Rob could have his pick of the bouncers at this trashy strip club, but he doesn’t want any of the handsome prettyboys… he wants the brutish scarface they call Knuckle! Can he submit to Knuckle’s powerful ways?!
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Rob Winthrop was beginning to wonder if Knuckle had changed his mind. He sat in the champagne room alone, getting hard. The stripper — Destiny was her name — had giggled when Rob said he wanted to taste the dick of one of the bouncers, and when he said his target was Knuckle, she howled with peals of laughter interspersed with squeals of shock. She asked several times if he was sure, and did he mean the white one or the black one.
He meant the white one. He knew them both. The black one was Davon, and he was cute, like he should be an older brother in a Disney movie. He’d seem tough but he’d bust out homespun big-bro wisdom. That was not Rob’s type.
He liked his men rough and nasty, and Knuckle fit the bill. He was white, squat, no-necked, with a big burn scar on the side of his neck and shoulder. He was vaguely bikerish, vaguely skinheadish and — when Davon was around, at least — somewhat thuggesque too. He was intense. Everybody knew about him, even people who never came to Lipsweet knew about the “freakazoid bouncer at the strip club”. Knuckle looked like a serial killer, and he talked like Slingblade.
“Are you sure? He smells. Like he doesn’t use deodorant. He says he does, but I don’t think he does.”
“We complained about his smell, Mr. Gregarian told him to shower more or something. It helped… some.”
“Yeah, you want Davon, he is so cute. He’s got dimples for days. And he will totally let you jack him off for like fifty bucks, if I tell him I think it’s hot. Which I will, for fifty bucks also.”
“No. I want the weird one.”
Rob didn’t explain. Women, he thought, were so stupid. They liked clean men, but Rob knew that the best men were the raunchiest ones. The tastiest fruit was the most rancid, that was what he always said. Or at least what he always thought. He didn’t say that kind of thing out loud very often because people would think him weird.
Now Rob sat in the champagne room, certain that something had gone wrong, that he had changed his mind. Rob asked Knuckle point-blank, right in front of Davon — the strip club, Lipsweet, was ten minutes to closing time then — and offered him five hundred dollars.
But Knuckle just scowled. One of the girls dragged Rob away as though he had made a faux pas. He thought maybe Knuckle was more violent than he had predicted.
But she said he would do it, he just needed to get drunk first. And so that was why Rob sat in the champagne room.
It’d be better if he doesn’t see you until he’s ready.
Rob was so excited. Mom had been riding him about getting a girlfriend. She texted him all night, increasingly incomprehensibly as she guzzled her gin and Rob waited in the strip club for the time to be right. Knuckle kept drinking. Rob needed him good and drunk.
Oh god, he thought, Mom’d be furious and humiliated if she knew Rob had gone to a strip club. She thought places like that should be illegal. Hell, she thought Hooters should be illegal. She’d be fine with police inspecting women’s hemlines like in the olden days.
Finally the door opened. Knuckle tottered in, on unsteady feet. He was obviously very drunk. He reeked of liquor. He had taken off his shirt, so he wore only a wifebeater, which revealed that that burn scar on the side of his neck extended in thin tendrils down his chest and his belly. It looked like something hot and sticky had been dumped on him. His muscular chest was too big for him, his size bursting out of his tight wifebeater, his pecs rippling like he needed to use them for every action he took.
“Yo,” he said. “Let’s do this.” He had a deep, gravelly voice as flat as a pancake. For the first time, Rob wondered if something was very wrong with Knuckle. He looked at Rob as though he was going to murder him, eyes narrowed to slits. Rob understood then why the strippers were afraid of him.
“Okay.” Rob quaked, but he also took a deep breath of the sweaty funk that came off Knuckle’s powerful body. He had ejected a drunk asshole from the bar a few minutes ago, that was why he was worked up now, heart racing, sweat evaporating off his shoulders. His nostrils kept flaring, like he was working up enough fury to start swinging. He actually seemed more angry now than he did when kicking that man out, like he was still getting worked up over it. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, because his eyebrow had been busted open when the man got a kick in. He was on the ground then, kicking up.
Knuckle either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he was bleeding. He had a black eye too, an old one, more of a yellow eye now. His nose was crooked and squat and you could tell it would be easy to manipulate, it was one of those oft-broken noses you could play with like silly-putty. His ears were cauliflowered too. Was he a boxer? Probably. MMA fighter, something like that. Men like him always were MMA fighters.
He belched. The smell of cheap alcohol flooded Rob’s nostrils. He sunk to his knees and grabbed Knuckle’s cock through his ratty jeans.
Knuckle didn’t react to Rob’s touch, like he was too drunk to notice. He swayed. His dick twitched but it didn’t get hard yet. His pecs flexed beneath his stained wifebeater.
“I am gonna hurt ya, boy,” Knuckle murmured. Or maybe it wasn’t a murmur, maybe his voice was always like that, simmering like an angry pot. “You ain’t gonna like this. I ain’t some downlow homeboy like Davon. You wanna get him off?” The way he said ‘homeboy’ made it sound like he was subbing it in for a racial slur.
“Kinda. But I want you more.”
He chuckled. “If you quit partway through, you still gotta pay me.”
“Okay. I won’t quit.”
“I’m gonna hit you. I’m gonna make you real nasty.”
“That’s what I was countin’ on.” Rob shivered with both fear and arousal. He tried to touch Knuckle’s cock through his filthy jeans, which were stained with blood and mud and who-knew-what-else, but Knuckle slapped his hand away. It wasn’t a nice slap either. It hurt, and Rob took his hand away and frowned, and then another twinge of pain came from his hand as though Knuckle had hit him a second time. He didn’t, but his glare felt like a punch.
“I plowed men who displeased me in prison, and I only do it one way, so don’t go tellin’ me how to do it. I do it my way.” Knuckle grunted. His eyes narrowed to slits. He punched with one fist into the palm of the other hand, and he did it so suddenly and with such a loud thump it made Rob jump.
“Okay.” Rob gulped. He touched Knuckle’s dick through his jeans again, because Knuckle shifted his gaze in a way that suggested he wanted it. When Knuckle didn’t immediately complain, Rob touched the bulge in those filthy jeans with his fingertips, as gentle and gingerly as he could manage it.
Knuckle wrinkled his nose. It sounded like he had hoped to turn Rob off so he could get paid without having to do anything, or maybe that was too much guile to attribute to someone like Knuckle. Knuckle let out a growl like an angry housecat. “Get ya hand off my dick, bitch. I ain’t tell you to touch it yet.”
Rob dropped his hands to the ground. “Please, sir? I want to taste it.” He blushed.
“You will.” He pulled his cock out through the fly of his jeans. He let it flop there, limp, just inches in front of Rob’s face. For a moment, nothing happened, and Rob wondered if Knuckle was backing out. Maybe this was where he was gonna get violent. Rob winced, already certain he was going to get pistol-whipped or something. Maybe one of the strippers was colluding with Knuckle to rob Rob, not that he had any money.
But instead, Knuckle closed his eyes, sighed and let loose with a stream of piss. That was so sudden Rob yelped. Knuckle didn’t have the universal body language that most men did when they pissed. Usually that wasn’t the kind of thing that could be a surprise. You can always tell when a man’s about to piss. Knuckle, on the other hand, had the same face he had on when kicking that drunk out of the bar.
The urine was hot and acrid, and it made Rob’s eyes water. He doused his face in it and let it fill his mouth. It overflowed and still more came, soaking his clothes, and it puddled up on the disgusting floor of the strip club men’s room.
Rob loved piss. It made his own cock get hard in his pants. He didn’t touch it yet because he wanted to wait, and he wanted to savor the bitter taste of Knuckle’s urine. Rob felt filthy, skin crawling, clothes plastered to his flesh. He shivered.
“Don’t swallow yet, pansy,” he said. He bent down and pursed his lips like he was going to kiss Rob. Instead he hocked up a big loogie and spat it right into Rob’s mouth. “Still no swallowing, bitch.” He spat a few more times, leering with disgust as his phlegm plopped into Rob’s throat. The taste was sour and rancid, and it made Rob’s dick hard. Knuckle stood up, turned around and dropped his jeans. He stuck his ass in front of Rob’s face, spread his cheeks and farted.
He had a nice hairy ass, which smelled of stale sweat and farts even before Knuckle let loose. Then it was even stinkier. Rob retched and gagged, but still he neither swallowed nor spat out the raunch-soup in his mouth.
Knuckle poked his head out the door. “Damn, nigga, he takin’ it, you right, you right-“
“Man… What’d I tell you ‘bout calling me yo’ nigga?” Davon sounded like he was waiting on the other side of the door, listening in, maybe snickering with one of the strippers.
“I ain’t say my nigga. I said you was a nigga-“
“Don’t.”
“Come, look at my bitch, he is filthy,” Knuckle said. His voice stayed flat. He opened the door wide enough for Davon to see, and Rob thought Davon would laugh. Instead, he shouted back to Knuckle, who stayed stoic as though nothing was happening.
Davon duked up, and still Knuckle stood there like a statue. Meanwhile Rob listened and gargled on the mess in his mouth. Davon shadowboxed the air.
“C’mon, bitch, you fuckin’ piece of shit, c’mon!” Davon kept punching the air in front of Knuckle, who stonefaced. Every time he punched Davon grunted like a cocky bastard, like he was making Knuckle flinch. Knuckle wasn’t flinching and seemed totally unperturbed by Davon’s threats.
Which made sense to Rob. Davon was big and muscular and could no doubt throw a punch, but he was clean-cut and smooth. He was a prettyboy. He was the exact opposite of Knuckle in every way, and Rob found him a total turnoff. Girls loved him. He was also famous locally, as a bouncer, cuz the girls all said he was cute. At least the girls Rob hang out with did.
Okay, Rob wouldn’t kick him out of bed either. But he’d make him get sweaty first. At least that’d be something. Davon looked like he was literally never sweaty.
One of the girls hissed at them to stop fighting, and they seemed to mostly make up, though Rob could still hear hostility in their voices.
“Come on in, Davon, I know you said you was into plowin’ any hole-“
“I ain’t say that, motherfucker. I said I wouldn’t gotta think twice about doin’ it for five hundred bucks,” Davon said. “But that was before you pissed and farted on him. No way now. Nasty-ass shit. After he takes a shower, then I let him swing on it for five hundred bucks. You hear that, freak?”
Rob gurgled loudly, and some of the mess in his mouth overflowed. Davon erupted in gags and nervous laughter.
“Aw, I smelled that, I smelled that!” He screamed and walked away, then came back closer. “Aw, shit, you are nasty!” He poked his head into the door and gagged again. He ran off, talking to the strippers in the club. “Don’t go in there, ladies, it is nasty. It is too nasty. No way.”
Pain erupted in Rob’s cheek as Knuckle slapped him hard across the face. He slammed the door shut too, cutting off the sound of Davon and the strippers guffawing while the strip club shut down for the night. The sun was about to come up.
Rob moved for Knuckle’s cock, but Knuckle pushed him to the ground. He landed with a splash in the piss-puddle
“I ain’t tell you to touch it yet.”
“I’m sorry, Knuckle-“
“Don’t you call me that. You call me sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lick the floor, bitch,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and sneered. He spat on the floor.
Rob bent down and licked. He lapped at the stinking spot on the filthy linoleum floor, which tasted like foot and cum. It was salty, gritty and deliciously nasty.
“Ew, you know dudes just nut all over this floor, right? Like, hundreds of guys?”
“I know, sir.”
“You are fucking disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself. You talk to ya mama wit’ that mouth?”
He nodded. “Yes, sir. I am ashamed of myself.”
“You deepthroat?”
“Yes, sir,” Rob said. He poked a finger down his well-trained throat and gagged. Knuckle nodded his satisfaction.
“Alright. I’m gonna plow ya throat now,” he spat the words out angrily. He smacked Rob again. “You gonna fight me?”
“No-“
“Huh? Say it louder, bitch! Ya gonna fight me?!”
“No, sir-“
He smacked him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m pitiful!” Rob screamed. Tears of humiliation, fear and arousal erupted, and Knuckle shook his head. He smacked him over and over again. He took his cock out and flopped it over Rob’s face. He jabbed it, half-hard, like he was trying to stab Rob’s eyes out with it.
“Fuck you! Fuck you!” He pulled Rob’s jaws apart and slapped his dick right down into Rob’s mouth. His cock was still half-limp and rank from his sweaty boxers. He used all his weight to ram his dick in, pushing Rob’s head onto the floor.
He pivoted his hips, making Rob gag more violently than he ever had before. He couldn’t breathe, he could only retch at the rancid smell of Knuckle’s unclean cock. He got hard as soon as he got his dick wet, and it throbbed in Rob’s throat.
“Ah, damn, I wasn’t gonna admit this no matter what, pansy, but you swallow dick pretty good. If you was my girl, I’d tie you up in my basement, bitch.” He paused. “That’s a compliment, by the way.”
He pulled his dick out at last, and Rob took a deep, hoarse breath. He was dizzy, his lungs begging for oxygen. “Thank you, sir. I’d love to be tied up in your basement.”
“Hey, you okay in there?!” A female voice called out from outside — it sounded like Destiny, the stripper who was a friend of Knuckle’s. It was she who had assured him that the strip club wouldn’t intervene if Rob did get Knuckle to agree to some rough trade.
Knuckle looked down at Rob and raised one eyebrow. “I ain’t lettin’ you out till I’m done, so you best tell her you okay.”
Rob’s voice was hoarse and scratchy. “Yeah, I’m fine!”
“Okay… Have fun, Rob…” Destiny giggled and whispered something. A few girls giggled as they walked away.
The champagne room was very hot and humid, and Knuckle was drenched in sweat. Rob started licking his balls without being prompted. Knuckle grunted like he was going to punish Rob for doing something without permission, but then it felt so good he didn’t want to stop. He moaned.
“Get ya tongue out while you suck my balls, and really suck on ‘em,” Knuckle said. “Make some noise. Slurp ‘em. Slurp ‘em like a prison bitch.”
The salty, acidic taste of ballsweat made Rob’s eyes water all over again. He snaked his tongue out over the underside of his balls. Sweat poured into his mouth as Knuckle shook his body from side to side. He picked his balls up and plopped them back in Rob’s mouth. Rob slurped like he was sucking soda out of a nearly empty cup.
Then he switched back and forth between balls and cock. He dropped his balls in Rob’s mouth and groaned as he wiggled them around, then took his balls out and rammed his dick all the way in until Rob choked. Then he wiggled his hips around again to make Rob gag.
He pulled out and grabbed Rob by the throat, cutting him off from gasping. He dragged Rob across the room by the throat, peering him in the eyes. “I’m gonna stick ya in the ass now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s gonna hurt. I don’t use lube. I’m gonna make you bloody, if you ain’t too loose already,” he said. He was breathing heavy as though barely in control of his actions; it almost looked like he was imitating someone specific. His wild eyes were in a frenzy. Rob could definitely see why the strippers were afraid of him.
“Yes, sir-” Rob yelped in pain. Knuckle’s finger jammed into his asshole, all the way in. Rob’s hole puckered. He moaned as his pain was replaced by pleasure, and his dick rocketed to attention. Knuckle saw it, spat and punched Rob, which made him moan harder. Blood poured from his nose.
“You like it when you get punched wit’ a finger in ya ass?”
“Yes, sir,” Rob said through his tears. His dick spasmed, precum leaking out. Every time Knuckle punched him, the pain grew worse and his prostate came alive a little more.
“That is nasty. You know when I was in prison, this is how I punished my bitch. He used to cry and beg me to stop. But I ain’t never stop. I like hearin’ that sound. Makes me hard. And you like it?” He spat on Rob’s face. “You sicken me.”
“Yes, sir.” Rob sighed in relief as Knuckle withdrew his finger. But that lasted only a moment. He rammed his entire dick in with one smooth motion of his hips. Rob was loose from both arousal and the lube he had applied earlier — he knew from experience that Knuckle was not likely to bother. Alphas like him rarely did.
Knuckle grabbed Rob by his hair and ground his face into the floor. He spat over and over onto Rob’s cheeks, and on his tongue that lolled out of his open mouth. He punched Rob every few seconds in his side, not as hard as he could, but hard enough to hurt, and to make Rob’s ass clench around his cock.
“You like this, ya nasty? Huh? You disgustin’ piece of trash…”
“I love it, sir, I love it.”
He stopped moving. He hissed. “I’m gonna tell you a secret, pansy,” he said. “Ya know that story I just told ‘bout punishin’ my bitch by punchin’ him when he sittin’ on my cock?”
“Yes…” Rob had trouble concentrating due to the pain and pleasure simultaneously assaulting his senses.
“I tell every deadbeat I beat up that story to scare ‘em off ever comin’ back to this club. If they do come back, I make ‘em lick my asshole the next time. If they come back a third time, then I make ‘em my prison bitch for the night in the alley around back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But that story is a lie,” he said. “If you ever tell anyone this, pansy, I will kill you. I swear to god, I will kill you in the most horrendous way I can think of. I will track down your mama and strike her dead too. Get me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I was the prison bitch in that scenario. I was owned by a black. I was little then, I wasn’t as big as I am now.” He paused, then he spat on Rob’s face again. “So that’s why I hate blacks. And cops, and bitches, and Mexicans and just ‘bout everyone else too. And ‘specially you, bitch.” He wrapped his hand around Rob’s throat and squeezed. “I could choke you to death right now, and you’d prolly like it. I would too. I don’t wanna go to back to prison, but I would. You’d prolly get off on that, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
He moved his dick from side to side, twitching it inside Rob’s ass. That caused mind-blowing agony and ecstasy to course through Rob’s veins. He squealed and squirmed.
“If you ever tell anyone that, motherfucker, I will bury you alive! I will rip ya goddamn head off! Ya hear me?!”
“Yes, sir! I swear!”
He choked Rob more. He smacked his face, then put both hands on his cheeks and pressed down with all his might as he slammed his dick in and out. Rob screamed and came onto the floor. The most potent orgasm of his life ran through his body. He shot a big wad of cum that sprayed over the grimy linoleum beneath him.
Then he felt Knuckle’s orgasm as well. It was a thick and creamy load, hot, sticky, spreading throughout Rob’s body. It was tremendously satisfying, and they both sighed. For just a moment, Knuckle seemed almost caring as he rubbed Rob’s head and shoulders.
“Fuckin’ nasty, I oughta rip the asshole right off ya body.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then he pushed Rob down again. He pulled his dick out and flopped its limp, rubbery shaft all over Rob’s face. Raunchy assjuice spread down his chin, and Rob licked it clean. He loved sucking ass off limp dicks, so he guzzled down every drop even as it made him gag over and over again.
Like he was in a rush to leave, Knuckle stood up as soon as he was done. He kicked Rob to the ground and walked out the door, stark naked. He turned around before he shut the door.
“Where’s that money, pervert?”
Rob stretched and sighed. He grabbed his wallet out of his pants. He passed the money to Knuckle, while a few girls giggled at the sight of Knuckle’s bare ass and muscled back, which dripped with sweat.
“Put some damn clothes on, Knuckle!”
Knuckle ignored them and counted the money. He scowled and turned around. “I’ve got spare clothes in the back,” he said. “For just this kind of occasion.” He closed the door behind himself. The last thing Rob heard him say was, “Don’t nobody go in there. You don’t wanna see that.”
That was fine with Rob. This fantasy had worked out even better than he had hoped. He licked his own mess off the floor, then masturbated a few more times before drifting off to sleep. He sighed as he heard the strippers leave for the night. He curled up with Knuckle’s nasty clothes — which had been dirty even before they were covered in piss and sweat and cum on the floor of the champagne room. Rob sucked on Knuckle’s musky boxers like a security blanket.
He was going to take those boxers home with him. They ought to last him, he thought, until his next bout of alpha male action.
