White Collar Tales Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
WARNING: The following is for adults only. It contains depiction of sexual acts between men. If this offends you or is inappropriate for you to read, go no further.
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White Collar Tales #18 Myrtle Beach Afternoon
Pumped from a full day on the links and drunk from the sun and the alcohol, the men poured into the hotel suite in twos and threes. Some immediately stripped down to nothing - bareassed businessjock satyrs looking to let off steam. Others kept their golf attire, polo shirts, and visors on as their bodies clashed and their hands clenched mounds of muscled stud fleshed, clothed or unclothed.
Mark Conklin, 33, financial analyst, was pinned back against the wall as two younger traders went to work on his tool. The men hadn't even been introduced, but Mark had seen them around all week and wanted them bad. The young studs weren't related but of were similar height and build and they even had the same goofy Adam Sandler smile on their dimpled faces, so that even their coworkers often thought they were brothers. Easygoing, stoner-jock types, Deadhead frat boys gone respectable, except on trips like this when their party animal ways came back. Right now they were going to town on eight solid inches of analyst cock, erect and pulsing like it hadn't shot a was in weeks, instead of the eight hours since its morning load.
The sight of the two servile cocksuckers got to be too much for Conklin, who put a hand on both men's heads to hold them firm against his crotch as he looked up. Thing was, the rest of the action in the room was equally cum-churning. His best bud Ken Logan was writhing and grunting in the bed in front of him, Ken's nude body- nothing to block the vision of his brown-furred muscular build except for a thick silver watch and a pair of dress socks - was tossed back as a pug-faced, bull-necked twentysomething jackhammered away between the man's spread legs. Each inward thrust made Logan's baritone voice groan in sexual excitement. Mark rarely saw Ken bottom and wondered why he was going apeshit over a guy who wasn't all that, til he saw a massive beercan dick hammering away at Ken's stretched sphincter. That piece was flattening the man's buttnut something fierce. Ken was getting every ounce of tension and resistance fucked out of him.
Behind Ken, Mark's boss Jack lay back fully clothed, only some newbie trader was kneeling at his open crotch, inhaling every bit of cock he could. His golf partner stood by and looked on, like a lonely puppy til Ken tipped back his visor and licked his lips. "Come on buddy, get on up here." The other man flashed a shit-eating grin and unzipped his khakis, letting them fall mid thigh as he stepped up on the bed, suede buck shoes and all, and crouched his butt down onto Jack Olinger, First Vice President and master asseater. His head looked up skyward, and his hands gripped the round hard pectorals beneath him Ð Jack had a nice, compact chest that showed even through the knit shirt. While his seat settled in on his partner's face for some deep-tissue analingus, he encouraged his rimmer with fucktalk, "Lick it, buddy, yeah.. just like that. Eat my horny hole. Oh, that's incredible, guy."
In the far corner, men were pulling a fuck train on a certain cocky trader from New Jersey.
Funny, Mark thought, this used to be just me and my college buddies. The ones from that not-too-selective New England business school. The ones with more connections and more looks than brains. It was a way of keeping in touch as the guys had all moved away, gotten their jobs, gotten married.
Somehow the week had grown into an unofficial men's-only alumni trip. Guys Mark had never known. Guys he'd never even gone to school with. It was all good, though, the men just rented out the entire wing of the complex, and the resort left them alone to party and let off steam.
Aaron Barber, tall dark and handsome account manager at IBM, almost collided into Gary Evans' sturdy frame as he rounded the motel corridor. "Hey, Big Stuff," he teased, "watch where you're going." His eyes couldn't resist sweeping down Gary's mountainous torso to fix on the massive genitals bunched up in the man's chinos. He'd acquainted himself with the financial news reporter's extra-large appendage the first day of vacation and had given Evans his nickname then. The two had hooked up a couple times since.
"Hiya, stud," Gary beamed. Tauntingly, his large fingers reached up and flicked Aaron's nipple through the knit material. The nip went erect, surrounded by a swirl of aureole and goosebumps that poked up the thin cotton.
"Man, Gary! Are you trying to make those puppies hard? Cause it's working."
Yeah, Aaron thought, big fucking hairy chest. He latched his perfect smile onto Gary's meaty paps and tongued them til the flesh filled out further in his mouth.
"Fuck, I love your titties," he growled, as he sucked and gnawed at the man's chest. "Take off your shirt," he ordered. The manager smiled and in a flash stripped himself of his shirt. He loved having his nipples worked, something his wife didn't get off on. "I don't like getting chest hair in my mouth," she would complain.
Gary wasn't complaining, he was licking and munching with gusto. He got off on how frickin' sensitive this smooth-voiced man's tits were.
That smooth voice sighed, "We gonna fuck around out here next to the parking lot?"
Evans spit out the erect teat from his mouth. "Why the fuck not? No one around to watch." And he dived back on and started sucking away.
Jeff McPherson arrived late. He'd dropped his stuff off at his room and showered up, before slipping back into his striped Izod and golf slacks. He felt the blonde stubble clinging to his handsome, weathered middle aged face and wondered if he should leave it for another day. Nah, he thought, and decided to shave. When he arrived at the master suite, his mouth salivated and his heart pounded. The men were already in action, and the sight was a glorious one to behold. Sheer, unadulterated masculinity, mating flesh to flesh, releasing pent up frustration and desire.
At 45, Jeff was noticeably the oldest man on this trip, and felt self-conscious looking at all the younger men, their bodies still firm and toned, their stamina still prime. Despondently, he patted the belly that swelled out beneath his meaty pecs. If his frame hadn't been so beefy, the mass would have been unseemly. As it was the stomach protruded as a swell of mass in front of his midsection. "You're losing it, Jeff ole boy," he said to himself. "These guys can still party, and they don't spend their whole vacation pouting about their shitty marriages." Things hadn't been good between him and Ellen for some time. They'd put up with the constant fighting and the loveless marriage for the kids. This vacation was his chance to get away from it all, but looking around at the hot men ten, fifteen, twenty years younger than him, he wondered if he'd made a mistake in coming.
As he was deep in reflection, two brawny arms slipped around his waist. The man behind him was taller and studbuilt as well. The forearms were big, sinewed with muscle that must deliver a mean line drive, their skin mostly hairless and freckled from the sun. The guy didn't waste time: one hand slipped under the rim of his polo shirt, rubbing Jeff's furry stomach, the other knotted knuckles squeezing and crunching Jeff's full crotch.
"Having fun?" a deep, slightly drunk voice cooed in his ear. The owner's thick fingers slipping along the curve of Jeff's stomach and up to tweak the man's nipples beneath his shirt.
Jeff's body shuddered at the take charge attitude and was stunned when he turned around and saw a very attractive young man, definitely mid-twenties, about an inch taller than him.
"I am now," Jeff laughed, put a little at ease by this guy's attention and by his drunkenness. He looked at the man's sea-green eyes and watched enraptured as the guy's face approached his, head tilting slight, mouth opening.
Fuck! That was the kiss of the century. Or at least the decade. Yup, it had been over ten years since Jeff felt a kiss like that. That sent goosebumps to his toes and jolted his cock to full drooling erection.
"You're hot," the guy slurred. His hands now massaging Jeff's chest. "You remind me of my boss."
Jeff's own hands were now tentatively exploring a body that could be in Men's Health magazine. "Yeah?" Jeff asked, tentatively. Hopefully.
"I want to fuck my boss," the young man added. "I want to fuck that cocky son of a bitch so bad." Despite his words, an amiable smile stayed on his face. His eyes stared deep into Jeff's.
"Shit," McPherson replied, dumbstruck by it all.
"You gonna let me fuck you, big guy?"
Already, his hands were at the slacks' opening, unbuttoning them and pulling out the flaps, then pushing them down.
Jeff's meaty cock jutted up, dewy wet, and the young man's hands latched hungrily onto the fur-coated beefy mancheeks.
"Gonna be my boss today?"
Jeff nodded, speechless he was so nervous and horny. He leaned his head up and the two men kissed again. Jeff moaned into the man's mouth as he felt an insistent finger at his manhole. His cock leaked like crazy onto the guy's T-shirt.
They made out like that for a while, as Jeff's tight pucker got prodded with one finger, then two. Somehow, someone had squirted some slick fluid on that spot, which made the man's fingers go deeper and fully enter that ass. Another set of hands were on Jeff now, pulling up his polo shirt and rubbing his bulky back muscle.
"Can I do him after you, Matt?" Another voice.
Jeff's admirer broke the kiss. "Yeah, Dan. Sure."
Dan turned out to be another hunk of perfection, only dark haired and brown eyed. Probably nearing 30, he was tall and built like an ex-lacrosse player. His mouth latched onto Jeff's and the two swapped tongues briefly.
Dan pulled back and stared at Jeff's face. "Fuck, he looks just like Portis."
"Doesn't he?" Matt agreed. "Damn!" he muttered as he pulled the slacks all the way off Jeff's legs. He ran his hands up toward the married man's crotch, admiring the bulk. "Turn around and bend over," he ordered.
"What the fuck am I doing?," Jeff asked himself as he found his face flush flat against the cheap formica hotel table, his ass now exposed and hiked upward. "Married, two kids, and about to get majorly fucked."
Then, soft wet lapping sensations felt heavenly against his now exposed pucker. Jeff's cock was already hard and now he felt it would explode as Matt gave him a loving rimjob.
"How's that boss?" the young man teased between licks.
"Aw man, incredible," Jeff moaned. "Lick my hole. God, I want you to fuck me." He couldn't believe he was talking like this, but it all felt incredible. He wanted more.
"Ha ha, that can be arranged," Matt laughed but continued his asseating session.
"Here," Dan said, stepping in front of Jeff and unzipping his khaki shorts. "Think you can work on this?" he asked as a nice full dick emerged from the folds of his pale blue boxers.
The man's cock was beautiful, Jeff decided. Long but not gigantic, it had just the right amount of cylindricality and upward curve. It looked powerful and felt powerful as Jeff latched his spit-filled open mouth onto the tip. Fuck, this is what this trip is all about, he decided.
Til another pleasure distracted him from the cocksucking. Matt's prick boring its way into his guts. His body first clenched at the invasion, but soon melted its resistance. He was getting fucked. And loving it. He was a pawn in these young bucks' personal fantasy, but he could care less. He had two of the hottest men giving him what he wanted. Getting his day-to-day worries pounded away and his buttnut overstimulated. Right now that internal gland was making his own dick quiver and dance against the table top. Seconds away from blowing.
"Fuck you, Portis," Matt growled, his body in a huff and his hips in a blur as his dick pistoned in and out. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he cried and suddenly Jeff had an assload of fresh accountant jism.
By the time Aaron and Gary joined the group, a little sweaty and sticky with cum, the afternoon round of action was over and the men were sitting around in various states of dress, pounding back cold cans of beer and watching ESPN. The room smelled of sperm.
"Hiya fellas," Gary joked. "What did we miss?"
Ken Logan looked up at the large man. "Turns out Olinger loves to eat ass."
"Which one of you guys is Olinger?" Aaron asked.
Jack sat up in the bed. He was now stripped nude to the waist, his compact build highlighted by nearly spherical bulging chest muscles just dusted with blond hair. "That'd be me," he said, raising his beer in acknowledgement.
"Are me and my buddy too late to get a sample?" Gary asked.
Olinger paused to think but shook his head and licked his lips. "Nah. Step on up, guys."