Jacko was starting to get on my wick again. Nice guy, laid-back, looks like an Albanian bandit with those piercing black eyes of his and a five o'clock shadow you could scour pots with, but it was the fifth night in a row that he was late for work - half an hour, an hour, even longer. That meant I had to cover for him. Maybe he was back delivering pizzas again, maybe he had problems at home, although more likely he was just whoring around and forgot about the time - all I know is that by midnight, at the end of my shift, all I usually want to do is to hook up with a couple of buddies and have some fun, get my cock up a couple of arses, maybe, before heading home, or at least down a couple of throats. Most nights my eight-hour shift at the porno video shop is about as exciting as watching grass grow.
Anyway, on the fifth night when he wandered in late, shirt hanging out, greasy black hair all tousled, sheepish smile, I snapped. 'OK, that's it, Jacko - you're fucked. I'm going to have to say something to the boss.'
'Aw, shit, man - don't do that, I really need this job. It won't happen again - scout's honour. Please. I'll make it up to you.' Up close now, hand on my shoulder, boyish grin. I could smell his sweat. How old was he? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Lean as a whippet, too. My cock was thickening in its pouch, teasing at my tangled pubes. Sweaty, lean males do that to me.
'Booth 4 - now.'
He knew what that meant. 'Come on, man - can't we talk about this? I'll make it up to you - promise.'
'Booth 4, Jacko - now, before someone comes in.'
'Shit, man ... gimme a break. Please.' I just cocked my head in the direction of the booths. He was trying to think fast. He does that when his arse is on the line.
Jacko knew what Booth 4 meant because a few weeks earlier we'd had exactly the same conversation. After sloping in late several nights in a row, muttering excuses - one night with dried cum still crusting the bristles on his jaw - he came in on the Friday night an hour late. 'You owe me, Jacko,' I said, 'big time.'
'Sorry, mate - I was hanging out round at my brother's, you know, and there was this guy there he goes surfing with, cocky little fucker, dirty blond, and ...'
'You couldn't say no.'
'Well, he was begging for it, Zac, his fucking tongue was hanging out ... he put up a bit of a fight just for show ... "Please don't fuck me, guys, please don't make me take it up the arse" ... Bullshit, that blond-haired little boycunt of his was on fire for it, mate.' His fuckstick was starting to snake down his long, slim thigh under his ripped jeans while he talked.
'So you fucked him.'
'We both did, me and my brother. Raped him raw.'
'Yeah, well, while you and your brother were ramming him full of cock, I was sitting here waiting for you to turn up - and the guy I was going to take home and rape raw has pissed off, he gave up on me half an hour ago.'
Jacko flashed his eyebrows and flicked me playfully in the balls. 'Jamil from the deli across the street?'
'Mind your own fucking business.'
'You're wasting your time, Zac.'
'What do you mean?'
'Been there, done that. He'd have had you flat on your back with your legs in the air before you were in the front door. Killer cock, too. And then he'd have left you fucked out on the carpet and gone and done whoever else was in the house. That sexy, long-legged brother of yours, for instance. He wouldn't have known what had hit him.'
Hmm. Just as well I hadn't taken him home, perhaps. My sexy, long-legged brother needs at least an hour of sweet-talking, arse-licking and a cigarette or two (not Marlboro) before he comes across. There's a shorter version, I admit, but it's very rough and very dirty and it takes practice.
'Well, it's five past one and you owe me, Jacko.'
That's when he clicked: his arse was in big trouble. Nothing was said, but he knew. 'OK, I owe you. Look, I'll think of something, Zac, I'll ...'
'I've already thought of something. Unless you want me to mention it to the boss."
'Fuck, Zac, don't get heavy with me, man, it's no big deal ...' He was eyeing my crotch to see if he really was in the kind of trouble he thought he was. I was perched on the stool behind the counter. My pole was halfway up to my navel and filling fast. It needed to plug arse. Jacko's was two feet away and waiting.
'Let's go to Booth 4.'
'Geez, man ... I don't know ... I thought we were buddies.'
'I love fucking my buddies.'
'I don't think I can take more cock tonight, Zac.'
'I thought you raped the surfer, not the other way round.'
'Well, he and my brother ganged up on me in the shower ... I'm going to kill that bastard Rory one of these days ... I'm his fucking big brother, for shit's sake, not some piece of surfer boycunt he's dragged home from the beach.'
'So ...'
'Four times. Twice each. Fuck. I'm shagged out, mate.' Trouble was that heavily fucked arseholes clogged with fresh balljuice turn me on. Can't wait to jack my cock up there and add a few wads.
'Stop whining, Jacko and get over to the booth.'
Swearing to himself under his breath, he loped across ahead of me to the back room where the video booths were. Through the rip just below his butt I saw a flash of black-haired flesh. Hut he was already unbuckling his belt as he went, I noticed. I like that whipped look in a man, I like a man who knows when he's beaten. Makes me want to fuck his brains out.
When we got inside the booth, Jacko suddenly saw that there was someone in number 3. 'Shit, man - I'm not getting fucked with some guy watching us.' I peered through the glory hole. Some young guy was squatting in there, sharp boycock spiking up out of a lush teenage bush. Sleek white thighs. Boots. Oh, yes. I'd forgotten. 'It's only that skinny kid in the leather jacket - you know, comes in twice a week. Shaven head. Feed him your meat through the hole while I fuck you. He's good. Balls a speciality.'
'You'd know, would you?' Facing me, he started pulling down his jeans.
I smiled. 'There was a bit of trouble with the horizontal hold a couple of times. He was just saying thank you.'
Jacko's jeans slipped down his legs to his ankles. Nice long hairy legs. Slim, sinewy. They'd look good spread. The punk in the next booth leant towards the hole to get a better look. The smell of sweat and leather wafted through. Thin, young face, wet lips.
'Jocks. Drop 'em. Can't fuck you through cotton.'
Jacko swore softly to himself under his breath and pulled down his jocks to his calves. Long, thin cock, already jutting straight out of a thicket of black curls in anticipation. Getting raped wasn't Jacko's idea of fun, but his cock loved it. Low-hanging, shaggy balls. I licked my lips and unzipped. My pole sprang out. It liked what it saw.
'Grease it up, Jacko.'
'Fuck, man. Why are you making me do this? I've got to help you rape me?'
'Grab my balls and grease up my cock, Jacko. I want you to feel what I'm going to shove up your arse.' He wrapped his fist around my nuts, squeezed hard and began tooling me up. 'It's fucking thick, Zac,' he grunted, 'I don't know if ...'
'Harder, mate - yank down on those balls. Yeah! That's it. Get that cock rock-hard. Fuck, that's good!' He was giving me an expert cock-jacking, whole fist, pubes to tip. Then I twigged: the bastard was trying to jerk me off before I could nail him. I socked him in the balls, he backed off clutching his crotch and I slammed him up against the wall in front of the hole. The kid in the stall next door must've just about spurted on the spot when that long, hairy fuckstick shot through and banged him in the face.
I grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Jacko's head back to make his butt jut out. Parting his cheeks I took a good look at his crack. A wave of warm, fucked-arse smells hit me in the nostrils. There was dried jizz caking the whorls of black hair around his bunghole, which was gaping wetly, ripe for shafting. Normally I'd have sunk to my knees and spent a few minutes pigging out on the succulent, bruised flesh I was fingering, but someone could've come into the shop at any moment, so I rammed my knob through his slimy ring and got ready to rip into him, up to my balls. He hit the wall, legs spread wide, and I guess the kid on the other side of the wall opened his mouth wide as well to take his prong down his throat. Jacko moaned. 'Just do it, Zac - give it to me, shove it right in, come on, fill me up ... AW, FUCK!' I knifed right up into him savagely. He started banging on the wall with his fists and swearing as I drove my pole in and out of his hot, wet hole, faster and faster, grinding my thick, wiry bush into his tender crack. 'Oh, fuck, man - he's eating my balls ... oh, shit, that's good! He's fucking chewing on them ... he's got my whole nut-sac in his mouth. AH! AH! AH! AH!' Each time I rammed home, hammering at his burning buzz-button, he groaned, thumping on the wall. 'Shit, yeah, Zac - fuck the cum out of my balls, man! FUCK ME! Take my cock down your throat, kiddo - come on ... yeah ... I'm going to shoot a load right down your throat any second now ...' Choking sounds from the next booth, soft whimpers. Bang, bang, bang on the wall with his fists above his head - Jacko was in pain, his whole body was spasming from the hard knot of pain in his fuckhole, sweat was pouring down his back into the fur in his crack, but he was riding it, he was high on it, he was about to erupt.
Then it happened: the ache in my swelling cock shot to the tip, my slit caught fire, and I started shooting bolt after bolt of hot juice up into his mangled gut. I nearly blacked out from the searing pleasure of it, my legs were trembling, I fell against him and began biting his neck, eating his hair, all the while jabbing my spurting cock deeper and deeper, letting the burning in the cockhead slowly turn to honey.
Jacko pulled out of the hole in the wall and turned round to face me. His cock was standing straight up, the straggly hair at its base all wet from the punk's slavering. 'You've got to finish me off, Zac - come on, man, finish me off, you can't leave me like this. FUCKING FINISH ME!' He smelt like an animal in rut.
'I've got a better idea, Jacko.' I nodded towards the hole in the wall and smirked. I knelt down, pulling up my jeans. 'Hey, kid! I've got to run. Why don't you come in here and finish off my mate?' He gave me a nervous grin. He was wearing nothing but his leather jack over his bare chest, hand in his groin between his naked thighs. Very fuckable.
'I don't know, man ... I don't want to get fucked.' Jacko's cock was looking pretty lethal, I admit.
'Come on! He's not going to fuck you, mate - he just needs bringing off. ' The kid looked through the hole at Jacko's lanky, naked body, leaning back panting against the back wall.
'OK,' he croaked. A few seconds later he came through the door, stinking of spunk and hot leather. Ballsy little fucker - looked like he shaved them, too. His rearing young pole was slick with grease and spit. He stared at Jacko's shaggy fork - the cock he'd just been swallowing, the churning balls. He was hungry for more. Jacko's dazed eyes quickly settled on him and sharpened.
'See you guys - I'm off.' As I went out the door into the street, I heard the first piercing yelp. Oops! My mistake. Jacko was fucking him after all. OK, it would hurt like hell, but it would be quick. Make a man of him.
Anyway, for the next few weeks, Jacko got to work on time. Whatever his cock said about what happened, Jacko hated being turned into his buddy's fuckmeat. So a month later, when his bad habits kicked in again, and I mentioned Booth 4, he started thinking fast.
If you liked this story so far, do let Zac know - and whether or not you'd like to know what happened when Jacko tried thinking fast. zaccooee@yahoo.com.au