featuring cholos – Mansploitation

The Cholo

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

Can Anthony handle his bedmate’s unbridled machismo?

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Or read the whole thing here!

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

The Tijuana Alpha

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!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read it here in its entirety!

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…”

The Santa Monica Alpha

Moshe’s violin concert ends on a surprising note, when a massive alpha cholo comes to him with an unusual request… Sazonito wants to explore the exciting world of twink on top!

Read it now as an ebook!

Moshe Katz always meditated after a concert. The actual performance was so nervewracking that he needed a release or he’d remain wired, unable to sleep, for hours afterwards. He’d be jittery untol the morning. His shows were not huge — he was as big of a star as existed in the classical piano scene, but that was not saying much. The audience was just big enough to be scary and anxiety-provoking, and it was made even worse tonight because the Israeli Minister of Cultural Development was in attendance here in Santa Monica.
There was a knock on his dressing room door. Moshe sighed. He had requested not to be bothered after a concert. He told everyone that. He was almost done with his half hour of meditation, but he still had two minutes left. He got such little time to himself, he was jealous to maintain it. He even considered ignoring the knock for two minutes, but whoever it was kept knocking.
Ignoring the knock would seem petty and rude, he decided. He was petty and rude, so he tried to hide it when he could. It might have been a fan anyway.
Yes, a classical pianist has fans. He has a Facebook group! Almost two thousand subscribers!
When he opened the door, he had to suppress a yelp. His eyes bugged up. Standing in front of him was a tall Latino man with the staggering body of a football player, crammed into an ill-fitting suit made of mismatched parts. Cholo tattoos crept up his neck, barely visible behind the suit. He had the macho air of a gangster, and Moshe’s heart leapt into his chest.
“Yo, hombre, Meester Katz, señor,” he said, narrowing his eyes as though to size Moshe up.
Moshe forced on a smile. “Please, call me, Moshe, sir.” He hoped that didn’t sound rude. This man was making him both scared and aroused — he looked like a thug, a vato, a murderer or extortionist, maybe, what Moshe would have called in Hebrew a בִּריוֹן. Moshe knew the type well from his native Israel — this was simply some Mexican-American variant of it. He was only vaguely aware of the word cholo, but he knew this man was one. He also knew security was just around the corner, and Moshe’s mind told him to yell for help. But the man was also a big burly-bear type who looked like he hadn’t worn a suit since high school prom, if he even was still in school then. His slacks were slung low, pristine sneakers poking out from the oversized trouser-legs.
As a long-time connoisseur of the male form, the stranger’s powerhouse body allured and intrigued Moshe.
“Moshe,” the man said, with some difficulty. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Yo, hombre… I… I gotta say, I ain’t come here tonight cuz I thought I wuz gonna like yu’ music, yo.”
“I see…” Moshe said, though he very much did not. The man’s face was tight, tense, and fearful, like he struggled to put into words what he wanted to say — or perhaps he just struggled to find the English words. Moshe didn’t know whether this guy was going to rob him, burst into tears or plow him, but Moshe felt sure it was going to be at least one of those things, maybe all three at once.
“I’s just here, hombre, cuz I need a alibi, right? I need everyone to know I weren’t at this other place somewhere else, cuz I know the polizontes is gonna think I was there,” he said. “But I’m here. My… boss, he said to come here. To see you. Mess wit’ my parole officer’s head. Gonna flip his lid when he find out I ain’t lying ‘bout where I was.” He laughed dryly. Then he blinked his eyes. “But yo’ music, esé… It was… special to me. I dunno how to say it. It moved me, hombre.”
“Oh, okay… That’s, uh… amazing. Flattering. Thank you, uh… I’m sorry, your name is-“
“You can call me Sazonito,” he said. He pushed into the room and let the door shut behind himself. “You are… a sissy, right?” He whispered as though it was a secret.
Moshe nodded, heart pounding. Was this burly vato about to let him jerk him off? That was the impression Moshe got from the aroused look in the man’s eye. What did Sazonito mean in Spanish? Moshe didn’t know. He had a feeling it was not a name though.
“I feel like… you and me, we had a close connection when you was playing. I been alone along time, Moshe,” he said, again struggling to say the name in his thick accent. “I wanna taste. I want you to fill me up wit’cho manhood. Please, esé. I wanna feel you inside me. You gots a beautiful soul, hombre.”
“Oh… You want me to plow you?” Moshe asked, certain that this was just a language barrier. Gigantic macho bulls like Sazonito didn’t let themselves get plowed by tiny Jewish twinks like Moshe.
But he couldn’t deny that Sazonito knelt down and kissed Moshe as passionately and intensely as any woman ever had or could. It was also clear that Sazonito was uncomfortable with it and had either never done it before or maybe never done it willingly. He hesitated as he kissed, like his body fought against himself to do it.
His lips were thick and plump, the surface a bit dry and chapped but not grossly so. His massive arms wrapped around Moshe’s body and held him close. He was so much taller and thicker than the notably tiny Moshe that Moshe felt like a little boy being hugged by his daddy. He reeked of cheap cologne covering up the intense musk emanating from his armpits and his sweat-soaked back.
“Uh… Sazonito…?” Moshe pulled away. This time it was his body’s turn to fight it — he wanted nothing more than to do whatever this massive hulking brute demanded, but Moshe’s instincts said to either run away, surrender or get on his knees and jerk Sazonito off rather than the other way around.
“What? Please plow me…” He sounded like he was near tears.
“Are you… sure?”
He hung his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged his tuxedo jacket off, and it fell on the floor. “I was in prison for six years. They just let me out last week, esé. I… I wanted to try it in there, but I can’t lose face. I would be disrespected. I want to feel your cock inside me. I want to pretend I love you.”
Well, that was pretty clear, Moshe thought, Sazonito is certain he wants to do this. No more ambiguity about his intentions.
Yet Moshe still felt sure a catch was going to come up sooner or later. Was he an undercover cop? What would be the point of that — he wasn’t proposing anything illegal. Was this all a trick to do with that alibi he had wanted to establish? But simply coming to the concert in front of all those witnesses and cameras would be enough. Jerking someone off in secret wouldn’t make the alibi more convincing.
And he was here. Whatever was going on somewhere else, Sazonito wasn’t there. He was here. That was not a trick. Moshe stared in disbelief as Sazonito removed his clothes. He carefully folded up his suit — which he had obviously made by purchasing cast-offs from a thrift shop — and placed it on the chair in Moshe’s dressing room.
His tattiied chest was even bigger and sexier than Moshe had imagined, brimming with power that Moshe could feel radiating off it. He was more aroused at the sight of Sazonito’s naked body than he ever had been before. It might not have been his usual cup of tea, but Moshe intended to guzzle every drop of it.
“Déjame probar su polla…”
Sazonito was inked all over with tattoos and scars. Since tattoos were forbidden under Jewish law, Moshe had rarely seen any in person. He had never seen a naked man with numerous tattoos covering nearly every inch of his body. A lot of them appeared to be amateurish, perhaps done in prison. Scars, seemingly from knives or perhaps bullets or taser prongs, dotted his muscles, which bulged as though they were going to burst out of his skin.
Keeping eye contact with Moshe, Sazonito sunk to his knees as he dropped his prison-issued boxers to the ground. His long cock was uncut, dangling limp and meaty between his legs. That was another part of Sazonito’s physique that was new to Moshe — his uncircumized cock. Moshe had never seen a foreskin up close and personal.
Moshe instinctively wanted to get on his knees as well, because Sazonito’s cock was fat and juicy, and it was already stirring with the beginnings of an erection. Yet much to his surprise, Sazonito really did want to take that place, kneeling afronta Moshe.
Still certain the rug was about to be pulled out from under him, Moshe was so distracted he hadn’t even started to undress himself. Sazonito’s thick fingers fumbled with Moshe’s designer slacks, dropping them to his ankles, which was enough to wake Moshe from his fugue. He quickly took off his own shirt and tie while Moshe pulled his underwear down as well.
Was this really happening? Was it a dream? Moshe still wasn’t sure this wasn’t a trick. But if so, Sazonito was taking it all the way.
“Te ves tan sabrosa…”
He picked up Moshe’s dick and smelled it like he was checking to see if it was ripe, then he wrinkled his nose as though he wasn’t sure. That didn’t stop him though, he opened his mouth and swallowed it as deep as he could. Sazonito’s eyes widened, and he paused for a moment like he was holding back a choke.
Nothing happened though. Moshe was still so shocked he didn’t even feel anything at first, then the sensation of Sazonito’s warm mouth and moist tongue sent ripples of pleasure through Moshe’s body. His cock rapidly swelled to full tumescence, and it poked into Sazonito’s throat.
Moshe wasn’t small in the cock department, so Sazonito’s unpracticed mouth didn’t manage to deep-throat the whole thing. He let out a loud retching sound, which Moshe couldn’t quite interpret — was he suppressing a gag or pushing back a moan of desire? Maybe both?
This was all happening so fast. Moshe’s knees went weak as his dick went hard. His hands fumbled — he was too nervous to actually grab Sazonito, who seemed too frightening to touch. Moshe’s instinctive mind worried he wouldn’t let a little Jewish man touch him, so Moshe’s hands hovered above Sazonito’s head.
Sazonito was so much larger than Moshe that he had to stoop way over to swallow his cock. It felt like Sazonito took up the entire dressing room, and Moshe just inhabited a tiny corner of it. As his dick throbbed in Sazonito’s mouth, Moshe moaned exquisitely.
“I, uh… Oh… Wow, Sazonito…” Moshe mumbled, too embarrassed to think of anything to say. Moshe had too much propriety for dirty-talk. He could only mumble as he worked his precum-leaking cock down Sazonito’s throat.
But breaking the silence made this whole thing easier for Moshe; it relaxed him and made him realize that, if a reprisal was coming, he was safe for now. He came crashing back down to reality just in time for a wave of pleasure to roll over his body like a tsunami. His knees again went weak, and as he buckled, he would have fallen but he gripped Sazonito’s broad shoulders. The warmth of his rippling muscles was intense; was it normal for someone to be that hot to the touch? Moshe didn’t think so, but all he could do in response was moan again. He bucked his hips, slamming his dick all the way into Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s nose nestled itself in Moshe’s pubic hair.
He thought that might make Sazonito pause and back out, but he only got more into it. He nuzzled his nose deep in Moshe’s dick as he forced himself to deep-throat it. Moshe’s cock rammed all the way down his gullet, the precum flowing copiously now. Sazonito guzzled it greedily as though he had been swallowing cock his whole life.
Moshe’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed ahold of Sazonito’s head. He pushed his dick in and pulled it out, with so much force each time he didn’t think he had ever throated anyone so aggressively. For tiny twink Moshe, it was the most potent plow of his life — he had a feeling Sazonito still thought of him as weak and feckless.
Then Sazonito pulled off. Thick tendrils of saliva connected his face to Moshe’s dickshaft and down to his balls. He flat-lipped his face up at Moshe and said, “You are beautiful, esé. Can you play your violin while you plow me?”
“Yes,” Moshe said without thinking about it. He wasn’t sure that was really true though. The violin required all of his concentration, could he really do it while plowing Sazonito up the ass? It seemed dirty, almost disrespectful of the instrument.
But the sight of Sazonito’s broad bare ass as he bent over in the center of the dressing room made Moshe willing to try anything. He grabbed his violin and put it on his shoulder.
“Please, plow me hard, Moshe,” Sazonito said softly. He hung his head as though a bit ashamed, even as he reached one hand behind himself to spread his asscheeks. He had powerful thighs and thickly muscled cheeks, so thick he felt like two powerful men stuffed into one skinsuit.
Without hands, Moshe managed to wedge his dick into the hairy crack of Sazonito’s ass — Moshe had always thought a hairy ass was unattractive, right up until this moment. Now he wanted more than anything to fill Sazonito with his cock.
But he needed both hands to play the violin. That meant he couldn’t guide his dick in. In any case, Sazonito’s intact butthole was resistant, and even when he attempted at it the best he could, not even the tip went in.
Then, much to Moshe’s surprise, Sazonito’s hand spread his cheeks and then pushed the tip of Moshe’s dick in. The soft, luxuriant hair of his ass brushed against Moshe’s pulsating manhood.
“Ah, damn, hombre…”
Sazonito arched his back as Moshe played the first few notes of “Shalom Chaverim”, an Israeli folk song that he knew very well because he often used it to warm-up. It was the only simple song he could think of that he knew well and that wasn’t religious or nationalist (both of which seemed inappropriate, even sinful, to play in this situation). The notes rang out in the tiny dressing room.
Sazonito stuck his head up and moaned. Again it wasn’t clear if he moaned in pain and humiliation or in bliss, or maybe a bit of both. His ears wiggled as though he carefully scrutinized every ringing note from Moshe’s violin.
He was surprised how easy it was once he got started. Moshe could play on autopilot since the song was so simple, and once he got started, it was surprisingly easy to plow Sazonito without the use of his hands. Sazonito’s ass practically swallowed his cock up. It was not easy, however, to get his entire dick in there. Sazonito was clearly intact and had trouble taking the whole thing.
Not that he was resisting. Every thrust of Moshe’s cock sent a bolt of pleasure through his body and a wave of some sensation through Sazonito’s too. Sazonito grunted like he was in pain, and he moaned like he was in bliss, and he clawed at the ground as Moshe’s balls slapped against the meat of his asscheeks.
Judging from the look on Sazonito’s face, he was more entranced by the music than overwhelmed by the agonizing pleasure in his ass. After a few moments, Sazonito even started jacking himself off with one hand. He must have already gotten a hardon.
The more and more he rammed at Sazonito’s ass, the braver Moshe got, until his balls were thwacking against Sazonito’s meaty asscheeks. Moshe’s dick slid in and out, easier with every thrust of his hips, and each time Sazonito gasped while pre-orgasmic pleasure rippled over his tattooed back muscles.
With one powerful thrust, Moshe managed to shove the last of his cock into Sazonito’s body. Sazonito moaned and grunted. His ass clenched, which Moshe could tell was because he neared his orgasm. Neither man was quite there yet, and Moshe tried to drag this out — he didn’t want to rush through the sexual experience of a lifetime. It felt so good his knees went weak.
Then the phone rang.
Both Moshe and Sazonito stopped moving. Moshe’s heart skipped a beat thinking he had been caught, then realized that was silly — he wasn’t breaking any rules.
And in any case, he soon realized it wasn’t his phone. It was Sazonito’s
Sazonito grabbed his cell phone out of the pants of his tuxedo, which was folded up on the chair near his head. He put it on speaker because, it seemed, he was too overwhelmed to hold it to his ear.
“Yo. What?”
You still there, vato?
“Si.”
What’s going on?
“Todavía estoy allí.”
Yeah, I… Somethin’ wrong? Speak English, motherfucker. You know I don’t know español that good.
“I’m still here. I’m talking to the violinista entre bastidores. Él es judío, pero él está bien.”
What? Nevermind, man. Just hurry up. It’s all good.
“Okay.”
… You takin’ a shit, vato?
“No.”
You sound like-
“Shut up.”
Fine, look, vato… Just don’t go to Mario’s place like we planned. His mama there. But it all went down just like we wanted.
“¿Son los traidores muertos?” He groaned, the words escaping from gritted teeth. His voice had an agonizing slowness to it, like he was grinding the words from stones in his mouth.
Si, esé.
“Good. Estoy colgando el teléfono. No me llame de nuevo unless someone is dead who is not s’posed to be,” Sazonito said, then he angrily hung up the phone and threw it back at his crumpled-up tuxedo on the floor. “Fuckin’ puta…”
Then Sazonito’s back arched as though he only just remembered he was getting plowed. His mouth opened like he wanna shout or maybe moan, but no sound came out. He pushed his ass back on Moshe’s dick, sending a wave of pleasure rocking up Moshe’s spine. Moshe gasped, his fingers digging into the meaty thickness of Sazonito’s back. Sazonito writhed before him, lifting one of his massive trunk-like thighs up as he accepted every inch of Moshe’s dick.
Moshe had gradually lost his inhibitions, and by now, he was ramming back and forth as if Sazonito’s ass was his fleshlight. At this point he figured if it was a trick, he might as well lean into it. It was the most enjoyable trick of his life.
He started playing the violin again. This time he played “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”, another song he knew well enough to play by heart. Once again Sazonito shuddered and moaned as though the violin itself made him orgasm.
“¡Su musicalidad es más hermoso que cualquier cosa que mis oídos han tenido!” Sazonito shouted to be heard over the violin. He groaned and bucked beneath Moshe’s hips, which slammed powerfully against his jiggling asscheeks. Moshe didn’t need to know Spanish to know that Sazonito was complimenting his plowing, or maybe demanding to be plowed harder.
Finally Moshe felt his orgasm coming on, just as he felt it running through Sazonito’s body as well. He thought he’d have to stop playing while he busted a nut, but his hands were on autopilot. He definitely lost the rhythm and played some notes incorrectly, but it was clear Sazonito didn’t notice — he didn’t even seem to recognize the song, though he reacted as though the sound itself caused his orgasm.
Cum sprayed into Sazonito’s ass, so thick and creamy that it clung to every corner of his insides. Moshe shuddered and shivered as he filled Sazonito up. The load was bigger than anything he had ever produced — Moshe rather wished he had pulled out so he could see how much it was. This was such an incredible experience that his body kept spurting more and more, like he was getting rid of reserves that his balls had been storing up.
As Moshe’s body twitched and he yelped, Sazonito barked; his massive muscles writhed. His pain was obvious, his humiliation apparent in his dim, dark eyes, but the overwhelming feeling that Moshe could read in every muscle in his body was arousal and fulfillment. He had genuinely wanted this.
Somehow in that moment, all language and cultural barriers between them dissolved. Moshe knew exactly why Sazonito was doing this, and it was precisely as he had explained. Moshe was just too set in his ways to realize it. Sazonito had ramrodded prison bitches, but just one was important to him, a girlish man who had been Sazonito’s lover when he was in jail; he had formed a serious relationship with that man. He had treated his bitch like a wife, and a part of him had always wondered how far their relationship could be taken. His prison bitch had probably treated him better than his girlfriends on the outside. They were friends and lovers and roommates, allies, confidantes and more, but the one thing they could never be was equals. Sazonito had wished he could have a real relationship as his sexual peak dwindled while he was locked up.
But in prison, big macho tops didn’t bottom for tiny twinks, not even behind closed doors and with makeshift curtains up to block the view. That was not a rule Sazonito could break. Not until he was out of prison and he had come to a place where no other vato would be, where nobody would know what taboos Sazonito was breaking.
The smell of cum filled the dressing room as Sazonito shot his own load, just as Moshe was finally finishing up. A few final jets of jizz spurted up Sazonito’s guts, creamy goop spreading to every corner of his insides and seeping into his inner being. From his vantage point Moshe couldn’t see, but he could experience every bit of Sazonito’s orgasm through the tight clenching of his ass and the low, rattling groan that escaped from Sazonito’s throat. Sazonito’s hands were claws that raked the ground.
Then at last it was all over.
Moshe pulled his cock out and smiled sheepishly as Sazonito sighed like he had been waiting for that exact moment — Moshe had taken enough big cocks to know what he was feeling. The stress relief of that moment was intense, and Sazonito’s moan of desire was an aching rumble that echoed in the tiny dressing room. Sazonito crumpled to the dirty floor of the dressing room, his big muscles limp, perhaps limper than they had been since he was with his beloved in a prison cell.
Moshe sat next to his prone body and gently rubbed his muscles. They twitched under Moshe’s grip. “Sazonito… do you want me to call you? When I am in town again?”
“Yes. Si.”
“Okay,” Moshe said. “I will. We can have whatever relationship you want, and I won’t tell anyone.”
Sazonito nodded. “And if anybody asks, you will tell them I was at your concert, esé? Tell them I was here early, that you saw me before the show and then you saw me during the show and after.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes to slits. “Do not tell them what we did after the show.”
Moshe nodded. “I will.”
“Good. Thank you. Nunca lo reemplazará.” Sazonito closed his eyes and gripped Moshe’s hand with his massive meaty fingers. Then Sazonito’s sweat-dappled back fell limp and soft, and he drifted off to sleep right there on Moshe’s dressing room floor.

The Cholo Bottoms

Anthony got it bad in prison, and he never thought his fortunes would be turned upside-down! That’s cuz the bad-ass cholo who hurt him is gonna hafta turn around and bend over, so that tiny twink Anthony gets to climb on top!

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing below!

When Anthony got out of the prison infirmary, he struggled to walk at all. The doctors had sewn up his cuts and got his bruising to go down, but he was still in intense pain with every step he took. That’s because he got cornholed, and it felt like his ass tore in half, like wet tissue paper, like he was being torn up all over again each time he stepped forward. The stairs were especially difficult to make it down.
Much to his surprise, the guards were kind. Officer Bignose in particular allowed him to walk back to his cell as slowly as he needed. Usually he pushed guys along, practically dragging anyone who didn’t hurry.
Anthony’s ramrod was named Franco, but he went by Sucio — a Spanish word that means “filthy or vulgar” and implies sexual perversion as well. He was tall, heavily tattooed from forehead to feet, broad-shouldered and meaty, strong as an ox. He had cornholed Anthony harder and harder until Anthony begged him to stop. He made Anthony lick the prison toilet seat; he stuck his assjuice-stained dick in Anthony’s mouth, and he pissed on his face. It was a tortuous experience.
Anthony certainly didn’t intend to wag his ass at any more cholos. He had thought he’d be able to get on Sucio’s good side by seducing him, but he didn’t know Sucio’s intense desire to remain uno hombre. His authoritarian manhood demanded he take charge of uno pasivo like Anthony.
But he was safe now. Anthony shared a cell with an elderly man, and he didn’t plan on leaving the cell any more than he had to. Sucio was sent to solitary confinement as punishment for the attack, so Anthony didn’t see him for a long time.
When he finally did return to the cell block on the same day Anthony did, Sucio made a kissy face as he walked by in chains, and the sight of that reawakened the lingering pain in Anthony’s ass. Shame flooded him, and he blushed as he looked down at his feet. Everybody knew Anthony was small and weak in comparison to Sucio, but he was still embarrassed for that to be made obvious. Officer Bignose led Sucio through the cell block. When they saw the kissy face, Bignose pulled on the manacle connected to Sucio’s legs, tripping him. He fell in a big bronze lump on the floor.
Sucio’s dingy white prison shorts and wifebeater were filthy with his sweat and raunch from his time cooped up in solitary. Anthony felt a surge of sexual desire, followed by shame. Anthony wished he could have serviced him in a consensual way. On the outside, he’d have said he wanted Sucio to ravage him. But it didn’t go how he had pictured it in his head. Anthony guessed that Sucio would never allow it — Sucio wouldn’t want to do it so Anthony enjoyed it. He was always going to do it harder than his victim wanted. His machismo demanded it.
“Come on out here,” Officer Bignose said, poking his head into the cell Anthony shared with the old man. Anthony had backed away from the door, not wanting Sucio to see him. Fear surged all over again as he wondered if Bignose’s kindness had only been a front for his true aim: retorturing Anthony by setting up another ramrodding. When Anthony didn’t respond right away, Bignose barked his order again, “Inmate Delunez, get the fuck out here right now!”
Anthony trembled but nodded and crept out of the cell. The cell block was having a Sunday afternoon indoors today, since it was raining outside. That meant dozens of men milled about, almost all of them vatos and cholos — Cell S99 was reserved for inmates associated with the Latin Kings. Anthony had only a glancing connection with them, which was why he had been turned out as Sucio’s bitch.
Bignose held a hand up, palm out, which made the cell block stop whispering. They all glared at Bignose. Anthony shivered with fear — was Bignose going to cornhole him now as well?
Outside of prison, Anthony hadn’t been a thug at all. He had only pledged himself to the Latin Kings because he was going in for a year and needed protection, and luckily his brother was a well-respected vato who could vouch for him. Of course, that hadn’t ended up mattering for very much.
“Listen up, you shitheaps. A lot of you are aware of what happened awhile ago. Inmate Delunez here was treated… poorly, to say the least-” Bignose was interrupted by a chorus of cheers and jeers from the assembled cholos, who yelled insults at Anthony. He blushed, especially when Sucio — standing nearby in chains — sneered at him. Someone pinched Anthony’s ass. Bignose whistled and demanded silence; everyone ignored him until he brought out the taser and brandished it. “Shut the fuck up! There’s a prison policy here we ain’t always followed. That’s because the victims are usually as bad as the perpetrators, but it’s a rule we got a right to enforce.”
“Fuck yo’ rules, esé!” Sucio said. He pumped his hips as though literally fucking Bignose’s rules. His dick-bulge shook in his prison shorts, and he rolled his tongue beneath his lips.
Bignose smiled at Sucio. He nodded to the other guards around him, and one of them jumped into action. Before Anthony could process the sudden turn of events, Sucio had a mouthguard placed on his face. Sucio roared and pulled away, but there were four guards on him, and they kept him in place, even forcing him to his knees. His complaints vanished into a wordless burst of syllables.
The mouthguard was a plain piece of plastic with wire forceps-like edges and a strap binding it to the face. It was made for prison dentists who couldn’t otherwise safely put their hands near the inmates’s mouths. Sucio tried to spit but with his jaw stuck pried apart, all he could do was sputter and writhe in the muscular guards’s arms.
“The rule that we’re going to enforce from now on,” Officer Bignose said with a cruel smile, “is that prison tops get bottomed.”
Total silence filled the room. Then there was a torrent of shouting, angry Spanish and vituperative English — a few of them were in support of the policy, it seemed, but many were against it, and some just wanted to watch the world burn. A few of the inmates rushed towards Bignose as though going to fight him, but Bignose flipped his taser on and they backed off when the sound of electricity crackling hit the air.
Silence once again fell over the cell block.
“Now, not all you alpha cholos are gonna get it up the ass. I ain’t got no interest in that,” Bignose said. “But if yer bitch complains, then I’m gonna let him treat you the same way you got treated. That’s how we gonna decide what’s consensual or not. If your bitch is upset enough to file a complaint, he’s gonna get to climb on top of yer stupid ass. Inmate Delunez here is gonna be first.” He smiled at Anthony, and extended his arm like a fancy butler unveiling an expensive dish.
It all happened so fast that Anthony only realized what was happening right now, as he stepped towards Sucio. The inmates mostly quieted down. None of them really loved Sucio, after all. Bignose had no doubt started off with what seemed like terrible news in order to be sure they’d be supportive and happy when he backed up into a less atrocious rule.
Anthony blushed as he took his dick out. He had been showering with these men, and occasionally jerking them off, for more than a month before Sucio attacked him, so this wasn’t the first time they had seen his dick. But he was still self-conscious knowing that they were looking at him now, and no doubt comparing his dick to theirs — when he was just another prison punk, they avoided looking at his manhood; his ass and his mouth were his only body parts that mattered.
But now his rather thick dick was the center of attention. Anthony had never felt smaller, despite the grande size of his meat. Sucio roared as he tried to pull away, but the guards kept him on his knees. His chest and shoulders were soaked with sweat, which made his wifebeater stick to his flesh. His muscles strained the fabric.
¡Destrozar el culo! ¡Que sea sangrienta!
Anthony chuckled as he flopped his limp dick onto Sucio’s face, his heart racing — this felt so dangerous, even if it wasn’t. Sucio’s face was heavily tattooed, seven tears dripping from his eyes (which meant he had murdered seven people, and the fact that one of the tears was colored red meant that one of those seven was either a cop or a snitch).
¡Su garganta es su culo!
Sucio flinched and writhed. He breathed heavily, drool dripping past his lips. It was obvious he was trying to say something but couldn’t with his mouth pried open. All he could do was champ up moutfuls of saliva.
“You ever tasted cock before, bitch?” Anthony asked, simply because the silence made this all more intense, and he felt a need to do something to break the tension. The pain in his ass was gone now, and he smiled as the cholos filling the cell block burst into laughter and applause. Sucio was a powerful gangbanger, and though they were all nominally allied with him, no one liked him — now that he was a bitch, they’d treat him like one, which meant everyone here could move up a rung in the Latin Kings hierarchy.
Fuck ‘is throat, Anthony. Make him choke! ¡Hacer que se ahogue!
Anthony pushed his dick into Sucio’s big, wide mouth. His moist tongue shook as though trying to find a place to hide, but Anthony just pushed his dick all the way in to the root in one smooth motion — Sucio was big enough to swallow a lot of meat. Sucio retched and gagged, a big ball of spit dripping down his chin and onto his wifebeater.
“Keep your eyes open, puta!” Anthony said. He pounded on his thin twinky chest. This was exactly how Sucio had treated him, so he enjoyed returning the favor. “Bitches should look in they owners’ eyes. I wanna see yo’ stupid bitch face suffocating on my cock, esé.”
He rammed his dick in all the way, even lifting one leg to hump his face like a dog. The mouthguard on Sucio’s face pinched at his jaw whenever he tried to open it, so his mouth was open as wide as it would go — every time he stretched it a little wider, the mouthguard didn’t allow it to go back without pinching into his gums.
Anthony rubbed the Gothic lettering tattooed on Sucio’s forehead — Latin Kings por vida, it read. He spat right onto that tattoo, and when he saw that Sucio shook and gagged, he did it again. He spat on Sucio’s nose and hocked up a big loogie, which he plopped into Sucio’s mouth.
This felt so good that Anthony would have gladly kept going until he came. But he felt his orgasm coming and he knew Officer Bignose wouldn’t hold Sucio down again, at least not unless Sucio cornholed him again. So Anthony decided to go after him in the ass while he could.
After all, he wasn’t gonna get more chances to ramrod a muscle-bound alpha like Sucio.
There were now five guards holding Sucio down. One was on each limb (which were also manacled), and one kept him in a bear hug from behind. That one behind Sucio winced like he was disgusted when Anthony pulled out of Sucio’s mouth — he was awfully close to the action, getting splashed. Anthony blushed, still unused to being the center of attention.
The guard with Sucio in a bear hug leaned onto his back, forcing Sucio onto his back as well, his big body resting on the guard’s chest. He squirmed but with his chained arms and legs held by the other quartet of guards, there was little Sucio could do.
Officer Bignose pulled on the chains of Sucio’s legs and attached them to the wall nearby. That forced Sucio’s legs up. Anthony pulled those dingy prison-issued boxers up, revealing a thick and meaty ass coated in kinky black hairs and amateur tattoos. His cheeks quivered and tensed — he was clenching his ass.
Not that that was gonna stop Anthony.
When Anthony saw that cock again, he knew he was going to stroke Sucio off — both because he genuinely wanted to, and because he knew he could get Sucio hard in front of the entire cell block. Nothing would be more humiliating than treating Sucio like a bitch and making him like it, in front of every cholo in this joint.
There was a Salvadoran flag tattooed right on Sucio’s dick, its blue and white stripes waving in unseen wind. Anthony gave it a stroke while just resting his dick at the entrance to Sucio’s ass.
“You want this real bad, donchu?” Anthony asked, then repeated it loud enough that he could be heard over the hoots and hollers of the other inmates.
¡Si, él realmente quiere!
Sucio’s body roiled and writhed. He struggled against the guards holding him down, but there was nothing he could do, especially on his back with his legs in the air — he was like a turtle stuck on its back.
“You ever took it in the ass before?” Anthony asked. Sucio shook his head and heaved out some indecipherable syllables, but Anthony couldn’t understand him. He cupped one hand behind his ear as though asking Sucio to speak up. The inmates behind him all roared their approval of Sucio’s humiliation. Anthony smiled and said, in an overly loud voice, “Oh, you loved getting rammed by sumisos?! Well, I got exactly what you want! Don’t worry, I’ll ram you again whenever you want. You just let me know.”
He rammed one finger in Sucio’s ass, keeping his dick right there so Sucio could feel it. His other hand remained on Sucio’s cockshaft, lightly stroking it — it was just a bit hard right now, no doubt more from anxiety than actual arousal.
Sucio arched his back and clenched his ass when Anthony’s pinkie entered him. Anthony laughed and smacked him on the asscheek, over and over until Sucio let go of his clenching for just a second, long enough that Anthony could ram his pinkie all the way in.
The sweat drenched Sucio’s body now, soaking those guards who held him down. They looked like they regretted agreeing to this — they probably enjoyed the idea of holding a giant cholo like Sucio down while he got cornholed — Sucio had been insulting and threatening them for years, after all — but now realized that the actuality of it was more difficult and less satisfying than they had predicted beforehand. His sweaty muscles and coarse black hairs rubbed all over their bodies, especially the burly redneck guard who held onto Sucio’s bare back.
“Gonna get that ass to open up one way or another…” Anthony shouted over the din — that was another thing Sucio had said over and over while cornholing Anthony hard. Anthony did it the same way Sucio had, by strangling him.
His thin, delicate fingers gripped Sucio by the neck and squeezed, just hard enough to make him heave and writhe. It was a sudden enough surprise that his ass unclenched when Anthony let go a moment later, and Anthony rammed his ring finger in alongside his pinkie. Sucio breathlessly gasped, his tongue writhing in his mouth as he tried to shout.
Anthony had been so focused on watching Sucio’s agony that he hadn’t really taken a moment to savor the fingering. With two fingers now in Sucio’s virgin ass, he wiggled them. He loved that tight moistness and he especially enjoyed how Sucio’s dick pulsated in his hands now that Anthony was on his prostate.
“Muy apretado…” Anthony said with a slow smile. The other inmates rushed forward to either join in or clap Anthony on the back, but Officer Bignose waved them away.
He rammed his fingers in and out, each thrust making Sucio contort. His muscles were pulling the guards this way and that as they held him down — they couldn’t quite keep him from moving, but they could keep him from getting up. His chains rattled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd of inmates.
Then Anthony pulled out. He pushed his dick in before Sucio’s ass had time to clench again, but Anthony didn’t want to go too fast. He just put the tip of his dick in and held on as Sucio flexed all over. Motionless, Anthony bit back his burgeoning climax, so he could drag this out.
Pain rattled up and down Sucio’s body; Anthony could see it in the undulating tension in his muscles, which tightened and loosened in waves from his trunk-like thighs to his broad muscles. Those muscles clenched his ass as though to grip Anthony’s cock.
“Taste some ass, puta!” Anthony shouted, too aroused to think of anything wittier to say. He wished he could — Sucio had thought of lots of (relatively) clever insults and threats to shout as he had fucked Anthony, but Anthony couldn’t think of a single one right now. He just laughed as he pushed his ass-slickened fingers into Sucio’s mouth.
Sucio sputtered and gagged as soon as he tasted his own ass. He spat the best he could with an open mouth, but Anthony just wiped his fingers off on Sucio’s tongue, groaning as he slid a few more inches of his manhood into Sucio’s behind.
“You feel it in you, bitch?” Anthony asked. “Huh? You feel my dick in you?”
Sucio shook his head, throwing his neck back and forth. He wasn’t really saying no, probably didn’t even hear Anthony’s question, but Anthony decided to take it as a no.
“Oh, okay, I’ll ram you harder then, so you can feel it!” Anthony said. He smiled as the cholos behind him screamed their approval.
Make ‘im bleed, Anthony! Wreck his ass!
Anthony pistoned his hips, slamming his dick the rest of the way in. He pushed his cock all the way to the root, which made Sucio arch his back. He gasped and choked on the fingers Anthony still kept in his mouth.
Then Anthony remained still for a moment, working on Sucio’s dick. It was rock-hard, but he gathered that Sucio wasn’t even aware; he was in too much pain to notice his erection. Anthony used both hands on the meaty, uncut shaft, then cupped his low-hanging balls. He gathered up all the sweat from Sucio’s own crotch and then wiped it over Sucio’s tongue, which stuck out of his mouth like a panting dog.
He wanted to really humiliate Sucio by making him cum with a dick all the way up his guts. So he stimulated Sucio’s prostate while stroking off his manhood.
The tension was so great that it was actually quite easy — Sucio was too distracted to fight against it, so his body’s instinctual arousal was enough to send him right over the line. His orgasm was painful, bringing tears to his eyes as his asshole clenched around Anthony’s rampaging dick.
Cum sprayed over Sucio’s chest and belly. He blushed a bright red as the other inmates, his fellow gangmates, all roared their shocked approval. Some of the cum missed Sucio’s body and landed on the face of the guard holding onto his right arm, who flinched but didn’t pull away even as the semen dripped down his lips.
Anthony pumped his biceps over Sucio’s body. He knew he looked ridiculous, since he was acting like he had overpowered Sucio when he was actually about a third Sucio’s size. But it felt good to be victorious — Anthony hadn’t felt like a real man since even before Sucio plowed him.
Gathering that the guards were losing patience and weren’t going to hold Sucio down for much longer, Anthony decided to finish up. He had been on the verge of orgasm pretty much since this began, so he focused his energy on going hard. His hands sopped up all that cum and wiped it off on Sucio’s tongue, making Sucio retch, writhe and clench down on Anthony’s dick.
The pain must have been excruciating; Anthony knew well that getting plowed with a clenched asshole was excruciating, and Anthony wasn’t even using lube besides Sucio’s own spit, so it was no doubt tortuous. He rammed his dick back and forth, cackling with laughter as Sucio heaved for breath, gagging on his own cum which he couldn’t wipe away. Anthony made sure that what semen that did leak out his mouth got smeared all over his tattooed face.
When his orgasm finally hit, Anthony pulled out — a part of him wanted to cum inside Sucio’s guts, which would have been humiliating for him, turning his culo into a panocha. But it would have been invisible to all the men watching.
So he pulled out instead. Sucio breathed a deep sigh until he saw that Anthony aimed for his face. He gagged again even before Anthony had made it to his head, a potent orgasm rocketing through Anthony’s body. His dick was more slimy than he had ever seen it — Sucio’s ass had really reacted to the hardcore fucking, excreting copious fluids that clung to his cockshaft.
He managed to get his dick in Sucio’s mouth just moments before he came. Sucio wretched and writhed, and spat up a big ball of bile that just leaked out over his face. Anthony groaned as the orgasm finally hit him. His little lithe body writhed, ass clenching and fingers gripping Sucio’s face tightly.
Anthony had never seen someone retch so badly. He shot a huge load right into Sucio’s gullet, but Sucio just spat it right back up. Cum dripped from his lips and coated his face, alongside that slimy assjuice that Anthony brought back from Sucio’s hole. His face was shiny with fluids, eyes scrunched up and flashing bright.
A long, loud sigh escaped from Anthony’s lips as he finally fell limp. His knees buckled, the orgasm so intense he could barely support himself. He used Sucio’s meaty belly for support, and he tweaked Sucio’s nipples.
Finally the guards — disgusted by all the fluids that had leaked to every inch of Sucio’s body — slipped away. Sucio dropped to the ground and landed with a thud. He writhed and rolled over, groaning as he tried to get to his feet. He winced in pain every time he moved, just like Anthony had when he had been led away from the infirmary.
Officer Bignose grabbed the chain attached to Sucio’s neck and pulled until Sucio could do nothing more than pull against the chain, n his knees. Bignose pulled the mouthguard off and Sucio screamed a litany of Spanish insults. He couldn’t reach his face to wipe off.
“Shut your mouth, or we’re all gonna ram you!” Bignose said. Sucio couldn’t breathe with his chain pulled taut, so he soon had no choice but to fall silent. Bignose cleared his throat. “I’m gonna take you back to solitary to chill out for awhile. You’re a bitch now. You’ll have to accept that.” The other inmates roared their approval, but Bignose waved them quiet with one hand. “Now thank Inmate Delunez.” Sucio pulled against the chain again as he growled, but Bignose snapped it tight. Sucio sputtered, spit dripping past his lips. Bignose smiled. “Thank him.” When Sucio didn’t respond right away, Bignose whispered something in his ear.
Sucio blanched. “Thank you… Anthony,” he said through gritted teeth. “I… am alegre you done ram me.”
“Why, you’re welcome, Sucio, de nada. Anytime, I’d be alegre to ram you again.” Anthony held his hand up.
Sucio narrowed his eyes but kissed Anthony’s hand like a suitor wooing his girl. Anthony giggled at the sight of his big cholo body being dragged away. The other inmates clapped Anthony on the back, congratulating him and Anthony’s red face smiled.
The pain in his ass had diminished entirely, and Anthony was beginning to think his prison stay might not be as bad as it had initially seemed. He wondered if he could afford to buy a bitch, and if so, he knew exactly which one it would be. Anthony strode back to his cell like a returning champion.

Chuy Delunez

Chuy is a cholo and an ex-con.

Description

Chuy’s hands slid down her back to her ass. He done grew meatier in prison, and he felt denser to her touch, like he had crammed more body into the same amount of space. But he wasn’t a muchacho anymore, and his skin was no longer taut as a drum, his tattoos was faded and distorted, he be sporting wrinkles on his neck and bags under his eyes, and his juvenile aroma done deepen into a zesty musk that reminded her of the cantina her father drank in.

From Chuy the Ex-Con

Books

Chuy the Ex-Con: Chuy’s out of prison, and he’s in for a wild ride! When his girlfriend dumps him, he’s still got a raging hardon and a need for a place to sleep. But first, he’s off to sling coke for the Latin Kings directamente — a cholo like Chuy has got chores to do, beggars to beat down, ladies to seduce and casas to break into! So can he find a hot throbbing hole to satisfy his needs?

Cholos and the Raunchy Hobos of Santa Monica: Anthony enjoys alpha male thugs, cholos and machos of all kinds, and luckily, he has a knack for getting them! His older brother is a high-ranking gangbanger, giving Anthony a way to sample the men he adores. Can he learn to get his rocks off on his own?

Pictures

Chuy the Ex-Con

Chuy’s out of prison, and he’s in for a wild ride! When his girlfriend dumps him, he’s still got a raging hardon and a need for a place to sleep. But first, he’s off to sling coke for the Latin Kings directamente — a cholo like Chuy has got chores to do, beggars to beat down, ladies to seduce and casas to break into!

So can he find a hot throbbing hole to satisfy his needs?

Read it now!

Cholos and the Raunchy Hobos of Santa Monica

Anthony enjoys alpha male thugs, cholos and machos of all kinds, and luckily, he has a knack for getting them! His older brother is a high-ranking gangbanger, giving Anthony a way to sample the men he adores. Can he learn to get his rocks off on his own?

Read it now!

Roommates in the Dark

Cody lives with a bunch of cholos, which means when they get horny, he’s gonna hafta swing on the DL whether he wants to or not! He and the Mexicans get down and dirty cuz there’s no chicas about, resulting in an explosion of man-on-man machismo!

Can Cody handle living with these vatos?

Read it now!