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It’s not like it comes up every day, but it comes up. Friends know I often have a fag around, so they ask “why?”

A fag recognizes itself as inferior to men, so it is happy to be used by men. If I want my home cleaned up, I can get a fag to do it for me. Want your car washed? Your lawn mowed? Your laundry cleaned? FAGS DO THIS SHIT AS WORSHIP. That’s right, guys, it isn’t a chore for these fucks — they’ll probably have a hardon while they scrub your toilet clean. Seriously. In fact, some fags are such fuckups that THEY’LL PAY YOU to do your chores for you!!! Just remember — as a fag’s superior, you don’t ask it to do something for you, you TELL it.

Want some Chipotle? Run out of beer? Dial-a-fag!! “Hey fag, get me ….” Not only do you get free delivery, you get free whatever-you-asked-for!

And because it’s such a sexual/worship act for them, YOU CAN DEMAND PERFECTION. Dinner arrived cold? Throw it on the faggot and demand it start over again. Shirts put away with wrinkles? Bitch-slap the bitch. Find one of your pubes on the bathroom floor? Make it re-scrub the floor with its tongue!

And, sure, they’re fags, so of course they want your cock. Doesn’t mean you gotta give it to ‘em. Remind them it’s an honor to be allowed to clean your dirty undies. If you want to reward the queer, order it to massage your feet.  If you REALLY want to reward it, tell it to use its tongue. If you let a faggot put its head between your legs and merely sniff your crotch, the bitch will probably cum in its pants. See, that’s the twist.  What a fag wants to do is make YOU feel good, so getting serviced isn’t a duty like it is with your wife or girlfriend; it’s a REWARD for them to choke on your prick. So use it as a rare gift from God. (You’re the God, see?)

So, yeah, if you do want to sit back and feel something warm, wet, and soft clenching around your cock, use a fag. Remember, though, it’s all about -you-.  So be as selfish, demanding, and cruel as you want. You wanna fuck face? Grab its head like a melon! Believe me, the harder you treat ‘em, the more eager they are to come back. And if a fag even touches its crotch while it’s taking care of you, THROW THE FUCKWAD OUT!! Replace it with a fag that knows better than to offend you like that.

Oh, one more thing.  There’s NOTHING too twisted for a fag. These are the world’s most depraved whores.  Want to take a piss without getting off the recliner? A fag will happily drink “from the tap” … yeah, they even got a phrase for it! You ever had your ass kissed? Really kissed? French kissed? Fags dream of that kinda shit.  So, man, whatever kink you got, use it on a fag.

The most important part of Tumblr is the existing community. This is pretty hard to copy for the alternatives.

I am timbr.xxx. I’m here to save NSFW blogs from Tumblr before they are gone. I’m copying as much as possible to Google Cloud. I’ll add login with Tumblr account so that you can view the timeline within timbr and also I’ll add creation tools. Check out http://timbr.xxx/i/about .

So the beauty is if you log in you are virtually right at where Tumblr stopped: all the likes, all the follows, etc. Let’s try to make it happen.

To save a Tumblr blog to Timbr just visit http://timbr.xxx and enter the blog name. That’s it: the back up process is started. Random examples: https://www.timbr.xxx/kindlles, https://www.timbr.xxx/derekg , https://www.timbr.xxx/thecuriousgirl.

“Your roommate let me in, Jimmy. He just left for class,” Dad replied, looking up at me with his baby blues, the sunlight kissing the gray in his manly beard. 

“But why are you here?” I questioned. 

“Your Mom kicked me out again,” Dad reported somberly. “You know what to do.”

“Fine,” I acquiesced, unzipping his pants and reaching up to stroke his furry chest as I took his thick, hairy cock down my throat. 

“Fuuuck,” he exhaled, his head rolling back. “Your talented mouth is just what I need. Suck my balls some, Jimmy. I don’t want to pop my nut too fast.”

“What happened with Mom this time?” I asked Dad while slobbering all over his nut sack. 

“Your mom, she—uh—caught me doing a little plumbing over at Mrs. Shapiro’s house,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“Jesus, Dad,” I scolded. “Why can’t you keep your dick in your pants?”

“Well, Jimmy. Maybe if your mother would spread her legs for me more than twice a year, this wouldn’t be an issue,” Dad sneered. “And it doesn’t help that you’re an hour away and not around anymore to drain my balls.”

“I understand,” I tried to sympathize, returning his cock to my mouth. 

“You think you might want to ride it for me?” Dad asked, softly stroking the back of my head. 

“I dunno, Dad,” I shrugged, coming up for air. “I’ve got another class in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, come on, Jimmy,” he begged. “I could really use some ass right now. And you know I nut fast.”

“Fine,” I acquiesced once more, dropping my shorts as I straddled his thick cock. “Go slow,” I warned. “You know I’m super tight.”

“Christ,” Dad grunted, pushing into me as he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me down on him. “I’m surprised you’re still so tight. Aren’t you bending over for your roommate? He looks to be hung.”

“He’s hung like fuck,” I answered. “I’ve seen it a couple times after he’s showered, but we don’t play together. He’s got a girlfriend.”

“Like that means shit,” Dad laughed, raising his ass off the bed and jackhammering me as my hands went to his hairy chest, trying to brace myself. “Does he know you take cock?”

“Nah,” I answered, bobbing up and down on Dad’s cock, trying to match my rhythm with his. “I haven’t told him I like dick.”

“Well, you oughta offer up your hole to him, Jimmy,” Dad advised. “I used to fuck my college roommate. It made us closer.”

“I dunno, Dad,” I shrugged. “I don’t want things to get weird.”

But Dad wasn’t listening to me anymore. With his eyes closed, he slowly licked his lips as he concentrated on the task at hand — breeding my hole. When Dad’s hands suddenly dug into my hips, I knew he was about to shoot. 

“Fuck, Jimmy. Get ready for it,” Dad barked urgently, giving me one last thrust. “FUCK … DAMN,” he growled, coating my guts with his cum. With his balls slowly emptying inside me, I held still upon Dad, allowing him to go soft inside of me. Suddenly, the door to my room opened.

“What the fuck?” my roommate demanded incredulously upon catching me straddling Dad, his cock still buried inside me. My roommate quickly closed the door behind him. 

“Dude. I thought … I thought you were in class,” I stuttered, mortified. Dad was silent, a wicked smile plastered on his face. The old man secretly loved getting caught. 

“Fuckin-A, Jimmy. Why didn’t you tell me you take cock?” my roommate finally admonished, unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard nine-incher. “Show me that wet cunt,” he demanded. 

Popping off my dad’s spent cock, I leaned forward onto Dad’s hairy chest and presented my used ass to my roommate, Dad’s fresh load trickling from it. 

“You were right,” Dad whispered in my ear, stroking my back as my roommate mounted my cummy hole. “The boy is hung like fuck.”

“You’re hard as a rock,” the nude model straddling me observed, my big cock pressed firmly against his tight hole. “Slide it in me,” he taunted. “Who cares if you’re straight? A hole is a hole.”

I needed the money. I could barely afford my college tuition and books. But when you tossed in beer money and trying to keep up with my fraternity brothers, I was constantly in need of cash. So when I saw a flyer posted on a bulletin board at the campus gym that advertised EASY MONEY in big letters, my interest was piqued.

The fine print on the flyer didn’t seem so bad. A local photographer was looking for male models for “athletic photos,” whatever the fuck that meant. You had to be 18 to 25. Check. You had to be attractive. Check. And you had to be muscular and fit. Check.

I called the number on the flyer, and the deal seemed legit. The photographer offered me $200 bucks for a two-hour photo session. I’d have to strip down and show my body, but my cock would never be exposed. “I do tasteful, black-and-white, nude photos,” he informed me over the phone. “I celebrate the athletic shape of the male body through my work.” I told him I was game and he invited me to his home studio the next day.

The photographer was not what I anticipated when he opened the door. I guess I expected some sissy faggot who just likes taking pictures of hot guys, but this guy didn’t seem that. He was tall and muscular. Definitely over fifty. He looked like a retired football coach. But the pink, leopard-print sofa in his living room told me he was definitely a gay dude.

“You’ve got the look I like,” the photographer said while inspecting me up and down. “Let’s get you upstairs in my studio and see what you’ve got.” Two minutes later I was upstairs and removing my clothes for him.

“Yes, you will work quite well,” he assured me. “You’ve got great definition, which shows up nicely in black and white. And I’m glad you’re a bit hairy. Too many guys your age shave their bodies. I want my men to look like men.”

Then looking down at my cock, he exclaimed, “Fuck, you’re hung. You straight?” When I nodded yes, he chuckled and said, “I bet the bitches love getting fucked by that piece of meat.” I felt certain he would also love it, so I kept my mouth shut.

The photo shoot itself was pretty easy. As the photographer promised, my cock was covered the entire time, or my body was angled so you couldn’t see my junk in the photo. He put me through a variety of poses and backdrops. “You’re a natural,” he told me. “The camera loves you.”

What I loved was the $200 bucks he handed me at the end of the session. “So when can I come back?” I asked eagerly. “Next week?”

He laughed at my eagerness and said no, that he might not need me for another month. I was disappointed and told him I needed more money.

“Well,” the photographer began with some hesitation. “I do have another project on which I’m working.” He then pulled out a portfolio containing black and white photos of guys fucking.

“Porn?” I asked incredulously. “No fucking way. I’m not doing gay porn,” I protested.

The photographer raised his hand to stop me. “It isn’t pornography,” he insisted. “This is erotica. Look closely at the photos. You can’t see if the men are actually fucking. It’s all simulated. The suggestion of sex can be more powerful than seeing the act itself.”

Real or not, I still had no interest in doing erotica or whatever the fuck he called it. It was gay porn to me. I turned to leave, saying, “No thanks.”

But before I was out the door, the photographer called out, “It pays $500 for two hours work.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Okay. I’ll do it. But I’m NOT sticking my dick in some guy. It’s all pretend, right?”

He nodded in agreement. “Come back tomorrow. 2 pm,” he instructed. “You’ll be with Eros. $500 bucks.”

Eros was already upstairs in the studio when I arrived the next day. I was relieved to find he also looked masculine, but his sexuality was unquestionable when he got a look at my cock and said, “Damn, you’re hung. I wish you were gonna fuck me for real. Would love to have that up my ass.”

His candor embarrassed me, and I instinctively covered my cock with my hand. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “The photographer told me you’re straight. I’ve worked with a lot of straight models before. I promise to be on good behavior.” I was dubious, but thanked him.

The photographer soon arrived upstairs, and began to set up the shots. We began with a series of photos in which Eros simulated sucking me off. It was a little uncomfortable, as Eros had to have his face in my crotch, mere inches from my cock. Most of the photos were taken with Eros kneeling before me with my hands on his head and my head arched back as if he was giving me the best head of my life, even though Eros was really just staring at my pubes. It all seemed a bit cheesy to me, but the photographer seemed happy with the shots.

“Okay—now time for you two to fuck,” the photographer announced. My face turned white as he laughed and said, “Relax. It’s simulated fucking, remember?”

We started with some shots in which Eros was bent over a couch with me pretending to fuck him from behind. Once again, my head was arched back in faux ecstasy. My cock had to be close to his hole, but not touching. That would soon change.

The next shot required us to be on the floor with Eros straddling me. As the photographer prepped the scene, Eros grabbed some lotion from his bag and began to slather his hole and ass crack with it.

“What the fuck is that for?” I demanded.

“To prevent chafing,” he replied. “Your cock is going to be rubbing against me a lot in this next position. Trust me. You’ll thank me for the lotion.”

Sure enough, as Eros promised, my cock had to rub up against his hole in the next series of shots as we simulated intense fucking. It was unavoidable. What was also unavoidable is that I started to get hard. I had no problem staying soft when we had no contact in the earlier shots, but that had changed. And the lotion that Eros slathered all over his ass wasn’t helping things.

“Mmm,” Eros began to moan at the touch of my hard cock against his hole. “It feels to me like the straight guy is getting turned on.”

I wanted to push him off me and bolt out the door, but then I remembered the $500 bucks. I ignored Eros, focused on the money, and tried to zone out as he gyrated against my hard cock through a series of photos.

But my concentration was broken when the photographer announced he was having an issue with his camera. “Hold there guys,” the photographer ordered. “This will only take a moment, and I don’t want you guys to move and fuck up the continuity of the shots.”

I held still, but Eros didn’t. He began to grind hard against my cock, pressing his hole firmly at my cock head. And as much as I wanted to deny it, it felt fucking incredible. I’m not gay. But I dare you to find any guy who could withstand a wet, puckered hole rubbing up against his hard cock without wanting to be inside it. I wanted to be in that hole. And Eros knew it.

“You’re hard as a rock. Slide it in me,” Eros taunted. “Who cares if you’re straight? A hole is a hole.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. As he continued to grind against me, I raised my hips and allowed my big cock to penetrate his ass. Instantly discovering that his tight hole had been breached, Eros took over and began to bare down on my cock. I was soon balls deep inside him.

“Fuck,” he cried out. “Your cock is so fucking big. Damn.”

His outburst soon had the photographer’s attention. “Well, well, well,” he chuckled while licking his lips. “This just got interesting. Keep fucking him,” he directed. “I love when my work has authenticity.”

Not needing any further approval than that, I began to work Eros’s hole while he straddled me. “Kiss,” the photographer ordered, and Eros leaned forward and kissed me. I could hear the photographer’s camera clicking furiously. “Yes,” the photographer roared. “Fuck that faggot’s ass. These photos are going to be fucking awesome.”

Eros began to work in concert with me while he supported himself on his muscular legs. As I raised my hips to go deeper inside him, Eros came down hard on my cock, bobbing up and down. My balls were getting tight.

“You got enough film yet?” I called out urgently to the photographer. “Because I’m about to bust.”

The photographer nodded while calling out, “Yeah, breed that faggot. Give him your load.” I did just as I was told, and soon flooded Eros’s guts.

Eros soon collapsed upon me. We were both sweaty and sticky. He pulled off my cock, and I could feel my load washing out of his hole and covering my cock and balls. As Eros leaned down to lick me clean, the photographer kept snapping away. “I thought you didn’t like to have a cock in your photos,” I remarked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But these last shots will be for my own spank bank.”

After we had cleaned up and dressed, the photographer handed us our cash for the session. Eros took leave, my load swimming inside him, but the photographer asked me to hang back for a minute.

“You’ve got some real talent,” the photographer complimented. “And I don’t mean just that big cock. You know how to fuck and the camera loves you.” I thanked him, but didn’t know where this was going.

“I have a colleague who produces gay porn films,” he informed me. “I could pass his number along to you.”

“No thanks,” I protested, scrunching up my face. “Fucking Eros was a one-and-done. Sure, it felt good, but I’m not gay.”

The photographer gave a twisted smile. “My boy, you don’t have to be gay to do gay porn. Half of the guys in gay porn are straight. They call it ‘gay for pay,’ you know.”

“How much does it pay?” I inquired, though I still had no interest in doing gay porn.

“Well,” he answered, “you can demand a lot of money with that big cock. Maybe $2,500 a scene.”

And that’s how I became another straight guy with a big dick who makes a living doing gay porn. A hole is a hole, after all. But don’t tell my girlfriend that.

My freshman year of college was an eye-opener. I arrived at school a naive virgin, and left eight months later for summer break as the dorm cum dump. I bent over for my roommate on our first night in the dorm. He told a bud, who told a bud, and soon I was taking cock from over half the dorm. It wasn’t unusual for me to get seeded by twelve or more guys daily. I was addicted to cock.

So it wasn’t exactly easy to return home for the summer and not have my usual, steady supply of dick. Grindr to the rescue. Thankfully, there were no shortage of guys my age looking for an easy hole to breed. With my parents at work all day, I spent my days with my legs in the air taking as much cock as Grindr could deliver. I was careful to make sure my parents didn’t find out, but I hadn’t considered the neighbors.

I had just been bred by my fifth cock of the day, and it was barely 2 pm. The guy had left and I was already on Grindr looking for cock number six when a knock came at the door. Shit. It was my parents’ older neighbor Mr. Walsh. I decided to ignore him, but his knock came louder. 

“Open up, boy,” he demanded. “I know you’re in there.” Fuck.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Walsh,” I ingratiated while opening the door. “I was in the bathroom.” 

“Yeah, wiping all that cum out of your hole,” he chuckled while looking me up and down. “I’ve seen the parade of boys you’ve had over here.” 

I was taken aback. He knew. And he could rat me out to my parents. I decided a denial was my best defense. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Walsh,” I denied coyly. “Those guys are just a few buddies.”

“Cut the shit, boy,” he interrupted. “I know you’re taking cock over here all day. And it’s about time you had a real man’s cock in that boy pussy.” He grabbed his bulging crotch for emphasis.

“I—uh—I’m really only into guys my age,” I tried to stammer. But Mr. Walsh wasn’t going to be turned away. He looked around quickly to be sure nobody was around and then did something I never would have expected—he pulled down his athletic shorts. 

I had heard the term “bull cock” before, but had never seen one in the flesh. Shit, his cock was massive. He wasn’t even hard, and yet it was the size of my forearm, hanging full and thick with a huge helmet head. And his balls? Damn. They were like two big grapefruits, juicy and full of seed. I had to have him inside me.

“What do you think, boy?” Mr. Walsh asked while gripping his thick piece of meat with his manly fist. “You want this man cock now?” 

I nodded as he pushed his way inside the house. I led him up to my bedroom, but when he saw my twin bed, he complained, “This won’t do, boy. Haven’t you got a bigger bed in this house?” 

The only bed larger than mine was my parents’ bed, so I led the way. “Yes, this bed will do, boy. I can’t wait to see your dad next, knowing I used his own bed to fuck his faggot son.”

“Take off your clothes,” Mr. Walsh ordered while dropping his athletic shorts and pulling off his t-shirt. He was already rock hard. His cock was truly fucking massive. I couldn’t believe there was any way it would fit inside my tight hole, but he gave me no time to worry any further. 

“Face down,” he barked as he pushed me down on the bed. Pulling my legs apart, he began to finger my hole. “Yeah, look at all the cum in this hole,” he observed as he pulled out a finger covered in jizz. “Looks like you’ve been a busy boy today. This used hole doesn’t need any lube.” 

I suddenly felt his huge cockhead pressing against my hole and then—WHAM—he was inside me. “HOLY FUCK,” I screamed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled. The pain was searing, but he mercifully held still and allowed me to adjust to him. “You see, boy,” he tried to console, “it’s like jumping into cold water. It stings at first, but then you adjust and it feels good.” 

The analogy was apt, as his cock was starting to feel good. Really good. I had never before felt the sublime fullness that his big cock offered. In a way, it felt like this was the first time I’d been truly fucked.

“Yeah, boy,” he growled in my ear with all his weight upon me. “You like this big cock, don’t you? Yeah. You like having a MAN fucking you, instead of all those little boys.” He then hissed in my ear, “Hang on tight. ‘Cause I’m about to fuckin’ destroy your boy pussy.” And he did. 

For the next thirty minutes, he pounded the shit out of me. The mattress springs were squeaking, the headboard was pounding the wall, and I prayed he didn’t wreck my parents’ bed like he was wrecking my hole. I could feel his sweat dripping on my back as he heaved and grunted. Suddenly, his breathing intensified and I knew he was getting close.

“Aww, FUCK,” he bellowed. “Yeah, boy. Get ready for this nut. I’m gonna fuckin’ breed your sloppy hole.” He gave my ass two more deep thrusts and growled out, “SHIT … FUCK … DAMN … Take this load.” 

The feeling of his huge cock spurting inside me was absolutely overwhelming. I could feel each blast of his warm cum filling me from within. He finally collapsed upon me as his spent cock went slowly soft inside my ravaged hole. I was immobile. I couldn’t have moved if I tried. My cunt was destroyed. Completely wrecked. Never had I been fucked like that. And I loved every minute.

Mr. Walsh was suddenly tender. “How does it feel to be fucked by a real man?” he whispered in my ear, but I could make no answer. “Did you like this big cock, boy?” he asked softly as he finally pulled out of me, his cum flooding the sheets. I was still transfixed and unmoving, but managed to nod my head. “Good,” he replied. “Because I’m gonna be back tomorrow for more of that sweet pussy.” 

I nodded in assent again as he pulled on his clothes and left the room. I heard the front door shut as he let himself out. I didn’t move for another hour, but managed to change the sweaty, cum-soaked sheets on my parents’ bed just before they got home from work.

I had been unemployed for three months when I landed the full-time gardener position at a sprawling, $8.5 million dollar estate off of Mulholland Drive. With a wife and kid to feed at at home, and another on the way, I needed this job in the worst way. 

“I’ll start you on a probationary period,” my boss Nathan Eisman, the owner of the estate, had informed me. Mr. Eisman was an attractive film producer in his mid-fifties. “If you prove yourself in the next month, I’ll make your employment permanent and will start paying you benefits as well.”

“Does anyone else live here with you?” I asked, eyeing the massive twelve-bedroom home on the property. 

“It’s just me and—uh—my boy Charlie,” Mr. Eisman replied awkwardly. “But Charlie won’t get in your way.” That promise was soon proven to be false. 

The next day, as I was trimming an overgrown row of boxwoods surrounding the pool, a twink in a skimpy, red speedo suddenly appeared from a bedroom that opened onto the patio.

“I’m Charlie,” he introduced himself, “and you must be the new, hot gardener.” Charlie eyed me up and down, assessing every inch of me.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you,” I answered hesitantly under his persistent gaze. “Your dad told me about you.”

“My dad?” Charlie laughed. “No, Nathan isn’t my dad—although sometimes he does like me to call him daddy.”

“I’m sorry,” I blushed. “I didn’t realize that you’re his boyfriend.”

“I’m also not his boyfriend,” Charlie replied sharply. “I’m his house boy.”

“So, you’re like a prostitute?” I asked naively. 

“Jesus, no,” Charlie spat, insulted. “Nathan doesn’t pay me. But he does allow me to live here in exchange for helping out around the house.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re really good at helping,” I scoffed. 

“I bet you’d like to find out,” the boy taunted, staring down at my crotch. 

“How old are you, Charlie?” I asked the boy, trying to ignore his gaze. 

“I’m nineteen,” he answered, licking his lips. 

“Well, I’m twenty-nine,” I responded. “And I’ve got a wife and kid at home, and another on the way. I don’t need to fuck up this job by playing around with the boss’s little boy toy.”

“Mmm, I love a breeder,” Charlie purred. “Let me ask you something. When did you last fuck your wife?”

“That’s none of your damn business,” I barked, without sharing that it had been five long months of just me and my right hand. 

“Wow. Your reaction tells me that it must be a long time since you got your dick wet,” Charlie observed astutely. “And I’ve got a tight, wet cunt.”

I made no response, for I knew that I should diffuse the situation by walking away. But, Christ, I needed to get laid in the worst way. Fucking the boy would be easy. And Mr. Eisman wasn’t even around to find out. As my mind began to explore the possibility of dumping a load in the boy, my cock had hardened and was straining against the fabric of my work pants. Charlie had noticed. 

Wordlessly, Charlie turned away from me and headed back to his bedroom off the patio. On his way, he paused and threw back a seductive glance at me as he tossed off his red speedos. I caught a glimpse of a big, floppy cock between his legs, but what interested me was his tight, perky ass that was begging to be defiled. 

“I know you want to fuck me,” Charlie taunted, posing in the doorway to his room, the sunlight dappling his eager ass. I knew I should ignore him, that I should return to my work. But I was helpless. The boy was a predator, and I was his prey.

Through the open door, I watched as Charlie bent himself over the bed and presented his ass to me. Even from a distance, I could make out the rimming of downy fur that surrounded his wanton hole. My cock hardened even more, desperate to mine his depths. Charlie awaited patiently, a spider luring me to his web. 

I couldn’t take it anymore. With deliberate steps, I made a beeline to Charlie and his beckoning cunt. By the time I crossed the threshold into the shadowy recesses of his room, my pants were undone and I held my firm, eight-incher in hand. Spitting on it, I mounted the boy and impaled him with one, quick thrust.

“FUCK,” Charlie cried out, gripping the sheets as I split his hole in two. 

“You like this big cock up your ass, boy?” I demanded, my hands on his hips as I pummeled his hole. 

“Yes, sir,” Charlie moaned. “I love your big cock inside me, sir. Fuck me harder, sir. Fuck me harder.”

Giving the boy what he wanted, I began to jackhammer the living shit out of him. He was screaming his head off as I destroyed his hole, but I didn’t care. There wasn’t anyone around to hear us. I could feel my balls pulling up and tightening against my body. I wanted to fuck the boy for hours, but my full balls had other plans. 

“You want my cum?” I asked urgently while struggling to hold back my nut for as long as possible. 

“Yes,” Charlie exclaimed. “Dump that load in me. Breed my fuckin’ cunt.”

The boy got his wish as my cock erupted deep within his bowels. “FUCK . . . DAMN,” I growled, riding the euphoric ecstasy of seeding his hole. And that’s when I heard it—the sound of clapping coming from behind me.

“Well done,” my boss Mr. Eisman applauded, standing in the doorway. “You really fucked the shit out of the boy.”

“Mr. Eisman—I’m so sorry,” I stammered, pulling out of Charlie, my load pooling at the gaping opening of his hole. “The boy came on to me, Mr. Eisman. I didn’t mean to—”

Mr. Eisman raised his hand to silence me. “No apology necessary,” he assured me as he walked toward us, pulled out his hard cock, and mounted the boy’s wet cunt. “I rather enjoyed watching you fucking him. And I’m a sucker for a sloppy hole.”

“So you’re not gonna fire me?” I pleaded. 

“Fire you?” laughed Mr. Eisman, his low-hangers slapping Charlie’s ass with each thrust. “Certainly not. In fact, I’d like it if we could fuck the boy like this on a regular basis.” 

Best. Job. Ever.