Thumper & His Prettyboy Cellmate: Chapter Two

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Two

Thumper was bossy and mean but not violent, so Lamar couldn’t complain too much. Lamar did hate how touchy he was, but he felt better once he saw that Thumper was just as touchy with the other inmates. Thumper had been behind bars so long he was desperate for a little human contact, no matter where it came from, that was Lamar’s conclusion.
At breakfast one night, Lamar saw him wrap one arm around the waist of the man sitting next to him, a Blood named Ruck. As they ate, Ruck straightened his back awkwardly. Lamar saw outta the corner of his eye that Thumper, who continued telling a story about the cop that arrested him, slipped his hand down Ruck’s back and rested his finger inside Ruck’s asscrack. Ruck was a buff bullish nigga whose muscles tightened beneath Thumper’s grasp. His nostrils flared and his eyes darted around like a panicked animal.
When Thumper told Lamar to sit by him the next morning, Lamar dreaded knowing that his finger would likely do the same to him. Lamar was proven correct — it was apparently what he did to whichever nigga sat to his right during a meal. As soon as he finished eating, he put his hand on the small of Lamar’s back and dropped his finger between Lamar’s cheeks. His fingertip rested maybe an inch above Lamar’s butthole.
The other Bloods at the table made eye contact with Lamar, but no one said anything.
When the bell rang to signify the end of breakfast, everyone else stood. Lamar hesitated because Thumper did, and Lamar wasn’t sure Thumper would be okay with him just shoving away from his hand. In the hubbub, Thumper jabbed his finger into Lamar’s ass momentarily. A burst of pain ran up Lamar’s backside.
Lamar yelped, then fell silent and looked away from the smirking Bloods. Thumper clasped Lamar’s shoulder with his ass-stinked middle finger and used him for leverage as he stood. Lamar chose not to make a big deal outta it. It was better just to move on with his day.
When Lamar got back to the cell that night, he was late, having been processed at his prison job all day. Thumper waited for him in his boxers, a big grin on his face.
“I got a surprise tonight, something to welcome you in,” he said. “It should be here any minute. Gimme yo’ routine, nigga.”
Lamar got down on the ground and gave him fifty push-ups, which Lamar got through only because Thumper’s shouted encouragement outweighed the ache in Lamar’s sore shoulders.
Officer Crabgut arrived a few minutes after Lamar finished. He was a mean white man with wide shoulders and a perpetual sneer standing at the doorway in front of a slim Latino with a trembling frown. Crabgut shoved him in.
“You got fifteen minutes,” Crabgut said, “And don’t do nothing that’ll require a visit to the infirmary.” Crabgut closed the door.
The Latin boy shook and clasped his arms across his chest. Thumper approached him and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He placed that stinky middle finger of his right hand on the Latin boy’s mouth. “Sssh,” Thumper said quietly, “What’s your name, boy?”
“Navarone,” he said. He had a lilting Cuban accent.
“Tha’ss right,” Thumper said, “You a snitch, aincha? That’s why Sucio turned you out.”
“I’m not a snitch!”
“Sucio said you was,” Thumper said. He raised his eyebrows like a dubious schoolteacher.
“But I’m not. I didn’t snitch!” he said.
“That’s exactly what snitches usually say,” Thumper said. He looked at him. “Go on. I paid for anal for both us. He got good ass, I ‘xpect. Only started getting plowed a few weeks ago.” He pulled down Navarone’s orange prison pants and slapped his ass. “Yeah, this is nice ass. Like that, nigga! I like that!”
“I dunno,” Lamar said. He ain’t never ramrod a nigga, and he wasn’t expecting to start his first day in prison. He was only gonna be here seven months. “I don’t really need to bust a nut. I could sit this one out.”
“Nonsense,” Thumper said. “I done paid for it.” He smacked Navarone in the backa the head as he bared his cock and slapped it onto Navarone’s trembling asscheeks. “Swallow his dick, bitch.”
Kneeling with a sour look on his face, Navarone pulled down Lamar’s pants and took his dick into his mouth in one smooth motion, keeping eye contact with Thumper. He tentatively licked it, but Thumper pushed his head down deeper. He gagged as Lamar’s cockhead hit the backa his throat.
“Deepthroat it, bitch,” Thumper murmured.
Lamar’s eyes bugged out as his dick firmed up in Navarone’s mouth, much easier than Lamar was expecting. This did not feel erotic to him. It did feel kinda good, but the pleasure seemed very distant. Lamar’s mind remained focused on what Thumper was doing with his hands.
What Thumper was doing with his hands at that point, in fact, was making Navarone spread his asscheeks. Thumper lined himself up behind Navarone. Then, without missing a beat, Thumper slipped his half-erect cock into Navarone’s ass. Navarone grunted in pain around Lamar’s shaft in his mouth.
His cock was only part-hard and ropy still, and Thumper hadta move it around and grumble some before it firmed up enough to really get to ramming. Once he could though, he did, and Lamar couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Thumper worked his dick deeper inch by inch. He grabbed ahold of Navarone’s hair and placed one hand on the small of his back to keep him in position.
His squirming and choked sputtering made Lamar’s dick lose part of his erection — Navarone’s gagging and pained cries were revolting to him — until Lamar realized Thumper was looking at him like something was wrong with him. Lamar didn’t want to get a reputation as a man who can’t perform.
And it did feel good! It did! It was just hard to enjoy it. Lamar wasn’t horny before this started, or even after. He wanted to get this over with.
Closing his eyes, Lamar pictured his last girlfriend, a dark-haired white girl with a nice ass and huge tits. Lamar played with those tits for hours, and Lamar could almost feel their phantom fleshiness beneath his fingers.
With his eyes closed, it sorta worked. That white girl gave shitty blowjobs, and Navarone did the same. Navarone was more focused on the pain in his ass, that was why. But Lamar got into it enough to fuck Navarone’s throat, and spasms of pleasure struck throughout his body.
Thumper let his cock plop out of Navarone’s ass. His erection throbbed and dripped with precum and the hog fat he used as lube. He chuckled at Navarone’s exaggerated sigh of relief, then moved over to stand next to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Come on, I wanna nut in his mouth,” Thumper said, “Ass to mouth is great. We’ll wreck his throat together. Sucio said he can take anything down his gullet.”
Thumper took Lamar’s now relimpened cock in his hand and frotted it against his own dick, which was slimy with Navarone’s assjuice. He jacked both cocks off together and pushed them both into Navarone’s tremulous mouth. Lamar was horrified at sight of Thumper manhandling his dick, and he sucked in his breath, hands fluttering uselessly in the air. His and Thumper’s cocks smushed together, Thumper’s a long thick hard shaft that was pulsating hot and glistening with moisture, Lamar’s noticeably thinner and fleshier, only half-hard. Navarone opened his mouth as wide as he could, but only their cockheads fit inside.
“Use that tongue, bitch,” Thumper said, “Get all up on my shit, yeah, like that.”
Navarone’s tongue delicately lapped at Thumper’s cockhead, wincing at the saltiness of precum and the foulness of hog fat, not to mention his own asshole. Then Thumper smacked him in the back of the head, loud enough for Officer Crabgut to poke his head back inside the cell.
“Five minutes, gentlemen,” he said, “Then I gotta take the bitch back.” He stayed to watch with a wry smile as Thumper orgasmed without warning, as though he was waiting to make sure Crabgut could see. He moaned and leaned on Lamar for support.
Thumper came a vast burst of jizz, his semen sliding down Lamar’s cockshaft and coating Navarone’s face. Thumper’s muscles all flexed and rippled. Lamar was disgusted and thought he couldn’t cum, but Thumper looked at him like that was not an option.
“Go on, you better finish,” Thumper said, his voice now menacing. He ain’t take his dick away from Navarone’s mouth even now that it was limp
Lamar thought of that girl, his ex, desperately avoiding the feel of Thumper’s cum-slickened cock sliding against his and the stubble of Navarone’s facial hair on Lamar’s skin.The tension maybe made it easier to get hard though. Sex with women could be tense too, Lamar thought, and it did get his cock going.
Navarone finally got to slurping good on Lamar’s cock, while Thumper’s limpness bobbed around on his face. That sent a wave of pleasure through Lamar’s body. Thumper’s hands explored his chest and his back like he wanna feel that pleasure. Lamar sucked in his breath, closed his eyes and stood on his toes as he brought himself to the edge..
Finally Lamar shot a load, the orgasm almost painful. It was thin and watery, and it landed right on the center of Navarone’s tongue. He gagged and squealed, and Lamar breathed a sigh of relief, both from the orgasm and cuz Thumper wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t shoot as much as he was expecting, maybe because of the anxiety of the situation.
But then Thumper grabbed ahold of Lamar’s dick and stroked it casually, just a few quick pumps before he dropped it. Lamar’s dick was ultra-sensitive, so his touch sent a shiver of pain up his body.
Lamar squealed and stepped away. “Lay off me! What the fuck, nigga?” Lamar said. His heart dropped as Lamar said it because Thumper’s face screwed up in anger.
He shoved Lamar against the wall with all his heft. His chest pressed against his, his face millimeters from Lamar’s cheek. Lamar blanched, trying to show strength and confidence. Thumper’s moist cock was hot and heavy against Lamar’s thigh. He eyed him but didn’t say anything.
“Hey, you two have a lover’s squabble or what?” Crabgut said. Navarone waddled, bow-legged, out of the cell.
“That’s right, a lover’s squabble,” Thumper said, his limp dick smeared juices on Lamar’s hips. He kissed him on the cheek. “Nothing but a lover’s squabble.”

Alpha Punks, Rockers and Metalheads

Avery is at it again, this time seeking out the studliest of punks, rockers, metalheads and more! He’ll always do what it takes to get a taste of the alpha male meat he craves.

Can he handle bottoming for these musical alphas?… And can he top them too?!?!

Read it now!

Jenner (Quentin Jenner)

Jenner is a punk.

Description

An elbowy man with trackmarks abundant knelt between her thighs and lapped at her wet pussy. He had blue hair as well, but his was done up in a giant spiky mohawk that must have taken a gallon of product. There was a photorealistic tattoo of Che Guevara on his belly, which was a tattered and hungry six-pack pockmarked with sores and spots.

From Buck & Cody Outta Prison Again

The skinny-ass punk looked up and jumped to his feet. His bony ass gleamed with sweat, which coated his tattoo. He turned off the music, and the silence spilled like spoiled milk.

From Buck & Cody Outta Prison Again

Jenner’s ass was pale as cream where he wasn’t tattooed. He was a marble-hard honky with thighs like coils of rope and a rock-hard ass, which dimpled bare in the cool night air… Steel moved his foot to Jenner’s mohawk, the spikes of which was sticky with hairspray. Mosta his head was shaved smooth as a dolphin, all he got left was them spikes… Jenner was a punk in the whiteboy sense, with his anarchy tattoos, safety pin piercings and spiky mohawk, but he was about to be a punk in the niggas-in-prison sense too, cuz Steel was fixing to ram at his ass.

From Steel & the Whiteboy Skater

The deadbeat in question was Jenner, and he was a mohawked shithead and crust punk. He sometimes slept on their couch, or more often just passed out there. He was a long and ranky pale-pearl with anarchy tattoos and paperclip piercings. He was well-muscled but skinny. It wasn’t obvious to Dale and Poahi at first that he was a hobo and a heroin addict. Or maybe he was only one of those things when they first met him, but it wasn’t clear which — one or the other would be tolerable. Both together were a problem.

From Poahi the Lackey

Mucker (Nicholas) Talleus

Mucker is a hardcore punk.

Steel & the Whiteboy Skater: Mucker has gotta quit drinking! That means AA meetings and working with his sponsor Winston Steel, who’s got some “interesting” ideas about how to motivate a drunk to quit. He’ll drill sobriety into Mucker one way or another! Can Mucker handle Steel’s brand of man-on-man hijinks?!

Descriptions

Mucker was a long and thickly built sumbitch, muscles like a refrigerator, not a fat slob like Steel was expecting. He got a big floppy mess of whiteboy hair.

From Steel & the Whiteboy Skater

A punk-rocker-type named Mucker, who talked like he swallowed an ashtray and had dyed-platinum hair styled in a mohawk. His voice was all gravel and low rumbles. Mucker was a tall, well-muscled man with anarchy tattoos peeking out from under his clothes, extending up his neck to his jaw and down his wrist to his fingers. He was in his mid-thirties, with a rough, craggy face, perpetual scruff on his chin, and a deep scowl.

From Alpha Punks, Rockers and Metalheads

Pictures

Buck the Dumbass: Chapter 4

Buck the Dumbass

Chapter One: Ann Arbor, 1999

Chapter Two: Peremptory Manhood

Chapter Three: Statistics 101

Chapter Four: Systems of Oppression

Chapter Five: Lung Stuff

Buck left Lucy’s house just after dawn, that way nary the neighbors would see. Lucy was his long-time girlfriend. Unfortunately, she been shacked up with another man fer awhile. She was still seeing Buck on the side, so’s he gotta sneak out pre-dawn. He ain’t have enough time fer a morning quickie, which meant he gotta run the whole way with a hardon.
Another reason to leave early was that Buck gotta go in to work — not bouncering at Lipsweet, he also got that part-time job as a exterminator with Central Pest Control. Buck discottoned to the early-morning work, but he gotta have that “gainful” job to keep his parole officer calm.

He undressed in the locker room, last one there, so’s he gotta race to get his uniform on. He hoped Mistah Taggart seed that he weren’t late to arrive, cuz he was late by the time he got his job clipboard from the box by the office. Mistah Taggart was in there scowling.



“I was he’uh on time, suh,” Buck said. Technically, he walked in the door one minute late, and he was leaving the workshop late. He picked up the clipboard fer his pickemup. The clipboard got a long list of addresses, but more importantly it came with a printed-out map of the county. The addresses was labeled upon it. Buck knewed this county like a hound-dog knows its dish-bowl, so’s he could find the locations easy as ice cream.
“Fine, go,” Mistah Taggart said like he ain’t entirely believe Buck. But he shrugged him off anyways.
Buck stopped and showed Mistah Taggart the clipboard. “This one got two addresses, suh. Which one do I go to?”
Mistah Taggart raised his eyebrows. “Go to the first address to get the key. Second address is where you gonna spray.” He paused. “That’s a broke-down building, Sampson. Be careful. Kick the hobos out before you spray. That’s why I gave you that one, you’s a big feller, you can handle a rough situation. That building was abandoned two years ago, and some squatters moved in. If’n they give you too much trouble, call the police.”
“Yes, suh,” Buck said.
Buck nodded as he walked out. The clipboard listed the pesticide to use. Buck don’t know them sciencey words, but he could match ’em up with the labels, and he got a good memory fer the details of how to use each one.
Still waking off his nods, Buck headed to the nearby gas station fer a breakfast sandwich, a cuppa coffee and a full tank. Then he went out to his first couple stops, which all went swift as a breeze. He set down some rat traps and bait stations, put a one-way flap in a lady’s bat-filled attic and picked up a raccoon in a cage.
After letting the raccoon go free in a state park, he went to get the key to the abandoned building, and he drove to it. The building looked fine from a distance, but when he got close, he seed all the shattered windows and the untended grass.
He went in the old apartment building — ain’t need the key, it turned out, as the front door was ripped off its hinges. He smacked a stick upon a rustbucket icebox near the door, which made a loud ringing sound.
“Hey! All y’all! Anybody in this buildin’ best get out!” Buck shouted. His deep-chested baritone echoed. “I’mma fill it wit’ poison! Central Pest Control he’uh, ’bout to kill lit’ally e’erythang he’uh’! You gotto skedaddle!”
A shambly black man glanced at him, then hobble-footed out the door. He was followed by two more fellers, and then a woman with blue hair and safety-pin piercings lurched out. She was smacking two fingers upon her elbow like she was fitting to shoot up. Buck ain’t say nuttin’ to nary the squatters, as they was leaving peaceable-like, and he ain’t wanna interrupt that.

When he was satisfied there weren’t no hobos left on the first floor, he went up the creaky step-staircase on the lookout fer more. He kept repeating hisself and making buncha noise. He imitated a siren’s squeal too, hoping that might rouse some lazy hobos. “Gonna fill this place wit’ poison gas, y’all! Best skedaddle!”
Nobody on the second floor. Buck went up to the top floor, the third, and looked round there. Seemed quiet, but he kept calling out regardless-like.


Gonna cost a purdy penny to fix this place up, he thought. It musta been got abandoned to the squatters a long time ago. The grime was caked in. Plumbing and wiring gonna hafta be redone entirely. Roof too, likeishly.
“Hey!” Buck snapped when he seed some mohawky whiteboy, who be lingering like a rash. “You gotsta get out.” The whiteboy got a blanket and some clothes spread out in the least rubble-filled room upon the third floor. A boombox and a heroin kit was the only furniture. Sunlight streamed in from the shattered windows upon one wall, illuminating the cloud of dust and drug smoke that filled the room.
The mohawky whiteboy looked at Buck like one them two was a idiot, but he weren’t sho’re which. “I’m stayin’ here, I claimed this place in the name of freedom. You can’t institute your system of oppression here, you fascist!”
“Ain’t no fashist, you fashist,” Buck said. He got no inkling what a fascist was. “I’mma fill this place wit’ poison, mothahfuckah. Fashist! You fash e’erybody-“
“No! You can’t!”
“It’s fulla cockroaches, hoss. Rats too, fer sho’re. It’s bad, they’s fixin’ it up-“
“No!” The mohawky thang tottered left and right. He was on sump’in fer sho’re, or maybe he was off it at the moment and jonesing fer more. Buck seed his heroin kit but ain’t see no heroin. The mohawk on a needle frowned and eyebrowed hard upon Buck. “Nothin’ wrong, nothin’ wrong, nothin’ wrong with cockroaches, you’re a — they’re my friend. You’re a fascist! You’re a fascist, man. You’re imposing your… whatever, and… All life is sacred anyway.”
“A’ight, dawg, you gots to go,” Buck said. He took him by the arm, which was muscled but shrunk, with track marks abundant.
“Nah, nah, no, you gonna get outta here, gotta go, gotta go, I’ll kick ya hillbilly fascist ass redneck motherfucker-“
“Hey! Don’t test me! You is vexin’ mah ire now,” Buck said and wagged his finger at the mohawky whiteboy, who jerked away from him. He feinted hard at Buck, but Buck do stoneface.
The two squared up, Buck big and burly, the squatter dim-eyed, ripple-muscled and padding-less. Anarchy symbols and a portrait of Che Guevara covered his muscle-limbed body. His name was Jenner, and he snarled at Buck like he wanna fight, like he ain’t notice Buck was so much bigger’an him.
“Come at me then, fascist!” Jenner patted his own chest like a skinny Hulk Hogan — like Hulk Hogan had a baby with a rake. Then he punched Buck right in the belly, and Buck shrugged it off like a meow. He was too addled to punch effectively, and he got wiry arms, strong but withered. Buck shoved him away.
“Quit it, I ain’t playin’, hoss, you best step off,” Buck said.
“Shuddup, I’ll fuck you up, you think you’re hot shit!” the mohawked punk said. “C’mon! You work fer the police, huh? You a piggie?”
“No! I’s a ext’minatuh, son, slow ya toe! C’mon, I’s j’st killin’ the cockroaches. You cain take ya shit wit’cha,” he said. “You cain even come back in four hours, I don’t care. If’n you come back early, you gonna die.”
But the mohawky Jenner punched him again, his fist colliding with the meat of Buck’s belly. Flinchless, Buck gritted his teeth. He shoved the mohawked stack of string down like a disrespectful tombstone.
“Lay off!”

“Fascist!” Jenner bounced back onto his feet, and Buck shoved him to the wall. His pants dropped to his ankles, baring a ratty pair of boxers. Buck ain’t mean to do that, but it got the mohawk stumbling. He ain’t seem to grasp that his pants was ’round his ankles, and he steady tripped on ’em.


Buck grabbed Jenner by the mohawk and pulled his boxers down. “See what you makin’ me do?” Buck wrapped one arm ’round him to squeeze his neck. Buck’s free hand undid the fly of his workpants and fished out his cock, which he rubbed limply upon the mohawked man’s buttcheeks.
Still unaware, Jenner stumbled in place and shouted. He stopped only when Buck rammed his cock in the man’s ass, the knob slipping in, followed by just an inch or so of shaft b’fore’n he hit resistance.
But Buck weren’t in the mood to honor resistance. He squeezed the man’s neck till his body tensed, then he leggo and the mohawked man took a deep breath. The relaxation opened his butthole too, and Buck’s cock rammed in deep as a ditch.
“Oh god!”
“Sssshush, I done gave you a chance, motherfucker,” Buck said. He shuddered as pleasure coursed thru him. “Now this is happenin’.”
He spat upon his hand and smeared that on his shaft to give a li’l lube. But not much, cuz Buck ain’t intend this to go easy. His cock cornholed in and out till the mohawked man’s knees went weak, l’il deeper each time, and Buck followed him to the ground.
His asshole was well-worked and not intact in the least. Buck weren’t surprised. He prolly give it up fer heroin and whatever, you ne’er can tell with the ones with mohawks and anarchy shit. His ropy asscheeks squeezed ’round Buck’s manhood and sent more shivers of sensations thru Buck’s nerves.
“Ow, fu-uuuuuck…!” Jenner panted and wriggled. Buck slammed down on him with all his might, and Jenner’s bony ass got no resistance left. Buck moaned into his ear.
“You gonna get the fuck out?” Buck murmured. Jenner opened his mouth to say sump’in, but Buck bit his earlobe, and Jenner wriggled again. Buck grunted as his orgasm came nigh. Jenner shuddered. Buck said again, “You gonna leave, fashist?”
“Yeah!” Jenner said thru gritted teeth.
Buck’s heavy chest pinned Jenner to the ground, so’s he could scream into the ratty floor as much as he want, he ain’t make much noise. The hairy meat of Buck’s chest pressed ‘gainst Jenner’s bony back. Buck pistoned his hips, forcing the final couple inches into his guts as a climax wracked him. He spat upon the side of the man’s face.
A vast wave of cum seeped into Jenner, who closed his eyes and cringed. Buck moaned again and again, as he jerked his hips, pumping a fat flow of goo into Jenner’s guts.
Buck was right: Jenner done went thru this b’fore. Don’t make it no easier though. He heaved fer breath as his ass struggled to accommodate Buck’s cockshaft and his river of jizz. Jenner felt it flowing thru his body and puddling up under him.
His grunts condensed hotly upon Jenner’s cheek. One final cumwad spurted into him. Buck growled, and his muscles twitched ‘gainst Jenner’s back. Jenner twitched too.
When he done drain his dong, Buck slowly lifted his still-clothed body off the mohawked man’s bareness. Buck raised up till his cock plopped out. Jenner lay like he wanna crawl away, but when Buck got off him, Jenner plopped and sprawled out his lanky limbs in the puddle of Buck’s jizz. He lay there like a sleepy earwig.
“You best run, hoss,” Buck said. “Or I’mma redd up mah dick wit’cha tongue.”
“I’m outta here, you better not spray anything before I leave! You’re a fuckin’ fascist asshole piece of shit moron!” Jenner spat into the ground as he struggled to his feet. “You talk like a retard!”

Buck the Dumbass

Chapter One: Ann Arbor, 1999

Chapter Two: Peremptory Manhood

Chapter Three: Statistics 101

Chapter Four: Systems of Oppression

Chapter Five: Lung Stuff

Steel and the Whiteboy Skater

Mucker has gotta quit drinking! That means AA meetings and working with his sponsor Winston Steel, who’s got some “interesting” ideas about how to motivate a drunk to quit. He’ll drill sobriety into Mucker one way or another!

Can Mucker handle Steel’s brand of man-on-man hijinks?!

Read it now!