lying – Mansploitation

The Gangsta Bottoms

Avery is at a bachelor party when the others guys all go off with a ho. He’s not interested, but the pimp Slim Jay has something for everyone… even when that something is an anatomically gifted alpha male gangsta willing to bend over and let this twink climb on top!

Can Avery find satisfaction from Slim Jay’s diverse stable?

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Read the whole thing here!

Avery was embarrassed for himself because he assumed Slim Jay was a mugger at first. Luckily he didn’t respond based on that assumption, so no one knew what he thought.
He and the rest of Jinky’s bachelor party had stumbled out of Lipsweet, a strip club in Lawndale, Chicago. They were all in high spirits, even Avery who thought he’d hate that part of the evening. He was not into strippers. It was fun enough though, and the other partygoers bought Avery a bunch of drinks. That was good, because cash was strapped right now.
The fresh air was cold and invigorating, but it came with a brisk wind that soon made it uncomfortable. Avery did not like the Chicago weather. It was only October, and it already felt like February. The men he was partying with, including the soon-to-be groom Jinky, were drunk, most of them drunker than Avery. They were loud and rambunctious. That soon dwindled though, once they were out of the strip club.
When they made it around the corner, Slim Jay was waiting. He shook hands with Jinky, while Avery reached for his wallet before realizing that this was not a mugging.
Slim Jay was a pimp. He had dark brown skin, a clean-shaven chin beneath his handsome face, which was marred by a scar — which looked recent — that stretched almost to one eye, like someone had attempted to gouge out his eye. He wore a violet suit and a yellow tie, with a purple hat and white belt, and somehow the clashing colors all worked on his muscular frame. He was flanked by a bevy of beautiful women in slutty clothes.
“Alright, gentlemen,” he said. “Step right up and pick the female of yo’ choosing. It’s all been paid for. Y’all got the bachelor party package. Congrats to the lucky groom. You pick first.” He nodded to Jinky.
The guys all jostled, confused at first, then excited. The best man had paid for this, that was why he was making smirky comments about “not nutting in your pants before the afterparty” all night. What was even the point of all the lapdances then? Avery rolled his eyes. They could have seen a show or gone to a nice restaurant and still fucked these cheap-ass whores all night. Or for an hour or two, since Avery doubted that these women were paid enough to spend a whole night with every man here.
Well, every man minus one. Avery didn’t intend to do it.
The others all paired off with a girl, and they headed in giggley pairs to a cheap motel across the street, the Top Inn. Jinky himself went first and got two beautiful girls, the two cleanest-looking ones in the group. That was apparently part of the ‘bachelor party package’ that the pimp had offered.
Awkward and nervous, Avery hung around until the end. It seemed they were all so excited to get laid after hours of being blue-balled in the strip club that none of Avery’s friends noticed he was left last. Finally there were only two girls left, one rather fat and the other horse-faced, which was presumably why they had been last to be chosen.
“Well? Pick one, honky,” Slim Jay said when Avery was the only one left. “I ain’t got all night.”
“Oh, uh… No, thanks. I’m uh…” Avery blushed. “No, thank you.”
“He don’t wanna, Slim Jay,” said the fat one with a chuckle. “Ain’t you see that? He got a wrist limp as a dead snake, and-“
“Shut up, Bethlyn,,” Slim Jay said. He peered closely at Avery.
“No offense, it’s just not my thing. I don’t sleep with prostitutes. I’m not even… I didn’t even get any lapdances in there. Well, one, but that wasn’t my choice,” Avery said. “I’m friends with Jinky from where he used to work, I don’t even know most of those guys-“
“Shut up,” Slim Jay said. He stroked his chin. “You like my hos?”
“Uh… Not… in a sexual way,” Avery said. “They’re cool and all.” He gave a smile and a nod hello to the thick ho, who smiled more eagerly back. She waved at him. “I love your top.”
“Thank you, baby,” she cooed, the motion of which made her corpulent breasts jiggle.
“Shut up.”
Slim Jay nodded. “You Christian?”
Avery nodded.
“Fine. Go to Room 16. Just wait there. I’ll send you someone.” Slim Jay turned and walked away, pulling out his cell phone as he went.
The fat prostitute and the awkward, horsey-faced girl shrugged. They followed after Slim Jay, who went toward the motel lobby. Not sure what else to do, Avery just went to Room 16. If nothing else, he could wait there until the other groomsmen were done. This would not be the first time he waited for other men to be done at a brothel. Room 16 was unlocked, even though this was one of those motel rooms whose doors automatically lock. The lock was disabled, apparently.
He had just given up on Slim Jay doing anything when there was a knock at the door.
Avery got up from the bed, where he had been trying to figure out the remote control. He wasn’t into prostitutes. If Slim Jay brought him a new ho, Avery was just going to tell her to leave.
Standing there, glowering in the doorway to Room 16, was Nutter, a tall, broad-shouldered black man with a barrel chest and a cocky grin on his face. He wore a powder-blue baseball cap backwards, and a large crucifix was tattooed running up his sternum to his neck. He had dark brown skin that was smooth and creamy, and he carried with him a bottle of malt liquor that he finished as he entered the room.
“Yo,” he said, showing off his alluring smile and dimples. He stepped in, his muscular chest tense and puffed out like he meant to intimidate someone, despite the smiling face. “I’m Nutter.”
Slim Jay stood outside the door, with his arms crossed over his violet suit and purple tie. He smiled at Avery’s shocked face. “Nutter’ll do anything you say. Have a good bachelor party, man”
“Thanks…” Avery’s voice trailed off. He had no idea what was going on. The motel room door slammed shut. Of course, the lock had been disabled, so it simply bounced in the doorframe before settling on the threshold, barely shut at all.
But the door was shut enough to give an air of privacy to the dingy motel room.
“You blow weed?” Nutter asked. He pulled out a blunt he had been keeping behind one of his ears. He lit it and puffed til it had a good cherry, then he passed it to Avery, who took a deep drag. He hadn’t smoked a blunt since high school, so he coughed before passing it back. Nutter smiled. Avery took another hit, then passed it to Nutter, who puffed on it like a smokestack. He sucked down like a third of the blunt in his two hits.
Then Nutter held the smoke in his open mouth before exhaling a long plume. “A’ight… You want me to jerk you off, right? Let’s get it over wit’. You gonna stick me in the ass, honky?”
“Oh. Uh… Okay. Yeah, I, uh… I do that, do you, uh, mean…?” Avery was sure he had heard this wrong. He had to laugh at his own nervousness. This was like a dream, he told himself, you better not get so nervous you can’t even take advantage of it while you can. There was no way Slim Jay had a stable of both pretty women — kinda pretty — as well as this alpha male mandingo with the huge muscles and a no-doubt tight ass.
Nutter put the blunt down on the ashtray on the nightstand. He took off his hat, removed his shirt, then put his hat back on. His bare chest muscles rippled.
“So, uh… Nutter, are you…? I mean, uh, do you work, uh, for Slim Jay?”
“You mean am I a ho like a bitch?” Nutter asked. He scoffed. He stood up. He took another puff on the blunt, then exhaled the smoke directly in Avery’s face. “Do I look like a female ho?”
“No! That’s why I was asking! You didn’t seem like it, like that,” Avery said. What if he got beat up and robbed? Did Slim Jay really have any reason to trust Nutter? What if this was a set-up?
“No. I do not work for Slim Jay, whiteboy. I got cash, see?” He pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. “I got whores of my own, turnin’ tricks for me. Ya dig?”
“Oh. You’re a pimp?”
“Not ‘xactly, but yeah. I got whores workin’ for me, so…” He shrugged as he took off his clean sneakers.
Avery nervously undressed. He was a thin and delicate man, and he felt tiny standing next to Nutter, who was a round-chested, bulging-muscled macho. His chiseled torso was smooth, but Avery could tell it was only because he shaved it, whereas Avery had always been naturally smooth.
“You smell like girl,” Nutter said. He inhaled deeply.
“Uh… I guess… thanks?” Avery said. His dick dangled between his legs. He was proud of it — he rivaled Nutter’s own cock size. Judging from the look on Nutter’s face, he had intended to make fun of Avery for having a small dick and was annoyed to see that Avery didn’t, so he couldn’t.
Nutter got down on his knees. He laughed. “You believe me that I’m alpha as fuck?”
“Yeah!” Avery said. He blurted it out, and as soon as he said it, it was apparent that Nutter didn’t believe him, which made sense since Avery’s instinct was to say no.
“No, you don’t. You just want me to jerk you off,” Nutter said. “But you don’t get it.” He took Avery’s dick in hand and put it in his mouth, for just a second. “See? I can do it.”
“Yeah, I-“
Nutter scowled and frowned at Avery. “I was locked up for a long time, that’s all. I had a girlfriend. I mean, she was a boy, but I plowed her like a bitch and I always call her a her. I-“
“You had a girlfriend in prison-?”
“Don’t interrupt me. I plowed her ass until it turned into a pussy. She grew a clit just to satisfy me, whiteboy, and so I could make her cum so hard her teeth fall out. You believe that?”
“Well… Not really. No…”
“Shut up. I did it, I swear to God,” he said. He kissed Avery’s cock on the tip. “She had a dick like yours. Sometimes I liked to satisfy her dick. It feels good to be close to someone, y’know. Can’t be alone forever. I wanted to make someone happy, ya dig?”
“Yeah,” Avery said. “That makes sense.” He had trouble concentrating because Nutter seemed so aggressive even though his words were not. Avery couldn’t even think about what Nutter was saying. Nutter just scoffed at Avery, flopping his limp dick between his fingers.
“So go fuck yourself, whiteboy,” Nutter said. Then he swallowed Avery’s dick again.
The hostility in the air made Avery nervous. He disliked confrontation. But the anxiety actually made this even better than he expected — in truth, Nutter had an awkward, sloppy mouth. Avery felt his teeth more than once, and he attacked Avery’s dick as though he was angry with it. Avery couldn’t stop thinking about how Nutter could bite his dick off anytime.
That didn’t stop him from getting hard though, and the more anxious he got, the more his dick spasmed and throbbed, stiffening and prodding Nutter’s throat. Since Nutter was so big, he could deep-throat Avery easily, and with just a little struggle, he managed to nestle his nose deep into Avery’s flesh. Pleasure bubbled up Avery’s body.
“Aw, okay, oh god…” Avery babbled, too anxious to keep his mouth shut. It felt so good he stood on his toes and his eyes fluttered, hands hovering above Nutter’s head.
Finally Nutter pulled away. He swallowed, snorted and sniffled. He shot an angry look up at Avery, who blushed and turned his head away. Nutter stood and reached for his pants. He withdrew a bottle of lube.
“You wanna get in my ass, whiteboy?”
“Uh… okay… Yeah,” Avery said.
Nutter continued his hostile glare, never breaking eye contact for a moment as he squeezed lube out onto his hand. He rubbed it between his asscheeks. “You ain’t half the man Ramon was.”
“Okay. Ramon?”
“That was my girl, man.” Nutter spat onto the carpet. He sounded like he thought Avery should have already known that. “In prison. She tasted better than you.” He smirked at Avery, then he shook his head.
“Oh. Sorry,” Avery said. “You know, I’m like… cool with that, right?”
“Yes, you are. You wanted to ram a big black buck, and so that’s what Slim Jay got.”
“Whoah, that is not what happened. I never asked Slim Jay for anything,” Avery said. “You came in here and asked to jerk me off. You asked me to stick you in the ass. So I’m doing it. Don’t get mad at me for doing what you asked me to.” Avery blushed. He was rarely that confrontational with anyone.
Nutter bristled and wrinkled his nose. Then he smiled again. “Whatever, fuck Slim Jay. He’s a shithead. I turned his mom out, y’know,” he said. “She’s a trashy crackwhore.”
“Oh. Okay,” Avery said, slim-lipped and sucking in his breath.
“You’ll go at me hard, right?” he said. “I can take it.” He bent over the bedspread and clutched the blanket there. His big brown ass was bare, gleaming with lubricant.
Avery gulped and spread his asscheeks. He felt small in comparison to Nutter, whose asscheeks were wider than Avery’s entire chest. He rubbed each cheek and moaned at the power he felt in their quivering flesh.
“You gotta get lower,” Avery said softly. “You’re too tall.” His dick was at Nutter’s knee-height.
“Damn, short-ass whiteboy,” he said. He scooted down so he squatted on his ankles. Avery had to sit on the ground under him, making for a very awkward position since Nutter was much bigger and heavier than he was. Nutter chuckled, and his massive muscles writhed in front of Avery’s face. “Ramon was not that short.”
“It sounds like you really cared about him,” Avery said as he wedged his dick in.
“Her!” He barked so angrily Avery didn’t understand what he said at first. Then Nutter said, “Ramon was my bitch. I let her do things to me cuz I loved her, and I needed a tangible expression of my love.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Avery said. “Her. Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, man, get goin’,” he said. “Come on, hurry up.”
Avery nodded and started to work his dick in. It felt like Nutter hadn’t taken any dick in a long time. His asshole was so tight Avery wasn’t sure this would work. But he squeezed on more lube and slowly got his dick in there, inch by inch.
Soon Avery was all the way in his ass, which squeezed and clenched around his cock. He moaned as little sparks of pleasure erupted in his manhood, and it throbbed in Nutter’s tight guts. Avery topped so rarely that he felt weird doing it now, especially in this awkward position.
But Nutter appeared to only be willing to do it like this. He kneeled in front of the bed as though he was going to start praying. His gold and platinum chains dangled around his neck, and his muscles all tensed as he struggled to accept Avery’s dick.
“You gotta relax,” Avery said when Nutter’s tight body started making it difficult for Avery to keep plowing him.
Nutter took a deep breath. He wrenched his body and gasped. Avery couldn’t tell if he was in pain or pleasure or both, but Nutter writhed. He leapt up and onto the bed so fast he dragged Avery with him.
And then Avery was literally on his back, supported entirely by Nutter’s spasming muscles. Since he had no leverage, it was all Avery could do to hold onto Nutter’s shoulders like a rodeo-rider on a rampaging bull. Avery’s body was wracked by intense sensations, which made him moan and groan, the sound of which was swallowed up by Nutter’s back.
“I would give you a reacharound,” Avery said breathlessly. His hands tried to grope around Nutter’s body, but Avery’s arms were much too short. He could barely finger Nutter’s erect, precum-leaking cock. “But I can’t reach.”
“Ramon always gave a reacharound,” Nutter muttered. “She loved me. Like a good bitch.” He took another deep breath and winced as Avery started to move his hips in a circle. That reawakened the bliss coursing through Avery’s veins.
Since Avery just laid on Nutter’s back and ass for now, he couldn’t plow. He just swayed, moving his dick around in Nutter’s ass as Nutter slowly grew comfortable with it. Nutter’s back muscles writhed, his tattoos gleaming with the sweat that collected there.
Eventually it felt like Nutter had grown used to Avery’s dick in his ass. Avery massaged his back and licked up the salty beads of sweat that dappled his flesh. Nutter moaned, his hostility gone now. Avery was able to slowly grind his dick in and out, every centimeter’s worth of motion wracking both men’s bodies with spasms and shocks of pleasure.
“Yeah, stick it in me, whiteboy,” he said. “You got a bigger dick than Ramon. It hurts more. But it feels good more too.” He chuckled but cut off his laughter when the movement made the pain worse.
Avery smiled. “Yeah. I got a big dick. Not as big as yours,” he said. He wasn’t sure that was strictly true, but he saw the wisdom in pumping up Nutter’s pride. Nutter did straighten his back out when he heard that.
Then Nutter’s cell phone rang. He roared in frustration, reached down to his pants and pulled out the cell phone. “Keep it down, whiteboy,” he said. His movement made his asshole squeeze around Avery’s cock. “I gotta take this. You might hear me get real.”
“Oh. Okay,” Avery said, too overwhelmed by passion to think about what that might mean.
“What?” Nutter said by way of greeting into the phone. “Uh-huh. No. No. No. No. No! You know my answer, Coolie. You pay me tomorrow.” He groaned into the phone. “Shut up, bitch. I’m fuckin’ a female in the ass. You wanna hear her croon?” He held up the phone to Avery, who was startled. He let out a feminine oah, ooh! “You hear that, Coolie? I just might hear you making that sound if you don’t pay me — well, it ain’t that hard, motherfucker. Just charge the shitmunchers more to make up for it. If you was a real hustler, you could it, nigga! Lil Bee do it. Rakhim Shockley do it. Wink do it. Nailboy do it,” he said. His face was red and screwed up, his anger at Coolie mixing with the intensity of being rammed in his sensitive ass. He roared into the phone. “You can do it too. Nailboy is straight up retarded, you fuckin’ bitch-ass nigga, you sell that shit and pay me tomorrow, or I will get the money outta yo’ ass!” By the time he hung up, Nutter was screaming so loud it made the light fixtures rattle. Avery was sure people in other rooms could hear that. His shouting made his asshole squeeze, sending shoots of pleasure through Avery’s body.
Avery was perfectly motionless, focusing on not orgasming despite Nutter’s massaging his dick. He was terrified of the argument — he had seen enough movies to worry that a driveby was coming next. But Nutter didn’t seem upset about it.
“Sorry ya had to hear me act like that,” Nutter said, his voice tense and clipped, Avery’s cock throbbing in his ass. “I know street talk makes white folk uncomfortable.” He sniffled. “Now get back to business.”
“Okay, yeah, sure, okay,” Avery said. “Cool. Fine.” He took a deep breath to stop himself from babbling again.
He took his dick all the way out, then pushed it back in with a loud sigh. He got up on his knees, while Nutter remained laying on his belly on the bed, one hand underneath himself jacking his own manhood.
That gave Avery leverage. He worked his dick in and out, and they both moaned in harmony with each other. Nutter had a deep, baritone voice that resonated in the rickety motel, while Avery’s flamboyant lilt gave the sound a musical air.
Avery was short enough and Nutter’s body was thick enough that Avery could plow his plump, bubbling cheeks while Avery kneeled behind him and Nutter laid on his belly. Avery just rocked his body forward, slipping his dick all the way in and most of the way out.
One of Avery’s hands gripped the bed beneath him, while the other kneaded the thick meaty slab of flesh over Nutter’s shoulder. Nutter moaned loudly. Each thrust of Avery’s hips brought both men closer to their climaxes.
His asshole clenched, and the smell of cum filled the air. Avery moaned as well, as his orgasm overwhelmed him. He felt the most incredible sensation of his life bursting deep within his body. His muscles all tightened.
The feeling of Nutter’s orgasm was palpable in the squeezing of his asshole and his muscles writhing in Avery’s delicate fingers. Nutter spurted a massive load into his hand and onto the bedspread. It soaked into the fabric there and filled the air with its cottony-sour scent. Nutter inhaled deeply of the aroma, while the first drops of cum filled up Nutter’s ass and landed on his sensitive prostate.
For a moment, Avery felt as strong as Nutter was — it was ridiculous, of course, since Nutter was easily twice Avery’s size. Avery pounded on his chest and roared, the sound drowned out by Nutter’s much deeper, louder grunting.
Cum sprayed into Nutter’s ass. It was a huge load, bigger than any Avery had ever shot. He just kneeled there motionless, using Nutter’s muscular back for support. He threw his head back and moaned his eyes, his girlish moan filling the air as wad after wad of jizz flooded Nutter’s ass.
Finally Avery was done. But his orgasm continued, in great waves as he felt Nutter’s muscles contract and flex beneath him. His cum filled up Nutter’s body and dripped out, further soaking the motel’s bedspread.
“God damn,” Nutter said with an exhausted moan. “You like that, whiteboy?”
“Hell yeah…” Avery said as he pulled out his limpening manhood. He took a deep breath. He was suddenly dizzy, overwhelmed by both fear and desire — he had visions of that Coolie person who had been on the phone coming by to fight with Nutter. Avery leaned down and kissed each of Nutter’s cheeks, which trembled beneath his lips.
“Clean up my ass now, bitch,” Nutter barked. Avery grabbed the tissues of the nightstand. He cleaned up Nutter’s ass, where creamy white cum flowed out of it.
Then Nutter stood and stretched his legs. He avoided eye contact with Avery as he got dressed.
“Thanks,” Avery said.
“Thank Slim Jay,” Nutter said. He shrugged. “If anyone asks, you was in here beggin’ me fo’ some free crack. I made you jerk me off and then I still ain’t give you none.”
“Uh… okay,” Avery said. He sat back on the bed. He had no intention of telling anyone that, but he wasn’t going to tell Nutter no.
When Nutter was dressed, he sneered at Avery’s naked body. “You skinny as shit,” he said. “You gotta get bigger.” He relit the blunt he had placed in the ashtray before. He took a deep breath and glanced out the window. “Aw, fuck, there’s that Coolie nigga. I’m-a go beat his ass. Have a good time, y’know, wit’ whatevuh whiteboys do.”
He left before Avery could answer. Avery crept forward to the window, where he watched Nutter stride out into the street. He confronted a trashy-looking, low-class thug, and they argued but soon walked away from the well-lit motel parking lot.
Avery got dressed and stepped out. By then, Jinky and the other groomsmen were finishing up with their prostitutes as well. Slim Jay smiled when Avery came out of the hotel room and met up with the others.
“You have fun, man?” he asked.
Avery nodded.
“Fo’ real?” Slim Jay asked, and in the way he raised his eyebrow, it seemed Slim Jay knew what had happened in here. He knew that Nutter had bottomed, and he knew that Avery wasn’t supposed to reveal that.
“Yeah,” Avery said with a smile. “I jerked him off, y’know. He’s an alpha male, a real gangsta. He throated me down hard. I, uh… I couldn’t take it. He’s too hardcore for me.”

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 Prison Punk

Mason is a weak pretty-face white man in prison, his cellmate is the legendary Thumper White, and that means Mason is in for a shock. It turns out Thumper wants something from his prison punk that Mason never expected…

This meek bottom and alpha top are about to switch it up, turning their prison cell upside-down!

Read it now as an ebook or on just scroll down!

Mason Barraughter didn’t feel like a prison punk. He was the same as he always was. But people saw him differently now. Last night, in the dimness of his cell, surrounded by the sheets Thumper had tacked up for privacy, Mason felt like Thumper’s partner, not his victim. Thumper had even given him a reacharound but made him promise not to tell anyone.
Now, on his first full day behind bars, Mason found himself sitting at the end of the table with the other Bloods — but he was at the very end, with a few other skinny white boys like himself, all of whom had the hang-dog look of a low man on the prison totem pole.
They didn’t talk as they ate, and they all ate as though it was going out of style. Mason could still hold his head high, but he tried to keep it down anyway. He was still new to the prison, so he didn’t want to get himself in trouble with anyone. The number-one piece of advice people had given him was to keep his head down. They meant that figuratively, but he was interpreting it as both figurative and literal. Luckily for him, his prison cellmate (and husband), Thumper, was a high-ranking thug who was widely respected and feared by both the Bloods and the other prison gangs. That meant Mason was safe.
“Yo, punk!” Thumper said to Mason from the other end of the table, startling him from his reverie. Thumper was surrouned by thugs with dark faces and grim lips, but Thumper stood up on a jolly stoned-grandpa look. “Gimme yo’ peaches.”
At first Mason had no idea what he was saying, his ears struggling to hear over the din and roar of the crowded mess. Then he nodded. Thumper wanted the canned peaches on Mason’s breakfast tray. Mason didn’t even really like peaches, so he wasn’t upset about giving them up. He really didn’t like being seen as Thumper’s punk, but if that (and some canned peaches) was the price of safety, he was willing to pay it. Thumper had promised not to do anything he didn’t want to do inside the cell. Outside the cell was a different story, and Mason handed the canned peaches to the man sitting next to him.
Nobody was allowed to get up during meals, so the peaches were passed along until they reached Thumper. He took them and nodded his approval down the table to Mason.
Thumper was a middle-aged thug and former boxer, with cornrows and chest hair tinged with gray. He had a big barrel-shaped torso and a scruffy mien to his round face. His nose and ears were swollen and crooked, cauliflowering up like deformed broccoli — signs of his decades ago pro boxing career — and his husky voice sounded like he been breathing stale cigarette-clogged prison air his entire life (which he very nearly had).
The other thugs laughed like jagged jackals at Mason’s weakness as the end of breakfast was whistle-blown, and Mason stood up, peachless as a plum tree. Thumper scarfed down the peaches, then put one arm possessively around Mason’s back. He led them both into line, Mason in front of Thumper, whose fingers danced up and down Mason’s spine underneath his prison-issue shirt.
“Get in line, maggots!” barked Officer Messypants. Mason didn’t know why the others called him that. It was even written on the nametag pinned to his shirt. “On the double, let’s go!” He chanted his exhortations like a drill sergeant, though nobody hurried and yet Messypants nodded like he was being obeyed.
When the line had just started moving, Mason was squashed between the large man in front of him and Thumper behind. Thumper’s hand kept exploring Mason’s back, drifting lower and lower.
“Keep it moving, assfucks. Keep it moving,” Messypants said.
Mason straightened his back as a sharp pain erupted in his ass — Thumper had put his middle finger in. He just slipped his hand down the back of Mason’s pants and rammed his finger into Mason’s ass. Mason gasped and instinctively clutched the well-muscled torso of the thug in front of him for support as his knees buckled.
That finger pushed in to the root, and Mason’s eyes bugged out, as much from surprise as from pain.
“Quit it. Don’t attract attention, punk,” Thumper said. He used his other hand to keep Mason upright despite the weak knees. The man whom Mason bumped into scowled in a way that suggested he would have punched Mason if Thumper hadn’t been there.
“Yo, Thumper takin’ control of his punk fo’ real.”
“That punk look like a female. Why does Thumper get all the girlie-boys?”
Mason walked in arduous pain all the way back the cell he shared with Thumper, though his dick got hard too. It was an arousing walk for three reasons: because of the finger in his ass, because that broad-shouldered young thug in front of Mason had a sexy back overstuffed with firm muscles and because they were all crammed in so tight that Mason could taste his back fuzz. It wasn’t until they back to their cells that Thumper let go of his ass and pushed him onto the bottom bunk.
“Everybody in. Pod clear!” Messypants shouted. Then came the clank and whir of the automatically closing cell doors.
“Gonna plow the shit outta you now,” Thumper said amid the hooting and encouraging catcalls of his niggas. The cell bars provided little privacy, and Mason shrank away from him.
“Gonna plow yo’ punk now, Thumper? Make ‘im scream fo’ me, nigga!”
“Wreck his ass! Wreck that whitebooy booty!”
Thumper closed the sheet he used as a curtain, so once again he and Mason had privacy. The shouting grew dimmer or at least seemed less important when Mason was not visible to them. Thumper smiled at Mason in a way that was either menacing or kind; it was impossible to tell which.
Despite that, Mason stayed nervous. He sat like a bunk tumor on his mattress, shrinking into himself or trying to.
Was it possible Thumper was going to beat him up? Last night Thumper had given him a reacharound that blew Mason’s mind, but this morning, he had been mean all over again.
Mason liked getting “ramrodded”, as they said in here. He didn’t like to admit it because men looked at him weird when he said it, but it was true. He was not upset about taking it up behind.
And he didn’t mind losing the peaches. But he didn’t want to get shanked or shivved or whatever, sold to the Mexicans, beaten up by prison guards, extorting into smuggling drugs. A lot of bad things could happen in this place, and Thumper looked at Mason like he was brainstorming ’em.
“Hey Thumper’s punk, is he in you yet?! Huh? Tell me when he’s in ya, punk!”
“Sorry ‘bout all that,” Thumper said with a seductive growl. His voice was low in tone and volume, and it growled outta him like an underhush. He put his ass-stinked finger in his own mouth and sucked it clean, eyes drilling into Mason’s face. Mason’s dick rocketed to full erection, and he was so shocked by Thumper’s willingness to taste Mason’s assjuice that he didn’t have a response. Thumper smiled. “Outside this sheet, you my punk. Inside it, you my wife.”
“I uh… Yeah, I remember you saying that,” Mason said. He had forgotten, and in any case, he didn’t know Thumper meant it so literally — Thumper had said he wouldn’t acknowledge Mason as his wife outside the cell; Mason hadn’t heard anything about being called a punk. But being a slim, young-looking and feminine man in prison, Mason had never expected to have a manly reputation. He never had had a manly reputation in any part of his life. He could handle the teasing if he was sure he’d be safe.
And he just wasn’t sure of that.
Thumper kissed him on the lips, his tongue shoving in Mason’s mouth, massive arms wrapping around Mason’s body. Mason was so surprised he didn’t kiss back right away, just tightening his body up, and then, entirely out of instinct, he flapped his arms around Thumper’s broad shoulders.
“Why ain’t you… y’know, showing me affection? You my wife, Mason,” Thumper said, whispering so close his breath condensed on Mason’s ear. His burly ex-boxer chest seemed impossibly huge next to Mason’s petite torso. Thumper frowned. It was the first time Thumper had said Mason’s name out loud, and it made Mason shudder with desire.
The fear he’d felt since coming to prison — since his arrest, really — remained, but now it thrummed under a layer of arousal and want and pulsating passion. He kissed Thumper on the neck.
But his kisses stopped because Thumper kissed him too, from Mason’s ear to his lips. His tongue plunged into Mason’s mouth, and they kissed for what felt like an eternity. At last, Thumper pulled away and looked down at his feet like a nervous schoolboy.
Last night, Mason’s first night, Thumper had plowed him in the ass and given a reacharound. That had been mind-blowing. Mason would have gladly been called a punk every day if it meant he got that. And he assumed that was what Thumper preferred to do — at the very least, Mason assumed Thumper was a strict top.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mason said, turning his feminine instincts up as high as they would go. “I assumed you didn’t want me to be all lovey-dovey. You’re really… into kissing?”
Thumper looked down at his feet. “Well… I don’t go kissin’ men, y’know. I’ll let you kiss me, cuz you my wife.” Thumper bit his lip. “I might stop you sometimes. I might get salty wit’ ya ‘bout it, tell you not to kiss me.” He pulled his pants down and flopped his cock out of the fly of his prison boxers. “But don’t stop.”
“Okay, sweetie,” Mason said. He again kissed Thumper on the lips, and again Thumper kissed him back, twice as powerfully, wrapping his arms around Mason’s neck and rolling onto his bunk together.
Then his lips traveled down Mason’s thin neck. Thumper sucked on it so hard he was sure to leave a hickey, and Mason wondered how he could explain that to the other prisoners. Thumper didn’t stop there. He moved lower, licking Mason’s smooth chest and sucking on each nipple in turn.
In the tiny bunkspace between Mason’s and Thumper’s bunks, they were crammed in tight. Thumper took up a lot more space than Mason, so it was like cuddling with a horse. Thumper in fact found it easier to move Mason’s body rather than have Mason move himself, as he kissed his way from Mason’s chest to his bellybutton.
“Oh god, Thumper, sweetie, yes…”
He moved even further down, and Mason grew increasingly shocked. Where was Thumper going? He moved as though he was going to put Mason’s dick in his mouth, but surely an alpha thug like Thumper would never do that.
That was what Mason thought right up until the moment that Thumper lifted Mason’s ass up and rammed Mason’s dick right into his mouth. Thumper suckled on it loudly and Mason yelped in shock. His tight hot mouth encircled Mason’s rock-hard dick.
A sensation of warmth and moisture enveloped Mason, who moaned and wriggled beneath Thumper’s touch. It was more intense than Mason thought possible. His whole body pulsated and undulated against the scratchy prison mattress.
“Damn, shit, Thumper, you’re… uh…” Mason’s voice trailed off both because the sensations was so intense and because he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t offend Thumper.
Precum spurted onto Thumper’s tongue. All this was happening so fast. Mason hadn’t even been erect like two minutes ago, and now he felt his orgasm burgeoning, roiling, deep within him. Mason’s shock made this an especially arousing experience for him, and he moaned out loud until Thumper placed a hand over his mouth.
“Don’t make noise,” Thumper said with a low growl, lifting his head off Mason’s cock for a moment. “Or if you gotta make noise, make it sound like you takin’ it in the ass…”
“Oh, Thumper, please, go more slowly, your big cock hurts too much…!” Mason said, hoping that sounded believable enough to the whooping masses outside the cell. He didn’t think his acting was very good, but his sexual excitement sounded similar to fear and pain, so no one outside the cell seemed to notice. They laughed and cheered Thumper on.
“Shut the fuck up, punk!” Thumper barked. He smacked Mason’s asscheek to make a loud slapping noise. He grinned as he did so, but it actually hurt quite a bit — Thumper wasn’t used to pulling his punches. Thumper sniffed Mason’s ass and winced in disgust or maybe embarrassment. Despite that, he whispered, more softly now, so only Mason could hear, “Gonna eat yo’ pussy, boi. Gonna eat it up…”
“Rip that punk apart, Thump!”
Without waiting for a response, Thumper plunged his tongue right into Mason’s ass. He was so much bigger than Mason that his face didn’t really fit between Mason’s cheeks, no matter how Mason pulled them apart. Thumper licked as though he was eat out a woman’s pussy, lapping at Mason’s prostate and ramming his tongue as deep as it would go. He licked so expertly and so deeply, and without any hesitation, that Mason could tell he was an experienced rimjobber.
“You taste like girl,” Thumper said with a growl, the sound resonating within Mason’s ass. Mason wondered how Thumper remembered that — he had been locked up for something like thirty years.
Mason’s back arched as pleasure shot up his spine. As usual, his prostate lit up so much it felt like he was cumming already. The pleasure suffused throughout his body, and he gasped with every thrust of Thumper’s tongue.
Mason was entranced by what was happening, so when there was a sudden flurry of movement outside the cell, he didn’t react right away. Thumper did. Thumper dropped Mason’s ass, flipped him over and rammed his dick right in Mason’s hole. His burly hands wrapped around Mason’s neck and squeezed, just enough to make it difficult, though not impossible, to breathe.
“Open up, punk!” Thumper barked into Mason’s ear.
Well, this certainly did change quickly, Mason thought to himself. His prostate was already alive with desire, so Mason nearly shot his orgasm right then. The only reason he didn’t was that he realized a guard was tearing down the sheet that gave him and Thumper privacy.
That was why Thumper switched to plowing Mason — he didn’t want to be seen bottoming.
“Inmate White!” the guard yelled, fumbling with his keys to open the cell. “Thumper!” he yelled. “Thumper, get off him!”
Thumper pulled his dick out and stopped strangling Mason but left his hand resting around Mason’s neck and his iron-like dick throbbing between Mason’s cheeks. He frowned at the guard.
“Get outta here, Messypants!” Thumper said. “We’s makin’ love. Ain’t that right, punk?”
“That’s right,” Mason said. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to sound like he was willing in order to make the guard go away or unwilling to make the other inmates think Thumper was still in charge. He settled on willing, since at least that meant this wouldn’t have to end. Mason certainly didn’t want to stop.
Officer Messypants hesitated. “Really? Are you sure-?”
“Yes, I’m sure! Go away!” Mason said, breathless.
He shrugged. It seemed Messypants was not that worried about it. He was glad to have an excuse to walk away. He snorted in disgust and left, muttering judgemental nothings Mason couldn’t hear.
“Least you could put the damn sheet back up!” Thumper yelled. “Keep yo’ ass in position, punk!” He had to get out of the bunk to recreate the curtain by hanging the sheet over the cell bars, amid the hooting and laughter of the other inmates. Mason remained bent over, just as he was when Thumper was inside him.
“Ram the shit outta him, Thump!”
“Wreck that whiteboy! Wreck that whiteboy, nigga!”
Then Thumper pounced, jumping back onto the bunk and onto Mason’s back. He kissed Mason’s neck and licked a trail down his quivering spine back to his ass. He licked it again and stuck his tongue deep inside Mason’s asshole. Once again, Mason moaned and had to cover it up to make it sound like pain rather than arousal.
“Ram me now, boi,” Thumper whispered in his ear. “Stick it in me. I wanna feel you inside me.”
He bent over the bunk while Mason climbed out to get behind him, so nervous his knees shook. He felt like there was some chance this was a big prank, and when he tried to penetrate Thumper, he was going to get in trouble for it.
But that anxiety didn’t slow him down. He kneeled behind Thumper’s broad ass and wedged his dick between his cheeks. He had to stand on his ties. Thumper gasped and bit his tongue. Mason placed one of his delicate hands on Thumper’s broad back and its network of scars and prison tattoos.
“You ever done this before?” Mason whispered.
Thumper nodded. “Yeah. But be gentle. You got a big dick,” he said. He turned his head to the side so Mason could kiss him on the lips. Mason had to come around to the side to reach Thumper’s lips, and his hands gripped his chest. Thumper’s muscles rippled beneath Mason’s touch.
“Hey whiteboy! You forgot to tell me when he was inside you, Thumper’s punk!”
“I tol’ him not to say nothin’, nigga,” Thumper called out. “When he takin’ my dick, he shouldn’t be thinking ‘bout nothing else, ‘specially not yo’ sorry ass.”
“You tell ‘im, Thump!”
“Keep that whiteboy bent ovuh propuh!”
Mason returned to standing on his toes behind Thumper, and he pushed the tip of his cock in. Thumper’s strapping ass was tight, and Mason had to wait for him to relax to get more than the knob in. That was fine with Mason, who could already feel an orgasm approach. Thumper’s asshole squeezed his sensitive dicktip. He kissed Thumper again and again on the meat of his back, letting his tongue leave a sloppy film over Thumper’s skin.
“Oh, god, Thumper, it hurts so much!” Mason said, just loud enough that the men in the other cells could hear. He smiled and giggled quietly. Tricking the other prisoners into thinking Mason was on the bottom was fun, and Mason hoped this would continue throughout his prison stay. Aside from the cramped quarters and lack of freedom, Mason thought, this prison thing might not be so bad.
“Yeah, nigga, that’s what I wanna hear!”
Thumper growled. He winced in pain but smiled all the same. “Shut the fuck up, punk! Take it!” His body clenched down on Mason’s cock, which slid in deeper, and once again, Mason could feel Thumper’s words through the vibrations in his body.
As Mason began working his dick in and out, a little deeper each time, he reached around Thumper’s body for his cock. He gave it a single stroke and was surprised to find it already hard and leaking precum. Thumper’s muscles flexed and he grunted, near orgasm, his back bucking as pleasure wracked his spine.
Thumper punched Mason. From his position on his belly bent over the bunk, it wasn’t much of a punch — he had to twist his body and punch upwards, so it didn’t hurt. But it was apparent that Thumper meant it as an outright attack.
“Oh sorry-“
“Don’t stop.” Thumper grunted. He let out a moan that he bit back so nobody could hear. “I just need to feel a little affection, whiteboi. A nigga can’t be in charge all the time.”
“Oh, okay, okay,” Mason said. He gulped and bit his lip.
Thumper’s dick was obviously enjoying itself, throbbing merrily in Mason’s hand, and his ass had been tight at first, but then loosened as though he had done this before. It massaged Mason’s shaft, sending a wave of sensations to course through his body.
“You gonna have to hold me down, whiteboi,” he groaned, “Lemme turn around.” He laid on his back, lifting his great, trunk-like thighs up so his feet were by Mason’s head. He guided Mason’s hands to his neck.
Mason wasn’t opposed to topping, but he had never done it in a really aggressive way — he had been plowed in an aggressive way, not the other way around. He had certainly never held down or choked a man, especially not a much larger man than himself.
But that was what Thumper wanted, and now that he got started, Mason loved every minute of it. He squeezed Thumper’s neck just lightly enough, like Thumper had done to him, and his other hand massaged and kneaded the muscles of Thumper’s chest as he writhed in pain and pleasure, stroking himself off.
“You’re so wonderful to me, sweetie,” Mason whispered as he squeezed harder, ramming his meat in as hard as he could now with each thrust of his hips.
Thumper outweighed Mason by more than a hundred pounds, so it was obvious that Mason wasn’t holding him down in any meaningful sense. He slammed his rod in and out, marveling at the slap of Thumper’s asscheeks with every thwack-thwack of Mason’s body.
A loud thumping sound emanated from the cell — it was Mason’s lean body slapping against Thumper’s jiggling asscheeks. But to the men outside the cell, it sounded like Thumper plowing Mason and Mason noisily begging for him to slow down.
“Keep it goin’, Thump!”
“I ain’t hear no tears yet, Thumper, so you can still ram him harder! If there ain’t no blood on yo’ dick, yo’ punk can take more!”
“I love you, baby,” Thumper grunted. He grabbed Mason by the hair and pulled his head down so they could kiss.
“I love you too, sweetie,” Mason said. He had never in his life said that to a girlfriend, but he felt he needed to keep Thumper happy, and at least in this moment, it was true. His dick throbbed and spasmed so intensely he couldn’t focus on much beyond riding Thumper’s ass and moaning in a pained way so the other inmates would think he was on the bottom.
As Thumper got plowed, he stroked himself off and grunted. “Ram it deep, punk…” Thumper voice trailed away as he reached orgasm.
Thumper’s whole body tensed and tightened before he shot his load. Thumper grunted. He bit his lip and threw his head back. His hands painfully wrenched Mason’s nipples as though they were a woman’s tits. His dick spasmed and the veins of his shaft throbbed beneath his prison-callused fingers.
Hot cum sprayed over Thumper’s chest and belly, as his muscles all flexed at once. He had a huge load, thick and creamy, and it trickled over every corner of Thumper’s powerful body. It stuck to his salt-and-pepper chest cornrows and clung there, pearlescent and white, contrasting with his sweat-dappled brown skin. Thumper snorted as he held back a pained gasp.
“I know that sound, that’s Thumper cumming all up in his punk’s gut!”
Within a few moments, Mason reached his own orgasm. He thrust his dick as deep as it would go within Thumper, coating his insides with hot cum. Jets of jizz spurted into Thumper’s insides. They both grunted and moaned together. The other inmates clapped and cheered.
His spine shivered, and Mason had to bite his lip to avoid crying out in a way that made it clear to those outside the cell that Mason was an entirely willing participant. Instead he forced out a pained grunt, which made the inmates cheer as the last aftershocks of his orgasm roiled Mason’s body.
“Make that punk yo’ own, Thumper!”
But Thumper just smiled as Mason’s dick grew limp in his ass. Thumper’s big, gnarled hands swept over his own chest and body, wiping up every drop of his own cum. Then he brought his hand up for both Mason and him to lick it clean.
They did lick it, like a lollipop. Thumper gagged a few times as though he was disgusted by the taste, but he didn’t stop, and each time he did, his body clenched around Mason’s soft dick, sending a shockwave of pleasure up his spine.
At last Mason pulled out. Thumper’s hand was clean, and he breathed a sigh of relief now that his ass was empty. Thumper’s horny face disappeared, replaced yet again by thuggish hostility. He sneered at Mason and slapped him.
“Take that sheet down, punk,” Thumper said. He added in a whisper. “Pretend yo’ ass hurts.”
Mason winced exaggeratedly as he took the sheet down. He blushed at the catcalls of the other inmates and covered his ass with both hands as though from modesty. He pretended to be in agony when Thumper smacked his buttcheeks.
“You wreckt him, Thump!”
“Yeah! Whose ass is dat, whiteboy?!”
“This ass is mine, punk,” Thumper said, beaming proudly at the other inmates. “Right?”
“Yes, sir,” Mason said with a grin so slight only Thumper could see it. “I’ll be your punk forever.”