experiencing disgust – Mansploitation

The Scally

Rob is visiting England when he happens upon a studly scally willing to treat him terribly! Can Rob handle the ultra-raunchy man-on-man action Trevor has in store for him?!

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob walked into the parking lot of the Toppenlad Housing Estate, hoping he didn’t look vulnerable. He really wasn’t vulnerable — he had more ways to protect himself than he appeared, because he looked like a slim flamboyant weakling. But Rob could take care of himself.
Manchester was not a nice city. Sullen women glared at Rob, white men in track suits and undershirts chugging lager on every corner. One of the men scratched his nuts in a way that made his bulge very apparent, and Rob could see the outline of his cock through his Adidas tracksuit bottoms. Rob’s heart skipped a beat. He liked the alpha males of Manchester and their brusque accents. Most of them were unemployed, of course, who would hire such a lout? Throughout the city, scallies hung around on stoops and in alleys, shouting come-ons at girls of low repute. They ignored Rob, until one of them noticed Rob checking him out.
“Oi! Ya nasty siss! I’ll stomp that punk look off ya face!” He stood up, his big thick chest making Rob drool. He wore brilliant blue trainers with his chile 62s tucked into the socks.
Rob backed up. The scally had deep-set eyes and hair cut very short. He scowled and laughed at the frightened expression on Rob’s face. He spat on the ground, almost hitting Rob.
“Get outta here, mate!” His companions glared too, and they all bunched up so close together their bodies touched. Rob was entranced for a moment by the sight of their mostly bare arms rubbing against each other, their Adidas-clad asses touching. One of them even clutched the shoulder of the man next to him, and a for a moment, it looked like they were going to kiss. Rob would have gladly stayed to watch.
But that wasn’t what they were going to do. They were going to beat Rob up and take his wallet. So Rob left.
The Toppenlad Housing Estate had a big grassy courtyard in front of it. It might have looked nice at one point, but now the grass glittered with broken glass from bottles and empty cans of lager. Spraypainted graffiti covered the walls of the building.
“Oi! Come here, you bitch!”
“Let’s go!”
“I’ll suck your dick, baby!” That was a woman in skimpy clothes, hair pulled back so taut it looked painful. She was yelling at a man, then turned to Rob — seemingly to offer to suck him off as well, then she stopped when she saw the swishy lilt to Rob’s walk. She scowled. “Foickin’ pansy.”
Rob blushed, but entered the building. He found flat 9B with fear growing with every step. There was a man with a swastika tattooed on his back doing pushups near the lifts, with a Staffordshire pit bull watching Rob go by. The dog growled as Rob stepped into the lift. The man wasn’t doing pushups in any kind of area, he was just in the hall, not totally blocking it, but still in the way, and he did his push-ups with frantic energy like he was in a manic state, coked up or both.
Another man came into the lift before the doors shut, and Rob’s heart raced at the sight of a yardie with what appeared to be fresh blood on his trainers. It wasn’t even all dry yet. His dreadlocks smelled like coconut and steel, and he simmered and fidgeted, sucking on his teeth and sneaking glances at Rob the whole way up.
Finally the lift reached the ninth floor, and Rob stepped out. The yardie got out at the same floor.
There was a hypodermic syringe on the ground just outside the lift. Rob stepped over it. 9B was right over there. He could feel that yardie watching him. He had a feeling that he would have been mugged if he had gone to a different flat — Trevor was dangerous enough that his visitors didn’t get messed with. Others might not have been so lucky.
Rob knocked on the door, sighing with relief when he heard that yardie stalk away. He still wasn’t sure Trevor was going to be there, or even that this was the right address. Someone had told him he could buy drugs here.
After a few more knocks, Trevor opened it, nearly ripping the door off the hinges. “Wut, mate?” He was bleary-eyed and looked to be half-asleep.
“I-“
“Who the foik is you, mate? Huh? Ya foickin’ pussy-faced cunt, get in here!”
Rob’s heart raced. This was definitely Trevor. He had a shaved head, a scruffy chin, a craggy face with a scar on the cheek, and he wore an Adidas tracksuit over perfectly clean Nikes. He had a plain white shirt on, stained with sweat from yesterday’s workout. He had the same intense scent and overwhelming swagger that Rob remembered from the older Trevor in prison.
The smell of his chest was invigorating. Rob was overwhelmed, especially when he walked into Trevor’s flat. There were dirty trainers and socks everywhere, filthy clothes piled upon stacks of filthy clothes, and empty packets of fags, a couple of orange traffic cones for some reason, empty cans of lager galore and a ratty old mattress on the floor in one room.
“You’re Rob, righ’?” Trevor said with a nod. “Dave said you’d be ‘ere at one.”
“Yeah, I’m running late. I got stuck in traffic, you know how it is on a Friday afternoon. The cars on the M60 were back-to-back-“
“Oi!” Trevor had to crane way down to get eye to eye with Rob. His muscles heaved and his face turned red like he was going to strangle Rob. “I didn’t ask ya to tell me a foickin’ story, mate.”
Rob’s heart sank. “Yeah. Sorry. Okay-“
Trevor’s murderously angry face broke into a broad grin. He was actually quite handsome when he didn’t look like a psychopath, which seemed to be rare. “I was just taking the piss, mate. I’m a dealer, not a copper. How much do you want?”
Again, Rob’s heart skipped a beat, because Trevor turned to get him a bag, and his bare arm came so close to Rob’s face that he could taste the sweat beading there. “I just need a couple pills. The best stuff you got.”
The next few minutes were a blur. Rob didn’t really care about the pills. He liked being so close to Trevor while he showed him the three different pills he had. Rob bought four slinnidols.
After handing over the quid, Rob stood up, the pills in his pocket. He smiled at Trevor like he had just come up with an idea. “Did you want to make a little extra money?”
“Course, mate. You want me to bash someone?”
“No! Not that,” Rob said. “I’d like you… to ram me.”
Trevor laughed, a big, harsh Mancunian laugh. He clasped his belly too. “You’re a poofter, mate?”
Rob nodded and reached out for Trevor’s chest with one hand. Trevor looked at him and furrowed his brow. Rob stroked in between the crest of his meaty pecs.
“I’ll give you a hundred pounds,” Rob said. His heart nearly thumped out of his chest. “But you have to ram me, and you have to ram me hard. Can you do that?”
“Seriously? A ‘undred pounds?” Trevor scoffed. He licked his lips and sneered as though he was disgusted by the offer. Rob wasn’t surprised by that, he just stood winsomely, sucking on one of his fingers to tantalize Trevor.
Like a lot of men, Trevor wanted to get his dick wet and didn’t care too much whose wetness he dipped it in. He’d have gladly rammed any adult female besides his mother for a hundred pounds, no matter how nasty she was.
But a male?
“Oi! If you fink you’re gonna make me jerk you off, you’re wrong, bitch, and I’ll rip ya skull off if you try anything, I’ll piss down ya foickin’ throat.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t do that,” Rob said. “I’m a bottom. That means-“
“You don’t ‘aveta explain,” Trevor said.
“I deep-throat real good,” Rob said. He demonstrate putting his entire fist in his mouth with his middle finger extending out and down his throat. He gagged but succeeded. “I have a tight ass too, tighter than any of the females you prolly fuck. I’ll never tell you to slow down or be gentle either.”
Trevor’s eyes opened wide. He didn’t want to look too excited. “That is foickin’ nasty, you li’l mincing fairy. But I’ll do it. For two tons,” he said.
“Fine.” Rob smiled — “two tons” was slang for two hundred pounds.
“You had be’er not complain when I’m swea’y and gross. I’m gonna make you regret it, poofter. You still ‘aveta pay me, even when you back out.” Then he belched directly into Rob’s face, the rancid smell filling up Rob’s nostrils. He laughed at Rob’s shocked expression, and he belched again. Perverts, he thought, were so neat and clean that Rob would hate being burped on, so Trevor thought Rob would back out.
That turned out not to be the case, but it took Trevor a few moments to figure it out. He forced belch after belch, a few drops of burpjuice even landing on Rob’s face. But Rob just grinned and sunk to his knees in front of Trevor, like a supplicant ready to worship.
“Stand up,” Trevor said. He wrinkled his nose, annoyed that Rob wasn’t responding as he had hoped. Normally women complained that he smelled bad — that was because he didn’t shower often. His pits were especially fragrant. His last girlfriend had dumped him after she accidentally stuck her nose in his pit. So Trevor lifted off his white tee shirt and tossed it to the floor, amid the sea of dirty clothes forever waiting for a laundry machine.
He lifted up one arm and slammed Rob face-first into his armpit. He cackled as Rob’s body twisted. He rubbed his hair over Rob’s nose and mouth. “Taste it, poofter, that’s what a real man tastes like.”
Rob inhaled deeply and licked his sweaty armpit hair. The taste was salty and potent. Rob loved every drop of it, and he especially loved the way Trevor’s big barrel chest shook when he laughed. Rob’s hands gripped Trevor’s flat, tattooed belly and reached for his ass, but Trevor stopped him.
“Poofs are nasty, mate,” he said. “Clean my other pit.” He wondered if this would be a viable long-term plan — maybe instead of paying for deodorant just to mollify a bunch of slutty females, he could let a siss pay him to suck his armpit clean every day.
Trevor didn’t want to let on that he was considering that option, so he tried to smell his own left armpit, the one Rob had already finished with, without being too obvious about it. It didn’t really smell much better though, he thought, it was still rank with sour sweat and caked-on grime, but now it had that spitty scent like a baby’s dummy too.
In fact, Rob did see Trevor sniff his other armpit, but he didn’t comment on it because he was focused on the right pit. He slathered saliva all over it and sucked up every drop of sweat he could find. Trevor had adorably hairy pits, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered all week (which was true, Trevor usually only showered on Sunday mornings because he saw his mother for dinner).
Trevor snarled because he had to suppress a laugh, as Rob’s tongue got through his hair to his ticklish skin. He covered up his ticklishness with an angry grunt.
“Oi, you can get on my dick now, ya poofter.” He firmly pushed down on Rob’s head, forcing him back to his knees. Then he hawked up a big loogie. He thought for sure this would scare Rob off as he spat it onto Rob’s face.
It was thick and stinky and it made Rob’s stomach churn, but it aroused him too. He loved being spat on by scally lads. He planted his lips on Trevor’s bulge, letting that nasty lump of phlegm slip out and soak into the fabric of his track bottoms.
“Oi! Don’t make my tracksuit duhty, swallow that shit! Don’t spit it out!” Trevor laughed at Rob’s expression — he couldn’t tell if Rob was turned on or grossed out. Trevor hoped both. Rob opened his mouth and sucked the loogey back into his mouth. Trevor growled. “Now swallow it.”
Rob gulped and did so. Trevor’s mouth was agape. He smiled. He was astonished that a man would willingly go through all this — Trevor had long thought he was sexy and women should treat him like he was. They didn’t. They generally preferred clean-cut upper-class guys. Even the sluts and tramps of the Toppenlad Housing Estate made it pretty obvious they wanted the nice suit-clad gentlemen who worked in offices and drove to work and read The Guardian, not the tracksuited lads like Trevor who walked to work on those occasions they had a job to show up to and didn’t read any of the papers, not even The Daily Mail.
Rob smacked his lips. He showed off his empty mouth. “Will you spit on me some more, please?”
Trevor was taken aback because he was expecting Rob to beg him to stop. He spat again and again, trying to make the poofter beg him to stop. He took a long chug from his can of lager hoping that would make him phlegmy again, but it didn’t work. He had been spitting so much his mouth was dry and not even the beer helped.
His saliva glistened all over Rob’s face. Trevor gingerly touched it, a smile creeping over his face as he smeared his spit to cover Rob’s cheeks. “Keep that mouth open, poofter. Let’s see what else you can put in there.” He picked up a nasty old sock off the floor, one that he had worn last time he worked (as a builder for a day, hauling bricks in barras back and forth to the worksite). The sock was ripe, and Trevor could virtually see the stink-lines emanating off it.
He jammed the sock into Rob’s mouth. The taste was bracing and acrid and harsh, and it brought tears to Rob’s eyes. It tasted like Trevor’s armpits but even funkier, and with actual dirt ground in. Rob could taste gravel and mud.
One of the things Rob loved most about socks and shoes was how it enabled him to taste everything about Trevor. He could picture Trevor at work, arms covered in grit as he wheeled a heavy barra among the builders. They wore those bright orange hi-vis jackets, and they all had deep, rumbly voices that could be heard a mile away because they spent so much time bellowing over the sound of the jackhammer. Trevor had come home from work that day utterly soaked in sweat, this sock plastered to his skin. He had taken one of those rare non-Sunday showers then, and he had pulled off that sock just before jumping in the water.
“Suck on me sock, poofter, nasty!” Trevor said. His dick was hard already, throbbing in his bottoms.
When Rob had soaked the sock with his spit — and the spit that Trevor had spat into his mouth — he pulled it out and rubbed it over his face. It absorbed all the spit and sweat there.
“Can I suck on your trainers?” Rob asked, his voice weak and mewling. He bent over and kissed the toes of Trevor’s left foot, through his squeaky-clean trainer. Like most scallies, Trevor placed a great deal of importance on footwear. He threw away his shoes and bought new ones — or more often, stole them — whenever they got scuffed.
“Suck on them? No. You can clean ’em, poofter. Clean me trainers like the bitch you are.” His trainers were white Nikes with dark blue highlights. Rob licked them, even rubbing his tongue like a sponge on a tiny spot of dirt until it came up.
After having a sock in his mouth, Rob’s tongue was dry. But he got a good burst of mud and sweaty foot flavor. He ran his tongue along the side of his trainers, then Trevor even lifted one foot up to see if Rob would suck on the underside.
Which he did, with a big smile on his face.
“That’s disgusting, mate,” Trevor said with a throaty chuckle. He pulled his feet away. He sighed, his cock still hard. A lot of guys got hard at the prospect of busting a nut regardless of the situation. Trevor pulled down his tracksuit to reveal a hefty, meaty cock, which stank of unwashed manhood. Rob put the tip in his mouth and sucked on it loudly, slurping up all the saliva he could generate.
Rob looked up and made eye contact with Trevor, who still looked shocked that this was happening even as his dick firmed up in Rob’s mouth.
“Oi, mate, open that froat up,” Trevor said. “You’re gonna learn how to gag real nice now…” He grabbed onto Rob’s ears and plowed deeply into his gullet.
His shaft was fully hard now, slamming in and out of Rob’s throat. Rob loudly choked and sputtered. Trevor’s balls slammed against his chin. Trevor loved that: balls-on-chin. That used to be he and his mates’s go-to threat: you’re gonna have chin-balls — it meant throating.
But now, Trevor was actually doing it. He’d be bragging about this to his friends for some time to come. He rammed so hard there was a satisfyingly meaty thwack-thwack as his balls hit Rob on the chin. Trevor would later go on to say Rob told him he rammed his throat too good, that his dick was too big for that, that he had such a legendarily huge cock that nobody could ever deep-throat him.
A gasp escaped from Trevor’s throat. His face turned ruddy. He hadn’t expected it to feel this good, and his muscles spasmed with pleasure. This was actually better than any blowjob he’d ever had. That’s because Rob loved his cock and loved its unwashed dirtiness even more. It tasted like those nasty old trackpants he wore, tattered and muck-splattered and dingy.
The precum was thick and salty, and Rob guzzled it down. He looked up to make eye contact with Trevor, but Trevor’s eyes were closed. He moaned as he rammed at Rob’s throat hard, slamming his dick in over and over.
He opened his eyes only when he pulled his cock all the way out. Spit dripped from it — some of it Trevor’s own spit from earlier and his phlegm too, which stuck to the palate of Rob’s mouth. Trevor’s eyes lit up.
He spat again and again, his beery mouth now finally phlegmatic enough to hawk a loogey again. It plopped nastily on Rob’s tongue, then it smeared over Trevor’s shaft as Trevor forced it back in his throat.
It was nice to ram a man’s throat, Trevor thought, because it was bigger and wider than a woman’s. That made sense to him, he thought. He could really push it all the way in like a porn star, and Rob didn’t complain.
But Trevor didn’t want to blow his wad like this. Aside from the fact that he had agreed to ram Rob in the ass, he wanted to do it — girls didn’t give up the ass very often. Trevor craved a bum.
“Oi, you had better open that arse up. Bend over, get on ya hands and knees,” Trevor said. He didn’t wait for Rob to comply though. He just grabbed his ass and pulled his track bottoms down. He bent Rob over on all fours.
Again, girls always made Trevor go slow. Even tarts who gave up the butt easy made Trevor be slow and gentle and use plenty of lube. Trevor didn’t want to do all that. He wanted to destroy some tight asshole. He loved the idea of watching someone squirm in both bliss and agony brought about by Trevor’s massive manhood.
So he spat on his palm a few times and wiped that over his shaft, which was already plenty moist anyway from Rob’s mouth. Trevor thought that ought to be enough.
“Say ‘I’m a poofter and I want Trevor’s cock’.”
“I’m a poofter and I want Trevor’s cock!” Rob shouted.
Trevor hit him in the back of the head. He pulled on Rob’s hair. “I didn’t say to shout it, pansy.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Rob panted. His cock was so hard it felt like it was going to explode. “Please ram me. I need your cock inside me. You’re a real man, you’re a real alpha, I need you-“
Trevor cackled. He spat into the palm of his head and held it in front of Rob’s face. Rob sucked it up and even sucked on Trevor’s hand desperately, moaning as he felt Trevor’s cock rub between his cheeks.
With a surge of adrenaline flowing through him, Trevor bellowed and pounded on his chest as he pistoned his cock right into Rob’s waiting asshole.
“Open that asshole! Let a real man in there, ya li’l mewling pansy-bitch!”
Rob howled as his ass split, Trevor plowing into him so hard Rob drew blood where he bit his lip. A burst of pleasure and pain hit Rob in equal measure, the pain quickly subsiding as his ass adjusted to Trevor’s massive dick. That left behind only an intense and ever-mounting sense of bliss.
Trevor sighed. He wanted to talk, to grunt, to berate Rob — that’s what seemed right to him. That’s what a tough guy should do when ramming a man in the ass, he thought.
But he couldn’t simply because this felt too good. Rob’s ass gripped his cock, clenching, holding on, so Trevor had to rip in and rip out with each thrust of his hips. He would have thought that would tear Rob’s ass to bits, but somehow Rob took it without complaint.
“Stick it in me!” Not only did he not complain, but he shouted out loud.
Trevor couldn’t have that. He liked the idea of plowing into Rob hard enough he couldn’t stop screaming, but he didn’t want everyone in the nearby flats to know what was happening. His own grunts and shouted insults wouldn’t attract as much attention as Rob’s flamboyant, feminine lilt.
So Trevor grabbed another dirty sock, not the one Rob had sucked on before. He rammed it into Rob’s mouth to shut him up. Rob bit on the sock, his hands tightening into claws that dug at the dirty tracksuit beneath him on the floor. The taste was freshly musky and salty, and Rob savored it on his tongue.
That was enough to send Rob over the edge into an orgasm. The taste of Trevor’s scally foot flooded his senses, distracting him from the massive dick tearing his ass up. Rob’s prostate tingled and pulsated where Trevor’s cock throbbed against it.
“God damn!” Trevor groaned. He slapped Rob’s cheeks as a potent orgasm hit him. He didn’t even notice Rob jacking himself off onto the floor, which was filthy enough that Rob’s load wasn’t obvious.
Trevor’s climax was intense and grimy and it made him feel gross but also victorious. “Damn it, poofter, you have got one tight ass.” He chuckled as the first few drops of cum hit Rob’s insides. “Or you did have a tight ass, until now.”
Cum sprayed into Rob’s ass, great wads of it filling him up and coating his insides. It seeped into him, and Rob sighed. Trevor grunted. He weighed down on Rob’s back, pinning him to the floor. Trevor hadn’t intended to ram like this. He thought it would feel too awkward to be on top of Rob, his muscles flexing against Rob’s smooth shoulders.
But in the heat of the moment, it didn’t feel too strange. It made Rob twitch and cringe, squirming beneath Trevor as though he was trying to escape. Trevor’s hot breath condensed on Rob’s cheek. It smelled now, strongly of lager since he had started drinking since he belched on Rob’s face earlier.
His cumwad kept coming. Rob couldn’t believe how much he shot. Trevor was young and dumb and full of cum, it seemed, and Rob moaned the entire time as his ass filled up.
At last he was done. He pulled and chuckled as Rob spasmed. Trevor breathed a sigh of relief that he was done. “You are one gross poofter, mate. You kiss your mum with that mouth?” He laughed. He placed one of his bare feet on Rob’s face, making Rob suck on his toes. “You had be’er pay me. You’re not takin’ the piss, are you?”
Rob smiled, too exhausted from the plowing to laugh with him. He sucked on Trevor’s feet — Trevor had unthinkingly put his foot on Rob’s face thinking it would make Rob get up and hand over the money right away. He was so overwhelmed by his climax it didn’t occur to him that Rob would like it.
He jammed his big toe into Rob’s mouth until Rob gagged. Rob’s hands flailed and clawed at Trevor’s trunk-like thighs. His meaty thighs flexed beneath Rob’s touch.
“Thanks for the pills,” Rob said with a gasp when Trevor finally took his foot out of his mouth. “And everything.” Rob grabbed his wallet and counted out two hundred pounds.
Trevor nodded. It hadn’t occurred to him until he saw Rob’s wallet that he didn’t need to abide by any payment amount. He grabbed the entire wallet and pulled all the cash out — that was only an extra tenner, but Trevor didn’t care. This story would be better, he thought, if it was part of a robbery.
Rob blushed and nodded. Trevor scowled at him. “You had be’er get outuh here before I start looking for more money on you. If you had nicer shoes, I’d have already took ‘em.”

The Casino Security Guy

Ben can’t believe he lost everything at the casino, and he’ll do whatever it takes for another chance to win… even if that means submitting to an ultra-humiliating bout of man-on-man action with the terrifying bouncer Cue! Can Ben beg his way into a second chance? Or is he all out of luck?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Ben Wastermeek still couldn’t believe it had happened. He had never gambled before in his life, and now it was all gone. How did that even happen? He could remember every moment of it, but he remembered it like it had happened to someone else, like it was an awful movie he saw.
There were a lot of reasons, but mainly there was just one: Ben wanted to feel like a winner. And he had been a winner. He had been sixty thousand dollars richer at one point in the night. He had been a king for about three hours. Those three hours were everything.
And now he had cashed out everything.
The tuition money from his college loan, his retirement money and all of his savings. He had even maxed out the cash advances on his credit card and gotten an advance on his next paycheck at the nearest payday loan place. He was ruined.
So, as he pled with the bouncer, Ben couldn’t quite conceive of this not working. It had to work. Everything was riding on it. He had won sixty thousand dollars. That had to count for something.
“Look, mistuh, I’m sorry you lost e’rything,” said the bouncer at the club Lipsweet in central Las Vegas. He was Cue, according to the name-tag on his suit. He was tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. He was powerfully strapped and barrel-chested, gristly neck, crooked nose. He was square-jawed, white as bone, looked like he dressed like a biker outside of work. Ben also wouldn’t have been surprised at all to see an iron cross or even a swastika tattooed on his chest or back.
But Ben couldn’t give up. He had to get his money back, or at least enough to pay back the cash advances he had gotten. That would ruin his credit for years. Casinos have serious corporate management, he thought, they must have a way to do that. “Please, just let me talk to the manager. I know it’s not your decision to make-“
“It is, though. The decision is no. That’s the rules of the game, sir,” Cue said. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Please step aside. I need to be watching the entrance to the casino.” He sighed deeply. “Look, man, I get it that you’re upset. You have every right to be-“
“You don’t understand, I just need to explain what happened. I’m sure the manager-“
“The manager ain’t even here, man. The manager is Mickey Garelli, and he ain’t gonna be impressed by no beggin’. Please… I don’t wanna have to kick you out,” he said. “I don’t wanna wrinkle my suit. Or get your blood on it. You know if I get a deadbeat’s blood on me, I gotta get tested for AIDS four times a year for like five years? Insurance rules.”
“Yeah, look, I-“
“Come on, man. Don’t be a fuckin’ deadbeat,” Cue said. “You gonna stand here like a shitball and beg me? Have some fuckin’ dignity.” He flared his nostrils. His muscles flexed under his too-small suit like he was ready to throw a punch, but Ben didn’t think he was in any danger. Casinos were underground mob boss things anymore. They were nice. Normal. They wouldn’t hire a thug. Cue was just a security guy. A rent-a-cop basically.
“You have to let me talk to whoever’s in charge-“
A new bouncer appeared from behind Ben. He was a big black man with cornrows, much taller than Cue. He wore a suit as well, but his fit better. “Yo, Cue, you havin’ trouble?”
“I’m just showin’ this asshole some mercy, Tyrell, but he ain’t takin’ it.”
“You know deadbeats don’t respond to that,” the black man Tyrell said.
He shrugged. “I know. I guess I should-a just ripped his nuts off, but I don’t know… He looks like a sad puppy dog.”
Ben blushed. He realized how pitiful he must look, but he straightened his back. He needed to get his money back. If he made a big enough fuss, they’d have to give him something, he thought.
“So he’s a gambling man, huh?” said the black bouncer, Tyrell. “I’ll bet you he’d ‘clean the back-office’ for a chance to win his money back.”
“Yes! I would!” Ben blurted out before he even heard what the man said. It was obvious from his tone that ‘clean the back-office’ was code for something, but Ben didn’t care. If there was even a chance he could get his money back, he wanted to take it. He pictured himself cleaning. That’d be fine.
Besides, he was a gambling man. He had been down for a long time. Surely he was about to get back on top. Even if they only gave him one chip, that would be worth it because he’d have a chance, a real chance, to win back his money and even more. The lights would go off, people would cheer, waitresses would come by and kiss him on the cheek and give him free drinks. He’d be a winner again.
Cue and the other bouncer Tyrell laughed. Cue seemed annoyed, like he would never have offered ‘cleaning the back office’ as an option if the other bouncer hadn’t brought it up. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll show you the office.”
He followed Cue through the casino. Ben saw the blinking lights and the excited squealing of the people who won, and he almost forgot that he was penniless. He could have stayed here for hours just watching other people win, but he hung close to Cue. He wanted a chance to play.
Cue looked scary enough that people moved out of his way. He moved like he was used to that, shoving past people. The punks and tourists and gambling freaks parted like the red sea.
He led Ben down an empty corridor to a small bathroom, barely big enough for the two of them. Ben breathed a sigh of relief. They probably just wanted him to clean the toilets, and they’d give him bus fare, or something like that. It’d be like washing the dishes to pay for a meal in a restaurant.
But the bathroom appeared spotless. Pristine, even. There was a small shelf attached to one wall, and on it was a tube of anal lube, a clothespin, a large dildo, a few condoms and a few other odds and ends.
This bathroom didn’t need cleaning.
“We don’t use this bathroom,” Cue said with a craggy frown and a baritone rumble in his chest. He closed the door and produced one blue chip from his pocket. “Or, well, we don’t use it for poopin’.”
“Oh. Uh, okay. What do you-?”
“This is the cornhole-closet,” Cue said. He laughed at Ben, who turned white as a cloud and his knees buckled. Cue shook his head. He held up the blue chip in his hand. “You can leave anytime, bitch. But if you stay, I’m gonna treat you real bad. My girl’s been holdin’ out on me, and she a real bitch anyway. I oughta dump her ass but she used to give good head and, uh… Well, I’m gonna take out my frustrations on ya. It’s gonna hurt. I got a big dick. I’m-a tear yo’ guts up. And all you gettin’ is this one twenty dollar chip. You can cash it out, or you can gamble it. That’s up to you.”
“Oh, uh…”
“I ain’t even into this, just so you know. I ain’t even think of it. That big black feller out there, he love it. He try to cornhole at least one deadbeat every shift he work. Black fellers love ass, I do reckon,” Cue said. “He been sayin’ I’m too weak to do it.”
“I dunno…”
“Us bouncers compete to see who can cornhole a intact ass as hard as possible. Not me, really, usually. The black ones do. They gonna wanna hear all about it, and there’s even a camera in here, so they is gonna watch. There’s prolly some security man watching right now.” He waved at the camera in the corner, and he forced Ben to wave too.
A tear leaked down Ben’s cheek. He tried to soberly consider his options, but that blue chip danced above Cue’s knuckles. Ben wanted to kiss it and make love to it. He would have done anything to get just one more chance to win.
He nodded wordlessly.
“Damn… I really thought you was gonna back out. That makes me sad, man. It really does. I’m glad I can be part of makin’ you hit rock-bottom though. Remembuh you can always quit. And you know, Jesus and shit. Go to church,” Cue said. “Take off your clothes.”
Ben gulped and did as he was told. He felt skinny next to Cue, who was as thick as a bodybuilder, though he didn’t look quite that cut. He looked like an offseason bodybuilder. His muscles bulged from the ill-fitting suit he wore. Ben left his boxers on at first, then Cue motioned for him to take them off too.
He gingerly picked up Ben’s underwear with his fingertips and threw it in the toilet bowl. He added Ben’s socks as well. Then he picked up Ben’s shirt, pants and shoes and took them out of the bathroom.
“Stay here. I can sell these to a homeless man for a few bucks. That’s virtually a charity,” Cue said, beaming like he expected Ben to congratulate him on doing something nice. He must have put the clothes in a locker or something like that nearby because he returned moments later. He sighed. “Now you gotta get me hard. I mean… you don’t gotta. You can take your toilet-dripping underwear and get out.”
“Please, I don’t have anything…”
“I know. You got one tiny shred of dignity left. You can take it and leave if you want, or you can decide how you wanna get me hard. You wanna swallow my cum or slurp on my asshole?”
Ben sobbed. Was this really what he was reduced to? He couldn’t believe it had come to this.
But if he got paid with that casino chip, he was going to gamble it. There was still that to look forward to. He had a chance. He could be a big winner. What game should he play it on? Blackjack? Roulette? Did they have a twenty-dollar roulette wheel here? Probably not. Should be blackjack, he thought, that has a skill component.
“I’ll… swallow your cum,” Ben said. He sunk to his knees and sniffed back tears.
“Well, go ahead.” Cue smiled. He put his hands on his hips. He lifted his suit jacket to given Ben easy access, but he didn’t take his pants off.
Ben shuddered. He unzipped the fly of Cue’s slacks. Then he reached in and shuddered again at the feel of Cue’s greasy cockshaft. It was dark brown and sticky with dried-on sweat.
“Sorry, I been workin’ all day,” Cue said. “My balls prolly smell.”
Ben nodded. He gagged. Cue’s huge cock popped out of the fly, and a pair of hairy, low-hanging balls. It smelled so badly of sweat and old cum that Ben thought he would throw up. His cockmeat was moist with a sheet of moisture and emanated heat so intensely Ben could feel it from a foot away.
Cue just sighed again and pried Ben’s mouth open. He gripped Ben’s cheeks and fed his dick in. Ben gagged as soon as he tasted it, and he coughed up a big ball of spit that plopped onto the bathroom floor.
“Don’t spit that on the floor.” Cue slapped Ben on the cheek, just hard enough to hurt. “And if you get my pants dirty, I won’t give you the chip when you’re done.”
“Come on… Man, I’m tryin’…” Ben said.
But Cue was relentless. He grabbed ahold of Ben’s chin and squeezed until his mouth opened. He pushed the tip of his dick past Ben’s lower lip. Salty sweat again assaulted Ben’s senses. “Now, I’m gonna use ya mouth as my pussy, deadbeat. Try to make sounds like a female, I gotta imagine you a female, I ain’t a black feller who’s a fuckin’ booty bandit! Tyrell!” He yelled in the direction of the doorway, though it didn’t seem likely Tyrell was out there.
Ben opened his mouth wide but Cue’s fat cock was so long Ben couldn’t get anything more than the glans in his mouth. He choked again, and his eyes watered from both shame and the revolting taste of unwashed cock. Cue’s muscles rippled beneath his suit.
But Cue’s cock remained limp and floppy, like a meaty dead animal. It was at least twelve inches long and lined with blue and red veins. It gleamed with moisture, and its texture made Ben gag.
“You ain’t gettin’ me hard, boy,” Cue said. “Spit on it some.”
Ben spat. He found it difficult to produce much saliva though. Cue sighed as though this was a great imposition for him. He slapped Ben over the face with his cock, which was thick and heavy enough to hurt a little bit.
Holding back tears and blushing, Ben tried to catch Cue’s cock with his mouth. He thought maybe if he tried his best, Cue would go easy on him. He really didn’t want to take that entire cock in his ass.
“Alright, I gave you a chance to mouth me off, and that ain’t working. Nothin’ personal, nobody really mouths my dick right. It’s too big,” Cue said. “Now you get to eat my asshole instead. Anyone with a working tongue can do that.”
“What, no!”
“Then get out,” Cue said. “Don’t get ya chip.” He turned around, dropped his slacks and his boxers, revealing a thick plump ass. The crack was dark and hairy, and it gleamed with sweat. It was humid like a jungle. Ben imagined he could see its funk emanating like an aura from Cue’s muscular cheeks.
Ben wanted to leave, but he didn’t. He wanted to gamble one last time.
When he was done — if he didn’t win, though he didn’t like to think about that — then he would quit gambling, maybe go to rehab. But before he could even say yes, Cue backed his ass right into Ben’s face. His asscheeks were cold and rock-hard, and he had a big fat scar on one of them.
“Get your tongue out, dumbass. Don’t try licking my asscheek or something either. I want a proper rimjob. Get your tongue inside my ass. If you ain’t tastin’ rectum, you ain’t doin’ it right,” Cue said with a laugh as though that was his motto.
Ben hadn’t really thought about the mechanics of this. Was that really what a rimjob was supposed to be? He slowly opened his mouth, a physically painful gag rolling through his body. He heaved and probably would have thrown up if there was anything in his stomach.
But opening his mouth to heave heightened the nauseating aroma — the smell of Cue’s ass tasted even worse on his tongue than it was in his nose. Ben could feel the funk, like a humid mist on the inside of his mouth even before he actually came into contact with Cue’s ass.
And then the funk flowed into his mouth, the sweat of Cue’s body trickling onto Ben’s tongue. He gagged continuously, retching loudly even as his tongue poked through the tangled nest of ass-hair. His head may have been bald and his asscheeks were smooth, but Cue’s buttcrack was choked with black hairs.
He wasn’t sure he’d know when his tongue hit Cue’s asshole, but then when he did hit it, he absolutely knew. His tongue sank in. Cue grunted, and Ben could tell that his dick started to harden even though Cue faced away from him so he couldn’t see.
Cue was a muscular man, so his ass was tight and hard. As he got aroused, his cheeks and even his asshole squeezed as though he was trying to hold Ben in place with his ass.
“Don’t take your tongue out, man, stick it all the way in,” Cue said. He began grinding his muscular hips, rubbing his asshair on Ben’s face. “Now blow a raspberry, like this.” He blew a loud raspberry that echoed in the linoleum bathroom.
Ben did the same, the sound muted and muffled by Cue’s body. It made a sound like a fart though, which was tremendously loud in Ben’s ears because it happened right on his face. He could even feel air escaping from Cue’s ass, going right down Ben’s throat, and Cue’s whole body vibrated. He groaned.
“Damn, you rim pretty good for a first-timer,” Cue said. “But I don’t wanna blow my wad like this. You got me hard, now let’s get on to the main show. You got any final words before I cornhole you?”
“No,” Ben said. He was glad to pull away from Ben’s ass, but he trembled in fear at the thought of taking that inch-long cock into his ass. “I mean yes. Please, uh… Lemme just, I dunno, give you a handjob or somethin’.”
“You serious? Do I look like a punk-ass bitch?”
“No, just… I don’t think I can take it.”
“Course you can. I’ll just have to bust you wide. You might not walk straight for a couple days, or maybe forevuh, I dunno,” Cue said. “You can still walk outta here, but I know you won’t. You’re gonna play that chip, ain’t ya? You’re gonna lose. You know that, right? Even if you win, you’re gonna lose. Because you’re a loser.”
Ben sobbed. He knew that was right. He bent over on all fours in front of the toilet. Only a loser would be in this position. Ben would never be anything else.
Unless, of course, he used that chip to win.
“You’re lucky my shift is over, and I wanna get home. Otherwise I wouldn’t use lube, just so I have an excuse to spend hours in here stretching you out,” Cue said with a chuckle. “Mickey would say that was a good use of my time.” He squeezed lube into Ben’s ass. It was cold and goopy, and he shuddered.
Then he bit his lip as pain hit his ass. It was just the tip of Cue’s cock, but the agony was already arduous. Ben had an urge to lower his head, but that would put his face in the toilet, so he didn’t.
Cue gripped Ben’s hair as he squeezed the first couple inches in. He grunted and sighed, and he slapped Ben’s cheeks. He laughed at their jiggling. His fingers massaged Ben’s rim trying to stretch it, but that made the pain so much worse than Ben cried out.
“Alright, you got about a third of it befo’ I hit resistance,” Cue said. “I got techniques to get you to open up, but it’s better if you do it consciously. Can you open up any more?”
Gritting his teeth, Ben managed to loosen himself up some. That caused a flood of pain that made him arch his back, and the movement made the pain even worse. Ben spasmed and squealed.
But Cue had a firm grip on his chest and his waist, holding him in place. Cue clucked his tongue and squeezed Ben until he stopped moving.
“Alright. Good. You at almost half. That’s real good, deadbeat,” Cue said. “Now, here comes the first little trick I got. It’s gonna hurt. Most men use it for dome, but my dick’s too big for that to really help.” He put a clothespin on Ben’s nose, so he had to breathe through his mouth. After a few seconds, Ben’s throat opened, followed by his ass. Cue sighed as some more cock slid into Ben’s ass. Ben screamed right into the toilet water just in front of his face. “I ain’t ramroddin’ you, by the way. I’m holdin’ you in place to make it easier, but you can leave anytime. This ain’t a ramroddin’. It ain’t even really extortion.”
Ben was in too much pain to think about Cue’s words. His ass was splitting, ripping, and he couldn’t help but scream at the top of his lungs. The oldies rock playing through the speakers outside muffled the sound though, so no one could hear it.
“I love that sound. That’s the sound of a deadbeat learnin’ what a useless shit he really is,” Cue said. “Now you got maybe three quarters of my dick inside you. How’s that feel?”
All Ben could do was grunt and gag at the smell of porcelain and toilet water.
“No. Use your words, deadbeat. You got words? Or did you gamble them away.”
Ben spoke through gritted teeth. “It hurts. I can’t talk. Hurts.”
“Good. Now I got one last trick. It’s gonna feel like you’re drowning, but don’t worry. I won’t let you die,” Cue said.
Before Ben could respond, Cue pushed his head into the water. As Ben’s body panicked and his lungs filled with nasty water, his asshole loosened all the way. Ben screamed in agony and shame, while Cue grunted and howled.
His dick slid all the way in. Cue’s balls swung between Ben’s legs. Cue pumped his biceps — he still wore his shirt and suit jacket, his tie now loosened and his shirt-tails lifted up so he could watch his cock slide in.
“Ain’t nothin’ like rammin’ the bitch outuva chokin” deadbeat…” Cue moaned and laughed, flexing his muscles for the men he assumed still watched on the security cameras.
He pistoned his hips back and forth. Ben screamed with every thrust, squirming when Cue hit the deepest extent within Ben’s ass. It felt so good. Cue sighed. He didn’t even mind the toilet water splashing on him.
Cue pulled his hair to give Ben a chance to breathe. His whole body shuddered, and his ass clenched around Cue’s cock. He pushed Ben’s face back into the water, cutting him off mid-gasp.
Ben’s socks and underwear had sunk to the bottom of the toilet bowl, so they clung to Ben’s face when he touched them. Cue’s cock throbbed and spasmed within him, its every tremor sending shockwaves of agony through Ben’s body.
“Here I go, deadbeat, gonna fill you up!”
At last Cue orgasmed. He smashed Ben’s face into the bottom of the toilet so hard Ben was dizzy, his lungs crying out for oxygen. He thought he might black out from the pain and the water.
Cum flowed into him like it was being piped in. He could feel it trickling through his body, its heat and its snotty texture making it palpable within him. It dripped out of his overstuffed hole and stuck to his legs. The smell of santorum filled the air. Cue pumped what seemed like too much jizz up Ben’s backside.
It was hot and creamy, and it seeped into him. Cue pumped his hips each time he spewed another wad into him. Ben couldn’t hear it because his head was underwater, but Cue grunted too with each gyration of his powerful body.
Finally, just when he was beginning to lose consciousness, Cue pulled him out of the water and threw him on the ground. Cue stood up. He sneered at Ben, whom he lightly kicked in the belly.
Ben vomited up toilet water onto the floor. It seemed like way more than he had expected, he thought, wondering how he had swallowed so much. He gasped for air on the floor.
“I’m gonna start pissin’ in a second,” Cue said.His fat dick dangled between his legs and above Ben. “I always piss after I plow. If you’re still there on the floor, I’m gonna piss on you. Crawl away, deadbeat.”
But Ben both couldn’t and didn’t want to crawl away. He deserved this, he thought. He was a deadbeat.
The piss was hot and acrid, and it smelled terrible. It smelled like both piss and cum, and a little bit like shit, Ben thought. It coated his skin and made him gag uncontrollably. He couldn’t even dry-heave though, so his body just spasmed.
Cue tucked his cock away. He flipped the blue chip onto the puddle of fluids on the ground. “Here. You should exchange that for cash and at least go get a shower at the YMCA. You won’t. But you should. Goodbye, deadbeat.” As he walked to the door, he started whistling. “Don’t come back to this casino.”
“I won’t,” Ben said. He took a deep breath. He knew that wasn’t really true, he would probably be back at some point, and he was certainly going to gamble this blue chip here. After going through all this, he thought the universe was sure to reward him with a winning streak.
He struggled to his feet, his asshole and his face aching. He felt filthy, and he had nothing but underwear to wear. But he had one blue chip.
He just needed to find a table he could gamble it at. He was, after all, a gamblin’ man.

The Gangbanger

Rico is temporarily homeless, but luckily his gang gives him a place to stay… but he’s got a roommate. His name is Thumper, and he’s an old head, an ex-con and a booty bandit to boot! Can Rico satisfy his new roommate’s unbridled desires?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rico walked into the Cityside Barbershop. Heart thumping, he carried with him virtually all of his belongings in a trash bag. He hoped nobody who saw him knew that. He tried to look cocky. The people in the barbershop — barbers and customers — looked at him like they knew what was up, like they could tell at a glance what he was: homeless.
He tried not to think of himself as homeless, even though he knew that’s precisely what he was.
He had money. Not quite enough to rent a nice place, but he might have been able to get a cheap room somewhere. The downside to that was that he wouldn’t be able to afford to save up enough to afford somewhere nicer. His stepdad kicking him out without warning had really put a damper on things.
The last couple months had been rough for Rico. After losing two ounces of heroin, he was in trouble with his boss in the Bloods, Thumper. Then his girlfriend dumped him, and now his stepfather had kicked him out as punishment for selling drugs. Everything was going wrong in Rico’s life. Six months ago he was the most respected gangbanger in the Bloods. Today, he was a hobo, considering whether he could squat above a barbershop for free. What time does a barbershop open in the morning? Probably early.
Avoiding eye contact, Rico went into the backroom. He had a feeling the customers and barbers at the Barbershop knew why he was carrying a trash bag into the back. He also knew that Thumper didn’t tell them, but they looked at him with a mixture of pity and scorn. They knew he was homeless.
Of course no one said anything. Everyone pretended to think Thumper was merely taking in a roommate half his age, rent-free. Which he was. There was just more to the story, and all them all knew it.
Behind the Cityside Barbershop was a staircase that led to an apartment on the second floor of the building. That was Thumper’s apartment. To be more precise, it was a Bloods apartment, and the Bloods let Thumper live in it because Thumper did thirty-four years for the Bloods. They owed him, and part of that was giving him a free apartment.
The catch was that Thumper had to share it with a young nigga now and then, which did not bother Thumper. It did bother Rico.
He heavyfooted into the apartment, a feeling dread spreading deep in his loins. Rico had the sinking feeling that this was adulthood, and he was soon going to wish he was a teenager again. High school was so simple, but so long ago. Thumper was in his forties, maybe older, which was ancient as far as Rico was concerned.
When Rico arrived, Thumper was in his living room, meeting with a few other gangbangers. As they all finished up Bloods business, Rico “moved in”, a process completed when he dropped his trash bag.
There was no spare bedroom, so Rico was sleeping on the couch. He was fine with that because he hoped it would spur him into finding a new place. He didn’t want to live here forever, like Thumper’s little butt-boy.
“Yo, Rico, come here and rap at us,” Thumper said, the meeting dwindling as the others left one by one. His voice was deep and tough, commanding respect. “We talkin’ ‘bout what to do regardin’ the Sweet Hill boys. Whatchoo think?”
“Well, I think we gotta beat them niggas down,” Rico said, more because he wanted to seem tough than because he had any particular knowledge of the situation. He was only vaguely aware that the Sweet Hill gang had begun selling crack on territory the Bloods considered to be their own.
“Alright, that’s a plan,” Thumper said. He smiled at Rico. “You get yo’ niggas together and do it this week, okay?”
Rico hadn’t thought he’d be put in charge of it, but he could hardly say no when Thumper was letting him stay here rent-free. He nodded as though it wasn’t going to be difficult. Some of the other thugs looked at Rico pitiably, and Rico tried not to notice.
Now the big problem Rico had was that he needed to find some niggas who were willing to put their lives at risk for a plan Rico hadn’t come up with yet to attack some unknown number of strangers somewhere in the city. Rico was going to struggle to put that crew together, and he wondered if Thumper had assigned him that role to see if he was up to snuff, if could actually put plans together. As a true blue gangbanger — or a true red gangbanger, as Rico liked to think of it — Rico very much thought of himself as capable of doing that.
But none of his friends would even let him sleep on their couch, so Rico had doubts he could get them to go in at the Sweet Hill boys guns blazing.
Thumper clapped his hands together as though the Sweet Hill problem was as good as solved, and the last few Bloods headed out the door. Rico’s mind raced as he tried to think of a way out of this. He shouldn’t have agreed to the Sweet Hill mission so readily. He didn’t even know where Sweet Hill was — Sweet Hill was the name of the shopping center with the CVS and the T-Mobile store. Was Rico supposed to gather a crew to go shoot up the T-Mobile store? He couldn’t very well ask Thumper now, could he? He’d already agreed to do it, he’d look like an idiot admitting only now that he didn’t know where the Sweet Hill boys were, who they were, how to hit them, how many they were, etc.
And no guns! Rico didn’t have any guns! He had a week to put together a crew, find out what and where the Sweet Hill boys are, find guns, go in shooting, succeed in intimidating them and dispose of the guns and perhaps dead bodies. Since he’d agreed to do it so confidently, if he succeeded — which he obviously wouldn’t — but if he succeeded, he’d barely get any credit for it. Thumper would just say ‘good job, you did what you said you’d do’.
He should have made a bigger deal out of how difficult it would be. Maybe he could have gotten Thumper to at least provide the guns.
Once the door shut, Rico was alone with Thumper for the first time ever — it hadn’t occurred to Rico until this moment that he had never been alone with Thumper. Thumper was one of the head honchos in the Bloods, but Rico had only ever spent time with him in a group.
Now he very much wished one of his niggas had let him sleep on the couch.
The apartment stayed silent once the others were gone. Rico gulped. Sweat beaded on his forehead because he sensed Thumper staring at him, evaluating him, maybe just seeing how long he’d take being stared at before he snapped. Thumper was like that. He be testing niggas.
“You ever mess around on the downlow, Rico?” Thumper asked after a long, awkward silence fell between them.
“Uh, yeah. Once,” Rico said. He instantly regretted saying that. It was true, but he had heard Thumper was often on the downlow with his close niggas — only for Thumper, “downlow” meant you serviced him, not any kind of reciprocal behavior. That wasn’t what Rico meant by it.
Rico looked down at his feet, avoiding eye contact from Thumper.
After a long pause, Thumper raised his eyebrows. “Just once, huh? You do it with a nigga you respec’?”
“I guess so.” Rico didn’t know how to answer that. He did it with Kayshawn Henderson, who he didn’t really respect or get along with — they were just drunk — but he didn’t want to explain that to Thumper. Kayshawn wasn’t even a Blood. Plus it was downlow, which means secret. Thumper might be angry if Rico shared a secret, because Thumper trusted Rico not to spill the beans on Bloods business.
“Huh,” Thumper said with a knowing nod. He raised his eyebrows. Rico sighed. He winced. He got a very strong impression that Thumper wanted Rico to jerk him off.
Thumper was like that. After thirty-four years in prison, Thumper did not jack himself off. He saw it as demeaning. He often demanded niggas jack him off — with mouth! Swallowing! The whole nine yards! Rico could understand the impulse. He didn’t like jacking himself off either. It made him feel like an immature brat.
But he couldn’t bring himself to mouth Thumper off. Thumper was an old man by Rico’s standards. It would be humiliating. Thumper could get any random crackhead in this neighborhood to mouth him off.
Thumper crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating the softball-sized pecs beneath his tight t-shirt. He ran his tongue over his teeth and clucked. “Huh,” he said again.
“Thumper, I… Uh, thanks a lot fo’ lettin’ me stay here,” Rico said. His heart raced again. Just like when he was nervous those niggas in the barbershop would realize he was homeless, he was nervous now that all the niggas in the Bloods would hear about him jerking Thumper off.
Thumper nodded.
Rico sighed again. This wouldn’t be that bad, he thought, he’d done it before. A lot of Bloods had jerked Thumper off too — Thumper loved finding reasons to make a loyal Blood do it, like if they fucked something up. So nobody would be shocked to find out Rico did it. In fact, they’d probably assume he did, cuz Thumper seemed like the type to make his roommate jerk him off. He was precisely that kind of nigga, and Rico was too young and powerless in the organization to resist.
When Thumper had stood before him for what seemed like a long time, Rico sunk to his knees, afront the couch he was to sleep on tonight. Thumper seemed huge from down below him. Rico gulped.
At last that position made Thumper grunt out his satisfaction. He stood still, looming over Rico, who winced and wished there was another position to do it in — he could hardly make demands though — it would be less humiliating if Thumper sat on the couch and Rico could lay down on it or something like that. Any position in which Rico didn’t have to kneel like a beggar would be an improvement.
Rico waited for a moment, thinking Thumper would take his own dick out, but he didn’t. He just towered over Rico and watched. Rico winced at the realization that Thumper wanted Rico to take it out. That was prison bitch stuff, he thought.
Reaching up for Thumper’s dick, Rico shuddered. Then, much to his surprise, Thumper batted his hand away.
“You should ask a nigga fo’ permission befo’ you start stroking his dick,” Thumper said. “If that’s what you wanna do.”
Rico spoke quietly, blushing so hard his cheeks burned. “Thumper… do you want, uh…? I mean… is it okay, uh, if I jerk you off?”
“That’s a real nice offer, nigga. That’s a good gesture,” he said, as though it was the first time he had said that word and was unsure how to pronounce it. Before Rico could undo his belt, Thumper clucked his disapproval. “Play wit’ it through my pants first, nigga. Go slow, make it feel good.”
Rico blanched and winced. He gently stroked the bulge in Thumper’s dick, and for some reason just feeling that spongy flesh through his jeans made Rico gag. Thumper’s manhood stirred beneath the denim. He groaned in a way that made Rico shiver with disgust. He groaned like he was on the verge of orgasm, even though all Rico had done was touch his dickshaft through his jeans. Thumper wasn’t even hard.
He took Thumper’s belt in hand to undo it, but Thumper stopped him. He dragged Rico’s hand back to the bulge in his jeans. “No, don’t take my pants off,” Thumper said. “Just undo the fly and take it out. Look me in the eye when you jerk me off. That’s a mark of respec’, nigga.”
His hands trembled. Rico wasn’t sure if he could do that — stroking another man’s cock was humiliating enough, but looking Thumper in the eye while he did it would make it even worse. The zipper seemed impossibly loud, and when it was open, Rico got a burst of stale crotch sweat in his nostrils. He gagged again, and Thumper clucked with disapproval once more.
“You may take it out now, Rico,” Thumper said. Something in the way he said his name made Rico shudder all over again.
Rico had to reach in to pull out Thumper’s dick, which was still soft and veiny, dark brown like dirt, slick with sweat. He wanted to wipe it off, but Rico was sure Thumper would say that was disrespectful. The smell of unwashed ballsweat made Rico’s stomach churn.
That cock was huge. Rico knew Thumper had a big one, lots of niggas said so, but he had never seen it in person. It was a foot long even fully soft, and it was hot and slimy with sweat, so thick Rico could barely get his whole hand around it. It dangled afront Thumper’s crotch, and it swayed like a pendulum when Thumper moved.
Rico opened his mouth and closed his eyes, and he waited.
After a few seconds of nothing happening, Rico opened his eyes again. Thumper’s dick was still there, still limp, and seeing it made the smell of crotchsweat more potent, so Rico bit back a gag. That was when he looked up and saw Thumper’s furrowed brow aimed down at him. Rico gulped.
“Well? Put’cha mouth on it, nigga,” Thumper said. “Get’cha hands on it. Is you showin’ respec’ or not?”
“I am-“
“Then do somethin’ with it,” Thumper said. He put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows.
Rico touched it again, gently with one hand, which he then wrapped around the shaft. He grimaced. This was a lot easier with Kayshawn, he thought. Then they were drunk, having snuck booze into a church lock-in, and they were sharing a bed, the lights stayed off, they barely talked, it was more of an accidental fumbling thing than a real downlow “seduction” of any kind. By the time Rico pondered it, it was over with.
This felt entirely different. Thumper’s cock had that old-man smell too, with seemingly too much dickskin. Rico didn’t like how it roped around in his grasp as he stroked it gingerly, slowly, as badly as possible at first because he didn’t want a reputation for doing it good, then he realized the better his hands were, the less Thumper might demand he use his mouth, so Rico stroked it as good as he could. Thumper kept letting out little moans and pumping his hips as though so horny he couldn’t resist attempting at Rico’s mouth. Thumper’s dick stayed soft though, and he was obviously not that horny, he was just pretending.
“Hmm, you got a real pretty mouth, nigga,” Thumper murmured. “Put it on my dick.”
Rico winced, but he opened his mouth. He held onto Thumper’s cock by the root with one hand, and he moved his open mouth in that direction with his eyes scrunched shut. Thumper used both hands to guide Rico’s head until his mouth and nose collided with Thumper’s sweaty cockshaft.
A furious gag came outta Rico’s mouth as Thumper’s spongy limp dick touched his lips and then his tongue. There was already a slight cummy taste, either precum from Rico’s masturbating it through Thumper’s pants or maybe left over from something else. Maybe it was leftover from when he was “on the downlow” with some other nigga, Rico didn’t know how often a downlow gangbanger like Thumper would do that. Maybe lots. They said he was a booty bandit in prison.
Thumper kept his arms over his chest, so Rico had to chase his cock with his mouth. Every time the tip got in his mouth, he tasted sweaty old-nigga nastiness again, gagged and spat it out. Thumper wasn’t getting an erection like that.
But rico couldn’t quite bring himself to go any deeper than the tip. Even that felt impossibly thick, and Rico wasn’t sure he could go any farther. Thumper’s dick was thicker than his mouth.
“When you handle the dick of a nigga you respec’, Rico, you should deep-throat it,” Thumper said. “You know what that means? You evuh get head from a girl?”
“Yes!” Rico said, annoyed at Thumper’s patronizing tone.
“Don’t you talk to me like that, nigga,” Thumper said, his voice growly and threatening. Rico shuddered. Thumper forced his eyes open — Rico hadn’t even noticed he closed them — and sneered down at Rico. “Real niggas got backup plans, Rico, you know that? They ready to get kicked outta they place. They got cash.”
Rico wanted to defend himself, but when he tried to pull off Thumper’s dick, Thumper’s hands gripped his head and held it in place. Thumper growled again, and he pushed Rico’s head deeper onto his shaft. Rico gagged all over again as that cock pushed into his throat.
“Take my balls out wit’ one hand, and play wit’ em. Gentle-like,” Thumper said. He groaned as Rico did so, gingerly playing with his sweaty sac. The feel of that slick flesh made Rico’s stomach churn. His cock throbbed and grew warmer and warmer as it firmed up in Rico’s mouth. “Yeah, that’s nice, nigga. That’s respec’.”
The sour flavor of precum assaulted Rico’s senses, and brought tears to his eyes. He was glad it was dark enough in this room that Thumper couldn’t see — it wasn’t really crying anyway, he thought, it was tears from suffocation and stress, not being a pansy. He didn’t think Thumper would acknowledge a difference though.
The tasty of sweaty cockmeat grew more and more tolerable, though Rico thought that was mainly because he sucked up all the sweat and grime, replacing it with plain spit. The veiny shaft invaded his throat with each powerful thrust of Thumper’s cock.
The moist grunting of Thumper’s voice was offputting to Rico. He sounded like a rutting animal, and it reminded Rico that his mouth was just being used now. Thumper was going to continue to use his mouth and body — though hopefully not his ass — until Rico moved out. That was possibly the entire reason Thumper offered to let him stay here.
“Whatchoo plan wit’ my nut?” Thumper asked as he groaned.
Rico didn’t understand the question. He just looked up at Thumper, and tried to ignore that massive shaft drilling into his throat. All of a sudden, a burst of salty precum hit his tongue, and Rico gagged violently.
But Thumper kept a grip on his head. Rico tried to look down as he retched, only he couldn’t with Thumper’s hands on his head. All he could do was gag up around the erect cock bobbing around on his face, leaving a layer of precum that only made him gag again and again.
“Huh? I’m gonna blow my load,” Thumper said. “Whatchoo gonna do wit’ it? You want me to shoot it on yo’ face or what? In yo’ hand? You need a plan.”
Rico was glad to hear that he had a choice. He pulled off Thumper’s dick, intending to say in my hand, which was the least objectionable option. But then he saw Thumper’s scrunched-up face, and Rico knew this was a test. He wasn’t sure exactly what the answer was, but in my hand wasn’t it.
“Think long and hard, Rico. You got a lotta factors to consider. Yo’ respec’ fo’ me, if you got any,” Thumper said. He sniffled.
“I’ll… uh, swallow it,” Rico said, wincing as Thumper mollwopped his erection onto Rico’s face, smearing spit and precum all over it. He held his breath to avoid gagging.
“Yeah,” Thumper said. “You will. But befo’ that, I wanna see it. I like seeing it. Play’ wit’ it a bit.”
“Oh.”
“So whatchoo think?”
“I, uh… I guess I’ll do that.”
“So where you want me to nut? In yo’ mouth?”
It was obvious he wanted Rico to say yes, so he did so. Then Thumper pushed his cock back in Rico’s mouth. He grunted as he wrapped his hands behind Rico’s head.
He thrust his hips so powerfully his cockshaft pushed down Rico’s throat until his nose was nestled in Thumper’s pubic hair. Rico couldn’t even gag because his throat was so choked with throbbing dickmeat. All he could do was sit there on his knees and let it happen.
“That’s a good idea, Rico. I’ll shoot my load in yo’ mouth, just like you askin’ me to. That’s very respec’ful, nigga. Don’t swallow nothin’ till I tell you to, okay? We gonna play a bit first.”
Rico nodded, but even as he did, Thumper was blowing his wad. He shot it right in the back of Rico’s throat. Some of it dripped into his gullet, but Rico instinctively avoided swallowing it. He would have accidentally spilled it all but Thumper kept a tight grip on his head. Thumper grunted, rutting like a pig as his fat cock spasmed inside Rico.
At last it was over, and a burst of jizz spurted onto Rico’s tongue. Salty cum filled his mouth. It seemed like a huge amount, but Rico wasn’t sure how much was normal or how much it really was. His stomach churned with disgust, begging him to spit it out. The sour and salty flavor made his eyes water all over again, and he had to hold back a violent retch.
“Open up,” Thumper said, his voice wavering as another jet of cum hit Rico’s mouth. He kneeled down and looked in. “Come on,” he said. “It’s dark in here. I wanna see yo’ pretty-boy mouth.”
Gagging and holding onto his stomach, Rico managed to spread his lips without spilling any of the cum filling his mouth, as Thumper’s dicktip hovered over his face and spewed a few final drops onto his nose and upper lip. Thumper looked into his mouth as though trying to find something. He smiled with satisfaction, then spat right into it. The bitterness of his saliva made Rico choke. He nearly spilled but Thumper held him by the neck.
“That’s a big one,” Thumper said. He stuck one finger in, all the way back until Rico gagged. Then Thumper held the palm of his hand out until Rico spat the entire wad into it. Rico was glad to be rid of it, though he could still feel that snotty texture on his tongue. There was a pubic hair stuck in the back of his throat too, but he couldn’t spit it out right now.
Thumper raised his eyebrows as Rico got ahold of his stomach and his gagging. He kept that cum-filled palm right in front of Rico’s face, where the scent assaulted his nostrils, making it hard for Rico to regain his composure. Thumper cleared his throat. “I’ll ignore your gagging, Rico. That’s rude, but I understand…” It was obvious he wanted Rico to suck the cum back up, and he raised his eyebrows as though to say You better do it now, it’ll get worse when it’s cold. Rico opened his mouth, but Thumper cleared his throat and shook his head.
Rico blushed. “Uh… Thumper, can I eat your nut?”
“Yes, you may. Thank you for askin’, nigga.”
Rico gagged and nearly vomited as he sucked it off Thumper’s callused palm. He choked it down and waited there, blushing intensely as Thumper looked him in the eye. Then Thumper’s fingers forced his mouth open, and he checked that Rico had swallowed the whole thing. Rico felt that hot lump in his belly, the creamy texture and the sheer warmth of it suffusing into his flesh.
“Good,” he said. “Now go to sleep. Set yo’ alarm for seven o’clock, nigga. By seven-thirty, I want you wakin’ me up wit’ yo’ prettyboy mouth on my dick again. Have breakfast ready when you swallow my first nut of the day. You understand?”
“Yes, Thumper,” Rico said. He gulped. Remnants of jizz shone all over his mug. “I’ll do it.”
“I know. I ain’t ax fo’ yo’ agreement, Rico. I axt fo’ yo’ comprehension. Yo’ agreement is assumed,” Thumper said. He slapped his limp dick over Rico’s face again. “Don’t wipe that nut off yo’ face. I wanna see it dried on there in the morning.”

The White Trash

Avery’s surprise encounter with the white trash hunk Calloway leads to a bout of intense rough trade, as he gets to swing on the trashiest redneck this side o’ the holler!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Calloway Hitch stumbled home, exhausted. His boss dropped him off at just past four o’clock in the morning at the entrance to Smashwood Trailer Park. He probably would have driven into the trailer park, right to Calloway’s front door if Calloway had asked him to.
But he hadn’t asked. He didn’t want him to do that, it was too awkward.
He thought there was a chance his girlfriend had kicked him out. He didn’t want to get dropped off at a trailer with a sign on the door saying Calloway fuck off! It would be awkward. Calloway was used to it. He could just sleep on the grass, and his boss would never have to know what a deadbeat he was.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t already dirty.
He worked on a road crew rebuilding the parking lot at the local hospital. His job involved standing around, sometimes for hours, then working furiously to dig trenches. It wasn’t specialized labor but it was boring and it was physically arduous and it left him covered head to toe in dirt.
Clumps of dirt clung to every scrap of skin that was visible, and some had even gotten under his pants somehow — he was shirtless because it was a hot Mississippi night, so his chest was absolutely covered in dirt. It had been mud originally, but it dried into just plain dirt.
The farther he got from his boss’s truck, the more tired he became. The adrenaline flowed out of his veins, and every step he took was wearying. He was increasingly sure his girlfriend would have found a reason to be pissed at him.
Sure enough, when he got close to the trailer, he saw a piece of paper on the door to his trailer. He groaned. He felt so tired he didn’t even want to keep going to read it. He could just curl up here on the grass and sleep.
But he wanted to read it. What if the note said Daenerys has a fever, we’re at the hospital? He’d look like an absolute piece of shit if he never showed up to see his own daughter at the hospital just because he was too lazy to get close enough to read the note.
So he staggered there on tired legs. Sure enough it read fuck off Calloway yr child spprt check bounced again will call cops if u come in go away go away go away. He let out a growl aimed at no one in particular. He didn’t understand why that check had bounced, he had thought there was enough money in there to cover it.
“Goddamn fuck!” He shouted at the sky. He knew he ought to be quiet, but he was upset and he needed to express it. Somewhere a dog barked.
A light turned on in the trailer. Calloway groaned and spat on the ground. He didn’t want to get in trouble and he couldn’t handle getting arrested again, but if that bitch baby-mama of his was going to come out here, he was going to defend himself.
“There you are, Calloway, you piece of shit! Daenerys needs school clothes-“
“So do I, bitch!” Calloway shouted, pointing at his shirtless body and tattered old jeans.
His girlfriend wore one of his oversized tee shirts over a pair of shorts. She came out with a baseball bat in her hand. She was red-faced and puffy because she had been asleep — and probably was binge-drinking — until moments ago. “You told me you’d pay up this month-“
“I tried, but you kept borrowin’ money for beer-“
“Don’t try to pawn this off on me, you deadbeat piece-of-shit-“
“If I’m a dead beat, you’re an entire dead rap-“
Not that far away, Avery woke up with a start. He had found an empty trailer in the Smashwood Trailer Park and moved in yesterday. He went outside just in time to see Calloway curse at some of the neighbors who had poked their heads out of their trailers. Nobody called the cops in places like this, not unless it was absolutely necessary, they just shouted at Calloway and “that bitch” to shut up.
“Why don’t you go suck that cop’s dick again?!” Calloway shouted at her as she backed into the trailer. “Maybe his cum is beer! You dumbass bitch!” He faced the neighbors in the rest of the trailer park. “She loves sucking off cops! She especially likes that fat motherfucker Heartley!”
Some people snickered. It wasn’t clear if they were laughing at Calloway for calling Officer Heartley fat or if they were laughing at Calloway’s girlfriend for sucking off a cop. Calloway smiled victoriously — he had obviously interpreted it as the latter, but the look on his girlfriend’s face as she went inside suggested she thought it was the former.
Calloway tried to look like he was confident and proud as he chose a spot on the grass. It was on her property, in front of her trailer, but it was close to the road. The grass was cool and dewy. It actually felt very good — it was moist, the cold wetness sliding over his bare chest and forming clean rivulets that ran down his chest.
Once some of the filth had been wiped off, a few tattoos were visible, pale looping lines, soldiers carrying American flags and an iron cross on his neck. Clumps of mud fell off his taut, leanly muscled chest. Avery watched him settle out and lay down. Calloway didn’t last very long though before he got back up and looked around to see who was up.
Calloway didn’t go to bed without drinking. He wasn’t an alcoholic, mind you, he just didn’t go to bed without drinking. He often had only a few drinks, it was just a way to relax and get sleepy.
But of course he didn’t have any, and his girlfriend wasn’t about to let him in to nab a beer (she had probably drank it all anyway). No one else was even awake.Was he going to have to sleep totally sober?
“Psst! Hey,” Avery said, approaching him in the darkness.
Calloway nodded at him as though he often chose to sit, covered in dirt and dew, in the grass at four o’clock in the morning. He didn’t recognize Avery. “Sup, man.”
“Hi. I’m Avery.”
“Sup.”
“I just moved in across the way,” Avery said. He pointed to his new trailer.
“Cool.” Calloway paused, then said, “Hey, you got any liquor? I need a drink. No biggie, I just need a little-“
“I do in my trailer, yeah,” Avery said. He came closer and sat down in the grass next to him. “I’ll give it to you. I’ve got five bottles — I filled out my bar when I moved in. I got a bottle each of vodka, brandy, rum, gin and tequila.”
“Ah, no shit? What? What’d you say your name was?” He looked at Avery as though he really mattered now.
“Avery.”
“Cool. Hey Avery, I’m Calloway. Lemme get a drink of that rum,” he said. As he said it, he thought there had to be a catch. This trailer park was home to tons of poor white trash like him — not quite as poor or as trashy as him, but still, no one who lived here believed there was such a thing as “extra rum”, and they never had bottles around the trailer without a plan to drink them in the near future.
“Sure, sure, but first… Will you cornhole me?”
Calloway paused for a long time, his face emotionless. Then he furrowed his eyebrows. The dirt that clung to his skin cracked because he didn’t often move in that direction, and little bits of it dropped over his face and his bare chest. “What?”
“Cornhole me,” Avery said. “I wanna taste your dick and feel you in my ass — you gotta cum inside me. You don’t pull out, do you?”
“Uh… What?”
Avery smiled. He reached for Calloway’s crotch, and Calloway sucked in his breath and scooted back. Calloway licked his lips. Avery moved very slowly so Calloway could get away if he wanted to. But Calloway just watched as Avery’s hand grabbed his cock through those mud-choked jeans.
“Is that cool? I’ll give you the best dome of your life, man.”
“Right here? I mean…”
“Yeah, it’s gotta be here,” Avery said. “It’s not that public.” They were not illuminated by the street lights strung up to the trees along the dirt road through the trailer park, and it was four o’clock in the morning, so no one was around. It was barely “in public” at all.
Calloway had a hollow hick laugh, and his heavily tattooed body shook. He was very muscular — not like a bodybuilder, like a worker, with heavily overdeveloped shoulders because he spent a lot of time digging trenches. He also spent most of his money on bills, debt, court fees and child support, with a hefty amount going to booze, weed and some occasional pills. He spent virtually no money on food.
So there was no padding anywhere on his body. Avery gently stroked his dick through his pants as Calloway hemmed and hawed, and Avery’s other hand began to touch his ribs. He had a perfectly flat belly, with not an ounce of fat anywhere to be seen.
That didn’t mean he had a six-pack though. He didn’t go to the gym or work out in an organized enough fashion for an actual six-pack, his abs weren’t that well-developed. His limbs were skinny despite the corded-muscles attached to them.
Avery suspected he smoked meth, which wasn’t true — but only because he had cleaned up when he was last in prison. Calloway had smoked meth for years before getting locked up. Now he didn’t see any of that other stuff as being real drug use: the weed, the pills, none of that mattered as long as he stayed off the meth.
“Fine,” Calloway said. He smiled nervously, revealing his jagged teeth with a gaping hole on the front-bottom. He was missing a few teeth in the back too. He leaned over on his back on the grass, raising his arms over his head so he didn’t have to watch it happen.
“Have you ever been jerked off by a man before?” Avery asked. He unzipped Calloway’s jeans and pulled his dick out. It was long and not that thick, just like Calloway’s body, but it looked tasty. He flopped it over his face, and chased it with his tongue. When he did finally get a taste of it, Calloway shuddered and shook like he hadn’t thought that would really happen.
“Uh…” Calloway blushed. His voice was weak and wavery. “In prison, once. That was… not, uh… like this.” That had been totally different. His father had told him once that it ain’t none of that shit if there ain’t no females around, like in the Army. Calloway had taken that to heart. That had been the one thing he had been excited about in prison — getting jerked off by prison bitches all the time.
But it hadn’t really turned out like he had thought. Sissies in prison weren’t treated as bitches, they were treated like queens. They got to do anything they wanted. The one sissy Calloway had wanted to get dome from — because he was very girlish and had excellent, thick lips — refused on account of Calloway being a filthy hick who smelled like ball-sweat.
Not only was Calloway not allowed to force anyone into giving him dome, he couldn’t even pay or beg for one — he had only ever gotten that one nut off because he spent all weekend showering, even buying cologne in the Commissary, and then he had had to take “his man” out “on a date” in his prison cell. It had taken weeks to set up. It was more difficult to get jerked off on in the inside than it was on the outside.
This, however, had happened so quickly and so suddenly Calloway was still pondering it when it had happened. His pants were virtually ripped down and his cock plopped right into Avery’s mouth.
At last, he felt a twinge of pleasure. This dome was a little weird and awkward and he prayed that no one was awake to look out their window — even in the darkness, they could probably see what was happening — it was a full moon tonight, after all.
His dick soon firmed up in Avery’s mouth, long and throbbing against his tongue. Avery deep-throated him until his nose was buried in Calloway’s bushy pubic hair.
The taste was raunchy and sour, and it made Avery gag most deliciously. Calloway’s dick had the flavor of dirt and mud from the day’s work, and even more intensely, an underscent of old, stale dirt, the scent of dried mud and of dusty rooms, all clinging to his dick. There were even clumps of what Avery could only assume was actual dirt, or maybe some sort of grease or oil, since it had a rather chemical, astringent flavor to it.
It was actually engine oil, from when Calloway had given his boss an oil change for a few extra dollars. That had been three days ago, and Calloway hadn’t showered since then. So that extra-ripe funk emanating from his ballsac was all the stale sweat that had collected in the humid area between his legs.
It felt good to have his pants down and his cock out. Calloway didn’t get to wash that often, so his crotch didn’t get bared that often either. He sighed and tried to concentrate on how good this dome felt — he had to admit it was the best dome he’d had in awhile.
“Goddamn,” he said as he lit a cigarette. He hadn’t intended to smoke any more before he went to sleep tonight — he was trying to conserve his cigarettes — but this seemed like a fortuitous enough even to justify it. Besides, he always smoked when he got dome. He was saving enough in getting this free rum that it didn’t seem that important — he could use the money he saved by not needing to buy alcohol for a few days to buy more cigarettes instead. He could even buy a carton, he thought, which would save him even more money.
His cock leaked precum that coated Avery’s throat and tongue. Avery guzzled it down greedily, slathering spit all up and down that greasy dick. He didn’t use his hands, preferring to sneak up and over his raunchy body. His muscles rippled beneath Avery’s touch.
Then Avery pulled off and slurped on his balls, which were so sour with funk that he gagged violently. The taste brought tears to his eyes. There was so much sweat there it tasted like he had splashed his tongue into a puddle of muddy taint-juice.
“Ha!” Calloway pumped his bicep as though he had been hoping to make Avery gag like that. He blushed a little too, though that wasn’t visible beneath the layer of mud that still dappled his cheeks. His taint-hairs tickled Avery’s tongue as he licked the spot beneath Calloway’s ballsac. “You are a fuckin’ nasty freak… — Avery, I mean,” he said when he remembered Avery’s name. He flopped his dick over Avery’s face.
This, Calloway thought, was what he had been expecting out of prison bitches. He thought there’d be lots of gagging and he’d get to mollywop his prison bitch on the cheek. He did that now as Avery slurped on his balls and retched. He slapped his cock over Avery’s face, again and again. He chuckled to himself. Now that he had done it this way, all nasty and humiliating and raunchy, he was glad he had done it romantically and sweetly in prison — this was a funnier idea than an actuality.
“Are you ready to get in my ass?” Avery asked. He blushed because of the disgusted look on Calloway’s face.
Calloway shrugged and sighed. “I guess so.” He had refused to do anal in prison. It just seemed too gross, he thought. Those prison-sissies probably had old cumwads drying in their ass. Every time he watched his cellmate do it — Calloway tried to look away when it happened, but like a car accident, he couldn’t always look away — he thought he saw little dried flecks of cum on the man’s cock. It wasn’t easy to see if that’s really what it was, not without getting on his knees and peering closely — which he wasn’t going to do — it could have been bits of fuzz from the prison-issued underwear, for example.
But it seemed like it could have been dried up, old cum, and he wasn’t going to let himself touch that. No way. That was nasty.
Avery, he could be somewhat confident, wouldn’t have cumwad still soaking into his ass. Avery bent over the grass, with his ass high in the air, swaying back and forth. Avery used one hand to spread his asscheeks, revealing a tight brown hole that beckoned.
Calloway whistled. “Damn, that looks tight. I know it ain’t, it can’t be — you must be nasty-loose on account of you wanderin’ ‘round trailer parks gettin’ it up the ass…”
Avery giggled and shook his ass. “Yeah. You got a good point. I’m good at keeping it tight though. Go ahead and just ram it in.”
Calloway grimaced. He normally would hold his dick in his hand and guide it in, but he didn’t want to do that because it would mean he had to touch Avery’s ass with his hands. He instead closed his eyes and tried to jab it in with no hands — but of course he just missed. He rammed it into Avery’s asscheek, leaving a moist spot of precum.
“You missed, dude,” Avery said with a giggle.
A blush bloomed on Calloway’s face again. He was glad no one could see. He looked like he was fumbling through his first time. He grimaced and tried again, this time getting it close into Avery’s cheeks.
He found the hole but had trouble getting his dick in without touching Avery’s ass. More than once, his hands instinctively grabbed those cheeks and his shaft, and tried to help his dick in, but then he pulled back when he realized he was touching Avery too much.
He took a deep breath. Touching a man’s ass wasn’t that bad, he thought, it looked better than fumbling like a squeamish virgin. He bit his lip and separated those cheeks with one hand, while his other slid his dick in.
“Damn…” Much to his surprise, it fit in very easily. Avery’s ass slid apart to almost suck his cock in. He had only intended to stick the tip in at first, to go slowly and see how much pain Avery was going to be in.
But instead Calloway watched with wide open eyes as his cock was slurped up by Avery’s ass. It clenched tightly around his shaft, and Calloway began to piston his hips.
He had been so focused on his surprise and his discomfort that Calloway gasped when a shudder of pleasure flowed through him. He bit his lip. He gripped Avery’s ass even more tightly with his fingers, so he could easily ram his dick in and out.
“Shit, boy, goddamn,” Calloway said, with a groan as pleasure flowed through his veins.
He had to admit this was better than fucking most women. It had its drawbacks, sure — no tits to grab on to, no pussy to play with, and he couldn’t kiss Avery — or wouldn’t, anyway — but Avery fit in that sweet spot between ‘tight and intact’ and ‘nasty and loose’. He was loose yet tight because he clenched hard on Calloway’s dick, as though trying to prevent him from ever pulling out. No girl did that.
Avery winced and writhed beneath Calloway, clawing at the dewy grass beneath him. He had thought they only just started plowing, but when he saw the first brilliant fingers of dawn sliding over the horizon, Avery realized he had lost track of time. It must be getting late, he thought.
It was well past five o’clock. Avery had been worshiping every inch of Calloway’s body for more than an hour, and now his prostate sang with every thrust of Calloway’s cock into him. Calloway’s lean and ropy body wrapped around Avery as he neared his orgasm, pounding away, his inhibitions finally gone at last. He didn’t even stop himself when he fondled Avery’s nipples out of pure instinct — Calloway had forgotten he wouldn’t find any tits there, and he was glad no one was around to see him do that.
An orgasm ripped through Avery’s body first. Calloway, again, was surprised — he didn’t know it was possible to orgasm while getting rammed in the ass. Girls never did that when getting fucked.
Avery shot cum all over the grass and his own hands, while Calloway felt his body ripple and massage his dick; he could sense the orgasm flowing through Avery’s body, and it was enough to bring him to the edge of his own climax.
“Damn, nasty-ass pig, you are gross!” Calloway barked right into Avery’s ear. Then he pushed Avery’s still-orgasming face into the mud. Avery got a mouthful of dirt as the raunchiest cock he’d ever taken shot its creamy wad into his guts. “Gonna fill you up wit’ my babies, bitch…”
Creamy hot cum sprayed into Avery, who moaned, his own climax still emanating through his body. The sticky, milky texture of cum was palpable inside him, and still more shot in, jet after jet of the most incredible load Avery had ever taken. It coated his insides and spilled out in a big cummy mess that coated Calloway’s crotch.
Exquisite waves of pleasure wracked both men. Avery howled out loud, uncaring of whether or not he attracted attention from the neighbors. Calloway did the same for a moment, then clenched his teeth shut and looked around to be sure no one was watching. He was unable to resist letting out a long, low and lingering moan though, as his hands gripped Avery’s smooth flesh.
Shudders flowed up Avery’s body, and his fingers tightened into claws that dug up clods of dirt underneath. Avery threw his head back, unable to howl anymore because the pressure and the pleasure were too intense. He could only gasp and cry out and beg for more from Calloway, who was still grunting with each thrust of his hips, sending spurt after spurt of creamy hot jizz up Avery’s body. Calloway’s sweat-soaked body gained a whole new layer of salty sweat that clung to his muscular frame.
Clumps of cum slipped out and onto the grass. “Ewgh, oh shit, I can see it, damn…” Calloway pulled out slowly, watching his creamy white semen plop out with his dick, until Avery’s entire ass was covered in glistening cum. Calloway’s dick rested on the surface, marinating in the santorum that dried there.
“How was that?” Avery said. His body was weak and tender, but he managed to stand on wobbling knees. He grabbed Calloway’s dick with one hand and gave it a stroke. A post-orgasmic shudder of exquisite pleasure shot through Calloway, who’s long limbs all tensed.
“Cool…” Calloway’s voice was breathy and tired, even more exhausted now than when he had gotten home from work.
“Come on,” Avery said. He held onto Calloway’s dick as he led him inside. “Lemme get you that rum.”
“Hell yeah,” Calloway said. “I gotta get drunk quick before the sun goes up, or I won’t be able to sleep.”
Avery nodded. He didn’t care. Once Calloway passed out drunk it would be morning, and he had heard a rumor there was a garbage man who sometimes wagged his massive knob at women who were up that early. Avery fully intended to be there.