Butt**ck, Tennessee Ch. 01

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Amateur

“Jesus H. Christ, boy,” scolded The Preacher, “…you act like you ain’t never had a mouthful of jizz before!”

I wanted to say I never had a mouthful of jizz that tasted this bad…but I stayed quiet…my dad taught me when I was very young to “…always respect a clergyman, son.”

Why?” I asked him.

“Sinners like you and me need all the help we can get with the man upstairs!” he said.

For the longest time I was totally confused as to how the man who lived upstairs from us–Mr. Baxter, a traveling shoe salesman, could help sinners.

“Now lick that spunk off my dick and put it away!” ordered The Preacher.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

I held my breath as my tongue cleaned the remaining foul juices off his flaccid penis. He always made me lick it longer than necessary before he allowed me to stuff it back inside his pants.

Once the task was completed, I tried to stand but he pushed on my shoulders until I was back on my knees.

“Whoa there, boy, you’re not done yet…” he said.

Uh-oh, I thought, now what?

“My buddy Curly is right behind me here…you’re gonna do him too…and this time you’re gonna gulp down everything he gives you OR ELSE…you got that Pretty Boy?” he spat at me.

I wanted to go back inside the bar and rinse the skeeviness out of my mouth with a cold beer, but the old man was in one of his moods, so I simply said, “Yes, sir.”

I was thinking how good one of Cookie’s steaks would taste right about now when two sharp raps on my head woke me from my reverie.

“What are you waiting for boy? Take it out and suck it…and you better do it good!” I heard Curly’s low, raspy voice threaten me.

Since ‘Curly’ was new to me, I snuck a quick peak up at him…sure enough, he was bald.

The assault on my nose began the moment I lowered his zipper.

Holy crap–you gotta be kidding me–another hillbilly in this godforsaken town who doesn’t believe in soap!

I wasn’t sure what smelled worse…the stench from his crotch, or the stale garbage in the dumpster I was kneeling behind? In fact, the whole alley smelled like vomit and piss, and it was all I could do to keep from up-chucking myself.

I opened his jeans and extracted his limp dick. The trouble with blowing guys after they’d had a few drinks is it takes forever to get their dicks hard…and once you manage that feat, they take three-times longer than normal to cum…I instinctively knew that ‘Curly’ here was going to be a long and difficult procedure…oh well, it’s not like I want to go back to the God-damn cockroach hotel this early anyway…

I’d been in Butte Rock, Tennessee a week now waiting for my car to be repaired. With almost no money to my name I considered myself the luckiest boy in the world when I discovered how perverted the men of this town are and that I could get by on my looks alone.

If all I gotta do to eat, drink and sleep in this town is to drop to my knees, well, more power to me, hahahaha…

I looked at my watch when The Preacher came back inside the bar…it had taken Pretty Boy a little over fifteen-minutes to bring him off, and now that Curly was out back with him, I wondered if it was worth my while to wait until Pretty Boy was done with him and came back to his bar stool.

Yes, I know what Pretty Boy is doing behind the dumpster…hell, we all know–it ain’t no secret how Pretty Boy is surviving while Gouger the Mechanic pretends he’s repairing the boys car.

Hoppy at the hotel…Cookie at the diner…The Preacher here at the bar, and Gouger himself all rave what a fine piece of ass the boy is…I’d like to give it to the boy, too, but I’m a respected member of the community–I’m a realtor–I need to lead by example–and besides, I’d rather introduce Pretty Boy to my Daddy…he just might be the boy my Daddy falls for freeing me up to live my own life.

I have to find a way to get Pretty Boy away from these horny perverts, and up the hill to Daddy’s house…they’re going to raise holy-hell when I take the boy from them…let me tell you, these ass-backwards mo-fo’s would fuck a skunk if they could figure out how to hold it still.

“‘Nother beer, Dex?” asked Packy the Bartender.

“Yeah, why not…” I said.

When he slid the beer in front of me he asked in a low voice, “You try Pretty Boy yet?”

“No, of course not…” I answered.

“Don’t shit a bullshitter, Dex,” said Packy. “I know darn well you’d love to bend him over and ram it home just like me!”

I faked a ‘what-the-hell-you-talkin-about?’ expression and smiled.

Packy chuckled and said, “You wanna take him home and surprise your Daddy, doncha Dex?”

I flinched at his comment, but casually shrugged my shoulders and Packy walked away.

Packy’s real name is Clarence, but early-on when everyone knew what he liked to do with boys, he was called ‘Fudgepacker’ then it was shortened to ‘Packer’ then after a while people just called him ‘Packy.’

My name is Harold…but since I was the best student in high school, and graduated with over a ‘B’ bahis firmaları average, they called me a ‘Poindexter’ on account I was so smart…and over the years that had been shortened to simply ‘Dex.’

Actually, Packy had hit the nail on the head–I knew Daddy would get a hard-on when he saw Pretty Boy–hell, DeeWayne would too–my dream was Pretty Boy could take my place at home, and give me more free time to find a boy of my own…it’s well past time I become the suck-ee instead of the suck-er.

That’s life in Buttfuck, Tennessee…you first learn to please your elders–then it is your turn to be pleased.

Curly’s dick in my mouth didn’t distract me from thinking about my future in this town.

I know damn well the asshole mechanic is jerking me around about fixing my car, but since I have no money, there is nothing I can do about it except take matters into my own hands.

I admit though, my car breaking down in this town was very lucky…I could have been stranded in one of those Bible Belt towns where sex is strictly between a man and a woman–good God–can you imagine that?

I love hard dicks for two reasons: first and foremost is, heh-heh-heh–I LOVE hard dicks…secondly, their owners will do almost anything if they think there is the slightest chance they’ll get their rocks off…men are simple creatures when their cocks are hard and their balls are full of cum…proof of that is I’ve been here a week and haven’t had to pay for anything–not my room, or food or beer.

I could go on living like this for some time, but I am young and want more out of life…maybe even settle down and satisfy one man instead of four or five.

Curly began to groan; his hips shoved his cock deeper in my mouth. I sucked him faster and harder.

I hoped the shy, skinny guy with the pockmarked face and bad haircut was still in the bar when I finished-off Curly.

I had subtly gleaned information from Hoppy at the hotel about different men in town…you know, who’s important and who isn’t…I asked about the pockmarked man and Hoppy was very evasive–he hemmed-and-hawed and didn’t want to say much about him…so I teased his hard cock, delayed his climax to the point I had him begging me to let him cum then asked him again about pockmark man:

“His name is Harold but everyone calls him ‘Dex’…his Daddy’s the richest man in town but he’s a hermit–no one ever sees him…they live on the mountain and people say there’s a whole lot of weird and strange things that goes on up there–oh God-oh-God–make me cum boy–my balls are going to explode, damn it!”

I had seen pockmark man driving a five-year old Lexus, far and away the newest car in town. His clothes were always clean, and at the bar, he was the only customer who paid his tab in cash…and, he would sneak glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking…he is obviously interested in me…who knows? Maybe pockmark man would be a step-up in class in this town.

I watched the men at the end of the bar all turn their heads at the same time towards the back door then heard them issue low chuckles and soft guffaws. I figured Pretty Boy was done with Curly and was coming back inside.

I choked on my beer when Pretty Boy sat right next to me…I mean, there were plenty of open bar stools but he chose to sit down close to me…my face reddened, and my palms became sweaty.

Packy immediately brought him a beer and said with a snort of derision, “Here’s your mouthwash, boy!”

Pretty Boy flashed that beautiful smile of his and said to Packy, “What beer do you like to gargle with?”

A dull expression crossed Packy’s face; he was turning to leave when he suddenly stopped, glared at Pretty Boy and snapped, “I ain’t no faggot, boy–I ain’t the one on his knees!”

With the smile still on his face, Pretty Boy shot back, “You know what the Good Lord says—’Tis better to give than to receive!'”

I always thought Santa Claus had said that…

Packy frowned at Pretty Boy and stomped away to the end of the bar.

I wanted desperately to turn to Pretty Boy and say something–anything–but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it…I hated myself for being so shy.

The voices of the men at the end of the bar grew louder.

“Somethings gotta change–this country’s going to hell!” said the Pizzaman.

Candyman replied, “Damn straight! That nigra from Kenya has ruined the good ol US of A!”

“It’s all the god-damn immigrants he brought in this country that’s killing us!” exclaimed Porky. “A white man doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of landing a decent job anymore…look at this town here–everywhere you look the only ones you see working are Mexicans and nigras!”

It was the same conversation I always hear when I come to the bar. I snuck a peek at Pretty Boy to gauge what he was thinking but he seemed oblivious to the talk.

Me, well, I don’t really have an opinion…I don’t like to speak up…I’m afraid the guys will throw it in my face about my Daddy being the richest man in town and I don’t have to work kaçak iddaa for a living if I didn’t want to.

“God-damn government is way too big,” chimed in Packy. “Somethings gotta be done about all these freeloaders getting everything for nothin’!”

“Damn straight!” said the Candyman. “They’re robbing us blind…hell, I heard the government is paying these immigrants NOT to work AND they’re paying for their houses and giving them food stamps to boot–shit man, who wouldn’t want to live like that?”

Porky asked someone, “Hey, did you get your check yet?”

“No, God-damnit–it’s late—another example of the failure of big government–bastards can’t even get your money to you on time!” said the Pizzaman. “Hey, Packy–did you get approved for disability yet?”

“No, man…you know how slow the VA is…but you can bet your sweet-ass when they finally give it to me I’m going to kiss this job goodbye!” he said.

“Damn straight!” said the Candyman. “Why the fuck should we have to slave our asses off when the damn immigrants don’t have to?”

“Did you get your unemployment extension?” Packy asked the Candyman.

“Hell yeah, brother,” he answered. “I got me twenty-seven more weeks before I gotta take one of those low-paying, piss-ant jobs in this town!”

Suddenly, Pretty Boy leaned close to me, and in little more than a whisper said, “If I didn’t know better, I would swear I’m at a Mensa meeting!”

I didn’t know what he meant but he had a smile on his face so I smiled back at him and said, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He surprised me by thrusting out his hand and introducing himself.

“OH–uh, I’m Harold, well actually, everyone calls me Dex,” I said nervously.

“A pleasure to meet you, Dex,” he said.

We both took swigs from our beers. My brain scrambled to find something to say but I was completely at a loss for words.

“My car broke down a week ago and I’m still in town waiting for it to get fixed,” he said.

I didn’t tell him I knew all about it and how he’d been spending his time here.

“I’ve seen you in here before…you always dress a lot nicer than the other guys,” he said.

For some reason his words settled my nerves. He seems like a friendly enough guy, I thought.

“Well, uh, thank you,” I said. “Can I buy you a beer?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he replied.

“No, uh, no–I insist..” I said; then cleverly added, “I want to show you how we welcome visitors to our town.”

He smiled and said, “Well, I’ve been pretty much ‘welcomed to town’ every day.”

Again I didn’t know what he meant, but his warm smile made me glow all over…and when he leaned even closer and placed his hand on my thigh I thought my heart would burst.

“Everyone has been so kind to me here…I’ve been thinking maybe I should stay in town longer after my car is repaired!” he said with such sincerity he took my breath away.

“PACKY,” I called out. “Two more beers, please!”

“This is so nice of you!” he gushed then squeezed and rubbed my thigh.

My prick stiffened immediately. I gasped for air. The second Packy set the beer in front of me I took a long swallow. I felt relieved when Pretty Boy abruptly removed his hand from my thigh…I was afraid he would feel the bulge in my crotch.

“Do you work in town?” he asked.

“Uh, yes, I’m in real estate,” I answered.

“My goodness,” he said, “I imagine you do great around here–it’s so scenic with the mountains and lakes–I bet you have a line of people just waiting to buy from you!”

“I do well for myself!” I said even though it was a total lie. Almost all the land around here is owned by the BLM. I go to my office every day to get a rest from Daddy and DeeWayne, plus…I don’t want everyone in town thinking I’m just living off my Daddy’s money.

“Do you have any maps of the area? I inherited some money and I hear real estate is the best investment,” he said.

I blurted out, “Oh, yes…in my office I have big topographical maps showing all the available land parcels.”

Not quite a lie, but close…I do have impressive-looking maps on the walls of my office, but they are virtually meaningless–there isn’t a single parcel around here to be bought, that I know of.

“Would you show them to me?” he asked eagerly.

“Uh, well, you mean right now?” I stammered.

“Sure–that would be great!” he said with a beaming smile.

My prick began to swell in my Jockey’s at the thought of being alone with this beautiful boy…he seems to really like me…crazy thoughts ran through my head–I’d love to see him naked–maybe, uh, maybe I can seduce him…

He leaned in close and again put his hand on my thigh…my body froze–I was tongue-tied…he slowly moved his hand up and down my thigh–he had a very gentle touch…with each tender stroke his hand drew closer-and-closer to my crotch.

“I know you just came from there–but I’d l-o-v-e to see your office, pleeeezzzzz…” he softly said.

Between his hand and his hypnotic voice, my prick became fully kaçak bahis erect. I nervously glanced at the men at the end of the bar to see if they were watching…no, they were busy debating how high the wall on the Mexican border should be and were totally ignoring us.

Pretty Boy gave me that smile of his, winked an eye at me, and simultaneously squeezed my hard cock and said, “I can make it worth your while if you show me your office!”

I almost fell off the bar stool. I could barely hold the beer bottle as I poured the last drops into my dry mouth. He finished his beer at the same time.

I did my best to hide my excitement from him. I wanted to display an air of confidence–to remain as cool and calm as I possibly could.

My voice betrayed me. In a high octave it squeaked, “Oh–sure…okay!”

My head was swimming with lust as I followed him out of the bar. For some reason he knew which car was mine. We climbed inside and he immediately shifted to the middle of the seat right next to me. He put his hand on my thigh close to the bulge in my slacks, but not actually touching it.

“Dex, it’s sooo nice to finally meet an intelligent and civilized man in this town,” he said in such a soft and sexy voice it made my prick twitch and lurch. “…and I can tell that you have a kind and gentle soul, too.”

I felt guilty the moment he said it…my plan for him was anything but ‘kind and gentle’…

If he had merely grazed my cock with his hand I would have shot my load inside my Jockey’s…fortunately, my office was only a couple blocks away and I was able to control myself.

Pretty Boy perused the maps on the wall for less than a minute. He looked around the room and said, “You know, your office is kinda small–the building looks a lot bigger on the outside…”

“Well, there’s a small living area in the back–you know, for when I’m not busy,” I told him.

His eyes dropped to my crotch–he blatantly stared at the bulge in my slacks. He smiled then asked, “Can I see it?”

Oh my God–Daddy would love this boy–I gotta figure out a way to make that happen!

I coughed and said, “Sure” and motioned him to follow me.

I nearly leapt out of my skin when I felt his hand squeeze my ass.

“You’re in great shape,” he said. “You must work out!”

“Well, yes, I do,” I said to him. “I think you owe it to yourself to stay in shape.”

I didn’t tell him I only did the requisite situps and pushups that Daddy insist I do every day to keep myself firm for him and DeeWayne.

He looked around the room, and said, “Wow, you have a kitchen too…:

“…and the bathroom is over there complete with a shower…and the sofa folds out into a bed!” I said proudly.

“A person could actually live here,” he said. “Do you live here?”

“Well, sometimes when I’m real busy I’ll spend the night here,” I lied to him.

Daddy would never let me spend a night away from home. I use this room during the day to kill time by watching teevee and taking naps.

He finished his tour of the room and stood close in front of me.

He looked into my eyes and became serious. He said, “You must be a very important man in this town.”

A feint blush covered my face, but I held his gaze.

“Yes, I guess I am,” I said. “I am the only realtor in town!”

He placed his hands on my chest, and still staring into my eyes said, “Important men really turn me on…” he then kissed me full on the mouth.

He was such a good kisser, my prick, which had grown soft, suddenly sprang back to life. His hand snaked down between us and squeezed my hard-on through my slacks.

“Mmmmm…” I groaned into his open mouth.

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I had been attracted to him since I first laid eyes on him and now here he was feeling-up my cock.

“Ohhhh-yessss…” I moaned when he moved his hand up-and-down my erection.

I forget what it’s like to receive pleasure…at home, it’s my job to give it.

I groaned again when he dropped to his knees and opened my slacks. He tugged my slacks and Jockey’s down my legs and when his wet and warm lips slid over my cockhead, I threw my head back, closed my eyes and surrendered myself to his wonderful mouth and tongue.

I had pockmark-man, I mean, Dex, drive me to the diner. We made arrangements to meet at the bar the next day. He surprised me by giving me two folded-up, twenty-dollar bills.

“He said, “Here…this is so you can buy your own beer and you don’t have to go out back, and…uh, well…”

“Thank you,” I said quickly to spare him from saying what was on his mind.

He might be the shyest guy I’ve ever met…totally lacking self-esteem and confidence. The pockmarks covering his face must be the result of a seriously bad case of acne as a teenager…and he never emotionally recovered from the insults he surely heard from the other kids…and while I was sucking him, I got the distinct impression it was his first blowjob–at least on the receiving end…hahaha…

I waited for Dex to drive away then went around to the back of the diner and walked inside. To the right was the employee breakroom, to the left was the dish pit where two guys were busy at work. They smiled when they saw me and pointed towards the kitchen.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın