When Truck has to bodyguard a gangbanger during negotiations at a sauna, he thought he was gonna get a happy ending… and he’s right!
But can he handle who it comes from?
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Truck puffed up his pride at the sight of the little men and women scurrying away from him and the other Bloods as they entered the sauna. He liked being the biggest man around, and he especially liked scaring off the weaklings.
He wasn’t just a bully and street dealer though, not anymore, Carson had seen to that. Truck was a somebody. He was a bodyguard and assistant for Carson Washerman, who led the Bloods of Baltimore. It was more like a real job than slinging dime bags had been. He got paid weekly, a flat amount, and he followed Carson everywhere, intimidated the nigga Carson didn’t like (and sometimes, the ones he did like too) and beat up the nigga Carson told him to beat up.
Not just niggas, honkies and whatever else too. Truck was good at his job.
Today, Carson brought Truck to a sauna, Thackenswitch, where a deal was going to be made. The Italians always did their deals somewhere like this. It was annoying, most of the time, but Truck looked forward to today — Carson had promised a prostitute for him when the deal was done. Thackenswitch got hos a-plenty, everyone in the hood knew that.
The Italians — the Cavollo family and their stooges — always did deals at places like this cuzza the lack of clothes. Nobody could wear a wire, and nobody could sneak a gun in.
“Right this way, please, sir,” said the smiling Japanese lady, Yuki on her nametag, whose kind face belied the tension and fear Truck could sense beneath the surface of her demeanor — she knew Truck and Carson were dangerous thugs.
The Italians presumably weren’t here yet, which Truck was glad for. He was responsible not just for being big and scary but also for general security. He was better at being big and punching people than he was at sweeping a room for recording devices, noticing subtle threats or finding hidden guns. So he had hoped to be here before the Italians, giving him time to do a search.
“Hurry up. You go in there first, nigga,” Carson said when the Japanese lady left them at the door to the sauna. The steam billowed out from inside the room when she opened the door. “Make sure there ain’t no guns hidden nowhere, no bombs, nothin’ like that.”
Truck nodded. He took off his clothes, stripping down to his boxers before he saw Carson furrow his brow at him. Truck didn’t mind getting naked, and it seemed Carson expected that. Truck hurried in, his big-ass booty jiggling up and down as he disappeared in the steam cloud.
Inside the sauna sat two Italian men, also stark naked, body hair matted to their skin. They looked at him as though they’d known he was about to walk in. They stared with grim eyes like vultures. One of them was big — the muscle — and the other was a normal-ass dago. Pauly Rosso was the enforcer, and Sonny Cavollo was the made man.
“Uh, they in here already, Carson,” Truck said through the doorway. Truck wished he had gotten here early. Carson had said to search for hidden guns in here, but that wasn’t possible now, and it was all Truck could think of. The Italians could have an armory hidden here.
Not many places to hide anything though. The Italians were naked, the benches had no underbench area, there was no furniture aside from the pillar of coals gushing steam and the bucket of water beside it, and that was right in the center of the sauna, so there was no space to hide anything behind it. Truck made a big show of looking everywhere anyway, just so the Italians knew the Bloods didn’t trust them.
By the time Truck completed his search, Carson was in the sauna, naked, his thickness jiggling. He didn’t seem self-conscious even though he was kind of pudgy. The muscly Italian, Pauly Rosso, was pudgy too but strong as hell, built like an Olympic discus thrower or maybe like an infected discus. Sonny Cavollo was lean like a stretched ferret, with the kind of face women think is handsome even though it isn’t. He looked like he mistreated his women, but they loved him anyway. Truck knew the type. Truck was the exact opposite of that.
Truck stood beside the door as Carson talked to the Italian. Truck made eye contact with his counterpart on the other side, Pauly, who sized his naked body up. Pauly was burly, hairy, offputtingly grizzled, sitting behind his boss with his legs spread wide, big fat cock resting sweatily against his hairy thigh. It was weird for them to sit like that, Pauly behind his boss, so if Signor Cavollo leaned back, he’d be using Pauly’s fat dick as a pillow.
Truck hated seeing naked men, they were so ugly, like they retroactively made women he had seen before less attractive. He only watched girl-girl porn. Any sight of a man’s bare dick turned him off.
On the other hand, Truck liked when men saw him naked, because he was a hulking giant with a cock like a baby’s arm. But this wop bodyguard — Pauly Rosso — was nearly as big and plenty intimidating in his own right. Truck wasn’t used to that.
And he was hairy. Truck very much disliked hairy honkies. White men oughta shave. A little chest hair is fine, but any more than a classy treasure trail was barbarism. White men oughta know better.
Italians do not know better, however. Not knowing better is what it means to be Italian. Truck did not like Italians.
The deal was over in a flash. Truck barely even noticed. Nothing actually changed hands here in the sauna, of course, but they made a handshake agreement, and Truck was glad it was all over so quick. No need to worry about hidden guns then.
“Let’s celebrate, man,” Carson said. He stood up and flashed a grin. “I arranged for us all to get massages… with a happy ending.” Carson opened the door from the sauna, so a burst of cool, refreshing air hit Truck’s face.
For a moment the cool air subdued the steam, which died down in the sauna.
In came that pretty Japanese woman with a delicate face and massive tits concealed by a colorful kimono — Yuki Yoshida. She showed no emotion, even when she smiled robotically at Carson’s naked body.
Truck grinned. He was gonna get to fuck. Carson usually treated him good like that.
“Where’s the others?” Carson asked with a knowing grin. He glanced at Truck, who wondered why Carson smiled like that — was this a prank? Was there something going on? Carson looked like he was sharing an inside joke with Truck, but there was no joke Truck was aware of.
The Japanese woman opened the door, and in walked two more attractive Japanese women, who were totally nonplussed about the foursome of naked men in front of them. Truck was not used to people ignoring his size, but here, he was not that much bigger than the Italian bodyguard. A huge blond man arrived as well, carrying a foursome of folding massage tables in his massive arms, which he set up right there in the sauna.
The blond man was foreign, you could tell by looking at him. He carried himself in an indescribably European way. Truck assumed he was just here to set up the massage tables, which was what he did — he had massive arms and a broad chest, that was why, he was capable of carrying all four tables at once. It was weird he did so wearing just a pair of shorts, but whatever… Truck had eyes only for the women.
Truck smiled. A part of his mind told him to do the math. Count the women, count the men. Compute the ratio. The math was simple, but Truck couldn’t look away from the Asian women and their curves. Truck licked his teeth when one of the women caught his eye.
Three women. Four of us. Plus the weird European man. Five men, three women?
The Italians grinned and laughed. “Hey, I like the way you think, Carson!” The Italian bodyguard Pauly stood and came up to Truck, wrapping one hairy, meaty arm around Truck’s shoulders, while the other Italian leaned in close to Carson to kiss him on the cheek. Truck knew that was normal for Italians, but that didn’t make it easier to tolerate when the Italian bodyguard kissed him on the cheek too, their bodies so close his uncut swarthy cock rested on Truck’s trunk-like thigh and his hairy chest collided with Truck’s gang-tatted muscles.
They all four climbed up onto one of the massage tables that European man set up. Truck really didn’t like laying there with his back exposed, but he supposed the masseuses were likely safe, and anyway, the negotiations were over. There’d be no point in springing an ambush now.
The masseuses were all Japanese, not part of the gang negotiations in the first place. They probably didn’t even speak English.
Truck didn’t get why that blond man remained in the sauna the whole time — security, maybe? Truck wasn’t sure. Maybe they were nervous the Italians would rape a masseuse. Italians would do that, they would. They were so damn gropey. Truck didn’t approve.
The European man was almost as big and muscular as the Italian bodyguard was, so it didn’t seem likely he was a masseur.
But it turned out, that’s exactly what he was.
Finally, the math computed in Truck’s mind.
There were four men here waiting for a massage, but there were only three masseuses.
And that one European guy. Security or whatever. With his hair in a ponytail. Shoulders like an ox.
“Have fun, Truck,” Carson said with a smirk.
The pretty women spread out to Carson and the Italians. That hulking blond prettyboy came to Truck and planted his hands on Truck’s broad shoulders.
“Man! Why do I got the dude?!” Truck grunted when he realized what had happened and what was about to happen. He tried to sound tough. He narrowed his eyes to slits aimed at the masseur, who ignored his hostile mug.
He’s not getting a happy ending. Truck grimaced. He’d rather skip the whole massage. What did he want with a massage from a man? Seemed pointless.
Carson and the Italians laughed. Carson responded like he had expected this — of course, Truck thought, that’s what Carson had been hinting at. Ever since last week, when Truck said he had not jacked off with any men in his seven months behind bars, Carson said that was bullshit for a Blood’s bodyguard. ‘I threaten people wit’ you bein’ they prison cellmate all the time, nigga. You gotta know how to do it.’ Truck just assumed it was all a joke. Besides that, he did know how to do it — there was no magic to it. If he really needed to cornhole a man, Truck thought, he could do it.
Nobody told him he’d look like a pussy if he didn’t do it. Apparently all of Carson’s other enforcers had a prison wife during their time behind bars. They thought only a pussy jacked himself off — literally, they said only “a pussy can make a nigga cum”. So if you jack yourself off with your hand, then you’re a pussy. Truck assumed that was a joke until Carson said criticized him for not doing it.
It wasn’t like Truck told Carson to threaten niggas with a ramrodding. Truck didn’t wanna do that. Why not just beat people up? So much simpler. Truck could beat a nigga up, then fuck a bitch. Why try and combine those two things?
“Enjoy your happy ending, Truck,” Carson said. He snorted back laughter, then groaned as his own massage began, and Carson’s thickboy body jiggled beneath his woman’s touch.
Truck flared his nostrils and bristled, but he didn’t say anything. Carson didn’t want his bodyguard talking back to him.
The main part he found disturbing so far was that the masseur was a thickly-muscled Swedish man named Johan. Truck would have hoped for a delicate, flamboyant man who was as feminine as possible in accent and mannerisms and body shape. Johan had long blond hair, but he was built like a Viking raider, with a square jaw and a deep, gravelly voice. Truck could tell he was not gonna be able to ram Johan so hard he begged him to stop, and as far as Truck was concerned, if you didn’t ramrod your bitch til it was too much for him, you weren’t doing it right. That was easy to say when Truck wasn’t gonna ramrod any bitch. Johan’s well-muscled ass looked like it could take a lot of punishment.
“Roll over,” said Johan in his thick Swedish accent.
Truck did so, hoping he didn’t look self-conscious. He kept his eyes closed. The first part of the massage, where Johan rubbed his back, had gone past so quick Truck barely noticed it. He was not relaxed.
Laying down on his back now, Truckcouldn’t see the others. There was an occasional grunt, and the moist sound of flesh on flesh, but Truck couldn’t tell from the sound alone whether the others were still getting massages or if they had moved on to their “happy ending”. He smelled something salty, either jizz or precum, or maybe he was imagining it.
He tried to pretend his masseur was one of the pretty Japanese females, but Johan’s hands were so massive and meaty they were like bear paws. It was impossible to picture a beautiful girl attached to those mitts. Truck closed his eyes.
One of those hands touched his cock, and Truck gasped. He bit his lip to cover up the sound, not wanting to sound like he didn’t know what he was doing. He kept his eyes closed.
It did feel good, but Truck tried not to show it. He kept his face stoic. Luckily the Italians and Carson were more involved in their women. Truck kept sneaking peeks at the Asian women, which helped his dick throb in Johan’s grip, as a few sparks of pleasure danced through his body.
Truck frowned. This shouldn’t feel too good, he thought. Only a booty bandit was really into this shit, and Truck Simpel was no booty bandit.
His dick firmed up in Johan’s hand. Johan’s other hand continued to rub Truck’s chest, tweaking his nipples and caressing his shoulders. Truck’s body told him it felt good, but his mind said he was too tense to enjoy it.
Then Johan’s head lowered slowly. He kissed Truck on the chest, and his tongue teased Truck’s nipples. That also made Truck’s eyes open wide because it felt better than he was expecting. Truck gasped and, this time, he couldn’t conceal how loud the sound was. It made Carson laugh and clap his hands.
At last Johan’s mouth encircled Truck’s big cock, and Truck again made a loud choking-like sound. He sucked in his breath and held it in, his eyes bugging out. Johan was just doing it, like it was nothing, swallowing his cock to the root. Few women ever gave him a blowjob like this.
“Is your big man new?” asked the Italian Sonny Cavollo, who chortled at Truck’s noises.
Carson laughed so hard he couldn’t answer, and the more he laughed at Truck, the more Truck couldn’t control his reaction. Johan’s confident, large mouth felt so good on his manhood that he couldn’t take it. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He nearly fell off the massage table from squirming so hard.
But Truck forced himself to take a deep breath. Calm down, nigga, calm down. It’s just a mouth on your dick.
But it felt so damn good!
This was actually better than any blowjob Truck had ever had. It was deeper for sure. Truck had a massive cock, and no woman had ever deep-throated it like Johan did. With every passing moment, the pleasure was amplified, coursing through his veins like fire, as Johan’s mouth worked furiously up and down Truck’s veiny shaft.
“Hmmm!” Truck clenched his teeth to avoid moaning. He writhed on the massage table for a few seconds, then told himself again to calm down. The ecstasy wracking his body felt so good he wanted to cry out.
He hoped he didn’t communicate that through body language, because that wasn’t gangsta. The Italians would think he was a booty bandit if they thought he enjoyed this too much. Carson wanted Truck to have that reputation, but Truck did not. How would he ever get a woman again if they found out he was a booty bandit?
“Holy fuck…” the Italian bodyguard Pauly was laughing too, along with Carson and the other Italian, watching Truck shake on the massage table.
All three of them treated Truck’s reaction like a big joke, but there was an element of jealousy in their voices too. Their Japanese masseuses handled their cocks and soon started to suck on them delicately, but none throated it as enthusiastic as Johan, and none were even remotely capable of going as deep as he could — Johan was, after all, gigantic. The Japanese women might as well have been mice.
“If you wanna cornhole him, Truck…” Carson said with a groan as his dick finally perked up in his masseuse’s mouth. “He looks like he’d be fine with that.” Carson had a low throaty chuckle. He looked at Truck as though this suggestion was an order.
Truck didn’t need to be told twice. He remained embarrassed about his reaction, but he was no longer so nervous about doing it at all. He just wished he looked like a real gangsta doing it, instead of a spoiled teenager finally losing his virginity. He wondered if Johan’s ass was as tight as a female’s.
It turned out it was, or at least it was as tight as any of the women Truck had ever fucked in the ass. Not many. When your dick is more than a foot long, most women nope out at sight of it.
Truck stroked his own cock a few times as Johan lubed up his ass. Johan’s face remained firm and fixed. He hadn’t spoken since he walked in the room. Truck wasn’t sure he spoke English that well, but when Truck told him to get in position, Johan responded like he understood.
Again, his height made this strange — Truck had never been with anyone near his own size. He was used to needing to lower his hips and bend his knees to fuck a girl standing up.
But Johan just bent over that massage table, sticking his ass in the air. He had beautifully plump round orbs, which Truck would have adored licking and sucking on for hours if they were attached to a female body. He felt a little guilty for even thinking about what that firm flesh would taste like beneath his tongue. On a white girl, those faintly visible blond hairs would have been sexy; Truck would have craved their taste on his tongue, but on Johan, Truck wished they weren’t there.
“Stick him! Stick him! Stick him!” Carson chanted and guffawed. The Italians had grown quieter — that was, Truck suspected, part of the plan: Carson had said he wanted Truck to be able to cornhole a man because it was intimidating, so presumably he did it now hoping to intimidate the Italians.
Truck took a deep breath as his dick slid into Johan’s plump ass. He guided it in with one hand until his fingers touched fine, soft ass-hair, which made him gag and look away again. It was hot and warm, and those strapping back muscles all flexed and looped and arched and rippled as Johan’s meaty booty struggled to accept Truck’s cockshaft.
Carson laughed at Truck’s reaction. “You gonna have to touch him to stick him. C’mon, man, I know you know how to do it. Ain’t you have a cellmate?”
Of course Carson knew the answer was no, but he was asking more to intimidate the Italians than for any other reason. Truck was too focused on his own body to really think of a good response.
“Yeah,” was all he said. Then he barked at Johan. “Keep yo’ ass up!” He hoped that sounded tough. Johan ignored it — might not have even realized the words were directed at him — but that was fine because his ass was at the perfect level anyway. Johan showed little reaction to anything Truck said or did, which made Truck look weak.
Or maybe nobody was paying as much attention to him as he thought. The Italians were focosed on their women’s tits. Carson had his own woman, though he kept an eye on Truck and Johan too.
He was so focused on getting through this without looking like a sissy that Truck barely noticed how good Johan’s ass felt at first. He sighed and moaned, which he managed to turn into a more macho grunt as a bolt of pleasure shot up his spine.
This was a fine ass.
He bit his lip again. His hands wrapped around Johan’s hips, uncaring of the body hairs he felt there. He growled and slammed his dick in, making an audible slapping sound as his balls hit Johan’s thighs. Truck’s muscles all flexed as ecstasy rippled through him. This felt much better than he thought. From the way other niggas talked about ramrodding men in prison, Truck thought he would struggle to get through this, and maybe if he were in prison with some sobbing snitch or whatever, it would have been a struggle.
But Johan’s ass was tight and willing, and it seemed to crave Truck’s cock just as much as Truck craved ramming it full of spasming dick.
Johan grunted, the closest thing to a word he had said in awhile. The table under him shook like it was going to collapse, but it didn’t. His ass tightened and clenched beneath Truck’s pounding, which only made even more pleasure wrack Truck’s body.
That blond hair is perfect.
Truck couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized that until now. Johan had beautiful long blond hair that went past his shoulders. Truck loved pulling on hair while he fucked girls, and it was the kind of thing a prison-thug might do, so he should have been doing it from the start. He grabbed a fistful of that fine blond hair and held on tight.
He didn’t pull hard, just hard enough to get Johan’s attention and force him to raise his head. It made Johan’s ass clench and his cock spurt precum into his hand as he stroked himself off.
“Yeah, bitch, take it!” Truck said with a growl. He smacked Johan’s ass with his free hand.
The smell of cum filled the air. At first, Truck assumed it was his own semen and that he didn’t notice his orgasm right away. But then he thought it was Johan, jacking himself off. Finally, however, Truck realized that it was the Italians, followed moments later by Carson himself.
Their women brought them to orgasm, and they guzzled down every drop of their cum. Then they tidily cleaned up their respective men. But Carson and the Italians were more focused on watching the two giants on the other side of the room. Truck’s massive brown body trembled with every thrust of his hips into Johan’s tight ass.
“Damn, Carson, yo’ man cornhole like a goddamn train!”
Truck felt Johan’s orgasm because his insides all tensed at once. His asshole clenched tightly around Truck, who groaned and moaned as the most intense orgasm of his life hit him hard. His knees buckled and he nearly collapsed.
He pulled hard on Johan’s hair, while his other hand smacked the meaty part of Johan’s back. Johan shuddered as he sprayed a wad of cum onto the floor.
Then they both gasped in sync while Truck’s balls crawled up in his sac. A spurt of cum landed inside Johan, who shuddered again. Truck’s body exploded in sweat, releasing jet after jet of semen that sprayed into Johan’s tight ass.
“Woo-hoo, way to go, Truck! I wouldn’t wanna be yo’ cellmate,” Carson said, eyeing the Italians to be sure they saw. They eyed the situation and stared but didn’t say anything, like they didn’t want to give away any reaction.
Johan let out a sound that was half-grunt and half-howl. It made the hairs on the back of Truck’s neck stand up. Truck’s muscles all relaxed at once as the last few drops of his load filled up Johan’s ass.
Truck stepped back, glad to see his hoggish meat plop out of Johan’s tight hole. He had done it, and he hadn’t embarrassed himself. He thought he even managed to look like he knew what he was doing. He snorted like a bull.
He couldn’t resist fingering Johan’s ass a bit, until his finger was white with his own cum. It made him gag, the thought of fingering a man’s asshole, but he almost always did it when fucking a woman in the ass, and he thought it seemed like the kind of thing a prison-thug would do.
Johan crooned as he accepted Truck’s pinkie finger. He bit his lip and muttered something in Swedish, his whole body struggling to accept that tiny finger. Truck just got it nasty and dripping wet, then wiped it off on Johan’s plump cheek. He snickered.
“Go’n and clean me off, bitch,” Truck said. He put his hands on his hips. He wasn’t sure Johan understood the words, but he did get a few tissues and wipe Truck’s dick off. Whether that was because Truck told him to or because he always did it, Truck didn’t know. He acted as though Johan did it under orders, and when he was done, Truck looked at his cock like he inspected it to be sure Johan had done a good job. “Fine, bitch. Get outta here. The men are still talkin’.”
Johan either didn’t understand or didn’t care about that command. He gathered up the massage tables and the bottles of warming oil that the Japanese women had left behind. Truck crossed his arms over his chest as though he had told Johan to do that.
At last Johan walked away, and Truck breathed a sigh of relief. No one else was getting dressed, so he didn’t either. He just stayed there, making sure his gleaming-wet cock was aimed in the direction of the Italians, who scrupulously avoided looking at it. His whole body shone with sweat, and his muscles were relaxed like pudding.
That was, in the end, a shockingly good massage.
Carson turned to the Italians. “Alright, well, we gots a deal, right? You gonna hold up yo’ end?”
“Course…” the Italian said, shaking Carson’s hand without taking his eyes off Truck. Truck’s cock throbbed and dripped a few final drops of jizz onto the floor, and Truck’s whole body shuddered. The Italian grimaced. “We would never do anything to… earn your ire. We will be prepared for the deal on Sunday.”