Twink on Top – Mansploitation

The Annapolis Alpha

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

SIR YES SIR!

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

The Baltimore Alpha

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

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

The Apia Alpha

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

Read The Apia Alpha as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

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

The Santa Monica Alpha

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

Read it now as an ebook!

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

The Fireman

Lance is an accountant who appreciates the male form, especially this hunky firefighter named Yoder. He’s a redneck, a macho and a devored fireman, and he’s gonna be willing to bend over and let a twink on top situation develop if it means he gets a full-time role at a fire station!

Can Lance take full advantage of this redneck’s sweat-covered muscle-bound firefighting body?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Lance had never been as nervous as he was when he got behind the wheel of the firetruck. He wasn’t a firefighter. He didn’t even think he was very good at driving his own, ordinary car.
There was only one thing he was good at — accounting. Lance was an accountant, who volunteered his time to the local fire station. That’s why he was there when two of the firefighters on call, Yoder and Walter, got in a fight over a girl. The donnybrook began with a series of harsh insults, continued into a medley of fists and kicks and concluded with a broken nose, a “possible cranial” and a Jackson Pollack of purples and yellows. Yoder was crowing about his victory and Walter was bleeding from the head and on the way to the hospital when the alarm blared.
whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, Benevolent 43 to Pittering and 9 Mile Road, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, whoo-oo, Benevolent 43 to Pittering and 9 Mile Road, please copy
Everyone stopped moving. Mosta the firemen were whooping and calling after Yoder’s victory dance. Nobody much liked Walter Law. He was a perfect-jawed blond prettyboy with shoulders and a six-pack and a black eye. Girls loved him, especially hose junkies, cuz he was in the calendar, of course.
Lance had to admit he enjoyed Walter Law’s spread in the calendar too. But Yoder had a certain mullety handsomeness as well. He wasn’t in the calendar cuz he was just a volunteer then, not a full-time firefighter. He was a full-timer now though.
Anyway, due to the fight, there was no one to drive the firetruck — no one except Lance
He initially thought it was a joke when Yoder said he needed to do it, but the alarm was for an actual fire, not an automated alert, at an elementary school. Yoder was under orders to remain in the station until Chief Kettle arrived to handle the fight situation. Lance panicked, knowing he couldn’t bear to be responsible for even the slightest delay, what if there was a real fire at an elementary school and the truck doesn’t show up because Lance the accountant refused to drive it?
So he hustled his bustle down to the garage and jumped into the driver’s seat even before asking if it was a stick-shift (luckily it wasn’t). The firefighters were suited up in gear in mere moments, and Lance, terrified, pulled out into the street, sirens blaring. The truck was surprisingly easy to handle despite being so big. It drove like a silken dream, and cars moved out of the way. That was good because Lance was terrified to maneuver it.
In the end, the drive was simple. The elementary school was right down the street, not many turns to get there, which made Lance breathe a sigh of relief. He did bump into a postal service mailbox, possibly knocked it over, but he thought that would be forgiven.
It turned out there was a fire at the elementary school, but it wasn’t a huge one. It was just a cigarette incompletely extinguished and stuck to somebody’s shoe. Some flooring was scorched, and the playtime mats in one of the classrooms were partially melted. No injuries.
Before Lance knew it, a cop was driving him in a squad car back to the fire station. Lance was still in shock, the sirens still ringing in his ears.
He came into the fire station soon after the arrival of Chief Kettle, a burly middle-aged redneck who was furious that Lance, a mere accountant, had driven the firetruck. He had his own cigarette in his lips when Lance strolled in, proud as a lion, but it dropped to the ground as he snarled in rage.
“You redneck dumb fuck!” Chief Kettle picked up the cigarette he dropped and put it back between his lips.
Lance stopped short, proudful smile draining away. Chief Kettle jabbed a finger at Yoder and ignored Lance, but Lance still took it personally. He knew as well as anyone that he was not certified to drive the firetruck, or even the chief’s emergency vehicle, which was just a jeep with sirens.
“You know how much trouble we’d be in if he got in an accident? Our insurance wouldn’t cover it,” Chief Kettle said. His eyes narrowed into slits aimed at Yoder. “It would have bankrupted this station. We’d have been uninsurable.”
“I’m sorry, Chief. He called my girl a slut and he already fucked her one time, before we were together, and he said-“
“Don’t fill my head with ya silly trailer-hick drama, Yoder,” Chief Kettle said. “You could’ve ended this station. You let a fuckin’ accountant drive the firetruck. A sissy-ass accountant…” He turned to Lance, who blushed. “Nothing personal, Lance. You’re a great accountant and all… Nothin’ wrong with being a sissy neither.” He shifted his weight on his feet as though he wasn’t quite sure of that last part but was too polite to say it.
Lance stammered, his shyness preventing him from formulating any response. He blushed. He never met to come across as a sissy. He couldn’t deny there was a flare of truth in it. He may not have had a lisp and a limp wrist, but he wasn’t a big tough guy like the firemen. He worked out but never got bulky like they did.
“I’m sorry, suh, Chief Kettle.” Yoder hung his head and rolled his eyes when they were aimed at the ground.
“I dunno if that’s good enough this time,” Chief Kettle said. “This ain’t the first time you let someone else drive the truck.”
“That wasn’t-“
“Shut up! You let ya girl drive the truck, then you get in a fight in the station and let an accountant drive it? Yoder… Our insurance requires me to fire you.” Chief Kettle crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t got any discretion on this.”
“Jerry…”
“Don’t you gimme that,” Chief Kettle said. He left the station then so he could get in the firetruck that Lance had left parked out on the street. The reversing beeps began as he backed the truck into the station.
Conversation back at the station died down. Nobody made eye contact with Yoder, who stared at his feet. Lance was extremely shy, flushed and nervous. Yoder was short for a fireman, but he was a ropy-muscled spitfire of a man, his filthy-blond hair like dirty sand arranged in an almost mullet with an outright rattail sticking out the back. His powerhouse frame was scrawny even where it was thick — you could tell he would be more muscular if he focused on eating enough protein. The muscles he had were bursting out of him, which was why his punches knocked out Walter, who was a prettyboy maybe eighty pounds heavier than Yoder.
Lance wasn’t surprised. Yoder was the kind of redneck whose machismo and muscles and outgoing nature made him popular in high school, successful in the Army, an active member of his church, and a well-respected volunteer firefighter.
The truck rolled to a stop inside the station. The other firefighters in the back of the truck jumped off and removed their gear, while Chief Kettle and Yoder stood near the front of the truck. Lance hoped to melt into the background so he wasn’t seen. He no longer felt like a hero for driving the truck. It sure felt like he had sabotaged Yoder’s career.
A long fat pause sat between Yoder, whose face vacillated between genuine regret and proudly stubborn. Yoder’s upper lip even quivered.
“I ain’t gonna fire you, Yoder. I need you,” Kettle said.
“Oh thank god. I need this, Jerry,” Yoder said in his big drawly voice. “I… I don’t got a lot in my life right now. I need this. Don’t take it away from me.”
“You gotta prove to me that you’re really dedicated by not doing stupid shit.”
“I won’t. I promise. I’m done behaving like that. I’ll do whatevuh you want to prove it, suh, Chief Kettle, suh,” Yoder said.
“You don’t gotta do nothin’, just act better-“
“No, I will. I’ll show my dedication… You were in the Marines, right? You know the bend-over promise?”
“What?” Kettle wrinkled his nose. “You weren’t a Marine.”
Lance wasn’t sure what that was either. He also wasn’t sure that either one remembered that he was even there. He stood beside the firetruck, feeling like a third wheel (or, given where he was, a ninth wheel). He thought if he walked away, Kettle might put more and more of the blame on him. Lance was just a volunteer accountant, he was replaceable, more replaceable than an experienced firefighter.
“I was Army, but Marines did the same thing. I guess they ain’t do that back in your day,” Yoder said. He sighed. “My sergeant used to make us do this thing, when we wanted special treatment, like an extra day of leave, or getting away with hair past regulation length. It was… I only did it a few times.”
“What the fuck is you talking about, Yoder?” Chief Kettle’s broad cheeks was still red, looked like he was too mad to think about Yoder’s words.
“He called it a bend-over promise. He said if you really need something, you’ll be willing to bend over to get it.” Yoder gulped. “Y’know, bend over and grab your ankles.”
A long, awkward silence filled the firetruck. Lance’s mind whirred — the only thing he could think of was that Yoder was offering to get it up the ass to show his devotion. What else could ‘bend over’ be implying? But surely that wasn’t right.
“You what?” Chief Kettle chuckled. “I guess the Army ain’t changed all that much. Y’all is the same as you ever was. The Corps wasn’t as crude in my day. We called that a ‘lavender promise’. I never did it. I could handle just the leave I was allowed to take-“
“Well, I couldn’t, alright,” Yoder snapped down. “Lemme do this. It’ll prove I deserve to stay.”
“I already said I wasn’t gonna fire you. Besides, I got a wife, Yoder. I got no reason to ram up a man’s backdoor.”
“But you believe you should fire me. You believe I ain’t really devoted to this station, and you ain’t gonna give me a full-time position like that,” Yoder said. He turned to Lance and flashed a nervous grin. “I guess it’s your lucky day, Lance.”
Lance blushed. Surely, he thought, I’ve misunderstood what’s going on. But Yoder, dressed in his fireman pants and suspenders over a plain white t-shirt, crawled into the backsweat of the firetruck and motioned for Lance to join him.
Chief Kettle cackled up Lance’s face. “You look like a pig who just found out mud is worth its weight in gold, Lance, but you too horny to say nothin’, huh?” He didn’t even give Lance a chance to respond, he turned right to Yoder. “How many times you done this, Yoder?”
“Four,” Yoder said. “But don’t tell no one. This ain’t gonna be that bad. Those other four times I got plowed by my sergeant, who was big and mean and, uh… Nothin’ personal, Lance, but you ain’t as big as him. I guarantee that!” He whooped and laughed.
Blushing, Lance nodded and mumbled something about appreciating the male form, which he did. That wasn’t why he climbed up into the back of the firetruck can though. He did that because he wanted to blow a nut up a fireman’s behind.
It proved to be awkward in the cramped confines of the back of the firetruck. Yoder’s tall body took up a lot of space, especially as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and Army tattoos. Lance was already rock-hard even before he had taken his own clothes off.
The smell of Yoder’s unwashed armpits filled the truck cab. He was sweaty by nature, sweaty from the exertion of the fight, sweaty from fear that he would be fired. His zesty musk was so thick in the cab that Lance could taste it.
“You really doing this? You know this technically breaks the rules too, right, Yoder?” Chief Kettle said with a snicker. “Our insurance company only allows the trucks to be used for valid firefighting purposes-“
Yoder sighed. “Shut the fuck up, Jerry. Everything is against some rule or anothuh,” he said. “Yes, I is really doing this. You’ll know how devoted I am to this station.”
“A’ight, le’ssee it.”
Yoder had his fireman pants still on, but unattached, so they hung low enough that his pubic hair was visible. Lance unzipped his fly, then hesitated, not sure if Yoder was ready or even if this was all a prank.
But still glaring intently at Kettle, Lance bent over in the back seat of the firetruck, fished Lance’s cock out through his fly and opened his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed before swallowing Lance’s dick to the root.
Lance gasped. An explosion of intense sensations arose from his crotch, and he sucked in his breath. He knew this was coming, but still, he was shocked. A part of him thought Yoder would back out or would say that he had demonstrated his willingness to do so but didn’t need to actually do it. He could have just let Lance jerk him off, that would have been favor enough, and all the firemen knew Lance would do that if they wanted.
But instead he turned the tables and his massive body took Lance’s dick in his mouth.
He was so well-muscled that his shoulders alone took up the entire space in front of Lance’s chest. When Lance reached out to touch him, Yoder’s pecs twitched like he was ticklish and his back muscles all flexed at once. The positioning was awkward, but that just made it even sexier. Lance could barely grope his entire chest because Yoder was wedged in front of him, between Lance and the passenger seat. Yoder loudly suckled on Lance’s pulsating shaft, which rocketed right to a speedy erection.
Sparks of pleasure flew through Lance’s body, and he couldn’t stop gasping. His hand gripped Yoder by the rattail and mullet on the back of his head, and the greasy sweat of his hair reawakened the musk he exuded in the truck.
Precum flowed from Lance’s dick, and the taste made Yoder subdue a gag. Lance blushed as Chief Kettle chuckled nervously — it wasn’t clear whether he laughed at Lance’s surprised reaction or Yoder’s loud moaning, like he was so disgusted he could barely manage to keep going. Despite that, he didn’t slow down at all, and he even spat copious spit onto Lance’s dick, like he was an expert at this.
Given that he had done it in the Army multiple times, Lance thought, maybe Yoder was an expert at it.
Lance threw his head back, embarrassed at how enthused his reaction was. With his dick getting ready to shoot its load down Yoder’s gullet, he couldn’t help but grip and moan and rub and grind more passionately than anyone he had ever been with. He held onto Yoder’s head as he rode his throat like a porn star.
Yoder smiled wanly when he finally pulled off, long strings of spit connecting his lips to Lance’s shaft. “Hey, at least you ain’t Sergeant Powers. That man was ruthless. He used to plow my throat, talk about turning my tonsils into a clitoris and shit,” he said. He wiped spit off his face. “But it definitely proved I really really needed an extra day off, to get a girl — there was this one stripper who-“
“Quit gabbin’ and give up the booty!” Chief Kettle said with a snicker.
“Man…” Yoder shook his head and sighed.
Yoder bent over the seats in the back, and shimmied his fireman pants down. The fabric was so thick and heavy that his thighs were dappled with sweat, matting the hair to his muscles. His ass, now that it was bare, was trembling and pale, perfectly plump. Lance smacked one cheek without giving it a second thought.
“Woo-hoo!” Chief Kettle said, laughing. “You treat him right, boy, like that stripper you was tryin’-a fuck! Damn hoot, I bet you get promoted to captain of the accountants fo’ this, huh?”
“I don’t think that’s how accountants work, Chief,” Yoder said. He was bent over with his face in Lance’s lap, licking Lance’s cockshaft and shuddering as he tasted precum. Lance blushed, trying to think of something witty to say, but all he could focus on was his own dick spasming and pulsating. He was on the verge of cumming already.
He wanted more than anything to get his dick in Yoder’s ass. A part of him still thought Yoder would back out, that he wouldn’t go quite this far. But Lance had to try. Yoder’s ass was in position, or a close as was possible in the space they had.
Lance pulled away from Yoder’s face and climbed overtop him — literally mounting his broad shoulders and back like he was crawling over a hill. His moist cock and balls dragged along Yoder’s muscled back, and the friction very nearly sent Lance over the edge. Precum smeared over Yoder’s spine.
At last he was in position, cock wedged between Yoder’s asscheeks. They were tight, and the hole twinkled, resisting Lance’s cock. Yoder trembled nervously and buried his face in his own forearm, ready to bite down.
Luckily Lance’s dick was well-lubed with Yoder’s spit. When he pushed it into Yoder’s hole, Yoder spasmed and sucked on his teeth. He bit down on his tattooed forearm.
His asshole clenched, then relaxed, and Lance’s cock slid deeply in. Lance sucked in his breath just like Yoder did, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Bliss coursing through his veins, Lance found his cock sinking in deeper and deeper, as Yoder’s ass squeezed an orgasm out of his sensitive shaft.
“Well, damn, I ain’t think you was gonna do this,” Chief Kettle said. He chuckled nervously and wrinkled his nose.
As he worked his dick in inch by inch, intense pleasure ran through Lance’s veins. Yoder’s ass was tight, hot and moist. He felt like intact, presumably because he hadn’t been plowed since that drill sergeant back in his Army days.
“Ah, damn, you don’t feel like an accountant when ya dick is in my ass, boy!” Yoder cackled before the motion made him erupt in pain again, and his whole body tensed up.
Lance’s hands massaged Yoder’s back, kneading the muscular flesh there. He wanted this to feel good for Yoder, not that there was any chance Yoder would choose to do it again. He kissed the tattoos of thorny roses and military crests that dotted Yoder’s broad back.
He felt tiny in comparison to Yoder, whose back was broad as an ox and firm as one too. His muscles flexed, curvy lines appearing in spots where Lance had no idea there were muscles. Yoder was in good shape, even compared to the other firefighters.
Every few thrusts were strong enough to make Yoder clench, tightening his asshole around Lance’s cock as though trying to hold onto him by it. Yoder frowned and even howled, the sound resonating in the cab of the firetruck.
Outside, in the station, Lance heard some of the other firemen come back into the garage. They checked the equipment they had used on the call, making sure it was ready for the next trip. Lance froze with his dick deep in Yoder’s guts. Both Yoder and Lance fell silent, Yoder still seething and Lance resisting his orgasm. Outside the truck Chief Kettle stayed silent, blocked by the truck from being seen by the other firefighters.
“Where’d Yoder go? He came back with us, didn’t he?”
“I thought so, but maybe he went somewhere with Chief Kettle.”
“So that accountant was driving us back with no one else up there in the cab?”
“Guess so. Can you believe Yoder punched Walter? Chief Kettle probly bent him over and plowed him. That’s how rednecks do it y’know.”
Chief Kettle chuckled. He glanced out the window, but didn’t say anything to the firefighters out there. Lance’s heart pounded, which he knew was silly — he was the only person who couldn’t be punished if he was caught. But he would be ashamed if the other firefighters knew what he was doing in here. He moved slowly, grinding his dick in as Yoder winced and gnawed on his own arm.
Despite Yoder’s apparent discomfort, Lance sensed pleasure emanating from deep within him. Yoder tried to hide it, but Lance could feel it in his soft, smooth sighs when Lance withdrew his dick and his cooing grunts when Lance hit his prostate.
“That’s how cockheads do it, ya mean. But that’s okay, Kettle is both a redneck and a cockhead.”
Their voices faded as they headed towards the door to the station, apparently satisfied that all the hoses and other gear on the truck were in their proper places. Yoder breathed easier now.
“Yoder’s gear is still gone, ain’t in his locker. He must be with Kettle. Prolly gettin’ chewed out.”
“Yoder’s a fucking redneck too. So’s Walter, so I can’t really hold that against him.”
“So are you, Taney.”
“Fuck you, man-“
The door slammed shut before Lance could hear how their argument ended. He knew from experience that they probably continued arguing and eventually came close to fighting but didn’t actually do it. He was glad to have privacy again, and he began plowing with renewed vigor.
After all that, Yoder was much looser and more accepting of Lance’s dick. He groaned smoothly, relaxing his ass the best he could. He still grimaced each time Lance’s cock hit its apex deep within him, but it was clear that he felt more pleasure than pain. Lance didn’t have much experience on top, especially topping a burly redneck much bigger than he was, but he knew well how to make it feel good for both he and Yoder.
As his orgasm approached, Lance wished he could prolong this, but he knew Yoder wouldn’t put up with it forever. And besides that, Lance wasn’t sure he could prevent himself from cumming. He had never cornholed a powerhouse firefighter like this, and it was the most incredible experience of his life.
When his orgasm finally hit, Lance lost control of his body. He collapsed onto Yoder’s back, gnawing and sucking at his skin, which made Yoder chuckle awkwardly. Yoder bit down on his teeth as pain overwhelmed him, and he grunted out loud.
“Damn, you likin’ this, boy…”
Cum flowed into Yoder’s ass, great creamy gobs of it bursting up his guts, and pleasure erupted in Lance. It wracked his spine, making Lance twist and writhe atop Yoder’s back. He gasped, squealing right into Yoder’s meaty flesh; the sound made Yoder and Chief Kettle laugh.
“Hot hell, you do sound like a girl, Lance,” Chief Kettle said. Yoder made a sound that may have been a yes he does but just sounded like an agonized yelp. So much cum filled Yoder’s ass that he couldn’t even form any words.
Lance lay there, contorting as his dick fell soft within Yoder’s body. He felt too weak to get up, especially in comparison to Yoder’s tensed muscles. He nuzzled his nose in Yoder’s flesh.
Finally he realized Yoder was not going to accept this much longer. For now he was just laying there, holding his breath as he waited for Lance to finish. Lance pulled out and they both breathed a sigh of relief — Lance’s was a smooth exhalation, while Yoder rolled his eyes and grunted. His muscles finally relaxed all at once.
Lance rolled off him, dick flopping out of Yoder’s ass. Lance squeezed into the tiny space between the back and the driver’s seat. Yoder’s sweat-moistened t-shirt was right there on the floor, and Lance had a sudden urge to sniff it. One of the things he loved most about volunteering here was that he could see the firefighters in their underclothes and occasionally even caught a whiff of their sweaty armpits.
But sensing that this was an opportunity to do it without judgement, Lance grabbed the t-shirt. He inhaled deeply of Yoder’s musk, while the other two gasped as though they had never heard of anything so gross. Then Yoder guffawed, stopping only when he sat up and winced due to the pain in his tender ass.
“Ha, how’s that smell, Lance?”
“So good…” Lance blushed a bright red. His love for sweat was so personal to him he had never admitted it.
“Keep it,” Yoder said weakly, grimacing at the pain in his ass. He stayed on his side as he struggled to get his underwear back on in the cramped rear of the truck cab.
Lance smiled. “Okay, thanks,” he said. He felt too weak to climb out of the truck, so he just watched as Chief Kettle turned the seat down so Yoder could climb out as well. He still wore nothing but his underwear, carrying the fireman pants as he went. He stretched his sore thighs when he was finally out of the truck.
“You believe I’m devoted to this station now, Chief?”
“I do, I absolutely believe it,” Chief Kettle said. He turned to Lance, who still sat in the back of the truck. “You coming?”
Lance nodded. “Just… Gimme a minute. I gotta recover.”

The Boston Alpha

Desmond is a petite, effeminate prisoner in a big tough prison, so he never thought he’d find himself in a Twink on Top situation. But that all changes when a tough guy Boston thug named Chowder really wants a party, even if that means this muscular alpha will have to bend over and take whatever Desmond wants to give!

Can Desmond handle this particular slice of Twink on Top?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read it right here

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

The Haitian Soldier

Bautista is ready to get his revenge on a vicious and evil man, and he has the power to do it. That means he’s in for a wild ride of twink on top Haitian vodou domination that’s just might satisfy his lustiest desires!

Read it now as an ebook or scroll down to read the whole thing here!

The Haitian Soldier

Bautista waited until the stars and the moon were at their peak to maximize his power and his ability to beseech the loa. It shouldn’t have been necessary to do that, but he wanted the greatest chance of success. If it didn’t work tonight, he might be consumed by the attempt. Sparks erupted from his fire, amid the smell of chicken blood and the ash still raining over the clearing — Bautista had sacrificed a stack of US dollars and a few euros. They burned up, and the ash continued even after it all should have landed in a flurry. That was the magic of his will. The loa were smiling upon his offering.
He didn’t just want to control Jean — he wanted to utterly dominate him. That was why he sacrificed both a chicken and a boku of money.
Vin jwenn mwen…
He didn’t have any way of knowing it worked, but in his heart, he knew it did. He could feel it even before he sat down to pray to his loa, and then he saw what was happening with his mind’s eye. His spiritual vision was hazy, but it was enough to know that his magic was a success.
On the other side of Port-au-Prince, in a shanty-town of corrugated roofs and rain barrels, old campfire rings, makeshift curtains and unfortunate goats, a circle of men sat around a smoldering campfire. One of them banged a drum, and the others were playing cards. One of the card-players was a tall, broad-shouldered man in dreadlocks. He had dark skin marked with scars and a faded tattoo from his old military batayon.
He was the biggest man in the shanty-town, with muscles bulging from his sturdy frame, shoulders broad as a bèf. He was menacing too, with a gritty stare to his eyes. The others were frightened of him. They allowed him to win at cards — Bautista could tell that because the loa could read their minds.
That man stood up, dropping his cards, leaving behind the money that was resting in his lap. The other players bugged out, thinking at first he was going to attack them, because he was the kind of nèg who did attack people at random. He walked, propelled by the loa that Bautista commanded from afar.
He screamed, begging someone to stop him, but there was nothing anyone could do. That was because he was not in control of his body. He controlled his own voice, because Bautista allowed it, but the man had no control over his powerful muscles.
Ou yo ale nan mouri nan labou a, sa ki mal nonm…
Not that anyone tried to help. Nobody liked the man, whose name was Jean. Nobody there in the shantytown knew who he was, but Bautista knew. Jean had just been released from prison; no one behind bars knew who Jean really was either. But Bautista had known even before Jean had been released.
Bautista had been waiting for a long time. He was glad that Jean had not been killed in prison, though that would have been a fitting end. Bautista had been looking forward to getting his revenge ever since his sister was raped and murdered.
Jean had done it. He was a soldier then, in the Haitian army, and he had raped her in the street, just because he could. Because he knew that no one would stop him.
Bautista had not had the power to stop him then, and by the time he did, Jean was in prison. Now he was out, and he walked against his will through the streets of Port-au-Prince. Bautista was glad he had resisted his heart’s demand for revenge while Jean was still imprisoned — Bautista could have easily made sure he was tortured and killed in there. But Bautista didn’t want that to happen.
Because Bautista wanted to have that honor for himself. He wasn’t going to let someone else take his revenge.
“Yon moun ede m ‘, tanpri, yon majisyen pran kò mwen an!” Jean screamed.
Bautista allowed him to do that. Jean had control over his mouth for the moment, but nothing else.
People looked at him strangely as he walked through Port-au-Prince, but no one stopped to help him. Jean had no friends, and anyway, no one wanted to get involved. They all knew how much power houngans like Bautista had, and they weren’t going to risk their own safety by getting involved. Even the handful of good Samaritans who considered it changed their minds when they saw Jean’s military tattoos — they knew what that meant: Jean had been one of the villainous soldiers who raped and murdered with abandon during the military regime. No one was going to lift a finger to help someone who had been part of that hellish era.
Bautista waited in his home. He had a large house with a manicured lawn around it and a security gate for protection. Not many people in Haiti could claim that, but Bautista was a business success. Since his sister’s rape and murder, Bautista had made himself into a tycoon — he knew he needed more power to punish Jean, and he had spent years building up a business empire to make it possible.
The wait was difficult. It took Jean hours to walk all the way over here. Bautista couldn’t make him walk faster, since Jean fought him every step of the way.
Finally, however, he arrived. Bautista warned the two security men at his gate, so they let Jean in, ignoring his plaintive cries for help. They did not understand why Jean said he wished to leave, even though nobody seemed to be forcing him to come here.
Jean was tall and broad-chested, and he could only speak through gritted teeth — Bautista didn’t allow him to open his mouth all the way. Perhaps the guards didn’t understand his words. Or perhaps they had sensed that Bautista had the power of a houngan and did not wish to interfere. That was wise of them.
Eventually he opened the front door, which was difficult because Bautista was in control of his body, but it was not easy to control fine-grained movements like gripping a doorknob and turning it. When he entered, Jean stood in the hallway of Bautista’s house. There was a picture there of Bautista’s sister, but it did not look like Jean recognized her. Why would he? He had probably raped and murdered a hundred women just like her.
“Let me go!” Jean said in guttural, scratchy Creole. He sounded like he had inhaled a lungful of smoke, which he had, numerous times. Smoke from fires he set. Burning down homes, lighting people on fire. Jean was like that.
His harsh, clutching fingers ripped at his own shirt, which he tore off his body. Then Jean pulled his pants down. Bautista was in the other room, controlling him through the loa. In his mind, he could feel Jean’s muscles writhing as he struggled against the vodou power compelling his movements. Bautista had always been a thin, weak man — that was why he became a hougan in the first place. He could never win based on physical prowess, and in the midst of civil strife and war, Bautista’s intellect was of little value. He could only work on his spiritual power.
Now Bautista commanded an army of loa. He had built a business empire with the spirits he made deals with, spirits of terrible power, angels, demons, both at once. Bautista commanded the spirit world. He could have done anything he wanted to Jean. But there was only one thing he wanted to do.
At least, one thing for now.
Jean’s muscles were shiny in the well-lit hallway, because he had sweated profusely as he fought against his body the entire way over here. His muscles remained tense, like he was cramping up from head to toe. He was stark naked now, his massive cock dangling between his legs. It must have hurt to be raped by that huge manhood, Bautista thought as he came into the hall and approached Jean.
That fat cock was nice. Bautista was glad it was big. It wouldn’t have changed anything if it was small, but it as gonna make this fun.
“Who are you?” Jean spat out his words like he had to fight against his own throat to speak, like he did not notice he had full control now.
“Your worst nightmare. I am the embodiment of your punishment,” Bautista said. He lightly tickled Jean’s muscles, which twitched beneath his touch.
Jean wept like he had been expecting this for some time. He didn’t even ask what he was being punished for. He must have known there was a litany of reasons to punish him. Perhaps he didn’t want to know which wrongdoing was at issue now.
Heaving for air, chest muscles rippling, Jean wanted to fall to his knees, to collapse to the ground, but Bautista didn’t let him. Jean’s whole body heaved, and his tight, taut pecs flexed again. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Then Bautista allowed it. Jean fell to the ground, on all fours.
He wept then and begged for mercy in Creole, French and broken English, but Bautista just listened and caressed his long, coarse dreadlocks. They were ratty and unkempt.
Bautista grabbed one lock and pulled, hard, until Jean squealed and squirmed. He clenched his teeth.
“Lift up your head,” Bautista said. He allowed Jean just a bit of control over his body, enough that Jean could choose to follow Bautista’s command or not — when he chose not, the loa forced Jean to do it anyway, but more painfully.
Jean’s dark hair and bearded face looked up into Bautista’s eyes. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.
Bautista cackled as thunder clapped outside. It began raining hard, the sound of water pounding on the roof now deafening. Bautista had to raise his voice to be heard. “Prepare to be no longer a man, Jean. You will be nothing but submission. You will be filth. You will never be clean again.” He pulled down his pants.
Slowly, forcing Jean to keep his eyes open, Bautista pushed the tip of his limp cock onto Jean’s tongue, and he allowed Jean to gag, just slightly at first because he only tasted the spongy limpness of Bautista’s clean cocktip. Then he gagged more intensely. Jean tried with all his might to bite down, but Bautista didn’t let that happen. He pushed his moist dick deeper into Jean’s mouth.
All he could do was retch and choke as Bautista slowly fed his rapidly firming dick down Jean’s throat. A rank guttural sound escaped from Jean’s mouth, and Bautista had to suppress a laugh at his frenzied reaction — Bautista didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by actually laughing out loud. He did smile and chuckle quietly, since Jean couldn’t see from his position or hear over the sound of his frenzied retching.
Letting his fingers grip Jean’s scalp through his dreadlocks, Bautista began to slam his hips in. He rammed Jean’s face, making his balls slap against Jean’s chin with every thrust of his cock down his tight throat.
If it weren’t for the loa controlling his body, Jean could not have deep-throated Bautista’s dick, that much was obvious. His neck instinctively fought back, trying hard not to accept the taste of dick. In Haitian culture, the fact that Jean swallowed another man’s dick, even against his will, made him an accursed figure, less of a man. Now that one man had throated him down, others would too — he would be seen as unworthy of respect.
Ou pa janm yo pral yon nonm ankò!
The revenge was so satisfying that Bautista almost didn’t notice at first how good it felt. Jean’s mouth was warm and moist, and even as he gagged, his tongue slathered spit over Bautista’s cockshaft — not willingly, of course, Bautista was controlling his tongue. Every few seconds another burst of salty precum and mansweat hit Jean’s taste buds, and his muscled chest roiled as he gagged once again.
Bautista was relentless. He enjoyed the loud retching sound of Jean’s throat as he leaked precum down his gullet. Bautista savored the spiritual struggle as well — it was easy for Bautista, who was much stronger in the ways of the loa. It felt like Bautista was physically holding him down, even though Jean outweighed Bautista by a hundred pounds of solid muscle. Bautista very rarely outmuscled anyone, so it was a delightful, arousing feeling. He savored the utter submission Jean felt every time Bautista let go of his control, just in part and just for a second, long enough to give Jean a feeling like he could fight back.
Then Bautista made Jean’s asshole twinkle and clench, forced his jaw to open so wide it ached and nearly snapped — Bautista had utter control and could have shattered the man’s jaw as he rammed his throat, but he didn’t. He knew it was more humiliating to make it feel like Jean’s body was cooperating, allowing himself to be treated like a loose woman.
Reaching down with his dick throbbing in Jean’s gullet, Bautista fingered his ass, hugging the rim with one finger while it twitched and clenched. It was his middle finger, and he jammed it deep. That made Jean know what was happening next, and he wept. Tears ran in rivulets down his dusty cheeks.
“Now we move on to the real punishment,” Bautista said. “Do you know why I’m doing this?”
As he spoke, he pulled his cock out of Jean’s mouth. He was on the verge of ejaculating, so he resisted the near-insurmountable urge to finish himself off with his hands. But he didn’t. Instead, he used one hand to wipe up all the excess spit and precum that clung to his shaft, and he smeared it over Jean’s tense face. Jean spat and sputtered. He yelled curses as he heaved for air, but Bautista had protections in place — no loa heard Jean’s curses or pleas for help.
“Huh? Say it, girl-man. What are the loa punishing you for now?”
“For… my sins!”
“That is too vague,” Bautista said. “Accurate, but not sufficient.” He kneeled behind Jean, who was so tall that even bending over wasn’t enough — Bautista still couldn’t reach his cock into Jean’s ass. So he made Jean kneel on his knees, with Bautista kneeling behind him. That placed Bautista’s smooth face right in the narrow groove in the center of Jean’s muscled shoulders.
“I have… murdered.”
“Yes, but tell me more.”
“I have raped,” Jean said. He hung his head in shame, then bit his lip as Bautista shoved the tip of his cock in. Jean writhed and struggled against the loa who kept him in place. Bautista didn’t need to use his powers to sense the agony in Jean’s body — he could feel it in the tension in his back muscles and in the way he jerked in his breath.
His ass was tight, and he clenched. Bautista let Jean have control of his asshole, so he clenched, as a man must if he is to be a real man. But Jean’s cock was already ramming into him. Jean should have known clenching would only make it feel worse for him and better for Bautista. Jean had, after all, raped countless women. He must have discovered the same thing.
“Who did you rape?!”
“I do not know their names,” Jean said through his tears. His dreadlocks shook as he cried. Bautista rammed hard, but he didn’t force Jean to open his asshole up. It felt better to let him try to push it out. He squeezed and massaged the shaft with his powerful ass muscles. “Please! I want forgiveness.”
“It’s too late for that…” Bautista laughed — and he used his energy to deepen his voice, both because the sudden change surprised Jean and made him twitch and because Bautista had always thought his small-man’s pitchy voice was less than intimidating. He smacked one of Jean’s asscheeks.
Bautista grabbed one of his dreadlocks with each hand, using them like a yoke around a mule. He ground his hips, pushing a bit more cockmeat into Jean’s ass. He pulled on those dreadlocks until Jean lifted his head up. Bautista aimed his eyes right at the photo of Bautista’s sister.
“Do you recognize her?”
“No!”
“You raped her. In 1959, you raped her in the street like a dog. You held her down and raped her mouth, her womanhood, her ass like a dirty prostitute, but worse because you did not pay her. You just slit her throat and let her die there in the dirt,” Bautista said. That reminded him why he was doing this, not for fun, but for justice. He thought he shouldn’t be enjoying this too much or the loa might punish him for it later.
But it did feel good, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the primal pleasure enveloping him.
As he spoke, Bautista worked more and more of his cock in. Finally every bit of it was inside Jean’s tight ass, which clenched and tore. Jean would have been screaming at the top of his lungs if Bautista allowed him to, but Bautista wanted to be sure Jean heard everything Bautista said. Besides that, if he was too loud, he might attract attention from the security guards outside — Bautista had protections in place to be sure he wouldn’t be surprised, but he preferred to keep Jean quiet enough not to get their attention in the first place.
“Say you’re sorry,” Bautista said.
“I’m sorry!”
“Are you? Are you really?” Bautista asked. “Say you’re sorry again. Beg me to forgive you.”
“Fuck you!” Jean shouted.
“I was hoping you would say that,” Bautista said. “Because it means I get to keep punishing you.” He slammed his hips down, shoving his cock all the way in and out. He groaned as his balls slapped against Jean’s muscled thighs with each thrust. Since he could and did force Jean to open his asshole up, Bautista pulled his dick all the way out each time. That made the sensation more exquisite when he forced it back in that tight hole againa nd again.
Jean writhed and squirmed. Bautista allowed him a little more control over his body. He made sure only that Jean couldn’t fight him off or push away from him. Instead Jean heaved and yelled into the floor, on which he contorted wildly.
It was difficult to remain mounted on his body because he moved so much, but Bautista enjoyed the struggle, and it only prolonged his burgeoning climax. He gripped Jean’s body tightly and pulled on his dreadlocks again. The more Jean moved and tried to expel Bautista’s cock from his ass, the tighter it was and the more pleasure flowed through Bautista’s body.
“What are you going to do from now on?”
“What?!” Jean screamed. His eyes were blurry with tears, his mind dizzy and confused.
Bautista pulled on his dreadlocks so hard a few drops of blood appeared on his scalp. Jean’s wild eyes bugged out. He slammed his massive fists onto the ground and bucked his broad-muscled back, which Bautista allowed because it sent a wave of pleasure up his body while causing a tortuous twinge from Jean’s ass.
“I asked you what you’re going to do from now on,” Bautista asked. “Huh? You’re not in the army anymore. So what?”
“I don’t know!”
“You’ve been robbing people, right? Tourists when you can, or whoever else is available. Right?”
“Yes, yes…” Jean said. He bucked his hips again and wept into his muscled forearm.
“Well, no longer. You work for me now. You’re my slave. You’ll make up for the loss of my sister. You’ll never be able to make up for it, but I’ll enjoy making you try,” Bautista said. He kept his cock still now, but he moved his hips in a circle, making sure every part of Jean’s insides felt the stabbing of his manhood.
“Yes, master,” Jean said. His formerly arrogant voice was now weak and trembling.
“You’re going to jack men off for money,” Bautista said. That made Jean buck and sob harder. He ground his face into the floor. Bautista ground his dick in deeper, moving it in little circles to be sure it caused plenty of pain. “Men will pay money to ram you in the ass and in the mouth. They will turn you into a human pussy.
“No!”
“Yes,” Bautista said. “You’re my slave now. I own you.”
“Yes, master,” Jean said with a resigned sigh.
Bautista wanted to drag this out longer, but he felt an orgasm coming over him, and he could resist it no longer. He decided that he could keep playing later, but he wanted to finish this off and humiliate Jean as much as possible. Bautista had a whole lifetime to experiment with punishments, and if his spells all worked, Bautista would have his entire afterlife to continue it.
He gasped as an orgasm finally overcame him. He bucked and bit down hard on Jean’s shoulder. Cum filled Jean’s ass, a great big load of creamy hot cum that sloshed and spilled out and down his cabled thighs. Jean gagged because Bautista made sure he could taste it — he used magic to transfer Jean’s tongue momentarily into his own ass, so Jean tasted every drop of cum mixing with his own filth and degradation. Jean gagged violently.
“Whuuuuhhhck!”
The heat of Bautista’s jizz seeped into Jean’s body, spreading to every corner of his insides. Bautista sighed, and Jean screamed when Bautista returned his tongue to his mouth. His hips flexed like he was trying to push Bautista off, but the loa didn’t allow him to do much more than squirm.
That only made the orgasm even more intense, and it kept on going. Bautista had let himself build up a big fat load, so it continued for a whole minute or two of a continuous flow. Bautista kept ramming, turning Jean’s asscrack into a frothy white mess. It splashed with each thrust of Bautista’s manhood. Bautista groaned, emitting a spine-tingling sound. Jean cried into the wooden floor of Bautista’s mansion.
Finally he was done. Bautista pulled his limp dick out and slapped Jean’s asscheeks. That sent another spasming wave of agony through his sensitive ass. Jean barked like a dying dog.
Ramming his thumb into Jean’s ass, Bautista pulled out wad after wad of cum. He made a big creamy mess in Jean’s asscrack, letting the cum coat his deep night-brown skin. He was a longskin, as the English speakers say, with midnight black skin, so the white of the jizz contrasted strongly with his complexion. It practically shone.
Then Bautista wiped all that cum off onto Jean’s face. His untrimmed beard turned goopy and white with semen, which he slurped off Bautista’s fingers. He gagged profusely as ass-slime hit his tongue again, and he swallowed all that anal filth off Bautista’s fingers.
“Now you lay here in your own mess and think about your sin,” Bautista said. He hocked up a huge loogey and spat it on Jean’s face. “I’m taking you to the UN base. The soldiers there are probably horny. I heard they’re mostly Greek, so they’re going to enjoy how cheap your pussy is.”
“Yes, master,” Jean said. His spirit was broken, which made Bautista smile — he hadn’t forced Jean to say yes. Jean had done that on his own because he had submitted. His soul was dead now, and Bautista knew he wouldn’t need to do much to keep Jean under control.
But he wasn’t going to let go. Bautista had been working up to this for years. He had no intention of stopping, at least not until Jean was used up and desiccated. This revenge was going to be even more fun than Bautista had thought.
Bautista smiled as he left Jean there on the floor, so Bautista could clean himself up and see what it looked like when all that cum dried. He was so excited he was already hard again. This, he thought, was going to make all of his study and struggle over the years worthwhile.
He’d finally have his revenge.

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!

Read it now as an ebook or on just scroll down!

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.

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!”