Flea Market Biker

FLEA MARKET BIKER By Chadd Lusst

The August Alabama sun was absolutely grueling. The crowds were ridiculously huge at the Red Dragon Flea Market. There must have been a three or four thousand people meandering through the open car trunks and mis-matched trailers and vans on the dusty hillsides on that memorable Saturday afternoon.

I had been casually looking for more belt buckles for my growing collection and had thought to spend an hour or so searching for a few much-admired pewter treasures; but the sun was so hot that I had spent much of the time hovering in the shadiest spots I could find. That allowed me to drink a softdrink and watch the people.

People watching has always been fun at flea markets.

Men and women alike go crazy in these places and act like they would no where else in the world. You just have to be there - at least in Alabama rural counrty - to know what I mean.

But, on this day, it was I who would wind up acting up myself. Although I did not know it as I stood beneath an enclosed area to rest from the sun, I was about to have a sexual encounter which would forever change my life. Not that I had been innocent or any such thing, but it had been some time since I had had a sexual encounter and only two other times with another male - and then, admittedly, as a sex-curious teen!

Anyway, the walking around that I did manage to do took me to the back area of the flea market where there were three rather grungey-looking tents sprawled. Circling the area was one of the hottest looking hawgs (motorcycles) I had ever seen; and I was sure that there would be something for my buckle collection in the crude goodies which someone had spread out on a few buckboards.

I was toying with some of the leather goods they had on display when a rough voice asked me if I needed some help. I shrugged and smiled and placed the belt back down and looked at the speaker.

Sitting spraddle-legged on the back of a pickup truck was a bearded, rather nice looking man in his mid-30's who peered at me over sunglasses as if he were waiting to see if would skip with something.

My eyes caught his and I smiled and nodded. He pushed his glasses up and shifted his stance somewhat. He was shirtless and his hairy chest was glistening with sweat, making every muscle come alive in the sunlight. He was very well built, with broad shoulders, iron-looking pecs and arms that would put a seaoned pro-wrestler to shame.

As he gazed at me, I found my eyes eagerly moving over his upper torso.

God, he had a great body. His taunt belly was rigid with muscle and the ever-famed "washboard" effect was very much intact. Thick black hair coated his upper chest and then trailed down the middle of his belly to his navel where it flaired out again and disappeared into his faded, torn jeans.

He wore a silver belt buckle with a motorcycle and a flag on it.

There was no one around him at all. I noticed he had a table before him and I could see that there were several lines of shiney belt buckles thereon.

I moved around the buckboard, then walked a few hundred yards to where he had been relaxing in the the shade of a truck cover.

I looked over the dozen or so buckles which were displayed. Nice specimens. Mostly biker subjects; but one was rather risque with a massive brass penis and silver set of testicles straddle a black bike seat. The penis seemed to be smiling!

Without thinking of anything other than the fact that it was a funny and somewhat offbeat belt buckle, I picked it up and ran my thumb over it, feeling the slick, shiny surface.

"Ya like the feel of that one, huh, dude?"

His voice was low, almost sensuous.

I looked up, a little embarrassed by the fact that I had that particular buckle in my hand. He was again peering over the sunglasses and his eyes were steel gray in color and piercing. He had a kerchief around his forehead to keep the sweat from his eyes. He showed a handsome, white-toothed smile as he chewed on an unlit cigarette.

"Well, I..." I looked down at the buckle and chuckled nervously, "I must admit, it is a bit ... er ... different."

"Yeah, reckon so. I made it myself..."

Then, his hand went to his crotch and he shifted an obvious bulging specimen from one side to the other.

"Used this here for a model."

I suddenly felt a streak of heat go through my body as I watched him make the shift. The thick denim-covered shaft seemed to roll over and once in place the ridge of an enormous cockhead was more than a little evident.

My eyes immediately climbed up his taunt belly to his well-chiseled chest and into his face again, trying to calm an uncomfortable feeling which had sprung into my loins. The feeling took me back to those teen encounters...and made me a bit nervous inside.

"You...er...actually made...er...this yourself?" I stammered, trying not to look back down at where his hand now lay coiled around the thick hidden python.

"Yep," he took the cigarette from his lips, "...made it outa some brass I found out in Nevada last summer...and a little silver from Texas. It's hard ... and smooth... and warm ... and, as you can see, it feels real good to the touch...."

As he said the last words, he let his hand slide up and down the shaft of his sleeping cock slowly. I stared wantonly as he then moved his hand upward over the motorcycle and flag buckle on his belt. Then, he spread his fingers and slid his hand into the hair on his belly and ran it upward over his belly and pecs. The hair on his chest matted with the sweat as his hand travelled slowly over his muscled torso.

"Damn if it ain't a hot one today, huh, dude?"

I nodded and put the rather risque buckle back down on the table and nervously picked up another.

"You just go ahead and look at the buckles ... I'm gonna just go back over here a sec and cool off a little."

He backed away and moved to one side the truck bed. Leaning back against the side, he unzipped his jeans and tugged at the tool hidden inside. As I watched sheepishly from the table - trying to look as though I was interested in the buckles - he unbuckled his belt and then unsnapped the waist of the jeans.

"Yeah, dude... you just look `em over real good now..." he said. "If you see anything you like...or anything you want...just let me know."

Then, he pulled his zipper open slowly to reveal coarse dark hair.

He ran his hand down into the open jeans and again shifted his manhood, revealing a part of the upper shaft as he did so. It looked like a well-tanned coke bottle!

Then, he took a cup of water and poured it down his chest. He moaned as the water cascaded through the thick, black curls of his chest and swam down into his jeans.

I circled the table slowly, turning away from him, fondling a few of the buckles, pretending to examine them. I had the oddest feeling in my guts. It was as if I was being drawn to this stud horse of a biker as he put on his almost overly-obvious show for me.

I wanted to turn and run.

But...I was glued in place by the desire to see what more he would display.

"You need a cool drink, dude?"

His voice broke my nervous thoughts.

When I looked up at him, he had a cup of water in his hand and poured it over his belly, allowing more cool water to bathe his privates.

My eyes swam downward with the spiraling water. My tongue ran around my lips as I looked at his near nude body, wet with the refreshing water he was offering me.

"Yeah...I could do with some...er...a drink ... how much?"

He looked from one side to the other, then smiled at me and, in that low voice, said, "About nine inches......but it ain't near cooled yet."

That said, he pulled his now semi-erect cock from the confines of the jeans and began to stroke it slowly.

What was happening? I was being very-effectively hustled by this powerfully built biker.

I smiled nervously.

Trying to make a joke of it all, I chimed in.

"Yeah, I can definitely see it's not...ah... anywhere near cool..." I glanced at the rising muscle in his hand then back to his face.

"But..er..I thought ya meant you had something for me...to drink..."

The third time he poured a cup of water over his chest and we both watched it move downward until it pooled in the tight hair surrounding his cock. His jeans were soaked at waist level.

"Mmmmmm....that feels so damned good....makes a deep well kinda in my navel. Man could just about drink his way down to that well...ya know?"

He groaned softly and ran his tongue around his lips. He sucked in his breath and shoved out his chest and he looked like some Greek God out of a muscle magazine as he literally posed for me.

Then, he ran his hand down into his jeans, releasing the "well" of water, and let it soak his cock.

"Fuck, that feels good....cools that thing down some. Know what I mean?"

The water cascaded over his protruding love stick with its oversized one-eyed head.

I knew what was coming.

That was the gnawing I was feeling in my gut. In the hot sun, with the sensous voice, the muscled body, the hairy chest and the suggestiveness of this watered-down beefy biker, I was feeling a need... a desire that was not really all that new to me.

I wanted to touch his powerful body.

I wanted to run my hands over his pecs and feel his strength.

I wanted my hands in that thick mass of wet, curly hair.

I wanted...

I wanted to feel for myself that which was growing inch by delicious inch from the crotch of those tight-assed jeans he was wearing.

I looked around us and there was no one even close, though we could see the crowds as they punctuated the hillside, unaware of our little charade.

"Ain't nobody around here gives a shit what we do,", he said. "...if you want it, you want it. Just come here and take it."

I stared wide-eyed.

He laughed and handed me a cup of water.

I put it to my lips and took a swallow.

"Good stuff, huh, dude?"

I nodded affirmatively. I knew he was talking about more than the water. At this point.

So was I.

"You can pour the rest right here," he pointed to his navel.

Yes, it seemed foolish, but I moved to where he was leaning back, knelt before him and let the coolness flow onto his belly.

"Ohhhhh, yeaaahhh...dude... that feels nice....

I started to rise, but he looked down at me and spoke.

"Why dontcha lick it ... off ... my belly?"

He laced his fingers around the growing power tool as he spoke.

Then...

He wiped some of the water from his cockshaft and suddenly put his wet finger to my lips.

"I saw how ya rubbed that cock buckle of mine...."

I was on fire inside. I suddenly cast all repose to the wind.

"Peered to me ya' might like the real thing," he looked around the area quickly, then down at me again.

I opened my mouth and sucked on his finger wantonly, then when he pulled it away, I just leaned into his thighs. My tongue touched his lower belly just below his navel and I heard him grunt in approval. His moan spurred me on and I dipped my tongue into his gaping navel and sipped the now warm water away.

"Damn, that feels good...like I said...man could drink from this well real easy...."

Then, as he said "this", he reached down and tugged his cock upward. I could hear my own breath catch. Though semi-erect, the thickly veined cock was perfectly proportioned, firm, round and wet from the waterfall experienced over and over.

"Course... you might like the big spout better..."

He had not exaggerated about the size of his cock either for, even though it was still growing it looked a foot long as he stroked it gently in front of my face. His hips pushed forward and he drug the spongey head across my cheek and teased at my bottom lip with its warmth.

"My balls are soaking wet, dude," he hinted and pulled his prodder back against his belly. "soaking....wet..."

He pulled his prick upward more and drug the massive brown wrinkled sac from the confines of the torn jeans. They fell like two flesh-encased boiled eggs onto my chin. They were hot to the touch; hairy and hot and, as he said, wet.

I didn't know how he knew what was in my mind from the start, but it mattered not now for I was lost in the immense, disarming desire for his body.

I gently tugged at the waist of his jeans until they slid halfway down his muscular legs. Looking upward, his body - wet from a mingling of sweat and water - was Adonis-like. His breathing was getting heavier and as his chest rose and fell, my mind went wild with the intoxication of what was about to happen at the flea market!

Forgetting any concept of where we were, I simply ran my hands up the side of his legs and cupped his firm ass. Then, I dipped between his legs and ran my tongue along the engorged vein which strutted the full length of his now fully-erect cock. The flesh was warm against my tongue.

He moaned as I ran my hungry tongue back down from the underside of the over-sized head to the sweaty sac of hairy nuts. Then, I licked the twin globes profusely, taking first one then the other into my mouth to relish the feel of this stud's balls playing leap-frog against my spiraling tongue.

I had become a shameless whore in definite heat!

He must have really liked that action, for his strong hands were on the back of my head in seconds and he was thrusting his hips forward, grinding his balls deeper. His prick was pushing against my nose so hard I could scarcely breath; but I simply swallowed and allowed my tongue the freedom of licking his balls over and over until he eased up on my head.

His spittle-soaked nuts fell from my lips with a popping sound and I again ran my tongue up the wide blue vein. He took his cock in hand and pushed the shaft downward so that he could fit the lemon-sized head between my waiting lips.

Then, he just closed his eyes, breathed deep and pushed forward and down. The head of his cock slipped smoothly across my bottom lip and over my slurping tongue, pushing its way to the back of my throat - then back up to my eager lips and down again.

His strong, tightly muscled ass began pumping slowly as my hands roamed upwards and over his back and came around to his terrific chest. I pushed my fingers into the hairy pecs and squeezed gently, tweaking the erect brown nipples with my fingers. He grunted and shoved his cock deeper into my throat, almost gagging me several times.

When he had pumped slowly for a few moments, his legs began to tremble and I knew he was near explosion. His hips moved faster and his grunts became louder; so I eased off some and returned to his balls for a minute, stroking the catapulting prick with one hand as I licked and sucked the fleshy sac.

"Damn if you ain't good at this shit..."

His language left a bit to be desired, but his body was all-man and fulfilling my every mounting desire.

Then, he shoved his cock back into my mouth and really began a dance of lust, rocking his hips back and forth with mounting passion. Suddenly, I was being rewarded as he jolted home a thick load of jism deep into my throat.

I was lost in this biker stud's handsome, muscular, hairy body. His jism was salty-sweet and his powerful eruption just kept filling my mouth. I swallowed several times to keep up with the catapulting love muscle, but finally hot cum spilled down my chin. The throbbing vein of lust seemed to be pumping overtime as my hairy hunk of a biker leaned back against the truckbed and allowed me full sway.

I kneaded his balls in one hand, ran the other over his sweaty upper torso and deep throated his thick, hard cock several times. Alternating between deep-throating that wonderful meatloaf and licking and sucking his steamy balls, I was again lost in the wonder of the encounter.

"Damn if that don't look good!"

I almost filled my pants right there at the flea market!

I pushed backwards on my newly found lust-buddy's thighs, letting the still-oozing prick slide from my lips reluctantly. It stood straight up and bucked like a bronco as he laced his fingers around the base and continued a stroking movement.

Towering over me was another biker! A black man with shoulders so wide they blocked the sun!

I started to stutter out something stupid in explanation, I suppose, when I looked right into the eye of his fistful of black, beautifully thick-veined cock! He had already bared his sleek, lengthy and beefy prick and was ready for action.

I nervously ran my tongue over my lips and tasted the remains of the first biker's lovemilk.

"You ever suck a black cock that big, dude?"

My former partner was serious looking as he pulled at his now slackening peter, squeezing the head to allow a final creamy dew drop to appear. Then, he ran his thumb over it, slickening the cumdrop over the spongey cone.

"No...no...I never...."

I was trying to say I had never sucked a black cock at all; but they both just grinned down at me. I was still kneeling before these two horney bikers and dared not move.

Actually I didn't really want to move.

If the truth be known, sucking a black cock had long been a fantasy of mine ... unspoken of course; but nonetheless, very real.

This black stud biker was built like a REAL Greek God. He wore blue jeans as well, but also had on a black leather vest which was unable to cover more than his pecs for the great spance of powerful chest!

The sweaty bronzed body took on enormous proportions in the heat of the sun - and the heat of the moment. The well-defined ribcage carressed washboard stomach muscles. I swallowed hard and touched his upper leg.

As I stared up at him, he skinned back his cock to reveal a large, brown, shiney head which looked like a juicy purple plum plucked from a tree in my grandparent's yard!

"You gonna like this...a lot!"

And I did, but then...that's another story!

-30-