He fanned the pictures across my desk.
It was all there in black and white – me sucking “Big Deal” Rigoletti’s cock, licking his balls, getting fucked deep in the ass, the expression on my rugged pan one of inescapable ecstasy. I had to hand it to the mug, he could really handle a Speed Graphic camera and a flash gun – hiding behind a two-way mirror.
But this was face-to-face. And I wasn’t passing out any kudos.
‘It’s gonna cost you plenty, Mr D A,’ Convey sneered, gathering up the smut pics, stuffing them back into a manila envelope. ‘The big, tough, manly crime crusader for the people gettin’ all swishy with the state’s number one gang boss. You’ll be ruined.’
I sat back, crossed my legs, smile tugging up the corners of my Valentino-like kisser.
Time dragged, sweat spreading in trickles across Convey’s clock. He tried a grin, but it didn’t take. He pushed a shaking mitt through his short, blond-white hair, his blue eyes watering.
‘I … I want money – lotsa dough,’ he bleated.
Two-bit blackmailer.
I knew something about the guy, could read him like a cheap pulp magazine. ‘You don’t want money,’ I stated.
His gob dropped open. ‘W … what? Either you make with the geetus – and plenty – or I cart these sex shots on over to the papers … or maybe the Governor.’ He shook his envelope at me.
I rubbed the cigar I’d been toying with underneath my nose, repeated, ‘You don’t want money.’
His Adam’s apple did a jig. ‘Huh?’
I filed the 50-cent stogie in the breast pocket of my 200-dollar pinstripe and climbed to my feet. Then I strode around the wide expanse of desk towards Convey.
He backed away, eyes bugging, hands thrusting out the thick envelope like a shield. I swatted it aside. Pictures of two big-dicked, hard-bodied he-men fucking up a storm spilled out all over the carpet. I grabbed Convey by his bow tie and shook him like my prick after pissing.
‘What’re you gonna do!?’ he screamed. ‘I’ll scream!’
I jerked his sweaty expression close, knocking his fishy glims down with my blazing headlights. Then I planted one on him – square on the mug’s moist, red lips.
His eyes just about popped out of his head.
‘You don’t want money,’ I snarled, breathing his hot breath. ‘You want me.’ I plugged his pucker again, holding the lip-lock longer and harder this time, really working the guy’s soft, wet mouth. Until his body went limp as Sammy Wong’s famous egg noodles.
‘I saw it in your eyes – and groin. Those pictures turn you on. You got all hard and hot lensing me and Rigoletti. Didn’t you, blackmailer?’
He nodded so hard his neck creaked.
I sent a hand sailing down to his crotch, grabbing onto the pole testing the seams of his chequered five & dime suit. He groaned, eyelids all aflutter. I kissed him again, shooting my tongue into his open mouth, exploring, hand squeezing, rubbing, his stiff, clothed cock.
‘You want to suck my cock?’ I growled.
His eyes burst open. He bubbled affirmatives.
‘Then do it,’ I rasped, shoving him down to his knees.
He had me unbelted and unbuttoned in the time it took to spring a dirty crook with a pile of filthy lucre. He pulled my semi-hard out of my drawers and clung to it, like it was the stuff that wet dreams are made of. Then he started fisting my swelling dick with a damp paw, two, really pulling. Getting me hard as the Law’s supposed to be on mugs like him.
‘It’s b-beautiful,’ Convey marvelled. ‘So …’
‘So, do you have an answer for the class, Mr Schiller?’
I blinked blur out of my eyes, mouthed, ‘Huh?’
The class laughed. Professor Convey didn’t. ‘My question was: how did Raymond Chandler reshape and refine what Dashiell Hammett had done earlier in hardboiled, turn it into true literature?’
I blinked again, the fog lifting slowly from my brain. I stared at Professor Convey, the man’s tanned, rugged face, his shock of blond-white hair and piercing blue eyes, full lips, thick body immaculately clothed in a soft, brown turtleneck and tan, gabardine pants. ‘Hammett?’ I stalled.
The class erupted with more laughter. Professor Convey snorted. ‘If you have any intention of passing Hardboiled American Literature of the 1930s, Mr Schiller, I suggest you start paying attention in class.’
He moved on to another student, one who was actually compos mentis. I crossed my legs, burying my achingly-hard erection between my hot thighs.
Class over, I waited for Professor Convey in the hallway. Not to talk to the man, to tail him. I just had to know more about the 30-something literary hunk – where he lived, and with whom, his hobbies, his turn-offs, and, God yes, his turn-ons. Although I appreciated the hardboiled scribblings of Horace McCoy and Edward Anderson and James M Cain and Raymond Chandler, I appreciated the hard, boiled body and hot good looks of Professor Convey even more.
He finally exited the classroom, strode down the hall, smooth-leathered folio tucked under his left arm, as always. I loitered over the water fountain, spraying the side of my face, absorbed in the man’s taut, round buttocks as they shuddered back and forth in his tight slacks.
‘You gonna take a shower, too, bub?’
I jerked my head around, stared at the gum-smacking co-ed waiting for her turn at the tap. Then I fled down the hall after the professor. He was just exiting the Arts Building, striding out into the crisp fall day. I trailed after him.
His house was a couple of blocks off-campus – a modest, blue and white bungalow that smacked of singlehood. I rejoiced, from behind a big, old oak tree in the tiny park across from the man’s house. A light went on in the living room, and I settled in alongside the bark.
Three minutes later, my mind was wandering off on its own again. Back to a Depression-era scene playing out in a big-city D.A.’s office. There was a man on the floor, on his knees, the hardboiled D A’s huge cock in his trembling hands …
‘So big and hard and smooth,’ Convey breathed, stroking in awe.
The mug was really getting through to me, my cock throbbing, body seeping heat and balls tightening. Shivers of sensual delight prickled my skin, as the guy vigorously two-fisted my prick. But I didn’t let on to Convey. I was the one doing him a favour.
‘I told you to suck it,’ I gritted.
He looked up at me with his baby-blues, drool crowding the corners of his mouth. Then he bent my rod down with his humid mitts and gulped my shining hood.
I shook, a little.
The guy’s warm, thick mouthflaps stretched over my mushroomed cockhead and he started sucking on my cap, wet, eager tongue swabbing the pulsing underside of my dick. He moved his head forward, taking rigid shaft into his hot, damp maw.
I stripped off my jacket and tie and shirt, draping them carefully over the back of a green leather chair, then letting the dirty blackmailer get a good gander at my gleaming-white, muscle-humped torso. He got an eyeful, all right, along with his mouthful, watching me pinch a pair of stiffened pink nipples even stiffer, as he shifted his head to and fro, slid his lips up and down my dong, sucking on my cock.
He grabbed my balls and squeezed. I bucked my hips, fingernails biting into my nipples. Convey’s eyes lit up like a Wurlitzer. He excitedly pulled my gleaming rod out of his mouth and slammed it up against my washboard abdomen. He stuck out his tongue and lapped at my pinned prick, painting pipe with hot spit, dragging his beaded, red velvet tongue over the length of my shaft, up from my hairy balls to my bloated cap, over and over.
Until my sacked sperm started heading for higher ground. ‘You’re going to take it in the ass,’ I informed the ardent cock-lick, pushing him away in the nick of time.
He shucked his pants and drawers like it was bath-time at the flophouse. He spread out on his hands and knees. His ass was small, tight, the mounded half-moons dusted with blond-white hair. I got in behind and spread his crack, spat into his asshole.
‘Fuck me, big man!’ he squealed.
And I obliged.
I speared my slimy dickhead into his manhole, popping his rim, barging meat down his chute. He groaned, grabbing up his cock and tugging, hard, urgent strokes, as I sunk shaft inside him to the fur-line.
‘You’re not going to the papers with those pictures of me and Rigoletti, Convey – if you know what’s good for you.’ I gripped the mug’s narrow waist and pumped him, once, slamming the statement home, making my case.
‘Yes … I mean, no – I won’t go to the papers!’ he cried, feeling the full impact of what was good for him.
I started churning his chute, reaming him, setting his body to rocking and his cheeks to gyrating. I surged with the wicked sight, the wanton feel, of my cock plunging that man’s ass.
I slammed back and forth in Convey’s hungry chute. His face was buried in the broadloom, hand desperately working his own cock. The crisp smack of my powerful thighs against his rippling butt cheeks filled the heated room, making a sweet mockery of my oath, and office.
Convey clutched at a chair leg for support. It knocked against the wall as I cocked him, knocking …
Someone was knocking on Professor Convey’s front door.
My eyes came back into focus. I pulled my fingernails out of the oak.
A guy about my age was knuckling the professor’s door. The door opened, and my hero appeared. The two men exchanged greetings, then quick glances up and down the quiet, leafy street. Before the door closed on them.
I looked right, left, back at the three kids sitting on the swings staring at me. I raced across the street, in behind Professor Convey’s bungalow. His backyard was as small as his house, withered tomato plants filling most of it. A light burned in the partially-open kitchen window, and I ducked down and latched on to the frame, peeking over and in.
‘Five hundred dollars, Brady – give it or leave it,’ Professor Convey stated, holding up a manila envelope.
Brady was a buzzcut blond, with the cinder-block head, lantern face, and brickhouse body that spelled “football” in big, white letters on his university jacket. ‘That’s a lotta green,’ he groused, rubbing the back of his sunburnt neck. ‘The test’s only worth ten per cent of my final mark.’
‘Ten out of ten’s better than zero. And don’t complain to me about money, Brady. I happen to know you’re receiving more alumni support than the college’s endowment fund.’
I bit my lip, eyebrows skying. Professor Convey was selling exam answers! The guy was as crooked as Francois Sagat’s dick.
I watched, wide-eyed, as the flat-top jock reluctantly forked over the cash, five C-notes. Professor Convey handed him the manila envelope for his efforts.
I studied the situation, the professor’s rugged body and Daniel Craigesque face, wondering: what would hardboiled PI Philip Marlowe do in this situation? The Continental Op? Any 20-minute yegg from the pages of the hardboiled literature the “good” professor taught?
And as I was pondering, a bird suddenly let loose a caw and took a swoop at my head. There must’ve been a nest or feeder nearby. Tweety taloned my hair and I slammed my face up against the kitchen window to get away. Alerting the parties inside.
Brady tucked the answer envelope under his arm like it was made of pigskin. He barrelled out of the kitchen, steaming for the front exit. While Professor Convey dashed out the back door and splayed me up against the wall like a cockroach.
‘Mr Schiller,’ he growled, shaking his head. Before yanking me off the wall and marching me inside his house.
He slammed me down into a kitchen chair, towering and glowering over me. ‘Just what did you see, Schiller?’
I swallowed hard and looked up at – but no longer “to” – him. He wasn’t a revered sexpot scholar any more; he was just a man – a greedy, grubbing man like the rest of us, with five bills in his pocket and plenty more where that came from. And I was just a hard-up college kid – like any student outside of the athletic program and the blueblood set – who could really use some extra dough. Tuition and textbooks didn’t come cheap, like academic integrity.
I stood up, standing tall, thrusting out what little chin I had to the point where it just about poked Convey in the chest. ‘I saw you selling test answers to the starting D-line, is what I saw. Grades for gelt.’ I squared my bony shoulders. ‘And now I want a piece of the action. And a boost in my grades.’
Convey rubbed his dimpled chin with a big, brown mitt. Then slapped me across the face, sending my glasses and bravado flying.
‘You pay attention here, but not in class, eh?’ he mused. ‘Just why were you watching me, anyway?’
I hung my head like a bum in a breadline.
‘I think I know why,’ Professor Convey continued. He reached out and lifted my chin, staring into my watery eyes. ‘Maybe we can make some sort of … arrangement.’ I lit up like a Philco radio.
Professor Convey gripped my shoulders and shoved me down to my knees, had his belt and zipper undone before my brain had even stopped spinning. Then, like an astute educator, he observed, ‘I’ve noticed the looks you’ve given me in class … Melvin. I understand why your attention wanders.’
I gulped, staring at the big bulge in the big man’s blazingly white briefs. It was moving, growing, uncoiling, taking shape long and hard right in front of me, stretching the fabric and the edges of my endurance. Professor Convey dug his hand in and pulled his cock out, slapping my burning face with it.
‘This is what you really want, isn’t it, blackmailer?’
I answered by eagerly grabbing on to the man’s monster erection, the both of us shuddering with the erotic impact. His huge snake pulsed in my hot little hand, both hands, as I took hold and tugged.
The professor’s cock was beautiful – pink and smooth, clean-cut, purple hood thick and shining. I pumped and pumped his pulsating shaft with my sweaty hands, pulling so hard his balls flapped.
He stood firm, hips outthrust, thunder cock filling my worshipping hands and eyes. ‘You want to suck on my cock, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Well, do it.’ I pulled his awesome tool down until his bloated hood was level with my mouth, slit staring me in the eyes. Then I opened wide and engulfed his cockhead.
‘Yes!’ he groaned, clutching my black curls.
His hood was soft and chewable. I pulled on it with my lips, scraped it with my teeth, tongue swabbing shaft. I felt the man’s entire body vibrate through his cock.
He yanked my head forward, forcing more of his meat into my mouth. I happily consumed all I could, before gagging, his cap bumping against the back of my throat. He grunted and pumped his hips, fucking my mouth.
I gripped Professor Convey’s moving hips and went cross-eyed watching his gleaming pole glide back and forth between my stretched lips, pulsing shaft bulging my cheeks, hood tickling my tonsils. He tasted so very good, filled me up so very well.
He churned my mouth until snot bubbled out of my nose and spit hung down in spaghetti strings from the corners of my overfull kisser. Then I grabbed his hairy balls and squeezed, and he pumped even faster, fucking my face like it was his own personal glory-hole.
I gained strength from the man’s strength, from what he was doing to me and what I was doing to him. I jerked my head back, leaving him dangling and dripping. I gulped for air and courageously stated, ‘I’m going to fuck you.’ ‘Like hell you are!’ Professor Convey roared. ‘That’s a man’s job.’ He shoved me backwards, toppling me on to all-fours. Then he pulled my pants and shorts down, digging in behind me with his now-latexed prick and a bottle of lube. I clawed at the tile, as he greased my crack, brought the hardboiled home by busting my butthole and cramming cock down my chute.
‘Fuck me, big man!’ I squealed.
And he obliged.
Professor Convey hung onto my hips and pounded his cock into my ass, stretching my chute like never before. I flooded with wicked, tingling heat, sliding back and forth on the linoleum, desperately pulling on my own numb-hard dong whenever I could.
‘Now you’re getting what you deserve!’ the professor bellowed, spanking my cheeks with his heavy balls, blowing me wide open with his sledge of a cock.
I frantically jacked in rhythm to the man’s pistoning prick, face mopping the floor, body and ass swollen with sexual electricity, brimming with sensual joy. The sharp, quick smack of the professor’s powerful thighs against my rippling buttocks was erotic music to my ears, striking just above our ragged grunting and groaning.
‘Here it comes, Melvin. The payoff!’
His rugged body jerked, his cock jumping in my butt. Hot come spilled into his condom, deep within my ass. Just as my own balls boiled over and I was jolted by ecstasy, spurting jizz all over the floor in rapid, fiery bursts.
We danced around like we were dodging bullets, coming and coming and coming, connected at the ass and cock. I full-body quivered with the ball-draining strength of my hand-cranked orgasm, the wicked rush of the big man emptying himself inside my raw, fucked-over anus.
My bank account and grades are as low as ever these days. But at least I’m getting all the hot, hardboiled sex and literature I can handle. Professor Convey gives me what I want, if not always what I ask for.