This is a fragment of a note from Peter written close to the end of his life. He waxes philosophical on the meaning of penis size in the context of human interactions.
In the realm of male psychology, the mind has an infinite capacity to criticize its owner. I’m too fat. I’m too skinny. I’m not muscular enough. I can’t grow a beard, etc. Women may have a similar affliction, but I can only write from the male perspective.
I spent the majority of my life bemoaning the size of my cock, which was enormous. It was too big to have sex with a normal man. The loosest holes require a rigorous fisting warmup. I was miserable with my lot in life. I envied the guys with just an average pole. I even envied the guys who had massive cocks that were dwarfed by mine. I felt a kinship with the men whose endowment was the exact opposite – so small it couldn’t be used for penetrative sex.
I wasted nearly 80 years wishing to be different instead of embracing what I was given. I met more than a few men with tiny penises who said the same thing. One said, “I just needed to accept that I was a bottom, because I loved to get fucked. But somehow, my fear that it made me less of a man prevented me from giving myself over to contentment and pleasure.”
He couldn’t have said it better. I love to get fucked. If I’m lucky enough to meet a fisting bottom, I like to fuck, too. But for the most part, I’m a bottom because nature made me so.
One fact that cannot be argued is that potential sexual partners often judge you based on the size of your penis. Small guys get rejected by picky tops and other bottoms. Big guys get turned off when they see how enormous I am.
The judgment cuts both ways. I particularly enjoy fucking one man with a gaping hole and a tiny penis because he comes easily and often. This is Hollywood, so I won’t reveal his name. There are a lot of tops who take pleasure in fucking a guy with a small dick. There’s no threat that they might get flipped over and fucked. These tops often experience a sense of dominance and authority over the small-dicked man.
Similarly, I scare away tops for the exact opposite reasons. The top is threatened by my size because he fears either getting fucked (and ripped in two) or that My gargantuan cock usurps his dominance and authority. I scare away 99% of the bottoms because they aren’t up for the challenge. But there are some guys who get turned on fucking me because they are overpowering a monster. Occasionally, a top will kneel down and ask to worship my meat. I rarely get off when this happens, because their tongues get dry licking so much flesh.
I feel a kinship with men at the extremes of size. The very biggest tops tell me that their cock scares away a lot of partners. The guys with the little cocks are even more like me, because they feel shame and envy, something most average to huge guys don’t really understand.
It has taken me many years to understand that any endowment is meant to be just as it is. Microscopic, tiny, small, average, big, huge, me. Any of those men has his advantages and disadvantages. Those of us at the extremes of size have greater disadvantage, but that just makes the hunt all the more exciting. —PS
On summer break from college back East, I came to stay with my Grandmother in Fresno, CA. Fresno is the largest city between Los Angeles and San Francisco. It sits in the middle of the Central Valley, where it bakes like the raisins and prunes it is famous for producing. Fresno was trying to be a big city, but it was a farming town at heart, so all the trappings of a proper city were there, but there was no one to use them. The Rumpus Room, the one gay bar in town, seldom had more than twenty lonely men who all knew each other. It wasn’t officially gay, but all the clientele were bisexual or gay men. Women didn’t go there.
Grandma drove a massive Town & Country station wagon. At night, she let me use it to “go do your college stuff” which was her way of saying “cruise for chicks”. I cruised for dicks. Having a rather small penis myself, I fantasized about playing with a big one. My boyfriend in college was average; we broke up in the Spring. I was too afraid of seeing someone I might know at the Rumpus Room, so I just drove endless streets in the swollen suburb to no avail. Who was going to get it on with a guy in a station wagon? I knew about parks and rest areas, but I preferred to know my date before we fucked.
That was why I was so surprised when a trip to the grocery store turned into the raunchiest, sexiest encounter of my life.
It was July. The vinyl on Grandma’s seat was so hot, it would give second degree burns, so I sat on a terry cloth towel. It was still so hot my legs turned red, but my skin stayed attached to my body, so it was an improvement over the alternative. Fresno’s didn’t have fancy grocery stores like Zabar’s. The closest they had was the Lucky Supermarket. It was a chain from somewhere east of California, but it specialized in local meat and produce, which was the best thing about Fresno. Farmers and cowboys were scary, but they made some damn good food.
On this fateful day, Grandma shopped on the butcher aisle and sent me with a short list to get fruits and vegetables for the week. It was near the melons I saw him: a cowboy with thick legs, a round butt (complete with Copenhagen snuff in the back pocket), and shoulders nearly twice as wide as his waist. From behind, he looked well-built. He picked up a cantaloupe and thumped it before putting it in his shopping cart. He froze. Turning his head, he caught me staring at him. His face was framed by a square jaw, big ears and a ten gallon hat with jet black hair poking out from under the brim.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
I blushed and hurried down to the onions and potatoes. The last thing I needed was for another cowboy to beat the shit out of me. I’d had enough of that in high school. I cursed when I realized I had forgotten tomatoes, avocados and bananas; the cowboy was right there in the aisle where all three met. He was inspecting the fruit. Again he turned his head in my direction, but this time he winked. He grabbed an avocado and gave it a gentle squeeze before putting it in his hand basket. He pressed a finger on a tomato. The skin gave but didn’t stay depressed. He put the ripe beefsteak tomato in the basket. Then he picked up a bunch of bananas. He held them close to his generous nose and inhaled deeply. To my horror, he gave the biggest banana a squeeze test.
“You’re not supposed to squeeze bananas, you’ll bruise them.”
The cowboy turned to face me. “I know.” I was mesmerized by his dark green eyes. The way he squeezed the banana was more than suggestive. He lowered it to crotch level, where something much larger than any banana was stuffed down his Wranglers. He used the banana to outline the enormity of his endowment.
“You like what you see?” He flexed it make it stand out even further. “You got me hard, son, and you’re going to help me with it. I can’t walk around like this.”
“Wh-what did you want me to do?”
He tilted his head towards a nearby door to the stockroom. “You walk right in front of me, nice and easy.” I covered him from the front, and the hand basket covered him from the side. I had no idea what was about to happen to me. There was more than a 50 percent chance I was in for a serious fag bashing. I was wrong.
The employee restroom was a private stinky toilet with a filthy wash basin. The cowboy hustled me in there and locked the door behind us. He raised his hand, causing me to flinch involuntarily.
The big bear of a man chuckled. “I ain’t gonna hit you, but I may hurt you. I think you’ll like it.” He unbuckled his belt unzipped, and let his Wranglers drop. They didn’t go far, just enough to reveal the root of his massive cock, which was big around as a Coke can. Now, I get turned on by huge cocks, but I had never been fucked by one that summer.
“Pull them down, son.” I dropped to my knees and freed the rest of his cock, which hit me with a strong uppercut to the jaw.
“Holy fucking shit!”
He frowned. “Watch your mouth.”
I lowered my gaze. “Yes, Sir.”
Calling the cowboy “Sir” made me feel something new and different. I submitted to his superior masculinity. I was his bitch, and I liked it. So did he. He grabbed the ten inch log of cock and slapped me with it hard before shoving the tip in my mouth.
I didn’t think it was possible to take more but he held my lower jaw and stretched it. The head slipped past my teeth and pressed on my tonsils. I gagged, but he held it there, letting me gag and spit up over and over until the reflex stopped.
“Good boy.” In one swift motion, he forced his fat cock down my throat. My airway was blocked. He held it there for a while, until I saw stars. Just when I was sure I would suffocate, he pulled back just enough to give me a quick gasp of air, and then he was back in my throat, fucking my face. His big meaty hands held my ears to keep me from pulling away. I was his bitch and I had to take it the way he wanted.
I glanced at the bathroom mirror. The sight of his huge cock going in and out of my mouth gave me an instant boner. Not that he could tell. Like I said, I’m small. Just when I was getting used to his cock in my throat, he pulled me to my feet by my ears.
“It’s good an wet now. Take ‘em off.”
I obediently removed my jeans. He ripped a hole in my underwear. He had no interest in seeing my tiny cock. I stroked it through my underwear between my thumb and forefinger until he slapped my hand.
“You’ll come when I say you can come.”
“Yes, sir.” The words were barely audible after the brutal pounding my throat had taken.
I swooned when I felt his tongue circling my hole. He spit on the hole and used his fat finger to work it in. His finger felt bigger than my ex-boyfriend’s dick! He worked it in, then another, eventually he had three fat fingers inside me.
“Unh!” The pain in my anus was canceled by the pleasure in my prostate. A wet spot appeared on my briefs where the pre-cum was leaking out.
My cowboy pinched my nipples with his free hand. This made the juice dribble out faster. Suddenly, the fingers were gone.
He said, “This is gonna hurt, sorry.” He wasn’t lying. He had to clamp his huge hand down over my mouth to keep me from screaming. He pushed his cock partway into my ass, so that the thickest part of the head was in my anus, stretching both sphincters further than I ever thought possible. The pain caused my vision to go bright white, then I passed out.
When I came to, he was fucking me hard and deep. Whatever pain had been there before had quieted down. This new pain was much more tolerable. I felt him slipping around a corner in my gut I never knew existed. Each time that he turned the corner, a raw wave of pleasure sent shockwaves through my body.
“You daddy’s little pussy? Daddy’s little pussy boy, huh? You like it when I fuck your little pussy?”
“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t deny it. I love being his hole to use.
Apparently he had been holding back. Our last interchange put him in high gear. He pulled to the point that his head stretched my sphincter to its limit, then plunged in past the junction and deep into my colon. He did it over and over again until my legs started to give way. He just picked me up and turned me to face him. He pushed me against the wall and fucked even harder. He smashed his mustache into my clean shaven lips and buried his tongue in my mouth. He looked down, saw the big wet stain on my shorts, and smiled.
“Did I make your little clit all wet?”
I nodded my head. That was probably what put him over the edge. His violent thrusts were stretching me in ways I never thought possible. I could see the huge head press a large lump into my belly. I put my hands over the spot and squeezed each time his head popped up.
“Oh yeah!” The cowboy threw his head back so hard his hat fell off, revealing a bushy head of black hair that made his green eyes smolder. As he drew closer to climax, I cupped his bull balls, feeling them churn as they prepared to empty inside me.
“Take it, boy!” His cock thrashed inside me as it emptied warm, slippery cum into my belly. He held still, his crotch pressed hard against my buttocks, as deep as he could go. He kissed me passionately as more and more sperm emptied inside me.
“You can come now, son.”
“I already did.” It was true. My teeny weeny peeny had synced up with his giant bull cock. I didn’t care. It felt so good being filled with his cum, I hadn’t even noticed my own orgasm. His was far more important in every way.
He lifted me off his cock, which had softened enough to get me off it. It smacked his lower thigh and spattered the dregs of his cum on the dirty bathroom floor.
“Good boy.” He stuffed his cock back in his jeans and carefully zipped them. I thought how easy it must be for his dick to get caught in the zipper!
He said, “I want to see my cum leave your ass. Stand over the toilet.”
I did as I was told. He took a finger and easily entered my loose hole, opening the inner sphincter to allow the white man juice to pass. I was shocked by how much came out. As soon as I thought I was done, another spoonful would come flying out. The toilet water was white, with great ropes of the stuff floating about in eddies.
“That’s it, boy. Let it all go.” He stroked my cheek with his hand, but didn’t kiss me. He walked out of the toilet and slammed the door behind him. I had found the best fuck of my life, and he was walking out on me!
My underwear was torn in back, and sopping wet in front. I took me a minute to get them off and toss them in the waste bin. I wanted to cry. But then my eye landed on something unexpected: a banana. On the banana was written “Cody. 777-8714”. The rest of the summer, I “did my college stuff” in Cody’s barn, where he showed me every variety of pleasure two men can have together.
To this day, I can’t shop Lucky’s without getting hard.
PS Publishing released two rare Peter Schutes novels as serials on Kindle Vella. They’re much less expensive than buying a novel, and both stories are fantastic tales of giant cocks and pregnant men.
In The Orchardman, Peter weaves a post-plague tale of infertility, captivity, and male pregnancy. It’s one of the first science fiction novels Peter attempted. Shepard Hendrix, a fertile Monachee capable only of bearing male heirs from another man, is captured and enslaved in a prison hospital where the US Government hopes to resolve the infertility program through forced pregnancy. He escapes the hospital only to find himself in the hand of a new warden, whose private castle serves as a different kind of prison. Can Shepard ever find freedom and reunite with his family?
In The Longshoremen, Peter begins his seedy story in Stockton’s skid row among the longshoremen who work on Rough and Ready island. Alec Shore, an enormously endowed dock worker, falls hard for Ralph EagleClaw, a two-spirit hermaphrodite. Love begets tragedy, then renewal when Ralph returns home to bear Alec’s child alone.
You’d be doing yourself a favor to read these two. If you like big dicks, impossible male pregnancy, and romance, these erotic serials will float your boat.
From Peter’s Notes: Ever since I first heard of ectopic pregnancy in which the embryo attaches outside the womb, my imagination soared. It shows that it’s scientifically possible (if not plausible) for a man to be impregnated. I spent much of my time devoted to writing the Monachee fantasy series Daddy’s Boy [editor’s note, Amazon made us change the titles to Appalachian Bred]. I wrote dozens of stray stories, including a Monachee tale of pregnancy in a post-plague sterile America. I also wrote a humorous book called The Butt Babyand a serious story about a Native American hermaphrodite. There are dozens more, but those three stand out.
From PS Publishing: We found TheOrchardman (post-plague science fiction) and The Longshoremen(hermaphrodite birth) in a cabinet in Peter’s tool shed. He really was good at hiding the stuff that he thought might be too much. All of his work was too much, and we love it! PS Publishing has released these two stories on the new Kindle Vella platform. If you like rough man on man impregnation, these two will satisfy. It’s not the delicate mpreg – this is Bara. Rough sex between rough and tough men.
You should check out Peter’s latest publications: 2 serial stories on Kindle Vella.
The Orchardman is a dystopian tale of male pregnancy (mpreg) and childbirth. It takes place in a setting very much like Children of Men or The Handmaid’s Tale, where infertility causes society to collapse. If you’ve read the Daddy’s Boy/Appalachian Bred series, you know about the Monachee, a clan of hill folk whose men can conceive and bear a child. The Orchardman follows Shep Boone, a Monachee from the Virginia hills. When he is kidnapped (along with all of his kind), he is imprisoned in a hospital whose sole aim is to produce offspring for the wealthy helmsmen. This bizarre work of fiction was found among Peter’s personal files, kept under his bed.
The Longshoremen is a different kind of mpreg story. Ralph is a two-spirit, born with both genders. He chooses to live as a man, but he longs to be with another man. When he meets Alec Shore, an enormously gifted longshoreman, they fall in love. Ralph discovers he is pregnant. He struggles to navigate the uncharted waters of male pregnancy on his own.
Jeffrey clutched his ticket in sweaty palms. He didn’t like flying. Whenever he had a choice, he took a train, or a bus. This was a transcontinental flight on a DC-10 from Los Angeles to New York. He could choose between three days of solid discomfort or six hours of terror…each way. But the meeting was tomorrow, so he really had no choice.
Jeffrey ducked into the restroom for a quick pee before the boarding began. He groaned when he saw the urinal, a single trough. He hated other men looking at his depressingly tiny penis. He scanned the stalls to see if a private toilet was available; all full. His short pause caused a gentleman to bump into him.
“Ey, are you going or not”?
Jeffrey turned to face his antagonist, and almost wet himself on the spot. It was Ashe D’Estende, the straight porn star. The star saw the flash of recognition in Jeffrey’s eyes and grinned.
Jeffrey turned red. He stepped forward to the trough and removed his tiny wiener. Ashe appeared beside him. He saw the tiny manhood and whistled.
“That sucks, man.”
Jeffrey couldn’t believe this blockhead. He also couldn’t stop staring as the oaf peeled his skin tight polyester pants from his thighs in order to extract his legendary dong. It flopped like a dead snake out of his trousers. It was so long, the head crash landed in the river of urine below. Ashe cursed and lifted the monster out of the trough.
“That sucks, man.”
Ashe chuckled as the stream of urine trickling from his urethra became a rushing rapids. Jeffrey was so piss shy, he started to put it away.
“Where you going? Let’s cross swords.”
Ashe had an easy comfort with his body; it was contagious. Jeff relaxed and let the stream of urine flow from his little penis. Ashe swatted his stream of urine so it collided with Jeffrey’s. Jeffrey swatted back, causing droplets to splatter the wall above the trough.
“Nice! You win.”
“I win? That’s a first.”
Jeffrey’s self-loathing colored his speech.
The loudspeaker announced the boarding of flight 1480 from Los Angeles to New York.
Both men put away their respective manhoods and left the restroom.
Jeffrey was not a virgin, but he had a hard time connecting with men. His small penis shame was a constant drum in his ears while he talked to guys. They sensed his fear and avoided him. It landed him on an analyst’s couch for years.
Jeffrey gained most of his sexual gratification in erotic cinemas like the Pussycat on Western Avenue. He would sit on an empty row and masturbate to adult movies. It was not sex, but it was easier than dealing with potential humiliation in the bedroom.
Jeffrey’s surrogate sex life was the reason he recognized Ashe D’Estende. He was a French Canadian who came to Los Angeles seeking stardom, and his dick made him famous. It was far and away the biggest hard cock Jeffrey had ever seen. Soft, it was enormous. Rumors surrounding his legendary member were whispered in soft tones at the theaters. Several stars refused to work with him because he preferred anal. The women didn’t have the guts to take the legend.
Thinking about Ashe took his mind off the upcoming flight. The gate agent took his ticket and sent him down the long covered walkway to the jumbo jet. Jeffrey liked the covered walkway. The last time he had flown, he was forced to walk on a noisy tarmac as planes roared down the runway nearby. This quiet, climate-controlled hallway was a great improvement. When he stepped into the plane, he was astonished by its size. How could such a massive object ever get airborne? He had requested an aisle seat, hoping it would keep him from seeing the plane leave the ground. When he found his seat, it was occupied. By Ashe.
“Uh, I think this is my seat.”
Ashe grinned. He took his ticket stub out and compared.
“Nope. Lucky, you got the window.”
“Damn. Do you want to switch”?
Ashe undid the seatbelt and adjusted his huge soft cock so he wouldn’t sit on it when sliding across. It snaked its way down his trouser leg towards his knee. While scooting, Ashe held the monstrosity with both hands to keep it from slipping under his thigh.
Jeffrey watched in envy and fascination. His mouth hung open. He felt faint. Seeing Ashe pissing was not even as interesting as watching him struggle with simple movement.
“Fucking huge, right”? Ashe grabbed a portion of his long meat and shook it for Jeffrey’s benefit.
“Y-yes, sir.” Jeffrey didn’t know why he said that. Ashe made him want to submit.
Ashe’s eyes sparkled. “Sir? Quel surprise.” The Québécois revealed his origins with his accent.
Jeffrey sat beside him. He leaned forward to put his knapsack under the seat, and caught Ashe staring at his ass.
Ashe sucked air through his teeth. “Bel cul, mon frere.”
A rush of erotic pleasure surged through him. The biggest cock in porn was complimenting his ass.
The stewardess was demonstrating the seatbelt and the flotation device. Jeffrey looked at the placard studiously, prepared for the inevitable crash landing over water. Ashe watched as thin beads of sweat rolled down Jeffrey’s face and splashed on the card.
“Eh, mon ami, are you frightened”?
“I will help you. You must be distracted.”
As the plane backed out of the gate, Ashe put his big meaty hand down the back of Jeffrey’s pants and fingered his asshole. He leaned in and whispered, “Once we are in the sky, I will take you to heaven.”
The plane gathered speed on the runway. Jeffrey cried out as Ashe put one, then two fingers in his ass. The plane lifted off; Ashe slipped a third huge finger into Jeffrey’s hole.
Ashe stretched and fingered him until the no smoking sign turned off. By the time the stewardess walked past, Ashe was sniffing his fingers and smiling at his astonished seat mate.
“No smoking sign is off. Meet me in the back.” He pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket and winked. He climbed over Jeffrey, making sure to rub his crotch in the man’s face.
Jeffrey couldn’t process everything that was happening to him. He was airborne flying over some shitty suburb and the hottest man in porn was waiting to get stoned with him. And he was too turned on to be scared.
Jeffrey undid his buckle and walked through the smoke cloud at the back of the plane until he reached the restrooms. All the stewardesses were busy preparing food at the front of the plane. Ashe stood just inside a restroom, beckoning him. He stepped in and Ashe locked them in.
Ashe fired up the joint and passed it to Jeffrey.
Jeffrey coughed and laughed as they finished the joint together. Ashe flushed the toilet to change the air in the tiny room. He smiled at Jeffrey.
“You have a beautiful tiny penis.”
“No, no mon ami, it is a compliment.”
“In what world is that a compliment”?
“I like to fuck handsome men but only if they have itty bitty penises.”
“I would have thought you preferred big guys, like the ones you work with.”
“I am not a narcissist. My huge cock is beautiful, eh, but it needs not see its reflection, yes”?
His French Canadian accent was unattractive but sexy nonetheless.
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me show you.” Ashe planted his lips on Jeffrey’s and filled his mouth with thick tongue. The passion, fueled by weed and high altitude, drove the men wild. Jeffrey tore at the pearl snaps of Ashe’s cowboy shirt. Ashe removed the young man’s trousers in one swift motion. He unzipped and extracted his rapidly growing member from his double-knit trousers. He applied airline lotion liberally to his cock and Jeffrey’s asshole. The three fingers found their way in. Ashe had been fucking ass on camera for five years. He was an expert. Jeffrey moaned as his rectum loosened under the digital assault. He had never been with a masculine man. His dates were usually very feminine, and always disappointed in Jeffrey’s little unit. Ashe used his free hand to wiggle Jeffrey’s scrotum and penis like it was a pussy. He felt like a woman; it was a huge relief. He didn’t want to be a man with Ashe; he wanted to be a lady under his command. He knew he was about to be anally massacred, but he welcomed it.
The tiny restroom could not accommodate Ashe’s manhood. He had to point it skyward to allow it to grow to its full length. Jeffrey felt the head slither up his back as it grew to its full length. He gasped when Ashe lifted him aloft as if he were a piece of carry on luggage.
The lotion-slick head found its way easily into the finger-stretched hole. Ashe was tapered; his cock grew thicker towards the base. Jeffrey could handle the first few inches, but the last few were going to be murder. Ashe knew his body well, having stretched hundreds of asses on film. He nibbled on Jeffrey’s earlobe to distract him from the blinding pain to come.
Jeffrey was confused. Ashe is supposedly straight, yet he wanted to fuck Jeffrey because he has a teeny weenie peenie. He wanted to spend more time analyzing the strange psychology, but his ass was screaming. Ashe was halfway in, and he was already at the end of the rectum. But then Ashe did something magic. He turned a corner and continued up Jeffrey’s poop chute. It was blissful and intensely painful in equal measure. He whimpered.
“Sh-shh-shhh. Mon ami, you will soon feel only pleasure.” Ashe caressed Jeffrey’s small genitals. He rubbed the little head until clear juice dribbled from the tip. Ashe licked the nectar from his fingers. “Ohh, man, you taste sweeter than pussy.”
Jeffrey could not hear the compliment. His anus was a flood of searing hot pain. Ashe was now two-thirds of the way into Jeffrey. His massive cock was moving deeper into the sigmoid colon.
Ashe was big around as a summer sausage near the tip, but he was thick as a wine bottle at the base. As he continued to lower Jeffrey onto his meat, the young man’s rectum stretched beyond the limits of his imagination. Ashe was careful to lift Jeffrey up at intervals, to give his tight hole a chance to relax and recover. Then he would lower him further than before. All the while, Ashe peppered him with kisses and whispered encouragement in his ear.
“Yes, you are doing it. You feel so good on my cock. You are a beautiful man.”
Jeffrey winced and groaned. “You’re going to split me in two.”
“Relax, I am an expert. There will be no blood. Only deep satisfaction.”
Jeffrey grew faint as the full realization of his conquest washed over him. Ashe had fully made a woman out of him. The gentle stroking on his genitals felt like he had grown a pussy and Ashe was fingering him. Three-fourths of the way in, Ashe was forcing juice from Jeffrey’s prostate.
The porn star cupped his meaty paw and caught the clear ejaculate. He sampled it, then held it to Jeffrey’s mouth. He slurped his own pre-cum. It was delicious.
Ashe used the momentary distraction as a cover for his final thrust. He was balls deep in his seat mate.
Jeffrey’s feet were back on the ground. He stood yoked ass-to-hip with the huge dick wedged fully inside his anal canal. He was invaded, conquered by this heterosexual porn star. He was a woman, with a drippy clit.
“Are you ready for it”?
Jeffrey nodded, unsure what ‘it’ might be.
Ashe pulled back as far as he could and rammed his meat hard into Jeffrey’s ass. He quickly withdrew as far as the tiny cabin allowed, and pounded again, faster. In seconds, he was fucking like a jackrabbit.
“Oh fuck! Oh god!”
Ashe smiled, “It’s good, n’est-ce pas”?
“Oh Jesus. Oh Lord. It’s…unhhh.” Jeffrey lost his faculties of speech. He could only respond in moans, groans and squeals of pleasure.
Ashe rutted his prey, dominating him, emptying and filling him with his huge porn star dick. He loved nothing more than making a woman out of a man. He wanted this man ever since he saw his small perfect cock at the urinal. He was straight on camera, but men with little dicks were his weakness.
Despite the confines of the cramped cabin, Ashe lifted Jeffrey and rotated him, so his ass was on the counter, facing his anal invader. Jeffrey wrapped his legs around his intruder’s waist. Ashe put Jeffrey’s little cock in his mouth. He sucked and swallowed the pussy juice that oozed out with each violent thrust.
Jeffrey discovered Ashe’s short circuit; he twisted his nipples.
“No, you will make me cum.”
Jeffrey let his hands explore the round globes that formed Ashe’s dimpled buttocks. They were lightly furry. Each thrust caused them to tighten. He put a finger between them, feeling the squeeze. He let the finger wander down to the puckered hole.
Ashe grabbed his wrist.
“The last thing that went in there was cut off. I am the man, you are my woman.”
Jeffrey nodded. Ashe kissed him to ease the tension. “You may rub my butt, that feels good.”
Jeffrey concentrated on Ashe’s butt cheeks and powerful hamstrings whose strength drove his massive member so hard into him. The unbearable pain had completely vanished. Each violent thrust of Ashe’s elephantine dick brought only intense orgasmic trembling. Jeffrey’s legs were shaking involuntarily. Ashe kissed his inner thighs and held his knees to calm him. Jeffrey saw stars. Pleasure washed over him in wave after wave. He had never felt this before. What was it?
“I made your ass have orgasms, eh”? Ashe wore a triumphant smile. “I can make it happen again and again.”
He was right. Over the next five minutes, Jeffrey was reduced to a trembling heap of flesh. He melted into a warm buttery sea of anal orgasms. Ashe didn’t stop. He lived to see that look of unrestrained ecstasy on his sex partner’s face. Women were so easy. Only a few men could have multiple anal orgasms; Ashe had found one. He pounded and pounded until Jeffrey slipped into a trance. He lost control of his bladder, and piss poured out. Luckily, it ran into the sink.
“I fucked the piss out of you.”
Jeffrey’s head lolled. He looked like a junkie after a fix. The giant member in his anus was going to make him faint. The room turned red, and he blacked out. When he came to, Ashe was still fucking him deep and hard. He never wanted anything like he wanted this man’s dick in him, but it was going to make him pass out again. In a gesture of self-preservation, he pinched Ashe’s nipples.
“Are you ready for my cum, woman”?
Jeffrey nodded, focusing intensely on the porn star’s leathery nipples.
“I am ready for yours, too.” Ashe covered Jeffrey’s tiny cock with his mouth and licked it like a clitoris. Jeffrey felt sperm building in his balls. The closer he got to cumming, the harder he twisted Ashe’s nipples.
“Oh, fuck! You are making me cum! Ow!” Ashe bucked and thrusted, grinding his hips into Jeffrey’s tight butt.
Ashe was first. Deep in the sigmoid colon, he let fly his first little spurt. Jeffrey felt it, and it sent him over the edge. He ejaculated his first squirt into the porn star’s mouth. Ashe’s second spurt was a flood. It felt like a sperm enema deep inside Jeffrey’s bowels. Jeffrey, like Ashe, was a strong second shot. He was small, but he carried a huge load of cum. He squirted so much so hard, sperm came out of Ashe’s nose.
Ashe pulled back in astonishment just in time to catch a big wad of sperm in his eye. He opened his mouth and caught the successive squirts as best he could. Sperm got on his shirt, pants, and in his hair. Jeffrey was a lawn sprinkler.
Buried to the balls, Ashe kept shooting load after load up the small-dicked man’s colon and anus. His legs buckled. He was half blinded by Jeffrey’s sperm. He looked like a glazed donut. Jeffrey stopped twisting his nipples. He leaned in and licked his own sperm off of Ashe’s face.
Ashe grew soft. Peristalsis, so violently repressed by the gigantic anal assault, returned with a vengeance. Jeffrey ejected the porn star’s huge flaccid member, releasing a torrent of baby batter in its wake. Ashe’s gargantuan flaccid cock smacked hard onto the toilet lid on its way down. The rivulet of sperm puddled in Ashe’s hand. He offered it to Jeffrey, who obediently lapped up the potent dick juice.
The two men breathed hard, looking into one another’s eyes. Ashe took command, kissing Jeffrey as he lifted him off the counter. They cleaned one another with rough brown paper towels and warm airplane water.
“Wait a couple minutes.”
Ashe opened the door, adjusted his crotch for maximum exposure, and walked past two stewardesses, winking. They both stared at his massive crotch; they didn’t notice Jeffrey locking the bathroom behind him.
A few minutes later, Jeffrey limped back to his seat. Ashe gave him that winning smile and patted the spot beside him.
“Did I cure your fear of flying, mon ami”?
“That’s putting it lightly.”
He grimaced as he sat next to the best fuck of his life. Ashe offered him a cigarette.
“You will not walk normal for a few days. But it will feel good. You will remember me with every step.”
People just assume Hercules is a top. He does too, at least until he meets his superior. Lippos may not be a muscled demigod, but he has Hercules beat in the manhood department. And Hercules discovers, to his delight, that his powers prevent him from feeling pain. He’s the perfect muscle bottom. And Lippos is only too happy to accommodate Hercules’s insatiable hunger for pleasure. Never judge a book by its cover. There’s an ancient greek saying “the thicker the beard, the lighter the heels.” It is often the most masculine men who crave to play the feminine role in a relationship. Hercules was no exception.
In Ancient Greece, the most desirable men had very small endowments. Just being “above average” was a deal-breaker. Picture massive Hercules with his grotesquely prodigious member, and you can imagine his loneliness. Enter Lippos, the “tripod”, whose length and girth exceed Hercules’s, and the fireworks begin. They fall quickly in love, each providing his mate both with generous accommodation and intense, deep penetration. Add the adventures of sea travel and power politics, you get this muscle epic worthy of Cecil B. De Mille.
The kindle is on pre-sale now for 1.99. After it goes live, the price will revert to 4.99
Besides being an imaginary 20th Century author, I also write literary fiction under my real name. It can be a real time suck.
So you have two novels to look forward to: “Cloistered” set in the Vatican, and “Hercules and the Tripod of Thessaly”, set in ancient times. I wrote them in the evenings before bed, and had a pretty hard time falling asleep without a little…ahem…help. I have yet to publish either, but expect them soon. It will be an enormous weight off my shoulders.
The Catholic Church was no sacred cow for Peter. In his soon-to-be-published vintage smut book, Peter attacks the very foundations of the Vatican. In A Mass for the Massive, Vicente Picogrande is a priest with an elephantine cock. Under the auspices of being given special training, the horse hung padre is singled out and sent to be a sex slave in the basement of St. Peter’s in Rome. He is not permitted to leave his room except to service the insatiable lust of the cardinals. While Vicente enjoys the pleasures of the flesh, he prefers his freedom, and thus plans his escape.
Written before Vatican II, this scathing attack on the hypocrisy of religion is not merely a filthy one-handed novel; it is a cry for justice. Throughout the ordeal, Vicente and his hugely accommodating friend Franz never lose faith in the true Christian church. They take on the Cardinals, who have made a pact with a demon, and are triumphant.
We found the book in a box that contained the King James Bible, the Book of the Dead, and the Lesser Key of Solomon. Peter was not a religious person, but he was interested in belief structures. In an essay he published in After Dark magazine, he stated that he was not religious, but he did believe in the fundamental teachings of Christ. He wrote “The Catholic Church has become everything that Jesus stood against. It uplifts the wealthy, stomps on the poor, and condemns the very sins its priests commit.”
The book could have gone much deeper into theology and other serious themes, but it was, after all, a dirty book, not an academic textbook. Peter’s disdain for hypocrisy was all too clear in this gay hardcore erotica classic.
The book is in the hands of our intern, Paul, who is transcribing and editing the material for punctuation and other minor issues. We expect it to be ready to titillate by mid-June 2020.
We released the Autobiography on Kindle as a pre-order, the book becomes available April 23, 2020. Get your copy before they sell out (kidding) – but seriously, ordering in advance is like Christmas in April. As we write this, we are cooped up in the house. If we hadn’t spent hours preparing the novel for publication, we would surely put in our order today. As it is, we know the book, and therefore Peter, like the palm of our hand. And if you like paperbacks, this steamy life story is available in paperback, but only in the US of A. Please note – the review process is still underway, so don’t be freaked out if you can’t find it for sale. If you are a Smashwords user, you can find the Autobiography here
Peter Schutes was long reputed to have written a tell-all tale of his life. There were fragments we knew about the author up until now that have blossomed into giant heaps of knowledge. Yes, he had an ENORMOUS penis. Far bigger than anything any of us imagined. If he were alive today, he would be a card-carrying member of the LPSG. His endowment ruled his life in so many ways. Because of his superhuman stature, he was a busy prostitute in 1930’s Hollywood. Apart from the historical fiction and fantasy erotica about male pregnancy, many of his novels and short stories we found and published draw directly from his life story. He was in Panama during the building of the canal. He worked at a rodeo. He worked in the coal mines of Harlan County, Kentucky and the copper mine in Anaconda, Montana. He was a ranch hand and a merchant marine. Now we just need to find his novels about prison, Hollywood hustlers, Mexican priests…you get the picture.
We here at PS publishers are scratching our heads. Peter has given away over 750 free copies of his classic “Bunkhouse Buddies” and yet so far not one person was brave enough to leave a review.
Perhaps all 750 are following the maxim “If you don’t have anything nice to say, it’s best to say nothing at all.” Maybe Smashwords doesn’t make it easy to leave a review. Perhaps we need to put more and better links in the book to make reviewing easier. The marketing landscape for smut has changed drastically in the past two decades.
Were this still the 20th century we would have 500 copies of the book printed up on the cheapest paper imaginable. Those cheap “pulp” novels would be marketed to dirty bookstores, who might reluctantly agree to take ten copies on consignment. Or once the demand for Peter’s books was established, we could sell them wholesale to the bookstore.
Free was never an option, because the printed word was still that: printed. Blogs appeared in the 1990s. Kindle appeared out of nowhere and revolutionized the publishing world. Now any hack who could type was a published author. How does one gather eyeballs in a world where pornographic films are all free?
One solution has been to give away free books, like “Bunkhouse Buddies”. Yes, you get eyeballs. The likelihood that one of those eyeballs will pay for other books is slim to none. Free book readers never pay.
Another solution that gathers a few eyeballs is to write in a niche erotic sub genre. Peter was a pioneer of MPREG. His “Daddy’s Boy” series, since it was written so long ago, is an outlier. He has no characters identified as “Omegas” nor is there any pegging nor tentacles nor werewolves. It’s just good old fashioned daddy-impregnates-son MPREG. One of those books is free, and the rest of the series sold well, despite a single bad review. They don’t make porn like they used to.
Our impassioned plea, gentle reader, is to do three things: