Welcome to the world of mansploitation fiction by M.N. Manmacker! It’s a series of linked stories involving man-on-man action in a world full of homoerotic situations, alpha males and raunchy, filthy rutting!
Welcome to the world of mansploitation fiction by M.N. Manmacker! It’s a series of linked stories involving man-on-man action in a world full of homoerotic situations, alpha males and raunchy, filthy rutting!
Content on this website includes pictures and videos that contain adult content. Written material (excerpts, etc.) may contain adult content, including offensive material, nonconsensual sex and other topics you may find objectionable. You must be at least eighteen years of age to visit this website.
Comments, questions and requests can be sent to MNManmacker@proton.me or sign up for the mailing list to keep abreast of new releases.
What does “mansploitation” mean?
À la 70s femsploitation and blaxsploitation movies, mansploitation stories emphasize masculine gender roles in ways that are sexy beyond belief!
Mansploitation stories use a floating, mobile timeline, like a classic cartoon or sitcom.
1: That means time moves forward but the characters mostly don’t — in other words, a college student character will always be a college student, even as the year changes. References and technologies will advance as well. This is a floating timeline.
2: Stories are set in various locations, characterized principally by the bar Lipsweet. For example, when Lipsweet is in Martinsburg, West Virginia, it is a rough-and-tumble strip club dominated by rednecks and hicks in the modern day. When Lipsweet is in Santa Monica, California, it is a modern-day cholo bar. When it is in Baton Rouge, it is a 1930s speakeasy , and when it is in Los Angeles, it is a beachfront bar in the 1980s. The characters will be translated to each setting but will remain mostly the same. Some storylines will unfold along different times and places. This is a mobile timeline.
3: Don’t worry too much about continuity. Some developments, mainly new characters, continue into future stories. But mostly, characters and situations reset in each new story. I try to keep character details consistent, but I have lots of oopsies (e.g., characters changing surnames, etc.). It’s a multiverse thing, deal with it.
Mansploitation stories have subtitles.
The subtitles are formatted like this: “A Lifelong Bachelors Mansploitation Novel” or “A Forceful Alphas Mansploitation Novella”.
Ultra-Raunchy: real dirty stuff, hobos, piss, rimjobs, etc
Mansploitation stories have pictures!
Most stories feature pictures, which are generated by AI. AI produces far superior images for my purposes compared to stock photo.
While images are intended to bring to mind a specific character, they don’t exactly correspond to descriptions in the book. That’s partially because AI isn’t real precise with things like ages, hairstyles and tattoos, but also it simply provides a little variety, so readers don’t feel locked in to a look that may not be their ideal. In any case, just like with stock photos, think of it as less the “actual look” of a character and more a head shot of an actor who could play that character — i.e., hair and makeup will change, they might be a little off in various ways, but they have the right attitude, atmosphere and ambiance to represent the character.
Yoder was short for a fireman, but he was a ropy-muscled spitfire of a man, his filthy-blond hair like dirty sand arranged in an almost mullet with an outright rattail sticking out the back. His powerhouse frame was scrawny even where it was thick — you could tell he would be more muscular if he focused on eating enough protein. The muscles he had were bursting out of him, which was why his punches knocked out Walter, who was a prettyboy maybe eighty pounds heavier than Yoder.
Lance is an accountant who appreciates the male form, especially this hunky firefighter named Yoder. He’s a redneck, a macho and a devored fireman, and he’s gonna be willing to bend over and let a twink on top situation develop if it means he gets a full-time role at a fire station!
Can Lance take full advantage of this redneck’s sweat-covered muscle-bound firefighting body?!
Lance had never been as nervous as he was when he got behind the wheel of the firetruck. He wasn’t a firefighter. He didn’t even think he was very good at driving his own, ordinary car. There was only one thing he was good at — accounting. Lance was an accountant, who volunteered his time to the local fire station. That’s why he was there when two of the firefighters on call, Yoder and Walter, got in a fight over a girl. The donnybrook began with a series of harsh insults, continued into a medley of fists and kicks and concluded with a broken nose, a “possible cranial” and a Jackson Pollack of purples and yellows. Yoder was crowing about his victory and Walter was bleeding from the head and on the way to the hospital when the alarm blared. whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, Benevolent 43 to Pittering and 9 Mile Road, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, Benevolent 43 to Pittering and 9 Mile Road, please copy Everyone stopped moving. Mosta the firemen were whooping and calling after Yoder’s victory dance. Nobody much liked Walter Law. He was a perfect-jawed blond prettyboy with shoulders and a six-pack and a black eye. Girls loved him, especially hose junkies, cuz he was in the calendar, of course. Lance had to admit he enjoyed Walter Law’s spread in the calendar too. But Yoder had a certain mullety handsomeness as well. He wasn’t in the calendar cuz he was just a volunteer then, not a full-time firefighter. He was a full-timer now though. Anyway, due to the fight, there was no one to drive the firetruck — no one except Lance He initially thought it was a joke when Yoder said he needed to do it, but the alarm was for an actual fire, not an automated alert, at an elementary school. Yoder was under orders to remain in the station until Chief Kettle arrived to handle the fight situation. Lance panicked, knowing he couldn’t bear to be responsible for even the slightest delay, what if there was a real fire at an elementary school and the truck doesn’t show up because Lance the accountant refused to drive it? So he hustled his bustle down to the garage and jumped into the driver’s seat even before asking if it was a stick-shift (luckily it wasn’t). The firefighters were suited up in gear in mere moments, and Lance, terrified, pulled out into the street, sirens blaring. The truck was surprisingly easy to handle despite being so big. It drove like a silken dream, and cars moved out of the way. That was good because Lance was terrified to maneuver it. In the end, the drive was simple. The elementary school was right down the street, not many turns to get there, which made Lance breathe a sigh of relief. He did bump into a postal service mailbox, possibly knocked it over, but he thought that would be forgiven. It turned out there was a fire at the elementary school, but it wasn’t a huge one. It was just a cigarette incompletely extinguished and stuck to somebody’s shoe. Some flooring was scorched, and the playtime mats in one of the classrooms were partially melted. No injuries. Before Lance knew it, a cop was driving him in a squad car back to the fire station. Lance was still in shock, the sirens still ringing in his ears. He came into the fire station soon after the arrival of Chief Kettle, a burly middle-aged redneck who was furious that Lance, a mere accountant, had driven the firetruck. He had his own cigarette in his lips when Lance strolled in, proud as a lion, but it dropped to the ground as he snarled in rage. “You redneck dumb fuck!” Chief Kettle picked up the cigarette he dropped and put it back between his lips. Lance stopped short, proudful smile draining away. Chief Kettle jabbed a finger at Yoder and ignored Lance, but Lance still took it personally. He knew as well as anyone that he was not certified to drive the firetruck, or even the chief’s emergency vehicle, which was just a jeep with sirens. “You know how much trouble we’d be in if he got in an accident? Our insurance wouldn’t cover it,” Chief Kettle said. His eyes narrowed into slits aimed at Yoder. “It would have bankrupted this station. We’d have been uninsurable.” “I’m sorry, Chief. He called my girl a slut and he already fucked her one time, before we were together, and he said-“ “Don’t fill my head with ya silly trailer-hick drama, Yoder,” Chief Kettle said. “You could’ve ended this station. You let a fuckin’ accountant drive the firetruck. A sissy-ass accountant…” He turned to Lance, who blushed. “Nothing personal, Lance. You’re a great accountant and all… Nothin’ wrong with being a sissy neither.” He shifted his weight on his feet as though he wasn’t quite sure of that last part but was too polite to say it. Lance stammered, his shyness preventing him from formulating any response. He blushed. He never met to come across as a sissy. He couldn’t deny there was a flare of truth in it. He may not have had a lisp and a limp wrist, but he wasn’t a big tough guy like the firemen. He worked out but never got bulky like they did. “I’m sorry, suh, Chief Kettle.” Yoder hung his head and rolled his eyes when they were aimed at the ground. “I dunno if that’s good enough this time,” Chief Kettle said. “This ain’t the first time you let someone else drive the truck.” “That wasn’t-“ “Shut up! You let ya girl drive the truck, then you get in a fight in the station and let an accountant drive it? Yoder… Our insurance requires me to fire you.” Chief Kettle crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t got any discretion on this.” “Jerry…” “Don’t you gimme that,” Chief Kettle said. He left the station then so he could get in the firetruck that Lance had left parked out on the street. The reversing beeps began as he backed the truck into the station. Conversation back at the station died down. Nobody made eye contact with Yoder, who stared at his feet. Lance was extremely shy, flushed and nervous. Yoder was short for a fireman, but he was a ropy-muscled spitfire of a man, his filthy-blond hair like dirty sand arranged in an almost mullet with an outright rattail sticking out the back. His powerhouse frame was scrawny even where it was thick — you could tell he would be more muscular if he focused on eating enough protein. The muscles he had were bursting out of him, which was why his punches knocked out Walter, who was a prettyboy maybe eighty pounds heavier than Yoder. Lance wasn’t surprised. Yoder was the kind of redneck whose machismo and muscles and outgoing nature made him popular in high school, successful in the Army, an active member of his church, and a well-respected volunteer firefighter. The truck rolled to a stop inside the station. The other firefighters in the back of the truck jumped off and removed their gear, while Chief Kettle and Yoder stood near the front of the truck. Lance hoped to melt into the background so he wasn’t seen. He no longer felt like a hero for driving the truck. It sure felt like he had sabotaged Yoder’s career. A long fat pause sat between Yoder, whose face vacillated between genuine regret and proudly stubborn. Yoder’s upper lip even quivered. “I ain’t gonna fire you, Yoder. I need you,” Kettle said. “Oh thank god. I need this, Jerry,” Yoder said in his big drawly voice. “I… I don’t got a lot in my life right now. I need this. Don’t take it away from me.” “You gotta prove to me that you’re really dedicated by not doing stupid shit.” “I won’t. I promise. I’m done behaving like that. I’ll do whatevuh you want to prove it, suh, Chief Kettle, suh,” Yoder said. “You don’t gotta do nothin’, just act better-“ “No, I will. I’ll show my dedication… You were in the Marines, right? You know the bend-over promise?” “What?” Kettle wrinkled his nose. “You weren’t a Marine.” Lance wasn’t sure what that was either. He also wasn’t sure that either one remembered that he was even there. He stood beside the firetruck, feeling like a third wheel (or, given where he was, a ninth wheel). He thought if he walked away, Kettle might put more and more of the blame on him. Lance was just a volunteer accountant, he was replaceable, more replaceable than an experienced firefighter. “I was Army, but Marines did the same thing. I guess they ain’t do that back in your day,” Yoder said. He sighed. “My sergeant used to make us do this thing, when we wanted special treatment, like an extra day of leave, or getting away with hair past regulation length. It was… I only did it a few times.” “What the fuck is you talking about, Yoder?” Chief Kettle’s broad cheeks was still red, looked like he was too mad to think about Yoder’s words. “He called it a bend-over promise. He said if you really need something, you’ll be willing to bend over to get it.” Yoder gulped. “Y’know, bend over and grab your ankles.” A long, awkward silence filled the firetruck. Lance’s mind whirred — the only thing he could think of was that Yoder was offering to get it up the ass to show his devotion. What else could ‘bend over’ be implying? But surely that wasn’t right. “You what?” Chief Kettle chuckled. “I guess the Army ain’t changed all that much. Y’all is the same as you ever was. The Corps wasn’t as crude in my day. We called that a ‘lavender promise’. I never did it. I could handle just the leave I was allowed to take-“ “Well, I couldn’t, alright,” Yoder snapped down. “Lemme do this. It’ll prove I deserve to stay.” “I already said I wasn’t gonna fire you. Besides, I got a wife, Yoder. I got no reason to ram up a man’s backdoor.” “But you believe you should fire me. You believe I ain’t really devoted to this station, and you ain’t gonna give me a full-time position like that,” Yoder said. He turned to Lance and flashed a nervous grin. “I guess it’s your lucky day, Lance.” Lance blushed. Surely, he thought, I’ve misunderstood what’s going on. But Yoder, dressed in his fireman pants and suspenders over a plain white t-shirt, crawled into the backsweat of the firetruck and motioned for Lance to join him. Chief Kettle cackled up Lance’s face. “You look like a pig who just found out mud is worth its weight in gold, Lance, but you too horny to say nothin’, huh?” He didn’t even give Lance a chance to respond, he turned right to Yoder. “How many times you done this, Yoder?” “Four,” Yoder said. “But don’t tell no one. This ain’t gonna be that bad. Those other four times I got plowed by my sergeant, who was big and mean and, uh… Nothin’ personal, Lance, but you ain’t as big as him. I guarantee that!” He whooped and laughed. Blushing, Lance nodded and mumbled something about appreciating the male form, which he did. That wasn’t why he climbed up into the back of the firetruck can though. He did that because he wanted to blow a nut up a fireman’s behind. It proved to be awkward in the cramped confines of the back of the firetruck. Yoder’s tall body took up a lot of space, especially as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and Army tattoos. Lance was already rock-hard even before he had taken his own clothes off. The smell of Yoder’s unwashed armpits filled the truck cab. He was sweaty by nature, sweaty from the exertion of the fight, sweaty from fear that he would be fired. His zesty musk was so thick in the cab that Lance could taste it. “You really doing this? You know this technically breaks the rules too, right, Yoder?” Chief Kettle said with a snicker. “Our insurance company only allows the trucks to be used for valid firefighting purposes-“ Yoder sighed. “Shut the fuck up, Jerry. Everything is against some rule or anothuh,” he said. “Yes, I is really doing this. You’ll know how devoted I am to this station.” “A’ight, le’ssee it.” Yoder had his fireman pants still on, but unattached, so they hung low enough that his pubic hair was visible. Lance unzipped his fly, then hesitated, not sure if Yoder was ready or even if this was all a prank. But still glaring intently at Kettle, Lance bent over in the back seat of the firetruck, fished Lance’s cock out through his fly and opened his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed before swallowing Lance’s dick to the root. Lance gasped. An explosion of intense sensations arose from his crotch, and he sucked in his breath. He knew this was coming, but still, he was shocked. A part of him thought Yoder would back out or would say that he had demonstrated his willingness to do so but didn’t need to actually do it. He could have just let Lance jerk him off, that would have been favor enough, and all the firemen knew Lance would do that if they wanted. But instead he turned the tables and his massive body took Lance’s dick in his mouth. He was so well-muscled that his shoulders alone took up the entire space in front of Lance’s chest. When Lance reached out to touch him, Yoder’s pecs twitched like he was ticklish and his back muscles all flexed at once. The positioning was awkward, but that just made it even sexier. Lance could barely grope his entire chest because Yoder was wedged in front of him, between Lance and the passenger seat. Yoder loudly suckled on Lance’s pulsating shaft, which rocketed right to a speedy erection. Sparks of pleasure flew through Lance’s body, and he couldn’t stop gasping. His hand gripped Yoder by the rattail and mullet on the back of his head, and the greasy sweat of his hair reawakened the musk he exuded in the truck. Precum flowed from Lance’s dick, and the taste made Yoder subdue a gag. Lance blushed as Chief Kettle chuckled nervously — it wasn’t clear whether he laughed at Lance’s surprised reaction or Yoder’s loud moaning, like he was so disgusted he could barely manage to keep going. Despite that, he didn’t slow down at all, and he even spat copious spit onto Lance’s dick, like he was an expert at this. Given that he had done it in the Army multiple times, Lance thought, maybe Yoder was an expert at it. Lance threw his head back, embarrassed at how enthused his reaction was. With his dick getting ready to shoot its load down Yoder’s gullet, he couldn’t help but grip and moan and rub and grind more passionately than anyone he had ever been with. He held onto Yoder’s head as he rode his throat like a porn star. Yoder smiled wanly when he finally pulled off, long strings of spit connecting his lips to Lance’s shaft. “Hey, at least you ain’t Sergeant Powers. That man was ruthless. He used to plow my throat, talk about turning my tonsils into a clitoris and shit,” he said. He wiped spit off his face. “But it definitely proved I really really needed an extra day off, to get a girl — there was this one stripper who-“ “Quit gabbin’ and give up the booty!” Chief Kettle said with a snicker. “Man…” Yoder shook his head and sighed. Yoder bent over the seats in the back, and shimmied his fireman pants down. The fabric was so thick and heavy that his thighs were dappled with sweat, matting the hair to his muscles. His ass, now that it was bare, was trembling and pale, perfectly plump. Lance smacked one cheek without giving it a second thought. “Woo-hoo!” Chief Kettle said, laughing. “You treat him right, boy, like that stripper you was tryin’-a fuck! Damn hoot, I bet you get promoted to captain of the accountants fo’ this, huh?” “I don’t think that’s how accountants work, Chief,” Yoder said. He was bent over with his face in Lance’s lap, licking Lance’s cockshaft and shuddering as he tasted precum. Lance blushed, trying to think of something witty to say, but all he could focus on was his own dick spasming and pulsating. He was on the verge of cumming already. He wanted more than anything to get his dick in Yoder’s ass. A part of him still thought Yoder would back out, that he wouldn’t go quite this far. But Lance had to try. Yoder’s ass was in position, or a close as was possible in the space they had. Lance pulled away from Yoder’s face and climbed overtop him — literally mounting his broad shoulders and back like he was crawling over a hill. His moist cock and balls dragged along Yoder’s muscled back, and the friction very nearly sent Lance over the edge. Precum smeared over Yoder’s spine. At last he was in position, cock wedged between Yoder’s asscheeks. They were tight, and the hole twinkled, resisting Lance’s cock. Yoder trembled nervously and buried his face in his own forearm, ready to bite down. Luckily Lance’s dick was well-lubed with Yoder’s spit. When he pushed it into Yoder’s hole, Yoder spasmed and sucked on his teeth. He bit down on his tattooed forearm. His asshole clenched, then relaxed, and Lance’s cock slid deeply in. Lance sucked in his breath just like Yoder did, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Bliss coursing through his veins, Lance found his cock sinking in deeper and deeper, as Yoder’s ass squeezed an orgasm out of his sensitive shaft. “Well, damn, I ain’t think you was gonna do this,” Chief Kettle said. He chuckled nervously and wrinkled his nose. As he worked his dick in inch by inch, intense pleasure ran through Lance’s veins. Yoder’s ass was tight, hot and moist. He felt like intact, presumably because he hadn’t been plowed since that drill sergeant back in his Army days. “Ah, damn, you don’t feel like an accountant when ya dick is in my ass, boy!” Yoder cackled before the motion made him erupt in pain again, and his whole body tensed up. Lance’s hands massaged Yoder’s back, kneading the muscular flesh there. He wanted this to feel good for Yoder, not that there was any chance Yoder would choose to do it again. He kissed the tattoos of thorny roses and military crests that dotted Yoder’s broad back. He felt tiny in comparison to Yoder, whose back was broad as an ox and firm as one too. His muscles flexed, curvy lines appearing in spots where Lance had no idea there were muscles. Yoder was in good shape, even compared to the other firefighters. Every few thrusts were strong enough to make Yoder clench, tightening his asshole around Lance’s cock as though trying to hold onto him by it. Yoder frowned and even howled, the sound resonating in the cab of the firetruck. Outside, in the station, Lance heard some of the other firemen come back into the garage. They checked the equipment they had used on the call, making sure it was ready for the next trip. Lance froze with his dick deep in Yoder’s guts. Both Yoder and Lance fell silent, Yoder still seething and Lance resisting his orgasm. Outside the truck Chief Kettle stayed silent, blocked by the truck from being seen by the other firefighters. “Where’d Yoder go? He came back with us, didn’t he?” “I thought so, but maybe he went somewhere with Chief Kettle.” “So that accountant was driving us back with no one else up there in the cab?” “Guess so. Can you believe Yoder punched Walter? Chief Kettle probly bent him over and plowed him. That’s how rednecks do it y’know.” Chief Kettle chuckled. He glanced out the window, but didn’t say anything to the firefighters out there. Lance’s heart pounded, which he knew was silly — he was the only person who couldn’t be punished if he was caught. But he would be ashamed if the other firefighters knew what he was doing in here. He moved slowly, grinding his dick in as Yoder winced and gnawed on his own arm. Despite Yoder’s apparent discomfort, Lance sensed pleasure emanating from deep within him. Yoder tried to hide it, but Lance could feel it in his soft, smooth sighs when Lance withdrew his dick and his cooing grunts when Lance hit his prostate. “That’s how cockheads do it, ya mean. But that’s okay, Kettle is both a redneck and a cockhead.” Their voices faded as they headed towards the door to the station, apparently satisfied that all the hoses and other gear on the truck were in their proper places. Yoder breathed easier now. “Yoder’s gear is still gone, ain’t in his locker. He must be with Kettle. Prolly gettin’ chewed out.” “Yoder’s a fucking redneck too. So’s Walter, so I can’t really hold that against him.” “So are you, Taney.” “Fuck you, man-“ The door slammed shut before Lance could hear how their argument ended. He knew from experience that they probably continued arguing and eventually came close to fighting but didn’t actually do it. He was glad to have privacy again, and he began plowing with renewed vigor. After all that, Yoder was much looser and more accepting of Lance’s dick. He groaned smoothly, relaxing his ass the best he could. He still grimaced each time Lance’s cock hit its apex deep within him, but it was clear that he felt more pleasure than pain. Lance didn’t have much experience on top, especially topping a burly redneck much bigger than he was, but he knew well how to make it feel good for both he and Yoder. As his orgasm approached, Lance wished he could prolong this, but he knew Yoder wouldn’t put up with it forever. And besides that, Lance wasn’t sure he could prevent himself from cumming. He had never cornholed a powerhouse firefighter like this, and it was the most incredible experience of his life. When his orgasm finally hit, Lance lost control of his body. He collapsed onto Yoder’s back, gnawing and sucking at his skin, which made Yoder chuckle awkwardly. Yoder bit down on his teeth as pain overwhelmed him, and he grunted out loud. “Damn, you likin’ this, boy…” Cum flowed into Yoder’s ass, great creamy gobs of it bursting up his guts, and pleasure erupted in Lance. It wracked his spine, making Lance twist and writhe atop Yoder’s back. He gasped, squealing right into Yoder’s meaty flesh; the sound made Yoder and Chief Kettle laugh. “Hot hell, you do sound like a girl, Lance,” Chief Kettle said. Yoder made a sound that may have been a yes he does but just sounded like an agonized yelp. So much cum filled Yoder’s ass that he couldn’t even form any words. Lance lay there, contorting as his dick fell soft within Yoder’s body. He felt too weak to get up, especially in comparison to Yoder’s tensed muscles. He nuzzled his nose in Yoder’s flesh. Finally he realized Yoder was not going to accept this much longer. For now he was just laying there, holding his breath as he waited for Lance to finish. Lance pulled out and they both breathed a sigh of relief — Lance’s was a smooth exhalation, while Yoder rolled his eyes and grunted. His muscles finally relaxed all at once. Lance rolled off him, dick flopping out of Yoder’s ass. Lance squeezed into the tiny space between the back and the driver’s seat. Yoder’s sweat-moistened t-shirt was right there on the floor, and Lance had a sudden urge to sniff it. One of the things he loved most about volunteering here was that he could see the firefighters in their underclothes and occasionally even caught a whiff of their sweaty armpits. But sensing that this was an opportunity to do it without judgement, Lance grabbed the t-shirt. He inhaled deeply of Yoder’s musk, while the other two gasped as though they had never heard of anything so gross. Then Yoder guffawed, stopping only when he sat up and winced due to the pain in his tender ass. “Ha, how’s that smell, Lance?” “So good…” Lance blushed a bright red. His love for sweat was so personal to him he had never admitted it. “Keep it,” Yoder said weakly, grimacing at the pain in his ass. He stayed on his side as he struggled to get his underwear back on in the cramped rear of the truck cab. Lance smiled. “Okay, thanks,” he said. He felt too weak to climb out of the truck, so he just watched as Chief Kettle turned the seat down so Yoder could climb out as well. He still wore nothing but his underwear, carrying the fireman pants as he went. He stretched his sore thighs when he was finally out of the truck. “You believe I’m devoted to this station now, Chief?” “I do, I absolutely believe it,” Chief Kettle said. He turned to Lance, who still sat in the back of the truck. “You coming?” Lance nodded. “Just… Gimme a minute. I gotta recover.”
He was tall and lanky, ropy-muscled — he looked very strong despite being old and thin, with a certain wiriness that radiated off him. He had white hair and a black beard streaked with silver, a big square jaw that looked much too large for his body, and a hawk-like nose. He wore a cabbie’s hat — he was, in fact, a retired taxi driver from Brooklyn. He smelled strongly of cologne, an old-fashioned musk, one that made Avery think Mr. Tossini could only have bought it from a sailor fresh off a boat. Where did you even buy cologne like that nowadays?
He was tall and lanky, ropy-muscled — he looked very strong despite being old and thin, with a certain wiriness that radiated off him. He had white hair and a black beard streaked with silver, a big square jaw that looked much too large for his body, and a hawk-like nose. He wore a cabbie’s hat — he was, in fact, a retired taxi driver from Brooklyn. He smelled strongly of cologne, an old-fashioned musk, one that made Avery think Mr. Tossini could only have bought it from a sailor fresh off a boat. Where did you even buy cologne like that nowadays?
His thick Boston stawk made it sound like his mouth was full of cranberries. When he spoke, his Boston accent either aroused Desmond or made him laugh, it was hard to tell.
His thick Boston stawk made it sound like his mouth was full of cranberries. When he spoke, his Boston accent either aroused Desmond or made him laugh, it was hard to tell.
Chowder was a leader in a gang called the Jagged Right. He was heavily tattooed, nearly inch of his body covered in Gothic letter, naked ladies, wild animals and an outline of Massachusetts over his left pec. He had a handsome jawline with deep dimples. His broad chest was hairy, and he had developed a six-pack since coming to prison. He was also the tallest inmate in the facility; at nearly seven feet tall, he struggled to fit through doorways and down corridors.
Desmond is a petite, effeminate prisoner in a big tough prison, so he never thought he’d find himself in a Twink on Top situation. But that all changes when a tough guy Boston thug named Chowder really wants a party, even if that means this muscular alpha will have to bend over and take whatever Desmond wants to give!
Can Desmond handle this particular slice of Twink on Top?!
When the guard said Lamar’s cellmate was a man named ‘Wendell White’, Lamar Casper was relieved — he sounded like an accountant done up on embezzlement charges. That has gotta be some prissy whiteboi he could control. So Lamar’s jaw dropped when he stepped into the tiny cell and saw Thumper, as Wendell White preferred to be known. He was a burly man in his mid-forties, maybe fifties, with a powerhouse body and a towering frame, no longer perfectly carved but still bristling with strength underneath inked, callused skin. He looked at Lamar and gave him a slim-eye nod. “You got the top bunk, youngblood,” was all he said, his voice deep and rumbling like a distant volcano. He returned to the Bible study book he was reading. Lamar moved his stuff onto the shelf beside his bunk and silently laid down. Not wanting to attract attention on his first day, Lamar simply stared at the ceiling and kept a tough mien on his face. He knew he was gonna get dubbed a prettyboy in this place, so Lamar had gotta look as rough as he could manage. Thumper began a series of push-ups, loudly, no doubt hoping to bring Lamar’s attention to how much bigger and stronger he was than him. Lamar knew how prison worked, and Lamar was more than prepared to defend himself. You don’t gotta be huge to show a nigga you mean business. Thumper had the thick barrel-shaped body of a boxer, which Lamar later learned he was decades ago, before coming to prison. His great muscles shifted with every thrust of his chest up and down. He stood up and faced Lamar, his chest heaving and beaded with sweat. “You get dirty or what?” “No. What? No…” Lamar said. He was unsure what Thumper meant by ‘get dirty’, but he knew the answer was no. Thumper frowned like a turtle and nodded. “Okay.” “Just in case you thinkin’ about messin’ wit’ me, don’t,” Lamar said, “I can take carea myself.” Thumper stood up on a sarcastic ‘impressed’ face and said, “Well, good for you, youngblood. That’s a good skill to have. But I don’t ram niggas. Maybe an occasional whiteboi, but that’s it. I’m too old for that shit, holding down some squirming bitch, nigga, that ain’t me.” “Good.” “Young pretty buck like you, betcha considerin’ it,” Thumper said. He slapped Lamar’s ass beneath his prison uniform pants, then let his hand rest there. He squeezed one cheek affectionately. “You gonna ram some whiteboi sooner or later.” “No, I won’t,” Lamar said. “I saw you readin’ that Bible. Ain’t nothin’ ’bout ramming whitebois in there.” “The Lord forgives, youngblood. That’s what makes Him great,” Thumper said. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. Lamar rolled over, not liking the feeling of Thumper’s hand resting on his ass. Lamar knew men in prison tended to grow accustomed to physical contact, but that was too much for him. Thumper’s hand fell on the bed in front of Lamar, so if Lamar laid back down on his belly, Thumper’d be groping Lamar’s cock. Thumper leaned in close to speak to him and laid his other arm on the bed, so he now took up most of the mattress with his arms, while Lamar was pressed against the wall to avoid touching him. “You rollin’ with somebody?” he asked. “I’m from California,” Lamar said, “I don’t roll with no one in Baltimore. But I in the Bloods out there.” His hands snaked up Lamar’s shirt, lifting it to check for gang tattoos. Thumper nodded his approval at the claret B above Lamar’s heart. “Come down here and do some pushups,” Thumper said, “If you gonna be in my organization, you gotta be in shape. Ain’t useful to me as a skinny nigga.” Lamar got off the bed and removed his shirt. He been playing basketball for years and was more than strong enough, Lamar thought,and he made his pecs bounce. He thought that’d impress Thumper, cuz Lamar was stacked, he looked skinny, people thoughta him as a skinny prettyboy. But Lamar Casper was something. He got meat. Thumper groped him again, feeling Lamar’s meat, his biceps, triceps, lats and pecs. “Hey,” Lamar said, “You gotta be touchin’ me all the time, nigga?” “Yes, I do,” he said, “Now gimme fitty, youngblood. You do that three times a day from now on. Before e’rry meal, you do fitty pushups. We’ll add more later, that’s a start.” “I know how to work out, nigga,” Lamar said. “I ain’t yo’ bitch.” He stared him down. “I run this organization,” he said, “So unless you wanna be cast out, you gonna have to realize you work for me. You ain’t a bitch… that is a correct ‘stimation of the current sit’ation. I give all my niggas they workout routines. You can’t trust a nigga to do it right. They all dumb in the head, need someone to tell ’em what to do. I know how to train a nigga into a good Blood.” He stepped closer and closer to Lamar and wrapped his arms around Lamar’s waist as though they were about to slow dance. His hands ran up and down Lamar’s torso. “If you don’t let me use this body the way I want, I will find a different way to use it.” Lamar gulped and stayed quiet. He couldn’t speak without stammering, which would make him look weak, so he kept his mouth shut. Thumper stepped even closer, until they were virtually kissing. Lamar felt Thumper’s cock inside his prison pants, pressing against Lamar’s thigh. It was like a flashlight, one of those big suckers, a D cell flashlight. “So get down and gimme fitty,” he whispered, so close Lamar could taste the spittle flying off his tongue with each word. “A guard gonna come get us for dinner soon. I told you to do fitty push-ups befo’ then, so if that guard gets here before you done, there gonna be consequences.” Lamar thought Thumper was going to back away so he could get out from the wall and follow his instructions, but he stood right there. Lamar couldn’t easily move. Lamar finna protest but Thumper threw his eyebrows back. Lamar took a deep breath, inhaling Thumper’s zest, sweat and funk, then tried to squeeze out from afronta him. Thumper gently touched Lamar’s back and belly with his roaming hands but made no effort to stop him from moving. His sweat stuck to Lamar’s shirt, which Lamar took off when he was free. Lamar wasn’t weak, but he wasn’t sure he could do fifty push-ups, especially not with his hands shaking. He got down and began, hoping his counting-off voice sounded more confident than he felt. “One. Two. Thr-.” “Hmm, hmm. Good.” Thumper knelt down near Lamar’s feet, giving him encouragement like a coach. He slapped Lamar’s ass, watching them juicy cheeks jiggle, and Lamar felt Thumper’s cock and balls, dangling beneath his shorts, resting on Lamar’s ankle. Lamar looked back to him, instinctively wanting to protest, but he didn’t. Thumper didn’t seem to notice that Lamar had paused, he was focused on the jiggle of Lamar’s cheeks. Lamar tried to get the feel of Thumper’s balls on his ankle outta his head and focus on doing the push-ups. Lamar was so terrified that the adrenaline helped him along, but still when he got to forty-two, he collapsed, out-of-breath. “I can hear that guard comin’, nigga,” he said, pulling down Lamar’s sweatshorts and drawers. “He comin’ closer. You got eight more to do.” He rested his hand on Lamar’s asscheeks and pushed one finger between Lamar’s crack. He let it rest on the surface of Lamar’s asshole, only the thin fabric of Lamar’s prison pants preventing him from penetrating him. Lamar jumped back into action and did five more without thinking about it, then slowly, wobbly armed and dripping with sweat, Lamar made it through the last couple of push-ups. He straddled Lamar’s hips, so Lamar could feel Thumper’s heavy thick cock pressing against his asscheeks. He leaned over Lamar’s back, almost laying on top of him. “I know I said I don’t ram niggas, but I do love to make a nigga an exception. So don’t gimme no reason, nigga. Don’t e’er question me again.”
Thumper was bossy and mean but not violent, so Lamar couldn’t complain too much. Lamar did hate how touchy he was, but he felt better once he saw that Thumper was just as touchy with the other inmates. Thumper had been behind bars so long he was desperate for a little human contact, no matter where it came from, that was Lamar’s conclusion. At breakfast one night, Lamar saw him wrap one arm around the waist of the man sitting next to him, a Blood named Ruck. As they ate, Ruck straightened his back awkwardly. Lamar saw outta the corner of his eye that Thumper, who continued telling a story about the cop that arrested him, slipped his hand down Ruck’s back and rested his finger inside Ruck’s asscrack. Ruck was a buff bullish nigga whose muscles tightened beneath Thumper’s grasp. His nostrils flared and his eyes darted around like a panicked animal. When Thumper told Lamar to sit by him the next morning, Lamar dreaded knowing that his finger would likely do the same to him. Lamar was proven correct — it was apparently what he did to whichever nigga sat to his right during a meal. As soon as he finished eating, he put his hand on the small of Lamar’s back and dropped his finger between Lamar’s cheeks. His fingertip rested maybe an inch above Lamar’s butthole. The other Bloods at the table made eye contact with Lamar, but no one said anything. When the bell rang to signify the end of breakfast, everyone else stood. Lamar hesitated because Thumper did, and Lamar wasn’t sure Thumper would be okay with him just shoving away from his hand. In the hubbub, Thumper jabbed his finger into Lamar’s ass momentarily. A burst of pain ran up Lamar’s backside. Lamar yelped, then fell silent and looked away from the smirking Bloods. Thumper clasped Lamar’s shoulder with his ass-stinked middle finger and used him for leverage as he stood. Lamar chose not to make a big deal outta it. It was better just to move on with his day. When Lamar got back to the cell that night, he was late, having been processed at his prison job all day. Thumper waited for him in his boxers, a big grin on his face. “I got a surprise tonight, something to welcome you in,” he said. “It should be here any minute. Gimme yo’ routine, nigga.” Lamar got down on the ground and gave him fifty push-ups, which Lamar got through only because Thumper’s shouted encouragement outweighed the ache in Lamar’s sore shoulders. Officer Crabgut arrived a few minutes after Lamar finished. He was a mean white man with wide shoulders and a perpetual sneer standing at the doorway in front of a slim Latino with a trembling frown. Crabgut shoved him in. “You got fifteen minutes,” Crabgut said, “And don’t do nothing that’ll require a visit to the infirmary.” Crabgut closed the door. The Latin boy shook and clasped his arms across his chest. Thumper approached him and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He placed that stinky middle finger of his right hand on the Latin boy’s mouth. “Sssh,” Thumper said quietly, “What’s your name, boy?” “Navarone,” he said. He had a lilting Cuban accent. “Tha’ss right,” Thumper said, “You a snitch, aincha? That’s why Sucio turned you out.” “I’m not a snitch!” “Sucio said you was,” Thumper said. He raised his eyebrows like a dubious schoolteacher. “But I’m not. I didn’t snitch!” he said. “That’s exactly what snitches usually say,” Thumper said. He looked at him. “Go on. I paid for anal for both us. He got good ass, I ‘xpect. Only started getting plowed a few weeks ago.” He pulled down Navarone’s orange prison pants and slapped his ass. “Yeah, this is nice ass. Like that, nigga! I like that!” “I dunno,” Lamar said. He ain’t never ramrod a nigga, and he wasn’t expecting to start his first day in prison. He was only gonna be here seven months. “I don’t really need to bust a nut. I could sit this one out.” “Nonsense,” Thumper said. “I done paid for it.” He smacked Navarone in the backa the head as he bared his cock and slapped it onto Navarone’s trembling asscheeks. “Swallow his dick, bitch.” Kneeling with a sour look on his face, Navarone pulled down Lamar’s pants and took his dick into his mouth in one smooth motion, keeping eye contact with Thumper. He tentatively licked it, but Thumper pushed his head down deeper. He gagged as Lamar’s cockhead hit the backa his throat. “Deepthroat it, bitch,” Thumper murmured. Lamar’s eyes bugged out as his dick firmed up in Navarone’s mouth, much easier than Lamar was expecting. This did not feel erotic to him. It did feel kinda good, but the pleasure seemed very distant. Lamar’s mind remained focused on what Thumper was doing with his hands. What Thumper was doing with his hands at that point, in fact, was making Navarone spread his asscheeks. Thumper lined himself up behind Navarone. Then, without missing a beat, Thumper slipped his half-erect cock into Navarone’s ass. Navarone grunted in pain around Lamar’s shaft in his mouth. His cock was only part-hard and ropy still, and Thumper hadta move it around and grumble some before it firmed up enough to really get to ramming. Once he could though, he did, and Lamar couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Thumper worked his dick deeper inch by inch. He grabbed ahold of Navarone’s hair and placed one hand on the small of his back to keep him in position. His squirming and choked sputtering made Lamar’s dick lose part of his erection — Navarone’s gagging and pained cries were revolting to him — until Lamar realized Thumper was looking at him like something was wrong with him. Lamar didn’t want to get a reputation as a man who can’t perform. And it did feel good! It did! It was just hard to enjoy it. Lamar wasn’t horny before this started, or even after. He wanted to get this over with. Closing his eyes, Lamar pictured his last girlfriend, a dark-haired white girl with a nice ass and huge tits. Lamar played with those tits for hours, and Lamar could almost feel their phantom fleshiness beneath his fingers. With his eyes closed, it sorta worked. That white girl gave shitty blowjobs, and Navarone did the same. Navarone was more focused on the pain in his ass, that was why. But Lamar got into it enough to fuck Navarone’s throat, and spasms of pleasure struck throughout his body. Thumper let his cock plop out of Navarone’s ass. His erection throbbed and dripped with precum and the hog fat he used as lube. He chuckled at Navarone’s exaggerated sigh of relief, then moved over to stand next to him. “What are you doing?” “Come on, I wanna nut in his mouth,” Thumper said, “Ass to mouth is great. We’ll wreck his throat together. Sucio said he can take anything down his gullet.” Thumper took Lamar’s now relimpened cock in his hand and frotted it against his own dick, which was slimy with Navarone’s assjuice. He jacked both cocks off together and pushed them both into Navarone’s tremulous mouth. Lamar was horrified at sight of Thumper manhandling his dick, and he sucked in his breath, hands fluttering uselessly in the air. His and Thumper’s cocks smushed together, Thumper’s a long thick hard shaft that was pulsating hot and glistening with moisture, Lamar’s noticeably thinner and fleshier, only half-hard. Navarone opened his mouth as wide as he could, but only their cockheads fit inside. “Use that tongue, bitch,” Thumper said, “Get all up on my shit, yeah, like that.” Navarone’s tongue delicately lapped at Thumper’s cockhead, wincing at the saltiness of precum and the foulness of hog fat, not to mention his own asshole. Then Thumper smacked him in the back of the head, loud enough for Officer Crabgut to poke his head back inside the cell. “Five minutes, gentlemen,” he said, “Then I gotta take the bitch back.” He stayed to watch with a wry smile as Thumper orgasmed without warning, as though he was waiting to make sure Crabgut could see. He moaned and leaned on Lamar for support. Thumper came a vast burst of jizz, his semen sliding down Lamar’s cockshaft and coating Navarone’s face. Thumper’s muscles all flexed and rippled. Lamar was disgusted and thought he couldn’t cum, but Thumper looked at him like that was not an option. “Go on, you better finish,” Thumper said, his voice now menacing. He ain’t take his dick away from Navarone’s mouth even now that it was limp Lamar thought of that girl, his ex, desperately avoiding the feel of Thumper’s cum-slickened cock sliding against his and the stubble of Navarone’s facial hair on Lamar’s skin.The tension maybe made it easier to get hard though. Sex with women could be tense too, Lamar thought, and it did get his cock going. Navarone finally got to slurping good on Lamar’s cock, while Thumper’s limpness bobbed around on his face. That sent a wave of pleasure through Lamar’s body. Thumper’s hands explored his chest and his back like he wanna feel that pleasure. Lamar sucked in his breath, closed his eyes and stood on his toes as he brought himself to the edge.. Finally Lamar shot a load, the orgasm almost painful. It was thin and watery, and it landed right on the center of Navarone’s tongue. He gagged and squealed, and Lamar breathed a sigh of relief, both from the orgasm and cuz Thumper wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t shoot as much as he was expecting, maybe because of the anxiety of the situation. But then Thumper grabbed ahold of Lamar’s dick and stroked it casually, just a few quick pumps before he dropped it. Lamar’s dick was ultra-sensitive, so his touch sent a shiver of pain up his body. Lamar squealed and stepped away. “Lay off me! What the fuck, nigga?” Lamar said. His heart dropped as Lamar said it because Thumper’s face screwed up in anger. He shoved Lamar against the wall with all his heft. His chest pressed against his, his face millimeters from Lamar’s cheek. Lamar blanched, trying to show strength and confidence. Thumper’s moist cock was hot and heavy against Lamar’s thigh. He eyed him but didn’t say anything. “Hey, you two have a lover’s squabble or what?” Crabgut said. Navarone waddled, bow-legged, out of the cell. “That’s right, a lover’s squabble,” Thumper said, his limp dick smeared juices on Lamar’s hips. He kissed him on the cheek. “Nothing but a lover’s squabble.”
As Lamar grew accustomed to incarceration, things settled into a sort of cruel normalcy. The everyday humiliations of prison life became minor nuisances, and even the food seemed to taste better as memory of a better time faded from Lamar’s grasp. The one thing Lamar couldn’t get used to was Thumper’s touching. Since he never hit him, the guards wouldn’t intervene, no matter how obvious it was Lamar wanted him to stop. None of the Bloods would back him up either, so Lamar had no choice but to submit and accept it as a part of his prison routine. About a month into Lamar’s sentence, the air conditioning broke. Lamar begged Thumper to let them take a break from working out until it was fixed, but he looked at him like Lamar was crazy. “The Vasquenzas ain’t gonna stop. The Crips ain’t gonna stop. The Aryan Way ain’t gonna stop.” He continued naming every gang in this prison. “Okay, okay, I just thought we might wanna keep the sweat down. It smells bad enough in here as it is,” Lamar said. “Fuck you, nigga. You the stinky one, youngblood,” he said, “Go on, gimme some squat thrusts.” As soon as Lamar got started, Thumper stripped off his shorts and boxers, so his cock dangled freely in front of him. He stood there watching Lamar and scratched his balls. Lamar knew better than to complain. Why does old nigga got hang his dong out all the time? Despite the heat and the zesty aroma of old nigga sweat filling up the cell, Lamar managed no to complain as he finished his routine. When Thumper finally told him Lamar was done, Lamar sopped off his sweat with a towel and climbed up to his bed. “Wait, nigga, come on down here,” he said, “I got somethin’ I been savin’ for a rainy day. Or a sweaty day, whatever.” Thumper showed him a long, thin blunt. Lamar didn’t see where he had gotten it from, but he must have had it stashed somewhere in the cell. He grinned, and Lamar’s bitterness about his intimacy vanished. Lamar hadn’t gotten high since before his trial. Lamar sat on the bed next to Thumper. His stark nudity was uncomfortable, but Lamar reminded himself that it was only barely different than the thin layer of fabric Lamar wore. Not really a big deal, Lamar told himself. He lit the blunt with a strike-anywhere match, and they began passing it back and forth. As always, Thumper answered any questions about pre-prison life with vague handwaving and asked probing questions about him and who Lamar knew in the Bloods back in California. The first haze in Lamar’s mind appeared. Lamar felt his eyes narrow to slits. In a way, Lamar was glad he hadn’t been able to smoke for a long time cuz it meant Lamar got baked even on Thumper’s tiny blunt. “You always dodgin’ my questions, Thumper,” Lamar said, feeling bold. “Wuzzup wit’ dat?” Lamar laughed at himself, and Thumper joined in. “You ain’t wanna know nothin’ ’bout ol’ Thumper,” he said, “I got nothin’ important out there in the real world. No career, no family, no friends. All that’s left of me is what’s in here.” “Is it true you was a boxer?” “Shit, I was the best boxer. The Chesapeake Champion,” he said, “Still am. But don’t ax no questions about that, nigga.” He took the roach and dropped it, still lit, in his mouth. He swallowed it and smiled at him. “Hey,” he said, “Gimme yo’ hand.” Too stoned to think about it, Lamar just extended his hand to him. Thumper took it and caressed it, moving it slowly towards his crotch, Lamar realized he expected a handjob and his heart dropped. “Hey, stop-“ “Shut yo’ mouth, Lamar,” Thumper said. He whispered, “Don’t you dare say no to me. You still ain’t my bitch. Nobody gotta know what happens in here. If you say no and I gotta force you into it, then you gonna be my bitch. And everybody gonna know that.” Lamar stopped resisting and looked away from Thumper. He put Lamar’s hand on his dick, and Lamar awkwardly stroked it a few times. Thumper said, “Come on, face me. Do this right.” They both turned to face each other on his tiny bed. Thumper pulled Lamar by the legs closer to him, until their thighs were interlocking. He pulled Lamar’s dick outta the fly of his prison boxers. “See? I ain’t a bad guy. This is a circlejerk, that’s all,” Thumper said. He spat on his hand and flogged Lamar’s dick until it got hard. His hands were softer than Lamar expected, though Lamar felt the calluses and thick muscles underneath his skin. He moved expertly but in a dispassionate way, like a farmer collecting semen from a stud. Lamar was getting a rhythm on Thumper’s dick, which pulsated in his hands. It was disgusting and made him wish he could wear a glove. It was huge too, a foot long at least, thicker than any dick should be. It was slimy with precum in his grip. Thumper shot a load with a deep groan that resonated in Lamar’s ear. Lamar hadn’t thought he was giving a good enough handjob for him to cum so quickly, but Thumper must have been horny. His wad spurted all over Lamar’s wrist and forearm. Lamar held his hand up like a mad scientist witnessing his creation, but he couldn’t reach anything except his own bedding to wipe off with. Lamar gagged and tried to move, but Thumper told him to stay. He used both hands on Lamar’s dick, and Lamar had to admit it was the best handjob he ever had. Spasms of pleasure flew through Lamar’s body, despite his heart pounding and him holding his breath. Thumper moved in rhythm with Lamar’s body, and Lamar could almost forget what a hellhole he was trapped in. Lamar came with a pained grunt, his load making a hot and stinking mess right in the center of Thumper’s waist. Lamar’s grunt turned into a moan as his whole body buckled, and jizz flew over Thumper’s torso. When it was all over and Lamar’s dick was limp once more, Thumper wiped all that cum off with his hands, then wrapped his heavy arms around Lamar’s neck, smearing the cum across Lamar’s shoulders. “There, there,” Thumper said, “That weren’t so bad, nigga, was it?”
As Lamar neared the halfway mark of his sentence, a prison riot led to an extended lockdown. Normally they’d be kept inside for a day, maybe two. But not this time. They ain’t let them out for a month, except for a shower every other week — and even that was each cell at a time, no talking allowed. Luckily Thumper had a few more blunts. He only ever brought one out when Lamar wasn’t looking. He never showed him where he hid them, nor told him how many he had left, so Lamar steady thought they was smoking the last one. Then somehow a day or two later, he’d bring out another. They smoked sitting on the floor, as they done got accustomed to, because the cement was cooler than the bunks. Thumper swallowed the roach, as he stay doing. Then he stood up, his cock dangling afront Lamar’s face. Lamar looked away. “Yo, I ain’t gonna tell no one ’bout this, alright?” Thumper said. “What? You mean the blunt? It don’t matter.” “No, not the blunt. I ain’t been able to get a bitch in here in like two weeks,” Thumper said. “So you gonna have to fill in.” “What?” “I won’t tell no one. Just open yo’ mouth, nigga. It’ll be like it never happened.” “Thumper, stop-…” Lamar shut up when Thumper clasped a hand over his mouth. “What did I tell you about sayin’ no to me?” A part of him wanted to fight no matter what, but Lamar’s brain overruled his heart. There was no way he’d win in a fight, and even if he survived, Thumper would just have him killed later. He’d be remembered as a traitor to his fellow Bloods. Thumper leggo, and Lamar opened his mouth. Thumper looked down at him with sympathetic eyes and shook his pitying face. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You just showin’ respect for yo’ elder Bloods,” he said, “It used to be normal, y’know, to jerk older niggas off in jail. That’s just what you doin’.” His cock slid into Lamar’s throat, rubbing past his tongue, which twisted in revulsion at the flavor. It tasted like pure, distilled sweat, Lamar thought, stale and rancid sweat. It pulsated like a living organism feeding off him. It rocketed right to full erection too, in a matter of seconds. He moaned and said, “Okay, relax yo’ throat, nigga. You doin’ okay. I ain’t gonna beat yo’ ass, just keep on coop’atin’. Don’t give up nigga, and try not to gag so much. I don’t wanna feel like I’m ramroddin’ ya, y’know, you ain’t a snitch. You just showing respect like you should.” As the precum flowed into Lamar’s mouth, Lamar cringed with his eyes. He then shut them, because Thumper’s gaze was too intense. Thumper gripped Lamar’s head and gently plowed his dick in and outta Lamar’s throat, clucking his tongue each time Lamar gagged. Lamar sensed how good it felt to Thumper. His cock throbbed and pulsated, and Lamar found his throat stretching to accommodate Thumper’s mighty meat. “Hmm-hmm, love that dome, nigga…” Thumper stopped talking just before his orgasm, giving Lamar enough time to fill with dread. The hot, sticky taste of precum filled Lamar’s mouth, and he wanted to scream. Both of Thumper’s hands were on Lamar’s scalp, massaging it as he worked his hips in a circle around Lamar’s face. His cum was so thick and luxuriant it spilled out the corners of Lamar’s mouth. He was disgusted, unable to concentrate on Thumper’s words over the feeling of his contorting stomach. “Don’t spit that shit up, nigga, don’t disrespect me like that. Don’t pretend it’s the grossest thing in the world, nigga. It’s my body, show a little a respect. Swallow that shit.” He held Lamar’s head in place until finally Lamar got his revulsion under control and forced the wad of cum down his throat. Thumper looked inside Lamar’s mouth like a curious doctor and was satisfied that it was empty. “Man, Thumper, don’t do-“ “Shut the fuck up, nigga. You done,” Thumper said, letting his dick dangle between his legs. “You did it. Now we ain’t gotta talk about it again.” He leaned forward and kissed Lamar on the cheek. “Go on and gimme some push-ups before we go to bed.”
As Lamar’s release date neared, he got more and more relaxed. The light at the end of the tunnel was coming closer, and some days Lamar was almost giddy. Thumper seemed upset that Lamar was leaving — long-timers sometimes felt like that, watching someone they cared about walk away, and Thumper was a definite long-timer. He’d been locked up for thirty years. After dinner a few nights before Lamar’s release, Thumper brought out a bottle of booze. Not toilet vodka either, this was smuggled-in hooch. “I got us a surprise tonight. A bitch and a bottle. The bitch be comin’ by later.” Lamar ain’t really enjoy getting head from unwilling bitches, but Thumper never asked permission. He assumed everyone stayed as horny as him, and if Lamar demurred even a little, he’d make fun of him for being less horny than an old nigga. Lamar was too handsome to ever admit he wasn’t horny, or everyone would call him a prettyboy who couldn’t perform. “Whatcha gonna do when you get out there?” Thumper asked. He must have been able to tell what Lamar was thinking about from the look on his face. Indeed, as Lamar’s release seemed more imminent, Lamar could think of nothing else. Time slowed down. Every day became interminable, feeling longer than the entire first couple months of his sentence. “Nigga, I am gonna eat,” Lamar said as they waited for the snitch to show up, “I am gonna get my mom to make me something nice, and damn I am gonna eat so much. And then I’m gonna find a bitch, and I am gonna fuck the shit outta her pussy.” The hours drifted on. The bitch never showed up, They later found out Cell Block Zulu was on lockdown, so not even Officer Crabgut could bring Navarone over. Lamar’s last night was shaping up to be the longest and most boring of his life. But at least they had booze. Lamar don’t much like liquor, honestly, and he never had, but Lamar wanted to get drunk and knew Thumper wouldn’t let him refuse anyway. So he played along and took shots with him all night. That made the boredom almost tolerable. Lamar passed out near midnight, glad to finally have his last night nearing its completion. It was a deep, fitless sleep that ended abruptly. He woke up to the feeling of Thumper’s arms around him. His sweaty muscles encircled him, his thighs atop Lamar’s hips, his hands caressing Lamar’s nipples. “Not gonna ram ya,” he said, “But since you leavin’ anyway, I’m gonna have some fun wit’ yo’ ass. Don’t fight this shit, man. I can still tell every motherfucker in the Bloods you disrespected me behind bars. Just relax.” “Thumper, no, wait-“ “Sssh, I know you ain’t just tell me no,” he whispered in Lamar’s ear, “I can still tell Crabgut to frame you for something, nigga. I can keep you here as my bitch as long as I want. I’m doing you a favor by just making you my wife for a couple hours, and you won’t never have to see me again afterward. You can even pretend you was so drunk you don’t remember it. That’s what I’m gonna do. Unless you fight me and make me hold you down.” His dick pressed against Lamar’s asshole but hesitated, as though waiting for him to say yes or no, even though he was going to do it anyway. Lamar didn’t want to say that he agreed to it, so he bit his lip. “Well? Come on,” Thumper whispered. He nibbled on Lamar’s earlobe and wrapped his arms around Lamar’s shoulders, putting him in a loose headlock. “Am I gonna make love to that ass one time and give you a nice reacharound while I do it? Or am I gonna have you punked out for profit for the next seven to ten years?” He waited again. “Huh?” “Fine,” Lamar spat onto the pillow in front of his face, “Do it. Just hurry up.” “Don’t be shitty with me, nigga,” Thumper said, “Or I am gonna get shitty with you.” He pushed his dick into Lamar’s ass, and Lamar howled at a sudden burst of pain. The sound was swallowed up by the pillow, which he bit. Thumper’s thick muscles dragged along Lamar’s back as he pushed down on him with his whole body. He kept his mouth right next to Lamar’s ear and whispered dirty nothings at him, along with exhortations to relax. “Come on, baby, let me in. I know it hurts, baby, but ya gotta relax, okay? I’m gonna get this whole cock in there one way or another, and I know you don’t wanna fight it. You want it, huh? Say you want it.” “I… want it.” “Say my name.” “Thumper.” Pain blistered up Lamar’s spine, as Thumper grunted and moaned in his ear. “Come on, put it all together. Make it sound like you like it, nigga. Make me believe it.” “Thumper, I can’t… I don’t like it,” Lamar said. “Then act, motherfucker,” he said through gritted teeth. Thumper pushed him into position so he could plow him doggystyle. “This position gonna be tough for you, nigga. You ready for it?” This time he didn’t wait for him to respond. He shoved his cock in and Lamar squealed involuntarily, lifting one of his legs up like a pissing dog. Thumper slammed his hips against Lamar’s ass and slapped a cheek. His hands both reached around Lamar’s waist and grabbed his cock. “Okay,” he said, “Here comes the reacharound. See? Not a punk if I get you off too. Don’t bother telling the warden I rammed you. They’ll keep you here for the investigation and then they’ll charge you for sure. It’s against the rules, after all.” “I won’t… snitch,” Lamar said. He could barely speak from the pain in his ass. Somehow Lamar’s dick was getting hard, yet underneath the agony was an undercurrent of sexual pleasure stemming from his freshly stimulated prostate. “I know,” he said. “You ready for it? I’m gonna cum, and this is gonna hurt even worse. But you doin’ good, nigga, you ain’t even bleedin’.” This time it was Thumper’s turn to lift a leg like a pissing dog. He began jackhammering into him with every thrust and let out a loud moan. Lamar could feel precum filling his ass underneath the mounting pain. Lamar screamed, unable to hold it in. He tried to collapse to the ground, but Thumper was prepared and held onto Lamar’s hips to keep him in place. He kept him right in position to ram his cock all the way into. They both ended up on the floor, Lamar on his back and Thumper atoppa him, squirming like an overturned turtle. That was what sent Thumper over the edge, it seemed, because he grunted, the sound resonating in Lamar’s ear. Thumper thrust once more, and a seep of creamy heat filled Lamar’s guts. Lamar squirmed. Thumper gasped. Hot cum spilled out of Lamar’s ass and down his crotch, nestling in his unkempt pubic hair. Thumper gently squeezed Lamar’s cheeks. “That was good,” he said wave after wave of jizz jetting into Lamar’s ass, “Now you sit right there while I get you off.” “Lemme up,” Lamar said, “I can’t cum with your dick in my ass.” “I told you I gonna make you like it, right? I’m a man of my word,” he said, “So I gonna jack you off until you have an orgasm even with me inside you. That way you’ll always remember Thumper White as the man who made you love cock.” “I don’t love cock.” “We ain’t done yet,” Thumper said. His hands rushed up and down Lamar’s shaft, stroking him —Lamar was already hard, a fact of which he was unaware until Thumper started, The sensations flowing through Lamar’s body were intense, and Thumper must have felt them too, cuz he kept moaning like an old nigga into Lamar’s ear. “Now hush up and concentrate. If it takes too long, I’ll get hard and wanna cum up you again.” Thumper’s limp cock was hot and full inside him, but Lamar tried to ignore that and focus on his own half-hard dick. He again thought of his white female on the outside, imagining that she had waited for him, her fleshy pussy spread wide for Lamar’s dick. That triggered an orgasm in Lamar, a pained, strugglesome orgasm that made his whole body ached even as pleasure coursed through his veins. Lamar’s cum shot through the air and landed on his belly in a big puddle. Lamar groaned, shocked at how easy it turned out to be. He shot a bigger wad than he had in a long time. Thumper let his dick flop out of Lamar’s ass, but he stayed there on the floor, his arms wrapped around Lamar. “Thumper?” Lamar said. Thumper didn’t respond. Lamar started to roll off him, but Thumper sleepily rolled over, pinning him with his bulk. His limp cock pressed against Lamar’s asscrack. “Thumper?” Lamar said, resigned to the fact that he was either sound asleep or was pretending to be, and either way, Lamar was going to be spending his last night in Thumper’s arms. Between the excitement of his imminent release, his shame at being plowed and his disgust at being spooned by the burly nigga beside him, Lamar thought he wouldn’t sleep at all. But somehow Lamar managed to find Thumper’s strong arms and hot body comforting, and Lamar drifted off to sleep despite the fat dick wedged between his cheeks. And despite all that or perhaps because of it, it was the best night of sleep in his whole life.
