“So smooth. Nice.” I cupped his bountiful chest then dug my hands into his hairless armpits, fingering around there as he squirmed in place just a bit.
I finished my beer and belched over his shoulder, blowing it onto his neck and the side of his face.
“Brucie. Kill your beer. Go get us more.” I sent him away with a slap to his ass and he dutifully paced out, shirtless, his face blushing red.
Alone in his bedroom I rifled through his drawers. I upended the piles of neatly folded size-38 underwear and found what I was looking for. I held it up to him when he returned with our beers.
“You’ve still got your old jockstrap. Go put it on, I want you to show off those muscles for me.” I brandished the worn white undergarment, “Mitchell” written in faded black Sharpie on the inside of the waistband. His face darkened to an even deeper shade of red. He looked horrified that I was handling his intimate garment. Shamed that I had discovered he had held on to it all.
I claimed my beer and thrust his old jock onto him. He started to protest but I raised a hand, silencing him.
“Quiet, Brucie. You know you like showing off that incredible body. Your physique is fucking amazing. Be proud of it. Now you’re going to change into just this, and pose for me.” I kept my voice low and steady, boring into his eyes.
The confusion on his face was fascinating to me. It was like I could see him struggling to form words, to figure a way out of this or even recall how I had gotten him to this point. I stepped toward him and put my hand on his broad, bare shoulder, massaging the massive muscle of his trapezius.
“Just do it, Brucie.” I spoke, calm but firm. I felt him relax into my touch.
“Go change.” I gently turned his shoulders around to point him towards the door, and slapped him on the ass again like I was Coach Mancuso.
He reappeared, naked but for the jockstrap. His bare skin was even paler than the washed out cotton. His body looked incredible, straight from the pages of Men’s Fitness, but he held himself like a captive, head down, defeated. Like a conquered warrior on the auction block. Bruce knew that he was in my custody.
“Damn, boy. Come here.” I beckoned him to me and grabbed his chest again, which brought a shy smile to his face.
“Hell yeah, Man of Steel.” I cheered as I curled my hand over his bulging deltoid. He posed like a bodybuilder.
“That’s it flex, flex for me. Show it off.” I grunted, grabbing and feeling up his bulging muscles between sips of beer.
It was all slightly ridiculous but he had a truly incredible physique. I ran my hands all over him. Felt his sides, his massive thighs. His flat, tight stomach. No happy trail, not even peach fuzz.
The smoothness was beguiling. He had the hard musculature of a man but his skin was hairless and soft as a woman’s. I was fully hard in my gym shorts now and pawed at myself openly.
Eventually I turned him around and both my hands found their way down the small of his back to the wide, striped waistband of his jock.
“You’re hot, man. Look at that ass.” I said, snapping one of the straps that framed his huge, pert buttock. I copped another feel, holding his bare ass in my hands.
For the next few moments we both stood in silence, listening to the rap music blasting out of his speakers, as I jiggled his ass around. The big man just sort of squirmed in my grasp, clearly enjoying the attention. As I manhandled him I imagined myself as one of the boasting rappers, virile and bold. I considered how they would treat a hot, nearly naked bitch like Bruce. How they would grab at him and assert themselves. Bruce was my ho. It was my ass, mine to play with.
“Nice ass, bro.” I praised, spanking both cheeks gently. He giggled, as demure as a woman. I kept my hands on those big beautiful cheeks and grazed a finger between his hairless crack. I’d never imagined a guy’s rear end could be so sexy.
I changed the song to something by the same artist, something less aggressive and more rhythmic, more horny. A song for fucking the bitches.
Keeping my hands on his waist, I got right up behind him, swiveling my hips to the music. I pulled him down so that he bent his knees a bit and his rear end was at my crotch level. I pushed my tented hard-on into his ass. I was grinding on him, holding him against my crotch, forcing him to dance along. It turned me on, looking down and seeing my hairy legs and feet right up behind his smooth calves and bare feet.
I turned him around and pressed into him. Again the big man let me move him around as I pleased.
“It’s got me hard, isn’t that crazy?” I said insistently, staring into his blushing face.
“See?” I grabbed his hand and brought it to my crotch. He didn’t resist as I clamped his fingers over my hard-on.
“Feel that?” He nodded, his breath was short. I saw that there was a small tent in the well-worn pouch of his old jock.
“Ha, you’re chubbed up, too.” His face was beet red now. I grabbed the waistband of his jock and yanked it down to his feet.
Unlike Wolcott I didn’t burst out laughing at the sight of that pokey little pinky of a boner, I just stared at it in fascination. Bruce looked mortified at my inspection but the short, thin hard-on pulsed and ached, and it was wet around the tip with pre-cum.
“How long is it?” I took it in my fingers, which dwarfed it. It felt like holding a little flower. It was so soft and fragile.
“Four inches.” He said in a voice-cracking whimper, avoiding my gaze.
“Damn. It’s like you haven’t gone through puberty.” I said. He closed his eyes but his pecker remained rigid. I tapped his little dickhead. I lightly grabbed the throbbing glans then pulled it down until he winced, only to release it and make it slap against his hairless groin. I was acting on instinct – it felt like a penis this small only deserved to be prodded, toyed with.
I ran my fingers over his naked groin, taking in the strangely satisfying smoothness. I was pressed up against him, and he was leaning his heavy body on me. Like he could barely stand.
“And with no bush, no man hair… you look like a little boy, dude. Between the legs I mean. And you’re older than me. On such a big guy too. So tiny, your little clit.” He sighed into my shoulder, a strange moan of humiliation and pleasure, his laughably short stiffy bobbing up, as if nodding along eagerly in agreement.
“Probably better for you to be a bitch, don’t you think? You don’t have the cock hanging between your legs to be a man. You don’t have a real man’s penis. So you’ve just got to be a bitch, right Brucie?” He bowed his head in the affirmative.
“That’s right, my big sexy bitch.” I felt him up, thighs to chest, back down to his phenomenal wide ass.
“Get on your knees.” I pressed gently on his shoulders and the nude colossus kneeled before me. I pointed my prick at his face. I was just about 7 inches but compared to him I was a porn star. I rubbed my cockhead against his lips, poked at his cheeks. My other hand held onto his hair.
“It doesn’t matter that you’ve got such a small pecker, Brucie. I’ve got enough cock for both of us.” I said gently as I thrust forward and he took me in his mouth. I gasped, his big soft lips caressed my shaft and brought me into his warmth.