Books – Mansploitation

The Tijuana Alpha

Anthony is not really a cholo, but his brothers are, and that means he needs a bodyguard, Messimo. When he finds out Messimo was a bottom in prison, Anthony realizes that means this hardcore vato is ready for a little twink on top… whether he wants it or not!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read it here in its entirety!

Anthony wasn’t told about things that didn’t concern him or his life. That was almost everything that happened. As the youngest of seven brothers, Anthony was used to being the small, weak one, especially since his family ran the Latin Kings here in Tijuana. His brothers and father had built the cartel out of nothing and had created a multibillion dollar empire with operations in seven countries.
Even though Anthony had never had the machismo or the knowhow to get involved, he still lived on the cartel’s compound. Nowhere else was safe. He admitted that even if he hated it. He wanted more than anything to have a normal life. He didn’t like it here. The men here were tough, muscular cholos who never smiled or danced. Anthony was allowed to go out, as long as he went to safe places (not nightclubs) and brought his bodyguards with him. He couldn’t live like a normal person.
Anthony did not like having bodyguards or limitations on his travel. He had to admit it was justified though. The one time he ditched his bodyguards for a night of fun had ended up being disastrous — he was kidnapped and had to be rescued after being tortured for hours. The compound did get shot up, attacked by helicopter even this one time. Men who worked for the cartel were kidnapped or murdered on the street by rivals. Not the streets of Tijuana, but elsewhere in Mexico.
So he left the compound increasingly rarely.
These days, he was getting frustrated and angry, and he frequently shouted at his brothers for minor complaints. They treated him like a yapping dog they weren’t allowed to punish. He knew he was being picayune, that his world had shrunk but Anthony’s problems hadn’t. He became fixated on trivialities like the sheets on his bed being less than top notch. They could afford nice sheets, and Anthony couldn’t buy them on his own. But his brothers were slobs, they didn’t care.
“You need to get laid, hermano,” was the sum total of their response to his outbursts. They seemed to think all problems could be solved by pussy.
Since the compound was safe, Anthony’s bodyguards were not always right near him when he was home. They hung around and followed when he left the compound. So when he got a new bodyguard, he didn’t always know it right away; he just noticed a new large man hanging around and refusing to go away.
Méssimo was one such bodyguard. He’d been around for a couple days before Anthony realized he was his bodyguard.
He was tall, burly, broad-shouldered, hairy, more of a rough-and-ugly type than most of the bookish cartelistos who made it onto the compound — Anthony’s brothers only needed people at the compound for things like accounting and distribution. He didn’t want thugs.
Except for the security team, of course. For bodyguards, big and brutish were the ideal traits. Méssimo was ideal by those criteria, with plenty of swagger, a barrel-shaped chest and hair covering his body.
Anthony changed into his bathrobe in his bedroom, then sat down to pretend to read in his room. Méssimo was by the door, not technically in the room but right beside it. Anthony checked him out from behind — Méssimo was facing the window that looked out into the cartel’s courtyard and the Mexican desert beyond. His ass filled out his low-hanging khakhi pants, and it made Anthony’s mouth water. He had a meaty pair of asscheeks, cradled by tight drawers.
The male form had always intrigued and allured Anthony.
“Méssimo, did you ramrod Morales?”
Méssimo winced at the question. He turned around and made eye contact with Anthony, but he didn’t answer. His muscles roiled, and he frowned. He came closer.
Morales was a smuggler who had lost a few pounds of coke. Or maybe a lotta pounds, Anthony didn’t know, they don’t tell him those kinds of things. But he did learn through the grapevine that Morales had gotten ramrodded by “like a thousand cholos”. That was an exaggeration, obviously, but it must have been a substantial number.
And nobody thought to tell Anthony about it at the time!
Anyway, Anthony didn’t even know who Morales was. Someone said he was fat. So maybe he hadn’t missed out on much. Group ramming was how Latin Kings punished those whose incompetence harmed the entire organization. Anthony wished his brothers would tell him about it beforehand so he could join or even watch, but even though they always promised to do so, they never did. They put it in the same category as smuggling, that was why. They don’t want Anthony involved in anything unsavory, which obviously includes ramrodding.
Méssimo nodded. His tattooed face aimed down at his feet. He had tear-shaped roses tattooed leading down from his eyes, except one of the rose-tears was replaced with a red skull. Anthony was pretty sure that meant Méssimo killed a cop.
“What did you do to Morales? Did you plow him in the ass or the mouth?” Anthony asked.
“Both,” Méssimo said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He grabbed at his crotch, then grunted. His cock was briefly outlined by the fabric.
“Come closer,” Anthony said. Méssimo did so.
Anthony unzipped Méssimo’s khakhis, giggling at his growl, which was equal parts displeased and horny. It sounded like he was glad to get some dome, and he just wanted to pretend he had to be pushed into it — not that Anthony planned on stopping there. Méssimo would do whatever he said, and Anthony intended to say a lot.
Méssimo’s hips flexed just slightly as though he fought off an instinctual urge to hump Anthony’s hand as soon as he gripped it in those sweat-jungle khakhis. He had a fat cock, limp but throbbing already and twinging with the power of an imminent erection. He pulled out Méssimo’s big uncut cock, which had a rooster tattooed on the shaft. It stuck out his fly like an oversized sausage.
“Quiquiriquí,” Anthony said with a laugh.
Méssimo was stiff and wooden, showing no reaction, even when Anthony repeated himself while clucking like a chicken. His brothers always laughed at that.
Not Méssimo, whose cock was the only part of his body that wasn’t hard like iron — he must have been nervous, Anthony decided. His biceps flexed, and his pecs rippled beneath his shirt. Anthony stroked Méssimo’s dick with both hands like a lovable length of rope.
“Are you uno pasivo, señor?” Méssimo asked with a nervous frown. He narrowed his eyes to slits as he checked out Anthony’s body.
Anthony knew what that meant. In cartel culture, men were either hombres or pasivos. An hombre like Méssimo might plow a pasivo but would never be penetrated by one willingly. Anthony was normally uno pasivo, but today, he didn’t give an answer. He wanted to leave Méssimo unsure of himself.
“Señor?”
Keeping his own face stoic, Anthony stood up. Méssimo stood next to the mattress with his hard brown cock sticking out the fly of his chinos. Anthony took his own dick out of his bathrobe and thwacked it together with Méssimo’s.
“Uh, señor, are you uno pasivo? That is okay…” He repeated himself and took a deep breath, like he desperately wanted Anthony to say yes. Méssimo’s voice trailed off as he submitted to the jousting. When he looked down and saw his dick throbbing next to Anthony’s, he winced and blanched. He straightened his shoulders and kept his hands clenched in fists at his side, as though if he moved them at all he’d be overcome by passion and start jacking Anthony off himself.
“You work for me, when you are assigned to me,” Anthony said with a smile. “So you will have to do as I say.” He stroked both dicks together, holding back a moan as his body was overcome by pleasure. He loved the feel of Méssimo’s hot, half-hard meat throbbing against his own.
Méssimo shook his head. “I work in sound of obedience, esé. I will do as I am told.”
“Good,” Anthony said. “Take off your shirt.”
Méssimo hesitated, then undid the top button (the only closed button) of his shirt. Under that he had on a wifebeater, which he also took off. He had a broad, strapping chest, lined with tattoos and scars. His chest was tight and stiff with anxiety right now, and he breathed shallowly. His dick began to get harder and harder with every motion Anthony made on his meat.
“Where did you get this one?” Anthony asked, using his precum-leaking cocktip to gesture to a broad, x-shaped scar on the side of his belly. Méssimo winced when Anthony’s dick touched his skin — Anthony had to get on his toes to reach.
“I was stabbed. When I was in the metal can,” he said.
“Ooh, did you have a bitch?” Anthony asked with a grin. “Did you have a puta?” The thought of Méssimo holding some man down as he plowed him made Anthony shudder with desire. A part of him wanted Méssimo to plow him like that, but Anthony had other plans as well. He could get Méssimo to top him pretty much any time, that was easy. He leaned against Méssimo’s chest — he was much shorter than Méssimo, but since he stood on the bed, his crotch was right between Méssimo’s mountainous pecs. He humped Méssimo’s tense, quivering muscles. “Don’t look down, look at me. Ignore what I’m doing and answer my questions.”
His pecs rippled, as Anthony’s cock left its first few drops of prejizz. It dripped down Méssimo’s tattooed chest. He ignored it even when Anthony’s dick poked him in this chin.
“Umm… I was… I had a boyfriend… I was smaller then,” Méssimo said, trying to look down without looking down.
The smell of funk filled the air. Méssimo couldn’t tear his eyes away from his own chest, where Anthony’s dick slid over a puddle of sticky precum. Méssimo kept his mouth open, either out of a shock or because a tiny corner of his mind wanted to taste Anthony’s cock.
“Smaller.”
Méssimo nodded. “I was young.” He added a sound effect suggesting he was weaker then, that he could not defend himself. He looked behind himself as though hoping for a rescue.
“Oh, you were on the bottom?”
Méssimo nodded. “I am not ashamed. I was smaller then, and I was showing respect to a cholo was bigger and tougher than me. That was… right, honorable for me. He saved my life, many times. It was right for him to be my hombre. I am not embarrassed. But do not tell anyone.”
Anthony kissed him on the lips, his tongue exploring the inside of Méssimo’s big mouth. Their tongues touched, and for a moment, Méssimo kissed him back. But that was instinctual, and it only lasted a few seconds before Méssimo’s callused fingers caressed Anthony’s smooth chest, reminding him that Anthony was not a girl. Méssimo was both surprised and repulsed by the kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds.
“Sorry,” Anthony said. “So you’ve bottomed before?”
Méssimo nodded. “Do not tell your brothers, señor. Please.”
“I won’t,” Anthony said. He kissed Méssimo, and this time, Méssimo endured it. He didn’t kiss back. His hands remained squarishly at his side. Anthony felt the heat radiating off Méssimo’s powerful chest.
“What, uh…. What do you want me to do now?” He had a resigned, hangdog look.
Anthony placed one tiny hand on Méssimo’s broad shoulders. He pushed down, keeping a sympathetic smile on his face. Méssimo didn’t resist. He lowered himself to his knees and opened his mouth. “You don’t have to do anything, Méssimo. I won’t tell my brothers anything. But I bet I look like more of a girl than your hombre was in the metal can, right?”
He nodded and trembled as he sunk to the ground. When Anthony’s dick pushed past his lips, Méssimo responded both like he wanted to vomit and like he was finally doing what he had wanted to all along. His eyes scrunched up and he gagged, but he also enthusiastically, loudly suckled on it, choking up spit that frothed up and covered his tattooed chin and neck. His tongue slathered spit on Anthony’s hard shaft.
“Don’t use your hands,” Anthony said. “Jack yourself off instead.” He pushed Méssimo’s hands away. “Look me in the eye, Méssimo.”
Méssimo winced but did as he was told. His cock was floppy now, not totally soft but having lost most of his erection now that there was a cock in his mouth. He had trouble making eye contact with Anthony, who loved the look of his frantic eyes struggling to stay put as cockmeat slid down his throat. Anthony knew cholos like Méssimo demanded their bitches (male or female) look them in the eye while swallowing their cock, so Anthony figured Méssimo expected that.
Another torrent of gagging hit Méssimo’s mouth with a full spurt of precum. Anthony shuddered and giggled as Méssimo’s big square jaw trembled, and his whole body writhed. His burly, hairy stomach roiled.
A mouthful of spit and a teaspoon of prejizz came from Méssimo, who tried to catch it with one cupped hand. That triggered a second gag, and his cupped hand overflowed.
“Oh, shit, I am sorry, esé,” Méssimo said, racing to blot the saliva up with his shirt. Anthony’s cock got him in the temple, where those tattooed roses ran down from his eyes like tears. Méssimo ignored that, but when Andrew aimed his dicktip for Méssimo’s nose, he upretched all over again. “Sorry, sorry, esé,” he said. “I will not gag-” He paused to gag again. “With my boyfriend, before, in the prison, he — he-” He held his hand over his mouth, biting back a gag. “He did teach me to not gag. I can do it.”
“Swallow the whole thing,” Andrew said as he slowly fed his hardon into Méssimo’s mouth once more. Méssimo’s hands were still trying to blot up the spit that had spilled — not that Anthony cared — even as he was still choking up more spit and trying to catch it.
Anthony thought it was cute that Méssimo was trying so hard to please him by not gagging. Did he have no idea that gagging made it feel better? The gagging was the best part, that was what Anthony always said. He liked to gag when he was on top, and he liked to gag when he was in Méssimo’s position.
Despite his apparent disgust with the flavor, Méssimo only grew more and more aroused as he got into throating Anthony to the root, until Méssimo’s nose was ensconced in Anthony’s pubes. Anthony didn’t need to direct him to deep-throat his dick; he sunk into a familiar groove as though remembering his life in prison. His head bobbed up and down on Anthony’s manhood. His free hand crept up to gently play with Anthony’s balls.
“Ay, god, Méssimo…” Anthony grunted. He had to bite his lip to avoid being too loud, because he didn’t want to attract attention from the other bodyguards and hangers-on who might be outside the room.
His brothers would tell him not to do this kind of thing. He’s allowed to, but it’d be bad for morale or something dumb like that. They’d want Anthony to fuck some trashy whore who could barely stop snorting coke long enough to swallow a dick like Méssimo was doing, and Anthony hadn’t even told him to! He’d definitely learned to serve his hombre under the sound of obedience indeed!
Taking a pause to grab a deep breath, the look on Méssimo’s face flashed between so horny he couldn’t breathe and so disgusted and ashamed he wanted to cry. Anthony humped his squarish face, leaving a trail of spit and precum on his nose and cheeks, his dick jabbing atop Méssimo’s tattoos. Méssimo gagged again even as he stuck his tongue out to lick up Anthony’s ballsweat.
Then Anthony pulled off his face, wanting to go for anal before shooting his load, which he could feel rapidly approaching. Méssimo looked with hungry eyes at Anthony’s dick as Anthony pulled out a bottle of lube. Méssimo winced and laid on his back on the bed, on those insufficently thread-counted sheets that Anthony had complained about. He lifted his trunk-like thighs up.
“I bet you didn’t use lube in prison? This’ll be nicer then.”
Méssimo shook his head. “No, no lube, just spit,” he gulped nervously. Be dulce. You are nicer than him. It is better, you are… more like a girl. Less hairy. Smaller.”
Anthony nodded. He bristled a bit, but he was used to the cholos who surrounded him in this place to think of him as a girl. He was treated as more feminine than some of the actual females who worked here. That was mostly fine with Anthony.
Anthony moaned as his dick entered Méssimo’s ass. It was so tight Anthony had to struggle to get it in, even with copious lube greasing him up. Méssimo was so much bigger than Anthony that he had enormous assflesh, which Anthony separated to bare his bootyhole. Méssimo’s ass tightened and clenched instinctively.
His asscheeks were tattooed too. Prison tats, it looked like. The thought of Méssimo being tattooed naked in prison made Anthony’s eyes bug out.
The eyeballs and bare tits tatted on his ass jiggled when Anthony’s cocktip pushed in. Méssimo grunted and sucked in his breath.
“¡Me duele el culo!” He blushed and bit his lip to keep the sound down. His eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one else had come in the room to see him take it in the culo. Méssimo stifled his moaning and writhed as pain overtook him. He clutched the bed beneath himself. His pecs flexed and stayed tight as Anthony played with his nipples.
For Anthony, it was one of the tightest, best holes he had ever had. As Méssimo adjusted to the meat in his asshole, Anthony stayed still, letting Méssimo handle all the motion. It felt like an odd position, he thought, since he was maybe a third of Méssimo’s weight. It made him feel like a little boy inexplicably plowing a giant. Méssimo gasped and threw his head back, clutching the bedspread as though it would take the pain away.
“Those tats on your ass,” Anthony said. He stopped moving with his cock all the way up Méssimo’s guts, his assflesh jiggling because of Méssimo’s staccato breathing. The tats of Méssimo’s ass included a huge pair of knockers, one on each cheek. They were crudely tatted, definitely prison tats. “Did your boyfriend put those on your ass so he could look at tits when he ramrodded you?”
Méssimo nodded, and he choked in pain or humiliation or maybe even arousal, or more likely a mixture of all three. Anthony’s cock throbbed in his ass.
Then, without Anthony’s prompting, Méssimo began stroking his own cock. He seemed to enjoy the prostate action, and his dick was leaking precum even before Anthony managed to get a smooth rhythm going. Méssimo’s ass was too tight still, but it loosened with every strugglesome pump of Anthony’s hips.
It was obvious that Méssimo was in pain, but he was also enjoying himself. He closed his eyes and grunted. It was like there were two parts of Méssimo, Anthony thought, the lower half was ready to shoot his load right now, while the upper half was humiliated and in terrible pain. Lucky for Anthony, the upper half had the upper hand right now, and Méssimo’s dick only throbbed and leaked precum into his grip.
He breathed shallowly while Anthony began plowing harder and harder, making Méssimo let out pained mewling sounds. He lowered his head to the mattress.
Anthony’s balls slapped against Méssimo’s hairy thick asscheeks. Both of his hands caressed Méssimo’s body, and his left hand slowly moved upward until he gripped Méssimo’s neck. He didn’t squeeze, but he liked to hold onto it — Méssimo was so muscular he didn’t have much of a neck, but Anthony managed to get a grip on it just the same. He didn’t squeeze, but he held on tight, tight enough to make it hard for Méssimo to take a deep breath.
The cholos like Méssimo sometimes competed over how hard they could fuck their females. The females who lived here loved it, no matter how their cholos tried to smash their pussies, or at least they pretended they did. Méssimo presumably fucked them, they all did.
But if they could fuck a woman like that, Anthony could damn well ramrod Méssimo in the same way. So Anthony decided to imitate that the best he could. Of course, since he was smaller than Méssimo, he couldn’t do much more than slam against Méssimo’s plump asscheeks. But he liked the way Méssimo’s flesh jiggled as he pumped his dick in as deep as he could manage, and he moaned when Méssimo’s mewling turned plaintive.
“Tell me you want it,” Anthony said. That was another thing the cartelistos would say when fucking their women.
Rather than answering, Méssimo grunted and sprayed cum over his tattooed torso, his words turning into an intense moan of desire. His dick spasmed in his fingers, that parlor-done rooster tattoo rippling as semen poured through it. He blushed like he hadn’t meant to blow his nut with a cock in his ass, that made him seem less like of a natural hombre.
“I said tell me you want it,” Anthony said, his own voice wavering as he reached his own climax, his dick deep in Méssimo’s ass.
“Ah, plow, damn my culo, fuckin’ puta!” His voice was tight and clipped, pinched, like he wanted to shout but couldn’t because the pressure and pain was too great. He turned his head and whispered, his underhushing too indistinct for Anthony to make out. Anthony could still tell what he was saying though: please don’t tell anyone I blew my load while getting ramrodded, because true hombres don’t do that; only pasivos get hard with a dick in their ass.
But Anthony wasn’t about to tease him for it or tell anyone — he was beginning to think this could be a regular event, since Méssimo would do anything to be sure nobody knew he came with a cock in his ass. An orgasm rolled over Anthony’s body, and a tight, clenching pleasure washed over his frame.
A fat wad of cum spurted into Méssimo’s cavernous guts, and Méssimo let out a howl, his own orgasm just now ending. Méssimo contorted when he felt it, and the writhing of his muscles made it seem like Anthony could see his cumwad spraying over Méssimo’s insides.
Méssimo gasped and hyperventilated. Anthony had never shot such a huge load, it just kept coming and coming, and Méssimo threw his head back. His eyes rolled in their sockets as cum coated Méssimo’s hot, spongy prostate.
“Ah, si, si, si,” Méssimo said, quietly, as though a little embarrassed by his own excitement, as he writhed and moaned. His limp dick and balls jiggled massively afront Anthony’s own crotch, which was daggering as Anthony turned his own cumwad into a big frothy mess.
At last Anthony pulled out. He scooped up all the cum on Méssimo’s belly, intending to swallow it himself. But when he saw Méssimo’s eyes — which he had just opened, looking on with wonder like he was shocked he had allowed this to happen — Anthony knew what to do.
He brought his hand up to Méssimo’s mouth. Méssimo opened despite his humiliation, and Anthony waited for him to take the plunge. After waiting a few seconds, Méssimo grabbed Anthony’s hand and dumped the cum into his mouth.
He gagged and spat, but licked up what coated his face, even as his whole body spasmed and his muscles contorted. Anthony caressed his belly and neck until he was still, cum-streaked face tense. Anthony climbed onto his chest and kissed him on the lips, tasting remnants of semen in his mouth.
Anthony’s limp, juice-dripping cock rested in the sweat-dappled chest hair on Méssimo’s torso, as Anthony licked every drop of cum off the big cholo’s face.
“I’m glad you’re my bodyguard, Méssimo,” he said with a giggle. “If I ever get locked up, I’m bringing you with me.”
“I can’t wait, señor…”

The Annapolis Alpha

Abdul’s latest IT job brings him onto a naval base, where the hunky older officer Chumbers corners him in a closet with an urgent need for a little twink on top!

SIR YES SIR!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read it here now!

Abdul was nervous when he got to work on the base at Annapolis. He had two reasons to be nervous, though luckily he hoped the second might counteract the first — he was a brown-skinned Muslim named Abdul, and he knew a lot of American military folk were skeptical of Muslims. So he was worried about anti-Muslim harassment and xenophobia. Counteracting that, Abdul was a slim nerd of Turkish extraction, and while he normally had only a slight lisp and a bit of limp wrist, he accentuated both right now. His glasses and dorky demeanor probably helped too, and he was sure to make a Star Trek joke as he checked in with the secretary. Hopefully that made him seem less like a terrorist.
Indeed, everyone on the base ended up being extraordinarily kind and helpful. That was no doubt in part because they desperately needed his help. The wireless router in one building had been broken for weeks, and no one with the Navy was able to fix it.
Fixing stuff like that was Abdul’s job. He could fix anything, as long as it was a computer.
The secretary was a perky young man who looked about twelve years old, but he was in the Navy, so presumably he was older than that. He had no idea what a router was, where it might be or who would know about the wifi. He was the most useless secretary in the history of the Navy.
But he did manage to make a call, to a Captain Chumbers, who must have told him where to go. He then showed Abdul the closet with the routers in.
He got to work, glad when that babyface sailor left him alone. Abdul had been unsure that would be allowed. Maybe, after all, they would require a security minder to be present.
Honestly, they ought to. Did the Navy know they had some random fiddling with their wifi? Abdul could have installed a bug. He didn’t bring that up because he didn’t want to tempt fate.
First of all, the permissions were all messed up. Abdul had to get into the mainframe to open up the router, and that alone took a whole hour. He had to go find that useless secretary to get the password, and then he had to explain what a password was, and then he had to wait for the password. It took forever. The Navy have a real problem with efficiency.
Eventually though, he fixed the permissions issue, and he got down into the nitty-gritty of the broken wifi.
“Do you know what’s wrong?” asked a deep man’s voice, startling Abdul.
Abdul was nearly done fixing it, but he didn’t want to say that because there might end up being more work to be done, and then he’d look like he failed. In fact, he suspected that the Navy’s own IT folk had been messing with it while they tried to fix it, and they might have broken it even worse. “I think a few things are wrong with it,” Abdul said without turning to look at the man behind him. He forced his voice to deepen as he became self-conscious about his nerdiness. “I’m about to finish fixing the main thing. That was probably the initial problem. But these issues have a way of snowballing and causing more problems as time goes on, so I’ll need another couple hours.”
It was only as he finished speaking that Abdul looked up and saw that he was not speaking to that secretary or the cadets he had met earlier. This was clearly someone in charge — he was tall, stately, broad-shouldered and stiff-necked. He had a square jaw and pale skin, with a few colorful tattoos peeking out from under his uniform. He had such an authoritarian demeanor that Abdul jumped up and saluted as soon as he made eye contact.
The officer smiled. “At ease… sailor?”
Abdul blushed and looked down. “Sorry. I guess I watch too many movies.”
“That’s fine. My name is Captain Chumbers,” he said with a throaty chuckle. He cocked his head to the side as though considering Abdul. “You are… uh… I’m sorry, I’m not sure the politically correct way to ask this, you’re-“
“I’m Turkish,” Abdul said. “And I’m Muslim. But don’t worry, this doesn’t actually give me access to the secure server, I don’t have access to any classified information.”
“There’s nothing to speak of on this network anyway,” he said. “All you’d find out is what we’re having for lunch this week.”
“Is it pork?”
Captain Chumbers chuckled. “No, we don’t serve pork, or beef. We have Muslim and Hindu seamen,” he said. Despite the gravity of the situation, when he said seamen, Abdul had to stifle a laugh.
“Cool. Okay,” Abdul said.
“Oh.” It was apparent he wanted to ask for more, but didn’t think he should, so he shut up. He shifted his weight on his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m distracting you from your job.”
“No, it’s okay. This next part needs to run on its own. It should take like a half-hour,” Abdul said. “Did you need this room? I can wait-“
“No, stay here,” Captain Chumbers said. He sidled in and closed the door behind him. This was a small, cramped IT closet, with servers and computer gear scattered about on rickety old shelves. Captain Chumbers had an intent look on his face, like he had a very serious plan, and whatever it was, it made Abdul’s heart flutter.
“Okay…” Abdul’s eyes opened wide. He stammered over his words, though he had nothing to say. What was Chumbers’s plan?
“My wife just gave birth,” Captain Chumbers said.
“Congratulations. Is that your first child?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, awesome,” Abdul said. This was such an awkward situation he wasn’t sure how to muster up any enthusiasm. He blushed. It seemed that Captain Chumbers wanted something, but Abdul didn’t know what. “That’s really great. Cool. It’s cool to be a dad.”
“She lives in Georgia. That’s where I’s from,” he said. He had only a trace of an accent, but now that Abdul knew it was there, he couldn’t unhear the drawl dripping broadly from his voice.
“Oh. I’ve never been to Georgia. It’s… uh, it’s hot there, right?-” Abdul gulped. This closet was feeling more and more cramped with every passing moment.
“I haven’t seen her in almost a year. We talk on the phone, but it’s not the same.”
“Yeah, I understand. That’s tough.”
“I haven’t seen any women in almost a year.”
“Really?”
“I mean… not literally,” Captain Chumbers said. “I’ve seen women, of course. But I haven’t been with one or even flirted with one.”
“Oh, yeah, that must be difficult-“
“When I was a cadet…” His voice trailed off. “Officers were allowed to order cadets to do pretty much anything. On my first day, my commander ordered me to bend over and grab my ankles. You can guess where it went from there.”
“Yeah-“
“But that isn’t allowed anymore. Cussing is ‘gainst the rules now,” Captain Chumbers said with a dismissive scoff. He came closer to Abdul.
“Hmm-hmm.”
“I’m going to order you to do something in a moment,” he said. He frowned and blushed, averting his eyes, appearing nervous for the first time since he had come in this room. “I’m gonna make it seem like you have to do it. But you don’t. I just… I don’t want to have a conversation about it.”
“Okay…”
“I’ve been giving and receiving orders for so long, it’s hard for me to interact normally,” he said. “If you say no, or walk away, that’s fine. I won’t stop you.”
“Captain Chumbers, what are you doing? What is this?”
“Take off my clothes, sailor,” he said. His voice was soft and weak, so Abdul at first thought he had misheard.
“Sir?”
“I said take off my clothes, sailor!” he barked with the stentorian tone of a drill sergeant who expected utter obedience.
Obedience was something Abdul could provide. He jumped to his feet before he even thought about it. It was difficult to disobey someone like that. He stood there for a moment, calculating his options. Of course the idea of servicing some studly navy officer was alluring to Abdul, who did appreciate the male form and physique, but was that what was really happening here?
His pristine white uniform was tight, a little too small for him, and it was stiff, starched. The fabric was firmer than Abdul had expected. His heart raced as he fumbled with the buttons. He had never taken off a navy officer’s uniform before.
“Quicker, sailor!”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Abdul said. His voice trembled and broke. He blushed. Why was he calling him sir? He didn’t need to. Chumbers simply exuded such authority that Abdul felt no choice but to show him the respect of an underling.
This was probably how that babyfaced secretary reacted when Chumbers gave him an order, Abdul thought.
Underneath that uniform shirt, Chumbers wore a plain white t-shirt, bleached white, presumably by some sailor who worked in the laundry. It was also perfectly clean. His colorful tattoos were more visible now that only the t-shirt separated them from — there was a fight scene between two knights on horseback on his left bicep, and a tractor on his right. An American flag waved in the wind over his heart, the vibrant colors visible through his t-shirt. He had a broad, muscular chest with a few tufts of hair on it. Abdul gulped.
Abdul tried to take off that t-shirt, but Captain Chumbers was so much taller than him that he couldn’t do much more than lift it up to his shoulders. That put Abdul’s fingers beneath the fabric, however, and he shivered with anticipation as he brushed past those powerful pecs, which flexed beneath his touch. Chumbers’s was broad and muscular, and it exuded warmth that enveloped Abdul.
“I can’t lift your shirt all the way up.”
“If’n you don’t address your superior officer smartly, I swear I’ll rip ya dick off, sailor!”
“Uh… Sir! I can’t lift your t-shirt up all the way, sir! You’re too tall, sir! Or… I’m too short. Sir.”
“Then you might have to put me on my knees, sailor!” he said. He still stood straight as an arrow, at attention, with his hands clenched into fists as though he was going to beat Abdul any moment.
“Uh… Okay. Sir,” Abdul said. He had to stand on his toes to reach Captain Chumbers’s shoulders, then he gently pushed down. He had no leverage, and even if he had, Captain Chumbers outweighed Abdul by at least a hundred pounds of solid muscle. So he did not, in any meaningful sense, push him down.
But nevertheless, Captain Chumbers sunk to his knees as though being forced. His torso remained straight, and his skin puckered as Abdul lifted his t-shirt up. Captain Chumbers raised his arms so Abdul could pull the shirt up and over his head, then lowered them again now that his chest was bare.
Abdul hesitated, not sure what to do next. But Captain Chumbers had said to take off his clothes, not just his shirt, so Abdul did as he was told. He undid Captain Chumbers’s belt and pulled those pure white dress uniform pants down. Since he was on his knees, they didn’t go all the way down, but they did reveal his unfashionable white briefs, which were tight, clean and hugged his plump ass. Kinky black hairs escaped from the elastic waistband.
“Take your dick out, sailor!”
Again Abdul was so nervous he didn’t follow orders right away. This was rather looking like Captain Chumbers intended to bottom — that would explain why he was on his knees and why he demanded Abdul take his own dick out rather than taking Captain Chumbers’s out. But that hardly made any sense. Surely, Abdul thought, a big macho Navy captain like him was a top, if he was willing to jack off with a man at all.
Maybe that was why he mentioned his wife being so far away? Abdul’s heart quickened its beat.
“I said-” He paused because some sailors walked past the closet. Once they were safely out of earshot, he narrowed his eyes in Abdul’s direction. “I said take your cock out now, sailor!” Chumbers barked.
Abdul gulped and did as he was told. He dropped his pants and pulled his dick out of his boxers. His crotch was sweaty because this tiny room was hot, a problem that was worsened by all the heat from the computer equipment in here. It was like a hamam.
“Now, grab my head and put it in position, sailor,” he said. Captain Chumbers still stared straight ahead, his face solid and emotionless. His grizzled jaw worked as though he chewed on his tongue.
“Which, uh… position-?”
“Now!”
Just as before, his tone was so strict Abdul jumped into action instinctually. The only logical position was to force Captain Chumbers’s head low enough that he could swallow Abdul’s dick. Nothing else made sense, even if that also didn’t really make sense given the situation. But Abdul hurried to follow orders, and once again, Captain Chumbers did as he was “forced” to do. His upper body awkwardly stooped over so that his face was right in front of Abdul’s dick, which was half-hard even though neither of them had touched it yet.
The situation was so arousing that Abdul’s cocked jerked, resulting in it brushing against Captain Chumbers’s lips. He gagged lightly and winced.
“Sorry.”
“Sailor, what did I say about addressing me as sir.”
“Sorry, sir. I, uh… I should have said… Sorry, sir,” Abdul said. “I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t say sir when I said sorry, sir. I mean, I said sorry, but not sir, and now… I’m sorry, sir. I-” He cut himself off because he realized he was babbling and thought he looked like an idiot.
“Open my mouth,” he said. “Use your hands to open my mouth, sailor!”
“Oh… what? Are you sure? Sir?” Abdul asked. His voice stammered, certain he had misheard the command. Was this man really going to bottom? In Turkish culture, a man was either a top or a bottom, strictly, no exceptions.
“Jacking off wasn’t even allowed in this navy until recently, sailor,” Chumbers said. “You are going to have to force my mouth open, sailor.”
Abdul’s mind raced. He flopped his dick against Captain Chumbers’s lips, which were pursed shut tightly. Again Captain Chumbers winced as though he found it disgusting, like Abdul’s dick was gonna make him gag. Abdul gripped his jaw to spread his mouth open.
His fingers seemed so small in comparison to Captain Chumbers’s big head and thick jaw. His cheeks and chin were shaved smooth but Abdul could already feel a bit of the day’s stubble growing in. He gently pulled Captain Chumbers’s jaws apart.
Despite being forced, it was apparent that Captain Chumbers didn’t resist. When Abdul just exerted a bit of pressure on his jaw, Captain Chumbers opened wide, though Abdul did feel tension, like he had to fight against himself to do it.
“Now throat me down!” Captain Chumbers said — he had to close his mouth to talk, then opened it again — and he growled at Abdul. “Do it hard and merciless, sailor.”
Abdul’s heart raced, but he didn’t need to be ordered twice. He wedged his dick in and gasped as Captain Chumbers accepted it. He was a big man, so he had a big mouth, and he easily got most of Abdul’s dick in before it reached the back of his throat. Then he gagged, but didn’t stop.
Abdul sighed as pleasure overtook him. His dick was rock-hard now, throbbing in Captain Chumbers’s throat. His fingers held onto his nearly bare head, and Abdul began slowly, gently plowing his mouth, his erection hitting the back of Chumbers’s throat.
That caused Abdul to just stand there. He didn’t want to throat Chumbers down if that wasn’t what he was supposed to do. He figured Chumbers would just do whatever his plan was. If he wanted to deep-throat Abdul, he could do that anytime.
But Captain Chumbers was having none of that — he put his hands behind Abdul’s body, clutching his smooth twink asscheeks, and forcibly made him drill his dick deep into Captain Chumbers’s throat.
It was such an arousing situation that Abdul thought he might blow his load within seconds. That would have been disappointing; he wanted to savor this. But he couldn’t do much to stop himself. He gasped as he plowed Captain Chumbers’s face, balls slapping against his chin. Captain Chumbers choked with every thrust.
His ass was visible, hugged by those tight briefs, down below — since he was stooped way over to swallow Abdul’s dick, his ass jutted out behind him. His big body filled up the small IT closet.
Captain Chumbers pulled away. He still stared straight ahead, looking at the saliva dripping from Abdul’s uncut cock. “Can you reach my ass from there, sailor?!”
“Uh…” Abdul strained to reach forward, pushing his cock and balls against Captain Chumbers’s face. His dickskin was so sensitive he could easily feel that day’s stubble scratching against his flesh. He shuddered as he smeared precum all over Captain Chumbers’s nose and cheeks. His hand barely reached his ass. “Sort of, sir.”
“Well, you better find a way to get your finger in my ass, sailor, or I’ll dish out a big barrel full of serious trubs!” Captain Chumbers barked, his voice muffled by Abdul’s cock. He reopened his mouth and swallowed Abdul’s dick. He also raised his hips as far as he could, which put his ass within reach. Abdul didn’t know what trubs meant, but he assumed it was some American idiom, and he got the gist of it.
Abdul slipped his hand under those tight white briefs, shuddering with desire as he felt Chumbers’s powerful asscheeks clench. Abdul stroked his sweaty asscrack, then hesitated as his finger massaged the rim of his asshole.
He didn’t need Captain Chumbers to order him onto the next step. Abdul could tell what he was about to say. He plunged his finger in, which made Captain Chumbers arch his back. He gurgled around Abdul’s dick, and saliva dribbled out past his lips. Chumbers grunted as his face turned ruddy.
Since he had to stretch to reach his asshole at all, Abdul couldn’t fit more than the tip of his middle finger in. But that was enough to loosen Captain Chumbers’s ass up. It clenched tightly but submitted to Abdul’s fingering.
He pulled off and looked up at Abdul with stern eyes, the first time he had made direct eye contact since this began. He didn’t need to bark his order this time before Abdul guessed what it was, but Abdul did wait for him to say it.
“Now you got two seconds to get ya dick in my ass before I beat’choo senseless, sailor!”
“Yes, sir!” Abdul was wedged between him and the wall, so he had to awkwardly squeeze out of the way — Captain Chumbers didn’t move to make it easy for him. Abdul gripped Captain Chumbers’s back for support as he climbed around him.
It did take more than two seconds, but Abdul didn’t think he was actually timing it. Captain Chumbers’s asshole twinkled as Abdul rammed his cock in, rushing to get it in before Chumbers changed his mind.
For a moment, all was silence. Then Captain Chumbers grunted and moaned in a combination of pain and pleasure. He lifted his head up and gripped the wall tightly. Abdul had to stand on his toes while Captain Chumbers bent his knees to help him get in position.
“Ram me harder, sailor! Don’t think I won’t throw you overboard if you don’t!” he shouted at the wall through gritted teeth. It was obvious he was in pain, but from the rippling of his back muscles, it was obvious he experienced intense bliss as well. He was so much taller that Abdul’s head was pressed against the meaty center of Captain Chumbers’s back. He felt like a child riding his father, and he had never felt so small.
Plowing back and forth with as much power as he could muster, Abdul gripped Captain Chumbers’s sides for support. He humped his hips to pump his dick all the way in and out of Chumbers’s tight asshole, uncaring of Captain Chumbers’s instinctive clenching and grunting.
“Now, grab my dick, sailor!” he said, and then without even giving Abdul the chance to comply, he repeated himself. “Now! You don’t look like the kind of man who would be so rude as to cornhole a man without the common courtesy of a reacharound, are you? Are you that kind of man?”
“Uh, no sir,” Abdul said, his voice nervous and strained. He again had to struggle to reach, but this was easier than reaching his ass had been. As soon as he touched Captain Chumbers’s dick, it spasmed, spewing precum. He was obviously very near orgasm, despite the pain he was in.
He stroked, and the sensation was so exquisite that Captain Chumbers writhed. He gasped, and Abdul did too. His ass clenched on Abdul’s dick as though going to squeeze his dick off with his sphincter, which sent a thrill of arousal up Abdul’s spine.
Captain Chumbers heaved and moaned. His muscles undulating, flexing as an orgasm ran through him. Abdul could actually see the orgasm flow up his back in the contortions of his muscles. Abdul licked the sweat that trickled down his spine, holding on for dear life — he wasn’t even really ramming anymore, since he couldn’t get much leverage on his toes. Captain Chumbers’s body writhed, and his hips pushed back and forth, so all the power and motion came from Captain Chumbers instead of Abdul.
The cum flowed from Captain Chumbers’s dick so suddenly that Abdul gasped in surprise. He shot a huge load, most of which landed on Abdul’s fingers. His ass tightened again, which sent Abdul over the edge as well. He exclaimed in Turkish as he bucked atop Captain Chumbers’s expansive ass.
He shot his own load moments later, yelping and squealing when the exquisite pleasure rolled over him. He clutched at Captain Chumbers’s back and held on tight. He had never experienced such an intense orgasm, heightened this time by the awkward positioning and the difficult situation. A part of him still worried he was getting in serious trouble.
But then it was all over. They both limpened at once, and Captain Chumbers took a deep breath. He sighed. Abdul’s knees went weak, and he leaned into Captain Chumbers’s back for support.
“Get your dick outta me, sailor,” Captain Chumbers said with a growl. He no longer sounded like he enjoyed the plowing, and Abdul hurriedly pulled away. His cock popped right out.
“Sorry, uh, sir-“
“Shut up,” he said. “Make me suck my cum off your fingers, sailor.”
Abdul again hesitated, but Captain Chumbers turned around. He lowered his head until it was near Abdul’s cum-coated hand. But he stopped there, mouth open, waiting for Abdul.
It looked like Captain Chumbers was going to punish him for his delay, so Abdul hurriedly rammed his fingers in. Captain Chumbers’s mouth was so big Abdul could probably have fit his entire first in, but he didn’t. He just put his fingers in, and Captain Chumbers sucked off every drop of cum.
Then he dropped Abdul’s hand and pushed him away. Abdul breathed a sigh of relief that this was over. He pulled his pants up while Captain Chumbers put his dress uniform back on. His shirt was crooked, and Abdul fixed it for him.
“Thank you,” Captain Chumbers said. “I hope… I hope our Internet breaks again sometime.”
“Yeah me too.”
“I’ll be sure to call you.”
“Okay!” Abdul blushed. He hadn’t mean to sound so eager. “If you ever wanna…-“
“No, I don’t want to. You’re going to have to hold me down if you want to plow me again,” Captain Chumbers said. He gently rubbed Abdul’s smooth cheeks. “You look like a girl. You wouldn’t last ten minutes in the Navy.”
“Yeah… No, probably not,” Abdul said. He had never even considered joining the military.
“Get this Internet fixed,” Captain Chumbers said. “Now.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”

The Baltimore Alpha

When Elton comes home and finds a big-ass Baltimore thug waiting for him, he thought he was in for a robbery. But it turns into the most outrageous episode of twink on top yet!

Read The Baltimore Alpha as an ebook!

Or read it here in its entirety!

Elton stumbled home late at night. He had been very drunk earlier, but he stopped drinking because he struck out. He knew if he kept drinking, he’d get sleepy. He’d wind up napping in the men’s room or in the alley behind the building. That’d happened before. He wanted to stay up long enough to find a woman who wanted to come with him. So he ate bread and drank coffee, then returned to the nightclub for another few hours of dancing.
And in the end, he came home dazed, tired and alone. He had been totally unable to meet a likable woman. Or even a tolerable one. Women were positively awful these days, he thought.
“Hello.”
Elton screamed. Someone was in his apartment. He hurried to a lamp, flicked it on and then fumbled for his cell phone.
A tall thick-bodied black man in a red shirt and doo rag stood in front of Elton, frowning at him. He gently picked the cell phone out of Elton’s hand, and Elton was too surprised and drunk to hold onto it. His heart pounded in his chest, which had never felt thinner than it did now, standing next to this sculpted mountain of well-muscled meat.
“Who are you? What are you doing?” Elton asked, though the answer was obvious — this was a robber. He was robbing. He was engaged in burglary. The question was superfluous. Elton blushed.
“Yo, hush up yo’ mouth, man,” he said as though surprised and offended that Elton responded badly to his home invasion. He scoffed and placed one hand over Elton’s mouth. “I say shut yo’ mouth, man.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Elton said through the man’s hand, which tasted. Tears twinkled in Elton’s eyes as he saw visions of this gigantic gangbanger strangling him.
He shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Damn, man, all whitebois sound like absolute freaks to me,” he said. He took a deep breath. “My name is Dumphry. I ain’t gonna hurt you. I ain’t gonna rob you. That ain’t why I’m here. If I take my hand off yo’ mouth, you gonna scream?” When Elton didn’t respond right away, he added, “I’m here to give you money, man.”
“What?”
“That got yo’ attention, huh?” Dumphry said. He dropped his hand. “Look, you don’t know me, I get that. I scared ya. I’s sorry ‘bout that. I here to give you five thousand dollars and a night wit’ any of these whores.” He handed over his own cell phone, after opening up a folder of pictures. Beautiful women, mostly black, in skimpy stripper-type outfits made sexy poses in pic after pic. Elton’s heart raced too fast for him to think about what was happening.
“Okay… What?”
“You remember last week? You was that coffee shop on Lennox?”
“What? Well… Yeah, I go there a lot. I’m writing a novel. It’s about a time-traveling florist who solves crimes-“
Dumphry grunted. He put two fingers on Elton’s lips. “Nah. Never tell a black man about a novel.”
“Uh… Yes, sir, okay.” Elton winced. Why am I calling him sir?
“There were two people there too. Remembuh? A white woman and a nigga. You was checkin’ out the woman the whole damn time, eyeing her like she a steak and you a Béarnaise sauce. You remembuh her?”
“No,” Elton said. He felt like he was going to cry, especially if he got beat up for looking at this guy’s woman, which hadn’t even happened. He remembered the woman, but he didn’t remember her being attractive and he certainly never “checked her out”.
Dumphry shut his mouth and cocked his head to the side. “You denyin’ it?”
“Yeah! I deny it. Consider it denied, man.”
“Well… Fuckin’ shit,” he said. “I guess…”
“I won’t steal your girlfriend, is that what you’re worried about?” Elton said.
“She weren’t my girlfriend.”
“You weren’t even the black guy. He was different, he was more handsome, and he had a mustache.”
Dumphry frowned again, cuz that seemed to be his default response. His muscular chest rippled. He was built like a professional athlete, and he had a thick beard. Tattoos poked out from under his red shirt. A heavy gold crucifix dangled around his neck. “Don’chu ever compare another man to me and find me wanting. Nevuh.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“You was checkin’ out that girl.”
“I wasn’t! Were you there? How did you see me?”
“It’s on the security camera,” he said.
“Well, don’t hurt me! I just thought it was weird because she wasn’t cute, not really, I didn’t understand why they were together.”
“They ain’t ‘together’,” Dumphry said. “She was a cop. She is a cop.”
“Oh.”
“She was in the papers yesterday, ain’t you see that? Arrested fo’ corruption and shit.”
“Really?”
“Nothin’ important. She just let some pills get sold, that’s all. Medicine.”
“Oh, well, that’s not bad.”
“Nah. She cool and all,” he said. He ran his fingers through his beard and nervously shifted his weight on his feet. “Well, I give you five grand to say you heard ‘em talkin’ ‘bout making love. You gotta call it that. They’s in love.”
“They’re in love? Why do they need me-?”
“Look, it’s better if it’ll be a surprise. You won’t hafta act like you ain’t know what’s goin’ on,” he said. “But sooner or later, someone is gonna ask if you heard what they was talkin’ about. You don’t look like a snitch, whiteboi.”
“I’m not! I just… I don’t understand. I didn’t hear what they were saying.”
“Not good enough. Tell ‘em they’s having an affair.”
“Tell who?”
“Whoever axes, motherfucker,” he said. “You get five grand, remembuh that? Five grand and some fine pussy from the Bloods stable. Any kinda pussy you want. You want blonde? We got blonde.”
“I don’t want any pussy,” Elton said.
Dumphry paused. “Lemme call someone. Maybe I can hook you up wit’ somethin’ else,” he said. He called a number, looked down at his feet and bit his lip. “Hey. Yeah. I’m here now, wit’ him. I dunno, he ain’t say yes or no yet. I don’t think that’ll work. He weren’t checking out that bitch. Yeah.”
Elton grimaced. “I won’t snitch, I’m not like that. It’s not — I don’t, uh… premarital sex… I don’t see prostitutes.”
“He said he’s a wuss, not man enough for a whore.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Dumphry shushed him with a wave of his big meaty hand. “Uh-huh. What? No shit? What about Kinsey? Oh.” Then Dumphry made eye contact with Elton, opened his eyes wide and stumbled nervously over his words. “What?! Oh… Ok… Okay. No! I ain’t-” He closed his eyes and shook his head, then whispered, facing away from Elton. “I done… a few things, or whatever. You know… Man, nigga… Not since high school and shit. I ain’t nevuh… done all that.” Then Dumphry paused for a long time, sighed dramatically and said, “Okay. Yeah, I’ll do it. I said I’ll do it, ain’t I? Yes, I’m sure. You want a note? Fine. Yeah Later, nigga.” Another long pause. The person on the other end repeated something a few times, then Dumphry finally acknowledged it. “Yeah, I ‘ll have him write a note. One love.” The he hung up.
“Are you okay?”
“I… you a cross-dresser?”
“No.”
“Can you be? You got girl’s clothes here? That’d be easier fo’ me.”
“No,” Elton said. “What is going on?”
“My boss said I gotta do it.”
“Do what?”
“You. Or whatever, you can do me,” Dumphry said. He took off his shirt, revealing a powerful chest covered with gray and blue ink. He kept that gold crucifix on and even kissed the cross. “You gotta write a note.”
“A note?”
“My boss is named Carson. When we’re done, you gotta write him a note sayin’ I let you do whatever you want to me,” Dumphry said. He handed over a wad of bills. “And here’s that five grand.”
“So I get five grand and…?”
“You can plow me up behind if you want,” Dumphry said.
“Really?”
He blanched but nodded as he dropped his sagging jeans. “Can we get this over with?” He had on loose boxers with a big bulge in the crotch, the sight of which made Elton’s eyes bulge out. He wasn’t a sissy, but he had to admit cornholing a massively muscular black man was somehow alluring.
“I don’t wanna… ram you,” Elton said. “I mean… I’ll just do whatever you’re comfortable with.” He grabbed a note pad and started writing a note to “Carson”. He glanced up at Dumphry, who stood there in his red boxers, watching Elton with confusion in his deep-set eyes. “I’ll write a note now. You can tell Carson you did what you were supposed to.”
“Really?”
Elton nodded. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. He bit his lip. “I’m gonna look into it. If that cop-lady is accused of doing something worse than letting people sell pills, I’m not gonna tell any lies,” he said. “Tell me now, is it more than that?”
“I swear, that’s it. Speeding tickets too,” he said. “She gets us outta speeding tickets.”
“Okay, well, that’s fine,” Elton said.
“You can do… I mean… whatever,” Dumphry said. He dropped his boxers, then flopped his massive cock left and right between both hands. “I’m glad you ain’t a snitch. If you wanna mess around…”
“Why don’t we just get started? You can always say no,” Elton said. “I’ll stop. You’re like three times my size, don’t be nervous, I can’t force you into anything.” Elton felt nervous and skinny without his clothes on, next to this barrel-chested gangbanger.
His skin was too dark to blush, but Dumphry made a face like he was blushing on the inside. He nodded furtively. He winced and looked at his feet.
Elton rammed his hand into Dumphry’s crotch and held onto his cock. It was hot and sweaty, and it pulsated in Elton’s grasp.
“Aw, damn, nigga…” Dumphry’s big body flexed and rippled, all his muscles tightening at once. He trembled, then steeled his nerves as his massive cock grew hotter in Elton’s hand. Elton gave it just one stroke, and it twitched.
As his cock throbbed in Elton’s grip, Dumphry shook and moaned, like he was upset with himself for enjoying the sensation of Elton’s hand caressing his manhood. Elton was down to his own t-shirt and underwear, still feeling a little too self-conscious to get fully naked.
Instead, he used his free hand to take Dumphry’s right hand and place it in Elton’s boxers. Both of them sucked in their breaths. Dumphry was a foot taller than Elton and much heavier, so his hand was much bigger. It made Elton’s cock seem small in comparison. Dumphry winced, and his thick-fingered hand wrapped around Elton’s dick.
“Jack me off, okay?”
Dumphry’s whole body roiled as his fingers awkwardly encircled Elton’s cock. His beard trembled. His hand moved up and down on Elton’s shaft, slow and steady.
It would have been a terrible handjob, Elton thought, if it weren’t for the context and situation — but Elton loved Dumphry’s nervous, alpha-male awkwardness. His hand gingerly rubbed Elton’s dick to full erection. Elton’s knees went weak, and he would have gladly done nothing else, but knowing Dumphry would do whatever he said, Elton felt an urge to see how much he could get away with.
Pulling down both sets of boxers, Elton felt his anxiety melt away as he thwacked both dicks against each other. Seeing them together made it clear that Elton’s cock was quite a bit smaller the than Dumphry’s when soft, but once Elton got an erection, their dicks were very nearly the same size. Dumphry’s was thicker and veinier, and something about it felt right in Elton’s hand.
Both shafts got hard in Elton’s hand. Dumphry’s body was stiff and unmoving, his knees bent so his cock lined up with Elton’s much shorter body. Dumphry’s dick stayed soft, but Elton kept stroking it anyway.
When Elton strained to reach upward and place one hand on Dumphry’s shoulder, he intended to simply caress the man’s corded muscles. He rarely got the chance to feel up someone who was so strong.
But Dumphry apparently took it as a request for him to get on his knees. He winced and did so. “Damn, whiteboi…” He opened his mouth to swallow Elton’s cock, then opened his eyes too and realized that wasn’t going to work — he was so much taller that even on his knees, his mouth only lined up with Elton’s nipples. “Shit, you’s a short-ass whiteboi,” he said with a staccato laugh, like he was making an accusation.
Elton sat down on the couch, giving Dumphry a more workable angle. Elton’s dick spasmed, excited, begging for attention. Elton couldn’t believe his night had turned out like this — he struck out with every woman in Baltimore, and now he got seemingly one of the toughest thugs in the city swallowing his manhood.. Dumphry leaned forward to bury his nose in Elton’s crotch. Elton moaned even before the man’s moist tongue hit his shaft, sending spasms of pleasure up his spine.
Dumphry swallowed his dick in one smooth motion, his nose burying itself in Elton’s pubic hair. He gagged and sputtered, but didn’t slow down, even when Elton’s cock hit the back of his throat. His thick lips caressed Elton’s dick, sending droplets of drool into Elton’s shaved, smooth crotch. Dumphry’s heavy crucifix dangled, its cold metal surface bumping into Elton’s thighs as Dumphry’s head bobbed in his crotch.
He looked up at Elton, eyes watering, whether from disgust or lack of oxygen or surprised arousal, or a mixture of all three, Elton didn’t know which. He gripped Dumphry’s head and guided him up and down, gently at first, then more firmly, using Dumphry’s big-man head like a fleshlight.
And it did feel startlingly like a vagina, Elton thought. Sparks of pleasure erupting through his body, Elton stood on his toes and sucked in his breath. Sweat dappled his forehead.
“Ah, damn, Dumphry, you swallow dick good…” Elton chuckled. He felt more confident than he had since this started, maybe more confident than he had felt in years.
His tongue caressed Elton’s shaft. It was slow and hesitant at first, but became quicker the more time passed. Elton moaned, leaning back on the couch.
Elton watched Dumphry’s big round ass shake as he struggled to swallow Elton’s now throbbing cock. He couldn’t see the man’s asshole from his seat on the couch, but he could tell it was puckering at the thought of being plowed. Elton felt a rush of arousal as he realized that Dumphry was not going to tell him no — it seemed Dumphry either secretly wanted to do this or was afraid of disappointing his boss, or maybe a bit of both.
He leaned forward again and spread Dumphry’s asscheeks. He had a perfectly plump ass with nice round cheeks and a hairy crack. Elton inserted his pinkie finger, ringing the hole, while his free hand felt around for the nightstand by the couch. Inside the drawer there was a tube of lube.
He spread some of that lube on his fingers, then rubbed it into Dumphry’s ass. Dumphry arched his back at the cold feeling, but he didn’t stop working his head up and down Elton’s shaft. He gagged again as he struggled to deep-throat Elton’s smooth meat.
His cell phone rang. Dumphry picked up his phone, looked at the screen and groaned. “It’s Carson,” he said, a few tendrils of spit connecting his thick lips to Elton’s cock. Dumphry wiped his face off and answered the phone. “Yo. I’m doin’ it now.” He sighed. “Fine…” He switched the phone to speaker. “Okay, you’re on, Carson.”
Yo, whiteboi, you there?
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Whatchoo doin’ right now?
“I’m, uh, getting dome from Dumphry while I finger his ass,” Elton said.
Good. He give good dome? Carson chuckled throatily.
“Yeah. He’s doing great,” Elton said, his voice gaspy cuz his dick was still throbbing with sensations, though Dumphry was standing there like a naked lump of clay.
Lemme tell you, this nigga Dumphry be fuckin’ up left and right. You into anything kinky that don’t require a woman?
“Not really…”
That’s a pity. If you wanna whup him or somethin’, you go ahead. Make him drink peepee if you want.
“Carson! Come on, nigga!” Dumphry said. “Don’t tell a white man to whup me!”
I thought you was swallowin’ dick, nigga? Why ain’t yo’ mouth full?
“Sorry, man…” Dumphry went back to his knees. He held onto Elton’s dick but didn’t stroke it or put his mouth on it.
Lemme hear it. Put the phone near that nigga mouth, Mistuh White Man..
Elton did as he was told. Pleasure wracked his body again as Dumphry resumed deep-throating him. He wrinkled his nose and subdued a gag. Dumphry his arm across his belly like to keep the gags in. His lips spread around it, like he was hoping it wouldn’t come into contact with his lips or tongue.
Make it noisy, nigga.
Dumphry started gurgling, suckling loudly. Carson cackled and either clapped or slapped his thigh, maybe both. Moist sounds emanated from Dumphry’s mouth, and clods of saliva slipped down Elton’s shaft.
Hey Mistuh White Man, is his dick hard?
Elton had to peer underneath his body to check. “No,” he said.
Carson sounded surprised. Lemme hear that finger in his ass too.
“You know I can record it,” Elton said. “You can watch the whole thing-“
No! I don’t wanna watch that shit! Just lemme hear it.
Elton fumbled with using one hand to hold the phone in place, while the other continued to finger him. It made a moist penetration sound, but it wasn’t very loud.
I ain’t hear him beggin’ for you to stop.
“Well… You said I could do whatever I wanted with him, right? I’m not tryin’ to torture him. I just put my pinkie finger in there.”
You don’t understand. He been fuckin’ up-
“Then you finger him, Carson!” Elton said. “You want me to do it, I’ll do it my own way.”
There was a long silence, then Carson burst into deep-chested barrel laughter. I like you, Mistuh White Man. You got balls. He got balls, Dumphry? Huh? Huh?
“Yeah, nigga, he got balls,” Dumphry croaked, his mouth full of saliva and precum.
Lemme hear you suck on ‘em.
Lowering his head, Dumphry gagged as soon as Elton’s moist sac slipped past his lips. His coarse beard scratched at Elton’s shaft and thighs, which would have been uncomfortable if this entire scenario weren’t so sexy. Dumphry had to really stoop, nearly laying on the ground, to get his face under Elton’s balls.
Sounds like some nice ripe balls, Dumphry. How they taste? Huh? You can take a break to answer.
“They taste like sweaty balls, Carson!” he snapped, then gagged so hard and so suddenly it seemed to surprise Dumphry himself.
Elton stood. He wanted to take control of the situation, so he withdrew his finger from Dumphry’s ass, stood up and got behind him. Dumphry was still on all fours, his thick ass trembling in the air. “I’m gonna plow him now, Carson. You wanna listen to that too?”
Yeah. Put the phone on the small of his back, Mistuh White Man.
Elton did as he was told. He put the phone on Dumphry’s rumbling back, and he massaged the man’s broad muscles as he worked his dick between those tight cheeks. His back muscles rippled, and his asscheeks jiggled. Dumpy clenched his mouth shut.
As soon as the tip pushed in, Dumphry lifted his head up and let out a low, slow growl. Elton felt unimaginable pleasure suffusing his system, his dick squeezing in to that muscular ass.
You regrettin’ bein’ mouthy wit’ me, Dumphry?
“Yes, Carson! I weren’t bein’ mouthy wit’ you anyways! You just a fuckin’ control freak ‘nd shit!”
You gettin’ mouthy again. go up him harder, Mistuh White Man. Make ‘im cry.
“Carson… I’m hanging up the phone now,” Elton said. He picked up the phone as his dick squeezed a little further in. Dumphry moaned loudly, in a mixture of pleasure and pain, or maybe just pain but he was showing off for Carson’s benefit.
You got spunk, Mistuh White Man. You wanna sling dope fo’ me-?
Elton hung up the phone before he finished his question. He threw the phone onto the couch near where Dumphry buried his head in the cushions. Then Elton could really get to ramming, forcing the rest of his dick into those broad cheeks. That sent a wave of sensations through Elton’s petite frame.
Dumphry’s muscles flexed all together, as though it required every muscle group to take cock in his ass. He bit his lip and grunted, hooting and howling — he must have been holding back on making noise because he didn’t want to give Carson the satisfaction of knowing how intense this was.
“Hey, uh… man,” Dumphry said, his voice nervous and pinched. “Will you… gimme a reacharound? I’d feel bettuh ’bout this if I got a reacharound. My uncle always said-” He paused for a moment to wince in pain. He looked at his ass, then looked away. “My uncle is always said a man don’t lose face so long as he get a reacharound outta it. He was a Marine though, you know how they is…”
Elton was so overwhelmed by his pleasure that he didn’t understand those words at first. Then he shivered with delight as he realized Dumphry had become rock-hard since Elton penetrated him — he must enjoy prostate stimulation.
He reached around Dumphry’s body and gave his dick a squeeze. His manhood was like an iron rod, and Elton felt his orgasm roiling already within the veiny meat of his cockshaft. With every thrust of Elton’s dick past his prostate, Dumphry moaned and vibrated, muscles trembling as his orgasm approached.
“Oh god, yes!”
Then Elton’s climax overwhelmed him. Intense bliss washed over him, and Elton’s spine arched. He gripped Dumphry’s broad back with his free hand, while Dumphry’s cock spasmed. Precum leaked copiously down Elton’s hand.
A jolt of cum sprayed within Dumphry’s ass, which clenched around Elton’s cock. At the same moment, Dumphry shot his own wad into Elton’s hand, as though he had been triggered by creamy cum striking his prostate.
As unimaginable pleasure moved through both their body, Elton felt up his own nipples. It was like the climax moved in waves between them, from Elton’s dick to Dumphry’s ass to Dumphry’s dick to Elton’s hand and back through the cycle all over again. They both writhed, Dumphry’s muscles contorting beneath Elton’s tender grasp.
Then it was all over. Elton stayed there for a moment, his dick limpening inside Dumphry, who remained still. His big chest heaved, back dappled with sweat above those gangbanger tats.
Elton pulled out, but left his moist dick there wedged in Dumphry’s asscrack. He had always loved it when a top did that after sex, though he wasn’t sure if a straight boy like Dumphry would like it so much. He let his dick marinate there in the mess of fluids that leaked out Dumphry’s hole.
“Lemme taste my nut,” Dumphry murmured. “I always wanted to taste it, but I guess there ain’t no better time than now.”
Much to his surprise, Dumphry grabbed Elton’s hand, the one that had been stroking Dumphry off, and licked the fingertips. He gagged profusely at the taste of his own cum, but he licked every inch of Elton’s hand clean. Cum stuck to his lips and his kinky-haired beard.
They remained there for a long time. Elton had no idea how long. It only ended when the phone buzzed again.
Dumphry roared in frustration, picked it up and grunted. He handed the phone to Elton. “He want you to take a picture of my ass wit’ yo’ cum dripping from it,” he said.
Elton laughed as he did so. It was a beautiful sight, and he made sure to send himself a copy as well. A minute or two later, Carson sent a smiley-face back.
Elton sat on the couch and kissed Dumphry on the lips. He was awkward at first, somehow both limp and stiff at once, but then he pushed his tongue into Elton’s mouth and kissed back.
“I hope that wasn’t so bad,” Elton said when they dislipped.
Dumphry shrugged and took a deep breath, like he was glad it was over even if it had been exhilarating while it happened. “It was okay. I’m gonna tell Carson I hated it. I’m gonna tell him I begged you to stop,” he said. “If I tell him it was okay, he’ll make me do it again. He’ll make the whole crew gangbang me.”
“Sounds like kind of a prick.”
“Yeah,” Dumphry said. “He is.” He stood up and stretched his sore legs. He winced as he put his clothes back on, tucking that massive slab of mandingo meat back in his sagging shorts. “You’ll say what I told you to say? ‘Bout that cop in the coffee shop?”
“Of course,” Elton said.
“Okay. Hey, whiteboi… I might come back and see you again. That okay?”
Elton smiled and patted Dumphry on the back. “I look forward to that, and I’ll try to keep witnessing crimes for you.”

The Apia Alpha

When Lance goes through a bad breakup, he never thought his neighbor the Samoan rugby player would console him like this! That’s because Poahi wants to explore the world of twink on top!

Read The Apia Alpha as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Lance had smoked weed a few times but not often, and he had never enjoyed it. It sometimes gives him a headache, and sometimes he doesn’t even get really stoned, just sleepy. It just wasn’t his bag. He never sought it out until today.
And even that was only because he was upset. His girlfriend dumped him, completely out of the blue. Lance cried himself to sleep as he wondered if he’d be forever truly alone. In the morning, he woke up and immediately decided he wanted to get high. Maybe that, he thought, would put him in a good mood. It helped that his only easy source of weed was smoking with his neighbor, which had its perks.
Lance’s neighbor was a massively muscular man with an excellent physique that Lance often admired. He was Poahi, a Samoan immigrant who had played professional rugby for half a season before getting kicked off the team for failing a drug test — rugby fans called him the “Titan of Apia”, referring to the capital city of Samoa. Poahi didn’t care, it seemed, rugby was his ticket to an American work visa, which he now had and could use. Now that he was here, he had little need for rugby. He was nearly seven feet tall, brimming with muscle and swagger. But he wasn’t cocky at all, he was just confident in his body and his masculinity, and he was stoned all the time.
That was not an exaggeration. Lance smelled weed wafting into his apartment from next-door about twenty minutes after Poahi first moved in. He literally hadn’t moved anything in besides his bong and a lighter. He was taking bong hits before he had a chair to sit in.
And now for the first time in his life, Lance wanted to join him in that.
He wondered if that was a sign of a burgeoning addiction, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel better. That was why, this morning, he waited to hear the sounds of Poahi getting up — he always had a cup of tea first thing in the morning, and Lance could hear his kettle whistle.
When he heard that shrill whistle, Lance went over and knocked on the door.
“Hey, hā, mate,” Poahi said, bleary-eyed from his early morning rise (it was nine o’clock, which for Poahi was very early). He wore nothing but a pair of shorts and sandals, his gigantic chest heaving as he drank coconut milk from the carton. A few driblets of coconut milk ran down his powerful torso. He was nearly seven feet tall, so Lance had to crane his neck to make eye contact with him.
“Suzanne dumped me!” Lance hadn’t meant to blurt that out and come across as an overly emotional weakling.
Poahi was definitely uncomfortable. He ran his fingers through his thick curly hair, which he let grow into an unmanageably dense Polynesian-afro. He frowned, his jovial brownness suddenly awkward and tense. But despite his obvious desire to get away from this conversation, he did submit to listening as Lance explained — in entirely too many words — the entire course of his relationship with Suzanne, which had ended badly yesterday. Poahi acted as though this was the first time he’d heard of Suzanne, which was incorrect. His memory was subpar.
“And so apparently she was still mad about all that stupid bullshit drama from like a year ago!”
“Oh, uh, wow, I’m sorry to hear that. Shitty as, mate,” Poahi said. His lilting accent was deep and resonant, rumbling on account of his huge body and low voice. He had that typical alpha-male reluctance to acknowledge any feelings, so he stood awkwardly in his doorway. He leaned against the threshold clutching a now-empty carton of coconut milk in his hand. It was a huge bottle, but since his hand was so big it looked miniature to Lance’s eyes.
“I was just… I could use some weed,” Lance said. “I don’t feel like getting a prescription. And I’ll probably just do it one time, just today, so there’s no point in buying a bong myself or anything.”
“Oh, you want some weed?” He sounded a little unsure, like he didn’t want to give it up.
“I, uh… I’ll pay for it,” he said. “And I’d like you to show me how. I mean, I know sort of. But not really.”
Poahi nodded and shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Come on in. I was just about to wake-and-bake, mate.”
He had a typical bachelor apartment. His clothes were scattered over the floor — and they were huge clothes since he was a giant, so they took up a lot of space. His living room was dominated by a weight set, which smelled of sweat, and the zesty funk of it made Lance aroused. Lance adored the male form, and Poahi’s form was highly appreciable. Poahi had to stoop to fit his bigness through the doorway, and his body was so broad he barely fit in his kitchen.
As Poahi finished putting together his breakfast in the kitchen, Lance told him all about the breakup. It didn’t sound like Poahi was listening, but it felt good to say it all out loud regardless. Verbalizing problems had a way of putting them in perspective.
Poahi ate five eggs and six links of sausage for breakfast, and he finished another entire bottle of coconut milk. He ate like an athlete too, shoveling food in his mouth as though it was going to escape if he didn’t eat quickly. He smacked his lips and chewed with his mouth open, snorting as he swallowed like a feral hog, as though it took every muscle in his cavernous body to eat. He listened — or pretended to listen — as Lance told him stories of the better times between him and Suzanne.
When Poahi was done eating, he looked significantly more awake and less bleary-eyed. He sat down on his ratty old couch, tossing an enormous pair of jeans aside to make room for himself. He grabbed a tall green glass bong, which was shaped like a dancing hula lady.
He pointed to the hitter, which was still packed up from the night before. “Okay, you light this bit right here as you inhale from the bong part, then when your lungs are starting to feel full, put the lighter down and pull the stem out — that’s what you call this bit, the stem — and inhale the last of the smoke that’s in the shaft.” He demonstrated. It looked simple when he did it.
Lance shivered with sexual tension. He was horny because of the recent breakup and because Poahi’s physique was in even condition than usual today. He looked like he had recently gotten a pump on, even though he just got up moments ago. The fluid movement of his muscles as he inhaled was arousing, as though it took every ounce of strength he had to light and inhale from the bong. He pursed his lips as he took his bong hit, like he was kissing the smoke inside the bong.
He passed the bong to Lance, holding the breath in his lungs for what felt like a long time — maybe normal for such a big man, but it sure seemed incredible to Lance. The fragrant smell of weed filled the room when he finally exhaled. A long puff of smoke filled the air.
Lance had taken precisely one bong hit in his life before this. He had embarrassed himself at a party by not knowing how to do it many years before. But he had seen it a million times since then, mainly when visiting Suzanne’s brother, who was a daily smoker. Suzanne loved her brother hated weed, which was why they had never partaken together.
He coughed before taking the bong away from his mouth, which meant he spewed bong water through the stem. It sprayed over the multi-stained couch.
“Whoah, party foul, mate,” Poahi said, though he didn’t really seem all that concerned. “Take a small hit, since it is your first time and you are small.” He held up his hand with two of his fingers about a half-inch apart.
Astringent tears twinkled in Lance’s eyes — this weed was much harsher than that bong hit he had taken before, and it was way stronger than the handful of joints he had smoked with a former girlfriend. The taste was acrid and intense.
But it wasn’t bad. It hurt his lungs, but he did feel a mental lightening.
Lance tried again, this time barely lighting the weed for a second before pulling the lighter away. He managed to finish the hit, and he got a lungful of smoke. He sighed as he exhaled. This one was much smoother, smaller, less painful. He felt like he manipulated the bong correctly.
“Hold the smoke in as long as you can,” Poahi said, taking the bong back from him. He emptied the hitter and packed it up. As he did, he smiled at Lance’s watery eyes and pained expression. “That hurt, man?”
“A bit.”
“Good. That means you will get real high,” Poahi said in his pitchy Samoan accent. “It’ll make you forget all about that Suzanne, mate. Fuck her.”
Lance burst into a sob that he tried to hold back a sob, and he blushed. He really wasn’t crying because he was so emotional, it was mainly the weed in his eyes and the potent smoke still in his lungs, though the reminder of the breakup didn’t help. But it must have looked to Poahi like he had made Lance cry.
“Oh, sorry, mate. I should not have said anything.”
“No, no problem, it’s okay,” Lance said. “I don’t even really care, not really. I was thinking about dumping her anyway. I just feel like an idiot for not realizing this was coming. Have you ever felt like that?”
Poahi shook his head as he took a hit. Then, with his lungs still full, his voice deep yet nasal, he said, “I have never been dumped, not by a serious girlfriend or anything.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Only person who ever dumped me and made me cry was… well, I was young then.”
“High school sweetheart?” Lance took the bong and lit it. This time his hit was much more practiced and fluid, and he coughed, but wasn’t in a lot of pain. It didn’t look so amateurish.
“Sort of. I was in school, back in Apia. She wasn’t, she was older,” Poahi said. He paused as though there was more to the story that he wasn’t saying.
“Did you love her?”
“No,” he said as though the answer should have been obvious. “She was… A lot of the guys in my school rammed her.”
“Ah. So she was kind of a slut?”
He shrugged. “I guess so. It wasn’t like that. She was…” Poahi sighed. “She was a fa’afinafe.”
“… What?”
“It’s a Samoan thing. She was a, well… We call her a woman. But she was really a man,” he said as he exhaled. “She was…”
“A man who lived as a woman?”
“Yeah. We call them fa’afafine. Her name was Kekepovi, and I felt alofa for her,” Poahi said. “Do not tell no one, okay? Only Polys understand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Nobody knows how to make a cock feel better than someone who has one,” Lance said. He declined his next bong hit, as his head was already swimming. He smiled. He felt much better now, and the breakup felt like the distant past.
“Hell yeah.” Poahi took one more big hit to finish the weed off in the stem, then put the bong down. “Can I tell you a secret? Something not even other Polys understand?”
“Okay.”
Poahi exhaled a huge plume of bluish smoke. He sighed with satisfaction. “Uh… She jerked me off a lot. And I put it in her ass.”
“Okay… That’s kinda what I assumed happened.”
“But that is not all. She…” He blushed and averted his eyes.
“She plowed you too?”
He winced. “Don’t put it like that.”
“Oh, sorry. I mean… she made love to you too.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Bloody hell, don’t put it like that either.”
“Sorry.”
“But yeah,” he shifted his weight on his couch.
“I know.”
“But it wasn’t bad.”
“Poahi… Do you want to do it again?” Lance asked. He didn’t really think too much about the question, he just saw an opportunity and went for it. He assumed Poahi was going to say no, and Lance was all set to pretend he had just been kidding.
But then Poahi did not say no.
There was a long pause. Poahi blushed and looked away, more bashful than Lance had ever seen him. He put down the bong and the lighter.
“I, uh… Just cuz you are so upset over the breakup,” Poahi said. “And you are so small, like she was. She was little too. Sorry, I mean… You are-” He snorted and pulled his shorts down without another word, revealing a huge cock, thick and jiggly with fat. It was uncut and veiny. “I never say no to starting the day with a nut.” A long throaty chuckle came outta his mouth.
Lance dropped to his knees, wanting to get started before Poahi changed his mind. Guys with a physique like Poahi never backed out once they got hard, he knew that from experience. He kissed the tip of Poahi’s cock, which instantly twitched against his lips.
“Aaah, yes, mate…” Poahi grumbled, and his bare chest muscles rippled. As Lance slurped on the tip of his dick, Poahi picked up his bong and took a long deep hit.
When he exhaled, letting out a long plume of smoke like a train engine, Lance licked a trail from the tip to the root of Poahi’s manhood. The taste was sunny and musty at the same time, reeking of Poahi’s unwashed manhood and his ratty old bachelor sheets.
“Ah, yeah…”
His dick twitched and swelled to attention beneath Lance’s lips, as Lance sent his hands creeping up Poahi’s bare chest to those gigantic, rugby-toned pecs, each one the size of volleyballs. His nipples puckered at his touch. His flesh was firm as rocks beneath his smooth skin.
Poahi leaned back on the couch and groaned, still holding the bong in one hand and his lighter in the other. He spread his legs so Lance could crawl between them. Poahi was so tall that the couch was awkward for him, and his ass barely fit on the cushion at all. Most of his chest and back extended above the back of the couch, and his knees angled up like he was in a booster seat.
His tongue slurping down Poahi’s fat, throbbing shaft, Lance moved lower and lower. He teased the root of Poahi’s sweaty cock. Then Lance let both of his big sweaty balls fall into his mouth, and he suckled loudly on them. He wasn’t entirely sure what Poahi was agreeing to, so Lance took it slow as he removed his own clothes. Poahi either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Did Poahi really mean it when he said “she” plowed him up the ass? That didn’t sound right. Maybe it was a translation problem, Lance thought, maybe that meant something different in Samoan.
But he wasn’t going to tempt fate by asking. Poahi had a marvelous manhood, and Lance was willing to do whatever with it that Poahi would agree to.
“Come on, let us sixty-nine,” Poahi said, sliding to lay on his back on the couch. He didn’t even come close to fitting — the entire length of his legs were raised to drape over the foot of the couch, and his head was still jammed up against the other end. It didn’t look particularly comfortable for him, but then he was so tall, he was probably used to furniture not fitting him, Lance thought as he climbed aboard the man’s mountainous chest. His muscles rippled beneath Lance’s body.
Lance giggled. “Uh… You were with that fay-aff-in-a-ffay when you were a lot shorter, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” Poahi said, realizing the problem — Lance was much too short to sixty-nine with Poahi. If Lance jerked Poahi’s cock, his own crotch would be above Poahi’s chest, lower than the nipples even, nowhere’s near close enough for Poahi to touch his dick.
But Lance thought it would be fun to try — he did want to swallow Poahi’s cock some more, and this would be a good first step to getting his dick in Poahi’s mouth, he thought. Poahi could get comfortable touching dick without having to really do much with it.
He mounted Poahi’s broad chest and took the tip of his cock in his mouth. Lance played with the head as he ground his cock between Poahi’s cavernous pecs. He let his spit dribble down Poahi’s long manhood, which was even bigger than it looked. It smelled of coconut and sea salt, and Lance’s mouth watered as he sucked it down as deep as he could get.
“Hmmm…”
Poahi growled and smacked his ass. He let his pinkie finger travel between Lance’s cheeks until it pushed into his asshole. Lance bent his back and moaned. His finger felt so good inside Lance that he was unable to focus on swallowing dick, so he just flopped its shaft against his face and panting tongue.
When Poahi spread his legs a bit and scooted his ass far as it would go to bare his hole, Lance got the impression he wanted Lance to finger his ass as well, but was too embarrassed to say it. So Lance didn’t stop licking on that massive meat as he crept his finger between Poahi’s sweaty thighs and past his hairy taint. His massive legs raised like wind turbines above Lance, who slurped spit all up and down Poahi’s shaft and his hefty ballsac.
Poahi had to lift his hips up a bit, but soon Lance was able to get his own index finger in the hole. As soon as he did, Poahi grunted and arched his back. Lance gripped both sides of his broad barrel belly as he jerked on that veiny brown shaft. Poahi’s ass was so thick and broad that Lance’s entire wrist fit between his cheeks just to get the tip of his finger in his hole.
“Uh, yeah, mate, that’s nice as…” Poahi said, his chest muscles quivering. Lance leaked precum between those meaty pecs, which he humped slowly — titty-fucking him, in a sense, Lance thought. Poahi actually had enough pec muscle that Lance could sort of do that.
It reminded him of Suzanne though, so Lance didn’t say anything. She fingered his ass too. He was into that, and she was willing to put up with it. She pretended she liked it, but she didn’t really like anything sexual. Lance was pretty sure she was asexual and was just willing to put up with sex if it was necessary. That was why she was willing to do most anything — none of it was any more or less appealing to her, so she might as well agree to whatever Lance wanted to do. What Lance wanted to do was have a woman who wanted to have sex.
And he wanted a man with a physique like Poahi on the side. Or in the relationship even! Lance didn’t care, he was fine with polyamory. But he worked for a staid accounting firm. It would be scandalous for him to do anything that wasn’t passionless penis-in-vagina sex, horizontal, in a bed with the lights off at night.
Lance and Poahi both lay there fingering each other. Lance writhed above the towering Polynesian’s body, which was big enough he could explore it for hours. He had had a six-pack when he was a professional athlete, but he wasn’t in training right now, so he had just a hint of flab over his otherwise flat belly. That was just enough for Lance, who didn’t like his men too chiseled. A physique was better when it had some heft to it.
It was apparent that Poahi liked prostate play more than Lance would have guessed. He gasped and grunted as he spread his own cheeks to help Lance get in there. When he tasted precum, Lance knew it was time to try something else before Poahi shot his load. Lance pulled off him and stood.
Much to his surprise, Poahi leaned off the couch, took Lance’s cock in hand and licked it. He winced and gagged a little but didn’t slow down as he deep-throated. He had a nice, loose throat that easily swallowed every inch of Lance’s meat. He showed no reaction as he gulped it down, sending a wave of pleasure up Lance’s spine. Poahi’s nose nuzzled Lance’s crotch.
“Oh, damn, Poahi, you really did learn a lot from that, f’af’a… f’affinafe?…”
“Fa’afafine.” He pulled off, still showing no reaction, even as his mouth overflowed with spit and the goopy cream of Lance’s precum.
Lance had intended to sit on his dick, but after Poahi returned to sucking down Lance’s cock, Poahi got off the couch. He had to stoop all the way down until he was nearly laying on the floor to line his mouth up with Lance’s dick. Lance gripped his rippling shoulder muscles as his knees went weak, bliss rushing up his body and his face blushed bright red.
But then Poahi pulled away and turned around, splaying his legs apart and spreading his asscheeks with both hands. Lance’s heart pounded as he realized he was going to get to plow Poahi.
That was not a mistranslation. That was what Poahi wanted. Lance’s eyes bugged out, already on the verge of orgasm.
“Stick it in me, mate…”
Lance pushed the tip of his dick in, and he sighed as warmth suffused his body. He couldn’t believe his luck in getting this gigantic bear, so soon after getting his heart broken. Poahi was tight and his whole body shook as Lance penetrated him.
His asshole was warm and tight, and it squeezed Lance’s manhood. Both of them gasped. Lance felt exquisite sensations wracking his body, and it took all of his concentration not to cum alredy.
He gasped and said something in Samoan as Lance began pushing his dick in and out. Again, Poahi’s size worked to his advantage — he simply had a large enough asshole that it didn’t seem to hurt all that much. His broad cheeks jiggled with each thrust of Lance’s dick. Poahi moaned, a low, deep sound — he was trying to keep his voice quiet, but he was the kind of person who had no whisper, not even when he was moaning.
Lance’s hands crept around Poahi’s body. He had to strain to reach Poahi’s crotch due to the man’s enormous size, but as soon as he did, Poahi twitched. His cock oozed precum in Lance’s grip.
Poahi’s back bucked as intense pleasure ran up his spine, and Lance ran his finger along to match the pre-orgasmic bliss. Lance kissed his muscles as he worked the last of his dick in, pushing it in and out.
They were moving in sync now. Poahi lost all of his alpha-male awkwardity, and his body writhed along with Lance’s gyrations. It felt like a comical mismatch, Lance thought, since Poahi was preposterously huge in comparison with him. Even on his knees, Poahi had to stoop and Lance had to stretch on his toes to get his cock in Poahi’s ass.
But the awkwardity of the positioning didn’t slow Lance down any. He grunted along with Poahi as they both reached orgasm at once.
Cum sprayed over Lance’s fingers and onto the couch beneath Poahi’s spasming body. Meanwhile Lance’s own load filled up Poahi’s ass with his creamy goodness. Poahi again said something in Samoan, an outpouring of vowels and sonorants that echoed in his small apartment.
Poahi’s muscles tensed and flexed all at once, the intricate agate-colored lines tattooed over his biceps and half of his torso rippling as he contorted. He groaned and bit his lip. Lance kneaded the meaty flesh of his chest.
“Yeah, mate…”
Lance sighed and pulled out. He used his thumb to rub Poahi’s sensitive rim, pushing the cum back in when it started to ooze out. With every centimeter he inserted, Poahi flopped over the couch and gripped the cushion. His coconut-colored skin writhed, sweat dappling his forehead and neck.
“Ah, god, fa’afetai, that was even better than before,” Poahi said. Then he blushed and said quickly, “I mean… I hope you feel better now, about the breakup.” Poahi sighed and leaned back. Lance kissed each of his nipples, and Poahi again bucked. He leaned up to kiss Lance on the lips.
“Thanks, Poahi. I really do,” Lance said.

The Santa Monica Alpha

Moshe’s violin concert ends on a surprising note, when a massive alpha cholo comes to him with an unusual request… Sazonito wants to explore the exciting world of twink on top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Moshe Katz always meditated after a concert. The actual performance was so nervewracking that he needed a release or he’d remain wired, unable to sleep, for hours afterwards. He’d be jittery untol the morning. His shows were not huge — he was as big of a star as existed in the classical piano scene, but that was not saying much. The audience was just big enough to be scary and anxiety-provoking, and it was made even worse tonight because the Israeli Minister of Cultural Development was in attendance here in Santa Monica.
There was a knock on his dressing room door. Moshe sighed. He had requested not to be bothered after a concert. He told everyone that. He was almost done with his half hour of meditation, but he still had two minutes left. He got such little time to himself, he was jealous to maintain it. He even considered ignoring the knock for two minutes, but whoever it was kept knocking.
Ignoring the knock would seem petty and rude, he decided. He was petty and rude, so he tried to hide it when he could. It might have been a fan anyway.
Yes, a classical pianist has fans. He has a Facebook group! Almost two thousand subscribers!
When he opened the door, he had to suppress a yelp. His eyes bugged up. Standing in front of him was a tall Latino man with the staggering body of a football player, crammed into an ill-fitting suit made of mismatched parts. Cholo tattoos crept up his neck, barely visible behind the suit. He had the macho air of a gangster, and Moshe’s heart leapt into his chest.
“Yo, hombre, Meester Katz, señor,” he said, narrowing his eyes as though to size Moshe up.
Moshe forced on a smile. “Please, call me, Moshe, sir.” He hoped that didn’t sound rude. This man was making him both scared and aroused — he looked like a thug, a vato, a murderer or extortionist, maybe, what Moshe would have called in Hebrew a בִּריוֹן. Moshe knew the type well from his native Israel — this was simply some Mexican-American variant of it. He was only vaguely aware of the word cholo, but he knew this man was one. He also knew security was just around the corner, and Moshe’s mind told him to yell for help. But the man was also a big burly-bear type who looked like he hadn’t worn a suit since high school prom, if he even was still in school then. His slacks were slung low, pristine sneakers poking out from the oversized trouser-legs.
As a long-time connoisseur of the male form, the stranger’s powerhouse body allured and intrigued Moshe.
“Moshe,” the man said, with some difficulty. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Yo, hombre… I… I gotta say, I ain’t come here tonight cuz I thought I wuz gonna like yu’ music, yo.”
“I see…” Moshe said, though he very much did not. The man’s face was tight, tense, and fearful, like he struggled to put into words what he wanted to say — or perhaps he just struggled to find the English words. Moshe didn’t know whether this guy was going to rob him, burst into tears or plow him, but Moshe felt sure it was going to be at least one of those things, maybe all three at once.
“I’s just here, hombre, cuz I need a alibi, right? I need everyone to know I weren’t at this other place somewhere else, cuz I know the polizontes is gonna think I was there,” he said. “But I’m here. My… boss, he said to come here. To see you. Mess wit’ my parole officer’s head. Gonna flip his lid when he find out I ain’t lying ‘bout where I was.” He laughed dryly. Then he blinked his eyes. “But yo’ music, esé… It was… special to me. I dunno how to say it. It moved me, hombre.”
“Oh, okay… That’s, uh… amazing. Flattering. Thank you, uh… I’m sorry, your name is-“
“You can call me Sazonito,” he said. He pushed into the room and let the door shut behind himself. “You are… a sissy, right?” He whispered as though it was a secret.
Moshe nodded, heart pounding. Was this burly vato about to let him jerk him off? That was the impression Moshe got from the aroused look in the man’s eye. What did Sazonito mean in Spanish? Moshe didn’t know. He had a feeling it was not a name though.
“I feel like… you and me, we had a close connection when you was playing. I been alone along time, Moshe,” he said, again struggling to say the name in his thick accent. “I wanna taste. I want you to fill me up wit’cho manhood. Please, esé. I wanna feel you inside me. You gots a beautiful soul, hombre.”
“Oh… You want me to plow you?” Moshe asked, certain that this was just a language barrier. Gigantic macho bulls like Sazonito didn’t let themselves get plowed by tiny Jewish twinks like Moshe.
But he couldn’t deny that Sazonito knelt down and kissed Moshe as passionately and intensely as any woman ever had or could. It was also clear that Sazonito was uncomfortable with it and had either never done it before or maybe never done it willingly. He hesitated as he kissed, like his body fought against himself to do it.
His lips were thick and plump, the surface a bit dry and chapped but not grossly so. His massive arms wrapped around Moshe’s body and held him close. He was so much taller and thicker than the notably tiny Moshe that Moshe felt like a little boy being hugged by his daddy. He reeked of cheap cologne covering up the intense musk emanating from his armpits and his sweat-soaked back.
“Uh… Sazonito…?” Moshe pulled away. This time it was his body’s turn to fight it — he wanted nothing more than to do whatever this massive hulking brute demanded, but Moshe’s instincts said to either run away, surrender or get on his knees and jerk Sazonito off rather than the other way around.
“What? Please plow me…” He sounded like he was near tears.
“Are you… sure?”
He hung his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged his tuxedo jacket off, and it fell on the floor. “I was in prison for six years. They just let me out last week, esé. I… I wanted to try it in there, but I can’t lose face. I would be disrespected. I want to feel your cock inside me. I want to pretend I love you.”
Well, that was pretty clear, Moshe thought, Sazonito is certain he wants to do this. No more ambiguity about his intentions.
Yet Moshe still felt sure a catch was going to come up sooner or later. Was he an undercover cop? What would be the point of that — he wasn’t proposing anything illegal. Was this all a trick to do with that alibi he had wanted to establish? But simply coming to the concert in front of all those witnesses and cameras would be enough. Jerking someone off in secret wouldn’t make the alibi more convincing.
And he was here. Whatever was going on somewhere else, Sazonito wasn’t there. He was here. That was not a trick. Moshe stared in disbelief as Sazonito removed his clothes. He carefully folded up his suit — which he had obviously made by purchasing cast-offs from a thrift shop — and placed it on the chair in Moshe’s dressing room.
His tattiied chest was even bigger and sexier than Moshe had imagined, brimming with power that Moshe could feel radiating off it. He was more aroused at the sight of Sazonito’s naked body than he ever had been before. It might not have been his usual cup of tea, but Moshe intended to guzzle every drop of it.
“Déjame probar su polla…”
Sazonito was inked all over with tattoos and scars. Since tattoos were forbidden under Jewish law, Moshe had rarely seen any in person. He had never seen a naked man with numerous tattoos covering nearly every inch of his body. A lot of them appeared to be amateurish, perhaps done in prison. Scars, seemingly from knives or perhaps bullets or taser prongs, dotted his muscles, which bulged as though they were going to burst out of his skin.
Keeping eye contact with Moshe, Sazonito sunk to his knees as he dropped his prison-issued boxers to the ground. His long cock was uncut, dangling limp and meaty between his legs. That was another part of Sazonito’s physique that was new to Moshe — his uncircumized cock. Moshe had never seen a foreskin up close and personal.
Moshe instinctively wanted to get on his knees as well, because Sazonito’s cock was fat and juicy, and it was already stirring with the beginnings of an erection. Yet much to his surprise, Sazonito really did want to take that place, kneeling afronta Moshe.
Still certain the rug was about to be pulled out from under him, Moshe was so distracted he hadn’t even started to undress himself. Sazonito’s thick fingers fumbled with Moshe’s designer slacks, dropping them to his ankles, which was enough to wake Moshe from his fugue. He quickly took off his own shirt and tie while Moshe pulled his underwear down as well.
Was this really happening? Was it a dream? Moshe still wasn’t sure this wasn’t a trick. But if so, Sazonito was taking it all the way.
“Te ves tan sabrosa…”
He picked up Moshe’s dick and smelled it like he was checking to see if it was ripe, then he wrinkled his nose as though he wasn’t sure. That didn’t stop him though, he opened his mouth and swallowed it as deep as he could. Sazonito’s eyes widened, and he paused for a moment like he was holding back a choke.
Nothing happened though. Moshe was still so shocked he didn’t even feel anything at first, then the sensation of Sazonito’s warm mouth and moist tongue sent ripples of pleasure through Moshe’s body. His cock rapidly swelled to full tumescence, and it poked into Sazonito’s throat.
Moshe wasn’t small in the cock department, so Sazonito’s unpracticed mouth didn’t manage to deep-throat the whole thing. He let out a loud retching sound, which Moshe couldn’t quite interpret — was he suppressing a gag or pushing back a moan of desire? Maybe both?
This was all happening so fast. Moshe’s knees went weak as his dick went hard. His hands fumbled — he was too nervous to actually grab Sazonito, who seemed too frightening to touch. Moshe’s instinctive mind worried he wouldn’t let a little Jewish man touch him, so Moshe’s hands hovered above Sazonito’s head.
Sazonito was so much larger than Moshe that he had to stoop way over to swallow his cock. It felt like Sazonito took up the entire dressing room, and Moshe just inhabited a tiny corner of it. As his dick throbbed in Sazonito’s mouth, Moshe moaned exquisitely.
“I, uh… Oh… Wow, Sazonito…” Moshe mumbled, too embarrassed to think of anything to say. Moshe had too much propriety for dirty-talk. He could only mumble as he worked his precum-leaking cock down Sazonito’s throat.
But breaking the silence made this whole thing easier for Moshe; it relaxed him and made him realize that, if a reprisal was coming, he was safe for now. He came crashing back down to reality just in time for a wave of pleasure to roll over his body like a tsunami. His knees again went weak, and as he buckled, he would have fallen but he gripped Sazonito’s broad shoulders. The warmth of his rippling muscles was intense; was it normal for someone to be that hot to the touch? Moshe didn’t think so, but all he could do in response was moan again. He bucked his hips, slamming his dick all the way into Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s nose nestled itself in Moshe’s pubic hair.
He thought that might make Sazonito pause and back out, but he only got more into it. He nuzzled his nose deep in Moshe’s dick as he forced himself to deep-throat it. Moshe’s cock rammed all the way down his gullet, the precum flowing copiously now. Sazonito guzzled it greedily as though he had been swallowing cock his whole life.
Moshe’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed ahold of Sazonito’s head. He pushed his dick in and pulled it out, with so much force each time he didn’t think he had ever throated anyone so aggressively. For tiny twink Moshe, it was the most potent plow of his life — he had a feeling Sazonito still thought of him as weak and feckless.
Then Sazonito pulled off. Thick tendrils of saliva connected his face to Moshe’s dickshaft and down to his balls. He flat-lipped his face up at Moshe and said, “You are beautiful, esé. Can you play your violin while you plow me?”
“Yes,” Moshe said without thinking about it. He wasn’t sure that was really true though. The violin required all of his concentration, could he really do it while plowing Sazonito up the ass? It seemed dirty, almost disrespectful of the instrument.
But the sight of Sazonito’s broad bare ass as he bent over in the center of the dressing room made Moshe willing to try anything. He grabbed his violin and put it on his shoulder.
“Please, plow me hard, Moshe,” Sazonito said softly. He hung his head as though a bit ashamed, even as he reached one hand behind himself to spread his asscheeks. He had powerful thighs and thickly muscled cheeks, so thick he felt like two powerful men stuffed into one skinsuit.
Without hands, Moshe managed to wedge his dick into the hairy crack of Sazonito’s ass — Moshe had always thought a hairy ass was unattractive, right up until this moment. Now he wanted more than anything to fill Sazonito with his cock.
But he needed both hands to play the violin. That meant he couldn’t guide his dick in. In any case, Sazonito’s intact butthole was resistant, and even when he attempted at it the best he could, not even the tip went in.
Then, much to Moshe’s surprise, Sazonito’s hand spread his cheeks and then pushed the tip of Moshe’s dick in. The soft, luxuriant hair of his ass brushed against Moshe’s pulsating manhood.
“Ah, damn, hombre…”
Sazonito arched his back as Moshe played the first few notes of “Shalom Chaverim”, an Israeli folk song that he knew very well because he often used it to warm-up. It was the only simple song he could think of that he knew well and that wasn’t religious or nationalist (both of which seemed inappropriate, even sinful, to play in this situation). The notes rang out in the tiny dressing room.
Sazonito stuck his head up and moaned. Again it wasn’t clear if he moaned in pain and humiliation or in bliss, or maybe a bit of both. His ears wiggled as though he carefully scrutinized every ringing note from Moshe’s violin.
He was surprised how easy it was once he got started. Moshe could play on autopilot since the song was so simple, and once he got started, it was surprisingly easy to plow Sazonito without the use of his hands. Sazonito’s ass practically swallowed his cock up. It was not easy, however, to get his entire dick in there. Sazonito was clearly intact and had trouble taking the whole thing.
Not that he was resisting. Every thrust of Moshe’s cock sent a bolt of pleasure through his body and a wave of some sensation through Sazonito’s too. Sazonito grunted like he was in pain, and he moaned like he was in bliss, and he clawed at the ground as Moshe’s balls slapped against the meat of his asscheeks.
Judging from the look on Sazonito’s face, he was more entranced by the music than overwhelmed by the agonizing pleasure in his ass. After a few moments, Sazonito even started jacking himself off with one hand. He must have already gotten a hardon.
The more and more he rammed at Sazonito’s ass, the braver Moshe got, until his balls were thwacking against Sazonito’s meaty asscheeks. Moshe’s dick slid in and out, easier with every thrust of his hips, and each time Sazonito gasped while pre-orgasmic pleasure rippled over his tattooed back muscles.
With one powerful thrust, Moshe managed to shove the last of his cock into Sazonito’s body. Sazonito moaned and grunted. His ass clenched, which Moshe could tell was because he neared his orgasm. Neither man was quite there yet, and Moshe tried to drag this out — he didn’t want to rush through the sexual experience of a lifetime. It felt so good his knees went weak.
Then the phone rang.
Both Moshe and Sazonito stopped moving. Moshe’s heart skipped a beat thinking he had been caught, then realized that was silly — he wasn’t breaking any rules.
And in any case, he soon realized it wasn’t his phone. It was Sazonito’s
Sazonito grabbed his cell phone out of the pants of his tuxedo, which was folded up on the chair near his head. He put it on speaker because, it seemed, he was too overwhelmed to hold it to his ear.
“Yo. What?”
You still there, vato?
“Si.”
What’s going on?
“Todavía estoy allí.”
Yeah, I… Somethin’ wrong? Speak English, motherfucker. You know I don’t know español that good.
“I’m still here. I’m talking to the violinista entre bastidores. Él es judío, pero él está bien.”
What? Nevermind, man. Just hurry up. It’s all good.
“Okay.”
… You takin’ a shit, vato?
“No.”
You sound like-
“Shut up.”
Fine, look, vato… Just don’t go to Mario’s place like we planned. His mama there. But it all went down just like we wanted.
“¿Son los traidores muertos?” He groaned, the words escaping from gritted teeth. His voice had an agonizing slowness to it, like he was grinding the words from stones in his mouth.
Si, esé.
“Good. Estoy colgando el teléfono. No me llame de nuevo unless someone is dead who is not s’posed to be,” Sazonito said, then he angrily hung up the phone and threw it back at his crumpled-up tuxedo on the floor. “Fuckin’ puta…”
Then Sazonito’s back arched as though he only just remembered he was getting plowed. His mouth opened like he wanna shout or maybe moan, but no sound came out. He pushed his ass back on Moshe’s dick, sending a wave of pleasure rocking up Moshe’s spine. Moshe gasped, his fingers digging into the meaty thickness of Sazonito’s back. Sazonito writhed before him, lifting one of his massive trunk-like thighs up as he accepted every inch of Moshe’s dick.
Moshe had gradually lost his inhibitions, and by now, he was ramming back and forth as if Sazonito’s ass was his fleshlight. At this point he figured if it was a trick, he might as well lean into it. It was the most enjoyable trick of his life.
He started playing the violin again. This time he played “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”, another song he knew well enough to play by heart. Once again Sazonito shuddered and moaned as though the violin itself made him orgasm.
“¡Su musicalidad es más hermoso que cualquier cosa que mis oídos han tenido!” Sazonito shouted to be heard over the violin. He groaned and bucked beneath Moshe’s hips, which slammed powerfully against his jiggling asscheeks. Moshe didn’t need to know Spanish to know that Sazonito was complimenting his plowing, or maybe demanding to be plowed harder.
Finally Moshe felt his orgasm coming on, just as he felt it running through Sazonito’s body as well. He thought he’d have to stop playing while he busted a nut, but his hands were on autopilot. He definitely lost the rhythm and played some notes incorrectly, but it was clear Sazonito didn’t notice — he didn’t even seem to recognize the song, though he reacted as though the sound itself caused his orgasm.
Cum sprayed into Sazonito’s ass, so thick and creamy that it clung to every corner of his insides. Moshe shuddered and shivered as he filled Sazonito up. The load was bigger than anything he had ever produced — Moshe rather wished he had pulled out so he could see how much it was. This was such an incredible experience that his body kept spurting more and more, like he was getting rid of reserves that his balls had been storing up.
As Moshe’s body twitched and he yelped, Sazonito barked; his massive muscles writhed. His pain was obvious, his humiliation apparent in his dim, dark eyes, but the overwhelming feeling that Moshe could read in every muscle in his body was arousal and fulfillment. He had genuinely wanted this.
Somehow in that moment, all language and cultural barriers between them dissolved. Moshe knew exactly why Sazonito was doing this, and it was precisely as he had explained. Moshe was just too set in his ways to realize it. Sazonito had ramrodded prison bitches, but just one was important to him, a girlish man who had been Sazonito’s lover when he was in jail; he had formed a serious relationship with that man. He had treated his bitch like a wife, and a part of him had always wondered how far their relationship could be taken. His prison bitch had probably treated him better than his girlfriends on the outside. They were friends and lovers and roommates, allies, confidantes and more, but the one thing they could never be was equals. Sazonito had wished he could have a real relationship as his sexual peak dwindled while he was locked up.
But in prison, big macho tops didn’t bottom for tiny twinks, not even behind closed doors and with makeshift curtains up to block the view. That was not a rule Sazonito could break. Not until he was out of prison and he had come to a place where no other vato would be, where nobody would know what taboos Sazonito was breaking.
The smell of cum filled the dressing room as Sazonito shot his own load, just as Moshe was finally finishing up. A few final jets of jizz spurted up Sazonito’s guts, creamy goop spreading to every corner of his insides and seeping into his inner being. From his vantage point Moshe couldn’t see, but he could experience every bit of Sazonito’s orgasm through the tight clenching of his ass and the low, rattling groan that escaped from Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s hands were claws that raked the ground.
Then at last it was all over.
Moshe pulled his cock out and smiled sheepishly as Sazonito sighed like he had been waiting for that exact moment — Moshe had taken enough big cocks to know what he was feeling. The stress relief of that moment was intense, and Sazonito’s moan of desire was an aching rumble that echoed in the tiny dressing room. Sazonito crumpled to the dirty floor of the dressing room, his big muscles limp, perhaps limper than they had been since he was with his beloved in a prison cell.
Moshe sat next to his prone body and gently rubbed his muscles. They twitched under Moshe’s grip. “Sazonito… do you want me to call you? When I am in town again?”
“Yes. Si.”
“Okay,” Moshe said. “I will. We can have whatever relationship you want, and I won’t tell anyone.”
Sazonito nodded. “And if anybody asks, you will tell them I was at your concert, esé? Tell them I was here early, that you saw me before the show and then you saw me during the show and after.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes to slits. “Do not tell them what we did after the show.”
Moshe nodded. “I will.”
“Good. Thank you. Nunca lo reemplazará.” Sazonito closed his eyes and gripped Moshe’s hand with his massive meaty fingers. Then Sazonito’s sweat-dappled back fell limp and soft, and he drifted off to sleep right there on Moshe’s dressing room floor.

The Fireman

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?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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.”

Thumper & His Prettyboy Cellmate: A Forceful Alphas Mansploitation Short

Thumper is a legendary prisoner with a new cellmate, a handsome prettyboy with big doe eyes and a tight ass. Always wanting to be helpful to fresh-faced young inmates, Thumper takes a keen interest in his new bunkmate Lamar.

What is Lamar gonna hafta do to get through his seven-month sentence with Thumper?

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here:

The Brooklyn Alpha

Avery meets a senior citizen with some alpha edge, and he does just what comes naturally! He loves to service big macho alphas, so when retired cabbie Mr. Tossini proves willing to give Avery a swing on his meat, Avery’s in for a wild ride…

Can Avery handle this slice of finely aged meat?!

Read it now!

The Boston Alpha

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?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read it right here

It was the most enjoyable party Desmond Talley ever been to. He knew perfectly well that it was only this fun because he had been in prison for a year and a half before it happened. It was the first enjoyable event in his entire time behind bars. So it felt like an evening in heaven.
It helped that there were no women. That meant the biggest alphas and thugs danced with girlish sissies like Desmond as though he was a girl. He even got to kiss this redneck named Bubba, whom Desmond had been drooling over for months. On the outside, Desmond was invisible at a party — to women, he was a short, negligible pansy, and to men, he was not a woman.
But in prison, he was a king. Or maybe queen.
The guards watched like it pained them to see inmates having a good time. All the gangs were told that they’d be punished if anyone got in a fight during the party. That was why it went off without a hitch.
There was no alcohol, but the guards did allow a little weed in for the night. That was probably a wise decision, Desmond thought. Alcohol would make men fight, but the weed just made them giggle and become overly entranced by nature documentaries.
But all good things come to an end, and this penal party was no exception. Desmond was disappointed to hear the music stop, and the remaining joint roaches were combined into one, then quickly smoked. The guards bellowed at the inmates to head back to their cells. Everyone lined up, dragging their feet, grumbling and claiming they weren’t gonna stop partying even as they did stop. But Desmond was at least happy that the party had gone off without a hitch — there was no fight, no smuggled-in booze, no one got hurt. That meant there was a chance the guards would allow another party in the near-future.
“Talley, hey, Talley… Desmond!” boomed a male voice. It was one of the guards — the one the inmates call Officer Crabgut — who grinned and grabbed Desmond off the line. Desmond was surprised that he said his first name. The guards never call inmates by their first name. “Come on,” Crabgut said.
“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Crabgut said. His belly chortled, his off-gray beard hairs gleaming with sweat or maybe liquor, Desmond was pretty sure the guards were drinking in the monitor-room. Crabgut looked like a drunk. “You’re gonna have a second little party.”
“Do I have a choice?” Desmond wasn’t sure what this was and he was nervous. He didn’t trust Officer Crabgut, whose voice was always menacing. It sounded like a threat even when all he said was it’s going to rain today. Crabgut was notoriously corrupt. That’s not always a bad thing — he was the one who brought weed in — but it did make him untrustworthy. Not that Desmond ever really trusted prison guards.
“Well… yeah, I guess, you can choose,” Crabgut said. “But come see what it is first. You won’t say no. If you refused this, I would be… more shocked than I have ever been in my life.”
It was hard to argue with that, and Desmond was intrigued, so he followed Crabgut into an old disused showering area. Inside the dingy shower were a handful more guards, all brimming with nervous smiles, and seated on the ground in the center of the shower, was Chowder.
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.
He winced but smiled at Desmond. His dimplesome grin wasn’t unusual — he was outgoing and charming, but he didn’t let that get in the way of business. He was one of the few big alpha males in prison whom Desmond had never jerked off. That was because he had a bitch named Sammi, whom Desmond hated. Chowder plowed Sammi publicly, hard and often. Desmond was jealous because he loved to get plowed hard by alpha thugs like Chowder.
“So, uh… Desmond,” Chowder said. When he spoke, his Boston accent either aroused Desmond or made him laugh, it was hard to tell. “I was, uh… I put togethah that pahty. I was… y’know… Uh, I had to arrange it all, dawg.” He paused like he was expecting a big reaction. “I got the weed, I got the gangs to come together, even the Mexicans-“
“Chowder… come on, we ain’t got all day,” Officer Crabgut said. “Don’t drag this out.” An underhushing from the other guards suggested they thought similarly.
“They said we could have the pahty if I did somethin’ aftah it, to prove I’s really serious about makin’ sure the party was good. I had to show I was gonna make sure it went off without no fightin’ or nothin’,” Chowder said, sucking on his teeth every other word. His thick Boston stawk made it sound like his mouth was full of cranberries. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Desmond… will you… please stick me up the ass.” The guards all whooped and hollered. Desmond blushed even harder than Chowder, who bit his lip. He took Desmond’s hand in his like he was gonna propose. “Will you let me jerk yo’ dick and take it in the ass and lick yo’ ass but only fo’ five seconds? And no kissing, and no tellin’ nobody aftahwahds.” That sounded like something that had been carefully negotiated with Crabgut.
“Oh wow,” Desmond was so excited his knees were weak. He looked to Officer Crabgut, who had a gleeful smile on his face — Chowder was often in trouble for fighting with the guards, so they were understandably glad to watch him get it up the ass. All the guards were beaming.
Everyone looked at Desmond, who didn’t know what he was expected to do. He looked down at his feet, too scared to say anything.
“You gotta say yes,” Crabgut said with a chuckle. “If you wanna do it.”
“Yes!”
They all laughed at Desmond’s excitement and Chowder sighed again, like he mighta hoped Desmond would say no. He took off the plain blue baseball cap he wore — the only non-religious hat anyone at this prison was allowed to wear — and ran his fingers through his clipper-short hair. He sucked on his teeth and spat on the ground. He looked at Desmond sternly. “No tellin’ nobody. ‘Specially not Sammi. I can’t let her find out I cheated on her.”
“Sure! Okay. I promise, nobody will find out,” Desmond said. “I hate Sammi. I never talk to him. I-“
“Call Sammi a her.” Chowder said. He narrowed his eyes to slits, making it clear that was a threat.
Desmond gulped. He knew Chowder, like most prison alphas, referred to their bitches as a woman. Desmond had simply forgotten because he was so excited. “Okay. Yeah, I won’t tell her. Or anyone else. I swear.”
Chowder stood there, his confidence draining as he very slowly dropped his orange prison jumpsuit. The guards laughed and clapped, hooting like he was a stripper. They demanded he dance and shake his ass as he undressed. “That weren’t paht of the deal,” Chowder said, lips clenched grim as a reaper. The guards seemed to accept that, but they got more and more into cheering him on, pretending he was stripping like a dancer even if he wasn’t.
“Whoo-hoo, Chowder!”
“Let’s see ya pussy!
The sight of his bare chest and his rippling muscles made Desmond’s heart skip a beat. Back on the outside, Chowder was a violent thug, or so said the grapevine from Boston, but one of those rather fat swaggalicious men whom Desmond thought were hot even if they had a belly. Chowder always carried himself like a macho, no matter his physique. In his time in prison, however, all of that fat done melted away, leaving behind a mass of muscle and a well-worked barrel chest that bulged from his skin as though begging him to get fat again. Desmond had seen him naked in the shower, of course, so this was hardly the first time, but this was closer and more exciting. His fat cock swayed between his massive thighs. Drool escaped from Desmond’s lips as he caught whiff of Chowder’s post-party musk.
“If I evah catch you lookin’ at me in the showah like you looukin’ at me now, I will rip yo’ goddamn ahm off and smack yo’ face off with it,” Chowder said.
“Uh, Chowder-” Officer Crabgut cleared his throat. “That’s not okay. You can’t control how people look at you.”
“What I can’t control is my reaction when some sissy look at me like he wanna eat me up,” Chowder said through gritted teeth. “You may not plow me in yo’ imagination, okay, not aftah today.”
“Chowder!”
“Fine. I’m sorry, sissy. Or Desmond or whatevuuh. I ain’t tryin’-a police yo’ mind.” He rolled his eyes at Crabgut’s stern face.
“It’s okay. I won’t, Chowder, I promise,” Desmond said.
Chowder dropped his dingy prison-issued boxer, faded bloodstains ominously covering the crotch area. Desmond wondered where that blood had come from. Was it Chowder’s? Probably not, he thought, or he’d a-got his cock cut off.
“Well, you the sissy, right? How do we proceed?” Chowder scowled.
“Uh… I guess… You should swallow my dick,” Desmond said. His voice had never sounded so weak, at least in his mind.
“Hope this party was worth it,” Officer Crabgut said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Get on your knees, Chowder. I mean… Chowdah.” He chuckled and glanced at the other guards as though expecting them to think his joke was hilarious.
Chowder glared at him but sunk to his knees. He was nearly seven feet tall, so even on his knees, his face was even with Desmond’s shoulders and neck. He was nowhere’s near close enough to get Desmond’s cock in his mouth.
As Desmond dropped his own pants, Chowder slunk lower and lower. In the end he laid on his back, propping himself up with his arms, a position that made his pecs bulge. Desmond felt weak and cold, but he was glad no one was looking at his own body, which was skinny and trembling with anxiety. He strained to spread his legs wide enough to straddle Chowder’s chest. He wanted to touch him, but Desmond was still nervous about this — if there was one ironclad rule of prison life that nobody ever broke, it was that slim weaklings like Desmond did not top massive alpha thugs like Chowder.
“Yeah, swallow it, Chowdah!”
“Throat him down, Talley!”
“Just foh’ the recahd, I’m doin’ this cuz I want to,” Chowder said. He spat on Desmond’s dick without touching it. “I could say no. These mothahfuckahs ain’t got proof I agreed to nothin’. And I done it before. Not in prison of couhse, but back in the day, me and my boys shared some dome on the downlow. Ain’t no shame in that-“
“Less gabbin’, more swallin’ nuts!”
“Mollywop him, Talley!”
Chowder glared at the guards, but he sighed, and seemed to decide that just going for it was the best way to get started. The longer he drew it out, the more they were going to tease him. He held Desmond’s shaft with his fingertips, like a disgusting snake. Then at last he opened his mouth, took a deep breath and closed his lips around the tip of Desmond’s dick.
He gagged even before his tongue touched it. He closed his eyes, and his entire muscular chest roiled with disgust, but he didn’t slow down even a bit. He let the rest of Desmond’s dick slide deeper even as his eyes frantically darted around as though looking for a way to escape. Desmond’s pubes enveloped his nose.
Almost immediately Desmond felt a surge of pride and confidence. He felt better than he had since coming to prison, and even before that. He pushed his dick in even deeper down Chowder’s tight throat, ignoring the angry look in Chowder’s baby blues. A tight, squeezing warmth spread through his senses.
“Come on, make more spit,” Desmond said, making the guards laugh. “You’ve gotten dome before. You know how to do it. Make it wet.” He wanted to call Chowder his bitch, but he thought that might be a step too far for the mountainous Bostonian.
Chowder did as he was told, even as his nostrils flared and his eyes filled with hostility. He choked up a mountain of saliva — since he was such a huge man, he produced a truly copious torrent of spit — that dripped down his chin and into his bare crotch. His chest muscles became soaked and goopy.
A shudder of desire ran through Desmond’s body as he gripped Chowder’s broad shoulders. His inhibitions melted away. Chowder was crisscrossed with scars and tattoos, including a scattering of bullet wounds on his back. Desmond reached down to caress his body, savoring the feel of his rippling muscles and their firmness beneath his touch.
That made precum leak from the tip of his dick, which reawakened a torrent of sputtered gagging from Chowder. It sent a frisson up Desmond’s spine. The guards laughed and clapped, again hooting and hollering like they were watching a strip show.
“Suck that dick/suck it like I ain’t rich/suck it like a bitch/suck it till you sick/Like you ain’t nevuh turn a trick/Yeah, suck that dick”
One of the guards was rapping; Desmond wasn’t hip enough to know for sure whether he was freestyling or repeating a popular song. It sounded rehearsed though. Maybe a Macky P song.
Chowder pretended it didn’t bother him, but Desmond could feel him bristling at the teasing. It was funny how Desmond could sense Chowder’s reactions through his muscles’ twitching and the way his throat clenched around Desmond’s spasming cock, like Desmond could read Chowder’s mind through his body. Chowder arched his back as he nestled his nose deep in Desmond’s crotch, easily deep-throating every inch of Desmond’s cock. His new position meant his ass rose in the air.
Desmond lusted after it. He couldn’t believe he was going to get to plow Chowder in that ass, and he wondered if Chowder had ever done it before. He said he shared dome with his baystater buddies on the downlow, but could they have done anal too? He tried to reach but Chowder was too tall for Desmond to reach his ass with his dick in Chowder’s mouth.
“Okay, you said you’ll lick my ass, right?” Desmond asked, remembering that suddenly. His voice was huffy and gaspy because he could feel the early burgeonings of his orgasm surging through his body. He wanted to drag this out though.
Chowder pulled off his dick. Thin tendrils of spit connected his greenish face to Desmond’s cockshaft. Chowder grumbled. “Fo’ five seconds, that’s all I agreed to.”
Officer Crabgut laughed. “That’s just a minimum, Chowder. You can lick his ass as long as you want. We got all night.”
“No!” Chowder snapped down over the chortles of the other guards, who all cackled up the serious look on Chowder’s face.
Desmond turned around and bent over as though he was going to get plowed, as that was the only position that raised his ass high enough for Chowder to lick it. Chowder looked away, breathed deeply through his mouth and closed his eyes.
He dove between those cheeks and slammed his tongue in. He was so forceful — and his tongue was so big — that it almost hurt. Chowder rimmed him more aggressively than anyone had ever rimmed him before, and Desmond got the impression that Chowder had never done it before, not even on a girl. Chowder definitely enjoyed receiving rimjobs from his bitch and he always demanded more tongue-in-ass action, but since Chowder was so much bigger than Sammi, he needed as much tongue-penetration as possible, as deep and as hard as possible. Now Chowder’s cock-sized tongue shoved into Desmond’s ass and explored there, hesitatingly as Desmond’s ass-juices smeared over Chowder’s square-jawed face.
“Five! Four! “
But Desmond then felt a ripple of pleasure emanating up his back as Chowder’s tongue battered his prostate. Chowder moaned into his ass and gagged without slowing down. Desmond’s eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure walloped his petite frame. Chowder’s tongue sucked every drop of grime out of his ass, even as Chowder himself sputtered and choked on it.
“Three! Two! …”
The guards conspicuously stopped counting, but Chowder pulled away from Desmond’s ass anyway. He spat on the linoleum shower floor. He wiped his face off with one hand, and his chin waggled but he kept it together. He sniffed, pointedly ignoring the guards as they cheered. He glanced over and saw one of the guards had bared his hairy ass — extremely hairy, nearly gorilla-like — and winked his asshole in Chowder’s direction.
“If you enjoyed that, give Officer Torelli a try! He got all the ass-hair you could eat, boi! He be a ass-buffet for ya!”
Chowder grimaced and looked away. He sighed as he stroked Desmond’s dick with one meaty callused hand. It was the worst handjob of Desmond’s life, but it was also somehow the greatest, its lack of rhythm and rough texture sending shockwaves of bliss through Desmond’s body while slowing down his arousal enough that he was no longer ready to blow his load.
“Time for the ass, Chowder!”
“Give up the booty!”
Chowder snarled at the guards. He turned around and bent over. His initial position was laughably impossible — he simply put his hands on the floor, sticking his ass in the air so high Desmond’s short little body couldn’t even reach it. Desmond had to stand on his toes to touch Chowder’s asscheeks and tap them, signaling him to lower himself.
“Best get down lower, or we gonna need a winch and a pulley to do this right.”
Chowder dropped to all fours. He had a nice plump ass, just enough padding for Desmond’s taste — a remnant of when Chowder was fat-bodied in his pre-prison life. There was a tattoo on his left asscheek, an arrow pointing to his asshole and the words ‘Cop Kissing Zone’.
Desmond separated those thick blubbering cheeks; at first it was difficult because Chowder instinctively flexed his cheeks, keeping them tight, but he forced himself to relax. His crack was lined with sweat-matted hair. Each of Chowder’s asscheeks was bigger than Desmond’s head, making Desmond feel truly tiny by comparison. He took a deep breath and pushed his dick in.
Chowder bit his lip so hard it drew blood. He breathed through his nose and snorted like a rampaging bull. His face turned bright red from both pain and humiliation. The muscles of his back tensed, lines flexing and curving, distorting the tattoos as he stretched.
“Lookit him take it! Like a bitch!”
“Damn I wish we could fuckin’ tape this. Put it on the Internet, make a goddamn fortune.”
“You bettah not!” Chowder said, but for once his voice was not bristling with confidence and machismo. It sounded like a whine, not a threat. He hung his head.
Desmond hadn’t topped anyone since before he came to prison, so this was a refreshing experience for him. He pushed his dick in deeper and deeper, using copious lube (which was provided by Officer Crabgut — that seemed sweet, Desmond thought, he didn’t need to do that; prisoners usually used hog fat from the prison kitchen, so Crabgut was being nice by providing actual lube). Chowder’s ass was clearly intact, so tight that Desmond struggled to shove every inch in his hole.
Chowder was on all fours, so the more powerfully Desmond slammed into his ass, the more Chowder was forced to lower himself. He winced and dropped his hips, making it easier for Desmond to plow him harder. To his credit, Chowder managed to take every inch even though it was obviously difficult for him.
That hairy Italian guard Torelli took his dick out, wagging it in front of Chowder’s face. Desmond couldn’t hear his words because he was overwhelmed by his incipient climax and the boisterous laughter of the other guards drowned out the hairy guard, but it was clear he offered Chowder a taste of his dick. Chowder frowned and kept his eyes pointed away, even as the guard followed his face with his massive, uncut Italian cock.
Eventually Desmond was ramming with all his might on top of Chowder, his feet no longer on the floor at all. Chowder’s broad muscles rippled beneath Desmond’s face, and he licked the salty sweat that beaded on his skin. Chowder writhed beneath him.
His balls slapped on Chowder’s chunky asscheeks, making them jiggle and ripple. Desmond felt like a weird circus novelty, like a midget plowing a strongman to a shocked crowd. Chowder panted like a dog beneath him.
“God-damn, man,” Chowder said, his fingers and toes curling as though trying to dig into the linoleum floor of the prison shower.
“Yeah! Get ‘im good, Desmond!”
“Lookit his little body on top of Chowder. Looks like a kid whose big bro is lettin’ him beat him up.”
Desmond blushed at the guards’ closeness. They were peering into Chowder’s ass as though they had never seen a butt before and weren’t sure what was actually happening. Having an audience was nerve-wracking for Desmond.
His orgasm came on too soon. Desmond was disappointed, but not surprised, as Chowder’s ass was too tight and too perfect to resist it for long. As he felt it arising deep within him, Desmond wasn’t even sure how long it had been — it felt like just a few minutes, but at the same time, it felt like hours. Surely Chowder would have complained if it had taken that long though, he thought. The guards would have gotten bored.
The most powerful orgasm of his life ran through him. Desmond’s entire body shook and trembled, and he moaned so loud he blushed as the guards erupted in a mixture of embarrassed grunts and excited shouts. Some peered closer, while others looked away.
Cum sprayed within Chowder’s ass, a thick and copious loud that filled up every inch of his insides. Chowder moaned too, matching Desmond’s voice, and he buried his face in his forearm. Then he grabbed the blue baseball cap he had thrown on the ground, and he buried his face in that instead.
One of the guards pulled the cap away and looked Chowder in the eye. Chowder’s red face was tense and a few tears of pain and embarrassment drifted down his cheek. Jet after jet of creamy jizz flowed into him and dripped down his thighs.
“Who’s the pussy-faced bitch now?” the guard asked. “Hope the party was worth it.”
Chowder snarled and grabbed his hat back as his ass clenched again around Desmond’s dick. Exhausted, Desmond fell back. His ass plopped out of Chowder’s ass, and Chowder breathed a sigh of relief. He stood and blushed as the guards laughed at the river of cum dripping down his trunk-like, tattooed thighs.
“Hey!” Chowder barked. “We said no bringin’ it up again after it’s done.”
“Ain’t done yet,” Officer Crabgut said. “It ain’t done until you both get your clothes on. Whatchoo think, Chowder? Was the party worth it?”
Chowder hurriedly threw his underwear on, wincing when he accidentally touched his ass and reawakened a torrent of sensitive pain. He put his jumpsuit on and then hurriedly slipped into his shoes when the guards made it clear they counted that as well. “Yeah,” Chowder said. “The pahty was totally worth it.”
Desmond slow-walked it, both because he didn’t mind the guards teasing Chowder and because he was too overwhelmed to really focus on anything but the aftershocks of orgasmic pleasure wracking his body. But when Chowder was done and he saw Desmond wasn’t, he shot him a few dirty looks. Soon they were both dressed. Desmond still felt weak-limbed from the power of his climax, and he could still taste Chowder’s back-sweat in his mouth.
True to their word, the guards stopped teasing as soon as both inmates were dressed again. There was still some scattered laughter, especially when Chowder winced and skipped a step while he walked towards the door behind Officer Crabgut.
“Hey, if you want — and you don’t think Sammi will mind — you can plow me later. As hard as you want,” Desmond said. “If that, y’know, makes you feel better.”
“I know I can.” Chowder’s voice dripped with menace. “I will.”
Desmond smiled. That promised to be almost as good as what had just happened. He couldn’t wait.

Slim Jay the Pimp

Slim Jay is a hardcore pimp who don’t take no guff from nobody, and that includes his hos, his neighbors and anyone else he meets! That all might change when he meets a twinky young man named Sammy, who sends Slim Jay’s heart a-thumping!

But Slim Jay’s got a rep to maintain! Can he get his rocks off with Sammy without losing face?!

Read it now!