twisted-talez: “Yeah, boy. Raise that ass higher so I can get deeper in that pussy,” he ordered, pum
twisted-talez: “Yeah, boy. Raise that ass higher so I can get deeper in that pussy,” he ordered, pummeling my hole inside his camping tent. “FUCK,” I screamed as he went deeper. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed. “I don’t need my wife comin’ out here.”I was working on my first college term paper when my mom poked her head into my room. “Dinner won’t be ready for another hour. I was just talking to Mr. Sampson across the street. He’d like you to go over there and help him clean his tent.” I didn’t have time for that shit. “Oh, come on, Mom,” I protested. “I need to finish this paper.” But my mom wasn’t having it. “You can finish your paper later. After all that nice man has done for you, I think you can help him out.”Mom was right in a way, for Mr. Sampson had tried to do a lot for me. My dad had split the scene when I was a toddler. Having all daughters, Mr. Sampson reached out and tried to treat me like the son he never had. The only problem was that he was a macho, manly guy who loved football, camping, hunting, and fishing … and I was a sissy faggot who preferred to stay indoors watching Project Runway and RuPaul’s Drag Race. But Mr. Sampson persisted. He took me fishing, and I puked in the boat. He took me camping, and I got into poison oak and had to be taken to the ER. He took me to a football game, but I was only interested in the cheerleaders. At some point, Mr. Sampson gave up on me. Thus, I was surprised when he asked me to come help him with his tent. The tent was set up in their backyard, and Mr. Sampson was inside wiping it down with a rag. “Grab yourself a rag, boy, and give me a hand. I’m camping this weekend with some buds and the tent was musty from sitting in the garage all year.” Mr. Sampson was shirtless and looked hot as fuck with his beard, muscles, and baseball cap. I had jacked off many times thinking of taking his cock. And from the bulge in his shorts, I knew he had a big one. It was hot as fuck in the tent, as Mr. Sampson had zippered shut all the ventilation flaps. I was about to suggest that he unzip the flaps when I noticed him zipping up the front flap, essentially closing us into the tent. His body was dripping in sweat as he turned to me and asked, “You’re eighteen now? Right, boy?” I nodded, not knowing where this was going, when suddenly it became clear. Mr. Sampson lowered the front of his athletic shorts, unleashing a thick nine-incher. “You want this cock, faggot?” he asked almost rhetorically as he reached for my shorts and began to pull them off me. I nodded in assent as he pulled something out from under the pile of rags. “Put this on,” he ordered, handing me a black jockstrap. “I like something to grasp when I’m fucking a boy’s cunt,” he explained. Fuck. Was this really happening? I pulled on the jockstrap, the paradoxical symbol of both jocks and sluts, and it fit perfectly. “Lemme see that pussy,” Mr. Sampson demanded, pushing me down with one arm and raising my ass with his right hand gripping the jockstrap. With my face smashed into the floor of the tent, I could hear him spitting on his cock and then … WHAM … he had impaled me with his big dick. I bit my hand to keep from screaming as Mr. Sampson began to pound the shit out of me. “Yeah, boy. Raise that ass higher so I can get deeper in that pussy,” he ordered, pummeling my hole. “FUCK,” I screamed as he went deeper. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed. “I don’t need my wife comin’ out here.” I dutifully obeyed, biting my hand again to deaden the pain. But soon the discomfort subsided as waves of pleasure broke through me. I had stuck a few dildos up my ass before, but nothing had prepared me for this man’s huge cock. It felt amazing. And I was pretty sure Mr. Sampson was enjoying my hole. His breathing intensified as he pounded me harder and harder. He was getting close. “You want my cum, faggot?” he asked urgently. I nodded once more in assent, my face still smashed into the floor of the tent. “FUCK … SHIT … Yeah, take this nut, FAGGOT,” he bellowed as his cock began to swell inside me. He then held still inside me, allowing me to feel his big balls contracting and relaxing against my hole as he flooded my guts with his warm seed. “DAMN,” he exclaimed, his body convulsing as he withdrew from me. It felt like a rush of air had filled my wrecked hole as his load slipped out of me and splotched onto the floor of the tent. “We’re leaving at 7 am,” Mr. Sampson announced, grabbing a rag to clean his wet cock. “Huh?” I asked, cluelessly. “Your mom should’ve told you, boy. You’re joining my buddies and me for camping this weekend,“ he informed me. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But you know I hate the outdoors, Mr. Sampson,” I protested. “Don’t worry, boy,” he placated. “The only thing you’re gonna see all weekend is the inside of this tent while we take turns breeding your faggot cunt.”Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults. -- source link