Ottawa perv pig

“No charge,” I assured him, reaching for that big dick. “Only thing I want when you leave is your cum in my belly.”

The universe smiled at me when, a week after my boyfriend dumped me and kicked me out of his apartment, my distant Uncle Leroy died unexpectedly. Leroy left me his 1970s, wood-paneled, double-wide trailer on a little plot of land in a town about 60-miles outside of Macon. 

It was hard to call it a town, more of a blip on the map. One street light presided over a highway junction with a looming Baptist church on one corner. A gas station, a feed store, and a Piggly Wiggly rounded out the intersection, with a train track cutting right down the middle. Other than a handful of side streets with a few small businesses and tiny homes with deep porches, farmland extended out from the center of town for as far as the eye could see. 

I was happy in that small town, except for one small problem—I was horny as fuck. There were no bars in town, no place to pick up guys. And every time I attempted Grindr, the nearest guy was an hour’s drive away. I was getting desperate, so I took matters into my own hands. 

Creeping into the men’s room of the corner gas station, armed with a black Sharpie, I scrawled the following on the wall above the urinal:

Need a BJ? Text 555-7491

And then I went home to wait—and wait—and wait. After almost a week of zero response, I was about to go back to make sure someone hadn’t scrubbed my number off the wall. But while watching The Price is Right one morning, a text finally arrived. It was a picture of a big cock—thick, veiny, with a fat head.

“You want this big one?” the guy texted along with the dick pic. 

“Fuck YES!” I replied by text. “I’m in the yellow double wide at the end of Pecan Street.”

“You a dude?” 

“Yes. That OK?” I texted back. 

“It’s cool. Be there in 10.”

The next 10 minutes passed slower than molasses until I saw his black F-150 pull up in front of my trailer. I watched from the window as he walked up to my door, a big country buck approaching. 

He was easily 6’5” tall, muscular with tattoos on both arms—a typical farm-raised man. A well-trimmed mustache crowned his full lips, with wide-set eyes peeking out beneath the brim of his cap. And his denim overalls did nothing to conceal his promising bulge. 

“Come on in,” I greeted, welcoming him inside and gesturing to a green velvet chair that I had designated for the event. 

“We gotta make this quick,” he warned. “I gotta pick up my pa at the feed store in like twenty minutes.”

“No worries,” I assured him as I closed the front door behind us, bummed that the blow job would have to be a quick dine and dash. 

“This used to be Leroy Brewster’s place,” he remarked, taking the chair. “That fucker was batshit crazy.”

“Haha,” I chuckled. “He was my uncle.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I had no idea Leroy was your kin. You know, you kinda look like him—especially around your eyes and mouth. He was much too young to die, still in his prime. That dang train came outta nowhere. My respects to your family.”

“Thanks,” I shrugged. “But you’re right about Leroy—he was batshit crazy. I honestly didn’t know him all that well, but he left me this trailer.”

“I—uh—I like what you’ve done with the place,” he remarked, looking around the room.

“I haven’t done a thing,” I replied flatly. “This is the way I found it.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I’m just fuckin’ with you. So are you gonna suck my dick or are we gonna talk about your dead uncle all day?”

“Let's get that cock sucked,” I offered eagerly, not wishing to discuss my uncle anymore. But as the country buck started to pull out his big one, he made me assure him there would be no charge for my services, which I agreed. I may be a slut, but I’m not a whore. 

“FUCK,” I gasped when the enormity of his big cock was revealed to me. His dick pic had failed to represent the sheer size of his member. My only regret was that there wouldn’t be time for me to offer to ride him, taking his load up my ass instead of down my throat.

“Shit, that feels good,” he moaned, tipping his head back as I began to slobber all over his big tool. “I needed me some head so fuckin’ bad. It’s been awhile.”

Christ, his big one was a jaw breaker. I had to work to find just the right angle to deep throat him all the way. But I was determined. 

“HOLY FUCK,” he gasped as his big cock finally traversed my tonsils and all the way down my throat, his big balls mashed against my chin. “Ain’t nobody ever managed to get it down like that, not even the guy who used to suck me off.”

“I’ve got mad skills,” I bragged, coming up for a quick breath, saliva coating my chin. “Fuck you’re hung. I bet the bitches scream when you pound them with this big one.”

“Fuck right,” he agreed, grabbing his cock by the base and slapping my cheek with it, an audible thud. I wondered if I’d have a bruise. 

Deftly, I took his big dick down my throat again, locking my lips as I slid it in and out of my throat, curling my tongue around his cock head before shoving it back down my throat again.

“Shit, bro,” he exclaimed. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna bust.”

Emboldened, I picked up the pace, gobbling up and down on that big dick, his hairy balls smashing my chin with each downbeat. I cupped his balls as they began to hug his body, priming the pump. The dude wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Oh fuck—oh fuck—OH FUCK,” he barked, his cock erupting down my throat, a firehose of cum blasting my guts. His farm boy cum was rich and creamy with a slight tang, like fresh buttermilk. 

“That was fucking HOT,” I exclaimed as I finally surfaced for air, cum and saliva smeared on my chin. 

“Yeah, that was pretty damn, fuckin’ good,” he complimented, stuffing his spent cock back into his overalls before looking at the clock on the wall. “I best be goin’.”

“Right,” I acknowledged, disappointed the fun was already over. 

“You have any other luck with that wall posting at the gas station?” he asked as I saw him to the door. 

“Nah,” I shrugged. “Just you so far.”

“You take it up the ass?” he asked. 

“Fuck YES,” I replied a bit too eagerly. “You want to come back and fuck me sometime soon?”

“I was more thinking you could come out to my place, out on Route 12 past the truck stop,” he suggested. “Ma up and left us about five years ago, so it’s just Pa and me and my eight brothers. I know they’d enjoy—uh—meeting you.”

“They all hung like you?”

“Yup,” he laughed. “Having a big dick is sort of a family trait. Why don’t you come by tonight? We sure could use a cumdump like you, since the one we had ain’t around no more.”

“Yeah? Who was your cumdump?”

“Your batshit crazy Uncle Leroy,” he laughed, slapping me on the back. 

Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.

“No charge,” I assured him, reaching for that big dick. “Only thing I want when you leave is your cum in my belly.”

The universe smiled at me when, a week after my boyfriend dumped me and kicked me out of his apartment, my distant Uncle Leroy died unexpectedly. Leroy left me his 1970s, wood-paneled, double-wide trailer on a little plot of land in a town about 60-miles outside of Macon. 

It was hard to call it a town, more of a blip on the map. One street light presided over a highway junction with a looming Baptist church on one corner. A gas station, a feed store, and a Piggly Wiggly rounded out the intersection, with a train track cutting right down the middle. Other than a handful of side streets with a few small businesses and tiny homes with deep porches, farmland extended out from the center of town for as far as the eye could see. 

I was happy in that small town, except for one small problem—I was horny as fuck. There were no bars in town, no place to pick up guys. And every time I attempted Grindr, the nearest guy was an hour’s drive away. I was getting desperate, so I took matters into my own hands. 

Creeping into the men’s room of the corner gas station, armed with a black Sharpie, I scrawled the following on the wall above the urinal:

Need a BJ? Text 555-7491

And then I went home to wait—and wait—and wait. After almost a week of zero response, I was about to go back to make sure someone hadn’t scrubbed my number off the wall. But while watching The Price is Right one morning, a text finally arrived. It was a picture of a big cock—thick, veiny, with a fat head.

“You want this big one?” the guy texted along with the dick pic. 

“Fuck YES!” I replied by text. “I’m in the yellow double wide at the end of Pecan Street.”

“You a dude?” 

“Yes. That OK?” I texted back. 

“It’s cool. Be there in 10.”

The next 10 minutes passed slower than molasses until I saw his black F-150 pull up in front of my trailer. I watched from the window as he walked up to my door, a big country buck approaching. 

He was easily 6’5” tall, muscular with tattoos on both arms—a typical farm-raised man. A well-trimmed mustache crowned his full lips, with wide-set eyes peeking out beneath the brim of his cap. And his denim overalls did nothing to conceal his promising bulge. 

“Come on in,” I greeted, welcoming him inside and gesturing to a green velvet chair that I had designated for the event. 

“We gotta make this quick,” he warned. “I gotta pick up my pa at the feed store in like twenty minutes.”

“No worries,” I assured him as I closed the front door behind us, bummed that the blow job would have to be a quick dine and dash. 

“This used to be Leroy Brewster’s place,” he remarked, taking the chair. “That fucker was batshit crazy.”

“Haha,” I chuckled. “He was my uncle.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I had no idea Leroy was your kin. You know, you kinda look like him—especially around your eyes and mouth. He was much too young to die, still in his prime. That dang train came outta nowhere. My respects to your family.”

“Thanks,” I shrugged. “But you’re right about Leroy—he was batshit crazy. I honestly didn’t know him all that well, but he left me this trailer.”

“I—uh—I like what you’ve done with the place,” he remarked, looking around the room.

“I haven’t done a thing,” I replied flatly. “This is the way I found it.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I’m just fuckin’ with you. So are you gonna suck my dick or are we gonna talk about your dead uncle all day?”

“Let's get that cock sucked,” I offered eagerly, not wishing to discuss my uncle anymore. But as the country buck started to pull out his big one, he made me assure him there would be no charge for my services, which I agreed. I may be a slut, but I’m not a whore. 

“FUCK,” I gasped when the enormity of his big cock was revealed to me. His dick pic had failed to represent the sheer size of his member. My only regret was that there wouldn’t be time for me to offer to ride him, taking his load up my ass instead of down my throat.

“Shit, that feels good,” he moaned, tipping his head back as I began to slobber all over his big tool. “I needed me some head so fuckin’ bad. It’s been awhile.”

Christ, his big one was a jaw breaker. I had to work to find just the right angle to deep throat him all the way. But I was determined. 

“HOLY FUCK,” he gasped as his big cock finally traversed my tonsils and all the way down my throat, his big balls mashed against my chin. “Ain’t nobody ever managed to get it down like that, not even the guy who used to suck me off.”

“I’ve got mad skills,” I bragged, coming up for a quick breath, saliva coating my chin. “Fuck you’re hung. I bet the bitches scream when you pound them with this big one.”

“Fuck right,” he agreed, grabbing his cock by the base and slapping my cheek with it, an audible thud. I wondered if I’d have a bruise. 

Deftly, I took his big dick down my throat again, locking my lips as I slid it in and out of my throat, curling my tongue around his cock head before shoving it back down my throat again.

“Shit, bro,” he exclaimed. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna bust.”

Emboldened, I picked up the pace, gobbling up and down on that big dick, his hairy balls smashing my chin with each downbeat. I cupped his balls as they began to hug his body, priming the pump. The dude wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Oh fuck—oh fuck—OH FUCK,” he barked, his cock erupting down my throat, a firehose of cum blasting my guts. His farm boy cum was rich and creamy with a slight tang, like fresh buttermilk. 

“That was fucking HOT,” I exclaimed as I finally surfaced for air, cum and saliva smeared on my chin. 

“Yeah, that was pretty damn, fuckin’ good,” he complimented, stuffing his spent cock back into his overalls before looking at the clock on the wall. “I best be goin’.”

“Right,” I acknowledged, disappointed the fun was already over. 

“You have any other luck with that wall posting at the gas station?” he asked as I saw him to the door. 

“Nah,” I shrugged. “Just you so far.”

“You take it up the ass?” he asked. 

“Fuck YES,” I replied a bit too eagerly. “You want to come back and fuck me sometime soon?”

“I was more thinking you could come out to my place, out on Route 12 past the truck stop,” he suggested. “Ma up and left us about five years ago, so it’s just Pa and me and my eight brothers. I know they’d enjoy—uh—meeting you.”

“They all hung like you?”

“Yup,” he laughed. “Having a big dick is sort of a family trait. Why don’t you come by tonight? We sure could use a cumdump like you, since the one we had ain’t around no more.”

“Yeah? Who was your cumdump?”

“Your batshit crazy Uncle Leroy,” he laughed, slapping me on the back. 

Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.

I'll be real, I'm so in love with him and Charlie Hunnam that I think they've ruined other men for me 🤭

Lungs desperate for smoke.

"Help," said the Horse.

- Charlie Mackesy

Even as a therapist, there are times I need help. I have my own therapist, and if things feel too heavy I sometimes need medication assistance. There's no shame in needing help.