Big-dick Bottom Pt. 06

I felt the knob of his cock poking at my hole, hard and insistent. I shook my head. The realization that I was about to fuck Mario swept over me and I filled with reluctance. I squirmed, trying to get out from under him.

"No," I said, mind was still a wash of incoherent thoughts and feelings.

Mario looked down into my eyes, and I could see he was past the point of return. He kissed me then, again, roughly, and pushed his cock into my hole. I cried out--a combination of pain, pleasure, and dismay. Mario thrust harder into me and I felt his cock slide into my tightness, stretching me open, demanding that I accommodate him. The slickness of his spit, from before, and the readiness that he'd coaxed from my hole with his lips and tongue made it easier to take him. He slid into me, then pulled out, without any of the intense friction that I'd felt other times I'd been fucked. He pushed into me again and I felt my hole start to loosen. I began to relax in anticipation of his thrusts, my hips moving with his as a matter of instinct.

Soon enough, rings of pleasure started to ripple up through my body as he fucked me. I was arching my back to meet him, allowing him deeper and deeper inside me. He had his hands on my chest, rubbing me, running his thumbs over my nipples, which hardened up under his touch. My cock was there, too, between us--leaking and partially buried beneath Mario's furry belly. Periodically, Mario would stop thrusting and grab my cock, encircling it with his fist, and squeeze and stroke it while he rested against me with his own cock buried in my ass. I tried to move his hands away from it, stop him from squeezing it so hard. But big and strong as he was, I had little recourse as to what he was doing with my body. And so he kept one hand on my dick, milking precum from it as he ground his hips to fuck me.

Before long, I was at the edge of coming, and Mario must have sensed it, because he increased his rhythm and began to really pound me. The motions of his hand on my cock also intensified and seconds later I began to twist and jerk as my orgasm took hold of me. Mario grunted and swore, loudly, "Fuck, P!" and through the sheets of almost painful pleasure, I felt him come, too, his hips thrusting against me with frenzied shaking as he ejaculated into my ass.

I came back into my senses with an awareness of hot cum covering my face and chest--the aftermath of my orgasm--and warm, whiskey breath from Mario's mouth, which was hovering just a few inches over me. I looked up at him and he kissed me, again, hard, urgently, as he came down from his sexual high. I tasted my own cum, smeared from my face into my mouth by his lips and tongue.

Once again, I pushed my hands against Mario's chest. I needed to get out from under him, to take a clean, deep breath. Mario pushed himself back up to his knees and I felt his cock slide out of my asshole. I swung my leg around and rolled to sit, then stood up onto shaky legs. Mario reached out a hand to steady me and then traced his knuckles down my thigh. I felt cum slide down my leg and soak into the rim of my sock. I bent and removed my socks and used them to wipe the streaks of cum from my leg.

Mario reached for the glass and took a long gulp, then handed it to me. I took it from him and drank, wincing as the bitter liquid burned in my throat and belly. Mario stood up and took the glass from me and finished it off. Then he pulled off his pants and underwear, which had been pushed down to his knees as he'd fucked me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me in tow past the kitchen to the stairwell.

Upstairs, he led me into a bathroom, and he turned on a lamp on a small table that was decorated with lace and bowls filled with pastel-colored sea shells. He walked into a large tiled area--the shower, I realized, which looked like it had been retrofitted with grips and a raised seated area, and suddenly I remembered that this had been his elderly grandmother's house. He ran the water and then pulled me into the shower with him. He took the shower head and detached it from the wall, and ran the hot water over me, over my head and face, washing away the smeared remnants of cum. His big hands traced across my body in tandem with the hot water, and I closed my eyes and let him clean me up.

When he came to my ass, he ran his fingers up between my butt cheeks and gently pressed against my hole. I felt a bolt of new desire that sent blood to my cock, which began to stand up with another erection. Mario saw, and ran his fingers along the length of it. He hung the shower head back onto the wall and washed himself, never leaving my body unattended. He always had a hand on me, on my shoulders, neck, chest, or cock. He pressed against me and kissed my mouth again and I felt his erection poking me in the belly. I reached for it and stroked him, the thickness of his cock filling my hand.

Then, Mario sat me down on the tiled bench. He reached for a bottle of something on the floor of the shower, and poured from it onto his hand. He bent and rubbed the fluid onto my cock, and I felt a warm slickness cover my shaft. He poured from the bottle again, and again slicked my cock with his hand. I thought maybe he was going to try to jerk me off like this, but then I saw him reach between his legs and rub the fluid into his ass crack. Suddenly, I realized what he was doing.

"Mario," I said, and I tried to stand, but he pushed me back to sitting. Then he swung his leg over me and, reaching around behind him, he seized my cock and tried to guide it up toward his ass.

"Hey, stop," I said, but he wasn't looking at me. He was grinding himself down onto my cock. I tried to push his thighs away from me, but he had me pinned here, against the wall and on the bench.

He grunted and pushed down, and I felt the tip of my cock pop through a tight, rubbery resistance. With a loud, pained grunt, Mario sank down, and I realized that my cock had gone into him. I was momentarily stunned by the completely novel sensations radiating from my cock. And even though he was still bearing most of his weight himself, he was heavy and crushing me.

"Mario, hey, stop," I said, into his chest, but his eyes were closed and he was breathing and muttering to himself as he pressed himself down on me. He was starting to rock against me, and it felt like more and more of his weight was pushing down on me.

Desperate, I reached up and tried to grab at his face, trying to get his attention. But he grabbed my hands and pinned them up above my head, pressing them into the tile. He was rocking hard on me, moaning and grunting. In spite of my shock and discomfort, my cock was hard--harder than I'd ever felt it, maybe--inside his ass.

Then, suddenly, Mario rocked his hips and I felt him start to shake with a violent orgasm. His cock spurted into my belly and chest and he collapsed even more onto me, pressing his thick, furry chest into my face.

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal and he seemed to come back into his awareness. He He stood in front of me, in the spray of the shower, and turned into the water. Still sitting, I watched him wash himself, the water cascading over his body. He washed his cock, pulling back his foreskin and running his hand around his cock head in the stream of water.

I drew my legs up to my chest, trying to make myself smaller. My cock was still hard, up against my belly and chest, but I hid it from him. When Mario was done washing, he turned to me and reached his hand out, but I shook my head. He looked confused for a moment, but then walked out of the shower, leaving the water running. He toweled himself off and looked at me again, brows wrinkled in concern, before walking out of the bathroom.

I sat for a long moment on the tiled bench of the shower, trying to get my head around what had happened. My head swirled. Eventually I stood and washed my body again, wiping away the sweat and cum and oily slickness from my cock.

When I turned off the water, the vast quiet of the old house filled my senses. I found a towel and dried myself. In the hallway there was a dim light coming from an open door. I walked toward it and when I entered the room, I saw Mario, face down, still naked, lying across a disheveled bed. I watched him for a minute, listening to the sounds of his soft snoring. Then I turned and left the room, walking softly so as not to wake him up.

I went back downstairs and found my clothes and shoes. I looked at the couch where Mario had pinned me down and fucked me. My mind slipped and skidded over what had happened. I was still feeling fuzzy from the whiskey, but I didn't think I was drunk. Thankfully, the keys to my truck were still in my pants pocket. Clutching them in my hand, I left Mario's house and walked back to my truck, trying to ignore the pulsing heat at the periphery of my consciousness.

~

Mario called out sick the next day, Saturday.

"Yeah, he must have the flu or something," Derek said, when I got in to work, "he's been all weird the last few days."

"Nothing he didn't catch from his friend Jack Daniels," Jason shouted, pushing a pizza into the oven. Derek and Amanda laughed, but Stacy and I exchanged a look. We were all standing around the kitchen, during the mid-afternoon lull.

Stacy was in a bad mood--covering for Mario was a pain in the ass, even though Amanda had been able to stay past her normal shift to help out. Stacy had told me once that since Mario did the equivalent of three people's jobs at once, when he was out it meant that we were three people short.

"Hey, Paulie," Stacy said, "did Mario say anything to you yesterday about not feeling well? He seemed fine to me."

I'd shrugged and said that I didn't know anything she didn't. I felt bad not being honest with Stacy, but I was still grappling with what had happened between Mario and me. Everything that had happened over at his house, after I'd parked my truck and walked up onto his porch, had felt like a dream. I knew it had happened, of course. In the morning, after I'd woken up at home, in my bunk bed, my ass had reported with a twinge--the telltale pangs of having been fucked. And then, in the shower, I recalled how my cock, under the great weight of him, had slipped up into his ass, past the resistance of his hole, and how Mario had sucked in his breath with pain and surprise when it had happened.

Never in a million years would I have guessed myself capable of fucking someone, especially someone like Mario, a burly, masculine guy who liked beer, tits, and whiskey. But on the other hand, he was Mario. He had those big, soulful, searching eyes and that easy smile he would flash at me when he would see me hustling into the kitchen between delivery runs. I had come to expect it--him, calling out to me, Paulie!, My man P!--and feel his hands on my shoulders, my arms, squeezing, patting.

It was all too much to consider, now, so soon after. My mind kept flashing to him, kissing me, how rough and sloppy he'd been, so unlike the careful, tender kisses from the big soft-muscle guy out at the quarry--the only other person I'd ever kissed. I didn't know what I'd say to Mario when I saw him again, and for that reason I'd been more than a little relieved to hear he wasn't going to be at work today.

~

The day, Saturday, passed quickly. Danny and Jeff were both off, so I was the only driver. Thankfully, it wasn't super busy. When Stacy handed me the cowboy's address, I felt my still-tender hole contract involuntarily. I took it from her quickly, expecting some sort of reaction--I think Stacy had been catching on to my nervous excitement around the cowboy's order every week--but today she just handed me the address with a flat look. She was distracted today, distant. I sensed something was up with her.

It was a rare, cool and cloudy July day. The sky looked heavy with rain, but only a few dots of moisture speckled my windshield as I sped out to the cowboy's farm. Despite the roiling in my head about Mario, my dick was hardening up with a mind of its own the closer I got to the cowboy.

When I pulled up, I saw the day laborers clustered on the porch of the main house, sitting and smoking, drinking soda out of glass bottles. When he saw me, the cowboy hopped up off the steps of the house and strode over to my truck. I adjusted myself and got out to start unloading the pizza. We carried the pizza and soda up to the porch, and then the cowboy walked back with me toward the truck. I could smell the stink of him as we walked. His tank top was soaked through with sweat and his golden skin was streaked with dirt.

Before we got to where my truck was parked, the cowboy grabbed my arm and veered toward the barn that lay opposite the house across the wide gravel driveway. His grip was firm, but not painful, and I felt like a little boy being led off to punishment. I glanced back at the porch, where the guys were eating, and I saw all of their faces watching us--the cowboy and me--marching toward the barn. I flushed red with embarrassment, feeling as though what was going on couldn't be more obvious.

In the barn, the cowboy tossed me down onto the ground. My knees hit the soft earth, cushioned by a layer of straw and I watched the cowboy strip off his filthy tank top. His blond, furry chest was matted with sweat. By now my cock was at full mast, and the itch was burning hot. The cowboy unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down and I was on my knees in front of him, inhaling the sharp, pungent musk of his crotch.

Something clicked off in my head and I wanted--needed--him to impale me. To choke me with his hands and his cock. When his cock came out I went at it fast and hard, immediately swallowing him to the point of gagging. I grasped him with my hands and pulled on him, my fingers deep in the blond fur of his ass cheeks, desperate to feel his muscular hips ram his cock further into me. I must have been too rough because he pulled my head off his cock by grabbing my hair and pushing me away. I fell back into the straw but shuffled immediately back up to my knees to get at his cock again.

The cowboy grunted and held me off with his hands on my shoulders, swiveling me and scooting me back until I was pinned me back against a large bale of straw. Now, with his knees pressed into my chest in order to keep me better under control, he pushed his dick into my mouth and slowly began to thrust into my throat.

I let the sensations wash over me--let the cowboy fuck the thoughts out of my head. He was grunting and cursing, and his sweat was dripping down onto my face off of his chest and belly. When he ejaculated, it caught me by surprise. I don't know how long he had been fucking my face like that, my brain had blissfully turned off. It could have been seconds or minutes. But all of a sudden I was choking, drowning in his cum, it had gone down my windpipe, somehow, and I was coughing and gagging. He pulled back from me and I fell to the ground, hacking up his semen.

Eventually, I regained my breath and lay heaving there, in the dirt and the straw. The cowboy had buckled himself back up. He pulled out his wallet and tossed a few bills onto the ground next to me. Then he walked off, bending to pick up his tank top off the ground where he'd tossed it.

I pushed myself up to stand, grabbing the money from the ground. I sneezed, violently, into my arm, and saw a mix of cum and mucous splattered on my skin. I wiped it off the best I could on the bale of straw, then walked out of the barn to my truck.

~

I drove Stacy home after work that night. She had been uncharacteristically quiet and moody all day. When I offered to take her home she had just nodded at me. The sky, having held itself back all day, finally opened up as I drove her home. I tried to make small talk, but she wasn't having any of it. She just smoked one cigarette after another, with the window open, despite the deluge of rain. At the railroad tracks, I put the truck in neutral and pulled the parking break.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Just drive, OK, Paulie?"

"No way. Something's wrong."

Stacy sighed and looked over at me. In the dim light of my dashboard lights, she looked sad and tired.

"Ben's back," she said, and took another drag on her cigarette.

"Shit," I said, quietly.

"Amanda told me she thought that he called the Hut. He ordered a pizza and was asking about me. But I didn't want to believe her, and I figured it was just another perv. Sometimes guys call up just to say disgusting things, you know? But it turns out it was him."

I sighed. Ben was Stacy's ex. I'd never met him, but I'd heard quite a bit about him. He was a real bruiser, to hear Stacy and Mario talk. He and Stacy had met in high school. He was a good kid back then--sweet and smart, in spite of coming from a rough family. He'd joined the Marines after high school, and Stacy had started at a community college. They moved in together and had plans to get married. Then he began to drink. Then drugs. He was discharged from the service and after that he couldn't keep a job. He blew through all their money. Stacy had to drop out of college to get another job. After a few months of his being unemployed, the abuse began.

"He hit me exactly three times," Stacy had told me. "Three strikes. That was it. That was when I moved out."

Apparently, losing Stacy and the apartment had been enough impetus for Ben to get his act together, somewhat. He'd gone to rehab and then gotten a job on a tar sands operation over in North Dakota. Even though they'd been separated and he'd kept clear of Stacy, she'd been relieved to see him go.

"What about his job?" I asked Stacy, now, as the rain came down on the roof of the truck.

"Lost it, of course," she said. "He's drinking again. And God knows what else. He showed up at my grandma's, wasted. He only left when I threatened to call the cops."

"Shit, Stace, I'm sorry," I said.

"He was such a good guy, you know? But something went rotten. I don't know what it was, he had, like, everything going for him. We had everything..."

Stacy started to cry. I'd never seen her like this. I reached over and pulled her into a hug.

"It's gonna be OK, Stace," I said.

"No, it's not," she said, into my chest. "It's bad... he's really bad. He looks... dead inside. And he covered himself with shitty tattoos. I'm worried... about what he might do."

My mind flashed to the drunk guy in the vacant lot, pissing on me and licking my truck's window. Shit. Was that... Ben?

"Hey, does he have, like a weird white streak in his hair?" I asked.

"Yeah, why?" Stacy said. Her eyeliner was smudged down her face.

"I think I delivered that pizza," I said.

I told her where I'd delivered it and she nodded. "Yeah, that's his cousin's old junkyard," she said. "Nobody else around here will give him the time of day."

I reached over and took Stacy's hand. "Hey, do you want me to take you somewhere else, tonight?" I said. "Mario's? Amanda's?" I knew that Stacy and Amanda were sort of friends.

Stacy laughed and carefully wiped her tears on on a tissue from her bag. "Even Amanda's tits can't fix this," she said. "No, just take me home, Paulie. I'll be fine. It's Saturday, he's probably passed out somewhere by now," she said.

Reluctantly, I put the truck in gear and we crossed the tracks into the mobile home park.

"Call me, OK?" I said, pulling up to the rusted green trailer. "If you need anything?"

"Thanks," Stacy said. I watched her run with her bag held over her head, up to the door of the trailer.

~

The thunderstorm really started to kick up as I drove toward home. I rolled down the window and let the huge, furious drops of rain flood in and cover me with their cold wetness. Everything felt like it had turned rotten on me, all of a sudden.