Lamar Casper – Mansploitation

Chapter One

When the guard said Lamar’s cellmate was a man named ‘Wendell White’, Lamar Casper was relieved — he sounded like an accountant done up on embezzlement charges. That has gotta be some prissy whiteboi he could control.
So Lamar’s jaw dropped when he stepped into the tiny cell and saw Thumper, as Wendell White preferred to be known. He was a burly man in his mid-forties, maybe fifties, with a powerhouse body and a towering frame, no longer perfectly carved but still bristling with strength underneath inked, callused skin. He looked at Lamar and gave him a slim-eye nod.
“You got the top bunk, youngblood,” was all he said, his voice deep and rumbling like a distant volcano. He returned to the Bible study book he was reading.
Lamar moved his stuff onto the shelf beside his bunk and silently laid down. Not wanting to attract attention on his first day, Lamar simply stared at the ceiling and kept a tough mien on his face. He knew he was gonna get dubbed a prettyboy in this place, so Lamar had gotta look as rough as he could manage.
Thumper began a series of push-ups, loudly, no doubt hoping to bring Lamar’s attention to how much bigger and stronger he was than him. Lamar knew how prison worked, and Lamar was more than prepared to defend himself. You don’t gotta be huge to show a nigga you mean business. Thumper had the thick barrel-shaped body of a boxer, which Lamar later learned he was decades ago, before coming to prison. His great muscles shifted with every thrust of his chest up and down.
He stood up and faced Lamar, his chest heaving and beaded with sweat. “You get dirty or what?”
“No. What? No…” Lamar said. He was unsure what Thumper meant by ‘get dirty’, but he knew the answer was no.
Thumper frowned like a turtle and nodded. “Okay.”
“Just in case you thinkin’ about messin’ wit’ me, don’t,” Lamar said, “I can take carea myself.”
Thumper stood up on a sarcastic ‘impressed’ face and said, “Well, good for you, youngblood. That’s a good skill to have. But I don’t ram niggas. Maybe an occasional whiteboi, but that’s it. I’m too old for that shit, holding down some squirming bitch, nigga, that ain’t me.”
“Good.”
“Young pretty buck like you, betcha considerin’ it,” Thumper said. He slapped Lamar’s ass beneath his prison uniform pants, then let his hand rest there. He squeezed one cheek affectionately. “You gonna ram some whiteboi sooner or later.”
“No, I won’t,” Lamar said. “I saw you readin’ that Bible. Ain’t nothin’ ’bout ramming whitebois in there.”
“The Lord forgives, youngblood. That’s what makes Him great,” Thumper said. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. Lamar rolled over, not liking the feeling of Thumper’s hand resting on his ass. Lamar knew men in prison tended to grow accustomed to physical contact, but that was too much for him. Thumper’s hand fell on the bed in front of Lamar, so if Lamar laid back down on his belly, Thumper’d be groping Lamar’s cock. Thumper leaned in close to speak to him and laid his other arm on the bed, so he now took up most of the mattress with his arms, while Lamar was pressed against the wall to avoid touching him. “You rollin’ with somebody?” he asked.
“I’m from California,” Lamar said, “I don’t roll with no one in Baltimore. But I in the Bloods out there.”
His hands snaked up Lamar’s shirt, lifting it to check for gang tattoos. Thumper nodded his approval at the claret B above Lamar’s heart. “Come down here and do some pushups,” Thumper said, “If you gonna be in my organization, you gotta be in shape. Ain’t useful to me as a skinny nigga.”
Lamar got off the bed and removed his shirt. He been playing basketball for years and was more than strong enough, Lamar thought,and he made his pecs bounce. He thought that’d impress Thumper, cuz Lamar was stacked, he looked skinny, people thoughta him as a skinny prettyboy. But Lamar Casper was something. He got meat. Thumper groped him again, feeling Lamar’s meat, his biceps, triceps, lats and pecs.
“Hey,” Lamar said, “You gotta be touchin’ me all the time, nigga?”
“Yes, I do,” he said, “Now gimme fitty, youngblood. You do that three times a day from now on. Before e’rry meal, you do fitty pushups. We’ll add more later, that’s a start.”
“I know how to work out, nigga,” Lamar said. “I ain’t yo’ bitch.”
He stared him down. “I run this organization,” he said, “So unless you wanna be cast out, you gonna have to realize you work for me. You ain’t a bitch… that is a correct ‘stimation of the current sit’ation. I give all my niggas they workout routines. You can’t trust a nigga to do it right. They all dumb in the head, need someone to tell ’em what to do. I know how to train a nigga into a good Blood.” He stepped closer and closer to Lamar and wrapped his arms around Lamar’s waist as though they were about to slow dance. His hands ran up and down Lamar’s torso. “If you don’t let me use this body the way I want, I will find a different way to use it.”
Lamar gulped and stayed quiet. He couldn’t speak without stammering, which would make him look weak, so he kept his mouth shut. Thumper stepped even closer, until they were virtually kissing. Lamar felt Thumper’s cock inside his prison pants, pressing against Lamar’s thigh. It was like a flashlight, one of those big suckers, a D cell flashlight.
“So get down and gimme fitty,” he whispered, so close Lamar could taste the spittle flying off his tongue with each word. “A guard gonna come get us for dinner soon. I told you to do fitty push-ups befo’ then, so if that guard gets here before you done, there gonna be consequences.”
Lamar thought Thumper was going to back away so he could get out from the wall and follow his instructions, but he stood right there. Lamar couldn’t easily move. Lamar finna protest but Thumper threw his eyebrows back. Lamar took a deep breath, inhaling Thumper’s zest, sweat and funk, then tried to squeeze out from afronta him. Thumper gently touched Lamar’s back and belly with his roaming hands but made no effort to stop him from moving. His sweat stuck to Lamar’s shirt, which Lamar took off when he was free.
Lamar wasn’t weak, but he wasn’t sure he could do fifty push-ups, especially not with his hands shaking. He got down and began, hoping his counting-off voice sounded more confident than he felt.
“One. Two. Thr-.”
“Hmm, hmm. Good.” Thumper knelt down near Lamar’s feet, giving him encouragement like a coach. He slapped Lamar’s ass, watching them juicy cheeks jiggle, and Lamar felt Thumper’s cock and balls, dangling beneath his shorts, resting on Lamar’s ankle. Lamar looked back to him, instinctively wanting to protest, but he didn’t. Thumper didn’t seem to notice that Lamar had paused, he was focused on the jiggle of Lamar’s cheeks.
Lamar tried to get the feel of Thumper’s balls on his ankle outta his head and focus on doing the push-ups. Lamar was so terrified that the adrenaline helped him along, but still when he got to forty-two, he collapsed, out-of-breath.
“I can hear that guard comin’, nigga,” he said, pulling down Lamar’s sweatshorts and drawers. “He comin’ closer. You got eight more to do.” He rested his hand on Lamar’s asscheeks and pushed one finger between Lamar’s crack. He let it rest on the surface of Lamar’s asshole, only the thin fabric of Lamar’s prison pants preventing him from penetrating him.
Lamar jumped back into action and did five more without thinking about it, then slowly, wobbly armed and dripping with sweat, Lamar made it through the last couple of push-ups.
He straddled Lamar’s hips, so Lamar could feel Thumper’s heavy thick cock pressing against his asscheeks. He leaned over Lamar’s back, almost laying on top of him. “I know I said I don’t ram niggas, but I do love to make a nigga an exception. So don’t gimme no reason, nigga. Don’t e’er question me again.”

Thumper & His Prettyboy Cellmate: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Thumper was bossy and mean but not violent, so Lamar couldn’t complain too much. Lamar did hate how touchy he was, but he felt better once he saw that Thumper was just as touchy with the other inmates. Thumper had been behind bars so long he was desperate for a little human contact, no matter where it came from, that was Lamar’s conclusion.
At breakfast one night, Lamar saw him wrap one arm around the waist of the man sitting next to him, a Blood named Ruck. As they ate, Ruck straightened his back awkwardly. Lamar saw outta the corner of his eye that Thumper, who continued telling a story about the cop that arrested him, slipped his hand down Ruck’s back and rested his finger inside Ruck’s asscrack. Ruck was a buff bullish nigga whose muscles tightened beneath Thumper’s grasp. His nostrils flared and his eyes darted around like a panicked animal.
When Thumper told Lamar to sit by him the next morning, Lamar dreaded knowing that his finger would likely do the same to him. Lamar was proven correct — it was apparently what he did to whichever nigga sat to his right during a meal. As soon as he finished eating, he put his hand on the small of Lamar’s back and dropped his finger between Lamar’s cheeks. His fingertip rested maybe an inch above Lamar’s butthole.
The other Bloods at the table made eye contact with Lamar, but no one said anything.
When the bell rang to signify the end of breakfast, everyone else stood. Lamar hesitated because Thumper did, and Lamar wasn’t sure Thumper would be okay with him just shoving away from his hand. In the hubbub, Thumper jabbed his finger into Lamar’s ass momentarily. A burst of pain ran up Lamar’s backside.
Lamar yelped, then fell silent and looked away from the smirking Bloods. Thumper clasped Lamar’s shoulder with his ass-stinked middle finger and used him for leverage as he stood. Lamar chose not to make a big deal outta it. It was better just to move on with his day.
When Lamar got back to the cell that night, he was late, having been processed at his prison job all day. Thumper waited for him in his boxers, a big grin on his face.
“I got a surprise tonight, something to welcome you in,” he said. “It should be here any minute. Gimme yo’ routine, nigga.”
Lamar got down on the ground and gave him fifty push-ups, which Lamar got through only because Thumper’s shouted encouragement outweighed the ache in Lamar’s sore shoulders.
Officer Crabgut arrived a few minutes after Lamar finished. He was a mean white man with wide shoulders and a perpetual sneer standing at the doorway in front of a slim Latino with a trembling frown. Crabgut shoved him in.
“You got fifteen minutes,” Crabgut said, “And don’t do nothing that’ll require a visit to the infirmary.” Crabgut closed the door.
The Latin boy shook and clasped his arms across his chest. Thumper approached him and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He placed that stinky middle finger of his right hand on the Latin boy’s mouth. “Sssh,” Thumper said quietly, “What’s your name, boy?”
“Navarone,” he said. He had a lilting Cuban accent.
“Tha’ss right,” Thumper said, “You a snitch, aincha? That’s why Sucio turned you out.”
“I’m not a snitch!”
“Sucio said you was,” Thumper said. He raised his eyebrows like a dubious schoolteacher.
“But I’m not. I didn’t snitch!” he said.
“That’s exactly what snitches usually say,” Thumper said. He looked at him. “Go on. I paid for anal for both us. He got good ass, I ‘xpect. Only started getting plowed a few weeks ago.” He pulled down Navarone’s orange prison pants and slapped his ass. “Yeah, this is nice ass. Like that, nigga! I like that!”
“I dunno,” Lamar said. He ain’t never ramrod a nigga, and he wasn’t expecting to start his first day in prison. He was only gonna be here seven months. “I don’t really need to bust a nut. I could sit this one out.”
“Nonsense,” Thumper said. “I done paid for it.” He smacked Navarone in the backa the head as he bared his cock and slapped it onto Navarone’s trembling asscheeks. “Swallow his dick, bitch.”
Kneeling with a sour look on his face, Navarone pulled down Lamar’s pants and took his dick into his mouth in one smooth motion, keeping eye contact with Thumper. He tentatively licked it, but Thumper pushed his head down deeper. He gagged as Lamar’s cockhead hit the backa his throat.
“Deepthroat it, bitch,” Thumper murmured.
Lamar’s eyes bugged out as his dick firmed up in Navarone’s mouth, much easier than Lamar was expecting. This did not feel erotic to him. It did feel kinda good, but the pleasure seemed very distant. Lamar’s mind remained focused on what Thumper was doing with his hands.
What Thumper was doing with his hands at that point, in fact, was making Navarone spread his asscheeks. Thumper lined himself up behind Navarone. Then, without missing a beat, Thumper slipped his half-erect cock into Navarone’s ass. Navarone grunted in pain around Lamar’s shaft in his mouth.
His cock was only part-hard and ropy still, and Thumper hadta move it around and grumble some before it firmed up enough to really get to ramming. Once he could though, he did, and Lamar couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Thumper worked his dick deeper inch by inch. He grabbed ahold of Navarone’s hair and placed one hand on the small of his back to keep him in position.
His squirming and choked sputtering made Lamar’s dick lose part of his erection — Navarone’s gagging and pained cries were revolting to him — until Lamar realized Thumper was looking at him like something was wrong with him. Lamar didn’t want to get a reputation as a man who can’t perform.
And it did feel good! It did! It was just hard to enjoy it. Lamar wasn’t horny before this started, or even after. He wanted to get this over with.
Closing his eyes, Lamar pictured his last girlfriend, a dark-haired white girl with a nice ass and huge tits. Lamar played with those tits for hours, and Lamar could almost feel their phantom fleshiness beneath his fingers.
With his eyes closed, it sorta worked. That white girl gave shitty blowjobs, and Navarone did the same. Navarone was more focused on the pain in his ass, that was why. But Lamar got into it enough to fuck Navarone’s throat, and spasms of pleasure struck throughout his body.
Thumper let his cock plop out of Navarone’s ass. His erection throbbed and dripped with precum and the hog fat he used as lube. He chuckled at Navarone’s exaggerated sigh of relief, then moved over to stand next to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Come on, I wanna nut in his mouth,” Thumper said, “Ass to mouth is great. We’ll wreck his throat together. Sucio said he can take anything down his gullet.”
Thumper took Lamar’s now relimpened cock in his hand and frotted it against his own dick, which was slimy with Navarone’s assjuice. He jacked both cocks off together and pushed them both into Navarone’s tremulous mouth. Lamar was horrified at sight of Thumper manhandling his dick, and he sucked in his breath, hands fluttering uselessly in the air. His and Thumper’s cocks smushed together, Thumper’s a long thick hard shaft that was pulsating hot and glistening with moisture, Lamar’s noticeably thinner and fleshier, only half-hard. Navarone opened his mouth as wide as he could, but only their cockheads fit inside.
“Use that tongue, bitch,” Thumper said, “Get all up on my shit, yeah, like that.”
Navarone’s tongue delicately lapped at Thumper’s cockhead, wincing at the saltiness of precum and the foulness of hog fat, not to mention his own asshole. Then Thumper smacked him in the back of the head, loud enough for Officer Crabgut to poke his head back inside the cell.
“Five minutes, gentlemen,” he said, “Then I gotta take the bitch back.” He stayed to watch with a wry smile as Thumper orgasmed without warning, as though he was waiting to make sure Crabgut could see. He moaned and leaned on Lamar for support.
Thumper came a vast burst of jizz, his semen sliding down Lamar’s cockshaft and coating Navarone’s face. Thumper’s muscles all flexed and rippled. Lamar was disgusted and thought he couldn’t cum, but Thumper looked at him like that was not an option.
“Go on, you better finish,” Thumper said, his voice now menacing. He ain’t take his dick away from Navarone’s mouth even now that it was limp
Lamar thought of that girl, his ex, desperately avoiding the feel of Thumper’s cum-slickened cock sliding against his and the stubble of Navarone’s facial hair on Lamar’s skin.The tension maybe made it easier to get hard though. Sex with women could be tense too, Lamar thought, and it did get his cock going.
Navarone finally got to slurping good on Lamar’s cock, while Thumper’s limpness bobbed around on his face. That sent a wave of pleasure through Lamar’s body. Thumper’s hands explored his chest and his back like he wanna feel that pleasure. Lamar sucked in his breath, closed his eyes and stood on his toes as he brought himself to the edge..
Finally Lamar shot a load, the orgasm almost painful. It was thin and watery, and it landed right on the center of Navarone’s tongue. He gagged and squealed, and Lamar breathed a sigh of relief, both from the orgasm and cuz Thumper wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t shoot as much as he was expecting, maybe because of the anxiety of the situation.
But then Thumper grabbed ahold of Lamar’s dick and stroked it casually, just a few quick pumps before he dropped it. Lamar’s dick was ultra-sensitive, so his touch sent a shiver of pain up his body.
Lamar squealed and stepped away. “Lay off me! What the fuck, nigga?” Lamar said. His heart dropped as Lamar said it because Thumper’s face screwed up in anger.
He shoved Lamar against the wall with all his heft. His chest pressed against his, his face millimeters from Lamar’s cheek. Lamar blanched, trying to show strength and confidence. Thumper’s moist cock was hot and heavy against Lamar’s thigh. He eyed him but didn’t say anything.
“Hey, you two have a lover’s squabble or what?” Crabgut said. Navarone waddled, bow-legged, out of the cell.
“That’s right, a lover’s squabble,” Thumper said, his limp dick smeared juices on Lamar’s hips. He kissed him on the cheek. “Nothing but a lover’s squabble.”

Thumper & His Prettyboy Cellmate: Chapter Three

Chapter Three

As Lamar grew accustomed to incarceration, things settled into a sort of cruel normalcy. The everyday humiliations of prison life became minor nuisances, and even the food seemed to taste better as memory of a better time faded from Lamar’s grasp.
The one thing Lamar couldn’t get used to was Thumper’s touching. Since he never hit him, the guards wouldn’t intervene, no matter how obvious it was Lamar wanted him to stop. None of the Bloods would back him up either, so Lamar had no choice but to submit and accept it as a part of his prison routine.
About a month into Lamar’s sentence, the air conditioning broke. Lamar begged Thumper to let them take a break from working out until it was fixed, but he looked at him like Lamar was crazy. “The Vasquenzas ain’t gonna stop. The Crips ain’t gonna stop. The Aryan Way ain’t gonna stop.” He continued naming every gang in this prison.
“Okay, okay, I just thought we might wanna keep the sweat down. It smells bad enough in here as it is,” Lamar said.
“Fuck you, nigga. You the stinky one, youngblood,” he said, “Go on, gimme some squat thrusts.”
As soon as Lamar got started, Thumper stripped off his shorts and boxers, so his cock dangled freely in front of him. He stood there watching Lamar and scratched his balls. Lamar knew better than to complain. Why does old nigga got hang his dong out all the time?
Despite the heat and the zesty aroma of old nigga sweat filling up the cell, Lamar managed no to complain as he finished his routine. When Thumper finally told him Lamar was done, Lamar sopped off his sweat with a towel and climbed up to his bed.
“Wait, nigga, come on down here,” he said, “I got somethin’ I been savin’ for a rainy day. Or a sweaty day, whatever.”
Thumper showed him a long, thin blunt. Lamar didn’t see where he had gotten it from, but he must have had it stashed somewhere in the cell. He grinned, and Lamar’s bitterness about his intimacy vanished. Lamar hadn’t gotten high since before his trial.
Lamar sat on the bed next to Thumper. His stark nudity was uncomfortable, but Lamar reminded himself that it was only barely different than the thin layer of fabric Lamar wore. Not really a big deal, Lamar told himself.
He lit the blunt with a strike-anywhere match, and they began passing it back and forth. As always, Thumper answered any questions about pre-prison life with vague handwaving and asked probing questions about him and who Lamar knew in the Bloods back in California.
The first haze in Lamar’s mind appeared. Lamar felt his eyes narrow to slits. In a way, Lamar was glad he hadn’t been able to smoke for a long time cuz it meant Lamar got baked even on Thumper’s tiny blunt.
“You always dodgin’ my questions, Thumper,” Lamar said, feeling bold. “Wuzzup wit’ dat?” Lamar laughed at himself, and Thumper joined in.
“You ain’t wanna know nothin’ ’bout ol’ Thumper,” he said, “I got nothin’ important out there in the real world. No career, no family, no friends. All that’s left of me is what’s in here.”
“Is it true you was a boxer?”
“Shit, I was the best boxer. The Chesapeake Champion,” he said, “Still am. But don’t ax no questions about that, nigga.” He took the roach and dropped it, still lit, in his mouth. He swallowed it and smiled at him. “Hey,” he said, “Gimme yo’ hand.”
Too stoned to think about it, Lamar just extended his hand to him. Thumper took it and caressed it, moving it slowly towards his crotch, Lamar realized he expected a handjob and his heart dropped.
“Hey, stop-“
“Shut yo’ mouth, Lamar,” Thumper said. He whispered, “Don’t you dare say no to me. You still ain’t my bitch. Nobody gotta know what happens in here. If you say no and I gotta force you into it, then you gonna be my bitch. And everybody gonna know that.”
Lamar stopped resisting and looked away from Thumper. He put Lamar’s hand on his dick, and Lamar awkwardly stroked it a few times.
Thumper said, “Come on, face me. Do this right.”
They both turned to face each other on his tiny bed. Thumper pulled Lamar by the legs closer to him, until their thighs were interlocking. He pulled Lamar’s dick outta the fly of his prison boxers.
“See? I ain’t a bad guy. This is a circlejerk, that’s all,” Thumper said. He spat on his hand and flogged Lamar’s dick until it got hard. His hands were softer than Lamar expected, though Lamar felt the calluses and thick muscles underneath his skin. He moved expertly but in a dispassionate way, like a farmer collecting semen from a stud.
Lamar was getting a rhythm on Thumper’s dick, which pulsated in his hands. It was disgusting and made him wish he could wear a glove. It was huge too, a foot long at least, thicker than any dick should be. It was slimy with precum in his grip.
Thumper shot a load with a deep groan that resonated in Lamar’s ear. Lamar hadn’t thought he was giving a good enough handjob for him to cum so quickly, but Thumper must have been horny. His wad spurted all over Lamar’s wrist and forearm. Lamar held his hand up like a mad scientist witnessing his creation, but he couldn’t reach anything except his own bedding to wipe off with.
Lamar gagged and tried to move, but Thumper told him to stay. He used both hands on Lamar’s dick, and Lamar had to admit it was the best handjob he ever had. Spasms of pleasure flew through Lamar’s body, despite his heart pounding and him holding his breath. Thumper moved in rhythm with Lamar’s body, and Lamar could almost forget what a hellhole he was trapped in.
Lamar came with a pained grunt, his load making a hot and stinking mess right in the center of Thumper’s waist. Lamar’s grunt turned into a moan as his whole body buckled, and jizz flew over Thumper’s torso.
When it was all over and Lamar’s dick was limp once more, Thumper wiped all that cum off with his hands, then wrapped his heavy arms around Lamar’s neck, smearing the cum across Lamar’s shoulders.
“There, there,” Thumper said, “That weren’t so bad, nigga, was it?”

Thumper & His Prettyboy Cellmate: Chapter 4

Chapter Four

As Lamar neared the halfway mark of his sentence, a prison riot led to an extended lockdown. Normally they’d be kept inside for a day, maybe two. But not this time. They ain’t let them out for a month, except for a shower every other week — and even that was each cell at a time, no talking allowed.
Luckily Thumper had a few more blunts. He only ever brought one out when Lamar wasn’t looking. He never showed him where he hid them, nor told him how many he had left, so Lamar steady thought they was smoking the last one. Then somehow a day or two later, he’d bring out another.
They smoked sitting on the floor, as they done got accustomed to, because the cement was cooler than the bunks. Thumper swallowed the roach, as he stay doing. Then he stood up, his cock dangling afront Lamar’s face. Lamar looked away.
“Yo, I ain’t gonna tell no one ’bout this, alright?” Thumper said.
“What? You mean the blunt? It don’t matter.”
“No, not the blunt. I ain’t been able to get a bitch in here in like two weeks,” Thumper said. “So you gonna have to fill in.”
“What?”
“I won’t tell no one. Just open yo’ mouth, nigga. It’ll be like it never happened.”
“Thumper, stop-…” Lamar shut up when Thumper clasped a hand over his mouth.
“What did I tell you about sayin’ no to me?”
A part of him wanted to fight no matter what, but Lamar’s brain overruled his heart. There was no way he’d win in a fight, and even if he survived, Thumper would just have him killed later. He’d be remembered as a traitor to his fellow Bloods. Thumper leggo, and Lamar opened his mouth.
Thumper looked down at him with sympathetic eyes and shook his pitying face. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You just showin’ respect for yo’ elder Bloods,” he said, “It used to be normal, y’know, to jerk older niggas off in jail. That’s just what you doin’.”
His cock slid into Lamar’s throat, rubbing past his tongue, which twisted in revulsion at the flavor. It tasted like pure, distilled sweat, Lamar thought, stale and rancid sweat. It pulsated like a living organism feeding off him. It rocketed right to full erection too, in a matter of seconds.
He moaned and said, “Okay, relax yo’ throat, nigga. You doin’ okay. I ain’t gonna beat yo’ ass, just keep on coop’atin’. Don’t give up nigga, and try not to gag so much. I don’t wanna feel like I’m ramroddin’ ya, y’know, you ain’t a snitch. You just showing respect like you should.”
As the precum flowed into Lamar’s mouth, Lamar cringed with his eyes. He then shut them, because Thumper’s gaze was too intense. Thumper gripped Lamar’s head and gently plowed his dick in and outta Lamar’s throat, clucking his tongue each time Lamar gagged. Lamar sensed how good it felt to Thumper. His cock throbbed and pulsated, and Lamar found his throat stretching to accommodate Thumper’s mighty meat.
“Hmm-hmm, love that dome, nigga…”
Thumper stopped talking just before his orgasm, giving Lamar enough time to fill with dread. The hot, sticky taste of precum filled Lamar’s mouth, and he wanted to scream. Both of Thumper’s hands were on Lamar’s scalp, massaging it as he worked his hips in a circle around Lamar’s face.
His cum was so thick and luxuriant it spilled out the corners of Lamar’s mouth. He was disgusted, unable to concentrate on Thumper’s words over the feeling of his contorting stomach. “Don’t spit that shit up, nigga, don’t disrespect me like that. Don’t pretend it’s the grossest thing in the world, nigga. It’s my body, show a little a respect. Swallow that shit.” He held Lamar’s head in place until finally Lamar got his revulsion under control and forced the wad of cum down his throat. Thumper looked inside Lamar’s mouth like a curious doctor and was satisfied that it was empty.
“Man, Thumper, don’t do-“
“Shut the fuck up, nigga. You done,” Thumper said, letting his dick dangle between his legs. “You did it. Now we ain’t gotta talk about it again.” He leaned forward and kissed Lamar on the cheek. “Go on and gimme some push-ups before we go to bed.”

Thumper & His Prettyboy Cellmate: Chapter 5

As Lamar’s release date neared, he got more and more relaxed. The light at the end of the tunnel was coming closer, and some days Lamar was almost giddy. Thumper seemed upset that Lamar was leaving — long-timers sometimes felt like that, watching someone they cared about walk away, and Thumper was a definite long-timer. He’d been locked up for thirty years.
After dinner a few nights before Lamar’s release, Thumper brought out a bottle of booze. Not toilet vodka either, this was smuggled-in hooch. “I got us a surprise tonight. A bitch and a bottle. The bitch be comin’ by later.”
Lamar ain’t really enjoy getting head from unwilling bitches, but Thumper never asked permission. He assumed everyone stayed as horny as him, and if Lamar demurred even a little, he’d make fun of him for being less horny than an old nigga. Lamar was too handsome to ever admit he wasn’t horny, or everyone would call him a prettyboy who couldn’t perform.
“Whatcha gonna do when you get out there?” Thumper asked. He must have been able to tell what Lamar was thinking about from the look on his face. Indeed, as Lamar’s release seemed more imminent, Lamar could think of nothing else. Time slowed down. Every day became interminable, feeling longer than the entire first couple months of his sentence.
“Nigga, I am gonna eat,” Lamar said as they waited for the snitch to show up, “I am gonna get my mom to make me something nice, and damn I am gonna eat so much. And then I’m gonna find a bitch, and I am gonna fuck the shit outta her pussy.”
The hours drifted on. The bitch never showed up, They later found out Cell Block Zulu was on lockdown, so not even Officer Crabgut could bring Navarone over. Lamar’s last night was shaping up to be the longest and most boring of his life.
But at least they had booze. Lamar don’t much like liquor, honestly, and he never had, but Lamar wanted to get drunk and knew Thumper wouldn’t let him refuse anyway. So he played along and took shots with him all night. That made the boredom almost tolerable.
Lamar passed out near midnight, glad to finally have his last night nearing its completion. It was a deep, fitless sleep that ended abruptly. He woke up to the feeling of Thumper’s arms around him. His sweaty muscles encircled him, his thighs atop Lamar’s hips, his hands caressing Lamar’s nipples.
“Not gonna ram ya,” he said, “But since you leavin’ anyway, I’m gonna have some fun wit’ yo’ ass. Don’t fight this shit, man. I can still tell every motherfucker in the Bloods you disrespected me behind bars. Just relax.”
“Thumper, no, wait-“
“Sssh, I know you ain’t just tell me no,” he whispered in Lamar’s ear, “I can still tell Crabgut to frame you for something, nigga. I can keep you here as my bitch as long as I want. I’m doing you a favor by just making you my wife for a couple hours, and you won’t never have to see me again afterward. You can even pretend you was so drunk you don’t remember it. That’s what I’m gonna do. Unless you fight me and make me hold you down.”
His dick pressed against Lamar’s asshole but hesitated, as though waiting for him to say yes or no, even though he was going to do it anyway. Lamar didn’t want to say that he agreed to it, so he bit his lip.
“Well? Come on,” Thumper whispered. He nibbled on Lamar’s earlobe and wrapped his arms around Lamar’s shoulders, putting him in a loose headlock. “Am I gonna make love to that ass one time and give you a nice reacharound while I do it? Or am I gonna have you punked out for profit for the next seven to ten years?” He waited again. “Huh?”
“Fine,” Lamar spat onto the pillow in front of his face, “Do it. Just hurry up.”
“Don’t be shitty with me, nigga,” Thumper said, “Or I am gonna get shitty with you.” He pushed his dick into Lamar’s ass, and Lamar howled at a sudden burst of pain. The sound was swallowed up by the pillow, which he bit.
Thumper’s thick muscles dragged along Lamar’s back as he pushed down on him with his whole body. He kept his mouth right next to Lamar’s ear and whispered dirty nothings at him, along with exhortations to relax. “Come on, baby, let me in. I know it hurts, baby, but ya gotta relax, okay? I’m gonna get this whole cock in there one way or another, and I know you don’t wanna fight it. You want it, huh? Say you want it.”
“I… want it.”
“Say my name.”
“Thumper.” Pain blistered up Lamar’s spine, as Thumper grunted and moaned in his ear.
“Come on, put it all together. Make it sound like you like it, nigga. Make me believe it.”
“Thumper, I can’t… I don’t like it,” Lamar said.
“Then act, motherfucker,” he said through gritted teeth. Thumper pushed him into position so he could plow him doggystyle. “This position gonna be tough for you, nigga. You ready for it?”
This time he didn’t wait for him to respond. He shoved his cock in and Lamar squealed involuntarily, lifting one of his legs up like a pissing dog. Thumper slammed his hips against Lamar’s ass and slapped a cheek.
His hands both reached around Lamar’s waist and grabbed his cock. “Okay,” he said, “Here comes the reacharound. See? Not a punk if I get you off too. Don’t bother telling the warden I rammed you. They’ll keep you here for the investigation and then they’ll charge you for sure. It’s against the rules, after all.”
“I won’t… snitch,” Lamar said. He could barely speak from the pain in his ass. Somehow Lamar’s dick was getting hard, yet underneath the agony was an undercurrent of sexual pleasure stemming from his freshly stimulated prostate.
“I know,” he said. “You ready for it? I’m gonna cum, and this is gonna hurt even worse. But you doin’ good, nigga, you ain’t even bleedin’.” This time it was Thumper’s turn to lift a leg like a pissing dog. He began jackhammering into him with every thrust and let out a loud moan. Lamar could feel precum filling his ass underneath the mounting pain.
Lamar screamed, unable to hold it in. He tried to collapse to the ground, but Thumper was prepared and held onto Lamar’s hips to keep him in place. He kept him right in position to ram his cock all the way into. They both ended up on the floor, Lamar on his back and Thumper atoppa him, squirming like an overturned turtle.
That was what sent Thumper over the edge, it seemed, because he grunted, the sound resonating in Lamar’s ear. Thumper thrust once more, and a seep of creamy heat filled Lamar’s guts. Lamar squirmed. Thumper gasped.
Hot cum spilled out of Lamar’s ass and down his crotch, nestling in his unkempt pubic hair. Thumper gently squeezed Lamar’s cheeks. “That was good,” he said wave after wave of jizz jetting into Lamar’s ass, “Now you sit right there while I get you off.”
“Lemme up,” Lamar said, “I can’t cum with your dick in my ass.”
“I told you I gonna make you like it, right? I’m a man of my word,” he said, “So I gonna jack you off until you have an orgasm even with me inside you. That way you’ll always remember Thumper White as the man who made you love cock.”
“I don’t love cock.”
“We ain’t done yet,” Thumper said. His hands rushed up and down Lamar’s shaft, stroking him —Lamar was already hard, a fact of which he was unaware until Thumper started, The sensations flowing through Lamar’s body were intense, and Thumper must have felt them too, cuz he kept moaning like an old nigga into Lamar’s ear. “Now hush up and concentrate. If it takes too long, I’ll get hard and wanna cum up you again.”
Thumper’s limp cock was hot and full inside him, but Lamar tried to ignore that and focus on his own half-hard dick. He again thought of his white female on the outside, imagining that she had waited for him, her fleshy pussy spread wide for Lamar’s dick.
That triggered an orgasm in Lamar, a pained, strugglesome orgasm that made his whole body ached even as pleasure coursed through his veins. Lamar’s cum shot through the air and landed on his belly in a big puddle. Lamar groaned, shocked at how easy it turned out to be. He shot a bigger wad than he had in a long time.
Thumper let his dick flop out of Lamar’s ass, but he stayed there on the floor, his arms wrapped around Lamar.
“Thumper?” Lamar said. Thumper didn’t respond. Lamar started to roll off him, but Thumper sleepily rolled over, pinning him with his bulk. His limp cock pressed against Lamar’s asscrack. “Thumper?” Lamar said, resigned to the fact that he was either sound asleep or was pretending to be, and either way, Lamar was going to be spending his last night in Thumper’s arms.
Between the excitement of his imminent release, his shame at being plowed and his disgust at being spooned by the burly nigga beside him, Lamar thought he wouldn’t sleep at all. But somehow Lamar managed to find Thumper’s strong arms and hot body comforting, and Lamar drifted off to sleep despite the fat dick wedged between his cheeks.
And despite all that or perhaps because of it, it was the best night of sleep in his whole life.

Thumper & His Prettyboy Cellmate: A Forceful Alphas Mansploitation Short

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

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

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here: