Big-Dic Bottom

Author's note: This series contains (occasional) descriptions of rough and forced sex, some of which crosses the boundaries of consent. If this is not up your alley, please click elsewhere! All sexual contact described occurs between adults aged eighteen years and older.

Part 3.

The morning after I got finger-fucked in the woods by the big guy, my parents sat me down at the kitchen table. It was Saturday and I had woken up hot and sticky; the humid summer weather had finally arrived in northern Minnesota. I had slept in past ten since I had been out so late the night before. When I came downstairs, my mom and dad were sitting at the table, looking stone-faced. I glanced at them warily as I shook some frosted flakes into a bowl. As I put the milk back in the refrigerator, my dad called out to me.

"Paul, come sit down."

Oh God.

"Your mother and I have been talking," my dad said, as I sat down at the table and hunched over my bowl, "and we've decided that you either need to get a job or move out."

"But, dad..." I said.

"No buts, son. You say you've been trying to find a job but obviously you aren't trying hard enough. And, besides..." he cleared his throat. He continued, at a lower volume. "Besides, staying home all day has led to some, well...

unpleasantness

between you and the neighbor boy."

I sighed.

Unpleasantness

. Classic dad, king of the euphemism. I flashed back to my head slamming into the side of the shed as the ginger stuffed his cock down my throat.

"We just want you to be doing something productive, sweetie," my mom chimed in.

"Carolyn, please," my dad said, waving his hand at my mom. "Paul, you have one week. If you haven't found a job by then, well..." He exchanged a nervous look with my mom.

"I get it, pop," I said.

I stood and picked up my bowl, then made a dramatic show of rifling through the newspaper that was on the table. I pulled out the classified section and flashed it at my parents before taking my cereal into the den.

As I walked away, I heard my dad say to my mom, "Carolyn, you can't baby him anymore... maybe that's the reason why, well..."

I shut the door.

~

Sitting at my dad's desk, I ate my flakes and scanned haphazardly through the classified ads. Almost everything was for farming jobs.

Ugh

, the last thing I wanted to do for the rest of the summer was die of heatstroke detassling corn or picking strawberries. There was a motel looking for a cleaning person. I circled the ad, thinking that maybe I could handle a job like that, especially if I could work by myself. But then a familiar logo caught my eye.

It was an ad for the Pizza Hut in next town over from us, about ten miles away. They were looking for delivery drivers. Hey, that could be perfect. I had a car, and I imagined myself cruising down the highway with the windows open, blasting music.

I leaned over to the wall to grab the phone.

Oof

. My hole was still aching a bit from how the big guy's finger had stretched me out last night. I dialed the number from the ad, and as the line rang my mind drifted back to the encounter.

Who was that guy?

I kept wondering. He was so big, so muscly, but so soft at the same time. When he touched me, it was like he was being careful not to break me. I could feel his restraint -- the bridled power behind his caresses -- how hard he was working not to crush me in his arms. My cock started to get hard, thinking about how he'd wetted his thick finger in my mouth and then used it to impale my asshole. Strangely, though, what stuck with me most about the encounter wasn't how I'd ridden his fat finger until I came, or how I'd come again just a short while later by his rough hand, jerking me off... No, it was the kiss -- or rather -- the many kisses I'd shared with him. My whole body shivered with the memory of it. He'd been so gentle, tender, even. As if he'd actually enjoyed kissing me.

"Pizza Hut." A gruff voice said on the other end of the line, shocking me back into the present.

"Um, yeah. I saw your ad in the paper. For delivery drivers?" I said. I pushed my erection down against my thigh.

"Hey, asshole! I said two

large

pep! Not medium! C'mon, Derek..."

"Uh, sorry?" I said.

"Not you, bud. Dumbass over here, screwin' things up," the voice said. "So, one more time with that order?"

"N-no... I, uh, the ad," I stammered.

"Oh right. Delivery boy. Yeah, we need a driver. You got a car?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Clean record?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You eighteen?"

"Yeah."

"OK, meet me at the restaurant at three today."

There was a click, then silence on the line.

Holy shit.

I had a prospect, finally. I looked at the clock. It was eleven AM. My penis was still persistently hard. I figured I'd better go take care of it in the shower. I figured I'd need a clear head if I was going to land this job.

~

I hadn't been to Pizza Hut in ages. The restaurant looked the same as it did when I was a kid. Even at this odd time of day, it was pretty busy. I used to love coming here. My older siblings and I would nag and whine and wear down our parents until they'd relent, bringing us here on a Friday or Saturday night. We'd pile out of the van and run inside to spend our pocketful of quarters on the games in the arcade. For a few glorious years, we'd even come probably once or twice a month to redeem the countless

Book It

certificates I'd earned from reading so much in elementary school.

I was early, so I parked my truck in the far corner of the parking lot under the shade of a huge cottonwood tree and watched customers come and go for a while. I recognized a few people -- a group of kids a bit younger than me from school, and an older couple who were friends with my grandparents. I hoped I wouldn't have to greet them and make small talk. I sighed and thought ahead to leaving for college in a few months. To a time and place where, maybe, I could be truly anonymous, unlinked from the chain of family and history. I couldn't wait to get away.

At three exactly, I walked inside. There was nobody at the hostess station and there was a general cacophony of noise coming from the kitchen, through a set of swinging double doors behind an embankment of long, broad counter top. I stood at the edge of the entryway, awkwardly. Should I walk back into the kitchen?

All of a sudden, a big guy came barreling out of the kitchen carrying two pizzas, one in each hand. He saw me and shouted, "Delivery boy?"

I nodded.

"Hang tight, bucko" he said, and proceeded to take the pizzas to a circular table surrounded by a group of teenage girls.

"Ladies, ladies, your sweet pies have arrived," he said, eliciting a chorus of giggles. I watched him serve a slice of pizza to each of the girls, exaggerating his movements and all the while laying on heavy shtick.

"A steaming slice of hot cheesy deliciousness for you, my beauty," he said, "And one for you, goddess of my dreams..." "Can I get any of you fair maidens another Coca Cola?"

When he was done, he came back up to the front of the restaurant, wiping his hands on the front of his apron.

"Fucking bitches," he said in a low voice, and winked at me.

He was was younger than I thought, close up. Maybe late twenties or thirty. He was tall and tan, with thick, black hair that was combed back into a slick coif with ton of gel. He was clean-shaven and had bright, blue eyes that stood out starkly against his dark coloring. I couldn't tell if he was fat, or just kinda big. He reached out his hand.

"Mario," he said.

We shook and I noted with a twist of my guts that his huge baseball mitt of a hand completely enveloped mine. There were beads of sweat gathered on his forehead.

"And before you start, I've heard 'em all, kid. Don't even think about making a joke."

I laughed and felt myself flush. Mario gestured broadly at the restaurant.

"We're fucking

hosed

, buddy," he said. "I need a waitress, as you can see. And I need drivers. I can handle the floor, he said, cocking his head back at the half-full restaurant, "but I can't deliver pies, too."

I nodded. He put his gargantuan hand on my shoulder and looked me up and down. At home, I had panicked momentarily, worried that I didn't know how a delivery boy should dress. I had settled on a dark polo shirt tucked into a new-ish pair of khaki pants. I swallowed, nervously. The pants were a little tight and I was worried that my tight underwear weren't going to do enough to mask my crotch.

"You seem like a good kid," Mario said. "What's your name?"

"P-paul," I said. "Paulie."

"OK, P-paulie. You're hired. Provisionally. Test run, capeesh? Can you work today? Tonight?"

"Yeah," I said.

He looked at me suspiciously.

"You're eighteen right? On the phone you said you were eighteen?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Let me see your ID."

I pulled out my wallet and handed him my ID. He inspected it.

"Well, OK, then. No hard feelings, eh, kid? It's just that you look like a fuckin' middle schooler."

I laughed, uncomfortably.

"Go back and find Stacy. She'll set you up. Oh, and it's three dollars an hour, plus tips. Non-negotiable."

"OK," I said, but Mario had already hustled off to attend to another table.

I did the math as I wandered back into the kitchen.

Yikes

. I hoped Pizza Hut customers were good tippers. In the kitchen, I saw three people, two guys and a girl. The guys were talking loudly and spreading toppings on six or seven unbaked pizzas laid out on a wide metal counter top. The girl was on the phone, taking down an order.

I approached the girl -- I assumed she had to be Stacy -- and waited for her to finish. She was tall and skinny, and, shockingly, she had a stud ring in her left nostril and bright purple hair. In that era, where we lived, this was not common at all. I stared, probably with my mouth agape, transfixed by the sight of her.

"OK," she said into the phone, cocking an eyebrow at me, "that'll be 53.99, and I can get that out to you in, like, forty minutes."

"You lost?" she said to me as she hung up the phone.

"No, I'm starting, um, as a driver," I said.

"But... you're twelve," she said, dryly.

This caused the guys making pizzas to start laughing. I felt my cheeks start to burn.

"I'm eighteen," I said, a little indignantly. "Do you want to check my ID?"

"No, but I'll bet you a dollar that Mario did," she said, finally cracking a smile. "I'm just shitting you. I'm Stacy. What's your name?"

~

Stacy introduced me to the two other guys, Derek and Jason, and then took me around to the back of the kitchen where there was a rack holding large, red, insulated bags. She explained how the orders were organized and then took me into the back office.

"We usually have two or three drivers at a time, but these days, we're lucky to have one. Jeff is working today, too -- he's out on a delivery right now, but he's gotta go pick up his kids pretty soon. So..." she was rummaging through a cardboard box on the floor. She stood up and tossed tossed me a mesh cap emblazoned with the

Pizza Hut

logo. "... it's time to shine, kiddo."

Ten minutes later I was on the road with a beat-up map in my hand and a hotbag full of pizzas in the backseat, trying to find the first of several addresses scrawled across the back of a discarded receipt in Stacy's looped handwriting. I hadn't expected to be offered a job so quickly, let alone actually

start

today, so I was a ball of nerves and adrenaline.

My first delivery was pretty close -- to an address just a few minutes away from the restaurant. The house was old and dilapidated, with a rusty fence wrapped around it. An older lady answered the door, dressed in a billowing pink muumuu and smoking a cigarette.

"Pizza Hut," I said, in my most chipper voice, when she opened the door. I handed over the box of pizza and the two liter bottle of Pepsi.

"That'll be nine ninety-nine," I said.

"Hold on," she grumbled, and she hobbled back into her house, letting the screen door slam in my face. Several minutes passed. I started to freak out.

"Ma'am?" I called, cupping my eyes to the screen door, trying to see into the house.

Crap

. What if she didn't come back? Stacy had told me that I was not to enter anyone's house under any circumstances.

Finally, I heard her slow footfalls and she came back to the door. She shoved a ten dollar bill at me and then shut the door without saying anything.

Wonderful

, I thought.

My first tip. One cent.

I tucked the bill into the money belt I'd been given to wear and jogged back to the car.

My next two deliveries weren't much better. Maybe a few buck's tip each. I began to feel a little depressed. Maybe this job wasn't going to be the windfall that I, or my parents, were expecting. I was hoping that my last drop-off, a big order, might net me a whopper. It was to a farmhouse a few miles out into the country. When I pulled up the long gravel driveway, I saw a group of maybe six or seven guys circled around a pickup truck. I felt a shudder pass through me as I took in the sight of them -- large, muscular, rough-looking men in jeans and boots and tank tops.

I stepped out of my truck and fumbled in the back seat with the hotbag. I heard a crunch of gravel and turned to see a tall, hulking man, blond, standing with his beefy arms crossed in front of his broad chest.

"Girl said forty minutes," the blond said, tipping a wrist up to point at his watch. "Gone near an hour now, boy. My men are hungry."

There goes my tip

, I thought, but I was soon distracted by his piercing green eyes and tawny golden skin. He was scowling at me, but there was something in his posture that softened the sting of his words.

"I'm so sorry, sir," I said, avoiding eye contact and unloading the six large pizzas from the hotbag. He whistled to the guys and two of them jogged over to carry the pizzas and the bottles of soda back over to the pickup.

"Come on up to the house and I'll get your money," the blond said.

I followed him up the front steps and onto a wide, wraparound porch. His muscular ass filled out the back of his tight jeans and I watched his buttocks flex and relax as he walked. He went through a swinging screen door into what looked like a kitchen. I stood, waiting awkwardly on the porch, humming, trying desperately to keep my erection under control.

"Come on inside, boy," I heard him call.

"I, uh... I'm not supposed to come in, sir," I replied. My voice sounded thin and weak.

"What? I said come

inside

, boy," he yelled.

I leaped to obey. I didn't want to anger him, especially since I was already so late. I pushed the screen door open and saw him standing at a counter, pulling bills from an open drawer.

"Over here," he said.

I approached him and he held out a wad of cash. When I reached for it, though, he pulled his hand back.

"You're late," he said. The green of his eyes slowly came into focus as my own eyes adjusted to the darkened room after being in the bright light outside.

"I know... I'm sorry, sir. I had a lot of deliv..."

He cut me off. "How're you gonna make it up to me?"

I gulped.

Was this... was he?

He held my gaze for another beat.

On instinct, I lowered one knee, then the other, to the floor. He smirked, and put the cash down onto the counter top. I reached for his belt and unbuckled it, and then yanked his zipper down. My mouth must have been hanging open, because a glob of drool spilled out and fell onto his boot.

The blond's cock, like the rest of him, was breathtaking. Even partially soft, it was long and fat and capped with a prominent mushroom head. When it was in my mouth, I felt the ridge of his cock head harden up against my tongue and I shivered, imagining how it would feel pressed against the divot of my asshole. I stroked the base of the shaft with my hand, and, boldly, I swiveled the blond around and pushed him back against the counter.

"Fuck," he said, through his teeth as I took the entire length of him down my throat. He was completely hard now and I felt his balls contract against my chin when he was all the way inside my mouth. He grasped the sides of my head with both hands and started to fuck my face.

Goddamn

, it was like he had the perfect cock. Big enough to stretch out my jaw and throat, but not so thick that he completely choked me. He was breathing hard, and fucking me faster and faster, but suddenly, I pulled away from him.

"What the fuck?" he said, grabbing for me as I scuttled out of his grasp. I stood up and he got his hands on me and tried to force me back down to my knees. I wriggled free and managed to spin around. He grabbed from behind me in a bear hug, swearing and grunting. Finally, I managed to unhook my belt and get my pants down, just past my ass, as he pinned me against another counter.

I pressed my ass out, up against his still-hard cock.

"Oh, you're a fuckin' slut," he said, realizing what I was asking for. He chuckled and let go of me, then pushed my torso down onto the cool marble of the counter. He spit on his hand and then I felt a slick pressure on my asshole. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.

His hand was on my neck, then, pushing hard against the base of my skull. I felt the broad knob of his cock press up against my hole. I pictured it, the flare of the huge mushroom head of his dick pressed against my hole like the handle of a baseball bat. With a loud grunt, he pushed his cock into me and the lower half of my body exploded in a brilliant flash of pain. He leaned in and pressed his hips hard against me, pushing my thighs painfully into the ledge of the counter. Then he pulled himself out, slowly, and I felt the ridge of his huge cock head catch and hold on the inside of my clenched asshole. Then he shoved himself into me again, even harder this time. He began to fuck me in long, even strokes. The sensations in my ass slowly changed from pain to streaks of hot, electric pleasure.

He reached up with his other hand and now both of them were on my neck, wrapped around my throat, squeezing and relaxing as he fucked me faster and faster. I clutched at his forearms, holding on for dear life. My vision was darkening with each squeeze, but when the blond relaxed his grip, allowing blood to rush up into my brain, it brought with it waves of mounting feeling, intense pleasure, bringing me closer and closer to climax.

My legs were splayed, pushed partway up onto the counter as he pistoned his cock into my hole. He was grunting loudly and after not more than a minute or two, he came -- slamming his hips into me as he ejaculated deep in my ass. Breathing hard, he let go of my neck and pushed at my butt cheeks, spreading them as he slid his cock out of my asshole. I heard a loud squelch as the rim of his cock head cleared the tight ring of my hole. As the muscles of my ass contracted in the wake of his cock, I felt a stream of hot cum slide out of me.

The blond stepped back. I stood up, pulled my underwear and pants back up, and buckled my belt. I turned around and saw that my Pizza Hut cap had been knocked onto the floor. I bent and picked it up.

Fuck

. The cum that had just leaked out of my ass must have fallen onto the cap, streaking it with semen. I tried to wipe it clean with the back of my arm.

The blond guy had put his cock away and was tucking his tank top back into his jeans.. He grabbed the cash he had gotten out, added another bill from the drawer, and then handed it to me.

"Keep the change," he said, and cocked his head toward the screen door, indicating that I should leave.

"Thanks," I said.

I walked back out to the car, past the group of guys eating pizza. I felt their eyes on me as I walked and I wondered if they suspected what had just happened inside the house. As I climbed into my truck, I felt more of the blond's cum leak out of my throbbing hole. I adjusted my erection in my pants -- I hadn't come, after all -- and counted out the money.

Holy shit.

The tip ended up being thirteen dollars.