MELONS
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
[This story is one of twenty from my illustrated book "Hard Living, Hard Loving Men" which can be found at my website at http://www.tommyhawksfantasyworld.com/hardlivelovemen.htm ]. It is also available for sale (without illustrations) at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.]
Hell of a note, construction work was, all by itself, it sure as hell didn't need this added shit!
James Beauregard wiped his face with an already-saturated red bandanna and stuffed the sopping rag back into his back hip pocket as he regarded the task at hand. "Hey, Will, get over here and help me!" he called.
"Sure thing, Jim!" William Morrison walked over and stood by Beauregard's side. The two were of a kind, if not twins. Beauregard was six foot one inches of solid male muscle, with black hair of the shade that many called "blue." His face was square-jawed, his nose large but regal, his skin leathered from the endless hours of hard labor in many weathers, his broad shoulders had carried many a beam into place, his biceps had swung many a sledgehammer, his abdominals had lifted many a heavy load, his legs had carried many burdens into their place and from the crude materials of stone, concrete, steel, wood and wire, he had built homes and businesses, gazebos and garages, sheds and skyscrapers. If you needed something built, you called for a man like Beauregard to build it for you and paid him well.
Morrison was much like Beauregard, but his ashen blonde hair over a rounder pug-nosed face made him seem more jovial. This was a mistaken impression, for he was rough and rowdy and got into many more bar fights than Beauregard when they teamed up to get something to cut the dust of the day. His body was less visibly muscular than Beauregard's, but again, that was not true, he could match Beauregard beam for beam, sledgehammer for sledgehammer, load and burdens in the pursuit of turning raw materials into things a man can use.
These were the two men who turned to their current task, that of manually levering a heavy piece of decorative facing up into place. The owner of this place wanted panels of thin concrete coated with tiny bits of colorful gravel in three shades of bluish-gray to face the front of this building, each panel weighed on the order of three hundred and fifty pounds. It would take all of these two men's strength to lift this panel from its face-down position on the ground up into the vertical slot prepared for it. The gravel/concrete panel would then slide down by its own weight an inch into the steel slot set for it, and be held in its place on the wall by more vertical steel I-shaped slots and topped with I-shaped horizontal slots. A lot of hard work for hard men to endure, but the effect when done would be something a man could look upon with pride when he thought, "I built that."
Such was Beauregard's thoughts as he bent over, squatting to let his legs assist him, as did Morrison beside him, a pair of men wearing yellow construction hard-hats, work shirts (red-and-black plaid for Beauregard, blue denim for Morrison) and blue jeans with heavy tool belts sagging like a Western gunslinger's pistols, with battered brown workboots, squatting to lift a burden, their asses in a close row behind them. And behind that was Jesse Blenheim. A rugged slightly-older man with a broad solid build and a wicked smile above it as he regarded the pair of taut male asses before him. Two horned paws of hands came back and swung toward their targets side by side.
"Hunh!" Beauregard grunted as his ass was swatted by Blenheim's left hand.
"Unkh!" Morrison chimed in as his butt was slapped by Blenheim's right.
Neither man tumbled though they were unbalanced by this unwanted attention. They rose and confronted their tormentor.
"Haw, haw, haw, haw!" Blenheim chortled like a well-muscled Santa Claus. "That's the only way to see if melons are ripe, you gotta slap em hard!"
"You son of a bitch!" Sputtered Morrison.
"What the hell was that for?" Beauregard demanded.
"Hey, you had them hanging out, just begging for plucking." Blenheim wasn't worried at the pair of outraged hulks facing him. "If you don't want them tested, you should put them in a sack!" He walked off, still chuckling.
The pair of molested hunks resumed their duties, still fuming. "That son of a bitch needs to be taught a lesson!" Morrison griped. "We ought to take him down and work him over good!"
He meant a beating, as his fists waving around in mid-air made clear, but Beauregard pretended to misunderstand him. "Ought to give his own melons a plucking, eh?" He grinned at his buddy.
Morrison looked annoyed, then grinned in his turn. "Damned straight! See how he'd like it with his butt getting slammed hard."
"And not with our hands!" Beauregard's own hand at his crotch made his intent clear.
"Damned straight!" Morrison said again.
They bided their time until the end of the day, bearing up under numerous poorly executed jokes by Blenheim and other co-workers about their "fruit stand" and "melon harvest." To all of these, they just smiled sickly, as if defeated.
But they were ready in Beauregard's red Ford pickup to watch Blenheim's own Toyota Corolla roll out of its parking spot. They followed sedately at a distance. "Hope to hell he doesn't stop for a drink." Morrison moaned. "My nuts have been building up steam ever since we came up with this idea."
"He doesn't." Beauregard assured him. "I overheard him yesterday complaining how he blew all his money on a poker game and was broke until payday tomorrow."
"Good!" Morrison agreed, and indeed, Blenheim's Toyota took a direct route to a small apartment building. The two men followed at a discreet distance as he walked upstairs to the third apartment door on the second floor.
"Wonder if he locks his front door?" Beauregard pondered as they approached the door.
"We'll bust it down." Morrison proclaimed.
That proved not to be necessary. Blenheim was ensconced on a stained second-hand sofa with a Millers in one hand, while a worn sitcom rerun played on the television. "What the hell?" he blurted. Then he saw his visitors. "Hey, Jim, Will. Came to make a melon delivery?" He smirked.
"Nope, we came on a melon run of our own." Morrison grinned a hard grin. "We figure if you like our butts so much, you might like to have your own butt given a visit by a pair of meaty bananas." His hand on his junk made his intent clear.
Blenheim saw the bulge in the jeans, glanced over to see a second one in Beauregard's own basket and to their surprise, he gave a big grin. "Now there's a fruit a man can sink his teeth into!"
"We came melon hunting." Morrison reminded him.
"Oh, hell yeah!" Blenheim agreed. "But you got to grease those mothers up if you're going to split my melon."
"Son of a bitch." Beauregard said not in a curse, but as an expression of wonder. "You've been fruity for us?"
"Why else would I slap your asses?" Blenheim pointed out. "Now which one of you wants to plow my butt first?"
"Me!" Morrison stated.
"Then get over here and let me slobber on that salami."
"Fuck, yeah!" Morrison walked over, fighting his fly open as he went. The tool he pulled out to Blenheim's slavering lips was a respectable piece of man meat, Morrison produced a nine-inch, thick slab of hard dong and Blenheim devoured it with the reverence such a prodigious pud deserved, his saliva let him drive it down over four inches and then he gripped and pulled back, then went back and sank down even deeper.
"Awww, aw, man!" Morrison groaned as his dong was milked by a master. "You sure know how to suck cock!"
"Damned straight." Beauregard admired. "If that's all it takes to get you going, then let me in on it!"
"Oh, oh, shit, I'm lubed up enough anyhow!" Morrison grunted. "Let's get to the melon-splitting!"
"Shit, yeah!" Blenheim stood and his hands flew over his fly, his buttons came apart as if trained to do so, and then he peeled off his jeans and briefs in one hard jerk. Spun around and knelt and presented his hairy "melons" to a pair of astonished eyes.
"Damned, man, you're hairier than a mutant peach back there!" Beauregard stated. "Is your butthole even in there?"
"I'll find it!" Morrison's own jeans were peeled down and he knelt down behind Blenheim and fed that hairy ass his hair-nested prong.
Blenheim howled as Morrison drove that pile-driver in to the hilt in one hard thrust. "Oww-ow, OWWWWOOOH!"
"Agh, damned, man, I thought you'd be used to this by now!" Morrison complained. "You're tighter than an ugly virgin's twat!"
"I am used to a cock...when it's the regular size, not this king-sized monster!" Blenheim moaned. "Shit, man, you could have given me a moment, shoved it in slow."
"Ahh, fuck that shit. I'm too horny." Morrison proved that by moving his hips and Blenheim howled some more. But he didn't ask Morrison to stop.
"Shit, man, I see why Jesse wanted to slap your ass!" Beauregard watched the bobbing ass of his buddy. "That's a pretty pair of pants-fillers you got there."
"You see why I had to go for them." Blenheim panted. "Shit, you got to let me at them when you're done, okay?"
"Me, too." Beauregard stated.
"Shit, I'm so horny, I don't give a fuck!" Morrison said. "Long as I get to stick my dick in a hole, I'm ready to go for it." He proved it by not letting up on his fucking of Blenheim for a nano-second.
"Then slick me up, Jesse!" Beauregard declared to the bouncing Blenheim, whose face was a blank canvas of passion-filled male expression. His glazed eyes took in Beauregard's manhood proferred, and his mouth opened for the insertion.
Beauregard sat down on the couch before Blenheim and scooted forward enough to let the man suckle on his cock. Damned but Morrison was right, this man knew how to make a man's organ hum happily!
"Uh, shit, man, I can't decide which is better, getting this blowjob or fucking my buddy's ass!" he moaned.
"Better pick fast!" Morrison gasped. "I'm about ready to blow and after that, either I get fucked by you or I get fucked by Jesse. Take your pick!"
"Oh, hell, no!" Beauregard fought off Blenheim's hungry mouth and staggered back up, his cock eight inches of solid, uncut male-meat, shining with the saliva of Blenheim's adoration. He got around behind Morrison and squatted so that his cock could line up with Morrison's pair of lovely butt-orbs. He found the center point and pushed into them.
Morrison moaned as his ass was filled full of hard, male, muscle-driven prong, that delved deep into his bowels and throbbed there. "Oh, oh, shit, I'm the meat in a man sandwich, AH-AH-AHH-HOOOHHHH, UHHHH!"
"Oh, man, your spunk is like liquid fire!" Blenheim moaned as his butt was filled with hot spunk. "Harder, man, fuck me harder while you come!"
"Oh, oh, oh, hah, ah!" Morrison did his best while his orgasm clawed at him and his cock spewed his male essence, but soon he was done and exhausted, and useless to a horny man who needed a hard cock in his ass. Or something like it.
Morrison staggered when Blenheim pulled out from under him, but his hands managed to find purchase on the sofa's seat and he held fast while Beauregard plowed his ass. Beauregard was lost in his lust--humping a good buddy is the best thing in the world!--and he barely noticed Blenheim as he rammed that magnificent ass. As Blenheim lubed his cock with saliva spat onto one palm and rubbed on, as Blenheim stared hungrily at Beauregard's ass (hairy but not as lavishly coated as Blenheim's own), and then Beauregard hardly felt it when Blenheim's hands landed on his shoulders as he levered himself into position.
He only felt it when Blenheim's prick touched his sphincter and by then it was too late, a hard shove and he was impaled on hard cock.
"Ah, ah, AHH-OOH!" Beauregard moaned as he was taken by cock. "Shit, man, what are you doing?"
"Plucking melons like I said I would." Blenheim panted behind him. "Don't worry, I'm damned worked up, I'll be done in no time!"
"Shit, man, oh, shit!" Beauregard groaned. He was caught between two worlds, the one in which he plowed his friend's ass, and the one where he was at the mercy of a horny co-worker who had periodically made his work-life even more miserable than a job out in all weathers had to be!
All he could do was endure it, his motions managed to find synchronicity with Blenheim's and he fucked while being fucked, Morrison ass so warm on his cock before, his ass so warm with hard throbbing dong behind, and himself in the center, all man, all muscle, all masculine desire building up within, all of it good, GOOD!
"Oh, oh, shit, I'm coming, I'm coming!" he gasped.
"Shoot it!" Blenheim urged him. "Fill that pretty melon full of hot man-milk!" Blenheim's hands were on Beauregard's breasts, palping them as if he were a buxom woman, and even that was good, and his body expressed it, and he ejaculated like the hard hot stud that he was!
"COMING, COMING, OH, UH, UH, GUH, UHHHHHHHH-HUHHHHHHH!" Beauregard blasted a geyser of steaming jism into Morrison's majestic ass, and he felt his own ass clenching up in his ejaculation's spasms throughout his body while glorious ecstasy exploded in every nerve he had.
"Ah, ah, ah, AHHHH, SHIT!" Blenheim moaned and Beauregard, groaning in his exhaustion and after-orgasmic lassitude, felt the powerful jets of hot man-lava as they loaded his ass.
Released, Beauregard rolled over to sit on the floor to Morrison's left, while Blenheim managed to stagger into a seat to Morrison's right. They stayed like that for a time, three exhausted men all with fucked asses, all with their pants down to their knees, panting in their shared desire.
"Ah, shit, man, that was so fucking hot!" Blenheim said finally, breaking the moment of Zen-like silence.
"Sure as hell was." Morrison agreed, crawling up to sit beside Blenheim.
"Yeah." Beauregard remained where he was, the floor was comfortable enough for him. "I guess we've all not been getting enough pussy lately."
"Who the fuck needs pussy," Morrison said, "when you got some warm melons you can plow anytime you want to?"
"When did I agree to that?" Beauregard looked up in wonder.
"Sounds good to me." Blenheim said.
"That makes two of us." Morrison said. "Are you in?"
Beauregard didn't have to think for long. "Hell, yeah."
THE END
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