The 20th century author with a colossally warped and perverted penile perspective has taken up an entirely 21st century pursuit: Podcasting. Penises on Parade. Pricks for Kicks. Plop down your meat and pick up the podcast that will make your ears sting.
Peter Schutes’s books lend themselves perfectly to bedtime stories. The literary mind of the author leaps off the page and into your ears. Who could ask for a better companion to your hand while getting in touch with your inner power bottom? Become the fantasy.
Peter has written tens of thousands of pages of raw smutty literature. Within those pages are some recurring themes and scenarios. Here, are the 11 most common Peter Schutes tropes.
We chose 11 in honor of the unicorn of dick size – 11 inches.
The Unicorn
11. Oops, I got pregnant! In addition to the very common Monachee stories (#2 below), the Male Pregnancy theme is explored in a few contexts. In The Butt Baby, a normal guy gets pregnant from his old high school fuck buddy. In The Expectant Member, through an entirely plausible series of events, a man conceives a baby in his penis, while simultaneously impregnating a Female to Male (FTM) boyfriend. In The Longshoremen, a Kindle Vella story, Ralph is a two-spirit (hermaphrodite) man. Presenting as male, he has both sets of genitalia, and gets pregnant not once but twice, despite having been told he couldn’t conceive.
10. Size, any size, is extremely important in any Peter Schutes novel. Big, small, huge, minuscule, monstrous – nearly every size is extreme. The extreme differences in size are equally fascinating as the men whose manhoods match up. A few characters suffer from penile bigorexia – they’re very big, but not big enough.
9. Fish Out of Water is the theme of many of Peter’s stories. A delicate boy joins the Greek Army in Hercules and Lippos. A cherubic youth rides the rails with vagabonds in Hobo Honey. An innocent young man lands in a rural sheriff’s jail in The Anaconda Copper. In all these stories, the theme is propped up by a masculine protector intervening for the boys’ well-being.
8. Peter always chose macho settings for his novels. The butcher the better. Cops, Sheriffs, Soldiers, Lumberjacks, Bodybuilders, Construction Workers…he created a veritable Village People of hypermasculine characters.
7. Public sex is the secret sauce in many Peter Schutes stories. Miles High sees a porn star with a huge cock fucking tiny Jeff in the airplane bathroom. Peter Schutes’ own story is rife with public venues. His scenes in The Autobiography of Peter Schutes, set in the basement of Filene’s Department Store, rival anything Jean Genet produced.
6. Many Peter Schutes books explore gay venues before Stonewall. Whether it’s the seedy waterfront bars of Fortaleza in The Able Seaman, a bath house in Peru in Confessions of a Rodeo Clown, or the speakeasies of New Orleans in Panama Heat, Peter describes a strange mixture of repression and freedom. The bars and baths are often illegal, but once inside, all rules are cast aside in favor of bold, unabashed sex.
5. A half dozen Peter Schutes novels involve a well hung man meeting and/or falling in love with a man in possession of a gigantic monster cock. In Hercules and Lippos, Hercules is well hung; Lippos’s cock drags on the ground. Buck is too big for most, Stack is too big for everyone.
4. Travel and escape figure large in Peter’s novels. Young men set sail or fly to distant lands, whether it’s a Mexican Priest heading to the Vatican in Cloistered, a high school graduate enlisting in the Merchant Marines in The Able Seaman, or an entitled heir traveling to work on the Panama Canal in Panama Heat. In every way, the travel leaves the men changed forever.
3. A common variant in Peter’s novels is the horse hung loner who finds another monster-hung man. Together, they make sweet love. This is a sub-theme in the Big, Bigger, Biggest series on Amazon. Hobo Honey is a classic example of this.
2. Peter wrote an awful lot of Male Pregnancy (MPREG) story lines. The majority involve the Monachee, hill people in Appalachia who possess gigantic penises and the ability to conceive anally. They tend to keep it in the family, so incest zig-zags across the theme as well. These include Daddy’s Boy aka Appalachian Bred, and the Vella story The Orchardman.
1. The king of all Peter Schutes story lines: the naive, puerile young man with a tiny penis meets a brooding older man with a penis so huge, it defies logic. Despite all odds, the little guy learns to take the big guy. Of course this leads to love. These books are classified on Amazon as The Big and The Small of It.
Los Angeles was 100 miles away, but it might as well have been 10,000 miles. I was finally relaxed. Someone in the hot tub commented that I had a nice smile. I don’t think I’d smiled for years.
After endless years on contract at MGM, I was finally able to take a vacation. The contract expired. I had saved enough to live for a few years if I chose not to work again. This trip to Palm Springs was quite literally what the doctor ordered. My blood pressure was through the roof. I was starved of vitamin D. Basking in the sunshine in my speedo I could feel my skin drinking in the light. That’s when I saw Bailey.
The clothing-optional resort catered only to men. The owner was queer, as were all his clientele. Nobody was required to wear clothing. This meant that the employees of the resort had to be comfortable working around a bunch of naked gay men. Bailey was the new groundskeeper. He was so good looking, he had to dress ugly on purpose. He as over six feet tall, with dirty blonde hair. He wore coke bottle glasses and a thick mustache, hiding his handsome face. Every time he moved, his muscles threatened to burst through the fabric of his clothes. I was surrounded by a crowd of mostly naked men, but all I saw was Bailey, bending to pick up a pot of geraniums. Even from behind, I could see the outline of his cock running down the inside of the left leg of his jeans.
I’m a bottom by design, not by choice. My fat cock looks good in a swimsuit. It attracts a lot of curious men, anxious to take a ride. Once it comes out of the swimsuit and swells to full size, they walk away. Unless they’re very experienced, they know they can’t do a thing. If I’m lucky, they’re versatile, and I get a good ass fucking. In Los Angeles, they’re usually 100% bottom with zero interest in giving me the pleasure they’d hoped to reap from me.
Bailey didn’t seem to notice my huge bulge. He kept at his job, patiently planting pansies and geraniums in terra cotta pots. I had to walk past him to get to my room, and I needed to pee. With my fat cock crammed into speedos, I wiggled and walked to my room. I nodded at Bailey and said, “Hi.”
Bailey looked up, pushed his thick glasses to his forehead, and smiled. “Hey man.” His voice was deep. It made me shiver.
He went back to planting. I took a piss in the room and stuffed everything back carefully, to hide as much as I could. I know very little about gardening, but I do know that geraniums are perennials in Los Angeles. Palm Springs has different weather. He was right outside my door, potting geraniums.
“I thought geraniums were perennials.”
Bailey looked up with a serious expression. “Not in the Springs. By August these’ll be crispy.” He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“Bailey.” I took his meaty palm in mine. It was cracked and rough.
“Peter.”
We stood silently for what felt like an eternity but was most likely about ten seconds. Bailey licked his lips.
“We ain’t allowed in the guest’s rooms.”
“Are we allowed in yours?”
When he was done planting for the day, Bailey stowed away the wheelbarrow and tools. I was lying by the pool, my fat, throbbing meat wrapped in spandex. I saw silent whispers between guests, some of whom stared unabashedly at my hard-on. Every time Bailey bent to put away a tool I got harder. I didn’t know what would happen between us, but I knew I was going to like it. Bailey closed up the garden shed and padlocked it.
He whispered. “I’m in 46. Wait five minutes.” Bailey walked with a bit of a limp. I could see his massive cock trapped in his jeans. I suppose the rest of the resort could see it too. It was impossible to miss, just like mine.
Before I could knock, Bailey whisked me inside. He planted his lips on mine, his tongue gently exploring my mouth. I pushed back, tasting his toffee-scented breath. I put a hand on his inner thigh, rubbing the long log of flesh that throbbed and strained against the denim. He reciprocated, caressing my cock through the strained fabric of my swimsuit until it stuck out like a tent pole. It was thick as a beer can.
Bailey knelt and freed my fatty from its prison. His bing hands held it. The fingers couldn’t touch. He buried his lips in my foreskin and tongued the tip. I’m a shower and a grower. It got bigger. His eyes widened. I waited for the familiar rejection.
“You’re like me!” He stood. After getting the waist past his protruding ass, he lowered his jeans to his knees to free the monster. It lifted to a 90-degree angle, poking my belly button. His cock was longer than mine, but it was the same size around, like two soup cans stacked on each other. Bailey held me close. My cock went between his legs, while his pressed to his chest, rising past the nipple line. I only needed to lower my head to lick the tip. He shivered.
I said, “Bailey, I’ve never been with someone as big as you. I’m not sure I can take it.”
He grinned. “Me neither.” I wasn’t sure if he meant he didn’t know if he could take me or if I could take him. Turned out it was both.
Bailey said, “Pete, you wanna try fucking me?” I hadn’t fucked anyone since high school. I was just too big. Yes, I wanted to try fucking him. But I knew it was hopeless. Still, I nodded.
“I gotta prepare.” He went to the bathroom. The door was open; I saw him in the mirror. He douched, then he took some diet pills out of the cabinet and crushed them with a glass. He caught my eye in the mirror.
“You want some? It makes it easier.” He snorted some with a short straw. I took the straw and inhaled the bitter powder. At first I felt nothing. Then I heard a ringing in my ears. My cock got so hard I thought it would explode.
Bailey climbed up on the bed, wriggling his muscled ass. I licked the musky hole. The scent drove me wild. I lapped and sucked and licked, forcing my tongue deeper into his hole. It was surprisingly loose. His cock hung down like an udder. I milked it while I sucked, stretching his balls until the tip of his cock leaked pre-cum. I caught the pre-cum on my tongue and licked his hole, tasting the salty dribble as it worked its way into his hole.
Bailey moaned. “Oh, Peter. Fuck me. Fuck me.” He handed me a jar of Albolene. I slicked up my cock with the grease and spit on it. I spit in my greasy hand a few times and wiped Bailey’s hole with the mixture.
“You ready?”
He nodded. He picked up a little glass vial and popped it, inhaling the fumes. He handed it to me. I inhaled, and my whole world throbbed. I knelt over Bailey, who lay prostrate on his mattress. I lined my cock head up with his hole. Letting gravity do some of the work, I pushed until the very tip entered the warm hole. Bailey popped another vial.
“Quick! Now!”
I watched my cock head as his hole swallowed it up. I could swear he was pulling me inside him. Once the head was in, the rest of the fuck was a straight shot. My hips pressed against his round buttocks. I was inside a man for the first time in years. I nearly cried.
I was so surprised and excited, I wasn’t able to hold back for very long. Twenty or thirty good strokes and I shot my load up inside him. I pulled out my dripping cock, wiping the excess cum on his backside.
Bailey rolled over and smiled. “Your turn.”
I didn’t think I could take it. I’d been fucked three ways to Sunday but never by a man as big and thick as Bailey. He used greasy fingers to stretch my hole. I felt him press against my prostate and jumped. He fingered me there again and again, watching me thrash with ecstasy.
As much as it took me to grease up my own pole, it was nothing to the amount of Albolene that Bailey needed to lube up his. He spit over and over, polishing his huge cock until it shined. He flipped me onto my back, holding my legs on his shoulders, and handed me another glass ampoule.
I popped the glass, and just as I began inhaling, I felt blinding pain in my nether regions. The poppers made my muscles relax, but they didn’t take away the pain. Bailey forced himself halfway in, until his cock rammed against the end of my rectum. He leaned over and kissed me. He pushed hard as he lifted my left side close to him. Suddenly, his cock popped through an opening I knew well. He was in my colon now. He held the poppers to my nose and pushed again. With a loud smack, his hips hit my butt.
I recognized the tears of joy in his eyes. He probably hadn’t been inside anyone either. I lifted my head, watching in fascination as the huge cock slid in and out of me. Bailey’s rhythm became a locomotive, speeding up with each stroke until he was a jackhammer.
“Oh fuck! Jesus Christ! Fucking fuck!” My eyes rolled into my head. I couldn’t see, only feel. It was terrible pain mixed with a pleasure so sublime, it was worth any amount of pain. I felt completely filled with flesh on the in-stroke, and terribly empty on the out-stroke. Over and over he pounded me until I lost the power of speech. I moaned softly. Bailey kissed me, holding my shoulders against the bed so he could fuck even harder.
“I’m gonna plant my seed in you.” It was funny, coming from a gardener. I nodded weakly.
He threw his head back and gave a quiet shout. I felt a warm flood fill my insides. As Bailey fucked, filling my lower digestive tract, there was nowhere for the cum to go. It shot past his cock, out of my hole, staining the bed. He collapsed on top of me. I held his muscular ass, marveling how it had accepted my fat cock just minutes earlier. Next it was the powerhouse that drove his violent thrusts.
The diet pills were doing their job. I was rock hard, throbbing against Bailey’s belly button. He winked.
“Something’s up, eh?”
I nodded.
“I think we’ll have a whole garden planted by the end of the night.” He was right.
Wilbur waited at the gate for his flight back to Albuquerque. He dreaded the long, boring pep talks at Limon headquarters. Every three months, Limon Corporation required the sales staff to fly to Topeka and endure the long-winded talks from the CEO. Wilbur was sales support, a technical role that had absolutely no business listening to the incessant bullshit they were shoveling. The only thing about these trips that he enjoyed was the time away from the wife and kids.
When Wilbur was younger, his classmates bullied him. It was deep cruelty because Wilbur had the shortest, thinnest penis in gym class. They called him “Clitty Boy” and “Pinky.” When Juan, his supposed best friend, joined in, it was almost too much to bear.
Juan took Wilbur aside. “Listen, man, I know this hurts, but you got to hear it. With a dick like that, no woman is gonna want you.”
It was easy for Juan to say. He had a dick hanging halfway to his knees. All the women were going to want him. But surprisingly, things turned out different. As they got older, Juan grew less interested in women. Wilbur, on the other hand, had benefitted from his reputation. It turns out, a lot of women prefer their men on the small side. And even though it was short, it could shoot like a rocket. Wilbur got his high school sweetheart pregnant at the Senior Prom. They were married, and had three more kids after that.
What Wilbur never told her was that his friendship with Juan was more than platonic. Juan taught Wilbur how to make his ass into a pussy. Every time they got together, they had a few beers, then Juan would cram his dick in. At first it hurt so bad that Wilbur cried. But practice makes perfect. So long as they hung out every weekend, it got easier. Soon, Juan was able to slip inside Wilbur like he was fucking a cow. It was their secret.
The problem with these trips away was that Wilbur missed being with Juan. His ass tightened back up, and it was painful the next time they fucked. Then Wilbur discovered the Turkish Baths in Topeka. His little pee-pee attracted the big guys like flies to shit. In Kansas, those corn fed boys were hung huge. Many were bigger than Juan. They fucked like horny dogs. On more than one occasion, Wilbur left the baths with a breeze blowing up his gaping hole.
This weekend had been a bust. It was Harvest Festival, and all the men went to the fairgrounds with their wives and kids, not to the Turkish Baths. The place was barren; Wilbur didn’t get fucked like he needed. He could feel his trap door closing and tightening. He didn’t know what to do.
Then his prayers were answered. A big corn fed dope in a black cowboy hat plopped down across from him, legs spread wide. A huge grin covered his face. Wilbur glanced down out of habit and gasped aloud.
“Yep, it’s all me.” The Kansan hunk put his hand on the mid-shaft and rubbed it gently. Wilbur felt his tiny penis harden. The man’s cock showed completely in his Wranglers. It bulged across his upper thigh. The head wrapped around so it almost touched his ass. It was at least as big as Juan, but it was getting bigger.
“Man, I think I need some help. Can you help me?” It was a simple but effective line. Wilbur nodded and followed the man into the terminal men’s room. It was busy, but it took no time for the two to get into a large stall together unnoticed.
Wilbur loved huge cocks. Juan’s colossal cock showed him pleasure his wife could never give. The small ones weren’t enough. Wilbur loved how his small penis lured men who were bigger than average. This time, he landed a whale.
The Kansas hunk struggled to get his skin-tight jeans past his massive cock and ass. When he finally got free, the tree trunk of flesh swung skyward. The Kansan grabbed Wilbur by the ears and forced his cock into his mouth, barely. The head was too big, and the corona couldn’t get past Wilbur’s teeth.
“I thought you faggots were good at giving head.”
“I’m not a…” Wilbur realized it was pointless to deny that he liked men. But he didn’t identify as gay. He was a married man who found pleasure being with men.
“Not a what?”
“I’m not into oral. Are you into fucking?”
The Kansan grinned again. “Hell yeah. My wife don’t let me do nothing to her. I gotta jack off and squirt inside her, and she squeals like a stuck pig even then. You would let me fuck you?” He held out his cock, which was several inches longer and much thicker than anything Wilbur had tried before.
Wilbur dropped his pants and put his hands on the toilet seat. “Fuck my ass.”
A few loogies and a lot of spit later, the Kansas man was slippery enough to push his way in. It felt like the first time with Juan. Wilbur cried from the combination of pain, pleasure and nostalgia. This man might ruin him. As the head popped past the inner sphincter, Wilbur cried out.
“I can stop. I’m hurting you.”
Wilbur reached back until he felt the man’s thigh. He pulled him closer. Inside, he could feel the cock stretching him like a water balloon. It hit the end, and there was still more to go. Then the Kansan did something new. He lifted Wilbur’s right hip and kept going. The head popped past a hole then Wilbur never knew existed. He nearly fainted. It was terribly painful for about three seconds.
The pain was replaced with a tingling sensation that grew and grew. It was like an orgasm, but it came from his butt. Wilbur’s little dick dripped juice on the floor. The muscular stranger rested his hips against Wilbur’s ass, filling him as far as he could go.
“You ready for this?”
Wilbur nodded vigorously.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Wilbur said, “Just fuck me, man.”
And the Kansan obliged. His thrusts were short and gentle at first. After a minute, he picked up the pace and lengthened his strokes. Each out stroke pulled the head out of that deep hole, and each in stroke pushed it in with a loud pop. It sounded like someone was spanking their kid. The bathroom was so busy and noisy, nobody noticed.
Wilbur felt dizzy. Each time that head popped in and out of the inner hole, he felt spasms of pleasure wracking his body. The fat cock got fatter. Now a steady stream of clear drool dripped from the end of Wilbur’s dick.
“You come like a woman, don’t you?” It wasn’t an insult, just an observation.
Wilbur grunted. They continued to bump and grind with abandon. The Kansan never stopped accelerating. Soon his cock was a blur as it thrust back and forth into Wilbur’s wrecked asshole. Then Wilbur felt something completely new. The tingling that started when the Kansan poked that hole was building, and it reached a tipping point. Suddenly, Wilbur’s entire body was throbbing. The muscles in his gut were contracting in rapid waves, massaging the fat cock inside them.
“What the fuck is that? Goddamn boy, you’re gonna get me off.” The Kansan threw his head back and hollered like a cowboy. “Fuck! God damn!”
He fired shot after shot of cum inside Wilbur. Each time he came, his cock swelled, pressing against the walls. Without touching himself, Wilbur blew his load in big clumps on the floor.
“Damn boy. You ain’t got much of a gun, but you got plenty of ammo.”
They cleaned up with toilet paper and ass gaskets, flushing the evidence of their crime. Wilbur wasn’t going to hear his farts for a month. The muscle bound Kansan grabbed Wilbur by the shoulders and tried to kiss him.
Wilbur had never kissed a man before. He started to back away, but the man was too quick. He put his tongue down his throat. Wilbur liked it. He felt safe with this man.
Back at their seats in the terminal, the cowboy leaned forward. “Name’s Kirk. What takes you to Albuquerque?”
“Heading home.”
“Me too.” He leaned forward and gave Wilbur his business card. He sold livestock supplies. “I’d sure like your repeat business.”
We found a deeply personal poem written by Peter, bemoaning the burden of being huge. If you thought you could unveil his psychology through his stories, this poem will be like opening his calvarium and staring directly at his brain.
The Obscenity
Come with me, I'll show you why Too much of a good thing can make you cry Like a horse caught in a bear trap
It isn't you who'll do the crying For you'll refuse me Once the flesh that so enticed you Sees the light of night
First one button, then the next Should lead to glorious sex Not screams of fear And shouts of doubt That end with you simply walking out Leaving me turgid and exposed with my obscenity in my hand
I don't wish it to shrink Despite what you think I want my frame to grow to match it And live among giants Who find my obscenity average or small And who have no problem at all Accommodating me to the root So I may plant the seeds of passion Deep where they belong Not cast aside like a mustard seed That lands on my stone chest With its heavy heart
Obscenity is man's invention Crafted by the envious who crave the attention That I cannot avoid
At the party the men gaze longingly And force their way so they can see The flesh that causes terror And they know they've made an error Like a mouse that takes the cheese But they can give it back Before the trap can snap Then leave the cheese to mourn Its deadly enticement
You can, ahem, “sample our wares” in a number of places. There are three primary places where Peter’s prose has landed like a colossal floppy cock hitting the thigh just above the knee. There you will find all his works in the three primary “Happily Ever After”niches:
Three Primary Niches
Lonely Big Dick meets Lonely Small Dick and vice versa
Lonely Big Dick meets AboveAverage Joe and vice versa
Big Dick and/or Little Dick gets pregnant
Where to Find Free Big Dick and MPREG Erotica by Peter
On Smashwords, entire novels are offered up for free. The selection rotates every so often, so you might even get lucky and find your wish list filled. When you sign up for the mailing list right here on this site, you get 5 free short stories that will curl the hairs on your balls. Luckily, shorter ball hairs make your dick look bigger. Unlike many unscrupulous smut peddlers, we have sense enough to know that sending you more than four emails per year is just plain obnoxious. The emails are SFW so we can all have that HEA ending.
Find Peter on Twitter This is an excellent source for tiny samples we like to call micro-porn. Twitter’s format forces us to reduce Peter’s lengthy prose into just the naughty bits that convey the joy and pain of being big, being small, or taking a big one. Bonus here is if you follow Peter, you’ll see a tweet with a link to a free novel. Also, the real-life author behind the writing likes to post the occasional erotic selfie.
Yes, that’s right. When we stumble across fragments or short stories that haven’t been anthologized, we can’t easily sell them. So you, dear blog subscriber, reap the benefits. Not only do you get to read never-before-seen fiction, you also catch glimpses into Peter’s prodigious penile psychology.
Peter’s books have always sold in a slow, irregular trickle. Part of the reason is that Amazon doesn’t let erotica authors advertise on their platform. There are other ways to advertise; however, until recently, we hadn’t tried anything other than this blog and the occasional tweet.
Male pregnancy erotica written from the protagonist’s colon
A week ago, we asked a casual question of a fellow erotica author that led to a big change in our approach. Successful gay erotica author Jean Valjean recommended animated gifs and a jukebox tool that allows us to create a few dozen salacious tweets that trickle out in random order four times a day. We’re up to 150 backlogged tweets and will likely stop at 500.
Creating 150 unique tweets from Peter’s books (mostly) was eye-opening. We never stopped to check our editing jobs on the books. WOW. It’s hard to market a bunch of books that still need a polish or two. Being forced to say something arousing in 280 characters or less makes for extremely concise edits. Adverbs and adjectives are the first to go. Names get replaced with “he”. Entire descriptive sentences vanish, leaving the raw act of sex exposed.
With this new mindset, PS publishing vows to edit every book again. Right now, the books are in a genre that we probably invented called “Anatomical Smut.” If you’ve read Peter’s works, you know that he spends an inordinate amount of time describing how massive size impacts the innards of the bottom and the life of the top. When a male character gets pregnant, the book is essentially written from inside the colon. We’re going to keep looking through his hoard of manuscripts to see if some were rewritten as gay romance, which didn’t even exist as a genre until the 1970’s.
So look for some revisions to Peter’s novels in the weeks and months to come.
If you’re interested in the steamy Twitter ad campaign, which is much more polished than the books, check out Peter’s Twitter
UPDATE: There are over 1,500 tweets stacked up in the jukebox now, and dozens more added each week. Be sure to check out the Twitter feed. It’s a smorgasbord of big fat dicks.
We’re on the eve of publishing a 25,000 word erotic romance called “Deceived, Cursed, and Blessed”. Set in the 1930s in Chicago and Hollywood, the novel follows the story of Max Anderson, a man who makes a deal with a demon to have the biggest dick in town. Like most bargains with diabolical wish-granters, the result is disastrous.
Max and his lover have to find a way out of the diabolical pact: a Rumpelstiltskin clause.
If you’re a fan of brodbingnagian appendages, romance, and turns of the screw, this is the novella to read. ‘Deceived, Cursed, and Blessed’ will be available in paperback and e-book on Amazon, Smashwords, and at your favorite e-book retailers in January 2022.
Link to paperback pre-sale will appear here when available
…the way he squeezed the banana was more than suggestive…
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.
“Open up.”
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.
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
Peter Schutes 