Book pages – Mansploitation

The Prison Punk

Mason is a weak pretty-face white man in prison, his cellmate is the legendary Thumper White, and that means Mason is in for a shock. It turns out Thumper wants something from his prison punk that Mason never expected…

This meek bottom and alpha top are about to switch it up, turning their prison cell upside-down!

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Mason Barraughter didn’t feel like a prison punk. He was the same as he always was. But people saw him differently now. Last night, in the dimness of his cell, surrounded by the sheets Thumper had tacked up for privacy, Mason felt like Thumper’s partner, not his victim. Thumper had even given him a reacharound but made him promise not to tell anyone.
Now, on his first full day behind bars, Mason found himself sitting at the end of the table with the other Bloods — but he was at the very end, with a few other skinny white boys like himself, all of whom had the hang-dog look of a low man on the prison totem pole.
They didn’t talk as they ate, and they all ate as though it was going out of style. Mason could still hold his head high, but he tried to keep it down anyway. He was still new to the prison, so he didn’t want to get himself in trouble with anyone. The number-one piece of advice people had given him was to keep his head down. They meant that figuratively, but he was interpreting it as both figurative and literal. Luckily for him, his prison cellmate (and husband), Thumper, was a high-ranking thug who was widely respected and feared by both the Bloods and the other prison gangs. That meant Mason was safe.
“Yo, punk!” Thumper said to Mason from the other end of the table, startling him from his reverie. Thumper was surrouned by thugs with dark faces and grim lips, but Thumper stood up on a jolly stoned-grandpa look. “Gimme yo’ peaches.”
At first Mason had no idea what he was saying, his ears struggling to hear over the din and roar of the crowded mess. Then he nodded. Thumper wanted the canned peaches on Mason’s breakfast tray. Mason didn’t even really like peaches, so he wasn’t upset about giving them up. He really didn’t like being seen as Thumper’s punk, but if that (and some canned peaches) was the price of safety, he was willing to pay it. Thumper had promised not to do anything he didn’t want to do inside the cell. Outside the cell was a different story, and Mason handed the canned peaches to the man sitting next to him.
Nobody was allowed to get up during meals, so the peaches were passed along until they reached Thumper. He took them and nodded his approval down the table to Mason.
Thumper was a middle-aged thug and former boxer, with cornrows and chest hair tinged with gray. He had a big barrel-shaped torso and a scruffy mien to his round face. His nose and ears were swollen and crooked, cauliflowering up like deformed broccoli — signs of his decades ago pro boxing career — and his husky voice sounded like he been breathing stale cigarette-clogged prison air his entire life (which he very nearly had).
The other thugs laughed like jagged jackals at Mason’s weakness as the end of breakfast was whistle-blown, and Mason stood up, peachless as a plum tree. Thumper scarfed down the peaches, then put one arm possessively around Mason’s back. He led them both into line, Mason in front of Thumper, whose fingers danced up and down Mason’s spine underneath his prison-issue shirt.
“Get in line, maggots!” barked Officer Messypants. Mason didn’t know why the others called him that. It was even written on the nametag pinned to his shirt. “On the double, let’s go!” He chanted his exhortations like a drill sergeant, though nobody hurried and yet Messypants nodded like he was being obeyed.
When the line had just started moving, Mason was squashed between the large man in front of him and Thumper behind. Thumper’s hand kept exploring Mason’s back, drifting lower and lower.
“Keep it moving, assfucks. Keep it moving,” Messypants said.
Mason straightened his back as a sharp pain erupted in his ass — Thumper had put his middle finger in. He just slipped his hand down the back of Mason’s pants and rammed his finger into Mason’s ass. Mason gasped and instinctively clutched the well-muscled torso of the thug in front of him for support as his knees buckled.
That finger pushed in to the root, and Mason’s eyes bugged out, as much from surprise as from pain.
“Quit it. Don’t attract attention, punk,” Thumper said. He used his other hand to keep Mason upright despite the weak knees. The man whom Mason bumped into scowled in a way that suggested he would have punched Mason if Thumper hadn’t been there.
“Yo, Thumper takin’ control of his punk fo’ real.”
“That punk look like a female. Why does Thumper get all the girlie-boys?”
Mason walked in arduous pain all the way back the cell he shared with Thumper, though his dick got hard too. It was an arousing walk for three reasons: because of the finger in his ass, because that broad-shouldered young thug in front of Mason had a sexy back overstuffed with firm muscles and because they were all crammed in so tight that Mason could taste his back fuzz. It wasn’t until they back to their cells that Thumper let go of his ass and pushed him onto the bottom bunk.
“Everybody in. Pod clear!” Messypants shouted. Then came the clank and whir of the automatically closing cell doors.
“Gonna plow the shit outta you now,” Thumper said amid the hooting and encouraging catcalls of his niggas. The cell bars provided little privacy, and Mason shrank away from him.
“Gonna plow yo’ punk now, Thumper? Make ‘im scream fo’ me, nigga!”
“Wreck his ass! Wreck that whitebooy booty!”
Thumper closed the sheet he used as a curtain, so once again he and Mason had privacy. The shouting grew dimmer or at least seemed less important when Mason was not visible to them. Thumper smiled at Mason in a way that was either menacing or kind; it was impossible to tell which.
Despite that, Mason stayed nervous. He sat like a bunk tumor on his mattress, shrinking into himself or trying to.
Was it possible Thumper was going to beat him up? Last night Thumper had given him a reacharound that blew Mason’s mind, but this morning, he had been mean all over again.
Mason liked getting “ramrodded”, as they said in here. He didn’t like to admit it because men looked at him weird when he said it, but it was true. He was not upset about taking it up behind.
And he didn’t mind losing the peaches. But he didn’t want to get shanked or shivved or whatever, sold to the Mexicans, beaten up by prison guards, extorting into smuggling drugs. A lot of bad things could happen in this place, and Thumper looked at Mason like he was brainstorming ’em.
“Hey Thumper’s punk, is he in you yet?! Huh? Tell me when he’s in ya, punk!”
“Sorry ‘bout all that,” Thumper said with a seductive growl. His voice was low in tone and volume, and it growled outta him like an underhush. He put his ass-stinked finger in his own mouth and sucked it clean, eyes drilling into Mason’s face. Mason’s dick rocketed to full erection, and he was so shocked by Thumper’s willingness to taste Mason’s assjuice that he didn’t have a response. Thumper smiled. “Outside this sheet, you my punk. Inside it, you my wife.”
“I uh… Yeah, I remember you saying that,” Mason said. He had forgotten, and in any case, he didn’t know Thumper meant it so literally — Thumper had said he wouldn’t acknowledge Mason as his wife outside the cell; Mason hadn’t heard anything about being called a punk. But being a slim, young-looking and feminine man in prison, Mason had never expected to have a manly reputation. He never had had a manly reputation in any part of his life. He could handle the teasing if he was sure he’d be safe.
And he just wasn’t sure of that.
Thumper kissed him on the lips, his tongue shoving in Mason’s mouth, massive arms wrapping around Mason’s body. Mason was so surprised he didn’t kiss back right away, just tightening his body up, and then, entirely out of instinct, he flapped his arms around Thumper’s broad shoulders.
“Why ain’t you… y’know, showing me affection? You my wife, Mason,” Thumper said, whispering so close his breath condensed on Mason’s ear. His burly ex-boxer chest seemed impossibly huge next to Mason’s petite torso. Thumper frowned. It was the first time Thumper had said Mason’s name out loud, and it made Mason shudder with desire.
The fear he’d felt since coming to prison — since his arrest, really — remained, but now it thrummed under a layer of arousal and want and pulsating passion. He kissed Thumper on the neck.
But his kisses stopped because Thumper kissed him too, from Mason’s ear to his lips. His tongue plunged into Mason’s mouth, and they kissed for what felt like an eternity. At last, Thumper pulled away and looked down at his feet like a nervous schoolboy.
Last night, Mason’s first night, Thumper had plowed him in the ass and given a reacharound. That had been mind-blowing. Mason would have gladly been called a punk every day if it meant he got that. And he assumed that was what Thumper preferred to do — at the very least, Mason assumed Thumper was a strict top.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mason said, turning his feminine instincts up as high as they would go. “I assumed you didn’t want me to be all lovey-dovey. You’re really… into kissing?”
Thumper looked down at his feet. “Well… I don’t go kissin’ men, y’know. I’ll let you kiss me, cuz you my wife.” Thumper bit his lip. “I might stop you sometimes. I might get salty wit’ ya ‘bout it, tell you not to kiss me.” He pulled his pants down and flopped his cock out of the fly of his prison boxers. “But don’t stop.”
“Okay, sweetie,” Mason said. He again kissed Thumper on the lips, and again Thumper kissed him back, twice as powerfully, wrapping his arms around Mason’s neck and rolling onto his bunk together.
Then his lips traveled down Mason’s thin neck. Thumper sucked on it so hard he was sure to leave a hickey, and Mason wondered how he could explain that to the other prisoners. Thumper didn’t stop there. He moved lower, licking Mason’s smooth chest and sucking on each nipple in turn.
In the tiny bunkspace between Mason’s and Thumper’s bunks, they were crammed in tight. Thumper took up a lot more space than Mason, so it was like cuddling with a horse. Thumper in fact found it easier to move Mason’s body rather than have Mason move himself, as he kissed his way from Mason’s chest to his bellybutton.
“Oh god, Thumper, sweetie, yes…”
He moved even further down, and Mason grew increasingly shocked. Where was Thumper going? He moved as though he was going to put Mason’s dick in his mouth, but surely an alpha thug like Thumper would never do that.
That was what Mason thought right up until the moment that Thumper lifted Mason’s ass up and rammed Mason’s dick right into his mouth. Thumper suckled on it loudly and Mason yelped in shock. His tight hot mouth encircled Mason’s rock-hard dick.
A sensation of warmth and moisture enveloped Mason, who moaned and wriggled beneath Thumper’s touch. It was more intense than Mason thought possible. His whole body pulsated and undulated against the scratchy prison mattress.
“Damn, shit, Thumper, you’re… uh…” Mason’s voice trailed off both because the sensations was so intense and because he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t offend Thumper.
Precum spurted onto Thumper’s tongue. All this was happening so fast. Mason hadn’t even been erect like two minutes ago, and now he felt his orgasm burgeoning, roiling, deep within him. Mason’s shock made this an especially arousing experience for him, and he moaned out loud until Thumper placed a hand over his mouth.
“Don’t make noise,” Thumper said with a low growl, lifting his head off Mason’s cock for a moment. “Or if you gotta make noise, make it sound like you takin’ it in the ass…”
“Oh, Thumper, please, go more slowly, your big cock hurts too much…!” Mason said, hoping that sounded believable enough to the whooping masses outside the cell. He didn’t think his acting was very good, but his sexual excitement sounded similar to fear and pain, so no one outside the cell seemed to notice. They laughed and cheered Thumper on.
“Shut the fuck up, punk!” Thumper barked. He smacked Mason’s asscheek to make a loud slapping noise. He grinned as he did so, but it actually hurt quite a bit — Thumper wasn’t used to pulling his punches. Thumper sniffed Mason’s ass and winced in disgust or maybe embarrassment. Despite that, he whispered, more softly now, so only Mason could hear, “Gonna eat yo’ pussy, boi. Gonna eat it up…”
“Rip that punk apart, Thump!”
Without waiting for a response, Thumper plunged his tongue right into Mason’s ass. He was so much bigger than Mason that his face didn’t really fit between Mason’s cheeks, no matter how Mason pulled them apart. Thumper licked as though he was eat out a woman’s pussy, lapping at Mason’s prostate and ramming his tongue as deep as it would go. He licked so expertly and so deeply, and without any hesitation, that Mason could tell he was an experienced rimjobber.
“You taste like girl,” Thumper said with a growl, the sound resonating within Mason’s ass. Mason wondered how Thumper remembered that — he had been locked up for something like thirty years.
Mason’s back arched as pleasure shot up his spine. As usual, his prostate lit up so much it felt like he was cumming already. The pleasure suffused throughout his body, and he gasped with every thrust of Thumper’s tongue.
Mason was entranced by what was happening, so when there was a sudden flurry of movement outside the cell, he didn’t react right away. Thumper did. Thumper dropped Mason’s ass, flipped him over and rammed his dick right in Mason’s hole. His burly hands wrapped around Mason’s neck and squeezed, just enough to make it difficult, though not impossible, to breathe.
“Open up, punk!” Thumper barked into Mason’s ear.
Well, this certainly did change quickly, Mason thought to himself. His prostate was already alive with desire, so Mason nearly shot his orgasm right then. The only reason he didn’t was that he realized a guard was tearing down the sheet that gave him and Thumper privacy.
That was why Thumper switched to plowing Mason — he didn’t want to be seen bottoming.
“Inmate White!” the guard yelled, fumbling with his keys to open the cell. “Thumper!” he yelled. “Thumper, get off him!”
Thumper pulled his dick out and stopped strangling Mason but left his hand resting around Mason’s neck and his iron-like dick throbbing between Mason’s cheeks. He frowned at the guard.
“Get outta here, Messypants!” Thumper said. “We’s makin’ love. Ain’t that right, punk?”
“That’s right,” Mason said. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to sound like he was willing in order to make the guard go away or unwilling to make the other inmates think Thumper was still in charge. He settled on willing, since at least that meant this wouldn’t have to end. Mason certainly didn’t want to stop.
Officer Messypants hesitated. “Really? Are you sure-?”
“Yes, I’m sure! Go away!” Mason said, breathless.
He shrugged. It seemed Messypants was not that worried about it. He was glad to have an excuse to walk away. He snorted in disgust and left, muttering judgemental nothings Mason couldn’t hear.
“Least you could put the damn sheet back up!” Thumper yelled. “Keep yo’ ass in position, punk!” He had to get out of the bunk to recreate the curtain by hanging the sheet over the cell bars, amid the hooting and laughter of the other inmates. Mason remained bent over, just as he was when Thumper was inside him.
“Ram the shit outta him, Thump!”
“Wreck that whiteboy! Wreck that whiteboy, nigga!”
Then Thumper pounced, jumping back onto the bunk and onto Mason’s back. He kissed Mason’s neck and licked a trail down his quivering spine back to his ass. He licked it again and stuck his tongue deep inside Mason’s asshole. Once again, Mason moaned and had to cover it up to make it sound like pain rather than arousal.
“Ram me now, boi,” Thumper whispered in his ear. “Stick it in me. I wanna feel you inside me.”
He bent over the bunk while Mason climbed out to get behind him, so nervous his knees shook. He felt like there was some chance this was a big prank, and when he tried to penetrate Thumper, he was going to get in trouble for it.
But that anxiety didn’t slow him down. He kneeled behind Thumper’s broad ass and wedged his dick between his cheeks. He had to stand on his ties. Thumper gasped and bit his tongue. Mason placed one of his delicate hands on Thumper’s broad back and its network of scars and prison tattoos.
“You ever done this before?” Mason whispered.
Thumper nodded. “Yeah. But be gentle. You got a big dick,” he said. He turned his head to the side so Mason could kiss him on the lips. Mason had to come around to the side to reach Thumper’s lips, and his hands gripped his chest. Thumper’s muscles rippled beneath Mason’s touch.
“Hey whiteboy! You forgot to tell me when he was inside you, Thumper’s punk!”
“I tol’ him not to say nothin’, nigga,” Thumper called out. “When he takin’ my dick, he shouldn’t be thinking ‘bout nothing else, ‘specially not yo’ sorry ass.”
“You tell ‘im, Thump!”
“Keep that whiteboy bent ovuh propuh!”
Mason returned to standing on his toes behind Thumper, and he pushed the tip of his cock in. Thumper’s strapping ass was tight, and Mason had to wait for him to relax to get more than the knob in. That was fine with Mason, who could already feel an orgasm approach. Thumper’s asshole squeezed his sensitive dicktip. He kissed Thumper again and again on the meat of his back, letting his tongue leave a sloppy film over Thumper’s skin.
“Oh, god, Thumper, it hurts so much!” Mason said, just loud enough that the men in the other cells could hear. He smiled and giggled quietly. Tricking the other prisoners into thinking Mason was on the bottom was fun, and Mason hoped this would continue throughout his prison stay. Aside from the cramped quarters and lack of freedom, Mason thought, this prison thing might not be so bad.
“Yeah, nigga, that’s what I wanna hear!”
Thumper growled. He winced in pain but smiled all the same. “Shut the fuck up, punk! Take it!” His body clenched down on Mason’s cock, which slid in deeper, and once again, Mason could feel Thumper’s words through the vibrations in his body.
As Mason began working his dick in and out, a little deeper each time, he reached around Thumper’s body for his cock. He gave it a single stroke and was surprised to find it already hard and leaking precum. Thumper’s muscles flexed and he grunted, near orgasm, his back bucking as pleasure wracked his spine.
Thumper punched Mason. From his position on his belly bent over the bunk, it wasn’t much of a punch — he had to twist his body and punch upwards, so it didn’t hurt. But it was apparent that Thumper meant it as an outright attack.
“Oh sorry-“
“Don’t stop.” Thumper grunted. He let out a moan that he bit back so nobody could hear. “I just need to feel a little affection, whiteboi. A nigga can’t be in charge all the time.”
“Oh, okay, okay,” Mason said. He gulped and bit his lip.
Thumper’s dick was obviously enjoying itself, throbbing merrily in Mason’s hand, and his ass had been tight at first, but then loosened as though he had done this before. It massaged Mason’s shaft, sending a wave of sensations to course through his body.
“You gonna have to hold me down, whiteboi,” he groaned, “Lemme turn around.” He laid on his back, lifting his great, trunk-like thighs up so his feet were by Mason’s head. He guided Mason’s hands to his neck.
Mason wasn’t opposed to topping, but he had never done it in a really aggressive way — he had been plowed in an aggressive way, not the other way around. He had certainly never held down or choked a man, especially not a much larger man than himself.
But that was what Thumper wanted, and now that he got started, Mason loved every minute of it. He squeezed Thumper’s neck just lightly enough, like Thumper had done to him, and his other hand massaged and kneaded the muscles of Thumper’s chest as he writhed in pain and pleasure, stroking himself off.
“You’re so wonderful to me, sweetie,” Mason whispered as he squeezed harder, ramming his meat in as hard as he could now with each thrust of his hips.
Thumper outweighed Mason by more than a hundred pounds, so it was obvious that Mason wasn’t holding him down in any meaningful sense. He slammed his rod in and out, marveling at the slap of Thumper’s asscheeks with every thwack-thwack of Mason’s body.
A loud thumping sound emanated from the cell — it was Mason’s lean body slapping against Thumper’s jiggling asscheeks. But to the men outside the cell, it sounded like Thumper plowing Mason and Mason noisily begging for him to slow down.
“Keep it goin’, Thump!”
“I ain’t hear no tears yet, Thumper, so you can still ram him harder! If there ain’t no blood on yo’ dick, yo’ punk can take more!”
“I love you, baby,” Thumper grunted. He grabbed Mason by the hair and pulled his head down so they could kiss.
“I love you too, sweetie,” Mason said. He had never in his life said that to a girlfriend, but he felt he needed to keep Thumper happy, and at least in this moment, it was true. His dick throbbed and spasmed so intensely he couldn’t focus on much beyond riding Thumper’s ass and moaning in a pained way so the other inmates would think he was on the bottom.
As Thumper got plowed, he stroked himself off and grunted. “Ram it deep, punk…” Thumper voice trailed away as he reached orgasm.
Thumper’s whole body tensed and tightened before he shot his load. Thumper grunted. He bit his lip and threw his head back. His hands painfully wrenched Mason’s nipples as though they were a woman’s tits. His dick spasmed and the veins of his shaft throbbed beneath his prison-callused fingers.
Hot cum sprayed over Thumper’s chest and belly, as his muscles all flexed at once. He had a huge load, thick and creamy, and it trickled over every corner of Thumper’s powerful body. It stuck to his salt-and-pepper chest cornrows and clung there, pearlescent and white, contrasting with his sweat-dappled brown skin. Thumper snorted as he held back a pained gasp.
“I know that sound, that’s Thumper cumming all up in his punk’s gut!”
Within a few moments, Mason reached his own orgasm. He thrust his dick as deep as it would go within Thumper, coating his insides with hot cum. Jets of jizz spurted into Thumper’s insides. They both grunted and moaned together. The other inmates clapped and cheered.
His spine shivered, and Mason had to bite his lip to avoid crying out in a way that made it clear to those outside the cell that Mason was an entirely willing participant. Instead he forced out a pained grunt, which made the inmates cheer as the last aftershocks of his orgasm roiled Mason’s body.
“Make that punk yo’ own, Thumper!”
But Thumper just smiled as Mason’s dick grew limp in his ass. Thumper’s big, gnarled hands swept over his own chest and body, wiping up every drop of his own cum. Then he brought his hand up for both Mason and him to lick it clean.
They did lick it, like a lollipop. Thumper gagged a few times as though he was disgusted by the taste, but he didn’t stop, and each time he did, his body clenched around Mason’s soft dick, sending a shockwave of pleasure up his spine.
At last Mason pulled out. Thumper’s hand was clean, and he breathed a sigh of relief now that his ass was empty. Thumper’s horny face disappeared, replaced yet again by thuggish hostility. He sneered at Mason and slapped him.
“Take that sheet down, punk,” Thumper said. He added in a whisper. “Pretend yo’ ass hurts.”
Mason winced exaggeratedly as he took the sheet down. He blushed at the catcalls of the other inmates and covered his ass with both hands as though from modesty. He pretended to be in agony when Thumper smacked his buttcheeks.
“You wreckt him, Thump!”
“Yeah! Whose ass is dat, whiteboy?!”
“This ass is mine, punk,” Thumper said, beaming proudly at the other inmates. “Right?”
“Yes, sir,” Mason said with a grin so slight only Thumper could see it. “I’ll be your punk forever.”

The Hawai’ian Warrior

In pre-contact Hawai’i, Makana is a gentle young man, which means the other islanders assume massive warrior Koa would only come to him for a little oral service… But Koa wants to try something totally different!

This Hawai’ian alpha male is about to go twink on top!

The warriors had come back from Ni’ihau earlier today, victorious, with the blood of their enemies still clotting in their hair, running in rivers down their tattooed chests. That was why the day had been exciting, for everyone, warrior or no.
But now the day was done, the feast was had, the ancestors were thanked and Makana was home.
Looking out the opening in the sides of his hale noa, Makana’s cock twinged at sight of the warriors laughing on the beach. They were richly brown, backs lined with muscles, tattooed shoulders arching and flexing as they roughhoused and carried on. They were still pumped from the war party, that was why. It would take days for their jubilance to diminish.
One of the younger warriors glanced in Makana’s direction, saw his face watching with brilliant, flashing eyes, and then looked away and kicked sand towards the ocean. Makana waved when the warrior glanced this way again. He was cute — he had just faced down death and the island’s enemies, but still, he cast nervous glances in this direction.
The sun was going down, so Makana prepared his own evening meal. Dried fish in coconut. A few pieces of fruit. He felt lonely at nights these days, as he felt himself getting old, his joints aching, his sleepiness coming on earlier and earlier. The sun spent such short time in the sky.
But tonight that loneliness never came, even though he was alone; the island — Makana’s people — had shared a stressful experience and then a powerful release when the warriors returned with captives and treasure. He felt a kinship with everyone else here that he hadn’t felt recently. He felt united in purpose with his tribe.
“Hello, Makana…?” came a deep voice from outside his hale.
Makana peered around the edge of his hale and saw that sturdy-muscled young man. He had been bruised and bloodied in battle but was cleaned up now. His eye was blackened, nose flattened, one ear much swollen, the other lightly swollen. His worst injuries were on his right thigh, where the flesh was torn up by an enemy’s leiomano, a shark-toothed club. It was obvious he had been through a great struggle, and that his side may have won, but he barely survived. He limped but stonefaced through the pain. His leg was bandaged and poulticed, beset with herbs that would prevent infection.
His name was Koa, that same young man who was embarrassed when he waved at Makana earlier. This must have been his first battle, Makana thought, that was why he had been beat up so bad. And he had no woman, which was why he was playing on the beach even after the island’s other warriors had gone home to bed their wives.
“Hello, Koa,” Makana said. He emerged from his hale with a plain skin around his body. “Come in.” The evening was cool for this time of year, and the gentle sea-breeze blowing in borne on the waves felt invigorating on Makana’s skin.
Koa trembled as he entered the hale. His big body swayed with every step, muscles heaving up and down as if his heft beleaguered him. Koa was so broadly muscled that he took up most of the space in here and exuded heat that further filled the hale with a cozy air.
“What can I do for you, Koa?” Makana said, being pumehana and showing it in his voice.
“I, uh… I don’t have a woman,” he said. He was tall enough that his face was still aimed down at Makana, even when he hung his head. “There is no wife waiting for me.”
“That’s too bad,” Makana said. He led him to his bed in one corner of the hale.
“I… I had no one here for me when I returned from battle. There was no one to clean me and to apply salve to my wounds. Warriors need a woman to come home to.” His voice rang out as deep as the moon. “A woman to mourn them if they fall in battle.”
“Of course,” Makana said. “You deserve a wife.”
“I… had a woman whom I wanted to bed. But she has chosen someone else,” he said, as though that had been tough to admit. It shouldn’t have been — everyone already knew about that; if he had meant to keep it a secret, he had failed. Koa’s bare chest muscles rippled. “So… I am here.”
Makana nodded. He stood behind where Koa sat on the floor of his hale. Koa plopped himself on the cold stone ground, which Makana had swept clean today. Koa was so much taller than Makana that, even with him standing and Koa seated, Koa’s face was only a few inches above Makana’s head — his body from the waist up was nearly as tall as Makana’s entire frame. Koa lifted his head as Makana began rubbing his shoulders. He breathed in a deep sigh and then let it chamber out of him. There was great tension in his shoulders. “The other warriors, they say that you are… that you provide… sometimes… that you are available.”
“I am.”
“Available for things.”
“Indeed.”
“That girl, she was very pretty.” His shoulders tensed, then relaxed under Makana’s grasp. His muscles were firm as a polished pohaku and warm as a campfire pohaku. “The battle today… I have never seen a man die, not like that. I have seen the elderly die, and I have seen children die from sick,” he said. “But that is all. I have never seen a man I know well, a man I grew up with, laying dead on the beach. Blood poured from his head.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “And then blood stopped pouring. I do not know if he ran out of blood, or… It just stopped.”
Makana kneaded Koa’s flesh, which was tired and tense. Makana did not know what to say and felt awkward at first, but the more he massaged the powerful muscles of Koa’s body, the less the awkwardness bothered him. It soon descended into a comfortable silence, and Makana no longer felt a need to say anything. The silence was sufficient. Koa groaned with an intense sound, like he had never felt anything as potent as Makana’s delicate fingers.
“When I returned… I wanted a woman to be there waiting for me. Not my mother. I would have give anything for a woman to be waiting for me, to take care of me,” Koa said. He repeated that again a few more times.
“I know, you said that, of course you wanted a woman. You fought bravely for your people. You deserve to have someone waiting for you when you return,” Makana said. He kissed the back of Koa’s neck and let his tongue explore the broad muscles of his shoulder. It was lined with dark blue tattoos — he’d have more tattoos in a day or two, since he had fought and won his first battle, but for now he had only a few lines outlining his shoulders and biceps, enhancing his natural curves. Makana kissed each of those lines, while his hands reached around to his chest.
His dick accidentally brushed against Koa’s back. Makana pulled away, hoping that didn’t scare him off — a lot of these big warriors were willing to mess around with Makana but didn’t want to touch his dick at all. Koa seemed like precisely that kind of man. He was big and tough, brimming with machismo and power, all traits that women here liked — but he was too much of all those things. He was so big he’d hurt any woman he was with, and he was too crude to be seductive or charming. But he was exactly the kind of man whom Makana liked.
But that brief contact with Makana’s dick didn’t seem to scare Koa at all. If he noticed, he didn’t let on. He continued to groan as Makana’s fingers massaged his broad chest. His skin was smooth in between his wounds and a few remnant scars he must have accumulated in training for battle. Makana clucked his tongue and worked his hands lower on Koa’s body.
“I wanted a woman to be there for me,” Koa said again, and he was maybe going to say it one more time when Makana put on finger on his lips to shush him.
When Koa sputtered, unable to think of a response, Makana laughed and pushed his finger into Koa’s mouth. After a moment of hesitation, Koa sucked on it. “It’s okay, huapala,” Makana said. “You’re much too big for most women anyway. Too many muscles.”
Koa blushed and smiled, his anxiety vanishing, replaced by boastfulness. He flexed his biceps and made his chest muscles ripple, which sent a thrill of desire through Makana. Makana’s heart sped up, and all of a sudden, his hale seemed smaller and more snug. Koa’s expansive frame puckered beneath Makana’s touch, as Makana’s lips caressed the curve of his muscled arms.
A few beads of sweat appeared on his shoulders and dripped down his side. Sweat of anticipation, not from warmth. That was how Makana knew that Koa was excited as well.
“Now that you have me, what did you wish to do?” Makana said, his voice as soft as his touch.
“I don’t know… I don’t know what I want,” Koa said. He looked down. “You must tell me what to do.”
Makana stepped in front of Koa, flaunting his bare ass, which gleamed in the dim light outside his hale. His self-consciousness about his lack of breasts didn’t bother him in this moment, as it was increasingly clear it did not bother Koa. Makana was doing his part for his people — the warriors needed someone to offer them succor and compassion in private, and this warrior was one who needed him to offer it. He was all too happy to oblige.
The only surprising thing, Makana thought as he lowered his head to kiss Koa’s smooth chest, was that Koa wanted to kiss him — most of these warriors enjoyed feeling his mouth on their bodies and penetrating his rear with their manhoods. They did not want to pleasure him in return.
But that was exactly what Koa did. He kissed Makana on the lips, rough hands caressing Makana’s shoulders and roaming down his slim hips. Koa had thick and meaty fingers, like miniature clubs battering Makana’s tender body. Then his hands roamed down to Makana’s ass, which he squeezed hard. That sent a frisson up Makana’s spine, and he squealed as he lost himself in Koa’s arms and his warmth. Koa’s kisses moved lower along with his hands, as Makana moaned in surprise and desire.
Koa was so tall that he struggled to lower his head much past Makana’s bellybutton — he towered over Makana, so Makana had to stand on his toes. Koa’s kisses moved like tender butterflies as low as he could go on Makana’s body.
But even then, Koa could not take Makana’s cock in his mouth, not without kneeling, which Koa would not do — too proud, as a warrior, to kneel before any man beside the chief. Koa instead sat on his ass with his legs out, so Makana could climb onto his thunderous thighs.
That at last placed Makana’s smooth cock and balls (he had shaved off his hair just yesterday) right in front of Koa’s mouth. Koa parted his lips, trembled nervously and let Makana’s manhood enter him.
A wave of wet warmth washed over Makana, who gripped Koa’s wild mane as pleasure wracked Makana’s body. His cock fit perfectly in Koa’s mouth, his thick tongue rubbing against the shaft as Makana entered his throat. The warmth and moisture of Koa’s tongue battered Makana’s sensitive manhood. Koa didn’t move at first, like he had no idea what was supposed to happen beyond the fact that a penis was to enter his mouth. But then his instincts took over, aided by Makana flexing his hips, and Koa moved his mouth up and down Makana’s shaft.
His dick disappeared down Koa’s throat. Koa gagged when it hit the back of his tongue, but that didn’t slow him down at all. Koa twitched awkwardly at first, then his muscles rippled and flexed with increasing excitement.
“Oh, Koa…”
Makana’s dick was hard already, spasming and leaking precum into Koa’s mouth. Koa didn’t seem in the least bit put off by it, and he actually guzzled down every drop. Makana had very rarely been in this position and never with a young buck-strong warrior like Koa. He scarcely believed it was happening.
Koa pulled off Makana’s penis and looked at it as though he had never seen it before. He stroked it with one hand and pulled the foreskin back. He licked the tip and even flickered his tongue into Makana’s piss-hole. He threw his head back and moaned as passion overwhelmed him, and he let out a spine-tingling moan of desire.
Makana’s penis rubbed against Koa’s face. He kissed it and worshipped it breathlessly, and his tongue slathered wetness up and down the sensitive shaft. He suckled on Makana’s balls while Makana’s humped his dick overtop Koa’s mouth and cheeks. He was astonished that he was getting perhaps the biggest and roughest warrior on the island to jerk him off instead of the other way around. That happened so rarely he had always assumed it would never happen to him.
Makana looked around to make sure no one was nearby. Most of the warriors were at home, in their own hale, with their wahine. No one was on the beach, and the only voices he heard were distant.
“Don’t worry, Koa, no one will see, and no one will tease you for it even if they did see. They know better than to cross me,” Makana said. He was an herbalist for the island, and many a men came to his for healing when they were sick or injured. No one wanted to get on his bad side.
Many men also came to him when their wives were angry with them, and Makana would treat them as Koa did now. The powerful warriors who protected this island and its inhabitants deserved the tender, sensitive touch of Makana, he thought, but none of them had reciprocated an experience like Koa was doing now.
Koa nodded. He kissed the tip of Makana’s dick, then moved around to Makana’s ass. Koa rotated his body and groaned when he tasted Makana’s light brown asscheek, like he had never seen a rear end before. His lips caressed the curve of Makana’s backside.
Makana leaned forward and placed his hands on the ground. Now this, he thought, was proceeding in a little more typical manner — Koa was going to lick Makana’s bottom until it was nice and loose, then stick his manhood in. That was what Makana expected from a big warrior like Koa, one who was strong and enduring.
His massive head squeezing between Makana’s cheeks, Koa’s tongue tentatively explored around his ass, as though expecting him to say it was tabu for him to put it inside him. But he didn’t say that because it wasn’t forbidden, merely rare; Makana twinkled his asshole in front of Koa’s face.
Then Koa growled hungrily and dove in.
Makana gasped as Koa’s thick tongue pushed inside him. His tongue was just as disproportionately big as the rest of his body, so it squeezed into Makana’s behind. It was good to take such a tongue now, Makana thought, because Koa’s dick was much bigger. Makana wanted to be loose enough to could accept every inch of Koa’s manhood inside his ass.
He lapped at Makana’s ass, more and more enthusiastically with every lick of his tongue. Koa growled and grunted, snorting like a hog and breathing heavily. Shaking with erotic frenzy, Makana struggled to raise his ass all the way up in the air so Koa could reach it without stooping down. His tongue sent him into spasms of pleasure and desire, and Makana clawed at the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Then Koa pulled out. Makana knew what was coming, so he lowered his ass and closed his eyes to prepare for both pleasure and pain.
But nothing happened. He turned around and saw that Koa had gotten in the same position Makana was in, his smooth plump asscheeks high in the air, well above Makana’s head.
“Lick me, Makana…” he said softly, weakly. He closed his eyes and shook his ass. His cheeks were smooth like Makana’s but not slim, they were rather meaty and plump, luscious, inviting like a banquet and no doubt tasty as one too.
Makana giggled and reached up to stroke his heavy ballsack and the hairy spot between his thighs. He ran his finger up to Koa’s ass. “You have to lower yourself, huapala. How tall do you think I am?”
Koa lowered his ass until he was on all fours on the ground, just like Makana had been moments ago. He aimed his ass up, placing it at the perfect height for Makana to dive in. Makana loved licking fresh ass like this, so he moaned as he spread Koa’s cheeks.
Planting his tongue deep inside Koa, Makana moved his hands to caress his cheeks. Then he slowly worked his way around to grip Koa’s dick with both hands. Again his size made the positioning difficult — he had to really stretch to reach Koa’s crotch from behind him. But he enjoyed working at it, and Koa’s asshole clenched around his tongue as he stroked his already erect manhood.
After only a few moments, Koa grunted loudly. It felt like he was near orgasm. His muscles pulsated and rippled above Makana’s face, which worked up a puddle of moisture in the crevice between Koa’s powerful asscheeks.
“Makana…” Koa said, keeping his head hung low. “Will you… put it in me?”
“You want me to do that?” Makana asked, his eyes opening wide, eyebrows raising. That was one thing he had never done — plenty of warriors wanted to do it the other way around and a handful had wanted to jerk him off. But none ever wished to be penetrated.
Koa, Makana thought, was truly special.
“Yes, please…” Koa’s voice was plaintive and desperate. He wondered how long Koa had been thinking about this. Koa only eighteen so it couldn’t have been for all that long — Koa had been a late bloomer anyway — but he seemed so desperate, as though he had been longing for it for decades. He was an old soul, Makana thought, that was why.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Makana said. “I’ll be as gentle as you need.” He stood behind Koa, on his toes to make his crotch line up with Koa’s ass. “Are you ready?” His cocktip throbbed at Koa’s tight entrance.
“Yes, please, do it!” Koa exclaimed. Then he bit his lip as Makana slid into him. Makana’s tongue had opened his ass up enough that he could get the first little bit in without any difficulty or pain. A constellation of sensations erupted deep within Makana, pleasure emanating from his crotch and spreading to every corner of his body, increasing with each thrust of his dick like the tide growing with every wave.
After those first couple of inches, Makana felt resistance and slowed down, though Koa showed no sign of pain. Despite his ass fighting and clenching, Koa lifted his bruised head and howled with pleasure. He threw his face back as though trying to kiss Makana, though he was much too tall for his lips to reach Makana’s face.
Makana worked his dick in deeper and deeper, surprised with every thrust that Koa didn’t back out or ask him to slow down. He gripped Koa’s tattooed back tightly and held on. His muscle squirmed and coiled beneath Makana’s fingertips.
As soon as his fingers reached all the way around his body and touch Koa’s dick, Koa bucked and gasped, bliss rippling through his musculature. His orgasm began then, but Makana knew well how to keep it going. He ground his dick slowly inside Koa’s ass, triggering the point of ultimate sensitivity, and his tiny body made Koa’s massive muscles shake and tremble — he loved the kind of power he had over warriors like Koa. He could never have bested them in battle, but in love and lust, he aroused their passions more than anything else.
He sensed Koa’s orgasm through the clenching of his ass and the writhing of his back muscles beneath Makana’s fingers. It was tight and bursting with power, and Koa groaned so loud he was sure everyone nearby must have heard. Nobody spoke of it though, so maybe their passion could yet remain in the shadows.
Cum sprayed over the floor as Koa shot his load in Makana’s hand. Makana had never seen so much semen at once, as if Koa had never cum before and was emptying his balls for the first time. It drenched Makana’s hand, wad after creany wad flowing like a river, but he continued stroking, even as Koa’s muscles contorted beneath his touch. His exquisitely sensitive flesh writhed beneath Makana’s grasp.
Koa twisted and turned as he plowed him harder and harder. Koa’s dick flopped limply between Makana’s fingers, but he didn’t tell Makana to stop. He gulped and swallowed nervously, accepting every inch of Makana’s dick deep inside him. Makana’s sac slapped on the firmness of Koa’s body too, a thwack-thwack sound resounding in the steamy hale.
Finally Makana was done too. He let out an intense grunt when an orgasm washed over him. He stopped moving for a moment, then resumed long, slow strokes of his hips as he spurted out a jet of cum inside Koa.
He had a big load too, just as big as Koa’s, and it seeped into Koa’s body. An intense and continuous flow of cream filled up Koa’s, the heat of it suffusing through his flesh. He sighed in sync with the last throbbing pulsations of his dick inside Koa’s behind, his juices spreading within him and dripping down his thighs.
It was unlike any orgasm Makana had ever experienced, more intense than he had thought possible. Makana had never penetrated such a man before, so he didn’t know if it was so knee-droppingly potent because that was how it felt to plow a man in the ass, or if Koa was simply that good. It was, Makana decided, a bit of both.
“Oh, Koa… you make me feel so good,” Makana said with a cringe and a moan.
At last it was done. They were done. The day was done, the battle gone, the pleasure complete and total. Makana pulled his dick out and wiped it off. Koa collapsed into a sweaty heap of tired muscles and bruised, tender flesh on the ground.
Makana closed his eyes and sighed. He took a cloth and dipped it in clean water. He slowly wiped off the sweat and other juices until Koa’s brown skin gleamed and shimmered again, and only then did Makana wipe his own manhood clean. He rubbed more of a a poultice into Koa’s wounds, but Koa was already asleep. He had a deeply placid look on his face.
In the warmth of Makana’s hale, he lay there next to Koa caring for him and experiencing an wild, thrumming constellation of emotions for what felt like forever. The moon hadn’t yet reached its apex when Makana finally curled up in Koa’s arms to sleep. Makana told himself not to get too excited — many a warrior had sworn to be with him forever only to change their mind when a pretty young girl appeared interested.
But for now, this was good enough, and that was all that mattered. He settled into the warmth of Koa’s firm arms and drifted off into a satisfying slumber.

The White Trash Veteran

When Goose returns from Vietnam, he thought he’d be coming home again. But nothing could be further from the truth! He’s gotta travel for work and to escape the police, and that’s gonna send him an odyssey of alpha male man-on-man action, Buddhist enlightenment and raunchy, filthy situations!

Goose is in for a bevy of rednecks, machos, hicks, hillbillies, soldiers and more, as he overcomes his hangups from war and finds a way home to his family.

It’s free! Read it now as an ebook or read the whole story on this site!

The White Trash Veteran

The Raunchy Hobo

Lance has to go into the ghetto to buy coke, which makes him nervous. But when his dealer is hassled by a muscle-bound hobo, Lance gets the chance for a raunchy and filthy threesome that he’ll never forget!

Can he handle the utter depravity he craves?!

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing here!

Lance normally preferred to meet Tyrell in a public place, somewhere near Lance’s home but not at home. That’s because Tyrell was a thug who often bragged to Lance of how good he was at robbing idiot white boys who wanted to buy crack off him. Lance bought cocaine but he was white, so he felt vulnerable. Whenever he said that, Tyrell always said, oh, but you safe, Lance. I ain’t gonna hurtchoo. You my best customer. You never ask me for a short like a fucking crackhead.
And every time Lance heard that, and every time he had another tense buy with Tyrell, when he felt certain Tyrell was going to rob him or maybe just kill him for fun, Lance swore he’d find a new coke dealer. But coke dealers were so damn unreliable. Every single time Lance met someone, he’d do one test buy, get a short bag that was badly cut, and he’d go back to Tyrell again.
Tyrell was, at least, reliable. And it would be rational not to rob Lance, who made good money and bought coke regularly. Tyrell didn’t want to kill his cash cow. Hopefully.
So that was who Lance relied on when he needed cocaine for his friend’s housewarming party. Lance was known as “the guy who brought coke”, and he didn’t want to live down his reputation. This time, however, Tyrell said he couldn’t leave the city, so Lance needed to come to his place.
It wasn’t his home though — Tyrell met him in a ramshackle rundown house, with caution tape over the door (Tyrell told him to ignore that and just come in). When he walked in, the house smelled of cobwebs and piss. Tyrell stood there in the living room with a gun in his hand as though considering whether or not to shoot Lance.
Lance’s heart raced. He threw his hands in the air. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Tyrell.
Should never have come to a crackhouse. Never go with a drug dealer to a second location, that’s basically what this was. Lance knew better.
“Ah, don’t worry about this, honky,” Tyrell said with a loud laugh. He put the gun in his waistband. “I was just cleanin’ it. Ain’t even loaded. Might just shoot the addict in the other room though. Motherfucker was beggin’ to jerk me off the other day for some fent.”
“That’s nasty,” Lance said, too nervous to think of anything else to say. Not wanting to sound like a nerd, he repeated it more casually, “That’s so nasty, man.”
Tyrell nodded, then led him into the other room. He opened up a lockbox, pulled out an eight-ball of coke and handed it over. Lance gave him the money and slipped the bag into his pocket.
Went pretty easy. Still wasn’t a good idea to come here. Better be a good party, Lance thought.
That was when he noticed the semiconscious man lounging around on the floor. He was tall and very dark-skinned but still clearly white — perhaps of Greek or Italian extraction — with wiry, ropy muscles, like his body was too small for his strength. His hair and beard were unkempt and wild. Lance must have passed him when they first came in the traphouse, but he hadn’t noticed him then. He was too nervous about the deal going bad.
“Hey Tyrell,” Lance asked when they had finished up. He whispered so the addict wouldn’t hear. “Is that the man who wanted to jerk you off for fent?” he asked, blushing. Tyrell nodded, and Lance smiled. “How much do you think I’d have to offer to get him to lemme cornhole him?”
“You wanna plow him?”
Lance nodded. He blushed again. Tyrell had a horrified expression, like he didn’t know why Lance would want to plow a trashy addict, despite his filth. Lance had a flair for nasty, disgusting stuff though, and this would not be the first time he cornholed a hobo. But he was concerned the guy would become cognizant partway through and would turn violent. Fent addicts were like that.
“Shit… gimme forty bucks. I’ll make him do whatever you want,” Tyrell said.
Lance nodded and handed the money over. His heart skipped a beat. This was all happening so fast. He felt tiny in comparison to Tyrell, and, though the addict was hardly big, he was a lot stronger and tougher than Lance. Would Tyrell really make the addict stop if he got violent?
“What’s his name?” Lance asked as he kneeled next to the man on the floor. He caressed those broad shoulders, and the man stirred. He was powerfully muscled, more than Lance was expecting for a hobo.
“Uh… Greg, I think,” Tyrell said. “I mostly call him Shitweasel. He’s racist as shit, y’know. He called me a nigger one time when I told him I was all outta fent.”
“Oh, that’s not nice, Greg,” Lance said. He rubbed the man’s well-muscled shoulders. “He’s strong.”
“He works on a oil rig, most of the time,” Tyrell said. “Whenever he on land, he spends all his money on fent. Ends up beggin’ me for a short before he gets called away. Then he comes back when he gets paid again.”
Greg lifted his head. His groggy eyes looked at Lance in confusion. Lance pushed his head back down. Greg was tall and muscular, so he could have easily outmuscled Lance, but it seemed he wasn’t quite aware of that. He just submitted. His muscles flexed, but they had no power in them at the moment, it seemed.
“Open your mouth, Shitweasel,” Tyrell said. “This pervert here is gonna plow you. You gonna submit, okay?”
“Tyrell…” Greg croaked. “You fuckin’ shit.”
Tyrell looked disappointed that wasn’t a racist insult.
“You ever swallow a dick before?” Lance asked. His fingers continued stroking Greg’s hairy chest and shoulders. His muscles felt too big for his body — that was that addict gauntness, Lance thought, but since Greg worked hard on the oil rig, he didn’t get skinny and threadbare like most addicts, he remained thick and bulging. Greg shook his bleary-eyed head, then looked at Tyrell, who laughed.
“Hell yeah, he swallows himself some nuts. Don’t you lie, Greg. Tell him about it,” Tyrell said. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Greg closed his eyes and sighed. “I… Man, fuck you, Tyrell!” He looked at Lance’s dick, which he took out of his pants and stroked right in front of Greg’s face. Greg wrinkled his nose. “I jerked this guy off once.”
“What kinda nigga was he?” Tyrell asked.
“He was… homeless.”
“He was a addict, an old, fat gross-ass addict,” Tyrell said. He cackled. “Shitweasel here was actin’ like a fuckin’ piece of shit, trying-a buy fent when he was short. So I told him I ain’t gonna sell him none unless he go and find the nastiest addict on the streets, bring him back here, jerk him off and show me a mouth full of nigga-addict cum.” Tyrell laughed so hard he slapped his own thigh. “This stupid honky forget what he was s’sposed to do while he jerkin’ that nasty-ass dick. He spit the cum out, an’ I told him not to do that. I wanted to see his mouth full of slimy nut. So I made him go find me a different addict. That one was even nastier. But he remembered to follow instructions. And nowadays he only calls me when he got money. That’s a better system.”
Greg’s face was a bright red, but from the expression in his eyes, Lance guessed that the story was entirely accurate. As Tyrell told it, Lance flopped his dick in front of Greg’s face.
“Jerk me off, Greg,” Lance said softly. “Use your mouth.”
Greg sighed and opened his mouth. His scruffy chin trembled as Lance shoved his dick in. Greg gagged and his throat resisted, but he didn’t try to stop. It was hot and moist, and instantly it sent a wave of pleasure through Lance’s body. Lance laughed though, because he was kinda ticklish and cuz the indignant look on Greg’s face was funny.
“You nasty,” Tyrell said. He looked at Lance. “You both nasty. Nasty-ass whiteboys…”
“I know,” Lance said. He let Greg spit his cock out. “How good are you at deep-throating, Greg?”
“Not good!” Greg said like he was proud of that.
Lance grabbed a couch cushion that was laying on the floor — it looked like Greg had originally been using that as a pillow, but in his fent-induced stupor, he had rolled off it. Lance placed it on the floor and instructed Greg to lay on his back.
“Put your head hanging off the back, like this,” Lance said, demonstrating the position he wanted. Greg stumbled and slowly moved. He paused to wipe his face off, but Tyrell smacked him hard in the chin.
“Get to it, honky-ass bitch!”
Greg stepped to Lance as though going to fight him, but he was too wobbly and uncertain on his feet. He nearly fell even before Tyrell reached back and punched him hard. Greg collapsed to the floor, and Tyrell dragged him into position for Lance.
Greg groaned. His neck and upper back rested on the cushion, while his head hung over the edge. That gave Lance the perfect position to slam his dick right down Greg’s throat. Greg couldn’t resist deep-throating it even if he wanted to, which it wasn’t clear he did.
As soon as his dick pushed past Greg’s lips, Greg let out a loud gag. He sputtered but Lance was relentless. He pushed his cock in even further despite his throat’s resistance.
The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air as Tyrell lit one up. He looked on in disgust, but with a faintly amused expression on his face. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then kneeled behind Lance. He watched Lance’s balls thwack on Greg’s chin, as he began plowing back and forth in his throat.
He looked closely at Greg’s face, which turned red from both humiliation and lack of oxygen. He sneered and blew smoke at him, filling his nostrils with it and making tears well up in his eyes from the acrid smoke.
“You one nasty-ass addict, Shitweasel.”
As pleasure emanated up his dick, Lance humped wildly. He couldn’t see Greg’s face, so he couldn’t see the utter shame and pain in his eyes, but he could hear it in Greg’s sputtering. Lance leaned forward as he humped Greg’s mouth, his hands extending across Greg’s broad chest. Despite Greg’s apparent disgust, he was obviously experienced at swallowing a cock. Lance was big enough most men (and all women) couldn’t do it, not in any position.
But Lance got every inch down Greg’s throat, which squeezed and massaged his shaft as it sent waves of bliss up Lance’s body. He loved a revolting hobo. The scent of Greg’s unwashed body filled the air, mixed with the cloying aroma of saliva and Lance’s precum.
Lance had always thought of addicts as being skinny, but Greg was actually well-muscled. He wasn’t thick like a bodybuilder though; he was thick like a naturally thick man, one who bulked up regularly aboard the oil rig. There was a scrappy tightness to him too, which Lance attributed to his lack of nutrition and hard living. All of those muscles tensed up every time Greg gagged on Lance’s dick, and Lance pounded hard enough to make Greg’s pecs jiggle with each thrust.
Tyrell’s deep voice was gravely. “I’m gonna put this cigarette out on ya forehead now, Shitweasel. Gonna make you my ashtray.”
Lance gripped Greg’s ropy, spongy muscles with both hands. He clearly couldn’t hold Greg down, but Greg was overwhelmed by the fent, so his muscles were loose and slack. Greg could do little more than buck as his skin sizzled.
Lance turned around in time to see Tyrell put the cigarette out, right in the center of his forehead. Greg’s throat spasmed, squeezing around Lance’s dick.
With a loud sigh, Lance withdrew his dick. Greg gasped for air, the first time in what felt like forever to Lance, though he knew that couldn’t be right; he had probably been sneaking little breaths in between Lance’s thrusts.
“Will you plow him, Tyrell?”
Tyrell shook his head. “That’s nasty. I’ll help you do it, Lance, but I ain’t stickin’ my dick inside that addict.”
Lance nodded. He smacked his dick against Greg’s face. He smiled. “Will you… sit on his face? Make him lick your asshole.”
“A rimjob?” Tyrell was about to shake his head, then considered it. He shrugged. “Whatever, fine. That ain’t nuthin’. Gimme another twenty bucks.”
“Uh… I don’t have it on me, but I can go to an ATM after,” Lance said.
“Fine-“
“You’re… paying me?” Greg asked, still heaving for air as Lance smeared his spit-covered cock over Greg’s face. Greg had flushed a bright red now, as blood pooled in his low-hanging head .
“He’s payin’ me, addict-bitch!” Tyrell said with a laugh. “I ain’t givin’ you jack-shit. I own yo’ ass, bitch.”
Lance slid down Greg’s body. His balls left a trail of sweat through the center of his chest. Then he pulled down Greg’s filthy jeans and threw them on the floor. Greg had a huge cock, uncut, limp as could be. Lance gave it a few strokes.
“You ain’t gonna get much outta that, man,” Tyrell said. “Addicts can’t get hard.”
“I can get hard!” Greg said. His voice moist cuz his mouth was still clogged with spit and precum.
Tyrell laughed. “No, you can’t.”
“Lift your legs up,” Lance said. Greg’s thick, trunk-like thicks elevated, separating his asscheeks and baring his hairy hole. Lance rammed a finger in and smiled as Greg gasped in pain. “You ever been cornholed before?”
“No!” Greg said.
“You sure? I know you was in prison,” Tyrell said.
“I never was. I joined an Aryan gang in prison,” Greg said. “I was protected. I kept my ass pure, intact, like it should be.”
“Well, I’m gonna enjoy this, you Aryan fuck. Get ready to lick Tyrell’s ass,” Lance said.
Greg moaned and gagged just at the sight of Tyrell’s bare brown ass. Lance waited with his dick right at the entrance to Greg’s hole, while Tyrell slowly lowered his unwashed ass onto Greg’s face.
Greg’s whole body bucked when he actually felt Tyrell’s ass on his face. Lance took that moment to slam his dick in, chortling in laughter at Greg’s body’s resistance. He was so distracted by the ass on his face that his own ass was wide open.
But Lance still felt substantial resistance. He shoved as hard as he could, laughing when Greg’s big roughneck body shook and flexed hard. He still didn’t seem to realize that he could overpower Lance, or maybe he just didn’t care; maybe he was willing to do anything Tyrell said on the assumption that disobedience would mean less fent down the line.
“Get your tongue in there, bitch!” Tyrell shouted. He had never taken his pants off, just pulled them down. His balls rested right above Greg’s frantic eyes. Then Tyrell yelped and moaned, a low, blood-curdling sound, as Greg did precisely that. The moan was exaggerated, Lance was pretty sure, Tyrell was funning, maybe to tease Greg or maybe he thought Lance would be more willing to pay for this again if Tyrell seemed to enjoy it.
That was a thought Lance hadn’t considered — maybe Tyrell was gonna bring a hobo every time Lance bought coke. That would be fun.
Lance sighed. He could feel it when Greg stopped resisting and stuck his tongue into Tyrell’s ass; he could feel it in the sudden relaxation of Greg’s sphincter. Greg choked and sobbed into Tyrell’s big black ass.
“Is he making that feel good, Tyrell?” Lance asked.
Tyrell shrugged and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He angled his body away from Lance, so Lance couldn’t actually see the expression on his face, but from his tone and body language, Lance guessed it actually felt very good, and Tyrell just didn’t want to admit he enjoyed a rimjob from an addict. Tyrell didn’t seem to plan on getting hard, but it happened anyway, and he made Greg stroke his dick off.
Soon Greg had trouble keeping his legs in the air, and he kept trying to lower them. Lance barked at him to keep them up, which made Greg try again until his fent-exhausted muscles gave up again. It felt incredible to Lance, whose cock was massaged by Greg’s powerful thighs coming together in an attempt to keep him out. He didn’t have any tightness in his asshole though, so his clenching did nothing to keep Lance’s shaft out. Every thrust of Lance’s crotch sent sparks of bliss through Lance’s body, while Greg’s muscles twitched in pain each time.
Tyrell moaned and shuddered. He muttered something Lance didn’t catch, then lifted himself up. He turned around and rammed his dick right into Greg’s mouth — violating his own ‘no-penetrating-the-addict’ rule.
He sighed as cum flowed, and Tyrell’s cock pulsated. Creamy cum burst into Greg’s open mouth. Greg gagged loudly, and much of the cum spilled past his lips and down his chin or running in rivulets into Tyrell’s unkempt pubic bush. Tyrell flexed his hips to slam his throbbing dick down Greg’s throat.
Greg bucked and gagged over and over, but Tyrell kept his cock in place. Greg’s pecs were hard as rocks as he heaved, his nipples like razorblades beneath Lance’s grasp. The cum was plentiful and thick, and it stuck his skin. Some of it even sputtered out of his nostrils as he tried everything to avoid swallowing it.
At last Tyrell pulled out. He lightly smacked Greg’s face as Greg gasped for air. Then Lance leaned forward, leaving his dick planted deep in Greg’s ass, and he reached forward to smear Tyrell’s cum into Greg’s mouth.
He continued to gag — it seemed he was unable to get used to the taste of cum, or maybe it was the residual taste of ass that did it. Every time he did gag, his asshole clenched hard around Lance’s dick, sending another pleasurable thrill up Lance’s spine.
“You licked ass pretty good, honky,” Tyrell said with a surprised laugh, like he had thought the rimjob would be a crushing bore. “You eat farts too?”
“No-!”
“Let’s find out,” Tyrell said. He turned around and plopped his ass right on Greg’s face yet again. He closed his eyes, and then a loud rumbling fart filled the air. Greg bucked and fought again, his fent-addled arms failing to push Tyrell away as Tyrell cackled.
When Tyrell finally pulled away, Greg’s face was bright red, smeared with tears and various fluids. Tyrell looked at him like he was a dirty diaper, and he spat over and over onto his face. He hocked up big loogies, making certain they covered his eyes and nose.
That put Lance in utter heaven. Greg’s entire muscular body rejected the mask of filth on his face, but Tyrell kept smacking his hands down so he couldn’t wipe his mouth off. The ruddiness of his face extended down to his chest and shoulders now.
Greg’s dick remained limp, even as Lance lazily stroked it. He had a nice big cock that felt perfect in Lance’s hand, and he didn’t even mind that it remained soft.
“Hey, Greg,” Lance said softly. He had to repeat himself a few times until Greg responded by lowering his eyes to look at Lance. Lance continued pounding away, gripping those massive upright thighs as though he was holding them aloft. Lance grinned at his pained expression. “I’m gonna cum in a minute or two. I’m gonna cum in your mouth. You understand me? Repeat what I just said but put it in your own words.”
As the last remnants of Greg’s pride deflated, he stumbled and staggered over his words. “Uh… You’re gonna cum… soon. In a minute or two. You’re gonna nut in my mouth.”
“That’s right. Good boy. Now when I say I’m gonna nut in your mouth, you might think I mean like they do in porn — where I’d jack myself off and shoot my cum on your tongue. That way the camera sees it. But there isn’t any camera here, Greg, so I’m going to shove my dick all the way in your throat. You understand.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to deep-throat it because it’s nicely lubed with your own assjuices. You ever taste assjuice before today?”
“No…” Greg said. His voice sounded weak, like he was already about to vomit.
“His throat is lubed up wit’ my cum too, plus that fart I blew down his gullet,” Tyrell said. He stood up now and pulled his pants up. He looked on as though utterly disgusted with what he saw.
“That’s a good point, Tyrell,” Lance said. “Are you ready, Greg?”
“Yes, damnit! Just do it! You fuckin’ pervert!” Greg screamed, his face was red. He tried again to wipe it off, but Gun easily kicked his hands away. His face gleamed with the mask of body fluids stuck to his skin.
As frustration roiled his body, his asshole clenched once again. This time it was so tight that Lance paused, unable to keep grinding. He groaned as his dick spasmed, and he shoved it in anyway. Greg gasped, bit his lip and gripped the cushion beneath himself with his fists.
Lance was a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to cum in Greg’s ass, but he so-very-rarely got the chance to do some ass-to-mouth. So he pulled out and scooted to Greg’s face.
Greg took a deep breath and dry heaved in the few seconds Lance’s throbbing dick hesitated in front of his face. The anal remnants clung to his shaft, glistening in the dim light of the crackhouse. Then Lance shoved it in.
A loud retching sound emanated from Greg’s throat, which spasmed and pulled. Lance felt such intense pleasure as he had never known before roll through his body. He jerked and his knees went weak. He leaned forward to support himself on Greg’s strong, sweat-covered body.
Cum flowed down his throat, a huge, plentiful load that coated the sides of his gullet. Tyrell kneeled down to watch again, and he traced Lance’s dick through Greg’s neck, where he could see spasming cockshaft and the flow of cum into his stomach.
“You nasty-ass deadbeat…”
The gagging was so loud it resonated in the ramshackle crackhouse. Lance was certain that anyone walking by outside could hear, but he supposed they probably heard that sort of thing a lot. Lance shook, lifting one leg like a dog as he humped his limpening dick down Greg’s throat. His grizzled chin and cheek hair scratched at Lance’s smooth skin.
At last it was over and Lance pulled out. He sighed as Greg retched, once again trying to sit up and clean himself off. But Tyrell used his feet to force Greg to stay on the ground — Tyrell no longer wanted to use his hands because Greg was entirely covered in assjuice and cum.
Lance laughed as he watched Greg struggle. His big body writhed, covered in so much sweat he was slick and slippery. Lance massaged his muscles and smeared around the body fluids that covered him.
“You don’t get to clean yourself off yet, addict-bitch,” Tyrell said. “Wait till the men who plowed you is done. That’s proper, bitch. You lay there and let the cum dry on yo’ stupid bitch-face, thinkin’ ‘bout how to show proper respect to me. Don’t come beggin’ for shorts no mo’.”
Lance stood up and wiped his dick off with the wetnaps he always kept in his pocket. He tucked it away as he pulled his pants up. Tyrell kneeled next to Greg’s red face. Lance made sure the eight-ball of coke was still in his pocket, plus his wallet — Tyrell hadn’t lifted it — and watched Greg retch violently, using every muscle in his body to do so.
“Hey, Shitweasel,” Tyrell said. He had to repeat it a few times to get his attention. “You my bitch now. I ain’t nevuh been a pimp for men, but I’m thinkin’ I might start. You my first bitch.”
“Tyrell, please-“
Tyrell kicked him in the side. “Nah. You call me sir from now on,” he said. “You gonna get out there tonight and work?”
“Fuck you! I will kill-“
“No you won’t,” Tyrell said. “Don’t you get mouthy wit’ me, honky. I will pimp you out for however much money I can get. If you beg me nice, I’ll let you have some fent now and then.”
Greg settled back, grumbling and spitting invective, but it seemed the promise of fent pacified him somewhat. He closed his eyes as though trying to forget what was drying on his face.
“You know more perverts that’d pay to plow him?” Tyrell asked.
Lance sighed. He fingered the eight-ball in his pocket to be sure it was still there. “Yeah,” he said. “I could bring some friends by.”
“Well, charge ‘em a hundred bucks a person. I’ll let ‘em do whatever they want to his bitch ass, and I’ll give you a little commission,” Tyrell said with a laugh. “Gonna turn this bitch from a fent addict to a cock addict!”

Roid-Rage

When petite twink Avery is beat up by a road-raging weightlifter, he thought he was done for. But then the cops give him the chance to take his revenge in a way he never expected. It’s a Twink on Top extravaganza that steroid-freak never saw coming!

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing here!

Avery trembled for what seemed like days, sitting there in the hospital waiting room. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t really that big of a deal.
But it sure could have been. Avery had never been so near death, and it all happened so fast. He could have died and not known it until he woke up in the afterlife.
A man attacked him with a crowbar in a parking lot. Apparently, Avery had cut him off in traffic, but Avery hadn’t noticed because he was dancing in the driver’s seat to Israeli trance music. The attacker was a short, squat bodybuilder in a sleeveless shirt, fleshy arms like a gymnast’s thighs, that was all Avery remembered of what he looked like. Avery had suffered one good whack in the head before a policeman on a bicycle happened past and saw the encounter.
So Avery remained at the hospital for a few hours to treat his head wound, then went back to the police station to make his formal complaint. The neurologist said he should be fine but to call emergency services if he felt symptoms of a concussion again, and he couldn’t sleep for a couple hours. That wouldn’t be a problem, Avery was wired. By then it felt like the attack had happened weeks ago, not this morning. So much had happened since then.
The cop who brought Avery from the hospital to the station opened the door to the interrogation room. He was Officer Cherton, a gruff, no-nonsense ex-marine type, chewing on an unlit cigar. “Mr. Flowers, I wanna make you an offer. That fellah who attacked ya — his name is Levi Hechinger — he regrets what happened something fierce. If you want, I’s gonna recommend that the DA press charges. But you got a second option too. You can save me some paperwork, you can help the state budget crisis by keeping that meathead out of lockup and… you can cornhole him.”
“What?” Avery’s foot was tapping furiously, and he both couldn’t stop doing it and couldn’t focus on anything else.
“He said it’s okay, but we’ll tie him down,” Officer Cherton said. He spat out fragments of the unlit cigar he’d been chewing on. “He’s having a bit of a roidrage sit’ation right now.”
“You want me to cornhole him?” Avery said, furrowing his brow. That was not an offer he was expecting.
Cherton shrugged. “It’s bettuh than me doin’ papuhwork.”
“Oh… uh… Yeah.” Avery agreed more because he couldn’t think of a reason to say no than because he had thought about it and decided he wanted it. He did want it, that just wasn’t a fact he was in the right headspace to figure out right away.
“Good, alright,” Cherton said. He led Avery to the back of the police station, where the local jailhouse was set up. Then he handed Avery a small box with a taser inside, along with a tube of lube and a few other objects Avery didn’t immediately recognize. The cop blushed. “This is our Joybox. That’s what we call it.”
“You cornhole a lot of men?”
“Me? No, I got a girlfriend,” he said. “I don’t need to cornhole perps. But there’s a lotta married or single men at this station, they don’t get laid much, so they get desperate.” He opened a cell door and nodded. “There ya go. Just come on out when you’re done.”
The roidraging man was there, tied to a plain wooden chair, on which he sat backwards, so the back of the chair extended from his crotch up to his chin. He wore only a pair of off-white tattered boxers, the edges of which were mouse-nibbled. He was barrel-chested, so thick it look hard to breathe, and he had a steroid-freak belly, like his abs were as thick as his pecs. His face was aged — young, but aged — and leathery, his hair balding but shaved smooth.
The chair had a short seat, so the man’s meaty ass overhung the back. That left his asshole clear and ready to access, Avery thought with a shiver. The chair was designed to make sure he was in a rammable position, even by someone much smaller than him, like Avery was.
Levi Hechinger was his name. It felt weird to give a name to the man whose blind rage had nearly killed Avery a few hours ago; he had been thinking of him as simply That Steroid Man. Now he had an identity. He wondered if Levi was going to tell anybody about this.
When Avery got closer, he smelled stale sweat and the clinky iron of free weights, like an abandoned factory. He was broad-shouldered, with veiny arms and tight skin. He breathed heavily, both cocky and terrified of what would come next or maybe he was still in the midst of a steroid rage. He was squat and thickly built, massive lats, bulging body with a thick torso despite very low body fat.
Had he agreed to this? Avery wasn’t sure. The cop Cherton implied he had requested it instead of arrest and conviction, but now Avery wasn’t sure. Levi trembled like he didn’t know what was coming. It was possible the cops were tricking Levi, Avery or both.
But Avery had no intention of backing down. He had felt like such a weak, pitiful creature this morning. He had to do something to regain his masculinity.
“What’re you gonna do to me?” barked Levi. Despite his apparent fear, he remained angry — that must be the roidrage, Avery thought. Levi’s voice was guttural and rough like an old broom.
“I’m gonna ram you, Levi,” Avery said. “I thought you knew.” That answers that question, the cops were tricking them both into doing this. Cherton simply didn’t want to do any paperwork, that’s all that was.
Levi laughed, a deep booming sound. “You sound like a fuckin’ pansy.” He wrinkled his nose. “You fuckin’ wuss! C’mon, fight me like a man!”
“I can’t fight you, I’m like a third your weight,” Avery said. He came around to Levi’s front so he could see him. “I know my limits. You tried to kill me earlier.”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to kill ya.”
“You tried to hit me in the head with a crowbar,” Avery said.
“I wasn’t hopin’ you’d die,” Levi said. He had a sharp, stawky accent with that rough-edged cadence like he sucked on tailpipes. He sounded like he was from Manhattan, Avery thought. He didn’t want to ask because he didn’t want to know more about Levi as a person.
“You were sure willing to risk it. What was the point of the crowbar if-? No… Wait, nevermind,” Avery said. “I don’t need to hear your excuses. I’m not your probation officer.” He grabbed Levi’s ass where it hung over the edge of the seat. He massaged the plump, hard muscles there. Levi threw his head back and gritted his teeth. Avery smiled at the huge man’s tension, the rolling flex of his muscles. “Have you ever been cornholed before, Levi?”
“No! I ain’t no wuss!”
“Oh good, I can’t wait to wreck it-“
“Fuck you, asshole!”
“What do you want me to stick up your ass first? A finger? A dildo? The Joybox here has a couple dildos. Let’s see, there’s a very small one, see?” He showed Levi the tiny green dildo, the size of a large thumb. “And see then you got this big black one. That’s insane.” He showed Levi that one as well, a big coal-black dildo the size of Levi’s bodybuilder forearm.
“Man, don’t you stick anything up there! That is a one-way hole, fuckhead!”
“If you don’t choose, I’m gonna assume you love big black things sliding up your ass,” Avery said. “You look like the type. I bet that ass can take some punishment.” He giggled as he rubbed that black dildo against the surface of Levi’s asshole. Levi trembled and bit his lip, his length of his spine shuddering at the sensation.
“Man, jerkoff! Fuck you!” Levi took a deep breath and sighed, his pride deflating rapidly. “The… finger… Make it your pinkie finger, man.”
“You should be nicer to me, Levi. You could be charged with attempted murder. That’ll be like twenty years in prison. You’ll take bigger things than my finger in twenty years,” Avery said. He dropped the dildo and placed his fingers right there at the smooth rim of Levi’s asshole. Levi shuddered, his ass twitching and his muscles straining against the ropes binding him. “You’re not the Incredible Hulk, Levi. You can’t snap rope just by flexing your muscles.”
“Fuck y-you!” Levi’s voice broke because Avery inserted his pinkie finger. Levi’s asshole was tight and moist, and Avery let out a long, slow exhalation right onto Levi’s broad back as he felt his own dick get rock-hard in his pants. This was turning out to be even more fun than he ever thought possible.
He slowly inserted his pinkie, then drew it almost all the way out. Levi grunted as though trying to take a shit. Avery giggled. He reached around Levi’s torso to feel his dick, and his giggle turned into a laugh as he realized how small it was.
“Was your dick always tiny? Or did the steroids do that?” Avery asked. Levi didn’t answer. He just bit his lip and hung his head low as Avery felt his shriveled balls. “Oh, that’s natural, huh? I’m sure the steroids didn’t help though.”
“Man, fuck you-” Levi yelped and stopped speaking as Avery curled his finger up inside his ass. Levi’s entire body clenched, which just made the pain worse. Levi’s face had started out reddish, but it now turned outright crimson.
“Let’s try a second finger now,” Avery said. He pushed his ring finger in next to his pinkie, but he felt resistance. He barely got the tip in and was stuck. Levi’s muscles all heaved at once as he struggled to accept it all. “You prolly think that I got a little dick cuz I’m small and skinny and I don’t use steroids. But you are wrong, Levi. I got a big piece of meat. You’re gonna take every inch of it. If you want it to hurt real bad, you keep resistin’ my fingers. I’m using my fingers to warm you up so I don’t rip your sphincter apart when we actually start. My dick is a lot bigger than my fingers.”
“Fuck you!”
“You say that a lot, but when has it ever solved anything for you?” Avery asked. He shoved his ring finger all the way in, and Levi screamed in agony. His face was bright red, soaked in a swathe of sweat, his squashed features scrunched up. Blood dried beneath his nostrils, Avery hadn’t noticed that until now — the cops must have had to rough him up to get him in jail, or maybe he had smashed his face against the chair back in front of him.
“Fuck you, jerkoff! I fight my way outta problems all the time. I ain’t a pansy-ass pussy like you!”
“Really? Cuz I’m fingerin’ your butthole like a pussy. You sure you ain’t a pussy? I’m fucking you like one.”
Levi bit his lip then as Avery smiled, Levi’s broad muscles writhing and tensing between Avery’s grip, while Avery’s other hand slipped fingers in and outta that tight hole. Levi rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. His asshole loosened then, enough that Avery could wiggle his fingers back and forth some. Each motion made Levi spasm and pull against the ropes binding him.
“Okay, are you ready to try a dildo? Or do you want to swallow some dick first?”
“I’ll bite off anything you put in my mouth, jerkoff!”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Avery said. He withdrew both of his fingers and dropped his pants. He lined up behind Levi and put his dick right there at the entrance to his ass, which began to retighten now that it was empty. Avery took that big black dildo from the Joybox and placed it in front of Levi’s mouth. Levi kept his lips tightly sealed, so Avery just rubbed it in front of his face.
“Ugh, it smells like ass…” Levi said.
“Well, I doubt it gets cleaned that often,” Avery said.
Levi gagged, the sight of which was apparent in the rippling of his back muscles. He spat on the ground, though most of it clung to his chin or the back of the chair in front of his face. He retched and heaved. “That is fuckin’ nasty, I ain’t puttin’ that in my mouth, jerkoff.”
Then Avery rammed his dick in, all the way up Levi’s ass, without a word of warning. A howl came outta Levi, who clenched down right away. Just the tip got in before Avery was unable to go any further. Avery sighed and leaned his head against Levi’s smoothly-muscled back.
The tip was enough. Levi’s ass squeezed and massaged Avery’s cocktip.
“Oh, Levi…” Avery removed a clothesline clip from the Joybox. He placed it on Levi’s nose, and it squeezed tight. His gasps of pain were nasal now, but still booming on account of his deep voice. The surprise made him loosen his ass for a moment, and Avery shoved the rest of his dick in all at once, pushing past Levi’s resistance. Levi gasped and groaned. He spat again, still unable to spit forcefully, so he just let saliva drool past his lips.
With the clip forcing his nostrils shut, Levi was unable to prevent himself from opening his mouth. As soon as he did, Avery shoved the black dildo in until Levi gagged violently. His asshole clenched around Avery’s dick.
As Avery worked his dick in and out, he made sure to grind it in deep, hitting every corner of Levi’s insides. Levi screamed around the dildo in his throat, but all he could do was make muffled grunting noises.
“Oh, Levi… If you beg me to use lube, I’ll use lube,” Avery said. He withdrew the black dildo to give him a chance to speak.
“Fuck you, pansy! I’ll never submit,” he said, choking on his own words. Tears twinkled in his eyes, and he was overcome by a chorus of gags before he even finished speaking.
Avery smiled. Again, he was glad that Levi was being less than cooperative. He grabbed a strappy mouthguard from the Joybox. He hadn’t known what it was for at first, but now he had it figured out. It was like a horse’s bit, it dug into his gums whenever he tried to close his mouth. That forced his jaws apart and kept him from closing them in the slightest.
Levi tried to spit, but the mouthguard straps clipped together behind his head. There was nothing he could do. With his mouth pried so far apart it looked like it must be hurting his jaws, Levi was unable to resist as Avery deep-throated him with that dildo.
He rammed it in over and over, cackling as Levi gagged each time as though he was surprised. Levi again tried to flex his muscles like he could shatter the ropes binding him that way, but of course all that happened was his asshole clenched and massaged Avery’s dick, sending waves of pleasure up his body. Levi didn’t seem to realize that the more he struggled, the more intensely blissful it felt to Avery.
Then he pulled the dildo out, and removed his dick from Levi’s ass. A wordless cry came from Levi’s propped-open mouth.
“Oh this is gonna be fun,” Avery said. He switched the dildo and his dick, starting by pushing the huge black dildo past Levi’s sphincter. Levi screamed, eyes bugging out as he wordlessly heaved through his open mouth.
The dildo didn’t really go in, not past the first centimeter or so. It was just too wide. Avery was disappointed, but he decided to keep working at it.
Meanwhile, he placed the dildo beneath Levi’s ass so he still felt it, and then used his muscular back and shoulders to awkwardly climb the back of the chair. He wedged himself between Levi’s face and the chair-back, which put Avery’s dick right at mouth height.
Since he had been facing the jail cell wall, this was the first time Avery got a good close-up look at Levi’s face. He was really unattractive, Avery realized, not really “ugly” per se, but crude, like a caveman, with a squashed nose and boxed ears, like he had been in a lot of fights. He was missing one of his front teeth.
He flailed and gurgled as Avery swiped his ass-covered cockshaft over Levi’s face. He made sure to get all that assjuice sticking to his nose. Levi’s cheeks were bright red even before Avery slammed his dick into Levi’s throat. A violent retch reawakened the pleasure flowing through Avery’s body.
He gripped Levi’s shaved head and held on as he pounded his dick in and out, all the way down Levi’s gullet. Not many men could deep-throat Avery’s entire dick, and those who did needed to work up to it — they couldn’t really do it consistently. But Levi’s mouth was forced as wide as it could go, and his throat had no ability to keep Avery’s dick from forcing itself in. Even as his throat squeezed and spasmed, Avery rammed it in hard.
“Keep your eyes open, bitch,” Avery said. He used his fingers to pry Levi’s eyelids open. His eyes fluttered as his face turned red, demanding oxygen. Avery kept going though, holding on with his dick blocking Levi’s airway. He was shocked at how easy it was — with Levi’s muscles all tied to that chair, and his mouth stuck open, Avery could stay there, occupying his throat until he jizzed right into his stomach. He could watch Levi suffocate all day, but he didn’t. He pulled out and smiled at Levi’s hoarse gasping.
“That was some nice dome,” Avery said. “But I’m gonna cornhole you some more. I want my dick to be nice and assy when you taste it again.” He climbed down behind Levi once again. He pulled the mouthguard off.
“You sick… jerkoff… freak,” Levi said between gasps for air.
“You still tried to kill me, over a traffic dispute,” Avery said with a sorrowful shake of his head. “I think I still come on out on top in the morality scale. I bet that wasn’t the first time you beat someone up due to a case of road-rage, was it?”
“Fuck you,” Levi said, but the fight had gone out of him. He sounded less angry than resigned. He twitched a moment later as Avery rammed his dick back in, and he seethed through his clenched teeth. “I gots a temper, so what? What’s it to you? I’m a real man, pansy! I kick any bitch’s teeth in if he do me wrong.”
“How’s that plan workin’ out for ya?” Avery asked. He felt intense pleasure rolling through his body as he plowed Levi hard. Levi jerked and spasmed, the pain not getting any better, it seemed, presumably because Avery didn’t use any lube aside from Levi’s own spit.
“Fuck you…” Levi said, but he said it softly, like he knew he had been beaten.
Avery pulled out and pushed one of the little dildos in this time, because he wanted it to stay in. Levi harshly inhaled and held his breath — the dildo was very cold. His asshole clenched around it.
Once again he applied the mouth guard, even as Levi begged him not to. “I’ll do it, I swear, I won’t bite-” But that was all he got out before Avery put the mouthguard on. He didn’t believe Levi’s promise at all, though he appreciated that Levi was trying.
This time he had cornholed Levi’s ass even longer, so his dick was smeary with creamy assjuice, flecked with specks of juices and ass-sweat. Avery made sure to display his dick in front of Levi’s eyes and nose, so he knew exactly what he was about to taste.
Then he pushed it in. As he did, Levi’s throat squeezed yet again, and Levi’s eyes slammed shut. Avery had to pry them open yet again. That was okay with him — he rather liked it. He threw his head back and moaned.
A surge of disappointment hit him because Avery realized that he was about to cum. He might have been able to hold off even longer, but that didn’t seem sporting, Levi had submitted, and now that it was nearly over, he had lost all of his arrogance. He was begging for mercy, and he hadn’t called Avery a jerkoff in a few minutes.
He gripped Levi’s cauliflower ears and held on tight. His balls slapped against Levi’s chin as he thrust his hips back and forth. Each time he did, his dick slammed through Levi’s violent gag reflex, and then when he withdrew on the backthrust, a torrent of spit and bile spilled out. It flowed over the wooden chair, sticking to it and making Avery wonder how many men’s fluids were on this chair — he had a feeling the cops used it every time they brought the Joybox out, and they probably never cleaned it.
When he finally felt his orgasm approach, Avery pushed his dick all the way in, so Levi’s flattened, oft-broken nose smashed into the meat of Avery’s shaved crotch. His balls rose up in their sac where it lay pressed against Levi’s chin.
Levi’s eyes bugged, frantically darting to either side as though he might find some means of escape. But there was no way he could move, he just submitted and turned red as cum flowed down his throat.
The most intense orgasm of Avery’s life hit him. He groaned and grunted. He rutted and squealed, snorting while he rode Levi’s spasming face.
He shot a huge load that poured into Levi’s gullet. Levi coughed and sputtered, face now a bright red as his eyes begged for oxygen. But Avery kept ahold of his face with both hands, smiling. He spat right on Levi’s nose.
Finally he withdrew his limpening dick, and Levi sputtered. Cum flew all over the chair back and he spat up a gigantic ball of saliva, a fist-sized droplet that landed with a plop on the chair. Moisture was smeared all across Levi’s broad chest.
Levi went limp as he sobbed. Avery was relentless though. He forced Levi to lean his head back, then Avery dropped both of his hairy balls in Levi’s mouth. Levi hadn’t even gotten his breath back yet, so he hoarsely gasped around the scrotum in his mouth.
At last it was over; Avery’s dick was as limp and spent as it had ever been. Avery pulled his balls out, then used some wetwipes he found in the Joybox to clean himself off. He didn’t clean off Levi, who heaved for breath the entire time. It wasn’t until Avery was putting his clothes back on that Levi managed to speak.
“Please… take the dildo out of my ass,” Levi said.
“Oh… I forgot about that one,” Avery said. “I’ll take it out if you promise to clean it with your tongue.”
“Fine, whatever. Please… I’ll do anything you want,” Levi said. Tears streamed down his cheeks, from both lack of oxygen and relief that it was finally over.
Avery pulled the dildo out, and Levi’s entire body went limp. His muscles sagged as he stopped fighting against the ropes binding him. Avery didn’t wait for him to open his mouth, he just shoved the small green dildo in. Levi accepted it easily, even as his tongue tasted the slimy assjuice and his throat retched all over again.
Avery walked away with Levi there, fighting, but not against his ropes anymore. He tried to stop himself from gagging on the dildo instead, taking a deep breath then trembling as he submitted to the reaction. He gagged violently, then tried to pause and regain control over himself.
But Avery was done. He no longer felt like the weak, pitiful victim he had been earlier in the morning. He watch Levi’s contortions and walked out of the cell. He slammed the prison door shut behind himself as he whistled, heading for the front of the police station. “Have a nice day, Levi,” he called out behind himself. “Drive safely!”

Workers in the Dark

Eagle and Tekaronhonte are high-rise construction workers in New York, but they’re not from the city, they’re Mohawk Indians, and Eagle is still new. He’s not comfortable with urban living or the heights he scales every day, until one night he finds solace and comfort in Tekaronhonte’s arms.

Can Eagle That Soars find a way to flourish so far from home?

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing here!

New York City was a scary place. On his first day in the city, Eagle That Soars Mailloux had seen more people than he had ever seen before. A sea of cars flowed over the roads, and tpeople on the sidewalks thronged like a human river. Even the battlefields of Europe hadn’t been so crowded.
The rise and fall of Tekaronhonte’s breath was relaxing for Eagle. He didn’t know Tekaronhonte until recently, but they were both Mohawk Indians, so Eagle felt a certain kinship for the older man and tribemate. Tekaronhonte had been in the city for more than twelve years. Eagle couldn’t imagine living in a place like this for twelve years. He’d go crazy if he had to live here even half that long.
But then, he couldn’t imagine fighting a war in Europe, and he had done precisely that. Eagle had gone home to the reservation after Germany surrendered, but there was nothing for him there. There were no jobs, and the only excitement was the nightly brawl in the bar parking lot. The young people had left for the Army when the war broke out, and few came back. Some died in Germany or Japan, others found a wife or work or who-knows-what-else, something not found in the Mohawk village Eagle was from.
A construction company was recruiting. Eagle signed up because — like signing up for the Army before the draft board came calling — that was what young Mohawk men did. He was, or would become no matter what, a fearless warrior and a fearless worker. He would not be good enough for a wife if he did not have a job.
Yet Eagle had never felt fearless. He thought he might be able to look brave when he made it through boot camp with ease. But his first day in battle in Europe, he threw up in his own helmet and nearly shot his foot off. He hoped that, by the time he came to New York and signed up to work in high-rise construction, the fear would have been blasted out of him. Maybe he had left his fear on the bloody grassy fields of France.
He sure wished he left it there.
But he was scared after all. The other Indians on the project literally danced on the steel beams that connected like solid clouds as they labored together the framework of a skyscraper. They were fearless. They showed no emotions, no trace of awareness that they could plummet to their doom at any moment.
Eagle barely got any work done his first day. It was all he could do to keep from vomiting. It took all his concentration not to look down, because when he did the world reeled and he had to clutch whatever was nearby lest his sudden dizziness make him fall.
He was proud that he at least hadn’t vomited. He wouldn’t have told anyone that, because the other Indians would have called him a weakling for being afraid at all.
Maybe, he thought, the war did make him braver after all. In the war, he did throw up. Now he didn’t. That was something, but it wasn’t bravery.
And after two weeks working, Eagle managed to feel a modicum of comfort up there on the steel girders. He had had to sit down only once today, when he was overcome with terror and dizziness. It had happened maybe fifteen times on his first day. So that was an improvement.
It happens to a lot of us. Not me. I was a natural up here.
I never panicked. I am like a cat in a tree. But a lot of workers are afraid when they are new.
Their words were not that reassuring. The only reason the Mohawks were hired was because of their lack of fear, and none of the old-timers admitted they had been afraid when they were new. So Eagle still felt like an outsider who might never fit in. Maybe the reason the old-timers denied being afraid was that the weakest among them quit (or fell), so only the bravest remained in New York.
Tekaronhonte’s hand touched Eagle’s chest, which brought Eagle out of his reverie. Eagle drew in his breath and rolled over to see Tekaronhonte’s face staring at him in the dark. He put one finger to his lips.
“Ssssh,” Tekaronhonte said, his voice an achingly low thrumming murmur.
The apartment was chock-full of Indians. It was a four-bedroom apartment with sixteen men living in it. There were three people in each bedroom and four scattered among the hallway and the living room. Eagle and Tekaronhonte took the living room. The couch was too short for either Eagle or Tekaronhonte, both of whom were tall, so they slept on the floor. Tekaronhonte was by the window, but Eagle didn’t want to see outside — this was a ninth floor apartment, plenty high enough to reawaken Eagle’s fear. Nothing in any Mohawk village was nine floors high, and this building went up twice that far. The building Eagle was putting up was going to be twice that even, which blew Eagle’s mind.
It was Tekaronhonte who slipped over to Eagle’s bedspread and slid under the thin sheet he used, his worn older body rubbing up against Eagle’s thinner frame. The hard wood floor underneath was unyielding and cold. Sometimes Eagle could hear the Spanish-inflected arguments of the Cuban couple who lived underneath this apartment.
Eagle raised his eyebrows. “What… What are you doing?”
“There are no women here,” Tekaronhonte whispered as though that explained it. Then he leaned his head down and kissed Eagle on the lips.
Eagle instantly felt two equal reactions. A part of him wanted to push Tekaronhonte away and go sleep in the hall with Benjamin and Delisle.
But another part of Eagle’s mind wanted to kiss him back. He wanted to shove his tongue into Tekaronhonte’s mouth. He wanted to taste every inch of Tekaronhonte’s bronze body and feel himself getting lost in Tekaronhonte’s broad muscles.
So he compromised by not doing anything at all. He laid there and let it happen as Tekaronhonte kissed him on the lips. Their tongues collided in Eagle’s mouth. Tekaronhonte rolled over to lay atop Eagle, showering him with kisses as his hands explored Eagle’s smooth chest.
“You are a pretty boy,” Tekaronhonte said when he came up for air. “You do soar, like your namesake. Majestic.”
Eagle smiled and blushed. “Why did you kiss me?” Eagle asked. His hands wrapped around Tekaronhonte’s back as though to hug him close, but he was already so close his chest muscles pressed down on Eagle’s smoothness.
“It is the secret.”
“What?”
“It is the secret to doing well in construction. Once you have been touched by an older man, you will not be so scared of being on a high-rise,” Tekaronhonte said. “I will give you of my bravery.” His face was flat and grim, shadowy in the unlit living room.
Eagle couldn’t tell if he was joking or not or whether he was saying this just to get Eagle to submit. It did seem like the kind of thing Tekaronhonte might say as a joke — he had told Eagle to get a “left-handed smoke-shifter” on his first day, then laughed as though it was the funniest thing in the world when Eagle failed to find it. That prank was actually the only time Eagle had seen Tekaronhonte laugh since he came to the city. So it wasn’t unreasonable to think he was making up stories again to tease Eagle.
But regardless, Eagle didn’t want to refuse. He hadn’t had sex since Europe and even that was with a French prostitute whom Eagle could only afford because she had never screwed an Indian and gave him a discount. She had said he was “cute like a puppy”, which he took as an insult at the time. He had been too frightened to pleasure himself as well, and he was overcome by horniness every time he saw a woman in the city. They were so pretty here… So glamorous.
“You are handsome like an eagle, and I want to pretend you are a woman,” Tekaronhonte whispered into Eagle’s ear. “I do not normally do this. I do not do it anywhere but here. In this apartment, there are no women, so we take care of each other.”
“You mean everyone does this?”
Tekaronhonte nodded. “Do not tell anyone. It is against the white man’s rules, and we do not speak of it-” He pecked Eagle on the cheek.
“So what do I do?” Eagle asked. He inhaled of Tekaronhonte’s musk, and his kisses traveled down Tekaronhonte’s neck to his powerful chest.
“You may pleasure me,” Tekaronhonte said. He bristled. “I will not do the same to you. I am older, stronger, better at work. I will not do it.”
“That, uh, doesn’t seem fair,” Eagle said.
“Then say no.” Tekaronhonte paused and flared his nostrils. When Eagle didn’t say no, he kissed him again. He ran his hands through the long silken hair that ringed Eagle’s head.
Eagle’s mind whirred as he thought of ways to tell Tekaronhonte that he only wanted to do this if Tekaronhonte reciprocated, but Eagle knew that was a hollow threat. It had been so long since anyone touched him intimately — and even longer since anyone had touched it without being paid — that he realized only as Tekaronhonte reached into his shorts how much he wanted this to happen.
Now that he was listening for it, Eagle thought he might have heard two men doing something similar in one of the bedrooms as well. There was some moist kissing and suckling sounds. In the dark apartment, he saw hands reaching under blankets, tented fabric deliberately shaped to conceal erections, he heard the thump-thump of vigorous masturbation, and he smelled the cottony-sour scent of precum.
They were all getting off. Had they been doing that all this time, since Eagle had moved in here? Maybe. Eagle was so focused on his own experiences he hadn’t noticed, and he had been so tired he fell asleep right away. He awoke later than the others. Perhaps he had missed it.
Eagle was glad that he shared a living room with Tekaronhonte, who was in good shape and healthy. He was tall, broad-shouldered, smooth-skinned, and he had his hair pulled back into a long ponytail. He had a square, jutting jaw and a face lined with just a few wrinkles that came from his age — he was nearly forty.
But right now all Eagle could feel was his awe-striking muscles. Tekaronhonte had been a construction worker for a long time, so his body had grown as thick and as solid as the steel he worked with every day. He looked like he was skinny by nature, and his muscles barely fit within his frame.
In comparison, Eagle was lean and wiry. He was strong, but he was not anywhere’s near as big as Tekaronhonte. He was dwarfed by the bigger man’s powerful arms.
As Tekaronhonte pulled away from Eagle’s mouth, he pulled down his underwear. A big, half-hard cock flopped out. All Eagle could see in the darkness was a thick silhouette, which made his mouth water. He was glad that he was in the dark so no one — not even Tekaronhonte — could see that Eagle was eager to taste it.
Then Tekaronhonte pushed his cocktip into Eagle’s mouth. It was a little sour, very salty and had a faintly sweet aftertaste that made Eagle want more and more. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go so he could swallow every inch of that throbbing meat.
Tekaronhonte groaned but muffled the sound. It seemed that the men in the bedroom had finished whatever they were doing, so the only sound Eagle heard now was Tekaronhonte’s arousal and the heavy breathing of Benjamin, who was asleep in the hall near (the much quieter and slimmer) Delisle. Eagle was glad now that he wasn’t with Benjamin, who might also want to blow a nut off but he was fat and mean, so Eagle wouldn’t have wanted to do it.
He hadn’t realized how much he wanted Tekaronhonte until this started, but now Eagle couldn’t imagine making love to anyone else. He loved the feeling of Tekaronhonte’s massive cock plowing into his throat over and over.
Eagle gagged out of instinct as his throat cried out for a break and for air, but he didn’t want to stop. He loved how Tekaronhonte’s cock throbbed and pulsated, leaking precum down Eagle’s throat and coating his lips and chin with it. Eagle could feel the pleasure emanating throughout Tekaronhonte’s body; he could sense it as though it was his own pleasure, in the tensing of Tekaronhonte’s muscles and the dappling of sweat that appeared on his chest and shoulders.
Finally Tekaronhonte pulled out of Eagle’s mouth, cock flopped over his face and leaving a layer of moist flavor there. Eagle wasn’t sure what was about to happen — or rather, he did know what Tekaronhonte was going to want next, but Eagle was too nervous to think about it.
“Sssh… Do not worry,” Tekaronhonte whispered as though he had read Eagle’s mind. “When it happens in New York City, it does not count.”
“Yes, Tekaronhonte. Please do it.”
“Do not be ashamed. You are just showing respect. You are being respectful. It is appropriate,” Tekaronhonte said. He kissed Eagle on the back of the neck.
Eagle was on his belly now on the floor. He quivered and his whole body tightened just from the fear of what was about to happen — he knew he was going to do it, he wanted to see how it felt and he accepted Tekaronhonte’s promise that it wouldn’t count here in New York.
But in the Army, Eagle had been taught that the most humiliating thing a man can do is accept another man’s penis in his ass. But Mohawks did not see it the same way, and Eagle wanted it in this moment more than he had ever wanted to have sex with a woman. Tekaronhonte’s cock would feel so good in his ass.
That was why Eagle firmly wanted to try it now, despite remaining nervous about what it would be like. He had to admit he enjoyed the feel of Tekaronhonte’s strapping chest muscles rubbing against Eagle’s back as they both got in position. Tekaronhonte was hard and firm, and his cock was likewise, poking like a battering ram at Eagle’s buttcheeks and thighs.
“Lift your butt,” Tekaronhonte said softly, his hand caressed Tekaronhonte’s ass. Tekaronhonte placed a couch cushion underneath Eagle’s belly, then bent Eagle over it, raising his ass up. “I have bear grease.”
Eagle didn’t know why that mattered. No one in New York even used bear grease. Back in the village, bear grease was used mainly in making soap, though bears were scarce in that area nowadays. The gamy smell of it filled Eagle’s nostrils and reminded him of home.
But he figured out the reason for Tekaronhonte using it moments later, when a bolt of pain ran up his spine. Tekaronhonte’s cock squeezed into his ass painfully.
The agony soon diminished, however, as the bear grease did its work. It made Eagle’s entire ass, and Tekaronhonte’s crotch, so slippery Eagle thought he couldn’t have sat down now if he wanted to, he would have just slid right over the floor like a hockey puck. A potent sensation erupted in his ass.
He bit his lip and gasped. The pain was mostly gone, but there was still an intense, not entirely comfortable pressure. He oomphed and his face turned red.
A twinge of pain did hit him then, not too much but enough to make Eagle clench his teeth and suck in his breath. His whole body undulated beneath Tekaronhonte’s heft, his muscles flexing as he gently forced his cock up Eagle’s asshole.
Just when Eagle was about to tell Tekaronhonte to stop, his body relaxed some, and a wave of pleasure flowed through him. Tekaronhonte’s cock sank the rest of the way in, and Eagle felt Tekaronhonte’s balls slap on Eagle’s smooth ass. There was a sensitive spot deep in his behind, and, when Tekaronhonte’s cock touched it, Eagle felt a twang of desire ring out within him.
He lifted his head and gasped. He had to force himself to breathe as the mind-melting pressure and the overwhelming pleasure combined to make his entire mind and body shut down. His lungs clawed for air even though nothing prevented him from breathing — he was just experiencing so much that he didn’t have any real control over his body now.
He went limp, which turned out to be the key to make this feel as good as possible, for both himself and for Tekaronhonte. His limbs were like jelly, his muscles soft, in stark contrast to Tekaronhonte’s stony, hairless body. It felt like a smooth and warm statue slamming onto Eagle’s back and ass over and over again, like Tekaronhonte was made out of granite and Eagle himself was made of nothing more substantial than bear grease.
The bear grease splashed and slipped all over Eagle’s body. He could taste it and smell it now, since it had clung to Tekaronhonte’s hands as his fingers roamed over Eagle’s flesh. He could taste its astringent bitterness, the thick, billowy aroma that was so intense it felt physical, like Eagle could grab clouds of the scent. It smelled like bear-meat and smoke and a little like lipstick, Eagle thought — it reminded him of that French prostitute. She had been so beautiful, but Eagle was glad she wasn’t here; he was glad he hadn’t hired a whore in New York; he was glad to be rammed by Tekaronhonte instead.
At some point, Eagle’s cock had gotten so hard it felt like it was going to burst, and each thrust of Tekaronhonte’s manhood inside him only brought Eagle closer and closer to orgasm. He cried out for more, only for Tekaronhonte to shush him.
When Eagle felt Tekaronhonte’s imminent climax, he was glad. He enjoyed the feeling of giant cockmeat sliding into him, and he loved how it stimulated every inch of his insides, but Eagle was ready to be done. He still hoped he wasn’t seen by the others — no matter how normal and acceptable it was here and even if their roommates did the same thing, Eagle wanted to be able to deny it had happened.
But then Tekaronhonte grunted like he did not approve of something, as his hand stretched around Eagle’s delicate body. He caressed Eagle’s chest muscles — which were basically nonexistent compared to Tekaronhonte’s powerful pecs — and then lowered his hand to Eagle’s cock.
“I will give you pleasure,” Tekaronhonte said as though it was a rare and special gift, which, Eagle supposed, it probably was.
Almost immediately, Eagle could feel his orgasm rising. It grew a little more potent with each downstroke of Tekaronhonte’s hand, when it was all the way at the base of Eagle’s cock. Shivers of desire flowed through Eagle’s body.
It felt like he was being penetrated by all of Tekaronhonte’s muscles; Eagle could feel each muscle fiber flexing and stretching atop his back, intertwining with his limbs. Eagle felt so good he gasped and couldn’t muffle the sound in time — he hoped no one else in the apartment was awake.
His toes curled and his fingers tightened into claws that grabbed at the floor beneath him. His face was bright red, his back covered in both his own sweat and Tekaronhonte’s, which clung to Eagle’s skin. He didn’t get why people acted like this was bad, it certainly didn’t feel bad, Eagle thought. He went with the flow, moving in sync with Tekaronhonte’s cock. He enjoyed the sensation, and he wanted to make it last.
“I am going to fill you up now, boy,” Tekaronhonte said. His deep voice boomed in Eagle’s ear. In addition to hearing his promise, Eagle could feel Tekaronhonte’s words through his chest muscles throbbing against Eagle’s back.
Then it came. An orgasm overwhelmed them both at once. Eagle threw his head back and bit his lip to avoid screaming out his climax. The most intense pleasure of his life rocketed up and down his spine. He writhed, the sensation so good it felt bad, but then became so bad it felt good all over again. Eagle’s eyes bugged out.
Cum sprayed within him, great big wads of hot juice that coated Eagle’s insides. He felt its creaminess sinking into his flesh, spreading to every inch of his body. He sighed, and Tekaronhonte did so at the same time, like they were harmonizing together.
Eagle’s own load was big too — bigger than he thought he had ever shot before, though it was dark so he couldn’t quite tell. Tekaronhonte kept stroking his cock even as it became more and more sensitive, and every motion of Tekaronhonte’s hand on his shaft made Eagle writhe beneath Tekaronhonte’s body.
He had no idea how long it lasted. It felt like eons. Eagle was aware of nothing but Tekaronhonte’s slowly limpening cock in his ass, sending aftershocks of orgasmic bliss through Eagle’s body.
Then he pulled out, and the real world came rushing back to Eagle. Eagle’s sigh turned from an expression of intense excitement to incredible relief. His ass was briefly in pain again, but then Eagle relaxed.
He sank back into Tekaronhonte’s arms. The living room was cramped, so it was more comfortable to move closer to Tekaronhonte than to try to sleep by himself like he had done his first week here. He rested his head between Tekaronhonte’s bicep and his chest.
There, Eagle tasted his smooth, clean flesh and the fresh salty sweat that collected there. He inhaled of Tekaronhonte’s steely aroma. His delicate fingers rested on Tekaronhonte’s flat belly and bulging chest.
“Thank you, Tekaronhonte. I hope that was respectful enough for you.” Eagle shivered and looked around, realizing only now that the apartment was filled with writhing construction workers.
“It was. You are a very good boy. Very good respect,” Tekaronhonte said. “You will be a good construction worker. You will find that tomorrow, there is no fear in you. You are a real man.”
“That made me a real man?”
“The most enjoyable summer comes only on those warm days in the middle of winter,” Tekaronhonte said. He kissed Eagle on the cheek. “Do not tell anyone back on the reservation. It is… different there than it is here.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Sleep now. You will have to stretch in the morning, or your bottom will hurt very bad all day,” he said. “Now that you have shown respect, you will be expected to do a full day’s worth of men’s work on the tower tomorrow. Do not worry. You will be stronger, braver now.”
“Oh… I don’t feel braver.”
“When you are scared from now on, you can think of me,” Tekaronhonte said. “Now go to sleep.”
Eagle sighed and fell silent. He didn’t think that would work. He remembered the terror he felt every time he looked down. Tekaronhonte wasn’t going to make that fear go away.
But somehow, Eagle realized, that was exactly what happened. The next day, when Eagle thought of his fear and recalled his moments of terror on that tower, he had been overcome with panic again. He wanted to flee downstairs to the safety of the ground. Now though, he felt that Tekaronhonte would catch him if he fell. He could see the ground beneath him and the cars like bugs crawling along the crowded streets, and there was no fear in him.
Tekaronhonte was right. It worked. Eagle had no fear in the morning. He danced along those steel girders just like Tekaronhonte did.
And that night once again, Eagle smiled and nuzzled closer to Tekaronhonte, whose warm muscles rose and fell in sleep once more. Eagle kissed the side of his chest.
“Thank you, Tekaronhonte. I’m glad we’re roommates.”

The Cholo Bottoms

Anthony got it bad in prison, and he never thought his fortunes would be turned upside-down! That’s cuz the bad-ass cholo who hurt him is gonna hafta turn around and bend over, so that tiny twink Anthony gets to climb on top!

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing below!

When Anthony got out of the prison infirmary, he struggled to walk at all. The doctors had sewn up his cuts and got his bruising to go down, but he was still in intense pain with every step he took. That’s because he got cornholed, and it felt like his ass tore in half, like wet tissue paper, like he was being torn up all over again each time he stepped forward. The stairs were especially difficult to make it down.
Much to his surprise, the guards were kind. Officer Bignose in particular allowed him to walk back to his cell as slowly as he needed. Usually he pushed guys along, practically dragging anyone who didn’t hurry.
Anthony’s ramrod was named Franco, but he went by Sucio — a Spanish word that means “filthy or vulgar” and implies sexual perversion as well. He was tall, heavily tattooed from forehead to feet, broad-shouldered and meaty, strong as an ox. He had cornholed Anthony harder and harder until Anthony begged him to stop. He made Anthony lick the prison toilet seat; he stuck his assjuice-stained dick in Anthony’s mouth, and he pissed on his face. It was a tortuous experience.
Anthony certainly didn’t intend to wag his ass at any more cholos. He had thought he’d be able to get on Sucio’s good side by seducing him, but he didn’t know Sucio’s intense desire to remain uno hombre. His authoritarian manhood demanded he take charge of uno pasivo like Anthony.
But he was safe now. Anthony shared a cell with an elderly man, and he didn’t plan on leaving the cell any more than he had to. Sucio was sent to solitary confinement as punishment for the attack, so Anthony didn’t see him for a long time.
When he finally did return to the cell block on the same day Anthony did, Sucio made a kissy face as he walked by in chains, and the sight of that reawakened the lingering pain in Anthony’s ass. Shame flooded him, and he blushed as he looked down at his feet. Everybody knew Anthony was small and weak in comparison to Sucio, but he was still embarrassed for that to be made obvious. Officer Bignose led Sucio through the cell block. When they saw the kissy face, Bignose pulled on the manacle connected to Sucio’s legs, tripping him. He fell in a big bronze lump on the floor.
Sucio’s dingy white prison shorts and wifebeater were filthy with his sweat and raunch from his time cooped up in solitary. Anthony felt a surge of sexual desire, followed by shame. Anthony wished he could have serviced him in a consensual way. On the outside, he’d have said he wanted Sucio to ravage him. But it didn’t go how he had pictured it in his head. Anthony guessed that Sucio would never allow it — Sucio wouldn’t want to do it so Anthony enjoyed it. He was always going to do it harder than his victim wanted. His machismo demanded it.
“Come on out here,” Officer Bignose said, poking his head into the cell Anthony shared with the old man. Anthony had backed away from the door, not wanting Sucio to see him. Fear surged all over again as he wondered if Bignose’s kindness had only been a front for his true aim: retorturing Anthony by setting up another ramrodding. When Anthony didn’t respond right away, Bignose barked his order again, “Inmate Delunez, get the fuck out here right now!”
Anthony trembled but nodded and crept out of the cell. The cell block was having a Sunday afternoon indoors today, since it was raining outside. That meant dozens of men milled about, almost all of them vatos and cholos — Cell S99 was reserved for inmates associated with the Latin Kings. Anthony had only a glancing connection with them, which was why he had been turned out as Sucio’s bitch.
Bignose held a hand up, palm out, which made the cell block stop whispering. They all glared at Bignose. Anthony shivered with fear — was Bignose going to cornhole him now as well?
Outside of prison, Anthony hadn’t been a thug at all. He had only pledged himself to the Latin Kings because he was going in for a year and needed protection, and luckily his brother was a well-respected vato who could vouch for him. Of course, that hadn’t ended up mattering for very much.
“Listen up, you shitheaps. A lot of you are aware of what happened awhile ago. Inmate Delunez here was treated… poorly, to say the least-” Bignose was interrupted by a chorus of cheers and jeers from the assembled cholos, who yelled insults at Anthony. He blushed, especially when Sucio — standing nearby in chains — sneered at him. Someone pinched Anthony’s ass. Bignose whistled and demanded silence; everyone ignored him until he brought out the taser and brandished it. “Shut the fuck up! There’s a prison policy here we ain’t always followed. That’s because the victims are usually as bad as the perpetrators, but it’s a rule we got a right to enforce.”
“Fuck yo’ rules, esé!” Sucio said. He pumped his hips as though literally fucking Bignose’s rules. His dick-bulge shook in his prison shorts, and he rolled his tongue beneath his lips.
Bignose smiled at Sucio. He nodded to the other guards around him, and one of them jumped into action. Before Anthony could process the sudden turn of events, Sucio had a mouthguard placed on his face. Sucio roared and pulled away, but there were four guards on him, and they kept him in place, even forcing him to his knees. His complaints vanished into a wordless burst of syllables.
The mouthguard was a plain piece of plastic with wire forceps-like edges and a strap binding it to the face. It was made for prison dentists who couldn’t otherwise safely put their hands near the inmates’s mouths. Sucio tried to spit but with his jaw stuck pried apart, all he could do was sputter and writhe in the muscular guards’s arms.
“The rule that we’re going to enforce from now on,” Officer Bignose said with a cruel smile, “is that prison tops get bottomed.”
Total silence filled the room. Then there was a torrent of shouting, angry Spanish and vituperative English — a few of them were in support of the policy, it seemed, but many were against it, and some just wanted to watch the world burn. A few of the inmates rushed towards Bignose as though going to fight him, but Bignose flipped his taser on and they backed off when the sound of electricity crackling hit the air.
Silence once again fell over the cell block.
“Now, not all you alpha cholos are gonna get it up the ass. I ain’t got no interest in that,” Bignose said. “But if yer bitch complains, then I’m gonna let him treat you the same way you got treated. That’s how we gonna decide what’s consensual or not. If your bitch is upset enough to file a complaint, he’s gonna get to climb on top of yer stupid ass. Inmate Delunez here is gonna be first.” He smiled at Anthony, and extended his arm like a fancy butler unveiling an expensive dish.
It all happened so fast that Anthony only realized what was happening right now, as he stepped towards Sucio. The inmates mostly quieted down. None of them really loved Sucio, after all. Bignose had no doubt started off with what seemed like terrible news in order to be sure they’d be supportive and happy when he backed up into a less atrocious rule.
Anthony blushed as he took his dick out. He had been showering with these men, and occasionally jerking them off, for more than a month before Sucio attacked him, so this wasn’t the first time they had seen his dick. But he was still self-conscious knowing that they were looking at him now, and no doubt comparing his dick to theirs — when he was just another prison punk, they avoided looking at his manhood; his ass and his mouth were his only body parts that mattered.
But now his rather thick dick was the center of attention. Anthony had never felt smaller, despite the grande size of his meat. Sucio roared as he tried to pull away, but the guards kept him on his knees. His chest and shoulders were soaked with sweat, which made his wifebeater stick to his flesh. His muscles strained the fabric.
¡Destrozar el culo! ¡Que sea sangrienta!
Anthony chuckled as he flopped his limp dick onto Sucio’s face, his heart racing — this felt so dangerous, even if it wasn’t. Sucio’s face was heavily tattooed, seven tears dripping from his eyes (which meant he had murdered seven people, and the fact that one of the tears was colored red meant that one of those seven was either a cop or a snitch).
¡Su garganta es su culo!
Sucio flinched and writhed. He breathed heavily, drool dripping past his lips. It was obvious he was trying to say something but couldn’t with his mouth pried open. All he could do was champ up moutfuls of saliva.
“You ever tasted cock before, bitch?” Anthony asked, simply because the silence made this all more intense, and he felt a need to do something to break the tension. The pain in his ass was gone now, and he smiled as the cholos filling the cell block burst into laughter and applause. Sucio was a powerful gangbanger, and though they were all nominally allied with him, no one liked him — now that he was a bitch, they’d treat him like one, which meant everyone here could move up a rung in the Latin Kings hierarchy.
Fuck ‘is throat, Anthony. Make him choke! ¡Hacer que se ahogue!
Anthony pushed his dick into Sucio’s big, wide mouth. His moist tongue shook as though trying to find a place to hide, but Anthony just pushed his dick all the way in to the root in one smooth motion — Sucio was big enough to swallow a lot of meat. Sucio retched and gagged, a big ball of spit dripping down his chin and onto his wifebeater.
“Keep your eyes open, puta!” Anthony said. He pounded on his thin twinky chest. This was exactly how Sucio had treated him, so he enjoyed returning the favor. “Bitches should look in they owners’ eyes. I wanna see yo’ stupid bitch face suffocating on my cock, esé.”
He rammed his dick in all the way, even lifting one leg to hump his face like a dog. The mouthguard on Sucio’s face pinched at his jaw whenever he tried to open it, so his mouth was open as wide as it would go — every time he stretched it a little wider, the mouthguard didn’t allow it to go back without pinching into his gums.
Anthony rubbed the Gothic lettering tattooed on Sucio’s forehead — Latin Kings por vida, it read. He spat right onto that tattoo, and when he saw that Sucio shook and gagged, he did it again. He spat on Sucio’s nose and hocked up a big loogie, which he plopped into Sucio’s mouth.
This felt so good that Anthony would have gladly kept going until he came. But he felt his orgasm coming and he knew Officer Bignose wouldn’t hold Sucio down again, at least not unless Sucio cornholed him again. So Anthony decided to go after him in the ass while he could.
After all, he wasn’t gonna get more chances to ramrod a muscle-bound alpha like Sucio.
There were now five guards holding Sucio down. One was on each limb (which were also manacled), and one kept him in a bear hug from behind. That one behind Sucio winced like he was disgusted when Anthony pulled out of Sucio’s mouth — he was awfully close to the action, getting splashed. Anthony blushed, still unused to being the center of attention.
The guard with Sucio in a bear hug leaned onto his back, forcing Sucio onto his back as well, his big body resting on the guard’s chest. He squirmed but with his chained arms and legs held by the other quartet of guards, there was little Sucio could do.
Officer Bignose pulled on the chains of Sucio’s legs and attached them to the wall nearby. That forced Sucio’s legs up. Anthony pulled those dingy prison-issued boxers up, revealing a thick and meaty ass coated in kinky black hairs and amateur tattoos. His cheeks quivered and tensed — he was clenching his ass.
Not that that was gonna stop Anthony.
When Anthony saw that cock again, he knew he was going to stroke Sucio off — both because he genuinely wanted to, and because he knew he could get Sucio hard in front of the entire cell block. Nothing would be more humiliating than treating Sucio like a bitch and making him like it, in front of every cholo in this joint.
There was a Salvadoran flag tattooed right on Sucio’s dick, its blue and white stripes waving in unseen wind. Anthony gave it a stroke while just resting his dick at the entrance to Sucio’s ass.
“You want this real bad, donchu?” Anthony asked, then repeated it loud enough that he could be heard over the hoots and hollers of the other inmates.
¡Si, él realmente quiere!
Sucio’s body roiled and writhed. He struggled against the guards holding him down, but there was nothing he could do, especially on his back with his legs in the air — he was like a turtle stuck on its back.
“You ever took it in the ass before?” Anthony asked. Sucio shook his head and heaved out some indecipherable syllables, but Anthony couldn’t understand him. He cupped one hand behind his ear as though asking Sucio to speak up. The inmates behind him all roared their approval of Sucio’s humiliation. Anthony smiled and said, in an overly loud voice, “Oh, you loved getting rammed by sumisos?! Well, I got exactly what you want! Don’t worry, I’ll ram you again whenever you want. You just let me know.”
He rammed one finger in Sucio’s ass, keeping his dick right there so Sucio could feel it. His other hand remained on Sucio’s cockshaft, lightly stroking it — it was just a bit hard right now, no doubt more from anxiety than actual arousal.
Sucio arched his back and clenched his ass when Anthony’s pinkie entered him. Anthony laughed and smacked him on the asscheek, over and over until Sucio let go of his clenching for just a second, long enough that Anthony could ram his pinkie all the way in.
The sweat drenched Sucio’s body now, soaking those guards who held him down. They looked like they regretted agreeing to this — they probably enjoyed the idea of holding a giant cholo like Sucio down while he got cornholed — Sucio had been insulting and threatening them for years, after all — but now realized that the actuality of it was more difficult and less satisfying than they had predicted beforehand. His sweaty muscles and coarse black hairs rubbed all over their bodies, especially the burly redneck guard who held onto Sucio’s bare back.
“Gonna get that ass to open up one way or another…” Anthony shouted over the din — that was another thing Sucio had said over and over while cornholing Anthony hard. Anthony did it the same way Sucio had, by strangling him.
His thin, delicate fingers gripped Sucio by the neck and squeezed, just hard enough to make him heave and writhe. It was a sudden enough surprise that his ass unclenched when Anthony let go a moment later, and Anthony rammed his ring finger in alongside his pinkie. Sucio breathlessly gasped, his tongue writhing in his mouth as he tried to shout.
Anthony had been so focused on watching Sucio’s agony that he hadn’t really taken a moment to savor the fingering. With two fingers now in Sucio’s virgin ass, he wiggled them. He loved that tight moistness and he especially enjoyed how Sucio’s dick pulsated in his hands now that Anthony was on his prostate.
“Muy apretado…” Anthony said with a slow smile. The other inmates rushed forward to either join in or clap Anthony on the back, but Officer Bignose waved them away.
He rammed his fingers in and out, each thrust making Sucio contort. His muscles were pulling the guards this way and that as they held him down — they couldn’t quite keep him from moving, but they could keep him from getting up. His chains rattled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd of inmates.
Then Anthony pulled out. He pushed his dick in before Sucio’s ass had time to clench again, but Anthony didn’t want to go too fast. He just put the tip of his dick in and held on as Sucio flexed all over. Motionless, Anthony bit back his burgeoning climax, so he could drag this out.
Pain rattled up and down Sucio’s body; Anthony could see it in the undulating tension in his muscles, which tightened and loosened in waves from his trunk-like thighs to his broad muscles. Those muscles clenched his ass as though to grip Anthony’s cock.
“Taste some ass, puta!” Anthony shouted, too aroused to think of anything wittier to say. He wished he could — Sucio had thought of lots of (relatively) clever insults and threats to shout as he had fucked Anthony, but Anthony couldn’t think of a single one right now. He just laughed as he pushed his ass-slickened fingers into Sucio’s mouth.
Sucio sputtered and gagged as soon as he tasted his own ass. He spat the best he could with an open mouth, but Anthony just wiped his fingers off on Sucio’s tongue, groaning as he slid a few more inches of his manhood into Sucio’s behind.
“You feel it in you, bitch?” Anthony asked. “Huh? You feel my dick in you?”
Sucio shook his head, throwing his neck back and forth. He wasn’t really saying no, probably didn’t even hear Anthony’s question, but Anthony decided to take it as a no.
“Oh, okay, I’ll ram you harder then, so you can feel it!” Anthony said. He smiled as the cholos behind him screamed their approval.
Make ‘im bleed, Anthony! Wreck his ass!
Anthony pistoned his hips, slamming his dick the rest of the way in. He pushed his cock all the way to the root, which made Sucio arch his back. He gasped and choked on the fingers Anthony still kept in his mouth.
Then Anthony remained still for a moment, working on Sucio’s dick. It was rock-hard, but he gathered that Sucio wasn’t even aware; he was in too much pain to notice his erection. Anthony used both hands on the meaty, uncut shaft, then cupped his low-hanging balls. He gathered up all the sweat from Sucio’s own crotch and then wiped it over Sucio’s tongue, which stuck out of his mouth like a panting dog.
He wanted to really humiliate Sucio by making him cum with a dick all the way up his guts. So he stimulated Sucio’s prostate while stroking off his manhood.
The tension was so great that it was actually quite easy — Sucio was too distracted to fight against it, so his body’s instinctual arousal was enough to send him right over the line. His orgasm was painful, bringing tears to his eyes as his asshole clenched around Anthony’s rampaging dick.
Cum sprayed over Sucio’s chest and belly. He blushed a bright red as the other inmates, his fellow gangmates, all roared their shocked approval. Some of the cum missed Sucio’s body and landed on the face of the guard holding onto his right arm, who flinched but didn’t pull away even as the semen dripped down his lips.
Anthony pumped his biceps over Sucio’s body. He knew he looked ridiculous, since he was acting like he had overpowered Sucio when he was actually about a third Sucio’s size. But it felt good to be victorious — Anthony hadn’t felt like a real man since even before Sucio plowed him.
Gathering that the guards were losing patience and weren’t going to hold Sucio down for much longer, Anthony decided to finish up. He had been on the verge of orgasm pretty much since this began, so he focused his energy on going hard. His hands sopped up all that cum and wiped it off on Sucio’s tongue, making Sucio retch, writhe and clench down on Anthony’s dick.
The pain must have been excruciating; Anthony knew well that getting plowed with a clenched asshole was excruciating, and Anthony wasn’t even using lube besides Sucio’s own spit, so it was no doubt tortuous. He rammed his dick back and forth, cackling with laughter as Sucio heaved for breath, gagging on his own cum which he couldn’t wipe away. Anthony made sure that what semen that did leak out his mouth got smeared all over his tattooed face.
When his orgasm finally hit, Anthony pulled out — a part of him wanted to cum inside Sucio’s guts, which would have been humiliating for him, turning his culo into a panocha. But it would have been invisible to all the men watching.
So he pulled out instead. Sucio breathed a deep sigh until he saw that Anthony aimed for his face. He gagged again even before Anthony had made it to his head, a potent orgasm rocketing through Anthony’s body. His dick was more slimy than he had ever seen it — Sucio’s ass had really reacted to the hardcore fucking, excreting copious fluids that clung to his cockshaft.
He managed to get his dick in Sucio’s mouth just moments before he came. Sucio wretched and writhed, and spat up a big ball of bile that just leaked out over his face. Anthony groaned as the orgasm finally hit him. His little lithe body writhed, ass clenching and fingers gripping Sucio’s face tightly.
Anthony had never seen someone retch so badly. He shot a huge load right into Sucio’s gullet, but Sucio just spat it right back up. Cum dripped from his lips and coated his face, alongside that slimy assjuice that Anthony brought back from Sucio’s hole. His face was shiny with fluids, eyes scrunched up and flashing bright.
A long, loud sigh escaped from Anthony’s lips as he finally fell limp. His knees buckled, the orgasm so intense he could barely support himself. He used Sucio’s meaty belly for support, and he tweaked Sucio’s nipples.
Finally the guards — disgusted by all the fluids that had leaked to every inch of Sucio’s body — slipped away. Sucio dropped to the ground and landed with a thud. He writhed and rolled over, groaning as he tried to get to his feet. He winced in pain every time he moved, just like Anthony had when he had been led away from the infirmary.
Officer Bignose grabbed the chain attached to Sucio’s neck and pulled until Sucio could do nothing more than pull against the chain, n his knees. Bignose pulled the mouthguard off and Sucio screamed a litany of Spanish insults. He couldn’t reach his face to wipe off.
“Shut your mouth, or we’re all gonna ram you!” Bignose said. Sucio couldn’t breathe with his chain pulled taut, so he soon had no choice but to fall silent. Bignose cleared his throat. “I’m gonna take you back to solitary to chill out for awhile. You’re a bitch now. You’ll have to accept that.” The other inmates roared their approval, but Bignose waved them quiet with one hand. “Now thank Inmate Delunez.” Sucio pulled against the chain again as he growled, but Bignose snapped it tight. Sucio sputtered, spit dripping past his lips. Bignose smiled. “Thank him.” When Sucio didn’t respond right away, Bignose whispered something in his ear.
Sucio blanched. “Thank you… Anthony,” he said through gritted teeth. “I… am alegre you done ram me.”
“Why, you’re welcome, Sucio, de nada. Anytime, I’d be alegre to ram you again.” Anthony held his hand up.
Sucio narrowed his eyes but kissed Anthony’s hand like a suitor wooing his girl. Anthony giggled at the sight of his big cholo body being dragged away. The other inmates clapped Anthony on the back, congratulating him and Anthony’s red face smiled.
The pain in his ass had diminished entirely, and Anthony was beginning to think his prison stay might not be as bad as it had initially seemed. He wondered if he could afford to buy a bitch, and if so, he knew exactly which one it would be. Anthony strode back to his cell like a returning champion.

Deep on the Downlow

When the legendary boxer Thumper White is released from prison, he never thought he’d be rooming up with a doe-eyed prettyboy named Rico! Neither of them will ever be the same. That’s cuz Thumper gets horny sometimes, and he don’t take no for an answer when it comes from a darkskin slice of handsome pie with a pile of alluring frowns on top!

Can Rico handle Thumper’s brand of downlow love?!

Read it now!

The Drunkard at the Saloon

When a cruel and rugged cowboy gets drunk at a saloon, the town pansy is called to give him a taste of something more savory than whiskey! The cowboy is Alfie, a muscle-bound bully, and the pansy is Simon, who’s ready to get his rocks off whether Alfie wants it or not!

Can Alfie take the twink-on-ranchhand pounding that Simon is fixin’-a dole out?!

Read it now as an ebook! Or continue below for the whole story!

Simon was a dandy, in the parlance of the time. Lotta fellers in these parts discottoned to dandies, so Simon thought it might be a trap when Bud Mitchum came to see him. Bud worked at the only saloon in the town of Cheyenne in Wyoming Territory.
“Reckon I needs a favor you might could enjoy givin’,” Bud said, his voice low and hesitant. He avoided making eye contact.
Simon batted his eyes and shook his ass for Bud’s benefit. Bud blushed, his mustache bristling.
“That sounds exciting,” Simon said. A lot of the men here in Cheyenne were willing to let Simon service them on account of there being no women around. Bud never had done so, however. That made Simon eager to see what he wanted. “But don’t just assume I’ll jerk you off just cuz you want it, I have standards and you hafta earn it-”
Bud wrinkled his nose and jumped to interrupt him. “No! It ain’t like that. I… I is too muchuva gentleman to say it out loud, Simon. Jest come wit’ me. You’ll enjoy it, fo’ sho’re.”
He turned on his heels and walked away with military precision, a legacy of his time in the Union Army during the Civil War. Simon had always thought Bud was appealing, in a short and lanky kind of way, but he had always been too strait-laced to let Simon service him. Wondering and hoping if maybe that was what Bud was offering, Simon hurried after him. He barely had time to put his hickory shirt on before following Bud into the center of town.
That was where Lipsweet was, near Mr. Corrente’s apothecary on the main street. It was after one o’clock in the morning, so the apothecary was closed, of course, and Lipsweet was quiet and dark as well. It was deserted, but the smell of drunken cowboys lingered. It seemed to have been a good night, Simon thought, and he was disappointed no one came to get him. Normally at least one desperate gold-prospector or cowboy would come see him at the end of the night, but lately things had changed.
A prostitute named Maryanne had shown up a few days ago. She was all the rage in Cheyenne, which meant Simon had been left behind. He was trying not to get jealous. Whores like Maryanne usually disappeared pretty soon, so Simon thought he’d be back to his old tricks quickly enough.
“There he is,” Bud said. He pointed to a young cowboy sitting on a chair in the corner. Bud curled up his lip. “Tarnations! Alfie! Alfie!”
Alfie startled and woke up then, bleary-eyed and sweaty. He said something, but his drunkenness was so advanced all that came out was an incomprehensible blur of syllables. It was something like mussu hulifu to Simon’s ears.
Alfie was a local cowboy, one who had a reputation for being a drunk and a bully. He had a huge cock that he let Simon jerk off once before, though he had been mean the entire time and he even punched Simon when it was all over. He robbed and stole, and he had been perpetually on the verge of being run out of town. The only reason Sheriff Torkelson hadn’t ever done so was that Alfie worked on the Goodman ranch, which was big — Mr. Goodman had a lot of pull in this town. Alfie helped him enforce order among the farmworkers, ranchhands and cowboys who worked for him.
Simon had heard legends of how Alfie kept order there. He had always dismissed it as mere rumor, but he liked imagining it on cold and sleepless nights — supposedly, Alfie made men who displeased him bend over and grab their ankles. Alfie rammed his massive meat inside them and tore them up from head to toe. When they recovered and could walk again, they always worked a hundred times harder to prevent another occurrence of the same punishment.
But Simon didn’t think that was true, or maybe it had happened one time and the rumor mill had turned it into a nearly daily event. But now Alfie was passed out, and Simon wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about that.
“You want me to take him back to the Goodman farm?”
“What? Can you? If you can-“
“No, obviously not. Am I supposed to carry him? He’s three times my size,” Simon said with a laugh. “I couldn’t lift his arm up.”
Bud furrowed his brow. “Yeah, that wasn’t my plan. I just want you to teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget.
“Uh… He doesn’t look like he’s in a receptive mood to learn a lesson,” Simon said. He chuckled, then his eyes went wide as he saw Bud’s expectant expression on his face. Simon realized then that Bud was asking him to plow Alfie, just like Alfie was rumored to plow farmhands and cowboys. “Oh,” Simon said. “Are you… serious?”
“I told him it would gonna happen. If’n he passed out in my bar again, I’s gonna shove somethin’ up his ass. That’s what I said. I told him that. I warned him, a buncha times, over and over,” he said. “Sheriff Torkelson said I can do whatever I want-“
“Mr. Goodman?”
“As long as he can still work tomorruh, Mr. Goodman don’t care either. I… I heard he hit you and called you names,” Bud said. “He’s always mean to me. I j’st don’t know what else to do. I can’t let him sit in here all night, he’ll just piss all over the place, then wake up and demand free booze again. I’ll have to get the Sheriff in here to kick him out. That’s been happening nearly every morning for weeks. You can humiliate him, Simon. Make him wake up with… y’know… gom on his face.”
Simon shrugged. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of plowing a man who was nearly unconscious, but he wanted to try it. If he was ever going to, this bulging-muscled farmboy with a square jaw and grizzled chin was his ideal target.
He approached Alfie, who was slumped over the wooden table now. His face was buried in his meaty arms, but he was clearly not asleep. He stirred every few seconds, and he seemed to be chewing on his own arm. He might have thought it was some body part of a woman.
“Mo’ ‘um…” he said, lifting his head up suddenly. His eyes were big and wet, and at first Simon thought he was crying, then realized it was laughter. It was silent, like he barely breathed, but he was still laughing at something that happened before or maybe just a thousand in his head. He said that a few more times, “Mo’ ‘um…” Simon eventually reckoned it was more rum, and he grabbed a nearly empty bottle of rum off the bar.
“I’ll be… in my room,” Bud said. “Please tell me when you’re done.” He looked sickly as he disappeared into the back of the bar. Then he poked his head out and said, “You can finish off that bottle, give him the rest if you want, Simon, but no more than that.”
“Sure, fine,” Simon said. He drank a bit straight from the bottle. It was fine, sweet Barbadian rum. He showed it to Simon, who uselessly grabbed for it, his meaty bare arm shaking. His biceps were as big as Simon’s face, but he couldn’t reach the bottle now. His hands flailed around far from the bottle., which Simon dangled above his head. “Take off your clothes, Alfie, and I’ll let you have a drink from the bottle.”
Alfie grumbled and mumbled. He unbuttoned his shirt but was too uncoordinated to be successful at it. He became frustrated and ripped the shirt. Buttons flew everywhere. Then he pulled his undershirt over his head, only to again be stymied by a lack of coordination. He ended up with the shirt covering his face but stuck, and he banged his head on the table as he roared in frustration. He almost fell to the floor. His frustration gave way to hysterical laughter.
Finally he managed to get the shirt off. His hairy barrel chest gleamed with sweat. He continued to speak, but Simon didn’t understand a word he was saying. He grabbed for the bottle and Simon pushed his hand away. Alfie fell back into his chair, as though he didn’t realize he could simply overpower Simon.
“Lemme see your dick. Drop your trousers,” Simon said, shaking one finger at him like a schoolmarm. Alfie was drunk enough to be suggestible, and he reacted as though Simon was an authority figure he had to obey. It wasn’t clear if he recognized Simon at all. Alfie blushed and stood on swaying legs. He dropped his leather britches and the smell of his crotch hit Simon’s senses. It was a musty and warm scent that made Simon excited to get going.
Then he saw Alfie’s big slab of meat. Simon had jerked him off in the alley behind this very bar, but he had never seen it in good light. He whistled his approval and licked his lips. It was nearly a foot long and as thick as a small man’s forearm.
Using a big brandy glass so it would be hard to gauge exactly how much was in there, Simon poured him a bit of rum. It wasn’t much. Alfie looked at it cross-eyed as though he had no idea what it was, then he drank it and gurgled appreciatively.
“There you go, good job, Alfie,” Simon said. He kept his voice kind and feminine, both because it was easier for him and because he didn’t want to accidentally provoke Alfie into drunken rage. Simon wanted to get Alfie to take off Simon’s trousers as well, but he was such a fumbling fool right now that might have taken a long time and he might have ripped the fabric like he ripped his own shirt. Simon pulled off his own shirt and pants himself, shivering in the chilly night air.
“Szhin?” Alfie asked. He sounded hopeful. After he repeated it a few times, Simon reckoned he was asking for gin.
“Maybe in a bit, Alfie. First you need to do what you promised. You don’t want to be a welcher, right?”
“Nevuh…” He burped, and the rancid smell hit Simon on the face. Even though it smelled bad, the masculine aroma turned Simon on. He sat on the wooden table right in front of Alfie.
“You promised me you’d open your mouth for me? Do you remember that?”
He shook his head and furrowed his brow. He frowned. “Misshuh ‘oouhhn shay i’?” Again, Simon struggled to understand, then heard Mister Goodman said it?
“Yes! Mister Goodman said you have to do this,” Simon said. He cocked his head to the side. “Does Mister Goodman make you jerk him off?”
Alfie nodded glumly. He rolled his eyes. “He ish mean…”
“Ah, well… Yeah, it’s sort of an epidemic over there, I guess. I should start working for the Goodmans,” Simon said to himself. “I-“
“Yoo err too leetle,” Alfie said. He made a bicep with his right arm, which sent a thrill up Simon’s spine. He told Alfie to do it again, and Simon caressed those big muscles. He kissed each side of the bicep and licked the trail-dust and drying sweat off. Alfie giggled like a ticklish boy.
“Oh, you’re right. I couldn’t be a farmhand,” Simon said. He laughed along with Alfie, who was too drunk to keep laughing out loud, so he just chuckled quietly. He reached for the bottle of rum again but Simon kept it out of arm’s length. Alfie looked disappointed.
Simon scooted closer to the edge of the table. His feet rested on Alfie’s thighs, and his toes curled around those hairy trunk-like thigh muscles. His foot roamed forward to Alfie’s dick, which was limp and clammy but jumped into life as soon as he touched it. He stroked the shaft with his toes, and Simon closed his eyes as Alfie groaned.
Taking Alfie’s hand in his, Simon guided it to his own dick. Alfie looked on as though it was happening to someone else. He laughed nervously when his hand wrapped around Simon’s dick. He stroked it slowly and lowered his head.
“Good, I’ll tell Mister Goodman you did a good job,” Simon said. “Now lower your head.”
Alfie had definitely done this before, Simon realized — Mr. Goodman must have demanded his mouth before, no doubt as a condition of remaining in his employ. That was why Goodman refused to fire him no matter what. Alfie lowered his head and swallowed Simon’s dick to the root. He was so big his throat was cavernous, and it slid right in.
He gagged as soon as it touched his tongue, but that didn’t slow him down at all. His giant head had to stretch to get that low — he was so much taller than Simon that it was difficult to get his head down to Simon’s crotch even with Simon sitting on the table in front of him.
Intense pleasure rolled up Simon’s spine as his cock disappeared in Alfie’s maw and Simon’s nose rammed into his crotch hair. He gasped and guided Alfie’s head. It was not an expert job — it was sloppy and clumsy — but it was not that bad, and the awkwardness of it made it even more intense in Simon’s mind. His dick straightened and stiffened right away, and Alfie gagged with every motion of his head.
Despite his apparent dislike for the taste of Simon’s dick, Alfie didn’t resist at all, which Simon assumed was because he had been jerking off his boss for awhile. It seemed he was drunk enough that once he got started, he continued without giving it much thought, even as his body choked and rejected the cock in his mouth.
“Oh damn…” Simon’s voice broke.
Alfie’s scruffy chin scratched at Simon’s flesh as he jerked, his chiseled jaw stretching to get Simon’s thickness in his mouth. His tongue slathered spit up and down the shaft, though Simon could perceive the drunken awkwardness even in the motion of his tongue as it pleasured him — even the man’s tongue was drunk. Simon’s hips flexed, humping that magnificent square jaw.
Simon was shocked at how goood it felt, despite Alfie’s drunkenness and lack of desire.
“If you get the whole thing in your throat and hold it there for five seconds, I’ll pour you another drink,” Simon said. Alfie nodded, moisture twinkling in his eyes as he struggled for air. Then he did as Simon said, forcing his mouth all the way down on Simon’s dick. He gagged profusely as his nose nestled in Simon’s pubic hair. Simon held onto the thick mop of hair on his head as though he could force him to remain in place even though he was so much smaller than Alfie. Simon counted out five seconds but made it so slow it was closer to twenty seconds. “Good job, Alfie. Good boy.” Simon’s voice broke as his dick spasmed in Alfie’s throat.
Alfie retched up a big ball of saliva that landed on the table and dripped onto the floor. He took a deep breath when he finally pulled away again. Simon stepped forward, literally standing on the man’s thighs like a little boy hugging his father. He caressed those hairy chest muscles as he climbed up to Alfie’s shoulders.
With his fingers on Alfie’s forehead, Simon pushed his head back and then dropped his balls into Alfie’s mouth. Alfie again gagged when he jerked on those sweaty, hairy orbs. He coughed and sputtered, and Simon looked into those dark quivering eyes as he spread the saliva all over the man’s grizzled face.
Sensing that he was going to cum if he didn’t move on soon, Simon jumped down to the ground. He again poured Alfie a small drink of gin, which Alfie chugged before slamming the brandy glass back down on the table. In moments, Alfie seemed to have forgotten the disgust and shame he felt when jerking on Simon’s dick. He might have forgotten entirely what happened.
“Mo’ ‘um!” he said once again.
“You can have some more rum once you finish,” Simon said. “Get on your knees here on the floor, and bend over the chair.”
Alfie moved very slowly, on weak, hesitant knees. He dropped to the ground and bent over the chair he had just been sitting in. He didn’t seem to understand where this was going, so he just draped his arms and upper chest over the chair at first.
“No, you have to lean up,” Simon said, tugging on those massive arms. Alfie finally realized what he was supposed to do and crawled forward until his ass was in the air, again like a little boy, this time preparing to be spanked.
Simon hadn’t intended that, but his big hairy asscheeks beckoned, and Simon decided to give them a smack. He hit as hard as he could, making a loud slapping sound. But Alfie didn’t even seem to notice. He looked around the bar as though seeing it from this height was mesmerizing.
Simon slipped a finger between those hairy cheeks and found the man’s tight hole — though he noticed it wasn’t as tight as most normal men. He had been penetrated before, Simon thought, presumably by Mr. Goodman.
He pushed his finger in. Alfie yelped and squirmed, and his ass clenched around the finger. Simon sighed and used his free hand to caress Alfie’s strapping back muscles.
“Ah, ‘amm, a ooss,” Alfie said, insistently, as though it was very important. Simon made some supportive clucking sounds but didn’t both responding.
Alfie tried to sneak a hand up and grab the bottle of rum, which was virtually empty, but he moved so slow that Simon just grabbed it out of the way. He was going to put it on the floor, then took the neck and pushed it between those asscheeks.
“I’ll let you drink from the bottle, Alfie, but you gotta loosen up a bit,” he said. He swiped the neck of the bottle between those asscheeks and under the man’s sweaty ballsack. Alfie grunted and heaved, opening up his ass. Simon pushed the open neck into his asshole, and Alfie let out a pained snort. He banged his face into the wooden chair as he let out a howl of pain.
He ground his face into the wood while Simon pushed the bottle’s neck into his ass. When he pulled it out, the opening was sticky with assjuice and sweat. He passed the bottle to Alfie’s face, and Alfie wrinkled his nose as he tried to drink from it. The ass-slime smeared all over his face, and much of the rum missed his mouth, but Alfie didn’t seem to notice.
Simon slammed his own dick into Alfie’s ass while it was still loose. It immediately tightened around him, and Alfie grunted loudly. He squirmed beneath Simon’s grasp as Simon climbed atop his back. Alfie was so huge that it was awkward getting in position, but Simon enjoyed climbing up his muscular back.
Pounding his dick in and out as he stood on the edge of the chair, Simon gripped Alfie’s greasy black hair. Alfie squirmed and moaned, the motion making Simon’s dick feel even better as he plundered that broad farmhand ass.
The man’s ass tightened around Simon’s dick so much that his knees went weak from the intense pleasure. He grunted and groaned, losing all of his feminine grace; he rutted like an animal atop Alfie, whose pained contortions were slow, as though he was struggling through a pool of molasses.
His speed grew — Simon so rarely topped that he had been unsure how he could handle such a big man beneath him. But he soon got the hang of it, and Alfie’s heavy panting as he struggled turned Simon on even more.
His own orgasm came on quickly, and Simon made sure to pull out before it actually happened. He ran around the table and rammed his ass-covered dick into Alfie’s open mouth. Alfie gagged and retched but accepted it. He made a sour face as he tasted his own ass.
“How’s that taste, Alfie? You’re doing real good, boy…” Simon said. Incredible pleasure like nothing he had ever experienced washed over his body then, and he sprayed his cum right in Alfie’s mouth. Alfie sputtered, spitting most of it out as his body rejected the salty issue.
With sexual bliss rollicking his petite frame, Simon sighed. He smeared all the cum over Alfie’s sun-darkened face, its pearly whiteness contrasting with his swarthy skin.
Then Simon reinserted the bottle into his tired ass. Alfie yelped as tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to wipe his face off but Simon pushed his hand away. He looked Alfie in the eye as he worked that bottle back in and out of the man’s ass.
Meanwhile Simon let his other hand explore Alfie’s body. He grabbed his giant cock, which was half-hard and dangling next to the chair on which Alfie was still bent over. Simon gave it a stroke and giggled as Alfie moaned. He seemed to forget about the pain in his ass. He closed his eyes and submitted to Simon’s hand.
In no time, Alfie shot his load as well. Simon was waiting for it, as the man’s bulky muscles tensed and flexed. Cum sprayed into Simon’s waiting hand. Alfie gasped as though his orgasm was painful which Simon supposed it probably was since that bottle was still in Alfie’s ass.
“Alright, you just need to lick this up, boy,” Simon said, keeping his voice as stern as possible. The thick cum of Alfie’s nut sat hotly, steaming and dense, on Simon’s hand.
He held his palm in front of Alfie’s face. Alfie seemed to accept that he had to do what Simon said, and he grumbled but licked. He gagged and trembled as soon as he tasted his own thick creamy cum.
That was fine with Simon, who didn’t really want him to swallow it all. He laughed at Alfie’s gagging and smeared the cum over his face, which was now shiny with juices and fluids. He removed the bottle from Alfie’s ass and again allowed him to drink from it. Alfie breathed a sigh of relief and again didn’t seem to notice the taste of his own ass on the bottle.
When he had finally swallowed every drop of ass-sweat-and-rum, Simon replaced the bottle in his ass. Alfie accepted it easily this time.
Then he slipped off the edge of the chair, collaping into a pile of sleeping muscle on the floor. It was obvious that that was it. He was out for the night and wouldn’t be waking up no matter what.
Simon quickly replaced his own clothes. He wished he could stay here all night, but he didn’t want to be here when Alfie woke up. He was covered in semen and assjuice, and he had a bottle sticking out of his rear. He was going to be humiliated and furious when he woke up, Simon thought with a sense of satisfaction.
He knocked on Bud’s door and said he was done. Bud sighed as though he had been trying to forget about the lavender nastiness happening in his bar, but he said alright and thanked Simon.
“I could never have brought myself to do that,” Bud said when he opened the door to his room. He blushed a bright red. “I hope you taught him a lesson. I’ll make sure Sheriff Torkelson is there when he wakes up, so there’ll be a witness.”
“And you won’t tell him it was me?”
He shook his head. “I’ll just tell him he was drunk and I couldn’t stop him from begging a bunch of cowboys to use his body. I’ll say he did it for a few free drinks.”
“Oh, Bud… You have such wonderful ideas,” Simon said. Come get me if you have any trouble with anyone else.”

The Gas Mask

When Rashid sees a gas mask, it arouses strange feelings in him, feelings that he can’t help but act on! That means this alpha male bouncer at a nightclub is gonna bend over and take whatever his buddy Teddy will give him.

Can Rashid handle the liberation the gas mask inspires in him?

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing down below!

Rashid Jenkins sighed. He was always glad when he got through another shift at the nightclub without seeing anything he couldn’t unsee. Rashid had been a bouncer for pretty much his entire adult life — when he wasn’t in prison for a spell — and he was working now at one of the highest-paying clubs in the city. So he was glad to have the job, even if it made him uncomfortable.
It was unfortunate that it was a Leathertop Nightclub, which was part of the kink-and-fetish scene. That meant the freaks came dressed in black leather and the waitresses went into the back and wielded whips and chains, tying down the customers and doing… well, Rashid didn’t entirely know what they did, because he was a god-fearing man. He tried not to think about it, and he never went past the front room.
The front room itself was just a normal bar, and it was there that Rashid went at the end of the night. He had taken to getting a drink from Teddy, the bartender, who was a flat-leaf, limp-wrist sissy hunk of honey. Rashid made sure to snarl and look dour every time he sat down because he didn’t want Teddy to think he was friendly.
Bouncers aren’t sposedta be friendly.
The bar emptied early tonight. As it neared closing time, the last of the customers either left or went into a backroom with a waitress/dominatrix. Only one waitress remained, the plump white one with leather straps separating her fat into foldy chunks — Ellendra. Rashid gave her a polite nod but no smile — he don’t want her thinking he’s flirting — and he sat down at the freshly-wiped bar. Teddy slammed his cell phone onto the counter. He bit his lip and held back tears, his elfin face scrunched up tight.
“Hi, Rashid,” Teddy said, his high voice nasal with repressed tears. “Bourbon?”
Rashid nodded. His heart stumbled as he realized he was supposed to ask what was wrong — he wasn’t expecting emotions in a bar like this. Not like that. That’s… He wrinkled his nose. Honkies, man… Honkies be tripping. He tried to stand up on a look both kind and unapproachable, but that’s a hard face to pull off.
The bar was empty, and Teddy’s tears were blatant. Not acknowledging it was awkward. “What’s… uh, wrong?” Rashid finally asked, when that fat waitress was gone. She oughta have handled this, Rashid thought. She was a woman, Rashid was just a bouncer.
The bartender sposedta be like a therapist, right? At least in the movies. Who’s the bartender’s sounding board? Who therapizes the therapist?
Rashid, apparently.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Teddy said, lips pursed so it was clear that that wasn’t true and that he would be explaining shortly. “My girlfriend dumped me. By text message. Not that that’s a problem, she’s a bitch. She’s a rank bitch.”
“Oh, okay. Uh… Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s not a problem,” Teddy said, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice broke, letting out a jagged cry of saprotude — that’s an emotion combining anger, sadness and self-righteousness, common in people who have been dumped. He sniffled and crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his feet like he was about to explode. Then he remembered he was pouring Rashid a glass of bourbon, so he got out the bottle and spilled several shots worth before he got the glass set up. “I knew it! She deserves to be alone though. That fucking bitch!” He slammed the bourbon in front of Rashid. He had put way too much ice in it, but Rashid didn’t want to complain.
He just sipped his ice-cold bourbon. There was a gas mask on the bar, which drew his attention. Rashid didn’t like to see the fetish gear normally, because it reminded him that he was surrounded by freaks. But the gas mask didn’t seem as bad — it had a function, after all, besides sex, even if it was an old-fashioned design that would probably be useless today for actual protection against poison gas attacks. It was fetish gear, but it seemed more appropriate, maybe even less sinful to Rashid.
That wasn’t logical, but it made sense somewhere in his heart.
And it did look like a real gas-mask, just old and battered, cuz it had been in this fetish club for who-knows-how long. It wasn’t manufactured as fetish gear, he was sure of that. Rashid wondered if it had ever been used. Did they use gas masks like that in… maybe Vietnam? World War 2 for sure, but it wasn’t that old.
Maybe.
“Girls are such a pain in the ass. They’re weak-willed, you know…”
“Yeah.”
“My last girlfriend dumped me and then immediately went out and sucked off like ten guys,” Teddy said. He threw his hands up, pacing behind the bar. “I really know how to pick ‘em!”
Rashid winced and shook his head. The television screens behind Teddy all turned on, playing porno. Now that they were closed, the monitors should have stayed off, but sometimes they came off and on. They were linked to the lights in the back or something. Rashid’s eyes were drawn to the screen. His dick got hard in his pants as he half-listened to Teddy.
The woman on screen was blonde, beautiful as hell from the back — she got that white-girl ass that Rashid craves — but she got kinduva dumptrucky face. Whatever though, Rashid could fuck her from behind. He was so engrossed in that that he ignored whatever else Teddy was saying, his relentless bitching about his girlfriend.
His attention only returned to Teddy when the porno movie onscreen revealed itself to be bondage-themed. Rashid had no interest in that. The camera lingered on the knots and the rope pulling itself taut, her skin pressing against it hard. Rashid’s eyes and ears tuned back into Teddy’s ongoing litany of complaints.
“And girls will not shut up!” Teddy said. “She never shut her mouth, not even when my father was telling us about his prostate cancer. I mean, am I right or what? He’s going off about the side effects of chemo, and she suddenly brings up some stupid reality show about penguin researchers banging each other in Antarctica.”
“Yeah…-” Rashid said with a shrug he hoped was both kind and dismissive. His attention was now drawn away the TV screens playing porno and the milky rope-clad tits jiggling up and down. — instead, Rashid’s attention aimed itself at that damn gas mask.
Who wore it in the backrooms? The man or the woman? The fact that it was here now suggested a woman. If a man wore it, he’d have brought it himself and taken it with him when he left for the night.
So a woman wore it. While she got fucked. Massive cock ramming into her pussy or maybe her tight ass.
Prolly not a massive cock. Prolly a normal honky peter. Rashid got a massive cock, but he assumed mosta the tubby crackers who come through his place had small manhoods.
“I’m sorry,” Teddy said, biting back tears. He bit his lip. “I’m just really upset right now. Have another bourbon.”
He slid a glass down the bar to Rashid, who was glad to have some more liquid to drown out the ice in his first bourbon. He sipped it and tried to watch the porno behind Teddy, forcing his eyes to lock on to the beautiful brunette’s bouncing tits and plump pussy onscreen. His dick was raging hard.
But what he really wanted right now was that gas-mask. It prolly smelled awful, he thought. Awful but in a good way. Awful like a slut’s pussy. A clean slut, but still, a slut’s pussy. Right after a shower in her filthy apartment bathroom. Yeah…
“I need to get laid,” Teddy said, blinking the last of his tears out of his eyes. He sniffled. “I won’t get over this without blowing a nut tonight. I won’t be able to sleep, I’ll just be tossing and turning, thinking of her.” He hurriedly typed out a text message, presumably asking someone if she could come over for sex. Maybe one of the waitresses. Rashid was glad that Teddy was getting ready to leave. Rashid wished he could leave too, but his shift didn’t technically end until he escorted Teddy to his car. Closing time was literally one minute ago, so he couldn’t hardly complain.
Then Teddy threw his cell phone down on the counter again. He had gotten a text message he didn’t like, it seemed. He blinked back another wave of tears. “Those bastards,” he said. “Everyone’s taking her side.”
“Sorry, man,” Rashid said. A thought had occurred to him: he could plow Teddy.
Teddy did that, he was like that, a bit of a sissy. A small bit of a big sissy. He was petite and pale and kinda effeminate in his way. Rashid could always make Teddy keep it a secret, and he could deny it when Teddy inevitably spilled the beans. Teddy had spilled the beans last week that one of the other bouncers ramrodded him — this old head Thumper, he was like that, Rashid wasn’t surprised at all.
And there was that gas mask sitting right there. He didn’t even understand why that was a kink — the bondage stuff he got, because there was a level of interaction there, it had an impact on the orgasm. Orgasms with a gas mask on were the same as orgasms without a gas mask on, except maybe a little stuffier and weirder.
But why was it so arousing?
Rashid hadn’t even heard Teddy rant for the last few minutes, but apparently his booty calls all told him not to come over. Possibly even his male friends had sent discourteous texts, Rashid hadn’t paid attention and now it seemed rude to reveal that by asking what happened. As Teddy shut down the bar, he raged over each text message he received.
It seemed Teddy’s friends were really his girlfriend’s friends. That happens, a lot of men are like that. Not Rashid. He got his own niggas. When he hooks up with a female, she got her friends, he got his. Women on her side, men on Rashid’s. Simple, easy, copacetic. All good.
Bet that gas-mask would make a man feel good. Covers up the face. No inhibitions. Rashid looked away from the gas-mask but just for a moment.
Rashid did time in prison. He knew damn well how bad it hurt to take a cock in the ass, though he never let it happen to him. He saw it plenty, this rat-face nigga named Ratty rapping on a nigga backdoor. Ratty was like that.
Yet he sensed that it might feel good for a sissy like Teddy. Rashid’d never admit to that, not publicly.
But if the gas mask was on Teddy’s face… that wouldn’t be public at all. It would be like nobody saw, not even Teddy. Rashid could just feel. Nobody would believe Teddy if he said Rashid let him ramrod him with a gas mask on. Rashid couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d feel if Teddy’s cock came pushing into his ass, not like Ratty’s nasty crackhead pecker, Teddy’s dick wouldn’t be like that at all. It’d be clean and gentle…
Rashid gulped.
Teddy scowled and blushed a bright red. He looked down at the counter he had been polishing for an unreasonable amount of time. The bar was shut down, all he had to do was press the total button on the register and take the cash drawer into the office to lock away in the safe. He set about doing that.
“Uh… Teddy,” Rashid said, looking around to be sure nobody was around. “You know… I uh, I sometimes mess around on the downlow. If you promise not to tell no one…”
Teddy’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”
Rashid stood up and grabbed the gas mask. “Here,” he said. “Put this on. If you cover up your face, I might be able to forget you’re not a girl,” he said. “But when this is done, you better stop crying about that ex. She ain’t worth it.”
Teddy dropped to his knees next to the stool Rashid sat on. He didn’t even put the cash drawer away, he placed it on the floor next to himself, so he could rush right into it. He pulled down Rashid’s pants so quickly and so enthusiastically that Rashid was unsure if he wanted to do this. He considered backing out.
But his worries vanished moments later when his dick flopped out in the warm, humid air of the nightclub, then filled Teddy’s throat. The familiar warmth of an expert mouth filled up Rashid’s mind, and he sighed. He finished the last of his bourbon, and he filled the glass again quietly so Teddy wouldn’t notice.
His dick swelled to full erection. Rashid guided Teddy’s head up and down, glad to have the opportunity for a simple, consequence-free orgasm. His mouth stretched to swallow Rashid’s fat meat, and with a little concentration, Teddy managed to deep-throat him to the root.
A sigh escaped from Rashid’s mouth. He needed this. And he didn’t need the gas-mask.
He kept sneaking glances at it though.
Sensing he needed to commiserate more, Rashid said, “Girls complain all the time, and they never tell you what they think. If they wanna dump you, they drag it out over like ten conversations over three months, like they get paid by the minute, man.” As he talked, he guided Teddy’s head up and down on his shaft.
From his cock-filled murmurings, it didn’t sound like Teddy exactly bought Rashid’s explanation, but he didn’t stop jerking to argue. Rashid groaned as pleasure rocked his body. His cock was rock-hard now, throbbing, precum flowing onto Teddy’s tongue.
“Damn… ” Rashid said, snorting back laughter. He poured out some more bourbon, and only then noticed that the porno had changed.
Rashid was surprised at how not disgusted he was. He must be getting more comfortable with freaky stuff now that he was working at a kinky club. That thought was vaguely disquieting — his pastor, Reverend Chandler, had said that might happen, and Rashid refused to believe it.
One of his hands roamed down and squeezed Teddy’s nipple. Rashid groaned when he realized what he was doing; it had been so instinctive he didn’t think about it until his hand was grasping for the breast that wasn’t there.
Then Teddy pulled off and stood up. Rashid leaned in and kissed him on the lips, again without giving it a second thought. His mind told him to pull away, to smack Teddy even, for making him do this, even if Rashid knew Teddy hadn’t made him do a damn thing. Rashid didn’t even kiss girls so soon after they sucked cock because he didn’t want to taste his own dick, which was exactly what he tasted on Teddy’s tongue.
When Rashid stopped kissing him, he looked down at his feet. He hoped Teddy didn’t say anything about that. Teddy must have sensed that desire, because he indeed said nothing. Instead, Teddy stroked both men’s cocks together, frotting with Rashid. Rashid bristled with pride at the realization that his dick was so much bigger than Teddy’s. He always liked showing it off.
Without a word of warning — with only a sly, knowing grin — Teddy put the gas mask on, again like he had sensed what Rashid wanted without Rashid saying so. Immediately the kinky porn vanished to the back of Rashid’s mind. All he could think of was how alluring Teddy’s body was. Aside from the lack of tits and vagina, he had a very girlish shape, he thought. He kissed Teddy again, this time on the smooth neck, just below the mask, and then his lips trailed down to those nipples.
“You got a nice smooth body, boi,” Rashid said with a low, seductive growl, embarrassed at himself even as he said it.
Teddy moved to turn around, but stopped as Rashid took hold of both cocks. He was enjoying this jousting, and he didn’t want it to end. Teddy’s dick pulsated beneath Rashid’s fingers, its middling thickness and pale whiteness contrasting with Rashid’s meaty member and dark brown color.
If it weren’t for that gas mask, Rashid was sure he would never have touched Teddy’s cock. He hadn’t done that since prison.
As though he wasn’t in control of his body, Rashid found that he wanted to go much further than he ever thought he would. He blamed the gas mask. Without seeing Teddy’s face, it was easier to follow his instincts, no judgmental eyes staring at him.
How had he ended up on his knees?
Rashid didn’t consciously sink to the ground, but there he was just the same.
If he wasn’t so much taller than Teddy that he had to stoop to reach his crotch, he would have started jerking him off without a second thought.
As it was, he gave it only a very brief second thought, then deep-throated Teddy to the root, swallowing every inch of his cock. He choked a little on the smooth texture and lotion-scented flavor, but something about it was deeply fulfilling for Rashid.
He moaned around the cockmeat in his mouth and gripped Teddy’s thin legs, which were smooth like a girl’s. He could really have pretended he was with a female, he thought, if it weren’t for the dick in his throat. He was surprised by how much it tasted like pussy.
The sour flavor of precum hit Rashid’s tongue, and he moaned. He wanted more. Teddy’s thin fingers gripped Rashid’s kinky hair and guided his head up and down. His breathing was loud and labored, made louder by the action of the gas mask. His trim chest heaved for breath.
His dick felt perfectly right in Rashid’s throat. It rubbed past his bristling mustache, and his heavy balls swung against Rashid’s grizzled chin. He felt weird, submitting to someone so much smaller than himself.
But it was intensely arousing too. He felt Teddy’s graceful fingers dance along his shoulders, which seemed so broad as to be superhuman in comparison with Teddy’s tiny body. Rashid had played football in high school, and he retained that beefy body shape.
The precum flowed like wine down his throat. He greedily guzzled every salty drop, no matter how it made his lips pucker and his mind race with confusion. He had never thought jerking off a man could feel so good.
Then Rashid pulled off. He looked up at Teddy’s gas mask-clad face and frowned. “I don’t know why I’m doing this…”
Teddy didn’t say anything. Rashid probably wouldn’t have been able to hear the words through the gas mask anyway, he thought, and he didn’t want to say anything.
He knew what he wanted, and it filled him with embarrassment. But he knew he would never have such a perfect opportunity to try it. So he stood, glad to show off how much bigger he was than Teddy — he didn’t feel intimidated at all, but still, it was good to remind Teddy that he wasn’t really in charge, even with the gas mask. Rashid flexed his biceps and frowned at Teddy, but his face was concealed by the mask, so it was impossible to see if Teddy was intimidated or even if he had noticed at all.
With his pants and underwear all the way around his ankles, Rashid sunk to all fours. He leaned his head near the floor to get his ass in the air.
It was too high for Teddy to get in position, but Rashid liked making him work for it. He kept his ass up, and Teddy had to get on his toes so he could align his cock with Rashid’s asshole. Rashid’s back twitched with anticipatory excitement.
But after just sliding his dick between Rashid’s cheeks for a few moments, he paused. He got down on the ground and jammed his tongue right in, smooth and unceremonious.
“Ah, fuckin’ hell, nigga…” Rashid said, then chuckled at himself for calling a whiteboi nigga — because he only ever messed around on the downlow with black men, it was just an instinct. It seemed that Teddy was too focused on licking ass to notice, however.
For a girl, a rimjob was a very big deal — Rashid loved getting rimjobs, but virtually no girls were willing to do it. When they did, they made him shower and shave his ass and shower again and get himself so clean and prepared that by the time he started, it wasn’t very sexy anymore.
So he was surprised when Teddy plunged his tongue into Rashid’s broad ass. Teddy gripped those plump cheeks and lapped at Rashid’s hole, teasing it open and loose. He growled through the gas mask, and Rashid shuddered with anticipation. Was this going to hurt? He supposed it probably would, a bit, but he still wanted to try it.
His body undulated as moist pleasure flowed from his ass and up his spine. If he wasn’t so eager to try something new, Rashid thought, he could have gotten this rimjob forever. His mind didn’t work while his prostate roared with pre-orgasmic pleasure, and his dick leaked precum into his fingers.
Then at last Teddy returned to standing on his toes with his cock resting against Rashid’s asshole, as though giving him another opportunity to change his mind. Rashid seriously considered backing out, but when he glanced behind himself and saw that gas mask, he wanted nothing more than to be penetrated.
When it happened, Rashid gasped. There was a faint, reedy twinge of pain, but even more than that, there was a sinking sensation of intense pleasure.
He bucked and moaned as Teddy used lube he pulled out from behind the bar, slickening up his cock while pushing in deeper and deeper. Rashid clenched his ass and gritted his teeth as the pressure and orgasmic bliss grew greater and greater.
Without saying a word, Teddy communicated to Rashid to roll over. He placed one delicate hand on Rashid’s back, and Rashid did as he was ordered. He laid on his back on the filthy floor, his great trunk-like thighs in the air. Teddy clutched his thick leg muscles with one hand, while his other caressed Rashid’s pecs and nipples.
He felt the orgasm approaching a few minutes before he did — it was always a surprise, of sorts, when he finally came with a girl, but this time he felt it encroaching on him even before it did. He was jacking himself off, so when his balls pulled up in his sac, he grunted and stroked more furiously.
“Ugh, nigga, yeah…” Rashid said, again forgetting he wasn’t with a black man.
Cum sprayed both within Rashid’s ass and over his chest. Teddy grunted and groaned, the sound muffled by the gas mask over his face. Rashid roiled and stroked the cum on his cockshaft into a frothy mixture that dripped into his body hair and onto the floor behind his back.
Great waves of pleasure rocketed Rashid’s body, buffeting him with feelings so intense he yelped like a girl. He was glad no one else was in the club right now to hear. His back contorted as he accepted every drop of Teddy’s creamy seed.
Teddy pulled out and sighed. He took the gas mask off, and the fantasy ended as Rashid realized where he was and what he had just done. He scurried up off the filthy floor and wiped his ass off with a napkin. His ass ached a little, but it didn’t exactly hurt.
“Uh, thanks,” Teddy said.
“Sure.” Rashid tried not to sound humiliated, and in truth, he wasn’t. He enjoyed what had happened, even if he didn’t intend to do it again (unless you can bring that gas mask home with you, a part of his mind thought but immediately pushed down). He just felt a sort of residual humiliation at the thought of Teddy going home and bragging about how he got to top a sexy big black bouncer like Rashid. “You better not tell no one,” Rashid said.
“I won’t.”
“I’ll deny it. No one will believe you,” Rashid said.
“I know,” he said. He put the gas mask down, then hesitated. He extended it towards Rashid and raised his eyebrows. “You wanna take this home with you? I’ll tell management it just disappeared.”
Rashid paused. He scowled and grabbed the gas mask. “Okay, prettyboy, if I’m going to escort you to your car, we better go now. I ain’t sitting here with a sissy like you all night. I got chicks waiting for my meat at home.”