PHARMA BRO POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY T-REX COMEDIAN BILL MURKY AND A CLAN OF TRICERATOPS RAPPERS TRYING TO GET THEIR ALBUM BACK

By Chuck Tingle

What can I say, it’s good to be rich.

       I know that it’s not exactly the most politically correct stance to have in this day and age, but as a young billionaire, life could be worse.

       Of course, it could also be a lot better. For one thing, everyone hates me; and when I say everyone, I mean everyone.

       It all started when my company, Buttscription Drugs, made a blanket purchase for the rights to hundreds of different drug patents, some of them valuable and some of them not, with the intent of jacking up the prices and turning a huge profit. I know, I know; on the surface this sounds like a pretty harsh thing to do, but in the world of business it’s nothing new. In fact, this kind of burning and pillaging of intellectual property is how I got myself into such a lofty financial position in the first place.

       Like I said, all of this price gouging is business as usual, but for some reason or another the press got ahold of the fact that one of these drugs in particular is used to treat blind orphan children and kittens who suffer from unbearable pain twenty-four hours a day. Of course, their dollars are just as good as anyone else’s, so I raised the price of their drugs from three dollars to four hundred, and for some reason the entire world went crazy over it.

       Suddenly, I was the most hated man on the planet, a spoiled, heartless rich kid who detests puppies and blind orphans.

       Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t hate puppies and blind orphans, I just know that they will spend a lot of money to not be in constant, brain-melting pain. Ultimately, my loyalty is to my investors, and the investors expect me to do anything within my ability to make sure profits are high.

       Why can’t anyone else understand that?

       My business practices and the unfortunate press that comes with them have given be the nickname of Pharma Bro, although my actual birth name is Marky Sharky.

       Like I said before, it’s good to be rich, but lately all of the backlash that I’ve been getting has really torn me down. While my biggest hobby is making money and destroying other peoples lives, I’m also a big fan of music, and the music world has completely turned its back on me.

       I’ve spent plenty of cold hard cash investing in artists that I like, or starting record labels, and all of them have returned the money once things started to get dark.

       Fortunately, there’s one musical artifact that I still have in my physical possession.

       I’m talking, of course, about my one-of-a-kind album from my favorite triceratops rap group, the Yu-Bang Clan.

       Yu-Bang Clan have been working on this unique album for years, an artistic concept record that would be limited to a single copy ever produced, sold to the highest bidder and then locked away for eighty-eight years. It’s an amazing piece of musical history, and after much negotiation I was able to procure the only copy for the sum of two million dollars.

       Fortunately, this all happened before the bad press started, and by then this one-of-a-kind album was already safely locked away within my billion-dollar compound.

       But, when it comes to business, things are never really that simple.

       I pick up my phone on the first ring, thrilled that someone has decided to call and break me away from my own oppressive loneliness.

       “Hello,” I cry out, a little to excited as my voice echoes down the long, empty halls of my cold mansion.

       “Marky, this is Jorpo,” comes my lawyers familiar voice. He’s been calling a lot lately, which is usually not a good sign although I do appreciate actually having someone to talk to.

       “What’s up?” I question.

       “We need to talk,” Jorpo starts, a grave seriousness in his tone.

       I lean back into my chair and let out a long sigh, ready for anything. From where I sit at my large oak desk I can see out across most of this luxurious compound, the whole thing completely empty.

       “There is something in the Yu-Bang Clan contract that I think you should know about,” Jorpo says, “something in the fine print that we didn’t really notice until now.”

       “Didn’t really notice?” I scoff. “Please tell me that you’re joking.”

       “I’m afraid not,” Jorpo admits.

       “What the fuck am I even paying you for?” I question angrily, my temper getting the best of me. As a genuine spoiled brat, my temper tantrums have been an issue that I’ve reckoned with for quite a while, even now as a thirty-something man. “Aren’t you supposed to be one of the best lawyers on the planet?”

       “Yes, and I’m sorry. Here’s the thing, the stipulation is so absurd that we initially assumed it was a joke,” my lawyer explains. “Turns out, these guys are quite serious.”

       “What’s the stipulation?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

       “It turns out that once the one-of-a-kind album is sold to the highest bidder, the Yu-Bang Clan have one opportunity to take it back without any repercussions,” Jorpo explains. “It says here that if they can pound your ass good enough then you are obligated to return the record.”

       I start to laugh, amused by the absurdity of the situation. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that the Yu-Bang Clan are gay?” I question. “We are talking about the same notorious dinosaur rap group, correct?”

       “I never said anything about them being gay,” Jorpo explains, “it appears that this transaction is a completely legal exchange.”

       “Then why put it in the contract?” I question. “I mean, if they don’t want to pound butts then why make the fine print about pounding butts?”

       “Artists work in mysterious ways,” Jorpo counters. “It’s not black and white like the world of business, Marky.”

       I let out a long sigh and kick my feet up onto my desk. “I guess you’re right. So why are you telling me all of this now?”

       “Because they’re on their way over,” explains my lawyer. “They’re coming to get the album back.”

       Like clockwork, I hear a loud banging at the front door, three solid knocks that come ringing out through my vacant mansion.

       “Oh shit,” I blurt, sitting up. “What do I do?”

       “Whatever you do, don’t let them seduce you. I know how handsome dinosaur rappers can be, Marky, but if you want to keep this album in your possession then you must not succumb to their charms,” my lawyer explains.

       “Okay,” I reply, “got it.”

       I hang up to phone and then stand as the doorbell starts to ring, clanging out over and over again amid the growing fury of slamming knocks. The only thing pounding harder than their triceratops claws against my front door is my heart within my chest, the organ struggling to keep up with the anxiety that continues to flood me.

       “Coming!” I call as I hurry down the stairs of my massive front entryway, finally making it to the door and then yanking it open.

       There before me stands the entire Yu-Bang Clan in all of their prehistoric glory, covered in thick scales and ranging in color from light yellow to a deep forest green that immediately causes a gasp to escape my throat. I assumed that resisting these dinosaur rappers would have been an easy enough task, but I had no idea just how handsome they were going to be in person.

       “Hey!” I start, trying my best to be nonchalant about this whole thing. “What brings you guys here?”

       The handsome triceratops rappers say nothing as someone in the back begins to push his way through the crowd, finally appearing before me with a jagged row of long, razor-sharp dinosaur teeth and the unmistakable grin of a T-rex. This I not just any T-rex, either, but the legendary dinosaur comedian and actor, Bill Murky.

       “Whoa,” is all that I can say, taken completely off guard. “What are you doing here Bill?”

       Mr. Murky grins wide and then pulls a long cigar out of his suit pocket, popping it into his mouth and the lighting up as he offers me a playful wink. He takes his time while I look on in arousal and confusion.

       Maintaining a clinical distance from these dinosaurs is easier said than done. I have seen plenty of music videos or comedy specials from this unique crew of prehistoric celebrities, but watching them on the small screen could have never prepared me for what is it like to be faced with a muscular, dinosaur crew of this caliber. Every one of them is handsome as can be, dressed to the nines and completely commanding the situation in a way that someone as rich as I am is seldom used to.

       Finally, Mr. Murky speaks. “We’re here to get the album back,” he says.

       “You’re part of this, too?” I question. “Is that really in the contract?”

       The dinosaur nods.

       “But why?” I continue.

       “Why not?” Bill Murky counters, then takes a long drag form his cigar and puffs it into the air.

       I suppose he has a point.

       “Well, you’re not going to seduce me,” I tell them flatly, “so you might as well just all head home.”

       Bill Murky nods, apparently understanding my request but refusing to go anywhere. “Alright, alright,” the dinosaur says, “but how about you have a cigar with us, chill by the pool, and if something happens then something happens.”

       I have to admit, even as a straight man, I am incredibly attracted to these beautiful celebrity dinosaurs and their toned muscular bodies. Honestly, how could you not be? The thing is, there is no way I’m giving back a record that I dropped two million dollars to procure.

       If I was smart, I would just shut the door and walk upstairs to sit alone in the dark some more, counting my money or finding more poor, disenfranchised people to take advantage of. Right now, however, there is more blood rushing to my slowly enlarging cock than to my brain.

       “Alright,” I finally offer, opening the door wide and then stepping out of the way for the dinosaurs to come inside, “one cigar and that’s it.”

       The creatures all pile in, each one more hunky than the last until the whole clan has entered and I shut the door behind them.

       “Follow me,” I offer, making my way through the foyer and across the length of the house to the pool in back.

       I may be rich, but I still haven’t gotten used to just how beautiful this mansion is, every part of it crafted perfectly in the most luxurious detail. This couldn’t be any more apparent than now, as the gang of us steps out through the back door and gazes across my compound, the sun setting in the sky and the pool shimmering at our feet. Everything radiates with incredible, blossoming color, casting this perfect moment in purple and orange.

       “There’s plenty of chairs,” I say, directing the Yu-Bang Clan and Bill Murky over to a swath of white chaise lounges that sit scattered around the pool.

       The triceratopses all sit while Bill pulls another cigar out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me, which I graciously accept. I place it into my mouth and then grin as my T-rex companion lights it.

       “So listen,” Bill Murky says, “you’re kind of a dickbag, you understand that right?”

       I almost choke on the smoke but catch myself, completely surprised by this comment. This is not at all the sensual wooing that I was expecting.

       “What?” I ask.

       “You’re a dickbag,” the T-rex continues, “a little shit, a spoiled brat.”

       “I mean, I’m just doing business,” I stammer, struggling to explain myself.

       “Yeah, but we all are, you know?” Bill Murky counters. “Everybody’s gotta make a living, I get that, but we’re not all dicks about it. You go out of your way to be terrible, what’s up with that?”

       “I just…” I start, trailing off. Suddenly, I realize that I don’t quite have an answer to this one.

       “You think it might have something to do with not having any friends?” the T-Rex continues after a glorious puff of his cigar.

       “Maybe,” I admit, looking down.

       Even though this line of questions was not at all what I expected from these handsome dinosaurs, I still can’t help myself being turned on by their approach. There is something about our conversation that seems so much more real than the stuff that I’m used to. I feel as though Bill Murky really, truly knows and understands me at my very core, an incredible feat seeing as we’ve only just met.

       “I’m just so lonely,” I finally admit. “I’ve never had many friends, and now that I’m rich I try to surround myself with objects to make myself feel better. That didn’t work so, I guess, I just try to make other people more miserable.”

       “Like blind orphans and kittens?” Bill Murky questions.

       I nod.

       “That’s fucked,” he tells me bluntly. “You’ve gotta knock it off with that shit. Raising the price of drugs by like four hundred dollars? Are you serious?”

       “I know,” I say, looking down and shaking my head, “I know.”

       I can’t help it, I actually start to cry right then and there as my heart is flooded with a true understanding of the pain and misfortune that I have caused all of these people over the years. My heart aches, broken into a million pieces, but there is no one to blame here but myself.

       I can feel the T-Rex comedian place his large and powerful claw on my shoulder, his touch soothing me as I turn to face him and begin crying into his shoulder.

       “I’ve been such a fool,” I sob.

       The T-rex begins to move his claw along my back, causing the faintest sparks of warmth to begin growing somewhere deep down within my heart, and my cock.

       “Oh my god,” I sigh, the words limply escaping from my lips.

       I press harder against the handsome T-rex, his cock bulging within the fabric of his suit pants and making me tremble with a gay desire that I have never felt before.

       “I want you,” I finally whisper.

       “I don’t want anything to do with your evil ass,” replies Bill Murky, but I’ll sure pound it to get that record back.”

       Suddenly overwhelmed with lust, I kiss the T-rex deeply and passionately on his green, scaly lips.

       Soon, I find myself completely surrounded by the dinosaurs from every angle. I let out a soft sigh, succumbing to the sensation of their touch as it overwhelms me. The hunky prehistoric beasts know exactly what to do with their claws, slowly removing my clothing and then tracing their way down to my rock hard cock.

       I bite my lip as one of them begins to stroke me slowly, barely even noticing that, by now, I’m standing completely naked between them.

       “Fuck yeah,” I groan, “Pound me like the evil little fuck toy that I am.”

       I look down and see that they dinosaurs have all pulled their enormous cocks from their fabric sheaths, their shafts rubbing across my body in a hurricane of reptile dick.

       Overwhelmed with gay arousal, I immediately drop down to my knees between them and begin to furiously suck them off, pumping my head up and down over the length of their rods as I make my way around the circle. It appears that the dinosaurs weren’t expecting such a quick and enthusiastic validation of their legally binding clause, but they quickly fall into step with my passionate blowjobs, placing scaly hands on the back of my head and helping to pump me up and down.

       Eventually, I take one of the creature’s giant rods and push it down as far as I can, letting his length slide deep into the depths of my throat. Despite my enthusiasm, however, I’m not quite ready for the dinosaur’s incredible size and, the next thing I know, I’m gagging on his mammoth, Jurassic dick.

       The creature pulls out as a sputter and gasp, trying desperately to collect my senses. “I’m sorry, let’s try that again,” I offer.

       I open wide and the dinosaur rapper slips his cock within for a second time, only now I’ve somehow managed to relax enough to allow his manhood to be fully consumed. His cock sinks deeper and deeper into my throat, finally coming to rest with his balls pressed tightly against my chin.

       I look up at the creature’s yellow eyes and give a playful wink, allowing him to enjoy the sensation of complete consumption as he holds me here.

       Meanwhile, I reach out with each hand and grab ahold of two massive prehistoric dicks, stroking them off in a series of slow, firm pumps. The creatures seem to enjoy this greatly, letting out a chorus of otherworldly moans as they trade positions within my hands.

       Eventually, I run out of air and am finally forced to pull back with a gasp, releasing the dinosaur’s huge rod from my throat. I am so horny that I can hardly stand it, trembling with anticipation as I look up at the Yu-Bang Clan and Bill Murky with wild, lustful eyes.

       “I want you inside of my ass,” I beg. “I need your big, thick, celebrity dinosaur cocks.”

       “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Bill Murky says with a chuckle.

       I finally have no problem admitting that I’m happy we’ve come to a deal. Without hesitation, I stand up and walk over to a nearby chaise lounge, bending my toned, nude body over it and looking back at the creatures coyly.

       “Get over here and pound this tight evil billionaire asshole!” I command.

       The rapper dinosaurs immediately follow my instructions and, the next thing I know, they have surrounded me once more, beating off their dicks while they watch a particularly hung beast align his cock with the tight rim of my butt. I can feel him teasing the edges of my tightness, and then moments later he slides deep inside of me.

       I let out a sharp yelp as my body adjusts to the dinosaurs massive size. He is absolutely enormous, the thickness of his big green dick stretching me out and filling me completely.

       The dinosaur pumps in and out, slowly at first and then gaining speed with every thrust until, eventually, he is pounding me with everything that he’s got. The force of his confident slams shake the chaise lounge below me, our loud rhythm ringing out across the back yard.

       “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” I begin to cry, unable to contain all of the pleasant sensation as it flows through me. “You’re fucking me so good!”

       I’m ready to continue my erotic diatribe but, at this point, another one of the dinosaurs kneels down before me and shoves his massive rod between my lips. Suddenly, I find myself completely silenced, unable to make any sound other than a wild squeal as I’m pounded from either end.

       These ancient monsters slam away at me brutally but, surprisingly, the more ruthless they are with my body, the more it turns me on. I want to be completely used by the dinosaurs, their own personal gay sex toy for the evening. I’ve been a very bad little billionaire, and I deserve to be punished.

       Eventually, the triceratops rappers in both of my holes pull out and let another pair have a turn, trading places within my tightness as they form lines at either end of the chaise lounge. Each of the new Yu-Bang Clan members is just as skilled as the first, however, picking up right where the last ones left off and plowing away at my body with a passionate fury.

       I can feel the first hints of a prostate orgasm begin to blossom within me, starting deep down in my stomach and then spreading out as it courses across my arms and legs. I start to tremble and shake, my muscles spasming while I reach a single hand down to beat my cock.

       Closer and closer I edge towards a powerful orgasm, almost reaching the final breaking point when suddenly the dinosaurs pull out of me and give my ass a hard slap.

       I look back at them, confused. “What’s going on?” I ask. “Punish my butt!”

       The creatures don’t answer, but two of them help me to my feet while I am replaced on the chaise lounge by one of the triceratops rappers himself. The dinosaur is laying on his back, his massive cock jutting out from his muscular, scaly like a beautiful tower of aching flesh.

       “Get on,” the prehistoric celebrity entertainer commands.

       I do as I’m told, throwing my long legs around either side of the flattened pool chair and then crouching down onto the massive dick below me. As the dinosaur enters my ass I grab onto his shoulders, guiding my descent until I am completely impaled across the length of his huge member.

       It feels absolutely incredible, and I instinctively begin to buck against him in slow but firm swoops. Every grind of my hips grows harder and harder, my body still trying to adjust to his enormous size until finally the sensation is just too incredible and I begin to fuck him hard, riding his dick like a jackhammer.

       “Fuck yes!” I scream, the sensation of prostate orgasm boiling up within me once more. “Oh my god, that contractually binding dino dick is so fucking good! Fuck me! Fuck me! Make my ownership of this one-of-a-kind rap album void!”

       I’m so caught up in the moment that I barely notice Bill Murky climb into position behind me. Suddenly, all of that changes however, as the comedian T-rex places his thick cock against the already filled entrance of my asshole and slams forward, double penetrating me ruthlessly.

       I let out a wild scream of pain and pleasure, my body barely having any time to adjust to the powerful fullness. I look back at the thunder lizard in shock, but what started as a moment of anger quickly transforms into a lustful gay snarl. The sensation is unexpected, unlike anything I have ever felt, but it’s honestly quite amazing.

       Soon enough, I find myself fully enjoying the sensation of their double plugging. The three of us eventually find a rhythm together, pulsing like some strange, dinosexual hybrid. My breathing heavy, I reach down between my legs and begin to frantically stroke my dick, adding even more pleasure to the already overwhelming onslaught. My eyes roll back into my head as a long, powerful groan escapes my throat.

       “I’m gonna cum,” I start chanting, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum so hard!”

       The tension within me has built to a breaking point, ready to burst as I tremble and shake wildly. Everything within me is clenched tight, just waiting to explode until finally it does and I let out a roar of joyful ecstasy.

       “I’m cumming!” I scream. “The album is yours!”

       The dinosaurs who are double fucking my asshole don’t let up for a second, giving it to me with everything that they’ve got and sticking with it throughout the entire orgasm. Jizz erupts from the head of my cock, splattering everywhere. Every slam that they push within me just adds to the blinding pulses of sensation, treating me to wave after wave of bliss until, finally, I fall forward in exhaustion. I am completely spent as I lay here against the dinosaurs cool skin.

       “That was fucking amazing,” I gush.

       The prehistoric creatures aren’t finished with me yet, though.

       The next thing I know, Bill Murky has picked up speed, slamming me hard from behind and then pushing deep as he explodes with a payload of hot, milky jizz. His cum fills my ass quickly, gushing forth with a reptilian intensity until its squirting out from the edges of my packed anal rim.

       When the dinosaur finally pulls out a whole torrent of jizz comes with him, the pearly liquid running down my ass and providing ample lube for the next creature in line.

       Soon enough, another dinosaur has stepped up to take the last one’s place, aligning the head of his shaft with my rim and then plowing forward in a second, brutal double penetration. The creature quickly gets to work slamming my butthole, enjoying my tightness and then thrusting deep to release a load of his own.

       “Oh shit!” I cry out, the monster’s jizz swirling within me as it mixes with the cum that came before it.

       The dinosaur stays put until he has completely emptied himself and then finally pulls to allow a third Jurassic monster to take his place.

       The dinosaurs continue like this for what seems like forever, double plowing my reamed out butthole and then eventually blowing their load into the mix with the others. I completely lose track of how many have taken me, and soon the only measure of telling becomes the splatters of semen that leak out from my ass. Soon enough, though, the last dinosaur finishes within and I find myself with only one left to satisfy, the creature who has been so diligently ramming my butthole from the front.

       This final triceratops pushes me off of him and then stands up, beating off his dick furious with his claw while a look up and smile from my knees below. I stick out my tongue, coaxing him onward until finally the dinosaur explodes across my face. His warm, sticky jizz flies everywhere, though I manage to catch quite a bit of it in my mouth and then swallow hungrily.

       “That was really nice,” I tell the dinosaur, “you taste great.”

       Without a response, the handsome rapper above me turns and heads for the door.

       “Wait a minute!” I cry out, standing up and watching as the entire gang of hunky reptilian creatures disappears back into the house.

       I follow them inside and see that Bill Murky has already removed the one of a kind record from its case with his T-rex claws, carefully carrying it through the mansion and towards my front door.

       “But wait, don’t you love me!?” I cry. “Was it really all about the record, I thought that we had something!”

       The dinosaurs don’t say a word.

       “Are you honestly telling me there is nothing between us?” I shout, completely losing it. “Are you honestly telling me that this love isn’t real?”

       The dinosaurs open up the front door and file out until only Bill Murky is left, the T-rex stopping at the threshold and turning to give me a wide, sharp-toothed smile.

       “Sorry,” he says, “it’s just business.”

       “Nooo!” I cry out, falling to my knees and throwing my head back in a painful scream of true loss.

       Bill Murky steps outside and closes the door behind him, leaving me all alone once more in my giant, empty mansion.

Some say that love is the soul of books, and what better way to show a little love then with a free gift?  Here to tingle you to the core is a bonus story for your reading pleasure:

GLAZED BY THE GAY LIVING DONUTS

Our vacation to Southern California hadn’t been a total bust, but it wasn’t everything I’d hoped for either.  When the guys and I loaded into Jordan’s vintage convertible and hit the road from Ohio on a straight shot towards the west coast, we had big dreams; meet some cute boys, make new friends, have a few stories to share when we returned home.

       And sure, we kinda did all those things, but it wasn’t like the movies.  Most of our time was spent sitting for days behind the wheel, and while road tripping is certainly an all American pastime, the stretches of empty nothingness along the way really start to get to you.  Your friends become annoying and you stop caring about where the boys are because you’re more worried about where the next rest stop is.

       Salvation finally came when we cruised into San Diego on a warm summer day and found ourselves face to face with the crowded beach coastline. 

       The three of us parked and got out, looking up and down the miles of sand in either direction.  There were beautiful people everywhere; lying out on blankets, sleeping until umbrellas.  Surfers cut their way through the water like tiny dots of black against the flickering jewels of sunlight that dance and play on the tips of blue waves.  It was a real life miracle, an oasis in the desert of endless gray highway between here and home.

       But like everything else in life, we got used to it. 

       It’s three days later and we are still laying out on the beach, wondering why our trip wasn’t coming together like a movie montage with some fun, beachy rock song playing loudly over the top of it.  The truth is, where you are doesn’t change who you are on the inside, and our group is coming face to face with the fact that, deep down, we might just be really boring gay men.

       “Do you ever feel trapped?”  I ask out loud, lying on my back as the sun kisses my already tan skin.  Jordan and Sam are on either side of me, and both guys seem to answer without words.  We don’t need to say it, because we are all thinking exactly the same thing.

       “So how do you change it?”  I add, a follow-up to my already unanswered question.

       More silence as the waves rumble softly against the shore and a lone seagull calls in the sky. 

       Finally, Jordan speaks up.  “We need adventure.”

       I can’t help but laugh, a smile crossing my lips beneath my jet-black sunglasses.  “Then what do you call this?”

       “I don’t know.”  He says.

       “Maybe adventure comes from the inside.”  I offer.  “Not where you are, but what you do when you get there.”

       “I’m pretty happy with my tan.”  Sam adds.

       I laugh again.  “Okay, sure.  Me too.  But we are heading back home tomorrow and we’ve got nothing to show for it.”

       “My tan.”  Sam repeats.

       “A tan is only skin deep.”  I tell him, wisely.  Now all three of us laugh.

       “I wanted to have some stories, you know?”  I explain.  “We just graduated high-school and up until now have never really left Ohio.  We’re all going to college in state.  It’s like we’re adults now but we still haven’t really lived.”

       “Well what the fuck do you propose we do about it?”  Sam asks.

       “I don’t know.  Go out tonight?”  I tell him.  “Like go to one of those secret donut clubs or something?”

       Being from the Midwest, the donut clubs where something of a mystery to us all, a vague rumor that found its way to us through various online forums or via hushed whispers at the local gar bar back home.  We had heard tales about the utterly depraved donut scene in San Diego, but deep down I had always considered the idea of living, talking, gay pastries to be a purely European thing.  Despite being invented in America, the living donuts themselves eventually started to migrate over seas in an attempt to find a more sexually liberal lifestyle, and the ones that stayed behind were eventually forced out whether they wanted to leave or not.

       There was hedonism in the streets.  Once the promiscuous nature of these living baked goods was completely exposed, human/donut fucking was entirely outlawed; gay, straight, all of it.  The ruling led to a whole slew of human rights arguments, but despite the fact that living donuts could talk, think, and even love, they were still not considered to be legally human and therefore not afforded the same basic privileges.

       Jordan rolls over on the blanket and faces me, propping himself up on his arm.  “First of all, there are no gay donuts here in the United States, thanks to the Pastry Fucking Act of two thousand sixteen.”

       “Sure, not out floating around in public, but they’re still here.”  I offer.  “You just need to find the right donut shop.”

       I sit up and look to my left.  Far, far down the beach where the stores become stranger and sometimes less than legal.

       “They sell weed down there like it’s nothing.”  I say.  “I bet we can get a read on a hot gay donut bar.”

       Its not long before we find a local coffee shop with a mysterious round symbol stuck inconspicuously on the outer window, a signal to those of us who know what to look for. 

       Our group heads inside, trying to act as casual as possible.

       The man helping us is young and fun, a surfer dude who’s surprisingly handsome for being covered in tattoos with more piercing than I can count.  His shop is only a small walk up the main drag of souvenir stands and bong boutiques that line the graffiti covered beach boardwalk.

       “What would you like?”  The handsome young guy asks.  “The dark roast is fresh!”

       “Actually, I’m not really in the mood for coffee.”  I tell him, my heart beating hard within my chest.  “How about a donut?”

       “Oh yeah, we’ve got those.”  The man says, nodding.  “Apple fritter?  Maple bar?”

       I hesitate for a moment, not quite sure how to go about this.  “Do you have anything a little… gayer?”

       The man freezes for a moment, then glances around to make sure our small group of friends are the only people in the store.  The coast is clear, but he still seem skeptical of me.”

       “Why would you think we had living gay donuts here?”  The man asks.

       I’m not exactly sure how to play this, so I reluctantly decide to proceed with some honesty.  “Well, there was that donut symbol on the window.  Is that code?”

       The guy shrugs.  “Could be.”

       We stand here for a minute with the counter between use, neither one moving from our position. 

       “So… coffee then?”  The man finally says.

       I sigh, turning back around to face my friends but something stops me abruptly in my tracks.  Adventure isn’t about where you are, but who you are deep within.  I could easily just call it a night right then and there, but at this moment I recognize that it’s time to step up and make something happen.  I turn back around.

       “Listen.”  I say.  “I know that there’s a gay donut bar around here, and I may be a country boy but I’m not stupid.  I might not have the password or whatever it is that you need me to say, but I recognize the symbol and I give you my word, I’m not a cop.”

       The guy behind the counter cracks a smile, amused by my sudden rush of confidence.  “You’re asking for someone else, right?” the guy ask with a slight twinkle in his eye.

       “No.”  I respond, confused.  Sam kicks me lightly in the shin.

       “What was that?  I couldn’t hear you.”  The guy behind the counter continues.  “Because most of the living donuts have moved back to Europe.  The rest are in hiding, afraid of getting deported.”

       Sam seizes the moment and interjects.  “We’re wondering for some friends.”

       “Oh, well in that case I think I can do something for you!”  The guy says, looking up with a wide smile and a wink.  “I know some places.  Actually, I might be about to help you out later tonight, have your friends call me.”

       “Really?”  I blurt, unable to hide my excitement.

       “I’m Parker.”  He says, handing me a card with his name, number, and that same mysterious round symbol.

       “Mike.”  I tell him, “And this is Jordan and Sam.”

       “You know, the gay pastry scene isn’t for everyone.”  Parker explains cryptically.  “You gentlemen up for an adventure?”

       “Of course,” I smile.  “It’s exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

       After a few hours of getting ready I exchange some texts with Parker and we head out to meet him and some friends. 

       There is a thick excitement in the car as we cruise the city streets, looking for the mysterious address that I’ve been texted.  Finally, something interesting is happening, a story in progress.

       That tall-tale feeling is nothing but amplified when we arrive at the living donut bar, which Parker had insisted on calling a dessert speakeasy because there’s a password at the door.

       “Is this the place?”  I ask an imposing man, bald and representing a similar love of tattoo’s to Parker.  It’s hard to believe anything other than an industrial packing warehouse could be behind the door in question, but after double and triple checking the address, this is apparently the place.

       “I don’t know.”  The doorman says gruffly.  “Is it?”

       “The password.”  Sam reminds me.

       “Oh yeah.”  I straighten myself out and stand up straight.  “The password is ‘Baker’s dozen?”

       “Is that a question?”  The doorman asks.

       “Sorry.”  I try again.  “Baker’s dozen.”

       The imposing guy reaches over and twists the handle of the door, swinging it open to reveal a hustling, bustling donut shop within.

       “Have fun boys.”  He says.

       We step inside and make our way down the stairs.  The place is hopping tonight, handsome men sipping on tall glasses of milk or coffee everywhere I look.  Everyone here is much cooler than us Ohio.

       “Mike!”  A familiar voice shouts from somewhere near the bar.  Out of the darkness comes Parker with a huge smile on his face, hugging all three of us in turn.  “I’m so glad you guys could make it!”

       “We’re glad to be here!”  I tell him.  “This place is awesome.”

       Parker nods and then takes a long swing of his two percent milk.

       Just then I notice a sign to the side of the band with glowing purple letters.  It reads: The Big Glaze.  Below it is a large doorway with two bouncers on either side, people are slowly filtering in.

       “What’s that?”  I ask.

       Parker laughs.  “Order a milk first, then we’ll talk.”

       After tossing back a few in a booth with Parker and his exceptionally cute friends I am practically boiling over with curiosity, but I hold my tongue.  Everyone is having a great time, and the free drinks certainly don’t make it easy to pace yourself.  Finally, I just can’t hold in my curiosity any longer.

       “Alright dude.”  I brazenly interrupt the conversation that preceded me.  “What’s The Big Glaze?”

       Parker takes a deep breath.  “Okay, well.”  He starts.  “This is a gay donut bar as you can see.  Most of the gay donuts packed up and moved to Europe when they were outlawed, which is straight up unconstitutional if you ask me, but a few of them stayed behind.  Now they live in hiding, but the donut community has found a way to let them work under the table, providing a particular service that is commonly referred to as glazing.”

       “What the fuck does that mean?”  I finally ask.  “I’m just a country boy from Ohio, you’re gonna have to walk me through this.”

       Parker cracks a smile.  “It means that one man is going to suck off a whole dozen gay donuts, and then they are going to glaze his face in hot, sugary cum.”

                Inside of me, a fire starts to burn, overtaking everything else with hot, unfiltered desire to be a part of this erotic celebration of living confectionery.

       “A dozen?”  I repeat back to Parker in astonishment.  “That’s a lot of glaze.”

       Parker nods.  “Sometimes even more.  The record right now is sixteen loads from sixteen different donuts.  They’ve got chocolate, coconut, rainbow sprinkles, it’s absolutely insane in there.”

       “That’s…” I say, looking over at the door and reeling from all of the nasty thoughts that are suddenly filling my brain.  “So hot.”  I finish.

       My heart starts to race a mile a minute, almost pounding out of my chest with the realization that the adventure I’d been looking for has finally arrived.  I don’t think twice about what I say next, because I’m afraid that if I think too much I won’t end up saying it.  “Where do I sign up?”

       Parker laughs.  “Sign up to watch?”

       I shake my head.  “No.  Sign up to perform.”

       When the lights go up on stage I find myself in a large, semi-circle theatre, with a wooden floor beneath me and a series of seats that tower upwards as they go.  It’s a steep incline and I’m at the bottom, looking up with my big green eyes as I rest on my knees.  I’ve stripped down to nothing, my tan body and toned abs exposed to the audience.  It’s a full house tonight.

       Thankfully, I’m too horny to be nervous, and my eyes dart about hungrily as I look for the sweet donut cocks that are apparently coming my way.

       “Welcome to amateur night here at the downtown donut shop!  Let’s give it up for Mike!”  A voice suddenly booms over the loudspeaker.  “This is his first time here at The Big Glaze!”

       The audience bursts into uproarious cheer and I can’t help but smile, soaking it in.

       “Remember,” The voice continues.  “The number of donut loads to beat without tapping out from exhaustion is fifteen.  If Mike can take that, he’ll receive The Big Glaze grand prize!”

       More applause.

       “Now let’s get to it!”  The voice finishes.

       The next thing I know, a handsome, floating donut is approaching me from either side.  The pastries are absolutely gorgeous, muscular and toned with massive dicks hanging down from their frosted, circular bodies.

       I look up at them happily and take an engorged cock in each hand.  They’re well equipped, massively hung to the point that it’s almost hard to wrap my fingers around their entire width.  I try my best though, and soon I’m pumping up and down on each shaft expertly with my hands. 

       The audience seems to like what they see, and I notice a few of the watchers begin to stroke their own rods as the action unfolds before them.

       Eventually, I start to use my tongue on each of the two sprinkled desserts, going from one to the other with quick licks from their balls to the tip.  It’s not long before I’m swallowing one of them entirely, pushing my head down onto his sweet, sugary cock and letting his length hit the threshold of my gag reflex.  I choke and pull back, gasping for air as his member leaves my mouth in a trail of spit.

       “One more time.”  I say, sheepishly.

       “Yeah, suck that sprinkled cock.”  Says the donut in a sexy, authoritative tone.  “You like that sweetness don’t you?”

       I devour his giant cock once more, but this time I relax as it hits the back of my throat and end up taking him entirely to the base.  My face is pressed up against his pink frosting as his dick hits its limit, then he starts fucking my face hard.

       The donut plows into me, pumping up and down and using me like a gay human sex toy, which actually starts to make me hard down below.  While he enjoys my mouth, I make sure to continue stroking the other dessert on stage and he seems to appreciate it, finding a rhythm with his movement against my steady strokes.

       With my free hand I reach down and start to play with my cock, massaging myself as I’m violated by the living junk food. 

       The stage lights feel bright on my skin, completely exposed to the crowd before me.  My friends are out there watching, Parker too, and exposing myself to them like this is potently arousing.  I have never been so horny in my entire life, consumed by the taboo nature of this human on pastry encounter.

       Eventually, the floating donuts on either side of me start to tremble with pleasure, edging closer and closer to orgasm.  I pick up the pace, using the spit from my mouth to frantically beat them off until finally they explode across my face in tandem.  Two hot white loads fly through the air in milky ropes, splattering across my cheeks from ear to ear.  I open my mouth to catch some of the liquid, and then swallow hungrily as the desserts disappear back into the darkness with drained balls.

       Immediately, two freshly baked maple bars approach me, taking their friend’s place.  These pastries are equally hung, and with a newfound ferocity and a face full of cum I start to expertly suck them off.  The desserts are clearly enjoying themselves, roughly passing me back and forth between them.  

       I swallow deep.  The maple bar to my left takes me all the way down and gags me, brutally pushing me to the point that I’m unable to breathe around the girth of his enormous dick.  My tongue pushes out from the bottom of his shaft and laps against his syrupy balls as I choke.

       “Of fuck.”  The living confectionery starts to moan from his single, circular opening.  “Are you ready for one more?”

       I pull back to answer, but before I can form the words a warm blast of jizz hits me in the face.  I laugh a little as it somehow manages to get up my nose, and I smile when the strings of semen dangle off of me.  He pumps a few more shots and then turns me to face the other sweet treat, who’s balls I massage in my hand.

       “Cover my fucking face with your sugary frosting.”  I beg, starting to get into it now.  “Use me as your gay donut cum dumpster.”

       He begins to moan and shake, bucking foreword and releasing his tension in the form of hot splatters across my face.

       Now that I’ve got four loads to contend with, I’m finally starting to feel the jizz blend together and form a thin sheen of glazed icing across my face.  It’s like wearing a mask at the spa, only warmer and many times more explicit.  A little bit of it has managed to end up near my eyes and I wipe it away with my fingers, blinking rapidly and looking up at the group of hard cocked donuts that now float around me.  Seeing that I can hold my own out here, the group has given up on approaching two by two and instead have formed a tight circle with me as the centerpiece.

       I look up at them with pleading eyes, making my way around the circle with both hands while I ache to be touched myself.

       Soon this new group of desserts begins to pop, a spray here and a splatter there.  They fling ropes of semen at me from every direction, landing them expertly across my face.  From chin to forehead I’m covered in pearly white milk, which runs down my neck and across my chest in long drips.  Dots of white speckle my eyelashes, which I fight desperately to see through as the donuts come and go above me.

       I have no idea how many loads I’ve taken until finally the announcer booms over the loudspeaker once again.

       “Nice work!” The voice bellows.  “Mike has reached ten loads of hot, steamy frosting!  That’s nearly a dozen!”

       The audience bursts into uproarious applause and I smile wide as the strands that dangle from my chin dance in the air.  I continue to stroke my dick and as I do my body tenses up with aching warmth, overwhelmed by the depraved situation that I have somehow gotten myself into.

       “He’s only got six more to go before winning tonight’s grand prize!  Where are those loads going to be?”

       Suddenly, on stage right, a huge wheel lights up and starts to spin.  I can barely make out the words that are printed on it, but it appears to be a list of different body parts; mouth, abs, chest.  Someone hands me a small buzzer with a single red button on top and I hold it for a moment, not entirely sure what to do next, until finally I decide that my only option is to push it.  The wheel begins to slow to a crawl and as it does our audience cheers, clearly thrilled about the impending result.  When the wheel comes to a complete stop, the whole place erupts.

       “Alright!”  The announcer calls in a long drawl.  “The final six frosting loads will be blasted onto Mike’s tight gay asshole!”

       Two stagehands approach and help lean me back onto the ground, then position some sort of ramp under me so that my legs are lifted and slowly placed behind my head.  My upper back still on the wooden stage floor, I find myself with my ass in the air and my butthole completely exposed to the world.

       Two floating donuts approach me with their cocks in their tiny baked hands, beating off and looking down at my fit body as it lies contorted below them.  One of them is covered in dark brown chocolate sprinkles while the other sports an incredibly arousing coat of coconut shavings. 

       The first treat starts to moan almost immediately and shoots a string of semen directly into my asshole, where it lands and pools for a moment before sliding back down the crack of my ass.  The next follows closely behind, but his aim is a little off so his jizz flies onto my butt, but also somehow manages to add a few splatters to the mess on my face.

       “Eleven!”  The announcer calls out.  “Twelve!”

       Two more frozed treats approach and position themselves accordingly.  As they pleasure themselves I do the same, spastically rubbing my cock while I tiptoe on the edge of pure, blissful orgasm.

       As the donuts blow their loads I finally cum myself, the muscles in my stomach contracting wildly as wave after wave of pleasure shoots through me.  I scream a wild, animalistic yelp and let go of everything, my eyes rolling back into my head like a man possessed.  I can feel the cum frosting raining down onto me as I tremble and quake, my body disappearing somehow and leaving me as an object of pure blinding pleasure.  The sensation envelopes me as jizz continues to fall and the announcer calls out my benchmarks.  My own load spurts back across the stage is a forceful blast.

       “Thriteen!”  He says.  “Fourteen!  Fifteen!”

       I’m not even aware that the desserts have been replaced by others because my eyes are now completely caked shut with sugary semen.

       “Sixteen!” The announcer crows and the audience loses their minds. 

       I collapse back only the stage floor and the ramp is pulled out from under me so that I can lay flat.  I’m utterly glazed with donut semen.

       “We have a winner!”  The voice says.  “Tell him what he’s won!”

       Another voice suddenly comes over the loudspeaker, higher pitched and speaking rapidly like I’m trapped in some sort of bizarre sexual infomercial.

       “Well Mike, you’ve had a great night here on The Big Glaze, starring in your very own donut show and taking sixteen loads!  You’re going to love taking sixteen more during your all expenses paid trip to Holland, home of the Dutch who came to America and invented the donut many, many years ago!  You’ll stay at the finest luxury hotel that Holland has to offer before being whisked away to our sister donut shop for your very own headline show!”

       The crowd cheers again and I smile, sensing through the layers of cum on my closed eyelids that the stage curtain is now closing.  I lay alone in the darkness, slowly trying to recover from the best night of my life.

Also by Chuck Tingle…

Dinosaur Tinglers

My Billionaire Triceratops Craves Gay Ass

Gay T-Rex Law Firm: Executive Boner

Space Raptor Butt Invasion

Gaygent Brontosaurus: The Butt Is Not Enough

Professor T-Rex Teaches Me Gayness

Lonely Author Pounded By Dinosaur Social Media Followers

President Domald Loch Ness Tromp Pounds America’s Butt

Chuck’s Dinosaur Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Dinosaur Tinglers: Volume 2

Unicorn Tinglers

Taken By The Gay Unicorn Biker

My Ass Is Haunted By The Gay Unicorn Colonel

Pounded By The Gay Unicorn Football Squad

Unicorn Butt Cops: Beach Patrol

Anally Yours, The Unicorn Sailor

Top Horn: Turned Gay By The Unicorn Pilots

Hunter Dentist Pounded In The Butt By Cecil The Handsome Unicorn

Chuck’s Unicorn Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Unicorn Tinglers: Volume 2

Bigfoot Tinglers

Pounded By President Bigfoot

Bigfoot Sommelier Butt Tasting

Seduced By Doctor Bigfoot: Attorney At Large

Bigfoot Pirates Haunt My Balls

The Curse Of Bigfoot Butt Camp

Bigfoot Settler’s Claim My Butthole

Dan Bigfootzerian Parties In My Butthole With His Billionaire Lifestyle

Chuck’s Bigfoot Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Bigfoot Tinglers: Volume 2

Living Object Tinglers

I’m Gay For My Living Billionaire Jet Plane

Trained By The Living Biker Train

Pounded By The Gay Color Changing Dress

Turned Gay By The Living Alpha Diner

Glazed By The Gay Living Donuts

Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt

Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt”

Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Book ‘Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt’”

Buttception: A Butt Within A Butt Within A Butt

Vampire Night Bus Pounds My Butt

Shared By The Chocolate Milk Cowboys

Reamed By My Reaction To The Title Of This Book

Angry Man Pounded By The Fear Of His Latent Gayness Over A Dinosaur Transitioning Into A Unicorn

Slammed Up The Butt By My Hot Coffee Boss

The State Of California Stalks My Butthole

Pounded In The Butt By My Leaked Mashly Addison Data

Happy Birthday Frankenstein, Now Pound My Butt

Oppressed In The Butt By My Inclusive Holiday Coffee Cups

Monday Pounds Me In The Butt

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 2

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 3

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 4

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 5

Living Objects Pound My Butt: 12 Gay Stories With Abs And Smiles

Self Help

Chuck Tingle’s Complete Guide To Romance

Novels/Other

Helicopter Man Pounds Dinosaur Billionaire Ass (A Novel)

Buttageddon: The Final Days Of Pounding Ass

Scary Stories To Tingle Your Butt: 7 Gay Tales Of Terror

About Dr. Tingle…

Dr. Chuck Tingle is an erotic author and Tae Kwon Do grandmaster (almost black belt) from Billings, Montana. After receiving his PhD at DeVry University in holistic massage, Chuck found himself fascinated by all things sensual, leading to his creation of the “tingler”, a story so blissfully erotic that it cannot be experienced without eliciting a sharp tingle down the spine.  Chuck’s hobbies include backpacking, checkers and sport.

If you would like to know more about Dr. Tingle, you may visit his website or write to him at ChuckTheTingler@gmail.com