The Debtor

Alfonso is late on his payments, but he can’t let the tow-truck driver take his car away… That means he’ll have to do whatever it takes to keep his car!

Is he gonna hafta bend over and take it from the generous booty bandit who makes an offer?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Alfonso scratched his balls as he went into the bathroom to shower. He had to step over stacks of dirty clothes. He yawned. His breath was hot and harsh, so he brushed his teeth right away. He didn’t like eating breakfast with bad breath.
There was a truck idling outside. That wasn’t so strange, since Alfonso lived above a bodega. They probably had a delivery. He had barely finished brushing his teeth when he realized it was a tow truck.
A tow truck picking up a car. A little blue Mazda.
Alfonso drove a little blue Mazda.
The tow truck was taking Alfonso’s car!
He darted outside, unaware that his dick dangled out the fly of his boxers. “Yo! Esé!” He ran to the parking lot, shivering in the chilly early-morning air.
He tore down the stairs of his building, screaming for the tow truck to stop. All the things he needed the car for ran through his mind — he needed to get to work, to drive to his girlfriend’s apartment, to drive his girlfriend places, to find other girls to fuck on the sly, to go to Tyrell’s to buy pills and just generally to not look like a poor slob who couldn’t afford a car.
So he couldn’t let them take it. By the time he made it out to the parking lot, he had become dimly aware of the fact that he was in his boxers. He tucked his cock back into the fly.
“Hey! What’re you doin’, esé?”
“Hello, Mr. Cornejo? We’re from Deltoro Towing and we’re here to-“
“Lay off my car, man! C’mon, what’choo doin’?”
The tough fat-bodied biker with thinning hair in a ponytail and a pig-like face glared at him. He was flanked by two more big men who crossed their arms over their chest. Behind them, the tow truck pulled the car up its ramp and onto the back of the truck.
“Ya gotta pay ya bill, hoss,” said the fat tow-truck driver, who grinned like an ape. “Car’s gettin’ repossessed!”
“Don’t be a fuckin’ deadbeat.”
“Ain’t ya car no more!”
“Nah! No way, esé! Put that car back! Hey!” Alfonso ran around them, heart pounding, unsure what he was going to do but desperate to do something. He thought maybe he could run up onto the back of the truck, get in the car and drive it away before anybody could react.
But he tottered a little as he got up onto the truck, which gave the repo men enough time to get close to him, and Alfonso realized he didn’t have his keys — all he wore was his boxers, which wasn’t even concealing his dick right now. He didn’t have his keys or his driver’s license or a shirt.
“Get down from there, man, don’t make us call the cops,” said the fat biker, who grunted and held one hand on his belly.
“Man, fuck you! I need that car! C’mon!” Alfonso tried to undo the straps keeping the car in place.
The guy operating the truck’s lift stopped it while Alfonso was climbing around up there, so the car was almost entirely on but the rear of it still angled down to the ground on the ramp. Alfonso felt strong hands on his feet as he reached for the straps. The men tried to pull him back to the ground.
“C’mon, holmes, get off the car! We ain’t playin’ wit’cha!”
They dragged him off the tow truck, Alfonso screaming a litany of threats and insults in both English and Spanish. He shoved the fat man away from him, and someone else rammed him into the tow truck. Alfonso grunted and was struck with dizziness. He stayed right there just long enough for the car to be brought the rest of the way onto the tow truck.
“C’mon, esé, c’mon, ya gotta give me some more time,” Alfonso said. His heart raced. He didn’t like begging, especially not in front of a bunch of gringo rednecks, but he didn’t have a choice. “You don’t understand, I gotta have that car-“
One of the bikers, a dusky-skinned fellow with a neck tattoo of Gothic lettering, stepped forward and grinned. He casually slapped Alfonso on the cheek a couple times, not in a violent way, more like a chummy friend. He chuckled. “Then, esé, you should’a paid ya bills,”
“Man, come on…”
Alfonso kneeled and buried his face in his hands. Obviously this wasn’t going to work. He knew it looked like he was crying — which he wasn’t — but he needed to concentrate to come up with a plan. He heard the tow-truck guys snickering amongst each other, and Alfonso had to fight against the urge to go punch them.
His muscles flexed because he wanted to start a fight, like his body was already working itself up for combat even as his mind told himself no. This was how he lost his temper. Back in school, that happened all the time, and he kept getting in trouble. Being an independent adult living on his own had mostly cured him of his temper problems. It was just on certain occasions like these he found it difficult once again to control his anger.
There were people looking at him. Alfonso hated being humiliated like this. His blood ran hot and cold, his toes curling. He felt like his head would explode. He wanted to shout at all these people to get back in their houses, that this was none of their business, that they should fuck off or he would kick their asses.
But it was important to be focused on what mattered — Alfonso was going to need rides into work. He needed to save enough money to catch up on his payments. He was going to need to do some extra work somehow to make more cash.
Would he have to do something illegal? Alfonso hoped not. Tyrell would definitely hire him to sling pills, but that was not a viable way to make money, not really. He’d be lucky to make ten bucks a day doing that.
Of course there were other drugs he could sell. The only dealer he knew was Tyrell, and the only drug Tyrell dealt was lorazepam. But Alfonso had connections. His friend Enrique knew a coke dealer. Some of the guys at his job did steroids.
Could he really sell hard drugs? Alfonso didn’t want to do anything illegal. But he couldn’t think of any legal way to make a lot of money in a hurry. He was going to need a couple thousand dollars to get his car back, and if he didn’t do it in thirty days, the car would be auctioned off. If that happened — and this was the part that made him furious — Alfonso would still owe all that money. He’d be out of the car, but he’d still have to make payments on it until it was paid off, and he’d owe money to the tow company as well.
There was one person watching whom Alfonso could sense was still there, even as the others left. His eyes drilled into Alfonso’s skull, making him intensely aware of the man’s existence. Alfonso lifted his head out of his hands. Sure enough, he was still there.
He had caught Alfonso’s eye before, during the argument with the tow-truck guys, because he was probably not from this neighborhood — he wasn’t Latino, and this area was almost all Peruvians. The stranger stood out on the street, near the bus stop — though he faced the wrong way to meet the bus.
He watched Alfonso. The stranger was mid-thirties, black, tall, wearing a plain brown shirt and pants. He looked like a businessman on casual Friday (though it was Thursday), Alfonso thought, complete with a thick mustache and a no-nonsense glare to his deep, brown eyes. The black man had a solid, glaciery way of carrying himself, like nothing mattered but what he was doing, which was nothing, and therefore, nothing mattered.
Alfonso stood, looking in his direction nonchalantly so he didn’t attract attention. The strange black man approached him then.
“Hey. Alfonso? Alfonso Cornejo?”
Alfonso nodded and narrowed his eyes to slits. He was still hostile and upset, so without thinking about it, he glared menacingly at the stranger. He flexed his ropy-muscled, tattooed chest. He wished his cock had flopped back out the fly of his boxers again because it was big.
“I need some help with a job,” the black man said. “If you come with me and work for the day, I’ll make your car payments. I’ll get you all caught up. You’ll be able to get your car out of the impound lot. Today, son.”
“Really?”
The man nodded. Alfonso hesitated. He assumed this job, whatever it was, was unpleasant. He wouldn’t be offering that much money to someone desperate if it wasn’t bad. But Alfonso had done some terrible jobs before, scrubbing toilets, getting up at five o’clock every morning, working outside in the freezing cold all winter.
“What is it?”
“Can’t tell you now. Come get in my truck,” He gestured to a large black truck parked out on the street. It looked like a work truck but it didn’t have any markings on it. “My name’s Nelson.”
“Uh-huh.” Alfonso decided to say yes, but he had difficulty bringing himself to actually say that. Aside from being fearful at what the job was, Alfonso was embarrassed to agree like this. No one but some desperate loser and punk would ever agree to a job he knew nothing about from a stranger he didn’t know. Was he really going to get in a truck with some strange man?
If he was a gringo, Alfonso might have said no. But he thought he could handle a middle-aged black weirdo. Nelson checked him out, looking him up and down. Alfonso preferred to assume that Nelson was simply checking out how strong he was, to be sure he could do the job. Alfonso made a bicep and Nelson squeezed it. Alfonso hoped this job was something difficult and arduous but simple, like building a deck (but nobody would hire just one person for that). Nelson grunted like that was satisfactory but didn’t move.
“Well? Come on, if you’re coming on. I got work clothes for you,” Nelson said. He didn’t wait for Alfonso, he just turned around and went towards the street.
Alfonso followed him to the truck. He sighed. It’s just a job, he reminded himself. “What is it? Where you gonna take me? What kinda work clothes you got? Do I need my ID? I ain’t got my wallet.”
Nelson got behind the wheel. Alfonso wanted to refuse to go anywhere until he got some answers. But the prospect of making enough to get his car back today was enticing. He desperately wanted that. He could spend today doing whatever this was and then not have to worry about it anymore. That was preferable to spending the next month hustling up enough money to rescue his car from the impound lot. No matter what the job is, he thought, he could do it for a day.
He got in the passenger seat. Nelson drove off, with the radio off too, which was disconcerting to Alfonso, who never drove in a quiet vehicle. He could hear every rumble of the truck’s engine. He heard Nelson’s heavy breathing, which sounded almost sexual. Alfonso shuddered but hid his discomfort.
This was all happening so fast, he thought. He’d only been out of bed for a half-hour or so. “What kinda work you got for me?” he asked when the silence had become unbearable.
“Hmmm…” Nelson turned to grin at him as he pulled to a stop at a red light. It was still early in the morning so there were few cars on the road. “It ain’t exactly work. I thought we could play a bit.” He paused, then placed one of his big meaty hands on Alfonso’s flat belly.
Alfonso’s six-pack rippled as Alfonso groaned and leaned his head back. He shut his eyes.
“You don’t wanna do it?” Nelson asked.
Alfonso didn’t say anything. He shut his eyes more tightly. “I ain’t, y’know, I ain’t some punk or nothin’. But, y’know…-“
“Nobody said nothin’ ‘ccusatory. I just wanna get my nut off, and I don’t wanna muck about with some female. You just know she gonna talk my ear off, right? Prolly make me take her out to dinner at some fancy restaurant. Who got time for that, huh?” His hand roamed up and down Alfonso’s body.
“Man…”
“You wanna go back home? I take you back now if’n you want,” Nelson said. “And I’ll even give you five bucks to pay you for these couple minutes wit’ me so far.” He handed over a five-dollar bill.
Alfonso took it. “I mean… I ain’t touchin’ yo’ dick, you know that, right? I ain’t into… I mean, as long as it’s me gettin’ my dick wet, you know. It ain’t wrong to get jacked off by some pasivo. Ya feel me?”
“I do. I feel you very well,” Nelson said. He chortled as his hand slipped down to Alfonso’s crotch. He pulled his long, uncut cock out through the fly of his boxers.
Alfonso sucked in his breath, and he wrinkled his nose at Nelson’s callused hand stroking his dick. He wished Nelson was a young man. Instead, it felt like getting pawed over by a grandpa.
“You okay?”
Alfonso scoffed like that was a stupid question. “I can handle some… man strokin’ my dick,” he said. He had to cut himself off to avoid calling Nelson something rude. He closed his eyes again.
“You ever done this before?” Nelson asked. He was driving again, on the highway now. He kept one hand on the steering wheel while his other hand lazily stroked Alfonso’s half-hard dick.
“Yeah. I’m from Peru, we always get our dick wet, esé. So yeah, I get li’l punks to jack me off all the time.” Alfonso didn’t further explain that he’d only ever let them do it when he was very drunk. He was much less comfortable in this situation, in the truck of a large, older stranger who wasn’t part of Alfonso’s culture or neighborhood.
“Uh-huh.” Then he got off the highway. Nelson had to use both hands for that, and when he was on a side street, he drove quickly into the used-car dealership where Alfonso had purchased the car. There were two lots nearby, one wide open (full of cars available for sale), and the other was behind a fence (full of cars that had been repossessed or were in need of repairs before being placed out for sale). The dealership’s office wouldn’t be open for nearly two hours, but this was where Nelson would have to pay Alfonso’s delinquent bill.
He parked in a rear part of the lot, where it wasn’t obvious if he was parked for the impound lot or for the restaurant supply store next door. They shared a parking lot, but both stores appeared to be closed this early.
“Alright, vato, you lookin’ kinda horny. You horny?”
Nelson put one hand on Alfonso’s stomach, and his other on his dick. He had to awkwardly crane his body to the side to face him. Alfonso still leaned back in his seat, eyes closed. He brought one of his arms to his face to further cover his face.
“Huh? You horny?” Nelson gave Alfonso’s dick a good long stroke, slow as anything.
“Not exactly…” Alfonso grunted. “I can bust a nut anytime though. My chicas always say that. They say my dick get hard too easy, ya feel me?”
“Uh-huh.” Nelson leaned over and popped the tip of Alfonso’s dick into his mouth. Alfonso groaned. His cock was only a bit hard at this point. Alfonso wasn’t even aware of that because he was hyperfocused on his own nervousness. That was good, because if he was aware that he hadn’t gotten hard, he might have become even more anxious and unable to perform.
A long low moan with a baritone rumble to it escaped from Nelson’s mouth. Nelson laughed around the cock in his mouth, which rubbed through the dense bristly hairs of Nelson’s mustache.
Nelson thought it was cute to watch guys struggle to get hard, eyes alternating between scrunching tightly shut and opening wide as they watched it finally happen. That was what happened now. Alfonso peered underneath his arm just in time to see his dick fully stiffen up as Nelson deep-throated him. Alfonso could feel pleasure in his dick, but for now, it seemed distant and dim, like it was happening to someone else and Alfonso had some strange connection to it he couldn’t explain.
But Alfonso found it hard to look away because it felt better with every passing moment, as he became less and less nervous with it. A jolt of pleasure shot up his spine, and he bit his lip.
“Shit, esé…” Alfonso hoped that sounded more confident than it felt in his mind.MenWhen the bracing taste of precum hit Nelson’s tongue, he knew it was time to move on. Alphas getting jacked off by a man had a way of cumming suddenly and without warning — sometimes it took a surprisingly long time, some times it was a surprisingly short time. Nelson theorized that that was because they paid more attention to their own feelings than the physical sensations, and they weren’t used to a purely physical orgasm, so it hit them by surprise.
“You ready to stick me, nigga?” Nelson asked. He kissed Alfonso on the neck and Alfonso gulped.
“I mean… Yeah,” Alfonso said. His voice had a nervous quaver to it, but he tried to hide it — a real man, he thought, should be comfortable with his dick, even if it was downlow.
The cab of the truck was too small to do it easily, but Nelson thought that was one of the charms of messing around in here. He always thought it was more fun to have some limitations of that sort. If he was in a plain old bedroom, for example, he’d have simply bent over and invited Alfonso to plow in.
But that wasn’t an option. Alfonso had to help, to get out of the way so Nelson could take his pants down — which meant his bare black ass jutted up and into Alfonso’s face. Alfonso backed away in horror as though he might accidentally give Nelson a rimjob if he got too close to it.
Nelson chuckled and waved his ass in front of Alfonso’s face, then he lowered his hips so that he was crouched overtop of Alfonso’s crotch. He would have to sit, crammed into Alfonso’s lap.
“Ah, oh… shit, esé, uh… can’t we, like… Yo, can we get in the back?”
“We’ll be seen,” Nelson said. He smirked. “These windows are tinted, nobody can see us up here. Besides, it’s cold out there, and I’ve got the heat on in here.”
“Oh…” Alfonso didn’t really like letting Nelson be on top. It would have been fine if Nelson was slim and feminine. Alfonso could have forcibly put him in a good position (which Alfonso defined as any position in which he didn’t have to see Nelson’s cock, balls, body hair, head hair, mustache or the distinctly masculine shape to his hips). Alfonso would have had plenty of room, and Nelson would have done anything he said.
Instead he could do little more than sit there, arms hovering above his head because he couldn’t put them anywhere else without accidentally touching Nelson’s firm body. Alfonso closed his eyes again as he felt his cock slip into Nelson’s tight asshole.
This time, he couldn’t deny that it felt good. It actually felt almost exactly like a woman’s ass. He would never admit that, but it was true — all that stuff he thought would make it impossible to get hard with Nelson turned out not to matter: he barely noticed the kinky black hairs of Nelson’s ass once he got in there, and with his eyes closed, he didn’t pay any attention to the shape of Nelson’s well-muscled back.
It really did feel good, he thought, but he wanted to hide it. Alfonso grunted like he struggled to stay hard.
But his grunt turned into a gasp. Nelson sunk all the way down on his cock, grinding his hips, rubbing to each side. He leaned over and kissed Alfonso right on the lips. A long low moan came from Nelson’s scratchy throat.
That part Alfonso didn’t mind so much — it was normal in Peruvian culture to kiss one’s bottom.
It still felt weird, however, because Nelson was on top of him, because he moaned into his mouth with a densely masculine, gravel-coated voice and because his scratchy mustache rubbed over Alfonso’s upper lip. It was hard to pretend he was with a woman with Nelson’s tongue in his mouth.
His hands gripped Nelson’s hips. Alfonso now opened his eyes wide. He could feel an orgasm hitting him, and he shouted, the sound resonant in the tiny cab of the truck. He was shocked at his own self for gripping Nelson’s meaty, hairy hips. He would have thought he’d be grossed out by it.
But he found no real reluctance in himself to hold Nelson’s body as he pistoned his hips up. He slammed into Nelson’s ass so hard Nelson grunted and bumped his head on the roof.
“Shit!” Alfonso moaned, hands clawing at Nelson’s back.
“Goddamn, vato!” Nelson shouted with a tense chuckle. He leaned himself back, all the way onto Alfonso’s cock, as he sprayed his own wad onto the dash of his truck. The smell of jizz bloomed in the stuffy cab.
“Hell yeah, man!” Alfonso held Nelson deep on his dick. An orgasm finally exploded within him. He had felt it coming, but then it hit him as a surprise, his mind still focused on his shock at touching Nelson’s body without being nervous or grossed out by it. He was glad that none of his friends were around — they would be impressed if he had ramrodded a male this hard, but they’d tease him forever for plowing a bigger, older man in exchange for money.
But he was also glad he did it. Aside from the financial benefit, it just felt good, Alfonso thought as bliss flowed through his veins and he let out a long, crooning sigh. His hands gripped Nelson’s skin tightly, then loosely, then they both fell to the seat beneath him.
“Shit, esé…”
“Hmm… fill me up, son,” Nelson said with a moan.
Cum flowed into him, great creamy gobs of it that flowed through his body and trickled into every corner of his flesh. It was warm and creamy and inviting, and Nelson wished it could have lasted forever.
But alas, it didn’t. Nelson sighed, remaining deeply ensconced on Alfonso’s ass until every last drop had snuck out. He craned his head back to kiss Alfonso again, first on the lips, then on his cheeks, his mustache rubbing against Alfonso’s early morning scruff.
“Goddamn, son,” Nelson said. He chuckled and gave Alfonso a peck on the lips. “That was good enough you could-a talked me into buyin’ you a new car.”
“Really? I-“
“Nah, nah, nah, no, man, no,” Nelson said. He shook his head, mustache quivering. “Nah, I was just kiddin’, I wouldn’t do that. If I did, it’d just be a new used car that ain’t no better than the one you got. Nah, nah, don’t even try that.”
“Oh.” Alfonso wanted to argue, but it was hard to concentrate with his limp dick still in Nelson’s ass. His orgasm was over, but aftershocks still hit him, making him writhe and grunt beneath Nelson’s heavy body.
When Nelson finally slipped off him, every inch of his dick emptying from him sent a new wave of post-orgasmic pleasure running through his body. He sighed and slapped Nelson’s ass with a cocky chuckle. He thought that would make him feel tough again, but that only lasted a moment before he looked down in time to see his dick plop out, followed by a giant puddle of cum that slopped onto his shaft.
Alfonso gagged at the sight. He hurried to grab the pile of napkins on the dashboard, and he wiped his dick off. “You best pay up, esé.”
“I will,” Nelson said. He sighed and slipped into the driver’s seat. Somebody else was just parking nearby and heading over to the impound lot’s front office. Nelson watched them go. “Looks like we’re just in time. I’ll go pay your bill right now. You wanna stick around? You can drive yourself home…” He chuckled dryly. “Nevermind, I’ll take you home first so you can get ya clothes and ya keys and shit. Then I’ll pay the bill and you can drive your car home.”
“Yeah, cool, esé,” Alfonso said. He cleared his throat as Nelson drove off.
This had gone well enough that Alfonso was beginning to wonder if he could set this up again. Maybe he could make some extra money on the side for a long time to come. Maybe, he thought, this guy could make his car payment every month.
“You okay?”
Alfonso nodded. “You, uh… do this a lot, esé?”
Nelson shrugged. “Now and then.”
“Cuz, uh… I’ll be around next month, and I’ll have another car payment to make…”
Nelson smiled. He patted Alfonso on the back when he got back into the parking lot. “Sorry, vato, I’m movin’ on after this,” he said. “Go’n get ya clothes. Maybe we could play a bit more today. I got some cash burnin’ a hole in my pocket. But when I move on, I’ll be gone.”

The Debt Collector

Leif owes a gambling debt he’s gotta pay off, and that means paying the debt collector… who just might have a secret motivation of his own!

Can Leif get out of his gambling debt intact?

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“Come in!” barked a deep, gruff voice. Whoever it was sounded annoyed, as though it was obvious that Leif should just come right in to the Broad Avenue traphouse.
Leif gulped and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked, or even shut all the way. He tried to look as tough as possible. He was a short white hipster with a beard like a fashionable goat and long hair done back in a taut man-bun. He tried to carry himself like he belonged because, as far as Leif was concerned, being seen as not belonging was the worst possible fate. This was a ramshackle building in an all-black neighborhood of Las Vegas — he had not seen a single non-black person for several blocks before arriving here. So no matter how he carried himself, he wasn’t gonna fit in.
Still, he hoped he didn’t look like some punk-ass white boy. A black guy called him that once, and it was humiliating. He kept his shoulders back, head on a swivel, eyes open. Leif Spurling was nobody’s fool.
Well, maybe Nelson Turnbottom’s. But hopefully none of these black people knew that.
He wandered through the run-down squat. Leif had never smelled crack, but when he caught a whiff of that metallic odor, he knew that’s what it was. He had enough sense to know he shouldn’t go asking around for Nelson Turnbottom — judging from the reaction to his knocking on the front door, it was expected for him to just enter and find the person he was looking for. He didn’t wanna fail to fit in.
He went upstairs, because that seemed to be the thing to do. The ground floor was full of hobos. That wasn’t who Leif was looking. There was a baby bottle laying on the steps, along with discarded syringes and filthy underwear. There was a bloodstain on the wall, a big splatter like someone had gotten shot there. It was old though, faded.
“Uh… Nelson Turnbottom?” he said, not too loud.
“In here,” came a very deep, gravelly voice. That must be Nelson Turnbottom. His voice was so rough and sandpapery that Leif wondered if there was something wrong with him.
But Nelson was just big, and he smoked a lot of cigarettes, especially since he left prison. Nelson was in the room at the end of the hall, doing pull-ups on the battered remnants of a bicycle he had set up as a make-shift workout bar. He pulled up his massive body, his broad chest dripping with sweat, counting off.
“Twenty-two. Twenty-three.” He kept going as Leif approached the room.
He was nervous, but he tried not to appear quake. Leif cleared his throat and waited for Nelson to finish his pull-ups. Leif owed money to a white man named Mickey Garelli, and he needed to finish whatever Nelson wanted him to do in order to get his debt paid off. Nelson had work for him or was a debt collector or something.
Leif had agreed back when he thought he had a choice in the matter. Mickey made it clear that this was the way Leif was going to repay his debt, and it did not matter that it seemed skeezy to meet his “boss” or debt collector or whatever in a ghetto crackhouse.
Crackhouse in a deprived area, sorry.
A few drops of sweat splashed off Nelson’s body and landed on Leif’s face, making him pucker and close his eyes. His well-worked upper body arched as he lifted his hugeness up and down, accompanying each pull-up with a deep grunt.
Leif couldn’t believe he had let himself get sucked in this deep. He had never considered the perils of gambling. Honestly he had only started betting on baseball games because it was illicit and dangerous and none of the other hipsters he knew did it back where he came from in Brooklyn. It was scary and authentic and a little weird, so Leif did it.
He only bet small amounts at first, but it turned out he was pretty good at it, and it got him lots of attention. He was the guy who had a bookie — and his bookie — Mickey — was even the old-fashioned kind, an indeterminately ethnic New Yawker, wearing a wifebeater and suspenders and he walked around eating cold-cut subs and collecting money. Leif was deliberately late repaying him a couple times just so Mickey would come around when Leif’s friends were over. He’d pay him off, and Mickey would act like some small-time gangster from a classic movie. His friends thought he was the coolest guy in Vegas.
But somehow he had bet two grand on a Lakers game at the bookie’s in Charles Town, entirely on a whim, because Mickey himself had said he was not sure he set the right odds. He did it without thinking about it, and now he owed that money — Mickey had let him place the bet without any cash upfront.
No problem, Mickey had said, I don’t wanna break your knees or something. I ain’t some small-time gangster from a classic movie. I know this guy, he might have some work for you.
Leif assumed he would have to do something backbreaking, some hard labor that was going to be worth two grand. That was why he had worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t realized he was going into the ghetto, that the address Mickey gave him was a traphouse, or that Nelson was a thug.
But here he was, stammering as he said, “I’m, uh… Mickey sent me…”
Nelson had finished doing his pull-ups. He glowered at Leif as though he hated him, looking him up and down. He squeezed Leif’s biceps and snickered. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a rag. His bare chest gleamed, dark tattoos barely visible against his dark skin.
“You’re Leif?”
Leif nodded.
“What kinda name is that?”
“Uh… It’s Scandinavian,” he said.
“What?” Nelson barked like that was the wrong answer. He didn’t wait for Leif to respond again though. “Shut that door.”
Leif shut the door to the tiny bedroom, which had little more than a mattress on the floor and a trash bag full of clothes scattered around. Nelson leaned the battered bicycle-frame against the wall. His broad, sweaty chest gleamed in the bright light that flowed through the cracked window.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I’m a good worker,” Leif said as he sat. He blushed. He knew he sounded like an idiot. It hadn’t occurred to him that the work Mickey had in mind was illegal in nature, but now that seemed obvious. He wasn’t going to be told to kill someone, was he? That must cost more than two grand, he decided, and hoped. He couldn’t rob someone, right? He wouldn’t know.
He could get two grand from his parents if he absolutely had to. Selling the bicycle would get him close to a thousand. The vinyl and Magic cards were maybe five hundred. Leif was in this deeper than he ever meant to be.
“What?”
“I, uh… I’m a good worker. I can work hard.”
Nelson glared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Mickey said I had to come work for you,” Leif said. “I’m a good worker. I can do — I can do lots of things. I can cook, I can bake pretty good, and I’m a good driver, and I know some, uh… … I worked as a house painter, I mean. Painting. I know about painting. Punk music.”
“Shut up, you little bitch,” he said. “You do gotta work. You gonna work real hard. Do you drink?”
Leif nodded.
“Good. You should drink,” he said. He produced a bottle of cheap vodka and poured two cups full. It was lukewarm, and it smelled like nail polish. Leif sipped it politely. Nelson looked him up and down again, as though undressing him with his eyes. Leif shuddered and Nelson smiled. “You intact, right?”
“What?”
Nelson narrowed his eyes to slits. “I mean in yo’ ass. You been ruint in yo’ butthole?”
“Oh… What? You mean… have I been ruined in the ass…?” Leif said. “Uh… no. I dunno what that means-“
“Mickey ain’t ask you dat?”
“No…”
“He was s’posed to. Oughta kick his ass. I paid for intact,” Nelson said. He sat down on the mattress next to Leif. It was scuzzy and felt slightly soggy. It made Leif sick. “I thought Mickey was gonna ax you. He was s’posed to tell you the plan.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m gonna cornhole you, boi.”
“Oh… Uh, what?”
“I said I am gonna cornhole you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You evuh done that? You ever take it up the ass.”
“No. I don’t know what-“
“Sssshhh… I love cornholin’ whitebois. It’s a hobby I picked up in prison. No one squirms like an intact whiteboi,” Nelson said. He took a big drink of vodka, then put his cup down. His massive chest muscles ripple, and he bent over so he could slowly untied his shoes. “It’s okay to cry,” Nelson said. “Whiteboi tears make good lube. I oughta bottle that shit, sell it in prison commissary. Make a fuckin’ fortune.”
“So you, uh…?”
“You owe Mickey money, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well he turnin’ you out fo’ money. He gonna get paid. He did get paid, technically. I paid him. Mickey always get paid, boi,” Nelson said. “No matter what. He stay gettin’ paid. If it weren’t this, he’d prolly sell yo’ fuckin’ kidney, so you should be thankful I tol’ him to let me know when some pretty whiteboi with a cherry butt needed cash.” He dropped his baggy jeans and his boxers. A fat cock popped out, bigger than any Leif had ever seen. His stomach dropped. Was this really happening to him?
“Wait, can’t we do something else?”
“Nope.” Nelson flopped his limp dick over Leif’s face, and he chuckled when Leif gagged. “You ain’t even start lickin’ yet, you already gaggin’. Open up.” When Leif didn’t immediately respond, Nelson slapped him across the cheek.
Leif opened up to argue and scream, but Nelson pushed his rubbery cockshaft in regardless. Leif choked and Nelson began to grind his hips. He swayed like he was dancing, low-hanging balls swinging and bouncing against Leif’s chin. He even sang softly to himself, mumbling the words to some R&B song that Leif didn’t recognize.
Finally Nelson’s dick hardened up, until it was like a steel rod jamming into Leif’s throat. He gagged over and over, spitting up huge gobs of saliva that soaked his shirt. It tasted like sweat and piss and old cum, and it got even worse when precum started to flow.
It was snotty and sticky, and Nelson made sure it spread all over Leif’s face, which shone once it was covered in precum. He chuckled at Leif’s gagging.
“Whatchoo think?” He flopped his cock over Leif’s face to let him speak.
He let out a long coarse breath. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Ain’t I tell you that already? I like wreckin’ whitebois in they booty. It make me feel good,” he said. “Now tell me whose cock this is?”
“What?”
He slapped Leif over the face, first with the open palm of one hand and then with a meaty thwack of his cock. “I say tell me whose cock this is?”
“Uh… Yours-“
“Say my name, bitch.” He didn’t give Leif a chance to respond. “Say my name, bitch!” He said again and slapped Leif once more.
“Please-!”
“Say my name, bitch!”
“Nelson Turnbottom!”
“Whose cock is this?!”
“Nelson Turnbottom’s cock!” Leif screamed. He repeated it then a few more times, Nelson ramming his precummy cock in each time.
At last he’d had enough of that. He made Leif lay down on the floor with a pillow beneath his upper back, so that his head was upside down and at an angle. “This is the proper position for a good throating. You ready?”
“Nelson, please!”
Leif gagged again as Nelson waited, in position like he was going to do a pushup and Leif’s head just happened to be in the way. His erect cock danced at Leif’s lips. The smell of saliva and slimy precum assaulted Leif’s nostrils.
“Beg me some more, bitch.”
“Please, don’t do this, I can’t swallow any more of your dick. It’s, uh, it’s too big!”
“Well, don’t worry ’bout that, lil bitch. This position mean you won’t have a choice. Imma plow ya throat now. Take a deep breath, cuz you ain’t gonna be breathin’ again fo’ a minute.”
Leif took a deep breath and then Nelson pushed his dick in. Leif choked, but as Nelson predicted, his cock slid all the way in anyway. Leif could feel his throat stretching to accommodate Nelson’s massive meat. Nelson murmured his approval, and a ripple of pleasure rolled up his powerful chest.
Soon enough his balls dangled right on Leif’s nose. Nelson swayed his hips back and forth, so his balls slapped against Leif’s nose and eyes. All he could see were those massive brown balls and the sweat glistening on them.
“How’s dat taste, bitch?” He pulled away so Leif could take a breath.
It was a loud, painful retch. He gasped for air, the pain in his stomach agonizing. His eyes watered as his body cried out for oxygen. His hands clawed uselessly at Nelson’s powerful body.
“Huh? How’s dat taste?”
“Bad…”
“Oh, you don’t like it, huh? Well, don’t worry, I won’t let dat slow me down none,” he said. He chuckled and rubbed Leif’s cheek with one thumb. “Hey, you gotta open up dat throat a little more, okay? You still got like a inch of my dick to get in there.”
“I can’t…”
“You can. I gots faith in you, lil bitch,” Nelson said. He clucked his tongue as though he was genuinely caring. He massaged Leif’s neck. “You know what you need? Incentive. I gotta give you a reason to try. You ain’t tryin’ yo’ best cuz I ain’t give you a good reason.”
“No, Nelson, I’m-“
“Sssh…” Nelson slipped the tip of his dick in, and the sour flavor of precum again assaulted Leif’s senses. Translucent precum coated his tongue and his face. He gagged. Nelson gently smacked Leif on the cheek. “If you don’t swallow me so deep my balls rest on yo’ nose, I gonna tell Mickey you ain’t nevuh show up.”
It took Leif a moment to process what Nelson said, but when he did he tried to scream around the cock in his throat. He didn’t think he could open his mouth up anymore. Nelson laughed at his muffled, moist screams and pistoned his hips again. He squeezed Leif’s nostrils shut with two callused fingers. He pinched harder than necessary, like he was trying to rip Leif’s nose off his face.
Pain exploded from Leif’s throat, which felt like it was splitting in half. Snot leaked from his nose. Nelson groaned and ground his dick in deeper and deeper, rolling his hips this way and that like he needed to hit every corner of Leif’s mouth.
At last his balls slapped against Leif’s nose, really laying into his face. Ball-sweat smeared over his nostrils, and if his senses weren’t overwhelmed by the salty precum on his tongue, he would have wanted to vomit from the smell of balls. His throat strained and spasmed. He had been doing pull-ups a few moments ago, so his manfunk was strong, and it of course mixed with the precum and saliva dripping down Nelson’s cockshaft to his scrotum.
“Yo, Nelson, keep it down, nigga,” said some ashy-skinned, dull-eyed crackhead who appeared in the doorway.
“Is we bein’ too loud, nigga? So sorry,” Nelson said.
The crackhead turned around to leave, then stopped. He got down on his knees to watch. He peered deep into Leif’s eyes. He was lean, ropy-muscled, with a scruffy gray-streaked beard, and he was missing most of his teeth.
“Can I piss in his mouth?” the crackhead asked. He had a harsh, rickety voice, and he got up with his dick out before Nelson even said anything. The crackhead an ugly warty dick.
Leif felt himself grow dizzy from lack of oxygen, fear and disgust. He heard Nelson agree and tried to crawl away, but Nelson dragged him back.
Was that a sore on the crackhead’s dick? There was something there, but Leif couldn’t tell if it is was real or a shadow. The crackhead flopped his cock out of the fly of his jeans. He brought the tip to Leif’s mouth before letting it rip. The taste was foul, and Leif fluttered his arms above his chest.
He definitely wished he had simply borrowed the money from his parents now.
Acrid piss filled Leif’s mouth, and he gagged at the intensely sour smell. Something about it was even worse than he thought it would be — it tasted like that metallic smoked-crack smell he had picked up downstairs, and a little like garbage runoff, rainwater and farts.
Most of the piss spilled out past Leif’s lips, coating his face and dripping onto the floor. The crackhead cackled and walked away once he was done, while Nelson stood above Leif and watched him writhe.
“Now I’m gonna destroy that ass,” Nelson said. He didn’t give Leif much time to react. He threw him over the couch and ripped his pants to shreds pulling them down. “Beg me for it.”
“Nelson, I can’t-“
“Nah. That ain’t how you beg,” Nelson said. He wedged his fat, hot cock between Leif’s cheeks. He humped slowly there. He grabbed Leif’s hair with one hand and slammed his face onto the floor. He wiped it there like he was trying to clean the piss off. “Beg me, bitch. Beg me. Beg me.”
At first Leif assumed he was supposed to wait for Nelson to give him a chance to beg. But it soon became apparent that Nelson wasn’t going to wait. He smeared his face all over the grimy crackhouse floor, repeating himself over and over. “Beg me. Beg me. Beg me.”
“Please! Nelson! Please, uh… cornhole me! Your cock is, uh… my boss! Your cock is my master!”
“That’s right, bitch. I know it. You ain’t gotta say,” Nelson said with a cocky laugh. “I like that improvisation though. That’s the kinda thing a nigga don’t do. Only a whiteboy get that broke down.”
He slammed his dick in so quick Leif didn’t have time to fight back. He squealed and screamed as pain erupted in his ass. It felt like Nelson wrecked every inch of his insides. His cock was enormous, and he gave no mercy to Leif’s squeals of pain. He just clucked his tongue and kept thrusting with those powerful legs.
“What’s yo’ daddy do, whiteboi?”
“What?”
He put Leif’s neck in a chokehold, placing their faces so close that Nelson’s rancid breath condensed on Leif’s face. He didn’t seem to mind that he was close to the crackhead’s piss. He spit on Leif’s face, then used one hand to smear the saliva all over him. Leif gagged.
That massive cock split him open. Leif was in too much pain to say anything. His eyes rolled back in his head. He wondered if his ass was bleeding, but he both couldn’t focus enough to reach behind himself and check, and he was too scared about what he might find. Was Nelson doing real damage to his rectum? It felt like he might be.
“Listen up, whiteboi. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. I asked what yo’ daddy do. For a job.”
“He’s… a prison guard…” Leif said through gritted teeth. After he said that, it occurred to him it might have been better to lie. But Nelson didn’t seem perturbed to find out, almost like he had already known. Leif was too overwhelmed by agony and humiliation to think of a lie anyway.
“You gots any brothers or sisters?”
“One of each.”
“Really? I did not know that. What’s yo’ sister do?” He slammed his dick in the rest of the way, and Leif screamed.
“Uh, she’s. A teacher. Fourth-grade. Teacher.” He gritted his teeth. He hyperventilated, which made the remnants of piss in his mouth taste stronger. He gagged again.
“Yo’ brother?”
“He’s a prison guard too. Nelson, get off me! I-” His complaint was cut off by Nelson tightening the chokehold. He started to move his hips in a circle, like he needed to hit every part of Leif’s insides.
Now that his dick was fully inside Leif, Nelson lifted his upper body. He kept Leif’s head and shoulders flat on the ground, and Nelson used all of his weight to slam his dick in and out. His muscular body rolled and roiled above Leif’s smooth back. Leif clawed at the rancid floor of the crackhouse.
“Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother… do they work at the same prison?”
“Yeah. A state prison in Texas.”
“They ever ramrod niggas?” His voice was so close its deep, gravelly resonance echoed in Leif’s ear. He shuddered at the sensation, which made the pain in his ass even worse. Nelson pulled tighter on his hair to get his attention, as his dick throbbed mightily in Leif’s sensitive asshole. “Huh? Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, they ever ramrod niggas?” He paused. “This here, what we’s doin’, in prison, they call it ramroddin’. Yo’ daddy and yo’ brother, do they evuh ramrod niggas?”
“What? No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Well… yeah, pretty sure.” Leif’s voice was wavering, plaintive. He realized there was more than just nosy curiosity behind these questions of Nelson’s.
“You wrong,” Nelson said.
“You mean…?” Leif’s mind reeled. A part of him figured it out right away, but that part of him was overwhelmed by the part that was being viciously ramrodded. He gasped and screamed as Nelson resumed grinding his dick this way and that inside Leif, whose mind whirred. “They ramrodded you?” He asked finally after Nelson growled into his ear.
“That’s right, whiteboi. So if you need someone to blame fo’ this, you find yo’ daddy and yo’ brother,” Nelson said. He laughed and stuck one finger in Leif’s mouth until he gagged, making Leif’s ass clench around his cock. “E’ry single thing I done to you is something they do to niggas all the time in that joint. Even lettin’ a crackhead piss in yo’ mouth just fo’ fun. That’s they specialty.”
“Please, stop… I’ll talk to them, I’ll make them quit it-“
He began pounding away, ramming his dick in as hard as he could. Leif screamed at the top of his lungs, and buried his face in his arms. He couldn’t believe this was happening because of his father and brother — they didn’t even like Leif. They saw him as a stupid liberal hipster. When he told them about this, they’d probably laugh at him, tell him he was an idiot for gambling in the first place.
And the worst part was, they’d be right.
Leif’s face was bright red, tears streaming from his eyes. Nelson groaned and moaned as an orgasm finally ran through his body. His thick tattooed muscles undulated, and he pounded on his chest.
Cum sprayed into Leif’s ass. It was searing hot, thick and creamy, cloying, sticky, seeping into his flesh. Leif writhed in Nelson’s powerful arms.
It lasted for what felt like forever. More and more cum just kept on flowing into him. He could feel its heat and its snotty texture trickling through his body. Nelson sharply gasped into his ear as the orgasm rolled over him.
“Say you love me, whiteboi. Say you’ll follow prison rules from now on. Say you won’t talk back and you gonna line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall,” He said through gritted teeth.
“I love you, Nelson,” he said through his tears. “I’ll follow prison rules from now on. I’ll line up like a good nigga when it’s time for chow hall.”
“Good. You can leave. You can tell yo’ daddy and yo’ brother that Nelson Turnbottom got his revenge,” Nelson said. He took a deep breath as he pulled his dick out with an audible, moist plop. Leif felt incredible relief and intense agony in his sore ass, the pain reawakening now that it was over. He screamed and sobbed into the floor. Nelson patted him on the back of the head. “Say yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”