RT-458 Dock Strip
Dock Strip
Rough Trade
RT-458
L. K. Rogers
$2.95
Dock Strip
Rough Trade
RT-458
L. K. Rogers
$2.95
Foreword:
Stan sidled up to Bart, who was leaning his six-foot, two-inch frame against the bar. His burly right arm hefted a thick mug of beer to his full, sensual lips.
Stan pulled in beside Bart and with a deft motion he butted the back of one hand against the bottom of the mug. The beer splashed all over Bart’s clean-shaven, square-cut face, dripped down the front of his leather shirt in rivulets.
Stan laughed, his keen gray eyes sparkling with malignant humor.
“Got’cha that time, buddy,” he said, leaning against the counter. The smile faded quickly as Bart’s thick, work-hardened hand reached under the huge bulge in Stan’s levis.
“Yearggh!” Stan bellowed, as Bart squeezed hard and pulled harder. He maintained the pressure.
Stan’s hands dug into the scarred wood of the bar, and sweat gleamed on his forehead. His knuckles turned white with his grip, as the pain shot through his seething loins.
Working against the pain, Stan brought his knee up, and dug it, awkwardly against Bart’s crotch. He hit him to right of center.
Bart released his grip on Stan’s crotch momentarily, but then his fist came up and caught Stan right under his jaw.
“Outside, guys!” the harassed bartender barked, as he worked frenetically to fill the orders of fifty thirsty oil-riggers, just off the barge.
Bart clapped Stan on the back of his neck, and propelled him toward the door. There was a sly grin on Stan’s face.
He was going to get just what he asked for and it was all he wanted from Bart.
In the alley outside the rough-hewn bar, the noise of the men faded into a manly sound of joviality.
Stan felt Bart’s fingers tighten on his neck.
He winced as Bart forced him to his knees.
“All right, you faggot son of a bitch,” Bart snarled, “start sucking.” Stan heard the harsh rasping of metal on metal as Bart unzipped his crotch, pulling out his manly rod.
“And when you finish with that, I’m going to knock all your teeth down your throat!” Bart added, finishing his threat.
Stan opened his mouth, hungry for the taste of Bart’s manhood, and hungrier to dig his fists into his friend’s flesh, to carry on the running battle to see which man was tougher, harder, stronger.
Bart groaned as he felt Stan’s teeth digging into the sensitive shaft of his muscle.
This was only the beginning.
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