featuring black men – Mansploitation

The Short-Order Cook

Avery is at a diner when the massively hunky cook catches his eye. A hundred dollars later, Avery gets wrecked by this studly giant of a man in the rear pantry, which both is and is not a euphemism! Can Avery both get a full behind and a full belly?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery darted through the woods, cum still drying on his lips. He was stark naked, but he carried his clothes with him, so he stopped behind a tree to get dressed. He had lost the Texan and his buddies, he was pretty sure.
His heart raced, his mind fleeting as he tried to come up with what to do next— go home? Or stay and play? The cruising spot in the woods had gotten rough, but the Texan was gone from it now. Maybe he could return in a few minutes.
He wiped his face off and swallowed down the last few drops of cum he could get to. His own dick was hard, or at least half-hard still — he hadn’t had enough time to get his own nut off; he was saving himself for a big finale, which had never happened.
There was a street up ahead, he saw it and headed that way. He hoped he didn’t look like too gross, with jizz in his hair and stuck to his ears. He didn’t have a mirror so it was impossible to be sure. He wiped himself off as thoroughly as he could manage.
Avery was in downstate Illinois. He passed a state trooper car in a parking lot abutting the woods. Avery thought about leaving the woods for the road, but he didn’t want to do that near the police car. It was theoretically possible that the Texan had called the police, and maybe the cops were looking for him.
That seemed unlikely. The Texan was at the cruising spot doing the same thing Avery was doing. Why would he call the police?
But still, there was no reason to tempt fate, so Avery simply walked through the woods avoiding the cop car. The officer inside was watching drivers on the road and paid Avery no notice.
The forest was dense with underbrush and Avery found the going difficult. His backside was still sore from his escapades with the Texan and, prior to him, a gaggle of Mexicans, who were enjoyable but rough. He and the Mexicans were interrupted by the Texan — or the man in a cowboy hat with a Texan accent anyway, Avery was thinking of him as “the Texan” — who cornholed Avery up the duff till he cried and begged for more. Afterwards, he got violent. Avery had to run off. Avery hadn’t done anything illegal, but he high-tailed it out of there anyway, so he never got to stroke his own self off. He had been waiting to finish off the Mexicans first.
Finally, he found a secluded road and followed it. He kept a little ways off the actual shoulder of the road, so he could hide behind a tree if anyone came past. No one did. This was one of Illinois’s rural routes that saw like two cars a day.
Soon the rural route connected with a less rural route — which was paved — and then that came to a state highway, which was downright civilized. At that point, Avery looked like any other derelict walking along the side of the road. A trim, well-dressed derelict with jizz in his hair. Or maybe not, he was pretty sure he got all the jizz out. Well, not all of it, but all of the visible jizz. He wasn’t gonna look like a cumrag to any strangers, at the very least.
That was good, because Avery soon came to a roadside diner, which was smack dab at an intersection between the state highway and yet another rural route that was a dusty road. The diner was scrutably named “The Dusty Road”.
And it looked homey enough, clean enough and devoid enough of violent post-orgasmic Texans, so Avery decided to stop there. It was as likely a spot as any to relax for awhile. He went in and was instantly struck by two things.
First and foremost, the short-order cook cut a commanding figure. He was well over six feet tall, built like an ox with strapping chest muscles that flexed and rippled and writhed like a barrel of snakes beneath his thin white shirt, which was too small for his giant frame. The sleeves ended midway down his fleshy arms. He was black as plums, his very dark skin gleaming in parts with sweat and splattering grease from the grill afront him. With a dour, frowny look on his roundness, he scooped up a heap of fried eggs and put them on a plate next to a mound of hash browns. He rang the little bell.
The second thing Avery noticed was the waitress. She was a young, pretty girl with the face of an ugly girl, her head buried in her hands as she sobbed with two other girls who did not appear to work here. The waitress was trying to tell some story through her tears. The other diners were trying not to stare. The cook seemed unperturbed. The sobbing waitress wailed, and her powder blue uniform jiggled.
Avery stood in the doorway, not entirely sure what to do. Did you just go right to a table? Or was that crying waitress supposed to show him to a table? He didn’t want to seem like an ass. The waitress didn’t notice him.
In any case, it seemed she wasn’t going to do anything, so Avery just sat down at the counter. That short-order cook muscled arm-flesh jiggled and worked up and down as he finished the second of a pair of platees. That sleeveless shirt was utterly soaked in sweat. It looked like it had been white at one point, but now it was dingy gray like mopwater, and it probably stank like armpits and pancake batter. Avery wanted to suck it clean.
The short-order cook glanced at Avery, then rolled his eyes. He was about to ding the little bell again to signify that the fried eggs and the waffles he had made were finished. But he eyed the sobbing waitress — whose nametag read Polly — that petite white girl with light brown hair, and it was clear she was in no mood to deliver a meal. The cook sighed. He took the plate of eggs and waffles himself to a table near the bathrooms, where a pair of businessmen openly eyed the waitress.
Then the cook approached Avery. He curtly licked his teeth. “Whatchoo want, suh?”
Avery said, “I’d like to look at a menu.” He avoided starting at the crying waitress and also at the cook’s powerful body. That left few directions for Avery’s gaze, and he looked down at the countertop.
The cook snarled and grabbed a menu. “Whatevuh you want, suh.” He tossed the menu in front of Avery, then returned to his spot at the blacktop.
Avery took a few minutes to relax. He perused the menu, but it was exactly what he had expected — typical diner slop. He could have guessed every single thing on the menu.
It was going to be difficult to proposition this middle-aged black man with the tastiest-looking chest in Illinois, Avery thought, with a weeping white girl just a few yards away. It was distracting. From what Avery got through the girl’s tears, she had been on a date with a boy who got handsy, and she was upset because he had seemed like a nice guy.
She can’t cry forever, can she? Girls can though, they have an infinite supply of tears. She’s got two friends comforting her. This could never end. It’s really ruining the anonymous-groping vibe I was hoping for. Avery glanced at the girl and smiled. Wish I was still cruising. He hoped he didn’t look like a creep. He wasn’t flirting with her, he really wasn’t. Some girls assume anyone who looks at them is flirting. Would she like it or dislike it if a flamboyant stranger came over to comfort her? Dislike it, probably.
Avery ordered a cup of coffee and scrambled eggs — he was on a low-carb diet — and sat there, hoping to get a chance to talk to the short-order cook. Damn the waffles looked good though. And they came with apple butter… Avery could eat apple butter with a spoon.
Eventually the businessman behind Avery finished his meal and got up to leave. Avery didn’t care because he was a sniveling nerdy type, and he was skinny. But Avery noticed him head over towards the waitress, who was now wiping tears off her cheeks and sucking in her sobs.
“Hey, sweetheart, how are you doin’?” the businessman said. He straightened his tie, and his eyes roamed up and down the girl and her friends. “I bet I could turn that frown upside-down. Make you feel good as a spring morning, baby…”
There was a moment of awkward silence. Then the girl covered her face and turn away, and her friend hugged her while glaring at the businessman. They all looked at him accusatorily.
“C’mon, baby, I know you lookin’ to get fresh. Why not lemme give you a hug? My hugs feel right as rain, swear to God-“
“Hey! She ain’t interessed, and she made dat clear!” The short-order cook’s voice boomed, loud enough to make the nearby stack of plates rattle. He came around from the grill into the diner, striding in big long steps, heavy feet stomping on the floor. “So you best get ya cheap-suit ass outta hee-ah!”
“What?!” The businessman’s eyed opened wide. “I won’t be talked to like that by some colored boy-“
“I dunno who you callin’ a boy, cuz this right here is a man, fixinna kick ya ass into next week!” The short-order cook stepped closer to him, grabbed the man by the tie and shoved him out the door.
Avery grinned as he watched. When it was done and the door had swung shut with the businessman on the other side, the cook turned around and glowered. The crying waitress got up and hugged his broadly muscled chest, grimacing a little at the sweat-soaked shirt she had to touch. Her arms weren’t even close to long enough to get all the way around his barrel-shaped frame.
“Oh, thank you, Eddie! You’re so nice! You didn’t have to do that, you know. Will you get in trouble?”
Big Eddie looked nervous about the white girl hugging him, and he looked around to see who was watching — just the entire diner — but he bristled and stood motionless. His deep voice grumbled. “Reckon it’s alright, Polly. Just… tell the police I was doin’ right.”
Avery cleared his throat. “I doubt he’ll go to the police. He was wearing a wedding ring, he wanted to cheat on his wife,” Avery chimed in from the counter.
“That pig!”
“Men are all pigs,” said the waitress’s friend.
The short-order cook, Big Eddie, seemed glad to be finished with the hug. He returned to the grill, which he laboriously scraped clean. Avery watched those big meaty arms shake as he did so, and he caught a glimpse of the man’s muscled chest through the opening in his sleeveless shirt.
Nobody would be allowed to wear a shirt like that in the restaurants up north, Avery thought, not while serving food. They’d be worried about armpit-hair falling into the food. Avery wasn’t worried about that at all, he would have gladly eaten some occasional armpit hair if it meant men like Big Eddie got to wear shirts like that.
There was a freshly moist sweat stain on the back of the shirt, which Avery only made out because he stared so closely. He was entranced by the flexing of the man’s firm-fleshed muscles.
Soon the cook turned around and glanced at Avery again. He stared crossly at the waitress, who was still chatting with her friends. No new customers had come into the diner. Big Eddie said, “You want sumpin’ else, suh?”
Avery pretended he couldn’t hear, and Big Eddie repeated himself. Avery smiled. “Sorry, lemme come closer.” He scooted around the counter into the kitchen in the back.
“You want somethin’ else? You finisht ya eggs.”
“Oh, no, thank you, darling,” Avery said. He smiled. “Actually, that’s not quite true, I do want something else.”
“What?”
“You.” Avery came closer and touched Big Eddie on his fat chest. Big Eddie furrowed his brow. Avery played with the greasy tee shirt’s fabric. “You’re very handsome. Can you get away from the grill for a few minutes? I’ll take you out back — or wherever you want — and let you just destroy me.” Then Avery wasn’t sure he was communicating effectively, so he said, “with your dick. I’ll stroke your dick and you can cornhole me in the ass. I’ll make you feel so good, Big Eddie, you won’t even know what hit you-“
Big Eddie looked taken aback. He seemed open to the possibility, Avery thought, but he didn’t trust Avery.
“How about I help you out some? I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” Avery said.
Big Eddie let out a throaty hollow laugh. He glanced up front at the lack of customers. He called out to the waitress. “Hey! I takin’ mah break.” The waitress said okay, and Big Eddie put one big meaty paw on the back of Avery’s neck. “You is sure nasty, mistuh. You de nastiest white man I e’er sawn.” He led Avery into the back, into a walk-in pantry filled with canned goods, sacs of potatoes, napkins and sundry other items. “No ‘ffense.”
“Oh? Are there black men who jack you off a lot?”
Big Eddie nodded. “Dey don’t pay though. And dey don’t do it like this,” he said. He lit a cigarette and leaned against one of the pantry walls. He just stood there like he expected Avery to do all the work.
“What do you mean?” Avery asked. He pulled Big Eddie’s nasty sweat-marinated tee shirt up, baring a big hairy flat and a well-muscled torso. Avery kissed and slurped on a line from his pecs to his crotch, wrinkling his nose at the intensely fruity, sour scent of his sweat. He slurped up a few drops of moisture.
Big Eddie’s mouth was open. “Dey don’t… They don’t go lickin’ on mah chest and shit, man. What is wrong wit’choo? De like… you know, dey j’st sucks a dingle and all. De makes me wear a nice shirt doh, and I gots to take a shower or dey won’t look at me twice. Make me rub dey shoulders and all. You j’st… do it?”
Avery nodded and giggled. “Why make you wear a nice shirt when I’m just gonna ask you to take it off?”
Big Eddie obediently took off his shirt. “You like big-meat colored boys?”
“I appreciate the physiques of strong men,” Avery said. “Color irrelevant.” He slurped up the sweat from Big Eddie’s well-muscled chest. His right hand snuck under his chest, to Big Eddie’s pants. He undid the belt and let them fall to the floor.
He had on tighty-whiteys, which made Avery lick his lips. Avery slid a hand under the fabric and gripped Big Eddie’s massive dick.
“I love your name,” Avery said. He kissed one of the firm pecs on Big Eddie’s chest. “Has everyone always called you Big Eddie?”
Big Eddie shrugged and chuckled. “Nah. I got that name at the Y.”
Avery didn’t really know what that meant, but he was too horny to ask for more information. His mind processed it slowly though, and he realized later that Big Eddie must have showered at the YMCA because he didn’t have hot water in his home, and the men he showered with there must have been the ones who dubbed him Big Eddie… presumably because they saw something big, something only visible in the showers…
As he sunk to his knees, he licked a trail down Big Eddie’s chest and sucked all the grime and diner-grease he could get off his skin. He tasted like breakfast sausage, Avery thought, plus a little funky and cheesy — probably because he didn’t shower often.
Avery didn’t mind that one bit. He loved his men big, strong and a little dirty — or a lot dirty.
On his knees, that broad chest looming overhead like an awning, Avery popped the tip of Big Eddie’s dick in his mouth. He was already hard, his knobbly dick jamming into Avery’s throat.
He used his ass-muscles to pound his cock into Avery’s mouth. Avery was surprised, not expecting such an aggressive throating so quickly. He relaxed his throat and swallowed every bit of cockmeat that he could. Big Eddie’s body rocked back and forth, shaking the shelves in the supply closet.
“Damn… swallow that deep, yeah… Ooh, you got mouth like silk, baby…”
It was so slick with sweat it was like guzzling saltwater. At first Avery thought Big Eddie had already cum, but he soon realized it was just sweat from working in this unairconditioned diner in heavy pants all day. His balls were positively soaked with moisture, which Avery suckled clean when Big Eddie finally pulled his dick out.
He had been nice to the girl, Avery noticed, but he was hardly chivalrous to Avery — he plowed into Avery’s throat as though punishing him. Avery wondered if that was how everyone was around here — did anyone ever admit in public to enjoying them? Maybe he was mean because he assumed he was supposed to? Or maybe that was just what he thought Avery wanted?
Or maybe, Avery thought, Big Eddie was just plain mean to non-girls. Regardless, Avery didn’t mind one bit. He loved powerful, confident men who plowed into his throat without regard for his gagging and choking. Great gobs of spit spilled out of his mouth and onto the floor of the pantry, while Avery had to grip those massive fleshy asscheeks on Big Eddie’s backside for support. His chest slapped Avery on the forehead.
Soon Avery was forced against the door of the pantry, Big Eddie using his entire body to slam his dick into Avery’s throat. His chest got in the way though, squashing against Avery’s forehead. For a moment, Avery was dizzy and thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen. He clawed at Big Eddie’s fleshy ass.
Then Big Eddie pulled away. “You aw’ight?” His voice was gruff and mean still, but Avery didn’t get the impression he intended it that way. He simply didn’t have much of a nice-man’s voice anywhere in his throat, Avery thought.
He slapped his cock over Avery’s face, chuckling throatily as he did, without even waiting for Avery to answer. Avery gasped for breath and chased Big Eddie’s dick with his mouth playfully. He suckled on those balls again, making Big Eddie gasp.
“Damn, you get nasty wit’ dem balls,” Big Eddie said. “You gonna bend ovuh and grab ya ankles?”
“Hmmmm… Yes,” Avery said, blushing. He tried to scoot out from under Big Eddie, but that chest pinned him against the door. “You gotta let me move-“
Big Eddie snarled and stepped away. He grabbed Avery and tossed him like one of those sacs of potatoes against the shelves. “Bend ovuh, whiteboy. What de fuck is wrong wit’choo?”
Avery bent over and stuck his bare, pale ass high in the air. He leaned against the lower shelf, giving Big Eddie the perfect angle to stick him in the ass. Big Eddie hefted his chest up and flopped it right onto Avery’s ass, leaving a layer of greasy sweat there.
“Ya nasty-ass boy, shit…” Big Eddie growled. “Bet yo’ daddy’s ‘shamed of you…” He spread Avery’s asscheeks and peered at his tight hole. He rammed his pinkie finger in — even that was thick and fat, and it made Avery moan in pain and pleasure.
Then there was a burst of pressure as Big Eddie’s cock slipped into Avery’s ass. It was girthy and meaty, so there was a little pain at first, especially bent over in this awkward position. Avery gritted his teeth as Big Eddie drilled into him.
He was relentless. Big Eddie believed that taking dick in the ass was a profound sin — he didn’t see it as a sin to be on top, simply on the bottom, because the man on top was doing as God intended with his cock — more or less — while the bottom was using his body in a way God never intended. So he saw it as reasonable to be aggressive, like he needed to be God’s hand in punishing his bottoms for their sin.
He plowed in, grimacing when he felt resistance and plowing harder. Soon he was all the way in, rocking Avery back and forth as he plowed into. A loud squishing sound could be heard, which made Big Eddie chuckle.
“Big Eddie! We got a customer!” the waitress’s voice could be heard.
Big Eddie shushed Avery, leaned back and opened the door a crack, so just his face could be seen. “I be up there in a sec, girl. I’s takin’ care of man-business.”
“Oh… Okay…” she said, seemingly aware that there was something in the pantry she wouldn’t want to see. She hurried back to the front.
Big Eddie growled and returned to plowing into Avery, slamming into him so hard Avery oomphed — almost crying out loud, though he managed to subdue it — and went with him to the floor. Big Eddie was so broad-bodied he took up almost the entire space there, and his chest flopped on Avery’s small, delicate back.
Avery could barely breathe, both from the intense pressure in his ass and Big Eddie’s heavy body pressing down on him. Big Eddie’s hot breath condensed on the back of Avery’s head, which Big Eddie gripped tightly to force him in place even as Avery squirmed.
A prostate orgasm arose within Avery, who finally shot his load all across the floor. Big Eddie didn’t even notice that because he was busy with his own growing orgasm.
He snorted and sniffled like an out-of-control horse, pounding at Avery’s body so hard Avery wondered if he would break a bone. Avery submitted, gritting his teeth and slurping on whatever bit of salty flesh he could get in his mouth — he was pretty sure it was one of Big Eddie’s manboobs.
Cum flew into him, huge creamy wads of it, flowing in his ass, seeping into his flesh and making him feel like a big nasty sweat-soaked cumrag. He was covered in fluids from head to toe, including even a few drops of drool that had snuck out of Big Eddie’s lips as he was in the throes of his orgasm.
Avery was soft, covered in fluids, dazed, his sore ass aching as Big Eddie finally rolled off him. There wasn’t quite enough space in the pantry to do that, so Big Eddie had to actually stand up before his dick slipped out of Avery’s ass. He slapped one of Avery’s asscheeks hard.
“Aw’ight, whiteboy, let’s see dat tenduh,” Big Eddie said. He didn’t wait for Avery, who lay limp and gasping on the floor. He pulled Avery’s wallet out of his pocket. Luckily he just took the money he had been promised.
Then he tossed the wallet at Avery’s head. He pulled his pants up and went outside to the kitchen to resume cooking.
“Clean yaself, nasty-ass honky,” Big Eddie said as he left.
Avery basked in the afterglow of his orgasm until he was ready to go. Then he cleaned himself up and headed out. That waitress gave him an odd look. Big Eddie had told her that he was doing “man business” in the pantry. She didn’t know what that was, but she assumed it was like her and menstruation — something only to be discussed with members of the same sex — so she was surprised to see Avery leave soon after Big Eddie did, she didn’t know anyone else had been back there.
For now, all she saw was the strange white man with the messed-up hair and crooked clothes smile at her as he walked out. “Have a nice day!” she said.
“I certainly will, ” said Avery with a smile on his face.

Massaging the Lacrosse Jock

Mayshon is a college lacrosse star who didn’t realize his massage just might come with a happy ending! Can he handle the delights in store for him?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Mayshon nervously waited in the lobby of the massage parlor. When Coach Thickman had told him to come get a massage, he had giggled along with his teammates. They were sitting then, sweaty, jockstrap-clad, in the locker room after a practice, a setting that Mayshon felt comfortable in at the time. Mayshon had struggled during practice due to the pain in his thigh.
Everyone laughed at Coach Thickman. They said that Mayshon was going to get a blowjob from a prostitute and that he was a pansy for letting the pain get to him. But his leg really did hurt, and the massage parlor’s website looked professional. It didn’t look like a brothel. Mayshon thought it really might help, even if his teammates kept teasing him about fucking nasty whores.
Mayshon always did what his coach told him to, and that was how he had ended up in the Thackenswitch Massage Center.
“Mayshon Hopkins?” came a lilting feminine voice.
Mayshon stood up and followed her. He was a six and a half foot tall midfield for the GHU Titans, with dark brown skin, neat cornrows and shimmering blue tattoos extending over his muscled shoulders. He smiled at the masseuse, a pretty Asian girl who seemed intimidated by him. Mayshon wasn’t offended by that. Most of these nice, attractive non-black women were scared of his size and his tats. Lacrosse was the key sport around here, and Mayshon was the most well-known player outside the major leagues. He flashed a cocky grin at the Asian girl. She probably thought he was hot. They all do. She probably recognized him. They mostly do.
Groupies mobbed the team from time to time. They loved Mayshon’s six-pack and his strong jaw line, and his pimp lean turned ’em on too. Not a true pimp lean, of course, Mayshon had no gunshot wound or anything, his leg was just sore. That was why he needed a massage in the first place.
Mayshon sucked on his teeth and let his pecs flex as he followed the Asian woman in the back. She prolly saw that. She was playing it cool, but she wanted him. He was just glad he had a female masseuse and that she was pretty. It was also heartening that she was intimidated because, if she were a prostitute, she wouldn’t be scared by him, or at least she wouldn’t let on that she was scared of him. That boded well, Mayshon thought. He did not want to fuck a prostitute.
He walked as softly as possible, so his heavy footfalls didn’t remind her how big he was. His muscles shifted left and right with each step of his lumbering feet. He squeezed through the narrow hallway, nose wrinkling at a burst of sandalwood incense now that he was out of the lobby. He passed by rooms with closed doors, New Age music emanating softly from each one. One room had an open door, in which a fat white man’s whole body jiggled like shameful jello as a woman rubbed his shoulders. That was disconcerting for Mayshon to see, and it made his stomach churn.
Fat white men are disgusting, Maython thought.
She stopped in front of a room, and she motioned for him to enter. Mayshon did, assuming she would follow behind him.
But she just walked away. “Have a good day, sir.” She spoke absent-mindedly, and it sounded like she had forgotten Mayshon’s name even though she read it off her clipboard just thirty seconds ago.
There was a man in the room already, waiting for him. Mayshon gulped at sight of him.
He would have rather had virtually anyone else as a masseur. A flamboyant, flouncy man would have been awkward but still reasonable, predictable, acceptable. An academic doctor-type would have been fine. Hell, a drunken leering loser redneck would have been a surprise but basically okay.
Instead, this masseur was a man, a tall, muscular man with a square jaw, broad shoulders and a set of piercing blue eyes. He had long blond hair extending past his shoulder. He was at least as tall as Mayshon, maybe taller, approaching seven feet. He wasn’t quite as naturally hefty as Mayshon was, but he had a more chiseled body, with a six-pack and biceps that were carved out of ivory. He looked like the hero from the cover of one of those romance novels Mayshon’s aunt read.
“My name is Johan, sir, yes, thank you,” the masseur said. He had a thick Swedish accent, lilting like a song, cascading syllables like a car going off a waterfall. His biceps flexed.
“Mayshon.” His voice was deep and gravelly. Mayshon wrinkled his nose. He was almost always the strongest person in the room, and he did not like being in a room with someone stronger than himself.
Not just being in a room with him, but being subordinate to him. A masseur was sort of an authority figure, a medical authority anyway.
Not that Johan was actually stronger than Mayshon. Mayshon licked his teeth and let his biceps flex a he came into the room. The masseur Johan was big, sure, especially for a masseur. He was like four of those little Asian women stacked on top of each other. Even that was probably an exaggeration, John could outwrestle four of those Asians. He wasn’t some limp-wristed flamboyant type.
Not that Mayshon was hoping for a limp-wristed sissy. He was hoping for an Asian woman! She don’t even gotta be hot!
“Take off your clothes, for please. Which muscle groups are causing you the trouble?” Johan said. “Your coach has called, on the telephone. He requested a person who is a masseur with a medical license. That is me. You have muscle soreness problems, is it right?”
Johan’s accent was very thick, and Mayshon struggled to understand him, especially since this situation was unnerving him. “Uh…” Mayshon hesitated before taking off his clothes — it felt silly to be anxious about this, he thought, since he was naked nearly every day among his teammates and coaches and more rarely among various hangers-on, journalists, even the cheerleaders who occasionally dared each other into hanging out in the locker room. Mayshon had even been in prison for three months, so he had spent time naked in much more hostile situations than this.
But still, his heart raced as he took his clothes off. Johan placed a towel over his jiggling asscheeks as Mayshon laid on the massage table.
“My thigh hurts, real bad. I got tightness right here,” Mayshon said. He pointed to the upper part of the back of his thigh, right where it met his ass. He wished it was his forearm that hurt, so he wouldn’t have to endure Johan’s hands exploring his ass.
“Ah, I see, it feels very tender,” Johan said with a grunt. He turned on some reggae and clapped his hands while coating them with a palmful of warming oil. He sighed and got to work.
His fingertips were not smooth like a nice girl’s. His muscular arms kneaded Mayshon’s flesh. His deep breathing was loud in Mayshon’s ears. The only consolation, Mayshon thought, was that Johan was clearly professional — he treated Mayshon like a piece of steak that needed to be tenderized. This was the least seductive massage in history, Mayshon thought, which made it more comfortable in one way but less comfortable in every other way.
Johan pounded and pulled, pushing, patting, pummeling Mayshon’s thigh with both hands. Then he moved onto the other thigh, which hurt almost as bad.
Mayshon squirmed and gasped, unwilling to complain because he was used to enduring pain without showing any signs — that was part of being a college lacrosse star. But he was so tense he didn’t think this could possibly be helping with his thigh pain. Johan’s hands worked him hard, like he was trying to rip the muscles off Mayshon’s body.
“Roll over, sir, if you do so please,” Johan said. His face was flat and expressionless.
Mayshon did as he was told, though he really just wished this would be over. He was surprised to find, however, as he moved, that his thigh felt a lot better. It was still tender and sore, but he could tell something had changed. He suspected it would feel fine in a few hours. The tightness was relieved, like a switch had been flicked.
Johan got to work on Mayshon’s thighs from the front. With a towel over his bare crotch, Mayshon felt uncomfortable still, but he at last began to settle in. Johan’s long hair and foreign accent were off-putting, but there was no reason, Mayshon thought, to be frightened.
And then the towel slid off his crotch as Mayshon’s cock popped to full erection. Mayshon gasped and bit his lip. His hands turned into claws that dug into the cushion beneath him.
“Uh…”
“It is okay, it is not a problem. Your coach did ask me to be thorough,” Johan said. He frowned. His hand reached down and wrapped around Mayshon’s cock. “Is okay?” He had big meaty fingers with a solid grip.
This all happened so fast Mayshon looked down at his dick in a man’s hand as though it was not his own penis. Mayshon nodded and groaned. A burst of pleasure ran up his cockshaft. He bit his lip again, but this time it was because his mind raced, trying to convince his body to stop — he had gotten hard already, for seemingly no reason, and now his cock was desperate for release no matter where it came from.
“Do relax. You have too much tension. It is not healthy for you,” Johan said. “You should use sauna sometime. It is Swedish tradition, and it works very well to make muscles relax and smooth. Steam is good. Do you have sauna?”
As he spoke, he kept stroking his cock, making Mayshon so nervous he couldn’t think. He was aware of saunas, of course, there was one in the locker room. But he rarely used it. It always seemed rather pointless to him.
“Uh… yeah. We got a sauna, in the uh… locker room.”
“Good. Steam and sweat will be making you for sure to be relaxeder,” Johan said. It didn’t sound like he realized relaxeder wasn’t a word, and Mayshon was too nervous to point it out. His cock throbbed in Johan’s hand.
Was his dick even hard? Mayshon didn’t want to look. Pinpricks of sensations erupted in his shaft, and he sucked in his breath. He was glad nobody was around to see this.
Well, nobody but this creepy Swede. Mayshon sucked in his breath. European men don’t count, he thought. He tried to think of a racial slur for a Swede. Was the man even Swedish? Mayshon got the Swedish Chef in his mind, but now he couldn’t remember if anybody had said anything about Sweden or not. Had the Asian woman said Johan spoke Swedish? Or did Mayshon assume that?
When he finally looked down, his dick was hard. It was rock-hard, and it throbbed in Johan’s hand. Mayshon felt a surge of pleasure that began only when he saw that he had an erection. Once he saw the veins throbbing in Johan’s grip, a jolt of pleasure ran up Mayshon’s body.
As a wavery moan of nervous desire wracked Mayshon, Johan kept his hand working up and down that fat shaft. John had a serious, no-nonsense look on his face. It was the same look he had during the actual massage, as if this was just another stage in the massage process.
Which maybe it was. Mayshon didn’t know.
He still felt like this was happening to someone else. Even his own anxiety was not really his, he felt it at a distance, as his own body actually focused on the wave of pleasure emanating from his cock.
When the first few drops of precum escaped from the tip of his dick, Mayshon thought that would be it. He’d be able to finish up and go home. He could honestly tell people that no sex had happened. He could tell them that pretty lady had given him the handjob, that would be good. It was hard to think about right now.
“You want it swallowing?” Johan asked, his deep Swedish accent ringing in Mayshon’s ears. Mayshon nodded and mumbled a yes despite the anxiety creeping through him, and then Johan licked his lips, threw his long hair back and planted his head right on Mayshon’s cock. He swallowed it in one smooth motion, his big body making it easy for him to deep-throat every inch of Mayshon’s shaft.
It was so warm and moist, it sent a shiver of bliss to ricochet around in Mayshon’s body. His muscles all flexed, his thigh tightening up all over again.
“Oh fuck…” Mayshon gulped. He couldn’t watch anymore, so he looked up at the ceiling. He wondered if Coach Thickman had known this would happen — it would be just like him to set something like this up just to see the look on Mayshon’s face when he lied about it tomorrow. “Aw, fuck… Aw, fuck. Awfuck. Awfuck. Awfuck. Ahfuck. Ahhhfuck. Awf… Awf…”
A shiver erupted in Mayshon’s lacrosse-toned muscles. He closed his eyes and licked his lips. He had an innate urge to feel up his own nipples, and, after a few seconds, his hands roamed of their own accord, all the way up to his pulsating pectorals. He tweaked first his right nipple, then his left, and the sensation intensified the pleasure in his cock.
Johan licked like he knew what he was doing. He was so tall and broad-shouldered that he struggled to lower his head far enough, and he was so wide-bodied that he loomed beneath Mayshon like a supine statue.
“I, uh… I didn’t know, uh… I ain’t know this was… coming…” Mayshon stuttered. “Is this… ? Do all your massages, uh… go like this?”
Johan shook his head without stopping. He slathered spit up and down Mayshon’s massive brown shaft, and he slurped up all that saliva back up with a loud suckling sound. Mayshon leaned his head back as his inhibitions gradually left him. His pecs rippled as more and more pleasure crashed through his body like an incoming tide.
The fact that Johan was a huge muscle-bound alpha male made this so much more awkward for Mayshon. He had had a girlfriend in prison, a sissy with a large cock, when he spent six months behind bars last year. Mayshon had even licked his asshole in place of lube. And last year, a gymnast had swallowed loads from him and the whole lacrosse team off on a dare.
But the gymnast and his cellmate were both lilting, thin, delicate, weak, submissive men. They acted like almost like girls, they were unthreatening, kind, seductive, and Mayshon could have easily beaten any of them up anytime. Getting a nut off in guys like that was really just like a girl.
Johan, however, was different, and Mayshon found himself moaning and squirming beneath Johan’s tongue and his tender touch. His hands were tight claws, digging into the cushion first and then moving onto Johan’s scalp.
Another bolt of pleasure shot up Mayshon’s spine, this one powerful enough and surprising enough that Mayshon gasped. His eyes rolled back. His fingers shifted from tentatively resting on Johan’s scalp to gripping him tightly, guiding his head up and down.
The long blond hair of Johan’s head shook as the big man moved. Mayshon licked his lips. His balls crawled up in his sac. He wished he was slamming Johan in the ass, he thought, because that long hair would make him look like a blonde chick.
But then Mayshon realized that wasn’t true — Johan was much too muscular. His back was curved and marked with lines, broad, shifting muscles and plenty of heft. There was even a tattoo of what Mayshon could only assume was the Swedish flag, right at the center of the back of Johan’s neck. Women, Mayshon thought, didn’t get tattoos there, especially not national flags, so it would be impossible to pretend Johan was a woman from behind.
As though Johan had overheard Mayshon’s thoughts, he pulled his mouth off his cock, then turned around and rubbed some lube into his asshole. He smiled, for the first time since this massage began, as he gave Mayshon’s dick a few more strokes.
“Is your thigh feeling better, sir, yes, thank you?”
“Yeah.” Mayshon’s voice was tight and pinched, like he was near tears, which he was but only because he was shocked by how easily he had gotten hard. If you had asked him yesterday if he could get an erection from the touch of a muscle-bound man, Mayshon would have laughed and said he fucked too many hot chicks for that.
“Good. You are still very tense, so I will finish you now,” Johan said. He turned around and plopped his plump asscheeks onto Mayshon’s crotch.
The worst part, Mayshon thought, and also the best part, was that Johan had a fantastic ass. He had broad, meaty cheeks, and his hair was blond so even though there were more hairs on his crack than any woman had — at least any woman that Mayshon might ever be with — the hair wasn’t very visible.
That was nice and it might have made this emotionally easier for Mayshon, but in his mind, this was going to happen in a more traditional position: Johan bent over, Mayshon pounding into him from behind, maybe pulling on that long blond hair.
Instead, Johan climbed onto the massage table, which strained under the weight of both muscle-jocks. He didn’t even face Mayshon’s feet so that only his back and his ass were visible, instead he faced Mayshon’s feet, his cock and balls flopping in front of Mayshon’s eyes. Johan gave his own cock a stroke as he lowered his ass onto Mayshon’s dick.
“You have old injury in your shoulder,” Johan said, his voice returning to his medicinal-authority demeanor. He rubbed Mayshon’s shoulders.
“Uh… yeah, I had surgery last year.” Mayshon closed his eyes.
“You needed more physical therapy, yes? I will tell your coach. He will pay,” Johan said. “Is okay. It will heal well. You will stroke me off?”
He guided Mayshon’s hand to his crotch, and Mayshon — still feeling like this was all happening to someone else — found his hand gripping it tight. He had never actually jacked off a man, nor even touched a cock that was not his own, not even when cornholing in prison.
Now he didn’t want to stop even as his mind told him that he should. This is too weird. This isn’t anonymous enough — Johan has no requirement to keep this confidential, and it seems he talks with Coach Thickman on a regular basis. Other players come here for massages occasionally. This is not private.
But Mayshon’s mind had come up with a very simple solution that Mayshon couldn’t think of any reason to reject: he could just lie. If word got out that Mayshon had stroked off a Swede while cornholing him, Mayshon could just deny it. He and his teammates accused each other of fucking ugly chicks, for example, that was very normal. It was possible some people wouldn’t believe him, but these sorts of rumors were commonplace.
Mayshon just didn’t want it to stop, that was why it didn’t seem like a real solution — he could lie to his entire team, yet he couldn’t lie to himself. He barely even noticed his hand jacking Johan off. He was much more focused on his near-orgasmic cock sliding into Johan’s ass.
Another wave of pleasure hit him, and Mayshon moaned, his deep voice resonating in the massage room. He stopped worrying about making too much noise. That was, he thought, perhaps why Johan had turned on that reggae music, which now drowned out the sound of Mayshon’s moans of desire.
He used both hands on Johan’s uncut cock, which throbbed beneath Mayshon’s grasp. Both men were in perfect sync now, Mayshon’s chest muscles flexing as Johan lowered himself onto Mayshon’s fat cock. Then Mayshon’s body relaxed as Johan turned into a tight ball of hardbodied flesh, lifting himself nearly all the way off Mayshon’s manhood. Each movement of his tight asshole ratcheted up Mayshon’s pre-orgasmic pleasure.
Salty, creamy precum flowed down Johan’s cockshaft and soaked into Mayshon’s fingers. The dim, rational part of Mayshon’s mind screamed at him to stop this, but Mayshon had never wanted to keep going as intensely as he wanted it right now.
They both finally reached orgasm at once, so a tsunami of exquisite pleasure assaulted Mayshon’s body at the same time that he felt a spurt of hot cum spray over his flat belly and bulging pecs. Johan’s dick pulsated in his fingers.
“Aw, god-damn, fuck!” Mayshon roared. He bit his lip hard enough to draw a few beads of blood, while his dick slammed all the way upward into Johan’s tight ass.
He sprayed the biggest load of his life, each drop that coated Johan’s insides increasing Mayshon’s bliss, making him so overwhelmed he could do nothing more than close his eyes and lean his head back. He grunted and sighed.
His climactic pleasure was a slow, melting sensation that suffused throughout his body like the one-drop beat of the reggae soundtrack behind Johan’s heavy breathing, each tone resonating and accentuating the feelings that made Mayshon shiver from his head to his toe. His feet curled. His hands were fists, cum-coated from Johan’s own orgasm.
He could feel the semen drying on his chest and his six-pack, but Mayshon was too focused on his pleasure to really process that. He had no idea how long that orgasmic glow actually lasted. It felt like a long time, but it probably wasn’t that long.
He sighed.
“That is good, but you will need multiple massages,” Johan said, his voice clipped and pinched, his Swedish accent more pronounced as he recovered from his orgasm. He sighed grandly. He lifted himself off Mayshon’s ass and gasped at the relief that flooded his body.
The movement sent a wave of uncomfortable pleasure through Mayshon’s exquisitely sensitive cock. Mayshon’s eyes bugged out and he let out a tortured yelp. A puddle of cum dripped out of Johan’s ass onto Mayshon’s tattooed thigh.
“Uh… Oh.” Mayshon couldn’t bring himself to say yes, to admit that he wanted to do this again. But he certainly didn’t want to say no either.
What he really wanted, he thought, was for Coach Thickman to order him to do it, that way he didn’t have to make the decision. That, Mayshon thought, would be simpler.
“Do not worry. Your coach will pay. He say you are tense and you are horny, and you need much relief to play well,” Johan said. He patted Mayshon on the ass.
Mayshon felt a surge of emotions now that he knew Coach Thickman wanted this to happen. He felt a little betrayed, but even more intensely, he was glad — he hadn’t succumbed to anything he wasn’t supposed to, and he was going to be able to do this over and over again without it being his fault.
He sighed and smiled. “Okay. You’re a good, uh… masseur, Johan. I feel better.”
“It is good. That is my job.” Johan beamed.
“Yeah. Great work,” Mayshon said with a smile as he put his own clothes on. As he walked out the door and headed towards the lobby, past that pretty girl — oh I wish she was my masseuse — he got a text message from Coach Thickman.
How did it go? Feel better? U said u like blondes right?
Just before driving out of the parking lot, Mayshon responded. My thigh is better. Thank u. That blonde was not my type. Still turned out okay. Will go back.

The Lutteur

Rob is surprised to find a traditional lutte wrestler from Senegal on his door… in Richmond, Virginia! He gets to host the legendary Ousmane Salimpé, who just might give Rob a ride on his magnificent wrestler meat! Can Rob handle it?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The annual Lutte Traditionelle World Championship was held in a different city on a different continent every other year — those were the “international” years. In the non-international years, it was held in West Africa, where lutte-style wrestling was most popular. But the Lutte Traditionelle League had grown popular around the world in the last decade or so, and there were plenty of fans in America.
There were even non-African contestants. A white Italian man had won two years ago, when the championship was in Sapporo, Japan. It was the first time a white person had won.
This year, it was in Richmond, Virginia, so Rob planned on seeing every match he could. He even signed up as a volunteer to help out wherever they needed him.
As the months counted down, the arena was renovated for lutte wrestling, and the big hotel downtown redecorated itself with West African and Islamic materials. Wealthy Africans filled the streets of Richmond. The city looked unlike Rob had ever seen it before.
A lot of people thought the tournament might not happen, that it might be yet another great international project stymied by war and discord. Senegal ran it, and, by tradition and according to the league’s charter, the president of Senegal also presided over the tournament. The president had been assassinated in March. A brief military coup took over the country, and nobody recognized the general as the new president. Then Amadou Dellimaollio declared himself president for life, was promptly assassinated, then was replaced by Pierre Rampeau.
No country recognized Rampeau as the president of Senegal either, so the US refused him a visa. The international lutte league’s bylaws forbade the championship from proceeding unless the Senegalese leader presided over it.
So a slow-motion international incident seemed likely. The tournament was set up, paid for and imminent but couldn’t begin without Pierre Rampeau. The US State Department wouldn’t give him a visa, nor would they allow most of his cronies and security personnel to come to the country.
The day before the opening ceremonies, Rob was certain it wouldn’t go off. Thousands of people had already come to Richmond, but no one was certain if any wrestling would happen. Multiple nations were sending military advisors. The Russians had gotten involved, which meant the Americans had to be involved, which meant the Chinese needed to insert themselves, which got the EU acting as observers, which prompted the Arab Lague to send international monitors, and then the Indians were mad they didn’t have a reason to meddle, and if the Indians meddle in something, the Pakistanis wanted to meddle even harder. It was turning into an international kerfluffle, exacerbated by the sporting world’s eyes being upon the city of Richmond, where the biggest event of the year could not technically begin until Pierre Rampeau was brought out of Senegal alive.
Rob got a call from a woman who identified herself as the “international affairs attaché for something”. The “something” was a long blur of French words that didn’t mean anything to Rob. He thought he did pretty well at recognizing “international affairs attaché”.
“You signed up to help out wrestlers in need,” she said, in her low slurry French-African accent. “So we have done to assign you Moussa Salimpée. He will need a home to stay in for at least one week. Une semaine.”
“I’m sorry?” Rob got the gist of what she was saying, but he didn’t understand her words.
Then a couple things happened at once. She said something on the phone that sounded like French — it was English, technically, but not very good English and it included several Senegalese place-names and personal names that Rob didn’t know — at the same time that someone knocked on his apartment door, and his phone beeped to indicate another phone call. Whoever knocked on the door spoke, not to him, but to whoever else was there. That person, the one who responded, had a voice so deep it boomed and echoed like a distant thunderclap.
“Uh, I, uh… Hang on a second, okay?” Rob said into the phone.
His mind raced. What was the French lady on the phone saying? Who was calling at the same time? That was probably spam, he decided, so he didn’t answer the second call. He asked the French lady to wait a moment, having no idea she had already hung up, and he opened the door.
A nicely-suited middle-aged white man stood there, flanked by a giant black man. He was Moussa Salimpée, and he was well over seven feet tall, so his head reached above the doorframe. His shoulders were broader than the threshold. His skin was black as coal in a dark room and perfectly smooth and unblemished. Rob could tell that because Moussa wore only the plain black cloth — sort of a fancy loincloth — that lutte wrestlers wore during matches.
What the fuck is going on?!
“Good afternoon,” said the white man. Moussa showed no reaction. Rob’s phone rang again. He glanced at the screen — it was a number he didn’t recognize, and it had too many digits. The white man said, “This is Moussa Salimpée.” He had an odd accent that Rob couldn’t place. Maybe German?
“Uh-huh. Hello,” Rob said. Now he was getting two phone calls from numbers he didn’t recognize, both of them having too many digits.
Are those international calls? Rob furrowed his brow at the white man.
“Did my colleague Agathe call you and explain? Please keep this over your hat,” said the man, whose English was very good though clipped and obviously not quite right — it took Rob a few seconds to realize he meant “under your hat”.
“Uh… hello?” Rob looked at his phone. More phone calls with too many digits were coming in. He had accrued nine voice mails in the last few minutes, and now text messages were coming in too fast for him to see them. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Henri Velafleur,” he said. He handed Rob a business card, which indicated he was with the Belgian delegation to the UN. Then he shook Rob’s hand and walked away, leaving the half-naked Senegalese giant at the doorway.
“Uh…” Rob looked again at his phone. It was going crazy. He had four missed calls and nineteen text messages, at least some of which were in French, and it was buzzing again with another one. The giant African man lowered his head to come into the apartment. He had a confident stride, and he pushed past Rob. His coconut-scented flesh made Rob’s hair stand on end, and his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of the African man’s asscheeks mostly bared by his loincloth. His powerful muscles flexed as though it took all of his strength just to come in.
“Je veux manger,” the African man, Moussa Salimpé, said. His voice was so deep it rattled Rob’s bones. Rob had taken French in high school, but he remembered little, and the constant phone calls were distracting him.
“The UN?” Rob was having trouble processing this. He held the white man’s card in his hand, though the white man had left. Rob shut the door. “You’re with the United Nations?”
Moussa spoke in well-practiced but awkward English. “No. I am Senegalese.” He went into the kitchen then and opened the refrigerator. He found a baggie of lunchmeat and sniffed it. “Is it pork?”
“Uh… no. That’s turkey,” Rob said. He got a text message in some African language, so he showed it to Moussa. “Is that for you?”
Moussa read it as he shoveled turkey into his mouth. “It is a death threat.”
“Aimed at me?!” Rob’s eyes opened wide. “What the fuck-?!”
“No. Me. Do not worry, they don’t know where you live,” said Moussa. “My coach is telling you to tell me about the death threats. He is telling you to be careful, but he will not…” He thought for a long time. “Give me up to the bad muvvuhfugging nigguss, yes?” His eyes twinkled — that was from a recent Hollywood movie that Rob was too confused to recall right now. “They are Monté ven Diaolu men. They are all talk and no hat.” A big proud smile dawned on his face. He made a dismissive hissing sound and waved away from himself. “No worrying to do in paradise.”
“Why are you here?!” Rob asked. It was suddenly dawning on him that he had a muscular giant in his apartment, and he blushed with desire, his dick throbbing in his pants. Rob greatly appreciated the male physique, of which Moussa’s was admirable and copious. He had physique for days. It was just hard to appreciate when Rob’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
What am I supposed to do with him anyway? Where, aside from Senegal, did he come from?
“Did not Agathe explain?”
“Uh… I didn’t quite catch all the details,” Rob said. He was only now piecing together that ‘Agathe’ was the French woman who had called him.
Moussa frowned and put down the now-empty bag of turkey. “C’était bon turkey,” he said. “I have defected. I must remain hidden until the tournament is complete. Your US State Department will come for me next week.”
“Next week? You defected?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know what that means. Defected from what?”
“My country. Senegal,” he said with a French or presumably Senegalese accent. Rob watched lutte wrestling for the men, not the culture. Now he wished he had paid attention during all those informative interstitials during the matches.
“They did tell me that you signed up to help,” he said. He opened the fridge again. “Is this pork?” He held up some leftover pasta with bacon in it.
“Yeah, that has pork,” Rob said. “Ooooooh… I-” He grew annoyed at the phone calls, so he picked it up to answer. “Hello?!”
Somebody spoke in French.
“I don’t know what you’re saying! Stop calling me! Je viens a l’école en bus!” It was the only French Rob could recall. He hung up the phone, slammed it down, then picked it up again and furiously switched it to plane mode.
Finally, he had silence.
Moussa had found a bunch of celery in the refrigerator, and he brought it to the couch in the living room — literally, it was an entire bundle of celery that Rob had bought yesterday and not yet used any of. Moussa broke off one stalk and began munching on it, his giant mouth devouring almost half the stalk at once.
“Je me fais une femme,” Moussa said. His mostly naked body spread out on the couch. His biceps were thick and firm like cords of wood, and his broad shoulders had curves that beckoned to Rob. “Do you know any women who are discrete? Not Muslim.”
“You, uh… want a non-Muslim woman?”
“I must have a woman tonight,” he said with a scowl. Moussa was intensely annoyed that he couldn’t wrestle in this tournament. There’d be too many Senegalese around, some of them no doubt loyal to one of the previous administrations in Senegal. Any of them would be glad to assassinate Moussa, so he wasn’t going to wrestle. He’d wanted to defect after the tournament, but when he contacted the State Department in the US, they’d said they could only ensure his safety if he defected before. That was why he’d put on his loincloth to wrestle in a day-before scrimmage — a sort of a rehearsal to get warmed up and to check the lights and sound. Nobody expected him to scupper before the tournament began.
And now they were searching for him. Only the US government and the United Nations knew where he was (and Rob), so that was who kept calling Rob — every intelligence agency in the West wanted to know what Moussa had to say, as he was a national champion wrestler who knew all the recent coup leaders, military generals and presidential advisors. He’d won a gold medal in the last Olympics and was well-connected in recent governments and well-known in the country.
But Moussa just wanted to get through this part of the defection so he could get back to wrestling. He had a sinking feeling that it would never be safe to wrestle again, at least not in a lutte leage, and that he would always be seen as a traitor by a significant portion of Senegalese people.
For now, he was just eager to find une femme for the night. Back in Senegal, his coach would bring him a girlfriend every night. He would never despoil a Muslim woman, which he thought wouldn’t be difficult in the US. They were not Muslim here, and their women were loose and slutty. Nearly all of them were prostitutes, Moussa had gathered from the movies he watched and the hip hop he listened to.
That was a disgusting way for a civilization to live, he thought, but he was going to take advantage of it while he was here.
“I, uh… don’t really know many women,” Rob said. A little French was beginning to come back to him. “Je ne connais pas les femmes,” he said with a proud grin.
That did not compute to Moussa. How could the small white man not know any women whores? They were on every street corner here. He had passed thirty scantily clad women in the darkly-tinted car that brought him here.
He turned the TV on. It was on the cooking network, so he watched that — Moussa was eager to eat American food and became engrossed in the panoply of meals he saw onscreen, and after a few seconds, Bobby Flay left the screen, replaced by a beautiful white woman who made Moussa’s eyes open wide.
Before he knew it, his hands were on the bulge in his loincloth. He didn’t jack off, he only touched his dick, which throbbed beneath his fingertips. His biceps kept flexing as though he was using his muscles, but he just touched his dick through the fabric of his loincloth.
“Want me to help with that?” Rob asked, blushing.
Moussa nodded without tearing his eyes away from the screen. Rob’s hands rubbed his dick through the loincloth. His seven-foot-five body took up the entire couch, and his legs were splayed out in front of him. One of Rob’s hands reached down those powerful thighs like steel girders, and Rob kissed Moussa on the nipple. His volleyball-sized pec jerked and twitched beneath Rob’s tongue.
Then Rob untied the loincloth, which bared a giant black cock as dark as night. He stroked it with one hand. It was already at full erection, as Moussa leaned back on the couch and put his hands behind his head like he expected to be serviced.
That was exactly what Rob did. He bent over and put Moussa’s cocktip in his mouth, and he worked up tons of spit that ran down his shaft in rivulets. The taste of Moussa’s manhood was savory, bright and sunny, salty with sweat from the wrestling scrimmage he had done before slipping off into the Richmond streets.
Rob throated Moussa’s cock up and down, as Moussa moaned in pleasure. He writhed, finally grabbing Rob by the head and guiding it up and down.
“Hmmm, oui, oui, more plus deep,” Moussa said. He pushed Rob’s head down his shaft. He didn’t let on even when his foot-long cock hit the back of Rob’s throat. Rob choked but stretched his mouth open. His lips writhed, then wrapped around Moussa’s throbbing shaft.
A moist gurgling sound came from Rob’s mouth. He didn’t try to pull off, though his lungs cried out for oxygen. His hand massaged Moussa’s pecs the best he could reach — the giant’s chest was so big that Rob could barely reach his nipples with his head at his crotch.
His other hand cupped and gently massaged Moussa’s heavy, pendulous balls, as he slathered spit along the length of Moussa’s shaft. His veins pulsated on Rob’s tongue.
“Hmmm…” Moussa moaned again. He pulled Rob’s head off his cock and, much to Rob’s surprise, he dragged him to his head and kissed him right on the lips. Moussa tasted his own precum. His tongue rammed into Rob’s mouth, and he wrapped Rob up his giant arms.
“Oh god…” Rob whimpered. His own cock now rubbed on Moussa’s flat belly. He was used to the men he messed with not wanting to touch his cock, so he tried to lift his body off Moussa’s ripped torso. But Moussa had one arm draped over Rob to keep him in place, and that allowed Rob to stay where he was, his dick rubbing against Moussa’s stomach and in the valley between his pecs. Moussa kissed him deeply.
Was he kissing because he liked kissing men? Or because he thought Rob wanted it? Or was he pretending Rob was a woman? Rob wasn’t sure which, but when a burst of pre-orgasmic pleasure overwhelmed him, he ensured his moan sounded feminine. That must have been the right move because Moussa grunted with desire too, a great baritone booming grunt, and one of his sausagey fingers slipped into Rob’s asshole.
“Will you szit on my couawkck?” he asked, breathless, slathering moist kisses on Rob’s cheek. His finger gently slid in and out of Rob’s ass, sending little electric tingling shocks of desire through Rob’s body. The finger was huge, like one of those fat hot dogs. It was longer and thicker than some men’s penises.
Rob nodded. “Please, please, stick it in me.” Rob’s voice was plaintive and begging, as the finger in his ass opened him up. He sucked up all the sweat and his own precum on Moussa’s chest, neck, chin and then again kissed him on the lips. His dick was slick with fluids now, as he continued humping Moussa’s smooth, mountainous body.
“Arrêter-vous-” Moussa stopped and frowning, one arm hugging Rob tightly to him. “Are you a slave?”
“No,” Rob said.
“Good.” Moussa grunted. Unlike many of his compatriots, he believed it was wrong to ram a slave in the butthole. He didn’t understand why any man would allow that, much less desire it like this small white man, but Moussa didn’t let his confusion bother him. Many white men paid for him to “ramrod” them, as the rappers say.
As long as Rob wanted it, Moussa would be glad to plow him open. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered was whose cock went in and whose hole was penetrated.
He lifted Rob with his great big hands and sat Rob onto his cock, which stretched Rob’s tight hole wide open. Rob sucked in his breath and relaxed his ass the best he could. A burst of pain hit him, but it was followed by a long slow-melting, building pleasure that made his whole body relax and tense in time with the thrusts of Moussa’s powerful cock into his ass.
Moussa’s cock slid in and out. Rob sat on his lap, sliding up and down at the same time, a little deeper with each move of his up body on Moussa’s shaft. Moussa’s hands roamed over Rob’s smooth pale chest.
A jolt of ecstasy struck Rob, who tightened his body and stopped moving. He gasped. That must have triggered something in his ass that got Moussa going at the same time, because Moussa cried out and said something in Wolof or perhaps French, Rob couldn’t tell. Moussa’s giant hands gripped Rob by the smoothness of his back, and he caressed Rob’s spine briefly before letting go.
Then Rob resumed shift his weight up and down Moussa’s dickshaft, while Rob’s own cock jabbed up and down. It was rock-hard, leaking precum, but Rob’s ass was too sensitive, spasming with pleasure for him to jack himself off. It felt too good to mvoe his hands in a coordinated way. Pangs of vivid pleasure popped off all over Rob’s body.
But Moussa wrapped one of his giant hands around Rob’s dick, and he stroked it up and down.
Rob orgasmed while emitting a series of pants. He thought Moussa would stop jacking him off, so Rob readied to grab his own cock, but Moussa didn’t slow down at all. He kept stroking Rob’s dick even as a long jet of cum sprayed from his cocktip onto Moussa’s powerful chest.
Then another cumwad reached his chin and lower lip, and still Moussa jacked Rob off, as though he either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Rob was cumming on his chest. That must be an African thing, Rob thought with a chest-rattling moan of exquisite pleasure. Most American men wouldn’t even cornhole him in this position because they didn’t want to see his dick, but Moussa obviously didn’t mind. Rob spurted a vast sheen of creamy white jizz that contrasted with the ebony muscles of Moussa’s chest and dribbled around his pecs to his ribcage. Moussa moaned too — Rob’s orgasm caused his asshole to clench and tighten, so Moussa let out a wild chest-rattling moan. That left his mouth wide open for Rob’s last cumwad to spurt onto his tongue.
That wasn’t deliberate, and Rob gasped, trying to apologize despite his mouth being full of orgasmic moans. He thought Moussa might react violently to a mouthful of jizz.
But much to Rob’s shock, Moussa both laughed and gagged as he spat out cum, as though it was just a silly prank, and he shoved Rob down all the way on his cock, so his wiry pubic hair scratched at Rob’s asscheek. Rob moaned so loud it was almost a scream, thought the sound was overpowered by Moussa’s cavernous groan of orgasmic pleaure.
A huge creamy wad of cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Since he sat on Moussa’s cock, it all leaked right out and into Moussa’s crotch and onto Rob’s couch. That made a big frothy, sticky mess. It flowed like a river into Moussa’s groin, and it stained Rob’s couch cushions.
“Oh god…”
The scent of jizz filled the air, creamy and thick like a fog cloud. Moussa wrinkled his nose at the funk of it. The smell didn’t bother Rob, whose body was wracked by mind-numbing pleasure, Moussa’s dick still spraying a vast flood of cum up into him. He kneaded the flesh of Moussa’s powerful chest muscles, now coated in Rob’s cum, as Rob’s guts were soaked in Moussa’s endless spray of cum.
It went on for what felt like forever. Rob breathed a sigh of relief when Moussa’s cock fell limp inside him, and he leaned forward to rest his body on the broad muscles of Moussa’s chest, which was still soaked in Rob’s own cum. Rob stayed there, his whole body spasming each time another jolt of pleasure wracked his petite frame. Moussa stayed motionless, stoic and placid, letting Rob finish his orgasm impaled on Moussa’s limpening dick.
When Rob gingerly lifted himself off Moussa’s lap at last, it reawakened the sensitive flesh of both’s men’s bodies. Rob clenched his teeth, sparks of agonizing pleasure erupting from his ass like fireworks. Moussa grunted. He looked sleepy now, and he let out a long, slow yawn.
“You still hungry?” Rob asked.
Moussa nodded.
“Okay. I’ll make you something else to eat,” Rob said. He wiped his ass off with a tissue, then did the same to Moussa’s sensitve shaft. He wondered how many voice mails he was receiving right now. His phone was showing notifications for sure, but Rob turned it over so he didn’t have to see the screen. “Once you’ve eaten, then maybe you’ll want to mess around again.”
Moussa nodded. “Find me a woman,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth like a barrel of bourbon. “Or I’ll do you again.” His nostrils flared, and his shoulder muscles rippled.
Rob laughed inwardly. Did Moussa think Rob was being punished? He didn’t know if that was a threat or a promise, but he was satisfied either way. He smiled at Moussa.

The Catcaller

When Avery sees a swagger-heavy thug catcalling women, he intervenes to help, because he’s a good feminist… and because he loves alpha male ebony manhood! That gives him a chance to turn the tables and taste Jaycee’s hot, throbbing ass!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“Woo-hoo! Hey, girl! Hey!”
The black men on the stoop fell over each other laughing when the girl quickened her pace and hurried away. One of them stepped forward and wolf-whistled after her.
That was the one with the most masculine shape and face. He was Jaycee. He was tall, with short braids and a powerful body.
He was gloriously thick. That was why Avery liked him. Avery loved any man with a massive, incredible ass, and Jaycee’s was bigger and plumper than seemed possible. He was a naturally heavyset man but worked out enough to keep himself an imposing figure, not fat at all, just hefty and curved and chunky in all the right ways.
He turned around, aiming his ass at one of his buddies. His jeans sagged low, so about half of his asscheeks were covered by nothing more than yellow boxers. He patted his ass, making his own cheeks jiggle and his friends laugh — he must have been making some kind of point about how nice his ass was, Avery thought, and how much girls wanted to taste his badonkadonk. It wasn’t a fantastic ass at all. Avery appreciated it, but it was not a Hollywood-hunk ass, not the kind of thing people would normally brag about.
It was juicy as hell though. Avery keenly appreciated the male physique, of which Jaycee’s was a remarkable specimen.
Avery took a few steps towards Jaycee, but then another girl appeared on the street. Avery cursed under his breath — he couldn’t hardly bait a man with a girl around. He didn’t want to attract attention by turning around, so he kept going, walking past Jaycee and the other black men hanging out on the stoop.
“Hey, girl, what’s ya deal? Huh?” Jaycee’s deep voice was low and resonant. The woman looked at him like she considered answering. Jaycee lifted his shirt to show off his chest and laughed — he didn’t have that kind of body, he had a little pudge and a big broad chest like a gladiator, not a six-pack. “Give a playa a squeeze, c’mon! Lemme holla!”
She walked away with a shake of her head.
“Tease.” Jaycee grunted and turned around again. As he did, he grabbed his cock through his jeans, and Avery saw the outline of it.
Avery kept going, now walking funny because his own dick got hard. He still hadn’t come up with a very good plan to get Jaycee alone somewhere so he could proposition him.
When Avery turned around — pretending to wait for a bus — he saw Jaycee pantomiming sex to his friends. He patted an imaginary girl on the ass as he pistoned his hips, ramming his dick in and out of her. Then he said something that made his friends laugh as though they were disgusted by him. Jaycee smirked and mimed out spreading wide asscheeks in front of his face, as though he was going to lick the ass of a truly gigantic woman. He even extended his tongue, licking her imaginary asshole.
Or was it her pussy? Avery had to giggle as he tried to gauge whether Jaycee was spreading imaginary buttcheeks or pussy-flaps. Avery hardly knew how one went about eating pussy. Was it like that? He didn’t think so, he thought that was ass. He had said something about a rimjob before as well, which got Avery excited — maybe Jaycee enjoyed receiving rimjobs as much as Avery enjoyed giving them.
Maybe he didn’t much care who gave him a rimjob. That thought sent a shiver of anticipation up Avery’s spine.
Indeed, as Avery got on the bus, he saw a girl approach Jaycee. She was thick, a little older than the ones Jaycee had been hooting at, with a lot of makeup on her face. Jaycee looked at her hungrily but shared an annoyed glance at his friends.
Avery didn’t need to be there to pick up on the subtext — the woman was not sexy. She was fat, and not in a good way, and she had limp, greasy hair and a broad, squat face. She wasn’t ugly, but she was hardly a hottie. She came up to Jaycee and teasingly fingered the waistband of his boxers. Jaycee looked aloof, like he didn’t want his friends to know he had already messed with her.
Then Avery couldn’t see because the bus had gone around the corner. Avery sighed. He waited until the next bus-stop, then got off and walked back to the stoop.
“Hey, baby, I’ll lick yo’ asshole if you lick mine! Hey! You a tease or what?!” Jaycee’s deep voice called out. At first Avery thought Jaycee was calling at him, and Avery was shocked, exhilarated, excited. He’d had dreams that began similar to this.
But no, there was a hot girl behind Avery. She quickened her pace, crossed the street and ignored Jaycee. Avery blushed. He had just walked past Jaycee, then gotten on a bus and stared as it drove past Jaycee in the other direction, and now he was back again to walk past him once more; even through all that, Jaycee didn’t seem to realize this was the third time he had seen Avery.
“Hey,” Avery said. He blushed and made sure to speak in a feminine manner. The men snorted softly. Jaycee lit a foul-smelling cigar — a Black & Mild — and he glared at Avery. “I’m Avery.”
Jaycee took a deep drag and exhaled right on Avery’s face. “Huh.”
“I heard you like rimjobs?”
Jaycee stopped with the cigar in his hand. His mouth was full of smoke. He again exhaled on Avery’s face. “What?”
“You’ve been asking girls to lick your ass. Does that ever work?”
Jaycee scowled as his friends laughed. Someone slapped Jaycee’s ass through his pimp-heavy jeans. He looked like he wanna say something but his homies kept interrupting him by busting on him.
“Jaycee’s got a fat girl-“
“Nigga, shut up-“
“She real thick and she lick his ass-“
“I said shut up, you don’t gotta tell the nerd my business-“
“She ugly as fuck too, she was just here-“
“She smell like asshole-“
“How much asshole she lick e’ry day man?”
“One!” Jaycee growled at his buddies. He sucked on his teeth and cocked his head to the side with a confident shrug. His pecs rippled like he thought he had a perfect physique and she was showing it off like a stripper, but the rippling of his muscles just accentuated the chunkiness of his body. “Nigga… It don’t matter when you got a tongue in ya asshole-“
“But you got ya tongue in her asshole too-“
“Nigga, shut up!”
“That’s nasty. She prolly tastes like Taco Bell.”
“I seen that bitch wit’ a stain on her shirt on the small of her back, like right above her ass, like a brownish-green stain, like baby poop, she been poopin’ on her shirt-“
“You know she nasty-“
“Shaniqua say that fat bitch once took a shit at the McDonald’s and it was huge, it like overflowed the toilet rim and there was a rat in it-“
“Nuh-uh, nigga, shut up-“
“You lickin’ that ugly bitch-“
“You seen her makeup? She look like a ho tryin’ to use up all her makeup so her pimp’ll buy her more-“
“She look like a shaved bear, man, you sure she ain’t-!”
“Shut up!” Jaycee roared. He pounded on his chest. “Swear to God, nigga, no disrespect, but I’ll fuck e’ry one of you shitwipes up! Say that shit again.”
There was a long awkward silence. Then someone tittered, “She got Godzilla-feet.”
Jaycee growled and stepped towards his friend. “Nigga, I will wallop you, c’m’ere! I told you it don’t matter what she look like. You can’t even see her face when she lick yo’ asshole-“
“You lick her asshole, Jaycee! She said it-!”
“Yeah, well, a real nigga do what it takes to get his dick wet, man, she just — it’s all pink on the inside.”
“You sure she ain’t all greenish-brown on the inside? Cuz you’d know.”
“Yeah, Jaycee, just stick your tongue out so we can see what her insides look like-“
They stopped talking suddenly because there was a droning blare. They all turned around to see a police car pull to a stop. A whoop-whoop siren called filled the air. Laughter ceased, and all the men on the stoop suddenly looked serious. The men all shuffled to stand with their backs to the wall, while Avery gulped.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, is there a problem here?” a cop stepped out of the car. “We’ve received reports of offensive whistling and fighting on the stoop. Women claim you’ve been making lewd offers and accusations. Somebody was grabbing their crotch so women could see their cock?”
Nobody answered at first. They all looked at each other. A few of them glared at Jaycee. He was the one who really took it too far. He was no doubt the one the complainer had been talking about. But Jaycee looked innocent as a cartoon bear, sitting there on the stoop, casual as could be, as though he was merely contemplating the city street and didn’t even notice the cops glaring at the men on the stoop.
Then Avery cleared his throat and said, “Yes, that’s right, Officer. There was a problem with a man here wolf-whistling at females. I was very offended by it, because I think women are goddesses. But I went to get my friends, and Jaycee here scared the man away. Jaycee has tremendous respect for women. He’s my hero.” Avery wrapped one arm around Jaycee’s broad waist. Jaycee twitched but didn’t argue it. “A real feminist champion.”
“Is that so?” The cop chewed on his lip. It seemed like he didn’t entirely believe Avery, but he didn’t have any proof he was lying.
“It is. Women are great,” Avery said. “They do, like… so many important things. Babies. And, uh…” In the heat of the moment, Avery couldn’t think of any other activities to list — he didn’t want to say something sexist like “sewing”, so in the end, all he said was, “and work. Working jobs. At… workplaces.”
“Uh-huh.” The cop grunted. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I don’t really give a shit. If I get more complaints about hollerin’ at females, I’ll rumble the lot of you, capiche?”
“I’ll keep Jaycee busy,” Avery said. He took Jaycee by the hand and led him into the building, past his friends, who eyed him suspiciously. It looked like they wanted to keep teasing Jaycee, but then the officer made a harsh face at them. They quietly scattered in all directions, leaving Jaycee and Avery alone to enter the building.
“Shit, man,” Jaycee said when they got in. He took his hand back so Avery wasn’t holding it anymore. “Thanks. You good at gettin’ rid of cops.”
“The cops here are dumb,” Avery said. He smiled. “So… what I was asking before, back when your friends-“
“Just so you know, I don’t lick that bitch’s asshole. She nasty. She smell like movie theatre popcorn,” Jaycee said. He sounded defensive and lying, but Avery just nodded like he believed it. It’s no skin off Avery’s bones. He thought it was kind of hot, and he’d have enjoyed watching Jaycee lick out that woman’s ass.
He’d prefer to watch Jaycee lick out a more attractive, or at least cleaner, woman’s ass, but still, it’d be hot either way.
“Well…” Avery blushed. He held his fingers in front of his mouth in a little circle and inserted his tongue in it. He was about to verbally offer a rimjob when one of the apartment doors opened, and a little old lady stalked out, glaring at Jaycee.
She looked at Avery and muttered, “Whiteboy crackhead motherfucker.” She hobbled through the mess of men, who parted for her. She glared at them too.
“Why does she think I’m a crackhead?” Avery said when she was gone.
“Cuz you a whiteboy,” Jaycee said. “Ain’t no other reason you’d be here.” He chuckled. “You sayin’ you wanna lick my asshole?”
Avery nodded. “I wanna lick it real bad. I’ll lick your ass so good…” He stuck his tongue out to demonstrate how long it was — he had an abnormally long tongue.
“Ah — shit!” Jaycee’s brow was furrowed, then his eyes opened wide. He had been going to tell Avery to fuck off, but seeing that tongue sent a shiver of arousal up his spine. That was amazing. Girls could usually barely get their tongue in his ass at all. Jaycee liked it deep, but most girls were unable or unwilling to do that — Jaycee’s ass was thicker than their heads were deep, so their tongues barely reached his asshole at all. The only reason he messed with that ugly, fat woman was that she had a nice big tongue like Avery’s and it could reach well into Jaycee’s asshole. That’s going to feel so good inside me. He might not even make me take a shower first. He smiled.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you let me lick it,” Avery said. He smiled and touched Jaycee’s chest through the white tee shirt he wore. Then his finger dropped lower to Jaycee’s waist.
Jaycee slapped his hand away. “Quit talkin’, whiteboy, you gonna attract attention.” He scowled. “Yeah, fine, but quit actin’ all fairy in public. C’mon. You ain’t comin’ in my place.” He pointed to a utility closet at the end of the hall. It was locked, but Jaycee had long ago learned that there was a spare key behind the fire extinguisher.
He unlocked the door and they quietly crept in. They were just in time too, because a whole family came in the building then and would have seen. The door had just latched though, and Avery’s heart raced.
The utility closet was spartan, just a few shelves with paint cans and some odds and ends, a row of four hot-water heaters, and a fuse box near the ceiling. The floor in here was cold cement.
“Awright, whiteboy, if you wanna lick butt, lick some butt,” Jaycee said with a throaty chuckle. He turned around and lowered his pants and boxers, just enough to bare his ass, like he didn’t really think he would enjoy this. He stood there, upright and motionless.
He had a ridiculous badonkadonk, Avery thought when he jiggled the cheeks. Jaycee scowled but allowed it — he didn’t get anything out of Avery playing with his cheeks, but since Avery was paying, he figured he couldn’t complain too much even if it was boring. His cheeks rippled, each one bigger than Avery’s head. The soft brown skin was hairless, slick with the day’s sweat that clung to his body.
Avery sucked down each droplet of sweat he could reach. It was salty and sour and it smelled of coconut — presumably from Jaycee’s soap — but more overwhelmingly of funky manflesh. It had that savory meatiness that Avery loved. He moistly, noisily kissed every inch of his cheeks.
“Will you bend over-?”
“Nah. I stand.” Jaycee grunted like that was a firm rule Avery should have already known. He hadn’t planned on refusing to bend over — he knew he would get a better rimjob if he did — but he was becoming more self-conscious. He didn’t want to feel like some trashy street hustler, and he didn’t want to get on all fours for a white man. “Ya ain’t makin’ me bend over.”
Avery shrugged. He knew Jaycee would bend over soon. They always did.
He spread Jaycee’s cheeks and let his tongue flicker over the crack. He didn’t get deep in there, just tickled him a bit until Jaycee shook. Then Avery plunged his tongue in deeper.
And deeper still, until finally his tongue was all the way in, sliding up and down his crack. There was a little hair there, coarse and black and stinking of ass. Avery inhaled deeply of it — the sound of him sniffing made Jaycee laugh, which in turn made his cheeks shake. He had bent forward just a little bit by then, out of instinct, but didn’t notice it.
“You gonna lick me fo’ real, man?” Jaycee said. “Cuz you just playin’ wit’ it right now. If you was a female who wasn’t payin’, I’d be tellin’ you to hurry up and get to it. I ain’t need someone licking my cheeks, damn.”
“I was just getting you ready,” Avery said. He hocked up a big mouth full of spit right onto the small of Jaycee’s back, so it slid down his crack. The fetid aroma of saliva hit Avery’s senses. “You want my tongue in your ass?”
Jaycee sniffled like he didn’t care. “You payin’, man. Do what you want.” Then he hastened to add, “wit’ ya tongue! I ain’t — you ain’t stickin’ nothin’ else in there.”
“Right.” Avery teased his tongue over the rim, making Jaycee shudder and shake. His asshole was so sensitive, Avery thought with a smile, this was going to be fun.
Avery had a pierced tongue, and the little stud, which was barely noticeable, had a big effect on his rimjobs. Avery would never tell a man like Jaycee why, but it was essentially a tiny dildo. So when Avery licked the funky tight rim of Jaycee’s ass, his metal stud hit the sensitive flesh of his sphincter and Jaycee howled.
He covered his mouth to avoid making too much noise. Jaycee gasped. A wave of pleasure crashed over him. He wiggled, lowering his ass to give Avery a better angle of access — that also bent Jaycee over a little more.
Avery stuck his tongue in slowly. He could have plunged all the way in at once — tongues were soft enough they could squeeze into the tightest of virginal holes — but Avery preferred to go slow, to give himself time to taste it all.
In no time, Jaycee was bending over more and more, until at last he was on all fours. He held his breath, the pressure in his ass incredible. For a moment he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not — did it hurt? A little, he thought, but there something else he could feel too: ticklishness? Soreness?
He grunted and yelped like a puppy. A jolt of pleasure hit him so hard it hurt. Jaycee bit his tongue. He’d never gotten a rimjob like this. He turned his head to look, and Avery’s whiteboy face was entirely invisible, buried by Jaycee’s thickness.
“Shit, boy, goddamn-” Jaycee wrenched his head back and forth, nearly slamming it on the concrete. He pulled his shirt up higher when it threatened to interfere with the rimjob.
Avery lapped at his insides and at last reached full penetration. He had to spread Jaycee’s cheeks with both hands, and each cheek was so thick and fleshy it was like holding back the sea. Avery had to dig into his flesh, and luckily Jaycee’s asshole felt so good he didn’t worry about Avery’s claw-like fingers holding his ass apart.
“Goddamn-” Jaycee was breathless and mewling. He was unable to prevent himself from being loud, but that didn’t matter so much because the sensations roiling his body were so intense he couldn’t think anyway.
He only now realized he had gotten on all fours, with his ass high in the air and his face on the floor — he had started this off thinking this position was humiliating; he had refused to do it, and now he couldn’t dream of doing it in any other position. It gave Avery perfect access to him. Jaycee couldn’t bring himself to move. Every motion he made intensified the feelings throughout his body, and he was unable to handle it.
He panted and gasped, while Avery laughed at the potency of his reactions. Avery finally reached between Jaycee’s thunder thighs, under that deliciously juicy badonkadonk butt, to grab Jaycee’s dick.
He didn’t need to stroke it for long. Jaycee’s prostate was being stimulated like he had never experienced, with Avery’s pierced tongue battering it over and over. Jaycee shook like he was having a seizure, and he bit his own lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Goddamn, eat that ass, man, shit, goddamn, goddamn!” He shouted the best he could into the concrete floor. He pounded on it with his fists.
Finally an orgasm hit him. It felt like Avery had been rusty-tromboning him for hours, but he knew it hadn’t been that long — Avery had actually only stroked Jaycee off for barely two minutes. The rimjob had brought him to the brink of orgasm even before he handled Jaycee’s cock.
It occurred to Jaycee only when he rolled over and rammed his spasming knob into Avery’s mouth that he shouldn’t be letting Avery slurp him off — Avery hadn’t paid for that, and Jaycee could probably get more money for it.
But it was too late. Jaycee just wanted to cum, and he knew Avery would want to swallow it. He rammed his dick all the way in, in one smooth motion, pistoning his hips and forcing it until Avery gagged and Jaycee’s balls slammed against his chin.
Avery clutched Jaycee’s asscheeks tightly, holding on as Jaycee ground his dick within Avery’s throat. “Goddamn, ya fuckin’ whiteboy, you got… shit… aw, goddamn! Holy fuck!” Jaycee knew it didn’t make him look tough to have a really animated orgasm with a man — but he couldn’t help it.
It was the most powerful climax of his life. No girl had ever made him feel like this.
He howled and pounded on his sweat-covered chest. He knew he was being too loud now, everyone in the building could probably hear, but he didn’t care. He gripped Avery’s head and swayed his dick back and forth in his throat, smiling at the sight of Avery choking on it.
Mountains of cum spilled out of his mouth and onto the cement floor. There was more cum than Jaycee thought possible — and am I still cumming?! He thought so — and his ass felt wet too, like there was still spit flowing out of there.
A loud heave escaped from Jaycee’s lips as he let go of Avery’s head and fell back, sitting his bare ass on the moist puddle of fluids on the floor. That was gross, so he rolled over, while Avery collapsed back the other way, then rolled towards Jaycee. Before Jaycee had even taken a deep breath, Avery had rested his head on Jaycee’s plump asscheek.
His big brown orbs arose like hilltops. Avery giggled and kissed each one once again. Jaycee’s ass smelled like spit and cum now. Avery slurped up whatever fluids he could, while Jaycee lay limp and groaning on the floor.
“Shit, man…” Jaycee let out a throaty laugh. “You ain’t gonna tell no one about this, right?”
“No way,” Avery said. He smirked. “But if you know any guys who want a rimjob, send ‘em to me. Don’t tell them I pay. I’ll tell them you refused, because you get so many hot chicks licking your ass all the time.”
Jaycee nodded. “Fine.” When Avery took out his wallet to give him a hundred dollars, Jaycee took the wallet. He removed all of the cash in there — a hundred and forty bucks — and gave it back. “There. I ain’t say you could touch my dick, so I’m takin’ the extra forty for that.”
“I didn’t ask for that!” Avery said with a laugh. He kept caressing those bare cheeks as he talked. “You just stuck it in my mouth.”
Jaycee shrugged. “You still gotta pay,” he said. “Get off me.” He stood, pushing Avery to the ground. He was embarrassed now, smiling shame-facedly. He pulled his pants up and tucked his dick away. He opened the door a crack, made sure no one was out there and slipped out. He made eye contact with Avery before going. He put a finger to his lips. “Hey, call me first next time.”

Reacharound From a Parole Officer

Adam’s on parole, which mean he has to do anything Mr. Gerald says. When Mr. Gerald comes home drunk and angry about his divorce, he’s ready to put that to the test, demanding Adam bend over and take it whether he wants it or not! Can Adam stay on the straight and narrow path of parole compliance?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Adam yawned as he filled a glass of water. He was the only person still awake in the house, and he was about to go to bed. He wore only a pair of boxers, slippers and the ankle-monitor he wasn’t able to remove.
He liked the halfway house at night. During the day it was full of his five parole-mates, none of whom were friendly or even slightly likable. But now the house was quiet and inky dark, silent except for the distant snoring of one of the five other guys.
Then, headlights filled the living room with light. Someone pulled into the driveway. No one was normally here at night — aside from Adam and the other parolees.
I wonder if someone’s in trouble. It looked like Mr. Gerald’s truck. He was the chief parole officer in charge of this house. He was stern but fair, and Adam rather liked him even if he was also intimidated by him. That’s because Adam was a slim white man and Mr. Gerald was a six and a half-foot tall powerhouse black man, who was a boxing coach for at-risk youth in his spare time.
He came in a minute later, looking more disheveled than Adam had ever seen him. He always had a thick, bristly mustache, but that was usually his only facial hair. It looked like he hadn’t shaved today though, so now he had a layer of scruff over his chin. He wore a button-down shirt unbuttoned to reveal a hairy chest and a few tufts of hair sticking out from underneath his sleeveless shirt.
He smelled of liquor, and Adam was scared. Mr. Gerald was always so in-control. Adam wished he had gone to his room and pretended to be asleep, but it was too late now.
He belched loudly. He came into the kitchen. “How yu dooooin’, Adam?” He was definitely drunk.
“Okay…” Adam gulped. “Are you alright?”
Mr. Gerald stared sullenly into Adam’s eyes. “Mah wife leff me.”
“Oh. Sorry… uh… to hear that.”
Mr. Gerald sighed and shrugged off his unbuttoned shirt. “We been sssheparated.” He had a broad chest, muscles rippling beneath his tee shirt. “You’s a good boy, Adam. Yu should… yu gotshta know I don’t act like thissh normuhly. Yu don’t… Don’t, y’know… Chussssht chill out, okay?”
Adam couldn’t tell if Mr. Gerald was really making no sense, or if Adam was the confused one. He mumbled but no words came out. Mr. Gerald was so big, and he smelled like cigarettes and liquor and sweat. He smelled like a strip club, not a nice one either.
“Sssh…” His shushing was moist because he was drunk, and the sound made his mustache vibrate. The drunk-sweat on his temple glistened in the dim light of the kitchen. Mr. Gerald placed one heavy hand on Adam’s shoulder. He pushed down firmly, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that Adam had to work to stay standing. “Shush, boy, yu ssssho good…”
“What? What are you doing?”
“Shush. Don’t sshay nuffin’. I need yu to do me a favor, sson,” Mr. Gerald said. He stopped to belch. For a moment it looked like the belch was going to trigger him to vomit, but then he didn’t. “Go’n now. Don’t be diff’cult. Yu wooon’t git in no kinda troubble, I sshwear.”
Adam found himself sinking to his knees even though he still didn’t want to. Mr. Gerald clucked his tongue. He looked down at Adam kneeling before him, and Adam looked down at the floor like he was being judged. Adam just prayed he didn’t end up in prison. Adam spent three days in prison before being released on parole — he was sentenced to three months, but he had some time in local jail before he pleaded guilty, and they let him out early to save on costs. So he only did three days and never even went into gen-pop. He stayed in the new-prisoners area his first night, then they transferred him to the imminent-release cell block.
And now here he was, quaking as he prayed Mr. Gerald would just tell him what to do. He looked up at his parole officer, who let out a moan — of desire? pain? it was hard to tell — and, without another word, he undid the fly of his slacks.
A massive black cock flopped out. Adam gulped. He closed his eyes as Mr. Gerald’s fingers massaged his lips. He smelled those fingers, which reeked of liquor and lime wedges, and behind that, an odor of dick and the unclean-sweat smell of Mr. Gerald’s balls, and Adam cringed.
“Oaaah, yu got nisshe lipssss…” Mr. Gerald murmured softly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. It was cherry-scented. “Here,” Mr. Gerald said. “Put summa thissh on.”
Adam did so. He tried not to cry, not to make any noise. He didn’t want to wake anyone else up. He didn’t want the others to see his shame. He wondered if he was targeted because he was white or just because he was the first person Mr. Gerald had seen. Adam wished he had gotten a glass of water ten minutes ago instead.
Now the kitchen stank of artificial cherry scent, or at least Adam’s lips did. That was all Adam could smell now. Mr. Gerald moaned once more, even though, once again, nothing had happened to cause it. He pried Adam’s lips apart.
“Shuuusssh, don’t make no noisshe, boy, ooooh yu sho nice, yu ssho good to me… I love ya boy, I do…” Mr. Gerald slipped his dick in, and clucked his lips when Adam gagged violently. His spongy-soft dick filled Adam’s mouth. “Aw, shuuuuush, don’t be like that. Yu playin’, huh? You playin’ wit’ch me like yu don’t like it?” He fed more in, despite Adam’s clenching throat. “Loosen up, guuul, show me you love it like-” Mr. Gerald’s voice broke and he grunted.
The taste of stale, rapidly-firming dickmeat filled Adam’s senses. He could tell that Mr. Gerald’s cock had been hard until recently, maybe multiple times — Adam didn’t know if it was possible to tell that, but he felt sure the flavor on his tongue was that of a blueballed cock. Mr. Gerald rammed it limply at his mouth, and it roped out over his face as it got firmer and firmer with each thrust. Adam gagged each time.
He grabbed ahold of Adam’s head. Adam felt an explosion of liquid in his mouth, and he assumed it was Mr. Gerald cumming, but it was actually just precum and Adam’s own gagged-up eruption of saliva. Mr. Gerald’s dick tasted like old-man musk and sweat, and even cigarette smoke though he didn’t smoke. Adam choked and erupted in a violent retch, but even then Mr. Gerald held onto his head, so he couldn’t spit that cock out.
“Hmm, you orgazzzshmin’ in ya throat, guuuul, I hear that, you makin’ noissshe!” Mr. Gerald said, his voice low and murmurant. “Ssssh though, don’t wake thossshe other niggasz up or they gonna join in.”
Mr. Gerald’s callused fingers touched Adam’s cheeks, and he moaned yet again. He applied more of the cherry-scented lip gloss, smearing it over Adam’s lips and face. It smelled so good. It reminded Mr. Gerald of his wife.
Ex-wife.
“Here, I’m-a let ya breave, sshllurp it up, sszhlurp it up, baby, I love yu, shay it-” He withdrew his dick and looked crossly as Adam heaved for air and tried to pull away. Adam crawled a few feet towards the door before Mr. Gerald stopped him. “Where yu goin’? I thought yu loved me, baaaaby, come on. Shlurp it up, yu know how I likes it-“
“Please, stop, stop, stop, sir, Mr. Gerald, I’m not your wife!” Adam said as loudly as he could — which wasn’t very loud because he couldn’t catch his breath. He hoped somebody else would wake up. Even if the other parolees in the house didn’t stop Mr. Gerald, at least they would witness what was happening. This had to be against the Pillars of Respect, which Adam had watched a video about when he moved into Mr. Gerald’s parole house.
Mr. Gerald stopped and slapped Adam. “I know. We role-plaaayin’, man, c’mon.” His dick dribbled precum onto the kitchen floor. “Yu ain’t v’ry good at ssshwallowin’ dick.”
“I’ve never done it before!”
Mr. Gerald looked away. An awkward pause filled the air. Then Adam realized he was looking at Adam’s ass. Mr. Gerald reached out and grabbed it. He let out a growl. “I’m-a get a little unchristian on ya now, boy. Chill out and don’t make a buncha noise, okay?”
“Man, what-?”
Mr. Gerald clamped one hand over Adam’s mouth. “Hey, shush, shshshush, okay? Don’t wurry, it won’t be bad. I’ll be ssho gentle, it won’t be like it is in the moviez, okay? I know how to make it nishe. Kneel fohwuhd-” Adam tried to squirm but Mr. Gerald was heavy and big and just forced him to lean forward, on all fours with his ass in the air. “There yu go, yu got it-“
“Quit it! Get off me-!”
Mr. Gerald took off his shirt and pushed it into Adam’s mouth. “Bite on dat.” He grabbed Adam’s hands and wrenched them behind his back. “Don’t make me get muh handcuffs, whiteboi. I be crosssh wit’cha.” Adam kept squirming, and Mr. Gerald had trouble getting his dick in his ass. He couldn’t force the sweat-soaked tee shirt into Adam’s mouth while also holding his hands behind his back.
He got up. Adam thought he might be free. But he was dizzy and by the time he almost got to his knees, Mr. Gerald was back there again. He wrenched Adam’s hands back again and slapped him in handcuffs. “There, don’t wurrrrry, sshush-” He shoved his shirt in Adam’s mouth deep enough it was difficult to remove, especially since he jammed Adam face-first onto the grimy linoleum floor of the kitchen. With his hands behind his back, Adam was on his knees, head on the floor, ass high in the air.
Mr. Gerald got up, whistling. “Damn, you look good all trussssshed up there. Don’t worry, Adam, I know yu sshcared. Yu don’t gotta be, I ain’t gonna hurt’cha, I know yu ain’t muh wife. I can make it feel real good. It won’t hurt a bit, I swear.” He had a tube of lube, which he showed to Adam. “Shee, look? This isssh like medical grade lube. I can sshlide a fucking Toyota in your asssh and you wouldn’t feel it.”
Adam screamed into the shirt. Mr. Gerald pulled down Adam’s underwear, then his finger smeared cold lube on his asshole. It was freezing and slimy, and he did it in an extremely unaffectionate way, just sort of rubbing it in like it was sandpaper. His fingertip was callused and painful.
“Wink at me, nigga. I know it’ssh cold- Here, wait.” He slipped the tube under his armpit for a minute, while he rubbed the rim of Adam’s ass. “Don’t shquirm too much. Quit freakin’ out, man, it ain’t a big deal. Take it like a ma’, this is part of bein’ a parolee in the shystem. I’m-a talk to yu like muh wife when we get started, don’t worry, I know yu ain’t her. I just ain’t fuck no other woman — I mean — yeah, I fucked other women, I was always fuckin’ ’round on her, I’m just… I mean I ain’t really feel like fuckin’ other women, ya feel me? I ain’t feel like it-” He slipped one finger in and Adam bit down hard. He writhed in agony. “I ain’t feel like it rilly count. Muh wife don’t see it that way. But ya know, if it’s just somethin’ dat happens, you know, not somethin’ yu doin’ — I ain’t seduce no kinda woman, nosir,” Mr. Gerald said. “I don’t seduce guuls. But you know, they like me, like yu — I know yu into me.” He squirted more of the now-warmed-up lube on Adam’s ass. He withdrew his finger and smiled at the tight hole, which he lubed up copiously. “See? This stuff is expensive too, I don’t wanna hurt’scha. Disssh ain’t bad, it jussst how it goe for whiteboys in muh house, and I know you been lookin’ at me.”
He slipped the tip of his dick in. The first inch or so did slide right in without any resistance because of the lube, which Mr. Gerald took to be confirmation of everything he had thought to be true. He chuckled. Massive pressure erupted in Adam’s ass, and he couldn’t make any noise because of the gag, but he did wiggle.
“Yep, there yu go, I feeeeel dat, you been wantin’ to get ssum nigga-meat, huh?” He pistoned his hips, and Adam’s whole body erupted in pain. He spasmed and gagged on the fabric in his mouth. Mr. Gerald saw all his little muscles flex at once. Adam’s toes curled and his hands clawed uselessly above his back. “Don’t wurry, I’m doin’ it right, okay? Yu gettin’ nigga-dicked the right way, sshwear to God.”
He grabbed ahold of Adam’s hair. It was just long enough he could grab and pull. He could tell Adam liked that because of the way it made him moan into his shirt. Or maybe groan in pain. He mighta been crying. Mr. Gerald don’t care. All he wanna do was feel the pleasure of his dickmeat invading a hole too tight for it.
That was perfect. A low rumbling moan of bliss came outta Mr. Gerald, who pushed his dick deeper and deeper with each thrust of his hips. Mr. Gerald knew ramming an intact ass was like ripping a band-aid off. It was better to just do it, quickly, all the way in, to break that asshole open in one motion. Then he could go slow and really enjoy it. So he drilled in, holding Adam in place with one hand. He undulated his hips, continually forcing more of his foot-long cock in.
“There yu go, almost all the way in. We won’t be dun yet, but yu be dun wit’ the beginnin’, sshon. Don’t wurry… Yu lovin’ it, righ’?”
Adam shook his head violently. His face was still jammed into the tee shirt crumpled up in his mouth, but he managed to say something that sounded like no.
“Hmmm… I hear dat,” Mr. Gerald said. “Yu take it sho good, baaaaby, hmm… I love yu sho much. Shay you love me too.”
Adam kept shaking his head violently — he figured that was the body language equivalent of shouting. He banged his own head against the kitchen counters. He bucked his hips but that just made the pain worse.
A howl, muffled by the cloth, escaped from Adam’s mouth sounding like a moan.
“Damn, you orgaszshmin’…” He chuckled. “Okay, I’m all the way in ya. You wanna shay shumm’in”? Don’t sshout. You know those niggaz gonna wanna come join in, and I won’t sshtop ’em. Once yu bin got bitshched out, they gonna bitshch yu out.” He paused. His dick was all the way in Adam, but he had lost his seductive vibe from earlier — he looked at his cock in Adam’s ass like he had no idea how it got there but intended to make the best of it. “I won’t move fo’ a sshecond, I’ll lisshten. You wanna shay to do it differently, I’ll do it, I’ll sshwitch positions, I ain’t hurtin’ ya,” Mr. Gerald said. He pulled Adam’s head up by the hair and took the shirt outta his mouth.
“You. Are. Hurting. Me.” Adam said, blushing.
“Nah, yu wuzsh into it, man,” Mr. Gerald said with a drunkenly lolling laugh. “I shshaw that, I could shee it in you. Why’d yu wink ya asshhole at me if yu ain’t like it.”
“It hurts! Please! Stop!”
“But if yu ain’t wanna do it, I be sho disappoint-” Mr. Gerald’s voice broke again. “Oh, shorry, I’m rammin’-” His hips pumped, he was so close to orgasm he couldn’t help but do it. He let out a loud moan, a moist crackling sound that made Adam gag.
Mr. Gerald’s whole heavy body slammed down on Adam, who flattened onto the kitchen floor. Mr. Gerald sucked on Adam’s ear. Adam wanted to shout, but he couldn’t concentrate or take a deep breath. Mr. Gerald’s entire dick was in his ass, his hips moving in little circles as he sucked the spit off Adam’s cheeks.
“Yu taake dick real good now, man, I sshwear, yu want shumm’in’ fo it? I bring yu ssum fry chicken or shumm’in’, shwear to God,” Mr. Gerald said, whispering right into Adam’s ear. “Danks, danks sho much, I rilly needed it. Shay yu love it, okay? Please? Say yu love it-“
Adam wanted to avoid a repeat of last time, so he just did it now. “I love you, I love it, I love your cock in my ass! Please just stop! I’ll say anything.”
“Hmmm… You taste sho sshweet, guul…” He sucked on Adam’s cheek — not kissing it, because he was both too drunk and too orgasmic to do that. He slurped his own spit and drool off it. “Thanks sho much fo’ givin’ up the booty, you got the nishest-“
“Sir, please-” Adam shuddered. He could feel Mr. Gerald’s dick through every corner of his body. This seemed to be taking a long time, or at least it felt like forever to Adam. Every time Mr. Gerald plowed into him, Adam thought he could feel a jet of cum filling him up as well. It was just precum though, and Mr. Gerald continued to ram Adam into the floor.
“Sssssssh…. I almoszt done-” Mr. Gerald gritted his teeth. He panted heavily as he slammed his dick into Adam’s ass and slammed Adam’s whole body onto the floor. “Jussht chill out-“
“It hurts-!”
“Sssssssh….” Mr. Gerald moaned, the sound making Adam’s hair stand on end. Cum flowed into Adam’s ass, a great, constant flow that filled Adam’s body. He could feel it sloshing around inside him, seeping into him.
Adam’s toes curled. This was all so moist, he thought with a gag as Mr. Gerald’s tongue slathered spit on his face, his hairy chest soaked Adam’s back in sweat and his ass filled up with a great torrent of sticky semen.
“Please, stop-“
“Ssssssh, almoszsht done, just nuttin’ now, yu done real good, sson-” Mr. Gerald cut himself off and grunted. He flexed his hips. Another jet of cum filled Adam’s ass. “Goddamn yu move nice, sson.” His voice broke. “Aaaaaah…. Shit yeah.”
His whole hairy body slammed down on Adam. His dick pulsated in Adam’s moist asshole. There was a loud squelching sound too, and Adam felt cum sliding down between his thighs.
“Hmmm… Yu okay?”
“It hurts!” Adam let out a little mewling moan and his whole body twitched. “Please-“
Mr. Gerald writhed and moved his limp dick around in Adam’s ass, reawakening all that agony. Mr. Gerald grunted and howled quietly, aiming it right into Adam’s ear. “Ah, shit, boy, yu moved and got me — uh, yuh — yu got me goin’.” He rocked his body back and forth, again causing a moist sound, that squelching that could only come a cum-caked asshole. Mr. Gerald loved that sound. He shook it again, making Adam twitch and yelp.
That squelching sound churned Adam’s stomach. How much cum had he shot? It felt like so much. It flowed in great gobs out of Adam’s ass, big white bubbles of snotty cum that burst and formed a puddle beneath him on the floor. “Let it marinate into ya… Shusshhh…”
“Please-” Adam panted, unable to catch his breath because Mr. Gerald was still on top of him. He was pinned down, utterly at Mr. Gerald’s mercy, and Mr. Gerald’s soft dick was still inside Adam’s ass.
Mr. Gerald belched loudly. Adam shuddered. Mr. Gerald’s dick finally slipped out of his ass, and a river of cum came with it. Adam suddenly felt cold, ashamed, his asshole gaping wide open. He wondered if anyone in the house had heard that. It sounded loud to him, but he had a feeling most people didn’t hear it.
But Mr. Gerald didn’t pull off Adam. He still lay atop him for a moment, moaning, breathing heavily into Adam’s ear. “Hmmm… boy, yu was sho nishe to me…” He kissed Adam’s cheek. “I’m-a suck up ya tears, boy. That wuz good. That wuz real good.”
“It hurt,” Adam whispered.
“I know, but it wuz wort’ it. You dun real good, okay? Shay yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, glad I could ram yu sso good. You gonna go sisshy now?”
Finally he got up. Adam tried to take a deep breath and get on his own feet, but his knees were sore and the sight of a giant puddle of cum on the floor and on his belly made him gag. The movement reawakened the pain in his ass.
Mr. Gerald’s strong arms held him up. His mustache scratched against Adam’s neck as he kissed him again. Adam gagged and closed his eyes. “Sir, stop-“
“Ssssh, we ain’t dun makin’ love, boy. I got good news fo’ yu. My wife be gone for awhile, so I’m-a be rammin’ you real good. Only at night though, don’t worry, and az long az yu quiet, no one gunna ever know.” He grunted. “Sshit. Ssshtay right there.” He grabbed a sponge and quickly wiped up all the cum off the ground. Adam gagged again at the sight of his huge cock — it seemed even bigger now, dangling between his legs. He couldn’t believe he took that in his ass.
“Please, don’t. I didn’t, uh… I don’t wanna do that-“
“Den why’d yu ssheduce me, boy? Huh? Cuz you wanted summ nigga dick. Don’t wurry, yu gonna get plenty.” He thwacked his dick against Adam’s cum-encrusted asscheek. Then he scooped Adam up in his arms like a newlywed.
Adam was still dizzy and overwhelmed, so he didn’t do much more than writhe as Mr. Gerald brought him to his room. He deposited him gently on the bed and climbed in next to him. He kissed Adam on the cheek.
“I’m-a move in wit’cha. Don’t tell no one,” Mr. Gerald said. His dick twitched where it pressed against Adam’s thigh. He wrapped his arms and his legs around Adam’s body. “Yu okay?”
“Please… I don’t want to-“
“Yu can’t change ya mind now,” Mr. Gerald said. “Shshshsush. Move on, sson. We into it now. This here our honeymoon.” His kisses moved down Adam’s chest. “I’m-a get you off now, sshon. What kinda cruel man get his boy off? Huh? No kind.”
He popped Adam’s dick into his mouth and gurgled on it moistly. Adam was so shocked he couldn’t think of anything to say. He just watched his dick get hard and rub against Mr. Gerald’s mustache.
He had no sooner gotten hard however, when Mr. Gerald pulled off him. He kissed a trail up Adam’s belly to his slim, delicate chest. He licked the sweat off his body there, and one hand stroked his dick. He wrinkled his nose as if somebody was forcing him to do this.
His lips planted on Adam’s neck. Adam was so tense he didn’t even breathe, just laying there, hoping he could cum without embarrassing himself. Mr. Gerald sucked on his neck, giving him a prominent hickey, as that callused hand stroked his dick.
Finally a desultory orgasm hit Adam, who bit his lip. Mr. Gerald grunted. “I feel dat, whiteboy. Yu likin’ it?”
“No…”
“Sssssssh.” Cum poured over Adam’s belly and Mr. Gerald’s hand. Mr. Gerald wearily, dizzily lifted himself up and mounted Adam. His massive black cock flopped against Adam’s still half-hard, much smaller member. He chuckled. “Yu got whiteboy dick. Sshee how li’l it is? Huh? Yu sssshee that?”
“Yeah…”
“Hmmm-hmm. Whiteboys wit’ little dicks love nigga wit’ mandingo meat, ya know dat? Sshwear to God, it’s sshciencshe,” he said. He chuckled. Then he laid down next to Adam on the bed. “Hey, yu wanna lick my assshhole in the mornin’?”
“No.”
“Hmmm… Good night, baaaby. In the morning, I might be ssshober enough to punish you fo’ seshducin’ me tonight. Know I’s just playin’, I know it ain’t ya fault.” He chuckled dryly. “But dat ain’t gunna sshlow me down ‘t all.”

The Cocky Football Jock

Raython is a college football star who needs something from twinky barber Desmond. If Raython’s going to get into the frat of his choice, this cocky football jock has gotta let Desmond have a taste… and more of Raython’s throbbing manmeat! Can handsome prettyboy Raython perform when he really needs it?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Desmond knew who Raython Lake was before he came into the barbershop. Raython was the starting running back for the GHU Titans, and around here, that meant everyone knew his name. Desmond didn’t have to watch college football to know who he was. Raython entered the City Barbershop one sunny Saturday with the cocky strut of a man used to having skinny white girls on each arm. With dimples like those, Desmond knew that was exactly where he got that strut from. He was the kind of stud that girls fell head over heels in love with and guys hated from the moment they laid eyes on him. He looked arrogant, mean, bullying, haughty. Despite his handsomeness, Raython turned Desmond off from the moment he walked in.
Or rather, he turned him on, but also off. Desmond appreciated Raython’s physique, as probably all people did, you’d have to be a sociopath not to be allured by him, but he was mentally turned off by Raython’s personality and indeed his very demeanor. Something about the way he carried himself made Desmond want to punch him in the face. And then rub his shoulders and jerk him off. Then maybe punch him in the face again.
Raython was that kind of man.
“Yo, hey, you Desmond, right, my man?” Raython said. He flashed a grin and slapped hands with Desmond. He spoke like he was used to charming people and had no awareness that some people found him grating and off-putting, like he wasn’t even aware it was possible to dislike him.
“That’s right. I’m Desmond,” he said. He looked away and pouted, rearranging the selfies he had posted over his mirror, hoping to look nonchalant. Desmond didn’t like to let alphas like Raython have unbridled power over him. Raython did have such power over him, which was why Desmond spent so much energy acting nonchalant. He knew what Raython wanted, so he was going to make him work for it. Raython happened to arrive while the other barbers were out at lunch. Desmond was minding the shop alone.
“Well, I’m Raython, I was hopin’ you might jack a nigga dick, y’know… whatever….” He sniffed. “And you know… whatever.” He shuffled his weight between his feet like a man who was not used to being unsure of himself. “I got… other requirements, or whatever.”
“Requirements?”
“Yeah… You know… It’s, uh… Can we go in the back to talk?”
“I’m not really supposed to leave the front room until the other barbers get back,” Desmond said. He crossed his arms over his chest. He let out a wan smile. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to jack you off.”
“What? Why not?” He furrowed his brow. He had definitely not been turned down very often. He looked around as though there must be some emergency preventing Desmond from agreeing. He snorted and rubbed his nose.
Desmond shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re kind of a prettyboy. Not my type. Have you got the goods?”
Raython dropped to his knees and pulled his shirt off. He had a perfect chest, six-pack abs and a v-shaped torso. Again, he looked around the empty room as if this might be a secret-camera reality show. He flexed his biceps. “Yo, come on? You know it.” When that didn’t immediately work, he kissed each bicep, and he flexed each pec in turn.
And again, or rather still, he bestowed his arrogant gaze upon Desmond, who shrugged.
“Hmmm… Nice…” Desmond pretended to ponder it — Raython was a jerk, but Desmond did want to taste every part of his body. The college school year had only just begun, so a lot of new niggas were coming in this way. Desmond’s barbershop was the closest black barbershop to the GHU campus. It sometimes took awhile for the black men from away to discover where to get their haircut, but they inevitably came a-calling, and Raython was no different. Plenty of them probably had Cityside Barbershops back in their home ‘hoods. Most likely they all did. Most inner-city neighborhoods had a Cityside Barbershop, and most of those locations had a barber like Desmond, a small twink with a smooth, hairless body, a girlish shape and a willingness to service the alphas, thugs and jocks who came by to get their hair cut and their needs serviced. Raython had an expectant face on. Desmond’s hand roamed over Raython’s solid pectoral muscle, which throbbed beneath his touch. Raython smiled, flashing those dimples. Raython picked up Desmond’s hand and kissed it like a proposing prince.
Raython leaned forward and kissed Desmond on the earlobe, making Desmond’s taut twink body shudder with anticipation. His lips stayed on Desmond’s sensitive skin, and Raython gently nibbled the earlobe. That made Desmond suck back a howl of desire. Raython’s muscles rippled and exuded heat behind him. Raython chuckled, his voice smooth and dry as a wind-swept rock, and he whispered in Desmond’s ear. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you want my dick. I can see it in yo’ eyes.”
He picked Desmond up in his powerful running-back arms and carried him into the backroom. Once they actually got past the door, it wasn’t realistic to carry him like that — the corridor was lined with shelves and was too narrow. So he hefted Desmond up over his bare shoulder like a sac of flour. Desmond squealed, and he clutched Raython’s powerful shoulders to stay on his back.
They went to the back storage area, which had a little more space. Raython put Desmond down and pulled a clipboard out of his bag. Desmond was dizzy. He kept his grip on Raython’s body for support, his hands slipping under Raython’s pants to tease his juicy asscheeks.
“Yo, uh… You gotta sign this.” Raython handed over the clipboard as Desmond goosed his ass, which Raython ignored.
“What?” This was the part Desmond knew about — he’d been in this area for awhile, and he knew about the Kappa Kappa Pi initiation procedures — but he didn’t let on that he was already aware of what was going on. He read the paper on the clipboard like he had no idea what it said.
The gist of it was that Raython had signed a bet regarding his skill at throwing a football, there was more football jargon involved, but Desmond skipped over it. The upshot of the bet was that some cheerleader was gonna fuck him in the locker room. The downside of the bet was that Raython had to cornhole “the man of his choosing, with light foreplay and a reacharound” — the document was written in some no-doubt weed-induced late-night fit of semi-serious pseudo-legalistic wording — if he lost.
As had come to happen, Raython had lost. He probably fucked the cheerleader in the locker room anyway. Desmond certainly would, if he were Raython or if he were a cheerleader.
“So you have to cornhole me ‘with light foreplay and a reacharound’? And I have to sign this thing, since none of your teammates wanted to come watch to verify it?”
Raython flashed his dimples again and shrugged. “Yep, that’s it. No big deal. They thought I’d be upset about it or some shit. I ain’t.”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“Nah, nigga. I got girls,” Raython said as though that should have been obvious. “I got females beatin’ down doors to get they mouths on my meat. Swear to God. White girls. Nice white girls.”
“So what counts as ‘light foreplay’?”
Raython groaned. “That’s, uh… up to you. But you can’t put nothin’ in my asshole. No way. And I ain’t putting my mouth on yo’ dick, nosirree. But that’s, you know… you can do basically anything else.”
“Hmm-“
“And no fingerin’ nothing — you can grope, but no fingers, and no, you know… No doin’ nothin’ gross. No peepee. None of that nasty-nasty, you know, like prison booty bandit shit. I ain’t no nigga’s fool,” Raython said. “I keep a firm veto. But you can do whatevuh.”
“I see… You said I can’t put nothin’ in your asshole, but does that include my tongue?”
Raython chuckled. His eyes opened wide. “No. That’s fine. You can do that. Rimjobs is fine.” He paused. “That ain’t ‘light foreplay’ though, nigga. That’s heavy. Medium at least. Girls don’t do rimjobs as foreplay.”
“Girls are dumb as donuts,” Desmond said. “And I don’t do light foreplay.” He licked his lips. “I start at a heavy medium.” He stepped forward and planted his lips on Raython’s. Raython jerked and stiffened, his muscles all flexing. He stood up straight, requiring Desmond to jump up and mount his muscular torso to keep his mouth on Raython’s.
That was not a problem for Desmond, who enjoyed climbing up Raython’s powerful body. The more Desmond wrapped his body around Raython’s torso, the stiffer Raython was and the more Desmond had to climb all over him in order to kiss him on the lips. Raython bristled, and he scrunched his eyes up, but he didn’t make Desmond stop.
Raython stood straight up like a statue. He didn’t kiss Desmond back either. Desmond gripped his shoulders and wrapped his feet around Raython’s chest. His tongue plunged into Raython’s mouth. Still, Raython just submitted as though he was paying attention to something else, like this kiss was a purely physical exercise of no more importance the bicep curls he no doubt performed daily in front of a mirror. His arms stiffly dangled at his side.
“Kiss me back. That’s part of foreplay,” Desmond said. He licked his lips. “That’s not how you kiss a girl, is it?”
“Nah, nigga.”
“Then kiss me properly.” Desmond kissed Raython on the neck with enough fervor to possibly leave a hickey, which was enough to get Raython to react.
Raython wrinkled his nose and nodded. He planted his tongue in Desmond’s mouth. He was actually an excellent kisser, Desmond was surprised because very handsome men were often bad kissers in general and were almost always bad kissers when Desmond got his lips on them, they got enough girls that they weren’t used to pretending to be passionate when they were not. Raython, however, kissed like he had been waiting for this moment.
No wonder all the girls on campus loved him. Desmond had no proof that was true, but he was certain it was.
Desmond lost himself in Raython’s arms and his mouth. Raython finally gripped Desmond’s back and ass with his hands, supporting him so Desmond could focus on kissing him. His strong hands dug into Desmond’s perky asscheeks, making Desmond wonder if he held onto girls’s asses so firmly. Desmond hoped so. That was exactly how he liked to be treated.
Eventually Raython gently pulled away. He licked his teeth with a cocky sneer on his face. “You kiss like a girl,” he said.
“And you kiss like a man. You’ve never done this before?” Desmond asked.
“Nope.” He put Desmond on the ground and turned around. He put both hands on the wall as though he was being arrested. He jutted his ass out.
Desmond pulled his pants down, baring that plump brown ass. It was perfectly round, soft and firm at the same time, with just a bit of hair on the crack. Desmond kissed each cheek, making them jiggle. Despite being cooped up in his pants until moments ago, his skin tasted clean and fresh.
A groan came from Raython, who spread his legs like he was expecting to be searched. Or maybe he just really liked Desmond kissing, licking and slurping on his asscheeks and didn’t want to show it, so he covered up his moan of desire with that annoyed groan. His looping, arching back muscles all flexed at once above Desmond’s head.
“You’re a lot more comfortable with this than I expected,” Desmond said. He spread Raython’s ass and dove his tongue right in. Raython’s hole was tight, and Raython yelped when Desmond’s tongue entered it. Even this deep in his ass, Raython tasted very clean, he must have scrubbed up right before coming here. He tasted of cologne, cocoa butter and soap, like a fancy girlish soap with flowers and fruit in it.
“My brother got a nigga…” His voice trailed off like he hadn’t meant to share this, but was distracted by the pleasure in his ass. “I mean…” Raython said, mumbling as he endured Desmond’s rimjob. Desmond giggled, glad to get Raython nervous again. He was just so arrogant and handsome that Desmond felt a deep, abiding urge to make him nervous.
Desmond rammed his tongue in deep. He used a finger to tease the rim, and Raython didn’t complain. Desmond didn’t actually push his finger in, since Raython had said only his tongue was allowed, but Desmond did rub his asscrack and the edge of his hole with one delicate pinkie finger. Raython’s voice rumbled like he was thinking about finishing his story about his brother’s nigga, but then all that came out was another simmering groan. Raython jutted his ass back, giving Desmond better access to lap at his butthole.
“Your brother has a nigga?” As soon as Desmond said that, he jammed his tongue in and aimed it right for Raython’s prostate. He slapped his tongue at it, making Raython’s whole body ripple as pleasure coursed through him.
“He-eeeeee…” Raython tried to answer, but when Desmond’s tongue got deep in there, his words turned into a meaningless moan, as he was unable now to hide how good this felt. Raython even lifted one of his feet like a dog getting scratched in a sensitive spot. Raython’s knees buckled and he almost fell over. “Fuckin’ hell, man… When girls lick my asshole, it ain’t like this…”
“Girls probably lick your ass, not inside your asshole. Girls don’t lick prostates,” Desmond said. “Or at least, not the kind of girls you’d go for.” He smirked and did it again. This time Raython moaned and grunted so passionately his knees did buckle. Raython went down to the ground on all fours, his ass high in the air to give Desmond easy access to it. Desmond ran his tongue all the way from Raython’s taint to the small of his back.
“Yeah… Damn…” Raython said. He cleared his throat and chuckled. “Shit… Okay, swallow my dick now, damn.”
He got up on his feet again, and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes. Once again, that arrogant jock look was back. His fat cock was rock-hard — he must have really enjoyed that rimjob — and it twitched, visibly on the verge of spewing precum. Its twitches were synced with the rippling and flexing of Raython’s broad chest.
Raython opened his eyes when he realized Desmond hadn’t started yet. He touched his dick, then let go, then touched it again, then let go, and his hands fluttered in the air above Desmond’s head.
“And I’m just supposed to kneel on the concrete?” Desmond asked. He pointed to a pile of blankets on one of the shelves. “Make a little bed for us.”
“Man, I was just on all fours, I ain’t complain…” Raython rolled his eyes and sighed like a kid being told to clean his room, but he did what he was told. He got the blankets down and spread them over the floor. He even added a small pillow for Desmond’s knees. Then he laid down on his back at Desmond’s direction. “Man… We ain’t makin’ love, nigga. Like my brother.”
“What? Tell me about yo’ brother.”
“I ain’t s’posed to say nothin’. No snitchin’, y’know.”
“Your brother’s carrying on with a cop?!”
“No!”
“Then it’s not snitching, technically-“
“What do you know about snitching? You ain’t a gangsta? You a sissy.”
Desmond stopped with Raython’s cock in his hand, the spongy tip rubbing over Desmond’s lips. Desmond wasn’t really upset about being called a sissy. If you worked in a Cityside Barbershop and specialized in jacking off guys, it happened a lot. Desmond wasn’t worried about it. But Raython was a well-spoken and articulate young man in college, he should have known better. And besides that, Desmond thought he could get something more out of him if he made a big deal out of it.
“Donchu call me a sissy-“
“What? You is a…” Raython looked at his dick, throbbing in Desmond’s hand, and he flexed his hips to fuck Desmond’s hand, like he was only slowly figuring out why he didn’t feel Desmond’s mouth on his cock. “You’re mad?”
“You still haven’t told me about your brother and his nigga,” Desmond said. “Now I really wanna know,” Desmond said. He mounted Raython’s crotch and jousted his cock with Raython’s. Raython had a hefty piece of meat, but Desmond’s was substantially thicker. Raython wrinkled his nose like he was disappointed at the sight, and then he wrinkled it even harder when their precum mixed on his shaft. Desmond played with both dicks with one hand, while his other hand massaged Raython’s chest. “If you’re gonna call me names, we might have to move that foreplay up to ‘severe’.”
“Man…”
“I’m gonna keep jousting with you until you tell me what you were gonna say about your brother-“
He snapped, “My brother just got a nigga, okay? When he got outta lockup a couple years ago, he found some sissy dude. He brought him over. He live in my mom’s garage now. He rams his… He rans his ass all the damn time, man. He say it’s how real niggas is. He says thugs should have a couple females and one male. He out there in the garage goin’ at it, nigga. He do ram that boy so hard he knock shit off the walls in the house, man. Don’t you tell no one. He said I can’t spread it around. He said a man should have a couple females and one man but he should keep all but one female a secret. He ain’t keep his females a secret though. Or even his man really. Fuckin’ pansy-ass sissy… man.” His voice trailed off as Desmond swallowed his dick, just the tip at first but Desmond slathered his tongue upon it, and he choked up mouthloads of spit that ran down the shaft. Raython groaned and sighed, muscles relaxing now that he was being serviced again.
Desmond deep-throated him until his nose nestled in Raython’s hairy pubic bush. Desmond kneeled next to Raython, perpendicular to him. But as he kept working on Raython’s meat, he gradually spooned Raython until his cock was rubbing against Raython’s firm bicep. Raython either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Desmond’s precum smeared over his tattooed arms.
Precum flowed down Desmond’s throat, the bright salty flavor assaulting Desmond’s senses as Raython let out a rumbling roar of arousal. Raython gripped Desmond by the ear, guiding his head up and down at a slow but accelerating pace. He sucked on his lips and inhaled sharply as he did, like he had never felt this good. Desmond was proud of himself — that was his specialty, after all, he could make any man beg for more.
Eventually tears welled up in Desmond’s eyes, and he had to take a break to breathe. He gasped for air, stroking Raython’s dick furiously with both hands, while thick tendrils of spit connected Desmond’s face to Raython’s shaft.
“Holy fuck…” Raython moaned. “Shit… Why don’t girls do it like that?”
“Ugly girls do,” Desmond said. “Pretty girls don’t need to impress you with skill.” He giggled and massaged Raython’s chest before resuming his deep-throating. This time he openly humped Raython’s arm as he did. Raython still pretended he didn’t notice, even when Desmond’s dick smeared precum over his bicep, tricep and forearm, and Desmond even humped his armpit til it was greasy with precum.
Eventually Desmond was ready to move on, lest he blow his wad too early. He licked a trail from Raython’s cocktip to his root, then up his muscular chest. He nuzzled Raython’s neck, while Desmond’s bare cock spewed precum on Raython’s side, jetting it up to his ribs and all over his asscheek. Raython’s pecs flexed, one after the other.
“Wait… Are you gonna kiss me on the lips? You’ll taste like cock…”
“Does your brother kiss his man?”
“Yeah… He does nasty shit wit’ him. He says he only tops, but… I seen ‘im in there makin’ out and shit. Is that…?”
“Don’t worry, Raython. Don’t be so worked up about technicalities,” Desmond said. He kissed Raython on the lips again. This time, Raython was hesitant, especially when Desmond’s hard cock again pressed against Raython’s. Their precums mixed.
Raython was so focused on the kiss that he was surprised when Desmond sat down on his rod. His cock slid easily into Desmond’s ass. Desmond mounted him, facing him at first, but when Raython winced, Desmond knew that wasn’t going to work — Raython had to give a reacharound, but he wouldn’t do it if he had to watch as Desmond shot his load onto Raython’s face and chest. So Desmond had to ride him in a reverse-cowgirl position, facing Raython’s feet.
His ass hurt a little as Raython’s cock slipped in, but that lasted only a moment. His manhood throbbed and awakened a tingling sensation in Desmond’s asshole. Desmond winced and struggled to stretch himself open enough gradually he worked more and more of Raython’s meat into his ass. Each inch stretching into him sent a new wave of sensatiosn through Desmond’s body.
“Alright, nigga…” His hand hesitatingly closed around Desmond’s dick, which throbbed beneath his fingers.
Desmond giggled. He so rarely got a reacharound, it was always hot when it happened. He lifted his ass up and down, impaling himself on Raython’s cock while Raython began to stroke his rod. Raython’s thick hands wrapped around Desmond’s cock, which he didn’t need to handle much because Desmond was moving.
It was an awkward handjob, both because Raython was unpracticed and because he wasn’t watching himself. He didn’t want to see his hand wrapped around another man’s cock.
“Does your brother give his man a reacharound?”
Raython murmured, “Yeah, nigga. I think so. He eats his cum,” Raython said. “You can’t tell no one that. Tell everyone I gave you a shitty reacharound too.”
“It is a shitty reacharound.”
“Really?” Raython sounded like he had never been criticized. To his credit, he tried. He sped up his stroking and even used his other hand, holding onto the base of Desmond’s cock and teasing his balls with a gentle touch.
“That’s better, thanks,” Desmond said. Then he threw his head back and moaned. He lowered his shoulders until he rested on Raython’s chest. He turned his head to the side and licked the sweat off Raython’s nipples as he squirmed atop his cock.
At last both men reached orgasm at much the same time. Desmond used all of the focus at his disposal to delay himself until he felt Raython’s rod spray his nut deep into Desmond’s ass. It was a thick, hot load that coated Desmond’s prostate in creamy goodness. It flowed into him in spurts, and each time Raython’s whole body gyrated, his massive muscles all flexing at once, swallowing Desmond up in his arms while filling him up with jizz.
Desmond shot his nut onto his own chest and belly, not to mention Raython’s hands. Raython groaned with the power of his own orgasm — and no doubt a little disgust at the cum dripping from his fingers. Desmond’s load spurted into the concrete floor, while Raython jetted burst after burst of cum inside him.
As soon as he was done, Desmond scooted up on Raython’s chest. He kissed him again on the lips. His body was especially hot right now, its heat seeping into Desmond’s flesh. Desmond wanted to curl up on his chest and sleep there like a cat.
But when Raython felt he had kissed him a reasonable amount, he gently deposited Desmond onto the blanketed floor. Then he jumped up and jogged in place for a minute.
“Alright, nigga, sign that shit. We went well beyond ‘light foreplay’. Don’t put that on there, just sign it,” he said. He sighed. “You best not tell no one ’bout my brother. Or ’bout me. Or ’bout nothin’ at all. Just keep yo’ mouth shut till I come back to fill it again.” He laughed his cocky laugh and wagged his dick between his cum-dripping fingers.
“Okay, sure.” Desmond was too tired now to keep teasing him. He signed the paper.
“You got a shower in this place? Or at least a sink? You can watch me shower,” Raython said with a wink. “I know you want to.”

The Married Cop

When Avery is robbed, he meets up with a cop with a wife and a physique Avery could… and just might worship for days! Officer Heartley is a bull-headed macho cop who needs to get a little relief, and Avery is all too happy to help out!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery was furious about his hotel room being robbed. It was only eighty dollars, but still — having security to prevent this sort of thing was exactly why Avery was loyal to the chain. He had explained this to the manager in no uncertain terms, and he had gotten a refund as well as a free day in the room. That was worth more than what he had lost.
There was nothing to do now, however, but wait and pace. The police were on their way, supposedly. Avery knew the police wouldn’t do anything for eighty dollars, but he wanted to make his statement. This was an annoying distraction when he was trying to be more productive in his life. He wanted to hurry up and file his complaint so he could get back to work.
When the cops arrived, however, Avery was at a loss for words. His blood ran hot and his cock twitched in his pants, his annoyance at the robbery having vanished. One of the officers was a skinny young woman, but the other was a sturdy older man. He was Officer Malcolm Heartley, and he had a square jaw like a superhero.
“Sorry to hear about ya troubles, sir,” Officer Heartley said with the most delightfully full-bodied voice, all baritone echoes emanating from beneath his scruffy throat, a somewhat awkward tremble to it — he was one of those delightfully strong men who weren’t swaggerous and cocky. Avery thought a note of unconfidence made him even more handsome. “So you sure there ain’t nothin’ else missin’?”
“Yeah, that’s it, thanks,” Avery said. He blushed a little because he could feel Officer Heartley looking at him. He wished he could come up with a reason to make Officer Heartley stay.
“Alright, thank you for callin’ it in,” Officer Heartley said. Avery could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t think they would find the money. The woman cop said they would keep looking for the culprit, but Avery didn’t find her very convincing. It was only eighty dollars, after all, Avery thought, surely there were more important crimes in this city.
“Thank you for your help, officer,” Avery said. He clasped Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm in hand. He shook the woman’s hand too, but he was so blinded by Officer Heartley’s strength and the body heat radiating off him that he shook her hand in an automaton trance.
And that was that, Avery’s distemper was gone, and the hotel-room robbery seemed like a memory from his distant past. Avery loved older men with fantastic physiques, and Officer Heartley was a perfect one. He was dark-skinned, thick and jowly, but not fat, just muscle and meat all over, you could tell he was used to home-cooked meals in a warm home. His face had a few wrinkles under the eyes, and his beard hairs were flecked with gray.
“We’ll call you if we learn anything,” said the perky blonde cop. She was hot too, beautiful really, Avery thought, but he had no interest in her. She was lost in the alluring aura emanating from Officer Heartley.
But he couldn’t stick around. The florist trade-show was over. It was time to go back home. He checked out of his room.
He sat down in the hotel lounge to work on the novel he had promised himself he’d finish a rough draft of on this trip. It took a few hours to get his focus back. He took several breaks, and drank a ton of coffee in a coffeeshop next to the hotel.
He finally got a little writing done around eight o’clock, and he went down to the hotel bar to celebrate afterwards. He was just about to sit when he realized he shouldn’t reward the hotel for letting someone steal from his room. He should go to a different bar.
He had no sooner walked outside, however, when he saw a police car pull into the parking lot. It was Officer Heartley, and he rolled down his window. “Hey, there you are. We caught the guy who had your cash, we can give it back if you come with me. You gotta fill out some forms.”
Avery got in. “Really? You caught him?”
“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you. But he hit a couple hotels in the area, apparently he hacked a swipe card that works in any of them. One of the hotels caught him on camera,” Officer Heartley said as he drove away and Avery buckled his seat-belt.
“Where’s your partner?”
“Oh, we’re off now. She’s out with her hot new boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re off-duty?! That’s so sweet of you to come get me!” Avery said.
“Well, you know… I don’t like out-of-towners gettin’ the wrong impression ‘bout my town,” Officer Heartley said. “You single?”
“Yes I am,” Avery said. He cleared his throat. “What about you?” He made sure to speak in a slow, seductive tone. Officer Heartley had to know what that meant.
“I’m separated. My wife left me.”
“Oh you poor baby, it must have been a long time since you’ve been with a woman,” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s well-muscled forearm.
He nodded.
“Well you know, I have a magical power,” Avery said. “I can make guys forget about their wives. Who’s got a mouth, an ass and a need to please? This guy!” Avery pointed to himself.
“That’s… I don’t do that, no thank you, sir,” Officer Heartley said, but with a nervous tremble to his voice. Avery could tell he wanted to do it. He was responding to Avery’s flirtatious tone. But a lot of guys did that because they liked the attention, it didn’t mean they were interested. Especially once they were married, many guys were desperate for someone to call them handsome.
“Hmm… That’s unfortunate. Tell your wife I’m going to steal every inch of her husband.”
After a long pause, Officer Heartley said, “I’m not going to tell her that.”
They pulled into the police station then. Avery went in with him, filled out the requisite paperwork and saw the skeezy-looking guy who had been caught. He was sitting there in a hallway in handcuffs. Avery didn’t know that’s who it was until Officer Heartley pointed him out.
When he had his eighty dollars back, Avery headed out to the parking lot. Officer Heartley brought him to the police car. Then he sat behind the steering wheel and didn’t say anything. It looked like he was waiting.
“Officer Heartley?” Avery wondered if he had done something wrong. “Hey, uh… are you okay? You don’t have to take me back to the hotel, I can afford a cab. Or an uber. Or I can walk, it’s like five blocks.”
“Shush…” Officer Heartley said with a desperate gulp. He opened the door for Avery to get in. “I ain’t pervy.”
A long pause ensued. Avery wanted to say fine, but he had just been shushed, so Avery didn’t say anything.
Finally Officer Heartley spoke again. “You, uh… My wife… My wife used to be so different, y’know. I don’t think I changed that much since we got married. We used to go out and she wanted to, y’know…” He glanced at Avery. “Like… she wanted to suck me off, y’know, in the bathroom.”
“What?”
He blushed. “No, I mean, she don’t have a bathroom-fetish, I just mean we’d go out somewhere and she’d wanna bang in like a closet or bathroom or something. She’d wanna suck my dick.” He paused. “But now, she just like… She don’t even wanna look at me. She got kinda fat and her hair is always a mess and she don’t shave her pussy no more, she barely even shaves her armpits, and if I mention it at all, she freaks out, but she is always calling me a fat-ass and when I fart she calls me a nasty shit.” Then he whispered hoarsely. “It makes me feel bad.”
“Oh, you poor baby…” Avery said. He patted Officer Heartley’s belly. He wasn’t fat, but he had a belly there. He looked like he probably had a six-pack back when he met his wife, so any amount of fat might have seemed like a beer-gut to her. Officer Heartley’s muscles rippled beneath his uniform shirt. “You can tell her how you feel. Tell her it hurts your feelings.”
He rolled his eyes. “I, y’know… I can’t say that.”
“You said it to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re… you know.”
“So you can tell a guy you barely know, but not your wife?”
He shrugged. “She won’t care. She’s…” He whispered again. “She’s such a bitch.”
“Do you want me to-?”
“Shush. Don’t say it,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest of his squad car. It was parked in a row of other squad cars. No one was behind them, just a solid fence with barbed-wire atop it, so they couldn’t be surprised. In the main part of the parking lot, officers currently on-duty met with their partners and sipped coffee before getting in their own squad cars and driving off.
Officer Heartley unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out. It was big and fleshy, and Avery thought you could tell just by looking at it that no one had been treating it right in a long time. He bet Officer Heartley’s wife even got mad if he jacked off to Internet porn, so Heartley was probably in a world of frustration.
Sure enough, it twitched as soon as Avery touched it. “Oh, it’s so big! Your wife must have loved taking it in her ass when you two were just dating!” Avery smiled at the frustrated look on Officer Heartley’s face. He suspected that, if he kept bringing up anal sex, Officer Heartley would be unable to resist. “I know I couldn’t resist begging for it in my tight asshole if we dating and I was a girl. I would crave this cock all up in me. What was her pussy like?”
His dick twitched beneath Avery’s fingers. Officer Heartley moaned. “Ah, shit, man, it was velvety and smooth and… damn, I want that again. Shit…”
Avery breathed heavily, and he tried to sound as girlish as he could. Officer Heartley’s eyes were closed, his great cavernous chest heaving as he breathed and Avery stroked his dick, slowly and unctuously at first, sliding his hand up and down. He paused to spit onto his palm, which made Heartley moan again when Avery resumed stroking.
“Were you a cop when you met her?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to be. I told her that on our first date,” he said. His voice sounded croaky and tense, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. “But I was just a painter then.”
“Oh?!” Avery snaked his other hand into Officer Heartley’s pants, from which his cock stuck out through the fly. He handled his sweaty balls.
“Shit, man, that feels so good…” Officer Heartley said. He settled back in his seat like he was ready for this to last a long time.
“I know. I think you’re really handsome in that uniform. And I bet you’d be just as handsome in anything else,” Avery said. He unbuttoned the bottom of Officer Heartley’s uniform shirt, making his undershirt-clad belly visible. He bent over and kissed his belly, blowing a raspberry as though it was a baby’s hairy belly. Officer Heartley laughed and his dick twitched in Avery’s hand. “You’re so manly, your wife is stupid if she doesn’t suck you off all the time.”
Officer Heartley glanced at him, his eyes open now. He watched his cock pulsate, a few drops of precum leaking out and lubricated Avery’s fingers. “Man… I dunno.”
“Nothin’ wrong with men makin’ each other feel good. You just close your eyes and let me make you feel good. Is it okay if I put my mouth on it, sweetie?”
He grunted and gritted his teeth as though being called sweetie turned him on. He shook his head. “Wait… I mean…” His pecs bounced beneath his shirt. “I mean…”
Avery could tell he was wavering. Avery moaned right in his ear. “Oh, sweetie… Your dick needs to get wet, I can tell. It’s so dry. Your balls are so full they’re going to burst, you poor baby.” He unbuttoned his uniform shirt the rest of the way. “What if I just put the tip in my mouth? Okay? Just the tip? I won’t do nothin’ else until you tell me it’s okay.”
His voice was breathless and jagged. “Yeah. Just the tip, okay. Okay.” He put one meaty hand on the back of Avery’s head and guided him down to his cock. Avery opened up and put his cocktip on his tongue, then slurped exuberantly. He spat up plenty of spit that ran down Officer Heartley’s shaft and soaked his crotch.
Now that he was so close to Officer Heartley’s body, he could smell his unwashed clothes — was he in trouble with his wife? Staying in a motel? Possibly, Avery thought.
“Just the tip, okay?” Officer Heartley said, his voice a low throaty rumble.
Avery made eye contact with him, but Officer Heartley immediately closed his eyes. Flopping his hard dick over his face, Avery let out a long cooing moan and called Heartley his baby again. “My sweet little baby… Ooh… Your dick tastes like candy, baby, I wanna make love to your cock.”
“Just the tip.” His voice sounded like he wanted to be firm and confident, but it came out as weak and wavery.
“‘Course, baby, just the tip,” Avery said, trying to hide his disappointment. He used one hand to stroke his shaft, while he kept his mouth on just the tip, suckling loudly, moistly. He had to cram his head in between Officer Heartley’s massive body and the steering wheel.
“Hey! Alan! You in there?”
“I’ll go see, he probably knows where it is.”
Avery heard that, but he couldn’t see because his head was in Officer Heartley’s crotch — and he didn’t even know Heartley’s first name was ‘Alan’. He assumed it was other cops getting into a patrol car. But when he heard their voices getting closer, he lifted his head.
Luckily, the sun shined into the windshield; it would have been blinding, but these patrol cars had glare-canceling windshields. It did make it impossible for anyone outside to see into the car from this angle, however, which was good because Avery saw a pair of uniformed officers some thirty feet away. If it weren’t for that glare, they would have seen Officer Heartley leaning back and then seen Avery’s head pop up from his crotch.
“Shit! Someone’s coming,” Avery said.
Officer Heartley opened his eyes, roared in frustration and jumped into action. He forced Avery’s head back down where it couldn’t be seen, his hard dick still leaking precum onto Avery’s face. He turned the engine on and rammed the car into drive.
“Shit!” Officer Heartley grunted, his voice desperate and plaintive, dick leaking precum over Avery’s cheeks. He drove to the right — which was not the way out of the parking lot, but did mean the officers would be on the driver’s side, so they wouldn’t see Avery without coming very close to the car.
“Where are you going, Alan?”
“Hey, did you see that memo from the DA? We wanted to ask if you knew about the plea forms, how does that work? Sheila said she never heard of them.”
Officer Heartley’s face was ruddy. He rolled down his window and waved as though this was normal, and nothing was wrong. “Hey guys,” he said. His mind whirred, his cocktip now back in Avery’s mouth. “Uh… Yeah… Plea forms are the same thing as those D9s. Just tell Sheila that, you need D9s.”
The other two cops exchanged glances that were both confused and enlightened — that was a helpful answer to their question, they were simply confused because Officer Heartley had a tense, pained expression on his face. But they just assumed he wasn’t feeling well, or had gotten in a fight with his soon-to-be ex-wife on the phone — perhaps, they thought, that was why he had been sitting in his car in this parking lot for a long time.
They just watched the squad car drive all the way around the parking lot, finally leaving onto Poplar Avenue and nearly going the wrong way on it until Heartley realized what he was going. He drove south into downtown.
“You still got your hotel?”
“No, I checked out,” Avery said.
He barely even noticed his hand pressing down on Avery’s head. He didn’t really intend to get deep-throated. That was an uncomfortably pervy idea to him. But he had an instinctual urge to push Avery all the way down on his shaft, plus he wanted Avery to keep his head down. So he did it without thinking about it, without even noticing until he realized Avery’s nose was in his pubic hair.
“Oh god…” Officer Heartley moaned.
His cock tasted amazing: salty and warm and musky, Avery crooned and sucked it all down. He didn’t care about his own throat crying out for oxygen and relief. He wanted to taste Officer Heartley until he had had enough and couldn’t take it anymore.
He drove to the most rundown motel in the bad part of town, a motel that was well-known as the epicenter of the city’s red light district. That was where all the hos brought their johns. Officer Heartley felt disgusted with himself going there at all for non-law-enforcement purposes, but it was where he had driven without thinking about it.
“I’ll get us a room,” he said. He took a deep breath. His cock ached. He wanted to get go at it all night like his wife used to do. He wanted to have so many orgasms it made up for the years his wife had been ignoring him.
But first, he had to awkwardly put his dick back in his uniform slacks and get out of the patrol car. It must have been obvious he had an erection, and he was pretty sure there was even a wet spot on his crotch — he was too excited and exhilarated and mind-bogglingly horny to even look down.
He raced into the front lobby and virtually tossed some cash at the dour-faced man behind the counter. “I need a room!”
“How many hours? Officer?” the man asked. He looked at Officer Heartley as though he thought he was catching him doing something wrong. He probably assumed a cop would only be here because he was getting free services from a prostitute. But Officer Heartley was too horny to stop and explain that he was just jacking off.
“Uh…” He had no idea what was normal. “Overnight.”
“You’re thirty bucks short,” the man said.
Officer Heartley cursed and scowled and handed over his credit card. That hardon wasn’t going away, it just kept throbbing painfully in his clothes.
It took forever, but finally Heartley got his key. He darted out into the parking lot again, and motioned for Avery to come to him. They scampered to the room, Officer Heartley’s pants already coming off even before he opened the door.
He dove onto the bed on his belly — which caused intense pain in his still-erect cock — then he rolled over onto his back. In seconds, his dick was out the fly and in Avery’s mouth. He let out a long, low sigh.
It took a few seconds for either of them to notice that the door was still open. Avery had barely gotten the fresh taste of precum in his mouth before he got up to slam the door shut. He returned to swallowing Heartley’s shaft.
“Oh god, yes…” Officer Heartley held onto Avery by the back of his head, fucking his throat deeply.
It was all over in seconds now. Officer Heartley’s balls crawled up in his sac, and his veiny shaft pulsated in Avery’s throat. Hot, creamy cum coated his mouth and slicked down to his belly. It was thick and warm, and it sat hotly in his stomach.
He tasted salty and sour and a bit sweet, with a strongly musky taste that Avery adored. There were flavors of steel and copper and unwashed fabric, cocoa butter and cheap deodorant. Avery guzzled down every drop, smiling at the sight of Officer Heartley writhing violently beneath him.
Then at last he pulled off, grinning at Officer Heartley’s shocked expression. “That was not just the tip,” Avery said coyly. He stroked his limp dick.
“Yeah, well… I changed my mind.” Officer Heartley groaned. “I paid for this room all night and I busted a nut in about five seconds.”
Avery giggled. “You didn’t think this was all over already, did you? I’m going to stroke your dick until it falls off. And then I’ll find another penis to attach, and I’ll stroke on that till it falls off.” He playfully groped Officer Heartley’s chest beneath his uniform shirt.
“You got spare penises?” He chuckled dryly. He was about to speak again, when there was a loud moan in the hotel room next door.
They both blushed and smiled. This motel rented rooms by the hour to prostitutes, and it seemed there was one such transaction going on right next-door. Officer Heartley sighed and stood up. The moaning from next-door was not too loud — they could only hear the man, whose deep voice was easily audible. Avery could hear a woman’s practiced heavy breathing only when he pressed his ears against the wall.
He yelped and stepped away when a woman let out a little yelp. “I said not to pull my hair,” she said. “Quit it, get off me.” There was a loud thump, it sounded like she had pushed the man off her and he fell off the bed.
“You bitch! I paid for an hour, you best believe I am getting all sixty minutes! I swear I’ll call Bernard-“
“He says no one can pull my hair, not for no amount of money, cuz my hair could fall out-“
“I wasn’t gonna pull ya hair out, you fuckin’ cunt! I just needed somethin’ to grab onto. Ya tiny-ass titties ain’t enough-“
“Oh, you’re complainin’ ‘bout my size? I thought you stuck your nipple in my pussy until I opened my eyes!”
Avery listened to the argument with wide eyes and baited breath. Should he call the police? He realized he didn’t need to just as Officer Heartley was redoing his belt and running out the door. “Stay here,” Heartley said.
Avery didn’t want to get in the way, so he followed orders. He stayed with his ear to the wall so he could hear. Both the man and Officer Heartley shouted at once, as Officer Heartley pounded on the door. Then when it was opened, there was more shouting, with the woman joining in this time.
“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know what was going on here!”
“I do know! I could hear every word-“
“Oh? What were you doing in this place? Huh?”
“Not any bit of your business, motherfucker, it was totally legal,” Officer Heartley said.
Avery poked his head out the door and was shocked to see that the man being led away in cuffs was another cop. Officer Heartley had arrested a state trooper. The woman in the hotel room glanced at Avery without noticing him.
Then Avery just sat and waited in the hotel room. He was glad to have the chance to recover. After a few minutes, he went over and talked to the prostitute. He helped her fix her hair and makeup. She said she didn’t want to file any report about the cop who had attacked her, but Avery talked her into doing it. Some other officers arrived then — Heartley had shown up at the police station, his uniform shirt still unbuttoned and askew, his hair a mess, so he had endured great ribbing and later got written up for dress code violations.
He told them about the state policeman, so others came out take a statement from the prostitute.
Finally the door opened, and Officer Heartley returned to the hotel room. He had fixed his uniform and his hair only to realize he had waited until too late — by the time he came out of the station men’s room looking like a professional, he was no longer needed. He was off-duty again. So he had gotten scrubbed up just to come back to Avery.
“Goddamn,” Officer Heartley said when he saw Avery sitting there on the bed. Avery immediately dropped to his knees and grabbed for Heartley’s crotch as though he was in desperate need for more cock. He didn’t even let him drop his pants, he just undid the fly and started slurping on it until Officer Heartley made him stop long enough to take his pants off.
“Do you wanna stick me in the ass?” Avery asked. He shook his ass towards Officer Heartley. “Please? I want to feel your cock inside me… You can ramrod me so hard, harder than your wife ever let you, I bet. I’ll never make you stop. And you can cum inside me, okay? You can drown me in cum…”
“Shit, boy, don’t talk like that, you’re gonna make me nut…” Officer Heartley closed his eyes again. He stood there, impatiently waiting as Avery took his pants off.
Then, at last, Avery got to back up on his dick. Like a lot of guys, Officer Heartley didn’t really know how to plow a man in the ass, so Avery had to take charge. Heartley just stood there by the bed while Avery lifted his ass up.
He ground his ass against Officer Heartley’s cock, letting it rub against his asshole. He clenched his hole too, making Heartley grunt and writhe. Avery reached behind himself and guided it into his ass.
“Oh, god, it’s so big!” Avery exclaimed. That was not a lie — it was big — but Avery only said it to puff up Officer Heartley’s ego. Besides that, he knew the position he wanted and it might take some effort to talk him into it. “Oh… I don’t know if I can do this,” Avery said.
“You said you could take it no matter what-“
“I didn’t know it was gonna be so big… You’re gonna ruin my ass, it’ll feel so good I never wanna do it again,” Avery said with a plaintive wail. “Hmm… Here, give me your arm.” He backed himself up farther, making Officer Heartley’s whole body shake as his dick sank deeper onto Avery’s ass. Avery took Officer Heartley’s well-muscled arm and wrapped it around himself, in a loose chokehold. That both provided more support and allowed Avery to lick and kiss every inch of Officer Heartley’s arm. “There you go, you’re so strong… I’m sure I can take your dick as long as I feel your strong arms around me, sweetie. That way I’ll know you’re keeping me safe.”
“Hmmm…” Officer Heartley grunted and bucked. His voice broke in Avery’s ear.
Avery loved getting plowed by older men like him. Officer Heartley was so handsome and macho and desperately horny. He craved affection — his wife was mean to him, and his fellow officers always gave him shit, and the civilians he interacted with almost universally hated him — so when Avery moaned and begged for more cock, that was nearly enough to make him cum all by itself.
“Oh god, get it deep in me!” Avery cried out. He wondered if there was anyone else in the motel who could hear that. That made him giggle, burying himself back on Officer Heartley’s cock.
He was all the way in now. Officer Heartley’s ex-wife had never taken it in the ass like this. She’d let him put it in her butt when they were dating, but only a few times, and only until it started to hurt — with a cock like that, it hurt right away. So he’d never had anal sex to completion, never got his entire shaft in her ass.
But Avery took it easily, with just a bit of struggle. Avery exaggerated it over and over to puff up Heartley’s ego. “It’s so big!” He even bit down on Heartley’s forearm, prompting a grunt from Officer Heartley’s lips.
Then they both went down to the bed, Avery squashed by Heartley’s massive bear-like body. Heartley finally began plowing without Avery needing to take charge. He pounded away, sticking his entire foot-long dick in, then pulling out and marveling at Avery’s asshole twinkling, begging for more.
“I’m gonna nut…” He grunted right into Avery’s ear. His wife used to like it when he said that. It was enough to trigger her orgasm, as it triggered Avery’s right now. But now she thought it was gross when he said it, or when he said anything else during sex, or anything at all about sex any other time.
Cum flowed into Avery’s ass. Even though he had already shot his wad once, he shot a huge load again — he must have had a lot built-up in his balls, Avery thought. It dripped out Avery’s ass and onto the motel mattress.
Finally he was done. Avery pulled off him. He had shot his own wad onto the mattress too, and it was now soaked.
Avery wrapped one arm around Officer Heartley’s meaty belly. “We made a big mess, and we’ve still got all night.”
Officer Heartley kissed him chastely on the cheek. “I’ll rent another room, baby. You’re worth it.”
Avery sighed and kissed each of Officer Heartley’s hairy asscheeks. “Let’s make this one filthier first.”

The Cocky Pimp Bottoms

Jay Bone is a pimp who only lets one man cut his hair… the twinky barber Desmond, who’s also willing to service every inch of Jay bone’s body. But Jay Bone has an interesting offer on Desmond’s birthday, cuz this alpha male pimp is willing to experience a twink on top!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Desmond was glad to see Jay Bone come into his barbershop for two reasons. First of all, it had been a slow day and Desmond could use the tip — Jay Bone was a pimp, which meant he was very particular about who cut his hair. He only accepted Desmond. He was a good tipper, so Desmond was glad to cut his hair. The second reason Desmond was glad to see Jay Bone was that Jay Bone always gave Desmond a swing on his dick after his haircut. His delicious dick made Desmond’s mouth water, and Jay Bone had a powerful body brimming with muscle, along with a handsome face that made the girls come running.
Hence, he was a pimp. Desmond eagerly invited him to sit down in his barber’s chair with the same fervor all his bitches promised to please him.
Jay Bone strode in wearing his powder-blue suit with a pink tie and an azure fedora, like an old-school cabbie’s hat. He was dipping and dapping, walking to his own rhythm. He was tall and stately like a skyscraper, and he commanded attention like a white man with a clipboard. Everybody turned to look at his mug, he got a handsome face but an ugly nose, which somehow accentuated the handsomeness of his face.
Though everyone looked at him, conversation stopped when he entered and didn’t resume until he spoke. That was because he exuded authority like sweat and because he was a Crip. The Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale was not a gang-affiliated business, but it was in a Bloods neighborhood and everyone who worked there, including Desmond, was Bloods-affiliated.
Jay Bone came in all the time. It wasn’t forbidden for a Crip to come into a Bloods barbershop. But it did make all the niggas and homies in the waiting room shush their mugs and avoid looking at him. All except Desmond, in whose chair Jay Bone sat.
“How you doin’, Desmond-wit’-a-Geo? You got a new tattoo, huh, I ain’t seen that one?” Jay Bone always called Desmond Desmond-wit’-a-Geo because Desmond used to have a Chevy Geo, and he stopped to give Jay Bone a ride once. That car had been totaled in an accident two years ago, but Jay Bone was fixated on it — he was the kind of nigga who picked one fact about each person and repeated it often as though it showed that he cared about others. Of course, his inability to update that fact when it changed made him seem like he was incapable of caring about anyone other than himself.
But Desmond was willing to forgive him for all of his faults, as long as he got the chance to swing on that meat once in a while. “Yeah, I just got it a month ago-“
“You the man, Desmond, I only let you cut my hair, nigga. My hair’s too perfect to let any nigga touch it. You’s a fool if you let anyone but a sissy cut yo’ hair. Sissies and bitches, in that order, that’s who know how to cut hair,” he said. He paused thoughtfully. “And Italian men. I dunno what it is ’bout them, they can do it. You know any Italian barbers, Desmond-wit’-a-Geo?”
“No. Well, one, I think but he-” As usual, Jay Bone didn’t let Desmond get a word in. He always took over the conversation like this, asking questions without listening for an answer. He only spoke in monologues.
“Not in Baltimore, course. Them guidos is in Jersey and shit,” Jay Bone said. “We only got Pollacks here. You know about Pollacks? They’s like white people but retarded and uuuh-uuuugly!”
“Uh-huh.” Desmond just got started on the haircut, nodding along with Jay Bone. There was no point in trying to really talk to him. Conversation resumed in the rest of the shop. No one wanted to get on Jay Bone’s bad side, so everyone kept their voices lower than his.
“I got this new bitch, Desmond. You’d like her. She Spanish or some shit, half-Spanish, I think. Like Colombian. Is El Dorado a real place? She might be from El Dorado. She got a nice fat ass. Gonna get you over some time to get me off so she can see it though. She don’t suck a nigga dick worth a damn. Need a fuckin’ map and compass to find it and shit,” Jay Bone said as Desmond cut his hair and nodded along. “Got a mouth like a puppy’s water bowl. You know this nigga need more ‘an that!”
“Sounds like a doll.”
“Yeah, she got ass that don’t quit. She can learn about the blowjobs. That’s teachable. You can’t teach ass, that’s what I always say, nigga.”
“Yeah.”
“That shit is inborn, y’know. Reckon ya get that from yo’ mama. That’s prolly where sissy come from too. When yo’ mama bigger than yo’ daddy,” he said.
“My mom is tiny,” Desmond said. “She-“
“I mean big in spirit,” he said. He glowered at Desmond like he didn’t like to be contradicted.
“Oh, uh… yeah, I guess maybe.” Desmond wrinkled his nose. Jay Bone glared at him and Desmond didn’t want to antagonize him. “She got spirit.”
“Yup. That’s it,” he said as Desmond finished up the haircut. “You busy on Saturday? You can come over and jerk me off, show her how. Gonna have to be early though, she gotta work in the evening. She got a legion of johns and jimmies lookin’ to run up and down that snatch, and you know Jay Bone do provide!”
“Hmm… I’ve got, uh… not plans, exactly, uh… this weekend. It’s my birthday. Technically today, actually,” Desmond said. He was glad to have a subtle way to throw that in there because he thought Jay Bone would give him a bigger tip as a birthday present. It would be grubby to ask.
“Yo’ birthday is today?”
Desmond nodded. He took Jay Bone’s money and a satisfyingly generous tip, then smiled at him, gesturing towards the backroom. Jay Bone nodded and followed him that way. The other barbers and customers were visibly relieved that he was gone, and conversation became louder the moment the door to the backroom shut.
“Happy birthday, nigga.”
“Thanks.”
The back of the Cityside Barbershop was a dusty old storage area, with an office at the far end, next to the door leading to the alley behind the building. The owner — Johnny Cee — strictly forbade anyone from using the office when he wasn’t there, and he had told Desmond on numerous occasions not to use it to jerk niggas off.
But that was where Jay Bone went. That was where he always went. He knew Johnny Cee didn’t want him there, which was precisely why he did it. Johnny Cee didn’t get mad, and he didn’t blame Desmond for it. He knew nobody could tell Jay Bone no.
Not that Desmond wanted to tell him no. As Jay Bone pushed a stack of papers off the sturdy table in one corner of the room, Desmond admired the twisting of his muscles beneath that powder-blue suit. He had a big, broad body with a square jaw and rippling flesh, like a Hollywood-Hercules but dressed like a colorful pimp. When the table was clear he sighed as though having second thoughts about this.
Desmond sunk to his knees. “Is somethin’ wrong, sugar? Lemme show you what’s right…”
“Just thinkin’ some thoughts, lil queer,” Jay Bone said. Then he grunted and frowned at Desmond. “Gonna give you a birthday present, Desmond. You gonna enjoy, cuz of course you will. You game?”
“Uh… for what?” Desmond wondered if he was going to give weed, which Desmond would enjoy, or maybe cocaine, which Desmond would also enjoy but wished he wouldn’t offer. Desmond knew he wouldn’t turn it down though.
It was his birthday weekend, after all.
“Seven minutes, nigga. You get seven minutes in heaven, got it? That’s my birthday present to you. That’s seven birthday presents, really. You keep yo’ mouth shut about dis. You tell people you jerked me off,” he said. He took a deep breath. “But you can have yo’ way wit’ me fo’ seven minutes. I ain’t nevuh been wit’ a nigga… y’know, like that. I ain’t nevuh take dick in the ass. I gave a nigga head once in the joint. Nasty. Don’t tell no one that neither, or I’ll shove yo’ dick down yo’ throat. You gonna love this! Jay Bone got a killer body, all over, dick, ass, balls, shit, his toes is worth a million bucks apiece. Know dat!”
“Wait, so…?”
He scowled and furrowed his eyebrows. “You got seven minutes. You can make me do anything you want fo’ seven minutes. You can plow my ass, make me swallow yo’ dick, whatever you want. Jay Bone is a full-service kinda nigga, y’know. I would give you seven minutes wit’ one of my bitches, but I know you wouldn’t know what to do wit’ ’em,” he said. “My bitches needta be treated propuh! Proper as pandas!” He took out his cell phone and set up the timer.
“Ain’t you gonna take off your clothes?”
“Nah, nigga. That’s part of yo’ seven minutes,” Jay Bone said with a mean grin.
His mind raced. Desmond hurriedly took off his own clothes before Jay Bone was ready with the timer. He blushed, certain he looked like a drooling idiot. But he was glad to have the chance to plow Jay Bone — there was no way anyone would ever believe him anyway, so Desmond had intention of telling anyone.
“Yo’ time starts… now,” Jay Bone said. He put his phone down. This was all happening so fast that Desmond had trouble adjusting. He had a feeling that was part of Jay Bone’s plan — by flummoxing Desmond, he could still give this “present” without giving Desmond the chance to take full advantage of it like he might be able to if he had known this was going to happen.
“Uh… okay, you gotta get down on yo’ knees,” Desmond said, his voice wavering. He wasn’t used to telling alpha males what to do, and this situation felt especially awkward because Jay Bone was more than a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Desmond. Every fiber of Desmond’s being told him to get down on his knees instead. He was the thin twink, so that’s the position he felt he was “supposed” to be in. Topping Jay Bone felt like a transgression, Desmond thought, whose nervous voice repeated his request, “Get down on yo’ knees, nigga.”
Jay Bone did so. Even on his knees he was much to tall to jerk Desmond’s dick. He had to stoop down even lower than that. He inhaled deeply of Desmond’s dick as though he enjoyed the scent, though when he looked back he wrinkled his nose.
“You smell like coconut, nigga,” he said, over-enunciating like he either hated coconut or loved it. Before Desmond could ask which, pangs of pleasure shot up his body as Jay Bone swallowed his dick. His mouth encircled Desmond’s shaft.
He didn’t do this like someone who had only ever done it once, in prison, Desmond thought. He wasn’t about to say that though, that was a sure way to raise Jay Bone’s massive ire.
The sensation wracking his body was incredible, made all the more intense by the awkwardity of the situation — Jay Bone’s fumbling tongue, his hesitant movements, his scratchy scruffy chin rubbing against Desmond’s flesh. Desmond rumbled and moaned so loud it was audible in the frontroom of the barbershop.
“Yo, Desmond havin’ a good time! Jay Bone must be feedin’ him all kind of birthday meat!”
“Nigga frontin’-!”
“Sit’cha ass down!”
“Jay Bone doin’ it right, Desmond?!”
They wouldn’t be teasing Jay Bone if there was some chance Jay Bone recognized their voices. The men in the front room laughed in a mixture of bravado and anxiety. Though most of them let Desmond jerk them off from time to time, they all tried to keep it more discrete than Jay Bone did. None of them would ever even think about jerking Desmond off instead.
But Jay Bone was doing it, and he wasn’t even hesitant or reluctant. He did it like he knew what he was doing and enjoyed it. He deep-throated Desmond to the root, and he snuck his tongue out to lick Desmond’s shaft, making Desmond shift his weight between his feet and suck on his breath.
“Goddamn, Jay Bone… Holy fuck… who taught you how to do this?” Desmond’s hands clutched Jay Bone’s head, upon which was still balanced his blue fedora. It was much darker than his suit, and Desmond worried he would leave fingerpints on it — no doubt resulting in Jay Bone admonishing him and making him pay to have it drycleaned — so Desmond let go of it right away.
Spit dripped in great gobs down Desmond’s shaft. Jay Bone’s mouth was loud and moist, exactly the way Desmond loved it. He bucked his hips to help Jay Bone swallow every inch of his meat, snaking his dick down Jay Bone’s tight throat.
Desmond was deeply aware of the time ticking away. He saw the timer on Jay Bone’s cell phone display, sitting on the desk in the center of the office. Desmond reached down to undo Jay Bone’s pink tie and take his jacket off.
It was awkward, to say the least. Jay Bone made no effort to make it easy for Desmond, though he didn’t go out of his way to make it difficult. Desmond’s fingers fumbled as he strained to reach Jay Bone’s shirt-buttons, but he eventually managed to get it unbuttoned and off.
Then he shuddered. His knees went weak. His hard cock spasmed, and for the first time, Jay Bone let out an intense moan, making a sound for the first time. It wasn’t clear if it was a moan of disgust or delight now that he tasted precum. It was hot and creamy, and Desmond felt it spewing out into Jay Bone’s mouth.
The precum flowed down his throat. Desmond had never felt himself emit so much, but this was such an awe-inspiring situation that he couldn’t stop himself. The precum was voluminous and thick, and it coated Jay Bone’s tongue.
Desmond gasped and threw his head back. His mind said to move on to anal. He only had five and a half minutes left — had it really only been a minute and a half? But it was tough to tear his cock away from such unimaginable bliss inside Jay Bone’s mouth.
“Okay, uh, take off your pants,” Desmond said. His voice sounded impossibly weak and tinny in the cramped office. Jay Bone sighed and growled. Desmond felt a surge of fear as Jay Bone pulled off and stood, like he might be about to attack Desmond. “I mean… if you want to…”
“It’s yo’ birthday, nigga. I do whatevuh you want,” he said with a grin. “I wanna see why my bitches complain so much about gettin’ stuck in the ass. You got a big dick?”
“Uh… It’s pretty big,” Desmond said. He blushed.
Jay Bone knelt against the table, but again, he was much too tall for that to work. Desmond chuckled and smacked his cheeks to tell him to get down lower. “You’re bending over like I do,” Desmond said. “But I’m shorter than you. We can’t just reverse positions and expect that to work.”
“Alright, lil queer, I get it, I’s pickin’ up what you puttin’ down,” Jay Bone said. He sunk all the way to the ground on his knees, crouched over. He dropped his powder-blue slacks and the silk boxers he always wore, revealing a perfectly plump, smooth brown ass. He sighed and shook his head.
“There you go, that’s good, nigga,” Desmond said. He tried to sound like a deep-voiced thug, like Jay Bone, but that only accentuated how flamboyant and effeminate his actual voice was. Both he and Jay Bone laughed.
Desmond’s instincts said to dive in head-first and lick his ass — Desmond loved giving Jay Bone a rimjob on those rare occasions when he allowed it (he always said he saved rimjobs so he could make his hos do it as punishment, he didn’t want to cheapen it). Besides that, this was a special occasion and Desmond didn’t want to waste it doing something he could talk Jay Bone into anytime. So Desmond grabbed the bottle of lube he kept around for emergencies and got started.
When he saw that there were just barely four minutes left, Desmond got excited. He slathered half a tube of lube on his cock just because he was in too much of a hurry to measure out a smaller amount. The goopy lube dripped onto the floor.
“Damn, calm down, Desmond,” Jay Bone said with a nervous chuckle.
Desmond blushed. “Sorry. You put a time limit on this, I gotta hurry,” he said, and his plaintive tone made Jay Bone laugh again. It was a deep, cocky barrel-laugh, which the men in the frontroom apparently interpreted as some sort of victorious alpha male grunt, and they all hooted and clapped.
Desmond rammed his dick in, and Jay Bone let out a loud, pained growl — which he turned partway through into a grunt, seemingly putting on a show for the folks in the frontroom. Again, they must have heard because they clapped and cheered Desmond on. They all assumed Desmond was bottoming, jerking Jay Bone off or even taking it in the ass. Nobody would have ever even made a joke about Jay Bone bottoming instead.
“Sorry, sorry,” Desmond said. “I didn’t meant to make it hurt.”
“That’s alright. My bitches is whinin’ like hell. You got substantial meat, nigga, and it ain’t that… bad,” he winced on that last word, and twisted his body as Desmond ground his dick into Daddy’s Rico’s ass.
Desmond couldn’t help but giggle. It looked like Jay Bone now understood why his hos complained about getting rammed in the ass. He grunted and his chest heaved.
“You’re loosenin’ up, nigga, it’ll get easier,” Desmond said. He patted Jay Bone on the arm and shuddered. Normally Jay Bone was so strict about touching. He didn’t let Desmond touch most of his body, no grabbing his ass, no tweaking his nipples under the shirt, and no kissing. So Desmond had never really gotten an opportunity to feel those incredible muscles.
The nicest thing about Jay Bone’s body, Desmond thought, was that it wasn’t perfect. He didn’t have a six-pack, though he came close. He had a big thick body, bulging in all the right places, brimming with power, swagger and strength. If he had time, Desmond would have gladly licked him from head to toe like a cat cleaning its kitten.
Then, like a switch had been flicked, Jay Bone changed. His pained grunting changed to an aroused moan, and Desmond could tell even though he couldn’t see that Jay Bone had gotten hard. He smiled. Obviously, he thought, he had discovered the location of Jay Bone’s prostate.
Desmond reached around him and grabbed ahold of his dick. “This is called a reacharound,” Desmond said. “It’s polite to give a reacharound when you plow a nigga in the ass-“
“I ain’t nevuh doin’ that, lil queer. You can stop bringin’ that up right now,” Jay Bone said. “But you go ahead. I like that.” He shook his head and whinnied like a horse, as though he was surprised — and maybe a bit frightened — by how much he enjoyed getting it up behind.
Now that Desmond had found Jay Bone’s prostate, he knew how to make it feel good.
He had never before topped with a man so much bigger than himself, and it was a nice change of pace, even if the positioning was awkward and difficult. The more he rammed back and forth and the more passionately Jay Bone reacted, the more Desmond struggled to hold back his climax.
By the time he felt his orgasm rising, Desmond was on his toes, using both hands to grip Jay Bone’s back and slam his hips down over and over. Luckily he had used so much lube — and Jay Bone was simply a big man — that Desmond slid easily in and out of Jay Bone’s tight ass.
“Damn, nigga, damn damn damn…”
Much to Desmond’s surprise, his own orgasm was interrupted by Jay Bone himself shooting his load. He gave little indication beforehand, as though he was just as shocked as Desmond was. All of a sudden Jay Bone’s cock throbbed and spasmed in Desmond’s hand, and cum sprayed over Desmond’s fingers. It landed in a big creamy clump on the floor.
But still he kept cumming. His massive body bucked and writhed beneath Desmond’s grasp, until eventually Desmond wasn’t on the ground at all. He was born aloft by Jay Bone’s broad back, to which Desmond held on for dear life, grinding his cock into Jay Bone as the seconds tumbled away on the timer.
“Can you turn your head and kiss me?” Desmond asked, his voice low and breathless. His climax bubbled just under the surface.
Jay Bone smiled and did so. Again, it was awkward — he had to strain his head back, and Desmond had to crawl up his shoulders to reach. But he first gave Jay Bone his hand, which dripped with Jay Bone’s own cum.
He gave no hint of hesitation before grabbing Desmond’s wrist with his big meaty hand, and sucking up every drop of his own cum of Desmond’s fingers. He bucked and writhed as though he was both disgusted and aroused by the flavor, and he slurped on Desmond’s hand like he tried to drain it of juices.
“Fifteen seconds left, nigga,” Jay Bone said, his voice tense like he was eager for it to be over. He sighed as he licked the last of his own cum off Desmond’s fingers.
Then he kissed Desmond without a moment’s hesitation. The taste of cum flooded Desmond’s mouth, the smear of semen all over Jay Bone’s face colliding with the sweat that dripped down Desmond’s cheeks. Desmond had never kissed anyone like that.
At last Desmond’s own body erupted in orgasm. “Ah, fuckin’ hell!” he roared as cum sprayed into Jay Bone’s broad ass.
The orgasm lasted for what felt like forever, though judging from the timer, it was more like thirty seconds. The timer went off near the end as Desmond shuddered. The beeping was impossibly loud, resonating in Desmond’s ears as he filled Jay Bone with his load.
“Shit yeah…” Jay Bone muttered. Desmond could do little more than bark and yelp into Jay Bone’s tattooed back.
The most unimaginable pleasure in his life wracked Desmond’s body. He dug his nails into Jay Bone’s meaty muscles, and he licked all the sweat off where it collected between the man’s broad shoulderblades. He writhed there, precariously balance on Jay Bone, for what felt like forever.
His thin twink limbs contorted, and he dug into Jay Bone’s body. Jay Bone just smiled wryly, rolling his eyes as Desmond’s dick jabbed into him over and over. It was a big, thick and creamy load, which dripped out of Jay Bone’s ass and onto the floor between his trunk-like thighs. It clung to his skin and the hair of his crotch.
“Alright, nigga, you done,” Jay Bone said. He flicked the timer off. “Was that seven minutes in heaven?”
“It certainly was.”
Jay Bone let out a long chest-rattling moan. He glared at Desmond like he was mad at him. “You said you was busy on Saturday, right? What about Sunday?”
“Yeah, I’m free.”
“Good. I’m gonna throat you so hard yo’ mama gags,” he said. He bristled and straightened his back like he wanted to recapture his swaggerous mojo now that he had taken dick in the ass. “You can show my new ho how to take it right.”
“Okay,” Desmond said. He was too tired to think about it now, but he thought he would enjoy that.
“I ain’t gonna have no mercy, Desmond, this nigga can ball!” he said, adding an inscrutable hand gesture that involved snapping his fingers. “You know how I do. I plow hard. Know dat!”
“Yeah,” Desmond said with a grin. “You taught me well.”

The Boxer

When Avery sees the legendary heavyweight boxer Wallace Stamper in the gym, he takes a chance and makes him an offer — he’ll pay for his gym membership in exchange for a swing on his fat alpha male meat. Can Wallace perform for Avery despite his cornerman trying to stop it?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“C’mon, Wallace, you don’t need this place.”
They turned around and headed back into the locker room. Avery watched from within the locker room, then he headed away from the door so it wasn’t obvious he was eavesdropping.
He resumed mopping the locker room floor — it was his job at the Cornerside Gym, after all. He didn’t look in the direction of the man he was here to find: Wallace
It was always hard to force yourself to “look casual”, but that was what Avery did. He affected a complacent pose, idly sliding the mop about as though he had been at this for hours and had no chance of finishing soon.
A few ropy-muscled black men showered a few feet away, but Avery wasn’t interested in them, and they totally ignored him. A hunky Puerto Rican with a fledgling mustache changed into workout gear on one of the benches. Avery would have loved to jerk him off, but that wasn’t why he had come here.
He had come here to meet Wallace Stamper, the greatest heavyweight boxer in the world. Avery didn’t actually follow the sport, but he was very good and very famous.
And he had a body to die for.
And, it seemed, Wallace couldn’t afford to pay for his gym. His trainer, friend and cornerman followed him into the locker room. That was a handsome Italian man named Valdemaro. He was arousing too, in his way. Like the Puerto Rican, Avery might have jerked him off gladly if there weren’t a grade-A specimen of manhood right next to him. At the moment, though, Avery had eyes only for Wallace Stamper
“Fuck that asshole,” Wallace said with a hostile growl. He shadowboxed the air in the sauna.
“Relax, Wallace, it’s okay,” Valdemaro said. “We’ll work this out. You don’t need a gym to train anyway. We’ll go home and you can punch that mattress. You run home, okay? You run home, I’ll take the bus and meet you there.”
“Shut up, Valdemaro.” Wallace punctuated each word with a punch in the air.
“Come on, don’t be depressed. You’re gonna win on Saturday, I can feel it. With that purse, you’ll be able to pay for the gym membership for years to come,” Valdemaro said. He had a charming grin, but it didn’t look like Wallace was buying his optimism.
Avery pushed between them. He stood in front of Wallace and smiled. He made sure to seem as feminine as possible. “Hi,” he said with an impish smile. “I’m Avery.”
“Nice to meetcha, Avery,” Wallace said. His grumpy face frowned. He was big and thick-chested, with a deep barrel voice like a dragon, and he made Avery shiver in place. Wallace picked up on that. He sneered and sighed, flexing his pecs. “Whatchoo want, man?”
“Uh… I saw your match a little while ago. You’re so good,” Avery said. “You’re a legend.”
“Thank you, sir,” Valdemaro said, touching Avery on the shoulder to get his attention. He tried to hurry him along, to get him away from Wallace.
But Avery just shrugged him off. He smiled flirtatiously at Wallace. “I bet girls throw themselves at you.”
Wallace beamed. “Yeah, kinda. Some. Lotta girls don’t like big guys,” he said. He demonstrated his size by pumping one bicep. He licked his lips and chuckled when Avery grabbed it with both hands and kissed it. Avery licked Wallace’s bicep from his elbow all the way to his shoulder, then he flickered his tongue into Wallace’s sweat-moist armpit.
“Oh, hey, no way, sorry,” Valdemaro said. He pulled Avery away.
Wallace growled. “Shut the fuck up, Valdemaro.” He looked Avery right in the eye, not breaking his gaze. He was such a huge, hulking brute that Avery shivered in fear. His arms were like a stack of pumpkins, his legs thicker than Avery’s whole body, and his ass was thick and juicy like a pair of chicken pot pies. When he moved, his buttcheeks jiggled and his massive pecs shifted up and down with each step.
Despite his trepidation, Avery did not think he was in danger. Wallace looked at him like a hungry man looks at a meal, while Valdemaro continued shooing Avery away. Avery could tell Wallace wanted to bust a nut, but not where anyone could see it, including Valdemaro.
Wallace glanced around. The Puerto Rican was finishing his shower, his long, uncut cock gleaming in the moisture and steamy air. The other men had finished and were walking out the door.
“Wallace, we should go,” Valdemaro said. He kissed the crucifix around his neck. He glared at Avery, then wrapped one arm around Wallace’s wide body, hugging him close and gently pushing him towards the door.
“I said shut the fuck up, Valdemaro. You ain’t in charge of mah dick,” Wallace said. He grabbed his cock through his satin boxing shorts.
“I, uh, I’m in charge of your training, Wallace. That includes your moral development,” Valdemaro said. “I know you know the Bible. Jesus wouldn’t want you doin’ nothin’ you can’t tell ya mama ’bout.”
“Shut the fuck up, Valdemaro. God forgives, don’t he? Even the Cath-olics believe that, right? Confession and shit.”
“That’s not… You have to have real regret in your heart,” Valdemaro said. “Wallace-“
“I’ll pay,” Avery said. He pulled out the three hundred dollars in his pocket. “Is this enough to cover the gym membership?”
Judging from the look on both men’s faces, it was more than enough. Valdemaro snatched it. His Christian morals seemed to have vanished into thin air. He smiled and whistled a jaunty tune. “Okay. You two have fun. I’ll go pay at the front desk.”
He walked away. Wallace grinned at Avery. He glanced at the Puerto Rican, who was oblivious, then he looked at a door on one outer wall of the locker room. He stood up and walked towards it. From the way he walked, it was apparent his cock was already hard. Those giant asscheeks jiggled up and down with each step he took.
“C’mon, girlboy, the sauna’s in here,” Wallace said. He opened the door, and steam billowed out. His hefty body shifted as he slipped in. Avery followed. The heat and humidity hit Avery like a punch to the face.
Wallace had stopped right there by the door, so Avery’s face planted into his mountainous back. His muscles rippled and sweat dripped onto Avery’s lips. He sucked it all up, while Wallace quickly dropped his shorts and stepped out of them. His ass was framed by elastic straps.
He had on those old-fashioned white jockstraps, the strappy, unglamorous kind, dingy and worn with age. Avery moaned at the sight — he hadn’t been expecting that, but now that he saw it, he wanted to suck on it. He pulled it off Wallace’s body and put the whole thing in his mouth. The taste of old funky sweat, soaked in and wildly fragrant, flooded his senses. The jockstrap was so wet it tasted soggy, gritty with salt crystals that remained on the fabric, and the stink of Wallace’s heavy ballsac made Avery’s eyes water, not that that slowed him down at all.
“Oh, damn, you get nasty,” Wallace said. He shook his head and laughed, clutching his belly as though he needed to hold it in and it took all of his muscles to do so.
The jockstrap was sour and salty, and Avery drooled over it. While he loved the taste and the grimy feel of it in his mouth too, the hottest part was Wallace’s reaction, his big squarish face showing equal parts disgust and delight, like he was disgusted that Avery would do such a thing but delighted that his own body fluids would bring someone such joy.
Eventually though, the jockstrap just tasted like spit, and Avery dropped it to the floor. He tweaked each of Wallace’s nipples, making his pecs bounce and Avery’s heart skip a beat. Wallace still had a bemused smile on his face, and he didn’t react to Avery’s fingers on his nipples.
Since he didn’t complain, Avery shifting from tweaking his nipples to sucking on them, while his hands massaged the firmness of Wallace’s torso. His muscles flexed.
“A’ight, prettyboy, you got’cha taste,” Wallace said. “You gonna get me off or what?”
“I definitely am!” Avery said and sunk to his knees, while Wallace plopped his heavy ass down on one of the wooden benches in the sauna. He leaned back and spread his legs. He was so big he took up at least a quarter of the entire sauna, arms outstretched. His balls hung down, cock dangling. He leaned his head back and sighed.
His dick was half-hard already. Avery sensed that he was extremely horny — maybe that cornerman Valderamo prevented him from fucking any women, to keep his testosterone high for fights. His dick jumped right out of his hand when Avery touched it. Wallace gasped and bit his lip. Avery stroked it. It was moist with sweat and condensation from the air, and it twitched as soon as Avery’s fingers danced over his shaft.
“You got nice hands, boy,” Wallace said. “Nice and soft. I like the way yo’ fingers feel.” He didn’t open his eyes. He groaned, chest rumbling, tongue lolling around within his mouth.
“You got a nice cock,” Avery said, whispering like a shy girl.
That made Wallace chuckle and moan. He gently guided Avery’s head down to Wallace’s dick. Avery opened up and swallowed it in one smooth motion, lowering his head until his nose squashed into Wallace’s hairy crotch.
“Goddamn,” Wallace said. “Lordie, fuckin’s hell, fuck…” He gasped and raised his brow. His dick swelled in Avery’s mouth, moisture coating Avery’s tongue with his unwashed flavor. Wallace moaned like he was scratching an itch he’d been waiting to scratch for a long time. His whole body shook, his limbs all flexing and rippling in turn.
Avery’s hands explored Wallace’s broad chest, tweaking his nipples and playing with the network of kinky fur that covered his pecs. He was very hairy for a black man, with coarse hairs coating his pecs and running in a treasure trail down his belly. Wallace’s muscles twitched beneath his touch.
“Hey, you know Roger?” Wallace asked suddenly. He pulled Avery off his cock.
“Who? No. I ain’t from around here,” Avery said. His tongue flickered as he tried to go back to sucking, but Wallace held his head in place, just near enough that he could taste that cock but not actually resume sucking on it.
“Oh he ain’t from around here neither. He from Nashville. But he a… he a sensitive type, like you, with soft fingers like yo’s. He do slurp a nigga nut up.”
“We don’t all know each other.”
Wallace shrugged. “Okay. You handle mah dick better than him, that’s all. And you pay, I like that,” he said. “He just do it fo’s fun.”
Avery furrowed his brow at that. He assumed he needed to pay, but it seemed Wallace would do this for free if he asked nice enough. licked his dickshaft, his tongue tracing the veins that run all the way up from root to tip. Avery could tell that Wallace liked that because his cock spasmed, precum leaking out.
The salty flavor of semen filled Avery’s senses. Wallace continued to talk, telling some story about how Roger jerks him off whenever he’s in Nashville for a fight — Wallace said he never let Valdemaro know about it because Valdemaro was Catholic and snooty and he don’t approve of jacking off, whether alone or with another man. Valdemaro thought a man should save his seed for the marital bed.
“I ain’t nevuh think he was gonna ‘pprove of me dippin into yo’s ass,” Wallace said with a snorting laugh. “Guess he don’t care ’bout none of that if you got the green. Shoulda been tellin’s him all along that Roger be payin’. I thought payin’ fo’ it makes it worse, right? But Roger don’t give a shit. I don’t get Catholics.”
Avery gurgled as he happily sucked. He giggled. Wallace kept talking as though he was having a real conversation, though Avery didn’t respond at all.
“You evuh been to a Catholic mass? Valdemaro took me once. It was weird. I ain’t like it,” Wallace said. “Confession is fuckin’ strange. I ain’t tellin’ some pervuht priest ’bout my sins and shit. That’s between me and God, ya dig?” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. “Yo, man, can you suck on my balls a bit? You do that? Winchell Green did that. You know him?”
“I don’t know him,” Avery said, rolling his eyes. He dropped his head between Wallace’s legs and slurped on both of his balls at once. Wallace had heavy, pendulous balls and a hairy sac, which Avery loved. It was slick with sweat and precum, so moist that Avery could slurp the juices off as Wallace groaned.
“Yeah, I ain’t think you would. He in prison. Still there, ‘far as I know,” Wallace said. “He was my cellmate. He licked balls fo’ hours. Some nights he jerk my dick till I nut, then he lick my balls while I play cards or somethin’, then I get hard and he swallow up my dick again.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said around the balls throbbing in his throat.
“You evuh been in prison, whiteboy? That where you learn this shit?”
“No,” Avery said. He went back to licking Wallace’s cockshaft, working his kisses up and down the veiny underside of his meat.
“Well, you be queen in there, I swear to God. If you was my cellmate, I’d tell you I love you, and I wouldn’t nevuh pimp you out, no way. Not unless you want it,” Wallace said with a chortling laugh. “You give up the ass, right?”
“Yes,” Avery said. His voice was muffled and moistened by the ballsac he kept furiously slurping on, while both hands stroked Wallace’s fat cock. It spasmed in his fingers.
“Then yeah, you be my prison queen,” Wallace said. “Fuckin’ hell. Why don’t girls evuh like suckin’ balls, huh? I ask this girl one time and she say ‘nah’, she say don’t no one suck balls. She say no way, no how, no time, not evuh. Fuckin’sbitch.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said. He was too aroused to really pay attention to Wallace, who smacked Avery’s asscheeks. He whistled at the sight of their jiggling.
“Hmm-hmm! Hell yeah! Fuckin’ hell. You like big homeboys, right? Huh? I know this homeboy in the Tennessee State Pen’tent’ary. You wanna be his bitch? Shit, you could retire there,” Wallace said with a laugh. “You just gotta commit a state crime, ya dig? You into that?”
“No thanks,” Avery said. He rubbed Wallace’s dick over his face. He kept flickering his tongue out to tease him. Wallace smiled — he liked dragging this out as much as he could. He bent over and stuck his ass in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Just cornhole me, stick it in me, all the way in, as hard as you can….”
“Hell yeah! I will wreck you, whiteboy. You said as hard as I can, you said that and I’s gonna hold you to it, boy!” Wallace cackled and clapped his hands, then he checked the sauna door to be sure no one was coming. His fat cock stuck out from his crotch like an antenna, and then he got behind Avery. His rod stabbed Avery in the small of his back. Wallace had to bend his knees to get his cock low enough to line up with Avery’s asshole, and he wrapped both arms around Avery’s body. “You ready, whiteboy? It’s goin’ in…”
Avery gasped and jerked his head as Wallace’s cock slid into him. Pain exploded in his ass. It lasted only a second though. Wallace spat on his palm and wiped the lube off on his dick, which combined with the slickness of the steam that filled the sauna to make his dick slip right in.
Pressure erupted in his ass, followed by a twinge of pleasure that grew stronger with every passing second. It hurt too, but the pain was overshadowed by the positive sensations wracking his body. Avery slid all the way down. He rarely took such a huge dick that quickly, but Wallace pulled him by the shoulders down. Avery squealed and slipped, losing his balance so his hands and feet were both in the air. Wallace’s powerful body gripped him however, and held him in position atop Wallace’s cock. Neither man moved for a moment.
“So… this do hurt, right? Roger say he like it, but it do hurt. Winchell say it hurt and he don’t like it,” Wallace said. “You look like it hurt.”
Avery bit his lip. The pain was there, he couldn’t deny that, but his prostate was alive too, sending wave after wave of pleasure up Avery’s spine. It was difficult to concentrate enough to say anything at all.
“Yeah. It hurt. But, uh… I like it,” Avery said with grave difficulty. “It feels good too.”
“Why?”
“Uh… Sorry, can you just cornhole me? I can’t really talk right now,” Avery said, his voice clipped and desperate. He breathlessly gasped and flailed at the air in front of his face.
Wallace cackled. “Alright, sorry, man,” he said. “Let’s do this!” He wrapped both of his arms over Avery’s body, holding him tight and close to Wallace’s barrel chest. Then Wallace began to slam his hips up, virtually punching Avery in the ass with his massive cock. Avery let out a yelp that turned into a long, slow moan.
Much to Avery’s surprise, Wallace forced his head to the side. That put Avery’s face atop Wallace’s strapping chest. Wallace bent his head down and kissed Avery right on the lips. His tongue plunged in, and Wallace groaned right into Avery’s mouth. Wallace seemed to have no compunctions about kissing Avery as he slammed him up and down on his cock. He allowed Avery to suck on his upper lip and even lick his face when their fucking became too frenzied to coordinate a kiss. Wallace’s stony face trembled as Avery kissed his cheek and sucked on his grizzled neck.
“Hey! Wallace! You in there!”
“Yeah, Valdemaro! Leave me alone!” Wallace grunted and growled into Avery’s ear.
“Okay. You alright?”
“Yes! Fuck off, Valdemaro!”
There was a long pause. Avery held his breath, barely able to control himself — he wanted to scream and shout the orgasm welling up within him was so tense. But he wasn’t sure how Valdemaro would take it. He bucked his hips back, making Wallace gasp again.
“Are uh… you okay? Uh… other guy? The, uh… white one. You alright?”
Avery heard him and tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked strangle. The door to the sauna opened. Through the steam, Avery saw Valdemaro’s face poke in, but he remained facing away like he couldn’t bear to watch.
“Huh? You ain’t hit him, did you Wallace?” he asked.
“He fine, Valdemaro. Get the fuck out.”
“Yeah. Okay. I am. Okay,” Avery said, the climax boiling so intensely he could barely grunt. He bit his lip and groaned. A wave of bliss flowed through his veins, and Avery’s knees went weak. Wallace supported him in his powerful arms, which were firm with muscle and slick with sweat.
Valdemaro slammed the door shut with an audible sigh. He laughed nervously on the other side of the door, while Wallace kissed Avery some more. He groaned, his tongue lolling over Avery’s face when Wallace become too impassioned to kiss. His balls crawled up in his sac.
“You know you can’t kiss him, right, Wallace? “
“I know, Valdemaro, shut the fuck up! I won’t kiss him! Just go away, Valdemaro!” Wallace bellowed. He pounded on the bench beneath him with one massive fist. Then he kissed Avery again on the lips.
“Okay, sorry. Just… don’t, uh… We’re going to church as soon as we’re done here, Wallace.”
“Fine! Fuck off!” He paused and roared. “I know you still there, Valdemaro, fuck off! I won’t be able to nut wit’ you hecklin’ me from out there.”
“Okay, okay, sorry, I’ll go reserve the punching bag.” He paused. “I’m coming back in five minutes. That’s enough time, plenty enough time to finish up. I’ll dump cold water on you if I have to, Wallace. You need to focus on your training.”
“Valdemaro, if you don’t fuck off right now, I’m going to ram you next. Swear to god, I will shove yo’ mama’s lasagna up yo’ butthole,” Wallace said. “I will take as long as I want to.” Wallace growled into Avery’s ear. “I wouldn’t waste his mama’s lasagna, that shit’s goo-ooood!” He laughed and clapped. “I would take longer than five minutes just to piss him off. If he dump cold water on me, I swear to God I will hold him down so you can ram him. But there ain’t no way I can wait five minutes. You got ass like none other, I swear to God. I will fill you up wit’ my battuh, you gonna be drownin’ in it. You want that? Huh?”
“Yes, please…” Avery moaned. His cock spasmed in his own hand as an orgasm ripped through him. He tightened up and clenched, which was enough to send Wallace over the edge as well.
“Hell yeah, bitch, hell yeah, hell yeah, hell yeah,” Wallace moaned so loud it echoed in the sauna. His muscles all flexed where Avery rested against his back.
Cum sprayed over Avery’s belly at the same time it filled up his ass. Wallace’s hot breath condensed on Avery’s ear, his cum spraying over Avery’s prostate, which accentuated Avery’s own orgasm. Both men roared — Wallace a deep, booming baritone, while Avery lilted out a feminine growl. Waves of pleasure hit Avery hard, and he writhed in Wallace’s powerful arms. Wallace was less expressive, but Avery could feel and hear the burgeoning moan of desire in his chest, which pressed into Avery’s smooth back.
At last Avery was done. A big stinking puddle of cum rested on his thin belly, while Wallace’s meaty body pulsated beneath him. Wad after wad of cum filled Avery up, as though Wallace was piping it in from somewhere.
“Ah, damn, alright, alright, alright,” Wallace said with a chuckle. “You done there. You can get off me.”
Avery haltingly crawled off. Each movement he made sent a wave of both mind-blowing agony and body-melting arousal through his mind. He gasped and struggled to move. He slipped over and over because Wallace’s body was drenched in sweat, and the humid sauna air made everything slick.
Finally Avery crumpled to the ground. He crawled back up onto the bench, where he wrapped his arms over Wallace’s chest. Wallace bristled when he felt Avery’s limp cock press against his thigh, but he didn’t make him stop.
Wallace snorted and sniffled, like he was signaling that he had allowed Avery to cuddle for the maximum amount of time he would accept. He was too polite to tell Avery to let go, but Avery got the message.
Avery grabbed his clothes and hurriedly got dressed. Wallace was much slower. He grabbed his shorts and headed for the door, still naked, his cock not even fully limp yet — it still dripped with his own cum and remnants of Avery’s assjuice.
He opened the door, and there was Valdemaro’s serious-looking gaze.
Then a bucket-load of cold water landed on Wallace’s face, and a few drops hit Avery’s legs — the water was ice-cold. Wallace screamed in shock. Valdemaro said something about God.
Avery slid out of there before a fight developed. It looked like either Valdemaro or Wallace, or both, were about to throw a punch. Avery was done with them both.
But before leaving the gym, he wondered if that Puerto Rican boxer was still around…

The Cocky Gangsta Bottoms

Braxton has gotta do something for his girlfriend, and that means letting the twinky barber Desmond go to town all over his alpha gangsta body!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

It was one of the slowest days since Desmond had been working at the Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale. He sat on his barber’s chair, playing idly on his phone. There was nothing to do. Virtually no one had come in all day.
People didn’t seem to get haircuts when the weather was very hot or very cold. Today it was very hot, even hotter than it normally was in the middle of August in Baltimore. It was like a kiln outside. But the weather had been kind of weird lately, Desmond thought, because last night was very cool for August. Desmond got up in the middle of the night to get a blanket from his closet. So maybe that was why business was so slow today. The weather was both too hot and too cold for haircuts.
He was horny too. The Cityside Barbershop was a nationwide chain with a reputation — what happened there, stayed there, so black men who wanted to get their nut off could always swing downlow discretely. That was plenty fine with Desmond, with a limp wrist, a girlish figure and a seductive lilt to his voice. He greatly appreciated the men who came through on the downlow.
Today, however, none of his regulars came through asking for any dome. Desmond gave three haircuts, none of which resulted in a chance to swing on any nigga dick.
Then one of his regulars did come in — Braxton Bird, a swagger-heavy gangsta in the Bloods — just a few minutes before close. Finally. Desmond straightened his back and nodded at him. Braxton had just come in last week for a haircut, so he must want something else.
He wants to bust a nut. They all do, Desmond thought and licked his lips.
“Hi, Braxton,” Desmond said. He rotated around the barber’s chair so Braxton could sit in it, though Desmond did not think he would do so.
Braxton’s homies stayed out on the sidewalk, holding back nervous laughter and sneaking peeks into the barbershop. It looked like they thought Braxton was going to back out of coming in here.
“Yo, Desmond,” Braxton said. His deep, booming voice was authoritarian, like he expected to be obeyed. “We gotta go in the back and talk.”
Was he upset about something? Did he not like the haircut last week? Desmond couldn’t imagine why, but he didn’t know of any other reason Braxton might be mad at him. Desmond shivered. Braxton had a reputation as a gangsta, and Desmond didn’t know how real that reputation was. He at least had gang connections. If he thought Desmond betrayed him or snitched to the cops about him (or about anything), he might become violent.
On the other hand, Desmond had gang connections too. This was a Bloods neighborhood. And Desmond was not a snitch.
So Desmond followed him into the backroom nervously. The other barbers watched and snickered. They all knew why Braxton was here — or at least why they assumed Braxton was here. It was considered rude to mention it in the shop, but that didn’t always stop them.
“Have fun back there, nigga…” murmured the barber Skelton.
Braxton ignored Skelton. When the door swung shut behind him, he took a deep breath.
“Yo, uh…”
“You mad at me?” Desmond opened his eyes wide and cocked his head to the side, giving Braxton an insouciant grin, like a girl. He delicately teased his fingers over the waistband of Braxton’s boxers, which were visible above his sagging jeans.
“No, no,” Braxton said. He licked his lips and scratched his fingers through the dense beard of coarse hairs on his chin. “I, uh… I was dealin’ dat rock, and uh… Well you ain’t gotta know that part.” He sighed. His confidence was deflated in comparison to his usual cocky, braggy self. Just a few days ago, he walked in here as though he owned the place, chains jingling, swagger dripping off him like a rap star. Braxton closed his eyes. “Ain’t a big deal. Gangsta shit. You know my nigga Jaycee and me, we fucked around one time, when we was in lockup for a weekend. Last year.”
“Oh. Sweet.” Desmond straightened his back. “Jaycee Sands?”
Braxton nodded. “So it ain’t a big deal. I took it in the ass once already. Weren’t nobody’s bitch. It was on the downlow.” He paused. “I mean, not real downlow, that’s why I’m talkin’ ’bout it. It just wasn’t no big deal then, and so it ain’t gonna be a big deal now.”
“What ain’t a big deal? What are you talking about?” Desmond said. He placed one finger on Braxton’s barrel-chest, overtop his shirt, and then traced a line down to his sagging jeans. His pants sagged low enough to feel the pubic hair beneath Braxton’s boxer shorts even before he got to the waist of his jeans. Braxton took a deep breath and his chest muscles undulated like he was aroused by Desmond’s touch but unwilling to touch him back.
“My niggas… Uh, we was hangin’ out wit’ a couple girls last night,” Braxton said. “And we, uh… We been playin’ a game wit’ em.”
“What game?”
“Uh… Truth or Dare,” he said. He took a deep breath. “And, uh… We dared ’em to do some girl-girl shit. You know…”
“Sounds hot.” Desmond shrugged.
“And they dared me, uh…”
Desmond’s mind whirred and he finally realized where Braxton was going with this. “To do something on the downlow? Do girls even know about that?”
He nodded. “These do. But they knew I done let you jerk me off. So it can’t be that. They said… I gotta let you, y’know… Be on top.” His big burly muscles shook.
Desmond’s mind whirred. Was this giant alpha male gangsta offering what he seemed to be offering? Desmond assumed he must have misunderstood what was happening.
“Uh… what?”
“I’ll jerk you off,” Braxton said. “I done it befo’. Don’t think you makin’ me yo’ bitch or somethin’.”
“Course not, sweetheart. I’ll be so gentle…” Desmond said, his voice light and saccharine though he was actually so excited he wanted to shadowbox the air. His heart skipped a beat. He still thought he must have misunderstood what was happening, but he didn’t want to fight against it. He smiled at Braxton. Desmond sighed. “So… you have to let me ramrod you, in exchange for which some girls will let you watch ’em do girl stuff?”
He nodded.
“I don’t have to watch the girl stuff, do I?” Desmond asked.
He shook his head.
“Good. Cuz vaginas are kinda gross,” Desmond said. “I think if I saw that many at once, I might throw up. I don’t know how you put your tongue in there.”
“You put your tongue in butts! Man-butts. That’s nasty.”
Desmond shrugged. “Yeah, but sexy butts! Children come out of vaginas, Braxton! Children!”
“That… I don’t fuck ’em when they’re giving birth!”
Desmond rolled his eyes. “Still. Vaginas look like the forehead of a Star Trek alien.”
“You wanna do it or not?” Braxton asked.
“I do.” Desmond quickly stripped off his own clothes. Desmond watched Braxton undress. “No one is going to know you went through with this.”
“What?”
“You won’t be able to prove to the girls you did it,” Desmond said. Then there was a loud banging sound, and he jumped. When he realized it was Braxton’s friends opening a window to watch, Desmond smiled and pretended to be so frightened by the sound that he collapsed in Braxton’s bare arms. “Oh my god, robbers!” He nuzzled Braxton’s bulging biceps.
“They ain’t robbers. They my niggas,” Braxton said. “Fuck off! Get outta here!” But his friends didn’t go anywhere. The window was very low to the ground outside since the backroom was technically below ground — the Cityside Barbershop of north Lawndale was in the basement of a building, accessible only through a narrow stone staircase from the street. The window that was accessible from the alley was one of those narrow half-windows just above the asphalt. Braxton’s niggas had to get on the pavement and crowd in to watch.
“You ain’t get started yet?!”
“Ramrod the fuck outta that nigga, Desmond! Make him yo’ prison bitch!”
Braxton snorted and flared his nostrils as he stripped off his clothes. He went very slow, reluctant, while Desmond’s eyes went from excited to drooling in a matter of moments. He folded all of his clothes, even his drawers, and he kept his chains on, jingling when he moved. Braxton had a broad, muscular chest and plenty of thickness. Each ass-cheek was like an overinflated volleyball, tight and hard and expansive. His butt was also juicy and just slightly hairy, a perfect rear on a perfectly imperfect-shaped man.
“Swallow that nigga nut, Braxton!”
Braxton stood awkwardly. He didn’t know how to begin. His massive brown dick dangled between his legs. Desmond tried to joust — that was a simple act, so he thought it’d be good to start with that — but Braxton was much too tall. Even on his toes, Desmond couldn’t get his cock to touch Braxton’s.
So he led Braxton by the cock to a corner of the backroom where there was a barber’s chair waiting to be reupholstered because there was a bullet-hole in it. Desmond stood on the barber’s chair, which finally made it possible to jack both him and Braxton off at once.
Desmond stroked both throbbing shafts. His own dick throbbed forcefully, like there was something in there trying to escape, because he was hard and every moment he touched Braxton’s big dick brought him closer to orgasm. Braxton remained limp, ignoring his dick as he eyed his niggas through the window with a hostile glare. They leered and teased him from afar.
“Come on, you do it,” Desmond said with a giggle. “Jack us both off.” He enjoyed playing with Braxton’s soft meat, but he wanted to see Braxton do it. He kissed Braxton on his thick, scruffy neck and his powerful pecs.
Braxton scowled but grabbed both cocks. He leaned his head back and looked away. He spat on the cement floor. He took both shafts in one hand, shivered when his limp dick touched Desmond’s hard one, and stroked them both together.
“You like dat, Braxton?!
“Ooh, lookit that gangsta meat! Gettin’ hard, ain’t he? Gonna get love from Desmond soon.”
“I say shut the fuck up, niggas! You think I won’t come out there and kick yo’ ass?” Braxton shouted. His chest heaved, and he pounded on his pecs. His upper half was ruddy and raging, but his lower half was awkward, limp and too-nervous to be excited about anything. His meaty hand absent-mindedly stroked Desmond’s dick, which throbbed and leaked precum into his fingers. The fluids coated his shaft, proving lubrication for Braxton’s hand. He didn’t seem to notice because he was focused on threatening his friends. “We agreed we wouldn’t make fun of whoever did this. That’s a rule, niggas!”
“We said we wouldn’t make fun of you after it’s done, nigga. That’s what we said. That was what you said. It was yo’ idea. It was yo’ idea to draw straws too. We was gonna let Desmond choose.”
“Fuck you!”
They were laughing so hard they were crying. Desmond smiled as Braxton roared in anger.
“Dem bitches better do it so good,” he said. “Fuck… I wanna see ’em do it all. Lacy Nichols is gonna be there, nigga. Hot damn, if I see her sticking a dildo in that thick girl’s ass… I will bust my nut right there.”
His dick finally perked up as his eyes grew cloudy, picturing the women. Braxton’s meaty shaft grew hard beneath his hand, and it throbbed next to Desmond’s dick. Now that he was erect, his cock was much bigger than Desmond’s.
“If you wait until they tell you what to do, it’ll be more embarrassing than if you just do it yo’self, sweetie,” Desmond said. He acted as feminine as possible to make this easier for Braxton, who growled and looked at Desmond as though his flamboyant lilt made Braxton horny enough to forget that Desmond was a man.
He nodded and flared his nostrils again. He sunk to his knees, ignoring the catcalls and jeers of his friends. He opened his mouth.
“Open wide, bitch!
“Swallow that meat, nigga! Swallow it good!”
“No teeth! If you feel teeth, Desmond, you can punch him. He’ll get the message!”
Desmond’s cock slid past his lips, and Braxton choked from the moment he tasted it. His moist tongue twitched when Desmond’s cock entered his mouth, sending a shiver of desire up Desmond’s spine.
His cock was already hard, so when it reached the back of Braxton’s throat, he was already leaking precum. It flowed down Braxton’s gullet, making him wince and writhe. Despite his discomfort, he soon relaxed and got better at deep-throating it — his massive body helped, since he had a massive mouth and a massive throat to go with it.
“Throat his face, Desmond!”
Desmond was planning on doing that anyway. That was how Braxton did it when he came in for a haircut, so it made sense to throat him back now that their situations were reversed. Desmond felt tiny touching Braxton’s head — Desmond’s fingers were small and delicate in comparison.
The haircut was really very good, Desmond thought. He was proud of himself. Thinking about that as his cock slid down Braxton’s throat made him giggle like a schoolgirl. His fingers massaged Braxton’s scalp through his hair.
Desmond began grinding his hips, rubbing his cock over every corner of Braxton’s mouth. Despite his initial reluctance, Braxton almost seemed to be enjoying himself. He gurgled and slathered spit all along Desmond’s throbbing cockshaft.
The dense nest of beard hair scratched at Desmond’s cock and his balls when they slapped against his chin. The hairs were coarse and kinky, and thick enough that it looked like Desmond’s dick disappeared into Braxton’s beard rather than his mouth. Spit and precum dripped from Braxton’s lips and soaked his beard.
At last Braxton pulled off, just as Desmond began to get worried he would blow his load early. He grimaced and looked away, holding back a gag as a ball of fluids leaked from his mouth and landed with an audible plop on the floor.
“Nice mouth, Braxton! You can do me next!
“Yeah, but you gotta shave that beard first!
“Fuck you, niggas! I’ll kick yo’ ass when we done in here,” Braxton said. “I don’t gotta let you watch them girls get nasty, man! I’ll make you leave!”
“Ain’t up to you, nigga. You ain’t the grand marshall of they pussies. They made an agreement wit’ all of us. As long as one nigga let Desmond ram ‘im, they gonna let all of us watch ’em get nasty wit’ each other.”
“Ah shit, you think they gonna scissor? I hope they scissor.”
As the boys outside laughed and argued over what they could get the girls to do to each other, Desmond thought it was funny that the girls didn’t want to watch. They wanted Braxton to humiliate himself, but they weren’t interested in seeing it happen. The boys, meanwhile, were desperate to see some girl-on-girl action, no matter what it took.
“Don’t worry, I’ll lick you till you good and loose, nigga, and I’ll give you a reacharound,” Desmond said.
Braxton grunted as he bent over. He first grabbed his ankles like a soldier at boot camp waiting to get it up the ass from his drill sergeant. But he was so tall that was not at all an effective position for Desmond. He tapped Braxton’s hefty asscheeks until he got down on all fours.
That was perfect. Desmond dived in, tongue-first. He slammed his tongue deep into Braxton’s asshole, in the thicket of hair in his asscrack. He wanted to shock him into opening up right away, which worked even better than he thought it would — that hole parted like the Red Sea. Desmond’s tongue fit easily inside.
“Make love to that nigga, Desmond! Shoot some babies up inside him!”
He could have licked that big burly asshole for hours. Desmond loved giving rimjobs, and he had never gotten to taste Braxton’s insides before.
But he was ready to move on. He left a finger in the hole to keep it loose as he got ready to ram.
“Here I go, baby, tell me if it hurts too bad,” Desmond said, quietly enough that only Braxton could hear.
When his dick pushed in, a shudder of pleasure ran up Desmond’s spine, while Braxton grunted. He lifted his head and rolled his eyes. He bit his lip to stifle a louder sound.
“Ah, damn, there it is, Braxton! That’s a dick in yo’ ass!”
“Fuck you, niggas! You know this ain’t a big deal, right?! I ain’t a bitch! He ain’t a real man!” Braxton barked. Then he sniffled. “Sorry. I mean… You is a real man, Desmond. Just… you ain’t a gangsta. Don’t count.”
Desmond nodded. That was fine with Desmond. It all seemed silly to him.
A long, low howl escaped from Braxton’s throat as the last of Desmond’s cock slid inside him. His massive ass swallowed up Desmond’s dick just like his mouth had done. His insides were soft and warm and tight, but just loose enough that Desmond could slip in and out. He had never rammed anyone quite so perfect, he thought as he slapped each of Braxton’s big brown cheeks. He watched them jiggle and felt the muscle tense beneath his touch.
“Ha ha! He like it! He lovin’ it! Can I go next, nigga?!”
“I do not! No way!” Braxton groaned. He wrenched his head back and groaned. It sounded like a moan of pain, but Desmond could tell it wasn’t — or rather, there was some real pain there, that was understandable, but even more than that was a wave of prostate orgasm rolling through Braxton’s body. His muscles all tensed, turning him into a giant slab of warm marble into which Desmond slammed his body.
As Braxton squirmed in pain and pleasure, Desmond reached around him. Desmond was so much smaller than Braxton that it wasn’t easy to do. He had to really stretch to get his hands onto Braxton’s dick.
But as soon as he did, he saw that he was right — Braxton was as hard as he had ever been. He must be really enjoying this, or at least enjoying part of it. Luckily from their perspective, Braxton’s friends couldn’t see that he was hard. All they saw was Braxton’s intense squirming and his agonized grunts.
Desmond decided to lie. “Come on, you gotta get yo’ dick hard, nigga,” he said. The men outside laughed, calling Braxton a limp-dick nigga, but it was clear they were disappointed — it’d have been easier to make fun of him if he was hard when he got it up the ass.
Of course, his dick was hard. He grunted as it throbbed and leaked precum into Desmond’s fingers. He tried to whisper something, but he couldn’t quite form any words. Desmond could tell he wanted to say thanks for Desmond pretending he wasn’t hard, and Desmond responded by affectionately licking the small of Braxton’s back.
The more Desmond plowed back and forth, the more intense was Braxton’s reaction. Since he was such a big man, his every motion provoked an even bigger response in Desmond’s body as he tried to keep up. Braxton even lifted himself up, forcing Desmond to climb onto his back.
He couldn’t really hump effectively in this position. His dick was all the way deep inside Braxton, throbbing within his guts, but his feet were not on the floor anymore. Braxton thrashed and grunted, and Desmond could do little more than hold on to his meaty shoulder with one hand, while his other hand gripped Braxton’s cock — he couldn’t even get enough leverage to masturbate Braxton, all he did was hold on as Braxton squirmed.
“Wreck dat nigga, nigga!”
“You can use his tears as lube, Desmond!”
From a distance, to the men in the window, it no doubt looked like Braxton was in tremendous pain, like tiny Desmond was holding him down and ramrodding him hard. But in fact, Desmond could barely maintain his position. He wiggled his hips a bit, moving his cock around within Braxton’s ass, but all the power came from Braxton, who shifted and moved, tightened and relaxed his ass, and humped his hips so he that humped Desmond’s hand and penetrated himself with Desmond’s cock at the same time.
In the end, Braxton even shot his load first. Desmond clutched desperately to his shoulder with his left hand, while his right held onto Braxton’s throbbing cock.
Cum sprayed over Desmond’s fingers, bursting forth in a thick torrent that coated the floor of the backroom. Braxton moaned loudly, and the pleasurable tenor of his voice was unmistakeable. His spine shook and he threw his head back as beads of sweat dappled his flesh.
“Hot damn, nigga, looks like Desmond gettin’ you good!”
“You wanna take my dick next, Braxton?!”
Braxton shook his head and grunted, heaving deeply for air. He finally relaxed enough to drop back down to all fours, which placed Desmond back on his feet on the ground.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He had no sooner flexed his hips one time when an intense orgasm began deep within him. His cock slid all the way into Braxton’s ass, making the bigger man contort all over again.
Braxton’s exhausted knees buckled, and he slid to the floor. His belly landed with a splat in the puddle of cum he had just spewed out, while he groaned into the cement floor.
With his arms spreading over Braxton’s thick back, massaging the muscles there, Desmond shot his own load deep into Braxton’s ass. Though he couldn’t see it of course, it felt like a huge wad of cum, thick and creamy, spreading into Braxton’s guts. They both moaned together, Desmond’s weaker voice harmonizing with Braxton’s baritone boom.
He kept going as he came, because Desmond loved doing that — they called it butter-churning. His cock slid in and out, lubricated by his own load. Pangs of unimaginable bliss shot up Desmond’s spine, and judging from the way Braxton sighed at the same time, he experienced the same thing.
Since he kept penetrating Braxton, churning butter in his guts, Desmond’s cum soon turned into a thick, frothy mess. It dripped out of Braxton’s ass, the pearly white color of Desmond’s cum contrasting with the deep brown of Braxton’s skin. It soaked into his ass-hair and dripped between his legs onto the floor.
At last, Desmond was limp. He could have laid like that, head resting on Braxton’s broad sweat-dripping back, for hours. But he could tell that Braxton was getting calmer, which meant his ass was going to start hurting now that the adrenaline rush was over.
“You like that, big boi! Sure look like you loved it!”
So Desmond pulled out. He kissed Braxton’s bare shoulders, and pulled out some wetnaps he always kept back here. He wiped off his own cock and carefully cleaned all of the cum and santorum that had dripped out of Braxton’s ass.
Aside from wincing a little when Desmond’s fingers and his wetnaps touched Braxton’s sensitive asshole, Braxton remained still and silent, recovering. Then he rolled over to let Desmond wipe off the cum from his belly and his limp, pulsating cock. He smiled bashfully.
“That weren’t so bad, nigga,” he said. He whispered, looking suspiciously towards the window as though his friends might try to climb in (which was impossible anyway, since it was only a very narrow half-window). “Don’t tell them I said that though. Tell them I didn’t cum. Tell them I didn’t even get hard. Tell them I’m too gangsta.”
“Okay. The girls didn’t say you had to cum too?”
“Nah,” he said as he stretched his legs and stood on weak knees. “That was it.” He smiled. “Ah, hell yeah, they gonna let me watch. I bet they let me finger ’em too while they do it.”
“Good luck,” Desmond said. “If you ever wanna play Truth or Dare with me, come on by.”
He smiled politely, but he shook his head. “That’s a baby’s game. We only play it wit’ bitches cuz they act like fuckin’ babies,” he said. He slowly got dressed. “But, I mean… maybe we could mess around sometime. I mean, not like we normally do. But, y’know…”
“Yeah,” Desmond said. He waited to put his own clothes on so he could watch Braxton’s naked body for as long as possible. “I do know, and I’d like that very much.”