By Musclebuff

Inspired by an AG morph

"Suck my dick, bitch!"

I crashed on to my knees in the sawdust, put my hands on the shining leather that encased his quads so tightly that they might have been poured into it, and slowly allowed my palms to feel the steel within as I slid them around to pull down the zipper. The leather was so tight that, once released from its confines, the dick I had been chasing for weeks whanged up into the air, semi-tumescent.

The noise in the bar was so deafening that I hardly heard him repeat the order before my tongue started to lap the damp, musky-leather-smelling

horse dick that protruded toward my mouth.

"I said, suck it! You've been waiting for it long enough!"

And his hands gripped the back of my head and forced my nose and mouth hard into his blonde pubes. The soft-hard dick filled my mouth and demanded the back of my throat, I set to work servicing it as if my life depended on it. Slurping, sucking.........sucking and slurping.

Wasn't long before the soft-hard tube of his sex extended and thickened itself into marble-hard and it became an effort to contain it all as deep as it wanted to go. But he was right - this was exactly what I had been longing for weeks. Or part of what I had been longing for.

I looked up at the massive shoulders, thick pecs and perfect six-pack of the guy I had been stalking for weeks. With a cigarette hanging from his mouth he was ramming my head back and forth while talking nonchalantly to someone else leaning on the bar beside him. With one hand stealing round to cup a great leather-covered glute, the other one dared to reach up and seize a meaty pec - the one with the barbell piercing it.

The blue eyes glared at me for only an instant before I got a stinging back-hand blow to one side of my face. Then he went back to chatting and face-fucking me with even greater force. I started to choke, but he didn't stop fucking, not for an instant. If anything, he fucked even harder. My throat got used to it quick and started to wrap itself around his dick like a hungry glove .


All this was my reward, or punishment, for the lengthy campaign I had been conducting during this long, hot Summer. A Summer when all good college boys are taking temporary jobs to earn their next year in school. This particular college boy had been living half-way up my block for years, but this was the first Summer I had been made forcibly aware of him. As soon as he finished high-school he ran away and joined the Marines for a five-year hitch. Now in his twenties he was back to get some kind of degree and a civilian job.

What had been a half-way pretty boy - too young, too pretty for my tastes, was now a hardened ex-Marine. His five year hitch had grown him a spectacular physique - of which he was very well aware - and a deal of cheeky self-assurance. He roared everywhere on a massive Harley and never, as far as I could see, ever removed those skin-tight leather pants. Day, or perhaps night.

As Summer wore on and got hotter and hotter, the plaid flannel shirts gave way to skinny t-shirts, gave way to all-revealing tanks, gave way to nothing but the pants As he roared around making deliveries for the store, some kind of shirt would be stuffed in the back of his pants, to be donned whenever he felt an old lady might be offended by his naked muscle.

He never bothered to put it on when he delivered my groceries. Thank God.

I was writing hard this Summer, and deliberately failed to react to the cheeky chat and knowing eye-brow lifts that just stopped short of a wink. I wasn't going to get involved.

I thought.

Or maybe I was issuing some kind of challenge, but I was damned if I was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect he had on my swelling basket.

Come one particularly sweaty day, I was walking home from our local library, fucking hot, fucking humid, and I decided to take my shirt off and stuff it in the back of my pants. It happened to be a red one. I was half-way home when he roared to a stop beside me. As usual, naked except for the leathers.

"Wanna ride?"

Why not? "Sure. Thanks." I hoisted myself on to the back of his saddle. He roared away so fast I was forced to grab him round the waist to avoid falling off.. My crotch was now rammed up against his leathered glutes and my


hands were, accidentally?, enjoying his abs. It was all I could do to resist grabbing a thick pec. And I had a boner to end all boners which failed to subside by the time he stopped outside my house For a moment I hesitated to get off the bike.

"We're there, dude! Or do you wanna go for another ride?"

Shit, it was tempting, and he knew it. I decided it would be the lesser of two evils (?) if I got off. His eyes immediately pierced the excitement of my crotch and he grinned knowingly up at me.

"Nice red shirt - that part of the color code, dude?"

My jaw dropped as I realized what he was talking about. He chuckled.

"If it is, you should do something about it!"

And off he went, his mocking laughter echoed by the roar of the bike.

The weeks went by. He found excuse after excuse to make deliveries not ordered, staying longer each time, uninvited, until eventually he started to help himself to a beer and sprawled opposite me nursing both his beer and his massive packet encased in those fucking beautiful leathers. And of course he always took his shirt off when he was delivering to me, If he was.

He'd sit there, flexing his muscles, making suggestive double entendres (he had them down to a T), stroking the USMC tattoo on one delt and the dragon on the opposite forearm, tugging at the rings in his ears and the barbell through his right nip. Every action was calculated to arouse me. And it succeeded - always. And he knew it.

Whatever he was delivering, he was delivering what he intended to deliver which was a great deal of provocation to my libido. I was not hostile, but I was amazed at my own fortitude. I just was not going to empower him by giving in to making a pass at him - however much I wanted it.

"Ever work out, dude?"

"Sure. Time to time."

"Time to time's not enough. Not if you want to get muscles like these!"

A great bicep was flexed, then a couple of pecs. This nearly undid me.


"Tell you what - come down to the gym with me, pay my dues for me and I'll put you through a workout. Soon get that nice bod of yours toned up. Toned up as it should be!", he added meaningfully.

So, like a fool, I agreed. I wanted to see to see muscles at work. And I wouldn't mind a few like them myself. We kept it very professional: I did as he told me, paid his membership for him, worked out quite hard, and was glad after a couple of weeks to see how hard I was getting - in the muscles, I mean. The rest of "hard" was practically unavoidable under the circumstances as I watched him bulge, flex and sweat. And when he laid hands on me to spot me or guide the weight, deliberately giving me unneccessary squeezes in unsuitable places.

It was an exquisite form of torture and the fucker knew it! The more I resisted, and the harder I got, the more he tantalized me with his flexing and squeezes. It was worst in the shower when he soaped my back and then asked me to soap his. That would have been OK, if it hadn't been for the fact that every time I got down to those glutes he would turn to face me, flexing his pecs and stroking the boner that reached well above his navel.

Finally I had to stop the workouts, pleading deadlines and other weak excuses.

That's when he changed his tune. He seemed to become hostile, dumped my goods on the doorstep and left, flaunting his leathered butt as he roared away, but no more knowing leers and suggestive chuckles.

At first I thought I had lucked out. Then I found myself missing him. Then the stalking began.

I would watch to see what times he left his house and when he came back. I would go to the gym for lengthy workouts to see what times he used the place. He even got the message: he'd stop what he was doing, or turn round in the street, put all his weight on one hip and look at me as if to say "Whadda you want, fag?" Though he never actually said it, I got the message too.

Jeez, he knew how to play this fish! It was unadulterated sadism.

Days went by and I continued to play Aschenbach to his Tadzio, disgusted with myself. The more uncomfortable I got, the more pleasure he seemed to get out of it. And this fool couldn't let go. He had wanted to get into my pants as much as I wanted to get into his, so why the hell hadn't I done something about it when I could have risked it without much danger? Now it


all seemed really dangerous.

I discovered he was going pretty regularly to the local Eagle where he lined his Harley up with a dozen others. I could never bring myself to go in. Would have been too obvious.

But Summer break was nearing its end and soon he'd be gone.

That's how I found myself that one fateful night actually going into the bar. There he was, directly in front of me, looking exactly like one of Tom of Finland's perfect muscle-leather guys. He was smoking and laughing with his chums when I stopped just inside the bar.

"Sorry, sir, dress code in here!" the bartender yelled over the din. Master Tom of F. turned and saw me, havering on the brink like a nerd. He muttered something to the barkeep who shrugged and went his way. Tom beckoned me over.

I went.

"I know what this one needs - Suck my dick, bitch!"

And so I did.

Even as it entered my mouth, a load of inhibition, and grief over wasted Summer days slipped off my shoulders and I felt I'd finally come home.

"Go on! Suck it! I know you want it!" He turned to his mate. "He's been wanting this all Summer but he's too much of a wuss to ask for it!"

Wuss? I dug my fingers into his leathers and sucked that boner into my soul.

For a moment I had to stop when two rough hands ripped my shirt off me.

"Get his pants off too, guys! And you," - he slapped my face again - "Don't stop sucking while they're doing it.

I half stood as my pants were torn from me and my Calvins were yanked off my legs. Then Tom stood up, pushed me down to the floor again, grabbed my head over my ears, and power-fucked my throat in earnest. I hardly had time to wrap my tongue around the thick veins and the pulsing delivery pipe under his dick when his started to use full force. Even through his hands and my tears I was conscious of his mates cheering him on.


"This guy needs the full treatment! I'm taking you to the back-room, Wuss!" He threw me over one broad shoulder with a fireman's lift and carted his fuck-trophy through the cheering crowds into the back of the bar. There was one distant light-bulb alight when he threw me down on to a pool table with a leather cover.

His golden looks and glittering blue eyes were somehow highlighted by the primitive glow, and his muscles seem to swell in the obscurity. He flexed a mighty bicep under my nose.

"Suck it, bitch! Make love to my guns!"

It was all pretty text-book but none the worse for that. Slobber over those split vascular biceps, inhale the musk from his dank pits - ("Yeah, lick them clean, bitch!"), Make love to the giant pecs and suck on his dollar-sized nips - forced down to navigate the rocks of his abs until his huge nuts fill my mouth once again.

He grabs my ankles and pulls me upside down and, with his dick impaling my throat, starts to 69 me. Blood was rushing to my head and the cum exploded unbidden into his mouth. He pulled me up, spat my cum into my mouth, kissed me for a full minute while squeezing my nips unmercifully.

"OK! So now you're finally nice and ready for me! Why the fuck did it have to take six fucking weeks? Have to make you suffer for that - you're gonna get the fuck of your life!"

He bent down, got his head between my legs and hoisted me up on to the pool table on my back. He shoved me back along the table so he could kneel on it himself . Someone handed him a condom and a bottle of lube which he squirted on the inside and the outside of the rubber, and then up my chute.

"You ready for this, Wuss? Six weeks, for God's sake! Know how much I've been saving up fpr you?"

And in he went. No pleasant foreplay or gentle opening, no, one forceful jab and he was in to the hilt.

"Hey, Steve! Sit on his face. He'd love to get his tongue up your muscle-hole - he's been wanting to get into - stab - mine (stab) all Summer, haven't you (stas) Wuss (stab)?"

A muscular butt descended to consume my whole face and I transferred the enthusiasm I was getting from Tom's fucking into Steve's butt. After a while


Steve got sufficiently stoked up to turn around and stick his thick pole into my mouth. Being fucked both ends had always been a dream - just wished it could have been Tom at both ends at the same time. Didn't take Steve long to shoot a thick torrent of cum into my throat nor for me to shower Tom's chest with another load.

"Shit, dude! Who wants your splooge all over them? Come and lick it off!"

For a short moment he pulled out of me and yanked me up to wash those striated pecs that had become so vascular. I willingly slurped all over every strand of thick muscle, spending far longer than necessary on the nips. He didn't seem to mind as he groaned when I nipped the man-tits between my teeth.

"Hey, Steve! I think the wuss actually likes me, don't you, Wuss?" And he pulled my face up to stick his tongue in my mouth. Our lips closed on each other and I slurped as much of my cum as I could onto his tongue. We slurped it around from mouth to mouth for a while, then he swallowed it.

He looked at me. The cheeky smile was back.

"We're gonna have to work overtime the next weeks for you to give me all I want before I go away, dude! Let's start with this!"

He leaped up on to the table and laid his bulk on me full length. I grabbed him round the heavy lats as we kissed again. His huge weight felt fantastic and my dick rose again between his leathered thighs. He squeezed them closed to entrap me and then started to wriggle them back and forth to fuck my thick boner.

"OK, dude, this is IT for tonight!"

He pushed my pelvis up so I could wrap my legs around his waist, poised his now massive boner into my fuck-hole and began, inexorably, to give me his best fuck.

With his face only inches away from mine, his thick sensual lips parted and panting, his blue eyes glittering with lust, he fucked me. I felt the huge fuckrod filling my channel and squeezed my butt muscles as hard as I could to force him to stronger measures. He responded with massively slow, hard strokes which echoed ecstatically through my whole being. My butt rose to meet the thrusts and my hands continued to grab the giant pecs until his speed increased and he claimed my mouth again.


His tongue swept around mine as I felt his fucker swell and pummel my joy-button. It was like a giant pounding my soul. He reared his head and shoulders back and his fucker went into pile-driver mode. Again and again I spurted my splooge on to his abs, lubricating the joyous path my dick was riding between the alps of his abs.

He came with a mighty thrust and a roar like his Harley and I could feel the explosion inside me like the kickstart of his machine. He went on roaring as he picked me up, still impaled, carried me through the bar to the cheers of all the leather guys, showering cum and sweat on them as we passed. He only pulled out of me to dump me on the bike before he roared away from the curb. I was completely naked, his pants were still undone and his great hatrd dick was squeezed, leaking on to the gas-tank of the bike.

At top speed we went, at top speed he lugged ,me up the steps into my house, and at full strength he threw me down on the bed and fucked me into heaven until the stars went home to bed.

"Making up for lost time" he called it. Not many deliveries were made in those last weeks - except up my ass and his - yeah, he got fucked too, once he'd torn the mask of indifference off me. He moved down the street into my place and took up what was to be permanent residence. We now have two Harleys and I have all the leather I need. Oh, yes, and my muscles, forcibly re-educated by Tom, are pretty fucking good too. •

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