bulges as Snake’s cockehad threatens to emerge. A few millimeters of cockhead, stark pink against Justin’s skin, peeks out. Snake grins and begins showing off as if he were a kid on a playground grandstanding for his buddies. Hips bucking, hair flailing, he whipsaws his prong in the marine’s cunt.

“Oh yeah,” Snake purrs. “Sweet pussy!”

“Go easy, man!” Justin grunts. Snake’s cock is huge, and Marine butt is tight.

Snake churns. For a moment, he is serious about showing his buddy what a true cocksman he is. This soon changes. Barebacking a straight Marine who, in another hour at most, will be plowing some white gash makes Snake lose his focus. This tender opening — so sweet now that Skunk is boning it raw, the way God intended — works magic, egging him to fuck showing off, to surrender to nature, and spew spunk. Blond hair flies. Sweat beads Snake’s skin.

“Goddamn, man! Goddamn!”

Justin squeaks like a rat. “Too fast! Too hard!”

“See?” crows Skunk. “You suck!”

Fap-fap-fap-fap. Snake’s hips blur.

“Slow down, man! Take it out! Jesus, you’re killing me!”  Justin’s ravaged body convulses in a futile effort to disgorge Snake’s brutal rod.

“I ain’t going nowhere!” Snake’s balls snap-snap-snap against Justin’s squirming nutsack.

Skunk, naturally, is a fan of porn, especially live-action porn. He starts fisting his oily shaft.  His foreskin slurps over his cheesy head. A thread of precum sways.

“Getting to you, huh?” gasps Snake, ramming hard.

Skunk snorts and keeps on jacking it.

The transition point is reached. Justin shuts his eyes. Pleasure flows over the Marine’s face. Sure, the first time he had anything up his ass, it was a dildo strapped to his last girlfriend’s crotch. But cock? Real cock? Well, Snake showed him in that complex threeway that cock was in a league of its own. Justin appreciates the buttery smooth feeling of whatever brand of condoms these freaks use. It cuts that burning, raw sensation down to zero. He bends forward, rests his forearms on his thighs just above his knees, riding the celestial agony, and groaning as that slutty feeling bubbles up inside of him.

“Now, buddy,” growls Snake. “I’m gonna show you why I’m the motherfucking best!”

Snake interweaves intricate themes into the simple thrusts of his fucking. Corkscrews. Twists. Off-side pistoning. Subtle rotations of his meaty shaft. Frontal assaults on Justin’s swollen prostate.  Anyone watching Snake — observing the grace of his hips, the tenseness of his buttocks, the arcs of sweat slung from his balls — would see Snake as a true artist of flesh and lust.

“Seen it before!” Skunk says as if bored.

Snake’s leaking cockhead anoints Justin’s rectum with his spicy precum.  The Marine figures the sliminess he feels in his butthole is just lube. Justin’s cunt abases itself in the presence of cock, the one true god. Madness tinges Justin’s and Snake’s moaning.

Snake looks at Skunk and grins.  “See, you stupid headbanger? See?”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” Skunk smirks. He studies his rutting buddy. An idea comes. He doesn’t let it show. “Keep it up.”

When Snake’s eyes close, Skunk moves. His eyes and Justin’s meat. Justin licks his lips. Sniffs. Skunk is ripe tonight. It reminds him of the Lejeune barracks on days after long marches in the heat and humidity.  Skunk trails a finger down Justin’s chest. He slips his hands into Justin’s jockpouch. Both hands cinch between the base of Justin’s shaft and his nuts.

“Oh, yeah, dude,” Justin croons. “Jerk it!”

Skunk laughs. He yanks. Hard. Justin’s fat nuts are stretched at least four, maybe five inches.

“Jesus, man!” Justin roars. For a second, the Marine looks like he’s eager for a quick kill. Then he gasps. His eyes roll up. A quake, at least Richter 10 in magnitude, convulses him. A torrent of goo floods his jockpouch, dripping off Skunk’s wrists.

“Holy fuck!”

Snake strangles. Justin’s butthole clamps like a vise on his shaft. Snake has brought off countless men simply from drilling their holes, but nothing has ever gripped his greasy shaft so tight. He strains to keep the pace up, but Justin spasms so hard his sphincter comes within a hair’s breadth of ejecting Snake’s prong.

“See?” Snake chortles, hammering away. “What’d I tell ya?”

Grinning, Skunk simply holds up his hands. Long white ropes of spunk sway.

“You bastard! You motherfucking bastard!” Snake pops Justin’s buttcheek. “Did he do that?”

Both Justin and Skunk nod.

“You cheating piece of shit!”

“Man,” Justin groans, “you could slow down a bit!”

“Fuck that!” Snake snarls, pumping for the finish line.

“Dude,” says Skunk. “it’s my turn!”

Snake slams Justin’s hole a few more times. Just to remind him who’s fucking who. Then he pulls out. Justin’s cunt emits airy burbles. The erect prong gleams under starlight. Rivulets of mucous ooze down Snake’s cockshaft.  Snake’s soaked pubic thatch smells of Marine butt. He confronts Skunk, who wears a well-practiced who-me? expression.

“You’re a bastard!” Snake snaps. “I was just getting into it!”

“Tag me? Huh? Come on? Huh? Won’t you, buddy?”

Snake rolls his eyes and slaps Skunk’s palm. “I hate your guts, man. I really fucking do. I’m not kidding. I’m not.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.”

Justin’s eyes fix on Snake’s proudly naked prong. “Dude, where’s the rubber?”

“Huh? Oh. Well, unless I’m in action, I can’t stand wearing the things. So, I tossed it over there.” Snake throws a hand towards a patch of darkness he imagines are shrubs.

Skunk, trotting behind the Marine, pats his pocket. “Don’t worry. I got plenty.” Justin’s too stoned and too boned to realize it’s the pocket on the opposite leg. Skunk takes the young black man’s hips in hand. Their eyes meet over Justin’s right shoulder. “Hi. I’m Skunk. And I’m gonna fuck you silly.”

Justin grins. “Now that’s what I like to hear!”

Skunk plants a hand between the marine’s shoulder blades and forces him to bend about 90 degrees. Skunk, watching the sweat trickle down the nape of Justin’s neck, can’t resist. His tongue scarfs up a few precious drops. Skunk smacks his lips.

“Ah!”

“No romance,” Snake barks.  “Fuck the bitch.”

“Yeah,” groans Justin.  “No goddam romance.”

“Whatever.” Skunk coughs up a thick gob of spit and smears it onto his shaft.  Spit and headcheese foam into gooey, smelly mess. “You ready for the best fuck you ever had?”

Justin, grinning at Snake, says, “I think I just had it.”

Snake chuckles. “See?? See? See what I’m saying?”

Snarling, Skunk pops Justin’s buttcheek. He shoves his cockhead between those black buttocks. He smears his rancid cheese onto Justin’s ring. One circuit, just to feel Justin’s hungry butthole suckling on his stinking shaft.

“take me, bitch!”

Skunk thrusts.  Justin’s whorish groan — like a heavily distorted guitar chord, guttural, passionate, full of yearning — fills the park

“See?” grunts Skunk. “See? See, you stupid headbanger? See what the fuck I’m talking about?”.

If, as he embeds himself, Skunk’s eyelids flutter — suggesting he’s about to cum — well, that’s just a side effect of sliding in after his buddy.

Skunk’s thrusting builds slowly. He doesn’t want to reach a soul-shattering crescendo. Not this early.  You savor hetero male cunt with a measured pace. Skunk’s long shaft saws away. Both rutting bucks indulge in the heat and warmth of each other.  Justin, abasing himself to a stud like Skunk, babbles deliriously, as one does when properly buttfucked. His groans slowly dissolve into gurgles, gasps, then trail away into eloquent, unblinking silence. His eyes roll up, showing only whites.

Skunk throws a smug look Snake’s way.

“Beginner’s luck,” shrugs Snake.

“Talent.”

“Luck,” repeat Snake. “You’re a bottom.”

“Hey, just because I bottom doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fuck!”

Snake winks at Justin. When Justin doesn’t respond, Snake whacks him lightly on his cheek. Justin returns to this world long enough to see Snake wink. He nods, clamps his sphincter tight, and returns to the astral plane.

“Nice,” Skunk growls.

Skunk’s thrusts become erratic, even chaotic. The urge to breed is keenly felt.  But juicing the Marine so quickly would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Snake struggles on. His balls loop in phase-space, drawn by the strange attractor of Justin’s butthole.

The tight Marine cunt is too much.  Skunk puts his lips next to Justin’s ear, about to whisper loosen up, bitch! It’s a violation of long-established cockfighting rules, but Skunk is pretty sure he’ll pull it off. Just in time he catches sight of Snake’s sardonically cocked eyebrow.

“Problems?” asks Snake.

“Yeah,” says Skunk. “There’s this dumbass blond who keeps asking me questions while I try and fuck my bitch!”

“You always got excuses,” says Snake. “You never got a bitch!”

Skunk yanks his cock back. Not all the way out; Snake’s too much of a butt-junky to give up this fix. He leaves his cockhead wedged in Justin’s puffy anus, a cherry pit gagging a lamprey’s gullet. At first, Justin thinks this is just a game, and grins to himself, waiting for the upstroke. When it doesn’t come, a feeling of howling horror comes over him.

“Come on, Skunk, fuck me!”

“Play this my way,” Skunk growls. “Relax.”

“Justin,” Snake warns. “Don’t do it, man!”

The jarhead’s sphincter relaxes. He gasps when Skunk stabs in to the root.

“Oh, yeah, man, like that! Like that!” Justin shudders.

Skunk spears Justin, unleashing a flurry of thrusts, fucking like a rabbit on speed.  Raw rectal tissue, swollen and wet, glides over his stone-hard cock.  He peels Justin’s asscheeks apart, grinning at the purpled flesh his cock rules.  Lube and mucous glisten on his ramrod.

Snake uses one of those intervals when Skunk’s eyes are closed to nudge Justin’s calf with his boot.

“Ready?”

Justin, noting the way Snake’s hand pretends to grip phantom balls, nods.

Snake digs into Justin’s jockpounch, fumbling in the leaking slime. He finds the shaft and cinches his hand where nutsack meets the base of Justin’s shaft. There’s so much reeking spooge getting a firm grasp is an achievement. Snake begins yanking, gently at first, then harder. And harder. He twists Justin’s nuts left, then right, then tugs so hard it seems he might tear them off.

Justin’s eyes roll up. “Oh Gawd!” He chokes as his huge dong douses his jock with a cup of steaming hot gravy.

Feeling the ring spasming on his shaft, Skunk fires a triumphant look at Snake. “See? See? Who’s the stud?” He yanks his cock free, strutting and swaggering. “Who’s the stud, man? Who’s the fucking stud?”

“You’re such a gullible dumbass, Skunk.”

“That’s one apiece, fuckhead!” Skunk grips his cock at the base, brandishing it like a sword.

“Took you long enough.”

Justin, with creaking muscles, rises from his crouch. Thick sperm clots his jockstrap. “Um. Guys. Thanks for the weed and, the, uh, you know. But I gotta get back to my girl –”

“Come on, man, don’t bail on us now!”

“That’s right,” says Skunk. “You wouldn’t want us ratting on you to that girl, would you?”

“Yeah!” says Snake. “Come on. Let’s finish this ride!”

“Justin doesn’t look pissed at all. In fact, a slow grin spreads over his face. “OK, guys. You cover for me, and the party keeps on rolling.””

Snake grins. “Deal! What kind of bullshit does she buy?”

“Something about animals. Tell her we found a dog –”

“Done,” says Skunk. “Now. Less talky, more fucky.”

“Done,” says Justin.  The Marine finds a patch of soft pine needles, lays down, and lifts his legs. “Waiting on you guys.”

Snake and Skunk exchange looks

“I think we got him trained,” says Skunk.

Snake jerks his thumb towards his chest. “I got him trained.”

Big dong swaying like a wand, Snake saunters to Justin.  He kneels and spreads Justin’s dark thighs.  Snake aims his cock at the glistening, bubbling hole. Skunk clears his throat.

“Huh? Oh yeah. Get me one of those rubbers, will you, buddy?”

Snake again goes through the charade of accepting a condom. Pretending to be fumbling to get it on, he tilts his head towards Justin. Skunk gets the message. The black-haired biker kneels beside the Marine, bends over, and thrusts his tongue into Justin’s mouth. A shroud of cigarette-scented hair covers Justin’s face. Snake hoists Justin’s legs to his shoulder and slams his rod home.

“Damn! You’re loose as a cow.”

Through Skunk’s hair, Justin mumbles, “Can’t help it.”

“My bad.” Skunk’s lips smack. “I got the bull cock.”

“Horse cock, idiot,” snaps Snake.  “Headbangers have horsecocks!”

Snake pumps. His hard ass is a study in male power. His buttocks flex and tense as he pistons his shaft in that gurgling hole. Skunk breaks the kiss, strutting around the coupled pair, wanting to see the action from all angles.

Snake’s trying very hard not to go into full-on balls-out mad-dash-to-the-finish-line fuck-that-Marine-butt mode. This isn’t easy. Fucking a Marine, the air rich with his buddy’s earthy musk, he’s soaring toward the point where he needs to juice. His balls hum like a power generator.  But there’s a war on.  He’s got to make Justin spunk again. Point of pride.

“Yeah, man, I need this,” croons Justin. “This your first threeway?”

Snake, laughing hard, almost falls off.

“Justin,” says Skunk, “the way we play, threeways are kiddie shit.”

Snake traces Justin’s sweat-streaked pectorals.  There is no hair on the polished obsidian skin.  Snake circles Justin’s nipples. A moronic, slack-jawed expression softens Justin’s face.

“Watch this, buddy.”

“Huh?” Skunk’s been watching his buddy’s serpent-tattooed balls swing as he piledrives the unsuspecting Marine.

Snake pinches Justin’s left nipple, digging in with his fingernail. Justin thrashes, gasping and moaning. Snake stretches the nipples into a trembling tentacle of pain. He exchanges grins with Skunk.

“Fuck, man!” Justin barks, slamming his head back against the bed of needles. “Fuck fuck fuck! Damn, that’s nice! Not so much, man, not so much — oh, holy fucking shit!”

Justin twitches and spasms. He unloads a weak volley of sperm into his jock.

Skunk tugs aside Justin’s pouch. “Wow. That barely counts as a load. Man, you suck, Snake!”

“Fuck you!” Snake tumbles back onto his ass, his big prong ripping free of Justin’s hole. He props his forearms on his knees, gasping, shaking the sweat out of his hair. “Two. Two loads, man. I got two loads out of him. It don’t matter how big they are. Jesus fucking Christ, Skunk, even you don’t spooge up at the end of the day the way you do at the beginning, and, hell, you’re the biggest slut I ever met!”

“Kinda being defensive, aren’t you, man?!

“Fuck you!” Snake’s balls boil, desperate to breed.  “Shit.”  Grimacing, he pinches his cockhead.

“Hah hah,” laughs Skunk. “Someone was about to pop his cookies.”

Justin struggles up, falls back onto his elbows, panting. “OK, guys. That’s it. I’m done. I gotta girl waiting –”

“What’s her name?” asks Skunk.

“Huh?”

“What’s her damn name?”

“Um. I don’t know. I mean, I just met her.”

“OK. She ain’t that damn important. She can wait. See? I got something you want?” Skunk brandishes his cock.

“Well. OK.”

“Lay back.” Skunk cocks an eyebrow at Snake. Snake crawls over and handles the deceptive kissing.

Skunk mounts up and thrusts home. He gazes down in mock-alarm. “Jesus, man, you are loose! Fuck, I thought I was about to fall in!” He saws away, grinning.

Snake sits upright, wiping his lips. “Horsecock, man. Horsecock. Don’t forget it.”

Skunk’s balls, too, hum with the urge to breed, so the sloppy cunt he’s filling is preventing a humiliating loss.  He takes this opportunity to show off. His sculpted butt, slender and smooth, arches high, extracting most of his dong from Justin’s rectum. He stabs forward in long strokes, swiveling his hips, giggling sometimes when the squelching butthole sounds too much like junior-high era wet farts.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” grunts Snake, “stop that. You look like a circus act.”

Sweat drenches Skunk. His muscles quaver. He’s been hard at it all day, working minimally, playing hard as he can, and he’s finally feeling his limit. He shoots a look at Snake. The bandana has come loose. A tangled flaxen curtain veils Snake’s eyes. That’s exactly what the black-haired sex maniac needs.  Snake pulls a trick out of his repertoire. He slips his thumb up Justin’s butt, in between his shaft and the tender rectal lining. Snake curls his thumb and jabs the deflated prostate.

“Oh, my God!” Justin murmurs weakly. He convulses, a thin watery discharge not unlike dog saliva dribbling from his cockhead.

Gasping desperately, Skunk rolls off, his cock throbbing.  He sprawls on his back.

For a few moments, nothing can be heard except the panting. Then, as that dies away, sounds of nearby Pullen Road intrude.

“OK. Are we done now?” the Marine asks. He sits up and winces as two liters of air bluster between his cheeks.  “Man, I’m glad you guys use rubbers. I’d hate to start dripping your cum while I’m fucking, uh, what’s-her-name.” He grins.

Smirking, Snake looks up. Through the curtain of hair evil glints in his eye.  He nudges Skunk. “What do you say, buddy? Wanna get a nut?”

Skunk leaps to his feet. “Let’s rock and roll!”

Justin’s eyes alight on the twin prongs.  “It’s gotta be quick. I’m serious. No kidding.”

“We got something in mind,” says Snake. “But you’re going to be sore.”

“But happy,” Skunk assures.

“Huh?”

“Do what we say,” says Snake. “Not what we do.”

“Huh?”

“Stand up, Justin.”

Skunk stretches on the pine needles, his dong thrusting skyward.

“Give you any ideas, Justin?” Skunk asks.

“One. You, uh, gonna put a rubber on?”

Challenge gleams in Skunk’s eyes. “Nah. We gotta make this quick, right?”

Justin looks very reluctant.

“Come on, man,” says Snake, cupping his balls. “We’re safe. Tell you what. We’ll pull out when we cum. Won’t we, Skunk?”

Skunk nods. “Yeah. Yeah. Not a drop, man. We won’t shoot a drop in you.  I promise. Cross my heart. Hope to die.”

Justin sighs. He squats over Skunk. Snake guides his buddy’s huge cockhead to the socket. With a groan, Justin sinks down on the raw, gleaming cock. Skunk murmurs as Justin’s butthole stretches around his cock’s fat base. Justin begins to rise. Skunk stops him.

“Wait for it.”

“Huh?”

Snake straddles Skunk’s thighs. He plants a hand on the back of Justin’s neck and bends the young black Marine over Skunk’s torso. Skunk, as Justin’s face approaches, thrusts out his tongue. Justin slurps it inside. Skunk’s hand gropes for Snake’s thigh, delivering a slap: A-OK for phase II.

Moving his cockhead down Justin’s sweaty, gooey furrow, Snake finds his buddy’s iron hard shaft.    Using Skunk’s rod as his guide, Snake slips his cockhead into Justin’s trench. Justin feels Snake’s cockhead pressing against his puffy anus. The Marine spits out Skunk’s tongue.

“You guys are fucking nuts!

“Yep,” Skunk and Snake chorus. “That’s us.”

Snake stabs forward, desperate to get inside. His cock bends.

“Ow!” Justin’s fist slams the needles. “I can’t fucking do this, man! This is crazy!”

“Ease up back there, Justin,” Snake purrs. “You’re in for the Skunk and Snake special.”

“I’m not gonna be able to shit for days.”

“Yep.”

Justin relaxes. A huge sigh shudders out of him.  His broad shoulders sag.  Snake realigns his dong and stabs forward.

“Fuck!” Justin roars.

Snake’s fat prong plunges into Justin’s narrow cavern.

“Welcome home, buddy,” Skunk murmurs.

Two biker cocks. Tight Marine butthole. The pressure on those dongs is enormous. There’s just not enough space up Justin’s tight butt. The Marine groans and wails like a man trying to shit a four-inch-wide turd through a two-inch wide anus. An inexorable downward pressure begins forcing out the big headbanger prongs. None of this! This is too goddamned awesome. Skunk rams up hard, lodging himself inside again. Snake rams home a second after.

“Dude,” says Snake. “You almost pushed me out!”

“Not my problem, dumbass, you’re the one that can move!”

Snake churns. Urethra slides on urethra. Justin whimpers. Skunk and Snake moan, writhe, twist, thrust. Two cocks duel for supremacy in the young man’s butthole.  Justin’s rectum flexes on their shafts, crossing them like sabers.

“Oh, that’s it,” Skunk purrs.

“Yeah, buddy,” pants Snake. “Feel ’em?”

“Yeah.”

Two sets of stud biker nuts pulsate against each other. Light brown pubic hair entwines with night-black pubic hair. Testicles throb like beating hearts. This moment of perfect intimacy is what these bikers live for. To feel a brother’s balls pulsating against your own.

“Let’s do it!”

They work their hips, straining against the ejective pressure gripping their cocks. Justin groans like a banshee. Now he understands why all those white chicks he fucks react the way they do.

Snake drives full length thrusts up the hot velvet cunt.  The coils of the serpent tattooed on his swaying sack gleam with sweat.  Skunk strains to match him but, let’s face it, the dude on the bottom just can’t move like the dude on the top. This is fine with both bikers. Both know, in their heart of hearts, that Snake is the real stud of the pair. He has the power to get both off. If Justin’s lucky, he’ll get another orgasm out of this deal.

“Oh, yeah,” Skunk croons. “Move like that. Oh yeah. Fuck him deeper.”

“You gonna cum?” gasps Justin. Sweat courses down his straining face.

“Not yet!”

Skunk purrs, feeling Snake’s cock churning alongside his own. He folds his arms behind his head. The night thickens with the rank musk flowing from his pits. It works like a hit of poppers. Justin’s body goes limp and he deflates, whimpering and twitching, onto Snake’s lithe form. Pinned in place by the Snake and Skunk Mk VII patented double-stroke piston engine, Justin’s destination is a vast internal realm of unutterable bliss.

Snake, brain reeling from a fresh blast of his buddy’s pits, goes into overdrive, churning, back arching, fucking for glory. His buttocks are iron hard. His quads quiver with power. Strands of sweaty blond hair cling to his lips.

“Getting there?” Snake pants.

Skunk nods. “Yeah. Not yet, though. Hold off, buddy. I wanna feel this!”

Justin opens his knees wider. Yeah, he needs what these bikers got, and he’s going to give it to them. He says nothing. How could he? His true personality has been crushed, buried under waves of sensation blazing in his asshole and rushing up his spine. Nothing’s left of the man Justin once was. He’s just an animal, and he loves it.

“OK OK OK,” Skunk gasps. “I’m there, man. Let’s go for it!”

“Dude,” Snake pleads. “You wanna give me the special?”

Balls about to burst, Skunk plunges a dry finger into Snake’s tight butthole.

“Motherfucker!”

“Guys,” Justin rasps, “pull out –”

Two novae erupt into Justin’s tight chute. The bikers roar like flame tornados. Heat sears at least the lower ten feet — maybe more — of Justin’s bowels. When Skunk and Snake cum, their loads are big enough to douse the Great Chicago Fire. The whole overpopulation crowd is lucky these two go for dudes; otherwise, Earth’s population would be swelling by about a billion babies a year. Snake and Skunk are sperm-spewing motherfuckers.

“Goddamn,” breathes Justin, eyes shut, savoring the sensation. “You’re cumming in me!”

When it’s over, Snake collapses, Justin moans, and Skunk bitches about all the weight on top of him. No one moves until their sweat cools them. Justin shifts first. This dislodges Skunk and Snake’s softening cocks. Air, spunk, and cock bluster from Justin’s ass. Goo pours over Skunk’s cock and balls.

“You came in me!” Justin says, feeling a gooey thread worm out of his butthole.

“Yep,” says Snake. “Pretty fucking hot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, it is!” Justin relaxes, then winces as more warm goo runs from his ass.

“Welcome to the brotherhood!” Snake hoots.

“Huh?”

“That is cum on my junk, right?” Skunk asks. “‘Cause if you just shit on me –”

Snake sniffs. “One hundred percent cum, buddy.”

“Let me up, guys.” There’s an urgency in Justin’s voice suggesting a man who realized he’s just crossed a very dangerous line.

They disengage and stagger to their feet. Justin scrambles after his clothes, careful not to meet their eyes. He’s the first dressed.

“Oh, man,” he says. “I gotta explain how I smell.” Justin reeks of biker cum. He scrambles out of the cutting. “She’s gonna kill me!”

“Did he cum?” asks Snake, filing away a fond memory of that black ass as it fades into the park.

Skunk indicates his belly, where a long, clear streak slashes from right hip to left nipple.

“I claim it. So that’s three. I win, asshole!” Snake laughs.

Skunk’s not having this bullshit. “Dude, we were both up him! I get half credit!”

“Half a credit? Bullshit! Tell you what. You show me how to have half an orgasm and I’ll give you half credit!”

Skunk looks thoughtful. “Hmm. Half an orgasm. I wonder …” He levels a steely look at Snake. “This ain’t the end of this.” A sly grin breaks. “There’s a party Friday.  Frat Court. Bunch of dumb, rich white kids. Drunk, too, so no problem barebacking them.”

“Another rematch?”

“You up for it?”

Snake grabs his tattooed junk. “Dude, I’m always up for it.”

 

(c) 2017 by R. Keith Peck. All Rights Reserved.