MN Manmacker's mansploitation
Jeans is okay. But don’t sag ’em too deep, if he see drawers he get steamy, and he do monologue about it.
Mistuh Gregarian get a mad curl if you show up lookin’ trashy. He want you wearing clean shoes too. No boots, no sneakers. Jeans is okay. But don’t sag ’em too deep, if he see drawers he get steamy, and he do monologue about it.
Interracial Dubcon in Baltimore
Chapter One: The Ex-Con and the Robber
Chapter Four: The Parole Officer
Avery sat in his car, waiting for his stupid brother-in-law to send him a stupid text message. His sister had asked him to help out with something: giving her no-good husband a ride to his boss’ house to beg for his job back. Avery didn’t like his brother-in-law, but he did love his sister. So he agreed, and now he had to sit out here in his car and wait to get the all-clear to leave.
He was about to drive off regardless. If his stupid brother-in-law wanted to get picked up again, he could damn well call and ask for another favor.
Finally a text message appeared on his phone: nvrmind, thx Avary, all good. That meant Avery’s brother-in-law presumably had his job back again. Avery was glad for him, even if he did strongly dislike the man. He didn’t get why anyone would give him a second chance. He was especially annoyed that, after four years in the family, his brother-in-law still didn’t know how to spell Avery’s name.
That was when Avery saw what appeared to be a naked man, climbing out of the top floor of a three-story building. The man was tall and muscular, tattooed, dark-skinned, with short hair and a handsome face.
“You fuckin’ piece of shit! I’ll kill you!” A lanky middle-aged white man stuck his head out the window and screamed. Then he ran out, following close behind the black man.
The black man was Tyrell, and he had one hand over his flopping cock as he climbed down the fire escape. He assumed that would be enough to get away from the white man — husband to Tyrell’s latest conquest, whose name was Karen or Carol or something like that.
Tyrell only then saw that this husband was more limber than he seemed. He had long legs and he wasn’t fat like most of the husbands whose wives Tyrell stole. He was rapidly catching up when Tyrell dropped into the alley and ran for the street. He wished he had managed to at least grab his shoes. The pavement here was covered in sharp stones and bits of garbage, and the fire escape rattled above his head where the white man darted down after him.
Reaching the street, Tyrell looked left and right, not sure where to go. A police vehicle drove past, but luckily the cop behind the wheel didn’t notice Tyrell standing there naked. Tyrell frowned. He didn’t have a cell phone or any cash on him. He had no car. He had nowhere to go.
“Hey, man, need a ride?” Avery’s voice called out from his car. He waved to get Tyrell’s attention. “Hey, man, need a ride?”
“Ah, shit, thanks,” Tyrell said. He darted in just as the husband came out of the alley. Avery peeled away in a hurry, and Tyrell breathed a sigh of relief.
That sense of relief didn’t last long, however, before Tyrell realized he had gotten into a complete stranger’s car. He was naked, so Tyrell knew he wouldn’t be robbed — he had nothing to steal. But that hardly made this safe. He had been so worried about getting away from that husband that he hadn’t really made sure his sudden escape route was safe.
He looked out the car window in time to see the husband shake his fist at the car driving away. Tyrell smirked. He glanced over at the slim black man behind the wheel.
“My name is Avery,” the driver said, with a feminine lilt.
“I’m Tyrell.” Tyrell sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Well, Tyrell, what would you think about… playing around a bit?” Avery’s hand clasped Tyrell’s thigh.
Tyrell rolled his eyes and grunted his yes. He sighed more dramatically this time. He acquiesced as Avery’s hand roamed up his well-muscled thigh. But he said, “Nah, man…”
“Hmm-hmm.” Avery groped Tyrell’s thigh. “Where do you want to go?”
“Ummm… there’s this place out in Crandwell,” Tyrell said. It was the only place he could think of to go. His muscles flexed wherever Avery touched him. He cleared his throat. “I’m technically between places right now. I ain’t homeless or nothin’. There’s this chick out in Crandwell who lets me keep some shit there. I got clothes I can wear — get ya hand off my dick, man.”
Avery frowned. Tyrell’s cock was moist and thick, sticking to his leg. Avery had just barely brushed one hand over it to gauge Tyrell’s reaction.
“Sorry. I ain’t say you could touch my dick-“
“Can you flex a bicep? You have great arms.”
“No.”
Avery giggled and stroked Tyrell’s bicep, which was firm even though he didn’t flex it. Avery’s hand moved lower and tweaked Tyrell’s nipple.
Touching his nipple made Tyrell’s dick twitch. Tyrell assumed that Avery saw it, though Avery was actually watching the road because he got on the highway. Tyrell sighed. “Don’t read nothin’ into that, my dick ain’t gettin’ hard. I just like it when girls touch my nipples, y’know.” He chuckled throatily.
“Hmm-hmm. You’re really handsome.” Avery was a little annoyed that he didn’t get to grope Tyrell’s dick. He had a nice body though, and that felt great beneath Avery’s hand — even that was disappointing because Avery had to watch the road and couldn’t really see Tyrell’s frame or his flexing muscles.
“Yeah, whatevuh, man.” Tyrell looked out the window, ignoring Avery’s hand over his chest. “Can I use ya phone? Shit, nah… I don’t know nobody’s numbers.”
“How about… if you let me jack you off right now, I’ll let you use my phone, you can message your friends if you want, and I’ll even buy you a new phone if you can’t get your old one back,” Avery said.
“What, no shit?” Tyrell scoffed and nodded. “Hell yeah, man!”
It was only a handjob, after all, Tyrell thought. He pretended it was fine. It was, really, fine, he assured himself over and over, it wasn’t even his first time with a man. There was a dude in the neighborhood he grew up in who used to jerk off virtually any eighteen-year-old who wanted a blowjob. He had been legendary, and he had throated Tyrell so good Tyrell thought he had broken his cock.
But Tyrell had been incredibly horny then, plus drunk. He’d only ever been with two women at that point. He had been desperately horny, and all his friends did it too. They lined up outside the man’s door one night, coming in one by one until the neighbors complained. It would have been weird to not do it at the time. He was drunk enough that it barely mattered, he didn’t even think about it at that moment, and it had only taken about two minutes (he was young, dumb and full of cum).
But he had plenty of sex these days. He don’t need none that DL shit.
But Tyrell did need a phone and he ain’t want Avery to kick him outta the car, so he just closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His dick was soft and spongy because he had fucked that woman a couple times last night, and his manhood was still recovering. He grinned at the thought of that tight middle-aged pussy. He loved plowing into a pussy some other man thought was his.
“You fuck with a lot of married women?” Avery asked.
Tyrell scoffed. “Yeah. Guys don’t even know, you don’t own a pussy, y’know, ya gotta earn it, you gotta keep earnin’ it e’ry day. Man, white men gotta have money, ya know, but they don’t realize they females is still out fuckin’ wit’ nigga dick, ya feel me?”
“Hmm-hmm…” Avery murmured. Tyrell’s dick was slow to firm up in his hand, especially since Avery was kind of awkward jacking him off in a moving car while he had to also focus on driving. He put it on cruise-control though, now that they were on the highway.
“You ever let a guy on you before?”
Tyrell nodded. “Once. I was younger then, don’t even try nothin’ now,” he said. “I don’t like messin’ with white dudes. That other nigga got me off real good. But there was this white dude who used to look at me all the time, man. He be hangin’ out in the shower and shit, rubbin’ my back. I know he wanted my dick. I don’t wanna let some white man have that over me, y’know, runnin’ around tell all his little white buddies ’bout the time he got some nigga-dick in his mouth. Nah. No way, nigga, that ain’t how I play.”
“It sounds like you have a problem with white men,” Avery said. Tyrell’s dick was rock-hard now, veinily throbbing in Avery’s hand. A few drops of precum slipped out, lubricating him, and Tyrell sighed. Avery giggled.
“I ain’t lettin’ you jerk me off neither,” Tyrell said because he could see Avery’s eyes intently staring at his dick — he knew Avery was going to try to throat it sooner or later. “Nah, I ain’t into that. Nothin’ personal, no offense.”
“No offense taken.”
Tyrell grabbed Avery’s hand as it stroked his dick, and he guided it up and down more quickly. “Like that, good, like that, nigga.” He sighed. Tyrell’s hips pumped, so he humped Avery’s hand just as much as Avery’s hand stroked him.
He was surprised at how good the handjob really was. He’d never really enjoyed a handjob like this. He grunted and bit his lip. His breathing sped up as he tried to hump Avery’s hand harder, lifting his hips off the seat.
“Damn, nigga-” He choked off his own words as pre-orgasmic pleasure surged through him. He gasped.
Avery teased him by stopping, squeezing his dick but not moving his hand again — Tyrell was on the edge of his orgasm, so that made him writhe in frustration and use both of his hands to again force Avery’s hand to move once more. Avery smiled and did so, as Tyrell’s dick erupted in a torrent of cum.
“Oh fuck-!”
It sprayed all over his bare chest, coating his smooth brown skin in creamy goodness. Avery giggled because it just kept on coming, even though he’d fucked last night, he just had big dangling balls that were chock-full of creamy cum.
His wad clung to his muscles and dripped from his pecs. “Ah, shit!” Tyrell said through gritted teeth. A few beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He couldn’t believe a simple handjob felt this good, and he hoped Avery didn’t get the wrong idea about him because of it. “Ah, nice, nigga, keep strokin’… Hmmm…” He licked his lips. “Don’t let go-” He grunted. “Stroke it real slow now, real slow…” Tyrell’s whole body undulated and he moaned, jetting out a long flow of jizz.
Avery’s hand got coated in cum, and Tyrell’s dick soon was soft again, exquisitely sensitive. Tyrell’s whole body trembled as Avery kept on stroking until Tyrell couldn’t take it any more and pushed his hand away.
“Good timing,” Avery said. He sucked the cum off his finger, the sound of which made Tyrell gag — girls were never that enthusiastic about cum. Avery grinned as he sucked every drop of salty, cum-drenched man-chest. He pulled off the highway into Crandwell. “We’re almost there.”
“Yeah, cool,” Tyrell said. He chuckled, trying to recover his breath without looking impressed. It was just a handjob, a mandingo-nigga like himself couldn’t get excited over a handjob without blowing his rep. He heaved for air as casually as he could manage. “Cool. You better buy me that phone.”
“I will. Where’s this house you can get clothes at?”
Tyrell gave him directions to a tony neighborhood a ways off the highway. There he pulled up to a house with a pool out back. “Don’t worry, I fuck wit’ this divorced lady, she don’t need to hide nothin’.” He got out, wrapping a jacket around his waist so he could walk to the front door without flashing the neighborhood.
He had no sooner stepped out, however, when a slightly haggard woman came out of the front door. “No way, Tyrell! Get outta here! My husband’s back!”
“What?”
“My husband’s back! You gotta go-“
A burly middle-aged white man came out from behind the house. He saw Tyrell’s mostly naked body. “What the fuck’s going on? Who are you?”
Tyrell was crestfallen for a couple reasons. Most importantly, he was shocked that she had chosen her husband over him. She’d been bad-mouthing her husband for more than a year. She said over and over that Tyrell was younger, sexier, bigger-cocked, better-in-bed and just plain more charming. He was better in every way than her ex-husband.
So what, Tyrell thought, was wrong with him? Why had she chosen the husband over him?
Not that long ago, he could say “all I care about is smashing sum pussy” and that was true; now, Tyrell wasn’t so sure.
“Huh? Whatchoo doin’, man? You best get outta here!” The man’s face turned ruddy, and he came closer. “You tryin’-a mess wit’ my wife?”
Tyrell was used to messing around with nerdy white guys’ wives, not big men like him. He didn’t like retreating but he had few options. He took a step back then darted back into Avery’s car.
“Drive.”
“What’s happening?” Avery was confused, scared of the large white man approaching his car.
“What the fuck is going on?” said the white man. “You coming at my wife, boy?”
“Just drive!”
Avery ripped the car into reverse and floored it out of the driveway. Luckily no one was coming on the street or Avery might have backed right into them. He peeled away towards the highway.
“Shit,” Tyrell said. He sighed. “Well, fuck.”
“You wanna go get that phone now then?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Tyrell said. Now he really didn’t know what to do. Now, he thought, he was technically homeless. But he didn’t say that just yet.
“Do you… want to stay with me?” Avery asked. He got the feeling from Tyrell’s silence that he now needed a place to stay.
Tyrell shrugged. “Do, I, uh… gotta… pay rent?”
“Sort of,” Avery said with a giggle. “I only have one bed.”
There was a long awkward silence in the car. Tyrell wrinkled his nose. “Fine. But you gotta buy me stuff. Not just the phone. Like I need some clothes and shit, and, uh… a toothbrush.”
“Sure.”
“And…” There was so much going on that Tyrell struggled to think of something nice he could demand. “Uh… nice clothes. Like real nice clothes.”
“Yeah, cool.”
Avery drove to the All-Mart. Since Tyrell couldn’t go in without any clothes, he stayed out in the car, while Avery went in to buy a cheap smartphone, some clothes, shoes and a few odds and ends. He was relieved to come out and find Tyrell hadn’t hotwired his car.
“These clothes’ll have to do for now,” Avery said. “I’ll buy you some nicer stuff online, okay?”
“Fine.”
Tyrell felt better when he had some clothes on, and he quickly got to work on his phone. Once he got logged into Facebook, he could send his friends his new number.
So he was involved in that and didn’t talk much, or even pay any attention to Avery’s groping of his biceps and limp cock, until they pulled into Avery’s driveway. Avery led him inside.
In the house, Avery was disappointed to see Tyrell in clothes. They both kept to themselves for a little while. Tyrell needed to get his life back in order — canceling his old phone, sending desperate messages to that married woman (until she blocked him), bragging to his niggas about the white chick he had boned (which made him feel better).
Avery made spaghetti — he had plenty of pasta and jarred sauce, and he figured Tyrell would like to have a big meal that was not quite home-cooked, but still plenty damn good. It was the good kind of jarred sauce anyway.
“So do I gotta… you know, perform for my dinner?” Tyrell asked.
Avery clucked his tongue. “No. I’m not gonna starve you, Tyrell. You can ram me later tonight, once you’ve eaten.”
Tyrell was relieved. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he saw the food. He slurped down spaghetti, noodles and the leftover Italian sausage Avery had added. Tyrell felt much better once he had eaten. He went in and took a long hot shower, which felt good too.
Then he came out before bed, in time to see Avery putting on a silky bathrobe. Tyrell followed him into his bedroom, his heart pounding.
He’d never plowed a man in the ass before. Tyrell fucked mainly with middle-aged white women, and while he liked to brag that he got them to give up the booty, that wasn’t really true. He’d only ever had anal sex with four women, and three of them made him quit before he even got his whole dick in there.
Tyrell closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could do this. It would be easier, he thought, if he just pretended he was with a woman. He leaned in slowly, like women liked, and wrapped his muscles around Avery. He wrinkled his nose when Avery planted his lips on Tyrell’s, but Tyrell submitted as Avery’s tongue invaded his mouth.
Avery erupted in moans, stroking Tyrell’s powerful chest, which was moist with shower water. Avery figured Tyrell would feel most comfortable if Avery acted like a woman in love with him, being seduced. Avery giggled girlishly as Tyrell kissed him on the lips and the neck, then Avery slowly lowered himself to his knees.
“Alright, then, man, go ahead and jerk me off,” Tyrell said with a grunt.
Avery pulled off Tyrell’s towel, revealing that big floppy cock. Tyrell took a deep breath, and his cock popped into Avery’s mouth. Avery smiled around it — it was clean and meaty and he could tell it was well-used too, like a muscle exhausted after a long day of work.
Tyrell fucked so many women that he got hard quickly even though he’d cum a couple times today already. It had been hours, after all, which was plenty of time for him. He put his hands on his hips, watching his dick slide down Avery’s throat.
“Yeah, swallow it, boi, swallow it deep…”
It was rock-hard and throbbing soon enough, and the salty taste of precum hit Avery’s lips. Avery smiled up at him, his hands roaming over Tyrell’s muscular chest.
When he was ready, Avery turned around, leaned over the bed and jutted his ass up. Tyrell tried to cover up his lack of confidence, but Avery could tell how nervous he was. Tyrell wondered how much like a woman’s ass this would feel.
It’s good to do this once, Tyrell tried to tell himself. Lotta niggas ram once or twice.
Avery gritted his teeth as a jolt of pain hit him. Tyrell had a big dick, so even with lube, there was a little agony as that first inch or two of cockmeat pushed into him. Avery struggled, and Tyrell grunted.
“Damn, boy,” Tyrell said. He’d never really worked through this kind of anal resistance. He was ginger, reluctant at first. He’d only fucked four girls in the ass and three of them gave up as soon as he hit resistance. The fourth was a major slut who took it in the ass all the time, so there had been no resistance.
Tyrell slowly worked his cock in, centimeter by centimeter. His hands instinctively touched Avery’s ass, then he pulled away because he didn’t want to touch a man.
Then a surge of pleasure hit him, and Tyrell moaned despite his anxiety. He found his fingers on Avery’s pert ass — which, he thought, looked and felt very much like a girl’s — spreading the cheeks.
“Damn, man…” Tyrell grunted. His cock slid the rest of the way in, and they both moaned together. “Oh god… Damn, nigga!”
Tyrell didn’t know anal could be like this. Avery was tight and strong and experienced, and he could take every inch of dickmeat like few women could. He wasn’t loose either; he didn’t feel like a slut. He felt amazing, and Tyrell couldn’t believe it.
This, he thought, was better than any of the female asses he’d ever been in, not that Tyrell was going to admit that.
He pounded away, soon losing all of his inhibitions. He didn’t even mind his chest touching Avery’s back as he rammed his dick in harder and harder.
Soon he had Avery pinned on the bed, squirming beneath Tyrell’s massive body. Tyrell slammed his dick in and out, having lost his gingerness as he now realized Avery could take any amount of ramming.
“Shit yeah!” Tyrell gripped his cheeks and moaned out his orgasm, surprised to see that Avery shot his own load at the same time.
The smell of cum filled the air, and Tyrell sprayed his giant wad within Avery’s ass. It just kept on flowing, overflowing, dripping down and coating Avery’s thighs in creamy goodness. He had a big dick too, which Avery loved, and that meant Avery could feel its protruding veins throbbing inside him.
At last, it was over, and Tyrell pulled out. He grinned, wiping sweat off his chest. “Damn, boy… Hmm, you got ass fo’ real…”
“Hmmm…” Avery wanted to say something flirtatious, but he was too overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm he’d felt in a long time. He curled up on the bed and motioned for Tyrell to lay next to him.
Tyrell did so. He was tired now, having barely slept the night before. He didn’t even mind letting Avery paw all over him as they settled into bed together.
When I tell people about this — if I ever do — I’ll definitely tell them I made Avery sleep on the couch.
The last thing Tyrell did before falling asleep was tap Avery on the shoulder. Tyrell grinned. “Hey, you wanna mess around tomorrow?”
Avery nodded, bleary-eyed.
“Then get ready to buy me a car.”
Interracial Dubcon in Baltimore
Chapter One: The Ex-Con and the Robber
Read it now for free from Smashwords!
Chapter Five: Crossing the Bridge
Chapter Six: The Sauciest Noodle
Chapter Seven: Nights of Long Love
Doing decades inside for a gang gave Thumper lotta respect. He ain’t know none the niggas in the Baltimore Bloods these days. But Carson set Thumper up and kept him happy. Every single nigga in the organization was watching close. They all knew there was a good chance they’d be locked up at some point. Nobody wanna rely on they parole officer when they graduate outta the iron college.
So Carson set Thumper up with employ as a bouncer at that strip club, Lipsweet. But Thumper ain’t allowed to work there cuz the club got a liquor license — the terms of his parole forbidded him to work anywhere they serve booze — so Carson arranged for Thumper to hire on at a private security agency. It was owned by Mr. Gregarian, the same man who own Lipsweet, so he was working at Lipsweet but for a different company, a company that ain’t got no liquor license.
Thumper was glad to work a proper job. That road-crew nonsense trifled more than a overflown tub of nobody’s farts, and Thumper bin looking forward to something more his style.
“You gotsta wear a clean shirt and pants e’ry day,” said Tyrell Brickley. He was another thick-through Blood who worked for Mr. Gregarian, and he showed Thumper the ropes around the club. “Mistuh Gregarian get a mad curl if you show up lookin’ trashy. He want you wearing clean shoes too. No boots, no sneakers. Jeans is okay. But don’t sag ’em too deep, if he see drawers he get steamy, and he do monologue about it.”
Thumper nodded. He could do that. He done rub noses with Mr. Gregarian decades ago, when Thumper was a regular at Lipsweet. Thumper got respect for him. Mr. Gregarian was a long-finger pinkie-ring honky, not some slop-pie hickpile like most the white whombodies Thumper met in lockup.
The bar was smoky and lush tonight. Bundles of blunted niggas mumbled luscious words on the underhush as womens juggled they abundant stuff on the stage. Thumper wanna watch too, but he gotsta man the front door, collecting cover charges and checking IDs. He couldn’t catch more than a glimpse of girlbits now and then. He was hoping to peep that Sherry girl again, but she weren’t dancing tonight.
Midway through the evening, he got to crack slaps at a couple skulls, after some suited honkies stayed groping upon one of the females. That felt damn good. Thumper ain’t never get to punch a white man in a suit. He could get used to that.
“You done good, you knocked them fellahs out cold,” Tyrell said when Thumper got back to the door. “Mistuh Gregarian know lotta cops. If a fellah need a punch, don’t worry, Mistuh Gregarian won’t let’chu get in no kinda trouble for it. He can make shit like that go away, so long as you keep the peace in his club right.” He paused. “And wear clean shoes. He real particular about shoes.”
Thumper nodded. “Is my clothes okay, nigga? I know it’s old-fashion. I don’t own lotta options.” Thumper kept it to hisself that he ain’t know how to buy clothes no more. He ain’t find nothing in Baltimore that he considered a normal men’s clothes store. If he asked, Carson would tell him to google it. He did google it, and the only stores he could hoof it to was a place just for tee shirts with dirty jokes on ’em, a “antifascist surf and skater joint” and a store that sold nurses’ scrubs to plus-size ladies. He ended up in a thrift shop buying the kinda clothes he wore before, which was then retro but now was fossils. He might as well wear a dinosaur.
Where did a normal nigga buy new rags nowadays?
Tyrell waved him off. “Mistuh Gregarian is old-fashioned. I bet he likes yo’ clothes,” he said. “He prolly say you dress classy.” Once Thumper washed the blood off his knuckles in the sink behind the bar, Tyrell bade him back to the door.
A line done develop as the nocturne progressed. Couple crackers scattered in alongside some Lay-Oceans and ashamey Arabs, but most the Lipsweet-goers was niggas, who sneaked looks through the doorway even before they paid they cover charge. But mostly all them leery lusters in line stayed nose-deep in they phones.
One those sneaky-peekers caught Thumper’s eye.
Rashid Somebutt. He couldn’t remember his last name, but he was Rashid. He was in prison, in 19C with Thumper, weren’t he? He was a roundbody darkskin bullethead nigga with dappy eyes, gappy teeth and a fatty neck, steady slapping his belly and laughing with machine gun lungs.
But Rashid Somebutt ain’t notice Thumper, or if he did, he hid it good. He was drunk in line, wobbling his thicknesses like jello, talking with volume, deep on the slur. So maybe he really ain’t recognize Thumper.
On the other hand, Thumper only bin out a couple months. He ain’t look no different. Rashid Somebutt looked the same too. He was always thick as a dick, lifting mad weights with the big boys, but he ain’t never work out in a organized way. He ain’t never do no cardio, so he got that stout-nigga booty, and his belly ain’t never go away.
Rashid sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey and a phone, after his niggas was gone. Lipsweet emptied into quietude, and the only sound in Thumper’s ear was the smell of hungry pussy. Rashid be staring at them remnant females on his lonesome but ain’t none them give Rashid no mind. He only got a lapdance earlier when his niggas paid for it — he was a ghetto-nigga’s nigga, and them strippers and whores could smell his dollar-poor dick. They stayed away.
That was prison life sticking to him, Thumper reckoned. A free man can splurge on urges. A prison nigga hoards like a stingy dragon.
“Yo, how was yo’ first night?” Tyrell Brickley asked when the bar was damn near dead, just a few minutes before close. They weren’t to let no one else in this late, so Thumper was done doormanning. They was giving the drunks and solos time to down they dregs — Teddy the bartender done last-call a minute ago.
Thumper nodded. “Fine,” he said. He motioned to Rashid. “You recollect that nigga?”
“Rashid Jenkins? Yeah, he was in 19C wit’ us,” Tyrell said.
Thumper licked his teeth. “Hell yeah. I knew it was him. Rashid Jenkins! Couldn’t remembuh his name,” he said. He kept his salty eye on Rashid. “He come here a lot?”
Tyrell shrugged. “Yeah, think so. He got prison-brain. He stuck in that cell, nigga, he be getting violent at the drop of a hat, talk too rough for the girls, even the ghetto bitches. That dancer Ebonette say he lick pussy like it was a lollipop that slapped his mama.” Tyrell laughed as he went to assist some drunken lugnuts in wobbling out the door.
But Thumper’s brain wrinkled on Rashid, parked at the bar, a-poking at his phone like a lazy baby. Frowning his brown, Rashid phoned down and stood up to peace out, only to see he got no niggas about.
“Yo, Rashid?” Thumper said, coming up close as clothes to that jiggity nigga’s crunk mug.
He squinted at Thumper like he was far away. “Thumper?” His hips swayed, but he kept his head still.
“Hell yeah, nigga!” Thumper said. He patted hisself on the chest and beamed brightly. “Rashid, you son of a bitch, c’m’ere, homeskillet!” He hugged Rashid tight. That nigga was thick and soft like a mushy pillow, and he smelled like a crowded barbershop.
That reminded Thumper why Rashid stuck to his mind as fresh as yesterday’s tossed salad.
For most his prison sentence, Rashid owed the Bloods big blocks of cheddar. Rashid ain’t never was good at resisting drink, smokes, and dice, and he stay mad underwriting checks his cabbage couldn’t cash — he owed dollars with a profusion.
And in prison, there’s rules about that shit. If a nigga owe money, any other nigga is allowed to repay a part of that debt, and that nigga who owe gotsta do what that other nigga say. There was a mountain of rules about what was permissible.
Ain’t none those rules suggest they stop applying when that nigga get outta prison.
“C’mon, lemme show you this female in the back. She a real eager skeezer, no diggity,” Thumper said. He motioned for Rashid to follow him into the back, and then he headed back there without waiting to see if Rashid would follow. Thumper was glad to get away from the music, which was a threesome of sedated white girl rapping like dreary puppies.
“Hell yeah,” Rashid said. “My friends all went home with that bitch Caitlin Smiles. She be chargin’ per head though, and I can’t afford even a handjob from her. Bitches be trippin’.” He followed Thumper into the back hallway and then into a tiny office.
Rashid faced the desk, but Thumper stayed behind him to shut the door. Then Thumper grabbed Rashid’s pants and boxers and pulled them down before Rashid could respond. Then all that came out was a discomfitted grunt. He ain’t try to pull away from Thumper.
His thick brown asscheeks was bare and soft, and Thumper groaned with desire. His thick fingers gripped Rashid’s buttcrack beneath his pants and drawers. He got one thick booty, enough to make Thumper whistle and smile.
“Nah, no nigga, nah, nah, I ain’t locked up no more,” Rashid said. He moved away, towards the desk in the office, but Thumper followed and pushed him over the desktop. That swole booty aimed up, and Thumper bared it thoroughly. He kneaded the flesh of both buttcheeks.
“Hmm-hmm, hush up. I’s allowed in you still. Ain’t I pay for booty buncha times on the upfront and you still owe me one?”
“No! I done all that! I gave it up e’ry time you paid for, nigga!” Rashid said, squealing like a sweetened seal. “You on that booty bandit trip! We ain’t inside no mo’.” He turned around, but Thumper forcefully shoved him to face the back of the office. Rashid weren’t a weak man, but he ain’t work out on the reg like Thumper neither. Thumper was a semi-pro boxer before his arrest, and though his body got older, it ain’t get a lick weaker. And Rashid got his pants around his ankles, his flop-a-doodah flipping this way and that, so he ain’t got leverage to pull away.
In seconds, Thumper pulled his pud out too, and he be jabbing it into Rashid’s thigh and buttcheek. His skin was hot and soft, and it got Thumper’s limpen meat throbbing. Thumper kept on the stroke to get it hard, but he ain’t stop ramming it.
“Nah, Thump, you can’t-” Rashid tried to shove him off, but all he could do was shuffle forward with his pants around his ankles. There was a wall afront him. He bent his knees to lean over and pull his pants up.
“Sssssh…” Thumper grunted and pistoned his hips. His dick rammed into Rashid’s asshole. In most men, Rashid’s clenching woulda kept Thumper from penetrating him. But Rashid done took it up the butt enough that Thumper could push the tip in. He was just barely firm enough to do that.
Rashid gritted his teeth. “Ow, shit, nigga-“
“I’ll lube it up,” Thumper said. “If you co’op’rate, nigga.” He ain’t stop drilling it in, pushing Rashid head-first onto the desk. Rashid almost fell. He got a good inch and a half in before the pressure from Rashid’s sphincter, as he tried to repel Thumper’s cocktip, was enough to give him a full-on erection.
“Ow, nigga, Thumper!” Rashid gritted his teeth. Thumper’s rod was stiff as sticks now, and it rubbed in harshly. “Fine, shit!”
“You co’op’ratin’?” Thumper asked. He stopped thundering his shaft in, but he kept swaying it left and right, just teasing Rashid. He ain’t take none of it out neither. Just an inch or two was in his guts, but that was enough for Rashid to grimace and nod.
“Yeah, nigga, I’ll — shit!” Rashid grunted. “Shit, Thump, c’mon, nigga!”
The office was Haykh Gregarian’s — Mr. Gregarian’s son — who pimped the bitches out here, so Thumper was sure he had some lube in the desk. Sure enough, there was a big tub of some fancy-looking lube with French on the label. He smeared a fistful on his cock without taking it outta Rashid’s booty, then worked it into the hole by oozing his dick back and forth. He almost lost his hardon as he went, but then the lube got warm and made his ramrod easy to slip in deeper.
Finally Rashid just gripped the desk, bent his knees a little and let Thumper at it. He’d learned it was best not to fight it.
“C’mon, nigga, make some them noises, you was good at that,” Thumper said.
“Nuh-uh-“
“Yeah, like moanin’ like a female. Don’t grunt like that, it’s nasty-“
“Wasn’t me! Shit, nigga!” Rashid gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. His hands snaked to his buttcheeks to spread ’em. He kept grunting and seething with each thrust of Thumper’s cock into him. “You thinkin’ of Banter.”
“What? Who?” Thumper stopped moving and cocked his head to the side.
“Banter. Remembuh that nigga Banter? Short skinny slimfire, he moaned like-“
“Aaaaaah, shit yeah, got you and him mixed up,” Thumper said. He laughed and rubbed Rashid’s back. “Still, don’t grunt like you takin’ a nasty dump. Make some sounds like a girl.” Thumper moaned like a female then, still laughing, as he resumed humping his cock in and out of Rashid’s ass.
Ain’t no feminine sound come outta Rashid, who did try — he got a much deeper voice than Banter. Rashid’s attempt at a feminine moan sounded more like a dying loudspeaker than anything else, but it was better than his dirty-dump grunting. It was enough to get Thumper good and hard, sending shivers of pleasure through Thumper’s body.
The muscles of Rashid’s backside clenched hard. Thumper groaned and leaned on Rashid’s shoulders, pinning him onto the desk. “Shit, nigga, you feel better ‘an I remembuh…”
Thumper rammed at his asshole until it was fulla his dick, and he plowed him hard, making Rashid’s whole thickness jiggle and press against the desk. Haykh Gregarian’s papers was scattered all over, prolly soaked in Rashid’s painsweats now. Hopefully Haykh would think a dancer brung a john in here.
“Here I go, nigga, just like old times,” Thumper said, lowering his head to whisper into Rashid’s ear. “Love you…”
Cum spurted into him, a tight little load at first, then a big thick creamy one. Then more jissom flowed into Rashid’s guts.
He hated this part. Rashid closed his eyes and tried not to think about the cum filling him up. It was hot and gooey, and some leaked out and ran down his thighs. He wished he done sprung for a handjob from Caitlin.
But it was too late now. Just when he thought it was over, another multi-second long flow of jiss seeped into him, then another, and Thumper moaned like he was truly in love. Rashid cringed. He kept his teeth and his legs clenched the best he could, until at last Thumper’s cock softened inside him. Thumper pulled it out with a moist splattering sound.
“Goddamn, fuck, nigga, c’mon…!” Rashid sputtered. “Shit!”
“Hell yeah, nigga,” Thumper said. He smacked the sweat off his chest, then pinched Rashid’s plump asscheek. “I bet Caitlin Smiles don’t give it up that good.”
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Chapter Five: Crossing the Bridge
Chapter Six: The Sauciest Noodle
Tyrell is outta prison again, and he’s back to Baltimore. He hopes to nab some women, but he just might end up getting down and dirty with men instead. He’s desperate to ensure nobody sees him as a booty bandit, even if that’s exactly what prison life turned him into, so he’ll get his rocks off one way or another!
Can he keep his booty-bandit secret and still get his jollies off?!
Tyrell is outta prison again, and he’s gonna do what it takes to survive these mean streets… even if that means giving a pounding! He’s been locked up a long time, so he’s learned a thing or two that just might shock any fool who’s never been inside. But can he make the transition to free life?
Tyrell Brickley is an ex-con and a die-hard Blood.
Description
He got bigger in prison. He ain’t even really mean to, but there ain’t jack-shit to do there but lift weights and wag about ladies, so now Tyrell’s thickbody felt like a ugly shell surrounding the handsome young man who got arrested years ago… He been heavyset — he was a champion football player before his arrest — but in prison he got stacked like a iron rack, and he moved like his heft ain’t all fit on him, like his skeleton struggled to keep up with his muscles. His wide, powerful ass was wedged into the tight boxers he brought out from prison with him.
From Tyrell the Ex-Con
Tyrell was a popular local football star before his arrest, so the chicks kept coming. He could at least get a handjob, often a blowjob, in the visitation room, as long as he kept it low-key. But after about six months, the visitations decreased, and Tyrell discovered it was impossible to remain a popular local football star if you was neither local nor a football player no more. His girlfriends eventually stopped coming to see him entirely, and soon enough, they even stopped taking his (very expensive) phone calls. Tyrell was popular when he got to prison, with girls begging for a chance to see him, a lawyer promising fruitful appeals and a gang (the Bloods) welcoming him with open arms. But now that lawyer be saying only that the appeal ain’t fruitful and sent him a bill. The gang steady gave him tasks that was difficult, dangerous and not at all fun. And the girls stopped coming by entirely. So Tyrell was alone, surrounded by his Blood comrades yet lonesome like a lost sheep.
From Tyrell the Ex-Con
Tyrell Brickley was lifting weights at work. Lipsweet maintained a gym, locker room and shower for the bouncers to use. Mr. Gregarian wanted his bouncers to keep fit and strong, and he knew that, if the club had a reputation for bouncers hanging out there all the time, troublemakers would be more apt to stay away. That was important because Mr. Gregarian sometimes stored large amounts of drugs, guns, pornography, illegal immigrants, etc., there. The well-known presence of bouncers lifting weights in their off time hopefully kept away holdup boys, even during the days and mornings when the club was closed.
The gym was small and cramped, but Tyrell preferred working out there to a real gym. There were women at a commercial gym, which meant he couldn’t workout shirtless, or even in shorts and a sleeveless shirt at some gyms, because it would scare off the nice women. They didn’t let you hit on women at normal gyms.
He didn’t mind Tyrell’s rock-hard biceps though. He was so firm he was like a sculpture, a warm, meaty sculpture that smelled of coconut lotion and shea butter, strongly enough to overwhelm the yeasty toilet-hooch scent that filled the backa the narrow cell… Tyrell was easily the biggest swinging dick in the cell. And he had the biggest swinging dick in the cell, probably the whole prison. It was like a cricket bat between his legs, and it was fat and juicy. Desmond used to sit and play with it for hours while Tyrell dozed or lifted weights or sold toilet hooch.
From Desmond Seeks Alphas
One of the ex-cons came outta the bathroom then, wearing just a towel — Tyrell, a big-ass Blood with a hard face, taciturn eyes and a thousand tales in the tats across his muscles
Tyrell bin getting bigger cuz he spent lotta time in that steel cage lifting pillowcases filled with canned peaches, and he done growed from a big-ass nigga to a pecan powerhouse of steel. He was well past six and a half feet tall and built like a steamship, with a big bulging chest as hard as iron and smokestack arms… Tyrell got a six-pack and everything — he struggled to get enough food in prison, since he ate so much. He spent a lot of his money on food in the last two weeks — he bin saving it so he wouldn’t run out, and when his release date came closer, he splurged. So he done gained fifteen pounds in those two weeks, and he could feel it straining his skin. He worked out every day during his incarceration and ain’t had enough protein to grow to his max capacity, until he bought all them canned sardines and his triceps, shoulders and thighs expanded.
From Tyrell the Mandingo
Tyrell bin getting bigger cuz he spent lotta time in that steel cage lifting pillowcases filled with canned peaches, and he done growed from a big-ass nigga to a pecan powerhouse of steel. He was well past six and a half feet tall and built like a steamship, with a big bulging chest as hard as iron and smokestack arms.
From Tyrell the Mandingo
Tyrell was muscular as anyone Desmond had ever seen in person. He had a perfect body, and he didn’t mind Desmond touching him — the others did too, niggas were all over Tyrell most days. Tyrell was handsome like a rapper… He was so firm he was like a sculpture, a warm, meaty sculpture that smelled of coconut lotion and shea butter.
From Desmond Seeks Alphas
He was a younger man then though, and he ain’t look as tough as he did now. Back then he got a smooth face and a voice like molten butter, and he was big enough that the girlies got they booties bothered but not so big that he made them scurry away like snitty cockroaches.
Now he was too big. Now, he did make them scurry away.
Being poor and low on the dole was exhilarating and hot for a young buck. But Tyrell ain’t a young buck no more. He could still smile like a fool, but he was too old, too big and too rough to chat up nice girls on the street. His face got harder — he was still round-faced and decked in dimples, but he got this hard-edged piggish look now. His muscles was perky and smooth and young before, heavy but grippable. Now he was rigid and harsh like a stack of lead weights that don’t fit in they rack.
He told himself that wasn’t permanent. It was only cuz he just got released yesterday. He still had a prison-starved aura, he thought. Nice girl-folk could sense that. He still smiled up nice. He still had all the qualities that ladies liked before. He just needed to blow a nut in a female, he decided. Once he was relaxed, he’d be able to toss game just like high school.
From Tyrell the Ex-Con
The most important thing was to find a female, to know that prison ain’t ruint him like a old head with institution on the brain, always on the lookout for someone to give him permission to piss. He wasn’t like that, like Thumper, this old nigga he met in prison, he was a prison-thickened nigga, and Tyrell been telling hisself since he met him that he would never be like Thumper.
From Tyrell the Ex-Con
Tyrell smelled like copper wire in a puddle.
From Tyrell the Ex-Con
The man was tall and muscular, tattooed, dark-skinned, with short hair and a handsome face… Tyrell was younger, sexier, bigger-cocked, better-in-bed and just plain more charming. He was better in every way than her ex-husband.
Tyrell was not cute like a teenager like Davon was. Tyrell looked a little meaner, a lot tougher, a bit older. But he was nice like Buck, maybe even nicer — he wasn’t friendly like Davon, but Tyrell was nice enough to talk to. And he had giant arms like Buck, and creamy brown skin with a bunch of faded prison tats.
So Simon waited until Tyrell had a spare moment, after two o’clock in the morning on a busy Friday night. Tyrell was by the door, checking IDs, broad chest filling out his shirt. He had big fleshy arms, the biceps stretching the fabric of his button-down shirt. He grunted at each patron, not talking to them like Davon did.
The black one was Tyrell, and he was cute, like he should be an older brother in a Disney movie. He’d seem tough but he’d bust out homespun big-bro wisdom.
From Dubcon Alphas
The cuckolding mandingo was tall, dark-skinned and heavily tattooed. He had a scruffy chin, and he wore a Baltimore Ravens baseball hat cocked sideways on his head. His loose jeans were around his ankles. His heavy body jiggled in rolling, undulating waves as he fucked Deborah, each muscle moving in sync with the others as though it took every muscle in his body to plow her.
Books
Tyrell the Mandingo: Tyrell is outta prison again, and he’s back to Baltimore. He hopes to nab some women, but he just might end up getting down and dirty with men instead. He’s desperate to ensure nobody sees him as a booty bandit, even if that’s exactly what prison life turned him into, so he’ll get his rocks off one way or another! Can he keep his booty-bandit secret and still get his jollies off?!
Tyrell the Ex-Con: Tyrell is outta prison again, and he’s gonna do what it takes to survive these mean streets… even if that means giving a pounding! He’s been locked up a long time, so he’s learned a thing or two that just might shock any fool who’s never been inside. But can he make the transition to free life?
When Desmond is recruited to be a pretend-boyfriend, he didn’t realize what he was in for! He spent years in prison, giving him a knack for making men get on their knees and submit to his every need. He even gets some of the toughest alphas around to give him a rubdown, a tight hole and a mind-blowing orgasm.
But can Desmond make it through his prison sentence and fulfill his mission?
