MN Manmacker's mansploitation
Buck Sampson is a big fellah with a small cellmate, Miguel. When Buck discovers Miguel has to earn his keep with his gang by doing the nasty-nasty with whoever has cigarettes to pay, Buck is eager to see what it feels like… and he just might like what he discovers!
Can Miguel handle Buck’s big-ass meaty masculinity? Can Buck handle Miguel’s grippy orifices?!
Leif owes a gambling debt he’s gotta pay off, and that means paying the debt collector… who just might have a secret motivation of his own!
Can Leif get out of his gambling debt intact?
Read the whole thing here!
“Come in!” barked a deep, gruff voice. Whoever it was sounded annoyed, as though it was obvious that Leif should just come right in to the Broad Avenue traphouse.
Leif gulped and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked, or even shut all the way. He tried to look as tough as possible. He was a short white hipster with a beard like a fashionable goat and long hair done back in a taut man-bun. He tried to carry himself like he belonged because, as far as Leif was concerned, being seen as not belonging was the worst possible fate. This was a ramshackle building in an all-black neighborhood of Las Vegas — he had not seen a single non-black person for several blocks before arriving here. So no matter how he carried himself, he wasn’t gonna fit in.
Still, he hoped he didn’t look like some punk-ass white boy. A black guy called him that once, and it was humiliating. He kept his shoulders back, head on a swivel, eyes open. Leif Spurling was nobody’s fool.
Well, maybe Nelson Turnbottom’s. But hopefully none of these black people knew that.
He wandered through the run-down squat. Leif had never smelled crack, but when he caught a whiff of that metallic odor, he knew that’s what it was. He had enough sense to know he shouldn’t go asking around for Nelson Turnbottom — judging from the reaction to his knocking on the front door, it was expected for him to just enter and find the person he was looking for. He didn’t wanna fail to fit in.
He went upstairs, because that seemed to be the thing to do. The ground floor was full of hobos. That wasn’t who Leif was looking. There was a baby bottle laying on the steps, along with discarded syringes and filthy underwear. There was a bloodstain on the wall, a big splatter like someone had gotten shot there. It was old though, faded.
“Uh… Nelson Turnbottom?” he said, not too loud.
“In here,” came a very deep, gravelly voice. That must be Nelson Turnbottom. His voice was so rough and sandpapery that Leif wondered if there was something wrong with him.
But Nelson was just big, and he smoked a lot of cigarettes, especially since he left prison. Nelson was in the room at the end of the hall, doing pull-ups on the battered remnants of a bicycle he had set up as a make-shift workout bar. He pulled up his massive body, his broad chest dripping with sweat, counting off.
“Twenty-two. Twenty-three.” He kept going as Leif approached the room.
He was nervous, but he tried not to appear quake. Leif cleared his throat and waited for Nelson to finish his pull-ups. Leif owed money to a white man named Mickey Garelli, and he needed to finish whatever Nelson wanted him to do in order to get his debt paid off. Nelson had work for him or was a debt collector or something.
Leif had agreed back when he thought he had a choice in the matter. Mickey made it clear that this was the way Leif was going to repay his debt, and it did not matter that it seemed skeezy to meet his “boss” or debt collector or whatever in a ghetto crackhouse.
Crackhouse in a deprived area, sorry.
A few drops of sweat splashed off Nelson’s body and landed on Leif’s face, making him pucker and close his eyes. His well-worked upper body arched as he lifted his hugeness up and down, accompanying each pull-up with a deep grunt.
Leif couldn’t believe he had let himself get sucked in this deep. He had never considered the perils of gambling. Honestly he had only started betting on baseball games because it was illicit and dangerous and none of the other hipsters he knew did it back where he came from in Brooklyn. It was scary and authentic and a little weird, so Leif did it.
He only bet small amounts at first, but it turned out he was pretty good at it, and it got him lots of attention. He was the guy who had a bookie — and his bookie — Mickey — was even the old-fashioned kind, an indeterminately ethnic New Yawker, wearing a wifebeater and suspenders and he walked around eating cold-cut subs and collecting money. Leif was deliberately late repaying him a couple times just so Mickey would come around when Leif’s friends were over. He’d pay him off, and Mickey would act like some small-time gangster from a classic movie. His friends thought he was the coolest guy in Vegas.
But somehow he had bet two grand on a Lakers game at the bookie’s in Charles Town, entirely on a whim, because Mickey himself had said he was not sure he set the right odds. He did it without thinking about it, and now he owed that money — Mickey had let him place the bet without any cash upfront.
No problem, Mickey had said, I don’t wanna break your knees or something. I ain’t some small-time gangster from a classic movie. I know this guy, he might have some work for you.
Leif assumed he would have to do something backbreaking, some hard labor that was going to be worth two grand. That was why he had worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t realized he was going into the ghetto, that the address Mickey gave him was a traphouse, or that Nelson was a thug.
But here he was, stammering as he said, “I’m, uh… Mickey sent me…”
Nelson had finished doing his pull-ups. He glowered at Leif as though he hated him, looking him up and down. He squeezed Leif’s biceps and snickered. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a rag. His bare chest gleamed, dark tattoos barely visible against his dark skin.
“You’re Leif?”
Leif nodded.
“What kinda name is that?”
“Uh… It’s Scandinavian,” he said.
“What?” Nelson barked like that was the wrong answer. He didn’t wait for Leif to respond again though. “Shut that door.”
Leif shut the door to the tiny bedroom, which had little more than a mattress on the floor and a trash bag full of clothes scattered around. Nelson leaned the battered bicycle-frame against the wall. His broad, sweaty chest gleamed in the bright light that flowed through the cracked window.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I’m a good worker,” Leif said as he sat. He blushed. He knew he sounded like an idiot. It hadn’t occurred to him that the work Mickey had in mind was illegal in nature, but now that seemed obvious. He wasn’t going to be told to kill someone, was he? That must cost more than two grand, he decided, and hoped. He couldn’t rob someone, right? He wouldn’t know.
He could get two grand from his parents if he absolutely had to. Selling the bicycle would get him close to a thousand. The vinyl and Magic cards were maybe five hundred. Leif was in this deeper than he ever meant to be.
“What?”
“I, uh… I’m a good worker. I can work hard.”
Nelson glared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Mickey said I had to come work for you,” Leif said. “I’m a good worker. I can do — I can do lots of things. I can cook, I can bake pretty good, and I’m a good driver, and I know some, uh… … I worked as a house painter, I mean. Painting. I know about painting. Punk music.”
“Shut up, you little bitch,” he said. “You do gotta work. You gonna work real hard. Do you drink?”
Leif nodded.
“Good. You should drink,” he said. He produced a bottle of cheap vodka and poured two cups full. It was lukewarm, and it smelled like nail polish. Leif sipped it politely. Nelson looked him up and down again, as though undressing him with his eyes. Leif shuddered and Nelson smiled. “You intact, right?”
“What?”
Nelson narrowed his eyes to slits. “I mean in yo’ ass. You been ruint in yo’ butthole?”
“Oh… What? You mean… have I been ruined in the ass…?” Leif said. “Uh… no. I dunno what that means-“
“Mickey ain’t ask you dat?”
“No…”
“He was s’posed to. Oughta kick his ass. I paid for intact,” Nelson said. He sat down on the mattress next to Leif. It was scuzzy and felt slightly soggy. It made Leif sick. “I thought Mickey was gonna ax you. He was s’posed to tell you the plan.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m gonna cornhole you, boi.”
“Oh… Uh, what?”
“I said I am gonna cornhole you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You evuh done that? You ever take it up the ass.”
“No. I don’t know what-“
“Sssshhh… I love cornholin’ whitebois. It’s a hobby I picked up in prison. No one squirms like an intact whiteboi,” Nelson said. He took a big drink of vodka, then put his cup down. His massive chest muscles ripple, and he bent over so he could slowly untied his shoes. “It’s okay to cry,” Nelson said. “Whiteboi tears make good lube. I oughta bottle that shit, sell it in prison commissary. Make a fuckin’ fortune.”
“So you, uh…?”
“You owe Mickey money, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well he turnin’ you out fo’ money. He gonna get paid. He did get paid, technically. I paid him. Mickey always get paid, boi,” Nelson said. “No matter what. He stay gettin’ paid. If it weren’t this, he’d prolly sell yo’ fuckin’ kidney, so you should be thankful I tol’ him to let me know when some pretty whiteboi with a cherry butt needed cash.” He dropped his baggy jeans and his boxers. A fat cock popped out, bigger than any Leif had ever seen. His stomach dropped. Was this really happening to him?
“Wait, can’t we do something else?”
“Nope.” Nelson flopped his limp dick over Leif’s face, and he chuckled when Leif gagged. “You ain’t even start lickin’ yet, you already gaggin’. Open up.” When Leif didn’t immediately respond, Nelson slapped him across the cheek.
Leif opened up to argue and scream, but Nelson pushed his rubbery cockshaft in regardless. Leif choked and Nelson began to grind his hips. He swayed like he was dancing, low-hanging balls swinging and bouncing against Leif’s chin. He even sang softly to himself, mumbling the words to some R&B song that Leif didn’t recognize.
Finally Nelson’s dick hardened up, until it was like a steel rod jamming into Leif’s throat. He gagged over and over, spitting up huge gobs of saliva that soaked his shirt. It tasted like sweat and piss and old cum, and it got even worse when precum started to flow.
It was snotty and sticky, and Nelson made sure it spread all over Leif’s face, which shone once it was covered in precum. He chuckled at Leif’s gagging.
“Whatchoo think?” He flopped his cock over Leif’s face to let him speak.
He let out a long coarse breath. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Ain’t I tell you that already? I like wreckin’ whitebois in they booty. It make me feel good,” he said. “Now tell me whose cock this is?”
“What?”
He slapped Leif over the face, first with the open palm of one hand and then with a meaty thwack of his cock. “I say tell me whose cock this is?”
“Uh… Yours-“
“Say my name, bitch.” He didn’t give Leif a chance to respond. “Say my name, bitch!” He said again and slapped Leif once more.
“Please-!”
“Say my name, bitch!”
“Nelson Turnbottom!”
“Whose cock is this?!”
“Nelson Turnbottom’s cock!” Leif screamed. He repeated it then a few more times, Nelson ramming his precummy cock in each time.
At last he’d had enough of that. He made Leif lay down on the floor with a pillow beneath his upper back, so that his head was upside down and at an angle. “This is the proper position for a good throating. You ready?”
“Nelson, please!”
Leif gagged again as Nelson waited, in position like he was going to do a pushup and Leif’s head just happened to be in the way. His erect cock danced at Leif’s lips. The smell of saliva and slimy precum assaulted Leif’s nostrils.
“Beg me some more, bitch.”
“Please, don’t do this, I can’t swallow any more of your dick. It’s, uh, it’s too big!”
“Well, don’t worry ’bout that, lil bitch. This position mean you won’t have a choice. Imma plow ya throat now. Take a deep breath, cuz you ain’t gonna be breathin’ again fo’ a minute.”
Leif took a deep breath and then Nelson pushed his dick in. Leif choked, but as Nelson predicted, his cock slid all the way in anyway. Leif could feel his throat stretching to accommodate Nelson’s massive meat. Nelson murmured his approval, and a ripple of pleasure rolled up his powerful chest.
Soon enough his balls dangled right on Leif’s nose. Nelson swayed his hips back and forth, so his balls slapped against Leif’s nose and eyes. All he could see were those massive brown balls and the sweat glistening on them.
“How’s dat taste, bitch?” He pulled away so Leif could take a breath.
It was a loud, painful retch. He gasped for air, the pain in his stomach agonizing. His eyes watered as his body cried out for oxygen. His hands clawed uselessly at Nelson’s powerful body.
“Huh? How’s dat taste?”
“Bad…”
“Oh, you don’t like it, huh? Well, don’t worry, I won’t let dat slow me down none,” he said. He chuckled and rubbed Leif’s cheek with one thumb. “Hey, you gotta open up dat throat a little more, okay? You still got like a inch of my dick to get in there.”
“I can’t…”
“You can. I gots faith in you, lil bitch,” Nelson said. He clucked his tongue as though he was genuinely caring. He massaged Leif’s neck. “You know what you need? Incentive. I gotta give you a reason to try. You ain’t tryin’ yo’ best cuz I ain’t give you a good reason.”
“No, Nelson, I’m-“
“Sssh…” Nelson slipped the tip of his dick in, and the sour flavor of precum again assaulted Leif’s senses. Translucent precum coated his tongue and his face. He gagged. Nelson gently smacked Leif on the cheek. “If you don’t swallow me so deep my balls rest on yo’ nose, I gonna tell Mickey you ain’t nevuh show up.”
It took Leif a moment to process what Nelson said, but when he did he tried to scream around the cock in his throat. He didn’t think he could open his mouth up anymore. Nelson laughed at his muffled, moist screams and pistoned his hips again. He squeezed Leif’s nostrils shut with two callused fingers. He pinched harder than necessary, like he was trying to rip Leif’s nose off his face.
Pain exploded from Leif’s throat, which felt like it was splitting in half. Snot leaked from his nose. Nelson groaned and ground his dick in deeper and deeper, rolling his hips this way and that like he needed to hit every corner of Leif’s mouth.
At last his balls slapped against Leif’s nose, really laying into his face. Ball-sweat smeared over his nostrils, and if his senses weren’t overwhelmed by the salty precum on his tongue, he would have wanted to vomit from the smell of balls. His throat strained and spasmed. He had been doing pull-ups a few moments ago, so his manfunk was strong, and it of course mixed with the precum and saliva dripping down Nelson’s cockshaft to his scrotum.
“Yo, Nelson, keep it down, nigga,” said some ashy-skinned, dull-eyed crackhead who appeared in the doorway.
“Is we bein’ too loud, nigga? So sorry,” Nelson said.
The crackhead turned around to leave, then stopped. He got down on his knees to watch. He peered deep into Leif’s eyes. He was lean, ropy-muscled, with a scruffy gray-streaked beard, and he was missing most of his teeth.
“Can I piss in his mouth?” the crackhead asked. He had a harsh, rickety voice, and he got up with his dick out before Nelson even said anything. The crackhead an ugly warty dick.
Leif felt himself grow dizzy from lack of oxygen, fear and disgust. He heard Nelson agree and tried to crawl away, but Nelson dragged him back.
Was that a sore on the crackhead’s dick? There was something there, but Leif couldn’t tell if it is was real or a shadow. The crackhead flopped his cock out of the fly of his jeans. He brought the tip to Leif’s mouth before letting it rip. The taste was foul, and Leif fluttered his arms above his chest.
He definitely wished he had simply borrowed the money from his parents now.
Acrid piss filled Leif’s mouth, and he gagged at the intensely sour smell. Something about it was even worse than he thought it would be — it tasted like that metallic smoked-crack smell he had picked up downstairs, and a little like garbage runoff, rainwater and farts.
Most of the piss spilled out past Leif’s lips, coating his face and dripping onto the floor. The crackhead cackled and walked away once he was done, while Nelson stood above Leif and watched him writhe.
“Now I’m gonna destroy that ass,” Nelson said. He didn’t give Leif much time to react. He threw him over the couch and ripped his pants to shreds pulling them down. “Beg me for it.”
“Nelson, I can’t-“
“Nah. That ain’t how you beg,” Nelson said. He wedged his fat, hot cock between Leif’s cheeks. He humped slowly there. He grabbed Leif’s hair with one hand and slammed his face onto the floor. He wiped it there like he was trying to clean the piss off. “Beg me, bitch. Beg me. Beg me.”
At first Leif assumed he was supposed to wait for Nelson to give him a chance to beg. But it soon became apparent that Nelson wasn’t going to wait. He smeared his face all over the grimy crackhouse floor, repeating himself over and over. “Beg me. Beg me. Beg me.”
“Please! Nelson! Please, uh… cornhole me! Your cock is, uh… my boss! Your cock is my master!”
“That’s right, bitch. I know it. You ain’t gotta say,” Nelson said with a cocky laugh. “I like that improvisation though. That’s the kinda thing a nigga don’t do. Only a whiteboy get that broke down.”
He slammed his dick in so quick Leif didn’t have time to fight back. He squealed and screamed as pain erupted in his ass. It felt like Nelson wrecked every inch of his insides. His cock was enormous, and he gave no mercy to Leif’s squeals of pain. He just clucked his tongue and kept thrusting with those powerful legs.
“What’s yo’ daddy do, whiteboi?”
“What?”
He put Leif’s neck in a chokehold, placing their faces so close that Nelson’s rancid breath condensed on Leif’s face. He didn’t seem to mind that he was close to the crackhead’s piss. He spit on Leif’s face, then used one hand to smear the saliva all over him. Leif gagged.
That massive cock split him open. Leif was in too much pain to say anything. His eyes rolled back in his head. He wondered if his ass was bleeding, but he both couldn’t focus enough to reach behind himself and check, and he was too scared about what he might find. Was Nelson doing real damage to his rectum? It felt like he might be.
“Listen up, whiteboi. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. I asked what yo’ daddy do. For a job.”
“He’s… a prison guard…” Leif said through gritted teeth. After he said that, it occurred to him it might have been better to lie. But Nelson didn’t seem perturbed to find out, almost like he had already known. Leif was too overwhelmed by agony and humiliation to think of a lie anyway.
“You gots any brothers or sisters?”
“One of each.”
“Really? I did not know that. What’s yo’ sister do?” He slammed his dick in the rest of the way, and Leif screamed.
“Uh, she’s. A teacher. Fourth-grade. Teacher.” He gritted his teeth. He hyperventilated, which made the remnants of piss in his mouth taste stronger. He gagged again.
“Yo’ brother?”
“He’s a prison guard too. Nelson, get off me! I-” His complaint was cut off by Nelson tightening the chokehold. He started to move his hips in a circle, like he needed to hit every part of Leif’s insides.
Now that his dick was fully inside Leif, Nelson lifted his upper body. He kept Leif’s head and shoulders flat on the ground, and Nelson used all of his weight to slam his dick in and out. His muscular body rolled and roiled above Leif’s smooth back. Leif clawed at the rancid floor of the crackhouse.
“Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother… do they work at the same prison?”
“Yeah. A state prison in Texas.”
“They ever ramrod niggas?” His voice was so close its deep, gravelly resonance echoed in Leif’s ear. He shuddered at the sensation, which made the pain in his ass even worse. Nelson pulled tighter on his hair to get his attention, as his dick throbbed mightily in Leif’s sensitive asshole. “Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, they ever ramrod niggas?” He paused. “This here, what we’s doin’, in prison, they call it ramroddin’. Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, do they evuh ramrod niggas?”
“What? No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Well… yeah, pretty sure.” Leif’s voice was wavering, plaintive. He realized there was more than just nosy curiosity behind these questions of Nelson’s.
“You wrong,” Nelson said.
“You mean…?” Leif’s mind reeled. A part of him figured it out right away, but that part of him was overwhelmed by the part that was being viciously ramrodded. He gasped and screamed as Nelson resumed grinding his dick this way and that inside Leif, whose mind whirred. “They ramrodded you?” He asked finally after Nelson growled into his ear.
“That’s right, whiteboi. So if you need someone to blame fo’ this, you find yo’ daddy and yo’ brother,” Nelson said. He laughed and stuck one finger in Leif’s mouth until he gagged, making Leif’s ass clench around his cock. “E’ry single thing I done to you is something they do to niggas all the time in that joint. Even lettin’ a crackhead piss in yo’ mouth just fo’ fun. That’s they specialty.”
“Please, stop… I’ll talk to them, I’ll make them quit it-“
He began pounding away, ramming his dick in as hard as he could. Leif screamed at the top of his lungs, and buried his face in his arms. He couldn’t believe this was happening because of his father and brother — they didn’t even like Leif. They saw him as a stupid liberal hipster. When he told them about this, they’d probably laugh at him, tell him he was an idiot for gambling in the first place.
And the worst part was, they’d be right.
Leif’s face was bright red, tears streaming from his eyes. Nelson groaned and moaned as an orgasm finally ran through his body. His thick tattooed muscles undulated, and he pounded on his chest.
Cum sprayed into Leif’s ass. It was searing hot, thick and creamy, cloying, sticky, seeping into his flesh. Leif writhed in Nelson’s powerful arms.
It lasted for what felt like forever. More and more cum just kept on flowing into him. He could feel its heat and its snotty texture trickling through his body. Nelson sharply gasped into his ear as the orgasm rolled over him.
“Say you love me, whiteboi. Say you’ll follow prison rules from now on. Say you won’t talk back and you gonna line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall,” He said through gritted teeth.
“I love you, Nelson,” he said through his tears. “I’ll follow prison rules from now on. I’ll line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall.”
“Good. You can leave. You can tell yo’ daddy and yo’ brother that Nelson Turnbottom got his revenge,” Nelson said. He took a deep breath as he pulled his dick out with an audible, moist plop. Leif felt incredible relief and intense agony in his sore ass, the pain reawakening now that it was over. He screamed and sobbed into the floor. Nelson patted him on the back of the head. “Say yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ben can’t believe he lost everything at the casino, and he’ll do whatever it takes for another chance to win… even if that means submitting to an ultra-humiliating bout of man-on-man action with the terrifying bouncer Cue! Can Ben beg his way into a second chance? Or is he all out of luck?!
Read the whole thing here!
Ben Wastermeek still couldn’t believe it had happened. He had never gambled before in his life, and now it was all gone. How did that even happen? He could remember every moment of it, but he remembered it like it had happened to someone else, like it was an awful movie he saw.
There were a lot of reasons, but mainly there was just one: Ben wanted to feel like a winner. And he had been a winner. He had been sixty thousand dollars richer at one point in the night. He had been a king for about three hours. Those three hours were everything.
And now he had cashed out everything.
The tuition money from his college loan, his retirement money and all of his savings. He had even maxed out the cash advances on his credit card and gotten an advance on his next paycheck at the nearest payday loan place. He was ruined.
So, as he pled with the bouncer, Ben couldn’t quite conceive of this not working. It had to work. Everything was riding on it. He had won sixty thousand dollars. That had to count for something.
“Look, mistuh, I’m sorry you lost e’rything,” said the bouncer at the club Lipsweet in central Las Vegas. He was Cue, according to the name-tag on his suit. He was tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. He was powerfully strapped and barrel-chested, gristly neck, crooked nose. He was square-jawed, white as bone, looked like he dressed like a biker outside of work. Ben also wouldn’t have been surprised at all to see an iron cross or even a swastika tattooed on his chest or back.
But Ben couldn’t give up. He had to get his money back, or at least enough to pay back the cash advances he had gotten. That would ruin his credit for years. Casinos have serious corporate management, he thought, they must have a way to do that. “Please, just let me talk to the manager. I know it’s not your decision to make-“
“It is, though. The decision is no. That’s the rules of the game, sir,” Cue said. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Please step aside. I need to be watching the entrance to the casino.” He sighed deeply. “Look, man, I get it that you’re upset. You have every right to be-“
“You don’t understand, I just need to explain what happened. I’m sure the manager-“
“The manager ain’t even here, man. The manager is Mickey Garelli, and he ain’t gonna be impressed by no beggin’. Please… I don’t wanna have to kick you out,” he said. “I don’t wanna wrinkle my suit. Or get your blood on it. You know if I get a deadbeat’s blood on me, I gotta get tested for AIDS four times a year for like five years? Insurance rules.”
“Yeah, look, I-“
“Come on, man. Don’t be a fuckin’ deadbeat,” Cue said. “You gonna stand here like a shitball and beg me? Have some fuckin’ dignity.” He flared his nostrils. His muscles flexed under his too-small suit like he was ready to throw a punch, but Ben didn’t think he was in any danger. Casinos were underground mob boss things anymore. They were nice. Normal. They wouldn’t hire a thug. Cue was just a security guy. A rent-a-cop basically.
“You have to let me talk to whoever’s in charge-“
A new bouncer appeared from behind Ben. He was a big black man with cornrows, much taller than Cue. He wore a suit as well, but his fit better. “Yo, Cue, you havin’ trouble?”
“I’m just showin’ this asshole some mercy, Tyrell, but he ain’t takin’ it.”
“You know deadbeats don’t respond to that,” the black man Tyrell said.
He shrugged. “I know. I guess I should-a just ripped his nuts off, but I don’t know… He looks like a sad puppy dog.”
Ben blushed. He realized how pitiful he must look, but he straightened his back. He needed to get his money back. If he made a big enough fuss, they’d have to give him something, he thought.
“So he’s a gambling man, huh?” said the black bouncer, Tyrell. “I’ll bet you he’d ‘clean the back-office’ for a chance to win his money back.”
“Yes! I would!” Ben blurted out before he even heard what the man said. It was obvious from his tone that ‘clean the back-office’ was code for something, but Ben didn’t care. If there was even a chance he could get his money back, he wanted to take it. He pictured himself cleaning. That’d be fine.
Besides, he was a gambling man. He had been down for a long time. Surely he was about to get back on top. Even if they only gave him one chip, that would be worth it because he’d have a chance, a real chance, to win back his money and even more. The lights would go off, people would cheer, waitresses would come by and kiss him on the cheek and give him free drinks. He’d be a winner again.
Cue and the other bouncer Tyrell laughed. Cue seemed annoyed, like he would never have offered ‘cleaning the back office’ as an option if the other bouncer hadn’t brought it up. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll show you the office.”
He followed Cue through the casino. Ben saw the blinking lights and the excited squealing of the people who won, and he almost forgot that he was penniless. He could have stayed here for hours just watching other people win, but he hung close to Cue. He wanted a chance to play.
Cue looked scary enough that people moved out of his way. He moved like he was used to that, shoving past people. The punks and tourists and gambling freaks parted like the red sea.
He led Ben down an empty corridor to a small bathroom, barely big enough for the two of them. Ben breathed a sigh of relief. They probably just wanted him to clean the toilets, and they’d give him bus fare, or something like that. It’d be like washing the dishes to pay for a meal in a restaurant.
But the bathroom appeared spotless. Pristine, even. There was a small shelf attached to one wall, and on it was a tube of anal lube, a clothespin, a large dildo, a few condoms and a few other odds and ends.
This bathroom didn’t need cleaning.
“We don’t use this bathroom,” Cue said with a craggy frown and a baritone rumble in his chest. He closed the door and produced one blue chip from his pocket. “Or, well, we don’t use it for poopin’.”
“Oh. Uh, okay. What do you-?”
“This is the cornhole-closet,” Cue said. He laughed at Ben, who turned white as a cloud and his knees buckled. Cue shook his head. He held up the blue chip in his hand. “You can leave anytime, bitch. But if you stay, I’m gonna treat you real bad. My girl’s been holdin’ out on me, and she a real bitch anyway. I oughta dump her ass but she used to give good head and, uh… Well, I’m gonna take out my frustrations on ya. It’s gonna hurt. I got a big dick. I’m-a tear yo’ guts up. And all you gettin’ is this one twenty dollar chip. You can cash it out, or you can gamble it. That’s up to you.”
“Oh, uh…”
“I ain’t even into this, just so you know. I ain’t even think of it. That big black feller out there, he love it. He try to cornhole at least one deadbeat every shift he work. Black fellers love ass, I do reckon,” Cue said. “He been sayin’ I’m too weak to do it.”
“I dunno…”
“Us bouncers compete to see who can cornhole a intact ass as hard as possible. Not me, really, usually. The black ones do. They gonna wanna hear all about it, and there’s even a camera in here, so they is gonna watch. There’s prolly some security man watching right now.” He waved at the camera in the corner, and he forced Ben to wave too.
A tear leaked down Ben’s cheek. He tried to soberly consider his options, but that blue chip danced above Cue’s knuckles. Ben wanted to kiss it and make love to it. He would have done anything to get just one more chance to win.
He nodded wordlessly.
“Damn… I really thought you was gonna back out. That makes me sad, man. It really does. I’m glad I can be part of makin’ you hit rock-bottom though. Remembuh you can always quit. And you know, Jesus and shit. Go to church,” Cue said. “Take off your clothes.”
Ben gulped and did as he was told. He felt skinny next to Cue, who was as thick as a bodybuilder, though he didn’t look quite that cut. He looked like an offseason bodybuilder. His muscles bulged from the ill-fitting suit he wore. Ben left his boxers on at first, then Cue motioned for him to take them off too.
He gingerly picked up Ben’s underwear with his fingertips and threw it in the toilet bowl. He added Ben’s socks as well. Then he picked up Ben’s shirt, pants and shoes and took them out of the bathroom.
“Stay here. I can sell these to a homeless man for a few bucks. That’s virtually a charity,” Cue said, beaming like he expected Ben to congratulate him on doing something nice. He must have put the clothes in a locker or something like that nearby because he returned moments later. He sighed. “Now you gotta get me hard. I mean… you don’t gotta. You can take your toilet-dripping underwear and get out.”
“Please, I don’t have anything…”
“I know. You got one tiny shred of dignity left. You can take it and leave if you want, or you can decide how you wanna get me hard. You wanna swallow my cum or slurp on my asshole?”
Ben sobbed. Was this really what he was reduced to? He couldn’t believe it had come to this.
But if he got paid with that casino chip, he was going to gamble it. There was still that to look forward to. He had a chance. He could be a big winner. What game should he play it on? Blackjack? Roulette? Did they have a twenty-dollar roulette wheel here? Probably not. Should be blackjack, he thought, that has a skill component.
“I’ll… swallow your cum,” Ben said. He sunk to his knees and sniffed back tears.
“Well, go ahead.” Cue smiled. He put his hands on his hips. He lifted his suit jacket to given Ben easy access, but he didn’t take his pants off.
Ben shuddered. He unzipped the fly of Cue’s slacks. Then he reached in and shuddered again at the feel of Cue’s greasy cockshaft. It was dark brown and sticky with dried-on sweat.
“Sorry, I been workin’ all day,” Cue said. “My balls prolly smell.”
Ben nodded. He gagged. Cue’s huge cock popped out of the fly, and a pair of hairy, low-hanging balls. It smelled so badly of sweat and old cum that Ben thought he would throw up. His cockmeat was moist with a sheet of moisture and emanated heat so intensely Ben could feel it from a foot away.
Cue just sighed again and pried Ben’s mouth open. He gripped Ben’s cheeks and fed his dick in. Ben gagged as soon as he tasted it, and he coughed up a big ball of spit that plopped onto the bathroom floor.
“Don’t spit that on the floor.” Cue slapped Ben on the cheek, just hard enough to hurt. “And if you get my pants dirty, I won’t give you the chip when you’re done.”
“Come on… Man, I’m tryin’…” Ben said.
But Cue was relentless. He grabbed ahold of Ben’s chin and squeezed until his mouth opened. He pushed the tip of his dick past Ben’s lower lip. Salty sweat again assaulted Ben’s senses. “Now, I’m gonna use ya mouth as my pussy, deadbeat. Try to make sounds like a female, I gotta imagine you a female, I ain’t a black feller who’s a fuckin’ booty bandit! Tyrell!” He yelled in the direction of the doorway, though it didn’t seem likely Tyrell was out there.
Ben opened his mouth wide but Cue’s fat cock was so long Ben couldn’t get anything more than the glans in his mouth. He choked again, and his eyes watered from both shame and the revolting taste of unwashed cock. Cue’s muscles rippled beneath his suit.
But Cue’s cock remained limp and floppy, like a meaty dead animal. It was at least twelve inches long and lined with blue and red veins. It gleamed with moisture, and its texture made Ben gag.
“You ain’t gettin’ me hard, boy,” Cue said. “Spit on it some.”
Ben spat. He found it difficult to produce much saliva though. Cue sighed as though this was a great imposition for him. He slapped Ben over the face with his cock, which was thick and heavy enough to hurt a little bit.
Holding back tears and blushing, Ben tried to catch Cue’s cock with his mouth. He thought maybe if he tried his best, Cue would go easy on him. He really didn’t want to take that entire cock in his ass.
“Alright, I gave you a chance to mouth me off, and that ain’t working. Nothin’ personal, nobody really mouths my dick right. It’s too big,” Cue said. “Now you get to eat my asshole instead. Anyone with a working tongue can do that.”
“What, no!”
“Then get out,” Cue said. “Don’t get ya chip.” He turned around, dropped his slacks and his boxers, revealing a thick plump ass. The crack was dark and hairy, and it gleamed with sweat. It was humid like a jungle. Ben imagined he could see its funk emanating like an aura from Cue’s muscular cheeks.
Ben wanted to leave, but he didn’t. He wanted to gamble one last time.
When he was done — if he didn’t win, though he didn’t like to think about that — then he would quit gambling, maybe go to rehab. But before he could even say yes, Cue backed his ass right into Ben’s face. His asscheeks were cold and rock-hard, and he had a big fat scar on one of them.
“Get your tongue out, dumbass. Don’t try licking my asscheek or something either. I want a proper rimjob. Get your tongue inside my ass. If you ain’t tastin’ rectum, you ain’t doin’ it right,” Cue said with a laugh as though that was his motto.
Ben hadn’t really thought about the mechanics of this. Was that really what a rimjob was supposed to be? He slowly opened his mouth, a physically painful gag rolling through his body. He heaved and probably would have thrown up if there was anything in his stomach.
But opening his mouth to heave heightened the nauseating aroma — the smell of Cue’s ass tasted even worse on his tongue than it was in his nose. Ben could feel the funk, like a humid mist on the inside of his mouth even before he actually came into contact with Cue’s ass.
And then the funk flowed into his mouth, the sweat of Cue’s body trickling onto Ben’s tongue. He gagged continuously, retching loudly even as his tongue poked through the tangled nest of ass-hair. His head may have been bald and his asscheeks were smooth, but Cue’s buttcrack was choked with black hairs.
He wasn’t sure he’d know when his tongue hit Cue’s asshole, but then when he did hit it, he absolutely knew. His tongue sank in. Cue grunted, and Ben could tell that his dick started to harden even though Cue faced away from him so he couldn’t see.
Cue was a muscular man, so his ass was tight and hard. As he got aroused, his cheeks and even his asshole squeezed as though he was trying to hold Ben in place with his ass.
“Don’t take your tongue out, man, stick it all the way in,” Cue said. He began grinding his muscular hips, rubbing his asshair on Ben’s face. “Now blow a raspberry, like this.” He blew a loud raspberry that echoed in the linoleum bathroom.
Ben did the same, the sound muted and muffled by Cue’s body. It made a sound like a fart though, which was tremendously loud in Ben’s ears because it happened right on his face. He could even feel air escaping from Cue’s ass, going right down Ben’s throat, and Cue’s whole body vibrated. He groaned.
“Damn, you rim pretty good for a first-timer,” Cue said. “But I don’t wanna blow my wad like this. You got me hard, now let’s get on to the main show. You got any final words before I cornhole you?”
“No,” Ben said. He was glad to pull away from Ben’s ass, but he trembled in fear at the thought of taking that inch-long cock into his ass. “I mean yes. Please, uh… Lemme just, I dunno, give you a handjob or somethin’.”
“You serious? Do I look like a punk-ass bitch?”
“No, just… I don’t think I can take it.”
“Course you can. I’ll just have to bust you wide. You might not walk straight for a couple days, or maybe forevuh, I dunno,” Cue said. “You can still walk outta here, but I know you won’t. You’re gonna play that chip, ain’t ya? You’re gonna lose. You know that, right? Even if you win, you’re gonna lose. Because you’re a loser.”
Ben sobbed. He knew that was right. He bent over on all fours in front of the toilet. Only a loser would be in this position. Ben would never be anything else.
Unless, of course, he used that chip to win.
“You’re lucky my shift is over, and I wanna get home. Otherwise I wouldn’t use lube, just so I have an excuse to spend hours in here stretching you out,” Cue said with a chuckle. “Mickey would say that was a good use of my time.” He squeezed lube into Ben’s ass. It was cold and goopy, and he shuddered.
Then he bit his lip as pain hit his ass. It was just the tip of Cue’s cock, but the agony was already arduous. Ben had an urge to lower his head, but that would put his face in the toilet, so he didn’t.
Cue gripped Ben’s hair as he squeezed the first couple inches in. He grunted and sighed, and he slapped Ben’s cheeks. He laughed at their jiggling. His fingers massaged Ben’s rim trying to stretch it, but that made the pain so much worse than Ben cried out.
“Alright, you got about a third of it befo’ I hit resistance,” Cue said. “I got techniques to get you to open up, but it’s better if you do it consciously. Can you open up any more?”
Gritting his teeth, Ben managed to loosen himself up some. That caused a flood of pain that made him arch his back, and the movement made the pain even worse. Ben spasmed and squealed.
But Cue had a firm grip on his chest and his waist, holding him in place. Cue clucked his tongue and squeezed Ben until he stopped moving.
“Alright. Good. You at almost half. That’s real good, deadbeat,” Cue said. “Now, here comes the first little trick I got. It’s gonna hurt. Most men use it for dome, but my dick’s too big for that to really help.” He put a clothespin on Ben’s nose, so he had to breathe through his mouth. After a few seconds, Ben’s throat opened, followed by his ass. Cue sighed as some more cock slid into Ben’s ass. Ben screamed right into the toilet water just in front of his face. “I ain’t ramroddin’ you, by the way. I’m holdin’ you in place to make it easier, but you can leave anytime. This ain’t a ramroddin’. It ain’t even really extortion.”
Ben was in too much pain to think about Cue’s words. His ass was splitting, ripping, and he couldn’t help but scream at the top of his lungs. The oldies rock playing through the speakers outside muffled the sound though, so no one could hear it.
“I love that sound. That’s the sound of a deadbeat learnin’ what a useless shit he really is,” Cue said. “Now you got maybe three quarters of my dick inside you. How’s that feel?”
All Ben could do was grunt and gag at the smell of porcelain and toilet water.
“No. Use your words, deadbeat. You got words? Or did you gamble them away.”
Ben spoke through gritted teeth. “It hurts. I can’t talk. Hurts.”
“Good. Now I got one last trick. It’s gonna feel like you’re drowning, but don’t worry. I won’t let you die,” Cue said.
Before Ben could respond, Cue pushed his head into the water. As Ben’s body panicked and his lungs filled with nasty water, his asshole loosened all the way. Ben screamed in agony and shame, while Cue grunted and howled.
His dick slid all the way in. Cue’s balls swung between Ben’s legs. Cue pumped his biceps — he still wore his shirt and suit jacket, his tie now loosened and his shirt-tails lifted up so he could watch his cock slide in.
“Ain’t nothin’ like rammin’ the bitch outuva chokin” deadbeat…” Cue moaned and laughed, flexing his muscles for the men he assumed still watched on the security cameras.
He pistoned his hips back and forth. Ben screamed with every thrust, squirming when Cue hit the deepest extent within Ben’s ass. It felt so good. Cue sighed. He didn’t even mind the toilet water splashing on him.
Cue pulled his hair to give Ben a chance to breathe. His whole body shuddered, and his ass clenched around Cue’s cock. He pushed Ben’s face back into the water, cutting him off mid-gasp.
Ben’s socks and underwear had sunk to the bottom of the toilet bowl, so they clung to Ben’s face when he touched them. Cue’s cock throbbed and spasmed within him, its every tremor sending shockwaves of agony through Ben’s body.
“Here I go, deadbeat, gonna fill you up!”
At last Cue orgasmed. He smashed Ben’s face into the bottom of the toilet so hard Ben was dizzy, his lungs crying out for oxygen. He thought he might black out from the pain and the water.
Cum flowed into him like it was being piped in. He could feel it trickling through his body, its heat and its snotty texture making it palpable within him. It dripped out of his overstuffed hole and stuck to his legs. The smell of santorum filled the air. Cue pumped what seemed like too much jizz up Ben’s backside.
It was hot and creamy, and it seeped into him. Cue pumped his hips each time he spewed another wad into him. Ben couldn’t hear it because his head was underwater, but Cue grunted too with each gyration of his powerful body.
Finally, just when he was beginning to lose consciousness, Cue pulled him out of the water and threw him on the ground. Cue stood up. He sneered at Ben, whom he lightly kicked in the belly.
Ben vomited up toilet water onto the floor. It seemed like way more than he had expected, he thought, wondering how he had swallowed so much. He gasped for air on the floor.
“I’m gonna start pissin’ in a second,” Cue said.His fat dick dangled between his legs and above Ben. “I always piss after I plow. If you’re still there on the floor, I’m gonna piss on you. Crawl away, deadbeat.”
But Ben both couldn’t and didn’t want to crawl away. He deserved this, he thought. He was a deadbeat.
The piss was hot and acrid, and it smelled terrible. It smelled like both piss and cum, and a little bit like shit, Ben thought. It coated his skin and made him gag uncontrollably. He couldn’t even dry-heave though, so his body just spasmed.
Cue tucked his cock away. He flipped the blue chip onto the puddle of fluids on the ground. “Here. You should exchange that for cash and at least go get a shower at the YMCA. You won’t. But you should. Goodbye, deadbeat.” As he walked to the door, he started whistling. “Don’t come back to this casino.”
“I won’t,” Ben said. He took a deep breath. He knew that wasn’t really true, he would probably be back at some point, and he was certainly going to gamble this blue chip here. After going through all this, he thought the universe was sure to reward him with a winning streak.
He struggled to his feet, his asshole and his face aching. He felt filthy, and he had nothing but underwear to wear. But he had one blue chip.
He just needed to find a table he could gamble it at. He was, after all, a gamblin’ man.
Rico is temporarily homeless, but luckily his gang gives him a place to stay… but he’s got a roommate. His name is Thumper, and he’s an old head, an ex-con and a booty bandit to boot! Can Rico satisfy his new roommate’s unbridled desires?!
Read the whole thing here!
Rico walked into the Cityside Barbershop. Heart thumping, he carried with him virtually all of his belongings in a trash bag. He hoped nobody who saw him knew that. He tried to look cocky. The people in the barbershop — barbers and customers — looked at him like they knew what was up, like they could tell at a glance what he was: homeless.
He tried not to think of himself as homeless, even though he knew that’s precisely what he was.
He had money. Not quite enough to rent a nice place, but he might have been able to get a cheap room somewhere. The downside to that was that he wouldn’t be able to afford to save up enough to afford somewhere nicer. His stepdad kicking him out without warning had really put a damper on things.
The last couple months had been rough for Rico. After losing two ounces of heroin, he was in trouble with his boss in the Bloods, Thumper. Then his girlfriend dumped him, and now his stepfather had kicked him out as punishment for selling drugs. Everything was going wrong in Rico’s life. Six months ago he was the most respected gangbanger in the Bloods. Today, he was a hobo, considering whether he could squat above a barbershop for free. What time does a barbershop open in the morning? Probably early.
Avoiding eye contact, Rico went into the backroom. He had a feeling the customers and barbers at the Barbershop knew why he was carrying a trash bag into the back. He also knew that Thumper didn’t tell them, but they looked at him with a mixture of pity and scorn. They knew he was homeless.
Of course no one said anything. Everyone pretended to think Thumper was merely taking in a roommate half his age, rent-free. Which he was. There was just more to the story, and all them all knew it.
Behind the Cityside Barbershop was a staircase that led to an apartment on the second floor of the building. That was Thumper’s apartment. To be more precise, it was a Bloods apartment, and the Bloods let Thumper live in it because Thumper did thirty-four years for the Bloods. They owed him, and part of that was giving him a free apartment.
The catch was that Thumper had to share it with a young nigga now and then, which did not bother Thumper. It did bother Rico.
He heavyfooted into the apartment, a feeling dread spreading deep in his loins. Rico had the sinking feeling that this was adulthood, and he was soon going to wish he was a teenager again. High school was so simple, but so long ago. Thumper was in his forties, maybe older, which was ancient as far as Rico was concerned.
When Rico arrived, Thumper was in his living room, meeting with a few other gangbangers. As they all finished up Bloods business, Rico “moved in”, a process completed when he dropped his trash bag.
There was no spare bedroom, so Rico was sleeping on the couch. He was fine with that because he hoped it would spur him into finding a new place. He didn’t want to live here forever, like Thumper’s little butt-boy.
“Yo, Rico, come here and rap at us,” Thumper said, the meeting dwindling as the others left one by one. His voice was deep and tough, commanding respect. “We talkin’ ‘bout what to do regardin’ the Sweet Hill boys. Whatchoo think?”
“Well, I think we gotta beat them niggas down,” Rico said, more because he wanted to seem tough than because he had any particular knowledge of the situation. He was only vaguely aware that the Sweet Hill gang had begun selling crack on territory the Bloods considered to be their own.
“Alright, that’s a plan,” Thumper said. He smiled at Rico. “You get yo’ niggas together and do it this week, okay?”
Rico hadn’t thought he’d be put in charge of it, but he could hardly say no when Thumper was letting him stay here rent-free. He nodded as though it wasn’t going to be difficult. Some of the other thugs looked at Rico pitiably, and Rico tried not to notice.
Now the big problem Rico had was that he needed to find some niggas who were willing to put their lives at risk for a plan Rico hadn’t come up with yet to attack some unknown number of strangers somewhere in the city. Rico was going to struggle to put that crew together, and he wondered if Thumper had assigned him that role to see if he was up to snuff, if could actually put plans together. As a true blue gangbanger — or a true red gangbanger, as Rico liked to think of it — Rico very much thought of himself as capable of doing that.
But none of his friends would even let him sleep on their couch, so Rico had doubts he could get them to go in at the Sweet Hill boys guns blazing.
Thumper clapped his hands together as though the Sweet Hill problem was as good as solved, and the last few Bloods headed out the door. Rico’s mind raced as he tried to think of a way out of this. He shouldn’t have agreed to the Sweet Hill mission so readily. He didn’t even know where Sweet Hill was — Sweet Hill was the name of the shopping center with the CVS and the T-Mobile store. Was Rico supposed to gather a crew to go shoot up the T-Mobile store? He couldn’t very well ask Thumper now, could he? He’d already agreed to do it, he’d look like an idiot admitting only now that he didn’t know where the Sweet Hill boys were, who they were, how to hit them, how many they were, etc.
And no guns! Rico didn’t have any guns! He had a week to put together a crew, find out what and where the Sweet Hill boys are, find guns, go in shooting, succeed in intimidating them and dispose of the guns and perhaps dead bodies. Since he’d agreed to do it so confidently, if he succeeded — which he obviously wouldn’t — but if he succeeded, he’d barely get any credit for it. Thumper would just say ‘good job, you did what you said you’d do’.
He should have made a bigger deal out of how difficult it would be. Maybe he could have gotten Thumper to at least provide the guns.
Once the door shut, Rico was alone with Thumper for the first time ever — it hadn’t occurred to Rico until this moment that he had never been alone with Thumper. Thumper was one of the head honchos in the Bloods, but Rico had only ever spent time with him in a group.
Now he very much wished one of his niggas had let him sleep on the couch.
The apartment stayed silent once the others were gone. Rico gulped. Sweat beaded on his forehead because he sensed Thumper staring at him, evaluating him, maybe just seeing how long he’d take being stared at before he snapped. Thumper was like that. He be testing niggas.
“You ever mess around on the downlow, Rico?” Thumper asked after a long, awkward silence fell between them.
“Uh, yeah. Once,” Rico said. He instantly regretted saying that. It was true, but he had heard Thumper was often on the downlow with his close niggas — only for Thumper, “downlow” meant you serviced him, not any kind of reciprocal behavior. That wasn’t what Rico meant by it.
Rico looked down at his feet, avoiding eye contact from Thumper.
After a long pause, Thumper raised his eyebrows. “Just once, huh? You do it with a nigga you respec’?”
“I guess so.” Rico didn’t know how to answer that. He did it with Kayshawn Henderson, who he didn’t really respect or get along with — they were just drunk — but he didn’t want to explain that to Thumper. Kayshawn wasn’t even a Blood. Plus it was downlow, which means secret. Thumper might be angry if Rico shared a secret, because Thumper trusted Rico not to spill the beans on Bloods business.
“Huh,” Thumper said with a knowing nod. He raised his eyebrows. Rico sighed. He winced. He got a very strong impression that Thumper wanted Rico to jerk him off.
Thumper was like that. After thirty-four years in prison, Thumper did not jack himself off. He saw it as demeaning. He often demanded niggas jack him off — with mouth! Swallowing! The whole nine yards! Rico could understand the impulse. He didn’t like jacking himself off either. It made him feel like an immature brat.
But he couldn’t bring himself to mouth Thumper off. Thumper was an old man by Rico’s standards. It would be humiliating. Thumper could get any random crackhead in this neighborhood to mouth him off.
Thumper crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating the softball-sized pecs beneath his tight t-shirt. He ran his tongue over his teeth and clucked. “Huh,” he said again.
“Thumper, I… Uh, thanks a lot fo’ lettin’ me stay here,” Rico said. His heart raced again. Just like when he was nervous those niggas in the barbershop would realize he was homeless, he was nervous now that all the niggas in the Bloods would hear about him jerking Thumper off.
Thumper nodded.
Rico sighed again. This wouldn’t be that bad, he thought, he’d done it before. A lot of Bloods had jerked Thumper off too — Thumper loved finding reasons to make a loyal Blood do it, like if they fucked something up. So nobody would be shocked to find out Rico did it. In fact, they’d probably assume he did, cuz Thumper seemed like the type to make his roommate jerk him off. He was precisely that kind of nigga, and Rico was too young and powerless in the organization to resist.
When Thumper had stood before him for what seemed like a long time, Rico sunk to his knees, afront the couch he was to sleep on tonight. Thumper seemed huge from down below him. Rico gulped.
At last that position made Thumper grunt out his satisfaction. He stood still, looming over Rico, who winced and wished there was another position to do it in — he could hardly make demands though — it would be less humiliating if Thumper sat on the couch and Rico could lay down on it or something like that. Any position in which Rico didn’t have to kneel like a beggar would be an improvement.
Rico waited for a moment, thinking Thumper would take his own dick out, but he didn’t. He just towered over Rico and watched. Rico winced at the realization that Thumper wanted Rico to take it out. That was prison bitch stuff, he thought.
Reaching up for Thumper’s dick, Rico shuddered. Then, much to his surprise, Thumper batted his hand away.
“You should ask a nigga fo’ permission befo’ you start stroking his dick,” Thumper said. “If that’s what you wanna do.”
Rico spoke quietly, blushing so hard his cheeks burned. “Thumper… do you want, uh…? I mean… is it okay, uh, if I jerk you off?”
“That’s a real nice offer, nigga. That’s a good gesture,” he said, as though it was the first time he had said that word and was unsure how to pronounce it. Before Rico could undo his belt, Thumper clucked his disapproval. “Play wit’ it through my pants first, nigga. Go slow, make it feel good.”
Rico blanched and winced. He gently stroked the bulge in Thumper’s dick, and for some reason just feeling that spongy flesh through his jeans made Rico gag. Thumper’s manhood stirred beneath the denim. He groaned in a way that made Rico shiver with disgust. He groaned like he was on the verge of orgasm, even though all Rico had done was touch his dickshaft through his jeans. Thumper wasn’t even hard.
He took Thumper’s belt in hand to undo it, but Thumper stopped him. He dragged Rico’s hand back to the bulge in his jeans. “No, don’t take my pants off,” Thumper said. “Just undo the fly and take it out. Look me in the eye when you jerk me off. That’s a mark of respec’, nigga.”
His hands trembled. Rico wasn’t sure if he could do that — stroking another man’s cock was humiliating enough, but looking Thumper in the eye while he did it would make it even worse. The zipper seemed impossibly loud, and when it was open, Rico got a burst of stale crotch sweat in his nostrils. He gagged again, and Thumper clucked with disapproval once more.
“You may take it out now, Rico,” Thumper said. Something in the way he said his name made Rico shudder all over again.
Rico had to reach in to pull out Thumper’s dick, which was still soft and veiny, dark brown like dirt, slick with sweat. He wanted to wipe it off, but Rico was sure Thumper would say that was disrespectful. The smell of unwashed ballsweat made Rico’s stomach churn.
That cock was huge. Rico knew Thumper had a big one, lots of niggas said so, but he had never seen it in person. It was a foot long even fully soft, and it was hot and slimy with sweat, so thick Rico could barely get his whole hand around it. It dangled afront Thumper’s crotch, and it swayed like a pendulum when Thumper moved.
Rico opened his mouth and closed his eyes, and he waited.
After a few seconds of nothing happening, Rico opened his eyes again. Thumper’s dick was still there, still limp, and seeing it made the smell of crotchsweat more potent, so Rico bit back a gag. That was when he looked up and saw Thumper’s furrowed brow aimed down at him. Rico gulped.
“Well? Put’cha mouth on it, nigga,” Thumper said. “Get’cha hands on it. Is you showin’ respec’ or not?”
“I am-“
“Then do somethin’ with it,” Thumper said. He put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows.
Rico touched it again, gently with one hand, which he then wrapped around the shaft. He grimaced. This was a lot easier with Kayshawn, he thought. Then they were drunk, having snuck booze into a church lock-in, and they were sharing a bed, the lights stayed off, they barely talked, it was more of an accidental fumbling thing than a real downlow “seduction” of any kind. By the time Rico pondered it, it was over with.
This felt entirely different. Thumper’s cock had that old-man smell too, with seemingly too much dickskin. Rico didn’t like how it roped around in his grasp as he stroked it gingerly, slowly, as badly as possible at first because he didn’t want a reputation for doing it good, then he realized the better his hands were, the less Thumper might demand he use his mouth, so Rico stroked it as good as he could. Thumper kept letting out little moans and pumping his hips as though so horny he couldn’t resist attempting at Rico’s mouth. Thumper’s dick stayed soft though, and he was obviously not that horny, he was just pretending.
“Hmm, you got a real pretty mouth, nigga,” Thumper murmured. “Put it on my dick.”
Rico winced, but he opened his mouth. He held onto Thumper’s cock by the root with one hand, and he moved his open mouth in that direction with his eyes scrunched shut. Thumper used both hands to guide Rico’s head until his mouth and nose collided with Thumper’s sweaty cockshaft.
A furious gag came outta Rico’s mouth as Thumper’s spongy limp dick touched his lips and then his tongue. There was already a slight cummy taste, either precum from Rico’s masturbating it through Thumper’s pants or maybe left over from something else. Maybe it was leftover from when he was “on the downlow” with some other nigga, Rico didn’t know how often a downlow gangbanger like Thumper would do that. Maybe lots. They said he was a booty bandit in prison.
Thumper kept his arms over his chest, so Rico had to chase his cock with his mouth. Every time the tip got in his mouth, he tasted sweaty old-nigga nastiness again, gagged and spat it out. Thumper wasn’t getting an erection like that.
But rico couldn’t quite bring himself to go any deeper than the tip. Even that felt impossibly thick, and Rico wasn’t sure he could go any farther. Thumper’s dick was thicker than his mouth.
“When you handle the dick of a nigga you respec’, Rico, you should deep-throat it,” Thumper said. “You know what that means? You evuh get head from a girl?”
“Yes!” Rico said, annoyed at Thumper’s patronizing tone.
“Don’t you talk to me like that, nigga,” Thumper said, his voice growly and threatening. Rico shuddered. Thumper forced his eyes open — Rico hadn’t even noticed he closed them — and sneered down at Rico. “Real niggas got backup plans, Rico, you know that? They ready to get kicked outta they place. They got cash.”
Rico wanted to defend himself, but when he tried to pull off Thumper’s dick, Thumper’s hands gripped his head and held it in place. Thumper growled again, and he pushed Rico’s head deeper onto his shaft. Rico gagged all over again as that cock pushed into his throat.
“Take my balls out wit’ one hand, and play wit’ em. Gentle-like,” Thumper said. He groaned as Rico did so, gingerly playing with his sweaty sac. The feel of that slick flesh made Rico’s stomach churn. His cock throbbed and grew warmer and warmer as it firmed up in Rico’s mouth. “Yeah, that’s nice, nigga. That’s respec’.”
The sour flavor of precum assaulted Rico’s senses, and brought tears to his eyes. He was glad it was dark enough in this room that Thumper couldn’t see — it wasn’t really crying anyway, he thought, it was tears from suffocation and stress, not being a pansy. He didn’t think Thumper would acknowledge a difference though.
The tasty of sweaty cockmeat grew more and more tolerable, though Rico thought that was mainly because he sucked up all the sweat and grime, replacing it with plain spit. The veiny shaft invaded his throat with each powerful thrust of Thumper’s cock.
The moist grunting of Thumper’s voice was offputting to Rico. He sounded like a rutting animal, and it reminded Rico that his mouth was just being used now. Thumper was going to continue to use his mouth and body — though hopefully not his ass — until Rico moved out. That was possibly the entire reason Thumper offered to let him stay here.
“Whatchoo plan wit’ my nut?” Thumper asked as he groaned.
Rico didn’t understand the question. He just looked up at Thumper, and tried to ignore that massive shaft drilling into his throat. All of a sudden, a burst of salty precum hit his tongue, and Rico gagged violently.
But Thumper kept a grip on his head. Rico tried to look down as he retched, only he couldn’t with Thumper’s hands on his head. All he could do was gag up around the erect cock bobbing around on his face, leaving a layer of precum that only made him gag again and again.
“Huh? I’m gonna blow my load,” Thumper said. “Whatchoo gonna do wit’ it? You want me to shoot it on yo’ face or what? In yo’ hand? You need a plan.”
Rico was glad to hear that he had a choice. He pulled off Thumper’s dick, intending to say in my hand, which was the least objectionable option. But then he saw Thumper’s scrunched-up face, and Rico knew this was a test. He wasn’t sure exactly what the answer was, but in my hand wasn’t it.
“Think long and hard, Rico. You got a lotta factors to consider. Yo’ respec’ fo’ me, if you got any,” Thumper said. He sniffled.
“I’ll… uh, swallow it,” Rico said, wincing as Thumper mollwopped his erection onto Rico’s face, smearing spit and precum all over it. He held his breath to avoid gagging.
“Yeah,” Thumper said. “You will. But befo’ that, I wanna see it. I like seeing it. Play’ wit’ it a bit.”
“Oh.”
“So whatchoo think?”
“I, uh… I guess I’ll do that.”
“So where you want me to nut? In yo’ mouth?”
It was obvious he wanted Rico to say yes, so he did so. Then Thumper pushed his cock back in Rico’s mouth. He grunted as he wrapped his hands behind Rico’s head.
He thrust his hips so powerfully his cockshaft pushed down Rico’s throat until his nose was nestled in Thumper’s pubic hair. Rico couldn’t even gag because his throat was so choked with throbbing dickmeat. All he could do was sit there on his knees and let it happen.
“That’s a good idea, Rico. I’ll shoot my load in yo’ mouth, just like you askin’ me to. That’s very respec’ful, nigga. Don’t swallow nothin’ till I tell you to, okay? We gonna play a bit first.”
Rico nodded, but even as he did, Thumper was blowing his wad. He shot it right in the back of Rico’s throat. Some of it dripped into his gullet, but Rico instinctively avoided swallowing it. He would have accidentally spilled it all but Thumper kept a tight grip on his head. Thumper grunted, rutting like a pig as his fat cock spasmed inside Rico.
At last it was over, and a burst of jizz spurted onto Rico’s tongue. Salty cum filled his mouth. It seemed like a huge amount, but Rico wasn’t sure how much was normal or how much it really was. His stomach churned with disgust, begging him to spit it out. The sour and salty flavor made his eyes water all over again, and he had to hold back a violent retch.
“Open up,” Thumper said, his voice wavering as another jet of cum hit Rico’s mouth. He kneeled down and looked in. “Come on,” he said. “It’s dark in here. I wanna see yo’ pretty-boy mouth.”
Gagging and holding onto his stomach, Rico managed to spread his lips without spilling any of the cum filling his mouth, as Thumper’s dicktip hovered over his face and spewed a few final drops onto his nose and upper lip. Thumper looked into his mouth as though trying to find something. He smiled with satisfaction, then spat right into it. The bitterness of his saliva made Rico choke. He nearly spilled but Thumper held him by the neck.
“That’s a big one,” Thumper said. He stuck one finger in, all the way back until Rico gagged. Then Thumper held the palm of his hand out until Rico spat the entire wad into it. Rico was glad to be rid of it, though he could still feel that snotty texture on his tongue. There was a pubic hair stuck in the back of his throat too, but he couldn’t spit it out right now.
Thumper raised his eyebrows as Rico got ahold of his stomach and his gagging. He kept that cum-filled palm right in front of Rico’s face, where the scent assaulted his nostrils, making it hard for Rico to regain his composure. Thumper cleared his throat. “I’ll ignore your gagging, Rico. That’s rude, but I understand…” It was obvious he wanted Rico to suck the cum back up, and he raised his eyebrows as though to say You better do it now, it’ll get worse when it’s cold. Rico opened his mouth, but Thumper cleared his throat and shook his head.
Rico blushed. “Uh… Thumper, can I eat your nut?”
“Yes, you may. Thank you for askin’, nigga.”
Rico gagged and nearly vomited as he sucked it off Thumper’s callused palm. He choked it down and waited there, blushing intensely as Thumper looked him in the eye. Then Thumper’s fingers forced his mouth open, and he checked that Rico had swallowed the whole thing. Rico felt that hot lump in his belly, the creamy texture and the sheer warmth of it suffusing into his flesh.
“Good,” he said. “Now go to sleep. Set yo’ alarm for seven o’clock, nigga. By seven-thirty, I want you wakin’ me up wit’ yo’ prettyboy mouth on my dick again. Have breakfast ready when you swallow my first nut of the day. You understand?”
“Yes, Thumper,” Rico said. He gulped. Remnants of jizz shone all over his mug. “I’ll do it.”
“I know. I ain’t ax fo’ yo’ agreement, Rico. I axt fo’ yo’ comprehension. Yo’ agreement is assumed,” Thumper said. He slapped his limp dick over Rico’s face again. “Don’t wipe that nut off yo’ face. I wanna see it dried on there in the morning.”
When Avery is accosted by a yakuza enforcer for the second time, he thought he was gonna hafta pay protection fees or something similar… But it turns out this yakuza alpha male needs to bend over and take whatever Avery wants to give out! Can Avery help Wuzu recover his reputation?
Or read the whole thing here!
Avery felt like celebrating, so he poured himself a glass of wine. He didn’t often drink, mainly because of the calories. And he found that, the older he got, the more alcohol made him sleepy instead of drunk. The taste of wine was splendid though. When he was young, he would rather drink more worse. When he was older, he would rather drink less better.
But he had no sooner taken a sip, when there was a knock at the door.
Scowling, Avery put down his glass of wine. He rolled his eyes. Probably his neighbor. Like an idiot, he opened it without checking who was there.
His blood ran cold when he saw a familiar face.
His name was Wuzu, and he was an enforcer for Clan Rairakku, a Maui-based yakuza syndicate that played a major role in business here in San Francisco. It had been Wuzu who came to Avery a year ago and threatened him if he didn’t back out of a business deal. Avery did back out — he had no need to fight for business opportunities, and he had been unsure on the viability of that particular deal anyway. Avery was considering a location for a massage parlor, and he had chosen a different one. No big deal.
But now the same stone-facing Japanese man was here again, looking down at Avery. Wuzu’s eyes flashed and sparkled, though he showed no emotion on his face. His only emotion was “stern”, it seemed.
But this time, there was a faint note of something else on Wuzu’s face, some excitement, apprehension maybe even eagerness. His eyes scanned up and down, taking in Avery’s petite frame.
“Oh, hello, Wuzu. I did what you asked.”
“Indeed.”
“Hmmm…” Avery found Wuzu’s stare unbearable. He looked down at his feet. “So, uh… It’s all good, right?”
“Yes.” Wuzu’s voice was clear as a lighthouse. “Good evening, Mister Flowers. May I enter?” His Japanese accent was thick: goo-ood eve-en-nin Missuhtaa Flao-za with the rhythm of an elegant machine gun. Despite that, he wasn’t hard to understand.
Last time, Wuzu had barged right in. This time, he spoke with politeness and a calm breath. Avery could tell this was not a threatening visit.
“Uh… I guess so,” Avery said, more out of confusion than anything else. Last time, Wuzu hadn’t phrased it as an option. He immediately regretted it — why invite an extortionist into his home?
But Wuzu was more intimidating than Avery could handle.
He was tall, especially for a Japanese man, towering over Avery by nearly a foot. He was broad-shouldered and burly, with a square jaw and dark, menacing eyes that flitted this way and that as he entered. His eyes were always in motion, even when his head and the rest of him stayed still, and he walked with the light step and grace of a man a third his size.
“Is anyone else here?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response before walking throughout the apartment to check. He stopped and stared at a bonsai tree that Avery placed on a shelf in front of a window. He scoffed as though he didn’t approve. Avery blushed.
“No, no one’s here,” Avery said.
A long pause split open between them. Avery was behind Wuzu, taking in the thickness of his corded-muscle legs and ass, which strained the fine fabric of his suit. He dressed like a banker, even if he was built like a baseball player. He wore some odd cologne too, which smelled — not exactly bad, but not good either — it smelled like a hot spring in the woods. Moist and freshly fern-like, yet musty and sulfurous. Flashes of his colorful tattoos were visible on the edges of his wrist, ankles and neck, but only when his movements separated the fabric of his suit from its natural resting position.
“That’s my bonsai tree, it-“
“It is lacking in balance,” Wuzu said. He plucked one leaf off a branch, and he delicately, deliberately placed the leaf in the trash can beside the door.
“Oh. Well. Um,” Avery was too nervous to think of any response. “Okay. Sorry. I’m, uh… It was a Christmas present.”
Again a pause erupted in Avery’s apartment, and it was shattered by Wuzu’s smooth baritone. “I am here because of shame,” Wuzu said, his voice deep and resonant.
“I see,” Avery said, though that wasn’t true at all. This time, the silence spread like a kudzu through the room, and it strangled every thought Avery had. Wuzu’s stare was intense. He didn’t get why Wuzu could come here because of shame. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Avery.
Wuzu’s simmering gaze was hard to ignore. A part of Avery’s mind brainstormed ways to get him to leave — order him out, call the police, forgive him for his shame, simply show him the door, offer him money to leave — there were so many options. But in the end, all Avery could think to do was to pat the soil of his bonsai tree to see if it needed water. It did not. Avery already knew that. He watered it like an hour ago. It was just nice to have something to occupy his hands for a few seconds, while Wuzu stood and loomed and cogitated like a block of morose tofu.
Is he breathing? Avery furrowed his brow. Wuzu’s chest moved only very slightly and very slowly, like he was trying not to show that he was breathing.
Finally, Wuzu spoke. “You must discuss with my boss. His name is Mr. Gakimosimi. You must be respectful. Do not interrupt him,” Wuzu said. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He spoke a few Japanese words, then passed the phone to Avery.
“Uh, hello?”
A deep British-accented voice came from the receiver. It was a thin, reedy voice, like an old man. “Mr. Flowers, I presume?” A trace of a Japanese accent was detectible.
“Yes, uh, sir.”
“My name is Timo Gakimosimi,” he said. “This man in front of you — I do not speak his name right now, because he has brought intense shame upon my organization. He has failed in a way I will not describe to you, but be assured it is humiliating for him. He must show me the depth of his sorrow and regret. Do you understand?”
“Uh, sort of. I mean, I get-“
“Stop speaking,” he said. “Do not babble. Americans always babble.”
“Sorry…” Avery was finding this whole situation incomprehensible. At most times, Avery would be defensive of some foreigner talking shit about Americans. But Avery had an inexplicable eagerness to obey the man on the phone — Mr. Gakimosimi — and so he shut his mouth to avoid babbling.
“The man in front of you will do anything you say. If he refuses, you may call me at this number and tell me. He will be punished further. Is that agreeable?”
Avery hesitated. “I mean… I don’t have… a job for him. I don’t need a, uh… extortionist.”
“He is a business consultant, but that is not what I expect you to order him to do,” he said. “I will not say it, as it is improper, but you will think of something he can do to please you.”
“Will I?” Avery furrowed his brow. He had no idea what he was supposed to do.
But when he looked at Wuzu, Avery realized exactly what was intended: he was supposed to have his way with Wuzu. Make him jerk Avery off, swallow his cum, take it up the ass. That’s what Wuzu was expecting, what Mr. Gakimosimi was expecting. They were looking for a sissy, and somebody — maybe Wuzu himself — suggested Avery. Wuzu’s hangdog expression sent a shiver of anticipation up Avery’s backside.
“Yes. I think you know what I mean,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “If he pleases you to a satisfactory degree, I will clear his name of shame. Thank you, Mr. Flowers.” Then he hung up.
Avery nervously handed the phone back to Wuzu. “So, uh… I guess you know what he said?”
Wuzu nodded.
“I’m not going to force you into anything. I’ll just tell your boss you did fine, that you did everything I said. How much time should I give? Maybe you could just fix my bonsai tree? You could give it balance.”
“I have done that,” Wuzu said with a polite nod that was almost a bow. “I have requested this.” He sunk to his knees in front of Avery. “My shame wounds me. I can only heal it by proving my devotion.” He took off his suit jacket, which he hung over the arm of the chair next to him. Then he picked it up, and he smoothed the suit jacket, so it would hang flat when he returned it to the arm of the chair
“I don’t want to force you-“
“You are not forcing me. This will not be my first time. Do not tell Mr. Gakimosimi that,” Wuzu said. He unbuttoned his shirt, then carefully folded it — it was a perfect fold, like he could work at The Gap. Underneath that, he wore a plain white t-shirt, his tattooed muscles bulging out from underneath. Green and black koi swum on his bicep just past the sleeve of his shirt.
“Wait…” Avery said as Wuzu was about to take the shirt off. “Lemme get that.” He shivered with anticipation, struck by a flood of desire, as he touched Wuzu’s flat belly and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He had an amazing physique — Avery hadn’t realized it under the suit, but he was built like a professional wrestler, with pecs the size of Avery’s head. Multicolored tattoos danced over his chest and ribs: smiling geishas, a stylized sun whose rays bathed a living Japan over his heart, and geometric designs covering his six-pack belly with color. His back was an ornate piece, a Shinto temple that coverd him from his nape to his waist.
Avery kissed those biceps, one after the other, blushing in embarrassment at Wuzu’s bemused reaction. Wuzu seemed unfamiliar with the concept of being interested in muscles. Did no Japanese women value muscles? Avery sure did. He sucked a hickey onto each bicep, savoring the rock-hard feel and the overwhelming warmth.
Then he dived his head into Wuzu’s armpit. Like most pit-worshipers, Avery had always enjoyed the musty flavor of hairy, burly armpits, but Wuzu was the opposite of that. He had short, thin hair that was soft and silky, and that smelled of soap, not cheap body wash either, but expensive, high-quality soap that smelled of lavender and mint.
“You like arm pits?” Wuzu said, his stony yakuza face suddenly leering like a nervous frat boy covering up his anxiety with disgust. “That is fil-thy.”
Avery nodded. “That’s the part I love about it,” he said with a giggle, which turned almost hysterical when Wuzu’s serious face stared him down. Then Avery sucked on each nipple. Avery had never felt pectoral muscles like this, so completely lacking in flab — he didn’t think it even existed outside of bodybuilders, action stars and pro athletes. But here there was, right in front of him, a pair of pecs made of iron and covered in multicolored tattoos. Avery licked a trail around those tattoos as his hands stroked Wuzu’s broad, smooth back.
He dropped his pants when Avery excitedly took his own clothes off. He assumed he’d be jerking Wuzu off, which was plenty exciting for Avery. Much to his surprise, however, Wuzu sunk to his knees when Avery dropped his underwear. Wuzu took a deep breath, then swallowed Avery’s half-hard cock to the root.
“Oh shit, Wuzu… I, uh… I didn’t think you’d want to do this,” Avery said. Wuzu let out a loud gagging sound but didn’t stop, even as Avery’s dick pushed into the back of his throat. He did not spit any of it out. His nose collided with Avery’s crotch, and he held onto Avery’s thin hips for support.
Wuzu’s tongue wavered — it touched Avery’s cockshaft and pulled away, hiding in the corner of Wuzu’s cheek as though fearful of the taste. Wuzu scrunched up his face. But then he recommitted himself to going through with this, and his tongue slathered saliva up and down Avery’s shaft.
“Wuzu… You don’t have to do this,” Avery said, still feeling a bit bad. He definitely didn’t want to take advantage of Wuzu — aside from the moral considerations, it was clear that Wuzu was a violent extortionist who sought revenge when he felt he needed to. Avery didn’t want any yakuza getting mad at him. For all Avery knew, Wuzu would seek to eliminate anyone who knew his shame — Mr. Gakimosimi had said that, when this was done, Wuzu’s shame would be wiped away, so maybe he would get rid of anyone who knew about it. Maybe once it had happened, he would be free to be violent again.
“No,” Wuzu said softly, pulling away and closing his eyes like he couldn’t bare to see Avery’s cock with his spit stuck to it. Wuzu growled. “This is the only way to recover my honor and the honor of Clan Rairakku,” he said. He took a deep breath and resumed his deep-throating, his throat choking as Avery’s dick squeezed into it.
His nose pressed into Avery’s wiry pubic hair. Avery was so shocked his knees went weak, but he managed to compose himself. He gripped Wuzu’s neatly-coiffed hair, which was slick with product and thoroughly brushed. He held on as tightly as he could, leaning on Wuzu for support as his legs had trouble supporting himself.
His dick perked right up in Wuzu’s mouth, turning as hard as Wuzu’s biceps. Avery’s hips instinctively gyrated, and he humped Wuzu’s mouth. That sent waves of pleasure to rock Avery’s body from head to toe.
Since there was such a big difference in size between Wuzu and Avery — Wuzu being nearly a foot taller — the positioning of the two was awkward. Wuzu had to stoop, leaning forward on his knees just to get his face at Avery’s crotch-height. His muscles writhed and flexed as he struggled to stay in position, and his unwillingness gradually melted away. Avery got the impression that he stopped feeling ashamed of himself and started feeling pride at his success in rehabilitating his name and his honor, even if only in his mind.
Then Wuzu pulled away and turned around. Thin tendrils of spit still connected Avery’s dick to Wuzu’s lips, until him turning his head forced them to separate. Avery nearly fell over because he had been supporting himself on Wuzu’s head. Even now that Wuzu had stopped, Avery was filled with intense pangs of pleasure.
“Wow, you really want to do this?” Avery’s voice was thin, reedy, like if he actually asked this out loud Wuzu might realize what he was doing and run away, but Avery couldn’t help but ask anyway. His heart pounded. This was more nerve-wracking than it had been when Wuzu came by to extort him last year.
But Wuzu merely grunted his assent. He did appear embarrassed, his face ruddy and sweaty, lips trembling, but he didn’t hesitate at all. He turned around and sunk to the ground in front of Avery.
He started off on all fours, his round smooth ass elevated for Avery to get into. But Avery was much too short for that to work, so once again they struggled to get in position. Avery had trouble getting his dick there, and Wuzu had to lower himself as far as he could go, until he was practically laying down.
By time Avery managed to mount him, Wuzu had lowered himself all the way, and he now rested on his belly on the floor, limbs sprawled out. Avery had to spread himself atop Wuzu, aiming his ass for the taut crack of Wuzu’s tight ass. Laying his face on Wuzu’s broad back, Avery licked the muscles there as he worked his dick in.
He gasped as soon as his manhood slipped past Wuzu’s tight sphincter. It sent up sparks of bliss, which made Avery throw his head back. From the first moment, Avery could feel his orgasm crawling up in his sac, and Avery was annoyed with himself that this wasn’t going to last very long. He could already tell.
Wuzu’s back muscles were like a barrel of thick rope, and Avery nuzzled and licked every inch as he began humping. He felt tiny behind Wuzu, his entire body fitting easily on Wuzu’s back. Avery’s head barely even extended all the way to Wuzu’s meaty shoulders.
Some Japanese words slipped from Wuzu’s mouth. His tone was soft and resigned, maybe a little relieved that he was getting this over with and the pain wasn’t so bad. It might have been a prayer, Avery thought, and he wanted to ask for a translation, but his arousal was too intense to form words, and in any case, he didn’t think Wuzu would tell him what he meant.
Wuzu grunted, then fell stoic again. Avery began working his dick in and out, glad to feel that Wuzu was not resisting him — he got the impression Wuzu didn’t mind this at all, despite his words and the pain he was obviously feeling. Wuzu gyrated his hips as though he was aroused.
“Do you want a reacharound?” Avery asked as soon as the idea occurred to him. That would make this easier for Wuzu as well, he thought — every man loves a free handjob. Wuzu nodded. Avery reached around Wuzu’s body to grab ahold of his dick. He began stroking it — Wuzu was already rock-hard, so in seconds, he was spewing precum into Avery’s fingers. He was obviously turned on by this, Avery realized, despite the pain and humiliation.
Then Avery realized that Wuzu’s dick spasmed every time Avery penetrated him from a certain angle. That could only mean one thing: Avery had found Wuzu’s prostate, and Wuzu loved it. Avery began ramming his dick in as hard as he could at that prostate, smiling as Wuzu’s entire body jerked with the lust that pounded through his veins. Wuzu moaned and lifted his head up.
A cell phone rang. They both stopped moving as though caught, Avery’s cock pulsating within Wuzu, Wuzu’s cock pulsating in Avery’s hand. It was Wuzu’s phone. Avery’s blood ran cold and his heart skipped a beat as his mind raced with terrible possibilities — what if Mr. Gakimosimi decided to order Wuzu to kill Avery, perhaps to save his clan’s face? Avery was terrified of what might come next.
Wuzu winced when he verified that it was his boss. “Mr. Gakimosimi,” he said, even bowing the best he could laying on his belly. He winced and said something in Japanese, then handed the phone back to Avery.
“Are you bringing shame upon him?” Mr. Gakimosimi asked the moment Avery put the receiver to his ear.
“I don’t think it’s so shameful,” Avery said. His cock pulsated in Wuzu’s tight ass, and though Avery was still, his hips continued moving, grinding his dick within Wuzu’s guts. Avery wanted to be even more indignant, but he thought he might get Wuzu in trouble, so he said, “But yes, he is ashamed of what’s happening. I’m ramrodding him, as we say here, or black guys do anyway. My dick is in his ass-“
“I do not need the details. Make it hurt,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “Ask him if he did his best.”
“Uh… Wuzu… did you do your best?”
“Yes, always,” Wuzu said. It sounded like this was a past argument between them, or more likely a one-sided argument since Wuzu simply stated things declaratively, rather than argue about them. Wuzu spoke simply, proudly, as though all he cared about was that he did his best. Mr. Gakimosimi, on the other hand, scoffed like he didn’t care about doing one’s best — all he cared about was results, and whatever had happened between them, Wuzu was held responsible for the results.
“Ask him about the penis in his butt-ocks.” His Japanese accent was mich stronger when he said butt-ocks for some reason.
“Uh…. Mr. Gakimosimi wants me to ask you about the cock in your ass,” Avery said.
“There is… a man’s cock inside me,” Wuzu said. “It is… There is approx-imate-lee twenty-two centimeters of cock inside me. I submit to a man. I am allowing him to pluck my manhood.”
“Good,” Mr. Gakimosimi said with a cocky sigh. “You are doing well, Mr. Flowers. Do you enjoy my man?”
“Yes, very much,” Avery said. He gritted his teeth because his sensitive dick throbbed within Wuzu’s tight ass. It sent shivers of pleasure up Avery’s body, and he bit back a petite moan.
“Good. I am glad,” Mr. Gakimosimi said. “I assumed you would want revenge on him for extorting you.”
“Not really. Besides,” Avery said, “I know you are the one truly responsible. You extorted me. You just used him as a tool.” Avery was surprised at how easily he spoke once he got started, despite the intense sensation writhing its way up his body. This was too intense for Avery to censor himself. Wuzu’s ass clenched around his cock when it became apparent that Avery was talking back to Mr. Gakimosimi. Avery felt a surge of pride alongside the fear that Mr. Gakimosimi would seek to punish him.
But Mr. Gakimosimi just sighed and chuckled. “You misunderstand, Mr. Flowers. He chose you as a target for extortion. Yes, I charged him with finding businesses that could pay. But he was the one who decided that you were an appropriate target.”
“Oh…” Avery was too turned on and too close to orgasm to be able to pay attention to his words or formulate a response. Does that mean it was Wuzu’s fault to begin with? Or was Wuzu forced into it? In what sense was Mr. Gakimosimi the boss if Wuzu decided who to target, how to pressure them and then enacted the entire plan by himself? That was too weighty a conversation to have when his balls were on the verge of busting though, so Avery didn’t ask.
Mr. Gakimosimi laughed into the phone. Avery got the impression he didn’t laugh often. Wuzu bucked and winced as though he heard it.
“You will finish inside him, yes? You will ejac-u-late in his ass?” Mr. Gakimosimi asked, sounding like he was uncomfortable talking about semen and again his accent was excessive on that one word.
“Yes…”
“Good. Tell him to be back here by noon, or I will send him back to you again,” Mr. Gakimosimi said and hung up the phone without waiting for a response.
“Your boss is an asshole,” Avery said, giving him his phone back. “He said you have to be back at noon, or he’ll send you back to me again.”
Wuzu nodded. A moan escaped from his lips as he writhed beneath Avery’s grasp. “I have great respect for him,” Wuzu said in a pinched, clipped voice.
“I appreciate that, Wuzu,” Avery said. A part of him wanted to accuse Wuzu of extortion, but that required more thought than he was capable right now. He felt his orgasm approaching like an oncoming train.
Avery resumed slamming his hips harder and harder against Wuzu’s powerful frame. Pleasure washed over his body, and Wuzu’s at the same time. He could feel an imminent orgasm pounding through Wuzu as well. He sensed it in the pulsating of the veins in Wuzu’s cockshaft.
They both finally climaxed at the same time, hot cum spraying within Wuzu’s ass as he shot his own load into Avery’s fingers. Wuzu’s muscles all tensed at once, and he gasped with a short, sharp breath. Fat ropes of jizz spurted onto the floor, reaching several feet in front of Wuzu and a few drops even splattered on the wall.
Avery clutched those spasming back muscles, fingers digging playfully into the colorful yakuza tattoos. He threw his head back as Wuzu grunted beneath him. Wad after creamy wad spurted across Avery’s fingers, while Avery shot his own wad deep into Wuzu. Avery’s cheeks turned red, and his moan of intense sensations turned into a howl of desperate desire. When the pleasure grew too much, Avery pumped his hips at Wuzu’s tight ass, while he slammed his face on the meaty thickness of Wuzu’s back.
Holding his head up while his dick limpened inside Wuzu, Avery licked his lips, still feeling the aftershocks of his climax. Wuzu turned his head to watch with a sense of disgust on his face as Avery sucked down every salty drop of cum.
Then, at last Wuzu pulled out from under Avery and breathed a sigh of relief. Hot cum dribbled from his smooth ass. “Thank you,” he said. He wiped the cum off his ass and his inner thigh with a handkerchief he plucked from the suit jacket he’d placed on the arm of Avery’s chair. “I enjoyed that.”
“Really?”
Wuzu nodded. “Do not tell Mr. Gakimosimi, or he will find some other way to punish me instead.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Come on back anytime you need to be ‘punished’,” Avery said. He gave Wuzu a light smack on the ass, watching his plump cheek shake as he checked that his clothes were not wrinkled. Wuzu began dressing. Avery wiped his own dick clean, and he said, “I’m always ready to dish out punishment.”
Greg got drunk last night, so when he wakes up, he’s under arrest and being processed by the legendary cruel alpha-male bully Officer Awful! He’s in for a hardcore tale of domination, submission and utter humiliation!
Read the whole thing here!
Greg was still drunk, but he felt serious now. It had all seemed like a big joke when he was being arrested. He laughed the whole time. But he had been left in the little waiting area for what felt like hours, and the silence and the solitude made him realize he was in big trouble. It was just some drunk-in-public stuff, but he had gotten into it with the cop — into it hard — and they were going to hit him with resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, destruction of property and who even knew what else! Greg was fucked.
Now at last a bulky cop with a shit-eating grin came to get him. That wasn’t the simpering little nerd-looking cop who arrested Greg for public drunkenness. This man had an air of authority.
“Good evening, Mister Hardesty, my name is Officer Auffernan. Some people call me Officer Awful. I don’t condone that,” he said. He held up one hand as though he was testifying in court. “But I don’t forbid it. I’m gonna process you into jail tonight. Now unfortunately our only judge for the weekend has gone home, so you’re going to have wait to be arraigned on Monday.”
“For public drunk’ness?” Greg hiccuped, still slightly drunk.
“I’ll tell you when the time for questions has come,” Officer Auffernan said. “And you should address me as sir.”
“Uh… yes, sir.”
“Hmm, thank you, Mister Hardesty. I’m going to start calling you ‘fuckweasel’. Will that trigger anything in you? Was ya mama raped by a weasel or something like that? Good.” He didn’t give Greg a chance to say anything. Officer Auffernan frowned down at Greg like a disgusting species of frog. “Now what I’m going to do next is punch you right in the belly, as hard as I can.” He lowered his head to look Greg in the eye. Greg blanched, but Officer Auffernan held his head in place. “But don’t you worry, there is a valid penological reason for it.”
Then there was an explosion of pain, so fast that Greg didn’t even realize it had happened until he was already on the floor, clutching his belly. He cried out and twitched so hard his head banged into the wall.
“Now get up and take ya clothes off. I need to search you for contraband. If you is bringin’ contraband into my jail, I will rock ya fuckin’ world, fuckweasel.”
But Greg could do nothing more than groan and squirm. He tried to stagger to his feet, but he was at a loss for breath. He hoarsely squeaked out a gasp, and he managed only to kneel on one foot.
“I said get up and take ya clothes off, fuckweasel!”
Every move he made was arduous. Greg let out a sob and a cry of pain as Officer Auffernan got down real close. He shouted like a drill instructor, his spit splashing onto Gary’s face.
“Take your clothes off, fuckweasel, right now, or I swear to God I will shove this entire jail up your asshole!”
Even as Greg started to unbutton his shirt, fumbling from both pain and terror, Officer Awful kept his face so near his breath condensed on Gary’s cheeks. “Hurry up, fuckweasel. I’ve got a nice hard cot with your name on it. You are gonna regret every day you ever breathed air on this planet, you are gonna feel like a mule rented by a red-headed stepchild if you don’t hurry your stupid ass up, boy. Do you think I am playing with you? Huh? Do you?”
“No! No!” Greg gasped. One of the buttons flew off his shirt, which ripped as he tore it off himself. He threw it on the floor.
Officer Awful pushed Greg over as he tried to drop his pants, and he fell to the ground. “Hurry up, fuckweasel!”
“I’m trying!” Greg ripped the fly of his jeans trying to get them off, as he sobbed into the linoleum floor. It was cold and felt wet, in a vaguely urinal-y way that churned Greg’s stomach. Humiliation rose up in him. He didn’t know how his life was turning out this way. He wasn’t this kind of guy — he wasn’t a criminal, a bad boy.
Was it the alcohol? Greg didn’t think of himself as an alcoholic. He didn’t drink every day. Well… not every day. There was a day a couple months ago… Greg somehow got his pants off over his shoes, which he kicked off as he squirmed on the moist linoleum.
“Alright, fuckweasel.” He grabbed Gary’s hair. His clothes were off, and he lay flat, panting, on the floor. Officer Awful grinned, revealing dimpled cheeks, like he woulda been handsome if he weren’t so craggy and worn. “I’m gonna tell you something in just a second. You should know that I’m telling you this as a friend — or a potential friend — this is not in my position as an officer and representative of the state government.” He took a deep breath as though confiding a great and vital secret. “Here it is: you should beg me to spit in ya mouth. It would make things go easier if you do that, as a gesture of submissive goodwill.”
“What?”
Greg doubled over again as Officer Awful punched him once more in the gut. He was already on the floor, but he now could not get up. Spasms of pain wracked his body.
“No questions!”
Greg gasped for air. He tried to apologize but couldn’t.
“Get up, now, fuckweasel!” Officer Awful mock-kicked him — kicking his foot but stopping it just centimeters from Gary’s body, so Greg flinched and wept each time. He buried his face in his arms. “Gonna turn ya head into my soccer ball, fuckweasel, if you don’t get up.”
When Greg could do little more than crawl, Officer Awful deemed that good enough and opened the door to the next little locked corridor in the jail. Crawling was the most humiliating experience in Greg’s life. His bare ass poked up high in the air, and his knees ached, his stomach ached, everything ached. He wanted to puke, run, cry and hide all at once.
“Please, uh… what, uh…you can do that, uh, spitting thing, just let me up-“
“Don’t you speak like that to me, fuckweasel. If you want something, you address me like a man, as sir, and you plan your words before you open ya mouth. None of this uh or ah business. That’s for girls and pansies, and I don’t see tits or petals on you.”
“Okay, please…” Greg found it difficult to be blunt and not say uh. “Please, you can spit in my mouth-“
‘I know I can. That ain’t what I told you as a friend,” he said. “Wasn’t you payin’ attention? I was tryin’ to be helpful.”
“Please spit in my mouth!”
He smiled again, and took off his sheriff’s hat. “Why, don’t mind if I do.” He hunkered down real close to Greg and hocked up a loogie into his mouth. It was clotty and thick, and it smelled like a doorknob. He spoke moistly as he gathered up spit in his mouth, making Gary’s stomach churn. “In my jail, we call this a ‘bitch-kiss’. It’s how a prison top makes his bottom know his place.” He let loose with another giant wad of saliva and phlegm that plopped in Gary’s mouth.
Greg choked and tried to spit it out, but Officer Awful grabbed him by the neck, squeezing tight enough that he nearly lifted Greg off the ground. Greg squealed and sputtered. Officer Awful spat again, directly into Gary’s mouth, then again. His lips were so close they nearly kissed.
“You feel it, fuckweasel? Ya feel how intimate this is?” He paused and hocked up a loogie in his mouth. He forced himself to couch to fill his mouth even more. He very moistly said, “You my bitch now, fuckweasel. I’m gonna make you open up and suck up the spit in my mouth now. It’s gonna taste real nasty, but you’re gonna choke it down while I watch. You ready?”
Greg shook his head.
“Tough…” He squeezed Gary’s cheeks until his mouth opened, and then a massive mouthful of spit and fluids landed in Gary’s mouth. He still hadn’t swallowed what was already there, so his mouth was overflowing now. Saliva flooded his face from his forehead to his chin, both Officer Awful’s and Gary’s own.
Officer Awful very slowly forced Gary’s mouth closed. “Swallow, fuckweasel. Swallow…” He massaged Gary’s neck like he was forcing a dog to swallow a pill.
Greg gagged and retched, but Officer Awful kept his mouth close and Greg could do nothing but choke back the gags emanating out of his raging stomach. He kept one arm curled over his belly as though to keep it all in. Finally he had quelled the nausea, though he could still taste snot in his mouth.
Before he could recover, Officer Awful dragged him into the next room. A handful of other officers were visible through the windows here, watching and laughing. Greg couldn’t hear them, but he could see their faces light up when they saw him. The nerdy-looking officer who had arrested Greg was there as well, leering at him. They all cheered when Greg let out a choked sob.
“Can… Can I say I’m sorry?” Greg asked. He nodded to the nerdy officer. “Can I apologize to him? I was rude to him before, last night. And… I might have hit him, I don’t remember-“
He doubled over in pain as Officer Awful punched him in the gut again. Through the soundproof glass, the watching officers laughed and cheered.
“You got freedom of speech, fuckweasel. You can always apologize. Jail rules say you can’t ask no questions, that’s why I had to punch you,” he said. “They can hear you through the loudspeaker.”
“Uh… I’m sorry, Officer… Uh… I don’t know your name-“
“Boy, what did I tell you about sayin’ uh?”
“I’m sorry!”
“Well, I appreciate your apology, fuckweasel, and yes, you were quite rude to my fellow officer last night. You said some very hurtful things. Words are weapons, doncha know. So, despite ya ‘pology, you still gotta spend a weekend with me. Don’t worry. I’m sure we gonna be real good friends,” Officer Awful said. “Do you enjoy gettin’ gutpunched?” He did so again, even harder this time, making Greg double over and gasp for air. His flat belly was crying out in pain. He could there was gonna be a huge colorful bruise there tomorrow.
“C’mon…”
“This is not the time for begging. This jail has a begging period every day, please save it for then,” Awful said. Then he directed Greg to stand over the drain in one end of the room, with his legs and arms spread, leaning against the wall. Greg’s bare ass dimpled and jiggled. It was cold in this room.
“Are you gonna…?” Greg wanted to ask if Officer Awful was going to cornhole him. That’s what it felt like in this position. But he couldn’t ask questions. “This position is… it feels like you’re going to cornhole me.”
“Oh. Do you want me to ram you up the asshole til ya buttcheeks fall off? Keep your head still, fuckweasel.” Officer Awful was doing something, getting some piece of equipment ready, but all Greg could see was the wall in front of him. Or was Awful taking off his belt?
“No, don’t! Don’t do that!”
“What was that? Are you begging me to ram you? If you really want me to, I’ll consider it later, fuckweasel. It’s technically against the rules though. Close your eyes,” he said. Then there was a cloud of white powder in the air. Greg coughed and sputtered. Officer Awful made him turn around and covered him in more of the acrid white powder. “Turn back around.”
Greg hacked as he tried to get his breath. His stomach still hurt from being punched, and his drunken headache was getting worse. He could tell — even though he couldn’t hear or see them — that Officer Martin and the other cops in the next room were laughing at him.
Water sprayed onto his back. It was ice-cold, and it made Gary’s balls crawl up in his sac. He gasped and twitched.
“Stay still, fuckweasel!”
The water was so cold Greg couldn’t breathe. His skin tightened up, and his stomach dropped. Officer Awful made him bend backover, sticking his ass in the air. He sprayed water from the hose directly onto Gary’s asshole, which hurt so bad Greg screamed. He clawed at the wall of the tiny room.
Finally the water turned off, and Officer Awful dragged Greg away, into the next room once more. Greg tried to get on his feet, but Officer Awful didn’t give him a chance to. Greg was naked and wet, so he kept slipping and couldn’t even crawl for more than a few feet, he kept collapsing as Awful kicked him and dragged him over the floor.
“Please!” Greg cried out, then clamped his mouth shut lest he start begging again, outside of the designated begging time. He wondered if there was really a designated begging time.
He was dragged over the linoleum floor, naked and wet, dizzy, nauseous. He begged, but Officer Awful barked at him to be silent every time he said anything, so all he could do was pant.
As it turned out, the next room was a medical examination. There wasn’t much to it though — Officer Awful tossed him up onto the cushioned chair and rammed his finger into Gary’s ass so fast Greg hadn’t even finishing sitting down before he felt that finger wiggling inside him.
“Let’s take a walk,” Officer Awful said. “I wanna make sure I search all up in you, and that means you gotta move. Shift your contraband around.”
“I. Don’t. Have. Any,” Greg said, gritting his teeth through the pain. He forced himself to take a step, then another, but every move he made sent waves of agony through his body.
At least he reached the doorway, and Officer Awful gave him a shove. He stumbled forward, Officer Awful moving with him and that finger stayed in his asshole the entire time.
Those other cops were there in the next room, watching and cheering as Greg stammered. He couldn’t even think about a plan because of the pain in his ass.
“Wreck him! Wreck him! Wreck him!”
“Put him on his knees, Auffernan!”
Officer Awful moved his finger like a fishhook, pointing down, and in order to alleviate the pain, Greg lowered himself. Soon he was on his knees on the ground. Officer Awful at last removed his finger.
But the relief was short-lived because he shoved his finger in Gary’s mouth. Greg gagged at the assy taste, but his head was jammed against a wall.
Then before Greg could even get his bearings or stop gagging, his mouth was pried open. He knew what was coming, but it was still shocking to feel that fleshy, rubbery limp cock slide onto his tongue. He choked all over again. Officer Awful let his dick slide out of the fly of his uniform slacks, ramming as much of it as he could fit into Gary’s mouth.
“You got contraband in yer throat, fuckweasel? Huh? If you do, I’ll find it, swear to God, and I will ram you so hard yer mama gonna feel it,” Officer Awful said. “Now listen here.” He rammed his cock in as far as it would go, maybe halfway in, as it started to stiffen up. “My pops always said you ain’t ram a fuckweasel’s throat hard enough till there’s tears comin’ out of his fuckweasel eyes and there’s ballsweat dripping from his fuckweasel chin. Ya feel me, fuckweasel? You had better swallow enough of my dick to rub my balls on your chin.”
Greg was dizzy, and he choked so hard it hurt his stomach, but with Officer Awful’s cock in his throat, he couldn’t do anything but squirm. The wall was hard and stubbly, scratching against his skin as he moved up and down. It was iron-hard, pressing at his throat like a battering ram.
Finally Officer Awful backed off to let him have a breath. Greg collapsed to the ground, but he had no sooner taken a breath before he was on the floor on his back. Officer Awful pushed him into position, then kneeled over his face so that his balls plopped on Gary’s nose.
“You had best loosen up that throat boy, or there is gonna be some consequences. You won’t like ’em one bit,” he said. Then he bent over Gary’s body like he was doing a push-up. He pointed his dick into Gary’s mouth and slammed down with all his weight.
Greg choked once more. He had never regained his breath, and now his throat was sore even before that massive cock pushed in. But Officer Awful was relentless. He pivoted his hips, laughing as Gary’s throat gradually lost its resistance.
Soon Officer Awful’s balls rested on Gary’s nose and eyes. Gary’s whole world went white, and at first he thought it was cum, that Officer Awful had finally shot his wad. But no, he just lost consciousness for a few seconds.
When he went limp, Officer Awful pulled up and out of his mouth. He patted Greg on the back of the head and chuckled as he hoarsely gasped. “There you go, you did it, hoss, good boy,” he said. “That means I am gonna ram you in the ass, but just one time. And then… well, if you be good, I just might let you go. Got it?”
He nodded.
“See, now you answered me without using words, fuckweasel. I don’t like that,” he said. “Not at all.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Greg squealed and sobbed. “I do understand. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I know… Get on your back, lift your feet in the air,” Officer Awful said. He got on his knees. Greg was terrified, and he especially didn’t want to take that massive dick up the ass in this position. But of course, he didn’t have any choice.
“I like rammin’ like this cuz it hurts my bitch,” Officer Awful said as though that was a good rationale. “Plus it lets me finish with a punch and a choke, so you’ll have that to look forward to.”
Greg tried to think of a way to ask what that meant without asking a question, but he had a feeling he knew the answer. Officer Awful smirked at him. He spat on Gary’s face again, and as Greg winced and gagged, he drilled his cock in.
He lightly smacked Greg on the cheek. “I’m in you now, bitch. Guess how many inches you got in ya.”
“Uh… I-“
He smacked Greg harder, and Greg groaned. “What did I tell you about saying uh?”
“You said not to. I apologize. It hurts…”
“Guess how many inches you got in you?”
“Three?” Greg had no idea, it was just a random guess.
“Wrong. Gimme yer hand,” he said. He didn’t wait. He grabbed Gary’s hand and brought it forward to his ass. The movement made the pain worse. He touched Officer Awful’s cock with one hand. There was still a whole lot of cockmeat to go. “Feel that? You only got like a half-inch in your ass.” Greg could hear deep male voices laughing from the other room — the officer who arrested him, maybe more cops too, they were over there laughing as he endured unimaginable agony.
“Yes, sir, Officer Awful.”
“Now start chanting, thank you big brother, can I have another? You got that? Keep sayin’ it ‘till I get all my dick in ya,” he said.
“Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Greg shouted it at first with nothing happening, but then Officer Awful started to ram his dick in between each chant. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Over and over again, he pumped his hips in the silence between chants. And each time, that caused mind-blowing agony in Gary’s asshole. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!”
It continued for what felt like forever. Greg didn’t know how he managed to do it, but eventually he felt that heavy hand close over his mouth.
“Shut up, fuckweasel,” he said with a groan. “I’m all way in you now. You’re my property. Say that.”
“I’m Officer… Officer Awful’s property,” Greg said. He bit his lip and threw his head back. The pain was excruciating, and it quickly got worse as Officer Awful began to gyrate his hips back and forth.
His balls slapped against Gary’s asshole. He wrapped his arms around Gary’s ankles and pressed them close to his muscular chest. His cock throbbed deep in Gary’s ass, which squeezed and churned. He clawed at Officer Awful’s chest, but to no avail. Awful was built like a bear, and he rammed like a stallion.
“Beg me to cum. Come on, be like a porno chick, man. Improvise a little,” Officer Awful said. He spat in Gary’s mouth as soon as he opened up to speak.
“Please… Cum in me… I want your cum inside me…” Greg said through his tears of pain and humiliation. That massive cock drilled into him, back and forth, demolishing his ass, regardless of how Greg squirmed or his hole clenched. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I was rude and drunk… Please fill me up with your cum… Please-“
He was cut off because all of a sudden Officer Awful’s hands slapped Greg’s cheeks. He then squeezed Gary’s throat, hard enough to choke him, and his other hand formed a fist. It hovered above Gary’s face.
Greg tried to scream, but he choked, so all he could do was tighten and spasm. His whole body shook. His asshole clenched around Officer Awful’s cock.
Just when he thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, Officer Awful finally punched him right in the nose. Gary screamed in pain, as Officer Awful let go of his neck and Greg let out a series of hoarse sobs. That cascade of sensations inside Gary’s body was what sent Officer Awful over the edge.
“Cummin’ up in you now, boy, you in the home stretch…”
He gasped. Greg screamed. That spectacled officer, still watching outside the room, clapped and cheered. Cum sprayed into Gary’s ass, deep, hot and creamy. It stuck to his flesh and seeped into him like mud. He choked and gagged even though nothing was in his mouth.
“Hell yeah, fuckweasel, you got a nice ass,” Officer Awful said with a sigh. “Had a nice ass.” His cock spasmed inside Greg, sending more thick wads of cum inside him. It was a massive wad, it felt like, gobs of it spreading to every corner of Greg’s insides. He felt the heat seeping into him.
Then at last, Officer Awful withdrew his dick. The most incredible relief of his life flooded Greg, who closed his eyes. He shuddered, a frisson running up his spine. He didn’t want to ever open his eyes again.
That meant he didn’t see when Officer Awful scooted forward, reached for his mouth to open it and ram his dick inside. The taste of ass and cum intermixed in Gary’s mouth, making him retch and gag so hard his stomach hurt. The shame of tasting his own ass on another man’s dick flooded Gary, and the only consolation was that he was crying too hard to see what he was doing or how many cops were laughing at him.
“Clean up your mess, fuckweasel,” Officer Awful said. He swiped his dick over Gary’s face, making him lick every inch of the shaft, tracing every vein, as Officer Awful moaned and curdled above him. The taste was foul and sickening, and Greg couldn’t stop gagging, both from disgust and from the shame of those other cops watching him at his lowest.
Finally he was done. Officer Awful pulled away, stood and pulled his pants back up. He straightened his uniform. When Greg moaned and tried to stand, he kicked him in the thigh and Greg collapsed to the ground.
“Stay here,” Officer Awful said. “Now that I’m done checking you in, it’s time to show you to your cell. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do that again and again all weekend.”
“You said… you’d let me go…”
“I said I’d consider it. And, I am going to let you go, eventually,” he said. He winked at Greg. “But you still got punishment coming to you.”
