Content warning: This story contains references to or depictions of consensual sex between adults and minors. The story is entirely fictional.

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He Can Take It

By Zane B. Hawk ➧
zanebhawk@protonmail.com

Part 7

The events of the previous weekend, which he was increasingly sure had actually happened, gave Mark a confused swirl of feelings. It was the hottest sex of his life. He was conflicted about having used a 15-year-old boy so thoroughly, in front of the boy's father no less. But he was also recognizing himself again after so many years of boring sex. He wanted to go farther.

He was skeptical about Jonah's loose scruples in balancing morality and pleasure. He realized the way he was defining morality was more about socialization than right and wrong. And, most strongly, his dormant animal lust had been awakened and needed more sex. The filthier the better.

With the beach vacation over, and with Mason long gone with his family, Mark would need to find a different outlet for that lust. And therefore, he was on his way to the mountains, following Jonah's invitation, and soon enjoying the mountain sex retreat that promised kinky and very horny men ready for sexual adventure.

While driving, he received a call from Jonah. The poor reception made it difficult to decipher what was being said, but a few details came through: Jonah was already at the location, the cell phone reception was nearly non existent, Mark should park at the bottom of the dirt lane when he arrived, and something about having something new for Mark which stuttered into "really in the moment and go with it--" and the call cut out.

He was into the mountains now, two hours from his destination, and the highway snaked through vast stretches of towering green slopes that were only occasionally spotted with dilapidated homes too close to the highway, the occasional one-street town parallel to the highway, and occasional adult book stores catering to the truckers who were the primary travelers on this route. Supply and demand. He considered stopping, watching some porn, seeing what local cocksuckers might be available for use. The repeated impulse had his cock swell and subside with each passing smut store. But he decided to save the energy for the men on the mountain. What he did need immediately, though, was to take a piss.

A shabby and sprawling truck stop emerged around a bend with a sign declaring, "Last fuel for 100 miles." He pulled in, dust and gravel kicking up from under the tires of his pickup truck. Past the diesel pumps for the tractor trailers, he parked between two idling big rigs. He decided he would eat something, then get some gas, and move on the last hour to his destination. But first, he had to piss. He had to piss enough that holding it was becoming a challenge, and contracting those muscles was pumping blood into his cock and making it rise.

When he opened his truck door, he was surprised at the warmth. The mountains were normally much cooler, but the air was unusually thick with humidity and heat. His face was beading with sweat and armpits dampening before he got inside the truck stop.

Inside, fans were blowing, but there was no air conditioning. The whole place smelled of oil, fuel, and bodies.

"Bathroom?" he asked the woman at the counter. She didn't move her eyes from the television blasting some trashy talk show, but pointed over her shoulder.

Most of the clientele at the cafeteria-style restaurant were obviously truckers. Mostly men, some women. There were also a few families eating a quick meal before continuing the sprint through no man's land to their clean vacation destinations.

Walking into the bathroom, the dank air and the smell were like a physical presence that swallowed him. It was the smell of an animal den. Showers were running from the other side of a partition wall, pushing steam into the urinal and toilet area. Stale urine hung in the air. Around a corner he could see half of the trough urinal along the far wall. It was made of sheet metal. The wall behind it, which once was white, had been stained yellow from years of cock overspray. A man in denim overalls backed away from the urinal, wiped his hands on his trousers, and left the room with a nodded greeting at Mark.

Marks' cock was still half-hard from his desperation at keeping his piss from streaming out. He unzipped and struggled to haul it out of his jeans as he rounded the corner toward the trough. And as the far end of the trough came into view, he saw a boy there. The boy was standing to piss, his green shorts and his red-trimmed tightly whitey underwear were crumpled at his ankles on the filthy floor. He looked to be 9 or 10.

Well fuck, thought Mark. There was no hiding his hardon from this kid. And although he looked adorable, and although Mark would probably run some fantasies about this moment through his mind later, he wasn't interested in forcing a kid to look at his hard dick. Neither was he interested in the trouble that could arise when the boy went back to his family with the story.

All the same, pissing was an emergency, the one stall in this area of the bathroom was occupied, and so Mark had to do what he had to do. He walked up next to the boy, glancing down at the exposed, creamy cheeks. Then he noticed that the underwear had Spider-Man on them.

Oof, Mark thought and almost said out loud. His cock was swelling more. He stood next to the boy, cock already out in full view. In his peripheral vision he saw the boy looked up at him. The boy was looking up at Mark, and he was not looking away. Mark looked down at his own dick as he was trying to relax and focus on release despite his increasingly hard prick. With the boy still looking up at him, he turned his gaze down toward the boy, gave a polite smile and nod. The boy wasn't pissing either.

Shy thought Mark. He managed to relax and release a stream that rang against the sheetmetal. The boy looked at the stream, where it struck the metal. Then his gaze moved from the splattering point of impact, followed the stream slowly, and settled on Mark's meat, which was now hanging softer but still full and imposing.

"Wow," mouthed the boy, old enough to understand decorum but too overtaken to practice it. He whispering it so quietly that the voice could barely be heard over the stream.

Mark smiled, noticing the boy still had not begun to piss. If Mark were more predatory this would have been a perfect setup for some action. But he wasn't. And even if the boy had wanted to touch hit, which it seemed he might, there was the occupied stall and the possibility of others entering the bathroom.

So, Mark continued to piss. It was a long piss. He turned slightly to give the boy a better look if he wanted it. And, sure enough, the boy did not look away. Mark felt his cock thickening again, and his heart began thumping in his chest at how close he was to something so alluring.

Mark shock his cock dry. And, before putting it away, with adrenaline electrifying his body, he turned toward the boy, reached out his hand, and tussled the boy's shaggy blond hair. The movement of his arm caused his meat to shake in the boys face, who was now staring with his mouth open.

This was the closest Mark would allow himself to get to what he wanted -- to bend the boy over the trough, grab his ass cheeks, spread them open, and taste deeply.

The horse stall smell was thick in the room, and it came back to his awareness after he separated himself from the orbit of the boy and walked to the sink on the opposite side of the half-wall. Then he heard, whispered, the boy's voice: "Dad, that one was huge. But he didn't ask me to touch it."

Mark turned off the water and stood dead still. Did he really just hear that?

Then another whispered voice, a man's voice: "Maybe the next one. We'll stay another 5 minutes. Don't worry. If you don't get to touch one here, you'll get lots of chances at the next place."

Mark immediately thought of Jonah. He would find a way to make this happen. But Mark was concerned. There were a million ways getting a handjob or blowjob from that kid could go terribly wrong. And very few ways it could go right. He left the bathroom quickly before his lust got the best of him. He's a fucking kid, he thought to himself. But he also let himself notice that this kid really seemed to want dick.

Mark left the building without getting any food. That was no longer a priority. He got in his truck. His cock was a steel rod. He pulled it out and started stroking, head back, eyes closed. If he waited until the mountain, he might explode, he decided.

He imagined the small hands working his head. He imagined the round "wow" hole of the mouth being spread. Then he opened his eyes and saw that the bibbed truck driver was walking toward the big rig parked right next to his own pickup, and he knew the guy would have a clear view looking down once he got inside. He knew what he was doing wouldn't necessarily be a welcomed sight. But he also needed a release, and he was already so close. Mark increased the pace, with precum now flowing freely and filling the truck with the familiar smell of sex. He didn't know where the cum would go, he had nothing to catch it with, but it had to come out. Now.

The truck driver was no more than 15 yards away now. Mark's hips thrust upwards, his balls tightened, and he blurted an "oh fuck" as a spat of cum hit his windshield. In his mind it was covering the boy's face. Then a second blast his the windshield next to the first. The truck driver was feet away. Mark kept cumming. The next shot hit the steering wheel. The truck driver was next to the hood of Mark's pickup. Mark covered his cock with his shirt to shield it as it continued to cum at least 5 more thick spurts, wetting his shirt from the inside and soaking into his jeans around his cock. The bibbed man climbed into his rig as Mark's frustrated release settled, incomplete. Being unable to stroke for the second half of his orgasm left the needs of his cock entirely unsatisfied, and a deep itch for satisfaction remained.

When Jonah met Mark at the base of the mountain, he immediately commented, with a raised eyebrow, on the dried cum crusting the bottom half of Mark's shirt.

"Yeah, stuff happened," Mark replied, not quite ready to explain a nine-year-old inspired the stuff to happen. "I've got a shirt to change into."

"If you want, but you'll be pretty much the only guy up there wearing anything." Jonah tossed himself behind the wheel of a side-by-side ATV.

Mark removed his shirt, revealing his cannonball shoulders, already shining with sweat. He tossed his bag in the back, sat next to Jonah, and they spun onto a gravel path and up into the forest. The late afternoon sun had already disappeared over the peak, giving the air a dusky light.

Over the sound of the engine and tossed stones, Jonah shouted, "Dude, you're going to love it. I've been here less than 24 hours and my ass and dick already hurt."

"How many guys are up there?"

"No idea. Probably 75 at least. But I've only experienced maybe a dozen of them so far." Jonah clapped Mark's shoulder and smiled at him. "They're going to love what you bring to the party," he added, squeezing the muscular shoulder and glancing toward the bulge in Mark's jeans.

The gravel path opened to a clearing in the woods and Jonah parked the ATV next to two others. There was a campfire on the far end of the clearing, and men -- naked or in jockstraps or leather harnesses -- were milling about. Mark rolled his eyes at the harnesses and the performance they implied. He preferred raw animal lust to performative gestures of sexuality.

The smell of weed was faintly in the air. They walked toward the crowd and past a man, probably in his fifties, on his knees eagerly sucking a 20-something twink with a large cock. Jonah barely acknowledged their existence as they walked by. The twink nodded at Mark and went back to fucking the throat in front of him.

"My tent is over on that side. The orange one. If you need a place to crash, feel free. And you can stash your bag there. But first, let's get you a drink." They walked through the buzzing crowd, which created an open path of subdued murmurs as they passed through -- Mark's mass and scent distracting them from their chatter. Jonah pressed the button at the base of the yellow cooler and filled a plastic cup with a strong alcohol mix. Mark nodded a thank you, took a sip, turned to observe the crowd.

The men stood in clusters throughout the clearing. Some groups of three or four, some larger groups. No one wore a shirt. In the unusually oppressive heat, everyone's skin was shining with sweat that caught the last bits of daylight. Most were naked below the waste as well, although some wore jockstraps and a few donned just cock rings. Most of the exposed cocks had the wet and plump look of dicks that had been cycling through states of hard, soft, semi-hard, shooting cum, being handled, sucked, self-pleasured -- on repeat for hours. Only Jonah and Mark were still in the clothes of the civilized world.

"This is only about half of them," Jonah said, nodding toward the crowd that Mark was scanning. Jonah removed his shorts and his long, pierced dick slapped against his leg. It looked red. Mark noted that he wasn't kidding about how much action it had seen in the past 24 hours.

Mark unbuttoned his own jeans while continuing to look for something he wanted -- something short, thick, and perfect. A harnessed daddy bear type made eye contact, tapped the shoulder of the man facing him and gestured in Mark's direction as Mark lowered the jeans over his thick slabs of ass and peeled the wet denim from his sweaty thighs. A few were watching now as he bent over, pulled the denim from one leg, shifted legs, and pulled them off the other. Each shift of his weight flexed his pillar thighs.

When he stood upright, at least six men were now turned to face him. His dick was soft, and it shook back and forth with his heavy balls as he planted his feet. The dark hair on his chest was matted from the humid air. The line of hair down his belly and the V on either side of his pubes made a stream that dripped sweat down his heavy dick and full balls. The thighs had curls of sweaty hair across their expanse. More men were watching now. Some talking about him. Some continuing their conversations in a distracted way.

He turned away from the staring crowd. Mark was a man driven by sex; once he found something he wanted, the rest of the world disappeared. But he was also choosy and didn't crave the gaze of uninteresting men. And he hadn't yet seen anything that grabbed his attention and lit that fire in him. But the need for that drive and release was growing. A need for the feeling from the truck stop. The small hand on his dick that his mind had conjured. The beautiful boy's cum-painted face beneath him. His dick was beginning to stir.

"Let's drop this stuff off," he said to Jonah, picking up his jeans and tossing his bag back over his shoulder, containing enough supplies for one night. The two walked naked through more of the crowd, toward a path.

"Down there," Jonah motioned down hill over his shoulder, on the other side of the clearing, "is the more vanilla area. The farther you go up this path, the more... exotic the flavors get."

The older man who had been sucking the 20-year-old was moving through the crowd now, with remnants of cum in his goatee. As Jonah and Mark passed close to him, he looked Mark up and down and offered his services.

"No offense, but not my type," Mark replied. The man shrugged and moved to the side, on the hunt for a dick willing to give him another load. That movement revealed, standing behind him, a caramel colored ass attached to a perfectly stout and smooth body.

"That's what I want," said Mark, without even realizing he had spoken out loud.

Jonah noticed Mark's heavy dick get fuller. "I think you've got a pleasant surprise there," he said.

Mark heard syllables but was focused on the cub in front of him. He approached and inhaled -- coco butter and youthful sweat. The gaze of the two guys standing with the cub directed him to look over his shoulder.

"Mmm. Papi is here."

It was the latino boy from the beach. Mark's head swam as memory and coincidence aligned with the present moment. He looked up and down. The little tummy. The tan skin. The stubby uncut cock. The memory of teasing the smooth hole under the rocking ocean came back to him. Mark's dick was growing fast. The pheromones of dozens of men and the sight of this cub were taking him into sex mode.

He pulled his bag down from his shoulder and handed it to Jonah behind him without looking. He took a step closer. His big hand went to the back of the cub's head in the soft and thick short hair. He pulled him in and kissed him deeply. Stubble grinding into the soft face. Both mouths open. The cub exhaled a moan into Mark's mouth and Mark kissed deeper, put his other hand under the round ass cheek and lifted.

"I need you." Mark said, without pulling his face away from the cub's.

"I'll just go put this in the tent for you," said Jonah, completely unheard.

The cocks of the friends were growing at the sight of this sudden passion.

"My tent is right there, Papi," he cooed.

"No. I need you." He turned the cub around. One hand was wrapped around the cub's torso, holding his nipple. The other was lower, in the cleavage where thick thigh meets soft groin, pulling the boy back onto him. He kissed his ear then his neck. "Do you want this?" Mark asked.

"Own me" he said.

Mark pushed the cub to bend at the hips, then squatted down to the ground, opened the cub's ass cheeks and dug in. It tasted like sweat and fresh need. His tongue pushed in, saliva flowing, and the hole relaxed for him. He spit twice. Once inside the hole while it was soft an open. Again on the outside when it shrunk closed.

Mark stood, spit a third time into his hand, hunched over, lubed his iron-hard tool, bent his knees to line up with the cub's ass, and pushed his head past the ring. His eyes were closed now, head tilted back, and neck muscles straining.

The cub's body tensed at the ripping sensation. But Mark held still, allowing him to adjust, and showing that he wasn't going to intentionally split him in two without mercy. The cub relaxed and moved his hands from his knees, bent over farther, and placed his palms on the ground.

"Go slow Papi."

Mark only growled.

One of the cub's friends produced a small bottle of lube from his pocket and asked his friend if he needed it.

"He doesn't need it," said Mark. He spit again. A long line of it dropped from his lips to the top side of his shaft. With one thumb, he smeared the spit around his cock and around the hole that was clamped just behind his head. He slid in farther.

"Do you need it?" the friend repeated, offering the lube again, appearing concerned at the loud and long "uhhhh" groaning from the cub. People were watching now. The cub shook his head at the lube. Mark withdrew his dick half way, spit again, slid back in to where he had been. Looking down he saw the contrast of the angry color of his cock and its veins against the round, caramel flesh, the sparse black hairs between, and the pink hole turning red.

"Papi," the boy said with a strained voice.

"You're okay," he replied. And with mercy added, "This won't take long."

The group of men had gathered in a circle around them now, at least five people deep. The oldest among them probably in his seventies. The youngest among them seemed too young to be there. To Mark's immediate right was a man in his forties. He had his young partner standing in front of him, arm draped over the younger's shoulder, as though taking his six-year-old son to watch pig races at the county fair. The partner could have looked extremely young for his age, or he could have been 14. He was wearing briefs, obviously intended to emphasize his youth and his feigned innocence. But the small and pointed bulge in his briefs betrayed any attempt at naiveté.

Mark kept his head turned toward the couple and pushed his cock entirely into the cub. The boy to his right looked over his shoulder and up at the man behind him with large eyes. The man smiled and nodded forward, redirecting the boys' attention to the action.

Mark, watching the pair, said to the man, "Turn him around." The boy turned without more direction. "I want to see," said Mark. The boy lowered his briefs and displayed a round and very untanned ass.

Mark began fucking. Many in the crowd were stroking now. He handled the soft hips and pulled the ass back onto him as he thrust forward. Looking down at the beautiful soft body below him, looking over at the small body to his right, who was looking over his shoulder at the pistoning cock.

Mark became aware of the "uhhh" becoming louder and more shrill. He squeezed the cub's side and asked "Do you need lube boy? It's okay."

"Fuck meeee" was the reply.

Mark took full-length thrusts now. His thighs and pelvic bone causes shockwaves to ripple across the perfect flesh.

The boy to his right looked up at the man and whispered, "I could never take that."

Which caused Mark to imagine making the boy take it.

"Ready for cum?" Mark's speed increased.

"Put it so deep. I don't want it to ever come out." The cub was panting. A pool of sweat had gathered in the small of his back. Mark smacked it with his palm, and sweat sprayed on the crowd and on the cocks they were stroking. He bent forward and placed his wet hand at the cub's mouth, which opened readily. He let the boy lick his own sweat.

"I'm gonna make you mine now," he said as he moved his hands to the cub's hair, grabbed it in his fist, pulled the head back, and steadied the receiving hips with the other hand.

With his dick fully planted into the cub, he released. The cum earlier in the truck stop parking lot only seemed to increase the cum he produced now and that he was injecting into the cub's guts.

With his cock held steady and deep, his cock pulsed and pumped. The boy to his right had turned around to watch the breeding, and his eyes were intent on the surging dick's pulses. Four, five, six. Nine, ten. The shots of cum filling the cub seemed endless.

Someone in the crowd panted, and Mark saw cum fly toward them in the center of the circle. Others had done the same without his noticing, as the dry dust around them was speckled with dark spots and white puddles.

Mark's pulsing subsided. He withdrew his cock. The cub's friends helped him stand.

"Your ass is amazing," he said, looking him in the eye with a caring, paternal expression.

He patted the cub's ass, and walked away toward Jonah's tent, cock softening but still thick and heavy and bobbing in front of him.

The man took the young-looking boy's hand and walked him toward the woods.

Jonah was not in the tent, but Mark entered and lay down for a rest from his travels and from the fast cum that had just racked his body.

When Mark woke a couple of hours later, the sun had fully set. The sweltering greenhouse environment had left his body slick with sweat, which now cooled him to a shiver as an evening breeze took over. The air was dim. The confusion of his location left him as he realized the sound of the tent zipper is what had woken him.

"You up?" Jonah asked. Mark groaned. "Don't want you to miss the evening fun. And guys are asking about you. Apparently you make quite a first impression."

"What's with the young guys? Some of them have to be underage." Mark scratched his balls and squeezed his sleep-hard cock with a yawn.

"The guy who runs this thing is really strict about that. The first sign that any kid doesn't want to be doing what they're doing, and they have to go. The older teens sometimes come with their daddies." He made quote signs with his fingers. "The younger ones are pretty much always with their actual dads."

Mark didn't respond.

"I honestly didn't think you'd mind based on what happened at the beach.

"I'm surprised, that's all."

"More than surprised I think," Jonah said as he looked toward Mark's erection that had surged from a friendly, sleepy erection to the angry swollen rod of a hunter.

Mark moved his hand from his cock and put both hands behind his head and stretched. His dick strained upward like a flagpole. "What's the evening fun?" he asked.

"Everybody is less inhibited at night. The ones who party start taking their chemicals of choice. There's plenty of booze. People start doing whatever their inner sluts tell them to do."

"Do I need to bring anything?"

"If you have anything you want to use, bring that. But naked is good. The bottoms provide the lube and condoms if they want it."

"No fucking condoms." Mark was sitting upright now, scooting toward the tent's exit.

"Usually it's just for the kids. The dads sometimes insist."

"Kids..." Mark repeated.

"I mean younger guys. No little kids."

Mark's balls were starting to feel heavy already. The machinery that was way down low in his abdomen was churning out hormones, preparing him to knock up the smallest thing he could find, regardless of what his mind said was acceptable. He could feel the buzz radiate downward into his groin, into the muscles of his thighs, making his glutes ready to thrust, sending precum out to the tip of his dick to spread his scent in the air and attract whatever prey needed pollination.

Jonah seemed to recognize Mark's dilemma -- his need to have his desires met and his guilt at what he desired. "Here, I've got something to help you relax and get in the moment if you want it." He presented a small white pill from his leather cross-chest bag.

Mark took the pill, decided Jonah hadn't led him wrong yet, and swallowed it with help from three enormous gulps of liquor that emptied his red cup.

They walked together through the area where the crowd was gathered earlier. It was now nearly empty. They walked up the hill, into the woods where he had seen the daddy and boy walk. Toward the direction where Jonah had said the flavors would become more exotic.

The sights along the path encouraged the feeling of bacchanal depravity. There was a tree that had three branches about hip level, which had been carved to the shape of rather large cocks and coated with a layer of shellac. Like spokes from a wheel, the wooden dildoes reached out to whatever hungry hole passed by and could not wait for the real thing.

"Last night three guys were backed up on that tree, fucking themselves on it while they sucked cock." Sure enough, there were scuffled footprints all around the base of the tree.

A little farther up the hill, a muscular and hairless body was bent over at a tree. He was wearing a latex hood that covered his entire face except for two riveted pinholes at his nostrils. A collar around his neck was attached to a chain that was attached to the tree. A sign hung over him that read "Fuck Pig to be bred." His ass cheeks were bright red with handprints. His back was filthy with dirt, leaves, and pine needles. Mark stood over him. The body heard his approach and immediately turned around to present his ass in the air. Mark simply stood, legs planted wide, and allowed a stream of piss to soak the body's back, ass, ass crack, and down to his tied-up balls, as the body moaned a muffled appreciation.

Mark was already starting to feel a relaxing swirl in his mind as they approached a new clearing. The heat was pressing against his skin now, compressing the air, and drawing sweat onto his skin that could not evaporate into the sopping, humid air.

Around the fire, gold and shadow licked across naked bodies that were shining with sweat. Mark moved into the crowd but did not gain the immediate audience he had earlier. People here were not only engaged in conversation, as they had been farther down the hill. Here holes and cocks were being noisily satisfied all around the clearing. The soft smell of sweating men, the wet sounds of sex, and the occasional biting whiff of semen were stirring Mark's cock as he walked across the open circle. The cub from earlier and from the beach was there, sitting on a bench with is eyes closed, having his stubby dick serviced by a thin, hairless guy about the cub's age.

Mark smirked and made his way over, amused and a bit turned on by the cub taking on the role of a top. The pill he had swallowed was starting to pull the world in close to him, and a myopic tilt to his equilibrium brought another pleased smirk to his face. His cock was stirring again. Instead of swinging with each stride, it was now rising to a weighty bob back and forth.

Mark sat on the bench next to the cub and looked down at the brown prick, saliva collecting at the base and dripping down the balls. The cub opened his eyes.

"Papi. I wondered where you went." His short cock was easily being taken to the base in the cocksucker's mouth. His voice was husky and horny.

"Took a nap." He looked at the the thick frame and belly, soft chest, rounded shoulders. Atop those shoulders was the squarish, boyish face that looked up at him with eyes that were languid with pleasure. Mark smiled and placed his arm around the cub's shoulder like a coach or uncle or proud dad. He caught the friendly smell of his own armpits, which always turned him on.

"You smell fucking amazing," said the cub, followed by instructing the twink to move over to Mark's dick instead.

Mark said that no, he wanted to watch, and the cub leaned into him, nestling his head into Mark's chest and armpit, and exhaled a moan as the twink continued his work. Mark wrapped his arm around the cub and said, "That's a good boy. Let daddy support you." His dick continued to rise as he watched the excitement and intensity increase.

"Oh Daddy." The cub turned his head toward Mark. The sweat on both of them made the motion slick. His face slid toward Mark's armpit and he inhaled. "Oh fuck, Daddy." He inhaled again, deeper this time.

The cub felt so close. The fire felt close. The bodies writhing around the fire weren't moving toward them, and yet they felt like they were surrounding the pair in comfort and love. Mark's skin was warm, and at the first brush of the tongue against his armpit there were needles of icy pleasure. His dick throbbed at the heat of the breath and at the licking sparkle and the masculine scents being stirred into the air.

The cub was squirming now. His hips were squirming into the mouth below, and his own mouth was squirming against Mark, his mouth making love to Mark's armpit. Mark repeated, "Yes, son. That's a good boy." His dick pulsed and a pearl of precum bloomed at the tip.

The cub put his hand on Mark's cock and breathed a "holy shit" into Mark's flesh. He turned his head upward. "Can I please suck you? Please?" He seemed to have completely forgotten there was a mouth servicing him.

"Suck me."

The cub twisted out from the mouth's grip on him and dropped to his knees. He looked at Mark's cock, now full sized. It flexed upward, dipped back down, and rebounded. The pearl of precum dropped from the tip, extending on a shining thread almost to the ground where it swung. The cub caught it on a finger, scooping up the length of the thread, and moved his finger greedily into his mouth.

The heft of the torpedo shaped-shaft and the plum head was inviting the cub, who was high on horniness and possibly other things. He moved between Mark's legs and took the head into his mouth. A moan vibrated from his throat, tongue, and lips onto Mark's cock.

Although Mark craved thrusting into the cub's mouth, he resisted and allowed the the cub to do the work and control the pace. Suction on the head, the mouth rotating as he pulled off slightly, mouth plunging down past the head this time, suction, twist on the upstroke, then farther down again. The kid was good. On the ground next to him, still kneeling but now with an empty mouth, was the twink, looking jealous.

Mark put his hands behind his own head and closed his eyes and said, "Let him help." He felt some shifting of weight between his legs and a sopping wet mouth hot on his balls, which were hanging relaxed in the heat. He caught the friendly smell of his armpits again, and hoped the whole place was smelling it with him.

Mark looked down at the two heads working between his open legs. The cub slowly working up and down from above it, the other with his neck craned below, barely able to take one enormous egg in his mouth at a time. The cub's back was arched with his ass lifted toward the trees. Firelight licked at the sweat on his skin and made the thick round globes of flesh dance.

"That ass is fucking amazing."

"It still has your load in it, Papi," the cub said, looking up at him with eyes desperate for approval.

Mark bent at the waist, placed his hands on either side of the cub's head, and pulled him in toward his own face. They kissed, open-mouthed and panting. It was a violent kiss that welled up from deep, full of the fire near them and the pheromones soaking the air and settling like dew all around them, on them, in them.

The twink moved away, for a moment wondering if he would get another chance to partake of the feast, but soon realizing there was no place for him here.

Mark broke the kiss. He was still handling the cub's skull and felt a drive to force it down onto his slick cock, to fuck the throat, to leave his load deep in that wet hole. But instead he stood and pulled the cub to standing, facing him. There was another tilt to the earth as he stood. And that rush of loving everything intensified.

He stood with legs wide, steadying himself. He squatted down slightly and reached one big meaty paw behind each of the cub's thighs. In a single easy motion, he lifted the soft body as though it were weightless. He pulled the cub in close with a leg on either side of his own waste, then continuing the single motion, lowered the round ass onto his dick.

The cub's hole was slick with Mark's cum, and Mark's cock was slick with the lube from deep in the cub's throat. The slippery combination and the cub's arousal and Mark's movement had his enormous dick deep in the cub with little effort and only a guttural moan of acceptance from the impaled body.

Mark stood solidly, as the smaller body wrapped arms around his neck, then hugged at the meaty shoulders, twisted his hips up and down, belly folding and smashed into Mark's abdomen and chest, abdomen and chest, abdomen and chest. The sweat-matted hair of Mark's torso was being smeared between the two of them. The image rivaled any carved Greek monument to physical prowess, power, and conquest.

Here, at the edge of the gathering, few noticed the passion fusing these bodies together. Those who did slowed their dancing, paused their groping, and were drawn into the spectacle. The closest of them were sprayed with a glowing mist of sweat from the two clashing bodies. Mark and the cub noticed nothing. They were staring into each other's eyes, then kissing, then growling. The cub clawed and hissed. Mark stood firm and continued planting his enormous rod into the flesh over and over, machinelike.

His balls were riding higher now, ready to send their contents into this ass for the second time today.

"Now bite me," said Mark.

The cub pulled back from Mark's shoulder enough for a questioning look, but never stopped riding the dick that was now well beyond the second hole inside of him and felt like it was ready to force its way through all of his organs.

"Fucking bite me." He was stern this time. The intensity of his face snapped the cub into obedience, and he bit carefully at Mark's shoulder.

Mark gripped more tightly at the supple ass, fingers digging in, and he moved the body up and down, arm muscles flexed and enormous.

"I said fucking bite me!" This time the order was shouted. The cub was barely coherent with the pounding and the heat and the fullness inside. But he obeyed and bit hard into the bulging muscle between Mark's neck and shoulder. Mark felt the teeth pierce the skin and his cock swelled to the hardness of stone and erupted.

In the middle of his orgasm, dumping life-giving cum into this body, Mark was distracted by something.

The sound of an engine was coming up the path he and Jonah had taken. A side-by-side ATV passed close to them, shining blinding light across their figures, and, as the last pumps were leaving Mark's balls, the lights projecting an enormous shadow of their lust onto the towering trees at the edge of the clearing.

Mark slowed his thrusting as the machine passed. The teeth released from his shoulder. From the passenger side of the vehicle, staring at Mark's angry rod of stone now mercifully withdrawing from the cub's ass, was a small figure with shaggy blond hair. Peaking from the top of his green shorts, encircling a pair of white briefs, was the waistband of Spider-Man underwear.

The boy's wide eyes watched Mark's dick leave the hole, unplug a gush of cum from it, and fall swinging against a thigh bigger than his own body.

The boy tapped the shoulder of the driver, turned around in his seat, and pointed at Mark who was now standing alone and hulking. And when they parked, Mark heard the same voice he had heard from the urine-stained bathroom whispering, "Dad, look!"