Anthony is not really a cholo, but his brothers are, and that means he needs a bodyguard, Messimo. When he finds out Messimo was a bottom in prison, Anthony realizes that means this hardcore vato is ready for a little twink on top… whether he wants it or not!
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Anthony wasn’t told about things that didn’t concern him or his life. That was almost everything that happened. As the youngest of seven brothers, Anthony was used to being the small, weak one, especially since his family ran the Latin Kings here in Tijuana. His brothers and father had built the cartel out of nothing and had created a multibillion dollar empire with operations in seven countries.
Even though Anthony had never had the machismo or the knowhow to get involved, he still lived on the cartel’s compound. Nowhere else was safe. He admitted that even if he hated it. He wanted more than anything to have a normal life. He didn’t like it here. The men here were tough, muscular cholos who never smiled or danced. Anthony was allowed to go out, as long as he went to safe places (not nightclubs) and brought his bodyguards with him. He couldn’t live like a normal person.
Anthony did not like having bodyguards or limitations on his travel. He had to admit it was justified though. The one time he ditched his bodyguards for a night of fun had ended up being disastrous — he was kidnapped and had to be rescued after being tortured for hours. The compound did get shot up, attacked by helicopter even this one time. Men who worked for the cartel were kidnapped or murdered on the street by rivals. Not the streets of Tijuana, but elsewhere in Mexico.
So he left the compound increasingly rarely.
These days, he was getting frustrated and angry, and he frequently shouted at his brothers for minor complaints. They treated him like a yapping dog they weren’t allowed to punish. He knew he was being picayune, that his world had shrunk but Anthony’s problems hadn’t. He became fixated on trivialities like the sheets on his bed being less than top notch. They could afford nice sheets, and Anthony couldn’t buy them on his own. But his brothers were slobs, they didn’t care.
“You need to get laid, hermano,” was the sum total of their response to his outbursts. They seemed to think all problems could be solved by pussy.
Since the compound was safe, Anthony’s bodyguards were not always right near him when he was home. They hung around and followed when he left the compound. So when he got a new bodyguard, he didn’t always know it right away; he just noticed a new large man hanging around and refusing to go away.
Méssimo was one such bodyguard. He’d been around for a couple days before Anthony realized he was his bodyguard.
He was tall, burly, broad-shouldered, hairy, more of a rough-and-ugly type than most of the bookish cartelistos who made it onto the compound — Anthony’s brothers only needed people at the compound for things like accounting and distribution. He didn’t want thugs.
Except for the security team, of course. For bodyguards, big and brutish were the ideal traits. Méssimo was ideal by those criteria, with plenty of swagger, a barrel-shaped chest and hair covering his body.
Anthony changed into his bathrobe in his bedroom, then sat down to pretend to read in his room. Méssimo was by the door, not technically in the room but right beside it. Anthony checked him out from behind — Méssimo was facing the window that looked out into the cartel’s courtyard and the Mexican desert beyond. His ass filled out his low-hanging khakhi pants, and it made Anthony’s mouth water. He had a meaty pair of asscheeks, cradled by tight drawers.
The male form had always intrigued and allured Anthony.
“Méssimo, did you ramrod Morales?”
Méssimo winced at the question. He turned around and made eye contact with Anthony, but he didn’t answer. His muscles roiled, and he frowned. He came closer.
Morales was a smuggler who had lost a few pounds of coke. Or maybe a lotta pounds, Anthony didn’t know, they don’t tell him those kinds of things. But he did learn through the grapevine that Morales had gotten ramrodded by “like a thousand cholos”. That was an exaggeration, obviously, but it must have been a substantial number.
And nobody thought to tell Anthony about it at the time!
Anyway, Anthony didn’t even know who Morales was. Someone said he was fat. So maybe he hadn’t missed out on much. Group ramming was how Latin Kings punished those whose incompetence harmed the entire organization. Anthony wished his brothers would tell him about it beforehand so he could join or even watch, but even though they always promised to do so, they never did. They put it in the same category as smuggling, that was why. They don’t want Anthony involved in anything unsavory, which obviously includes ramrodding.
Méssimo nodded. His tattooed face aimed down at his feet. He had tear-shaped roses tattooed leading down from his eyes, except one of the rose-tears was replaced with a red skull. Anthony was pretty sure that meant Méssimo killed a cop.
“What did you do to Morales? Did you plow him in the ass or the mouth?” Anthony asked.
“Both,” Méssimo said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He grabbed at his crotch, then grunted. His cock was briefly outlined by the fabric.
“Come closer,” Anthony said. Méssimo did so.
Anthony unzipped Méssimo’s khakhis, giggling at his growl, which was equal parts displeased and horny. It sounded like he was glad to get some dome, and he just wanted to pretend he had to be pushed into it — not that Anthony planned on stopping there. Méssimo would do whatever he said, and Anthony intended to say a lot.
Méssimo’s hips flexed just slightly as though he fought off an instinctual urge to hump Anthony’s hand as soon as he gripped it in those sweat-jungle khakhis. He had a fat cock, limp but throbbing already and twinging with the power of an imminent erection. He pulled out Méssimo’s big uncut cock, which had a rooster tattooed on the shaft. It stuck out his fly like an oversized sausage.
“Quiquiriquí,” Anthony said with a laugh.
Méssimo was stiff and wooden, showing no reaction, even when Anthony repeated himself while clucking like a chicken. His brothers always laughed at that.
Not Méssimo, whose cock was the only part of his body that wasn’t hard like iron — he must have been nervous, Anthony decided. His biceps flexed, and his pecs rippled beneath his shirt. Anthony stroked Méssimo’s dick with both hands like a lovable length of rope.
“Are you uno pasivo, señor?” Méssimo asked with a nervous frown. He narrowed his eyes to slits as he checked out Anthony’s body.
Anthony knew what that meant. In cartel culture, men were either hombres or pasivos. An hombre like Méssimo might plow a pasivo but would never be penetrated by one willingly. Anthony was normally uno pasivo, but today, he didn’t give an answer. He wanted to leave Méssimo unsure of himself.
“Señor?”
Keeping his own face stoic, Anthony stood up. Méssimo stood next to the mattress with his hard brown cock sticking out the fly of his chinos. Anthony took his own dick out of his bathrobe and thwacked it together with Méssimo’s.
“Uh, señor, are you uno pasivo? That is okay…” He repeated himself and took a deep breath, like he desperately wanted Anthony to say yes. Méssimo’s voice trailed off as he submitted to the jousting. When he looked down and saw his dick throbbing next to Anthony’s, he winced and blanched. He straightened his shoulders and kept his hands clenched in fists at his side, as though if he moved them at all he’d be overcome by passion and start jacking Anthony off himself.
“You work for me, when you are assigned to me,” Anthony said with a smile. “So you will have to do as I say.” He stroked both dicks together, holding back a moan as his body was overcome by pleasure. He loved the feel of Méssimo’s hot, half-hard meat throbbing against his own.
Méssimo shook his head. “I work in sound of obedience, esé. I will do as I am told.”
“Good,” Anthony said. “Take off your shirt.”
Méssimo hesitated, then undid the top button (the only closed button) of his shirt. Under that he had on a wifebeater, which he also took off. He had a broad, strapping chest, lined with tattoos and scars. His chest was tight and stiff with anxiety right now, and he breathed shallowly. His dick began to get harder and harder with every motion Anthony made on his meat.
“Where did you get this one?” Anthony asked, using his precum-leaking cocktip to gesture to a broad, x-shaped scar on the side of his belly. Méssimo winced when Anthony’s dick touched his skin — Anthony had to get on his toes to reach.
“I was stabbed. When I was in the metal can,” he said.
“Ooh, did you have a bitch?” Anthony asked with a grin. “Did you have a puta?” The thought of Méssimo holding some man down as he plowed him made Anthony shudder with desire. A part of him wanted Méssimo to plow him like that, but Anthony had other plans as well. He could get Méssimo to top him pretty much any time, that was easy. He leaned against Méssimo’s chest — he was much shorter than Méssimo, but since he stood on the bed, his crotch was right between Méssimo’s mountainous pecs. He humped Méssimo’s tense, quivering muscles. “Don’t look down, look at me. Ignore what I’m doing and answer my questions.”
His pecs rippled, as Anthony’s cock left its first few drops of prejizz. It dripped down Méssimo’s tattooed chest. He ignored it even when Anthony’s dick poked him in this chin.
“Umm… I was… I had a boyfriend… I was smaller then,” Méssimo said, trying to look down without looking down.
The smell of funk filled the air. Méssimo couldn’t tear his eyes away from his own chest, where Anthony’s dick slid over a puddle of sticky precum. Méssimo kept his mouth open, either out of a shock or because a tiny corner of his mind wanted to taste Anthony’s cock.
“Smaller.”
Méssimo nodded. “I was young.” He added a sound effect suggesting he was weaker then, that he could not defend himself. He looked behind himself as though hoping for a rescue.
“Oh, you were on the bottom?”
Méssimo nodded. “I am not ashamed. I was smaller then, and I was showing respect to a cholo was bigger and tougher than me. That was… right, honorable for me. He saved my life, many times. It was right for him to be my hombre. I am not embarrassed. But do not tell anyone.”
Anthony kissed him on the lips, his tongue exploring the inside of Méssimo’s big mouth. Their tongues touched, and for a moment, Méssimo kissed him back. But that was instinctual, and it only lasted a few seconds before Méssimo’s callused fingers caressed Anthony’s smooth chest, reminding him that Anthony was not a girl. Méssimo was both surprised and repulsed by the kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds.
“Sorry,” Anthony said. “So you’ve bottomed before?”
Méssimo nodded. “Do not tell your brothers, señor. Please.”
“I won’t,” Anthony said. He kissed Méssimo, and this time, Méssimo endured it. He didn’t kiss back. His hands remained squarishly at his side. Anthony felt the heat radiating off Méssimo’s powerful chest.
“What, uh…. What do you want me to do now?” He had a resigned, hangdog look.
Anthony placed one tiny hand on Méssimo’s broad shoulders. He pushed down, keeping a sympathetic smile on his face. Méssimo didn’t resist. He lowered himself to his knees and opened his mouth. “You don’t have to do anything, Méssimo. I won’t tell my brothers anything. But I bet I look like more of a girl than your hombre was in the metal can, right?”
He nodded and trembled as he sunk to the ground. When Anthony’s dick pushed past his lips, Méssimo responded both like he wanted to vomit and like he was finally doing what he had wanted to all along. His eyes scrunched up and he gagged, but he also enthusiastically, loudly suckled on it, choking up spit that frothed up and covered his tattooed chin and neck. His tongue slathered spit on Anthony’s hard shaft.
“Don’t use your hands,” Anthony said. “Jack yourself off instead.” He pushed Méssimo’s hands away. “Look me in the eye, Méssimo.”
Méssimo winced but did as he was told. His cock was floppy now, not totally soft but having lost most of his erection now that there was a cock in his mouth. He had trouble making eye contact with Anthony, who loved the look of his frantic eyes struggling to stay put as cockmeat slid down his throat. Anthony knew cholos like Méssimo demanded their bitches (male or female) look them in the eye while swallowing their cock, so Anthony figured Méssimo expected that.
Another torrent of gagging hit Méssimo’s mouth with a full spurt of precum. Anthony shuddered and giggled as Méssimo’s big square jaw trembled, and his whole body writhed. His burly, hairy stomach roiled.
A mouthful of spit and a teaspoon of prejizz came from Méssimo, who tried to catch it with one cupped hand. That triggered a second gag, and his cupped hand overflowed.
“Oh, shit, I am sorry, esé,” Méssimo said, racing to blot the saliva up with his shirt. Anthony’s cock got him in the temple, where those tattooed roses ran down from his eyes like tears. Méssimo ignored that, but when Andrew aimed his dicktip for Méssimo’s nose, he upretched all over again. “Sorry, sorry, esé,” he said. “I will not gag-” He paused to gag again. “With my boyfriend, before, in the prison, he — he-” He held his hand over his mouth, biting back a gag. “He did teach me to not gag. I can do it.”
“Swallow the whole thing,” Andrew said as he slowly fed his hardon into Méssimo’s mouth once more. Méssimo’s hands were still trying to blot up the spit that had spilled — not that Anthony cared — even as he was still choking up more spit and trying to catch it.
Anthony thought it was cute that Méssimo was trying so hard to please him by not gagging. Did he have no idea that gagging made it feel better? The gagging was the best part, that was what Anthony always said. He liked to gag when he was on top, and he liked to gag when he was in Méssimo’s position.
Despite his apparent disgust with the flavor, Méssimo only grew more and more aroused as he got into throating Anthony to the root, until Méssimo’s nose was ensconced in Anthony’s pubes. Anthony didn’t need to direct him to deep-throat his dick; he sunk into a familiar groove as though remembering his life in prison. His head bobbed up and down on Anthony’s manhood. His free hand crept up to gently play with Anthony’s balls.
“Ay, god, Méssimo…” Anthony grunted. He had to bite his lip to avoid being too loud, because he didn’t want to attract attention from the other bodyguards and hangers-on who might be outside the room.
His brothers would tell him not to do this kind of thing. He’s allowed to, but it’d be bad for morale or something dumb like that. They’d want Anthony to fuck some trashy whore who could barely stop snorting coke long enough to swallow a dick like Méssimo was doing, and Anthony hadn’t even told him to! He’d definitely learned to serve his hombre under the sound of obedience indeed!
Taking a pause to grab a deep breath, the look on Méssimo’s face flashed between so horny he couldn’t breathe and so disgusted and ashamed he wanted to cry. Anthony humped his squarish face, leaving a trail of spit and precum on his nose and cheeks, his dick jabbing atop Méssimo’s tattoos. Méssimo gagged again even as he stuck his tongue out to lick up Anthony’s ballsweat.
Then Anthony pulled off his face, wanting to go for anal before shooting his load, which he could feel rapidly approaching. Méssimo looked with hungry eyes at Anthony’s dick as Anthony pulled out a bottle of lube. Méssimo winced and laid on his back on the bed, on those insufficently thread-counted sheets that Anthony had complained about. He lifted his trunk-like thighs up.
“I bet you didn’t use lube in prison? This’ll be nicer then.”
Méssimo shook his head. “No, no lube, just spit,” he gulped nervously. Be dulce. You are nicer than him. It is better, you are… more like a girl. Less hairy. Smaller.”
Anthony nodded. He bristled a bit, but he was used to the cholos who surrounded him in this place to think of him as a girl. He was treated as more feminine than some of the actual females who worked here. That was mostly fine with Anthony.
Anthony moaned as his dick entered Méssimo’s ass. It was so tight Anthony had to struggle to get it in, even with copious lube greasing him up. Méssimo was so much bigger than Anthony that he had enormous assflesh, which Anthony separated to bare his bootyhole. Méssimo’s ass tightened and clenched instinctively.
His asscheeks were tattooed too. Prison tats, it looked like. The thought of Méssimo being tattooed naked in prison made Anthony’s eyes bug out.
The eyeballs and bare tits tatted on his ass jiggled when Anthony’s cocktip pushed in. Méssimo grunted and sucked in his breath.
“¡Me duele el culo!” He blushed and bit his lip to keep the sound down. His eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one else had come in the room to see him take it in the culo. Méssimo stifled his moaning and writhed as pain overtook him. He clutched the bed beneath himself. His pecs flexed and stayed tight as Anthony played with his nipples.
For Anthony, it was one of the tightest, best holes he had ever had. As Méssimo adjusted to the meat in his asshole, Anthony stayed still, letting Méssimo handle all the motion. It felt like an odd position, he thought, since he was maybe a third of Méssimo’s weight. It made him feel like a little boy inexplicably plowing a giant. Méssimo gasped and threw his head back, clutching the bedspread as though it would take the pain away.
“Those tats on your ass,” Anthony said. He stopped moving with his cock all the way up Méssimo’s guts, his assflesh jiggling because of Méssimo’s staccato breathing. The tats of Méssimo’s ass included a huge pair of knockers, one on each cheek. They were crudely tatted, definitely prison tats. “Did your boyfriend put those on your ass so he could look at tits when he ramrodded you?”
Méssimo nodded, and he choked in pain or humiliation or maybe even arousal, or more likely a mixture of all three. Anthony’s cock throbbed in his ass.
Then, without Anthony’s prompting, Méssimo began stroking his own cock. He seemed to enjoy the prostate action, and his dick was leaking precum even before Anthony managed to get a smooth rhythm going. Méssimo’s ass was too tight still, but it loosened with every strugglesome pump of Anthony’s hips.
It was obvious that Méssimo was in pain, but he was also enjoying himself. He closed his eyes and grunted. It was like there were two parts of Méssimo, Anthony thought, the lower half was ready to shoot his load right now, while the upper half was humiliated and in terrible pain. Lucky for Anthony, the upper half had the upper hand right now, and Méssimo’s dick only throbbed and leaked precum into his grip.
He breathed shallowly while Anthony began plowing harder and harder, making Méssimo let out pained mewling sounds. He lowered his head to the mattress.
Anthony’s balls slapped against Méssimo’s hairy thick asscheeks. Both of his hands caressed Méssimo’s body, and his left hand slowly moved upward until he gripped Méssimo’s neck. He didn’t squeeze, but he liked to hold onto it — Méssimo was so muscular he didn’t have much of a neck, but Anthony managed to get a grip on it just the same. He didn’t squeeze, but he held on tight, tight enough to make it hard for Méssimo to take a deep breath.
The cholos like Méssimo sometimes competed over how hard they could fuck their females. The females who lived here loved it, no matter how their cholos tried to smash their pussies, or at least they pretended they did. Méssimo presumably fucked them, they all did.
But if they could fuck a woman like that, Anthony could damn well ramrod Méssimo in the same way. So Anthony decided to imitate that the best he could. Of course, since he was smaller than Méssimo, he couldn’t do much more than slam against Méssimo’s plump asscheeks. But he liked the way Méssimo’s flesh jiggled as he pumped his dick in as deep as he could manage, and he moaned when Méssimo’s mewling turned plaintive.
“Tell me you want it,” Anthony said. That was another thing the cartelistos would say when fucking their women.
Rather than answering, Méssimo grunted and sprayed cum over his tattooed torso, his words turning into an intense moan of desire. His dick spasmed in his fingers, that parlor-done rooster tattoo rippling as semen poured through it. He blushed like he hadn’t meant to blow his nut with a cock in his ass, that made him seem less like of a natural hombre.
“I said tell me you want it,” Anthony said, his own voice wavering as he reached his own climax, his dick deep in Méssimo’s ass.
“Ah, plow, damn my culo, fuckin’ puta!” His voice was tight and clipped, pinched, like he wanted to shout but couldn’t because the pressure and pain was too great. He turned his head and whispered, his underhushing too indistinct for Anthony to make out. Anthony could still tell what he was saying though: please don’t tell anyone I blew my load while getting ramrodded, because true hombres don’t do that; only pasivos get hard with a dick in their ass.
But Anthony wasn’t about to tease him for it or tell anyone — he was beginning to think this could be a regular event, since Méssimo would do anything to be sure nobody knew he came with a cock in his ass. An orgasm rolled over Anthony’s body, and a tight, clenching pleasure washed over his frame.
A fat wad of cum spurted into Méssimo’s cavernous guts, and Méssimo let out a howl, his own orgasm just now ending. Méssimo contorted when he felt it, and the writhing of his muscles made it seem like Anthony could see his cumwad spraying over Méssimo’s insides.
Méssimo gasped and hyperventilated. Anthony had never shot such a huge load, it just kept coming and coming, and Méssimo threw his head back. His eyes rolled in their sockets as cum coated Méssimo’s hot, spongy prostate.
“Ah, si, si, si,” Méssimo said, quietly, as though a little embarrassed by his own excitement, as he writhed and moaned. His limp dick and balls jiggled massively afront Anthony’s own crotch, which was daggering as Anthony turned his own cumwad into a big frothy mess.
At last Anthony pulled out. He scooped up all the cum on Méssimo’s belly, intending to swallow it himself. But when he saw Méssimo’s eyes — which he had just opened, looking on with wonder like he was shocked he had allowed this to happen — Anthony knew what to do.
He brought his hand up to Méssimo’s mouth. Méssimo opened despite his humiliation, and Anthony waited for him to take the plunge. After waiting a few seconds, Méssimo grabbed Anthony’s hand and dumped the cum into his mouth.
He gagged and spat, but licked up what coated his face, even as his whole body spasmed and his muscles contorted. Anthony caressed his belly and neck until he was still, cum-streaked face tense. Anthony climbed onto his chest and kissed him on the lips, tasting remnants of semen in his mouth.
Anthony’s limp, juice-dripping cock rested in the sweat-dappled chest hair on Méssimo’s torso, as Anthony licked every drop of cum off the big cholo’s face.
“I’m glad you’re my bodyguard, Méssimo,” he said with a giggle. “If I ever get locked up, I’m bringing you with me.”
“I can’t wait, señor…”
