keeping secrets – Mansploitation

The Ranchhand

Pat is a new ranchhand working with the older, more experienced Hawthorn, who shows him a trick or two in the green barn! That’s where Pat learns how to service a man like Hawthorn!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

When Pat and Hawthorn promised they would finish the fence today, they hadn’t realized how long it would take. Pat assumed that Hawthorn was experienced at fence construction, and Hawthorn assumed likewise. Neither wanted to sound like they couldn’t get it done.
So the fence wasn’t complete until the sun had very nearly gone down. Pat breathed a sigh of relief. It was still his first year as a ranchhand at Goodman Ranch in Colorado, and he needed to prove his worth to Mister Goodman.
Hawthorn, on the other hand, had been here for six years. He was tall, broad-shouldered, tan-bodied. He that cocky swagger that all the experienced ranchhands around here had. He was much stronger and bigger than Pat in every way, and he carried himself like everyone knew he was the toughest hand in Colorado. His face was windswept like a much older man, or perhaps his face was preternaturally youthful for his age, since Pat didn’t know how old he truly was. He was grizzled and stubbled, seemingly always shaving. Pat was a great appreciator of the male form, and Hawthorn’s was remarkable.
The other problem Pat ain’t foreseen was that finishing the fence was hard work. It was simple, but it was hard, and his muscles ached by the time they was done. By then, it was getting cold as the sun went down.
They done finished the fence around the outer north pasture. They was almost three miles from the ranchhouse, and they ain’t have a horse. That was boku walking for two men who felt every step was arduous. Pat ain’t never been more tired. He wished he ain’t promise to finish the fence today (it ain’t even really need to be done until next week, so there ain’t no reason to get all rush-like).
By the time they got back to the homestead, it was fully dark. The moon hid behind the clouds in the sky. Pat was drenched in sweat. Hawthorn done took off his shirt, his broad golden-brown chest a silhouette gleaming with sweat. Pat wanted to take his shirt off too, but his deeply ingrained sense of propriety stopped him — Missus Goodman was around somewhere and could see him — and, though he ain’t want to admit it, he knew his skinny body would look weak in comparison to the bronzed blond god Hawthorn. He looked like some Renaissance artist’s impression of Apollo.
The only consolation was that Hawthorn was almost as exhausted as Pat was. He limped as they made it back to the ranchhouse. They could have gone straight to the little barn-cottage shared by Hawthorn, Pat and the other hands, but the bathing barn was closer. They both wanted a bath before a-goin’ to bed, and neither wanted to walk to the barn-cottage then walk back to the bathing-barn, then back to the barn-cottage again for bed. Pat thought his feet gonna fall off if’n he tried that.
By the time they got there, to the green bathing barn, they was both wordless, legs like jelly. Pat first sat down by the well beside the barn, and he took a long sip of cold water — luckily some kind soul done left the bucket upraised and ready. Pat drank til he could drink no more, and it made him feel better. Hawthorn was stingy with it as though he was rationing it, and then he traipsed, heavy-footed but not as exhausted as Pat, into the barn.
After another minute or two of resting his tired bones, Pat stood up and came in too. Water had spilled all down the front of him.
Hawthorn was already naked as could be, and he was using all of those ranchwork-toned muscles to unlock the pipe that connected the hot water heater to the bathtub. He done fill the heater with coal, looked like, which Pat was glad for and impressed by. He’d have been sore tuckered for sure if he had come in here and had to shovel coal before he got any hot water.
But as Hawthorn did all the labor to set it up, his great big shoulders working hard, Pat plopped down and unlaced his boots. He sighed out loud.
“Thank you, Hawthorn,” Pat said. “For… starting the heater.” Hawthorn gave a barely perceptible nod. He stood and watched the water begin flowing, boiling hot but then cooling rapidly, into the copper tub. His bare cock dangled betwene his legs. Pat watched it go, tracing with his eyes a vein that ran up the side of it. His cock was the only part of Hawthorn’s body tanned to the color of a rusty acorn, as the rest of him was more of an unroasted peanut shell color.
It felt so good to take his boots off that Pat weren’t sure he’d ever put them back on. He wiggled his toes in the breeze that blew through the barn. Then, undressed, he headed towards the bathing area. The water that ran over Pat’s body was hot, which felt good in the cold night air.
He had to share the tub with Hawthorn. The ranchhands usually took turns, since the tub was very small, but neither wanted to take the time tonight. That was embarrassing for Pat, who was aroused by the might of Hawthorn’s muscles. He greatly appreciated the majesty and power of the male form, which he painted as a hobby, when he could afford the paints and the canvas.
“I ain’t waitin’ fer ya, and I don’t ‘spect you’ll wanna wait fer me,” Hawthorn said as his naked, sweat-gleaming body stepped into the steamy water-filled tub. “So come on in, pardner. We can be bathmates.” He whooped. He had a big dimple-bedecked grin on his trail-wearied face, and he motioned for Pat to join him.
Pat ain’t have the energy to whoop along with him, nor to be self-conscious of his pale and weak body in comparison to Hawthorn’s powerful frame, so he quickly doffed the rest of his clothes and slid into the tub after Hawthorn.
It felt good to wash off the layer of sweat and grime that had built up on his body. He felt like a new man already, and all he had done was enter the water. Two bars of soap lay on a little tray beside the tub, but neither Pat nor Hawthorn made any move to grab them.
“My pa always say not to be scared of a naked man,” Hawthorn said. It sounded like he was trying to reassure hisself as much as Pat. “If’n you ain’t ashamed of yerself, you shouldn’t be worried about seeing a man without clothes on.”
Despite his words, Pat remained uncomfortable with the situation. He was used to bathing by himself. He wasn’t a prisoner, after all, why should he share a bath?
But the main reason he ain’t like it had nothing to do with Hawthorn, or even with nudity really. Pat had worked hard to get a job on Goodman Ranch, which was a nice enough place that the ranchhands got a real place to live. There were ranches in the area who hired anyone, but the hands there lived like hogs, in tents or worse, exposed to the elements, fighting off coyotes and the predations of Mexicans or Indian tribes. Might as well go back to the Old South and be a sharecropper. Pat was better than that, had worked hard to get a job somewhere nicer, and he deserved to have a bath to himself.
Not that he was complaining tonight. He wanted to get clean and flop into bed more than anything.
The sight of Hawthorn’s massive cock made Pat awkward again though — his dickskin was darker than the rest of his flesh, making Pat wonder if’n Hawthorn had been telling the truth about having Mexican blood. It was still dark in the barn, so Pat had to strain his eyes to see Hawthorn’s cock when moonlight flashed upon it. He kept his own crotch outside of the light, hoping Hawthorn wouldn’t look at it.
“So… You scared of naked men?”
“No,” Pat said. He gulped nervously as he caught a shadowy glimpse of Hawthorn stroking his dick. What was he doing?
“That’s good. You think tradition is important, Pat?”
“Yeah. Of course, tradition. Yessir,” Pat said. His heart raced. Was this it? Was he about to finally get to taste Hawthorn’s manhood?
“This ranch has got a tradition,” Hawthorn said. He came closer to Pat, so close his thick cock brushed up against Pat’s thigh. He casually wrapped one of his massive arms over Pat’s shoulders.
“Oh…” Pat held his breath. He felt so small next to Hawthorn’s bulky body, and he wondered if’n he would get that big if he continued to work as a ranchhand for his whole life. It seemed impossible now; Pat had always been skinny, but his time at Goodman Ranch had filled out his body considerably.
“You ain’t gotta join in, but you look like the kinda man who wanna do what’s right. You look like a man who behaves properly towards his elders and his betters. You gots respect, Pat, unlike a lot of them hands Mister Goodman hired this year. You ain’t a welcher.”
“No, sir.” Pat trembled.
“Why don’t you get on your knees and open your mouth, boy?” Hawthorn said. “Don’t worry. What happens between bathmates, stays between bathmates. That’s another tradition we got in these parts.”
“You sure? I don’t want them to know about it,” Pat said, gesturing towards the ranchhand house where their coworkers were no doubt drinking and carousing right now. That was what happened as soon as the sun went down every night, since Mister Goodman strictly left them alone when they were done with their work for the day. What Pat ain’t say was that he also ain’t want Hawthorn to realize that Pat wasn’t reluctant to do this at all — he just had to put on a little show of reluctance so he would seem normal.
“They ain’t nevuh gonna know, boy,” Hawthorn said. He had a cocky grin on his face, chewing on his lower lip and rubbing the scruff on his square jaw.
Pat sunk to his knees and opened his mouth. He winced, heart pounding with anxiety. Hawthorn pushed his dick past Pat’s lips. The taste of cockmeat enveloped Pat’s tongue. He closed his eyes though he ain’t couldn’t really see anything anyway in the dark barn — the only light that filtered through the clouds and the cracks in the barn ceiling illuminated Hawthorn’s cock.
He gagged at first, but it tasted delicious from the moment he first put his lips on it. It tasted like trail dust and saddle-leather Mrs. Goodman’s hog-fat soap. It tasted like sweat, salt and skin, and it made Pat both drool for more and wish he could do this again and again. His hands reached up to Hawthorn’s powerful body, making his muscles ripple beneath Pat’s fingertips.
But the flavor soon turned exciting and savory. Pat felt little pops of sensation as he explored every inch of Hawthorn’s shaft. A part of him wondered if he should do it worse, or at least pretend not to know how — what would Hawthorn think of Pat if he was an expert? But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than taste Hawthorn’s manhood from root to tip.
“Yeah, rookie, you handle a dick pretty good,” Hawthorn said, and Pat was relieved that that sounded more complimentary than derogatory. His massive muscles rippled as he felt up his own nipples with one hand. His other hand grabbed ahold of Pat’s head, holding onto the thick shock of dirty blond hair on Pat’s scalp. He used that for leverage, holding Pat in place as he worked his dick deeper and deeper.
Precum overwhelmed Pat’s senses. It added a more intense salty flavor, and it made Pat gag all over again. He gripped Hawthorn’s plump asscheeks for support.
Soon Pat’s nose pressed into the meaty part of Hawthorn’s crotch, and the coarse pubic hairs of his groin scratched at Pat’s skin. Though Pat knew he was supposed to be ashamed of this, and there was a measure of shame — he had internalized it from everyone round him — but even more than that, he was overcome with desire and lust for Hawthorn’s body. He ain’t want to look like he enjoyed it, but a part of him did treasure the sensation of Hawthorn’s thick meat sliding down his gullet. He enjoyed the thrill of being used by such a big, superior man.
A loud, spine-rattling moan escaped from Hawthorn’s lips. It sounded like he ain’t expect this to feel as good as it did, and he was trying to hide it just like Pat was. Hawthorn grunted with each thrust of his manhood down Pat’s throat.
“Damn, ya throat is-” Hawthorn’s voice tensely cracked, and he let out a moan. He laughed, making his hips flex and forcing his cock even deeper in Pat’s strained throat. “Ya throat ain’t nothin’ — ah…” He moaned again. “Nothin’ special. Any number of females at Mistah Gregarian’s cathouse can do it even better, boy-” He moaned and his knees buckled, pleasure visibly roiling his body and shooting up his spine. The more incredible it felt, the more Hawthorn tried to pretend he was underwhelmed, that he was only doing this because it was tradition, the same reason Pat was doing it.
Now that he had gotten into it, Pat deep-throated Hawthorn the best he could. He let those heavy balls slap against his face. He guzzled down every drop of salty precum that flowed into his throat. It was creamy and potent, coating his insides and seeping into his flesh.
The flavor was intense and visceral, not bad, but certainly not tasty either. That ain’t stop him from savoring the taste on his tongue though. He kept jacking until he thought Hawthorn was going to cum soon. Not wanting to end this right away, Pat moved onto lick Hawthorn’s broad, well-muscled chest.
Hawthorn allowed it at first — it seemed a little pervy to him, but he ain’t want to cum yet either. He closed his eyes and tried to relax as Pat’s slim body rubbed against his muscles, Pat’s soft hand stroking his manhood, tongue teasing his nipples.
Unable to resist his urges, Hawthorn pushed Pat back to his knees and plopped his cock right back in his throat. He sighed, able to think again — he was never able to really think when he had a hardon and wasn’t doing anything about it.
He wanted to get in that ass.
“Now bend over and grab the floor, boy. Get yer ass up,” Hawthorn said with a growl. He pulled his moist cock out and humped Pat’s face like a dog. He groaned and shuddered, his massive cock pulsating and leaking precum all over Pat’s nose and lips.
Pat winced, and his heart raced as he got in position. He grabbed the rough wooden floor, sticking his ass high in the air. He closed his eyes again, and held his breath in anticipation of what was about to happen. He left his ass as high in the air as he could.
That was a little too high. Hawthorn slapped his cheeks until Pat lowered himself to a correct height. His knees already ached from the tension of crouching in this position.
“Get down a little, boy, I ain’t that tall,” Hawthorn said with a grunt.
Then an eruption of pain in his ass distracted Pat from any soreness in his knees. The feeling exploded within him like a punch to the gut, but behind it all, he could feel a tingling pleasure emanating from his prostate. It grew in waves, from a distant chord to an overwhelming crescendo, mounting with each thrust of Hawthorn’s cock into his body. He grunted and howled, but bit his lip to cover up the sound — the barn where the ranchhands lived wasn’t that far away, so Pat ain’t want to make any noise. If he yelled loud enough here at the bathing-barn, the other ranchhands would be able to hear him.
“Sssh, it’s okay,” Hawthorn said over and over. He grabbed Pat’s upper body and lifted his tense head up, whispering directly in his ear as he worked his dick in deeper and deeper.
The smashing was intense and overwhelming, pleasure spasming up his spine. Pat could do little more than try to submit and to remind himself that when this was over, he would be accepted as a full-fledged ranchhand, not a rookie. Getting Hawthorn on his side would guarantee that Pat got all the best jobs — Hawthorn was Mister Goodman’s favorite.
It felt so good Pat cried out. Luckily his cries of bliss sounded an awful lot like a cry of pain, so Hawthorn ain’t seem to realize that Pat was enjoying this more than any man ought to. Pat had to bite his tongue to avoid begging for more.
His ass was loose enough now that Hawthorn could smash him hard, slamming his dick in and out. Pat roared in pain and bliss, and he grabbed wildly around him, getting a handful of his own trail leathers and Hawthorn’s musty brown boots.
It suddenly occurred to Pat that, if’n Hawthorn was telling the truth about this being ranch tradition, then that meant that Hawthorn must have done it as well, when he was new. That made Pat feel better. He could picture Hawthorn in this position, bent over and moaning as he got his butt smashed in by some bigger ranchhand. Hawthorn had probably been skinny and lanky then, like Pat was now.
While Pat had started off experiencing incredible pain and a dimly-felt sense of pleasure roaring underneath that, now the situation had reversed. He was in the same position, but now the pleasure roiling deep within his ass was so intense he couldn’t think about anything else, while the tortuous agony in his virgin hole seemed like a distant memory that had happened years ago to someone else.
“Alright, boy, you almost done…” Hawthorn said, his gritty Texan twang resonating in the barn. “Here I go. Close your eyes, try to think ‘bout somethin’ else. Relax yerself.”
Pat pretended to do that, but really he was so overcome by pleasure and curiosity about what was happening to him that he ain’t want to ignore it. He ain’t want to think about something else. He wanted to think about this, the incredible, awe-inspiring thing that was happening to him, a thing he had been craving since the moment he met Hawthorn. It wasn’t even done yet, and Pat already knew this was going to change his life, or at least his time here at Goodman Ranch.
Luckily it was dark, so Hawthorn couldn’t see that Pat’s hand crept into his own crotch. Pat ain’t know how controversial it would be around here that he want to pleasure himself while Hawthorn smashed him, but he wanted that more than anything.
As soon as he touched his own cock, Pat felt an orgasm hit him like a runaway bronco. He twitched and clenched down hard on Hawthorn’s dick, as though he was trying to rip Hawthorn’s meat off with his asshole. He roared and bucked, which looked to Hawthorn like he was resisting the pain of Hawthorn’s climax, but in actuality, Pat experienced the most incredible orgasm of his life. His spurted a puddle of cum onto the floor, where it immediately mixed with water and disappeared through the slats onto the ground below.
Then it was done — Hawthorn groaned and grunted, slamming his dick all the way into Pat’s ass. Pat let out a roar of pain, followed by a low, rolling grunt of pleasure.
“Here I go, boy… Good boy, takin’ my dick just like you should…”
Cum sprayed into him, a hot and thick load that Pat felt seeping into his flesh. He sighed, hoping Hawthorn ain’t notice the pleased rattling sound to his voice. It felt like a comforting internal blanket, warming up his insides and tingling like a kiss.
It seemed to take an impossible amount of time. Cum just kept pouring out of his cock, filling him up until it dripped down his thighs. Even then, Hawthorn remained still, his bulging muscles all tense and hard like iron, his craggy face still and stony. He waited until every drop of his seed had drained into Pat’s ass.
He pumped his hips one more time, and a final jet of jizz filled him up. Hawthorn’s powerful arms remained wrapped around Pat’s body, and his cock throbbed in his ass. A few drops dribbled in, then slipped out and ran down the insides of Pat’s thighs.
At last it was over. Pat ain’t know how long they stayed like that. He hadn’t even been aware of his own hand jacking himself off. He only realized what he had done because he saw his limp cock and his hand dripping with cum.
When Hawthorn pulled out, Pat let out a long, low sigh of relief. More jizz slipped and dribbled down his legs. He had enjoyed it, but still, he was glad that it was all over. Now that his ass was empty, it was exquisitely sensitive, and Pat was so overwhelmed he couldn’t do anything but collapse onto the moist wooden floor of the barn. He laid there in the tub for an eternity.
“There you go, boy,” Hawthorn said. He spat on the ground. “You can tell yer pa you did good. You showed the propuh respect, boy. That’s important ‘round here. You showed respect fer tradition.” He smiled and stretched his limp cock.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Pat said. He blushed. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that that had been the most enjoyable experience of his life. He looked down at the ground.
“Now that you done taken yer turn on the bottom,” he said. “You can always take a turn on top too, wit’ one of them new men. He gotta be newer and younger than you. That’s a rule.”
“Really?”
“That real young one, the new feller, just barely eighteen. He got ass for days. I r’commend him. You’ll have a wild time on that stallion, guarantee it,” Hawthorn said with a hollow-throated chuckle. “If’n you don’t get up in him, I will, sure as shit shines on a shingle.” He laughed so hard he slapped his thigh.
“I just might do that,” Pat said. He knew he’d be too shy though. He couldn’t come after a cowpoke in the same way Hawthorn had come after him, even if Pat technically had authority over a young pup like that new ranchhand. He was gonna have to ease into it.
Hawthorn nodded. “You gotta keep it a secret too. Mister Goodman knows, but he don’t wanna know, you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down? That’s a strict rule we got. Don’t tell no one. Even if someone walks in on you, you gotta pretend tomorrow it ain’t happen. Tomorrow that’s what I’s gonna do. Tomorrow, I ain’t nevuh smash you, not even one time, and I’ll strike any man who say I did. You got it?”
Pat nodded. “Sure. Yeah. It’s our secret. I’ll do that-! I mean…” He hadn’t mean to sound so eager. “I’ll… Maybe I’ll do that. Some of those new guys have pretty nice asses.”
“Yes, they do. The new, young ones always do,” Hawthorn said with a grin. “That’s why it’s so fun to wreck ’em. Best part of being a cowboy, reckon.” He smacked Pat’s ass, which jiggled. Hawthorn whistled as though it was impressive to see, though the barn was still dark as night, so he couldn’t have actually seen the cheeks jiggle. “Maybe we can bathe again together sometime, boy. We can be permanent bathmates. We could do all kinda thangs togethuh.”

The Cellmate Bottoms

Ramon is a slim, effeminate prisoner whose cellmate controls his life, putting Ramon on the bottom… Until one day that alpha cellmate — the legendary Thumper White — wants to do him a favor by bending over and allowing another exciting adventure in Twink on Top!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Prison was not that bad at all for Ramon Mercado. He missed his freedom and easy access to alcohol. He missed his family. He missed being outside at night, seeing the stars and the moon. But as far as prison stays went, his two years so far had gone pretty well. He decided that as he walked back to his cell on the second anniversary of his arrival at the state prison.
Things had gone well for him despite — or maybe because of — the fact that Ramon was a girlish twink with a fantastic ass and long, silken hair the color of unfiltered sunlight. His hips were curved like a pretty woman’s, and he had a sultry voice like a loose woman, not to mention a flirtatious way about him that turned heads in a place like the Florida State Prison, filled with tough alphas who hadn’t seen a real woman in decades in some cases.
Before arriving, he had dreaded coming to prison, unsure what he was in for. The local jail guards gave him sympathetic looks. Everyone thought he’d be targeted for extortion or just plain violence, that the thugs and vatos of the Florida prison system would eat him alive.
But on his first day, Ramon was proposed to by Thumper White, a leading thug from the Bloods gang. Thumper was six and a half feet tall, bursting with muscle all over, his body covered in jailhouse tattoos. He had a small afro when Ramon met him, but had gotten cornrows last year. Ramon was slowly, clumsily, learning how to make and manage cornrows, because Thumper demanded it of his “prison wife”
So he had acquiesced to being Thumper’s prison wife. It didn’t take much convincing.
“I’ll treat you like a princess, baby, as long as you treat me like a king.”
That was a quid pro quo Ramon could get behind. He found hugely muscled alphas like Thumper arousing and alluring, and Ramon had long been an aficionado for the male form. Thumper’s male form was exceptional, and Ramon didn’t even mind that Thumper was getting up there in years and that his body hair was speckled with gray. The hair on his head remained black as night though, and his high yellow skin was smooth and taut like a much younger man.
It hadn’t always been perfect. They argued like any married couple (or like any pair of roommates). Thumper sometimes slapped Ramon, open-handed, across the face. He had never punched him, but he did slap him when Ramon did things wrong, got too sassy, or sometimes for things that were entirely unrelated to Ramon. When Thumper got to be in a bad mood, he lashed out. He always apologized later and kissed Ramon on the lips, which he otherwise refused to do. That made those few sweet kisses feel special to Ramon. His heart swooned every time, and he clutched those broad shoulders as they made out in the dark of their prison cell.
“I’m sorry, baby, I gots a temper in me. I ain’t put it in there, I just gotta put up wit’ it. I gotta work on that, I know. The prison counselor say I need-a show you how I feel. Right now, I feel like kissin’ ya.”
He was also tender at night, when they were alone together in their shared cell. During the day, he was meaner, but at night his nice side came out. Amid the hooting and the ever-present shouted threats of the other inmates, he kissed Ramon’s neck and tweaked his nipples as he relentlessly ramrodded him. He allowed Ramon to choose the positions, and he allowed Ramon to cuddle up with him when the lights were off, but he brooked no dissent as to it happening — not that Ramon ever wanted to say no. He allowed Ramon all the freedom in the world to decide how to do it or what Thumper should do to “pay” for it — Ramon got him to bring him food, clothes, perfume, jewelry, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, whatever he wanted, as long as Ramon gave up the ass whenever Thumper wanted it.
He protected Ramon during the day, even if he also treated him with disdain much of the time. When his fellow gangbangers were around, Thumper called him a bitch (or to be more precise, he called Ramon ‘my bitch’). He made Ramon get his food in the dining hall. Ramon gave massages and begged for Thumper’s cock in front of his friends to puff up his ego. Thumper loved the idea of Ramon loving his dick so much he couldn’t help but try to jerk him off in public — Thumper never let him do it, but he liked it when Ramon tried.
When he walked into his cell that night, the night of Ramon’s two-year anniversary in the Florida State Prison — which was also Ramon’s two-year anniversary of being Thumper’s cellmate and prison wife — Ramon dropped the bag of laundry (both Ramon’s and Thumper’s) he carried. He was shocked to see the cell dotted with lit candles.
“Uh, Thumper?” Ramon scrunched up his eyes. Candles weren’t allowed in the cells, so Thumper must have spent quite a bit to get all these. The lights were off, so the candles provided the only illumination, and their flickering light cast a romantic glow over the tiny prison cell. They gave off copious heat too, not that that was necessary in the already overheated prison.
He was on his bunk, leaning back, stark naked and flopping his big dick between his fingers. He slapped it on his thighs left and right, demonstrating its hugeness. It was thirteen inches long and thicker than Ramon had ever thought possible before he met Thumper. Ramon licked his teeth as he realized Thumper wanted to mess around.
That wasn’t a surprise. Thumper did that pretty much every night. But he didn’t do it with candles and all that.
“Hey, baby,” Thumper said with an awkward smile. “After lights out, I got some treats fo’ us.” Then he growled. “Shut the curtain, boo.”
Ramon did so, his heart pounding. Lights-out was going to happen momentarily. Ramon had finished the laundry for him and Thumper only a few minutes before mandatory cell time. Already outside the cell guards were hurrying inmates off.
“Where’d you get candles?” Ramon asked. He pulled the sheet over the cell bars so no one could see in. It helped muffle the sound too. The guards here didn’t much care what happened — they would ignore the sounds, the smell of weed and the drunken laughter, as long as they didn’t have to see it. Hence, the curtain was always shut when they were both in the cell.
“The chaplain. Told him I was Buddhist and shit,” he said, cackling. “So if he ask, I’m Buddhist now. Tell him I converted last month.” He laughed, a deep-throat belly laugh, like it took every muscle in his jacked body to do it. His pecs roiled as the laughter pumped through his body, and his dick shook, tantalizing Ramon’s tastebuds. He hopped down from the top bunk. “Look in the drawer, baby. I wanna show you tonight how I really feel ’bout ya.”
There was a small plastic set of drawers in one corner of the cell, the only piece of furniture they were allowed. There were four drawers, one for Ramon, two for Thumper and one they both used — anything in that drawer was considered common property (that was a compromise, of sorts, that they had developed after a particularly nasty argument over a bag of crackers). Ramon looked in the drawer they shared and saw a bottle of brandy, a tube of lube, a handful of pixie sticks and two blunts of fine weed sealed up in plastic. Ramon giggled. This will be a pretty good night, he thought.
“There’s more,” Thumper said, leaping down to be right behind Ramon. He kissed him on the back of the neck, his dense beard, nearly two inches long now, scratching at Ramon’s smooth, pale skin. “I got a present fo’ ya, baby. But it’s a present you gotta keep secret.”
“Okay, sugar.”
Lights out in five minutes, shitheads!
The affection went away from his voice, and he gripped Ramon’s torso tightly. He hissed in Ramon’s ear. “I’m serious, man. If you evuh tell anyone, I will rip yo’ goddamn throat out. You will kill the love in my soul fo’ you, and there is only one way I can respond to that, okay?”
Ramon swallowed nervously, shivering as Thumper’s coarse beard caressed his neck. Thumper only called him man when he was very angry with him. Normally he called Ramon baby. Ramon leaned his head back to give Thumper better access to his neck, while Thumper’s roughly callused hands explored Ramon’s smooth body. Ramon said, “Okay, Thumper, I promise. I’ll never tell a soul. What is it? Someone must know you have it if they smuggled it in-“
“Ain’t a thing you can pick up and move around, baby. It weren’t somethin’ smuggled in, and I ain’t nevuh gonna let no one know about it, no how, no way. It’s just between you and me,” he said. He licked Ramon’s ear. “You get to be on top tonight, baby.”
At first Ramon didn’t know what he meant. Aside from some occasional drunken stroking (which he always vehemently denied the next day), Thumper never touched Ramon’s dick. He would have slapped Ramon senseless for even asking Thumper to bottom. He got mad once because he suspected Ramon was imagining Thumper swallowing his cum.
“Oh, really, sugar?! Are you serious?”
“I’m serious as strawberry pie, baby,” he said. He spun Ramon around and kissed him on the lips. In the cramped confines of the prison cell, Ramon accidentally touched the lit flame of one of the tea candles, and he squealed in pain.
“Lights going off in one minute, shitheads!”
They sunk down into the lower bunk, Ramon’s bunk, and Ramon tore off his own clothes, still sure Thumper didn’t mean what he seemed to mean. Ramon leaned back onto his mattress as Thumper kissed a trail down his slim, tender body, his massive head looming afronta Ramon, whose hands wandered over Thumper’s cornrows and his broad muscles. His kinky beard hairs dragged over Ramon’s belly as he moved lower and lower.
The lights in the hall flickered, then turned off, and the candles were the only light in the cell. Thumper growled with a mixture of both anticipation and disgust.
“I already smell santorum, damn, who started before the lights turned out? Huh? Mulch, is that you, nigga? How many inches you take already?”
“Fresh pussy! Fresh pussy!”
“Yeah I smell that shit too, someone is horny as hell tonight! Ram that ass hard, whoever that is!”
“Hey, all y’all shut up! Lights is out! Next person I hear callin’ out is sleepin’ in the guard shitter tonight!”
That brought silence at last, aside from some tittering laughter. There was probably no smell of santorum anywhere — Ramon couldn’t smell anything but the candles and the slightly stale, soap-scented sweat of Thumper’s shoulder, but the other inmates made similar claims every night. They just liked being loud and disruptive.
Alternatively, the Florida State Prison always smelled like santorum. Ramon was used to it. Certainly his and Thumper’s cell had a certain reek to it, mainly Thumper’s sweat from his relentless, continual workouts.
Thumper kissed Ramon’s dick, hesitated and took a deep breath, then swallowed it. A shiver of pleasure ran up Ramon’s spine, and Ramon sat up straight. Thumper gagged after the first few inches got in his mouth but kept going. His tongue tentatively slathered spit along the shaft.
Ramon’s dick rocketed to full erection in a few seconds, as he hadn’t topped since reporting to prison. He loved the feel of Thumper’s beard on his crotch. Ramon had always enjoyed it, but since Thumper didn’t usually kiss him on the lips and rarely even anywhere else, he didn’t often get to feel it touching him. Now he did, and its scratchy texture brought the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and his ballsack to life. Ramon quivered and shook beneath Thumper’s ministrations.
“Fuck you, nigga!”
“Hey! Get off me!”
“C’mon, nigga-“
“I’ll give you three packs-“
“I applied fo’ early release-“
“No way is that gonna happen.”
“Worth at least four packs.”
It felt like he was getting away with something. All these Bloods in the nearby cells, some of whom were literally a few feet from right here, none of them knew what Thumper and Ramon were doing. They’d be shocked and scandalized if they knew. It would ruin Thumper’s rep. Or maybe not, Bloods were weird about that stuff, but it would affect him greatly, and Ramon didn’t know how that would go. Thumper was risking a lot to show him this affection.
When the taste of precum hit him, Thumper wrinkled his nose but he didn’t stop. He was a big man with a big throat, so he easily deep-throated Ramon after a little practice. Ramon shaved his pubes, allowing Thumper’s wide, bullish nose to press into his nearly smooth crotch. The shaved skin smelled like a woman’s shaved crotch, Thumper thought, though he’d been in prison for thirty years at this point and had only a dim memory of what women tasted like.
In the dim flickering light of the candles, Ramon could only barely see Thumper, but for some reason that made the sight of his body even more arousing. His muscles writhed in the shadows, moving along with his head and throat. Ramon couldn’t tell if he was moving like that because he hated touching a dick so much he had to force his body to comply with his mind’s commands, or if he liked it so surprisingly that his entire body roiled with confusion.
“No curtains, gentlemen…”
That was aimed at Ramon and Thumper, but the guard who said it — the one they called Officer Uglymug — just continued by, not taking the curtain down. That was typical. They had never explained why, but Ramon suspected it was a way to cover their ass. They made a rule against curtains, occasionally reminded the inmates of it, and brought that up whenever they were sued for something that happened behind a curtain. They could pretend they had been getting rid of curtains as long as they occasionally brought it up. They wrote in their shift notes that they reminded the inmates of the no-curtains rule, which was all it took to stay out of trouble. So Ramon wasn’t worried, though Thumper lifted his head for a moment, waiting to see if this was the night they would begin enforcing the rule against curtains.
The guard simply moved on, however, and Thumper did likewise.
Then Thumper moved his head down, licking Ramon’s balls while pulling his legs up to get a better angle at it. He gurgled noisily with both balls in his mouth, sucking the sweat and the grime right off. He wrinkled his nose as he did, and as Ramon’s iron dick flopped against it, but he didn’t stop no matter how unappealing he plainly found this.
Ramon was crammed into a rather small bunk, and only the back half or so of it. He wasn’t a tall man. He had a small, slim, twinkish body, so he fit well enough, and he had gotten used to squeezing into cramped spaces while in prison. He was adequately flexible to get his legs all the way back, his feet near his own head, which bared his asshole as his cheeks were forced apart. His tongue plunged right into Ramon’s asshole. Ramon was astonished that Thumper would give him a rimjob, and he moaned. Thumper had been unsure about receiving a rimjob from Ramon, so the idea that he would allow the tables to be turned was mind-boggling.
“Hey Officer Uglymug, lemme see that picture o’ yo’ wife again, nigga! Can I get a copy of that?”
“Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you! Some people is tryin-‘a sleep!”
Ramon’s fingers clutched the tight cornrows on Thumper’s head, watching his prison husband’s strapping body squeeze into the space between the bunk and the cell wall. There wasn’t much room there, but Thumper was used to fitting his broad shoulders and wide hips in this tiny cell. Ramon liked seeing him twisting and contorting, especially naked, with that limp cock dangling like a sausage. Thumper was much taller than Ramon, so he really had to struggle to get his head into Ramon’s ass, while Ramon was crammed into a tiny corner of the cell.
A few of the candles had blown out by now, and Ramon didn’t dare light them — they were moving around a lot, and they moved their bedsheets, the curtain and their clothes as they went, so the potential for a fire was great. The guards didn’t much care what happened behind the curtain, but a fire was one thing they very much would care about. Ramon turned on the little reading light he had, so he could still see Thumper’s muscles writhe as he licked Ramon’s ass.
His tongue was so hesitant and slow that it was, objectively speaking, not a very good rimjob. The positioning was awkward, and the tongue was unpracticed. But Ramon appreciated the sentiment, and when Thumper’s tongue did touch his prostate, the anticipation made the shiver of pleasure shooting up his spine even more intense, as did the scratchy feel of Thumper’s beard on Ramon’s ass.
“Gonna beat yo’ ass, nigga! Gonna beat it down to pulp!”
“Shut the fuck up, whiteboy!”
“Yo, hey! Lemme get a blunt!”
Thumper stood and grimaced. He forced a smile on his face, which was sweet — at least he was trying, Ramon thought. Then Thumper bent over on all fours. He grabbed the bottle of brandy and took a long swig from it. He sighed, and drank again.
“That’s sweet that you bought brandy,” Ramon said. “You remembered what I said…”
Thumper shrugged. He was defensive, like he was already embarrassed about getting plowed. “Whatevuh,” he said. “I like brandy too. I ain’t just buy it fo’ you.”
But Ramon knew that wasn’t entirely true. Thumper had only ever paid for smuggled vodka when Ramon moved in. To him, that seemed logical because it was the most alcoholic liquor — it made sense, he thought, to buy what contained the most drunkenness in the smallest container. But Ramon convinced him that was less reasonable than it seemed — brandy got you just as drunk, and it had a real flavor to it. Thumper had been in this place since he was nineteen, so he had very little experience with alcohol, a fact that he strenuously denied and that Ramon had only gradually realized was true. He might have never been seriously drunk before coming to Brutewood.
“It’s okay, sugar,” Ramon said. He kissed Thumper’s shoulderblades, one after the other. “I love your body, Thumper. You’re so big and strong, and you have the best dick in this prison. Maybe in the world.” He giggled. Thumper sighed and wiggled. Ramon’s tone was more patronizing than he meant — it was obvious that Ramon was saying that to puff up Thumper’s ego in advance of being penetrated. But Thumper didn’t mind that one bit, he often demanded Ramon do things just to puff up his ego. That was the main reason most men in prison kept a bitch, after all. they may express a ton of bluster about real men needing a hole in which to drain their balls, but Ramon knew that wasn’t the main purpose of it: it was to feel needed, wanted, even feared. He kissed Thumper’s asscheeks. “I’ll worship your ass later,” Ramon said. “So don’t worry if this hurts, sugar. Tomorrow, your ass is gonna feel so good you’ll forget this ever happened.”
“¡Siempre serás mi perra!” The catcalling and whooping from the other cells was beginning to die down, as a few people went to sleep and others got distracted reading, shooting heroin or perhaps ramrodding much like Ramon and Thumper were doing at this very moment.
Ramon lubed up his dick and wedged it between Thumper’s ass. He slowly pushed it in, pausing only briefly when he hit resistance. Thumper yelped and bit his lip. He kept his head down. Ramon pushed the tip of his cock in, and he held it in place.
“Is this okay?”
“It’s fine,” Thumper said, his voice breathless and trembling. Despite his words, it didn’t really sound entirely fine. He strained to take Ramon’s dick in his intact hole.
“Tell me if you want me to stop, sugar,” Ramon said. He kissed Thumper’s back again. “This is so sweet of you. You’re such a darling. This is the most perfect anniversary present ever.”
His whole body shook as Ramon squeezed a few more inches in. Thumper grunted. He arched his back and pawed at the ground, tattooed muscles rippling. He was nearly hyperventilating now, but he tried to keep it quiet as though if he didn’t acknowledge it, he wouldn’t feel shame.
“Damn, that hurts…” Thumper said, but there was some faint tenor in his voice that made Ramon think it wasn’t all pain. there was a thin, vibrating note of pleasure there. Ramon made sure to hit the man’s prostate to accentuate the orgasmic feelings deep within Thumper’s thuggish muscles.
“If you don’t shut that goddamn facehole right now, I am gonna sew it shut, bitch!”
“I’m sorry, sugar, it’ll start feeling better,” Ramon said, hoping that was true. He didn’t want Thumper to back out. He continued driving his dick in and out, smiling as he saw Thumper’s back move from pained writhing to pleasurable contortions. Thumper’s gasps of pain turned to petite moans of pleasure.
Luckily his ass started to open up a bit, which made Ramon’s dick slide more easily in and out. He had a nice broad, plump ass that Ramon wanted to smack, but he thought that might make it hurt worse, so he didn’t. He gently and affectionately caressed Thumper’s back and his meaty asscheeks, while Thumper’s moans turned louder and deeper.
His orgasm built slowly, but as he pumped and he felt it coming on, he sped up rapidly like a speeding train. Ecstasy erupted in Ramon, mounting with each thrust of his hips at Thumper’s body. He could barely reach Thumper’s shoulders because he was so much shorter, so he gripped both big corded shoulder blades.
“Here it comes, sweetheart,” Ramon said as softly as he could. He kissed Thumper’s back again. “I hope this don’t hurt too much, sugar…”
“No, not too much. I wanna feel your cum inside me,” Thumper said, then he winced as though he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
They both grunted together as Ramon shot his load. He had a feminine squeal to the sound, as pleasure washed up his spine, and his dick spasmed within Thumper’s back. Ramon moaned so loud the nearby cells erupted in laughter and catcalls. A fat wad of jizz spurted into Thumper, a long creamy wave of it that seeped into his guts.
“Wreck that bitch, Thumper! Wreck him!”
“He’s yo’ wife, you ain’t gotta make him feel good! If he still moanin’ like that, it means you ain’t been rammin’ him hard enough.”
That seemed to last forever. Bliss coursed through both men’s veins, and both of them came — Thumper needed only briefly handle his cock to reach his own climax, just as Ramon was shooting the last of his jizz in Thumper’s ass. Thumper sprayed his wad onto the floor, a fat flow of it that came out in spurts and jets.
When at last both men were good and limp, Ramon pulled out and sat back. He sighed. Thumper curled up next to him, and they spooned, Ramon being the outer spoon for the first time in more than two years. Thumper’s body was stiff at first, but he soon relaxed now that he knew he wasn’t going to be caught. He ignored the hooting from the cells next door, and he kissed Ramon on the lips. Ramon exulted in the taste of his own cock and ass on Thumper’s mouth.
“Thanks, sugar, that was special,” Ramon said softly, nibbling on Thumper’s ear. “And don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

The Hairy Roughneck Bottoms

Madhu is a doctor servicing roughnecks from an oil rig, but when one of them comes to him with a major problem, Madhu is eager to help out… That’s because he’s gonna get to climb atop this hairy roughneck, giving him an adventure in Twink on Top!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Madhu Sharma came home, exhausted. He had only just moved in, so his apartment didn’t feel like home yet, it still felt like a poorly maintained hotel room. But today’s shift at the medical center was twelve hours long, so he was too tired to care. This was the first time he had come home to this apartment and not felt like he was stepping into someone else’s house. He needed to take a shower and make himself some dinner, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t even have the energy to take his shoes off. Madhu plopped onto his couch, too tired even to turn the TV on, only to be interrupted seconds later by a knock on the door.
“Goddamnit…” He wheezed like an old man as he got up.
It was Harley Willard from down below, he realized after pulling himself up to look through the peephole. Harley was an oil rig worker who lived in the lower part of this duplex. He had a hairy chest, hairy arms and legs, a scruffy beard and a hairy back. The only part of his body hair that he trimmed was his beard, which Madhu thought was ironic. He didn’t try to explain the irony to Harley.
In the tiny town of Onagnok, North Dakota, virtually everyone was a male oil rig worker with tattoos, hairy bodies and rough demeanors. Madhu was one of very few people in town who were not roughnecks. Madhu was a medical resident, working at the town’s only clinic.
He opened the door, realizing as he did that Harley was nervous, like he was waiting for bad news. Harley tapped one foot on the patio as Madhu took him in. “Hi, Harley,” Madhu said.
“Hey, uh… Can I ask you for a favor?”
“Um… I guess so. What? I’m really tired. I just got off work,” Madhu said. He didn’t want to sound mean, he wanted to be on good relations with his neighbor. But he was off-duty. He didn’t want to talk about medicine right now.
“I know, I been waiting. I got an ‘ppointment for next week, but, I, uh… I found a lump,” he said. His eyes trembled like he was near tears.
“What?”
“A lump,” he said quietly, his brown, rugged face turning bright red. “On my, uh… testicle.” It sounded like he had never said the word testicle out loud before.
“Oh, well… Uh, you really need an actual appointment, I can’t do a full exam here,” Madhu said. He sighed — he wanted to be close to Harley, so he had a feeling he was going to talk himself into it. A testicle lump was serious, after all. If Harley needed to see a urologist, it would be better to find out now and get him a referral as soon as possible, rather than waiting for next week. It didn’t take any special equipment to palpate a testicle, just a pair of gloves (and even that wasn’t really necessary).
“I know, I gots an appointment, next week. I just… My dad died of cancer. Not, y’know ball cancer, but still… Can you just tell me if I should be worried? Or if I should go right to an oncologist?”
Madhu sighed. “Fine. Come on in,” he said. “Drop your pants.”
Harley must have been really nervous, Madhu thought, because he was already taking his belt off as he came in. He put both hands on the side of the couch and gripped it tightly. His pants were around his ankles, and those thick thighs were covered only by dingy white briefs. The vast layer of thickly choked leg hair pressed against the fabric of his underwear. His muscles were all tense.
He smelled strongly of sawdust and engine oil, a scent that sent a frisson up Madhu’s spine. He inhaled deeply of the invigorating aroma, every whiff of which woke him up a notch.
Craving caffeine, Madhu tried to wake himself up more. He had an ethical duty to do his best, even for something like this — it wasn’t a big deal from Madhu’s perspective. It was a big deal from Harley’s perspective, that was true. After all, it could be something serious. But it probably wasn’t, and all Madhu could do was feel a lump and refer Harley to a specialist. Madhu didn’t need to actually diagnose it and in fact couldn’t do more than say “yep, that’s a lump”.
Madhu had an emergency kit by the door, so Madhu grabbed a pair of gloves and slid his hand between Harley’s legs. Once he got the gloves on and had an array of medical equipment in front of him, he felt more alert and more professional, like the gear had triggered feelings from his medical school.
A sigh rattled out of his throat.
He palpated each testicle thoroughly. He turned on the doctor part of his brain and the part of his brain that loves hairy roughnecks went to mute.
There was no lump. He felt again, but there was nothing. Had he made a mistake? Madhu had done a urology residency already, he was confident in his ability to feel a lump (which was really very simple — a lump was a lump, you couldn’t miss it). There was an ingrown hair on the rear part of his scrotum, near the perineum, but that was it.
“Uh, Harley, where’s the lump? I don’t feel it.”
“It’s right there, in the back.” He reached between his legs and pointed to that ingrown hair.
“That’s not a lump. First of all, that’s not even your testicle, Harley, that’s your scrotum.”
“Yeah, but that’s the same region, right?”
“Well, yeah, same region, but there’s a big difference. That’s just an ingrown hair. Are you a chimney sweep?”
“A what?”
“A chimney sweep, like in Victorian England? In the past?”
“Am I from Victorian England? No,” he said. “Green Bay, Wisconsin. The present.”
“Scrotal cancer is very rare, basically unheard of except if you’re a chimney sweep, they used to get scrotum tumors,” he said. “The scrotum is just skin, so you can get skin cancer there, but you rarely get skin cancer without exposure to the sun, like a lot of it. So scrotums are pretty safe.” Madhu pulled out a pair of tweezers and pulled the ingrown hair out. Harley winced in pain. “That should be fine. Come in for your appointment anyway, sometimes these things get infected. Keep your crotch dry and clean. But you don’t need to worry, you don’t have testicular cancer.”
“Oh, thank god!”
“I’m glad you’re doing self-exams though,” Madhu said.
“How can I repay you?”
“Uh…” Madhu wanted to say that the obvious answer was to pay him with money, which he desperately needed right now, having just paid a lot to move into his new place. But that would seem greedy, he thought, and in any case, if Harley could afford to pay money, he wouldn’t have asked how to repay him.
“I mean… I can’t afford to pay anything in money,” Harley said. He turned around, showing his bare cock and hairy crotch. “But you jack off, right?” He flopped his dick between his thick fingers. “You’re into that, right?”
Madhu nodded.
“Well… There ain’t many women in town.”
“I noticed.”
“So, if you wanted to taste my dick, I’d be fine with that,” he said. Despite the hesitance in his voice, Madhu suspected he’d be more than ‘fine’ with it — he was horny. He wanted to blow a nut and didn’t mind where it came from.
But Madhu was annoyed at having to do work for free, when he was supposed to be off, especially silly work that would have been unnecessary if Harley knew the difference between a scrotum and a testicle. So he shook his head. “I’m not that kind of guy,” he said. “I’ll jack off with you if you wanna get a nut off, but I’m on top. You gotta get me off and take it in the ass.” He shrugged, assuming that Harley would never agree to anything like that.
“Fine,” Harley said, barely giving it a moment’s thought. He looked around Madhu’s apartment as though checking for witnesses. No one was here. In this remote part of North Dakota, there was virtually always no one around, wherever you looked — that was the main feature of this region.
But while there were few people generally, there were even fewer women specifically. That meant men like Harley were plagued with stiffies.
There was a long pause as Madhu tried to figure out if he was joking. “What?”
“I mean… I just wanna get my nut off, and I can tell you’s into it,” he said. “Back on the rig, me and the fat sonuvabitch Gerry got drunk and messed around cuz we was both so horny, and you know… there wasn’t nothin’ else to do. But that was gross. I ain’t like that one bit.” He blushed. “Jerry’s big and hairy, and he smells like feet. I discottoned to that. Since you a tiny little twink and you look like a girl anyway — no offense, darlin’ — I thought you’d be easier to take.”
“Uh, well… Okay,” Madhu said, so shocked that he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You will get me off, right? We can sixty-nine? I have gotta bust a nut. I’ll just pretend I’s on the rig.”
“You guys really do that on the rig a lot?” Madhu said. He took his gloves off and tossed them in the trash
“Nah,” Harley said with a chuckle. “Well, some guys do. Kinda. It don’t count on the rig. That’s sorta… you ain’t sposedta be squeamish about it, you know, if some guy wanna get off on you, you should let him.” He put both hands up. “I don’t truck with that. I like pussy. I fuck the everloving shit outta some pussy.”
“Hmm-hmm,” Madhu said. He felt small next to Harley’s broad-muscled body, which was bare now, muscle flexing with each breath he took. He was remarkably nonchalant about it, you could tell he got naked among strangers several times a day. He had the body language of it. He stood there, swaggering and sorta grabbing at himself as though to check all his body parts were still there, and he stretched his rough-hewn face too, like he was loosening up for a performance. Harley’s chest was tattoed, but they were old and faded and overgrown with body hair like a shut-in’s garden.
“What? Why you lookin’ at me?” Harley said. “Don’t laugh ’bout that shit on the rig — that’s how it goes — and don’t tell nobody, what happens on the rig stays on the rig, homeboy! That’s a rule!” He wagged his finger at Madhu. “I got that doctor-patient confidential, I got confidentials all over that one.”
Madhu nodded. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Everybody gets stiffies.” He paused. “Well, not women.”
Then he grabbed Harley’s dick, which immediately jumped to attention in his hand. It was a long cock, a fact that Madhu didn’t really notice until he had it in his hand and had switched from doctor-mode to jack-off-mode. His exhaustion after a hard day’s work disappeared in a haze of anticipation.
Harley’s wiry muscles and dingy, amateur tattoos trembled as he closed his eyes and Madhu dropped his own pants. Madhu’s dick was not as big as Harley’s, but it was nothing to sneeze at, and Harley looked at like he wished it was smaller. Madhu hefted his dick in one hand and thwacked it against Harley’s, which made him wince.
“Don’t even try ’bout puttin’ nuttin’ in mah ass, homeboy,” Harley said. His country accent was thicker now, as though he had either been speaking more properly when asking for a favor and getting medical advice or his arousal was making his Southern accent return to the forefront of his voice. He leaned back, as though ready to fall over if it weren’t for Madhu holding onto his dick, which remained flaccid so far.
Stroking both cocks at once, Madhu licked Harley’s nipples. Harley began flexing his hips, fucking Madhu’s hand like it was a pussy. Meanwhile his dick jerked, beginning to get hard as Madhu’s own cock leaked precum down his shaft. “You guys don’t do butt stuff on the rig?” Madhu asked. He let both dicks angle around together, while his hands explored the rippling muscles of Harvey’s chest. Harvey ignored his touches, and he just sat there like Madhu was here to bestow an erection upon him and he needn’t be involved beyond providing the dick.
Harley nodded. “Some fellahs do, it’s gross,” he said. “No offense. I mean… I ain’t in prison, I don’t wanna do no booty bandit shit. I was in prison too, a couple years ago, I know how that goes. I done watch this big-ass black fellah get turned inside out, shit, man, he was either howling for less or begging for more, I never found out, shit was crazy. I don’t fuck with that.” He paused. “No offense. It wasn’t a racial thing. Black guys was who was on top of him. It was all-black.” He looked down as though he only now noticed his dick was hard. “Thanks. You look like a girl anyway. Barely counts. There ain’t no females for miles around. That’s another rule. Once there’s no women around for a hundred miles, you have to give up the ass. It’s a roughneck rule.”
“There are women around-“
“Prostitutes don’t count.”
“There’s still a couple women around. Williston is less than a hundred miles away,” Madhu said.
“Well, that’s why I don’t do butt stuff!” Harley said. He took both dicks in his own roughly callused grip, and he stroked them together. Madhu’s hands continued exploring Harley’s well-muscled frame. As Harley masturbated both shafts together, his muscles flexed as though he had to use all of them to stroke both cocks together.
Madhu licked his lips, leaning in close to partake of Harley’s masculine musk. He smiled and sucked on each of Harley’s nipples, licking those thick work-toned pecs as he worked his way down to Harley’s half-hard cock. He kissed the tip, smiling as it jiggled and spasmed in excitement.
Gently pushing Harley to the couch, Madhu laid him down on his back. Then Madhu climbed atop, his thin twink body barely fitting on Harley’s massive frame. He had to delicately balance himself in the scrap of couch that was not covered by Harley, and Madhu nearly fell as he lowered himself onto Harley.
He pointed his cock into Harley’s mouth, surprised that Harley wasn’t resistant at all, and didn’t even seem too disgusted by it. He did wrinkle his nose as he tasted Madhu’s dick, but he didn’t resist, and his wide throat easily swallowed every inch. He gagged as it hit the back of his throat.
Madhu kissed Harley’s cock, slurping on the tip and licking up the precum that dripped down the shaft. Harley’s dick spasmed and shook. The veins of his manhood throbbed within Harley’s mouth, and the taste of his unfiltered manhood — a mixture of sweat, precum, and stale grease — wafted into Madhu’s aroused nostrils. He inhaled deeply of the intoxicating aroma.
They sixty-nined there for what felt like a very brief period to Madhu, but seemed like forever to Harley. He was so wide and broad-shouldered that he barely fit on the couch when laying down, and it was awkward to have Madhu on top of him. Madhu loved the feel of the man’s crude muscles writhing beneath his smooth twink body, and he especially loved his balls resting on Harley’s crooked, oft-broken nose, a remnant of his wilder bar-fighting days (or so he had told Madhu when they first met).
When he felt his own orgasm coming, Madhu got up. Harley growled like he was horny as Madhu’s cock pulled away from his mouth, as though he wanted to taste more of it. He seemed to forget he was straight for a moment. Thick tendrils of spit connected Harley’s mouth to Madhu’s dick.
“You’s a pretty boy… If’n I evuh get locked up again, I’m gonna hope my cellmate looks like you,” Harley said, his voice equal parts aroused and menacing. He bent over the couch and stuck his tanned ass in the air. He spread his legs wide and hung his head in a mixture of shame and anticipation. “Be gentle, boy.”
“I will. You can tell me to stop,” Madhu said. He smiled at the sight of Harley’s asshole, which was thick with dark blond hair. It winked as fresh cold air washed over it, and Harley’s whole body shuddered. He even moaned like he was in pain even though nothing had happened yet.
Madhu spat on his hand to use as lube, then when he felt how tight it was with his finger, he knew he needed actual lubricant. Luckily, his medical bag was already next to the couch, and he had a tube of lube ready there — it was actually more effective than the consumer-grade lube, so Madhu thought it would be ideal for a near-virgin like Harley.
“This’ll be cold,” he said, then dribbled lube onto the top of Harley’s asscrack. He squealed and shuddered, those perfect tan asscheeks shaking. Madhu gently rubbed the lube down Harley’s crack and to his tight hole. His finger hesitated there at the entrance, waiting for his sphincter to open up.
Then it did and Madhu let his finger push in. Harley winced and lifted one leg up like a dog about to piss. Madhu smiled to himself as Harley’s body slowly adjusted. He switched briefly back to doctor-mode, just long enough to feel Harley’s prostate — which was perfectly spongy, just the right size, a healthy young man’s prostate. Then he began moving his finger inside and out.
After a few minutes of that, Harley’s moan moved from pained to aroused, and Madhu knew that was it. This was his cue. He withdrew his finger and lined his dick up with that twinkling hot hole — he had to get up on his toes to reach.
Madhu pushed his dick in and sighed. Harley’s hole was tight, and he had to keep adding lube to get himself in. He hit resistance at the first inch, then the third, and it was a struggle to keep going.
Harley bit his lip and howled. Though it was clearly a pained sound, Madhu detected a faint note of pleasure as well. It wasn’t all bad for him, Madhu suspected. Harley’s voice broke as he submitted to inch after inch of Madhu’s dick. He kept raising his left foot higher and higher until Madhu had to push it back down — Madhu was so much smaller than Harley that the elevated leg made it difficult to keep going.
“Oh god, thanks, Harley, I really needed this,” Madhu said, clutching the big man’s broad back muscles. He had a few tats that looked amateurly done, either when Harley was in his youthful rebellion phase or in prison; either way, they were faded pictures of a naked woman, a Confederate flag and a rampaging bear, all of them wrinkled and writhing as pleasure and agony alike suffused Harley’s body.
The phone rang. Madhu thought it was his phone at first, but when he pulled it out of his crumpled-up pants, he saw that his screen was dead. Harley grabbed for his phone in his pants on the ground. He winced when he saw who it was.
“I gotta take this, it’s my boss,” he said, his voice resigned and annoyed. “Hello? Yeah. No, man! I ain’t taking a shit, I just… I sound weird cuz I don’t feel good right now, and I just stubbed my toe. That’s it,.” He winced and gritted his teeth as he talked. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, sure, whatever. Of course I did. Tell him he’s just gotta tighten it. I am not. He knows how to do it. Get a vertical wrench, he can do it. I ain’t comin’ in. Don’t even say that. Nope. Just tighten all four corners. It’ll work. That’s all I’d do, that’s all I know how to do. I don’t know how to fix it, I’ve told you that a hundred times, all I know how to do is tighten all four corners! Then shove the wrench up your ass, maybe that’ll help, I ain’t comin’ in!” He hung up the phone and tossed it on the floor. He buried his nose in the couch cushion and moaned, his tone showing both anger and desire.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just stick it in me!” Harley exclaimed, his voice muffled by the couch. Madhu couldn’t tell if he exclaimed because he was enraged, horny, impassioned or agonized, or maybe a mixture of all four. He bit his lip and hung his shaggy head low. Madhu caressed his thick mop of hair, which was greasy with the day’s sweat.
He began working his dick in and out, sighing as pleasure again suffused him. Madhu’s tension about a long day at work, and his discomfort in his new home, faded away. He felt his orgasm coming on, and he had a feeling Harley wasn’t that far away either.
“Gimme a reacharound,” Harley said.
“Are you sure. I thought you wanted to cornhole me when I was done?”
“Just do it, I don’t care,” Harley said, hanging his head. “I just need to get my rocks off now.”
Madhu grabbed his dick and stroked. Madhu was so much smaller than Madhu that he had to struggle to reach all the way around; his arm barely reached. But when he did get a grip on it, Harley’s whole body shivered and jerked. His dick pulsated, and Madhu could feel the imminent orgasm coursing through the prominent veins of his cockshaft.
Harley reached orgasm just seconds later, as though Madhu had flicked a switch. Cum sprayed over Madhu’s brand-new couch, and into Madhu’s fingers. Harley’s muscles all tensed at once, vibrating like a rickety car at top speed. He held his breath, grunting over and over with every pump of Madhu’s dick inside his guts.
“Oh damn, boy, that was nice…” Harley said, then blushed and bit his lip as though he hadn’t meant to admit he enjoyed it.
Before Madhu could respond, he shot his own load, and hot cum filled up Harley’s ass. Madhu’s thin twink body writhed just like Harley’s had, the movement making Harley twist as Madhu’s dick touched every corner of his insides.
Madhu pulled out and sighed. “Damn, Harley…”
“Fuck, I needed that,” he said. He blushed as he pulled away and wiped his ass off with a tissue. He breathed a sigh of relief when Madhu’s cock plopped out of him. “Fuck… I thought for sure I wasn’t gonna be able to cum wit’ yer dick inside me.” He blushed even harder as he verbalized what had happened. He avoided eye contact with Madhu.
“It’s okay, everyone enjoys prostate stimulation,” Madhu said. “That’s a medical fact.”
“Yeah, well… thanks. Don’t tell no one,” he said. “You can tell ‘em I let you jack me off. That’s fine, ain’t nobody care about that. But don’t let ‘em know I… y’know, did anything.”
“Don’t worry, I’m your doctor, Harley. This is all confidential,” Madhu said. He patted Harley on the ass. “You can put some aloe on your ass and Neosporin on that ingrown hair. They’ll both feel better soon.” He smiled as he watched Harley dress and head out the door.
“See ya,” Harley said quietly. He didn’t wait for a response, he was already gone.
That was fine with Madhu. He didn’t really want to hang out anyway. He just wanted to wait for Harley to come back for a second visit, or maybe one of the other roughnecks around here, Madhu thought, would be willing to come by and give him another exciting adventure.

The Cocky Football Jock

Raython is a college football star who needs something from twinky barber Desmond. If Raython’s going to get into the frat of his choice, this cocky football jock has gotta let Desmond have a taste… and more of Raython’s throbbing manmeat! Can handsome prettyboy Raython perform when he really needs it?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Desmond knew who Raython Lake was before he came into the barbershop. Raython was the starting running back for the GHU Titans, and around here, that meant everyone knew his name. Desmond didn’t have to watch college football to know who he was. Raython entered the City Barbershop one sunny Saturday with the cocky strut of a man used to having skinny white girls on each arm. With dimples like those, Desmond knew that was exactly where he got that strut from. He was the kind of stud that girls fell head over heels in love with and guys hated from the moment they laid eyes on him. He looked arrogant, mean, bullying, haughty. Despite his handsomeness, Raython turned Desmond off from the moment he walked in.
Or rather, he turned him on, but also off. Desmond appreciated Raython’s physique, as probably all people did, you’d have to be a sociopath not to be allured by him, but he was mentally turned off by Raython’s personality and indeed his very demeanor. Something about the way he carried himself made Desmond want to punch him in the face. And then rub his shoulders and jerk him off. Then maybe punch him in the face again.
Raython was that kind of man.
“Yo, hey, you Desmond, right, my man?” Raython said. He flashed a grin and slapped hands with Desmond. He spoke like he was used to charming people and had no awareness that some people found him grating and off-putting, like he wasn’t even aware it was possible to dislike him.
“That’s right. I’m Desmond,” he said. He looked away and pouted, rearranging the selfies he had posted over his mirror, hoping to look nonchalant. Desmond didn’t like to let alphas like Raython have unbridled power over him. Raython did have such power over him, which was why Desmond spent so much energy acting nonchalant. He knew what Raython wanted, so he was going to make him work for it. Raython happened to arrive while the other barbers were out at lunch. Desmond was minding the shop alone.
“Well, I’m Raython, I was hopin’ you might jack a nigga dick, y’know… whatever….” He sniffed. “And you know… whatever.” He shuffled his weight between his feet like a man who was not used to being unsure of himself. “I got… other requirements, or whatever.”
“Requirements?”
“Yeah… You know… It’s, uh… Can we go in the back to talk?”
“I’m not really supposed to leave the front room until the other barbers get back,” Desmond said. He crossed his arms over his chest. He let out a wan smile. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to jack you off.”
“What? Why not?” He furrowed his brow. He had definitely not been turned down very often. He looked around as though there must be some emergency preventing Desmond from agreeing. He snorted and rubbed his nose.
Desmond shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re kind of a prettyboy. Not my type. Have you got the goods?”
Raython dropped to his knees and pulled his shirt off. He had a perfect chest, six-pack abs and a v-shaped torso. Again, he looked around the empty room as if this might be a secret-camera reality show. He flexed his biceps. “Yo, come on? You know it.” When that didn’t immediately work, he kissed each bicep, and he flexed each pec in turn.
And again, or rather still, he bestowed his arrogant gaze upon Desmond, who shrugged.
“Hmmm… Nice…” Desmond pretended to ponder it — Raython was a jerk, but Desmond did want to taste every part of his body. The college school year had only just begun, so a lot of new niggas were coming in this way. Desmond’s barbershop was the closest black barbershop to the GHU campus. It sometimes took awhile for the black men from away to discover where to get their haircut, but they inevitably came a-calling, and Raython was no different. Plenty of them probably had Cityside Barbershops back in their home ‘hoods. Most likely they all did. Most inner-city neighborhoods had a Cityside Barbershop, and most of those locations had a barber like Desmond, a small twink with a smooth, hairless body, a girlish shape and a willingness to service the alphas, thugs and jocks who came by to get their hair cut and their needs serviced. Raython had an expectant face on. Desmond’s hand roamed over Raython’s solid pectoral muscle, which throbbed beneath his touch. Raython smiled, flashing those dimples. Raython picked up Desmond’s hand and kissed it like a proposing prince.
Raython leaned forward and kissed Desmond on the earlobe, making Desmond’s taut twink body shudder with anticipation. His lips stayed on Desmond’s sensitive skin, and Raython gently nibbled the earlobe. That made Desmond suck back a howl of desire. Raython’s muscles rippled and exuded heat behind him. Raython chuckled, his voice smooth and dry as a wind-swept rock, and he whispered in Desmond’s ear. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you want my dick. I can see it in yo’ eyes.”
He picked Desmond up in his powerful running-back arms and carried him into the backroom. Once they actually got past the door, it wasn’t realistic to carry him like that — the corridor was lined with shelves and was too narrow. So he hefted Desmond up over his bare shoulder like a sac of flour. Desmond squealed, and he clutched Raython’s powerful shoulders to stay on his back.
They went to the back storage area, which had a little more space. Raython put Desmond down and pulled a clipboard out of his bag. Desmond was dizzy. He kept his grip on Raython’s body for support, his hands slipping under Raython’s pants to tease his juicy asscheeks.
“Yo, uh… You gotta sign this.” Raython handed over the clipboard as Desmond goosed his ass, which Raython ignored.
“What?” This was the part Desmond knew about — he’d been in this area for awhile, and he knew about the Kappa Kappa Pi initiation procedures — but he didn’t let on that he was already aware of what was going on. He read the paper on the clipboard like he had no idea what it said.
The gist of it was that Raython had signed a bet regarding his skill at throwing a football, there was more football jargon involved, but Desmond skipped over it. The upshot of the bet was that some cheerleader was gonna fuck him in the locker room. The downside of the bet was that Raython had to cornhole “the man of his choosing, with light foreplay and a reacharound” — the document was written in some no-doubt weed-induced late-night fit of semi-serious pseudo-legalistic wording — if he lost.
As had come to happen, Raython had lost. He probably fucked the cheerleader in the locker room anyway. Desmond certainly would, if he were Raython or if he were a cheerleader.
“So you have to cornhole me ‘with light foreplay and a reacharound’? And I have to sign this thing, since none of your teammates wanted to come watch to verify it?”
Raython flashed his dimples again and shrugged. “Yep, that’s it. No big deal. They thought I’d be upset about it or some shit. I ain’t.”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“Nah, nigga. I got girls,” Raython said as though that should have been obvious. “I got females beatin’ down doors to get they mouths on my meat. Swear to God. White girls. Nice white girls.”
“So what counts as ‘light foreplay’?”
Raython groaned. “That’s, uh… up to you. But you can’t put nothin’ in my asshole. No way. And I ain’t putting my mouth on yo’ dick, nosirree. But that’s, you know… you can do basically anything else.”
“Hmm-“
“And no fingerin’ nothing — you can grope, but no fingers, and no, you know… No doin’ nothin’ gross. No peepee. None of that nasty-nasty, you know, like prison booty bandit shit. I ain’t no nigga’s fool,” Raython said. “I keep a firm veto. But you can do whatevuh.”
“I see… You said I can’t put nothin’ in your asshole, but does that include my tongue?”
Raython chuckled. His eyes opened wide. “No. That’s fine. You can do that. Rimjobs is fine.” He paused. “That ain’t ‘light foreplay’ though, nigga. That’s heavy. Medium at least. Girls don’t do rimjobs as foreplay.”
“Girls are dumb as donuts,” Desmond said. “And I don’t do light foreplay.” He licked his lips. “I start at a heavy medium.” He stepped forward and planted his lips on Raython’s. Raython jerked and stiffened, his muscles all flexing. He stood up straight, requiring Desmond to jump up and mount his muscular torso to keep his mouth on Raython’s.
That was not a problem for Desmond, who enjoyed climbing up Raython’s powerful body. The more Desmond wrapped his body around Raython’s torso, the stiffer Raython was and the more Desmond had to climb all over him in order to kiss him on the lips. Raython bristled, and he scrunched his eyes up, but he didn’t make Desmond stop.
Raython stood straight up like a statue. He didn’t kiss Desmond back either. Desmond gripped his shoulders and wrapped his feet around Raython’s chest. His tongue plunged into Raython’s mouth. Still, Raython just submitted as though he was paying attention to something else, like this kiss was a purely physical exercise of no more importance the bicep curls he no doubt performed daily in front of a mirror. His arms stiffly dangled at his side.
“Kiss me back. That’s part of foreplay,” Desmond said. He licked his lips. “That’s not how you kiss a girl, is it?”
“Nah, nigga.”
“Then kiss me properly.” Desmond kissed Raython on the neck with enough fervor to possibly leave a hickey, which was enough to get Raython to react.
Raython wrinkled his nose and nodded. He planted his tongue in Desmond’s mouth. He was actually an excellent kisser, Desmond was surprised because very handsome men were often bad kissers in general and were almost always bad kissers when Desmond got his lips on them, they got enough girls that they weren’t used to pretending to be passionate when they were not. Raython, however, kissed like he had been waiting for this moment.
No wonder all the girls on campus loved him. Desmond had no proof that was true, but he was certain it was.
Desmond lost himself in Raython’s arms and his mouth. Raython finally gripped Desmond’s back and ass with his hands, supporting him so Desmond could focus on kissing him. His strong hands dug into Desmond’s perky asscheeks, making Desmond wonder if he held onto girls’s asses so firmly. Desmond hoped so. That was exactly how he liked to be treated.
Eventually Raython gently pulled away. He licked his teeth with a cocky sneer on his face. “You kiss like a girl,” he said.
“And you kiss like a man. You’ve never done this before?” Desmond asked.
“Nope.” He put Desmond on the ground and turned around. He put both hands on the wall as though he was being arrested. He jutted his ass out.
Desmond pulled his pants down, baring that plump brown ass. It was perfectly round, soft and firm at the same time, with just a bit of hair on the crack. Desmond kissed each cheek, making them jiggle. Despite being cooped up in his pants until moments ago, his skin tasted clean and fresh.
A groan came from Raython, who spread his legs like he was expecting to be searched. Or maybe he just really liked Desmond kissing, licking and slurping on his asscheeks and didn’t want to show it, so he covered up his moan of desire with that annoyed groan. His looping, arching back muscles all flexed at once above Desmond’s head.
“You’re a lot more comfortable with this than I expected,” Desmond said. He spread Raython’s ass and dove his tongue right in. Raython’s hole was tight, and Raython yelped when Desmond’s tongue entered it. Even this deep in his ass, Raython tasted very clean, he must have scrubbed up right before coming here. He tasted of cologne, cocoa butter and soap, like a fancy girlish soap with flowers and fruit in it.
“My brother got a nigga…” His voice trailed off like he hadn’t meant to share this, but was distracted by the pleasure in his ass. “I mean…” Raython said, mumbling as he endured Desmond’s rimjob. Desmond giggled, glad to get Raython nervous again. He was just so arrogant and handsome that Desmond felt a deep, abiding urge to make him nervous.
Desmond rammed his tongue in deep. He used a finger to tease the rim, and Raython didn’t complain. Desmond didn’t actually push his finger in, since Raython had said only his tongue was allowed, but Desmond did rub his asscrack and the edge of his hole with one delicate pinkie finger. Raython’s voice rumbled like he was thinking about finishing his story about his brother’s nigga, but then all that came out was another simmering groan. Raython jutted his ass back, giving Desmond better access to lap at his butthole.
“Your brother has a nigga?” As soon as Desmond said that, he jammed his tongue in and aimed it right for Raython’s prostate. He slapped his tongue at it, making Raython’s whole body ripple as pleasure coursed through him.
“He-eeeeee…” Raython tried to answer, but when Desmond’s tongue got deep in there, his words turned into a meaningless moan, as he was unable now to hide how good this felt. Raython even lifted one of his feet like a dog getting scratched in a sensitive spot. Raython’s knees buckled and he almost fell over. “Fuckin’ hell, man… When girls lick my asshole, it ain’t like this…”
“Girls probably lick your ass, not inside your asshole. Girls don’t lick prostates,” Desmond said. “Or at least, not the kind of girls you’d go for.” He smirked and did it again. This time Raython moaned and grunted so passionately his knees did buckle. Raython went down to the ground on all fours, his ass high in the air to give Desmond easy access to it. Desmond ran his tongue all the way from Raython’s taint to the small of his back.
“Yeah… Damn…” Raython said. He cleared his throat and chuckled. “Shit… Okay, swallow my dick now, damn.”
He got up on his feet again, and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes. Once again, that arrogant jock look was back. His fat cock was rock-hard — he must have really enjoyed that rimjob — and it twitched, visibly on the verge of spewing precum. Its twitches were synced with the rippling and flexing of Raython’s broad chest.
Raython opened his eyes when he realized Desmond hadn’t started yet. He touched his dick, then let go, then touched it again, then let go, and his hands fluttered in the air above Desmond’s head.
“And I’m just supposed to kneel on the concrete?” Desmond asked. He pointed to a pile of blankets on one of the shelves. “Make a little bed for us.”
“Man, I was just on all fours, I ain’t complain…” Raython rolled his eyes and sighed like a kid being told to clean his room, but he did what he was told. He got the blankets down and spread them over the floor. He even added a small pillow for Desmond’s knees. Then he laid down on his back at Desmond’s direction. “Man… We ain’t makin’ love, nigga. Like my brother.”
“What? Tell me about yo’ brother.”
“I ain’t s’posed to say nothin’. No snitchin’, y’know.”
“Your brother’s carrying on with a cop?!”
“No!”
“Then it’s not snitching, technically-“
“What do you know about snitching? You ain’t a gangsta? You a sissy.”
Desmond stopped with Raython’s cock in his hand, the spongy tip rubbing over Desmond’s lips. Desmond wasn’t really upset about being called a sissy. If you worked in a Cityside Barbershop and specialized in jacking off guys, it happened a lot. Desmond wasn’t worried about it. But Raython was a well-spoken and articulate young man in college, he should have known better. And besides that, Desmond thought he could get something more out of him if he made a big deal out of it.
“Donchu call me a sissy-“
“What? You is a…” Raython looked at his dick, throbbing in Desmond’s hand, and he flexed his hips to fuck Desmond’s hand, like he was only slowly figuring out why he didn’t feel Desmond’s mouth on his cock. “You’re mad?”
“You still haven’t told me about your brother and his nigga,” Desmond said. “Now I really wanna know,” Desmond said. He mounted Raython’s crotch and jousted his cock with Raython’s. Raython had a hefty piece of meat, but Desmond’s was substantially thicker. Raython wrinkled his nose like he was disappointed at the sight, and then he wrinkled it even harder when their precum mixed on his shaft. Desmond played with both dicks with one hand, while his other hand massaged Raython’s chest. “If you’re gonna call me names, we might have to move that foreplay up to ‘severe’.”
“Man…”
“I’m gonna keep jousting with you until you tell me what you were gonna say about your brother-“
He snapped, “My brother just got a nigga, okay? When he got outta lockup a couple years ago, he found some sissy dude. He brought him over. He live in my mom’s garage now. He rams his… He rans his ass all the damn time, man. He say it’s how real niggas is. He says thugs should have a couple females and one male. He out there in the garage goin’ at it, nigga. He do ram that boy so hard he knock shit off the walls in the house, man. Don’t you tell no one. He said I can’t spread it around. He said a man should have a couple females and one man but he should keep all but one female a secret. He ain’t keep his females a secret though. Or even his man really. Fuckin’ pansy-ass sissy… man.” His voice trailed off as Desmond swallowed his dick, just the tip at first but Desmond slathered his tongue upon it, and he choked up mouthloads of spit that ran down the shaft. Raython groaned and sighed, muscles relaxing now that he was being serviced again.
Desmond deep-throated him until his nose nestled in Raython’s hairy pubic bush. Desmond kneeled next to Raython, perpendicular to him. But as he kept working on Raython’s meat, he gradually spooned Raython until his cock was rubbing against Raython’s firm bicep. Raython either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Desmond’s precum smeared over his tattooed arms.
Precum flowed down Desmond’s throat, the bright salty flavor assaulting Desmond’s senses as Raython let out a rumbling roar of arousal. Raython gripped Desmond by the ear, guiding his head up and down at a slow but accelerating pace. He sucked on his lips and inhaled sharply as he did, like he had never felt this good. Desmond was proud of himself — that was his specialty, after all, he could make any man beg for more.
Eventually tears welled up in Desmond’s eyes, and he had to take a break to breathe. He gasped for air, stroking Raython’s dick furiously with both hands, while thick tendrils of spit connected Desmond’s face to Raython’s shaft.
“Holy fuck…” Raython moaned. “Shit… Why don’t girls do it like that?”
“Ugly girls do,” Desmond said. “Pretty girls don’t need to impress you with skill.” He giggled and massaged Raython’s chest before resuming his deep-throating. This time he openly humped Raython’s arm as he did. Raython still pretended he didn’t notice, even when Desmond’s dick smeared precum over his bicep, tricep and forearm, and Desmond even humped his armpit til it was greasy with precum.
Eventually Desmond was ready to move on, lest he blow his wad too early. He licked a trail from Raython’s cocktip to his root, then up his muscular chest. He nuzzled Raython’s neck, while Desmond’s bare cock spewed precum on Raython’s side, jetting it up to his ribs and all over his asscheek. Raython’s pecs flexed, one after the other.
“Wait… Are you gonna kiss me on the lips? You’ll taste like cock…”
“Does your brother kiss his man?”
“Yeah… He does nasty shit wit’ him. He says he only tops, but… I seen ‘im in there makin’ out and shit. Is that…?”
“Don’t worry, Raython. Don’t be so worked up about technicalities,” Desmond said. He kissed Raython on the lips again. This time, Raython was hesitant, especially when Desmond’s hard cock again pressed against Raython’s. Their precums mixed.
Raython was so focused on the kiss that he was surprised when Desmond sat down on his rod. His cock slid easily into Desmond’s ass. Desmond mounted him, facing him at first, but when Raython winced, Desmond knew that wasn’t going to work — Raython had to give a reacharound, but he wouldn’t do it if he had to watch as Desmond shot his load onto Raython’s face and chest. So Desmond had to ride him in a reverse-cowgirl position, facing Raython’s feet.
His ass hurt a little as Raython’s cock slipped in, but that lasted only a moment. His manhood throbbed and awakened a tingling sensation in Desmond’s asshole. Desmond winced and struggled to stretch himself open enough gradually he worked more and more of Raython’s meat into his ass. Each inch stretching into him sent a new wave of sensatiosn through Desmond’s body.
“Alright, nigga…” His hand hesitatingly closed around Desmond’s dick, which throbbed beneath his fingers.
Desmond giggled. He so rarely got a reacharound, it was always hot when it happened. He lifted his ass up and down, impaling himself on Raython’s cock while Raython began to stroke his rod. Raython’s thick hands wrapped around Desmond’s cock, which he didn’t need to handle much because Desmond was moving.
It was an awkward handjob, both because Raython was unpracticed and because he wasn’t watching himself. He didn’t want to see his hand wrapped around another man’s cock.
“Does your brother give his man a reacharound?”
Raython murmured, “Yeah, nigga. I think so. He eats his cum,” Raython said. “You can’t tell no one that. Tell everyone I gave you a shitty reacharound too.”
“It is a shitty reacharound.”
“Really?” Raython sounded like he had never been criticized. To his credit, he tried. He sped up his stroking and even used his other hand, holding onto the base of Desmond’s cock and teasing his balls with a gentle touch.
“That’s better, thanks,” Desmond said. Then he threw his head back and moaned. He lowered his shoulders until he rested on Raython’s chest. He turned his head to the side and licked the sweat off Raython’s nipples as he squirmed atop his cock.
At last both men reached orgasm at much the same time. Desmond used all of the focus at his disposal to delay himself until he felt Raython’s rod spray his nut deep into Desmond’s ass. It was a thick, hot load that coated Desmond’s prostate in creamy goodness. It flowed into him in spurts, and each time Raython’s whole body gyrated, his massive muscles all flexing at once, swallowing Desmond up in his arms while filling him up with jizz.
Desmond shot his nut onto his own chest and belly, not to mention Raython’s hands. Raython groaned with the power of his own orgasm — and no doubt a little disgust at the cum dripping from his fingers. Desmond’s load spurted into the concrete floor, while Raython jetted burst after burst of cum inside him.
As soon as he was done, Desmond scooted up on Raython’s chest. He kissed him again on the lips. His body was especially hot right now, its heat seeping into Desmond’s flesh. Desmond wanted to curl up on his chest and sleep there like a cat.
But when Raython felt he had kissed him a reasonable amount, he gently deposited Desmond onto the blanketed floor. Then he jumped up and jogged in place for a minute.
“Alright, nigga, sign that shit. We went well beyond ‘light foreplay’. Don’t put that on there, just sign it,” he said. He sighed. “You best not tell no one ’bout my brother. Or ’bout me. Or ’bout nothin’ at all. Just keep yo’ mouth shut till I come back to fill it again.” He laughed his cocky laugh and wagged his dick between his cum-dripping fingers.
“Okay, sure.” Desmond was too tired now to keep teasing him. He signed the paper.
“You got a shower in this place? Or at least a sink? You can watch me shower,” Raython said with a wink. “I know you want to.”

The Burglar

Desmond is helping out a white burglar when he gets roped into robbing a house, which goes in a direction Desmond never expected! That’s cuz he’s not as charmed by the manipulative Josh Winters as he seems, and when push comes to shove, he demands a taste of Josh’s alpha male meat. Can Josh give it up?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Desmond was glad he had gone through with the plan, but at the same time, he still wasn’t sure if it was going to work. There were a couple ways it could go wrong, ranging from disappointing to catastrophic. There were not a lot of ways for it to go right.
It was a cool December night in Sacramento, and Desmond was robbing a house. Desmond hadn’t come up with the plan, that was Josh. Desmond didn’t really want or need to rob any house.
He was here because he was desperate for Josh’s dick.
Josh Winters was a tall, ropy-muscled young man with a scruffy beard and a troublesome limp, supposedly from the time he “got shot running from the po-po”. He had variously told Desmond he was a Puerto Rican Boricua, a “mostly full-blooded” Arapaho Indian and a Sicilian mafioso’s son. Oh, and once, he said he was the former star of the Ecuadorian national soccer team. He was swarthy, seemingly white but not conclusively so, with a big mess of black hair and an unshaved chin, giving him a scraggly goattee like a pot-smoking goat.
Or possibly something stronger than pot. Josh said he didn’t do hard drugs, but Desmond was dubious.
The one thing Desmond knew for sure was that he shouldn’t trust anything Josh said. It had been clear that he didn’t even keep track of his lies, he kept changing his story because Desmond never called him on it and Josh never remembered that he had already lied about his race (which Desmond suspected was ‘plain-old somewhat-swarthy white-guy’).
So Desmond didn’t believe it when Josh had said that tonight was not about robbing houses. He said, “Don’t worry, dude, we’re not gonna rob no houses on Christmas Eve. I ain’t like that.”
Desmond just shrugged went along with it. He didn’t care, he felt bad about becoming a home-robber (or at least an accessory to home-robbing). But he would have agreed to anything because he was entranced by Josh’s deep, soulful brown eyes and that marvelous head of hair. It was dense and black and unkempt, shaggy, haphazardly cut and just the right amount of greasy. Desmond wanted to run his fingers through Josh’s hair.
Besides that, Desmond didn’t plan on actually stealing anything.
And so that was why Desmond was going along with it regardless of his qualms. He had been craving a taste of Josh’s meat since the moment they met.
The homeowner was in Michigan for Christmas anyway, so it was safe, or safe enough for Desmond.
“C’mon, man,” Josh said. He tousled Desmond’s hair and grinned. “Boost me up.” He definitely knew Desmond had feelings on him and was using it to manipulate him, Desmond thought, which felt creepy but also triumphant because Desmond was flipping that knowledge right back around to manipulate Josh. Desmond was gonna get a taste of that man’s dick and he was gonna avoid doing anything morally venal.
Or at least, that was the plan. But a lot could go wrong with it.
They were on the deck behind the house. The railing was high enough that, when Desmond climbed on top of it and then Josh climbed atop his shoulders, he could reach the roof. Desmond wouldn’t have agreed, but Josh had such a charming grin, and anyway, Desmond liked the idea of Josh pawing all over him as he climbed onto the roof.
Josh seemed to be taking every opportunity to touch Desmond — that was a serious attempt to manipulate him into helping tonight. It was working too. Desmond could see how Josh had gained that reputation: He had manipulated several young men into being accessories to serious crimes and then gave them up to get out of trouble himself.
So Desmond knew he was playing with fire.
“Are you gonna be able to get up there?” Desmond asked. The railing was narrow and tottery. It really felt impossible. Josh seemed to know what he was doing, but now Desmond was unsure. This could be dangerous.
Josh scoffed. “Man, you know, they used to call me Leopard, in my old ‘hood. Cuz I was such a climber and shit, y’know, I bet I could shimmy up that chimney. I’m just doin’ this cuz it’s easier.”
“Oh, wow…” Desmond hoped he sounded gullible enough. He very much doubted that Josh could shimmy up the chimney, and he doubted anyone ever called him Leopard. That was the kind of nickname people make up about themselves but don’t accept about others. Nobody should like their nicknames.
But Desmond didn’t mind the lies if it got him what he wanted: Josh’s toned twenty year-old thug body. Josh straightened the backwards baseball cap he wore as he climbed onto the railing and, nervously, onto Desmond’s hands, then up to his shoulders.
Desmond was just about to tell him to stop, that this wasn’t working, when Josh got the edge of the gutter and scampered up. It was graceless and he nearly fell a few times. It was obvious he had never done it before. But when he got up there he scoffed. “Told ya, man. Like a leopard.” He extended one hand and pulled Desmond up onto the roof too.
It was cold up here, and windy. Desmond walked with him to the chimney. Josh’s ass filled out his low-hanging jeans nicely, and Desmond found it difficult to tear his eyes away from those perky round cheeks.
“Man, I swear, I once forgot to check the chimney befo’ I climbed in, and yo, you best believe I got stuck in there. Thought I was gonna die for sure, man, fo’ real,” he said. “So I learned you gotta check it first.” He tossed a pebble into the chimney and grinned when it audibly landed all the way on the floor. “Alright, see, this is a good chimney. Let’s get in there, man.”
Desmond wasn’t claustrophobic, but even he found the idea of going in through a chimney a bit scary. He thought for sure Josh would back out and agree to just break a window (why not? This house was isolated enough the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but Josh insisted on the chimney). Luckily Josh went in first.
He slipped in feet first and landed with a loud oomph. He toppled forward out of the fireplace. Clouds of ash flew everywhere and coated the living room.
“Come on, man, jump on down,” Josh called out to him amid his loud coughing. The coughs turned into aggressive hacks, which was way too loud. It would have been quieter to shatter a window, Desmond thought. Going in through the chimney was a dumbass plan.
Desmond took a deep breath and did it. He had been expecting tons of time to feel claustrophobic, but of course it actually only took a fraction of a second to fall. The only difficult part was the cloud of ash that coated his face, lungs and eyes. He coughed violently for several minutes before recovering.
By then, Josh was already ransacking the house, running through the living room and kitchen, opening cabinets and doors in search of valuables. He cursed as he did. “Man, there ain’t shit here. Get to lootin’, man, while the lootin’ is good!”
Desmond already knew that there were no worthwhile things here to steal. All the valuables were gone from this house. Josh collected a few dishes he thought looked fancy — they weren’t, he just assumed any dish was probably worth money if it wasn’t made of plastic or paper and didn’t have any logos or fictional characters on it. He found some ordinary ceramic plates with blue flowers on the rim and a gravy boat with French words on it (French, he thought, was classy, so anything with French on it was probably worth something).
Now that he was in, Desmond was less nervous. He could still get caught, of course, but he had gotten through the hardest part. He watched Josh run around the house, cursing at the lack of pawn-able goods. “Man, fuck this place! They ain’t even got a nice TV! No X-Box!”
“How’s the upstairs?” Desmond asked, following slowly after him.
Josh sucked on his teeth, hurrying away from Desmond but calling out to him the whole time. “This place is fucked, dude. They must-a took everything with ’em, man, that sucks! I ain’t found shit!”
“Oh, that’s too bad…” Desmond said. He found Josh throwing clothes out of the dresser in the master bedroom. He had a bottle of loose change in his arms — maybe fifteen dollars worth — that he had found in the closet. He was hoping to find more hidden in the dresser drawers.
“That pisses me off!” Josh shouted. His face grew ruddy, and Desmond got nervous. Had he miscalculated? Josh punched the wall hard enough to make a hole, and he dropped the jar of change. It shattered, coins flying across the carpet. “I oughta fuckin’ slit their goddamn throats!”
Well damn, Desmond thought, that was an escalation.
“Hey, I found something good downstairs,” Desmond said, chewing on his lip as he came closer to Josh Winters. He decided to move his plan forward. He dropped to his knees and scooted to kneel right in front of Josh.
“What? What was it? Lemme see, I’ll tell you if it’s worth anything,” Josh said. He frowned in confusion at Desmond kneeling in front of him. “I got that ‘ppraising shit down. You know that? ‘ppraising?” It was apparent Josh had just learned the word appraising, thought it was obscure and didn’t quite know how to pronounce it.
Now that he was closer, Desmond grinned up at Josh. “I’ll show you what I found downstairs if you let me do something.”
Josh looked at him warily. “Like what?”
“Let me taste your dick,” Desmond said. “Let me jack you off.” He grabbed for the waist of Josh’s jeans.
“What, really?”
Desmond nodded. Josh shifted his weight between his feet and cleared his throat. Desmond said, “Yeah, really. I can swallow you to the root. I can swallow anything,” he said.
When Josh sighed as though this was a huge imposition, Desmond unzipped his pants and let them fall to his knees. A thick uncut cock popped out, which Josh rearranged to more completely come out of the fly of his boxers, because at first it didn’t look very long, concealed by the fabric. Then he snorted like he didn’t care about Desmond looking at his dick. He swayed his hips, making his cock slap Desmond in the cheek.
“Man, you know you gotta pay me if you wanna take a swing on my dick,” Josh said with exaggerated reluctance. It was very obvious that he was going to say yes and just wanted to negotiate a good price. He looked around as though there might be an audience.
But there was no one to impress.
“Please…” Desmond smacked his lips, and he gingerly handled Josh’s dick. It was sweaty and clammy, and it twitched in Desmond’s grip. Josh must be horny, he thought.
“I ain’t into that shit. You better offer good money.” Josh looked down at his dick in Desmond’s hand as though he didn’t get how it ended up there.
Desmond shrugged. He stood up and straightened his shirt. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just keep that thing I found downstairs.”
“What was it?”
Desmond got up stretched his legs. He yawned. “It doesn’t matter, it’s mine and I’ll only have it for awhile, until I make it to the pawnshop tomorrow. If you’re done, let’s go.” He took a few steps as though going to leave. He walked away from Josh Winters’s, who stood there with his cock protruding, waiting to be serviced.
“Man, what is it! What’d you find? I searched the whole main floor.” He scowled, his charming face gone. He wasn’t used to people telling him no.
“Let me taste your dick.” Desmond crossed his arms over his chest.
Josh’s cock was still out, dangling between his legs, in front of his fashionably saggy jeans. His square jaw worked up and down like he was chewing on his tongue. He was just slightly scruffy, the beard hairs extending down under the fabric of his shirt. Josh scoffed and clucked his tongue. “Man… How much is it worth?”
“It’s worth precisely one session of me tasting your dick. Taxes and fees may apply.”
“No, I mean the thing you found, how much is it worth in dollars!”
“I won’t know until I make it to the pawnshop. Until then, it’s an unknowable mystery,” Desmond said. “There are several economic theories of value, Josh. For example, Karl Marx promoted the labor theory of value, in which the price of an object is determined by the labor that went into it.” Desmond smiled at Josh’s furrowed brow. “So by that measure, this item is by definition worth the amount of work you’re willing to put in for it.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it’s worth less than that, and I’ll see what theory of value they prefer at the pawnshop.”
“Man, fuck you!” Josh threw his hands in the air. His dick jiggled and swayed. “Man, you owe me! I let you in on this job!”
“This job ain’t worth jack-shit!”
Josh shuffled out of the room, scoffing, rolling his eyes, his dick still out through the fly of his boxers, but his jeans were around his ankles. He didn’t seem to notice his veiny shaft bouncing with every step he took — he had a very animated gait right now because he was upset. He punched another hole in the wall. “Fuck you!”
“You wouldn’t even have found this place if it wasn’t for me,” Desmond said. He followed Josh into the hall.
“This place ain’t worth jack-shit!” Josh said. “C’mon, you gotta give it to me. What is it?” He turned around and came closer to Desmond. He reached into Desmond’s pockets and emptied them. Desmond just giggled as though Josh was flirting with him. Josh let go. “Man…”
“I didn’t put it in my pocket because I knew you would search me to steal it. And it’s not something that fits comfortably in a pocket. Just let me taste your dick. And stick me, you gotta stick it in my ass too,” Desmond said.
“Man… That ain’t what you said before. And that’s gross. I don’t even do that in prison.”
“The price keeps going up, Josh. Inflation,” Desmond said. “So I suggest you agree now.” He casually walked towards the stairs. “I think I’m about ready to head home and hit the hay. I wanna be well-rested for my trip to the pawnshop tomorrow.”
“Man… ain’t there someone else…? I could get you Jake? He’ll let anyone swing on his dick, even this old fat lady with saggy-“
“That’s cuz Jake is fat and smells like cheese,” Desmond said. “I want you. No substitutions, unless you have access to 1980s-era Tom Cruise.” He paused. “Just so you know, I can swallow your whole cock, and I have an ass like that fat slut you hang out with wouldn’t believe.”
“She ain’t fat.”
“Well she sure as shit ain’t skinny.”
“And she ain’t a slut-“
“Josh, I know very well you’ll fuck any chick who picks up the bullshit you plop in front of them,” Desmond said. “I’m willing to pick that bullshit up myself, but I’m not going to pretend it’s a rhododendron.”
Josh’s harsh, judgmental eyes glared at Desmond. Finally he spat vituperously, “what’s a fucking rhododendron?”
“It’s a flower, Josh. There’s one in the front yard.” Desmond sunk to his knees. “You can just say yes, I know you’re going to do it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you lie like a dead cat, Josh, and you can just lie about this. You can tell people it didn’t happen,” Desmond said. “And as far as you’re concerned, if no one can prove it happened, it didn’t.”
Josh’s eyes twinkled. “Fine. But this thing better be worth some cash.”
“It’s not,” Desmond said. He put the cocktip in his mouth, made eye contact with Josh’s sullen face and started licking his dick. He picked it up and let the thickness of it flop onto his face, while Desmond ran his tongue up and down the shaft. He slurped the sweat of the root.
“What?”
“I don’t want to mislead you, Josh. You’ll struggle to exchange this item for cash,” Desmond said.
“Man, I swear, I’ll kick your fucking ass if there ain’t nothing,” he said. “I swear to Christ. I swear on my mama’s grave, I swear on-“
Desmond pulled the cock out of his mouth for a moment. “First of all, you can stop listing things you’ll swear on. Secondly, I know your mother. I broke a five-dollar bill for her so she could put a dollar in a stripper’s jockstrap last weekend. She knows perfectly well you’re not a gigolo, you know. You’re not as good of a liar as you think are.”
“Man… Just shut up and get back to ya business.”
“I’m pretty sure actual gigolos don’t brag to their mom about it-“
“Shut up!”
“And they don’t get their moms to pay their health insurance either-“
“I am about to knock your fucking head off, dude!”
“It’s the Christmas spirit!”
“What?” Josh flopped his hard cock over Desmond’s face, leaving a trail of precum.
“That’s the thing I found down here, that I was going to give you when we’re done,” Desmond said. “I found the Christmas spirit. It doesn’t have a monetary value.”
“Man…”
“I’m just telling you because I bet you’re going to want to finish this, right? Because you’re desperate to blow a nut? Even though you’re not going to get anything out of it but a ‘Merry Christmas’?” Desmond giggled. “That fat chick isn’t putting out, huh? Probably because you taste like a loser.” He turned around, dropped his pants and stuck his ass in the air. “Are you gonna stick it in me? Or go home and masturbate alone?”
Josh paused, then straddled Desmond’s ass. He grabbed Desmond by the back of the neck. “Man… I’m stickin’ you cuz real gangstas don’t let theyself get blue-balled.”
“The only thing you stole tonight was that jar of loose change and you broke that,” Desmond said as Josh wedged his dick between his cheeks. “Real gangstas don’t fail to steal loose change. 7-11 gives loose change away for free-“
“Fuck you!” Josh said, drilling his cock in, moving like he was on autopilot — if Desmond hadn’t pissed him off, he would have delayed, but as it was, his mostly hard dick rammed right into Desmond’s booty. As if he had been waiting for this moment, he sighed. His anger and frustration dissipated, and he sighed. His hot breath condensed on the back of Desmond’s head.
Desmond sucked in his breath as he reached behind himself to stretch his cheeks open.
From his awkwardness at penetrating, Desmond gathered that Josh had never had anal sex with a woman before, though he had definitely purported otherwise several times. He humped desperately now, slamming his still-clothed body into Desmond over and over from every angle, making Desmond wince and squirm.
Desmond didn’t mind a little pain and discomfort. It made the pleasure even better, and he didn’t mind Josh’s personality too much either — with a dimpled handsome face like that, he could forgive a lot. He got even handsomer the more frustrated he became too. That was nice. Women wouldn’t be able to look past his personality and fuck him anyway, but on the other hand, women were less perceptive of his personality and were likely to take his charm at face value. Desmond, on the other hand, didn’t have to like or be liked by the men whose bodies he worshipped. He was fine with letting a jerk ramrod him up the ass.
“You don’t have to go easy on me,” Desmond said, giggling as that made Josh roar and smack his cheeks. His cock was moving back and forth in Desmond’s ass, each stroke of it sending spasms of pleasure to rock Desmond’s body. Desmond let out a little cringing moan, unable to avoid expressing how good this felt. “Hmm, Josh…”
“I’m not goin’ easy on you, man, shut up…” Blushing, Josh redoubled his efforts to go at Desmond’s ass hard. He was desperate to assuage his own masculinity, which he felt required him to slam so hard and so good Desmond told him to slow down. But it soon became apparent that that wasn’t going to happen.
Now that he had calmed somewhat, Josh humped passionately, and he even kissed Desmond on the cheek (because he had seen a movie in which prison thugs kiss their prison wives and it seemed like a hardcore-gangsta thing to do). The feel of his closeness behind Desmond accentuated the feelings wracking Desmond’s body, as his cock stimulated Desmond’s prostate again and again.
He grunted right into Desmond’s ear. He kissed him again, this time on the lips — out of habit — and their tongues briefly interlocked before he pulled away mid-orgasm. Cum sprayed into Desmond’s ass, great creamy gobs of it that coated his insides.
“Damn…” Josh Winters’s voice broke, and he rammed with his hips hard, making his next cumwad spurt deep into Desmond’s insides. Desmond moaned as a wave of bliss flowed through him, and his hands turned into claws that dug into the carpeted hallway underneath him.
Cum dripped down his thighs and onto the floor. Desmond shot his own wad at the same time, draining his balls into a puddle beneath him while jet after jet of juice filled up his ass, his whole body tightening up as one of the most potent orgasms of his life hit him hard. Josh kept going until most of his wad had slipped out in a frothy mess that coated Desmond’s ass and slipped out on the carpet below.
“Goddamn…” Desmond said, sighing. He pulled away from Josh, who gasped when his cock finally came out. It was soaked in his jizz, which dripped down between Desmond’s legs. Desmond giggled as he was overcome with desire, while Josh simply grunted as though he barely approved of what just happened.
Josh rolled over onto the floor on his back. His dick flopped, half-hard but rapidly limpening. Josh’s face was ruddy and calm, like he was about to go to sleep. He lay sprawled out on the floor.
Desmond sat next to him for a moment and felt up his chest muscles. Josh watched like he didn’t understand why someone would want to touch him. Desmond smiled. “Sorry there wasn’t anything to steal.”
Josh shrugged. He stood up and tucked his dick away. “Whatever. I’ll find someplace new.” He paused and cleared his throat. “So, like… you can pay me two hundred dollars whenever.”
“What?”
“I kissed you and stuck it in you, you owe me-“
“That was not what we agreed to. I agreed to give you the spirit of Christmas, so here it is. Merry Christmas.”
Josh frowned. It was obvious he was used to people who were easy to manipulate. If Desmond had been this willful when they first met, he would have never spent more time with him. there was no point if he couldn’t get anything out of him. Josh sighed. He sat up, supporting himself on his elbows, and he used his shirttails to wipe his dick clean. Desmond shook his head at that. That was not an effective way to get clean. His shirt was not absorptive, and so of course it was now stained and soaked in all the santorum that had previously clung to his cockshaft.
Desmond smiled at Josh. “But you can come over and earn two hundred dollars the old-fashioned way.” He smacked Josh’s ass. “Trust me, it’ll be better than being a burglar.”

The Masseur

Avery visits the New Age healing spot of a hunky Native American masseur known for seducing married women. Luckily Avery’s got enough dough to get a little more than a massage.

Can Avery talk Johnny Redcob into giving up a taste of his alpha male meat?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read it here now!

Avery nervously approached the trailer on the side of the road. The “Redcob Healing Lodge” was a trailer that had been adapted into a New Age center for massage, healing and enlightenment. It wasn’t in a trailer park, it was just a trailer in a dusty spot off the road. The land was Johnny Redcob’s — he had gotten a chunk of the land from the government when it was given to his tribe, the Towunkim. It did not look like a New Age center. It looked like a hobo encampment that could only attract one hobo. There were tee shirts and jeans hung up to dry, a beat-up acoustic guitar slowly rotting in the rain and a dismal arrangement of mismatched lawn furniture.
New Age culture was not Avery’s cup of tea, so the lack of an authentic New Age vibe was not a problem for him. More than one of his friends had gone the New Age route. He never saw the appeal. It seemed like bullshit to him, or considering that he was in New Mexico, maybe he should say it seemed like muleshit to him. His friends swore that positive visualization and crystal energy would get him into a more exciting, successful life.
But in the end, Avery had found success with a massage parlor back in West Virginia, and he used the real world, the “old” age, to do it. His friends were still meditating on crystal balls and promising themselves a glorious future. Meanwhile Avery was opening a new location and looking into a flower shop as well.
When Avery knocked on the rickety door to the trailer, he heard shuffling from inside. Something clattered to the floor.
“Hang on, Nancy! I’ll be right there!”
The door opened. Johnny Redcob was shirtless, exactly as he had been described to Avery: a tan-horse stallion, broad-shouldered, bronzed like a sun-aged statue, flat belly rippling with muscle, long flowing hair extending well past his smooth neck. He smelled of sunshine and sagegrass, and his caramel brown eyes sent a thrill up Avery’s spine.
“Oh. You’re not Nancy.” His voice was low and rumbling like gathering stormclouds of sultry silk. When his mouth opened, a breeze picked up and sent a few stray strands of his hair aloft. The wind smelled of meadows and leaf litter, a heady mixture of sunshiney brightness and earthy rot. Johnny Redcob frowned at Avery and ran his fingers through his hair.
“No, sorry, I’m Avery Flowers,” he said. “I heard you give a mean massage. I can pay. What’s your normal rate? Two hundred dollars? Here.” He handed over the money before Johnny Redcob could answer.
Johnny Redcob frowned again, but Avery smiled like he didn’t notice. Avery knew very well what was going on here. Johnny Redcob purported to be a New Age healer and masseur, but that was almost entirely a cover for his real passion: seducing married, mainly white, women. Nancy must have been his latest conquest, Avery thought.
When Johnny Redcob did accept real money in exchange for an actual massage — as opposed to just using that as an excuse to get a woman away from her husband — he did not charge anywhere’s near two hundred dollars. That was a deliberate choice on Avery’s part, to make sure that Johnny Redcob would let him in. Avery could afford it.
“Yes. That is correct,” Johnny Redcob said, his voice flat and grim. “Two hundred dollars. That is my normal rate.” He paused, then angled his body away. “Come in.”
There were a few beads of sweat clinging to his chest. He inhaled deeply of the man’s musky scent as he walked in. It was nose-wrinkling, fresh yet dirty, stale and clean and sweet all at once. It made Avery want to lick his broad chest clean. Inside the trailer, it smelled like incense, with potent clouds of patchouli and sweetgrass filling the air.
“So, Johnny, do you do good business here?”
He scoffed. “It is okay.” He washed his hands at the sink, then relit an incense stick that had gone out. He set up a fold-out massage table and motioned for Avery to climb up it. “Take off your shirt,” he said. “And your pants if you wish for me to massage your thighs as well.” He frowned like he hoped Avery would decline a thigh massage.
“I do,” Avery said. “Thanks so much for this, by the way. I’m traveling through New Mexico and my normal massage guy is back in West Virginia.” A long silence drifted through the trailer like a tumbleweed as Avery took his clothes off. He felt skinny and weak in comparison to Johnny, whose muscles shifted with every step he took, as though it required every scrap of muscle he had to take a single step. Johnny Redcob seemed oversized in the cramped trailer, like he had been built for one much bigger than this.
Johnny Redcob turned on a CD player, but what came out of the speakers was loud hard rock. It was a driving, dirty rhythm that Johnny Redcob turned off. “Sorry,” he said as he changed the CD. “I forgot who was here last.” He turned it back on, and bird sounds came from the speakers. That was followed by some slowly rising New Age music, building in waves and eddies, gradually growing to a crescendo over the next few minutes.
Avery climbed onto the massage table. It smelled very feminine. He could tell that few or no men had used it. He settled down with his face in the hole in the headrest. He wore only his boxers, making him feel vulnerable beneath the grasp of Johnny Redcob’s bear-like paws.
The massage was not the point of this visit, but still, it did feel good. Johnny Redcob was hesitant at first — probably because he wasn’t used to massaging either men or strangers. But once his hands started moving, he relaxed somewhat. He had been a trained, licensed masseur at one point; he’d simply let his license expire years ago.
“So, do you share this place with a girlfriend, Johnny?”
He bristled. “I do not have a girlfriend.”
“Oh? A big handsome lug like you… You must have girls? They probably follow you around like ducklings.”
“Not exactly,” Johnny Redcob said. He flared his nostrils and worked his hands lower on Avery’s back, massaging his hips and his spine. “I… I do know some women.”
“I figured as much.”
“Are you married, Mr. Flowers? Girlfriend?” It sounded like he didn’t really want to ask but felt compelled to make small-talk. He also would rather talk about Avery than himself. He was close enough that Avery could feel his hot breath on his back.
“Please, call me Avery, and no, I’m not married,” Avery said.
“I see.”
“So you’re not in any kind of a committed relationship?” Avery asked.
“No. I am alone. I practice a life of solitude and reflection,” Johnny Redcob said, his words framed by the chirping words and swelling strings of the New Age music pouring out of the speakers. His hair seemed always to be blowing in a breeze, though Avery did not see or feel a fan in the trailer. He seemed to want to say more, and Avery waited for what felt like a long time. Johnny Redcob’s hands continued their movement on Avery’s smooth back, while Avery imagined all the things Johnny Redcob wasn’t saying. Then, at last, he dragged a few words out of the canyon of his throat. “I am not a prairie, I am a mountain,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.
“You sound like you need… a soft touch,” Avery said. He turned his face to the side and opened his mouth. “I can help with that.” He licked his lips seductively and wiggled his ass. “I am a great admirer of the male physique, and yours is one of the best I’ve seen. I’d love to appreciate it closer.” He licked the air in front of his face, just in case Johnny Redcob was too dense to pick up what Avery had put down.
Johnny Redcob stopped massaging for a moment, his hands resting on Avery’s thighs. “That is not necessary.”
“Why don’t you see how much money is in my wallet?” Avery said. He pointed to his pants, crumpled up on the floor. “You can have all the cash that’s in there. I’ll jerk you off. I do it real good.”
Johnny Redcob hesitated. His hands hovered over Avery’s upper thigh, very close to his cock and balls which rested between his legs. Avery couldn’t see because his head was still aimed through the opening in the headrest.
A surge of anxiety went through Johnny, who was in desperate need of money and was struck by ambivalence about the strange man’s offer. He had been furiously brainstorming ideas to make money when this man had appeared. So he was not about to refuse now.
He went to the wallet and opened it up. His eyes bugged out for a moment. He had already received two hundred dollars, but now he pulled out another three hundred. He sighed and folded the money up into his jeans pocket. That was too much to refuse.
Johnny Redcob wrinkled his nose. This would not be the first time Johnny Redcob made money with his cock.
“You are just passing through this town? You are not staying?” Johnny Redcob wouldn’t want anyone to find out he had done this — not for free and certainly not for money.
Avery sat up. “There is not much in New Mexico that could force me to stay here for longer than a day or two,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about that. I don’t know anyone here, and I probably won’t meet anyone either. It’ll be our little secret.” He batted his eyelashes.
“I see,” he said gruffly. His eyes were downcast. His muscles had tensed up.
“Do you want a massage?”
“What?”
“Who massages the masseur? If you want, I’ll rub your back,” Avery said.
Johnny Redcob scowled. His strong jaw quivered like he was going to say no, but then he sighed and agreed. He replaced Avery on the massage table, which he was too tall for. His feet dangled off the end, and his shoulders were too broad as well, so he had to grip the side of the cushioned table with both hands so his arms didn’t dangle. He looked like an overstuffed meal. His muscles shone brilliantly, all ruddy and tan, nervous sweat dripping down him.
The lines of Johnny’s meaty back curved and flexed as he got into position. There were still a few beads of moisture there, which Avery made sure not to disturb at first. Once his hands had begun massaging the muscle of Johnny’s back, Avery leaned down and sucked up every drop of sweat he could get to.
It was salty and sweet, a little sour, a lot salty. The taste brought tears to Avery’s eyes. There was something intensely distinct about it, something floral and musky, like he had burned so much of the potpourri-scented incense that it had seeped into his flesh. Avery’s tongue snaked down to the small of Johnny’s back, just above his firm asscheeks.
Johnny Redcob didn’t respond. His back was flexed and hard like stone, and he groaned like the massage felt good, but he didn’t relax even for a moment. That wasn’t a problem for Avery, who loved muscles anyway. He enjoyed caressing his rock-hard body, feeling the warmth of his recently-worked limbs and back.
His ass was hugged by tight jeans. There was no way to lower them with Johnny Redcob laying on his belly, so Avery had him roll over. He hesitated at first as though he was going to refuse.
But then he did, and his strapping chest muscles were just as hard as his back, just as meaty and inviting. Since he hadn’t complained before, Avery lowered his head and again sucked off his sweat where it collected in between his mountainous pectoral muscles. He traced a trail down the center of Johnny’s flat, hairless belly with his tongue.
His flesh quivered and trembled as though he was either ticklish or nervous about being licked by a man. It had to be the latter, Avery thought, whoever heard of a ticklish Native American?! He threw his head back and closed his eyes, while Avery’s hands undid his belt and then slowly worked his jeans down. Beneath that he wore plain white boxers, perfectly clean, made of silk and with the Arrizzini brand stitched onto the waist.
“Arrizzini silk boxers?” Avery asked. He was surprised to see a low-rent healer and masseur in such fancy underwear — they probably cost a thousand dollars or more. “Those are nice.”
“They were a gift from… Well, they were a gift,” Johnny Redcob said. He covered his eyes with his muscled forearm while Avery pulled the boxers off. Johnny’s massive cock flopped out, still limp but inviting and tasty-looking. Avery carefully folded those boxers and placed them on the nearby couch.
“From a lover?” Avery asked. He imagineed Johnny Redcob with some wealthy older woman who showered him with gifts.
Johnny Redcob flared his nostrils. He didn’t answer. He bit his lip a few seconds later, when Avery wrapped his hand around Johnny’s thick prick. A loud groan escaped from his lips.
Despite his apparent discomfort, as soon as his dick began to perk up in Avery’s hand, Johnny Redcob clearly enjoyed himself. He closed his eyes and moaned. His dick was floppy and thick, meaty like an uncooked sausage at first. But within a few seconds, it was as hard and throbbingly veiny as the rest of Johnny Redcob’s shining bark-brown body.
It stood straight up from Johnny’s crotch, the jet-black pubic hair neatly trimmed, his cock pulsating in Avery’s hands. Johnny Redcob winced as though it hurt at first, but soon he removed the forearm blocking his eyes. He kept his eyes closed at first like a little boy scared to watch a horror movie.
“This feels very good, Mr. Flowers,” Johnny Redcob said, his eyes still scrunched shut tightly. He sounded polite, like he thought he was obligated to compliment Avery’s skills.
“Johnny… Call me Avery,” he said, speeding up his stroking of Avery’s dick.
“I would… I would rather not,” Johnny Redcob said. “You are my client. I feel we should remain professional.” His eyes fluttered open. He strained to sit up, his six-pack abs flexing as he did so. He rested on his elbows on the massage table, looking down as his dick which disappeared beneath both of Avery’s hands. He was broad enough he struggled to fit on the massage table at all, and he had to wrench his elbows underneath his back to rest his weight on them.
Avery giggled. “Okay, whatever. I’m going to jerk you off now, okay? I bet your girlfriends don’t deepthroat you very often, do they? Girls suck at sucking cock.”
Before Johnny Redcob could answer — he opened his mouth to say something but was cut off — Avery dived down onto his dick. It tasted like a desert sunset, warm and inviting, with a taste like salty sand until the first drops of sweet and sour precum leaked out. It was bright and clean and it made Avery moan with desire. This, he thought, was exactly what he hoped Johnny Redcob would taste like.
A loud howl of desire escaped from Johnny’s lips, but once again, he cut the sound off. Instead he forced himself to grunt, to pretend he found this satisfactory but not really pleasurable. It was obvious from the cascading constellation of expressions on his face, however, that this was the best dome he’d received in some time.
Hoping to impress Johnny, Avery forced his head all the way down, until his nose collided withJohnny’s dense nest of trimmed pubic hairs. He slathered spit up and down that throbbing shaft, letting it drip down and soak his inner thighs.
“Ah, yes…” Johnny Redcob threw his head back again, still resting on his elbows. He licked his lips. His long black hair reached all the way to the massage table beneath him.
A cell phone chirped. At first neither of them reacted. Avery focused on deep-throating the best he could, ignoring his own choking as he shoved that massive prick down his throat. He loved the struggle to swallow alpha cockmeat, and he loved watching big men like Johnny Redcob react.
Johnny Redcob reached for his pants on the floor, but the feelings roiling his body made it hard to concentrate. Johnny Redcob rumbled and grunted. His dick twitched within Avery’s mouth.
“Lemme get that…” Johnny’s voice trailed off and he lost interest. After another few chirps of the phone, however, he reached down and picked it up. He sighed. He answered it, his voice breaking as he let out a shudder of intense pleasure. The precum flowed freely into Avery’s mouth. “Nancy?” He bit his lip and rumbled, Avery’s tongue caressing the underside of Johnny’s cockshaft. “Hello. Yes. I am okay. I just… I dropped something on my foot.” His voice sound tense and clipped.
Avery loved teasing men. Now that Johnny Redcob was on the phone with one of his girlfriends — probably a married chick — Avery suckled on his cock noisily. He hocked up a big ball of spit, let it run down the shaft and then sucked it back up, making a loud, moist sound like someone trying to use a straw to get at the last bit of coke in the bottom of a cup.
“I do not know. He is your husband, Nancy, I can not solve this for you. Tell him to advertise his business. That is what I do,” he paused and blanched, groaning again. “It is a real business. I have a client here right now. His name is Mr. Flowers. Yes. That is what I dropped on my foot, his briefcase.”
His tongue traveled down Johnny’s shaft to his moist cocktip, where the taste of salty precum was fresh and springlike. Avery moved back down the top of the shaft, encircling it with his tongue and licking the entire slab of meat.
Then he moved even lower. He licked Johnny’s hairy ballsack, and allowed each ball to fall in his mouth. He suckled on them each separately and then together, gurgling and looking up at Johnny Redcob in the eye. That made him blanch and look away again.
“I am sorry, Nancy. I can not talk now. I have a client,” Johnny Redcob said. “If you are busy, you do not need to come over today. I have… I have many clients today.” He paused and sighed. “No, Nancy, they are not all women I have sex with. Mr. Flowers is not a woman I have sex with! He is real! Do you want to hear his voice?”
He held the phone up, and Avery pulled off his balls. He had to pause for a moment to gather up his focus — he wanted to sound like a professional businessman, which he was. He cleared his throat. “I am paying for your time, Mr. Redcob. Please do not waste my money with a phone call to your girlfriend. I am a very busy man.” He added, “I am a businessman-” thinking it would make him sound like a professional, but it just made him sound like a child playing at being a grownup. He blushed. That part, he thought, was accurate — Avery was a businessman.
“Yes, see, Nancy? I have to go.” He was about to hang up the phone, then stopped himself. He whispered as though this next part was a secret. “Yes. I will go to the school, I will see his play. I will be proud of… the boy. I will see you there. Tell your husband I am the school’s cultural sensitivity advisor. Goodbye, Vanilla Tits.” Johnny Redcob glanced at Avery like he was uncomfortable with whatever pet name his girlfriend called him — Avery couldn’t hear, but from context he guessed it was something equivalent to vanilla-tits, like caramel-cock. Johnny’s skin was a creamy, caramel-like nut-brown, so it made sense. He hung up the phone and tossed it onto his pile of clothes on the floor.
“Was that your girlfriend?” Avery asked. He kept on stroking, using both hands. He wiped his lips off. He fully intended to get Johnny’s cock in his ass, but he hadn’t actually agreed to that, so he needed to finesse it just right to make it happen.
“She is not my girlfriend,” Johnny Redcob said. He did not proffer a preferred term to describe her.
“I see. You do have sex with her?”
“You are my client, not my therapist,” Johnny Redcob said. “If you are going to get me off, put your mouth on it.”
“I bet your dick would feel good in my ass,” Avery said with a grin. “I don’t have any more cash, but I can write you a check for five hundred dollars. Do you trust me that it will clear, Mr. Redcob?”
Johnny Redcob hesitated. His dick twitched beneath Avery’s grasp. Johnny Redcob frowned. “I do not trust you,” he said. “You must write me a check for five hundred and fifty dollars. I will take it to a check-cashing place. They will take it. The fifty dollars will cover the fee.”
That seemed like a hefty fee, but Avery had been wealthy enough for a long time that he didn’t know what a more normal fee was. Was that typical for a check-cashing joint? Sounds like a good business to be in, Avery thought. He nodded. “Fine,” he said. Without letting go of Johnny’s cock, he pulled his checkbook out of his pants pocket and handed it to Johnny. “You fill it out. I’ll sign it.”
As Johnny Redcob wrote his name on the check, Avery bent over in front of him. Johnny Redcob got off the massage table, his rock-hard dick sticking straight out. He ignored Avery, who stuck his ass in the air and backed up into Johnny’s crotch. That hot dick rubbed between Avery’s cheeks.
Since Johnny Redcob didn’t respond right away — finishing up writing the check — Avery had to reach behind himself to aim Johnny’s dick in the right direction.
A shiver of pleasure shot up Avery’s spine. His ass stretched to accommodate Johnny’s cock, which was an iron rod of manhood slipping into his tight hole. Avery moaned.
“Aw… I need my Nancy…” Johnny Redcob reached back down and picked up his phone.
At first Avery was disappointed, thinking Johnny Redcob wanted to talk to his girl. But instead he just flicked through the photos saved on it, until he found a few pictures of a pretty blonde woman with big hair and bigger tits, bare, giggling as she posed on the same massage table Johnny Redcob now stood next to. Johnny Redcob looked intently through the boudoir photos on his phone, ignoring his dick sliding into Avery’s ass.
That was fine with Avery. He liked controlling the rhythm anyway. So he backed his ass up, groaning as he struggled to accept every inch of Johnny’s cock. He bit his lip.
“Goddamn, Johnny!” Avery’s face tensed up.
Johnny’s dick was just big enough to be a bit of a struggle. Avery liked that. He loved the slow-melting feeling of pain turning bit by bit to pleasure. With every thrust of his hips backward onto Johnny’s manhood, Avery felt a little more bliss flowing through his veins and a little less agony.
He was so focused on the arduous sensation of cramming a large cock in his ass that when he finally got it all in, and his asscheeks slammed into the solid crotch of Johnny Redcob, Avery was surprised. He grimaced and began rocking back and forth.
“She will never leave her husband for me,” Johnny Redcob said. “He is a loser.” He used only one hand to hold the phone now, staring at it wistfully while his other hand gripped Avery’s asscheek. He gingerly held on. He flexed his hips for the first time since his cock had entered Avery’s ass.
Soon Johnny’s reluctance diminished. He kept staring at his phone, but he used one hand to guide his dick into Avery’s asshole. He moaned. He ground his hips, moving his cock in a wide circle within Avery’s body, making sure he touched every inch of Avery’s insides. His muscles rippled.
Then finally he dropped the phone. He rubbed Avery’s back with both hands, and at last gripped Avery’s thin shoulders.
“You make me feel good,” Johnny Redcob said as though he had thought this would be painful for him. His awkwardity was gone now, and he began to hump away at Avery’s ass like he did this all the time.
All at once, silence exploded within the trailer. The New Age CD had ended. Now the only sounds were the heavy breathing of two pairs of lungs, as well as the faint tinkling of crystals that dangled around the trailer. The more powerfully Johnny Redcob thrust, the more the trailer shook and the more the crystals chimed when they bumped into each other.
There was a loud knock on the trailer door. “Hey! Johnny Redcob! Get out here!”
Johnny Redcob sighed and leaned his chest over Avery’s back so he could look out the window. He furrowed his brow and opened it. “Henry?”
From his vantage point, Avery couldn’t see anything but the upper half of Johnny’s body — that was fine with Avery, who didn’t really want to see anything else. He reached up with his head so he could lick Johnny’s erect nipples, which made Johnny Redcob shudder and frown. Johnny Redcob poked his head out the open window, trying to speak as though his dick was not balls-deep in Avery’s ass right now.
“Henry?!”
“Is my wife here, Johnny Redcob?” He sounded belligerent, like a middle-aged man who didn’t often get in fights but was willing to do so right now. “Is she there?”
“No, Henry.”
“Someone’s here! Don’t you lie to me, Johnny Redcob!” Henry’s voice trailed off then. “Whose car is this?”
“I am with a client, Henry. He is a man. He is not your wife.”
“She’s been coming to see you! She-“
“She has headaches, Henry!”
“I know! That’s the problem! I know how you cure headaches!”
“She has real headaches! Actual headaches! I am not sleeping with your wife, Henry!” He wasn’t moving anymore, so his cock was perfectly still in Avery’s ass. That was fine with Avery, who twitched and moaned as quietly as he could beneath Johnny’s broad body. Johnny’s dick pulsated against Avery’s sensitive prostate, sending shivers up his spine as he endured intense pleasure.
“Why should I believe you?”
“You should not believe me! You should believe your wife. You trust her. She trusts you. She trusts you so implicitly it has not even occurred to her that I could attempt to seduce her — I wouldn’t. But she doesn’t know that. She only wants an actual massage, Henry,” Johnny Redcob said. He groaned and shuddered a bit, but managed to keep it low-key so Henry couldn’t see. He held Avery in position beneath him.
There was a long silence. Johnny Redcob made eye contact with Henry, who glowered at him. Avery struggled to avoid crying out. He had to bite on his lip hard enough to really hurt.
“Your wife is not like Nancy,” Johnny Redcob said. “Go now. I have a client.”
Henry sighed. “I never thought you gave actual massages for money,” he said.
“I… I have not always done so,” Johnny Redcob said.
There was another long awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” Henry said. “Just… Tell my wife she does not need any more massages. We can’t afford it anyway.”
“Yes, fine, I will tell her. Go away, Henry,” he said. He shut the window and groaned. He shook his head, making his long hair move in the faint fan-created breeze of his trailer.
Avery bit his lip and moaned. Henry’s truck started up, and the engine rumbled as it backed out onto the road again.
This time, as soon as Johnny Redcob started moving, they both could feel their orgasms growing slowly within them. Staying nearly still while Henry was outside had sent them both to the edge of their climax.
So from the moment Johnny Redcob moved, they both moaned in sync with each other. A fresh spasm of pleasure rocketed through Avery’s body, making him tense up and clench. His own climax began, his cock throbbing in his hands as he sprayed out a thick wad of cum.
Johnny Redcob rammed back and forth for a few seconds more before he hit his own orgasm. His broad muscles all flexed at once, and he pushed his manhood deep within Avery. He wrapped those powerful arms around Avery’s more delicate body, and he even leaned his chest down, his twitching pecs rubbed against Avery’s back.
He groaned deeply. His whole body vibrated and grew warmer, his breath condensing moistly on Avery’s neck.
Finally a spurt of cum hit his insides. Avery moaned loudly, his whole body twisting beneath Johnny’s chest. His prostate came alive again, and sent a torrent of energy through Avery, who twisted and squirmed under Johnny’s muscular grasp.
“God, yes! Nancy!” Johnny Redcob bellowed, his deep voice echoing in the tiny trailer. He gasped. Beads of sweat appeared all over his chest, his shoulders and his forehead.
He shot a nice, huge load. His cum had an especially creamy texture, a sticky feeling that seeped into Avery’s body. He could feel Johnny’s wad spreading within him, its heat and its savory thickness soaking into his flesh from inside out. Avery sighed and twitched.
Johnny Redcob was motionless for a moment. He threw his head back like he was going to howl, but only grunted. Then he rotated his hips a few times, sending intense waves of both pain and pleasure through Avery’s body. The motion made a big mess too, turning Johnny’s load into a frothy slop that bubbled out of his ass.
At last Johnny Redcob pulled out, and when he did, his initial reluctance returned. He glared at Avery’s ass as though he hadn’t intended to stick him in it. Then he gingerly dabbed at his dickshaft with a wadded-up tissue.
Avery stood and stretched his legs, wiping his own ass off as well. He threw the tissues away. He reached his head down and kissed Johnny Redcob on his corded-muscle bicep, licking up all the sweat that had collected there.
“Thanks, Johnny Redcob,” Avery said with a smile. “Hope you didn’t mind messing with someone besides a married white woman.”
He sniffled. “That is not all that I do.”
“Oh? One of your girls is not married?”
“One of them is Laotian,” Johnny Redcob said. “It does not matter. I will be very angry if your check bounces.”
“It won’t, don’t worry,” Avery said. He slowly put his clothes back on, while Johnny Redcob kept wiping his dick off.
When Johnny Redcob saw that Avery moved slowly because he liked watching Johnny’s naked body as he cleaned himself, Johnny Redcob frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. He quickly put his boxers back on — not the fine silk Arrizzinis, but a different pair of tattered brown boxers. He put a black t-shirt on and a leather vest over that.
Avery was disappointed. He wouldn’t have minded staying here for weeks if Johnny Redcob would keep treating him like that. But Johnny Redcob had married women to seduce, and Avery Flowers had studly men to seek out, so it was time, Avery thought, to strike out once more. It was time to find a new man.

The Barbershop

Desmond becomes an unlikely hero when he saves the day at the barbershop he works in, and he gets a reward he never dreamed of — he gets his choice of men! He chooses his boss, a big burly man who would never bend over and take it… or would he?!

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When the tall Jamaican thug walked into the Cityside Barbershop, Desmond wasn’t interested at first. He seemed like nothing more than another customer. A part of Desmond’s mind realized that the man had long, thick and unkempt dreadlocks — he obviously wasn’t here for a haircut.
But Desmond was deep in to an anecdote, talking to a handsome young man named Lamar as he finished giving Lamar a haircut. Desmond thought that if he played his cards right, he might be able to jerk Lamar off after the haircut.
And then it all changed — the Jamaican man pulled out his gun. He pointed it at Isaiah, the barber who was standing at the register at that moment. Isaiah yelped but did as he was told, taking all the money from the drawer and putting it in a bag. Desmond wanted to scream; he was so close that he could see the sweat beading on the Jamaican’s neck, and he could have reached out to pull on those dreadlocks.
The Jamaican got the money. It all only took a few seconds. He turned to flee out the door, put the gun in the waistband of his pants and ran. Desmond reacted without a second thought. He stuck his foot out.
He tripped the Jamaican man as he fled across the threshold. There was a loud splat as the Jamaican landed face-first on the concrete, dreadlocks akimbo. His jaw shattered, and he spent the next nine months in the hospital. He was still there when he was convicted of armed robbery. Rupert Alan was his name. It was all instinct. Desmond gave it literally no thought. He saw the possibility of tripping the man and did it without considering whether it would work or backfire — a lot could have gone wrong. Rupert could have avoided the trip and shot Desmond in anger, he could have dropped the gun and it went off, he could have gone on a shooting spree. If Desmond had thought about it, he wouldn’t have done it.
But he didn’t think about it, and he did do it, and that was how Desmond became an unlikely hero for the Cityside Barbershop, when all he wanted in the crucial moment was to swing on Lamar’s big fat dick (which he didn’t end up getting to do because the cops showed up and put a damper on the excitement). The whole thing happened so fast.
The other barbers treated him like a champion, especially Isaiah, but the one who was most appreciative was Johnny Cee. Johnny Cee owned this location of the Cityside Barbershop, so he was the one who had the most to lose if Rupert Alan made away with the day’s take.
“You really saved my hide, Desmond, damn,” Johnny Cee said over and over when he showed up an hour later. “Damn… My fuckin’ business insurance lapsed this month. Havin’ cash flow problems. If I’d got robbed, I’d have lost the shop for sure. No way I would have been able to keep goin’. How can I repay you, my man?”
But Desmond didn’t know how he could be repaid (aside from the obvious, money, which Johnny Cee said he simply couldn’t afford), nor did he even especially want it. He was happy to be treated like a celebrity all night. The others bought him drinks and clapped him on the back until they all stumbled home in the darkness of night.
When Desmond showed up for his shift the next morning, however, he was surprised to find the entire chain there, even Isaiah, who was supposed to be off today. They clapped and hooted when Desmond walked in.
He blushed and lowered his eyes. He liked being the center of attention, but this was becoming ridiculous. Then Johnny Cee stepped forward and cleared his throat. He stammered as he waited for the others to quiet down.
“Uh, hey… Desmond, I uh… I was talkin’ to the guys, and y’know, I can’t pay you a bonus, not even a dime. I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I was wonderin’… I’d like to give you something. So, uh, as yo’ reward, I was gonna say… if you want… you can pick a nigga, and he gonna… you know… do whatever, even… you know, take some dick… or… y’know, on the bottom.” He looked relieved to have finally gotten that out.
All barbers looked at him like they were awaiting news on which of them had cancer. Desmond giggled and blushed. “So, I get to pick one of you, and you’ll jerk me off, take it in the ass, everything?”
They all nodded, and Desmond’s giggle turned into a cackle. They were treating this like such a serious offer, like they were choosing who had to take the fall and go to prison for a crime they had all committed.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Desmond said grandly, raising his arms in a long, low sweeping motion. “Johnny Cee, I thank you for your kind offer. And I choose you.” He didn’t even have to think about it. He loved older daddies like Johnny Cee, whose beard was tinged with exactly two strands of gray. He had a deliciously thick body, with just the right amount of meat in just the right places. Johnny Cee was also the only one here who had never gotten dome from Desmond on the downlow.
Johnny Cee made this offer assuming Desmond would pick one of the young handsome muscle-boys with dimples. But Desmond had tasted their meats already. What he wanted was Johnny Cee himself.
Everyone else whooped and hollered. Johnny Cee chortled. “Damn… I thought you’d pick someone younger, nigga.” He lowered his eyes, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze.
Desmond laughed and took Johnny Cee by the hand, then gestured for him to lead the way into the backroom. He did so, and as Desmond followed he squealed with a leering grin aimed at the other barbers.
The sound of clapping only died out when the door swung shut behind Desmond. He followed Johnny Cee through the darkened supply area to a small spot with a chair and a bit of carpet. This was where Desmond plied his trade. There used to be porn magazines around, but Johnny Cee had made Desmond throw them away. They made it look unprofessional, he had said, though now he looked rather like he had regretted that decision.
Johnny Cee dropped to his knees as Desmond sat down. Johnny Cee sighed and smiled. “Damn, boy, you smell like a girl. Thanks fo’ that, it does help. You smell like a stripper.”
Desmond grinned. He wore women’s perfume to work for precisely that effect. Johnny Cee had to awkwardly stoop, he was simply too tall to bend right over Desmond’s lap and be able to take his dick in his mouth. Desmond felt a surge of guilt as he saw Johnny Cee’s face — he looked like he had just eaten an extra-sour pickle, and he hadn’t even tasted dick yet, he just undid Desmond’s pants and pulled them down. Desmond awkward lifted his hips to give him space to work on his pants. Johnny Cee averted his eyes when Desmond’s big brown dick flopped out. It looked like he had hoped that Desmond’s little twink body came with a little bitty dick, which was far from the truth.
“You know… you ain’t really gotta do this,” Desmond said. “Just lemme jerk you off. That’s all the thanks I need. I been wantin’ to taste your meat since I started here, nigga.”
“I know. I seen the way you look at me,” he said with a growl — he didn’t like it when Desmond used the n-word. Desmond blushed. “But I don’t mind. I gotta show my appreciation. You really saved my bacon.”
“Aw, your bacon is sexy, Johnny Cee. I’ll always save it.”
“This ain’t the first time I done this. Don’t tell the others.” He nodded to the front room, where nervous laughter could be heard — they were no doubt whispering about what Johnny Cee was doing in here. Johnny Cee took a deep breath. “I… Before I got married, me and my buddy Mando used to trade dome on the downlow.”
“Really? Mando Ray?” Desmond had trouble picturing that.
“This was befo’ Mando got real fat.”
“It’d pretty much have to be,” Desmond said.
Johnny Cee nodded, opened his mouth, scrunched up his nose and swallowed Desmond’s dick in one smooth motion. The smoothness only lasted a moment though, because he was overwhelmed by gagging when Desmond’s shaft penetrated the back of Johnny Cee’s throat.
“Swallow it, Johnny Cee!”
“Make him your bitch, Desmond! Fist him!”
It sounded like they were laughing so hard they were crying. There was more catcalling going on, but most of it was drowned out by a torrent of laughter and jeers. Johnny Cee often badmouthed them — reminding them of their religious obligations, mainly — when they were back here receiving dome, so it sounded like they all wanted to return the favor now.
“I’m tellin’ Reverend Chandler! He gonna punish the fuck outta you, Johnny Cee!”
“Maybe Reverend Chandler will go up your behind next! He could ram the repentance into ya!”
Johnny Cee tried to pretend it wasn’t bothering him, like he barely noticed it at all. His eyes were downcast and dark as he pushed his head up and down on Desmond’s shaft. His mouth was warm and wet, and it sent a shiver of desire through Desmond’s body. The whole situation was such a surprise that Desmond didn’t get hard right away, as though his body had forgotten how to react in all the confusion.
But as Johnny Cee’s tongue began stroking up and down Desmond’s shaft, he fell into the old groove again — he had been a bottom for a long time, and Desmond hadn’t received dome in nearly six months. He had never received dome from a big burly daddy-bear like Johnny Cee.
His hands roamed onto the back of Johnny Cee’s head. He had thick, kinky black hairs that were cut short, which was unfortunate, Desmond thought, as he would have liked to hold on as Johnny Cee got more and more into it. He gradually stopped gagging, though he never lost that sour-lemon look on his face. Then Desmond’s hands explored lower, sneaking under Johnny Cee’s shirt and caressing his rippling back-flesh.
“Can you take off your shirt?” Desmond asked, feeling uncertain that Johnny Cee would do it. Maybe that would seem too weird? Almost romantic? He wasn’t sure. Alphas had such weird rules about this sort of thing. But, Desmond thought with a sigh, that was part of what he loved about them.
“You feel spermies tryin’-a impregnate yo’ rectum, Johnny Cee? Hope you’s on the pill!”
Johnny Cee lifted his head and frowned as he unbuttoned his shirt, removed it and lifted his wifebeater over his head. He had a strong, thick-muscled body with a hairy barrel-shaped chest, his thick arms jiggling as he paused with his shirts in his hand. He had just one tattoo, the Lord’s Prayer in flowing script on his right bicep. He said a brief prayer, then leaned forward and kissed Desmond on the lips.
Desmond was so shocked he didn’t kiss back at first. That was one of the rules that most niggas at the Cityside Barbershop never broke — no kissing. They might even lick Desmond’s ass to lube it up, jack him off as a favor, taste his cum by accident, touch dicks with a nigga during a gangbang, maybe even let someone finger his ass while he was knee-deep in some pussy.
But none of them would kiss a man, except, it seemed, for Johnny Cee. His burly body pressed heavily down on Desmond’s thin chest as they made out, Desmond wrapping his arms around Johnny Cee’s body and clinging on.
They stopped only when Johnny Cee’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and growled in frustration, and the men in the frontroom burst into laughter again — obviously, they had sent him a teasing message.
“Whatchoo think, Johnny Cee? I know a pimp who’d treat you right!”
Desmond wanted to ask what it said, but before he could, Johnny Cee kissed him again. His grizzled chin was rough and scratchy, his tongue awkwardly flailing about. It was a weird kiss, Desmond thought, especially since he was so much smaller than Johnny Cee — it felt like he was a child again, being kissed by a giant, like Johnny Cee could open his mouth wider at any moment and swallow Desmond whole.
Then Johnny Cee undid his pants, let them fall and dropped his shorts as well. His heavy dick was thick, juicy, and not totally limp, which made Desmond giggle: Johnny Cee was more aroused by this than he let on.
Desmond stroked Johnny Cee to full erection as they kissed, and then Desmond licked his way down to Johnny Cee’s pecs. He looked like he had probably had a six-pack and a mountainous chest when he was younger, but now there was a perfectly thick layer of flesh atop his body, which hadn’t lost a lick of power since then. That was just the way Desmond liked it. He liked the massive meat of Johnny Cee’s middle-aged frame, and he enjoyed the way it nervously quivered as Johnny Cee got more and more into it.
Every fiber of Desmond’s body said he should start jerking Johnny Cee off, but Desmond didn’t want to, even though his dick was hard as steel and already oozing precum into Desmond’s fingers. This was an opportunity that wouldn’t likely happen again, and Desmond wasn’t going to squander it.
“Alright, be gentle,” Johnny Cee said. He sighed and turned around, his pants still around his ankles so he had to shuffle awkwardly. He bent over like a prisoner submitting to his cellmate: he put his hands on the floor and stuck his ass in the air.
Desmond giggled. “You greatly overestimate my height, Johnny Cee,” he said. Johnny Cee’s ass towered above Desmond’s head where he sat in the chair.
“Oh yeah,” he said with a grunt. “Mando was taller than me.” He lowered his ass slowly, yelping in surprise when Desmond’s fingers gripped those big hairy orbs. He grinned at Johnny Cee’s reaction. Johnny Cee winced and turned his head to face Desmond. “Yo’ fingers are cold, man.”
Desmond clucked like a mother hen. “Sorry, baby, lemme warm ‘em up.” He breathed on his fingers, then caressed Johnny Cee’s asscrack. Johnny Cee shuddered and stopped moving, his back flat and ass right at the level of the chair in which Desmond said.
“Make his ass bleed, Desmond! If you ram him hard enough, he’ll learn to love it!:
His skin was marked with hair and rough spots, which Desmond loved. He kissed both asscheeks and spat into the dark, funky hole. Then he dove his head in to get it loosened up.
The taste was musty and masculine, dripping with salty sweat and the flavor of coconut oil-scented soap. It was a decidedly feminine kind of soap, Desmond thought, no doubt chosen by Johnny Cee’s wife. His tongue plunged in to that tight, dark hole and explored it as Johnny Cee stiffened his entire body in response.
A loud, foundation-shaking moan escaped from Johnny Cee’s lips. He cut it off when he realized the niggas in the frontroom could hear and were guffawing as though they had never heard anything like that (which was very possibly true — Desmond had never heard that kind of moan either). Johnny Cee’s asshole bloomed, loosened and opened up all at once, while his dick spasmed and leaked precum even with no one touching it.
Then Desmond stood, ready to begin the actual ramrodding. Johnny Cee breathed fast, tense, and hung his head low. Desmond couldn’t believe this was happening, and he kept thinking that Johnny Cee was going to back out. He stood on the chair, looking over Johnny Cee’s broad, rippling back.
“Uh… damn…” Desmond said. “I, uh, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Well you’re the expert. Don’t ask me for help,” Johnny Cee snapped.
“I know, I know. It’s just you so big. Normally I’d give you a reacharound but I don’t even know if I can reach,” Desmond said.
“Don’t worry about that. Once you get into me, I ain’t gonna have a boner no more,” Johnny Cee said. His voice sounded clipped and annoyed.
Desmond didn’t think that was true, but he wasn’t about to argue. He decided to just go for it. He kneeled on the edge of the chair and wedged his dick between Johnny Cee’s asscheeks, which he pulled apart with both hands.
As soon as his dick entered him, Johnny Cee grunted, bit his lip and threw his head back. Desmond lightly caressed his meaty back muscles, or at least the lower third of his back, which was all Desmond could reach.
He tried to gyrate his hips, but with himself sitting on the chair and Johnny Cee lowering his ass onto him, that wasn’t too easy to do. His dick couldn’t move much in this position. That didn’t detract from the intense pleasure he felt as Johnny Cee’s tight asshole clenched around his dick. A wave of exquisite sensations rollicked through Desmond’s petite frame.
“Did you and Mando ever share any ass?” Desmond asked, his voice tight because he had a behemoth riding his cock.
Johnny Cee shook his head but didn’t answer. He groaned and sighed. Desmond suspected that meant the answer was: not in any way that counts, meaning we did it when we was drunk, stoned, in prison or homeless, or some combination thereof. Johnny Cee’s ass pinched and flexed as he struggled to take all of Desmond’s dick.
When it became clear that it wasn’t going to work like this, Desmond used the chair for leverage. He thought he’d ride Johnny Cee to the ground and just hump him there on the floor, but that wasn’t what happened — Johnny Cee easily supported Desmond’s weight.
So Desmond clutched his thick back and held on as he began working his dick in and out. He was completely off the chair, riding Johnny Cee like a piggy-back ride, just lower down on Johnny Cee’s back. He stayed bent over, on his hands and feet with his ass still high in the air.
Johnny Cee was so tall that he seemed to take up an impossible amount of room, filling the tiny space Desmond had set aside for jerking off horny men. He had never thought he’d use this space to top anyone.
As Desmond humped, Johnny Cee bit his lip to avoid crying out. The men in the front room were quiet now except for a few scattered giggles. Desmond had been back here often enough to know what that meant — they were listening at the door but not talking about what they heard, probably because there was a child in the shop. It was just past nine, after all, so the Cityside Barbershop was open now.
Johnny Cee staggered and bumped into a shelf, nearly knocking it over. A box full of unsold doo rags fell onto Desmond and scattered over the floor. Johnny Cee was breathing heavy, having trouble supporting himself not because Desmond was so heavy but because Johnny Cee was jacking himself off as he took it up the ass, which meant he only used one hand to support his body now.
That suggested that he was hard. Desmond wanted to point out that Johnny Cee’s prediction was proven incorrect, as he had known it would be, but his own pleasure was too intense to stop. The more he humped, the more frenzied was Johnny Cee’s reaction.
“Damn, get it in me, man…” Johnny Cee said softly. He grunted and heaved, stumbling throughout the room and bumping into the walls head-first. The emotions galloping across his tense face were equal parts agony, pride, humiliation and jaw-dropping bliss. Johnny Cee’s entire body reacted to each thrust of Desmond’s dick inside him, tension rolling up and down his flesh from head to toe and back again. His face, when he looked behind himself so Desmond could see it, was ruddy and covered with sweat, eyes bugging out of their sockets.
When Johnny Cee clenched hard on Desmond’s dick, Desmond didn’t know why. He just knew it sent a crescendo of pleasure up his spine, and Desmond grunted so loud the sound overpowered Johnny Cee’s reactions for a moment. But then it was clear why Johnny Cee had clenched down — he was cumming.
That much was a surprise. Desmond knew that most men would get hard when being rammed, simply due to prostate stimulation, that was why Desmond had disbelieved Johnny Cee’s prediction that he’d remain soft. But he was shocked that Johnny Cee had managed to cum while Desmond still pounded his ass.
“Aw, fuck yeah, nigga…”
But there was no mistaking the cummy smell that filled the area, and the intense moan that came from Johnny Cee’s throat. Someone applauded outside the room, leading to another burst of laughter. Johnny Cee tried to cover up his pleasurable groaning with a cough, but his coughing spasm sent a shiver of pain up his spine as it made Desmond’s dick grind even deeper into his ass.
That was it for Desmond, who couldn’t hold back anymore. He dug his nails into the flesh of Johnny Cee’s back while an intense orgasm rocketed through his body. It grew in waves, each successive outpouring of pleasure more incredible than the last. With his face buried in the meaty middle of Johnny Cee’s back, Desmond felt like he was ensconced in masculine flesh in a way he hadn’t felt even when being rammed all over by big men in the past. For a moment, he and Johnny Cee might as well have been one person.
Desmond yelped and squirmed atop Johnny Cee’s body, and he even bit at the flesh of his back when the intensity of his climax was too overwhelming for Desmond to accept. Johnny Cee didn’t even seem to notice the bite.
At long last it was over. Johnny Cee was perfectly still now, stooped over so his back was flat. He breathed heavily, waiting for Desmond to finish. Desmond was still too exhausted to react, so he remained there as his dick softened inside Johnny Cee’s ass. He tightly gripped Johnny Cee’s body, which he still clung to like a small adult riding a giant stallion. Johnny Cee cleared his throat, but Desmond still remained right there.
Then Desmond let go of his back, which made Johnny Cee let out a sigh of relief. That sigh accelerated as Desmond slid down and his cock finally plopped out of Johnny Cee’s ass. Desmond’s face rubbed up against the burly man’s lower back and his cum-dripping asscheeks until he finally landed on the ground on his feet. He nearly fell as his orgasm had weakened his knees, but Desmond managed to remain upright.
Johnny Cee turned around and winced. He kissed Desmond on the lips, and their tongues awkwardly interlocked once again — Johnny Cee’s massive tongue overfilling Desmond’s mouth, in which it barely fit. Then Johnny Cee pulled off and smiled bashfully.
“Sorry,” he said.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’ve got a nice ass, Johnny Cee.”
“Yeah, well… Thanks, for that, and for, uh… y’know, saving the shop,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Desmond said with a gasp and a shudder. They both got dressed. When they were done, Johnny Cee took a deep breath.
“So, y’know, I’m gonna tell them niggas that you go hard but it ain’t hurt too much. I ain’t gonna tell ‘em… y’know… that I jacked off too.”
“Okay,” Desmond said, sighing and smiling at Johnny Cee’s nervous stammering. “No one ever has to know you enjoyed bottoming. Your secret is safe with me.”