experiencing fear – Mansploitation

The Dairyman

Bart Dazzle is at it again, this time touring Vermont for big-bodied alphas! His target today is a buttery dairy farmer with a physique so massive you could, and he might, worship it for days! Angus Butterman has got manhood, manmeat and dairy cows in equal abundance, and he has a need that only Bart Dazzle can satisfy!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Them city-folk stay useless, Angus Butterman thought to himself. He got no surprise in him to see the strange out-of-towner approach the farm only when it was too late to matter. All the smarts in the world won’t help if you’re too late to do anything.
Angus was a towering bull of a man, at well over six feet tall and as hefty as a heifer and a half. He was burly and bristly like a barrel full of push-brooms, and his big round face was windswept and dour, like a cow that outgrew its pasture. He wore only his overalls now — he took off his shirt because the sleeves were soaked with cow blood, but he had worn an apron that protected the overalls, so they were dirty only with dust and mud and dried-on whatever, not fresh cow blood. His big muscle-bulging arms flapped as he washed his hands. That was the last of the blood.
He stood by the well near the green barn as the out-of-towner approached, looking frightened of the farm, Angus thought. Scared of work, of getting his hands dirty. He probably had never seen an animal get slaughtered for food, had no idea how much work went into putting a meal on this spindly girlish man’s plate.
All that was more or less true. The out-of-towner was named Bart, and he was indeed from well out of town. Bart was here in Vermont because the governor, Hartfield Merriment, was a delicious ball of flab and machismo that Bart had wanted to worship.
Governor Merriment had turned out to be just as much fun as Bart had hoped. He was jolly and jiggly and roly-poly and he tasted like apple cider vinegar. Bart loved it. But he had gained access to the Governor’s Mansion by purporting to have great knowledge in agricultural policy. He bullshitted his way in, only to find that little lie snowballed, and Bart had to spend weeks reading up on the matter or he was gonna look like an ass and would not get to taste Governor Merriment’s man-meat. He ended up proposing a policy that had to do with calf births. It was so obscure and stupid he figured they’d just ignore it, and indeed, they did. It was a real policy, it’s how they do it in England. It was plausible anyway. Not that Bart actually wanted it implemented, it was just a way in.
That led to Bart sticking around in Montpelier to taste the roly-poly meat of the fire chief, the police chief and this short-order cook with a body like a melted brickwork, and all the while he was trading himself off as an expert in calfbirthing.
In fact, everyone in the Vermont state government in Montpelier called Bart “The Professor” because he had said he studied at Oxford in England. That was why the Mayor came to get Bart when he heard the beloved cow Daisy Sue, in a small farming town nearby, was having a bloody and dangerous labor — she gave birth first to a deformed and dead calf, then continued with a live one.
From Bart’s perspective, that was a disaster. He did not know anything about calfbirthing, and he was going to look like an idiot if he pretended.
He was dreading it the whole way, but he felt an obligation to at least try, and he hoped he looked confident as he came into the Butterman Dairy. Angus Butterman met him by the green barn, where they had planned to meet up. The birthing cow was in there.
He hoped he didn’t mess this up too badly. The worst he could do was not help, right? Just look confident and don’t do anything important. Ask for hot water. Say reassuring nothings. Clean and sanitize. Ideally without touching anything, because Bart saw a human birth once and it was disgusting. So many body fluids of every color going in every direction, and cows were way bigger than a woman. Dear god, that was going to be awful. Shoulda worn a hazmat suit.
It was probably all over and done with anyway. How long could a calfbirth take?
Cows know how to give birth in the wild. Surely they can just figure it out. It can’t be that hard for a cow to give birth to a calf. That’s like all a cow does in its life.
But as Bart approached the farm, he saw Angus Butterman standing there like an imposing statue, and Bart’s heart skipped a beat. Angus was handsome. He stood heavy and plodding, his belly substantial but not fat — he was strong enough to heft a year-old calf like it was a sac of potatoes, and he could lift a sac of potatoes like it was just a single spud. His whole body was thick all over, and Bart could already taste his hairy flesh on his tongue.
“Hmmmm…”
“Hayuh, stranger,” said Angus Butterman. He shook Bart’s hand. It was a weak, lily-livered handshake. Angus rolled his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Bart, I was sent here by the Mayor, I heard… — I heard you were having problems with a calf-“
“No. I fixed it. It’s fine. Daisy Sue is fine.” His voice was flat and rumbly like a dormant volcano. He had his thumbs hooked into the straps of his overalls, which pulled the fabric forward and made his pale, powerful chest partially visible. He was just as hairy as Bart had hoped.
“Oh. Well, thank god, cuz I don’t really know jack about calves!” Bart said. Then he blushed — Angus frowned like he didn’t appreciate Bart’s blasphemy. Bart cleared his throat. “I know more about humans, I’m not actually a veterinarian.”
“Hmm.” Angus paused. “Perhaps you could make yourself helpful and bathe me.” He snortled. He thought that would show this uppity doctor from the city — he assumed Bart would never agree to bathe someone, especially not a rural farmer with a broad body and chunky ass. It would be too humiliating.
But Bart’s eyes opened wide. “Sure! Okay. I mean… yeah. Yes. Sure. I’ll help you bathe,” he said. He smiled bashfully. “I mean… that might be a good idea. I could check you for, uh… wounds, and…” He paused for a long time, nearly drooling at the prospect of manhandling this mountain of a man. “Uh… other… issues. Anatomical… irregularities.”
Angus frowned. Bart spoke in a way he found most unfamiliar, his accent being neither New England nor New York nor Canadian — the only accents Angus was familiar with. It was vaguely British but not convincingly so. He didn’t think he was from the South either. Angus’s accent, on the other hand, delighted Bart. His baritone voice had a trace of holler and a hefty dose of yip, but it was long and low like an elegant moo. It sent a frisson of desire up Angus’s spine.
Angus cleared his throat. “Come,” he said.
He was surprised that Bart would agree to bathe, but Angus wasn’t going to turn him down. He was a big enough man that he found it difficult to bathe himself. That was more laziness than anything else, but he usually had his wife at least scrub his back.
“You have a beautiful farm,” Bart said as Angus led him into a barn. Bart’s smile faltered when he saw the “bathing” facility — there was no showerhead at all, just a hunk of steel that was an old-fashioned tank heater, attached to a hose that led to a copper tub. It looked like a torture device from a steampunk movie, Bart thought. Where on earth would Angus get such a thing?
The copper tub filled with hot water as Angus, ignoring Bart completely, drained the tank. The water steamed and sizzled, but it rapidly cooled when out of the heater. Then Angus stood and removed his overalls. The water was very hot — nearly boiling, Bart suspected, when it first came out of the tank.
Those overalls slipped to the ground, and Angus’s wide ass flapped free. It was broad and fleshy and firm and jiggly when he stepped into the tub. Bart couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was glad to see Angus had a giant dick too. It hung between his legs as thick as a calf’s thigh. It was uncircumcized and veiny, and it made Bart lick his lips in anticipation.
Angus tottered when he lifted his leg to get in the tub. He grunted and heaved, asscheeks squeezing, cock flopping and Bart blushed with hot desire.
“Hmmm… So, Mr. Butterman, is there something I can do for you? Needs you could use satisfaction on?”
“Get the soap and the brush.” He pointed to a table by the wall.
“Sure, sure, but that’s not what I meant.” Bart got the soap and the long-handled brush. The soap was foul-smelling and astringent, and the brush was wiry like a toilet brush. Bart wasn’t sure what the normal procedure was, but he just got his hands wet and worked up a bunch of suds with the soap. “I mean other than this.” He clasped his hands on Angus’s legs and began massaging vigorously.
“You… are not using the brush?”
“If I encounter a part of you that is too dirty to clean with my hands, I will use the brush,” Bart said. “But I don’t mind doing the work by hand. I do like to get my hands dirty, you know. Not all out of towners are ineffectual weaklings.”
“Hmmph.” Angus narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not argue the point. he sighed as he leaned back in the water, and he allowed Bart’s slim hands to knead the tight, sore flesh of his back. Angus’s back muscles rippled beneath his touch. Angus let out a long low moan.
Not even Angus’s wife rubbed his back so vigorously. Angus licked his teeth to avoid accidentally smiling. Even with Bart not facing him, Angus didn’t want to smile. It simply wasn’t proper. He nodded and harrumphed, spreading his legs so Bart could more easily get all around his thighs. Bart’s delicate hands brushed up against his balls and his shaft, while Bart’s head was right behind one fleshy asscheek.
The stranger’s hands were soft and warm. They’d be good milking hands. A cow could tolerate those easy. Angus had big rough hands from a lifetime of work. He could milk a cow when he had to, but that was largely automated these days. In fact, his milking machine was on its last legs. Angus spent his time supervising the farm and the production of milk, cream, sour cream, cottage cheese and Honduran-style crema. The Butterman Dairy filled orders for companies throughout New England and in Ontario and Quebec.
Angus snorted. Bart’s massaging hands went from Angus’s thighs to his chest — he avoided the private areas for the moment. His hands caressed that barrel-shaped body, and he even planted his lips on the side. He slurped up the bathwater that clung to his now-clean skin. Angus furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand.
“So, you didn’t answer me,” Bart said. “What can I do for you? Not something medical.”
“What?”
“There must be something you want.”
Angus chuckled, his big chest shifting up and down when he did. His deep voice echoed in the high-raftered barn. “There’s a new milkin’ machine on the market. Costs a pretty penny though-“
“I’ll buy it for you.”
Angus looked down at him. “Pardon?”
“I’ll buy it for you if you do something for me,” Bart said. He blushed at Angus’s intense, sour-faced stare. His giant body loomed overhead like an idol. Bart looked down, then hugged his torso. “Will you… lay with me? Treat me like a woman. Stick your dick in me.”
Nearly toppling over, Angus jumped with a start. He was not accepting that. Jacking off was taboo in Angus’s household. He was a god-fearing man.
But in his view, obscenity was worse than some minor, harmless masturbatory indiscretions. As long as he didn’t touch another man in such a manner, Angus didn’t see it as a grave sin. He could allow the mincing stranger to service him. It was not motivated by lust, after all, nor even greed.
But Angus just nodded — he thought he would lose his farm if he didn’t get that milking-machine sooner or later — the other dairies in the area already had it, and they were able to produce twice as much milk from the same number of cows, and with fewer workers. He still stood there, ignoring Bart as though he didn’t understand what Bart had offered.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“You had better actually buy me the machine,” Angus said flatly. His hand formed a fist. “I will have you lynched, mister.”
Bart shivered in fear. Angus had said that so nonchalantly that Bart assumed it could only be a real threat. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow through,” Bart said.
The idea of jacking off with a man wasn’t entirely alien to Angus Butterman. He’d done it before. There was a worker on his dairy farm who had the silhouette of a woman in the right light, and he enjoyed servicing the meats of men with stubborn stiffies. Angus had gone to see him on many a night when his wife wanted nothing to do with him. She said Angus was too big, like trying to lay beneath a buffalo, and so their marital bed was only visited a few times a year. Angus found alternative means to satisfy his urges, in an entirely Christian way.
Bart kissed his cocktip, which made it tremble and shake. Angus smelled strongly of sweat in his crotch because Bart hadn’t scrubbed him yet, just rinsed and massaged him, and he didn’t intend to. He loved a stinky man. Angus could scrub later.
He stroked his dick while slurping on just the tip. He had a feeling it would get magnificently big and he was right — it grew from merely impressive to a full twelve-inch long monster that made Bart shiver again with both terror and anticipation. That was going to hurt in all the best ways, he thought.
“Put your mouth on it, deeper,” Angus said, reaching down to shove Bart into the position he wanted. He seemed to think Bart didn’t know how to do it. Bart didn’t correct him because he enjoyed a pushy alpha — Angus thought he was the worldly expert!
He wrapped Bart’s lips around his cock and began to pivot his hips, forcing more and more of his giant dick into Bart’s throat. The taste was salty and warm and a little bitter from the soap that had dripped into his crotch. Bart had to lean over the lip of the tub to get deep in there, which he did with his hands clasped on Angus’s trunk-like thighs.
“Ah, my…” Angus bit his lip to avoid taking the Lord’s name in vain. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. His dick was so wet it dripped — and not with bathing water either. Bart drooled over it, desiring to have every inch of it throbbing in his throat.
Angus was as hard as pig-iron now, his dick pulsating in Bart’s mouth. His massive dairyman body rippled with each wave of pleasure to wrack his frame. His biceps and thunderous thighs all flexed and relaxed in sync with the cavernous moans that came from his chest. He gripped Bart’s head and held on tight, so he could deeply hump his manhood in Bart’s mouth. His entire foot-long manhood stabbed into Bart’s throat and stayed there before he began to rock back and forth.
“Ah, yes, yes…” Angus’s baritone voice gurgled moistly. His sweaty balls slapped against Bart’s chin.
It was one of the best cockshafts Bart had ever tasted. He thought maybe rural people had better dicks. There was something tastier about their manhoods, more pleasing in the way they plowed into his throat. They acted more on instinct maybe, less self-conscious, more primal and bestial. Whatever it was, Bart adored it, and he savored the sour flavor of Angus’s manhood.
Despite his lungs crying out for oxygen, Bart opened his throat wide and let Angus take charge of it. Plowing back and forth, Angus used and abused his throat, as more moans escaped his chest, and precum coated Bart’s tongue.
Then Angus let go just long enough to step out of the tub, while Bart took a hoarse gasping breath. Angus rammed his dick back in before Bart could even get his breath back. Bart kneeled before his awe-striking body.
“C’mon, boy, take the whole thing, good, good… You’re no doctor… Are you a con artist? That Governor Merriment is a fool…” Angus said as though that was a well-known fact.
When Angus finally let him take another breath, Bart rolled away and gasped. He grinned as he wiped spit and salty precum off his lips. “You wanna cornhole me? In the ass?”
By the standards of a rural farm community like this little town outside of Montpelier, that was a very obscene way to put it. Angus flared his nostrils. Bart had no idea how offensive Angus found his words, but Angus had that New England taciturnity, and he did not say anything about it. He just grumbled inwardly about rude city-folk. He really needed that milking machine.
If that’s how people in New York talk, I’ll be glad to never see another one, Angus thought. Nobody had told him Bart was from New York, it was just where Angus assumed all out of towners were from. Maybe Canadian actually, Angus thought now, that might explain the accent.
In any case, Angus wasn’t going to turn down a chance to blow a nut, plus get a milking machine out of it. In fact, he was glad to spoil such a foul-mouthed man’s bottom, he thought. He would never have done it to someone he thought of as clean and good-hearted.
“Bend ovaah,” he said with an angry snort.
When Bart didn’t move quick enough, Angus bent him over the copper tub. He bade Bart to stick his ass high. It was an awkward position for Bart, who had to keep his face above the water, which now steamed lightly as Angus’s bodily dirt and grease floated on the surface.
“Hmmm… Spread ‘em, stranguh,” Angus said with a thick-voiced chuckle. He had to stand on his toes and lean forward in order to line his cock up with Bart’s ass. He used his other hand to separate the cheeks and then wedged his dick in.
“Oh god, damn…” Bart said, having no idea that blasphemy spurred Angus on to treat him even crueler.
Angus kneaded the soft flesh of Bart’s delicate asscheeks. He slipped his dick in and Bart cried out as a burst of pain hit his backside hard. His eyes opened wide and his face dipped into the water that stank of Angus’s sweaty body. The pain quickly melted away, leaving behind a slowly simmering sense of bliss.
The moan that escaped from Bart’s lips was an intense chest-rattle that made Angus think he was in blinding pain. That seemed right anyway. Angus had no idea that Bart genuinely thought he was handsome — people simply didn’t talk about men in that manner in rural Vermont. So Angus assumed Bart was mentally defective in some way, like a hobo or a mental patient, and that he enjoyed the pain. It was no skin off Angus’s nose.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Bart favored the physiques of big men, and he loved big cocks, and he was good enough at taking on massive manhoods that the pain lasted only a few seconds. Even the pressure was not unbearable. It was made more intense by the heavy body resting upon Bart’s thin back.
“You are… a most low man,” Angus said dourly, chewing on his lip as he struggled to ram his dick all the way in.
Finally Bart took a deep breath and took in every inch of Angus’s dick, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He again doused his face in the now-lukewarm tub of water, which exhilarated him. “Yes, Angus, get deep in me!”
Angus frowned but did so. It was also rude, he thought, to call a stranger by his given name. But if he got one of those modern milking machines, it would all be worth it.
And besides that, Angus decided, this felt good enough to do it even without the milking machine — it was just plain good. His wife never let him plow into her like this. She didn’t want to do it unless they were planning on having another child. Angus accepted that even if he disliked it.
But Bart, it seemed, would take anything — Angus had no idea Bart had a minimum weight — so Angus could plow in as hard as he was capable of. He made Bart grip the far edges of the copper tub, which rocked as Bart was rollicked back and forth by the intense feel of Angus’s heavy cock.
“Oh god, shit… I— oh fuck-!” An orgasm ripped through Bart’s body.
Angus gripped Bart by the hair hard. “Do not curse, little man, and do not take the Lord’s name in vain-” He too cut himself off, his voice breaking as he orgasmed at the same time.
Bart blushed, his mind whirring as he realized he had been blaspheming for several minutes. He was nearly bent all the way over the tub now, his head on the far side of it, so his own cock sprayed its wad into the water.
“Oh — oh-!” Bart couldn’t think of any non-curse word — was ‘crap’ offensive? He had no idea. All he did was howl and scream as his prostate sent wave after wave of pleasure through his body, which was painfully pinned in place by Angus’s powerful body pressing down on him.
Then, all in one fumbling motion, Angus went to the floor and dragged Bart with him. They were both on their sides, writhing and undulating, Angus’s strong limbs flapping around. Bart was swallowed up by his bigness and covered in the water that still clung to his barrel-shaped torso.
“Aaaaaaaah…” Angus moaned and snorted, sniffling, getting himself a nose-full of Bart’s sweat from the back of his head. But it was Bart who got more sweat in his face, with Angus’s body all around him. Everywhere Bart looked was frenzied male flesh rolling and flexing. He slurped every bit of it clean, unable to resist even as his ass cried out for mercy.
Then, it was over. Angus backed off, and his dick slid out.
“Shit…” Bart said again, then clasped his hands over his mouth. “Sorry. That’s a bad habit.”
“I should think so,” Angus said with a judgmental snort. He slapped his own belly, making his muscles ripple. Bart leaved over and kissed his hairy chest.
“I’m really sorry,” Bart said. “Maybe I could hang around your farm for a couple days and keep you satisfied.” Bart suspected there were farmworkers around too, which might give him plenty enough variety to be entertained.
“That would be acceptable. It will take you some time to arrange for that milking-machine as well.”
“Oh, right, sure,” Bart said. “Is it okay if I stay here? In this barn?”
“Here? This is where all the men come to bathe- Oh.” Angus realized that was precisely why Bart liked it. Angus smirked and stood. He waved his dick around above Bart’s face, making a few drops of either sweat or cum or both — Bart couldn’t tell — plop onto his lips. Bart swallowed them up. They were sweet and salty and delicious. “Fine,” Angus said.
He waddled away, putting on his overalls only just before he stepped outside. That left Bart in the barn alone, to work out a plan to seduce as many farmworkers as he could find!

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?!

Read it now as an ebook!

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 Cholo

Anthony works for a cartel but only in a technical capacity. He’s not a cholo himself, but he does wind up spending the night in a hotel room with one! That means Anthony is in for a night he’ll never remember, as this alpha male ex-con craves a tender touch that Anthony is eager to provide…

Can Anthony handle his bedmate’s unbridled machismo?

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Anthony was glad to be treated like a real Latin Kings cholo now, not just a hanger-on of his brother — his brother Chuy was a high-ranking Latin King. But nowadays, he was helping the cartel’s front business with its computer system, so maybe he was a high-ranking Latin King too. Or at least a ranking one. Computer geeks weren’t really a part of the normal promotion system.
But he had a reputation as a good, loyal soldier of sorts. He was as much a bona fide cartel member as any of the other cholos and vatos could be. They showed him respect, and the lower on the totem pole they were, the more respect they showed, cuz they didn’t know who he was or how important his job was.
It was that reputation as a loyal worker that got him into the security detail for a wedding near the end of the year. Anthony didn’t know any of the people getting married — it was some bigwig señor’s daughter, who married a cholo from the cartel — but he was assigned to security for the event. Mainly, they wanted him to manage the wifi and the cybersecurity for the wedding, since they were quite sure that the law enforcement agencies of at least two countries would have undercover operatives there.
That was why Anthony was at the wedding of two strangers, dressed awkwardly in an ill-fitting suit, alongside a macho named Tejón, a muscle-bound, scar-faced cholo who made Anthony’s whole body quake with both fear and desire. Neither he nor Anthony had a tailored suit like the upper-class cartel leaders who filled the church’s pews.
Tejón was terrifying, to Anthony at least. To everybody else he was invisible. Anthony held his breath whenever Tejón was around — which was pretty much all the time, since he was guarding Anthony.
Before the actual service, Anthony did another quick last-minute review of the wifi and the server for the house.
He found an anomaly on the server. It was impossible to know for sure if it was just a faulty setting on the device, or if it was a relic of some sort of tap-and-trace software that had been installed. It was impossible to keep a wedding like this low-key — the bride’s main desire was for it to be big and public and highly visible — so the guests had all been told to use only their clean, crime-free cell phones. Most people hadn’t even brought one, which Anthony thought was probably wise.
Could have been the FBI trying to get a tracking signal from somebody’s phone. Could have bene another cartel, or the Chinese the Latin Kings did business with.
Anthony worked alongside the other security guys, all of whom were big tough ex-con cholos like Tejón. Most of them did prison time, and Anthony assumed Tejón did too. Those tattoos didn’t look professionally done. Anthony was a thin, reedy man, so he didn’t fit in with them. He looked out of place, and he felt even more out of place than he looked.
Luckily the rest of the wedding went off without a hitch. For a moment it looked like the bride might not show up, and Anthony wondered if this wedding was about to turn bloody, because the groom was getting angry.
But then at last the bride-to-be appeared. She looked radiant in her dress, which was more revealing than Anthony had thought any wedding dress could ever be. Her tits barely fit in it. She looked like the world’s most expensive prostitute, which he strongly suspected was the case. Or at least, she wanted everyone to think she was.
The wedding was over as quickly as it had begun. Anthony watched from the patio, but he couldn’t hear any of the words. It seemed like such a huge production, Anthony thought, for a ceremony that lasted about a minute. It didn’t even mean anything legally. All that mattered was the signing of the marriage certificate afterward. There was no officiant at this wedding, because they didn’t want to invite any outsiders like a priest. The bride and groom just signed the marriage certificate a couple days later with their priest. It was all just a big pointless formality, with the side benefit of it being a great way for the FBI to nab someone.
But Anthony didn’t explain his cynicism to any of the attendees, and he certainly didn’t say anything to Tejón, who glowered and flexed and scowled throughout the ceremony.
As the guests filed off for the reception, Anthony and Tejón headed for the hotel. Their shift was finally done. Anthony wasn’t too happy about sharing a hotel room with Tejón, who was a glowering, bullet-scarred, bull-faced man with a gruff demeanor and seemingly no ability to experience joy. He had shown no emotion during the ceremony. He looked like a cyborg carefully decorated to look like a cholo, Anthony thought.
But there was something alluring about him too. Anthony had changed into his suit with him in the bathroom and seen his powerhouse body then. Anthony only snuck a few peeks at him though. He’d never try anything. Who knows how a freak like Tejón would react?
Anthony was glad he had made it through without offending any of the cartel bosses or having to actually use the gun strapped to his waist. He had a lot less experience with violence than he had let on when he joined the Latin Kings, and he didn’t want that to become obvious in a firefight in front of everyone important. It wasn’t even what he had been hired for — he was just a computer guy — but they had insisted everyone on the security team be armed.
Now he had acquitted himself well, and so far as he could tell, nothing had gone wrong during the wedding. He was beginning to feel like a real gangsta, like he was just like everyone else in the organization. They had treated him like an outsider at the beginning of the day, but by the time the wedding was over, they treated him like one of their own.
The hotel was sumptuous and well-furnished, easily the fanciest hotel Anthony had ever stayed in. The Latin Kings rented rooms for the security guys, and Anthony couldn’t wait to get in the room and relax. He had been up since before dawn this morning, when he and Tejón had inspected the hall for listening devices.
He was so tired now that the adrenaline was no longer pumping through his veins that he didn’t realize until he and Tejón walked into their room that they had only been given a single one-bed hotel room. Tejón apparently saw that as normal and expected, but Anthony did not. He wasn’t sure if he should ask about it or if that would make him look weak.
“One bed,” Anthony murmured softly, to himself, not intending Tejón to hear.
Tejón nodded. “They do that, esé. They don’t think security needs separate beds,” he said, and he clucked his tongue. He shrugged. “It is like prison.” He licked his teeth.
“Oh. Yeah.” That did not make it better for Anthony.
“You scared to share a bed, hombre?” Tejón asked with a sneer. He took off his shirt and shoes, getting ready for a shower. He laughed at Anthony’s lack of comfort with the situation. “You prolly enjoy cuddlin’ wit’ me like a female. You look like the type. Flouncy.”
Anthony shrugged. “Whatever, esé. We’ll see if you can keep your hands off me.” He blushed. He was flouncy, he couldn’t be too upset that Tejón noticed it.
But he didn’t like to get called out like that. In any case, the broad, dark gold muscles of Tejón’s chest attracted Anthony’s gaze, and he didn’t think to look away Tejón saw him staring. His skin was marked with scars and those prison tats. He was what they might call a bugablack — very dark skin, but maybe not quite a full negro by Spanish-speaking standards. Too dark to be a mestizo though.
Tejón scoffed. He dropped his pants and boxers. He flopped his uncut cock between his finger and wiped sweat off his barrel-shaped chest, which was so thick that he overheated easily, especially underneath the suit he had been forced to wear all day. He sighed, glad to be naked finally, and headed into the shower. His powerful asscheeks jiggled up and down with each step.
Not wanting to look like he was scared of Tejón, Anthony hurried back to the room before Tejón was done with his shower. He got naked himself, so he could shower next, and he didn’t want to seem uncomfortable being naked in front of Tejón.
Cholos were like that. He’d seen it around the compound. Once there were no women around…
Well, as an avid admirer of the male physique, Anthony got quite an eyeful on many occasions at the compound. Sometimes a mouthful and often an assful too. He enjoyed visiting the compound.
Tejón came out of the bathroom on his cell phone, trying to convince his girlfriend to give him permission to fuck a whore — there were plenty hanging around the hotel. It did not sound like she was entertaining the possibility. He shouted at her in rapid-fire Spanish. Anthony caught just enough of it to understand the gist of the conversation.
Anthony frowned. The one exciting part of this wedding for Anthony, he thought, was that he thought he was going to get lots of hot cholo meat. It turned out that most of the guys working this wedding had duties nearly the entire weekend, so that wasn’t likely to happen. They were almost all here with their wives anyway. As Tejón finished his hushed conversation with his wife, Anthony headed into the bathroom for his own shower. It was warm and relaxing, and Anthony felt refreshed when he came out.
By the time Anthony was done showering, the sun was going down, and Tejón sat, still naked, on the edge of the bed, watching TV. He flipped aimlessly between the channels as Anthony dried off. He wanted to put shorts on, but he didn’t want to look more self-conscious than Tejón.
But then Anthony had been surprised by the cartel before. One of the other big machos he used to work with revealed that, when he and some buddies had been locked up, they drew straws to see which one of them had to be a bottom, and it had been him. He’d been rammed a couple times a day for most of a year before they were all released. It was widely considered okay or only mildly shameful, as long as he wasn’t pimped out to other prisoners. No one considered it such a big deal.
A punk is a man who gets bitched out to other prisoners. It was shameful to be a punk. Any other role was fine.
As the evening progress, Anthony noticed several times that Tejón snuck glances of Anthony’s smooth ass and pale thighs. Anthony wondered if Tejón’s penetrating glances were a prelude to something. He was so very naked, his big brutish body gleaming, exuding body heat that Anthony both craved and feared. Anthony was naked too, of course, but only because Tejón was first. Anthony was pale and small and thin, and he looked tiny next to Tejón, who took up most of the hotel room, it seemed like.
In the end, nothing happened that evening. Once they were both naked and watching TV, Anthony got less and less nervous. He began to think that Tejón must be naked by default — he was from Latin America, where it was very hot, so maybe he was used to being naked at home, Anthony thought. He and Tejón talked about the wedding, and Tejón complained about his girlfriend’s constant text-message nagging and her refusal to entertain the ‘fuck-a-whore’ proposition Tejón came up with. Tejón earnestly explained that it didn’t count if you were in a different country. Women have a different view of that kind of thing, which Anthony tried to explain. Tejón wanted a reason cheating didn’t count. Women want a man who wants to prove how expansive his definition of cheating is as proof of his devotion to her.
It was all anticlimactic, Anthony thought as he drifted off to sleep. He had been half-expecting the wedding to be interrupted by a hail of gunfire. If this was a movie, something would have happened. The Latin Kings had been dead set on the wedding would go off without a hitch, and they hired the professionals who could make it happen.
He and Tejón were both stark naked, sleeping on top of the covers at first. Anthony instinctually crawled under the blankets around midnight, where Tejón’s body heat was already warming things up. The air outside had gotten quite cold by then, and the air-conditioning was still on, so the inside of the hotel room became ice cold.
Anthony dreamed of a beautiful boy caressing his body. He spooned him from behind and nuzzled the back of his neck. He even fingered his ass and lower back. The warmth radiating off Tejón’s body was enveloping like a blanket, with a hot and spicy scent that made Anthony’s heart race even in his sleep.
In his dreams, Anthony moaned as that beautiful young man, a blond god, some sort of ski instructor, kissed a trail up his spine, fingers teasing Anthony’s sensitive asshole. Anthony squirmed and cried out with desire.
This smooth blond hunk, Anthony realized, was hairy. His chest was smooth but Anthony felt body hair. How did that happen?
He realized with a start that he wasn’t dreaming. It was Tejón’s hairy tattooed cholo body, grinding on Anthony from the side. His hot breath condensing on Anthony’s skin. His hard cock rubbed against Anthony’s thighs and asscheek. Tejón had woken up some time ago and was working himself into a full-fledged erection.
Or maybe he was not entirely awake. His voice sounded blearly, half-asleep, almost drunk, though he wasn’t drinking — the Latin Kings had forbidden it.
“Sssh, do you want it?” Tejón murmured, his voice baritone and echoing in Anthony’s ear.
“Hmmm… Yes!” Anthony whispered as loud as he could whisper.
“I knew it. You looked at me like you was hungry, but what you didn’t know is I’m hungry too. I’m just gonna put the tip in. It will not count. Do not fear, little pale one,” Tejón said in lilting Spanish. His arms were wrapped around Anthony’s body, so if he tightened his muscles, Anthony would be in a chokehold. “If it is in the dark, it does not count. You will still be a man.”
Before Anthony could say anything, Tejón’s dick pushed into his ass. Anthony gasped for air. The pain was so intense he couldn’t bring himself to speak, or even to cry out. The only sound that came from his lips was a sort of exhausted choking cough.
Bolts of pleasure shot up from behind. Anthony squirmed, trying to get in a more comfortable position, but he was trapped under Tejón’s heft.
This had all happened so fast. Anthony was, just moments ago, asleep.
Anthony let out a begging little moan and pushed his ass back, forcing more of Tejón’s dick into his tight body. That sent shivers of pleasure that wracked Anthony’s petite frame. He burst into sweat and let out a series of spine-tingling moans of desire, as Tejón’s cock rocked every inch of his insides. His rough hands roamed over Anthony’s body, while Anthony’s own hands clawed at and massaged the meaty muscles of Tejón’s body.
“Sssh, I will give you a reacharound,” Tejón said, his voice a slumberous groan, muffled because he had covered himself up from head to toe with a blanket. Anthony was buried beneath his warm muscles. That was probably why he had ruled it out when the lights were still on. He had meant it literally when he said it wouldn’t count in the dark. Tejón would do virtually anything with a man as long as no one, not even God, could see. “That means you are my pasivo, it is okay.”
Despite Tejón’s warning, Anthony was still shocked when the older cholo’s fingers wrapped around his cockshaft. Anthony’s dick was already harder than it had ever been, throbbing painfully at just the touch of Tejón’s callused fingertips.
“Tejón…”
“Ssh, you taste so good, my darling,” Tejón whispered as he kissed Anthony on th elips, his voice tremulously baritone, as though he was desperate to get his rocks off. “I will make it feel very good, yes, esé? You are in the cartel now. You are uno narco in this organization…” He said that as though it meant Anthony was supposed to let himself get rammed — did Tejón ram all the new cholos? The more he learned about Latin Kings, the less surprised Anthony would have been by that.
“I don’t…” Anthony was confused about what Tejón was doing, but the bliss that rocked Anthony’s body made it hard to think about it, and all Anthony wanted was to finish this. He cried out and bucked, sweating now beneath the confines of the blankets and Tejón’s heavy body.
His prostate sang, sending waves of sensations to rocket through Anthony’s limbs. His fingers tightened into claws, which dug into the soft mattress of the hotel bed. He buried his face in the cool sheets as Tejón’s hot chest pounded onto his back. The pleasure exploded in Anthony’s ass and ran up his spine. He arched his back, rubbing it against the corded muscles of Tejón’s broad chest.
As Tejón’s dick began sliding in and out of Anthony’s increasingly accommodating ass, the pain gradually diminished. Each thrust converted some of the agony of his huge cock stretching his bottom open to paroxysms of pleasure that made Anthony cry out and beg for more, the sound of which was muffled by the hotel mattress. Anthony’s back arched and a few twinges of pleasure rocked his body, moving from his sensitive asshole and up his spine.
That was enough to send Anthony towards his own orgasm. He grimaced from the pain and pressure as his cockshaft pulsated in Tejón’s hand, which stroked his manhood with tenderness and care, plus plenty of spit and precum as lube — Tejón must have learned well how to lube up with minimal supplies in prison.
Anthony bit his lip to suppress his moan of pleasure at feeling a few drops of precum inside his ass. Tejón’s cock filled him up, and it seemed to grow bigger with each daggering thrust into his insides. Each one raised Anthony to new heights of pleasure.
He didn’t know how long it took then. His ass burned, roiling with intense senations too poent for him to comprehend. It was unlike any ramrodding experience Anthony had ever had, and it made him dizzy with desire. All he could do was cry out and demand more.
The agonizing pleasure in his ass didn’t go away. It actually got worse and worse as Tejón’s powerful hips slammed his cock in and out of Anthony’s ass. Every time he did it hurt worse.
But it also felt good. It felt so good that Anthony began humping his ass backward, pushing onto Tejón’s dick in sync with his gyrations. They rammed there for an amount of time that could have been a minute or it could have been a week, Anthony didn’t know except that he didn’t recall seeing the sun come up.
Eventually it was over. Anthony shot his wad all over Tejón’s hand, while he felt creamy precum spurting up his ass from behind. Huge gobs of jizz sprayed onto the bed in front of Anthony, and the smell of it bloomed like a jungle in the air freshener-scented hotel room.
The orgasm that erupted in Anthony’s ass was so potent it made Anthony shout, loud enough that he wondered if it was audible in the next room — that was inhabited by two other cartel bodyguards, who, Anthony now realized, might be messing around right now just like him and Tejón were.
He hoped so. That was nice to imagine.
Spasms of bliss rocketed up and down Anthony’s spine. He shuddered and grunted into the pillow below beneath him, as his sticky cum spurted across the hotel bedspread. He even drooled onto the pillow, unable to close his mouth because of the outrageous pangs of pleasure that wracked his body.
Anthony had never felt anything like it. He’d gotten rammed in the dark by a lot of men and even a lot of cholos with huge cocks, but nothing had ever made him feel like this, like his whole body was going to rattle into a million little pieces of pure sensation. He gasped and bit the pillow under him.
“Toma mi pene, chico, necesito llenarte con mi hombría. Voy a disparar tanto que sale por tu nariz. Vas a estar oliendo mi esperma cada vez que te tiras un pedo a partir de ahora…” Tejón spoke softly, too quickly for Anthony to make out the words with his rudimentary Spanish — he was distracted by his orgasm anyway, but he could tell Tejón was saying dirty-talk, something about sperm, Anthony heard that. He assumed it was both dirty and romantic, and whatever it was, it made Anthony shudder with desire as he finished his orgasm at last.
He pushed back with his ass when he felt the first few drops of Tejón’s cumload finally hit his ass. He could tell it was going to be big, and he giggled with anticipation — he loved it when men filled his ass with cum.
Tejón grunted in his ear. His hairy chest dragged against Anthony’s back, as he filled Anthony with his frothy cum. He kept plowing even as his dick began to get limp, humping until his wad began to drip down Anthony’s thigh and stain the bedsheets.
Anthony was right — it was a huge load. It just kept on flowing, filling Anthony up, seeping into his flesh until he could virtually taste it from his nose to his toes. He felt Tejón’s manhood suffusing through his body, until it was all he could think about. Tejón gasped just like Anthony did, in plaintive, panty tone, like he was desperate for this orgasm, which went on as long as Anthony’s did.
Creamy wad after creamy wad flew up Anthony’s behind, each one leaving a warm afterglow of sensation deep in Anthony’s body. Tejón shot huge loads, like he had built it up in prison. Or maybe that girlfriend was blueballing him. She was likely provided by the Latin Kings and often found something better to do than take dick from the harsh-eyed scarface with the battering ram for a cock.
Poor guy… Anthony thought to himself.
At last they were done. Anthony fell limp on the bed, breathing a sigh of relief when Tejón finally pulled out of him. Tejón’s sweaty muscles remained curled around Anthony’s body, however, as though he intended to cuddle Anthony to sleep.
“Uh, Tejón?”
“Sssh, just go to sleep,” Tejón said. He rubbed his limp, gooey dick over Anthony’s asscheek.
“Oh… Well…”
“Ssh, baby, my little mamacito,” Tejón mumbled. He sounded like he was nearly asleep as he curled his biceps up with Anthony’s head in the crook of his elbow. He kissed Anthony on the cheek. “Just go to sleep.”
Anthony was so satisfied he couldn’t bring himself to move away, even though he was buried in Tejón’s overly hot flesh. He didn’t want to sleep on the floor either, but that was the only other option. He was just going to have to cuddle with this tattooed beast of a man. It was still cold in the hotel room anyway. Anthony felt warm, but he figured he would soon be shivering if he weren’t in Tejón’s arms tonight.
Besides that, he felt safe and secure in Tejón’s powerful muscles, so he was satisfied as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

The Pimp Bottoms

Madhu is approached by a pimp with a bizarre offer — tutor his brother in computer programming in exchange for the ride of a lifetime. You see, Perry the pimp doesn’t want his brother to follow in his footsteps, meaning he is willing to give Madhu a free swing on a ho for lessons…

But when Madhu’s not interested in a ho — he prefers Perry’s studly body — Madhu is in for a topsy-turvy climax of alpha male twink on top action!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Living in Philadelphia during presidential caucus season meant that Madhu Sharma was used to being harangued by ideologues of various sorts, distributing pamphlets, QR codes, rumors, surveys, social media pile-ons, revenge porn and, worst of all, merch. So when he saw a flamboyantly dressed man on his doorstep, knocking loud like a swat team, Madhu assumed it was some sort of political stunt. Gato had been calling Governor Saltieri a “pimp for ethanol” for a long time, so Madhu thought perhaps this was a Gato operative.
He opened the door with a dour frown. “I’m a registered Democrat,” he said. “Please don’t give me a sales pitch on any Republican-” He stopped talking because he realized the man in front of him was — or at least was very good at appearing like — a real pimp.
He was black as twilight, and the clothes were fine, tailored, brightly-colored, and seemingly real, not a costume. How many Republican political volunteers were black men with actual pimp clothes? Probably very few. This could only be a real pimp. He was tall, kind of lean but powerfully built, with a harsh face and a long scar from his chin to his cheek. He looked like he thought he was more handsome than he was, and he probably was very handsome as a younger man. Now he was craggy and scarred, with the despirate cast-iron look of an ex-con.
“I ain’t no Republican, motherfucker,” said the man in a hippy rhythm, like it was the opening line to a song. He put a big smile on his face. “The name’s Perry. Can I come in?”
“Uh…” Madhu didn’t answer, but Perry didn’t wait. He pushed past him into the house. He was a lot taller than Madhu, and Madhu’s face was shoved into the door by the massive man as he shoved his way in. Madhu shut the door behind him.
“Can I… uh… help you? I haven’t hired a… well, anyone. I haven’t hired anyone for anything,” Madhu said.
“I know. I gotcha, baby,” he said. “I pickin’ up what you’s puttin’ down, sweetheart. You got confusion, I got answers. Listen, cuz they is packing a wallop. Perry got answers for e’erything, man. Madhu, right? You got any questions about the universe, God, science, history, whatever you want, Perry will lay down the truth to you.” He walked into Madhu’s kitchen and opened the fridge. He snarled in frustration. “You got no beer?”
“No-“
“Liquor?”
“Uh, yeah, in the cabinet over there,” Madhu said. He pointed, and Perry found a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a drink and added ice. As he did, he passed over his smartphone, which was open to a picture of a scantily clad girl. She looked pretty, but in a rather whoreish way. Madhu couldn’t tell if it was a photograph or a publicity still from a porno. He glanced at it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Look through there for a girl you like,” he said.
Madhu did as he was told, flipping through pictures of slutty-looking women in low-cut dresses. Many of the photos seemed to have been taken in the same low-rent apartment, some ghetto-ass place, and some of the girls were wearing the same dresses. His heart pounded as he tried to figure out what was going on. He had no interest in any of these girls. Why had a pimp burst into his house like this? Should he call the police? If he had his phone nearby, he might have done it, but it was sitting on the charger in his bedroom.
“You know my brother, Jerembee.”
“No I don’t,” Madhu said. “Look, these girls are nice. They’re very pretty, but I don’t see what-“
“That wasn’t a question, bitch, shut yo’ mouth,” Perry said with a dramatic sigh. “When Perry graces you wit’ a statement, you shut yo’ fool mouth and listen.” He took a sip from his bourbon. “You hear me?”
“Yeah… I get it, I just don’t understand-“
“Shut the goddamn fuck up before I shut you up. I is in the process of explainin’, but you ain’t respondin’ right. I’s talkin’, and you’s over there flippy-flappin’ like a penguin about the phone-“
“You told me to look in the phone-!”
“You can do two things at once, dumbass!” Perry jabbed a finger in his direction. “Both look at the girlies and listen to me!”
“Fine.” Madhu flipped back through the pictures of trashy women. He’d already seen them all. When he went back to the end of the photo album, he saw a dick pic of Perry’s cock — presumably — a photo of a birthday cake and some pics of puppies doing cute puppy things. He wondered if Perry realized he was able to flip past the women.
“”You do know Jerembee. He lives next door to you. He lives right over there.”
“Who? Oh, Jay Man?”
“He calls himself Jay Man?”
“Yeah, that’s what he introduced himself as,” Madhu said, though now that he thought about it, he had received mail addressed to his neighbor, so he did know his real name was Jerembee. He just hadn’t thought of it in time. Perry’s presence and his big-chested swagger made it hard to think about anything else.
Perry chuckled. “Don’t call him that. Call him Jerembee from now on. That’s good enough for our mama, it’s good enough for him.” He took another long drink of bourbon. “Fuckin’ Jay Man.” He looked at the glass of bourbon like he had just noticed it was in his hand. “That’s good bourbon. What is it, French?” He looked at the label.
“All bourbon comes from Kentucky.”
His face screwed up tight, and he wagged a finger at Madhu. “Don’chu dare educate me ’bout liquor, you spicetip shit, I will correct you in a most unpleasant fashion, you hear?”!
“Yeah, fine, I still don’t get why you’re here,” Madhu snapped.
“Don’t get snippy wit’ me. You find a girl you like?”
“I… uh… I’m not into prostitutes,” Madhu said.
Perry cocked his head to the side and looked him up and down. “What?” he asked. His eyes cringed at the sight of Madhu’s thin twink body and girlish face. He inspected Madhu up and down. His menace made Madhu shiver with fear. He frowned and grabbed Madhu’s crotch. Madhu felt a surge of pain as Perry squeezed hard on his cock and balls through the fabric of his pants, and Madhu sucked in his breath and stood on his toes. Despite that, Madhu’s cock swelled up, both from arousal and fear. Perry frowned again.
“I’m sorry… Why are you here?” Madhu asked.
“You know my brother, right? And you a computer programmer?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you teach him?”
“Teach him what?”
“Programming, motherfucker.”
“Uh… I’m not a teacher,” Madhu said.
“I know, but he can’t afford college or nothing like that,” Perry said. “Hs gotta go clean. I ain’t gonna let him end up a thug. I know he can get a job if he programs. I read them tech firms is lookin’ for niggas, cuz they get protested all the time, for being like ninety percent white.”
Madhu scoffed. “Try ninety percent Indian.”
“Well, not ninety percent nigga, that’s for damn sure. They want niggas, and Jerembee’s gonna be one of ‘em,” he said. “I was gonna let you go to town on one of my bitches anytime you want, if you keep givin’ him lessons. I was thinkin’ computer programmers is a bunch of nerds, right? Prolly a virgin, gonna teach Jerembee all kinda shit if he get some nice pussy.”
Madhu shook his head. “That’s gross. And I’m not a virgin. You’re taking advantage of those women.”
“Shut up.”
Madhu’s heart started pounding as he wondered if this meant he was going to get a chance to handle Perry’s meat. He blushed at the thought, and his eyes were inexorably drawn to the crotch of Perry’s crimson slacks. He’d noticed when Perry moved before, Madhu caught a glimpse of a massive bulge there.
Perry put his hands on his hips. “Well, fine, you got me,” he said. He wrinkled his nose. “Whatchoo want? You want me to jerk you off?”
“What? Really?” Madhu had thought maybe he could get a chance to swing on Perry’s cock — these ubermacho thugs sometimes let that happen, on the downlow, and Madhu was all too willing to keep it as downlow as they wanted. But he never thought Perry would be willing to bottom. He wasn’t even sure he had heard that correctly. “You want to bottom?”
“No.” He scoffed. “But I will. If it gets my brother the education he needs.”
“You know how to do it?”
“I can do anything, motherfucker,” he said. “I’m a pimp. You can’t be good at this job if you don’t know e’rything about dick. You gotta be willin’ to sacrifice. And I been locked up. So I done spent my turn on bottom before. Ain’t my preference, but if you’ll give Jerembee lessons, you can stick it in any hole you want, bitch.” He got on his knees, needing to stoop to reach Madhu’s dick.
“Wow, so you’ve done this before?”
“Just twice,” he said as he pulled down Madhu’s pants. “Not by choice. But you know, sometimes in prison the shitty-shit happens, and a nigga gotta bend over.” He was quick and unceremonious, like he just wanted to get this over with, to check the boxes that he had indeed handled Madhu’s dick. He put it one hand and gave it a few rough strokes. “And you best believe, if Perry is gonna give up the booty, it is gonna be fine indeed! I will show my own bitches up, they don’t act right, Madhu, if you can believe it, they do trifle, even though I try to teach ’em. You ever try to teach a woman?”
Madhu inhaled sharply and said, “No. Haven’t. Done. That.” He was still unsure if this was a trap or a trick, though he couldn’t imagine what the point would have been. He watched his dick spring free, already half-hard as much from nervousness as actual arousal. It throbbed in Perry’s hand.
He frowned distastefully at the sight of Madhu’s cock, as though he had been hoping it’d be smaller. He gave it a few long, slow strokes, and he looked up at Madhu as though expecting a big dramatic moan of desire. But Perry’s hand was thick and callused, and Madhu was only beginning to get into.
Madhu’s knees went weak, and he almost lost his balance. He gripped Perry’s thick arm muscles for support, which Perry frowned at but didn’t complain. He got both hands on Madhu’s meat now, one hand holding the root of his cock, the other expertly working the shaft. Despite the discomfort of his rough macho-man’s skin on Madhu’s sensitive dick, he was getting hard, slowly.
“I only did it in prison, when I ain’t have a choice… Cuz that’s just the way it is in there, and when you as sexy as me, you know… prison guards wanna take a whack at’cha. They only got millimeter peters though, mosta ’em, so I don’t count it, you feel me?” He leaned in. “Don’t tell nobody that, ‘specially not my brother.”
“Okay…” Madhu bit his lip. Precum was oozing out the tip of his dick now.
“You look kinda like a girl to begin with, so I’m already likin’ you better than the last one. That was a hairy-ass Italian dude. Smelled like a loaf of bread you forgot about in the backa the pantry.”
“Oh, okay,” Madhu said, holding his breath. He couldn’t really think about what was happening right now enough to formulate a more cogent response. Maybe Perry realized that, cuz he narrowed his eyes in Madhu’s direction.
Then, still kneeling in front of him, Perry opened his mouth. Madhu’s knees went weak again as his dick slipped into Perry’s mouth. He gripped Perry’s bright red fedora for support, holding him so tightly that the fedora fell off, and Madhu clutched Perry’s tight cornrows instead.
His dick got fully hard right away, as Perry’s tongue slicked spit up and down the shaft. Madhu was so shocked by what was happening that he could only look down at it as though it was a computer program that didn’t make any sense. Perry didn’t seem into it, but he didn’t seem to hate it either. He approached it like a non-vegan might eat a vegan lasagna when there was nothing else available. He frowned at it, but he slathered spit all along the shaft, and he didn’t stop to gag once.
Looked like he had to bite back a couple gags though.
Perry didn’t take his red and violet suit off, so his back muscles rippled beneath the fine cloth. He loudly suckled, clenching his throat every few seconds and sending waves of pleasure up Madhu’s spine. This day was not turning out at all like he expected.
“Oh, fuckin’ hell, Perry… Damn,” Madhu said, blushing at how exaggerated his reaction was. He twisted and gasped for air, and he leaned on Perry’s cornrowed head for support.
Perry didn’t stop to say anything, but he murmured around the cock in his throat. Madhu didn’t know what he said, all heard was a moist explosion of syllables. Perry’s grizzled chin scratched against Madhu’s thigh as he nuzzled his nose deep into Madhu’s crotch, and he produced so much spit it dripped onto the floor beneath him. His lips caressed Madhu’s shaft, so expertly that Madhu began to doubt that Perry was as ill-experienced as he had suggested.
Precum leaked down Perry’s throat. He gurgled and made a sour face when he tasted it, but it didn’t slow him down any. Perry grabbed ahold of Madhu’s bare asscheeks, slapping them as though appreciating their plump roundness, even if he couldn’t see them from his position.
Since Perry was so tall, he had to bend way over to get his head in Madhu’s crotch. That meant his broad, strapping back was laid out in front of Madhu. He leaned forward and slipped his hands underneath Perry’s clothes, caressing the man’s smooth, ropy-muscled back.
A humming, moaning sound came from Perry’s throat. He pushed his head all the way down, until his nose was buried in Madhu’s pubic hair. His throat clenched as he gagged out loud for the first time, then pulled away and spat on the floor of Madhu’s kitchen. Madhu was too intensely horny to care about the mess on his floor.
Avoiding eye contact with Madhu, Perry pushed his head between Madhu’s legs — his head was so big it barely fit, and Madhu had to spread his feet to accommodate him. Then Perry swallowed Madhu’s entire ballsack.
The sensitive skin of Madhu’s scrotum tingled, and his knees went weak again. He murmured to himself as he slowly sank to the ground, hips mounting Perry’s face. Since Perry had to struggle to lower his head under Madhu’s crotch, it was easier for him to just lay on his back anyway.
Lifting his balls, Madhu aimed his cock back for Perry’s mouth again. He swallowed it down greedily, as though he enjoyed it even as he gagged at the onrush of salty precum hitting his tongue. Perry was tall, with a big mouth and a cavernous throat, and he swallowed Madhu’s cock easily.
Madhu leaned forward as though to start sixty-nining, but he was nowhere’s near tall enough to actually jerk Perry off. He snuck his hands beneath those violet slacks and stroked his dick, which was, much to Madhu’s surprise, already hard as stone.
They continued like that, faux sixty-nining until Perry slapped Madhu’s perky brown asscheeks. Madhu pulled away, and Perry took a deep gasping breath. He sat up and frowned at Madhu. “How was that?”
“That was… amazing…” Madhu said, looking down at his feet. He was shocked once again as he saw Perry turn around and pull his slacks down. Perry bared his asscheeks, still keeping his shirt, tie and suit jacket on, just lifting them all up enough to show off his plump brown asscheeks.
“I always tell my bitches I could handle dick better than them. Pity they’ll never know. You best not tell no one about this,” Perry said. He thought for a moment. “He gonna ask me when I tell him about this. He gonna want to know if I’m payin’ you.”
“Uh, well…”
“You like niggas? I tell him I gave you Mackdog. He got that disease that make him white, just a bit on his leg. Tell him that.”
“Vitiligo?”
“That’s it, he got that and the biggest dick you ever seen. I ain’t ashamed to admit he packin’ more meat than me. He don’t know how to use it though, and he mess around wit’ any kinda nigga on the downlow. So you tell him you rammed Mackdog. Jerembee will get a laugh outta that,” Perry said, turning his head back to see Madhu. “I’ll tell Mackdog to back it up. He don’t care, he’s a animal.”
“Okay. Mackdog, yeah.”
Madhu felt tiny behind Perry, who was broad-shouldered and wide-assed. He had big round cheeks that Madhu had to stretch on his toes to reach, even with Perry on all fours. As soon as his finger touched the rim, Perry’s hole puckered. He winced even before anything penetrated him.
“You want me to lick your ass first?” Madhu asked.
“Hell yeah, sissy,” Perry said. “If’n you eat ass, eat away. I ain’t nevuh turn down a rimjob.”
Madhu got on his knees and dove in. He loved giving rimjobs, and he especially loved smooth black assholes like Perry’s. He ran his tongue through the asscrack, collecting all the sweat that dripped there. Perry had an intensely masculine musk, with a faintly chocolate flavor which Madhu thought of as the taste of the cocoa butter lotion most black men used.
Then his tongue plunged in to that musty dark hole. Perry lifted his head up and howled, his pride returning now that he wasn’t jerking cock. His body undulated as Madhu lapped at his ass.
Perry’s back arched as he grunted. It sounded like he hadn’t really expected this to feel that good. Madhu was proud of his rimjobbery skills and he beamed, not that anyone could see it. He inhaled noisily. Perry made a proudful sort of moan, and his cock throbbed — Perry was glad to be dominant for at least part and he rubbed his asshole all over Madhu’s face.
He made sure to lick loudly and messily. Madhu loved the sight of a man with spit dripping down his ass, some of it even sliding all the way through his taint and into the messy nest of sweaty pubic hair at the base of his balls. A few drops of that assy saliva even dribbled into the seat of Perry’s nice slacks, which were around his ankles. Madhu hoped he wasn’t going to be furious about that when he saw it later — he seemed like the kind of pimp who hated getting his clothes dirty.
“Ah, damn, you sure you ain’t black, boi? Cuz you eat ass like a nigga!” Perry said loudly. He slapped his hand on the floor as he said it. “Alright then, whiteboi, time to stick it in me. You be gentle, ya hear?”
“Yeah, I will. Just tell me to stop if it hurts too much,” Madhu said.
Perry grumbled as though he didn’t want to do that. Madhu got the impression he didn’t like to show pain. But Perry got back up on all fours and spread his perfectly round asscheeks. His hole twinkled, beckoning Madhu with its temporary looseness.
Madhu stood back up on his toes, slipping the tip of his dick in before Perry’s ass had time to tighten back up after the rimjob. Perry bit his lip and grunted.
Pleasure shot through Madhu’s body like a bullet. He worked his dick in inch by inch, smiling as he saw Perry wince and try to pretend he didn’t feel any pain, or even pleasure. He stayed as stoic as he could, stone-facing there on all fours, his muscles all tensing and relaxing in sync with the thrusts of Madhu’s cock into his ass. The pleasure was even more shameful for him, it seemed, than the vulnerability he showed when he writhed in agony. Behind that agony was the bliss he didn’t dare acknowledge out loud.
But his dick couldn’t lie — or at least, it didn’t lie, as Madhu noticed when he reached around Perry’s body to his cock and stroked it, rock-hard despite the meat in his ass. Perry grunted and held his head down.
Madhu felt his orgasm grow and grow, and though he wanted to delay it, this was too arousing to stop himself. He didn’t know how long he humped there, slamming his dick in and out, smiling as Perry grimaced with every thrust of his hips. It could have lasted for a minute, it could have lasted for hours, Madhu would have had no idea.
Perry squeezed and clenched. He grunted heavily as he endured the pain, but his ass remained loose and his cock pulsated in Madhu’s fingers — it was clear that a part of Perry enjoyed this, he just didn’t want to admit it.
“Uh, god, yeah, give it to me, nigga…”
Muscles writhing beneath the colorful suit he had never taken off, Perry’s grunts of agony turned to gasps of pleasure. His dick leaked precum into Madhu’s fingers as those thick veins in the shaft throbbed with sexual desire. Madhu could feel the cum flowing before he actually shot his load.
They both came at nearly the same time, Madhu just a few seconds earlier. He sprayed his load within Perry, coating his insides in creamy goodness. It was the most intense orgasm of his life, wracking Madhu’s body with uncontrollable pleasure. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood.
Then, without taking his dick out of Perry’s ass, Madhu reached both hands around Perry’s hips. He used both hands to stroke him off, faster and faster as Perry panted heavily. He could already feel the cum flowing, and he could sense through his body when Perry’s balls crawled up in his sac.
At last Perry shot his own load, Madhu’s cock still throbbing limply in his clenched ass. Cum spurted out all over Madhu’s hands, dripping down and onto the floor. Perry writhed in that suit, which was now soaked with sweat and matted against his skin in a few spots — hopefully that meant he wouldn’t notice the stains in the crotch of his pants, Madhu thought.
He pulled out and Perry breathed a sigh of relief. Madhu had him roll over on his back, with Madhu’s cum-coated hand still elevated. Perry winced when he saw it, but he reached for it just the same. He knew exactly what Madhu wanted to do.
He and Madhu both licked it clean, Madhu enthusiastically tonguing every drop, while Perry gagged and choked it down. He sucked on Madhu’s fingers and even let Madhu’s cum-filled mouth kiss him on the lips. It was only when Madhu pushed his luck by trying to put his tongue in Perry’s mouth that Perry pulled away. His smile faded to a sneer.
“Nah, no kissing,” he said. He flopped his dick back into his underwear and pulled his pants up. He finished the last of the drink he had poured for himself, then picked up the bottle of bourbon and chugged from that.
“Thanks, Perry, that was amazing,” Madhu said, blushing. He sounded like a fanboy who finally got to be with his idol, he thought to himself. He tried to stand nonchalantly but failed and just looked awkward. “You’ve got an incredible cock and ass and body.” He thought he should try to puff up Perry’s ego a bit before he left, or who knew how he might overcompensate.
“I know, sissy. Every thing I do, no matter what, it’s always amazin’. That’s the Perry guarantee,” he said, slowly regaining his pimpy cockiness. He even danced a little on his feet. He licked his teeth. “I’m takin’ the resta this bourbon. It’s nice.”
“Oh, well, I’ll do whatever you want if you keep comin’ back,” Madhu said.
“So you’ll teach him?” Perry asked. “I’ll keep coming over every month, as long as you’re still tutorin’ him.”
“We have a deal,” Madhu said.
He smiled and put his fedora back on. “See ya next month then, sissy. Buy lube. And more bourbon.”

The Aryan

Avery is working as a clerk at a low-rent motel near the state prison, so when an Aryan alpha is released after nineteen long years behind bars, it’s up to Avery to alleviate his unsatiated urges!

Can Avery help this possible-Nazi brute get his load off?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery’s hands shook from the moment Hassle walked into the lobby of the Top Inn, where Avery was a clerk. Avery tensed up and bugged his eyes up at sight of Hassle’s broad shoulders, square jaw and simmering swagger. His cueball head gleamed, and his square jaw jutted, chewing, boxing, his crooked nose and cauliflowered ears giving him the mien of a fighter. He sent a chill up Avery’s spine. Hassle exuded violence like an aura. He had a smile on his face, but that just made him look more sinister.
That’s because Hassle was an Aryan, fresh out of state prison. At more than six and a half feet tall, he was a towering beast of a man, all bone-white skin covered in tattoos — swastikas and Gothic lettering and a map of Germany on his forearm — and a chest that puffed out, straining against the fabric of his over-tight tee shirt.
He had worn that tee shirt when he was incarcerated nineteen years ago. Back then, he had been skinny, that was why the tee shirt no longer fit. It clung to his muscles like a second skin, and his tattoos were clearly visible through the threadbare fabric.
A scowl plastered on Hassle’s face. “Donchu be scared,” Hassle said, showing off his dimples — he would have been charming and handsome if he weren’t a nazi. “I ain’t no kinda racist or nothin’.”
“Oh.” Avery was new to this job, so he fumbled with the reservation software. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he waited for it to work. Hassle looked down his nose at Avery.
At last, it was done. Avery slid the key to Room 244 over the counter to Hassle.
“Here you go.” Avery held his breath.
“I just got outta lockup. You know how it works in there, right? You seen movies? You gotta pledge a gang-“
“Sure.”
“And you gotta do what the gang tells ya, you feel me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So if they say you gotta talk shit ‘bout black folk and put a swastika on ya belly, then that’s what you gotta do,” Hassle said.
“Right, yeah. Gotta do what the boss says,” Avery said. He forced a weak, wan smile on his face. He did understand having to join a disagreeable group to survive, but in this moment, it hardly mattered — all he could think about was how terrifying Hassle was. He loomed overhead like a moai. “Uh-huh.”
What Avery wanted to say but didn’t have the wherewithal to do was that he understood and wouldn’t hold it against Hassle. Avery worked at the Top Inn of Abilene, Texas, which was near the state prison. It was a cheap motel, and a significant part of the clientele were recent releasees needing a place to crash. Avery knew that coming in.
“Ya see?” Hassle lifted his shirt to show off the swastika crudely tatted on his belly. His prison-starved body was devoid of fat, so he had a six-pack that was almost too perfect — it looked painfully lean. He flexed his chest. “Huh?”
He hadn’t said that Avery should touch it, but he looked at Avery with a sort of a flirtatious smile. Avery’s hand moved as though of its own accord and touched Hassle’s six-pack. Avery was too scared to be really aroused though, despite his natural predilection for appreciating the male physique. That swastika consumed Avery’s attention, and Hassle’s massive body loomed overhead like a thunderstorm.
There’d been other hardcore gangsters, these Russian guys, a bunch of cholos with teardrop tattoos and the like. They were intimidating in their own way too. Swastikas were just such a taboo in Avery’s life he found it hard to look away. He blushed and looked down at his feet.
“Whatchoo think?”
“It’s… Uh… Okay.” Avery blushed. “I’m not like… in charge, of, you know… anything besides the keys. And the vending machines. You don’t have to convince me of anything.”
Hassle shrugged and dropped his hand holding his shirt to his side. His alabaster pecs rippled, and he sucked on his teeth. He grabbed his cock through his jeans, which fit better than his shirt — he had worn his jeans slung low when he was arrested. He was a thug at the time of his arrest, he hung out with the black kids at his old high school in Houston — he sold coke with them, this was in the early seventies, so crack wasn’t a thing. In prison though, he lost touch with his homeboys and had gotta join up with the Aryan Way, lest the other gangs take a crack at him. He walked outta there shirtless, “See ya, y’know… Later tonight or whenever.” Hassle said before he walked out the door. He backed out, so he kept eye contact with Avery the whole way out, his bare chest gleaming with sweat. He probably hadn’t had a real shower in nineteen years, not a shower in a normal bathroom.
That thought sent a shiver of desire through Avery, but only after the Nazi giant was gone. Avery breathed a sigh of relief. He felt safe again.
The lobby was quiet as a rabbit, the only sound the tick-tocking of the perpetually incorrect clock above the desk. Avery sighed. Now he kinda missed the excitement of having an Aryan in the lobby.
And his muscles were remarkable. He would have been quite handsome if it weren’t for the tattoos. He could be a model.
Or more likely, if he weren’t in prison, he’d have gorged himself on beer and french fries, and he’d be fat right now. Quite a physique conundrum.
But all afternoon, that final moment hung in his brain. Had Hassle grabbed his crotch like that because he was signaling Avery should come jerk him off?
It almost seemed like it. He had even said he might see Avery “later tonight”. What did that mean?
A lot of men at the Top Inn did want that. That was one of the reasons Avery wanted this job. He liked the alphas and ex-cons who came out from the state prison with urges and stiffies and no women to come rub their backs and lick their dicks and tell them they’re still handsome. Avery wanted to be that guy. Ex-cons don’t ask too many questions. They just want to bust a nut.
And there were maybe a dozen of them who seemed likely to agree if Avery went and propositioned them right now. There were a couple black guys, this cholo who was definitely interested but was kinda fat, what a pity, some weird like Laotian guy who might be worth it, a few plain old whitey-whites. One of them was quite alluring, the white man in Room 29.
But he wasn’t the statuesque muscle-mountain that was Hassle. That was who Avery’s mind continued to drift to.
He was a nazi, Avery reminded himself. He wasn’t safe. Avery shouldn’t go and seduce nazis. That was bound to end poorly.
He got a text from Officer Heartley, asking him to start a fresh pot of coffee — Heartley came in most mornings to talk to Avery, drink coffee and look for open warrants among the people at the motel. That made Avery feel more confident. He started the coffee and responded to Heartley, letting him know that he “might be in Room 244” when Heartley showed up. Avery felt safer then, not that he was planning on going to Hassle’s room. If Avery wasn’t around, Officer Heartley would come looking for him.
Hassle was still a nazi, after all.
That was the permission Avery needed, in his mind, to go see what Hassle meant by grabbing his crotch in that suggestive manner.
Leaving the lobby with the ‘back in ten minutes’ sign turned over, Avery went to the two-hundred-block of rooms, on the second floor. They all had doors that faced the outside, and a window next to the door. Avery told himself he was just going to check that Hassle wasn’t doing something illegal.
The blinds were closed, but not quite all the way, and the light was on inside. Avery could see clearly through the edge of the window into the room.
Hassle was in there, doing push-ups, wearing only a pair of prison-issued boxers. His plump ass was perfectly round, and it swallowed up a bead of sweat that Avery watched slide down Hassle’s spine. Avery gulped. His shoulders flexed up and down as he rose and fell with military precision. You could rap to the beat of his push-ups, Avery thought.
He knocked on the door without a moment’s hesitation, or even really a first one, since Avery had never decided to go through with it. It just occurred to him Hassle would be sweaty and intense and arousing even if he turned Avery down, and Avery wanted to experience his presence again. He held his breath as he awaited Hassle opening the door.
“Howdy,” Hassle said, a casual smile showing off his dimples. He cackled and slapped one of his trunk-like thighs, which made his dick sway in those paper-thin but starchy white boxers. Avery’s eyes opened wide, entranced by Hassle’s massive chest and the scent of his musky body.
“Hi,” Avery said. He blushed.
Hassle grabbed Avery by the shirt and dragged him in. Avery held onto Hassle’s iron-like biceps, unable to tear his eyes away from Hassle’s bright stare and deep dimples. He had brilliant flashing blue eyes.
“What do you want from me?” Hassle said, screwing up his lips like he was furious. He narrowed his eyes to slits, then planted his lips on Avery’s before Avery could react. His tongue rammed into Avery’s mouth like it was Poland, and Avery’s hands fluttered, then gripped Hassle’s muscle-ripped chest.
His skin was hot and moist with sweat. The air conditioning was not turned on yet in the room, even though it was stuffy and sweltering in here — Hassle was used to the unchilled air of a prison, that was why. He hadn’t yet thought to check the air conditioning.
The scent of his sweat assaulted Avery’s nostrils, as Avery swooned in his powerful arms and accepted his aggressive kiss. He could sense the sexual frustration roiling withing Hassle, the nineteen years of incarceration, the complete lack of women…
No wonder Avery could feel an erection poking through those thin boxer shorts.
The kiss left Avery flummoxed. He had a knack for seducing men but they almost never kissed him. Avery didn’t usually ask because a lot of them were uncomfortable with the request even if Avery wasn’t pushy about it.
But Hassle didn’t seem to care, though he kept a sour look on his square mug like he was being forced into it. His tongue was firm and aggressive, and it battered Avery’s mouth, then his lips and even his smooth cheeks. Avery was ensconced in Hassle’s powerful frame. Hassle was well over six and a half feet tall, so he had to lower his head to meet Avery’s lips.
“Huh?” Hassle asked when he pulled away. His hot breath condensed on Avery’s face, and Avery was enveloped in the greasy sweat pooling on his tattooed paleness. Avery’s uniform shirt was already soaked. “How you wanna mess wit’ me? Tell me now cuz I don’t like listenin’ to my bitches when I cornhole ‘em-” He held up a hand as though to forestall objections. “I just don’t like hearin’ complaints and shit. So pick now-“
“I, uh-“
Hassle slapped Avery on the cheek. “Don’t interrupt me. You pretty as pink, but I’ll still fuck you up fo’ disrespect.” He paused. “I ain’t a violent man, I just don’t accept disrespect. I won’t mess you up, and I wouldn’t even hurt’cha for bein’ colored or Jewish or nothin’, I love the Jews, swear to God. My little sister’s youngest daughter is half-Jewish on her daddy’s side, and I love her to bits — my sister won’t let me see her on account of she’s a bitch and she don’t like nazis, but I like the little Jewess.”
“Oh. Uh-huh.” Avery gulped.
“So you tell me how you wanna do it? You wanna do anal? You want me to plow into that butt?” Hassle grabbed Avery’s asscheek and squeezed so hard it hurt. Avery squirmed, and Hassle grunted right into his ear. “Use ya big boy voice.”
“I, uh… I wanna mess around, and…” Avery knew he should ask for something that was kind of a stretch. He didn’t often get it up the ass from skinheads, so that was special enough, but he had a feeling Hassle would do more than the average ex-con. “Will you… gimme a reacharound?”
Hassle paused, then shrugged. “Hell yeah, boi, I can do that. Ain’t nothin’ like makin’ a man jack off wit’ yo’ dick in his ass. Make him cum before you cum, I like that. Could take hours.” He eyed Avery up. “I mean, not you. You gonna cum real quick. I make you orgasm right away.” He sniffled and dropped his boxers, revealing a massive white cock the color of heavy cream. “Go’n then. Get it wet.”
Avery dropped to his knees, heart thumping. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. He opened his mouth and let the tip of Hassle’s dick slip onto his tongue. Immediately Hassle gripped him by the head and forced it in. He was still limp, so Avery couldn’t swallow it, and it roped around his face, leaving a layer of dicksweat, the smell of which clung to Avery’s upper lip.
He cupped Hassle’s balls with one hand, and he chased the tip with his lips. He could have grabbed it with his other hand, but Avery preferred to tease him.
Until he looked up at Hassle, whose no-nonsense frown was aimed down at him. The subtext was clear: quit playin’ with it, pansy.
So Avery grabbed it with the other hand and held it by the root, while he put the knob in his mouth and choked up as much spit as he could manage. A baritone rumble came out of Hassle, whose cock rocketed right to full erection faster than Avery had ever seen. In moments his foot long behemoth was pulsating on Avery’s tongue, while still Avery gripped the root with one hand and cupped his ballsac with the other. His sac was so sweaty it was silky, and the scent of his aroma wafted into Avery’s nostrils.
Having jerked a lot of guys, Avery was good at it. He could deep-throat anyone, and he loved getting throated down. Hassle was probably not used to anyone handling his meat willingly, or at least, he acted like he wasn’t expecting that.
“Ah, shit, you got throat like velvet…” He held Avery’s head in place as though he had to stop him from running away, and he pumped his trunk-like thighs to fuck his throat like a pussy. Actually that’s not quite right either. Hassle didn’t ram Avery’s face, he made love to it. He wrapped one of his hands over Avery’s mouth, as though to conceal the fact that Hassle’s dick was in there, so he didn’t have to actually watch Avery swallow his dick, and he used his other hand to force Avery’s lips to tightly seal around his shaft.
He drilled his dick in without regard for Avery’s choking, but he didn’t do it in an aggressive way like Avery would have guessed. He slid his dick in as though he expected Avery to grow to adore it filling up his throat, which he did. Avery was glad to choke on a massive slab of manhood like that.
“Spread that neck open, lemme feel it open up,” he said softly, cooing, licking his lips. One of his hands massaged Avery’s neck like a vet getting a dog to swallow a pill. “Keep eye contact when you swallow my dick.”
That was difficult because Hassle had an intense gaze, but Avery managed to do it despite his thumping heart and sputtering throat. Hassle’s dark eyes flashed down at him, overtop a sick grin — he obviously liked seeing Avery struggle just as much Avery enjoyed doing it — and he even laughed when Avery’s hands reached up to his pecs. He stooped over a little to give Avery better access to his nipples, and he flexed his pectoral muscles like a stripper.
His cock throbbed, precum leaking over Avery’s tongue. Hassle swayed his hips, moaning seductively every time Avery choked on it. When some drool snuck out of Avery’s mouth, Hassle smiled and smeared it over his face.
“Hmmm… You handle my dick nice and nasty, and I ain’t even gotta train you in the proper way,” Hassle said. “That’s nice. That’s real nice.” He sucked on his middle-finger, the one that had just smeared his own precum over Avery’s cheeks, so he tasted his own cum. He grimaced like it was nasty, but then he did it again.
He held onto Avery’s ears and drilled into his throat. He smiled at the frantic expression in Avery’s eyes. He moaned caringly as he did, lightly slapping Avery on the cheek when he felt resistance.
“You ready fo’ some butt-stuff? I’m-a get deep inside you. Give you the reacharound of a lifetime.” When Avery didn’t immediately answer, he repeated himself but with hand motions, like sign language. He kept pumping his hips to make love with his dick to Avery’s gullet the whole time.
Avery nodded the best he could with Hassle’s entire manhood in his throat. He gasped for air when Hassle pulled it out, but his gasps were swallowed up by another kiss. Hassle rammed his tongue into Avery’s.
There was something oddly dispassionate about his kisses. Avery had no way of knowing that Hassle kissed him as a show of dominance — in his prison gang, that was how someone like Hassle took an exclusive claim on a weaker man. If he hadn’t kissed Avery, that would be a sign that Avery was a prison bitch, or would be punked out for money; kissing was a sign of affectionate ownership. That was why Hassle kissed him, without regard for the cum on his lips — there was no room for squeamishness behind bars. Gagging at the taste of your own cum on “your man’s” lips got you a punch from all the real men in the gang.
“I’m ready,” Avery said when Hassle pulled off him. Avery had brought his own lube, luckily, so he smeared some on his ass while Hassle bent him over the motel bed.
“Alright, here’s ya reacharound,” Hassle said wearily, with a grunt. Though he enjoyed the actual practice of a reacharound — in particular the moment when a man’s ass clenched as he shot his wad, clenching tight enough to bring Hassle to orgasm — he didn’t so much enjoy the actual stroking of a cock. Once he got into it, he could forget he was doing it and just focus on destroying that bottom boy’s ass. He slipped one hand around Avery’s slim body and held his dick just as he rammed his own cock into Avery’s asshole.
A burst of pleasure hit Hassle, who moaned and slapped Avery’s asscheek. He smiled. He had rammed plenty of men before his release from prison earlier today, but it had rarely been as good as this. Avery was even better than most other men Hassle had ever been with. He didn’t whimper when Hassle rammed his dick in, he just gritted his teeth and loosened his ass the best he could.
“There you go, baby, lemme in, I’ll make you feel so good,” Hassle said with a howl. “I-” He bit his lip and stopped talking because Avery’s ass sucked in the last inch of his cockmeat like a vacuum cleaner, and Hassle was shocked. For a moment he thought Avery’s ass wouldn’t let go and he’d be stuck deep in there. He didn’t mind that idea.
But Avery gripped and released, and Hassle let out a cringing moan that echoed in Avery’s ear. Hassle’s hand began sliding up and down Avery’s cock, which was already hard and throbbing, leaking precum over Hassle’s fingers. Waves of pleasure wracked the both of them, and Avery let out a howl. Hassle instinctively swallowed his sound as though to hide from the guards doing their rounds.
He pounded away. He kissed Avery again as he ground his dick within Avery’s ass, and this time avery was less intimidating, so he kissed back. He writhed in ecstasy swaddled in Hassle’s powerful arms.
A loud cry escaped from Avery’s lips, but Hassle swallowed the sound up. Hassle groaned, his big body pressing down on Avery’s back. Avery squirmed and gasped.
It was one of the most potent orgasms of Avery’s life. He couldn’t believe it could feel this good. He wanted to cry and beg for more, but he didn’t think he could take anything more intense than this. He just clawed at the bedspread beneath himself as a prostate orgasm erupted deep within him.
Cum sprayed into his ass, and Avery moaned. Hassle’s hand furiously stroked his dick off. Avery even lifted one feet off the floor as waves of pleasure crashed over him. The smell of jizz exploded in the motel room, as Avery panted and begged for it to never end.
“Goddamn, boy,” Hassle murmured into his ear. His voice was tense and moist, and he gritted his teeth as he came.
He shot a massive load, wad after wad filling Avery up. He could feel it sloshing within him, like Hassle hadn’t cum his entire time in prison and now had all that built-up nutjuice ready to go. Avery knew that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t help but think it as he felt Hassle’s rod throb and shoot more and more cum into him. The heat seeped into Avery’s flesh.
“Shit…” Avery mewled.
“Aaaah….” Hassle held up his right hand, which glistened with Avery’s cum. Avery had shot a pretty big load as well, so it dripped down his palm in clumps. His dick slowly limpened in Avery’s ass, and with every passing second, Avery found it more and more difficult to pay attention to anything but that sensation.
In the Aryan Way, being “squeamish” with your prison “girlfriend” was a faux pas. There was no rule about what you had to do with your prison bitch, prison wife, jail girlfriend, etc, at least not a strict, consistent rule. But when one Aryan sucked his “girlfriend”‘s cum off his fingers, the others usually did too, lest they be called squeamish. The bigger men like Hassle competed over who could be the least squeamish — as long as they didn’t take it in the ass or swallow dick, they didn’t lose any face.
So Hassle actually liked sucking his bottom’s cum off his fingers. It wasn’t the first time he had done it. The taste was gross, the texture snotty, and his stomach rebelled, making him gag; but it was intense, visceral and so real he had craved it every moment he was behind bars. His limp dick twitched in Avery’s ass.
“Ugh, it’s nasty,” Hassle said with a laugh. But he jerked his fingers clean just the same. He was a little queasy when he was done, but it felt good. He let his cock flop out of Avery’s sensitive asshole. Cum spilled out too, onto the mattress. Hassle chuckled. “You got my mattress all nasty.”
Avery stood and stretched his legs. “I’ll put you in a new room,” he said, “if you promise to let me wake you up in the morning.”
Hassle frowned. “Nah. Not in the mornin’. This is my first night outta prison, man. I ain’t gettin’ up till noon.”
“Perfect. That’s when I get off duty. I’ll come in and wake you up with a mouth on your dick,” Avery said. He put his clothes back on. “There’s a cop on his way to get coffee, just so you know. He gets coffee here this time every morning. Don’t be scared.”
“I won’t. I’ll be sleepin’ sound as a pound, motherfucker, waitin’ for yo’ mouth to tell me it’s time to wake up,” Hassle said.

The Alpha in a Black Leather Jacket

When bikers fill up Avery’s town, he isn’t sure how to react. Then one studly alpha catches his eye, and before Avery knows it, he’s made an offer the biker is too horny to turn down!

Can Avery get that macho biker to stop scaring the customers away from his store?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery sighed as motorcycles whizzed past outside his flower shop. He wasn’t even sure he should bother to be open today — there was a biker festival just down the street, so Avery’s hometown was temporarily home to thousands of bikers. They roared by, engines rumbling like dragons.
He didn’t think they were likely to buy very many flowers. But as long as they were around, not many people were out on the street, and no one was out shopping for things like flowers. So it had killed his business for the day.
Oh no, there’s one right outside… Avery’s heart fluttered for a couple reasons. Firstly, the biker milling about had an incredible physique, and he sent Avery’s blood into overdrive. Second, he was scary, and he made Avery want to run and hide. Third, he was intimidating and his presence would guarantee that no customers came into the shop today.
But Avery couldn’t decide whether to run in fear or call the police or ask to jerk him off. This biker looked like he might consider it with the right persuasion.
He was swarthy-skinned, with an old-fashioned mustache that was well-groomed atop a beard that was scruffy and poorly-groomed. He wore a series of black clothes — they blended in, in layers, so much that it was hard to tell how many shirts, vests and patches he wore. But above it all was a sterling black leather jacket, under which his chest was broad. His hair was long and curly, in a jet-black mullet that piled up behind his neck.
Was he dangerous? He certainly didn’t look safe. But Avery would feel like an asshole if he called the police on some random man who wasn’t a threat. He’d look like a fool too — this town was full of bikers; the cop would tell Avery that a lot of people are going to look rough today and he should try to relax, it would be patronizing and humiliating.
But Avery didn’t want him hanging out in front of the store. There was no way anyone would come in to buy flowers if they had to go past this biker. Sure enough, as though intending to demonstrate it, the biker scowled at two nice ladies walking past.
“Smile, lady, c’mon,” said the biker, his voice a low throaty growl. “You’d be prettier if ya smiled.”
The women just quickened their pace and kept going. The biker watched and lit a cigarette.
Avery took a deep breath. He thought he needed to go out there and do something. He didn’t know what, but it needed to be something.
He went out there without a second thought. The biker turned to look at him.
“Hey, uh, so, I got-“
The biker grunted. “I ain’t stayin’.”
A long pause filled the air, and Avery blushed. This biker was thickly built, and he reeked of engine oil and stale sweat — not like he was sweaty, but more like it had soaked into the black leather of his biker jacket.
“I’m sorry?”
“You came out here to stay I can’t hang out in front of ya store, right?” The biker peered inside the window. He scoffed. “Fuckin’ flowers… You know there’s an Internet, right? You can buy flowers online. Probably.”
“Some people like buying flowers in stores.”
The biker rolled his eyes. “Well, I ain’t stayin’ so don’t worry. My bike gots a pro’lem and it ain’t runnin’, boy.” He pointed to a motorcycle parked on the side of the road. “Waitin’ for my buddy to show up wit’ some tools.”
“Oh, uh, well, do you have to wait right here in front of my door?”
“You want me to buy somethin’? I ain’t got shit for cash, man. I got ‘bout five bucks to my name, not countin’ what I needs for gas to get home, and beer — you best believe I ain’t goin’ wit’out beer at the festival, boy, swear to God, I’ll box ya goddamn ears.”
“Oh, well… I dunno, I don’t, uh… my flowers are all more expensive, uh, than…” Avery’s voice trailed off because the biker glared at him, eyes drilling into his soul. Avery cleared his throat.
“Whatchoo want? Why you still talkin’ to me?”
“I, uh…” Avery cleared his throat. “I thought… uh… maybe-“
“Get it out, boy,” the biker said. He grabbed Avery by the chin, his callused fingers rubbing over Avery’s smooth skin.
Avery went pale. “I wanted, uh-“
“I ain’t a pervert,” the biker said, chewing on his lip as he forced Avery to look him in the eye. His hot breath condensed on Avery’s lips — it was virtually a kiss. Avery instinctively reached out and touched the man’s chest for support, holding onto his powerful body. He sensed curly chest hairs underneath those layers of biker gear.
“Good…” Avery’s voice was a mousy squeak.
The biker laughed, a harsh and guttural sound. It didn’t sound like a real laugh, more like he wanted Avery to think he was laughing at him. Still he was so close they nearly kissed.
Then, they did.
The biker pecked Avery right on the lips. He tasted of cigarettes and smog, and he guffawed at the shocked look on Avery’s face. He shoved Avery against the wall in front of his door.
“Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll be gone toot-sweet, my dear,” the biker said. “Just as soon as my buddy shows up wit’ his tools.”
Avery blushed and went back into his shop. His hands were clenched into fists as a torrent of confusing emotions enveloped him — he was angry, humiliated, aroused, mollified, eager, offended and frightened all at once.
But it was his hard dick that made him struggle the most to keep focus. He tried to do his inventory — he’d be meaning to do that anyway, and it was easier now that no one was in the shop. But he kept finding himself looking out the window at the biker.
It was during such a moment, when Avery lifted his face, that he saw the biker leaning casually against the parking meter in front of the shop. He had raised his ass up — cradled by mud-splattered black jeans which were speckled with pale bleach spots — and shook it subtly. He turned around and guffawed again, looking in the dark window.
It was impossible to see in past the display case in the window, because Avery had purchased very dark glass (he hated glare). The biker had been performing like that for some time, laughing at what he imagined Avery was doing. He turned around and grabbed his dick through his jeans, showing off its size and heft and aiming it towards the window.
For the first time, Avery wondered if this biker actually wanted something from him. He was so used to needing to make the first move on a fresh slice of rough trade, he didn’t always think of the possibility that they wanted to do it too, that they were trying to make him do it.
They wouldn’t just ask.
The biker paced in front of the shop. After awhile, he stopped teasing Avery through the window. He stroked his scraggly beard hairs and alternated between leaning on his motorcycle, catcalling at women and mean-mugging men.
Finally, the biker checked his phone, threw his hands in the air and came in. He looked at Avery as though trying to gauge whether or not he had noticed what he did out there. Avery kept his face stony and expressionless.
“My battery’s dead. I don’t think my buddy’s coming,” the biker said. He growled. “You got a outlet?” He looked around until he found an outlet, then plugged his phone charger in before Avery could answer.
“Uh… So…-“
“You don’t talk much, huh?”
“Hmmm… No.” Avery blushed. “I, uh.. Well, maybe, I like… Sometimes, I talk more… I’m not exactly shy, but-“
“Uh-huh, yeah.” The biker waited for something he didn’t say out loud. His dark eyes looked Avery over. “What’s ya name, boy?”
“Avery.”
“I’m Cooter.” He absent-mindedly rifled through some flowers by the counter. “You, uh… you got work? I gotta get my bike fixed. I ain’t, y’know… a flower-buyin’ kinda guy. But I got, y’know… skills, in like… other shit.”
“Hmmm… Like what?” Avery asked. He was now more confident that Cooter wanted to get paid to let Avery jerk him off. Avery had been around long enough to sense it radiating off him.
“Well… I learned how to cook in prison. I know you ain’t a restaurant or nothin’, but you know…” Cooter laughed that dry, throaty laugh. “I can’t really cook. I can cook spaghetti for like six hundred guys, but I always fuck it up cooking for just me.” He bit his lip. “I ain’t got no skills, ‘kay? Least, not no legal ones. You want me to cook up some meth?”
Avery blushed. “No…”
“You scared of me, huh, boy? Don’t let me bein’ in prison scare you neither, I ain’t never stab no one who ain’t deserve it.” He paused. “I mean, that ain’t strictly true, lemme be honest wit’ ya, I gotta be honest under God’s watchful eye, right? Lemme be honest, I did done stab this one bitch on account of he was lookin’ at me wrong, but he turned out to be a child molester anyhow. I ain’t know that then, so, y’know… it’s questionable, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“Right… Uh… cool…” Avery was finding it very hard to concentrate. He was positive Cooter wanted to be paid for a swing on his dick. He even grabbed his cock through his jeans. Avery was overwhelmed by fear and desire, and the scent of his asphalt-reeking leather jacket — he had fallen off his motorcycle enough that the blacktop had been ground into the leather. His limbs even vibrated a little like he still imagined himself atop his motorcycle.
“You lookin’ like you wanna say somethin’ but you too scared. Huh? You scared, boy?” He spoke more softly and touched Avery’s cheek, pinching it like a grandmother. Though he seemed to be trying to be less intimidating, it only came across as even more frightening.
“Umm… Yeah.”
Cooter rolled his eyes. “Man, I ain’t a prideful fella.” He got down on his knees and lowered his eyes. “See? Now you taller ‘an me, and you ain’t gotta look me in the eye. So whatchoo think? You know a way I can earn some money? Maybe I got some skills I learn in prison you might enjoy.”
“Well… Maybe. I, uh… I was kind of hoping, that, uh… maybe-” Avery caught a glimpse of Cooter’s eyes when he glanced up, and Avery blushed. “I…”
“Ah, man, I done scare you, huh? You wanna punch me? You might feel better ‘bout it if you punched me?” Cooter reached up and touched Avery’s lips. He pulled his tongue out of his mouth. “What’s wrong? I know you got words on ya tongue. You prolly got all kinda… remnants on ya tongue. You got remnants of different activities on there? I bet you do all kinda things with that tongue. That’s a nice, big, wet tongue. I could come up wit’ lots of activities you could do wit’ that if we shared a cell.” He chuckled. “But we don’t. So you gotta come up wit’ them activities, and you gots to pay, boy. You ready to pay?” He leaned back and shrugged off his jacket. “Go’n, punch me, it’ll make you feel better.”
“I, uh… I don’t want to.” Avery felt weak and tinny.
“Then what do you want to do?” Cooter closed his eyes. “You just lemme know.” He pursed his lips like he was kissing the air. “Or you can just do it.”
Avery couldn’t resist it. He planted his lips on Cooter’s. Just like the kiss out on the sidewalk, it lasted only a moment, and it was chaste and dry. As soon as Avery’s tongue tried to enter Cooter’s mouth, Cooter pushed him away.
“I ain’t kissin’ a feller,” Cooter said. “So use ya words and make me an offer.”
“I’ll… I’d like you to cornhole me,” Avery said with a blush.
“How much?”
“One hundred dollars-“
Cooter stood and went to the cash register. He shook it open and counted out more than three hundred dollars from the till — including the twenties and fifties that were under the drawer. “It just so happens, boy, that my price for that is exactly three hundred twenty-seven dollars. That is a mighty coincidence on account of that’s the amount you got in the till.” He paused. “And get me some flowers.”
“What?”
“I need flowers. Somethin’ classy, for an old lady. For my great-aunt. Her birthday is Monday.”
“Oh, uh… Well, we have this one, it’s very nice-“
“Just gimme the goddamn flowers, asshole,” he said with a snarl. He grabbed the bouquet out of Avery’s hand. He didn’t even look at it, he just set the bouquet down by the door. “Alright.” He stood there by the shop counter. “Well? You gonna start jerkin’ or what? Don’t even try to make me take no dick, lemme tell you. I don’t do that shit.”
“I… Can we go up to my apartment?” Avery asked. He locked the store door.
“Fine.” Cooter sighed. “Let’s go.”
Avery brought him into the back of the shop, which led to a stairwell. It was narrow and humid here, with spiderwebs in each corner of the ceiling. The dust was visible in the rays of late afternoon sunlight that filled the air.
Cooter placed one hand on Avery’s ass. He gripped his jeans by the waistband and held on, preventing Avery from taking the next step up the staircase. He let out a growl and grinned when Avery turned around.
Avery’s heart raced. Was he going to punch him? Was he going to rob him? (More than he already sort of had?)
“Lotta folks think that, in prison, you ramrod a man in the shower, or you ramrod a man in ya cell, or whatever, ya feel me?” He passed Avery, standing higher than him on the stairs, and when Avery was too engrossed to respond — overwhelmed still by the awkward situation — he took Avery’s hand and placed it on his belly. His muscles rippled. “Ya feel me now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But in fact, there’s guards in the shower, and there’s cameras in ya cell, and you ain’t allowed to ram, boy, they’ll stop you on account of it’s a law. So when the pressure get too much and you gots to ram, you do it somewhere else. Like in a hallway, or in the stairwell or some shit,” Cooter said. “So I wanna do it here.” He put both hands on Avery’s head and pushed him to his knees.
Avery was too short to reach Cooter’s crotch like this. Cooter was a few steps higher than Avery, so he had to sit on the stairs and spread his legs wide. He unceremoniously unzipped his jeans and let a darkly tan cock flop out.
It was thick and meaty, still limp but Avery could tell when he got close that it had been half-hard recently, maybe even fully erect. Cooter had definitely been trying to get a nut off for awhile.
“Hey…” He grabbed Avery by the hair, just at the moment Avery wrapped his lips around the tip of his funky cock. “A man’s gotta take whatever affection he can get.” Cooter pulled Avery’s head up, kissed him on the lips and rammed his tongue into his mouth.
Avery squealed and squirmed in surprise. His hands clawed at Cooter’s chest, which was hard like iron beneath his leather clothes. Avery’s tongue tasted like cigarettes and steel, and it was huge, so it filled up Avery’s mouth. Avery’s hands wrapped around Cooter’s shoulders, and for a moment, they made intense, passionate love with their mouths.
Just a moment though. Once Avery got over his shock and awe, and started kissing Cooter back, Cooter let go and pushed him back down to his crotch.
“Jerk me off, boy,” Cooter said. “And don’t try to kiss me no more. I don’t kiss boys.”
“Oh… … Uh… Sorry,” Avery said. He lowered his head to his crotch, while Cooter lit another cigarette and took his shirts off. Avery suckled on his cocktip — he had gotten fully erect while being kissed — and looked up at his face and his bare chest.
Cooter was covered in tattoos, and a few scars. There was a bullet wound on his belly, and an oddly-shaped dragon over his heart — Avery soon realized it was oddly-shaped because it covered up a swastika that had been carved into his chest.
His dick tasted like sweat and industrial soap, and it was firm, veiny, throbbing like a motorcycle engine as it rubbed against Avery’s tongue. Cooter gripped Avery by the ears, dragging his head up and down on his shaft.
“Open wide, boy…”
Soon, Cooter stood, still using both hands on Avery’s ears and his lips to keep the lit cigarette in his mouth. He swayed his hips, grinding his dick in deep. He didn’t ram Avery’s throat in an aggressive or mean way, not like a lot of alphas did — Avery wouldn’t have minded — he made sweet love to his throat. He didn’t stop when Avery choked, but he wasn’t violent about it either. He just clucked his tongue and kept on plowing.
Soon his balls smacked and rubbed against Avery’s chin. Cooter took a deep drag on his cigarette. He let go of Avery’s head, watching him slide up and down on his moistened shaft.
“Hmmm… You want me to stick you, boy?”
Avery nodded without taking Cooter’s dick out of his mouth. He suckled moistly, slurping down every drop of salty precum he could find. He kept slurping even as Cooter tried to pull his head off. Avery giggled — he liked the frustrated look on Cooter’s face.
Cooter snarled and bent Avery over on the stairs. Since they faced opposite directions, Cooter had to go over Avery to be lower than him on the narrow staircase. He could have stepped around Avery’s body to get beneath him, but instead he sat on his back and rubbed his hairy ass — laughing the whole way — until he was lower on the staircase.
“You like my ass-slide, boy,” Cooter said. He chuckled. “Now, I am guessin’ this is prolly implied, but lemme be totally clear, son, when we are done here, you ain’t gonna never tell no one ‘bout it. Not the police, not ya priest, ya rabbi, not some other biker you might jerk off a couple hours from now, or a couple decades from now. If’n you ever even think ‘bout tellin’ folks what’s ‘bout to happen, I will bury you in wet cement and I’ll send ya mama a rude limerick describin’ how you died, ya feel me?”
“I won’t tell, I would never-“
“Good.” Cooter didn’t wait for a second. He jammed his dick in, just the tip at first. He grabbed Avery by the hair and held his head in place as Avery howled in pain. Cooter waited for him to stop, with just the first inch or so of his dick in Avery’s ass. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Just go slow.”
Cooter wrapped one of his well-muscled arms around Avery’s throat. Again, he didn’t choke him, but he held on firmly enough he did slightly restrict his breathing. As he did, he pistoned his dick in farther, ignoring Avery’s intense writhing.
“Goddamn!” Avery cried out.
“Hmmm… You ready to get started?” Cooter asked, whispering in his ears. “Here’s the skills I learned in prison, boy. Don’t you nevuh let no one know.” He kissed Avery again, and he rammed his tongue into his mouth. Meanwhile his other hand roamed lower and lower on Avery’s chest, then his belly, then to his crotch.
He held onto Avery’s cock with one hand, while his other kept Avery’s head upright. It took all of Avery’s concentration just to balance on the stairs, even with Cooter holding him in place.
“Good boy, good boy, keep that ass high, keep it up there, I’m goin’ deep now!” Cooter called out and moaned. He whooped like a cowboy. “You feel me? Huh? You like that? Say somethin’.”
“Yeah… Fill me up.” Avery couldn’t say much. He gasped. If he had been jacking himself off, he’d have cum already. But Cooter’s hand was callused and he stroked in a disrhythmic way, somewhat uncomfortable, more like a farmer masturbating his livestock than someone who genuinely wanted to give a reacharound, though the medley of moans and grunts that moistly emanated from his mouth sounded authentically desirous.
“You gonna nut? Tell me when you nut, I wanna hear it. Lemme hear you say it. Use my name, okay? Say ‘Cooter is makin’ me nut cuz he so handsome’, okay? Say that.”
“Cooter… is making… me nut cuz… he’s so… handsome…” Avery moaned and squirmed. He would have collapsed onto his belly but Cooter held him tightly in position.
“Good… I can feel ya nut, don’t worry, I don’t mind you nuttin’ on my hand, ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ that,” he said. He kept on stroking as Avery’s face turned red. Then, just before cum actually sprayed from Avery’s dick, Cooter again kissed him on the lips from behind.
He rammed hard then. He had waited for that — he loved plowing men who orgasmed with his cock in their ass. He could feel that orgasm in how Avery clenched around his dick, and in the gasping that was swallowed up by Cooter’s bicep.
His tongue slathered spit over Avery’s lips and cheeks, as Cooter reached his own orgasm and couldn’t quite kiss anymore — it felt so good he shuddered and shook, and his tongue lolled over Avery’s face. Cooter loved having his bottom all wrapped up in his arms so he could keep him right at the perfect level, swallowing up his dick and every drop of cum.
His balls crawled up in his sac as he filled Avery with his creamy load. It was thick and hot, and it seeped in Avery’s flesh. It trickled through his body more and more with each thrust of Cooter’s manhood into him.
“You okay, boy? Say you okay, and I’ll take my dick out. Tell me whatchoo think,” Cooter said.
“I… I loved that,” Avery said through gritted teeth. The moist pressure was intense in his ass, and it made him buck in Cooter’s arms.
“Okay, when I pull out, remember, nothing happened here today. No strokin’, no reachin’ around nobody’s delicate body that could be so easily smashed to pieces. No talking ‘bout nothin’ nasty, okay? Rammin’ ain’t a topic of conversation. It’s somethin’ that only happened as long as we’re in this stairwell. When we’re done… I robbed you. If any bikers asked, I grabbed the money outta ya cash register. If any cops ask, you smash ‘em in the face with a whiskey bottle and don’t say a goddamn word. Ya understand?”
Avery nodded. “I, uh… if a cop — ah-” He sighed as Cooter finally pulled his cock out. “If a cop asks, I won’t hit him, I mean…” He sighed again and collapsed on the stairs. “I won’t tell him either, I just, I don’t feel comfortable attacking a cop-“
“Shut up, boy. I was kiddin’.” Cooter wiped his dick off on Avery’s asscheeks, then tucked it back in his pants. He put his clothes on and walked out of the stairwell. “Hey, gimme yo’ phone number, boy.”
“Okay…”
Cooter smiled that harsh, intimidating smile. His mustache quivered. “If’n I don’t find a female who gonna give up the booty tonight, I’ll come over and Avery you again. Have some cash ready.”
“Okay.” Avery was breathless, eyes wide as he watched Cooter leave. Cooter grabbed his pack with the flower for his great-aunt in it and his phone from the outlet, then walked out the door. Avery breathed a sigh of relief.
And he turned over the “open” sign to read “closed”.