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This is a work of fiction; any resemblance of a character to any person, living or dead, is unintentional. The stories in this series are set in the early 1990s.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Brown round?” I said, apprehensively repeating Russ Wilks’ words. Whenever Russ brought up something that would lead down a debauched path, he had that shit-eating leer on his face I was seeing right now as he drove us in the company truck to the automobile auction lot.

He chuckled. “Yeah, brown round — your lady’s butthole, son. Have you tried pushing that button yet?”

The 30-minute drive to auction grounds that Saturday morning had devolved pretty quickly into sex talk, as was usually the case with Russ. At least he didn’t make any mention of the craziness that had transpired the evening before.

The taste of that was literally still in my mouth — how Haskell, our mechanic, had showed me Russ’ hidden camera system. How we’d watched Russ plow the business owner’s wife in his office. How Haskell casually began masturbating and cajoled me into doing the same. And then how Haskell introduced me to the taste of cum — first mine off his fingers, then his, direct from the source as he plunged his fat cock past my lips and wedged it in my throat.

It had taken me all night to try to process that. Hell, I still was unsettled when I woke up and had a pit in my stomach as I drove back to the used car lot to work — alone for the first time all day with Russ. Two weeks in, and he’d already conditioned me to get there early. He wasn’t there when I arrived, and that was a first.

I was too antsy to wait in my car, so I got out and paced the lot until I heard the throaty rumble of his restored 1964 GTO coming down the main street. I took a deep breath and committed to not acting squirrelly, even though the newfound knowledge over the past 24 hours was upsetting at every level. Russ was fucking the owner’s wife. In his office. And videotaping it all. Oh, yeah — I’d blown a man and swallowed what felt like a pint of cum.

So, I was almost relieved when Russ got in the car and immediately reverted to “normal,” which was hammering me with questions about how far I’d gotten with my girlfriend, Katelyn. On this drive, he was asking what she liked, and was starting to give advice on technique.

This, from the man who’d once told me a good masturbation technique would be to fill a bathtub full of water, get an erection in the bath and stick the head up out of the water, catch a fly and pull off its wings, then set it on the head of my cock until it “walked me off.” I don’t think I’d ever been so dumbfounded in my life. Now he was asking me if I played with my girlfriend’s asshole.

“Uh, no — I’m not sure Kate would appreciate me poking around down there, Russ.”

“Son!” he half-shouted as he slapped the steering wheel. “First, you’re already poking around ‘down there!'” he exclaimed, making air quotes with his fingers over the top of the steering wheel.

“I’m trying to give you a leg up here! A competitive advantage! Dipshits your age don’t know squat about the human body. Young, dumb and full of cum.” He slugged my thigh with his right fist. “Listen up — you’re getting a master course here in human sexuality!”

He launched into a long discourse on the anatomy of the pussy and pelvic floor, the perineum, anus and the relative merits of the nerve-ending responses in all the different parts.

“But it’s not just physical with the butt, no no no,” he said, turning to catch my eye. “It’s psychological. Assholes are taboo, right? ‘Oooh! Don’t touch where I pooh,'” he squealed in a mocking girl’s voice. “Well, I AM going to touch there, I might lick there, and guess what? You’re going to beg for it for the rest of your life!”

He laughed and I squirmed a bit; I was embarrassed that I felt my own asshole tingle in response.

“When are you going out with Katelyn next?” he asked.

“Actually, tonight if I can get home on time,” I said. “What time do you think we’ll be done?”

“We’re moving 12 cars today, three at a time. If we don’t have to stand around at the auction office with our dicks in our hands too long this morning, I’d say I can get you out on your pussy hunt by 6 o’clock.” He gave a light slap on the upper arm with the back of his hand. “Bust a hump and get the last car offloaded by 5, and I’ll even spring for a couple beers.”

“Sounds good,” I said, I had no clue if “a couple beers” was literal or some kind of euphemism. The previous night with Haskell it had been both.

We arrived at the sprawling auction lot outside South Barton and Russ wheeled the company truck to a stop among a row of other trucks extending in both directions from a white portable trailer office. Our truck had a flatbed that tilted down, allowing one vehicle to be driven up and clamped with chains, and then a tow bar to hook up a second vehicle.

The plan was after we’d secured each load of two vehicles, I would trail behind driving a third. Two trips before lunch, two trips after. istanbul travesti Before we left the used car lot that morning, Russ had us go into the locker and shower room and strip down to our undies, then put on clean blue work jumpsuits.

“We’re gonna be crawling around in the dirt and working in grime today,” he said. “Don’t want your Mom giving me a rash of shit for sending you home looking like a dirtball.”

I already knew Russ had no qualms about his body, having seen him fully naked on my first day of work. But I was a bit self-conscious and turned away awkwardly as I kicked off and jean shorts and shed my T-shirt.

“You’re not in junior high gym class,” Russ chided. I began to feel a bit flush in the face as I turned, mostly just to stop the teasing. He was standing in boxer shorts, bent at the waist and folding his shirt on the bench in front of the lockers. As his torso moved, the right leg of his boxers pulsed as his thick flaccid cock lolled around between the cotton and his thigh. The impression it made in the cloth extended all the way to the hem.

Immediately I thought of Haskell’s huge ebony cock from the night before, and then just as quickly realized the small electric pulse I felt in my groin when that memory flashed vividly in my mind. I glanced down at my white briefs and the comparatively small mound pressing against the fabric of my crotch, then snuck one more peak over at Russ. He was pulling on one leg of his jumpsuit but saw my eyes.

I feared what he’d say next, but nothing came. We finished dressing in silence, put our clothes into lockers and headed out to the transport truck.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The day at the auction lot started tedious, then became steady work, and the time went by fast. The first hour was mostly waiting and paperwork. There was no actual auction — the buyers had actually walked the lot earlier in the week, inspecting cars and running value checks, and then submitted written bids.

Russ had bid on more than three dozen cars, he said, and ended up being the high bid on 12. It was actually a “second-price” auction: Whoever won the bid would pay $1 more than the second-highest bid. That encouraged everyone to bid high, but no one to be punished for bidding TOO high.

“Kind of a cool concept, and a mind fuck, all at the same time, huh?” he asked as we ate ham sandwiches and drank Cokes in the cab of the company transport at lunchtime. Even with the delay at the start of the process, we’d made good time. Two runs were in, and it was only 1 o’clock.

“Yeah, that’s pretty interesting,” I said. “You have to put yourself out there, maybe more than you’re comfortable with, but in the end it also matters what the OTHER guy does.”

“Everyone trying to top everyone,” Russ said, and there was that lecherous tone again. “That IS life, boy. If you’re not the top, then your ass is gonna hurt in the morning!”

He laughed, finished his Coke and belched. Then he pushed open the door on his side of the truck and hopped out. “Let’s put these motherfuckers to bed. Time’s wastin’.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was on my back under a Ford Granada, scoping out the juncture points on the front frame where we could hook up the tow bar. Russ wasn’t wrong — I was getting plenty dirty today, and my Mom would’ve killed me if I’d worn my regular clothes. I craned my head back so I could see, upside down, the transport truck backing up with Russ at the wheel.

“More… more… more… a little more… STOP!” I called out, and Russ jammed the brakes on the truck with it a half foot from the front bumper. The bar was hydraulically operated, and Russ worked the controls until the bar and its two adjustable hooks were under the bumper and near my head. I gave similar voice commands as he steered the apparatus close enough for me to adjust the hooks, then he pulled the rig tight.

He dropped chains down by my head to attach as a fail-safe. When I had those rigged, I called out “Good.” He tightened the slack then reached down with both hands palm up. I reached over my head and locked hands on wrists with him. He effortlessly pulled my body from under the car.

When I stood up, he brushed the dirt and grass off my back, which I thought was pretty thoughtful… until the stinging smack he laid on my ass with his left palm. I winced, and he jutted his right hand in front of me with a set of keys.

“All right, tiger, we’re ready to roll. See that blue Mustang over there? Follow in that one.”

We unloaded at our used car lot and I hopped back into the transport truck for the last run of the day.

“So tonight, when you’re going down on your girlfriend?” he offered. I didn’t say anything, just rolled my eyes a bit.

“Anyway, when she’s good and hot, just get the tip of one of your fingers all slicked up with her pussy juice — I like to use my thumb, by the way — and when you’re working that clit over and she’s moaning, just lightly brush that fingertip over her asshole. Nice and light, OK?”

I istanbul travestileri nodded out of a sense of obligation.

“Wait until you hear something different in her moan or in how she’s moving her hips, OK? Don’t be in a big hurry — the more you tease it out, the more she’ll want it without even knowing it.”

“Want me to fuck her?”

“Ha! You told me she wasn’t ready to give that up but, who knows! You do this right and you might take her around the world. So, OK, you’re lightly circling her brown round and she’s getting all worked up. At this point, get a little more pussy juice ’cause you’re gonna wanna get her drenched down there.”

“All right. More pussy juice. Check.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass, junior — take notes and you’ll thank me later. What you do next is put that wet fingertip right on the pucker. Right on it, dead center, and you put just a little bit of pressure until you feel all those little wrinkled puckers kinda start to grab your fingertips.”

“Grab my fingertips?”

Russ laughed. “Kid, you have so much to learn. It’s like a little octopus tentacle, and once you get those nerve endings fired up, that’s when the fun starts. And I mean nerve endings in her asshole AND your fingertip. You’re gonna be amazed by that and also by what happens after next.”

“What happens next?” I truly had no concept.

“She starts to ass-fuck herself.” I just stared at him, and he smiled when he saw the skeptical look on my face.

“When will you start trusting me, son? I’m telling you, if you do the lead-up work right, and your finger is wet and in that spot like I tell you, and you’re still lapping her clit like a cow at a salt lick, she is gonna starting pushing her body down on that finger. She may not even KNOW where all that good sensation is coming from, because her fuse box in that whole southern region is gonna be blown at that point.”

“And then… then she just starts fucking my finger?”

“And then, Petey, you’re gonna administer the coup de grace and send her into the oblivion of the best orgasm of her life.”

“Coup de grace?”

“The final shot, the knockout punch!” My eyes were caught by peripheral motion; I glanced down to my left, and Russ was gripping and adjusting an obvious boner under the right thigh of his jumpsuit, all without taking his eyes off the road.

Damn, this guy truly was a sexual force, I thought.

“By now, she’s going to be moaning in a language you’ve never heard before. When the pitch gets higher, when the breathing gets ragged, you do two things. Ready?”

“Yep, taking notes now, boss.” He smirked.

“Slow down the tongue dance. No crazy movement, just slow lapping like a cat with a bowl of warm milk. And then, to send her over Niagara Falls, at the same time you slowly — and I mean S L O W L Y — start to pull that finger out of her ass.”


“You’ll figure it out from there. Everything you need to know will be communicated to you by her asshole. You’ll know when the trigger is pulled, and the bullet ain’t coming back.”

Of all the sex talks he’d given me, this was the most specific. And something about the enthusiastically lewd way he’d said it had gotten me to join him in the erection club. His right hand slowly slid along the protrusion in his jumpsuit, and I tried to discreetly nudge my cock into a more comfortable position in mine.

“You gonna tell me how it works out? You ARE gonna do it, right, Petey?”

“Boss, if she lets me anywhere near her pussy tonight, I promise to pay a visit to the brown round.”

“Attaboy. You can tell her to thank Russ Wilks when she regains consciousness.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Finally, at 4:55 p.m. Russ drove the last vehicle down the ramp of the transport truck and swung it into the open service bay door at our used car lot. As he returned to the running truck he said, “Pull the plates on that, and go get yourself cleaned up. After I’m done parking this rig, I’ll come in and make good.”

“Make good on what?” I said, feeling that tickle in my stomach that had become pretty common since I started this job.

“Those beers I promised,” he said, then made an exaggerated glance at his watch. “We beat 5 o’clock by a red cunt hair. You weren’t great today, but you were good enough.”

I was in full lather under the hot spray of the shower head when I heard the clinking of bottles. I turned partially — I was still feeling a bit sheepish with nudity, even after all that had transpired the past two weeks — and saw Russ holding up two beers and grinning. He took a long gulp out of one and sat them both on the bench. I turned, ducked my head and started rinsing.

Seemingly seconds later: “Make sure you clean all the bits for your big date tonight, sport.”

I startled at Russ’ voice so close to me and turned to see him beside me, still in his blue jumpsuit but with the arms rolled up over his massive forearms. He was soaping his hands and forearms and seemed oblivious to water spattering travesti istanbul on him from my showering.

“You… you’re getting wet,” I said, and felt a jolt of fight-or-flight response to this alpha male standing so close to me. The last time this happened in the shower, with Haskell, I got introduced to man-to-man contact.

“You prefer I take my jumpsuit off?” he said with a knowing smirk. I ducked my head back into the hissing stream of hot water and instantly felt his soapy left hand on my right ass cheek, freezing me in place. Out of my side vision I saw Russ turn square to me, and his hand went from gliding over my skin to kneading my ass cheek.

He pulled close to my ear and finally addressed what we’d avoided all day.

“I know what you saw yesterday. I know what you did.” I felt a wave of heat go through me; I don’t know if it was shame or regret or fear.

“Did you have cameras on me, too?”

Russ laughed and continued groping my ass. On each stroke his fingers slid deeper into my soapy crack.

“Ha. No — I don’t have cameras going that way… yet.” He drew closer to my ear. “Haskell and I don’t have a lot of secrets, Petey. We’re all in this together.”

I looked down and to my right, trying to avoid his gaze. His jumpsuit was turning darker blue from the water splashing on it, and the wet fabric outlined the thick hose jutting out against his left thigh. Something was going to happen; I felt like a goldfish in a bowl and he was the looming figure peering in, holding the net.

His left hand pressed deeper between my cheeks, and his forefinger found my slick pucker.

“Maybe you can use this tutorial tonight,” he said, and I got a jolt down my spine as he grazed his stubbled chin up and down my neck and pressed the tip of his finger in just enough to open my slippery knot slightly. His right hand went to my chest and he roughly twisted my left nipple. An involuntary gasp slipped from me, and he immediately went to a first knuckle in my ass; he paused just a heartbeat and then went to a second.

“Feel this,” he said. He opened his mouth and slobbered up my neck to the back of my ear, roughly pinched my nipple and then slowly, very slowly, started to withdraw his finger. My ass, slicked with soap, tingled as it tried to clutch and hold his finger. My breathing was ragged, out of my control, and my cock was now rigid and bouncing in the spray from the shower head.

“You never thought you’d fight to keep something in your ass, did you?” I shook my head slowly “no,” amid a wave of pleasure and shame. “You never thought that you’d beg to have more, did you?”

Through the sensory fog of my mind, I tried to grasp what he said. Beg?

“Tell me to put it back in,” he hissed into my ear, circling the tip of his digit against my pulsing asshole. “Ask for more.” He tapped firmly against my sphincter. “Beg.”

“More,” I rasped.

“More what?”

“Deeper. More.”

He took the bottom of my ear in his mouth, chewed the lobe roughly, then spit it out and said, “What’s the polite way to ask for more? I’m doing you a favor, right? I’m doing your girlfriend a favor. How do you ask nicely?”

“Please… please give me more. Please go deeper.”

He began to slide his finger down my taint away from my knot and I felt the breath leave my chest and my knees get weak. I started to say “No…” but before I could get it out of my throat he plunged his finger to the hilt. I felt an explosion of sensation that began deep within me and radiated across my abdomen, up my spine and up through the tip of my rock hard penis.

“Gaaahhhhhhh” The sound came from somewhere deep in my gut and I fell against his chest, the wet jumpsuit brushing roughly against my skin.

“That,” he huffed, making a series of rhythmic jabs that made the sensation almost unbearable, “is your prostate. It’s a gift from God that few men know about. And,” he said, almost as an afterthought, “fewer women. You’re going to have to teach your girlfriend all about. But first you need to learn.”

He continued stroking, the flat of his palm smacking up against my ass with each plunge. My cock bounced with a surge of blood and excitement with each passage of his finger over that gland.

“Oh, look at that,” he said, mock delight in his voice. I felt his hand close around my cock and waggle it. My eyes opened and refocused and I looked down to see my cock head an angry purple, a drizzle of precum swinging from the tip.

“I need to give it a rest. That load is for Katelyn tonight, Petey.” He slid his finger out of my ass, and my knees buckled. I felt vacant, spent. “You’ll thank me, and so will she.”

Through my fog I heard the shower control creak and the stream of water against my shoulders and chest stopped abruptly. Even though it was summer and the shower room was steamy, the sudden contrast caused goose flesh to pimple up my arms and legs. Russ turned away from me and walked toward the bench and lockers.

“Come on over, son,” he said. I turned and saw him peeling off the wet jumpsuit. I slowly made my way toward him and he raised the beer bottle and took a drink. With his other hand, he hooked a thumb under the waist of his briefs and pushed them off his hips. His prodigious cock popped free and swung between his legs, mid-thigh, as he kicked his feet free of the shorts.

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