The Home Invaders

When Avery is woken up by a home invasion in progress, he never thought it would end like this!

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After spending years living with roommates, Avery was overjoyed at finally having a home of his own. He rented a house in the inner-city. It was a run-down, two-bedroom affair, broken windows sealed up with cardboard and all, a stamp-sized front yard that was all brown like a mummified lawn. But it was Avery’s first chance to live totally on his own, and he had never felt more independent than when he first slept in his new bed there.
It wasn’t the nicest neighborhood, but it wasn’t the worst either. Avery didn’t even really care about how nice the neighborhood was — he could take care of himself.
Or so he thought. One night, just a few weeks after moving in, his ability to defend his home was put to the test. Avery woke up before dawn to the sound of a man breaking in.
Maybe two men.
His heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He grabbed the pepper spray he kept in his bedroom and hurried into the hallway.
There were two men there.
Avery stepped into the bathroom so they wouldn’t see him just yet. The closer one was young, handsome, short and lanky, but with bulging muscles beneath his baggy clothes. He had tight cheekbones and a smooth chin, cute but thinks he’s handsome, like an adorable newt. Avery might have seen him before, maybe at the bodega? He caught Avery’s eye because he had those dimples you could do dishes in.
The other one, who was unplugging the television in the living room, was bigger and older, scruffy, cornrowed and lighter-skinned. He was heavyset like a professional wrestler, with a craggy face like a lighthouse keeper. He had a deep scratchy voice too, and his smooth panther-like movements contradicted his apparent roughness, age and heavyset frame. Avery was a great appreciator of male physiques, and both of these men had remarkable ones.
There was no time to consider that though. Avery needed to get to his phone, so he could call the police.
“Yo, Rico, help me pack up this Playstation,” said the older one.
“Yeah, Thumper, in a sec.” Rico — the younger, handsome one — glanced down the hall. He looked worried, in contrast to Thumper’s confident glare. Rico seemed uncertain of whether he had seen movement.
Holding his breath, Avery hid deeper in the bathroom, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon.
“Rico! Nigga, come on!” Thumper said. “Nobody here, okay? Just help me get this shit!”
Rico sighed. He turned around.
Avery wished he had his cell phone with him so he could call the police, but he had stupidly plugged it in using a kitchen outlet — he was all out of outlets in his bedroom. Now it seemed so simple, he could have unplugged something he wasn’t going to use tonight. There were a ton of reasons to keep his phone near the bed.
Wait! A memory lightbulbed up in Avery’s mind. He had put that box of stuff in the bathroom closet, the box with the flashlight and stuff from that one drawer in the apartment — the drawer that was beside the door in his old apartment, which was why he put the pepper spray in that drawer. The pepper spray was in the closet.
While the two home invaders were stacking up Avery’s television and Playstation by the door, Avery silently opened the bathroom closet. He rifled through the box until he found the pepper spray.
Just around the corner, in the hall, Rico opened the hall closet — which was adjacent to the bathroom closet Avery was in, though neither of them knew they were a few feet from each other, practically looking at each other despite the wall in the way. Rico whistled in surprise, which was when Avery realized where he was.
“Thought you said it was just a single man living here,” Rico said.
“Yup.”
“He got a closet full of women’s clothes,” Rico said.
That seemed to throw Thumper for a loop. Avery couldn’t see from his vantage point, but he thought Thumper was looking in the closet too. That meant they were both facing away from the bathroom.
This is your opportunity, he told himself. He crept out of the bathroom closet and quietly pushed the bathroom door open.
“Tall woman too,” Thumper said. “Prolly an ex-wife or some shit. Go on and look in the bedroom-“
“Fuck you, assholes!” Avery screamed and came into the living room, pepper spray in hand. He realized only when Thumper and Rico looked at him that he had never looked closely at this pepper spray. He didn’t know how to use it, or whether there was some kind of safety latch he needed to remove first. Sure enough, when he pressed the trigger, nothing happened. The can of pepper spray was unopened, and Thumper lazily knocked it out of Avery’s hand.
For a moment, all was silent. Thumper and Rico looked at Avery as though they had never seen a white man before. Avery was too scared to move.
Thumper chuckled. “Oh, damn. Someone is here.”
“Don’t hurt me!”
“Tie him up in his room,” Thumper said. He turned around to look in the drawers of the desk in the living room. He picked up an old iPod as though considering stealing that, then decided it wasn’t worth it. He set it back down.
Rico approached Avery with the confident, cocky glare of a thug. Avery, embarrassed at having been outmatched so easily, felt a surge of adrenaline — if he let these home invaders dictate what happened here, this would end up bad for sure.
“Goan, man,” Rico said. “Get to the bedroom.” Despite his confident demeanor, Avery could tell he was wavering. He had never done anything this violent.
“No. Fuck you,” Avery said. “Get outta my house.”
“Just take him, Rico!” Thumper barked.
Rico pushed Avery towards the hallway, but Avery had a few pounds on him. He stood flat-footed and didn’t move an inch. He pushed Rico back, and the smaller man nearly tripped over the couch. Rico looked like he hadn’t expected to have to make an effort. He was used to intimidating scared white men, but Avery’s adrenaline flowed too hard for him to be easy to scare.
Thumper laughed. “What’s wrong wit’choo, boy?”
“He pushed me!” shouted the annoyed Rico, who stomped towards Avery yet again.
“Yeah, he do that!” Thumper said. “We’s robbin’ him. He might push back. That happens, nigga. Shit’s fucked up.”
That momentary burst of success gave Avery a spring in his step. This time when Rico approached him, Avery used the self-defense techniques he learned in a karate class at the Y — he nearly knocked Rico over with a foot sweep, but instead put him in a bear hug. Rico’s lithe muscles squirmed beneath Avery’s touch as Avery kept a hold of him and dragged him to the front door.
He literally tossed Rico out into the front stoop, as Thumper laughed behind him like a baritone jackal. When Avery turned around, Thumper was screaming peals of laughter, clapping his hands on his meaty thighs.
“You got that, man, you got that!”
Avery blushed. He hadn’t meant to impress Thumper. Now that Rico was gone, Avery just needed to get rid of Thumper, or at least make it into the kitchen to call the police.
But then Rico walked right back in behind Avery. He once again tried to push Avery, who easily tossed him out the front door yet again.
This time, he was distracted long enough for Thumper — who still laughed as though he had never seen anything so funny — to grab Avery from behind. He wrapped both muscular arms around Avery and hissed. His basketball-thick arms were like iron bars, and Avery was unable to escape his hold.
“Get off me!”
“This is how you do it, nigga!” Thumper barked at Rico. Thumper’s powerful body pressed against Avery’s back.
Rico muttered as he followed Thumper, who dragged Avery into the bedroom. Rico shut the front door and wiped wet grass off his stained t-shirt. Avery wiggled in Thumper’s might grasp, ensconcing himself in Thumper’s broad chest muscles.
Despite or maybe because of all the fighting, Avery was horny. It came both from general excitement as well as from the strapping muscles of Thumper’s body, undulating behind his back. Avery could even feel a horsey cock beneath Thumper’s jeans, rubbing against the small of Avery’s back.
“Get some rope,” Thumper said as he tossed Avery on the bed on his belly.
Avery felt naked and vulnerable. He wore only a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. He tried to get up, but Thumper sat on the bed next to him, resting one heavy arm on Avery’s back.
“Get a rope!”
“I, uh, I ain’t got one.”
“I tol’ you bring a rope!”
“You said he wouldn’t be home! And I ain’t got a motherfuckin’ rope, nigga!”
Thumper sighed. “You stupid fuck. What we s’posed to tie him up with?”
“You said he wouldn’t be home.”
“What I said was bring a rope, nigga!” Thumper said. “You should stay prepared, man. Don’t come into some nigga’s house without rope to tie him up.” He patted Avery on the back of the head. “Sorry ‘bout callin’ you a nigga, whiteboy.”
“That’s okay. Just get out! Lemme go,” Avery said.
“Go find something we can tie him up with,” Thumper said with a sigh. He held Avery’s face in the pillow, not suffocating him, but keeping him from seeing what Rico was doing. After a few seconds, Thumper shouted in frustration. “Not in here, nigga! If there was something in here we could use to tie him up, I’d-a said ‘hand me that, nigga’. I said go find something!”
Rico muttered angrily to himself as he walked out the door the bedroom. He could be heard pawing through the hallway closet.
“Sorry, man, he young. He slow,” Thumper said. Leaving one hand on Avery’s neck and hand, his other rested on Avery’s back. That hand moved slowly lower, then he squeezed Avery’s asscheek. “He ain’t nevuh been locked up. He don’t know.” He leaned in and kissed the back of Avery’s neck. “You got a nice booty.” He let out a choked moan. “Boy, if you was my cellmate… I’d brew up something in yo’ ass and yo’ mouth, e’ry damn day.”
Avery shuddered at the thought. He was so aroused now his dick was already getting hard, pressing into the mattress beneath him.
“You into that, huh?”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said. “You can ram me. Just don’t rob me.”
Thumper laughed. “Those things ain’t mutually exclusive, man,” he said. “And you ain’t in position to be making demands.” He chuckled as he stood up. He unzipped the fly of his jeans and fished out a long dark cock. “There’s two options before you, but they both lead you to the same place.”
His head moved of its own will towards Thumper’s cock. Avery hesitated, inhaling that musty, prison-starved scent — he could tell that the underwear Thumper wore was that plain white kind, prison-issue boxers. He must be a recent releasee, or maybe he just never quite got over his release.
But before Avery could open his mouth to suck it down, Thumper took his head in hand and pulled it into his crotch. The silky sensation of limp cockmeat filled Avery’s mouth, and Avery inhaled deeply of the scent of his wiry pubic bush, which was all-black despite the streaks of gray in his beard and his cornrows. Thumper had an intense and potent flavor. He tasted of blunt ash and grimy city streets. He smelled of prison cells, men in cramped conditions and unwashed ballsweat.
In no time his cock began to firm up within Avery’s mouth. It grew hot and thick, and Avery let his tongue caress the underside of Thumper’s veiny shaft. He slurped up the sweat that clung to his shaft.
“Oh yeah…” Thumper murmured. “I only got outta prison yesterday, man. I needed this.”
Thumper kept all his clothes on. He didn’t even drop his pants, he just let his cock poke out of the fly of his jeans. As Avery licked, Thumper stooped more and more to give Avery better access to his entire dick. Soon enough, Thumper was leaning over the entire bed, humping Avery’s face like a dog.
His dick kept angling out of Avery’s mose and smearing spit over his face. It was at least a foot long and thick as Avery’s wrist, and it throbbed with a desperate, intense horniness. Thumper thrust with all his might even as he missed Avery’s mouth. Whenever he got a good rhythm of throating Avery down for a few seconds, he moaned and groaned and undulated his powerful chest muscles.
The smell of a lit cigarette filled the room. Avery was annoyed — he didn’t allow smoking in his home. He hated cigarettes, but he wasn’t about to complain, even if his mouth weren’t full. Lit cigarette cocked between his lips, Thumper climbed all the way onto the bed.
The position was awkward. No one would have ever chosen to get dome in this position, but Thumper didn’t seem to mind. Maybe he was used to overcrowded prisons. Avery’s body jammed against the wall of his room, laying on his side, while Thumper crawled onto the bed, stooping over so his cock could reach out of his sagging jeans and into Avery’s throat.
“Slurp it good, nigga,” Thumper said. He snuck one callused hand behind Avery’s head, holding it still while he worked his cock in and out. When Avery finally gagged on its thickness invading his throat, Thumper murmured his approval. “There ya go. That’s the sound of a job done right. Move yo’ tongue around mo’.”
Avery did as he was told. He had never tasted a cock this delicious before. Avery could still savor the drops of untainted sweat that clung to his shaft, rather than tasting nothing more than his own spit.
Then the overwhelming saltiness of precum hit Avery’s senses. He moaned around the fat cock in his throat, which made Thumper laugh. He lightly smacked Avery on the cheek, and his callused fingers squeezed his nose shut to help his throat open more.
“You fo’ real, man,” he said. “I like you. You wanna slurp on my balls?”
He didn’t need to ask Avery twice. Avery reached into the hairy dankness of Thumper’s crotch and withdrew a low-hanging sac from the fly of his jeans. He drooled as he pulled off Thumper’s cock and let both hairy balls fall into his mouth.
That enormous brown dick stood straight up from his face. Avery lazily stroked it with one hand, giggling at sight of Thumper’s meat twitching with every touch — Avery kept his hand off-rhythm, light, just barely stroking Thumper’s shaft as he gurgled on those sensitive balls. That was tortuously tantalizing for Thumper, whose hands fluttered as though he was unwilling to touch himself no matter how much his instincts demanded it.
“Whatchoo doin, nigga?!” Rico screamed when he came back into the bedroom. He dropped the soft cloth belt from a bathrobe, which is apparently what he found with which to tie Avery down. Rico sounded like he was about to start crying.
Thumper laughed. “What’s it look like, lor nigga?”
Rico hesitated. He stood there in the doorway. Avery couldn’t see his face because Thumper’s balls overflowed from his mouth, and all that was in front of his eyes was that towering shaft of chocolate brown cock. With every barrel laugh of Thumper’s heavy body, Avery felt the balls on his tongue quiver. He suckled as loudly as he could, and the moist sound of gargling balls filled the room.
Rico audibly gagged. He came closer, approaching gingerly, as though it was a bomb he needed to find a way to defuse.
“You ramrodding’ that man?” Rico asked.
Thumper laughed again, and his balls twitched in Avery’s mouth. “Nah. He slurpin’ on my balls, nigga. Does it look like my dick is in his ass?”
“Ewwww…! He’s slurpin’ on ya balls, nigga!”
“I know, I just said that-
“Why’s he slurpin’ on ya balls? Ain’t that gross?”
“He likes it.”
There was a long silence. Avery could hear Rico come even closer, and kneel as he looked right at the balls disappearing down Avery’s throat.
“He likes the taste of balls?” He peered closer but stepped away as though worried about being splashed. He wrinkled his nose.
Thumper grabbed Rico’s head. Rico squealed and tried to pull away, but Thumper held him close. He dragged his head right to Avery’s ball-slurping face. For a moment it looked like Thumper was going to make Rico swallow his cock while Avery kept working on his balls.
But he didn’t let Rico go. He just held his face there for a long time, so close the spit from Avery’s ball-slurping splattered on Rico’s nose. Rico gagged and bucked, and Thumper let him go.
This time, Thumper and Avery both laughed together, though the sound of Avery’s laughter was a moistly muffled roar because his mouth was full. Rico wiped his face off and roared.
“Ewww! Ew, nigga! I tasted that!”
“Don’t nevuh get locked up, nigga,” Thumper said. He pulled his moist scrotum out of Avery’s mouth, planted it right on Avery’s nostrils and laughed at Rico’s shocked reaction. Avery snaked his tongue out to tease the underside of Thumper’s ballsac.
“I won’t!”
“You gunna embarrass me if you do.” Thumper pointed the tip of his dick into Avery’s mouth, but just jabbed it in once before getting up. He kneeled on the bed, straddling Avery’s body. He grabbed Rico’s dick and put it on his dick, but Rico let go without acknowledging that. Thumper said, “You know how things go in there, nigga.”
“Yeah!” Rico sounded like he was about to cry. “I know how lockup works, brah. If I was in there, I might lay some pipe in a nigga. But I ain’t. I-“
“You don’t want that to be yo’ first time, Rico,” Thumper said. His fingers gripped Avery’s face, rubbing his cheeks and stretching his mouth open. He leaned over until he was so close he nearly kissed Avery right on the lips. Rico watched with baited breath, but then all Thumper did was purse his lips and spit. A wad of saliva landed right in Avery’s mouth, and Thumper forced his lips shut. Thumper licked Avery’s spasming face from his chin to his forehead. “You mine, bitch.” He chuckled to himself. “It ain’t the same if you want it. I kinda miss makin’ prison bitches squirm,” he said, ruefully. “You wanna mouth off this nigga too?”
“God yes!” Avery shouted.
Rico didn’t respond and maybe didn’t understand what Thumper said. He wavered, and looked away when Thumper smiled at him. Without taking his body off the bed, Thumper wrapped one arm around Rico’s shoulder. Rico shuddered.
“C’mon, nigga. You should do this. You ain’t gotta tell no one,” Thumper said. “You gonna look like an idiot if yo’ first time wit’ a man happens behind bars. Don’t young niggas do shit on the downlow these days?”
“No!”
Thumper rolled his eyes. “You don’t, you mean. I know some young niggas do.”
“I got females, Thumper!” Rico said, his voice plaintive and desperate. He closed his eyes while Thumper guided him close to the bed. Rico began undoing his belt, but Thumper stopped him.
“Nah. Real thugs don’t take they clothes off, not to ram it up some whiteboy,” Thumper said. “You might have to run wit’ a quickness.”
Rico’s breathing was slow and swift. He was very nervous, and his hands trembled as he unzipped his fly. He took a deep breath and let his cock flop out. It was plenty long but not as remarkable as Thumper’s, and it wasn’t as thick. Avery still looked at it hungrily.
“Well? Come on, put it in his mouth,” Thumper said. He chuckled. “Gonna break you in tonight, Rico, shit…”
Rico winced. He closed his eyes again, and bit his lip. His dick waggled in front of Avery’s face. Thumper held it in one hand and wagged it like a dog’s tail. Rico sucked in his breath and looked away.
“Rico, you fucking pussy, just do it, if you gonna do it. If you scairt of this whiteboy and wanna run out the door, do that,” Thumper said. “Is you a thug or ain’t you? Thugs ain’t goddamn squeamish ‘bout who swallow they nut. Head is head.”
Rico nodded. He didn’t seem any more relaxed, and with his eyes still closed, he could do little more than flop his cock in the general direction of Avery’s mouth. Avery was eager to taste it. He lifted his head the best he could with Thumper still pinning him down. He got the tip of Rico’s dick in his mouth, but as soon as he touched it with his tongue, Rico giggled like a teenager and backed away.
“Rico!” Thumper screamed. “Don’t be a goddamn pussy. You almost twenty years old, actin’ like a fuckin’ pansy.”
With a startle, Rico stepped forward again. He opened his eyes just long enough to see that Thumper’s cock was still rock-hard, resting against Avery’s face. Thumper roared in frustration and grabbed Rico’s cock with one hand. He aimed it for Avery’s mouth.
“Shit, Thumper! You touchin’ my dick again!” Rico’s eyes opened wide, looking at his shaft in Thumper’s hand. He stood on his toes and sucked in his breath, but he didn’t back away from Thumper.
“Don’t be squeamish,” Thumper said with a snarl.
Avery was shocked that Thumper would touch another man’s dick. It looked like Rico was even more surprised. He looked at it like a bad car accident as Thumper led his dick to Avery’s mouth. Rico stepped forward stiffly, wishing he hadn’t agreed to rob houses with Thumper — he had known something like this would happen — not this exactly, but something unpleasant, Thumper was like that — Rico considered leaving even now. He could leave. Thumper would tease him about it and probably tell everyone Rico left because he couldn’t get hard.
Rico didn’t want to seem squeamish, and a part of him did want a consequence-free orgasm. So he didn’t leave. He just tried to pretend it wasn’t Thumper’s middle-aged, callused fingers pawing over his meat, stroking the shaft and forcing it like a dead snake into Avery’s waiting mouth.
This time Avery immediately licked the tip, which perked up right away. Rico frowned and sucked in his breath, still watching as Thumper stroked him and Avery slurped on him.
Again, Thumper seemed uncaring of how much he touched Rico’s cock, as he pointed his own cock towards Avery’s mouth as well. Avery focused on getting Rico hard while Thumper’s dick poked at his lips. Rico’s lithe frame was so tense he was like a fully clothed statue, his knees trembling as he got hard in Avery’s mouth. Avery got one hand on both dicks and slurped on them both at the same time. Thumper’s was still rock-hard, Rico’s stayed soft as pudding.
“See, nigga? It ain’t bad. You gangbang bitches?”
“Yeah!” Rico scrunched his eyes half-shut, and he leaned back like he wanted to be as far from his dick as possible. He might have been holding his breath, Avery couldn’t tell.
“You ever joust in a bitch’s mouth?”
Rico mumbled over some words that Avery couldn’t quite catch. He sucked in his breath and looked away, then back at his dick touching Thumper’s dick and being battered by Avery’s tongue, then looked away again, then back. With a jolly grin, Thumper wrapped one arm around Rico and brought his head in. He kissed Rico on the forehead and laughed again as Rico pulled away from him.
“Lay off me, nigga! Why we gotta joust and shit?” Rico said.
“I just like fuckin’ wit’ you, nigga,” Thumper said. “But we ain’t gotta joust if you want. I’ll do him up the ass.” Then he backed away. He rolled Avery over onto his back, so Rico had to mount his body just like Thumper had been, in order to aim his dick into Avery’s mouth. Meanwhile, Thumper, in one smooth motion, lifted up Avery’s legs and pulled his sweatpants down.
“Oh shit, you isgonna ram that man!”
“Hell yeah, I ain’t some squeamish nigga who just wanna get his dick wet,” Thumper said. “I been locked up, nigga. I ain’t fuck for a long time.”
“Brah, I ain’t wanna hear that shit. That’s disgustin’-“
“Nigga! Shut yo’ goddamn mouth. If you keep complainin’, I’ll have you stick ‘im too,” he said.
Rico wasn’t really paying attention to his dick. He was much smaller than Thumper, so in order to mount Avery’s chest, he had to stretch his hips and thighs apart. It was distinctly uncomfortably for him, especially in those loose-fitting jeans he still wore. He kept his hips perfectly still as Avery slurped on his smooth brown shaft through the fly. Rico didn’t notice his dick was getting hard in Avery’s mouth.
“Keep yo’ head lookin’ that way if you don’t wanna see it,” Thumper said gruffly as he wedged the tip of his dick between Avery’s cheeks. He shoved a small pillow under there to lift up Avery’s ass, then rammed his dick in.
It was just the first few inches at first, but the pain was intense. Avery moaned around the cock in his throat, as pleasure followed the pain in pulsating throughout his body. That hot cock pushed deeper and deeper inside.
“Brah, can’t you give a warning? He almost bit down on my dick-“
“You ain’t figger out what was about to happen?” Thumper asked. He lifted his shirt up so it wouldn’t get in the way, then lifted it over his head, without taking it off. His high yellow chest was bare and gleaming with sweat. Thumper ground his dick in even deeper and chuckled at Avery’s squirming. “This honky know how to take it. How’s that dome, nigga?”
Rico didn’t answer. He closed his eyes again. His dick was hard, but it seemed that he was still too nervous and distracted to notice. His lithe body bucked instinctively.
“You best get tougher, nigga, or less handsome,” Thumper said. “Prison go’n eat you alive.”
“I ain’t goan to prison! And can you not talk? Yo’ voice is right in my ear. I can’t nut wit’ yo’ voice all up in my shit,” Rico said.
Thumper was leaning forward, so his breath condensed on Rico’s neck. “When you locked up, there ain’t always bitches around. Most of the time, you in a cell wit’ some dudes. Even if you got a bitch, he prolly ain’t around when you want him.”
“I ain’t tryin’-a get locked up, brah.”
“No one tries to get locked up, sometimes it just happens,” Thumper said. “And you gotta feel good however you can.”
Rico shuddered as Thumper’s hands caressed his back. Thumper lifted up his shirt to reveal a broad, smooth brown back. His fingers danced up and down Rico’s spine.
Then his hands roamed lower and lower, until they went past the waist of Rico’s jeans. He grabbed Rico’s plump asscheeks.
“You ever took it up the ass before?”
“No!”
“You got a hell of an ass, nigga,” Thumper said gruffly. He kissed Rico’s bare shoulder then rammed one finger up his asshole.
Rico was so nervous that his erection flagged inside Avery’s mouth. Avery didn’t mind, as this was arousing enough that he didn’t want it to end. Anything that made it go on longer was fine by him.
“How’s that feel, nigga?”
Rico closed his eyes, not willing to answer. He leaned forward and grimaced in pain as his hips began instinctually flexing forward and back, daggering his dick deep into Avery’s throat as he went forward.
Rico couldn’t see what Thumper was doing, so he had no idea that Thumper caressed Avery’s flat stomach. Then he grabbed Avery’s cock and gave it a stroke. He made a quiet shushing sound, which Avery gathered was aimed at him — Thumper didn’t want Rico to know he was giving a reacharound (of sorts — it wasn’t a real reacharound, since Avery was on his back; it was a reach-front).
With the taste of one cock in his mouth and another stimulating his prostate, Avery had no ability to delay his orgasm. He was about to bust a nut without anyone even touching his cock, and now that Thumper was stroking it, he couldn’t resist. Avery cried out but the sound was muffled by Rico’s cock.
Cum spurted from his cock, coating Thumper’s fingers. Thumper didn’t slow down at all. He kept stroking, and moaned as Avery’s body contorted around the cock in his ass.
Rico was so focused on the pleasure coming from both ends that he didn’t notice Avery orgasm. He breathed a sigh of relief as Thumper removed one finger from his ass then gasped when Thumper replaced it with one from the other hand, the hand he had just stroked Avery off with. Rico had no idea that the pinkie finger in his ass was coated in Avery’s cum.
“Ah, gawd, here it comes, brah,” Rico said, his voice soft and weak now that he was letting Thumper finger him. His voice even broke as the first few drops of cum coated Avery’s tongue.
“Nah, niggas paint they bitches’ face,” Thumper said. He grabbed Rico’s cock as it shot its load, pulled it out of Avery’s mouth and aimed it to spray all over his face. Rico’s entire tight body spasmed at Thumper’s touch, and his cock pulsated beneath Thumper’s fingers, his asshole squeezing the finger of Thumper’s other hand..
As the orgasm wrapped around Rico’s muscles, he leaned forward, gasping. Rico yelped and squirmed but didn’t try to crawl away, he just submitted to the humiliation of enjoying his cum spray into Avery’s mouth.
Thumper grunted. He stayed still for just a moment. He kissed Rico’s neck, making Rico shudder at the touch of Thumper’s lips. Avery stroked Rico’s sensitive cockshaft as he felt Thumper’s cumload spray within him.
It was hot and creamy, and Avery and Thumper moaned together, as though harmonizing with each other. Thumper’s guttural, tremulous tone filled the room, and Rico shuddered in disgust at the sound. Avery, feeling bold, pushed his hands up underneath Rico’s shirt. He gripped his pecs — just as he had suspected, Rico was small, but powerfully-muscled. Each pectoral muscle was like an overpumped basketball, tense with post-orgasmic glow and awkward tension, his older thug friend still massaging his back and fingering his ass.
Then he was done. Thumper didn’t move. He kept his limp cock right in Avery’s ass, while both cum-covered hands caressed Rico’s body. It was obvious he was playing a prank on Rico, seeing how much touching he would accept before complaining. Rico held his breath and closed his eyes, trying to pretend there weren’t men feeling him up from both sides.
“Okay, that’s enough, you two,” Rico finally said. He nearly fell off the bed in his haste to get away, and he sighed when Thumper leggo his ass. He shuddered as he pulled his shirt back down and tucked his cock away in his pants. “I know you just messin’ wit’ me.”
Thumper dismounted Avery’s ass, the intense pressure of being penetrated finally leaving Avery’s mind. Thumper stood next to the bed, then much to Avery’s surprise, he dropped his pants all the way to his ankles. A thick, hairy pair of asscheeks waited right above Avery’s face.
Thumper pulled those cheeks apart to reveal a twinkling brown asshole. He laughed at Rico’s shudder of disgust, and Thumper planted his ass right on Avery’s face.
“Give it a kiss, man,” Thumper said.
Avery did as he was told. Thumper waited for the kiss on his ass, then shuddered and stood up. He pulled his pants back up.
“Okay, we ain’t takin’ this man’s shit,” Thumper said.
“What?! After all that, nigga?”
Thumper nodded. “We already rammed him. That’s enough. Ain’t really got shit anyway.”
“Come back anytime,” Avery said. He blushed. He should follow them out to the living room, to make sure they didn’t actually take anything. But he was too weak from the dick he just took to stand or walk, so he just watched them both march out the door.
From the living room, he heard Rico scoff. “We ain’t comin’ back-“
“Hell yeah we is,” Thumper said. “You find me a female tomorrow night, Rico. If you can’t get one to take it in the ass, I’ll either ram you or this honky. Your choice.”
“Man, Thumper… I mean, him, obviously-“
“Yo’ choice. I like touchin’ yo’ ass while I ram. Might keep you wit’ me e’ry time from now on,” Thumper said. He paused and yelled back, “Later, whiteboy. Get some porno mags we can look at next time.” The door slammed shut, then Thumper opened it. “Black chicks!”
“Okay,” Avery said, his voice too weak for anyone outside the bedroom to hear. He heard Thumper chuckling as he slammed the front door again, and Avery breathed a sigh of relief.
He was exhilarated. He settled down in his sheets, unwilling to move because he could still smell that masculine scent. He didn’t want it to ever go away.
There was a tap on his window. It was Rico’s handsome cornrowed face, frowning at him. “Hey, man? Thanks for that. I’ll come back alone sometime. I don’t wanna mess around with that ol’ nigga. But I want another nut from you. Don’t tell no one, okay?”
“Okay,” Avery said breathlessly.
Rico paused and whisper-yelled away from the window. “Alright, Thumper, damn! I’m comin’! I just dropped my lighter.” Then he muttered into the window before scurrying away. “Keep yo’ door unlocked and yo’ lips unchapped, man. I be back.”

The John

Avery is at it again, and this time he has his eyes set on a jive-talking black man from the ‘hood who would rather bang a ho… But when Avery dangles a couple dollars in front of his face, Wink is ready to give him a swing on that alpha male meat!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“There you is, Wink, I see you comin’ my way! Why dontcha break me off a piece of that sugar?”
That was it, that was him.
Avery stepped out from behind the dumpster and stopped in front of Wink. He was a tall black man, muscular but not large, firm and tight-bodied beneath an ill-fitting suit. It wasn’t colorful enough or nice enough to be a pimp suit — it was faded and frayed, loose threads and old stains abounding. A few holes had been darned inexpertly.
Andre “Wink” Winkle came down here to Canal Street, behind Brentwood Projects, every weekend. He always paid for a blowjob from one of the hookers. He always asked for anal, but he never had the money for it. He begged them to let him in the back-door for free, even promising that he’d lick their pussy when he was done.
Avery thought Wink was willing to try a different route to that backdoor.
“I’m comin’ fo’ you, girl!” Wink said to the prostitutes. He walked slowly, with a barely perceptible limp.
“Hey,” Avery said. He startled Wink, who glared at him. “You wanna make some money? I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to do to me whatever you were gonna do to her. You can ram me six ways to Sunday.”
Wink had been bopping his head to an unheard beat as he came down the alley. He kept bouncing on his feet, even as his eyes bugged out. Then finally he stopped and chuckled.
“Yo,” he said, hsi voice flat and simple. “What?”
Avery repeated himself. He blushed. This was always the awkward part, and he was suddenly a lot less confident that Wink would say yes. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars. All you gotta do is ram me.”
“Yo, I, uh, I don’t mess ‘round on the downlow, sho’ don’t, sho’ don’t.”
“This wouldn’t be on the downlow, this would be here in public.”
“That ain’t a sellin’ point, man,” he said with a snarl. He pushed Avery out of the way. “Go’n, boi, get outta here b’fore I swipe yo’ head off. I ain’t no boytoy, no way, no way.” He had barely even stopped walking for a moment before continuing on, doing his little rap to that same beat he had been tapping as he came in. He shook his head and headed towards the girls.
“C’mon, baby, you look tasty tonight! You wear that suit like a stud!”
“You get all dressed up like that for me, sweetie? Ain’t you the handsomest?!”
Avery was disappointed. He was usually a good read on men. Wink had seemed like he’d do it for some money, but the way he phrased that and the way he moved on right away made it seem like he would not do it for any amount of money.
“Yo, sweetheart, you lookin’ fine in that dress. Whatcha think ‘bout-” Wink stopped talking and turned around. He jogged back to Avery and smiled, showing off deep dimples. “Yo, I forgot, I do it. Two hundred and some pee.” Then, he gasped, “I mean, in a cup, man. Pee in a cup. Not, you know… Pee in a cup. I need it tomorruh for a pee test. Need it bad, fo’ real, this nigga need it bad.”
Avery was taken aback. “Oh. You forgot? You forgot you do swing downlow?”
“I just… I ‘membered this little chore I got, yo, it’s real impo’tant and it ain’t not a bit of yo’ business ‘t all,” he said. He snorted. “But yeah, I gots a plan fo’ that money, hell yeah, hell yeah. And that’ll be the first time I evuh got clean pee for my PO.” He peered at Avery. “You smoke weed?” He screwed up his eyebrows,
“No. Well, yes, but I haven’t smoked in months,” Avery said.
He nodded. “Okay, good.” He produced a specimen cup — an actual one, from a lab — and handed it over.
Avery went behind the dumpster to pee. “You carry this around with you?”
“I was goin’ somewhere wit’ it, yo,” he said with a snooty snarl. He came up behind Avery by the dumpster. He swiped the cup from him as soon as Avery had replaced the lid. He didn’t seem to care that a few drops of pee got on the sleeve of his ratty old suit. “Get on yo’ knees. You ain’t a girl, so don’t even think I’mma seduce you or call you ‘sweetheart’ or kiss you. I don’t nevuh did stick no male man, no way. Nope, nope.”
“No problem,” Avery said as he dropped to his knees.
The nearby hos could still be heard. “Where’d Wink go? He was just here.”
“I saw him.”
Wink chuckled dryly. He had a nice, raspy throat that made Avery hard. Avery undid the fly of his nattered suitpants. He pulled out a juicy, fat cock. Since Wink was lean-limbed and not especially large, his cock looked even bigger, extending almost all the way to his knees and as plump in diameter as his forearm.
“Just put the tip in yo’ mouth, boy,” Wink said. Then he clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Yo, I don’t like sayin’ that. I’mma call you girl. Okay, girl? Huh? Huh?”
“Uh-huh,” Avery spoke around the cock throbbing in his throat. It was limp still, but it was gathering steam. He could feel it twitching and twinkling as Wink got used to the situation.
“Alright, yo, girl, alright, put the tip in yo’ mouth.” He paused and pulled out a cigarette. He patted his pants pockets. “Damn, girl, you got a lighter?”
Avery shook his head. He put the tip of Wink’s dick in his mouth and suckled loudly, moistly. He got a taste of clean cock — it was clear Wink had showered right beforehand. He must have wanted to be at his cleanest for the prostitute he planned on hiring.
Wink snorted. A trashy-looking white redneck walked past the dumpster, heading towards the girls. He didn’t notice Wink throating Avery down in the shadows. “Yo, hey, man,” Wink called out to him. “You got a light, man?”
The redneck nodded. He fished a lighter out and gave it to Wink, who lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. The redneck realized then that Wink was getting dome from a man, and he backed away. “Uh, keep the lighter,” he said. He turned around and darted towards the prostitutes.
Wink cackled. “Whiteboys don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this kinda shit. They squeamish as all hell, yo.” He took another drag. “Free lighter, alright, alright, alright.” He sighed. “Now get yo’ tongue out a bit, girl. Move it around some.”
Avery did what he said. He kept sucking on the tip and licking the shaft at the same time, his tongue flickering out to tease every inch of his manhood. Wink leaned against the brick wall facing the dumpster. He closed his eyes and groaned.
“Yo, lick right here, baby,” he said. He pointed to a spot, and when Avery licked that enthusiastically, Wink groaned again. He smiled. “Yeah, you pretty good. I’m gonna keep tellin’ you how to do it, girl. Hope that’s okay. I’m sure you got ‘xperience, but I like it done in just the right way. Lick here now, girl, get that tongue out… Yeah… Yeah…” He spoke in a low, slow-melting voice.
“Hmmm, c’m’ere big boy…!”
“Want a date, sugah?”
“Is that you, Wink? I see you there. Whatchoo doin’ behind the dumpsters? Ain’t you gonna come see me?”
Wink laughed and covered his face. He poked his head out from behind the dumpster. “Hey, sweetheart! I might take a break this week.” He snorted and smiled. “Wait! Nah! You come on ovuh here, Bethlyn! I got somethin’ for yo’! It’s gonna be real special!” His voice was smooth and kind, but then he glared down at Avery and spoke more brusquely. “Alright, you can deep-throat me now, girl.”
Avery was excited to show his capabilities. He slammed his face all the way down on Wink’s dick, until his nose mashed into the fabric of his slacks. His wiry pubic hair scratched at Avery’s lips, and his balls swayed against his chin.
“Okay, nice, alright then, alright, alright,” Wink said, bristling, shifting his weight between his feet like he hadn’t expected Avery’s mouth to feel so good. He smiled as Bethlyn approached. She was a big black girl with a wide ass. She wore a bright green dress that showed off her assets. She smiled at Wink, then frowned when she saw that his dick was in a man’s mouth.
“Hello,” she said. She glared at Avery and barked out, “What’s this? You stealin’ my customers? My daddy Slim Jay ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout that.”
Avery grinned, but he didn’t pull off Wink’s cock, which throbbed in his throat. Wink gasped like he was shocked that Avery could deepthroat him all the way to the root.
“Don’t be salty, baby,” Wink said. He leaned over and kissed Bethlyn on the cheek. “He payin’ me, I’m just savin’ some money. You still my one and only. Maybe I can pay you fo’ some anal action next week, you know.”
“Uh-huh.” She put her hands on her hips. “You leavin’ me high and dry.”
“I don’t want you dry, no way, no way. Lemme give you ten,” he said. He pulled out a ten dollar bill. “I finger yo’ real good, baby, baby doll.” He smiled and held up two fingers like he was negotiating. “I put two fingers in yo’ pussy and one in the ass. You like that? Huh? Or you want two in the ass and one in yo’ pussy?”
She took the ten dollar bill. She frowned down at Avery. “You best hurry up, man. If my daddy come by and you still here, he gonna kick at least three asses. Ten dollahs ain’t enough to make him happy.”
Wink kissed her on the lips. His tongue plunged into her mouth. His head was turned to the side to reach her face, while his crotch pushed forward to give Avery perfect access to his cock.
As always, when Avery got into the swing of his latest piece of street trade, he felt a real sense of intimacy with his man. He always thought the best way to get to know a man was to get him off. All of his inner feelings and dreams were palpable when you had him at his most vulnerable, allowing a man to swing on his meat.
And Andre Wink was no exception. Avery swallowed his cock to the root as Wink kissed the prostitute and fingered her pussy and ass. She submited boredly, but Wink acted like she was just as passionate as he was.
Wink wore this suit to impress her. Avery had been going back and forth whether he wore it for her or because he just thought he looked good or maybe he was going to go club-hopping later, maybe he just wanted to get his rocks off before hitting on pretty girls so he wouldn’t be too horny. Or maybe he just always wore a suit, or he was hoping to become a pimp one day. There were a million reasons he might be wearing the cheap, ill-fitting burgundy suit.
But the more he swallowed, the more Avery knew the answer — Wink wanted to look his best for Bethlyn, or whichever prostitute looked prettiest to him when he got here. He felt like a trashy loser when he dressed in his ordinary t-shirt and jeans to get a blowjob from a whore, so he wore his only suit instead. He talked like he was seducing her, like she was his girlfriend, like he really loved her, because he wished he was the kind of man who felt that way about a girl.
Now that Wink was knuckle-deep in the plump prostitute, his dick throbbed and jerked around within Avery’s throat. It spewed precum in copious quantities. Avery sucked down every drop.
“I love you, baby, I love you so much, yo, yo,” Wink murmured to her. He tried to drag Avery’s head off his cock, but Avery resisted. Wink grunted. “Am I the only nigga you want?”
“Baby, you really are,” she said with a canned moan. She kissed him back on the neck.
He chuckled. “Damn, I like this. Only cost me ten bucks, and I’s gettin’ paid by the sissy. I’s makin’ a profit tonight, damn-howdy!”
The prostitute took a step back. She shook her head. “Nah. My daddy gonna be very mad ‘bout that, Wink.”
“What?” He had a big smile on his face like a mischievous little boy who had just gotten in trouble.
“Only his girls is allowed to work this alley,” she said. “He go’n cut you. Or just demand all the money the sissy is paying you. Or both.”
Wink chuckled. “Baby, don’t tell him, okay? You still gettin’ paid-“
“He’s my daddy, I gotta tell him! He get salty if I don’t.”
“If you don’t tell him, he won’t know nothin’, baby, baby,” Wink said. He slipped a second finger into her pussy and groaned. She kissed him on the neck. Wink groaned. “Tell him the sissy ain’t pay. Tell him I let him jerk me off as a freebie.”
“He won’t like that much either, nigga,” she said.
Wink sighed. “Then tell him to fuck off, I don’t care. Quit talkin’ ‘bout yo’ pimp.” He looked down at Avery, whose head bobbed up and down on his dick. “You can stop, whiteboy. I got a female now.”
Bethlyn started rubbing his chest through his shirt and talking about how much she wanted a taste of his cock. Wink just smiled and fingered her pussy. He brought his fingers up to his nose to sniff them. Precum flowed into Avery’s mouth now, as Wink’s cock hit the back of his throat again and again. Avery’s nose was buried in Wink’s pubic hair and the burgundy fabric of his suit. Wink kept half-heartedly trying to get Avery to stop — Wink had cash now, so he could buy whatever he wanted from Bethlyn. Avery wasn’t about to stop until he got his money’s worth.
“Suck on ‘em, baby, lemme see it,” Wink said. He tried to put his fingers in her mouth, but she kept her lips closed.
“Another ten bucks, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“You charge money to suck on my finger? It just got yo’ pussyjuice on it, baby? I love you-” His dick throbbed in Avery’s mouth.
“I love you too, Wink, but I gotta pay my daddy,” she said. “Ten bucks, and I’ll suck on any finger you put in front of my mouth.”
He chuckled and handed over another ten dollar bill. He shook his head and bit his lip. He put his fingers back in her pussy, then removed his other finger, the one that had been in her ass.
“Hmm,” she moaned like she had been waiting for that. She swallowed his callused finger, making him shudder and lean back again.
Avery stopped throating his cock. Wink watched his finger slide in and out of her mouth like he was hypnotized, like he hadn’t even noticed Avery wasn’t on his cock anymore. Though nobody touched it, Wink’s dick still throbbed and dripped on the grimy ground. Avery pulled his pants down and bared his ass.
Without a word from Wink, Avery backed up. He squeezed Wink’s cock into his asshole. Wink just kept sticking his fingers in the prostitute’s holes; he switched his fingers around like it was a game, smilingly sickly as she sucked her pussy and ass juices off his finger.
Finally he looked down to see his cock slide into Avery’s ass. He wrinkled his nose a bit, then went back to kissing the prostitute. His whole body trembled beneath the suit.
“Yo, baby, I love ass,” he said. “Love it!” He said it to her even though the only person whose ass he was in was Avery. His hands roamed over her tits and tweaked her nipples through her green dress. “Can I suck on yo’ titties, baby, baby doll? I love you so much. I’mma be wit’ you forevuh.”
“Uh-huh,” she crooned. “Twenty bucks.”
“Twenty bucks to suck on yo’ titties?!”
She smiled. “If you gimme another twenty bucks, I’ll have made fifty bucks off yo’. That’s enough I can give my daddy, he ain’t gotta be mad,” she said.
“Alrighty, then, alrighty, but only cuz I love yo’ and I don’t want him beatin’ on you, baby. That ain’t a good value, twenty bucks fo’ some titties, nah,” he said with a laugh. But he paid the twenty dollars anyway, and he dove for her chest. He lowered her dress to bare the tits and began licking. He groaned. His cock spasmed in Avery’s ass.
Avery savored the exquisite feeling of Wink’s meat throbbing inside him. He moaned. He had to grip the side of the dumpster for support. It took all of his coordination to keep moving his ass back and forth on Wink’s cock, because Wink didn’t move his hips at all. Avery was responsible for the entirety of the action. Wink ignored Avery, kissing and pawing over the prostitute instead.
Wink had never told anyone, but Avery was not the first man he stuck up behind. When Wink was in prison for two years, he had a thin, delicate man as a cellmate. Initially, Wink had beaten him up and taken his fruit cup in the mess hall. He arrived at prison wanting to show off and make a name for himself, and he was glad to have a small, weak cellmate he could pound on.
But over the next nineteen months, Wink went him hating his weakling cellmate to feeling sorry for him to being grateful for his attention to enjoying his presence to even giving an enthusiastic reacharound after a few gulps of toilet wine (when there was a sheet up over the cell bars so no one knew Wink had touched another man’s cock). When Wink was released, he had sworn to himself he was going to make changes in his life, and one of those changes was that he was going to keep visiting his former cellmate. He liked to feel wanted. He had sworn on his good name that he’d keep coming back.
But once he was free, and he saw girls all over the place, and he got some good-natured ribbing about what he might have done with other males in prison, Wink wasn’t comfortable with it. In his cell, he could put up a sheet for privacy. If he went to prison as a visitor, he couldn’t hide anything.
So in the end, he had never once visited the man he spent all those passionate nights with. He regretted it often, but Wink never looked him up again. He counted down the days to the man’s scheduled release date, and then he counted up the days since he had been released.
When he rammed Avery there in the alley, that was what he thought about, even as he fingered Bethlyn. He kissed her while imagining he was kissing a man who didn’t need to be paid to care for him.
“Kiss me, baby,” he moaned. He grabbed her body and held her close. He kissed her tight on the lips, his tongue exploring her mouth. He was short and she was taller than him, but she was much thicker, so he looked even smaller in comparison, like she could have swallowed him up whole if she wanted.
His cock spasmed as he groaned into her mouth. His muscles tensed beneath the suit, which was now plastered to his chest with sweat. His balls drew up in his sac, and for the first time since this had begun, he gripped Avery’s bare asscheeks. He loudly orgasmed, gasping and heaving in the shadowy alley.
Wink held Avery in place and swayed his hips from side to side, humping every inch of his insides. Cum sprayed over his prostate, triggering Avery’s own orgasm at last. He sprayed his wad onto the garbagey alley ground, while Wink’s load coated his body.
Wink kept on ramming, sucking on the prostitute’s tongue and tweaking her nipples with both hands. His cock rammed in and out of Avery’s cum-dripping ass. The more he rammed, the more of a mess he made — Wink had developed this game with his cellmate, making his load frothy, spilling out, bubbling forth in a big drippy wad that made him gag and laugh.
“Damn, boy, you take it — I mean, damn, girl, you got real nasty there, that was nice,” Wink said. He whistled. He pointed to the messy ass. “You see that, Bethlyn? Lookit that. That is some nasty anal. That is right. That’s how you do it That’s how you do it!.”
“I do that, sugah,” Bethlyn said like she was offended at the insinuation that she didn’t know how. “You know my price. You know I don’t give no discounts on anal, not no how.”
He smiled. He kissed Bethlyn on the lips. “Yo’ daddy lettin’ you go out sometime, baby? I take you out to dinner-“
“No, sugah, that ain’t allowed,” she said. She pulled her dress back up over her tits.
He shrugged like he was expecting that answer, which he was: he asked her that every time she sucked him off. She said no every time he hired her, which was most weeks — basically unless she was with a different john when he arrived. He didn’t like waiting for her because it gave him plenty of time to wonder what kind of guy she was with, and then she’d inevitably taste like another man when he did get to kiss her. He knew that she was with a lot of men regardless, it was just easier to forget that when he didn’t have to wait for her to be finished with them.
“Hey, girl,” he said to Avery as he smacked Avery’s asscheeks. “Will you suck my nut out yo’ asshole? I want that. That’s hot, man. I love that. Ain’t no kinda girls ever do that. I never seen a female do that, and it turns me on so much-” He paused, then lied as he realized he had sort of admitted he did this with a man before “I mean, some girls do it, some do. That’s how I know how hot it is. But a lot of ‘em won’t do it, nuh-uh.” The only person he had ever seen suck cum out of his own ass was his cellmate, but Wink wasn’t about to admit that.
“Okay, yeah,” Avery said.
Wink smiled. He let go of the prostitute and slowly withdrew his limp dick. He gagged at the sight of juices dripping from it. He laughed so loud it echoed against the walls of the dumpster. “Ugh, this is so nasty, girl, I love it. I’m gonna love you too if you do this. I swear to God, I will marry you any day if you promise to do ass-to-mouth. So fuckin’ nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. I love it.”
He stroked his cock with one hand. It was so sensitive he yelped and his body undulated beneath the suit. He loosened the tie with his other hand. He rammed two fingers into Avery’s ass. He gagged again, laughing nervously at his own reaction. He clawed inside Avery’s body, causing a torrent of pain and exquisite post-orgasmic pleasure. He pulled his fingers out and watched with wide-eyed amazement as Avery sucked them clean.
His fingers and hand were soaked in cum and assjuice. Avery loved it. If he had thought Wink would ever agree to finger his asshole, he would have asked — he would have paid more if he knew it was an option, so he was glad Wink had initiated it for free instead. Wink’s fingers were callused and scarred, and they tasted like stale sweat beneath the assjuice and cum. When he had finished with Wink’s hand, Avery slurped on his sensitive shaft, sucking down all the fluids and grime and caked-on sweat sticking to it. Wink shuddered as a burst of ecstasy wracked his body, and Bethlyn walked on with a sick look on her face.
“That was so disgusting, girl, I love it,” he said to Avery. “I swear to God, I will marry you, baby.” He paused. “I ain’t serious, I know you ain’t no girl. I won’t marry you. No how, no way.”
“I know,” Avery said. He pulled his own pants up. He felt grimy and dirty, but he loved that feeling. He watched Wink tuck away his own cock and zip his slacks back up.
Daddy’s here, where’s my money, babies?!
A black man in a fine blue suit — this one was perfectly tailored, vibrantly colored and clean as a whistle — Slim Jay — walked into the alley. He bellowed, and the prostitutes at the other end of the alley all spoke at once. There was a chorus of feminine voices.
The pimp didn’t notice Bethlyn there, so she stepped out from behind him. She smiled and giggled to get his attention.
“Oh, hello, baby, whatchoo doin’ back there?” He saw Wink. “G’evenin’, Wink. You got yo’ usual?”
Wink laughed. “Not the usual, exactly. But I got what I need, nigga, no pro’lem.” He walked away, dapping his head as he walked, dancing to an unheard beat just like he was when he entered the alley.
Avery hid there in the shadows for a moment, while the prostitute handed her money over and explained what had happened. When her pimp glowered like the money she had earned was not enough, Avery wondered if he was going to get in trouble after all.
So he fled into the night. He was thin and quick, and the pimp didn’t know he was there, so he just darted right past him and ran out of the alley, still tasting remnents of his own ass and Wink’s cock. He didn’t wash all night, so he could keep savoring the flavor.
He had no idea that Wink did something similar — he didn’t wash his dick off either, even though it was dirty. He went to bed stinking of a small, effeminate man, hoping to dream of that cellmate whose tender touch he still craved.

The Parole Officer

Rob is on parole, which means obeying the legendary Mr. Gerald. He’s a stern, no-nonsense man who doesn’t mind cracking skulls and kicking ass… and he goes even further than that. But when Rob asks to receive one of Mr. Gerald’s harshest of punishments, they’re both in for a wild ride they didn’t expect!

Can Rob handle what Mr. Gerald is ready to dish out?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

Rob had six months of parole, and he was looking forward to it. He had been assigned to “Mr. Gerald”, an ex-drill sergeant. Rob had had to pull a few strings to make sure he was assigned to Mr. Gerald’s caseload. He sought that out because, according to street rumors, Mr. Gerald was known to force his parolees to jerk him off.
That was something Rob was down for indeed. Mr. Gerald was buff like a soldier but just craggy enough, like a stately butte. His nose was splatted like it had been broken many times or maybe just once but really badly. His skin was dark like new cast-iron, and his eyes were old like a wise turtle. He had a simmering grandness to him, like he thought he was more muscular than he was, he was actually kind of lanky.
He had a great mustache too. Rob was a sucker for a black guy with a mustache. He wanted to suck the hairs right off his upper lip. And he had big broad shoulders that shook as he filled out a form with Rob’s personal information on it.
“So you work as a writer? A freelance writer?”
“Yep.”
“That don’t sound like a real job. I want you to get a real job,” Mr. Gerald said.
“Yes, sir,” Rob said. He wasn’t going to do that, but he wanted to be agreeable. Rob’s family was very wealthy. He didn’t have to report that on his intake documents, so he didn’t mention that he was in no need of a job.
If he was going to get punished by Mr. Gerald, after all, he was going to need to fail at something.
“Do you have any skills?”
“Just-“
“Don’t say writin’, man.”
“Then no. Sir.”
“Alright, I can hook you up with a job at Taco Dell. I know the manager there. I like the way you called me sir without me…” He looked Rob up and down and sucked on his lower lip. The mustache on his upper lip quivered. “Without me makin’ a big deal out of it.”
Damn it. That was it, Rob thought. If Rob hadn’t called him sir, Mr. Gerald would have throated him down, he was sure of it. That was what the look on his face said. Damn it! He was looking for a reason to do it.
Black guys don’t call him sir, probably. That was why they said on the street that Mr. Gerald only or especially goes after black guys. He’ll nut on a nigga face, nine times outta ten. He don’t even wanchu to swallow. He wanna see you walk outta there with nut on yo’ face, telling him thank you the whole time. He like that. That’s what one of the hobos Rob jerked off last week told him. His name was Greenbelly, and Mr. Gerald was looking for him.
Rob wasn’t gonna snitch though, and anyway, he didn’t know where Greenbelly was. Or his real name for that matter.
“Oh, uh…” Rob blushed. He quaked. Had he gone through all this for nothing? He was entranced by Mr. Gerald’s big muscles, his biceps bulging from the rolled-up sleeve of his stained and faded button-down shirt. He wasn’t married, that was obvious. He didn’t wear cologne. His mustche was neat but his scruffy beard hairs were not thoroughly shaved, like he had done it without a mirror. His shirt had an old mustard stain on it. No wife would let him outta the house in that shirt.
Mr. Gerald wordlessly filled out his paperwork. “You do drugs?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re gonna do a piss test next time,” he said. He glanced up and made eye contact with Rob. “What? You look mad. What?”
“It’s just…” Rob took a deep breath. He decided to be blunt with him. “I heard a rumor about you, Mr. Gerald.”
“What? I don’t like rumormongering. I don’t condone it. A man should stand behind the shit he says,” Mr. Gerald said.
“I heard… you sometimes make guys jerk you off.”
Mr. Gerald glowered at him. His dark eyes were expressionless. “What? You insinuatin’ I force my parolees into somethin’?” He watched Rob pop one of his fingers into his mouth and sucked on it. “Mothahfuckah, you think I can’t get a woman? That is fucked up. That ain’t no kinda thing I would ever do,” Mr. Gerald said with a raspy frown and a wag of one callused finger. “And I resent you for bringin’ up that kinda scurrilous accusation.”
“Oh, I’m sorry-“
“That kind of b’avior would violate the Department of Corrections’s Pillars of Respect, and any nigga who know me knows that I am all about the Pillars of Respect. I know you haven’t yet watched the video about the Pillars of Respect, but when you do, you will unduhstand that they is at the heart of… you know, all the bullshit.” He sniffled as he lost his train of thought. “If you act propuh, I will let you skip the video.”
“I will do literally anything to skip that video,” Rob said.
“Shut yo’ lie-hole, Mistuh Winthrop. Ain’t not a soul make no kinda accusation of that sort. Sometimes motherfuckahs be beggin’ for a way to prove how much respect they got for me. Y’know… sometimes, motherfuckahs be thinkin’ callin’ me sir is the worst thing I could force ‘em to do… only the trick is, I can’t force ‘em to do that. I can’t pull no words outta someone’s mouth. So I gotta focus on gettin’ respect out of ‘em through some other means. Ya feel me?” He stood up and came closer to Rob. He grabbed him by the chin and played with his lower lip. “You wanna jerk me off?”
“Yes!” Rob immediately moved to grab for his crotch, but Mr. Gerald slapped his hand away.
“I ain’t say you could. I was just doin’ a survey, like for gauging general interest among the populace,” Mr. Gerald said. He pointed to a spot on the floor. “Get on yo’ knees.”
Rob did as he was told. His heart thumped. He was going to get to do this after all.
“You know our meetin’ is done, right? I ain’t keepin’ you here no more? I’d rather you leave, to be honest,” Mr. Gerald said. He unzipped his slacks and pulled out a massive cock with a big veiny shaft. When Rob went for it, Mr. Gerald slapped him. “I ain’t consent to you touchin’ it. I’m still makin’ sure you know I don’t like you, and I don’t want you touchin’ my dick. This ain’t how I get off. I ain’t like that. Strikes me as unbiblical,” he said. “That ain’t the parole department’s opinion, mind you, that’s a personal thought, and I gots a right to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think this is a tool,” he said. He flopped his limp dick onto Rob’s face. Rob opened his mouth to lick, but Mr. Gerald slapped him again. “Get that tongue back in yo’ mouth, boy. This here is my tool, not yo’ lollipop. It’s a tool I use to insert respect back into mouthy motherfuckahs who lost they respect in some tragic accident. Ya feel me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, I am gonna ram you in the throat cuz you asked me nice and I like the way yo’ lips is all soft and shit,” he said. He rubbed Rob’s lips with one callused finger. “Don’t you dare be spreadin’ none of them falsities ‘bout how I make men jerk me off. I don’t do that. That’s contrary to Pillars Two, Four and arguably Five of the Pillars of Respect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You seducin’ me right now. You turnin’ this office into a hostile work environment ‘gainst me, boy. I oughta cite you for that,” he said. He chuckled throatily as he spread Rob’s lips with his fingers and rubbed his limp dick over Rob’s gums and teeth.
He still wasn’t trying to get hard. His dick was just slightly firm, one stage up from jiggly. It flopped like a lively snake over Rob’s face, He chuckled. “Hmm-hmm…” He licked his teeth. He left his dick on Rob’s nose. “Lotta my men would be buckin’ right now. You submittin’ just right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You ramrod men?” He battered Rob’s face with his spongy dick. “You ever do it, you know, stick ya dick in a nigga? Or a Arab or whatever?”
Rob nodded. He straightened his posture. “Yeah, I-“
He slapped Rob across the face. “Not me, if that’s what you thinkin’. I was — how much is you into it? I was not asking ’bout me. You wanna ramrod a morbidly obese Arab man? He hairy as shit. Too fat to shower. Five hundred pounds. He bathes with a rag on a stick, sometimes, when I tell him to. I woulda done ramrod the ever-mighty fuck outta him cuz he bin breaking the rules, but I don’t wanna put my dick in him.”
“No, I don’t… I don’t wanna do that,” Rob said.
“Hmm-hmm.” He wrinkled his nose. “Can’t say I blame ya.”
“He sounds like he has a mental health problem-“
He slapped Rob again. “Don’chu think I know that? Mothahfuckah, you got a solution for it-?”
“No, I just-“
“Then shut the fuck up, don’t point out problems you don’t got a solution for,” Mr. Gerald said. He mollywopped Rob with his dick, which had grown even limper now, it was jiggly all the way. He snarled at Rob. “Pissy shithead.”
“Sorry, sir,” Rob said. He shrugged. “What’d he do?”
“Raped his aunt. She got that Down syndrome.”
“Oh. That’s bad. Shouldn’t do that.”
He slapped Rob again. “What’d I say ’bout pointin’ out problems you don’t got a solution for?”
“Sorry, sir,” Rob said again. He stuck his tongue out, and it got the underside of Mr. Gerald’s dick.
“Anyway, Mistuh Winthrop, you doin’ good. When one my men is actin’ insolent, suckin’ on his teeth like a nigga do, I make him sit here wit’ my dick on his face during my spiel. You wanna keep it there durin’ my spiel?”
“Yes, please.”
“A’ight.” He cleared his throat, which made his dick jiggle atop Rob’s face. “Well, first of all, you got any street names? I gotsta ask.”
“No, sir.”
“You gotsta report to me any nickname you evuh used.”
“Ever?” Rob chuckled, making the dickfat resting atop his fce jiggle. “Well, some friends used to call me Winclap, cuz… well, it’s a long story-“
“Do not tell me a long story, mothahfuckah.”
“Okay, uh… Some other friends used to call me Jaxwing, which was my D&D character, uh, R-Queen, Throat Queen, Neck, Other Rob — that was when I was in rehab, we weren’t allowed to use last names, for confidentiality. I think that’s it,” he said. “Oh! My brothers call me Babywrist.”
“Any those got gang connotations?” He looked down at Rob, then slapped him again with his dickmeat.
“No, sir.”
“Okay, well if I catch you usin’ any unapproved nicknames, I’m sendin’ you to the big house! For…” He looked at Rob’s file. “Six weeks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I catch you watchin’ any video pornography, I’m sendin’ you to the big house. That’s pervert shit, I don’t like that, that’s disrespectin’ women, I-“
“Yes, sir.”
“Shut up,” he said. He slapped Rob. “Don’t interrupt me.” He cleared his throat. “Stick out ya tongue.”
Rob did so. Mr. Gerald grunted, grabbed his tongue with two fingers and pulled it out so far it hurt. He rested his piss-slit on it. He waited to see if Rob would object or pull away or gag. He did not.
“Next. No catcallin’ at females, no gettin’ fresh wit’ a woman, and it’s up to the woman or me to decide what’s fresh. I don’t need yo’ input on freshness,” Mr. Gerald said. He wagged his finger at Rob, which made his dick jiggle clear off Rob’s face. Mr. Gerald put it back. “Next. You can’t be homeless. If you homeless, you stayin’ wit’ me, and I am ramroddin’ you e’ery chance I get.” He bristled. “Scratch that, you’d prolly enjoy it.”
Rob nodded without remove his tongue from Mr. Gerald’s dicktip.
“If you homeless, I’ll make you spend the night somewhere you don’t like. Where there’s no musical theater and no club music,” he said. He chuckled. “You is required to go to the religious institution of yo’ choosin’, and yes I is allowed to do that, if you atheist, you go to the humanist group at the university, okay, and just like hell it’s full of atheists and feminists, so it’ll be a preview of yo’ future,” he said. “This town gots churches, mosques, synagogues and some Hindu things and things that ain’t quite Hindu but I don’t get the difference. And a Buddhist thing. You pagan?”
Rob shook his head.
“Good. Which church you go to?”
“I don’t have a regular one, I, uh…”
“You go to First Grace from now on,” he said. “I know the pastor. I’ll be checkin’.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm-hmmm…” He paused. “You Communist?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. You one them Satanists?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” He slapped Rob. “I won’t be respectin’ no Satanism as a religion, and the Supreme Court can say that to my face!”
Rob chuckled cuz his words didn’t quite make sense, but he got the gist, and he settled down when Mr. Gerald glared at him like he better not point that out. Rob stuck his tongue back out onto Mr. Gerald’s piss-slit. His tongue was getting dry though. He chased the tip of Mr. Gerald’s dick til he saw that glare again, then he settled still.
“You may open yo’ mouth.”
Rob did so, as wide as he could, and he waited for Mr. Gerald to signal he could proceed. Rob then swallowed his dick down to the root. It was starting to get hard, that must be why he decided to move on, and in Rob’s mouth, it rapidly firmed up. He looked up at Mr. Gerald’s surprised face — he probably didn’t normally get dome from guys who could deep-throat like Rob.
Mr. Gerald held onto the back of Rob’s head and plowed into him, treating his mouth like it was a pussy. His balls slapped against Rob’s chin. He held onto Rob’s ears.
“You doin’ it good, boy, no gaggin’ at all. They comin’ out wit’ good white boys these days. It’s been awhile since I had a white boy who could take my dick this good. Try to swallow the whole thing, you feel me?”
He nodded, and Rob relaxed his throat. Mr. Gerald pinched his nose shut, which helped his throat open even wider, and he got more, more than half of his shaft, to squeeze down Rob’s throat. Rob choked. Mr. Gerald clucked his tongue.
“Nah. Stay like that.” He lightly slapped Rob’s cheek. Rob again bucked as his throat rebelled, and his eyes bugged out. Then at last Mr. Gerald pulled his dick out and let him take a breath.
“Thank you for lettin’ me breathe, sir,” Rob said, panting between words.
“Hmm-hmm…” Mr. Gerald said. “You wanna swallow my nut, or you want me to paint you white?”
“Swallow.”
“Good. I don’t like nuttin’ on a white man, cuz you can’t see it. If you was darkskin, I’d paint you white as pigeon shit,” he said, and he let out a bellowing cackle. He clapped his hands. His balls jiggled on Rob’s chin. “I’mma fuck yo’ mouf a little, like a pussy.”
Rob nodded.
“T’weren’t a question, and I don’t need feedback on it,” he said. He held onto Rob’s ears and rammed at his mouth, firm but not hard, more humping his tongue than “fucking” his throat. Rob grabbed his muscular thighs, but Mr. Gerald slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me, freak.” He chuckled. “Oh, yeah, no beard. Don’t grow a beard. I won’t wanna use yo’ mouf if you got a beard.”
He reached behind himself on the desk, and he picked up his phone. He unlocked it, then scrutinized something he seemed to find annoying. He wrinkled his nose at it. Then he swiped to something else, and he showed Rob the screen.
“See? This is a website about female rugby,” he asid. “It’s not pornography.”
Rob nodded.
“Good. I ain’t bein’ hippocritical. Some niggas is makin’ ‘ccusations ’bout that,” he said. He seemed about to say something else, but he saw a rugby player he liked and his words melted into a low hum. His dick pulsated against Rob’s tongue. “Hmm-hmm… Lookit them thighs, nigga…”
Finally a burst of salty precum exploded in Rob’s sense. That must be one sexy female rugby player, Rob thought, because Mr. Gerald’s meat raced from mostly hard to spewing precum and throbbing mightily in about two seconds. He wondered what race the rugby player was. He wished he could ask without taking his mouth off Mr. Gerald’s cock.
“How nasty you get, boy?” he asked.
“Very.” Rob’s voice was muffled by a mouthful of prenut, which he neither swallowed nor spat out.
“Good. That was the right answer,” he said. He pulled his dick away, then he stood up off. He motioned to the desk. “You. Bend ovuh that.”
Rob raced to comply. He was about to drop his pants, then he realized Mr. Gerald didn’t tell him to do so, he so he stopped. Then he realized he’d enjoy the punishment for doing it anyway, so he did it anyway. His jeans plopped to the floor around his ankles, and he shimmied down his underwear. That bared his pale ass, which Mr. Gerald grumbled at.
“Hmm-hmmmm, I don’t appreciate too much eagerness, boy,” he said. “I ain’t say to take yo’ ass out.”
“Sorry, sir. You wanna spank me-?”
“What? No, I ain’t toleratin’ no kinda BDSM nonsense, boy, and that’s another thing that ain’t allowed, don’t go aftuh me with none that free association shit neither, I will wallop you, straight up wallop! No kinky shit. No leather, no whips, no chains, I don’t care how consentin’ it is, no way,” he said. “No feet!”
“No feet?”
“In sex. You can keep yo’ feet for walkin’ on,” he said.
“Okay then,” Rob said. He looked behind himself, but he couldn’t see Mr. Gerald.
“Don’t worry ’bout me, you keep lookin’ that way,” he said. “You see that clipboard on the desk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Grab it. Fill it out. That’s yo’ form 10G, you best respect it.”
“Oh, I do.”
“The state mandates you fill that you e’ery week. Actually it mandates I fill it out, but I am not fillin’ it out, you bitch-ass punk, you is doin’ it,” he said. He punched Rob in the meat of his asscheek. It hurt much worse than Rob was expecting, and he yelped. Mr. Gerald barked. “I said fill it out!”
Rob raced to do so. At the bottom was where Mr. Gerald was supposed to fill in the answers to the standard parole questions. There were two additional pages of follow-ups. It included everything from “how many lawfully registered firearms are in the place where you live?” to “do you know of the whereabouts of any of the Missing or Endangered Indigenous Women of the Dangerously Ignored Serial Killer Murder Epidemic of the Western States?”.
“What’s with this murdered indigenous women thing?”
“You murder any indigenous women?”
“No.”
“Then just write down no.”
“You have to ask me that every week?”
“Yep. So, y’know, keep track.”
“Also, I haven’t asked any of my acquaintances if they’ve violated the Somali Warlords Act of 2003,” Rob said. “It’s entirely possible I know lots of Somali warlords.”
“You know any Somalis?”
“I don’t judge people by the color of their skin. Anybody can be a Somali warlord.”
“Just put no!” Mr. Gerald said with a snarl. He was deeply engrossed in the rugby women on his phone, and it sounded to Rob like he had gotten distracted watching video clips from an actual women’s rugby game. “Them Polynesian girls is hefty. You know ’bout them?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “I’ve been to Samoa. It’s nice, the women are huge.”
“Really? You know any Samoan women in the US?” Mr. Gerald asked. He stabbed his hardon between Rob’s asscheeks, and he leaned in, pushing it at his butthole. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I do not, sorry,” Rob said.
“Lookit them thighs, damn…” Mr. Gerald showed Rob the phone but the glare made it impossible to see. “She could squeeze the nigga outta me. Make me white as you, shit!” Rob didn’t care. He opened his asshole the best he could, practically sucking Mr. Gerald’s dick in.
A surge of both pain and pleasure hit Rob, and Mr. Gerald grunted. He dropped his phone, which landed on the small of Rob’s back. Mr. Gerald grunted again. Rob put down the clipboard.
“You finished that form 10G?”
“No.”
“Boy, if you don’t finish it, I will slap the senseless outta you,” Mr. Gerald said. He thrust his hips, forcing more of his dick into Rob. He began gently sliding his cock out but firmly ramming it back in, each time upping the pleasure like a ratchet where it boiled within Rob. Rob clutched the desk underneath him, and he knocked the pen he had been using onto the floor.
He grabbed another pen. He groaned. The sensations emanating from his ass were enormous, and Mr. Gerald’s pounding was relentless. He looked at the last question. “What are my aspirations for the week?”
“That’s right.” Mr. Gerald said. His voice wavered with each thrust of his hips. “Hmmm… hmm…” He tried to play it cool, but his voice broke and he let out a little moan, which he stifled. “Aspiration means goal.”
“Yes, I get it, I just… My aspiration is to take your nut in whatever hole you want it,” Rob said, panting, writhing, wanting to be for more.
“Hmm-hmmm… That’s a very good answer. It’s a wrong answer, but it’s the best wrong answer,” Mr. Gerald said. “The right answer is to stay outta trouble, worship Christ and obey yo’ boss, landlord, pastor and officers of the law. Spelling does not count.”
Rob struggled to write all that while Mr. Gerald pounded at his sensitive ass. Bliss exploded with each pump of his hips, and the entire hugeness of his shaft went in each time. Rob suspected few of Mr. Gerald’s parolees took the whole dick up their ass. It was actually quite difficult to force a man to take a big dick in a hole that both doesn’t want it and is too small for it, and probably it was more effective as a deterrent than a punishment. Rob, however, was eager to be punished, not deterred.
All at once, Mr. Gerald stopped. “Oh, you goin’ to First Grace from now on. In the basement of that church, boy, there’s a man, his name is Cassius, he’s an old retired boxer. He kinda retarded. If you tell him you’s me, he’ll believe you and bend ovuh, you can ram him all night long if you want. I did. Trained him good too,” he said. “He’s kinda old, but his ass is still tight. You’ll like him. He’s bettuh than that fatass Arab fellah.” He clucked his tongue. “I dunno what to do about him.”
“I’ll check out Cassius,” Rob said through his gasps of pleasure.
“You gonna do ass-to-mouth?”
“Yes, sir, please!”
“That wasn’t a question.” He grunted.
It sure sounded like a question, but Rob didn’t say so, as a burst of relief made him moan out loud. Mr. Gerald pulled his dick out. It felt so good Rob’s knees went weak. Then Mr. Gerald shoved him to the ground.
He rammed his cocktip back into Rob’s mouth, and the grimy flavor of Rob’s own ass filled his senses. Rob cried out around the dick in his mouth. He couldn’t help but grab his own cock and stroked it, instantly triggering his own orgasm.
Jizz spurted onto Rob’s chest and some onto Mr. Gerald’s legs. He didn’t notice because he closed his eyes as he humped his giant ass-coated cock on every inch of Rob’s tongue, then plowed down his throat like before. He again pinched Rob’s nostrils shut so he could go all the way down.
“Alright boy, no spillin’ my nut, that ain’t respectful,” he said. “Violates Pillar Two.” Then he chuckled. “What am I sayin’? I ain’t gotta tell you not to spill. I bet you love swallowin’ nut.” His chuckling broke as he orgasmed. “Hnnnn-hmmmmm….” His whole body undulated, and he closed his eyes.
He slammed his dick all the way in. Rob could feel him orgasm in the throbbing of the vein on his dick, which pulsated against Rob’s tongue. But Mr. Gerald’s dick was so deep in his throat that Rob didn’t taste the actual cum at first, just the precum that already coated his shaft.
“Hmmm… boy, you drainin’ me, that’s good…” His voice was low and rumbly like velvet sandpaper, and he bucked his hips, making sweet love to Rob’s throat. He gripped his hair tightly, rubbing his crotch and balls all over Rob’s face.
Finally, he pulled out, and the taste of salty-sweet cum assaulted Rob’s senses. He moaned and swallowed every drop, even as his belly contorted and his lungs cried out for oxygen. He slathered Mr. Gerald’s dick with spit and cum as he let it slowly plop out.
“Goddamn, boy.” Mr. Gerald said with a chuckle.
Rob gasped for air. “Hmmm… You taste so good… I love your dick, Mr. Gerald, I-“
“Hush. I don’t need you to talk,” Mr. Gerald said. The mustache on his upper lip quivered. He sighed and leaned back. “Shit…”
“Hmmm…” Rob smacked his lips and wiped his face off. the smell of jizz and ass coated his mug. “I didn’t spill any, I promise.” He quickly put his own clothes back on. It was always best, he thought, to leave them wanting more, so he intended to leave right away.
Mr. Gerald nodded. “Hey, boy.”
“Yes, sir?” Rob headed for the door.
“I take back what I said about my dick not bein’ your personal lollipop. You can come back and mouth me off whenever you want,” he said. He handed his business card over, with his home address written on it. “Okay?”
“Yes, sir!”

The Raunchy Road Crew

Rob is in a grimy coffeeshop when a work-crew comes in. He senses a possibility for alpha male rough trade, but he didn’t know how filthy and forceful it would get!

These men are from a low-skill road-work crew, dirty drunks and ex-cons who’ll do whatever it takes to earn — or steal — a couple dollars, not to mention get a nut off. Rob is all too happy to oblige, as he services a grimy black alcoholic and a rage-filled possible-Nazi redneck, before getting to go up behind a raunchy Mexican crackhead in an ultra-raunchy explosion of man-on-man action!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob waited in the Darling Donuts with his computer open. He was trying to write a very commercial novel about a Japanese girl who solves crimes and believes in herself, and he was trying to work in a panda. The panda might be the murderer. Or that might make its cuteness less salient. Maybe it shouldn’t be a murder, maybe something more light-hearted. The theft of some… magic bamboo?
That’s not a bad idea. He sighed and sipped his coffee.
It was not the kind of story he wanted to write, but he intended for it to be as commercial as possible. No consideration for art. All popularity.
Not many people were coming through the Darling Donuts this morning. The only employee he could see was a bored young white lady. Rob liked this location because the manager was a big burly black man with a broad chest and a booming voice, and sometimes he hung around in the parking lot after he got off in the afternoon, wearing a sleeveless shirt cuz he took off his Darling Donuts polo, and he had huge biceps, like crazy huge, and he worked out in the median strip by the highway sometimes totally shirtless on his lunch break. Rob was a great admirer of the male physique.
Once he let Rob give him a handjob in the parking lot. That was why Rob liked him. He was weirdly Christian though, kinda pushy about it. Oh well, nobody’s perfect. He didn’t seem to be in today anyway. There was no manager on duty as far as Rob could tell.
A corpulent lady came in to buy a diet coke and two dozen donuts, which really made Rob think. He tried to focus on the book again. It all seemed so clear when he was brainstorming last night.
The tinkling of the bell provided a welcome distraction from the tyranny of the blank page. He looked up.
A half-dozen guys sauntered in, wearing yellow reflective vests and filth-encrusted workeans. The van they had parked outside read Jambone Construction. There was a plump redneck with shaggy blond hair, and broad-chested white man with a vaguely Nazi ambience arising from his shaved head. There was a trio of rotund Mexicans. There was a middle-aged black man with wild eyes and a fat belly. The last one was Gambo, a black man with a powerful body and a scruffy beard. He had a long and tall physique — slimfire, as they would say — thick muscles on long limbs and sort of a knuckle-dragging gait.
All of them exuded cold. It was a chilly morning, but they had probably been at work when it was frosty before dawn. They were a road crew, Rob sensed it in the asphalty smell they gave off.
“Yo, Gambo, you best call Mr. Lillen,” said the other black guy, the fat one.
Gambo rolled his eyes and nodded. “Nigga, I need a break.”
“You’re on break,” the fat black guy said with a scoff. He got into line to place his order at the Darling Donuts counter.
“I mean… like a real break, y’know,” Gambo said, though no one listened to him except Rob, who pretended not to see him.
Gambo stalked off into the bathroom, already sneaking sips from his flask. That was what he meant by ‘break’ — he needed a drink. He slipped into the men’s room, flask in hand. Rob watched him go.
When Rob was sure none of the other workers noticed him, Rob slipped his computer into his bag and stood up. He went into the bathroom after Gambo. This was a small location, with individual bathrooms, not stalls, so Rob coming in surprised Gambo, whose sip from his flask turned into a guzzle. He hastened to put it back in his pocket when he saw Rob, then he straightened up and snarled.
“Who the fuck you are?” Gambo said, dribbling vodka down his lower lip. The smell of rotgut liquor filled the air near the door, though the standard odors of an uncleaned public bathroom pervaded closer to the toilet.
“Rob.” His heart pounded. Rob did this kind of thing a lot, but it never got less nerve-wracking.
They were both in a dingy room that stank of piss. There was a filthy toilet and an even filthier urinal on the far wall. The sink was clogged with paper towels, and the trash can overflowed. The bathroom smelled like an ashtray more than anything, like somebody had dumped out their car ashtray in the trash can or maybe the toilet. Rob didn’t want to go look in the toilet.
“Uh… I was in here first, man,” Gambo said. He looked at Rob dourly as the door slammed shut.
“I’ll give you a break.”
“What?”
Rob reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. “I’ll give you this if you let me jerk you off. I’ll swallow your cum. I’ll deepthroat you better than any female, swear to god.”
After a long pause, Gambo chewed on his lip and said, “I could just take it.” Then he did so, plucking the fifty out of Rob’s fingers.
Rob smiled. “You could.” He sunk slowly to his knees, maintaining eye contact with Gambo. He licked his teeth.
“I gotta take a piss.” He grunted. “Damn it, you was talkin’ ‘bout gettin’ me off, now I gotta piss, but I got a hardon.” He paused. “Fuck… When we done, you best stay in here, I don’t want them out there seein’ you come outta here at the same time as me.”
“Okay.” Rob undid Gambo’s fly. He liked dirty men, so he didn’t take Gambo’s pants off all the way — they were filthy. His jeans were caked with mud, which you could tell was from yesterday; he must have taken his jeans off outside, probably sitting around his traphouse room in his drawers all night. His jeans stank of unwashed clothing, and the musk of his massive cock made Rob moan with desire. He pulled down Gambo’s tattered white boxers too.
Gambo leaned back. “You ain’t my first, honky bitch. Don’t think that, I been jerked off by white males before. I had a bitch in prison. Nice bitch.”
Rob swallowed the tip of his cock and looked up at him. Gambo’s eyes were closed, scrunched shut, and his lips were pursed. Rob couldn’t decide if Gambo was lying or not. He looked nervous like he had never done this before. It didn’t much matter to Rob though, so he didn’t call him on it.
He nuzzled his nose deeply into Gambo’s hairy crotch. The smell of ball-sweat and mud and precum flooded Rob’s senses. He slobbered spit up until it soaked Gambo’s jeans. Gambo hadn’t noticed yet, but it made Rob giggle — his coworkers might notice that and make fun of him for it, it would look like he pissed himself.
His cock was rock-hard and throbbing in Rob’s mouth. Rob moaned, slathering spit all up and down the shaft. As he pulled Gambo’s heavy balls out, his fingers reached up under his tattered tee shirt and the yellow reflective vest he wore. Gambo wasn’t big-muscular, but he was ropy-muscled and leanly powerful. Rob couldn’t quite reach his pecs because Gambo was so tall, but he teased his nipples, which made Gambo’s pecs bounce.
There was a loud banging on the door.
Rob and Gambo both jumped. A loud booming laugh rang out from outside the bathroom. “Shit-Shock! Shit-Shock! A shit, Gambo, you ain’t do it right!”
“Fuck you, Piggie! I ain’t shittin’!” Gambo snarled. He pounded on the door again.
“Then whatchoo doin’ in there?!” The plump redneck outside laughed and pounded on the door.
“Nothin’!” Gambo bucked like he was going to fight the door itself. His cock throbbed in Rob’s mouth, while Rob’s heart raced. He loved jerking off men. Gambo pulled out his cell phone and pretended to be making a call. “Yeah, baby, it’s just that redneck-bitch bein’ a shit. I’m still comin’ to see you later.”
“You talkin’ to ya female in the shitter?”
“Shut the fuck up, Piggie! I don’t play that nasty Shit-Shock game!” Gambo said. He snarled and rolled his eyes as Piggie walked away with the other workers. Gambo gasped — pleasure enveloping him now that the distraction had gone. He shimmied his lean body, forcing his cock in and out of Rob’s throat. He let the sensitive underside of his shaft rub on Rob’s tongue, and Rob slurped up all the filth he could get to. One of Rob’s hands played with the hefty balls in Gambo’s sac, which was so sweat-soaked it was silky to the touch, and it smelled like bread left in a dumpster. “Fuckin’ Shit-Shock…” Gambo shook his head.
The “Shit-Shock” game was that no one on the crew was supposed to lock the door when they took a shit, either here or in the office or in the Port-a-Potty at the worksite. If someone realized you were in there taking a shit, they were “allowed” to burst in and throw a cup of ice-water on you. It was a stupid and disgusting game that Gambo saw as too low-brow for him. That didn’t stop him from thinking it was funny when it didn’t involve him, and it definitely didn’t stop him from doing it when some punk-ass whiteboy was on the shitter.
Realizing that he needed to hurry up, Gambo gripped the back of Rob’s head. His whole body undulated and his knees went weak. He held onto the handicapped-bar with one hand while he slammed his dick all the way down Rob’s throat.
“Damn, boy, shit… Not many girls deep-throat like that,” Gambo said. He let out a gasp but tried not to let on that this was the best, deepest dome he ever had — counting that prison bitch. “You know that site on Cherry Hill? They buildin’ an el’mentary school. I work at the road stoppage outside. You should come there, man, signal me and I’ll meet’cha in the trailer.” His voice broke. “Come by e’ery day, and I’ll bust a nut for you. Bring fitty bucks.”
Rob nodded. He probably wasn’t gonna do that. Definitely not every day. He loved the physiques of muscular workers and alpha males like Gambo, especially filthy, unwashed ones, but once he’d serviced them once, he tended to lose interest.
Gambo was probably worth a round two at least though. Rob didn’t tell him he would only do it once because, if he did, Gambo would probably rob him next time. Rob had been through this song and dance before.
“I’ll be there. Every day,” Rob said. He stuck his tongue out, then battered it with Gambo’s erection. “As long as I can afford it.” Rob was plenty wealthy and could easily afford to do it every day, but he wasn’t about to tell Gambo he was a rich man. That would surely lead to a robbery. He promised to be there every day so Gambo would think he’d make more money in the long run without robbing him.
Gambo grunted his acknowledgement, and he licked his teeth as he pushed forward with his hips. That made Rob swallow his cock deeper. Gambo threw his head back and moaned, muscles rippling up and down his body.
He opened his throat as wide as possible as he felt Gambo’s balls crawl up in his sac where it rested against Rob’s chin. Then cum sprayed down his gullet, coating his belly in creamy warmth. Gambo had heavy balls that shot a giant load, more and more continually flowing into him until Rob thought he couldn’t possibly swallow anymore.
“Goddamn…” Gambo stayed in position right there above Rob’s head, gripping his scalp. Outside, his coworkers launched into a rowdy round of laughter, and Gambo scrunched his eyes shut tight.
Rob pulled off and grinned. “Thanks,” he said as he wiped his lips off. “You have a nice dick.”
Gambo sniffled. “I know.”
Rob stood, stretching his legs. “You can go, I’ll wait a few minutes then leave by myself.”
Gambo nodded. “Okay. Don’t forget, keep comin’ by the worksite. Bring fitty bucks, I’ll let you jerk me off every day.”
Rob blushed. “Hey… that guy with the shaved head. Is he a nazi?”
Gambo shrugged. “Maybe. I think so.”
“If I give you fifty bucks, will you get him to come in here and let me jerk him off?” Rob produced another fifty bucks from a secret pocket.
Gambo grabbed the fifty. “Fine. No refunds if he beats you up. His name’s Cue.”
Rob sat in the center of the bathroom. He kneeled there for what felt like a long time.
Eventually, disappointment set in. Rob wondered if Cue was coming. Had Gambo ripped him off or did Cue not want to do it? Maybe Gambo didn’t do it right away. If Cue had left the restaurant already, Gambo might have just shrugged it off and gone to get a donut or something. Gambo don’t care.
But Rob enjoyed the feeling of Gambo’s creamy cum congealing on his face. It was cold now, and he had smeared as much as he could into his mouth. But some remnants of wetness remained on the skin.
The door opened.
In walked the possible Nazi Cue. You could tell he was bald anyway, that he shaved his head but he was bald to begin with. So that was one strike against being a Nazi. Rob couldn’t blame a bald man for going cue ball.
That’s where he gets the name. Duh. Rob was in Britain recently, so he was thinking of Queue. Or the Star Trek character Q. But this was Cue, like the snooker ball. Or pool, anyway.
“What?”
“You’re Cue?”
“Yeah. Did’ju talk shit about white people?”
“What? No,” Rob said.
“Gambo said you was an anti-white activist.”
“That is incorrect. He lied. He wanted you to beat me up,” Rob said.
“Oh.” Cue looked around the tiny space as though an anti-white activist might be hiding in the corner. “So you just kneel in bathrooms?”
“Sometimes. Can I pay you fifty bucks to jerk you off?” Rob asked.
Cue sneered. “Fuckin’ Gambo. You tell a homeboy one fuckin’ secret, and he goes and blabs it to everyone,” he said. “I don’t do that, Mistuh Pervert whoevuh you are.” He reached into Rob’s pockets and he pulled out the fifty dollars, then a further fifty dollars Rob also had tucked away.
“That’s a hundred dollars.”
“That’s right, you some kinda mathematician,” Cue said. “I’m gonna ram you up the ass now, you little bitch.” He paused and cocked his head to the side. “But not cuz I’m a booty bandit, fuckin’ Gambo-“
“He didn’t tell me you were a booty bandit.”
“I’m not, I ain’t like that,” Cue said. “Did he say I’m a Nazi? I ain’t a Nazi.”
“He said you might be a nazi,” Rob said. “I don’t care though. You can be a nazi, just ramrod me-“
“Oh, I will. I ain’t gettin’ paid for it like a fuckin’ rentboy. I ain’t a rentboy, and I ain’t a Nazi.” He spat on Rob’s face. “Fuck you.” He smacked Rob in the face. “I am robbin’ you, and I am also ramroddin’ you. Those things is unrelated. You got any more cash on you? Answer me!” He barked that like Rob was delaying, but he barked it the moment he said it, and he clapped his hands.
Rob jumped into action. He yelped and pulled out fifty dollars from the waistband of his underwear and another fifty dollars from his sock. Rob knew well how these kinds of situations sometimes ended poorly, so he had contingencies ready. He handed over the hundred bucks to Cue, who took it and counted it.
“Good. If you is holdin’ out on me, I will beat you senseless, bitch,” Cue said. “Everything you own is mine.” He grabbed Rob by the back of the head and shoved him into the wall of the grimy bathroom. Rob collided with the lineoleum.
“Yes, sir,” Rob said, panting. He tried to undo his pants, but Cue raced to do it for him. He ended up busting the button fly, and the zipper damn near sliced Rob’s dick open on the way down. If Rob wore thinner underwear, it probably would have.
Cue didn’t notice the button fly go busting off his pants and onto the linoleum wall. Cue was getting his own fat dick out. He snarled and smacked one of Rob’s asscheeks. He attempted as his asscrack as though he didn’t notice his dick was still soft — this had all only taken a few seconds — so it just roped into the sweaty asscrack of Rob’s pale behind.
Rubbing his cock there, Cue’s shaft got hard, and it rubbed on Rob’s sensitive hole. Cue was already pumping it, like he was ramming into Rob’s guts, even before it was fully hard, before he tried to aim it for Rob’s butthole. It glanced off his ass and jabbed up his buttcrack.
“You disgust me,” Cue said. He rammed again at Rob’s asscrack without trying to penetrate him, and his cock rammed so hard at Rob’s booty it hurt. Rob winced.
Then Cue spread his cheeks with one hand, his other hand keep Rob’s upper half bent over. A snarl on his face, Cue rammed his erection into Rob’s ass. It pushed, unceremoniously, ignoring the jerking, twitching and wincing coming from Rob.
Pleasure exploded within Rob, suddenly and intensely, accompanied by a mind-numbing agony. Cue made no effort to make this feel good, and Rob wouldn’t have it any other way.
Cue banged Rob’s head into the wall as he rammed hard at his ass. Rob oomphed in pain each time, and his hands fluttered behind himself as though to slow Cue down. He didn’t want Cue to slow down though, and Cue ignored it.
Pain blistered up and down Rob’s body, emanating from his head where it struck the wall and his ass, which stretched open to accommodate Cue’s massive shaft ripping him open. Each thrust of his cock sent a new wave of agony to spasm up Rob’s spine.
But the pleasure in his prostate was just as intense, and it too ascended with each thrust of Cue’s powerful body. Rob cried out for more. Cue grunted. His work-thick fingers dug into Rob’s smooth flesh, and both men paused for a moment.
A long jet of jizz spurted up Rob’s guts, and they both moaned in sync. Cue’s was a baritone murmur that accompanied a second cumwad coating Rob’s insides, while Rob let out a long low-pitched whine of desire, as his pain melted away into an exquisite bliss that wracked his body.
Rob moaned. He would have shot his own wad if he touched his dick, but he avoided that. He had a feeling this day could have a third part.
“Hey man,” Rob said, as Cue wiped his dick off behind him.
“What?”
“That grimy Mexican dude on your crew? Not the fat one, not the really hairy one-“
“Yeah. Diego. He’s a crackhead. Can’t even hold a stop sign right,” Cue said.
“Well… you wanna earn some extra money?”
“You holdin’ out on me, moneybacks?”
“No!” Rob said. “I just have a phone. You do too, right? You have PayUp?”
Cue nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Whatchoo want?”
Rob got the phone out of his back, and he synced it up with Cue’s. Rob didn’t mention that PayUp was his dad’s app — or his dad’s first app, anyway. Rob was a billionaire. Obviously, that would be a foolish thing to bring up, but it brought a smile to Rob’s face as he sent Cue an additional fifty bucks. Then he said, “Alright, I’ll add two hundred if you get me that Diego in here and let me ram him in the ass. I mean hold him down. Or give him the two hundred if he’ll do it willingly, I don’t care how-“
Cue scoffed. “I don’t pay a crackhead for ass,” he said. He screwed up his face. “You is nasty as hell, mistuh. Moneybags.”
He went out there, and Rob again kneeled on the floor in the bathroom. He wanted more than anything to touch his dick, but he avoided it. His erection still throbbed, and the pain in his ass continued. The film of jizz from Gambo’s load still rested on his face.
Finally the door opened once again, and in walked Cue with Diego. Diego was a short raggedy Mexican man, powerfully built but jittery and scruffy as anything. He looked strong but malnourished. Of course he was a crackhead, Rob should have guessed.
“Hey man, Diego,” Cue said. “This is the white man who gonna jerk you off for ten bucks. But you gotta take yo’ pants off. C’mon, undo that belt-“
“What?” Diego snarled in Spanish-inflected English. He looked aggressively in Rob’s direction, then at Cue.
But Cue evidently thought speed was prudent, because he reached for Diego’s belt, which he ripped open. He pulled down Diego’s pants, and he barked for Diego to bare his dick. Diego screwed up his face, but he did so. “Get them pants off!” Cue screamed at Diego, who again looked at him curiously. His pants and his drawers were around his ankles. He hesitated, then lifted one leg.
That was what Cue was waiting for. He knocked Diego off-balance and onto the floor of the grimy bathroom, then he kicked him in the ribs hard. “Stay down.”
Rob climbed atop him, spreading his legs to mount Diego’s hairy ass. He looked homeless, or at least he was very dirty. Maybe he lived in an overcrowded apartment. In any case, his asscheeks were toned and firm, and his asshole was broken-in — he’d been rammed up behind before. Maybe for crack money. He definitely had the cadence and affect of a crackhead.
“Hey, esé, get off me!” Diego squirmed, but Cue stepped on his upper back, and his heavy body kept Diego pinned down.
Rob aimed his dick for Diego’s hairy ass, and he squeezed it between his cheeks. Diego seemed to only know realize what was going on, his asshole clamping shut only after Rob got his dicktip in the hole. That forced Rob to lower his head to near Cue’s dirty workboot, which rested between Diego’s shoulderblades.
Cue kicked him in the ribs and even in the face whenever his squirming got to be too much, as Rob forced his dick in deeper and deeper.
It was awkward at first, but once Diego relented and stopped fighting back so much, his asshole slackened. That allowed Rob to force his entire cock in there, and a burst of pleasure overwhelmed him. Rob moaned, biting his lip to keep from being loud enough the other workers could hear otuside the bathroom.
With another grunt and a moan, Rob filled Diego’s ass with creamy seed. Diego whimpered as powerful ecstasy overwhelmed Rob. He’d been waiting to bust his own nut as he serviced Gambo and Cue, so now he felt overdue for an orgasm, and it was so intense it hurt.
It continued too, for what seemed like a long time but probably wasn’t. Rob shot a huge load that coated Diego’s insides, and it made Rob curl his toes as his moans were swallowed up by Cue’s foot — that was still on Diego’s back, right where Rob lowered his head when the pleasure got to be too much to keep it up.
When he had drained his balls up Diego’s quivering butthole, Rob let his cock come out, and he smiled as jizz slipped out Diego’s ass. Diego squirmed again beneath Cue’s foot, but Cue didn’t let up.
Rob tucked his dick in his pants. He grabbed his backpack and hurried out, while Cue playfully but firmly kicked Diego in the side. That stopped Diego from pulling his pants up with a quickness.
He got in his car and left before Diego could make it out the door. Rob didn’t want Diego seeking revenge, and only when he got out of the parking lot did Rob wipe his dick fully clean.
He smiled though. He was going to meet Gambo later. And he bet Gambo would be willing to set up something similar for a similar price…

The Baller

Avery is at a grimy basketball court in downtown Baltimore when he has a chance to swing on some alpha male ebony meat. He knows he’s gotta take his shot while he has a chance, and he lands the handsome prettyboy Rakhim! Can Avery please his newest alpha? Can Rakhim perform under pressure?

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Read the whole thing here!

“Pass it up, nigga!”
“You dribble like a retard, man, send it over here. You know you won’t know what to do wit’ it.”
Avery sat on the ground near the basketball hoop. He had a basketball with him. He didn’t like his basketball because it was clean. He had just bought it at All-Mart a few minutes ago. It hadn’t occurred him to use it first. It was very obviously brand-new, and it made him stand out as an outsider here.
“Take that shot, Rakhim! Take the shot! Take-“
“Ah, nigga!”
Rakhim was one of the guys playing basketball. He was younger than the others — he had just turned eighteen a few days ago. The rest of the men playing were at least in their late twenties, some well into their forties.
Avery tried not to feel too self-conscious. He was in a public court in one of the worst ghettos of inner-city Baltimore. He stood out because he was the only white person here — what was even weirder was that he was, by far, the lightest-skinned person here. There wasn’t even a single light-skinned black person anywhere at the court. He also stood out because he was watching but not from the sidelines. He was there at the front of the court, behind the basket, so he was almost knocked over a few times as they played.
“Yo, whiteman, bounce it up.”
A ball landed near Avery. His heart skipped a beat as he picked it up and bounced it back to Rakhim. He was young and broad-shouldered, with tight, taut muscles that were dappled in sweat. He was on the “skins” team, so he was shirtless — Avery had watched him deliberately get himself on the skins team, presumably because he wanted to show off in front of the girls who chatted on the sidelines. None of the girls appeared to be paying much attention, but Rakhim smiled at them and made sure they got lots of views of his six-pack abs and his deep dimples.
As confident as Rakhim was in front of the girls, he showed less confidence in front of the old heads he played with. Rakhim was smaller than any of them, and he was easily the most handsome, so they all treated him like a prettyboy. He wasn’t scarred or heavily tattooed, and he had a smooth, unblemished face.
“Watch this dunk, nigga!” Rakhim shouted. He was much too short to be dunking, wasn’t he? Avery wasn’t a basketball expert, but he didn’t think someone like Rakhim had any chance of making it.
Sure enough, Rakhim slammed the ball onto the rim but didn’t make it in the basket. He landed on the ground and groaned as the other players all burst into whoops and hollers. The girls stopped chatting and watched, giggling while Rakhim stood, stony-faced, grimaces flashing over his eyes. He tried to smile good-naturedly.
“You must be this tall to dunk-!”
“That is why you got fired from Darling Donuts, nigga!”
“Yo, Rakhim, you gonna dunk ‘bout two minutes after that whiteman over there.”
They all laughed. Avery blushed, but he didn’t respond. He grabbed the basketball he had brought with him, lifted it over his head and licked the underside of it. He made sure it looked like he was licking a testicle.
All of the basketball players were quiet for a moment. The girls watching from the sidelines laughed — but they were confused, not recognizing the ball-slurping for what it was. Then the basketball players chuckled dryly and resumed the game. There was some faint whispering and casual glances in Avery’s direction, but no one spoke to him.
That was fine with Avery. He knew how to do this.
It was one of the middle-aged guys that came to talk to Avery. He was probably the oldest one here, with a lanky body covered with gray-tinged chest hair. He had a gravelly voice like he gargled with nails, so low and spine-tingling that Avery struggled to understand his words.
“Yo, wuzzup? Whatchoo want, whiteman?”
Avery giggled as girlishly as he could manage. “I just wanted to jerk some dick. Do you know anyone with a dick?”
He glowered. He spat on the ground. “You payin’?”
“I’ll pay you and him five hundred dollars if I get to jerk off Rakhim over there,” he said.
The man chuckled. “So you go’n pay me? For his dick? He my nephew, you know. He twenty-two, but he my nephew.”
“I’ll pay him too.” Avery smiled. “Or if you’d rather, I’ll pay a thousand dollars to the whole lot of you. All ten of you. Hundred bucks each.”
He thought for a moment. “Nah. You pay me. The whole amount, thousand dollars. Don’t tell Rakhim you payin’.” He paused, thought for a moment and rolled his eyes. “Nevuhmind, no. His daddy’s my brothah. You pay him the whole thousand dollars.” He sighed again like he really didn’t want to do that. “His daddy’s doin’ time. I gotta do what’s right… Fine, you pay him a thousand dollars. But don’t tell him till it’s done. I go’n mess wit’ him.”
The game seemed to have paused. The middle-aged man — Reg— jogged back off to the other older players. They spoke in hushed tones. It sounded like they had sent Reg to see what Avery wanted. They all laughed, then hushed each other.
Rakhim shot baskets lazily. He glanced back at the others, and he made eye contact with Avery then looked away.
“Alright, you shitheads got the ball,” Reg said, and the huddle at the far end of the court broke up.
The game resumed. Avery watched, slowly licking the basketball in front of his face. He heard some of the girls mutter catty insults about him, but Avery didn’t mind. He serviced a lot of alpha men, which tended to piss off females. He knew that. It was normal. He could handle the bitches.
“You ain’t nevuh got a dunk in, Short Stuff,” Reg said to Rakhim. Rakhim sucked on his teeth and scowled like he hated that nickname.
“Rakhim’s the only one here who ain’t nevuh one time dunk.”
“He can’t do it, nigga, no one that short can dunk. He shorter than Spud Webb.”
“I ain’t!” Rakhim yelled. “Nah! I’m five nine, nigga! I’m taller than Spud Webb! All y’all fuckers shut yo’ mouths! Spudd Webb was five seven. I can dunk any time I want, nigga.”
They laughed. Even some of the girls watching laughed, and Avery chuckled. Rakhim grabbed the ball from one of the other players. “I got two inches on Spud Webb!” Rakhim shouted, even though he knew it made him look even more defensive — he just couldn’t help himself. Rakhim grabbed his cock, its massive shaft momentarily outlined by his sweaty basketball shorts. Rakhim laughed cockily. “I got more than two inches on ‘im, man, I swear to God!” He pumped his biceps.
“How you know how big Spud Webb’s dick is?”
“Yo, are you sayin’ you jerked off Spud Webb?”
Rakhim shouted, “Y’all can suck the sweat off my balls! Fuck you! I can dunk! I’ll take you all on, motherfuckers!” He paced in a circle as though he was going to challenge someone to a fight but couldn’t decide who. His fuming just made the others laugh more.
The men laughed and clutched each other’s half-naked bodies as they watched. Five of them wore sleeveless shirts, and four (plus Rakhim) were shirtless, but they all pawed at each other’s sweaty muscles while Rakhim shouted. They laughed as though it was the funniest thing they had ever seen.
“Nah, nah,” Reg’s deep voice cut through Rakhim’s yelling, and he had such gravity and authority in his tone that everyone fell silent immediately. Even Avery stopped laughing. Reg’s chest rumbled. “Nah. Nah, nigga. None of us gonna slurp the sweat off ya balls.”
“Damn right.”
“You still the little’un, Rakhim. And you only just turned eighteen.”
“I is twenty-two, nigga, fuck you. I can dunk. You ain’t gotta show me disrespec’,” Rakhim said. He sucked on his lip.
Reg chuckled and placed one hand on his shoulder. “Look, young pup, you wanna show us what you got? Go for it. Let’s make a bet. You get three dunks, nigga. If you make one of ‘em, you win, and Slim Jay here gonna set you up wit’ one of his fine-ass hos.”
Slim Jay was one of the other players, on the Shirts team. He wasn’t dressed like a pimp now, but he was clean and had brand-new sneakers and about fifteen trashy-looking women cheering him on. Slim Jay was the only one with his own cheering section. Slim Jay pointed towards the girls cheering him. “You can pick which one you want, man.”
“Sharlene. I want Sharlene.”
There was a moment of silence, and the men all laughed. Rakhim’s face was tight and pinched, and he bit his lip.
“You in love wit’ a whore, nigga?”
“You gonna eat that bitch’s cummy, flappy pussy?”
“No! She hot! She got ass all over, nigga, and I heard she suck dick good. That’s all! I don’t love her, no way,” Rakhim said. He sighed because none of the men could hear him over their own taunting. He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Anyway, whatever, fuck you, Slim Jay. I could get her anytime I want. I could get a freebie. Girls love my meat, nigga. She be beggin’ for it if-“
“Nah.” Slim Jay said. He got up real close, and laughter stopped. His face was less than an inch from Rakhim’s. Since he was taller than Rakhim, he had to stoop over so his eyes lined up. “Nah, Rakhim. You ain’t gonna do that. She my girl. I love her. She know that. Ain’t nothin’ you do gonna change that. She don’t do freebies. She love me too much to betray me like that.”
After a long pause, Slim Jay kissed Rakhim on the lips. It was a momentary, dry, chaste kiss that ended as soon as Rakhim pushed him away. Despite it lasting only a half a second, the kiss made Rakhim howl and wipe his lips off as though he had just kissed battery acid. The other men laughed and clutched each other for support once more.
“Ya got a new boyfriend, Rakhim? You gonna turn tricks for Slim Jay?!”
Slim Jay smiled as they all hooted at Rakhim, who switched his hostile glares from Slim Jay, to the others, to the girls who shouted for more from the sidelines. But Slim Jay was already jogging away, to Avery. He wangled his dick in his jeans and smiled at Avery. “Yo, man. Gimme ten bucks for kissin’ Rakhim. I know you got off on that.”
“Uh…” Avery wasn’t expecting that. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, as he had no ten. “I, uh-“
Slim Jay took the twenty. “Good. The other ten bucks is you payin’ me to watch my ass as I walk away.” He laughed and shook his plump cheeks as he went back to the cluster of older men. Rakhim dribbled by himself in front of the basket, eyeing Avery suspiciously. It looked like Rakhim wanted to practice dunking but couldn’t do so right now without looking weak.
“You wanna do this, nigga?” Reg said to Rakhim. “If you can make just one dunk, you get to fuck wit’ Sharlene. If you can’t make a dunk, you gotta stop talkin’ trash ‘bout yo’ skills… and you gotta get whiteman over there to slurp the sweat off yo’ balls. And you gotta ram him.” Reg crossed his arms over his chest. The other men did the same, presenting a united front.
Rakhim scoffed. “What? Fine, whatever.” Then, like the details hadn’t really sunk in just yet, he said, “Wait, what? What’d you say? I gotta…”
“You scared?”
“Yo’ daddy’s is a booty bandit behind bars, you know that, right?”
“Shut up! My pops ain’t a booty snatcher, nah! Fuck you, man.” Reggie scowled and stamped his feet.
Reg rolled his eyes. “So whatchoo think? Can you do it? Can you dunk wit’ yo’ tiny ass?”
“Nigguh! Ah…” Rakhim paced again. He was furious that his father’s affairs were being aired in public. He screamed at Reg, “I know you lyin’! My pops ain’t no bum-tickler!” That made Reg laugh some more, and Rakhim took a deep breath through slitted teeth. “You don’t know jack-shit, old nigga. You don’t know nothin’. My pops don’t act like that. He ain’t fuckin’ around on that ramrod trip. Nope. No way.”
Reg covered his face as he tried to look serious. “Sure, nigga. Right. I know he introduced you. Ramon, right? His name was Ramon? You should respect him, he’s yo’ stepmama.”
“No he ain’t!”
“Alright, Rakhim, you wanna do it? Huh? You takin’ the bet? Quit makin’ a fuckin’ scene and do it. Or don’t, if you don’t think you can dunk…”
Rakhim flared his nostrils and nodded. “Hell yeah, ‘course I can do it. I can dunk, nigga. I can get all three, I bet. I can dunk, no problem. Three dunks in a row.”
“Let’s see it then…” Reg said with a wry grin. He and the other men lined up like they were watching a free throw. They clapped and hooted. The girls watching from the sidelines did the same thing.
Rakhim went back a few yards so he could run up to the basket. He dribbled a couple times. He shook his short braids out of his eyes and ran his fingers over his scalp. His tight pectoral muscles flexed and rippled.
Then he ran for it. He dribbled down the court, between the rows of clapping men and leapt at the hoop. Since Avery was there by the basket, he got a good look at Rakhim’s cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts.
And he missed. Rakhim whiffed completely. He barely touched the basket at all and didn’t even get the ball near the rim.
Laughter exploded from the other men. Rakhim roared and screamed profanities. His eyes bugged out. Some of the girls called out supportive words, which only seemed to make Rakhim angrier.
He raced back to try again before anyone could even tell him to hurry up. He ran faster, not even really dribbling anymore — he dribbled a bit, but if this was a real game, he’d have been called out for traveling.
He got closer, but this time he merely touched the rim with the ball. There was a metallic clang, but no basket.
Again, the audience all erupted in clapping. Avery joined in, shouting encouragement even though he wanted Rakhim to lose more than anything. Catcalls and hoots came from the other men, while the girls giggled among themselves.
Rakhim paused for a long time before his third try. He hushed the crowd, which made the other players laugh harder before Reg told them all to be quiet.
“Nah, let him concentrate, man. We gotta give him a chance. Let him try,” Reg said until they all fell silent. Slim Jay even made his hos shut up.
Rakhim took a deep breath and ran forward for his last try. It was, once again, a miss. He got it on the rim and it almost went in but bounced right off.
No dunk.
Rakhim lowered his head and closed his eyes. He frowned and tightened his hands into fists as the other players alternated between teasing and sarcastic words of support.
“You suck, nigga!”
“Short Stuff! Short Stuff!”
“You tryin’, nigga, you get a medal for tryin’. You got spunk, man. You got gumption.”
“Gumption! Short Stuff full of gumption! And spunk!”
“Spud Webb’s spunk…”
“Fuck you! Fuck you!” Rakhim screamed. He threw the basketball away as hard as he could. It sailed over the fence and bounced into the road outside the court. A few of the girls booed.
“Ah, don’t be a shit, Rakhim,” Reg said. “Jesus Christ, you such a bitch sometimes.”
“Say that to my face, Uncle Reg!”
“I just did say it to yo’ face, motherfucker! Open yo’ ears!” Reg laughed and mimed plucking something from Rakhim’s ear. Rakhim bristled and rubbed his ear as though he thought there was something in there. Reg clasped Rakhim on the shoulder and squeezed. “Chill the fuck out, nigga.”
“We just givin’ ya shit, man. You ain’t gotta throw the ball away. That’s a punk move.”
“If we was in lockup, nigga, I’d stab yo’ ass for that. I’d stab ya in the ass, and then, once I blew my nut inside ya, I’d stab you wit’ a shiv.”
They all laughed at Rakhim’s heavy breathing. Rakhim’s eyes were narrowed to slits. He looked so furious he might explode.
“Yo, you gonna do what you promised?” Reg asked. “Huh? You gonna back out like a loser?”
“Nah. Nah. No.” Rakhim bristled. His anger broke, and he glanced back at Avery. He took a deep breath, rolled his eyes and forced a smile on his face. “Whatever. Fine. Let him suck the sweat off my balls. Fuckin’ bitch. I ain’t, you know… I ain’t some squeamish nigga, you know. I don’t fuck around on the downlow, but I could. I could. I could. I just got females, y’know. I ain’t a bitch who can’t get no pussy. I ram a male, sure, I ram a male, you know… I would ram a male, if I needed to. Sure. No problem, nigga. If we was in prison, I’d-a done took whiteman back there to be my bitch. He’d already be doin’ my laundry, you know, hand-washin’ my drawers. I be eatin’ that bitch’s fruit cup from day one.”
“Is ‘fruit cup’ how young’uns say ‘asshole’ now?”
“I do it, no problem.” Rakhim shrugged and sucked on his teeth. Then he shrugged again, more aggressively. “Sure. Where? I ain’t invitin’ no man into my mama’s house.”
“Right here, nigga. We do it how yo’ daddy make love to his boyfriend, wit’ all his boys blocking the view from the screws,” Reg said. “Get in a circle, niggas.”
Before Avery even realized it was going to happen right here — there was a public bathroom in the courts, so that’s where Avery assumed they were going — the nine players had come to him and formed a circle. Avery leaned against the pole supporting the basketball hoop. He had his own basketball in hand, but he dropped it to the ground and held it in place with one foot.
With nine very large men in a tight circle, flesh-on-flesh, there was no way to see in from outside. Even if you got up real close and tried to look through their legs, all you’d see was low-hanging basketball shorts. You’d have to get all the way down on your belly to see anything, and even then you’d only be able to tell that Avery was on his knees.
Rakhim stood in the center of the circle. His eyes closed, hands on his waist, his pert chest muscles rose and fell as he breathed heavily. He gulped. He tried to put on a tough-nigga face. “Alright, man, get to it. I got some sweaty-ass balls right now-“
Someone pulled down Rakhim’s shorts and his drawers, laughing when it made Rakhim bristle. He had a nice thick cock dangling between his legs, and heavy balls with sweat dripping off his kinky black hairs.
Avery wanted to get started right away before Rakhim decided to drop out. He dove his head between his legs and let both balls plop into his mouth. He gurgled moistly, making as much noise as he could because it made Rakhim bite his lip with embarrassment while the others clapped and cheered.
Rakhim shuddered. He had never had his balls licked before, not really — he’d had girls lick his sac a bit, but they were never willing to suck on his balls. He was ticklish, which he thought would make him look weak so he tried to avoid reacting. But the more he resisted, the more Avery teased his taint with his tongue, making Rakhim giggle like a schoolboy.
“Quit playin’, quit playin’…” Rakhim muttered.
Avery suckled all the sweaty balljuice off his body. He even got way down deep between Rakhim’s legs and slurped like he was trying to suck his taint right off. Rakhim was ungodly funky right now, with fresh sweat dripping in rivers down Avery’s throat — Rakhim was sweaty because he was playing basketball on a humid summer afternoon and because he was nervous about showing off his cock in front of a bunch of old heads.
But he had nothing to be ashamed of. Not only was his cock plenty big, but it got hard right away — almost too quickly, Rakhim thought, hoping no one noticed that he got an erection easily, as though he was with a girl.
“Throat him down, Rakhim!”
His plump cocktip pushed into Avery’s throat. Avery deep-throated him right away, in one smooth motion, prompting the other men to clap again. Rakhim shuddered and closed his eyes. He leaned back against the pole holding up the basketball hoop.
“Course, I’ll throat him down, man,” Rakhim said. His voice sounded a lot less confident than his words suggested, which made the other men chuckle. Rakhim snorted. He took a deep breath and grabbed Avery by the head.
And then he let go and laughed. His laughter was tremulous and anxious.
Rakhim had trouble focusing. He tried again, touching Avery’s scalp, but when he felt Avery’s straight, short, man’s haircut, he laughed nervously again. He pulled his fingers back.
“You scared, Rakhim?” One of the older men poked Rakhim in his bare ass with one finger, making Rakhim buck and smack his hand away.
“Nah, man, this, uh… This man’s just nasty, that’s all,” Rakhim said. “Whatever. I can ram his throat. I ram hard, you know it. I can make him gag.” He closed his eyes and tried again. He grabbed Avery by the scalp, so tightly it hurt. But Avery didn’t mind, he just swallowed Rakhim down to the root, and he didn’t gag even when his throat cried out for it — Avery had been doing this long enough he could usually suppress his gag reflex. Avery’s hands reached up to tease Rakhim’s nipples, which made his pecs ripple.
“He ain’t gaggin’, Rakhim. Maybe yo’ dick ain’t big enough.”
“You got another, bigger dick somewhere? Whip it out, nigga.”
“He… He prolly slurp too many dicks to gag. Ain’t that right, man?” Rakhim asked. He pulled out and lightly slapped Avery on the cheek. “Huh? Is that why you don’t gag?”
“Yes,” Avery said, the first thing he had said to Rakhim all day.
“I bet my dick tastes like pussyjuice, don’t it? I was fuckin’ a female earlier. I was dick-deep in her, man.” He beamed proudly, and glanced behind himself to see if the others were impressed. They were not.
“I don’t taste pussyjuice, sorry,” Avery said. “Your dick tastes really good though-“
“You don’t know what real pussy tastes like, whiteman,” Rakhim said. He rubbed his hard cock over Avery’s face, smearing precum over him. “That’s all. I was fuckin’ a female, I swear. Right before I came here. I busted all up in her.”
“You ain’t fuck her in the ass?”
“Nah. Nah. Not her,” Rakhim said. “Not this morning. I do fuck bitches in the ass, man. No problem.”
Avery smiled. “Are you ready to ram me in the ass?”
“Hell yeah he is, boy! He gonna get up in there!”
“Destroy him, Rakhim!”
“Do yo’ daddy proud and wreck his ass!”
Avery turned around and bent over. He stuck his ass up high, too high for Rakhim to ram him in it. Rakhim had a beaming, prideful smile on his face until he saw Avery’s tight asshole twinkling in front of his face. Rakhim looked away.
“You scared?”
“Ain’t you evuh been locked up, Rakhim? This yo’ first time?”
Rakhim scoffed. “Course it’s my first time, nigga. I ain’t a booty bandit or nothin’. I ain’t gone inside. Nope. I said that before, nigga. I don’t mess around on the downlow,” he said.
“So this ain’t downlow? We can tell everyone?”
“No!”
“I’m tellin’ yo’ daddy,” Reg said with a grin. “I’m gonna call him right now. You gonna get in there?” Reg fished out his cell phone from his shorts pocket. He dialed a number. “No one prolly gonna answer, on ‘ccount of it’s a smuggled cell phone. They keep it turned off. They gonna call me back if yo’ daddy’s available.”
“You ain’t gotta tell my pops, Uncle Reg! Come on! Don’t tell him!”
“Why not?”
Rakhim’s mouth was agape, and he mumbled like he wanted to come up with a reason but couldn’t think of any. He just thought and stood there with his erect cock resting on the surface of Avery’s ass.
Avery got bored with waiting. He reached behind himself and grabbed Rakhim’s dick. His fingers shocked Rakhim out of his reverie, and Rakhim slapped his hands away.
“Nah! Don’t tell him, Uncle Reg! Quit playin’! Come on, nigga…” He paused. He grabbed Avery’s hand. “Get yo’ hand back here again, whiteman. You guide my dick in.” He put Avery’s hand right back where it had been before he smacked it away.
“Get in there, Rakhim!”
Rakhim took a deep breath and pushed his cock in. He gasped and gagged when it finally went in. He closed his eyes, and then he covered them with one tattooed forearm. His breathing was short and shallow as though he was on the verge of tears.
“You evuh ram a male in the ass?! Huh? Fo’ real?”
“No, man! I said that! I ain’t nevuh do it. I get pussy. I get females,” Rakhim said with a roar. He pounded on his chest muscles. “I get females beggin’ for my meat, you don’t even know!” The more he bragged, the more the others cackled and jeered at him. They kept squeezing his muscles, pretending to be girls overwhelmed with desire.
“Ooh, Rakhim, you turn me on so much, will you lick my butthole?!”
“Nothing turns me on more than watching niggas fail to dunk, Rakhim, that’s my kink. Come here and titty-fuck me!”
“If I threw a ball at you, Rakhim, could you not catch it? That makes my pussy so wet. I’m a fumble-holic, nigga.”
“Ooh, nigga, could you miss an easy lay-up while you fuck me, Rakhim? That’d be so hot.”
Someone gave Rakhim the ball that Avery had brought to the court. Rakhim scowled and ignored them, but a chant soon erupted. He held the ball.
“Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it! Miss it!”
Finally Rakhim screamed in rage — he barely even paid attention to his cock sliding in and out of Avery’s ass right now — and threw the ball. He was behind the basket, so he had to throw it high to get it over the backboard.
The ball whiffed completely. It didn’t even touch the net. It bounced away on the ground, and the men erupted in cheers.
“That was so hot!”
“If you plow hard enough, Rakhim, you might grow some balls. Then you’d be a real boy, just like yo’ fairy godmother promised.”
“Fuck you!” Rakhim screamed and threw a punch, but with his dick in Avery’s ass, it was a useless gesture. He just flailed his fist in the direction of one the men. They all laughed and clapped. Rakhim shouted justifications — mainly claiming that Avery’s movement had distracted him — but no one could hear him over the sound of the others razzing him.
Rakhim seemed to realize that the only way out of this was to just finish up. The more he responded, the more the others teased him. He bit his lip, gritted his teeth and grabbed Avery by the cheeks to ram him harder. Then he realized he was touching a white man’s ass, and he let go with a pained grimace.
A cell phone rang. Everyone laughed, except Rakhim, who moaned, until Reg hushed them all and answered the phone. Reg serioused up. “Yo, nigga. Yo, I know you gotta pay for this, don’t worry, I put some money in yo’ commissary — nah, it ain’t ‘bout none of that, relax. It’s a joke,” Avery said. “Yo’ son is here gettin’ his cherry popped on the court.”
“I ain’t a virgin, pops! Shut up, Uncle Reg! Nah, that ain’t what’s happenin’! Nah! Nah!” Rakhim grabbed for the phone, but without pulling away from Avery’s ass. His cock throbbed and sent shivers of pleasure through Avery’s body. Rakhim flailed uselessly towards the phone in his uncle’s hands. Some of the other men slapped his hands down.
“Shut up, Rakhim.”
“Yeah, there’s some white man hanging out here. We set up a wager, and yo’ boy ain’t dunk one time — yeah, I know, he still short, he do think he can dunk-“
“I can dunk, nigga! My pops seen me dunk! He saw it!”
Reg was quiet for a moment. “He say you ain’t nevuh dunk on no regulation basket.”
“It was reg’lation, man! It was just as high as this one!” Rakhim pointed to the basket he had missed. “I can do it. I swear to God, I can do it.”
“You ain’t gotta swear to God to prove it, nigga. All you gotta do is do it.”
“Yeah, so he rammin’ that man. He deep in his ass right now. I think he might be in love.”
“Nuh-uh! Fuck you, Uncle Reg! Say that to my face! Come on!” Rakhim shouted. He seemed to have forgotten his dick was in Avery’s ass, and he pushed towards his uncle Reg. Avery squirmed and held back squeals, as the thick shaft in his guts sent paroxyms of pleasure through his body.
“He ain’t nevuh get no female, so this is sorta practice, you know. He learnin’ how to use his dick for the first time.” Reg paused and laughed at whatever Rakhim’s father said. Reg cleared his throat. “Hey, so you know that boy? What’s his name, Ramon? Yeah. He yo’ cell wife or what?” He paused, then said, “Ha! Tol’ you, nigga.” He put his phone on speaker. The sound of a crowded prison filled the air, macho grunting and a whistle in the distant background. “Go’n, say that again.”
A deep, gravelly voice intoned, “Ramon’s my boy. He’s my cell wife. I ram him all the damn time, nigga, you know that.”
“Nah! Tell ‘em the truth, Pops!” Rakhim shouted. “Fuck you all!”
They all laughed hard for a long time. Avery found it difficult to follow all this, because he jacked himself off while Rakhim rammed his ass. Rakhim’s cock was rock-hard even as he got embarrassed, and it tickled Avery’s prostate with every thrust of his hips.
Soon Avery shot his own load onto the ground. No one noticed because they were focused on Rakhim, who took the phone from Reg and spoke into it — it was off speakerphone now.
Rakhim’s voice went from macho and braggy to calm and respectful. “Hey, Pops. Uh-huh. Yeah. I’m doin’ it! Uncle Reg’s being a prick, nigga. I’m- Uh-huh. I know. Yeah. Yeah. Yes, sir,” Rakhim said. His voice was weak now, like he didn’t enjoy showing respect in front of others. He looked down at his cock, still pulsating in Avery’s ass. He stopped moving it, but Avery kept sliding back and forth, up and down on the shaft. “Yeah, I’m rammin’ him. Just… Pops… Come on, man… Yes, sir. I’m… Yeah, I can do it. I won’t. I won’t. I won’t! Shut up, man, I said I won’t! Why you gotta have a cell wife?! Tell him he gotta wear makeup! I got niggas in there, man, they tellin’ e’rybody — Mom don’t know! Mom don’t know ‘bout that shit! She don’t know nothin’- Nah, pops! Nah! Nah, nigga!” He paused and sighed. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sir, I don’t say the n-word that much, Uncle Reg got me worked up,” he whispered. Then he sighed again and gritted his teeth. An involuntary surge of sensations ran through his body, making his muscles all flex as his hips gyrated, forcing his cock in and outta Avery’s ass. “Yes, sir. Sorry. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Yes, I’m going to church!”
“No he ain’t!”
“I ain’t seed him at church!” Reg shouted at the phone.
“I am going to church! I missed one week! Just one!” He paused. “I swear to God, Pops, just make him yo’ bitch. I don’t wanna hear that shit. Nah. Nah! He ain’t — Pops! Man, don’t say that! Don’t say that! If he can be yo’ cell wife, he can be yo’ bitch! Make him a bitch! Pimp him out! Fuck you then! No! No! Don’t-! Don’t tell her! Man… I’m sorry, Pops, just chill out. Don’t tell Mom. I ain’t mean it. I just… I got respec’ for you, Pops. I was just mad. Don’t call him yo’ cell wife.” He sighed again. “Yeah, fine. Okay. Yes, sir. I’ll… Yes, I’ll meet Ramon next month in visitation. Fine. I’ll be nice. Yes, sir. Don’t tell Mom.” He hung up the phone and handed it back to Reg. “He said he treats Ramon like a bitch. He just calls him a wife cuzza prison rules or some shit. Don’t mean nothing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Okay, Rakhim,” Reg said with a snorting laugh. “You gonna cum or you gonna fall in love over there?”
“He gonna fall in love like his daddy did.” Rakhim looked down like he didn’t understand why his dick was in Avery’s ass, throbbing, sending spasms of ecstasy through Avery’s tense body. Avery groaned and moaned into the asphalt of the Bullmass Park court.
“He ain’t in love! It ain’t real love anyway, it’s prison love. All y’all shut up! He ain’t takin’ dick! He’s on top anyway, I know that!” Rakhim said, his eyes closed. They all tittered with laughter, which made Rakhim frown though he didn’t say anything else. He just gripped Avery by the ass and started ramming again.
Then he twitched like he hadn’t meant to touch Avery’s ass with his hands. He grimaced and let go. He kept ramming back and forth though.
Avery had already shot his wad onto the floor, so every stroke of Rakhim’s cock inside him just extended his post-orgasmic bliss. His ass was in terrible pain now, since Rakhim had a huge cock and rammed with it clumsily, obviously having never stuck anyone in the ass before (probably including women). But the pleasure of the man’s cock throbbing inside him combined with the arousal flowing through Avery’s body to make him writhe uncontrollably. Avery felt like he was falling apart.
“I can ram you so hard, whiteman, you gonna be beggin’ me for mercy,” Rakhim said, his voice trailing off like he realized he was making a boast he might not be able to back up. He wrapped one of his arms around Avery’s throat. “Gonna treat you like a prison bitch. This is prolly how that bitch Ramon gets it.”
He put Avery in a loose chokehold and slammed his cock in, moving his hips around as though he needed to do it from every angle. He groaned and grunted into Avery’s ear. Avery moaned and bucked, resisting at first then allowing Rakhim to ram him harder and harder.
“Fuck you, man, fuck you!” Rakhim hissed directly into Avery’s ear. That made Avery shudder with both fear and desire, and his ass clenched around Rakhim’s cock.
At last that was it. Rakhim groaned, and it was obvious he was relieved to finally finish. The other men clapped. His voice broke in Avery’s ear, his breath condensing on his skin.
“Oh damn, I guess those balls do work.”
Hot cum flew into Avery’s ass. Rakhim was young so his balls were full, bursting with juices. It all flowed into Avery like his cock was a hose, and his cum sprayed throughout Avery’s body. He could feel it trickling into every corner of his flesh. A surprised moan came Rakhim, and an intense moan boomed out of Avery’s mouth.
Some of it seeped down his thighs too, trickling onto the ground and the puddle of Avery’s own cum. Rakhim roared and pounded on his chest, breathing heavily. His roar was interrupted by his own gasp, and then he snarled as Reg pinched his asscheek again.
“There you go, you got it. You worked hard for yo’ money, nigga,” Reg said.
Rakhim nodded. “Uh-huh. Tol’ you. Told you I could do it.”
“You said you could make him beg you-“
“He begged. I heard it,” Rakhim said. He pulled out and grimaced, gagging at the sight of Avery’s cum-filled asshole. Avery giggled and squeezed his ass, making a big clump of cum slide down his leg. The men all laughed and clapped. Rakhim took a deep breath. “I did it, nigga.” He paused. “Wait, what? Whatchoo sayin’ ‘bout money?”
No one answered him. They all exchanged knowing glances. Rakhim furrowed his brow, looking right at Reg. He didn’t notice Avery pull out his checkbook and start writing.
“Huh? Uncle Reg, what was you sayin’?”
Avery handed Rakhim a check for eleven hundred dollars — the extra was to cover the cost of cashing the check at a payday-loan place. Rakhim took the check, but it didn’t register, he just scowled at Reg.
“Uncle Reg, what did-?” He saw the check. “What’s this? Huh?”
Avery just walked away, cum still dribbling down his thighs. He squeezed between two sweaty bodies, since the men were still interlocked in a tight circle. He kept his tongue out as he went so he got to lick all the salty sweat off one man’s ebony torso on his way out. Whoever it was jumped away like Avery’s tongue was painful.
“Yo, did he just pay me?! Why ain’t you tell me I was gettin’ paid?! Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, nigga! Hell yeah, I got white men payin’ fo’ my meat. Ain’t nothin’ wrong ‘bout that. You tell my pops, right? He won’t believe me. Uncle Reg, you gonna tell him?”
“Nah. I will tell yo’ moms though.”

Make Him Beg

Mark has lost it all at the race-track, and he’s desperate to get it back! Will Tyrell give him a second chance?

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Read it all here!

On his knees just inches from the dumpster, Mark cried. He looked up at Tyrell hoping for mercy, but there was none. The smell of rotting garbage from the racetrack was intense and revolting. Mark’s nose had gotten used to it though. It was sour and bitter, bracing like a cold wind early in a crisp morning.
“I’ll do anything.” He blushed. Mark had been raised in privilege, so he had rarely had to beg anyone for anything. But he had bet it all on a pony — literally, he had bet everything he had in a last-ditch effort to make a fortune — and lost it. Now Mark needed to do whatever it took to undo that mistake.
It should have worked. He was on a bad streak, and it should have been over with. He calculated the odds. He was due for a big win. The universe owed him a big win.
“I’ll consider letting you take your bet back,” Tyrell said, his grizzled jaw shaking as he chewed on his lower lip, “But you gotta show me you deserve it. Take my dick outta my pants.” He outlined his cock in the black slacks all the racetrack security wore. The fabric was not thick, and the massiveness of his shaft was apparent through the cloth.
“What?”
“If you take my dick outta my pants and you can look at it without sobbing like a prison bitch, I’ll consider letting you take your bet back,” Tyrell said. He had a big beaming face like a bully. He was that kind of guy, you could tell he’d always been handsome, always perfect, women always went chasing after him, adults approved of him. He had aggressively appealing dimples. A man shouldn’t have dimples like that. It’s demeaning for other men. Tyrell rolled his eyes above his awkward smile. “If you can look at my dick without sobbing at what a deadbeat you are, I’ll consider letting you take back the debt. No promises though, just consideration.” He crossed his arms over his chest, which made his powerful chest muscles pop through his tailored suit.
A part of Mark’s mind thought he should just say no and cut his losses, but he needed to get his money back. If he did, he could place a bet when the track reopened tomorrow. All this unpleasantness would go away with a well-placed bet.
He undid the zipper of Tyrell’s jeans and pulled his dick out. He had never touched another man’s cock or even looked at one closely. He gagged at the sweaty scent, and the limp, greasy feel of it. Did all dicks look and smell like that? He had never looked at his own so closely.
“You don’t like the smell of cocksweat, huh?” Tyrell said with a dry, throaty chuckle. His voice was gravelly and rough, like he gargled with rusty nails.
“No,” Mark said. His lip quivered but he held back his tears. He didn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he already had.
“You wanna kiss my dick?” Tyrell asked with a comforting lilt to his voice, as though he thought it likely Mark did want to kiss his dick.
“Do I have to?”
“No, but it might help.”
Mark blushed and kissed it. He gagged again at that greasy texture. It tasted like cum already, like Tyrell had fucked some girl without a condom and then never showered. He probably did precisely that, Tyrell was that way. You could see it in how he carried himself. Women probably tossed their fucking pussies at him. Some men have it so easy, Mark thought.
“That was nice. You wanna taste it?”
“No…”
“You might decide you like it,” he said.
“I won’t,” Mark said with a wince, avoiding Tyrell’s penetrating gaze.
“If you open your mouth, I’ll consider letting you take your bet back.”
“That’s what you said before.”
“I know. I did consider it. The result of my consideration was that I told you to open your mouth if you want me to continue the process of reconsidering. You can always say no and just walk away, take a loss, admit you got got, you been defeated. You know, if this was the olden days, you and ya family would all be sold into slavery. All I’s asking you to do is open your mouth anyway. I ain’t say I’d wreck yo’ throat like the deadbeat-bitch you are.” Tyrell smiled. “I didn’t say I won’t wreck your throat like a deadbeat-bitch either. I ain’t makin’ a comment on that. Who can predict the future? I thought McCain was gonna win.”
Mark winced and blushed. After going through all this, he thought, fate was surely gonna give him a win when he placed that bet tomorrow — Lady Luck rewarded those who took big risks. He opened his mouth. He could handle it.
He gagged as Tyrell’s manhood pushed in. It was long and thick, limp and clammy at first. But it very quickly firmed up, then dripped precum down Mark’s throat.
“Oh. I guess I am gonna turn your throat into my personal pussy,” Tyrell said with a shrug. “I’m as shocked as you are.”
The taste was terrible. It was like fart and sweat and a little like nasty pussy. The more Mark tasted, the more certain he was that Tyrell had been fucking a whore earlier. Tyrell had a fat female neighbor whom he used as a booty call. He had fucked her right after his shower when he bumped into her in the hall. He drained his nuts in her pussy, then left her there fingering herself to orgasm, both because he didn’t care about pleasing her and because he didn’t want to be late for work or Mr. Gregarian would yell at him.
Could people out in the parking lot see as they drove by? Mark couldn’t tell if they were able to see. He prayed not. The alley was wide open and connected to the street, but trash cans and dumpsters probably blocked the view. If they did see him slurping on this stranger’s cock, Mark thought, he’d never be able to live down the rumors.
The more Mark did, the more he thought fate would reward him with a win when this was all over. He could feel it in his bones, and when he saw those lights flashing, it’d all be worth it. He’d be able to retire if he won really big. And Tyrell here would look at him with such burning jealousy.
Mark could already feel it. It hadn’t happened yet but it felt so real it might as well have. Mark imagined what he would say to Tyrell when that happened, how superior he would feel, how pitiful Tyrell would look. Tyrell would have to offer Mark free wine, free hotel rooms, free meals. He’d have to bow and serve Mark because he was a high roller.
But first he needed to make it through this. He had never tasted a cock before, and he had no idea how difficult it would be. He had rather assumed it would taste more or less like pussy, especially in this case since pussyjuice was caked onto Tyrell’s shaft, but it actually tasted much worse than that. There was a definite piss-like flavor, Mark thought as he sputtered on the cock invading his gullet, and it made him want to vomit.
The part that Mark hated was the choking. He gagged on the taste and on the fleshy missile poking its way down his throat. Tyrell was relentless, and he even seemed to enjoy seeing Mark gag. His throat rebelled at it. Tyrell held onto Mark’s head by the ears, ramming with all his might, like he was trying to shatter something in there. Tyrell had massive balls too, and he smelled the bitter sweat clinging to his sacskin when it was launched by his thrusts to splatter on Mark’s chin and lower lip. It was salty and foul, and it made his gags worse, as did the wiry pubes, scratchy and coarse, where Mark’s forehead slammed into the meat of his powerful body. Tyrell used his throat like a fleshlight, and Mark couldn’t help but squeeze his choking throat around it.
“Yeah, it’s okay to gag a little. That’s because you’s tastin’ real man right now,” Tyrell said. He grumbled and licked his teeth. “Yo’ body is used to bein’ a bitch, cuz that’s what you is, ya fuckin’ deadbeat.”
He pulled his massive cock out and slapped Mark over the face with it. It was harder than seemed possible, like getting slapped by an iron rod. He laughed when Mark gasped for air and heaved. He held Mark’s head in place by holding onto a lock of his hair.
“Lemme… take… a break…”
“Nah,” he said. He pried Mark’s jaws apart and fed his cock back down his throat. It tasted a little like bile now, in addition to everything else. Mark gagged and choked on it all over again.
Another man in a fine suit appeared in the alley. “Hey Tyrell, did Cue call out sick today?” This man was smaller than Tyrell, and the suit was nicer — he was not security. He was the owner. Was this the guy who could let Mark take his bet back? He glanced down at Mark but didn’t say anything to him.
“Yes, Mr. Gregarian,” Tyrell said. He slammed his dick all the way down Mark’s throat. A shudder of pleasure ran up his spine, making his tie shake above his broad chest muscles.
“Tell Cue that if he does it again, I’ll fire his ass,” Mr. Gregarian said with a scowl. He took a few steps away, then stopped. “Is that deadbeat slurpin’ on your dick properly?”
Tyrell snorted. “Not really.”
“Hey, deadbeat,” Mr. Gregarian said like he was talking to a deaf, retarded person. “Hey, you prolly got a gamblin’ problem, you think?”
Tyrell pulled away so Mark could answer. But tears streamed from Mark’s eyes and he couldn’t catch his breath. A few scattered syllables escaped from his throat as he tried to explain what had happened.
His family had really started this. They had brought him to a restaurant for a family get-together — to celebrate his brother’s engagement to some girl Mark had never met. As it turned out, he had never met her because she didn’t exist.
There was no restaurant. There was no engagement. There was no fiancée. There was only an “intervention”, which was what some therapist called it when your family attacks you and reminds you of all your failures as though you might have forgot.
We’re worried about you. You spend all your time at the track. You’ve lost so much money.
They didn’t understand. Mark tried to explain, but they weren’t listening. They were fixated on the idea that he was a gambling addict. Mark thought that might be true, but what they didn’t understand was that horse-racing wasn’t even really gambling — there was real science behind it. Mark was developing a way to predict which horses would do best.
He would have played along, however, and spent some time keeping a low profile. But one of his email contacts had said that a particular horse’s odds had been misprinted. The horse was On Her Mark, which Mark took to be a sign.
So he had bet it all on a pony. And now here he was in the track’s garbage-strewn alley, sobbing as he tried to explain it all to the owner of the racetrack and the attached bar. Mr. Gregarian listened as though he really cared about the story. He clucked his tongue against his teeth like a kindergarten teacher listening to a child explain why he was crying.
“Oh, I see,” he said, though there was no way he had understood more than a few words of that, because Mark had never even caught his breath, he was still panting and heaving throughout the story. Mr. Gregarian nodded. “You know what? I’m allowed to make a limited number of exceptions. That’s part of my power as a manager here at the track.”
“Really?!”
“Fo’ real, homie,” he said with a snicker. “I will consider giving you your money back if you prove how much you regret your actions.”
“I’ll do anything!”
“Lick Tyrell’s asshole,” Mr. Gregarian said, stifling a laugh. Tyrell laughed too. “Ram your dumb deadbeat tongue into his filthy fucking ass. He’s got a nasty asshole.”
Tyrell undid his slacks and dropped them to his knees before Mark had even said yes. His cock was hard, sticking through the fly, so he had to awkwardly angle it down in order to lower his pants. His dick was so big, his pants got caught on it. Tyrell laughed and said, “Hey, don’t make it seem like my ass is especially nasty, Mistuh Gregarian, I don’t got — nothing’s wrong with my asshole. It’s dirty like all assholes are dirty-“
“Shut up, Tyrell-“
“You’re making me sound like a degenerate,” Tyrell said. He had a huge pair of asscheeks, powerfully muscled too, you could sense the strength of his thighs through the tender firmness of his ass.
Mr. Gregarian rolled his eyes, while Mark stared at the bare ass before him like an erupting volcano. Mr. Gregarian clucked his tongue and shook his head. “You can always quit gamblin’. You don’t gotta keep going, deadbeat.”
But Mark was more sure than ever that this was going to work. The more disgusting things he did to make it happen, the more certain he was that he’d win when he bet it all on another pony. Maybe, he thought, this will take all night. That would make sense, fate-wise, he’d finish and get his cash back just as the track was reopening tomorrow. He’d be able to walk right back to that ticket counter, place a new bet and smirk at Tyrell and Mr. Gregarian as he collected his winnings.
So he dived between those cheeks while Mr. Gregarian cackled and Tyrell grunted as though he hadn’t thought Mark would go through with it. Tyrell was a meaty man with thick, plump asscheeks, the crack of which was choked with kinky brown hairs. He yelped a little in surprise when Mark’s head entered his asscheeks.
Mark just left his face there at first. Then Mark took a breath, and the taste of ass flooded his mouth. He hadn’t even licked anything yet, but the flavor was overwhelming. Sweat-soaked hairs scratched at his chin and nose.
“Stick your tongue out, deadbeat. Lick his asshole,” Mr. Gregarian said. “You gotta get your tongue in the hole to get me to reconsider your bet. That’s how I know you’ve really learned your lesson.”
He tentatively stuck his tongue out and gagged when he felt spongy rectum. But he was insistent on getting this done — there was no sense in backing out now, after all — so he forced himself to stick it in.
Mr. Gregarian spread Tyrell’s cheeks, gingerly touching the firm meat. He wanted to watch Mark’s tongue sliding in and out. He gagged at the sight of it, then spat right on Mark’s face. His loogie was bitter and gritty, and it stuck to Tyrell’s ass.
Then Mark lost himself in that asshole. It was all he could see, hear, taste and smell — he was dimly aware of Tyrell complaining about Mr. Gregarian spitting on his ass, but Mark didn’t and couldn’t listen to any of that. Rancid ass and greasy hair filled his mouth. If he had eaten anything all day, he would have thrown it up, but he just painfully retched. He gagged continuously but told himself that it would all be worth it. He didn’t even notice Mr. Gregarian walk away, laughing at the raunchiness he had instigated.
“Alright, I bet you know what’s coming next. Drop your pants, deadbeat,” Tyrell said. “I’m gonna get in that ass. You ever been ramrodded?”
“No way!” Mark gasped as he pulled away from that hairy, cloying ass.
“Do I really gotta say it? You, deadbeat, you can get your money back — I’ll consider giving it back — if you let me wreck yo’ dumb whiteboy ass,” he said with a smirk.
“You had better do it!”
“Do you think I will?” Tyrell asked with a sigh. His massive dick throbbed as he stuck it between Mark’s cheeks. “Come on, answer the question, deadbeat. Do you think you’ll get your money back? Or do you think I’ll just turn you into my bitch and then leave you here in the trash? Huh? You really, truly think I’ll give you your money back?”
Mark couldn’t bring himself to say yes, because most of his mind knew the answer was no. It had always been no. But the part of his mind that was addicted to gambling was the part that was in control, so he just stayed there and wept while Tyrell laughed. If there was any chance that this would work, Mark was going to take it.
He was, after all, a gamblin’ man.
Then splitting pain erupted in his ass. Mark screamed but Tyrell held his hand over Mark’s mouth to muffle the sound. He had never felt anything like it, as though his entire body was being ripped asunder.
“Open that ass, bitch,” Tyrell murmured. He grabbed ahold of Mark’s thick hair and held his head in place.
He drilled his dick in deeply, his throbbing cock pushing in even as Mark’s ass tore and sent waves of pain up his body. He flailed uselessly, reaching behind himself to claw at Tyrell’s muscular body beneath his suit-shirt and jacket.
“Oh shit, another deadbeat, huh?” came another male voice. Mark looked behind himself to see a track employee, one of the bet-takers behind the window. He was a handsome young blond man, probably a college student, carrying a bag of garbage from the concession stand.
The pain in Mark’s ass was too intense to say anything, or even to feel embarrassment at being seen by yet another track employee. It hardly mattered now, did it — there was a security camera back here anyway. He bet Tyrell was going to upload this video to the Internet regardless. That thought made him sob, his back arching as more and more cockmeat rammed into him.
“This one’s really nasty,” Tyrell said with a loud grunt. The last of his dick slid into Mark’s straining guts. “He already licked my asshole.”
“Ah, that is fuckin’ disgusting!” He cackled up Mark’s face. “Let’s see how bad we can make it.” The worker dropped the bag of trash on the ground and ripped it open. It stank of rotting hot dogs and old relish, and the foul smell even got through the ass-stank that still stuck to Mark’s face.
“Make him lay on this, man,” the worker said with a snicker.
Tyrell laughed and did so. For a moment, Mark felt relief because his ass was empty, but Tyrell didn’t give him more than a second to enjoy it. He slammed Mark on his back on the open back of trash. Mark sank into the rotting food head-first, his ass in the air so Tyrell could slip his cock back into it.
The pain reawakened in his ass, now made worse by the smell of garbage all around him. Mark sobbed. He was now less confident that this was all worth it — what if, even if he got his money back, he didn’t win. He would be destitute tomorrow. He’d have to go to his family and say that he had lost everything, that they were right and he was wrong, he really was a gambling addict.
He sobbed so hard he didn’t notice the track employee taking his dick out and letting loose with a stream of piss. It flowed over Mark’s sputtering face, the acrid flavor making him gag all over again.
The blond employee snickered and walked away, muttering that he hated this job because of all the deadbeats. Mark blushed. He wanted to tell Tyrell that he was done, that he backed out, that it wasn’t worth it anymore.
But his agony and his shame were too great. All Mark could do was quiver and cry as that massive cock drilled into him over and over. His entire lower half was in the air, supported by Tyrell’s powerful arms so that his ass was available. Meanwhile Mark’s weight was on his head and neck, as though Tyrell was mid-piledriver, with his face deep in the racetrack garbage.
“Just you and me now, deadbeat. Just you and me for the grand finale,” Tyrell said. He closed his eyes and shuddered, his orgasm visible in the undulations of his muscles beneath his dark suit.
He realized it was done when he felt Tyrell’s balls crawl up in his sac. Tyrell groaned, and Mark cringed inwardly. This was it, Mark thought, he had officially allowed his gambling addiction to turn him into a mewling little bitch.
Cum flowed into him. It was a thick, hot load that seeped into his flesh. Mark felt it soaking into every inch of his body, trickling in the folds of his skin to coat him in filth and nastiness. He’d never feel clean again.
It didn’t seem like a normal amount, Mark thought, especially for someone who had just fucked earlier today. It felt like a hug wad, which he felt spreading within him and also dripping out and down his thighs and back, coating his entire underside.
“You ain’t done yet,” Tyrell said when he pulled out and intense relief flooded Mark. He sighed.
But Tyrell pulled him to his knees, and shoved his limp, ass-and-cum-covered cock into Mark’s mouth. The taste of santorum overwhelmed him, and he dry-heaved mouthloads of saliva all over Tyrell’s nasty cockshaft.
It was gritty and grimy. It tasted like the trash that covered this alley, and like farts and stale sweat and old jockstraps. It made Mark want to die at the thought that he was tasting his own ass-goo.
Finally that was it. Tyrell pulled his pants back up, tucking his limp dick away. He pushed Mark into the garbage on the ground.
“I’ve reconsidered,” Tyrell said. “And my answer, yet again, is no. Fuck you, deadbeat. Don’t come back here again until you make some money.” He straightened his tie and tucked his dick away.
Then he sauntered off, leaving Mark there in the garbage, crawling, struggling to get on his knees. He couldn’t stop gagging because of the assy flavor on his tongue, and the smell of trash in the air.
He was there on all fours for what felt like forever. At last he managed to make it to his feet and pull his pants up. He’d have to go back to his parents. That was the only thing that made sense. Mom would make it all better. Every step caused arduous pain in his ass, so wasn’t even sure he could make it all the way home.
But there was a piece of paper on the ground. It had been in the trash. It was not like the other kitchen trash that the blond guy had dropped back here. It was a printout of an email.
He read the email and smiled. There was a horse racing tomorrow whose jockey had been replaced at the last minute, from a no-name loser jockey to one of the most well-known athletes in the field today. With this more experienced jockey riding him, Mark thought, the horse was sure to win, and since no other bettors knew that, Mark would be trading based on better information than them. That gave him a marked advantage.
He still had doubts about placing the bet until he saw the horse’s name. It was called Loser’s Revenge.
That cinched it for Mark. Fate was telling him something, and he wasn’t going to ignore it. It was time, he decided, to bet it all on a pony.
He just needed to find a way to drum up some cash before the races started again tomorrow.

The Debtor

Alfonso is late on his payments, but he can’t let the tow-truck driver take his car away… That means he’ll have to do whatever it takes to keep his car!

Is he gonna hafta bend over and take it from the generous booty bandit who makes an offer?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Alfonso scratched his balls as he went into the bathroom to shower. He had to step over stacks of dirty clothes. He yawned. His breath was hot and harsh, so he brushed his teeth right away. He didn’t like eating breakfast with bad breath.
There was a truck idling outside. That wasn’t so strange, since Alfonso lived above a bodega. They probably had a delivery. He had barely finished brushing his teeth when he realized it was a tow truck.
A tow truck picking up a car. A little blue Mazda.
Alfonso drove a little blue Mazda.
The tow truck was taking Alfonso’s car!
He darted outside, unaware that his dick dangled out the fly of his boxers. “Yo! Esé!” He ran to the parking lot, shivering in the chilly early-morning air.
He tore down the stairs of his building, screaming for the tow truck to stop. All the things he needed the car for ran through his mind — he needed to get to work, to drive to his girlfriend’s apartment, to drive his girlfriend places, to find other girls to fuck on the sly, to go to Tyrell’s to buy pills and just generally to not look like a poor slob who couldn’t afford a car.
So he couldn’t let them take it. By the time he made it out to the parking lot, he had become dimly aware of the fact that he was in his boxers. He tucked his cock back into the fly.
“Hey! What’re you doin’, esé?”
“Hello, Mr. Cornejo? We’re from Deltoro Towing and we’re here to-“
“Lay off my car, man! C’mon, what’choo doin’?”
The tough fat-bodied biker with thinning hair in a ponytail and a pig-like face glared at him. He was flanked by two more big men who crossed their arms over their chest. Behind them, the tow truck pulled the car up its ramp and onto the back of the truck.
“Ya gotta pay ya bill, hoss,” said the fat tow-truck driver, who grinned like an ape. “Car’s gettin’ repossessed!”
“Don’t be a fuckin’ deadbeat.”
“Ain’t ya car no more!”
“Nah! No way, esé! Put that car back! Hey!” Alfonso ran around them, heart pounding, unsure what he was going to do but desperate to do something. He thought maybe he could run up onto the back of the truck, get in the car and drive it away before anybody could react.
But he tottered a little as he got up onto the truck, which gave the repo men enough time to get close to him, and Alfonso realized he didn’t have his keys — all he wore was his boxers, which wasn’t even concealing his dick right now. He didn’t have his keys or his driver’s license or a shirt.
“Get down from there, man, don’t make us call the cops,” said the fat biker, who grunted and held one hand on his belly.
“Man, fuck you! I need that car! C’mon!” Alfonso tried to undo the straps keeping the car in place.
The guy operating the truck’s lift stopped it while Alfonso was climbing around up there, so the car was almost entirely on but the rear of it still angled down to the ground on the ramp. Alfonso felt strong hands on his feet as he reached for the straps. The men tried to pull him back to the ground.
“C’mon, holmes, get off the car! We ain’t playin’ wit’cha!”
They dragged him off the tow truck, Alfonso screaming a litany of threats and insults in both English and Spanish. He shoved the fat man away from him, and someone else rammed him into the tow truck. Alfonso grunted and was struck with dizziness. He stayed right there just long enough for the car to be brought the rest of the way onto the tow truck.
“C’mon, esé, c’mon, ya gotta give me some more time,” Alfonso said. His heart raced. He didn’t like begging, especially not in front of a bunch of gringo rednecks, but he didn’t have a choice. “You don’t understand, I gotta have that car-“
One of the bikers, a dusky-skinned fellow with a neck tattoo of Gothic lettering, stepped forward and grinned. He casually slapped Alfonso on the cheek a couple times, not in a violent way, more like a chummy friend. He chuckled. “Then, esé, you should’a paid ya bills,”
“Man, come on…”
Alfonso kneeled and buried his face in his hands. Obviously this wasn’t going to work. He knew it looked like he was crying — which he wasn’t — but he needed to concentrate to come up with a plan. He heard the tow-truck guys snickering amongst each other, and Alfonso had to fight against the urge to go punch them.
His muscles flexed because he wanted to start a fight, like his body was already working itself up for combat even as his mind told himself no. This was how he lost his temper. Back in school, that happened all the time, and he kept getting in trouble. Being an independent adult living on his own had mostly cured him of his temper problems. It was just on certain occasions like these he found it difficult once again to control his anger.
There were people looking at him. Alfonso hated being humiliated like this. His blood ran hot and cold, his toes curling. He felt like his head would explode. He wanted to shout at all these people to get back in their houses, that this was none of their business, that they should fuck off or he would kick their asses.
But it was important to be focused on what mattered — Alfonso was going to need rides into work. He needed to save enough money to catch up on his payments. He was going to need to do some extra work somehow to make more cash.
Would he have to do something illegal? Alfonso hoped not. Tyrell would definitely hire him to sling pills, but that was not a viable way to make money, not really. He’d be lucky to make ten bucks a day doing that.
Of course there were other drugs he could sell. The only dealer he knew was Tyrell, and the only drug Tyrell dealt was lorazepam. But Alfonso had connections. His friend Enrique knew a coke dealer. Some of the guys at his job did steroids.
Could he really sell hard drugs? Alfonso didn’t want to do anything illegal. But he couldn’t think of any legal way to make a lot of money in a hurry. He was going to need a couple thousand dollars to get his car back, and if he didn’t do it in thirty days, the car would be auctioned off. If that happened — and this was the part that made him furious — Alfonso would still owe all that money. He’d be out of the car, but he’d still have to make payments on it until it was paid off, and he’d owe money to the tow company as well.
There was one person watching whom Alfonso could sense was still there, even as the others left. His eyes drilled into Alfonso’s skull, making him intensely aware of the man’s existence. Alfonso lifted his head out of his hands. Sure enough, he was still there.
He had caught Alfonso’s eye before, during the argument with the tow-truck guys, because he was probably not from this neighborhood — he wasn’t Latino, and this area was almost all Peruvians. The stranger stood out on the street, near the bus stop — though he faced the wrong way to meet the bus.
He watched Alfonso. The stranger was mid-thirties, black, tall, wearing a plain brown shirt and pants. He looked like a businessman on casual Friday (though it was Thursday), Alfonso thought, complete with a thick mustache and a no-nonsense glare to his deep, brown eyes. The black man had a solid, glaciery way of carrying himself, like nothing mattered but what he was doing, which was nothing, and therefore, nothing mattered.
Alfonso stood, looking in his direction nonchalantly so he didn’t attract attention. The strange black man approached him then.
“Hey. Alfonso? Alfonso Cornejo?”
Alfonso nodded and narrowed his eyes to slits. He was still hostile and upset, so without thinking about it, he glared menacingly at the stranger. He flexed his ropy-muscled, tattooed chest. He wished his cock had flopped back out the fly of his boxers again because it was big.
“I need some help with a job,” the black man said. “If you come with me and work for the day, I’ll make your car payments. I’ll get you all caught up. You’ll be able to get your car out of the impound lot. Today, son.”
“Really?”
The man nodded. Alfonso hesitated. He assumed this job, whatever it was, was unpleasant. He wouldn’t be offering that much money to someone desperate if it wasn’t bad. But Alfonso had done some terrible jobs before, scrubbing toilets, getting up at five o’clock every morning, working outside in the freezing cold all winter.
“What is it?”
“Can’t tell you now. Come get in my truck,” He gestured to a large black truck parked out on the street. It looked like a work truck but it didn’t have any markings on it. “My name’s Nelson.”
“Uh-huh.” Alfonso decided to say yes, but he had difficulty bringing himself to actually say that. Aside from being fearful at what the job was, Alfonso was embarrassed to agree like this. No one but some desperate loser and punk would ever agree to a job he knew nothing about from a stranger he didn’t know. Was he really going to get in a truck with some strange man?
If he was a gringo, Alfonso might have said no. But he thought he could handle a middle-aged black weirdo. Nelson checked him out, looking him up and down. Alfonso preferred to assume that Nelson was simply checking out how strong he was, to be sure he could do the job. Alfonso made a bicep and Nelson squeezed it. Alfonso hoped this job was something difficult and arduous but simple, like building a deck (but nobody would hire just one person for that). Nelson grunted like that was satisfactory but didn’t move.
“Well? Come on, if you’re coming on. I got work clothes for you,” Nelson said. He didn’t wait for Alfonso, he just turned around and went towards the street.
Alfonso followed him to the truck. He sighed. It’s just a job, he reminded himself. “What is it? Where you gonna take me? What kinda work clothes you got? Do I need my ID? I ain’t got my wallet.”
Nelson got behind the wheel. Alfonso wanted to refuse to go anywhere until he got some answers. But the prospect of making enough to get his car back today was enticing. He desperately wanted that. He could spend today doing whatever this was and then not have to worry about it anymore. That was preferable to spending the next month hustling up enough money to rescue his car from the impound lot. No matter what the job is, he thought, he could do it for a day.
He got in the passenger seat. Nelson drove off, with the radio off too, which was disconcerting to Alfonso, who never drove in a quiet vehicle. He could hear every rumble of the truck’s engine. He heard Nelson’s heavy breathing, which sounded almost sexual. Alfonso shuddered but hid his discomfort.
This was all happening so fast, he thought. He’d only been out of bed for a half-hour or so. “What kinda work you got for me?” he asked when the silence had become unbearable.
“Hmmm…” Nelson turned to grin at him as he pulled to a stop at a red light. It was still early in the morning so there were few cars on the road. “It ain’t exactly work. I thought we could play a bit.” He paused, then placed one of his big meaty hands on Alfonso’s flat belly.
Alfonso’s six-pack rippled as Alfonso groaned and leaned his head back. He shut his eyes.
“You don’t wanna do it?” Nelson asked.
Alfonso didn’t say anything. He shut his eyes more tightly. “I ain’t, y’know, I ain’t some punk or nothin’. But, y’know…-“
“Nobody said nothin’ ‘ccusatory. I just wanna get my nut off, and I don’t wanna muck about with some female. You just know she gonna talk my ear off, right? Prolly make me take her out to dinner at some fancy restaurant. Who got time for that, huh?” His hand roamed up and down Alfonso’s body.
“Man…”
“You wanna go back home? I take you back now if’n you want,” Nelson said. “And I’ll even give you five bucks to pay you for these couple minutes wit’ me so far.” He handed over a five-dollar bill.
Alfonso took it. “I mean… I ain’t touchin’ yo’ dick, you know that, right? I ain’t into… I mean, as long as it’s me gettin’ my dick wet, you know. It ain’t wrong to get jacked off by some pasivo. Ya feel me?”
“I do. I feel you very well,” Nelson said. He chortled as his hand slipped down to Alfonso’s crotch. He pulled his long, uncut cock out through the fly of his boxers.
Alfonso sucked in his breath, and he wrinkled his nose at Nelson’s callused hand stroking his dick. He wished Nelson was a young man. Instead, it felt like getting pawed over by a grandpa.
“You okay?”
Alfonso scoffed like that was a stupid question. “I can handle some… man strokin’ my dick,” he said. He had to cut himself off to avoid calling Nelson something rude. He closed his eyes again.
“You ever done this before?” Nelson asked. He was driving again, on the highway now. He kept one hand on the steering wheel while his other hand lazily stroked Alfonso’s half-hard dick.
“Yeah. I’m from Peru, we always get our dick wet, esé. So yeah, I get li’l punks to jack me off all the time.” Alfonso didn’t further explain that he’d only ever let them do it when he was very drunk. He was much less comfortable in this situation, in the truck of a large, older stranger who wasn’t part of Alfonso’s culture or neighborhood.
“Uh-huh.” Then he got off the highway. Nelson had to use both hands for that, and when he was on a side street, he drove quickly into the used-car dealership where Alfonso had purchased the car. There were two lots nearby, one wide open (full of cars available for sale), and the other was behind a fence (full of cars that had been repossessed or were in need of repairs before being placed out for sale). The dealership’s office wouldn’t be open for nearly two hours, but this was where Nelson would have to pay Alfonso’s delinquent bill.
He parked in a rear part of the lot, where it wasn’t obvious if he was parked for the impound lot or for the restaurant supply store next door. They shared a parking lot, but both stores appeared to be closed this early.
“Alright, vato, you lookin’ kinda horny. You horny?”
Nelson put one hand on Alfonso’s stomach, and his other on his dick. He had to awkwardly crane his body to the side to face him. Alfonso still leaned back in his seat, eyes closed. He brought one of his arms to his face to further cover his face.
“Huh? You horny?” Nelson gave Alfonso’s dick a good long stroke, slow as anything.
“Not exactly…” Alfonso grunted. “I can bust a nut anytime though. My chicas always say that. They say my dick get hard too easy, ya feel me?”
“Uh-huh.” Nelson leaned over and popped the tip of Alfonso’s dick into his mouth. Alfonso groaned. His cock was only a bit hard at this point. Alfonso wasn’t even aware of that because he was hyperfocused on his own nervousness. That was good, because if he was aware that he hadn’t gotten hard, he might have become even more anxious and unable to perform.
A long low moan with a baritone rumble to it escaped from Nelson’s mouth. Nelson laughed around the cock in his mouth, which rubbed through the dense bristly hairs of Nelson’s mustache.
Nelson thought it was cute to watch guys struggle to get hard, eyes alternating between scrunching tightly shut and opening wide as they watched it finally happen. That was what happened now. Alfonso peered underneath his arm just in time to see his dick fully stiffen up as Nelson deep-throated him. Alfonso could feel pleasure in his dick, but for now, it seemed distant and dim, like it was happening to someone else and Alfonso had some strange connection to it he couldn’t explain.
But Alfonso found it hard to look away because it felt better with every passing moment, as he became less and less nervous with it. A jolt of pleasure shot up his spine, and he bit his lip.
“Shit, esé…” Alfonso hoped that sounded more confident than it felt in his mind.MenWhen the bracing taste of precum hit Nelson’s tongue, he knew it was time to move on. Alphas getting jacked off by a man had a way of cumming suddenly and without warning — sometimes it took a surprisingly long time, some times it was a surprisingly short time. Nelson theorized that that was because they paid more attention to their own feelings than the physical sensations, and they weren’t used to a purely physical orgasm, so it hit them by surprise.
“You ready to stick me, nigga?” Nelson asked. He kissed Alfonso on the neck and Alfonso gulped.
“I mean… Yeah,” Alfonso said. His voice had a nervous quaver to it, but he tried to hide it — a real man, he thought, should be comfortable with his dick, even if it was downlow.
The cab of the truck was too small to do it easily, but Nelson thought that was one of the charms of messing around in here. He always thought it was more fun to have some limitations of that sort. If he was in a plain old bedroom, for example, he’d have simply bent over and invited Alfonso to plow in.
But that wasn’t an option. Alfonso had to help, to get out of the way so Nelson could take his pants down — which meant his bare black ass jutted up and into Alfonso’s face. Alfonso backed away in horror as though he might accidentally give Nelson a rimjob if he got too close to it.
Nelson chuckled and waved his ass in front of Alfonso’s face, then he lowered his hips so that he was crouched overtop of Alfonso’s crotch. He would have to sit, crammed into Alfonso’s lap.
“Ah, oh… shit, esé, uh… can’t we, like… Yo, can we get in the back?”
“We’ll be seen,” Nelson said. He smirked. “These windows are tinted, nobody can see us up here. Besides, it’s cold out there, and I’ve got the heat on in here.”
“Oh…” Alfonso didn’t really like letting Nelson be on top. It would have been fine if Nelson was slim and feminine. Alfonso could have forcibly put him in a good position (which Alfonso defined as any position in which he didn’t have to see Nelson’s cock, balls, body hair, head hair, mustache or the distinctly masculine shape to his hips). Alfonso would have had plenty of room, and Nelson would have done anything he said.
Instead he could do little more than sit there, arms hovering above his head because he couldn’t put them anywhere else without accidentally touching Nelson’s firm body. Alfonso closed his eyes again as he felt his cock slip into Nelson’s tight asshole.
This time, he couldn’t deny that it felt good. It actually felt almost exactly like a woman’s ass. He would never admit that, but it was true — all that stuff he thought would make it impossible to get hard with Nelson turned out not to matter: he barely noticed the kinky black hairs of Nelson’s ass once he got in there, and with his eyes closed, he didn’t pay any attention to the shape of Nelson’s well-muscled back.
It really did feel good, he thought, but he wanted to hide it. Alfonso grunted like he struggled to stay hard.
But his grunt turned into a gasp. Nelson sunk all the way down on his cock, grinding his hips, rubbing to each side. He leaned over and kissed Alfonso right on the lips. A long low moan came from Nelson’s scratchy throat.
That part Alfonso didn’t mind so much — it was normal in Peruvian culture to kiss one’s bottom.
It still felt weird, however, because Nelson was on top of him, because he moaned into his mouth with a densely masculine, gravel-coated voice and because his scratchy mustache rubbed over Alfonso’s upper lip. It was hard to pretend he was with a woman with Nelson’s tongue in his mouth.
His hands gripped Nelson’s hips. Alfonso now opened his eyes wide. He could feel an orgasm hitting him, and he shouted, the sound resonant in the tiny cab of the truck. He was shocked at his own self for gripping Nelson’s meaty, hairy hips. He would have thought he’d be grossed out by it.
But he found no real reluctance in himself to hold Nelson’s body as he pistoned his hips up. He slammed into Nelson’s ass so hard Nelson grunted and bumped his head on the roof.
“Shit!” Alfonso moaned, hands clawing at Nelson’s back.
“Goddamn, vato!” Nelson shouted with a tense chuckle. He leaned himself back, all the way onto Alfonso’s cock, as he sprayed his own wad onto the dash of his truck. The smell of jizz bloomed in the stuffy cab.
“Hell yeah, man!” Alfonso held Nelson deep on his dick. An orgasm finally exploded within him. He had felt it coming, but then it hit him as a surprise, his mind still focused on his shock at touching Nelson’s body without being nervous or grossed out by it. He was glad that none of his friends were around — they would be impressed if he had ramrodded a male this hard, but they’d tease him forever for plowing a bigger, older man in exchange for money.
But he was also glad he did it. Aside from the financial benefit, it just felt good, Alfonso thought as bliss flowed through his veins and he let out a long, crooning sigh. His hands gripped Nelson’s skin tightly, then loosely, then they both fell to the seat beneath him.
“Shit, esé…”
“Hmm… fill me up, son,” Nelson said with a moan.
Cum flowed into him, great creamy gobs of it that flowed through his body and trickled into every corner of his flesh. It was warm and creamy and inviting, and Nelson wished it could have lasted forever.
But alas, it didn’t. Nelson sighed, remaining deeply ensconced on Alfonso’s ass until every last drop had snuck out. He craned his head back to kiss Alfonso again, first on the lips, then on his cheeks, his mustache rubbing against Alfonso’s early morning scruff.
“Goddamn, son,” Nelson said. He chuckled and gave Alfonso a peck on the lips. “That was good enough you could-a talked me into buyin’ you a new car.”
“Really? I-“
“Nah, nah, nah, no, man, no,” Nelson said. He shook his head, mustache quivering. “Nah, I was just kiddin’, I wouldn’t do that. If I did, it’d just be a new used car that ain’t no better than the one you got. Nah, nah, don’t even try that.”
“Oh.” Alfonso wanted to argue, but it was hard to concentrate with his limp dick still in Nelson’s ass. His orgasm was over, but aftershocks still hit him, making him writhe and grunt beneath Nelson’s heavy body.
When Nelson finally slipped off him, every inch of his dick emptying from him sent a new wave of post-orgasmic pleasure running through his body. He sighed and slapped Nelson’s ass with a cocky chuckle. He thought that would make him feel tough again, but that only lasted a moment before he looked down in time to see his dick plop out, followed by a giant puddle of cum that slopped onto his shaft.
Alfonso gagged at the sight. He hurried to grab the pile of napkins on the dashboard, and he wiped his dick off. “You best pay up, esé.”
“I will,” Nelson said. He sighed and slipped into the driver’s seat. Somebody else was just parking nearby and heading over to the impound lot’s front office. Nelson watched them go. “Looks like we’re just in time. I’ll go pay your bill right now. You wanna stick around? You can drive yourself home…” He chuckled dryly. “Nevermind, I’ll take you home first so you can get ya clothes and ya keys and shit. Then I’ll pay the bill and you can drive your car home.”
“Yeah, cool, esé,” Alfonso said. He cleared his throat as Nelson drove off.
This had gone well enough that Alfonso was beginning to wonder if he could set this up again. Maybe he could make some extra money on the side for a long time to come. Maybe, he thought, this guy could make his car payment every month.
“You okay?”
Alfonso nodded. “You, uh… do this a lot, esé?”
Nelson shrugged. “Now and then.”
“Cuz, uh… I’ll be around next month, and I’ll have another car payment to make…”
Nelson smiled. He patted Alfonso on the back when he got back into the parking lot. “Sorry, vato, I’m movin’ on after this,” he said. “Go’n get ya clothes. Maybe we could play a bit more today. I got some cash burnin’ a hole in my pocket. But when I move on, I’ll be gone.”

The Cuckolder

Avery runs across a handsome young black man fleeing the husband of his latest conquest, and since Tyrell seems to be in desperate need of a ride, Avery makes him an offer…

Then before he knows it, Avery is in for an incredible new adventure in man-on-man rough trade!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Avery Flowers sat in his car, waiting for his stupid brother-in-law to send him a stupid text message. His sister had asked him to help out with something: giving her no-good husband a ride to his boss’s house to beg for his job back. Avery didn’t like his brother-in-law Dayton, but he did love his sister. So he agreed, and now he had to sit out here in his car and wait for the all-clear to leave.
He was about to drive off regardless. If his stupid brother-in-law wanted to get picked up again, he could damn well call and ask for another favor.
Finally a text message appeared on his phone: nvrmind, thx Avary, all good. That meant Avery’s brother-in-law presumably had his job back again. Avery was glad for him, even if he did strongly dislike the man. He didn’t get why anyone would give him a second chance. He was especially annoyed that, after years in the family, his brother-in-law still didn’t know how to spell Avery’s name. What a dick.
That was when Avery saw a naked man, climbing out of the top floor of a three-story building. The man was tall and muscular, tattooed, dark-skinned, with short hair and an intensely masculine face. A very handsome face, like a movie star or a well-bred stallion. He was broad as an ox and powerfully built, stacked with muscles that he used to climb down the fire escape in the alley across the street from where Avery was parked.
He also had a huge cock. Avery could tell from here. Looked like a cricket bat dangling between his legs.
“You fuckin’ piece of shit! I’ll kill you!” A lanky middle-aged white man stuck his head out a window on the top floor and screamed down to the alley. Then he disappeared back into the apartment.
The black man was Tyrell Brickley, and he had one hand over his flopping cock and low-hanging balls as he descended the fire escape into the alley below. He assumed that would be enough to get away from the white man — husband to Tyrell’s latest conquest, whose name was Karen or Carol or something like that, some white-lady name. Not that Tyrell got anything against white ladies. He do savor them indeed.
The husband, Mr. Karen or whatever, must have come out the front door of the building, and he caught up with Tyrell around the block.
“Shit!” Tyrell turned to flee the other way. “This honky fast!”
This husband was more limber than he seemed. He had long legs and wasn’t fat like most of the husbands whose wives Tyrell seduced. Tyrell had strong legs, but he was heavy, and he was hampered by his bare feet. He wished he had managed to at least grab his shoes. The pavement here was covered in sharp stones and bits of garbage.
Reaching the next cross-street, Tyrell looked left and right, not sure where to go. Where to get clothes? Tyrell had no solution to his current predicament. His phone, his wallet, everything was back in that lady’s apartment.
Which was also the apartment of the man chasing him, which meant the husband had or would soon have Tyrell’s wallet and phone. “Shit!” Tyrell said with every step.
The sunny part of the asphalt was scorching hot on his feet, and Tyrell ran to a cooler, shaded spot. A squad car drove past, but luckily the cop behind the wheel didn’t notice Tyrell standing there in an alley. Tyrell frowned.
No cell phone, no cash, no car, no plan.
“Shit!” Tyrell snapped. “Shiiiiit!”
“Hey, man, need a ride?” Avery’s voice called out from his car, which pulled to a stop near Tyrell. He waved to get Tyrell’s attention. “Hey, man, need a ride?”
“Ah, shit, thanks, I on the wing, yoh,” Tyrell said. He darted into Avery’s car just as the husband came around the corner, peeping his head left and right like an angry meerkat. His face was red and squinty-eyed. Tyrell slammed his door shut. “Go!” Avery peeled away in a hurry, and Tyrell breathed a sigh of relief.
That sense of relief didn’t last long, however, before Tyrell realized he had gotten into a complete stranger’s car. He was naked, so he wouldn’t be robbed — he had nothing to steal. But that hardly made this safe. He had been so worried about getting away from that husband that he hadn’t made sure his sudden escape route was safe.
He looked out the car window in time to see the husband shake his fist at the car driving away. Tyrell smirked. He glanced over at the slim man behind the wheel.
“My name is Avery,” the driver said, with a feminine lilt to his voice.
“Tyrell.” Tyrell sighed and rolled his eyes. “Thanks foh the ride, Avery.” He flashed a handsome grin in Avery’s direction. Tyrell carried himself like he knew he was handsome, which made him less handsome. A lot of people would think of him as arrogant, or seemingly arrogant at least. Avery wouldn’t dispute that. But he had a fantastic body. Plenty of reason to be arrogant. Avery didn’t mind. He appreciated the male form.
Avery’s hand clasped Tyrell’s leg, giving it a squeeze. Tyrell rolled his eyes and grunted in a disagreeable way. His upper lip quivered. He acquiesced as Avery’s hand roamed up his well-muscled thigh, then ascended his chest. His muscles were firm like rocks, and his pecs flexed when Avery touched them. But he said, “Nah, man…”
“Hmm-hmm.” Avery dropped his hand back to grope Tyrell’s thigh, which he squeezed hard. “Where do you want to go?”
“Ummm… the’uh’s this place out in Crandwell,” Tyrell said, his voice lightly stawky with a trace of a drawl. It was the only place he could think of to go. His muscles flexed wherever Avery touched him. He cleared his throat. “I between places right now. I ain’t homeless or nothin’. The’uh’s this chick out in Crandwell who let me keep sum shit the’uh. I got clothes I can wear — get ya hand offa muh dick, man.”
Avery frowned. Tyrell’s cock was moist and thick, sticking to his leg. Avery had just barely brushed one hand over it to gauge Tyrell’s reaction. “Sorry. Can I touch your dick?”
“No.”
“Can you flex a bicep? You have great arms.” Avery let go of his dick.
“No.”
Avery clucked his tongue and stroked Tyrell’s bicep, which was rock-hard and bulging even though he didn’t flex it. Avery’s hand moved lower and tweaked Tyrell’s nipple. “I helped you back there, I didn’t have to. You should let me touch you…” Avery whispered. “I love your physique. You must work out a lot.”
Touching his nipple made Tyrell’s dick twitch. Tyrell assumed that Avery saw it, though Avery was actually watching the road as he got on the highway. Tyrell sighed. “Don’t read nothin’ into that, muh dick ain’t gettin’ hard, I ain’t geekin’. I just like it when girls touch muh nipples, y’know.” He chuckled throatily.
“Hmm-hmm. You’re really handsome.” Avery was annoyed that he didn’t get to grope Tyrell’s dick. He had a nice body though, and that felt great beneath Avery’s hand — even that was disappointing because Avery had to watch the road and couldn’t really see Tyrell’s frame or his flexing muscles. He could feel their firmness though, and he could sense the simmering body heat, the furnace powering his broad body.
“Yeah, whatevuh, man.” Tyrell looked out the window, ignoring Avery’s hand over his chest. “Can I use yo’ phone? Shit, nah… I donno nobody’s numbers.”
“How about… if you let me jack you off right now, I’ll let you use my phone, you can message your friends if you want, and I’ll even buy you a new phone if you can’t get your old one back,” Avery said.
“What, no shit?” Tyrell scoffed and nodded. “Hell yeah, man!”
It was only a handjob, after all, Tyrell thought. He pretended it was fine. It was fine, he assured himself over and over. There was a dude in the barbershop near where he grew up in Baltimore who used to jerk off any eighteen-year-old who wanted to bust a nut. He had been legendary, and he throated Tyrell so good Tyrell thought he broke his cock. He went all the way down! All the way!
But Tyrell was young and horny then, plus drunk. He’d only ever been with two women at that point. He had been desperately horny, and all his friends did it too. They lined up outside the man’s door one night, coming in one by one until the neighbors complained. It would have been weird to not do it at the time. He was drunk enough that it barely mattered, he didn’t even think about it at that moment, and it had only taken about two minutes (to cum, plus like twenty minutes in line).
But he had plenty of sex these days. Literally like ten minutes ago. He don’t need none that DL shit. With some freaky-ass white man who got a girl’s name.
But Tyrell did need a phone and he don’t want Avery to kick him outta the car, so he just closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His dick was soft and spongy because he had fucked that woman a couple times last night and again this morning, and his manhood was still recovering. He grinned at the thought of that tight middle-aged pussy. He loved fucking a pussy some other man thought was his.
“You fuck with a lot of married women?” Avery asked.
Tyrell scoffed. “Yo don’t even know, you don’t own a pussy, y’know, ya gotta earn it, you gotta keep earnin’ it e’ry day. Man, white men gotta have money, ya know, but they don’t realize they females is still out fuckin’ wit’ nigga dick, ya feel me?”
“Hmm-hmm…” Avery murmured. Tyrell’s dick was slow to firm up in his hand, especially since it was awkward to jack him off in a moving car while Avery drove. He put it on cruise control though, now that they were on the highway.
“You ever let a guy jack you off before?”
Tyrell nodded. “Once. I was younguh then, don’t even try nuhhin’ now,” he said. “I don’t like messin’ wiff white dudes. That other nigga got me off real gud. But the’uh was this white dude who usedta look at me all the time, man. Yo be hangin’ out in the shower ‘nd’shit, rubbin’ muh back. I know he wanted muh dick. I don’t let some white man have that over me, y’know, runnin’ around tellin’ all his little white buddies ‘bout the time he got sum nigga-dick in his mouth. Nah. No way, nigga, that ain’t how I play.”
“It sounds like you have a problem with white men,” Avery said. Tyrell’s dick was rock-hard now, veinily throbbing in Avery’s hand. A few drops of precum slipped out, lubricating him, and Tyrell sighed. His dick was exquisitely sensitive.
“I ain’t lettin’ you mouf me off neithuh,” Tyrell said because he could see Avery’s eyes flittering back again and again to stare at his dick — he knew Avery was going to try to throat it sooner or later. “Nah, I ain’t into that. Nuhhin’ personal.”
“No offense taken.”
Tyrell grabbed Avery’s hand as it stroked his dick, and he guided it up and down more quickly. “Like that, good, like that, stroke that jawn fast, dawg.” He sighed. Tyrell’s hips pumped, so he humped Avery’s hand just as much as Avery’s hand stroked him.
He was surprised at how good the handjob really was. He’d never enjoyed a handjob this much. He grunted and bit his lip. His breathing sped up as he tried to hump Avery’s hand harder, lifting his hips off the seat.
“Damn, nigga-” He choked off his own words as pre-orgasmic pleasure surged through him. He gasped.
Avery teased him by stopping, squeezing his dick but not moving his hand again — Tyrell was on the edge of his orgasm, so that made him writhe in frustration and use both of his hands to again force Avery’s hand to move once more. Avery smiled and did so, as Tyrell’s dick erupted in a torrent of cum.
“Oh fuck-!”
It sprayed all over his bare chest, coating his smooth brown skin in creamy goodness. It just kept on coming, even though he’d fucked not too long ago, he just had big dangling balls that were chock-full of creamy cum.
His wad clung to his muscles and dripped from his pecs. “Ah, shit!” Tyrell said through gritted teeth. A few beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He couldn’t believe a simple handjob felt this good, and he hoped Avery didn’t get the wrong idea about him because of it. “Ah, nice, nigga, keep strokin’… Hmmm…” He licked his lips. “Don’t leggo-” He grunted. “Stroke it real slow now, real slow…” Tyrell’s whole body undulated and he moaned, jetting out one final flow of jizz.
Avery’s hand got coated in cum, and Tyrell’s dick soon was soft again. Tyrell’s whole body trembled as Avery kept on stroking until Tyrell couldn’t take it any more and pushed his hand away.
“Good timing,” Avery said. He sucked the cum off his finger, the sound of which made Tyrell gag — girls were never that enthusiastic about cum. He pulled off the highway into Crandwell. “We’re almost there.”
“Yeah, cool,” Tyrell said. He chuckled, trying to recover his breath without looking impressed. It was just a handjob, a mandingo-nigga like himself couldn’t get excited over a handjob without blowing his rep. He heaved for breath as casually as he could manage. “Cool. You bettuh buy me that phone, yoh.”
“I will. Where’s this house you can get clothes at?”
Tyrell gave him directions to a tony neighborhood a ways off the highway. There he pulled up to a house with a pool out back. “Don’t worry, I fuck wit’ this divorced lady, she don’t needta hide nuhhin’.” He got out, wrapping a jacket around his waist so he could walk to the front door without flashing the neighborhood.
He had no sooner stepped out, however, when a slightly haggard woman came out of the front door. “No way, Tyrell! Get outta here! My husband’s back!”
“Wudd?”
“My husband’s back! You gotta go-“
A burly middle-aged white man came out from behind the house. He saw Tyrell’s mostly naked body. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
Tyrell was crestfallen for a couple reasons. Most importantly, he was shocked that she had chosen her husband over him. She’d been bad-mouthing her husband for more than a year. She said over and over that Tyrell was younger, sexier, bigger-cocked, better-in-bed and just plain more charming. He was better in every way than her ex-husband.
So what, Tyrell thought, was wrong with him? Why had she chosen the husband over him?
“Huh? Whatchoo doin’, man? You best get outta here!” The man’s face turned ruddy, and he came closer. “You tryin’-a mess wit’ my wife?”
Tyrell was used to messing around with nerdy white guys’s wives, not big men like him. He didn’t like retreating, but he had few options. He took a step back then darted into Avery’s car. Avery saw all that occur, but he was unsure what it meant.
“Drive.”
“What’s happening?” Avery was confused by the large white man approaching the open driver’s side window of Avery’s car.
“What the fuck is going on?” said the white man, lowering his head to bark at Tyrell in the passenger seat. “You coming at my wife, boy?”
“Nah.”
“Who are you?”
“Just drive!”
Avery ripped the car into reverse and floored it out of the driveway. Luckily no one was coming on the street or Avery might have backed right into them. He peeled away back to the highway.
“Shit,” Tyrell said. He sighed. “Well, fuck.”
“You wanna go get that phone now then?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Tyrell said. He looked out the window.
“Do you… want to stay with me?” Avery asked. He got the feeling from Tyrell’s silence that he now needed a place to stay.
Tyrell shrugged. “Do, I, uh… gotta… pay rent?”
“Sort of,” Avery said with a chuckle. “I only have one bed.”
There was a long awkward silence in the car. Tyrell wrinkled his nose. “Fine. But you gotta buy me stuff. Not just the phone. Like I need sum clothes ‘nd’shit, and, uh… a toothbrush.”
“Sure.”
“And…” There was so much going on that Tyrell struggled to think of something nice he could demand. “Uh… nice clothes. Like real nice clothes.”
“Yeah, cool.”
Avery drove to the All-Mart. Since Tyrell couldn’t go in without any clothes, he stayed out in the car, while Avery went in to buy a cheap phone, some clothes, shoes and a few odds and ends. He was relieved to come out and find Tyrell hadn’t hotwired his car.
“These clothes’ll have to do for now,” Avery said. “I’ll buy you some nicer stuff online, okay?”
“Fine.”
Tyrell felt better when he had some clothes on, and he quickly got to work on his phone. So he was involved in that and didn’t talk much or even pay any attention to Avery’s groping of his biceps and limp cock, until they pulled into the driveway of Avery’s house. Avery led him inside.
In the house, Avery was disappointed to see Tyrell in clothes. They both kept to themselves for awhile. Tyrell needed to get his life back in order — canceling his old phone, getting in touch with one nigga who was at work at the Burger Barn and could give him numbers of some other niggas, sending desperate messages to that married woman (until she blocked him), bragging to his niggas about the white chick he had boned (which made him feel better).
Avery made spaghetti — he had plenty of pasta and jarred sauce, and he figured Tyrell would like to have a big meal that was not quite home-cooked, but still plenty damn good. It was the good jarred sauce anyway.
“So do I gotta… you know, perform foh muh dinner?” Tyrell asked.
Avery clucked his tongue. “No. I’m not gonna starve you, Tyrell. You can ram me later tonight, once you’ve eaten.”
Tyrell was relieved but also wrinkled his nose. He didn’t realize Avery wanted ass. Tyrell wasn’t a booty bandit.
He could do it, of course. This nigga got meat. This nigga pounds.
But it wasn’t something he looked forward to. Tyrell hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he saw the food. He slurped down the noodles and the leftover Italian sausage Avery had added. Tyrell felt much better once he had eaten. He went in and took a long hot shower, which felt good too.
Then he came out before bed, in time to see Avery putting on a silky bathrobe. Tyrell followed him into his bedroom, his heart pounding.
He’d never plowed a man in the ass before. Tyrell fucked mainly with middle-aged white women, and while he liked to brag that he got them to give up the booty, that wasn’t really true. He’d only ever had anal sex with four women, and three of them made him quit before he even got his whole dick in there.
Tyrell closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could do this. It would be easier, he thought, if he just pretended he was with a woman. He leaned in slowly, like women liked, and wrapped his muscles around Avery. He wrinkled his nose when Avery planted his lips on Tyrell’s, but Tyrell submitted as Avery’s tongue invaded his mouth.
Avery erupted in moans, stroking Tyrell’s powerful chest, which was moist with shower water. Avery figured Tyrell would feel most comfortable if Avery acted like a woman in love with him, being seduced. Avery giggled girlishly as Tyrell kissed him on the lips and the neck, then Avery slowly lowered himself to his knees.
“Alright, then, man, go ahead and put yuh mouf ouwn it,” Tyrell said with a grunt.
Avery pulled off Tyrell’s towel, revealing that big floppy cock. If he was with a woman, he’d be hard already. Tyrell tried not to show his feelings about this on his face. He took a deep breath, and his cock popped into Avery’s mouth. Avery smiled around it — it was clean and meaty and he could tell it was well-used too, like a muscle exhausted after a long day of work.
Tyrell fucked so many women that he got hard quickly, once he got into it, even though he’d cum a couple times today already. It had been hours, after all, which was plenty of time for him. He put his hands on his hips, watching his dick slide down Avery’s throat. At first it was just awkward and moist but cold and unappealing, like thwacking his limp dick on a plate of raw fish.
But then all at once, a jolt of pleasure made it twitch, and Tyrell narrowed his eyes to slits. His pecs rippled. His cock throbbed, and again, Tyrell felt the warm moisture of Avery’s tongue battering his sensitive cockshaft. He murmured soft nothings, and he submitted to Avery’s hands reaching up to play with his rippling chest muscles.
Not enough women were impressed by muscles, Tyrell thought, not really. Not like Avery obviously was.
“Yeah, swallow it, boi, swallow it deep…” Tyrell could get into this, he thought. He wondered if Avery would keep him paying him for his dick. That could be a regular arrangement.
It was rock-hard and throbbing soon enough, and the salty taste of precum hit Avery’s lips. Avery smiled up at him, his hands roaming over Tyrell’s muscular chest.
When he was ready, Avery turned around, leaned over the bed and jutted his ass up. Tyrell tried to cover up his lack of confidence, but Avery could tell how nervous he was. Tyrell wondered how much like a woman’s ass this would feel.
It’s good to do this once, Tyrell tried to tell himself. Lotta niggas ram once or twice. It’s better to do it wit’ a clean guy outside of prison. Then if I ever go to prison, it won’t be my first time.
One of Tyrell’s big hands spread Avery’s asscheeks, and he teased his knob at Avery’s hole. Then he closed his eyes and gyrated his hips, forcing it in as deep as it could go with one thrust. Avery gritted his teeth as a jolt of pain hit him. Tyrell had a big dick, so even with lube, there was agony as that first inch or two of cockmeat pushed into him. Avery struggled, and Tyrell grunted.
“Damn, boi,” Tyrell said. He’d never really worked through this kind of anal resistance. He was ginger, reluctant at first. Tyrell slowly worked his cock in, centimeter by centimeter. His hands instinctively touched Avery’s ass, then he pulled away because he didn’t want to touch a man.
Then a surge of pleasure hit him, and Tyrell moaned despite his anxiety. His eyes fluttered, and he gripped Avery’s flesh tight. He found his fingers on Avery’s pert ass — which, he thought, looked and felt very much like a girl’s — spreading the cheeks. When Tyrell kinda sculpted Avery’s assflesh with his hands, he could give it a vaguely feminine outline.
“Damn, man…” Tyrell grunted. His cock slid the rest of the way in, and they both moaned in sync. “Oh god… Damn, nigga!”
Tyrell didn’t know a man’s booty could be like this. Avery was tight and strong and experienced, and he could take every inch of dickmeat like few women could. He wasn’t loose either, he didn’t feel like a slut. He felt amazing, and Tyrell couldn’t believe it.
This, he thought, was better than any of the female asses he’d ever been in, not that Tyrell was going to admit that.
He pounded away, soon losing all of his inhibitions. He didn’t even mind his chest touching Avery’s back as he rammed his dick in harder and harder.
“Take it, nigga, damn!”
Soon he had Avery pinned on the bed, squirming beneath Tyrell’s massive body. Tyrell slammed his dick in and out, having lost his gingerness as he now realized Avery could take any amount of ramming. He forced his dick all the way in and out, and it was so thick every thrust of his hips brought Avery to new heights of orgasmic climax.
“Shit yeah!” Tyrell gripped his cheeks and moaned out his orgasm, surprised to see that Avery shot his own load at the same time. His body was wracked with bliss so intense it nearly hurt. He cried out loud, and his hands clawed for something to grip onto.
The smell of cum filled the air, and Tyrell sprayed his giant wad within Avery’s ass. It just kept on flowing, overflowing, dripping down and coating Avery’s thighs with creamy goodness.
More and more kept flowing, each one accompanying a long-dicking thrust into Avery’s ass The pleasure continued that whole time, Avery’s orgasm never quite ending. Tyrell’s cock had found a magic button to prolong it, it seemed.
At last, it was over, and Tyrell pulled out amid a storm of shudders through both men’s bodies. He grinned, wiping sweat off his chest. “Damn, boi… Hmm, you got ass fo’ real…”
“Hmmm…” Avery wanted to say something flirtatious, but he was too overwhelmed by the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm he had felt in a long time. He curled up on the bed and motioned for Tyrell to lay next to him.
Tyrell did so. He was tired now, having barely slept the night before. He didn’t even mind letting Avery paw all over him as they settled into bed together.
When I tell people about this — if I ever do — I’ll definitely tell them I made Avery sleep on the couch.

The Debt Collector

Leif owes a gambling debt he’s gotta pay off, and that means paying the debt collector… who just might have a secret motivation of his own!

Can Leif get out of his gambling debt intact?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“Come in!” barked a deep, gruff voice. Whoever it was sounded annoyed, as though it was obvious that Leif should just come right in to the Broad Avenue traphouse.
Leif gulped and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked, or even shut all the way. He tried to look as tough as possible. He was a short white hipster with a beard like a fashionable goat and long hair done back in a taut man-bun. He tried to carry himself like he belonged because, as far as Leif was concerned, being seen as not belonging was the worst possible fate. This was a ramshackle building in an all-black neighborhood of Las Vegas — he had not seen a single non-black person for several blocks before arriving here. So no matter how he carried himself, he wasn’t gonna fit in.
Still, he hoped he didn’t look like some punk-ass white boy. A black guy called him that once, and it was humiliating. He kept his shoulders back, head on a swivel, eyes open. Leif Spurling was nobody’s fool.
Well, maybe Nelson Turnbottom’s. But hopefully none of these black people knew that.
He wandered through the run-down squat. Leif had never smelled crack, but when he caught a whiff of that metallic odor, he knew that’s what it was. He had enough sense to know he shouldn’t go asking around for Nelson Turnbottom — judging from the reaction to his knocking on the front door, it was expected for him to just enter and find the person he was looking for. He didn’t wanna fail to fit in.
He went upstairs, because that seemed to be the thing to do. The ground floor was full of hobos. That wasn’t who Leif was looking. There was a baby bottle laying on the steps, along with discarded syringes and filthy underwear. There was a bloodstain on the wall, a big splatter like someone had gotten shot there. It was old though, faded.
“Uh… Nelson Turnbottom?” he said, not too loud.
“In here,” came a very deep, gravelly voice. That must be Nelson Turnbottom. His voice was so rough and sandpapery that Leif wondered if there was something wrong with him.
But Nelson was just big, and he smoked a lot of cigarettes, especially since he left prison. Nelson was in the room at the end of the hall, doing pull-ups on the battered remnants of a bicycle he had set up as a make-shift workout bar. He pulled up his massive body, his broad chest dripping with sweat, counting off.
“Twenty-two. Twenty-three.” He kept going as Leif approached the room.
He was nervous, but he tried not to appear quake. Leif cleared his throat and waited for Nelson to finish his pull-ups. Leif owed money to a white man named Mickey Garelli, and he needed to finish whatever Nelson wanted him to do in order to get his debt paid off. Nelson had work for him or was a debt collector or something.
Leif had agreed back when he thought he had a choice in the matter. Mickey made it clear that this was the way Leif was going to repay his debt, and it did not matter that it seemed skeezy to meet his “boss” or debt collector or whatever in a ghetto crackhouse.
Crackhouse in a deprived area, sorry.
A few drops of sweat splashed off Nelson’s body and landed on Leif’s face, making him pucker and close his eyes. His well-worked upper body arched as he lifted his hugeness up and down, accompanying each pull-up with a deep grunt.
Leif couldn’t believe he had let himself get sucked in this deep. He had never considered the perils of gambling. Honestly he had only started betting on baseball games because it was illicit and dangerous and none of the other hipsters he knew did it back where he came from in Brooklyn. It was scary and authentic and a little weird, so Leif did it.
He only bet small amounts at first, but it turned out he was pretty good at it, and it got him lots of attention. He was the guy who had a bookie — and his bookie — Mickey — was even the old-fashioned kind, an indeterminately ethnic New Yawker, wearing a wifebeater and suspenders and he walked around eating cold-cut subs and collecting money. Leif was deliberately late repaying him a couple times just so Mickey would come around when Leif’s friends were over. He’d pay him off, and Mickey would act like some small-time gangster from a classic movie. His friends thought he was the coolest guy in Vegas.
But somehow he had bet two grand on a Lakers game at the bookie’s in Charles Town, entirely on a whim, because Mickey himself had said he was not sure he set the right odds. He did it without thinking about it, and now he owed that money — Mickey had let him place the bet without any cash upfront.
No problem, Mickey had said, I don’t wanna break your knees or something. I ain’t some small-time gangster from a classic movie. I know this guy, he might have some work for you.
Leif assumed he would have to do something backbreaking, some hard labor that was going to be worth two grand. That was why he had worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t realized he was going into the ghetto, that the address Mickey gave him was a traphouse, or that Nelson was a thug.
But here he was, stammering as he said, “I’m, uh… Mickey sent me…”
Nelson had finished doing his pull-ups. He glowered at Leif as though he hated him, looking him up and down. He squeezed Leif’s biceps and snickered. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a rag. His bare chest gleamed, dark tattoos barely visible against his dark skin.
“You’re Leif?”
Leif nodded.
“What kinda name is that?”
“Uh… It’s Scandinavian,” he said.
“What?” Nelson barked like that was the wrong answer. He didn’t wait for Leif to respond again though. “Shut that door.”
Leif shut the door to the tiny bedroom, which had little more than a mattress on the floor and a trash bag full of clothes scattered around. Nelson leaned the battered bicycle-frame against the wall. His broad, sweaty chest gleamed in the bright light that flowed through the cracked window.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I’m a good worker,” Leif said as he sat. He blushed. He knew he sounded like an idiot. It hadn’t occurred to him that the work Mickey had in mind was illegal in nature, but now that seemed obvious. He wasn’t going to be told to kill someone, was he? That must cost more than two grand, he decided, and hoped. He couldn’t rob someone, right? He wouldn’t know.
He could get two grand from his parents if he absolutely had to. Selling the bicycle would get him close to a thousand. The vinyl and Magic cards were maybe five hundred. Leif was in this deeper than he ever meant to be.
“What?”
“I, uh… I’m a good worker. I can work hard.”
Nelson glared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Mickey said I had to come work for you,” Leif said. “I’m a good worker. I can do — I can do lots of things. I can cook, I can bake pretty good, and I’m a good driver, and I know some, uh… … I worked as a house painter, I mean. Painting. I know about painting. Punk music.”
“Shut up, you little bitch,” he said. “You do gotta work. You gonna work real hard. Do you drink?”
Leif nodded.
“Good. You should drink,” he said. He produced a bottle of cheap vodka and poured two cups full. It was lukewarm, and it smelled like nail polish. Leif sipped it politely. Nelson looked him up and down again, as though undressing him with his eyes. Leif shuddered and Nelson smiled. “You intact, right?”
“What?”
Nelson narrowed his eyes to slits. “I mean in yo’ ass. You been ruint in yo’ butthole?”
“Oh… What? You mean… have I been ruined in the ass…?” Leif said. “Uh… no. I dunno what that means-“
“Mickey ain’t ask you dat?”
“No…”
“He was s’posed to. Oughta kick his ass. I paid for intact,” Nelson said. He sat down on the mattress next to Leif. It was scuzzy and felt slightly soggy. It made Leif sick. “I thought Mickey was gonna ax you. He was s’posed to tell you the plan.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m gonna cornhole you, boi.”
“Oh… Uh, what?”
“I said I am gonna cornhole you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You evuh done that? You ever take it up the ass.”
“No. I don’t know what-“
“Sssshhh… I love cornholin’ whitebois. It’s a hobby I picked up in prison. No one squirms like an intact whiteboi,” Nelson said. He took a big drink of vodka, then put his cup down. His massive chest muscles ripple, and he bent over so he could slowly untied his shoes. “It’s okay to cry,” Nelson said. “Whiteboi tears make good lube. I oughta bottle that shit, sell it in prison commissary. Make a fuckin’ fortune.”
“So you, uh…?”
“You owe Mickey money, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well he turnin’ you out fo’ money. He gonna get paid. He did get paid, technically. I paid him. Mickey always get paid, boi,” Nelson said. “No matter what. He stay gettin’ paid. If it weren’t this, he’d prolly sell yo’ fuckin’ kidney, so you should be thankful I tol’ him to let me know when some pretty whiteboi with a cherry butt needed cash.” He dropped his baggy jeans and his boxers. A fat cock popped out, bigger than any Leif had ever seen. His stomach dropped. Was this really happening to him?
“Wait, can’t we do something else?”
“Nope.” Nelson flopped his limp dick over Leif’s face, and he chuckled when Leif gagged. “You ain’t even start lickin’ yet, you already gaggin’. Open up.” When Leif didn’t immediately respond, Nelson slapped him across the cheek.
Leif opened up to argue and scream, but Nelson pushed his rubbery cockshaft in regardless. Leif choked and Nelson began to grind his hips. He swayed like he was dancing, low-hanging balls swinging and bouncing against Leif’s chin. He even sang softly to himself, mumbling the words to some R&B song that Leif didn’t recognize.
Finally Nelson’s dick hardened up, until it was like a steel rod jamming into Leif’s throat. He gagged over and over, spitting up huge gobs of saliva that soaked his shirt. It tasted like sweat and piss and old cum, and it got even worse when precum started to flow.
It was snotty and sticky, and Nelson made sure it spread all over Leif’s face, which shone once it was covered in precum. He chuckled at Leif’s gagging.
“Whatchoo think?” He flopped his cock over Leif’s face to let him speak.
He let out a long coarse breath. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Ain’t I tell you that already? I like wreckin’ whitebois in they booty. It make me feel good,” he said. “Now tell me whose cock this is?”
“What?”
He slapped Leif over the face, first with the open palm of one hand and then with a meaty thwack of his cock. “I say tell me whose cock this is?”
“Uh… Yours-“
“Say my name, bitch.” He didn’t give Leif a chance to respond. “Say my name, bitch!” He said again and slapped Leif once more.
“Please-!”
“Say my name, bitch!”
“Nelson Turnbottom!”
“Whose cock is this?!”
“Nelson Turnbottom’s cock!” Leif screamed. He repeated it then a few more times, Nelson ramming his precummy cock in each time.
At last he’d had enough of that. He made Leif lay down on the floor with a pillow beneath his upper back, so that his head was upside down and at an angle. “This is the proper position for a good throating. You ready?”
“Nelson, please!”
Leif gagged again as Nelson waited, in position like he was going to do a pushup and Leif’s head just happened to be in the way. His erect cock danced at Leif’s lips. The smell of saliva and slimy precum assaulted Leif’s nostrils.
“Beg me some more, bitch.”
“Please, don’t do this, I can’t swallow any more of your dick. It’s, uh, it’s too big!”
“Well, don’t worry ’bout that, lil bitch. This position mean you won’t have a choice. Imma plow ya throat now. Take a deep breath, cuz you ain’t gonna be breathin’ again fo’ a minute.”
Leif took a deep breath and then Nelson pushed his dick in. Leif choked, but as Nelson predicted, his cock slid all the way in anyway. Leif could feel his throat stretching to accommodate Nelson’s massive meat. Nelson murmured his approval, and a ripple of pleasure rolled up his powerful chest.
Soon enough his balls dangled right on Leif’s nose. Nelson swayed his hips back and forth, so his balls slapped against Leif’s nose and eyes. All he could see were those massive brown balls and the sweat glistening on them.
“How’s dat taste, bitch?” He pulled away so Leif could take a breath.
It was a loud, painful retch. He gasped for air, the pain in his stomach agonizing. His eyes watered as his body cried out for oxygen. His hands clawed uselessly at Nelson’s powerful body.
“Huh? How’s dat taste?”
“Bad…”
“Oh, you don’t like it, huh? Well, don’t worry, I won’t let dat slow me down none,” he said. He chuckled and rubbed Leif’s cheek with one thumb. “Hey, you gotta open up dat throat a little more, okay? You still got like a inch of my dick to get in there.”
“I can’t…”
“You can. I gots faith in you, lil bitch,” Nelson said. He clucked his tongue as though he was genuinely caring. He massaged Leif’s neck. “You know what you need? Incentive. I gotta give you a reason to try. You ain’t tryin’ yo’ best cuz I ain’t give you a good reason.”
“No, Nelson, I’m-“
“Sssh…” Nelson slipped the tip of his dick in, and the sour flavor of precum again assaulted Leif’s senses. Translucent precum coated his tongue and his face. He gagged. Nelson gently smacked Leif on the cheek. “If you don’t swallow me so deep my balls rest on yo’ nose, I gonna tell Mickey you ain’t nevuh show up.”
It took Leif a moment to process what Nelson said, but when he did he tried to scream around the cock in his throat. He didn’t think he could open his mouth up anymore. Nelson laughed at his muffled, moist screams and pistoned his hips again. He squeezed Leif’s nostrils shut with two callused fingers. He pinched harder than necessary, like he was trying to rip Leif’s nose off his face.
Pain exploded from Leif’s throat, which felt like it was splitting in half. Snot leaked from his nose. Nelson groaned and ground his dick in deeper and deeper, rolling his hips this way and that like he needed to hit every corner of Leif’s mouth.
At last his balls slapped against Leif’s nose, really laying into his face. Ball-sweat smeared over his nostrils, and if his senses weren’t overwhelmed by the salty precum on his tongue, he would have wanted to vomit from the smell of balls. His throat strained and spasmed. He had been doing pull-ups a few moments ago, so his manfunk was strong, and it of course mixed with the precum and saliva dripping down Nelson’s cockshaft to his scrotum.
“Yo, Nelson, keep it down, nigga,” said some ashy-skinned, dull-eyed crackhead who appeared in the doorway.
“Is we bein’ too loud, nigga? So sorry,” Nelson said.
The crackhead turned around to leave, then stopped. He got down on his knees to watch. He peered deep into Leif’s eyes. He was lean, ropy-muscled, with a scruffy gray-streaked beard, and he was missing most of his teeth.
“Can I piss in his mouth?” the crackhead asked. He had a harsh, rickety voice, and he got up with his dick out before Nelson even said anything. The crackhead an ugly warty dick.
Leif felt himself grow dizzy from lack of oxygen, fear and disgust. He heard Nelson agree and tried to crawl away, but Nelson dragged him back.
Was that a sore on the crackhead’s dick? There was something there, but Leif couldn’t tell if it is was real or a shadow. The crackhead flopped his cock out of the fly of his jeans. He brought the tip to Leif’s mouth before letting it rip. The taste was foul, and Leif fluttered his arms above his chest.
He definitely wished he had simply borrowed the money from his parents now.
Acrid piss filled Leif’s mouth, and he gagged at the intensely sour smell. Something about it was even worse than he thought it would be — it tasted like that metallic smoked-crack smell he had picked up downstairs, and a little like garbage runoff, rainwater and farts.
Most of the piss spilled out past Leif’s lips, coating his face and dripping onto the floor. The crackhead cackled and walked away once he was done, while Nelson stood above Leif and watched him writhe.
“Now I’m gonna destroy that ass,” Nelson said. He didn’t give Leif much time to react. He threw him over the couch and ripped his pants to shreds pulling them down. “Beg me for it.”
“Nelson, I can’t-“
“Nah. That ain’t how you beg,” Nelson said. He wedged his fat, hot cock between Leif’s cheeks. He humped slowly there. He grabbed Leif’s hair with one hand and slammed his face onto the floor. He wiped it there like he was trying to clean the piss off. “Beg me, bitch. Beg me. Beg me.”
At first Leif assumed he was supposed to wait for Nelson to give him a chance to beg. But it soon became apparent that Nelson wasn’t going to wait. He smeared his face all over the grimy crackhouse floor, repeating himself over and over. “Beg me. Beg me. Beg me.”
“Please! Nelson! Please, uh… cornhole me! Your cock is, uh… my boss! Your cock is my master!”
“That’s right, bitch. I know it. You ain’t gotta say,” Nelson said with a cocky laugh. “I like that improvisation though. That’s the kinda thing a nigga don’t do. Only a whiteboy get that broke down.”
He slammed his dick in so quick Leif didn’t have time to fight back. He squealed and screamed as pain erupted in his ass. It felt like Nelson wrecked every inch of his insides. His cock was enormous, and he gave no mercy to Leif’s squeals of pain. He just clucked his tongue and kept thrusting with those powerful legs.
“What’s yo’ daddy do, whiteboi?”
“What?”
He put Leif’s neck in a chokehold, placing their faces so close that Nelson’s rancid breath condensed on Leif’s face. He didn’t seem to mind that he was close to the crackhead’s piss. He spit on Leif’s face, then used one hand to smear the saliva all over him. Leif gagged.
That massive cock split him open. Leif was in too much pain to say anything. His eyes rolled back in his head. He wondered if his ass was bleeding, but he both couldn’t focus enough to reach behind himself and check, and he was too scared about what he might find. Was Nelson doing real damage to his rectum? It felt like he might be.
“Listen up, whiteboi. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. I asked what yo’ daddy do. For a job.”
“He’s… a prison guard…” Leif said through gritted teeth. After he said that, it occurred to him it might have been better to lie. But Nelson didn’t seem perturbed to find out, almost like he had already known. Leif was too overwhelmed by agony and humiliation to think of a lie anyway.
“You gots any brothers or sisters?”
“One of each.”
“Really? I did not know that. What’s yo’ sister do?” He slammed his dick in the rest of the way, and Leif screamed.
“Uh, she’s. A teacher. Fourth-grade. Teacher.” He gritted his teeth. He hyperventilated, which made the remnants of piss in his mouth taste stronger. He gagged again.
“Yo’ brother?”
“He’s a prison guard too. Nelson, get off me! I-” His complaint was cut off by Nelson tightening the chokehold. He started to move his hips in a circle, like he needed to hit every part of Leif’s insides.
Now that his dick was fully inside Leif, Nelson lifted his upper body. He kept Leif’s head and shoulders flat on the ground, and Nelson used all of his weight to slam his dick in and out. His muscular body rolled and roiled above Leif’s smooth back. Leif clawed at the rancid floor of the crackhouse.
“Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother… do they work at the same prison?”
“Yeah. A state prison in Texas.”
“They ever ramrod niggas?” His voice was so close its deep, gravelly resonance echoed in Leif’s ear. He shuddered at the sensation, which made the pain in his ass even worse. Nelson pulled tighter on his hair to get his attention, as his dick throbbed mightily in Leif’s sensitive asshole. “Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, they ever ramrod niggas?” He paused. “This here, what we’s doin’, in prison, they call it ramroddin’. Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, do they evuh ramrod niggas?”
“What? No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Well… yeah, pretty sure.” Leif’s voice was wavering, plaintive. He realized there was more than just nosy curiosity behind these questions of Nelson’s.
“You wrong,” Nelson said.
“You mean…?” Leif’s mind reeled. A part of him figured it out right away, but that part of him was overwhelmed by the part that was being viciously ramrodded. He gasped and screamed as Nelson resumed grinding his dick this way and that inside Leif, whose mind whirred. “They ramrodded you?” He asked finally after Nelson growled into his ear.
“That’s right, whiteboi. So if you need someone to blame fo’ this, you find yo’ daddy and yo’ brother,” Nelson said. He laughed and stuck one finger in Leif’s mouth until he gagged, making Leif’s ass clench around his cock. “E’ry single thing I done to you is something they do to niggas all the time in that joint. Even lettin’ a crackhead piss in yo’ mouth just fo’ fun. That’s they specialty.”
“Please, stop… I’ll talk to them, I’ll make them quit it-“
He began pounding away, ramming his dick in as hard as he could. Leif screamed at the top of his lungs, and buried his face in his arms. He couldn’t believe this was happening because of his father and brother — they didn’t even like Leif. They saw him as a stupid liberal hipster. When he told them about this, they’d probably laugh at him, tell him he was an idiot for gambling in the first place.
And the worst part was, they’d be right.
Leif’s face was bright red, tears streaming from his eyes. Nelson groaned and moaned as an orgasm finally ran through his body. His thick tattooed muscles undulated, and he pounded on his chest.
Cum sprayed into Leif’s ass. It was searing hot, thick and creamy, cloying, sticky, seeping into his flesh. Leif writhed in Nelson’s powerful arms.
It lasted for what felt like forever. More and more cum just kept on flowing into him. He could feel its heat and its snotty texture trickling through his body. Nelson sharply gasped into his ear as the orgasm rolled over him.
“Say you love me, whiteboi. Say you’ll follow prison rules from now on. Say you won’t talk back and you gonna line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall,” He said through gritted teeth.
“I love you, Nelson,” he said through his tears. “I’ll follow prison rules from now on. I’ll line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall.”
“Good. You can leave. You can tell yo’ daddy and yo’ brother that Nelson Turnbottom got his revenge,” Nelson said. He took a deep breath as he pulled his dick out with an audible, moist plop. Leif felt incredible relief and intense agony in his sore ass, the pain reawakening now that it was over. He screamed and sobbed into the floor. Nelson patted him on the back of the head. “Say yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”

The Mandingo Bottoms

In pre-Civil War America, Master Taggart likes to watch his wife get it in every direction from the big black bucks he keeps as slaves. When one of them doesn’t cooperate the way he’s supposed to, Master Taggart has an effeminate slave climb on top and teach that mandingo a lesson in the power of Twink on Top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Master Taggart had less control over Desmond and the other slaves than he thought. That was because he had little conception of his own vulnerability — he thought that the slaves did what he said because he was a respectable white landowner.
But that wasn’t the case at all. Perhaps when it had first started, but that was years ago, before Desmond even got involved. Nowadays the Negroes of the Taggart Plantation did what Master Taggart said only because he ordered them to do things they wanted to do anyway.
Most importantly, he ordered them to fornicate with his wife while he watched.
Master Taggart enjoyed handling himself while his slaves fucked his wife. He loved getting close enough that their juices and their sweat splashed on his face, despite it making him gag and wrinkle his nose as though he disliked it.
Desmond had no interest in participating in that. If Master Taggart had told him to do it, he’d have made a good effort, but he would struggle to get hard. Desmond had little interest in women’s bodies, and he did not admire fornicating with them.
But that was okay. Master Taggart had no interest in making Desmond do that. He liked mandingos — big, horse-cocked Negroes with bulging muscles and massive bodies. He liked watching them plow and plunder his delicate wife.
Only she wasn’t so delicate anymore. That was what the other slaves said more and more often these days. They had enjoyed fucking her when she was tight and clean, but the more she got it, the sloppier her womanhood was. She had also let herself go over the year, and now had stringy, greasy hair and a saggy body, with tired eyes and yellowed teeth. Desmond had never thought she was attractive, but nowadays she was downright ugly.
“I ain’t gonna put it in that bitch today, she don’t look cleverly at all,” said Tyrell as they all walked towards Master Taggart’s mansion just past the plantation proper.
“Yeah, she too sloppy.”
“Nasty-ass too. I put my dick in her bottom last time and the whole thang slid right in. She didn’t notice,” Charles said with a rumbling laugh that echoed in the nearby woods. He was the tallest one there, nearly seven feet tall, built like a bear and with a great big smile. “I barely even got hard. I gots a freak to plow Desmond instead.”
Desmond blushed as everyone laughed at him. He was proud of his position, even if he knew most Negroes would be ashamed of it. He was a mandingo as well, in the sense that he had a massive dick, but he was not a mandingo in any other way — Desmond was short, skinny and weak, with a feminine lilt and a girlish flair in his mannerisms. Master Taggart only included him because he helped get Missus Taggart ready. That used to be a multihour affair, as she made up her face and her hair and tried on multiple dresses, while the mandingos hardened their meats in the next apartment. All that preparation was just so Charles, Tyrell and the others could make her wet and filthy. Nowadays she mostly didn’t bother to fix herself up.
Master Taggart waited with a solemncholy expression on his face, sitting upon the front porch of his mansion. He was excited to see them, and he jumped to his feet. Desmond went, as he always did, right for Missus Taggart, whose private quarters were in the back of the house. As he walked around the lawn, he heard Charles complaining about her slack womanhood, and the others chorusing their agreement. Desmond did not hear Master Taggart’s responses.
“Let’s get you lookin’s pretty, Missus Taggart,” he said when he saw her sprawled out on a couch. He still assumed that Master Taggart would talk the men into giving her a flourish. He always did. Lately they had been saying every time that they weren’t going to put their manhoods inside her because she was unpleasant, but when they actually laid eyes upon her bare body, their baser instincts took over, and Master Taggart didn’t need to be stern with them.
She was lazy. She frowned and nodded at Desmond. She had a faint mustache, and her overgrown womanhood peeked out from under her dress, which had grass stains all over it — was that the same dress she had worn last time? She was dirty as a punk, Desmond thought but wouldn’t ever say.
“You think that’s gonna humiliate me?! Negroes don’t shame that easy, Massah Taggart. I’ll do it, no problem.”
“Oooh, Charles’s on it now…!”
“Massah Taggart!”
The sounds of the mandingos in the front room drifted back here. Missus Taggart ignored them as she lazily brushed her hair a few times. She plastered on some lipstick and pursed her lips to get even coverage.
Desmond kind of wished he was up front with the others. He loved watching Charles fight, which happened often. He always took off his clothes for a fight, so Desmond got to watch his sweat-slickened muscles and his hoggish manhood dangling between his legs.
Every once in awhile, Charles let Desmond jerk him off, and Desmond would even get to finger his asshole — Charles was unique among the other slaves in that he loved having a finger in his asshole. He wasn’t even ashamed about it. He begged Missus Taggart to do it when he fucked her, despite the other slaves teasing him for it.
“Desmond! Get over here!” Master Taggart yelled.
Desmond shrugged. He looked at Missus Taggart, who lounged on her couch watching the sun set. Desmond sighed and went to the front of the building. After a brief delay, she followed him.
The other Negroes and Master Taggart had moved into the drawing room, where Charles scowled though he didn’t seem angry — he looked to be patronizing Master Taggart, the only person in the apartment who looked serious. The Negroes all smiled like this was a big prank.
“You too Sharon, come in here!” Master Taggart said. He smiled at his wife as she strode in lazily behind Desmond. Charles sneered at the sight of her. “This nigger here doesn’t want to fuck you. He says you’re too loose for him.”
Sharon sat on a chair. She smiled and looked at all the other slaves. “Fine. The rest of you will do.” She spread her legs, revealing a hairy womanhood.
The five remaining slaves exchanged nervous glances, then approached. They were younger than Charles so it wasn’t surprising that they were more willing to debase themselves with a loose woman. Besides, they were the ones who had loosened her in the first place.
She undid the plain strings that kept their rough canvas breeches up, and the room filled with the smell of their unwashed crotches. Desmond straightened his neck at the sight of five massive cocks thwacking against each other as she took turns sucking on each one. They raced to stiffies in seconds.
“Get offa my dick, Tyrell, she want me first.”
“She gonna get me, nigguh, don’t you get in my way.”
“Boys, let’s not fight,” she said. She took both dicks in her mouth, lazily sucking on each cocktip. She seemed to like thwacking them across her face so that those big brown knobs smushed against each other.
Desmond enjoyed watching, though he felt useless. Normally he had made her look beautiful, so watching the Negroes render her a nasty, cream-covered mess was a transition he loved seeing. But she started off nasty now, and it was possible she hadn’t even washed since the last time, so she might still be covered in dried cum.
“Charles, go on…” Master Taggart wasn’t watching his wife. He watched Charles. One of his hands ran up and down Charles’s broad back muscles.
Charles sighed and shook his head. “You think you hurtin’s me, Massah Taggaht, but you ain’t. Ask any of these nigguhs, I mess wit’s Desmond all the time.”
“Yeah but you don’t jerk him off!”
The other Negroes all laughed as they took turns dipping their manhoods into Missus Taggart’s hairy hole. Despite plowing her, they more closely watched Charles, who stood and stretched his legs as he approached Desmond.
Having heard what Charles and Master Taggart said, a part of Desmond knew what was happening. It made sense and it was precisely the kind of thing they would both do. Master Taggart would have thought that making Charles submit to Desmond would humiliate him.
But that wasn’t the case. Charles loved a finger in his ass and would probably enjoy more or less anything Desmond might do to his body. White men didn’t understand that kind of thing. They always thought of it as the height of utter submission to have a man’s prick inside you. Negroes like Charles didn’t see it quite the same way, a fact that Desmond had come to cherish because it meant men like him occasionally got to top men like Charles.
But as Charles actually sunk to his knees to get started, Desmond realized he had never been with a man like him. Their difference in height was extreme — Charles had at least a foot and a half on him. Desmond only stood as high as Charles’s nipple-line, and his entire body was skinner than one of Charles’s corded muscle biceps.
“Go on, Charles, jerk that nigger off,” Master Taggart said. His hands were in his trousers already, stroking his meat.
Charles sighed on his knees. He had to stoop all the way over to get his face in line with Desmond’s crotch. He undid Desmond’s leather breaches and then was surprised like he hadn’t seen it before when he saw Desmond’s throbbing, half-hard cock.
“Forgot you had meat like a big nigga…” Charles sniffed. He ignored the hooting of his fellow slaves, who barely seemed to be paying attention to Missus Taggart even as their balls slapped together between her legs. Desmond had grown to love that sweaty thwacking sound, the splash of their precum and her feminine secretions, the shine of their throbbing black cocks as they penetrated her over and over.
“I know, sweetie,” Desmond said, too shocked to think of anything witty to add.
Charles had a massive mouth to go along with his other body parts, so he swallowed Desmond’s meat easily. He did choke at first when Desmond jabbed into the back of his throat, and he wrinkled his nose at the taste, but he didn’t hesitate in continuing to swallow Desmond’s cock to the root.
That sent a shiver of pleasure up Desmond’s tender frame, as his hands fluttered. Desmond gasped. He wasn’t expecting Charles to do it with such ease and with such little hesitation.
As Charles teased Desmond’s meat with his tongue, Desmond straightened his back and moaned. He instinctually gripped Charles’s head with both hands — because that was what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off. He felt like he should hold Charles’s head in place and throat him, compete with the others on the sound his balls made when they slapped against his chin, paint his face with his precum — that was also what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off.
But would Charles accept that? Would Master Taggart? He walked around the room with his own white cock in his hands. He jacked himself off as he encouraged Tyrell and Wendell in their double-plowing of his wife’s holes.
Then he came over to Desmond, who spewed precum into Charles’s sour-facing mouth. Master Taggart stroked his chin and watched carefully, like he was an academic carefully scrutinizing test results. He massaged the rippling muscles of Charles’s shoulders, which bucked and flexed as he tried to deep-throat Desmond’s dick, and Master Taggart thwacked his cock on Charles’s neck and the side of his face.
What had begun as easy because Desmond was soft became difficult now that Desmond was hard. It was the only anatomical trait that Desmond and Charles had in common — massive cocks.
“Wreck his throat, Desmond, don’t be a durgen. This is supposed to be a punishment.”
“He don’t see it like that, Mastuh Taggart,” Desmond said. His voice was jagged and weak because Charles’s mouth was making him feel so good he couldn’t stand it. Desmond’s whole body roiled.
The other slaves laughed and confirmed it, but that just made Master Taggart red-faced and blustery. “You all are unchristian perverts,” Master Taggart said. “I should make you study the Bible again-“
“No way, Massah Taggart! That’s some borin’ mugwort, Massah!”
“You know bendin’s yo’s wife ovuh fo’s a bunch of niggahs ain’t in the Bible neither, right?”
Master Taggart scowled and stamped his feet as though working up a chivey. “You are all ruining this for me!” Gimblet-eyed, he looked to his wife, who seemed to be half-asleep, barely aware of the trio of cocks ramming into her body. “You most of all! Why did you have to get so loose? Why did you get so dirty?!”
“My fault? You-” Missus Taggart stopped sucking Tyrell’s cock long enough to shout, but then Tyrell pushed his precum-leaking meat back into her. She never finished whatever she started saying, and she seemed to instantly lose interest in shouting recriminations at her husband, who in any case was back to watching Desmond’s dick disappear down Charles’s throat. Tyrell’s manhood had a way of doing that.
“Let me in there too,” Master Taggart said. He stepped towards Charles’s face with his erect white dick in hand.
Desmond groaned. He didn’t like sharing. Charles pulled off his cock, looked up at Master Taggart and growled. “Massuh,” he said. “You asked us ovuh here to fuck yo’s nasty-drippin’s wife. That’s what we agreed to. I tol’s you I can jerk off this lavenduh nigguh, sure, cuz he pretty and he treat me right.” Charles wrapped one powerful arm around Desmond’s small, yet plump, ass. Desmond blushed and hugged Charles’s broad body. His muscles rippled beneath Desmond’s touch. Desmond’s hard, spit-moistened cock rubbed against Charles’s pulsating pectoral muscles. Charles leaned his head way down to kiss Desmond on the lips. That made Master Taggart groan, and Charles laugh. Charles spoke pot-valiantly, “So I gonna let this pansy make sweet love to me. That’s cuz I like him. I don’t like you, and I ain’t don’t like yo’s wife. So you can watch if’n you want, with that puny little meat, and you can even jack yo’self off. I won’t lose my temper if you get some of dat weak nut on me. But don’t you dare try to put yo’s own dick anywhere inside me.”
“Charles-!”
“Hey! A nigger is speaking!” Charles barked. He stood up as though he was going to attack Master Taggart, who turned pale-white and nearly collapsed. His knees buckled. Charles cleared his throat. He stood so his limp cock was right in front of Master Taggart, who was short enough that, on his knees, his face was at navel height, just barely above that throbbing, veiny slab of mandingo meat. Master Taggart gulped like he had trouble avoiding looking at it. Charles grinned. “I can describe yo’s birthmark, Massuh Taggaht, on yo’s ass, and I know if they check out dat ass, they gonna find it’s loose like you been lettin’s me plow you. So don’t make me go to the courts with that shit. Cuz yo’s wife gonna testify on my side, know that.” Master Taggart looked to his wife, whose mouth was full of cock. It wasn’t clear if she heard what was happening. Master Taggart blanched, and Charles placed one meaty hand on his shoulder. Master Taggart shuddered when Charles’s limp cock touched his thigh. “She ain’t on yo’s side no mo’, Massuh.”
Master Taggart looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. Tears twinkled in his eyes and he sniffed to avoid crying. Even as he was overcome by humiliation, however, he didn’t stop masturbating.
A part of Desmond was disappointed that Charles had stood up to him. He was glad that it had happened, but he was annoyed because he assumed it meant Charles would no longer do what Master Taggart said. The only reason Charles bottomed for Desmond was because he was told to.
It wasn’t a disaster, of course — Desmond bottomed for Charles all the time. It had just been nice to try something different, Desmond thought as he prepared to bend over for Charles’s cock.
But that wasn’t it. Either Charles didn’t realize he could do whatever he wanted — which was very possible, as Charles had always been beetle-headed — or he genuinely wanted to bottom. In any case, he got down on all fours on the ground, sticking his ass high in the air.
“Holy heckfire!” Desmond said, making Charles laugh. When he laughed, his body rippled and his gigantic asscheeks jiggled up and down. That sent a wave of desire through Desmond’s body.
Could he really do this? It was physically difficult. It simply felt wrong to line his tiny body up with Charles’s herculean frame. But ever fiber of Desmond’s being told him to do it, to ignore Master Taggart’s frenzied, humiliated sobs and to simply ram his dick in.
So that was what he did. He had to get up on his toes to put his cock in Charles’s ass, which was so tight he hit resistance right away. Charles bucked and grunted. For a moment it sounded like he was going to say it hurt and back out.
But he didn’t. He groaned and awkwardly stretched two arms behind himself. He spread his asscheeks. His powerful thigh muscles flexed.
“Tarnations…” Desmond muttered to himself as he slid more and more of his cock in. Charles’s ass so was tight that, at any given moment, it felt like he couldn’t possibly take any more dick. But every time Desmond pushed, a bit more slipped in, and another wave of even more intense pleasure washed up Desmond’s body.
As he began humping more and more violently, he slammed his hips in. That was just like Charles rammed him, as hard as he could, as aggressively as possible, like he thought Desmond was made of glass and he wanted to shatter him. Desmond had never minded because he liked being treated like that, but it was nice now to turn the tables.
Much to Desmond’s surprise, Charles had no compunctions, it seemed. He took every inch of Desmond’s dick, with a loud struggle at first, but Desmond had found the pleasure spot deep within him, and Charles groaned with desire with each thrust of Desmond’s cock inside him.
It felt like both he and Charles were nearing their climaxes when Desmond realized that Master Taggart had left the room. He hadn’t noticed that.
Then the door opened and Master Taggart walked in with a rifle in hand. “Hey-a, you niggers! I am takin’s charge of this sit’ation, you best believe that!” He pointed the rifle at Charles, whose asshole clenched around Desmond’s dick. “I am the white man here. That means that what I say goes, and I say-“
He stopped talking because Desmond plucked the rifle right out of his hands.
The slaves all burst into laughter. Missus Taggart hadn’t been paying attention because she was focused on the cocks thwacking over her face, but she realized what had happened and laughed as well. Master Taggart was confused at first. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the gun was not a magic spell, it didn’t give him automatic victory over larger men. He had to actually be willing to use it.
Desmond held the gun in his hand. He had never held a rifle. He didn’t even know how to use it, but it didn’t look like Master Taggart realized that — probably because Master Taggart hadn’t known how to use it either. At least Desmond was self-aware enough to know that he was ignorant about it.
“Stop blustering and lower yourself to your knees, Master Taggart, so you can watch me plow him,” Desmond said. He handed the rifle over to Tyrell, who had finished spewing his cream all over Missus Taggart — Desmond knew it was safer to give the gun to someone who might know how to use it. Desmond knew how to wear a dress and fix a white woman’s hair, not use a rifle.
Though Charles was up in the boughs about getting plowed, he didn’t find it easy. He had been scooting around the room as he was penetrated by Desmond’s big cock, and now they had ended up very near to the mandingo gangbang, where four Negroes continued to ram their meats into Missus Taggart.
Desmond always enjoyed watching this. It aroused a wistful feeling within him, because he always thought that, if he were were a white woman, he would be even sluttier than Missus Taggart. He’d just go live in the slave quarters so they could fuck him at every opportunity.
Slipping his head between her legs, Desmond sucked on two pairs of heavy balls as they slapped against each other. He watched those massive cocks slide in to her womanhood and her rear, just a few inches from each other. He buried his nose in the sweet, stinky flesh of his fellow Negro slaves — none of whom would have ever let him do this if they weren’t fucking a white woman at the same time. Charles was the only one who did anything like that, so this was one of Desmond’s few opportunities to get at the other mandingos.
As he watched frothy cum leak out of her and drip into both men’s swinging shafts, Desmond felt his own orgasm coming on. He lowered his head and planted his face into Charles’s meaty back, while Desmond kept ramming his cock in and out of Charles’s backside.
“Tarnations, nigguh,” Charles said breathlessly. He shot his own load into the palm of his hand, gasping and writhing beneath Desmond’s lithe body.
His orgasm overwhelmed him, and Desmond sighed into Charles’s shoulders. The sound of Master Taggart’s sobbing faded into silence in the back of Charles’s mind, while pleasure wracked his body so hard it hurt. He was dimly aware of Tyrell laughing as he threatened Master Taggart with the rifle, but that seemed very distant to Desmond.
He existed in a nether-state like that for what felt like forever, hovering with his cock in Charles’s clenching ass, feeling his mountain of muscle contorting beneath his touch. Desmond spasmed and shook.
Hot cum sprayed into Charles’s ass. They both sighed as it flew, spurting forth and coating his insides. It was thick and creamy, and it stuck to his flesh, clinging to his skin where it dribbled out and down between his asscheeks.
Finally it was over. Charles roared, sending Desmond back to reality. He shook the daze out of his eyes, slamming his dick in to shoot the last few drops as deep as they would go in Charles’s backside.
Then Desmond gingerly climbed down. His knees felt weak, and his balls hung low.
The other slaves were just finishing up with Missus Taggart, who lay sprawled out in her own post-orgasmic daze on the couch. The only person in the room who wasn’t satisfied was Master Taggart, who sobbed into his arms on the floor, too upset even to tell his slaves to feeze.
“You fuckin’ niggers!” He screamed through his tears.
“Yeah, that’s exactly the kinda nigguhs we is,” Tyrell said, and the others laughed.
They helped Charles to his feet. They would normally have teased him a bit, maybe a lot — when they lost bets and had to submit to each other’s cock, it was treated as humiliating, but no one treated Charles that way both because he was big and scary and because he had chosen it. Tyrell even slapped his ass in a chummy way, not realizing that that would send a shiver of pain up Charles’s back. He grunted in agony.
“Sorry, nigguh,” Tyrell said. “You looked like you enjoyed that though. I ain’t nevuh thought you’d have a freak to let a girlie-man climb atop you.”
Charles stretched his trunk-like thighs as they all strode out, bare cocks dangling between their legs. He smiled. “I ain’t think I’d like it either. But I did, sho’s nuff.”
“Yeah,” Desmond said, his voice sounding weak and tinny in comparison. “Me too.”
After a long pause, Tyrell added, “Shut up, Desmond. We all know you was into it. That ain’t nevuh been a question.”
“I felt you a-lickin upon mah balls too, don’t think I ain’t notice that!”
Desmond blushed, and Charles laughed. He clasped Desmond and held him close. Desmond’s face rubbed against Charles’s sweat-dappled torso, which smelled of sweaty manhood and funk. Charles chuckled out a deep barrel laugh. “‘Course he liked it, and he gonna like it again real soon.”