scenes featuring pissplay – Mansploitation

The Raunchy Trucker

Elton is in for a raunchy experience, when he accidentally goes into an anything-goes cruising showerhouse at a truck stop, so a bevy of the filthiest, nastiest truckers around make Elton as disgusting as possible. Can Elton make it out of there?

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At the Ramwide Truck Stop near Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Elton didn’t notice a small placard on the door. He had pulled over to use the bathroom — he drove a four-door sedan, not a truck, but he had to piss real bad and he was a frequent visitor to other truck stops. He hoped to both drain his bladder and maybe get a nut off in the showerhouse. Ramwide Truck Stops were notorious cruising spots, full of nasty men who didn’t mind jerking off another fellow.
That was good for Elton, who was single now and sometimes needed a little release. Plus, he needed to piss.
The placard he ignored said ‘This building is for adults-only, and it is a free-for-all. If you go in here, you are signaling your consent to anything that occurs in this building. There is another showerhouse nearby without this sign.’ Elton would have gone to the other showerhouse if he’d known it was an option or if he’d seen the placard.
But he didn’t see it. He didn’t even realize it was a showerhouse until he went in, he assumed it was simply a bathroom. His Ramwide Truck Stop — the one near his house — didn’t have two showerhouse options. There was just one, and there was usually some mincing pervert in there jacking off men. The parking lot of this truck stop was filled with semis. Maybe that was the difference between the two truck stops, the one by Elton’s house didn’t see many actual truckers, it was just a pit stop for ordinary drivers. This one only really saw truckers come through. The non-truck area of the parking lot was tiny, and Elton’s car was the only one there.
Elton did not realize any of that. He didn’t even see the placard, much less read it and heed it. He entered the anything-goes showerhouse.
There was a large, wide open showering area with those old-fashioned pillar showers, the entire inside looked old-fashioned, Elton thought, like something out of an early twentieth century dormitory shower. A dozen naked truckers stood among the showerhead-pillars, silently staring at Elton. They were hairy and burly, decked with muscle like bulls, nostrils flaring as they looked him up and down.
He nodded and blushed. He considered leaving because the men made him uncomfortable, but he thought it would look weak. He’d be humiliated even if no one but he and these truckers knew about it. He went to the trough urinal. He always hated those — he was sensitive about his cock size — but luckily no one else was here.
But the truckers were staring at him. He could tell. They were completely silent, but he knew they weren’t silent before he walked in. That meant they had stopped talking to watch him. If he had known about the sign, he would have surely fled.
It was one of those truckers who joined him at the trough, before Elton could even start concentrating on peeing. A man had followed him in, a burly trucker with a rough-and-tumble mustache, a very small gut and bulging shoulder muscles that were bared by his sleeveless shirt. He went by the name Manky, and on his face a lifetime of brawling left remnants in the form of his crooked, squat nose and off-kilter chin.
He whipped out the most massive dong Elton had ever seen. It was thicker than Elton’s forearm and longer than his feet. Manky wasn’t shy about it, and he stood right next to Elton even though he had plenty of room at the trough. He flopped his dick left and right.
“Whatchoo think?”
Elton blushed intensely. He had always been embarrassed about his dick size. It was just barely three inches long fully erect, and it was much shorter right now because it was a chilly day (though warm in the showerhouse) and he was scared. It shriveled up even as he looked down at it, wishing he could pee.
Manky aimed his dick at Elton’s dick and let his piss stream. He laughed when Elton jumped away, and he aimed his piss at Elton instead.
“You got a small dick, boy. Somethin’ wrong wit’choo?”
“No…”
“Well then you made a real mistake comin’ in here,” Manky said. “Get in the trough.”
“What?”
“Lay down in there. Now,” Manky said. He grabbed Elton and tossed him against the wall.
Elton yelped, and he looked around frantically for a way out. The truckers surrounded him, and he’d have to pass through a dozen of them to make it to the door. That was the only door too. There weren’t even any windows in this showerhouse except a couple narrow slits up near the ceiling. Elton would need a ladder to get up to them, and even then he probably wouldn’t fit through them.
That trucker Manky laughed, along with the others, at the terrified look on Elton’s face. Manky grabbed him again, and he threw him into the urinal trough. The stainless steel was sticky, and it was rank with the smell of piss. Elton instantly gagged. The acrid smell hit his nostrils and made his eyes water.
“Please, wait, stop!”
He punched Elton hard in the belly, hard enough to hurt, though the angle was off for Manky to punch as hard as he could. It was enough to knock the wind out of Elton. All the watching truckers guffawed. Elton writhed, gasping for air, as Manky let his hog loose and aimed it at Elton in the trough.
For a moment, nothing happened. Elton wondered if this was it, maybe it was a prank and Manky just wanted to teach him a lesson, to show that he could put him in the urinal trough and piss on him. Maybe now he’d let Elton go.
But no, Manky was serious. He sighed and let out a crooked smile when he began urinating. Piss flowed over Elton’s shirt and soaked into his skin. The bitter taste of it hit Elton’s senses, even though he shut his lips. The truckers howled from all around the showerhouse, and one of them came running.
He was a lanky mustachioed trucker with tattoos covering his hairy chest and a big swinging dick. He started pissing even before he got to the trough. “Hot damn, a ppissy piggie!” He sprayed his piss right in Elton’s gagging face, and he started making oinking hog-like noises. Manky hadn’t even finished pissing yet, so now Elton had two streams of hot urine landing on him.
“Oink! Oink!”
Elton sputtered and screamed, the truckers in the shower at the other end all coming over to watch. Then, before the first one had even begun, they all began pissing as well. The acrid urine washed over Elton’s face and soaked into his clothes. His mouth filled and overflowed with it.
“Oink, oink, pervert! Ya fuckin’ suit, comin’ in here like the pussy you is! You deserve this, piss-face!”
The oinks filled the air and resonated in the linoleum-tiled shower. It was deafening to Elton, who yelled and sobbed. He had no idea how long it lasted. It felt like he was drowning, like that piss filled his lungs. He kept trying to crawl out of the trough, but Manky shoved him back in over and over.
But finally it was done, or seemed to be — those two truckers were finished urinating. A few men showered on the other side of the showerhouse, chatting about football, as though they didn’t notice or care what was happening to Elton. Elton weakly climbed out of the trough only for Manky to shove him back in.
“C’mon, please-“
“Nah. You my piss-piggy. Our piss-piggy,” Manky said. He chuckled. “You don’t get out til I say you can get out.” He licked his teeth and looked Elton up and down. “Alright, you can get out.”
Elton thought maybe that was it, but Manky grabbed him by the hair and dragged him out of the urinal trough. His skin was soaked with piss. Manky didn’t seem to care about the urine getting everywhere. Elton screamed, but the sound of the men talking, oinking, showering, carrying on, all that overpowered Elton’s screams. Even someone walking directly past the showerhouse, like three feet from where Elton was right now, wouldn’t be able to tell that someone was screaming in here.
“C’mon piss piggie, you really did it now. I hope you love being a raunchy little bottom,” he said. “Actually scratch that. I hope you ain’t love it. I like making piss piggies squirm.”
He shoved Elton to the ground on his belly, then squatted behind him and rammed his cock — still only half-hard — into Elton’s ass. Elton screamed, and the truckers resumed their oinking.
“Oink, oink, little piggie! You came in the wrong shower fo’ sho’!”
The pain in his ass was indescribably intense, and it had only just begun. Elton wanted to writhe in agony, but Manky kept one hand on his scalp and one on the back of his neck, forcing him to remain in the same position, flat on his belly. Manky pounded his cock into him.
He grunted and hissed in Elton’s ear. His skin was tan and dirty, he smelled like car exhaust, or like diesel fumes. He had a hairy chest, and the fur scratched at Elton’s back as Manky’s muscles weighed him down.
Someone turned the showers on, so lukewarm water sprayed over Elton’s face. As least that, he thought cleaned off some of the piss. That hadn’t slowed down Manky, whose grimy face suggested he had never cared about cleanliness — as he rutted like an animal, he licked Elton’s cheek, nibbled on his ear and felt up every inch of his piss-covered body. Oink! Oink! Elton cried into the linoleum as Manky humped his dick into full erection.
“Don’t worry, lil piggie, I can make you open up…”
Whenever he encountered resistance, he punched Elton in the ribs, resulting in so much pain that Elton loosened his ass. At last Manky’s massive cock was rock hard, ramming into him. He had Elton in a tight hold, both of his hairy arms wrapped around Elton’s chest.
Elton couldn’t help but squirm, even though he could tell that was exactly what Manky wanted. Elton sobbed into his greasy forearms. He even bit down, but Manky seemed to be impervious to pain.
“That piggie got a dick like a pinkie! A pinkie-piggie!”
They rolled over the floor of the showerhouse. One moment Manky was on top, slamming his hips down into Elton’s as though he wanted to shatter it like glass. The next moment, Elton was on top, looking up at the ceiling and trying to get some leverage to pull away.
“Little dick, little pig!” the truckers chanted over and over. They started off jacking themselves off as they watched Manky cornhole Elton, but that soon changed into a circlejerk. They laughed and giggled like children — hairy, tattooed children — as they stroked each other’s fat cocks.
“Please… stop… why?”
“Hey, hey, shut up for a second,” Manky said, yelling for silence. He still had to shout to be heard over the showerheads that continued to spray lukewarm water, but the naked truckers stopped chanting. Manky grabbed Elton’s hair to bring his face up, so everyone could see it. His other tattooed forearm was pinned against Elton’s neck, his foot long cock throbbing in Elton’s guts. Manky kissed him on the ear. “This oinker wants to know why this is happenin’. Who wanna explain?”
One of the truckers stepped forward. He was a hefty man, hairy from head to toe, with long black hair. He looked like he might have some trace of Mexican heritage.
“Alright, little piss-piggie, here’s the deal,” he said. “My name is Skullhole. That ain’t my proper name, in case you was wonderin’. It’s uh… it’s what my prison bitch used to call me.” As he talked, he fed his dick into Elton’s throat. It was already hard because he had been circlejerking with the other truckers, and he leaked precum directly down Elton’s throat.
“Listen up, piss-piggie, pay attention. It’s important,” Manky said, pulling tighter on Elton’s hair to get his attention. Pain blistered up and down Elton’s body.
Skullhole continued. “You’s in the left-hand showerhouse at an Ramwide Truck Stop. They’s sometimes got two men’s showerhouses. One of ’em’s got a sign that say it’s, uh… Sort of a free-for-all. You give up yo’ right to say no by stepping foot inside this showerhouse. It’s a place for real men, men who wanna blow a load but don’t wanna worry ’bout liberal bullshit like consent.”
In one quick motion, Skullhole pulled away from Elton and punched one of the other, younger truckers in the belly. The younger man fell to the ground and groaned. Skullhole grabbed his hair and his neck and bent him over as though he was going to cornhole him just like Manky was doing to Elton.
“Hey, get off me, asshole!” the younger man said, squirming. Skullhole’s hard cock throbbed between his cheeks, but he made no effort to penetrate him.
“See? I could cornhole this young’un right here. I would too, cuz he got a pretty ass, but his daddy is a good man. I owes him a favor,” said Skullhole. He paused. “I will stick my finger in a little, just to make sure he don’t forget I could cornhole him anytime I want.” He rammed one of his fingers in the young man’s ass.
“Get ‘im, Skullhole!”
The young trucker let out an agonized howl, and he squirmed away from Skullhole, who let him go. Then he came back to Elton and rubbed his finger off on Elton’s tongue. The taste of foul asshole and grease hit his senses, making Elton’s eyes bug out. Elton gagged vociferously, even moreso when Skullhole slipped his cock back in.
True to his nom du guerre, Skullhole grabbed ahold of Elton’s head. He rammed his cock down Elton’s throat, ignoring resistance, banging and using all of his weight to get his dick in.
It felt like something in his throat was going to break, but somehow Elton’s gullet stretched to accommodate. Skullhole’s massive dick visible pressed against Elton’s neck from the inside.
“We gonna drown that bitch in cum!”
Skullhole shot a massive load, spraying it so deep in Elton’s throat he didn’t even really taste it. It wasn’t until Skullhole pulled his dick out that Elton tasted a burst of salty cum on his tongue. That massive cock flopped out of his mouth and roped around on his face, leaving a sheen of jizz and spit and who-knew-what fluids.
“Damn, his dick really is little-bitty. That’s basically a clitoris, bitch.”
“Don’t say that, man, I wouldn’t never do none of this to no female. He better be a man.”
He heaved hoarsely for breath. He was dizzy, both from the pain and from lack of oxygen. He was too tired even to cry anymore. He sat submitted limply to Manky’s plowing while he watched the truckers circlejerk above his head.
When the first trucker came, a hefty white man with long black hair and swarthy skin, he stepped forward just as he started moaning. He blushed as his trucker buddies laughed, and his tattooed muscles flexed in rolling waves.
He sprayed his cumwad right on Elton’s open mouth. Elton wanted to look away, but the pain in his ass was so intense he couldn’t bear to. He cried as cum sprayed over his face.
“Here they go, piss-piggie with the li’l prickie,” Manky said with a moan as he pulled his dick all the way out, then slowly reinserted it only when Elton’s asshole lost its numbness. That revitalized the pain in Elton’s ass. His entire body felt like it was tearing apart from the inside out.
More cum sprayed onto his face. He couldn’t even see what was happening anymore, he just felt cum covering him. It was hot and creamy, and it dripped all over him. The truckers didn’t seem to mind getting it on them — which confused Elton, because they talked like he should be humiliated for getting cummed on, but all of them got cummed on too! A lot of the younger truckers disliked circlejerking like this. They had to stroke each other’s greasy hogs. Even just after the shower, most of them remained slick and unclean-feeling, at least to those who weren’t used to it.
To Elton, it all seemed gross. He couldn’t imagine why they were calling him a pervert over and over when he was the only one not willingly participating. They were the perverts, he thought, but even if he could say that out loud right now, nobody was paying attention to his desperate pleas or his cries for help. They jacked each other’s meat as though it was going out of style, and they rubbed their dicks in each other’s cumwads on his face. Manky even got some cum on his hands and face, but he shrugged it off.
The truckers popped off like flies, coating Elton’s face in cum. Manky kept Elton’s head out of the shower water for the most part — he rammed so wildly he slid Elton all over the showerhouse — so the cum collected on his face, along with grime from the floor and spit which Manky continually spat onto Elton’s lips and nose.
Finally the truckers were all done. Huge gobs of cum dripped off his face. He could feel it seeping into his flesh. He knew he’d smell like a cumrag for days no matter how much he cleaned himself. One hairy trucker rubbed his balls over Elton’s face, collecting all of his buddies’s cum so it clung to his unkempt nest of ball-hair.
“Lick it clean, piggie!” He barked over and over.
Elton thought cum had tasted bad, but it tasted even worse when it was mixed with sweaty trucker balls and remnants of soap. The cum coated his tongue and made the salty sweat cling to the inside of his mouth. He struggled not to bite down — he knew that would give him a moment of satisfaction, but he’d probably be killed.
Finally that last brawny trucker walked away, dragging his saliva-dripping balls over Elton’s face. Pitiful weakling. They cackled and clasped each other on the back, repeatedly slapping each other’s asscheeks too. Skullhole even rammed his finger back in the younger trucker’s ass as they walked away from Elton. He wiggled his finger but didn’t stop the younger trucker from scampering away.
“Get the fuck off me, Skullhole, damn…”
“Shut up, li’l one. I still got enough nut in my balls to turn you into my next pussy.”
“Hey piss-piggie, if you stick around we’ll be back in a little while. We’ll ram you in the ass if you want.”
“Or if you don’t.”
“Yeah. If you don’t, we’ll ram you even harder.”
Elton sobbed, his lower half numb now as Manky finished. Elton could feel the orgasm rippling over Manky’s hairy muscles, which weighed down Elton’s back. Manky punched Elton even though he wasn’t resisting. He punched just to make Elton yelp and squirm some more.
“Lemme hear it…” Manky said with a loud moan that made the truckers applaud. He pointed to different spots above Elton’s crotch and around his hips. “Where you think my orgasm is? Huh? Lemme hear it when I point to where you feel it. Huh? Boy? What’s goin’ on?”
The agony was too intense for Elton to speak. He screamed into the linoleum the best he could, but Manky’s belly and chest pressed him down. That made it impossible for him to take a deep breath.
“My orgasm is e’rywhere, boy,” he said with a long, low growl aimed right in Elton’s ear. That made Elton shudder, which in turn sent a shiver of sensitive pain from his sphincter, which clenched.
Cum sprayed into Elton’s ass. It was hot and thick and it seeped into his flesh. He wept into the filthy shower floor. It was so much, it kept coming, wad after wad as though Manky was pumping it in from a reservoir. It stank already, and Elton gagged at the sensation.
“You fillin’ ‘im up now?! Lemme watch!”
A few of the truckers came over and peered just inches from Elton’s asshole. They wrinkled their noses as though they were disgusted, but they still watched intently, like scientists who had no idea how this worked.
“You one nasty-ass truck stop piggie now, bitch.”
But eventually they lost interested. Manky remained atop Elton, his dick so deep it felt like it touched every part of Elton’s innards. Every time Elton moved so much as a breath, it made his asshole ache more. Manky breathed heavy. Elton couldn’t tell if he was still cumming — which seemed impossible — or if it just felt that way because he wiggled has limpening cock, moving cum around and turning it into a frothy mess that spilled out of his ass. It coated Elton’s thighs and soaked into the linoleum floor. Since there was water on the floor, some of that santorum mess floated to Elton’s face and coated him. He tasted his own ass along with the ball-sweat, cum, saliva and more that already covered him.
The truckers filed out, still only half-dressed. They were spent, so they no longer cared. Moments later the sound of their engines roaring filled the air. Elton tried to get up, but Manky was on top of him.
“Damn, piss piggie, that was good,” Manky said with a sigh. The shower was very quiet now that the truckers were gone. Manky’s deep voice was right next to Elton’s ear, so it boomed and echoed.
“Please, get off me…” Elton sobbed.
“If you make it back out that door, you’ll be under the protection of the law,” Manky said, “So I really hope you don’t. I hope you stick around until I’m ready to ram you again.”
He burped into Elton’s face. He lifted his chest up off Elton’s back and ground his dick into Elton’s ass, moving it in a tortuous circle. Elton screamed and gagged intensely now that he could breathe. Manky punched him right in the meaty part of the back, over and over as he finished the after shocks of his orgasm.
Only then did Manky slowly back up so that his fat cock plopped out. “But I’m not gonna stop you from walkin’ out that door, unless you take a long time to get out there. I wanna give you a fair chance. Don’t nevuh say I was all bad, piss-piggie. And goddamn, if that’s the only dick you got, you shouldn’t nevuh whip it out among real men. A man with a cock like that is just beggin’ to get cornholed.”
Elton had to crawl away. When he tried to stand his ass hurt too bad. It took what felt like eons but then he made it to the door as Manky still talked. It was so heavy he strained to open it.
He stumbled outside, stark-naked, and ran into another massive trucker, like Manky but taller. Behind him were a handful more, all with sick smiles on their hairy faces.
“Fuck,” one of them said. “He made it out.”
“We’re too late.”
“Damn it!”
“I’m rammin’ one of you, I swear to god. I am not letting myself get blue-balled again.”
Elton’s naked body gleamed with cum and water, and he pushed through the dirty bodies of the men. They smelled awful too, just like the truckers, but Elton was covered in so much filth he didn’t notice. He just sobbed and staggered forward. They glared at him and muttered insults about his cock size, but Elton didn’t care. He collapsed onto the ground. He might look like a pussy right now. He admitted that. He no doubt looked like a weakling, and his ass hurt so bad he wasn’t sure he’d ever walk normally again.. But he just didn’t care about any of that.
He had made it. He was free.

Humiliated by a Scammer

Zion has no idea his family was targeted by a scammer who took everything they owned, and now it’s Zion’s turn to experience the ultimate in alpha male dominance! Can he submit to the superior man?

Read the it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

“Look here, Zion, boy, I’m gonna be real upfront wit’cha,” said Uncle Nelson. Zion had trouble concentrating on his words because Uncle Nelson was so intimidating. He was tall, broad shouldered and thick-bodied. He had a dense bristly mustache. He had come over without Zion’s grandmother — who had married Uncle Nelson just a few months ago. He had never come to Zion’s apartment above the family restaurant without her. “I came into ya grandmama’s life wit’ an ulterior motive.”
“Where is she-?”
Nelson slapped him. “Don’t you interrupt me. I put her in a home.”
“What?” Zion’s heart sank. “Where? What?”
He slapped Zion hard. “Make me say it again, nigga! Make me say it again! Shut yo’ mouth!”
Despite his huge size, Uncle Nelson had always been incredibly kind until today. Zion was much smaller and weaker, so he had been scared from the moment his grandmom brought Nelson home from church one day. He was new to the area then, and he had fallen in love with her right away. Nelson was broad and muscular, so strong it looked painful, like he must struggle to carry around all those muscles.
“Now yo’ grandmama signed this whole building over to me,” Nelson said. He paused to see if Zion would interrupt him again, but he didn’t. Zion trembled in front of him. Nelson lightly slapped his cheek again. “Listen Zion boy, you know what liquidate means? Course you don’t, you a dummy. It means when you take somethin’ that ain’t worth much and you take it apart and you use all the parts some other way. Like when a store goin’ outta business, they liquidate it. You feel me, Zion boy?”
“Yeah, man, but where’s my dad-?”
“Yo’ daddy’s in jail, but I’m comin’ to that.” He smiled. “I ain’t a nice nigga, Zion boy. I know I been actin’ nice, but I ain’t nice at all. Yo’ family was not wise to trust me.” He undid his belt and let his pants plop heavily to the floor, then he took his dick out. Zion yelped in surprise — and fear, because it was more than a foot long, veiny and dark, and it smelled vaguely of sweat and pussyjuice — and he tried to stand up, but Nelson pushed him back down. “Lemme just be real frank wit’cha. Yo grandmama married me and signed e’rything over to me. So I own yo’ family’s house and yo’ family’s store and I even own yo’ car, nigga, which by the way, you may not use.”
“You can’t do that-!”
“Already done, nigga. Yo’ daddy’s in jail cuz I tol’ him I put yo’ sister out on the street as a ho if he ain’t sign this murder confession — there was a killin’ I had weighin’ me down, nigga. Not no more,” he said. He carefully folded his pants and put them on the table next to him. Then he picked up his dick as though to display it for Zion’s benefit. He held it in one hand, and Zion was unable to look away from it. It jiggled when Nelson spoke. “Now yo’ sister was a little old to start hoin’, but I’m gonna make it work. She can make me a pretty penny.”
“Wait, what?!”
“I am liquidatin’ yo’ family, nigga. Y’all is a bunch of rank-ass pussies, and I am takin’ ya out,” he said. He thwacked his limp dick over Zion’s face. “You might wanna start lickin”, befo’ I get real mad, Zion boy.”
“My dad is in jail? He-“
But Nelson’s cock pushed into Zion’s mouth, and Nelson chuckled as Zion gagged. His dick was limp and rubbery at first, tasting of salty sweat. Tears welled up in Zion’s eyes. That fat cock rested on his tongue, and when he tried to push it off, Nelson slapped his hands away. He didn’t do anything with his dick, it just rested there, like Zion’s mouth was its new natural home.
Then Nelson swayed, making his limp dick jiggle and jump around, roping over Zion’s face. It was so thick, much thicker than Zion’s, and it smelled like a locker room in a low-cost gym. Zion’s stomach churned.
His mind kept replaying the things Nelson had said. None of that made sense, what did he mean? Zion’s sister was not a prostitute. His father was not a murderer, none of this made sense. Why was Nelson acting like this? But Zion couldn’t formulate any words because he was entranced by the rod of throbbing hot dickfat smearing Nelson’s body odor over every inch of Zion’s face.
“Ah, yeah, this is the part I love,” Nelson said. “No teeth. No hands. No regrets.” He moaned without breaking eye contact with Zion, who felt a flush of embarrassment and looked away. Nelson dug his nails into Zion’s cheeks and forced his eyes back to Nelson’s. “Lookit me when I’s plowin’ you, boy. You mine now, nigga. You should thinka yo’self as a slave, even if the law ain’t allow slaves no more.”
“But, Uncle Nelson, I-“
He laughed, forcing his cock back into Zion’s throat. It was so huge that it didn’t feel real to Zion, who had never seen a cock so big. A few drops of precum hit his tongue, and the electrifyingly salty flavor made Zion gag.
“You still callin’ me uncle, boy? I ain’t yo’ family.” He wrapped his hands around the back of Zion’s head, and began to slowly grind his dick lower and lower in Zion’s throat. “I let you be a busboy in the restaurant. I ain’t gonna pay you a damn dime, but I let ya eat scraps and shit. You may not find any of the waitresses sexy.”
Having been in shock since this began, Zion hadn’t really fought back. But as his throat heaved and his lungs cried out for oxygen, he realized he could fight. He clawed at Nelson’s muscle-bound body and squirmed. His whole body tensed up, but Zion was skinny and lanky, not solid like Nelson.
“Ah, there it is, there you go,” Nelson said. He held tightly onto Zion’s head. “You fightin’ now, huh? That’s normal, that’ll pass. I’m gonna break you, boy. See it used to be that the rule of law weren’t so strong, and weak-kneed motherfuckers like you and yo’ whole family just get took up by some strong motherfucker like me, someone who can make sure you reach yo’ maximum potential. For you…” Nelson laughed, smearing tendrils of spit over Zion’s face as he watched him choke on his massive cock. “Yo’ maximum potential is a busboy who occasionally gets to eat my asshole. Yo’ whole family was garbage, Zion boy. Yo’ granddaddy was worth a damn, but he dead now. You’d have just run this company into the ground. I’m takin’ it.”
Zion squealed and tried to crawl away, but Nelson = punched him again. Pain erupted in Zion’s side, and he collapsed onto the floor. Zion rolled onto his back. Nelson slowly lowered his hefty, broad ass right on Zion’s face. His crack was choked with dark kinky black hairs, which scratched Zion’s skin.
“Lick it up, Zion boy, get ya tongue in there.” When Zion didn’t comply right away, Nelson punched him in the belly. Zion groaned. “Get yo’ tongue inside my asshole now, bitch.”
Zion still wanted to fight, but he was so weak and skinny. His body submitted even as his mind wanted to fight back. His tongue slipped into Nelson’s asshole. The taste of man-funk flooded his senses.
It was so rank, so foul, the flavor overwhelming all of Zion’s other senses. Utter humiliation wracked his body. Only an absolute fool would let another man do this, he thought.
Nelson loudly moaned. His ass-sweat trickled into Zion’s mouth, and Zion gagged so violently his stomach hurt. Nelson sat on his face, all of his weight pressing down on Zion’s head. He was big man, and it felt like Zion’s head was going to cave in. He couldn’t focus on anything but squirming beneath Nelson’s giant body.
“Move ya tongue around some more. How’s my ass taste, boy?”
“Please… stop-” Zion had to shout to be heard through the meat of Nelson’s ass. That made Nelson laugh and pound on Zion’s belly some more.
“Nah, this is yo’ life now, Zion boy, it’s already done. Get used to it.” Nelson rubbed his asshole over Zion’s face, leaving a layer of funk. Zion’s nose dug into his asscrack from top to bottom. “From now on, e’ry time I come into my restaurant, or up here — anytime you see me, basically — I want you to lick my asshole, okay?”
“No!”
Nelson stood up and punched Zion in the belly. Zion screamed and gagged as the rush of fresh air made the assy taste on his tongue even more rancid. He writhed, but Nelson made him stay on his back. “What’d I say? You my slave, bitch. You can leave any time, but I own ya ass. I own this building and I own ya car and I own ya job and I own e’rything here in this apartment. I got ya daddy in jail and ya grandmom in care and ya sister out hoin’. I can decide to drop any one of ’em loose anytime,” he said.
Through his tears, Zion grunted. “I can… do…-“
“You can leave, wit’ nothin’. I will take the shoes off ya feet. I just might break all the bones in yo’ feet too, just to make sure you nevuh work again. You will work for me, Zion, for the rest of your life. Or I will make your whole family’s life hell. Ya feel me?”
“Y…. Yes.”
“Good. Now say ‘I will lick yo’ asshole, Nelson’.”
A sob escaped from Zion’s lips. “I… I will lick ya asshole, Nelson.” Zion’s tears were squashed by Nelson plopping down on his face again.
This time, Zion had no choice but to lap at that funky hole as tears streamed down his cheeks. The filthy, gritty feeling was almost, but not quite, enough to make him forget his sobbing. Nelson guided Zion’s hands around his body to his cock. Zion’s tongue ran up his guys and tasted his sweat, while his hands stroked from the root to the tip of Nelson’s fat throbbing dick.
“Stroke me off, boy. That’s how you do a rimjob. Tongue in deeper. Tongue deeper, boy!” He punched Zion in the belly again, and when Zion cried out, he grabbed his tongue. He pulled it out until Zion squealed. “See this? You got a good five inches of tongue here, boy. I wanna feel all five inches in my ass, or I swear to Christ I will shove my foot up your ass, and I am not playin’, I can show you the evidence I did it before.”
He nearly lifted Zion from his knees by his tongue but instead lowered his ass to meet his face, so he reached underneath himself to shove Zion’s tongue into his asshole. He did it so forcefully his own finger penetrated his own ass at the same time, while Zion sobbed into the filthy asscrack of the superior man above him.
Zion tried to look away, but each time Nelson slapped him and forced him to look him in the eye. He was so intimidating that Zion couldn’t think of any plan besides squirming and begging whenever he could catch a breath. Nelson’s burly mustache shook as he sneered.
“You are one pitiful li’l bitch. You a sissy?” He raised his eyebrows and looked down at them.
“No! No, come on!”
“You should be
The fact that Nelson was not a thug made him scarier to Zion. He looked like a church deacon — he was, in fact, a church deacon — and he spoke like a Hollywood hero (or villain). He had a slightly stawk-heavy East Coast accent, sounding like he was from maybe Philadelphia or someplace like that. New Jersey, maybe. His words rang out like a prophecy in Zion’s ears.
Zion felt filthy and worthless. Zion sobbed in Nelson’s plump ass, while Nelson rubbed his hole over Zion’s tongue like a dog with infected anal glands. Every time Zion’s tongue stopped moving for even a second, Nelson hit him or pinched him hard until Zion resumed lapping at his grimy prostate.
Nelson let out a long, low whistle. His cock throbbed in Zion’s hands. “Hell yeah, there ya go. Fuck yeah. You got it. This is how you do a rimjob, Zion. All of ya tongue in there, hands on my dick… You gonna make me nut, boy, I swear… I was gonna wreck ya asshole today, but maybe I wait.”
A fluid hit Zion’s tongue. It was rancid and sour, and it tasted like farts, but Zion was pretty sure it was spit, cuz Nelson was spitting on his face, it seemed. Through his sobs and retches, Zion heard him calmly hocking up loogey after loogey. Zion squirmed, sobbing in pain and disgust. Nelson punched him in the belly over and over again.
“Keep ya tongue up in there, boy, and move it around some,” Nelson said. He groaned. “Yeah, nigga… Hell yeah…” His muscles all flexed at once, and a hot spray of cum shot over his flat belly. He shot a huge flow that seemed to go on for minutes, real honest-to-god minutes of continuous flow, coating his muscular chest in a sheen of jizz, which immediately ran down to his balls and his taint and then at last onto Zion’s tongue in his ass.
Zion was only barely aware of his own hands on Nelson’s dick. He didn’t really move them, he just held on, while Nelson ground his ass over Zion’s face, the movement making Zion give him a handjob as he licked his asshole. It must have felt good, the handjob or maybe the tongue, because Nelson let out a long simmering murmur that rattled the walls of Zion’s apartment.
A loud gag escaped from Zion’s throat, the sound swallowed by Nelson’s hefty body. Zion cringed as sticky fluids ran down his throat, coating his tongue. He thought for sure he’d never make that taste go away.
“Yeah, nigga… Ah shit, I am gonna like keepin’ you ’round as a rimjob-bitch. Get used to this,” he said with another whistle. He rubbed his butt over Zion’s face, sending fresh new waves of disgusting flavor onto Zion’s tongue. “Keep ya tongue out, boy.”
He grabbed Zion’s tongue as he lifted himself up. Zion yelped because Nelson really squeezed on his tongue with his fingers. Then Nelson kneeled next to Zion, put his nose right in front of Zion’s tongue and inhaled deeply.
“You smell like pure submission, bitch.” He hocked up another big loogie and spat it onto Zion’s tongue. It was grimy and sour, and Zion squirmed all over again. Drool spilled out of his mouth as he gagged over and over. Nelson had a disgusted sneer on his face, holding Zion by the tongue. He spat again and again.
Then he pointed to the cum he had sprayed over his own chest and flat stomach. It looked like a huge load, great puddles of it that ran in rivulets down his chest. It was so thick, like sour cream, it made Zion’s own jizz seem watery and pitiful. He had spurted a huge load, and a few drops continued plopping out one by one into Nelson’s crotch hair. “Lick my cum off me. I’m gonna make ya tongue so nasty you wanna cut it off.” He licked his lips, as he pulled Zion’s face over the puddles of jizz that coated his pectoral muscles.
Keeping a grip on Zion’s tongue while he rubbed it over his chest was difficult and awkward for Nelson because he was so much bigger than Zion. He had to scrunch in to make it work. But he didn’t let Zion control his own tongue — despite telling him to lick, Nelson didn’t allow it, he instead used Zion’s tongue like a rag to clean the cum off his chest.
The salty bitterness of cum cut through Zion’s pain and humiliation, making him sob all over again. Licking his chest reminded Zion how much stronger Nelson was than him. He felt like a warm marble statue. Zion didn’t want to caress his shoulder muscles like a girl being seduced, but his hands flailed and that’s what they did, embarrassing him even further.
“Now sit there. Look me in the eye.” Nelson pointed to a spot on the floor. “Don’t get up, don’t wipe your face off. You may swallow the nastiness on your tongue. If you spit, I will beat you. I wanna watch you swallow that. I wanna see it go down yo’ throat, cuz that’ll be you agreein’ to be my rimjob-bitch-slave. That’s yo’ willing agreement.” He held onto Zion’s throat with one of his massive hands.
Zion didn’t want to swallow. Every part of him rebelled against the concept.
But he knew Nelson wasn’t kidding about beating him if he spit, so he tried to hold the soup of filth in his mouth. Its creamy thickness sloshed around, viscous, and he imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperms swimming around on his gums and his tongue. That was ridiculous, right? You can’t feel sperm.
But it sure seemed like he could. He sobbed, and he felt the tears running down his cheeks. He felt that for sure. Just like he felt the sperm swimming, looking for something to impregnate on his tongue.
A moist sniffle came outta his nose, and Nelson looked down him like a pititful pile of dogshit. Zion wanted to come up with a plan, to gin up the courage to attack Nelson, or at least to call the police when he left. None of those options sounded optionable though. Nelson was a gangster, that was clear now, and looking back on it, maybe Zion should have always known that was true. It did seem weird that a man like that would marry his grandmother.
But old people were weird, Zion couldn’t understand why they did what they did.
And now it was too late anyway. He couldn’t go to the police, Nelson would punish him. All he could do was submit. He couldn’t avoid his instinct to swallow though, and he gagged violently as it went down his throat. He imagined he could feel Nelson’s sperm swimming in his belly.
Nelson spat on him again. “Don’t move from that spot. Don’t wipe ya face off, not until I walk out the door.”
He began to very slowly get dressed. His slacks were wrinkleless, perfectly flat — ironed, obviously — because he had folded them when he took them off. His shoes were fine leather too. Halfway through, as he pulled up his pants, he stopped, turned around and farted right in front of Zion’s face. The stench of spit-flavored fart hit Zion’s nostrils and he gagged. He wept continuously.
“If you do what I say, Zion boy, everything’ll be fine.” He went into Zion’s kitchen. “You got enough food in here to last a couple weeks. You tell me when you run out, I’ll give you more.”
Zion cried, sitting there. Nelson didn’t let him move yet, so he had to sit there with a mask of cum, spit and assjuice on his face. Nelson took some stuff out of his kitchen and placed it by the door. It was all the nice things, the meat from the freezer, a fancy bottle of olive oil, that kind of thing, plus a stack of fine china. He carefully arranged it all in a pile he could carry in one hand.
“I’m takin’ some of ya shit. You ain’t worth none of this, boy. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna let ya starve to death. You know how to cook beans, right?”
“Yeah.” Zion croaked. He gurgled and gagged all over again. Nelson chuckled.
“Good. Beans is cheap, I gonna give you mostly beans and rice.” Nelson walked past where Zion sat. He undid his belt, plopped his plump asscheeks in front of Zion again and farted on his face. He wrinkled his nose. “You is one worthless piece of shit, man, you know that?”
“Yes.” Zion’s voice had never felt so weak and wavery. He felt nothing but submission towards this man, who’d ruined his life and even despite that, Zion was going to do everything he said. He was like a God to Zion.
“Did you like eatin’ my ass?” He paused, then, just as Zion was about to answer, he snapped, “Say yes, bitch, or I’ll throw you out the window.”
Zion hesitated. “Yes.” When Nelson motioned for him to stretch that out, he winced and moaned. Nelson slapped him. Zion cringed. “I… I enjoyed eating your ass.”
Nelson’s phone rang. He looked at it, and his mustache wriggled. “It’s one of my bitches.” He answered it. “Hey, baby. Yeah. I be ovuh later. Uh-huh. Yeah cook me up somethin’. That sounds good. I’s just doin’ a little work.” He chuckled. He glanced at Zion. “Ain’t that kinda work. You ain’t gotta lick my doodoo-hole tonight though, baby, on ‘ccount of what I’s doin’ at work.” He laughed. “Nah, it ain’t a girl. This nigga displeased me. Nah, don’t worry, my princess, you ain’t gotta be jealous. Oh yeah? Oh shit… Alright, alright.” He looked at Zion. “Go sit in the bathtub, nigga.”
Zion retched as he got up, but Nelson kicked him in the belly.
“Crawl! When you in fronta me, bitch, you crawl!” Nelson chuckled into the phone. “Yeah, he my slave. Yeah, sure. He come clean ya house e’ry weekend.” He licked his lips. “Damn, baby, you got a evil side. I like that.” He knocked Zion over with his foot, then kicked him in the belly until Zion gasped and cried out. He heard a cruel female voice laughing through the phone. “Get in there, bitch!”
Nelson allowed him to crawl on his hands and knees into the bathroom. Zion was too exhausted and scared to fight back, or even to think about what was going on.
“Yeah, baby. You can do whatever you want to him. I’m-a do it now, I gotta put the video on.” He started recording. He took his dick out through the fly of his pants. “Open up ya mouth, boy, and start singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’.”
The girl laughed hysterically as Zion tried to sing through his tears, and the sound of her guffaws carried tinnily from the phone in Nelson’s hand. The melody of the song was interrupted by hot, bitter piss flowing over his face, so it ended up just being the sound of him choking to the tune of the woman’s laughter. Zion sobbed and gagged, his stomach twisting in knots when urine streamed down his throat.
He pissed so much there was a little puddle around Zion’s bare ass on the floor of the bathtub. He cried and cried as Nelson put his dick away.
“Uncle Nelson… Please-“
“You still callin’ me uncle?” Nelson gathered up everything else in the apartment that he wanted — or that he judged to be too nice for a slave to have. He got it all up in a couple boxes, which he carted out to his Mercedes one by one. Before he left, Nelson stood over Zion and glared down at him. That mask of filth was still on his face, and Zion trembled, unable to think about anything but his desperate desire to be free of it.
Without another word, Nelson pursed his lips, hocked up a massive loogey and spat it out onto Zion’s face. It splatted and covered him in stinking saliva from his forehead to his nose, and it coated his eyes too, so it was in everything he saw.
Then, at last, Nelson turned around and walked out the door. Zion was relieved to be able to clean his face off and cry, alone.

Make Him Beg

Mark has lost it all at the race-track, and he’s desperate to get it back! Will Tyrell give him a second chance?

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On his knees just inches from the dumpster, Mark cried. He looked up at Tyrell hoping for mercy, but there was none. The smell of rotting garbage from the racetrack was intense and revolting. Mark’s nose had gotten used to it though. It was sour and bitter, bracing like a cold wind early in a crisp morning.
“I’ll do anything.” He blushed. Mark had been raised in privilege, so he had rarely had to beg anyone for anything. But he had bet it all on a pony — literally, he had bet everything he had in a last-ditch effort to make a fortune — and lost it. Now Mark needed to do whatever it took to undo that mistake.
It should have worked. He was on a bad streak, and it should have been over with. He calculated the odds. He was due for a big win. The universe owed him a big win.
“I’ll consider letting you take your bet back,” Tyrell said, his grizzled jaw shaking as he chewed on his lower lip, “But you gotta show me you deserve it. Take my dick outta my pants.” He outlined his cock in the black slacks all the racetrack security wore. The fabric was not thick, and the massiveness of his shaft was apparent through the cloth.
“What?”
“If you take my dick outta my pants and you can look at it without sobbing like a prison bitch, I’ll consider letting you take your bet back,” Tyrell said. He had a big beaming face like a bully. He was that kind of guy, you could tell he’d always been handsome, always perfect, women always went chasing after him, adults approved of him. He had aggressively appealing dimples. A man shouldn’t have dimples like that. It’s demeaning for other men. Tyrell rolled his eyes above his awkward smile. “If you can look at my dick without sobbing at what a deadbeat you are, I’ll consider letting you take back the debt. No promises though, just consideration.” He crossed his arms over his chest, which made his powerful chest muscles pop through his tailored suit.
A part of Mark’s mind thought he should just say no and cut his losses, but he needed to get his money back. If he did, he could place a bet when the track reopened tomorrow. All this unpleasantness would go away with a well-placed bet.
He undid the zipper of Tyrell’s jeans and pulled his dick out. He had never touched another man’s cock or even looked at one closely. He gagged at the sweaty scent, and the limp, greasy feel of it. Did all dicks look and smell like that? He had never looked at his own so closely.
“You don’t like the smell of cocksweat, huh?” Tyrell said with a dry, throaty chuckle. His voice was gravelly and rough, like he gargled with rusty nails.
“No,” Mark said. His lip quivered but he held back his tears. He didn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he already had.
“You wanna kiss my dick?” Tyrell asked with a comforting lilt to his voice, as though he thought it likely Mark did want to kiss his dick.
“Do I have to?”
“No, but it might help.”
Mark blushed and kissed it. He gagged again at that greasy texture. It tasted like cum already, like Tyrell had fucked some girl without a condom and then never showered. He probably did precisely that, Tyrell was that way. You could see it in how he carried himself. Women probably tossed their fucking pussies at him. Some men have it so easy, Mark thought.
“That was nice. You wanna taste it?”
“No…”
“You might decide you like it,” he said.
“I won’t,” Mark said with a wince, avoiding Tyrell’s penetrating gaze.
“If you open your mouth, I’ll consider letting you take your bet back.”
“That’s what you said before.”
“I know. I did consider it. The result of my consideration was that I told you to open your mouth if you want me to continue the process of reconsidering. You can always say no and just walk away, take a loss, admit you got got, you been defeated. You know, if this was the olden days, you and ya family would all be sold into slavery. All I’s asking you to do is open your mouth anyway. I ain’t say I’d wreck yo’ throat like the deadbeat-bitch you are.” Tyrell smiled. “I didn’t say I won’t wreck your throat like a deadbeat-bitch either. I ain’t makin’ a comment on that. Who can predict the future? I thought McCain was gonna win.”
Mark winced and blushed. After going through all this, he thought, fate was surely gonna give him a win when he placed that bet tomorrow — Lady Luck rewarded those who took big risks. He opened his mouth. He could handle it.
He gagged as Tyrell’s manhood pushed in. It was long and thick, limp and clammy at first. But it very quickly firmed up, then dripped precum down Mark’s throat.
“Oh. I guess I am gonna turn your throat into my personal pussy,” Tyrell said with a shrug. “I’m as shocked as you are.”
The taste was terrible. It was like fart and sweat and a little like nasty pussy. The more Mark tasted, the more certain he was that Tyrell had been fucking a whore earlier. Tyrell had a fat female neighbor whom he used as a booty call. He had fucked her right after his shower when he bumped into her in the hall. He drained his nuts in her pussy, then left her there fingering herself to orgasm, both because he didn’t care about pleasing her and because he didn’t want to be late for work or Mr. Gregarian would yell at him.
Could people out in the parking lot see as they drove by? Mark couldn’t tell if they were able to see. He prayed not. The alley was wide open and connected to the street, but trash cans and dumpsters probably blocked the view. If they did see him slurping on this stranger’s cock, Mark thought, he’d never be able to live down the rumors.
The more Mark did, the more he thought fate would reward him with a win when this was all over. He could feel it in his bones, and when he saw those lights flashing, it’d all be worth it. He’d be able to retire if he won really big. And Tyrell here would look at him with such burning jealousy.
Mark could already feel it. It hadn’t happened yet but it felt so real it might as well have. Mark imagined what he would say to Tyrell when that happened, how superior he would feel, how pitiful Tyrell would look. Tyrell would have to offer Mark free wine, free hotel rooms, free meals. He’d have to bow and serve Mark because he was a high roller.
But first he needed to make it through this. He had never tasted a cock before, and he had no idea how difficult it would be. He had rather assumed it would taste more or less like pussy, especially in this case since pussyjuice was caked onto Tyrell’s shaft, but it actually tasted much worse than that. There was a definite piss-like flavor, Mark thought as he sputtered on the cock invading his gullet, and it made him want to vomit.
The part that Mark hated was the choking. He gagged on the taste and on the fleshy missile poking its way down his throat. Tyrell was relentless, and he even seemed to enjoy seeing Mark gag. His throat rebelled at it. Tyrell held onto Mark’s head by the ears, ramming with all his might, like he was trying to shatter something in there. Tyrell had massive balls too, and he smelled the bitter sweat clinging to his sacskin when it was launched by his thrusts to splatter on Mark’s chin and lower lip. It was salty and foul, and it made his gags worse, as did the wiry pubes, scratchy and coarse, where Mark’s forehead slammed into the meat of his powerful body. Tyrell used his throat like a fleshlight, and Mark couldn’t help but squeeze his choking throat around it.
“Yeah, it’s okay to gag a little. That’s because you’s tastin’ real man right now,” Tyrell said. He grumbled and licked his teeth. “Yo’ body is used to bein’ a bitch, cuz that’s what you is, ya fuckin’ deadbeat.”
He pulled his massive cock out and slapped Mark over the face with it. It was harder than seemed possible, like getting slapped by an iron rod. He laughed when Mark gasped for air and heaved. He held Mark’s head in place by holding onto a lock of his hair.
“Lemme… take… a break…”
“Nah,” he said. He pried Mark’s jaws apart and fed his cock back down his throat. It tasted a little like bile now, in addition to everything else. Mark gagged and choked on it all over again.
Another man in a fine suit appeared in the alley. “Hey Tyrell, did Cue call out sick today?” This man was smaller than Tyrell, and the suit was nicer — he was not security. He was the owner. Was this the guy who could let Mark take his bet back? He glanced down at Mark but didn’t say anything to him.
“Yes, Mr. Gregarian,” Tyrell said. He slammed his dick all the way down Mark’s throat. A shudder of pleasure ran up his spine, making his tie shake above his broad chest muscles.
“Tell Cue that if he does it again, I’ll fire his ass,” Mr. Gregarian said with a scowl. He took a few steps away, then stopped. “Is that deadbeat slurpin’ on your dick properly?”
Tyrell snorted. “Not really.”
“Hey, deadbeat,” Mr. Gregarian said like he was talking to a deaf, retarded person. “Hey, you prolly got a gamblin’ problem, you think?”
Tyrell pulled away so Mark could answer. But tears streamed from Mark’s eyes and he couldn’t catch his breath. A few scattered syllables escaped from his throat as he tried to explain what had happened.
His family had really started this. They had brought him to a restaurant for a family get-together — to celebrate his brother’s engagement to some girl Mark had never met. As it turned out, he had never met her because she didn’t exist.
There was no restaurant. There was no engagement. There was no fiancée. There was only an “intervention”, which was what some therapist called it when your family attacks you and reminds you of all your failures as though you might have forgot.
We’re worried about you. You spend all your time at the track. You’ve lost so much money.
They didn’t understand. Mark tried to explain, but they weren’t listening. They were fixated on the idea that he was a gambling addict. Mark thought that might be true, but what they didn’t understand was that horse-racing wasn’t even really gambling — there was real science behind it. Mark was developing a way to predict which horses would do best.
He would have played along, however, and spent some time keeping a low profile. But one of his email contacts had said that a particular horse’s odds had been misprinted. The horse was On Her Mark, which Mark took to be a sign.
So he had bet it all on a pony. And now here he was in the track’s garbage-strewn alley, sobbing as he tried to explain it all to the owner of the racetrack and the attached bar. Mr. Gregarian listened as though he really cared about the story. He clucked his tongue against his teeth like a kindergarten teacher listening to a child explain why he was crying.
“Oh, I see,” he said, though there was no way he had understood more than a few words of that, because Mark had never even caught his breath, he was still panting and heaving throughout the story. Mr. Gregarian nodded. “You know what? I’m allowed to make a limited number of exceptions. That’s part of my power as a manager here at the track.”
“Really?!”
“Fo’ real, homie,” he said with a snicker. “I will consider giving you your money back if you prove how much you regret your actions.”
“I’ll do anything!”
“Lick Tyrell’s asshole,” Mr. Gregarian said, stifling a laugh. Tyrell laughed too. “Ram your dumb deadbeat tongue into his filthy fucking ass. He’s got a nasty asshole.”
Tyrell undid his slacks and dropped them to his knees before Mark had even said yes. His cock was hard, sticking through the fly, so he had to awkwardly angle it down in order to lower his pants. His dick was so big, his pants got caught on it. Tyrell laughed and said, “Hey, don’t make it seem like my ass is especially nasty, Mistuh Gregarian, I don’t got — nothing’s wrong with my asshole. It’s dirty like all assholes are dirty-“
“Shut up, Tyrell-“
“You’re making me sound like a degenerate,” Tyrell said. He had a huge pair of asscheeks, powerfully muscled too, you could sense the strength of his thighs through the tender firmness of his ass.
Mr. Gregarian rolled his eyes, while Mark stared at the bare ass before him like an erupting volcano. Mr. Gregarian clucked his tongue and shook his head. “You can always quit gamblin’. You don’t gotta keep going, deadbeat.”
But Mark was more sure than ever that this was going to work. The more disgusting things he did to make it happen, the more certain he was that he’d win when he bet it all on another pony. Maybe, he thought, this will take all night. That would make sense, fate-wise, he’d finish and get his cash back just as the track was reopening tomorrow. He’d be able to walk right back to that ticket counter, place a new bet and smirk at Tyrell and Mr. Gregarian as he collected his winnings.
So he dived between those cheeks while Mr. Gregarian cackled and Tyrell grunted as though he hadn’t thought Mark would go through with it. Tyrell was a meaty man with thick, plump asscheeks, the crack of which was choked with kinky brown hairs. He yelped a little in surprise when Mark’s head entered his asscheeks.
Mark just left his face there at first. Then Mark took a breath, and the taste of ass flooded his mouth. He hadn’t even licked anything yet, but the flavor was overwhelming. Sweat-soaked hairs scratched at his chin and nose.
“Stick your tongue out, deadbeat. Lick his asshole,” Mr. Gregarian said. “You gotta get your tongue in the hole to get me to reconsider your bet. That’s how I know you’ve really learned your lesson.”
He tentatively stuck his tongue out and gagged when he felt spongy rectum. But he was insistent on getting this done — there was no sense in backing out now, after all — so he forced himself to stick it in.
Mr. Gregarian spread Tyrell’s cheeks, gingerly touching the firm meat. He wanted to watch Mark’s tongue sliding in and out. He gagged at the sight of it, then spat right on Mark’s face. His loogie was bitter and gritty, and it stuck to Tyrell’s ass.
Then Mark lost himself in that asshole. It was all he could see, hear, taste and smell — he was dimly aware of Tyrell complaining about Mr. Gregarian spitting on his ass, but Mark didn’t and couldn’t listen to any of that. Rancid ass and greasy hair filled his mouth. If he had eaten anything all day, he would have thrown it up, but he just painfully retched. He gagged continuously but told himself that it would all be worth it. He didn’t even notice Mr. Gregarian walk away, laughing at the raunchiness he had instigated.
“Alright, I bet you know what’s coming next. Drop your pants, deadbeat,” Tyrell said. “I’m gonna get in that ass. You ever been ramrodded?”
“No way!” Mark gasped as he pulled away from that hairy, cloying ass.
“Do I really gotta say it? You, deadbeat, you can get your money back — I’ll consider giving it back — if you let me wreck yo’ dumb whiteboy ass,” he said with a smirk.
“You had better do it!”
“Do you think I will?” Tyrell asked with a sigh. His massive dick throbbed as he stuck it between Mark’s cheeks. “Come on, answer the question, deadbeat. Do you think you’ll get your money back? Or do you think I’ll just turn you into my bitch and then leave you here in the trash? Huh? You really, truly think I’ll give you your money back?”
Mark couldn’t bring himself to say yes, because most of his mind knew the answer was no. It had always been no. But the part of his mind that was addicted to gambling was the part that was in control, so he just stayed there and wept while Tyrell laughed. If there was any chance that this would work, Mark was going to take it.
He was, after all, a gamblin’ man.
Then splitting pain erupted in his ass. Mark screamed but Tyrell held his hand over Mark’s mouth to muffle the sound. He had never felt anything like it, as though his entire body was being ripped asunder.
“Open that ass, bitch,” Tyrell murmured. He grabbed ahold of Mark’s thick hair and held his head in place.
He drilled his dick in deeply, his throbbing cock pushing in even as Mark’s ass tore and sent waves of pain up his body. He flailed uselessly, reaching behind himself to claw at Tyrell’s muscular body beneath his suit-shirt and jacket.
“Oh shit, another deadbeat, huh?” came another male voice. Mark looked behind himself to see a track employee, one of the bet-takers behind the window. He was a handsome young blond man, probably a college student, carrying a bag of garbage from the concession stand.
The pain in Mark’s ass was too intense to say anything, or even to feel embarrassment at being seen by yet another track employee. It hardly mattered now, did it — there was a security camera back here anyway. He bet Tyrell was going to upload this video to the Internet regardless. That thought made him sob, his back arching as more and more cockmeat rammed into him.
“This one’s really nasty,” Tyrell said with a loud grunt. The last of his dick slid into Mark’s straining guts. “He already licked my asshole.”
“Ah, that is fuckin’ disgusting!” He cackled up Mark’s face. “Let’s see how bad we can make it.” The worker dropped the bag of trash on the ground and ripped it open. It stank of rotting hot dogs and old relish, and the foul smell even got through the ass-stank that still stuck to Mark’s face.
“Make him lay on this, man,” the worker said with a snicker.
Tyrell laughed and did so. For a moment, Mark felt relief because his ass was empty, but Tyrell didn’t give him more than a second to enjoy it. He slammed Mark on his back on the open back of trash. Mark sank into the rotting food head-first, his ass in the air so Tyrell could slip his cock back into it.
The pain reawakened in his ass, now made worse by the smell of garbage all around him. Mark sobbed. He was now less confident that this was all worth it — what if, even if he got his money back, he didn’t win. He would be destitute tomorrow. He’d have to go to his family and say that he had lost everything, that they were right and he was wrong, he really was a gambling addict.
He sobbed so hard he didn’t notice the track employee taking his dick out and letting loose with a stream of piss. It flowed over Mark’s sputtering face, the acrid flavor making him gag all over again.
The blond employee snickered and walked away, muttering that he hated this job because of all the deadbeats. Mark blushed. He wanted to tell Tyrell that he was done, that he backed out, that it wasn’t worth it anymore.
But his agony and his shame were too great. All Mark could do was quiver and cry as that massive cock drilled into him over and over. His entire lower half was in the air, supported by Tyrell’s powerful arms so that his ass was available. Meanwhile Mark’s weight was on his head and neck, as though Tyrell was mid-piledriver, with his face deep in the racetrack garbage.
“Just you and me now, deadbeat. Just you and me for the grand finale,” Tyrell said. He closed his eyes and shuddered, his orgasm visible in the undulations of his muscles beneath his dark suit.
He realized it was done when he felt Tyrell’s balls crawl up in his sac. Tyrell groaned, and Mark cringed inwardly. This was it, Mark thought, he had officially allowed his gambling addiction to turn him into a mewling little bitch.
Cum flowed into him. It was a thick, hot load that seeped into his flesh. Mark felt it soaking into every inch of his body, trickling in the folds of his skin to coat him in filth and nastiness. He’d never feel clean again.
It didn’t seem like a normal amount, Mark thought, especially for someone who had just fucked earlier today. It felt like a hug wad, which he felt spreading within him and also dripping out and down his thighs and back, coating his entire underside.
“You ain’t done yet,” Tyrell said when he pulled out and intense relief flooded Mark. He sighed.
But Tyrell pulled him to his knees, and shoved his limp, ass-and-cum-covered cock into Mark’s mouth. The taste of santorum overwhelmed him, and he dry-heaved mouthloads of saliva all over Tyrell’s nasty cockshaft.
It was gritty and grimy. It tasted like the trash that covered this alley, and like farts and stale sweat and old jockstraps. It made Mark want to die at the thought that he was tasting his own ass-goo.
Finally that was it. Tyrell pulled his pants back up, tucking his limp dick away. He pushed Mark into the garbage on the ground.
“I’ve reconsidered,” Tyrell said. “And my answer, yet again, is no. Fuck you, deadbeat. Don’t come back here again until you make some money.” He straightened his tie and tucked his dick away.
Then he sauntered off, leaving Mark there in the garbage, crawling, struggling to get on his knees. He couldn’t stop gagging because of the assy flavor on his tongue, and the smell of trash in the air.
He was there on all fours for what felt like forever. At last he managed to make it to his feet and pull his pants up. He’d have to go back to his parents. That was the only thing that made sense. Mom would make it all better. Every step caused arduous pain in his ass, so wasn’t even sure he could make it all the way home.
But there was a piece of paper on the ground. It had been in the trash. It was not like the other kitchen trash that the blond guy had dropped back here. It was a printout of an email.
He read the email and smiled. There was a horse racing tomorrow whose jockey had been replaced at the last minute, from a no-name loser jockey to one of the most well-known athletes in the field today. With this more experienced jockey riding him, Mark thought, the horse was sure to win, and since no other bettors knew that, Mark would be trading based on better information than them. That gave him a marked advantage.
He still had doubts about placing the bet until he saw the horse’s name. It was called Loser’s Revenge.
That cinched it for Mark. Fate was telling him something, and he wasn’t going to ignore it. It was time, he decided, to bet it all on a pony.
He just needed to find a way to drum up some cash before the races started again tomorrow.

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.”

The Prison Guard Bottoms

Ramon is a flamboyant twink behind bars, but his release is coming up soon. That’s when a guard brings him a special visitor… Barrack Zales is a new prison guard caught smuggling in drugs, which means he’s in for a special punishment.

This is a punishment that Ramon is gonna enjoy doling out!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The night before Ramon’s release date, he couldn’t sleep. He had been dreaming of this day for what felt like a lifetime. He tossed and turned. It was the worst night in the state prison since his very first, when Ramon wept and trembled in fear until dawn.
Now he thought he should feel good about his imminent release, and a part of him certainly did. But a part of him also wept and trembled in fear until dawn yet again. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he walked out those doors. He didn’t have a plan, aside from the vague boilerplate “integration plan” he had come up with during his legally-mandated meetings with a parole officer.
When the first rays of sunlight came through the tiny window in one corner of his cell, Ramon’s heart skipped a beat. He got up and paced since he couldn’t sleep anyway. He could only walk three feet back and forth in his cell, so it his pacing was subpar, but that was the best that could be managed in his rinky-dink prison cell.
Footsteps echoed in the silent corridor of the protective-custody cell block. There were three guards — including Officer Uglymug — escorting another uniformed guard that Ramon didn’t recognize. The other guard appeared to be new, with a clean uniform and an unfaded ID badge, polished black boots and an insecure swagger.
Was he under arrest? His hands were behind his back as though handcuffed, but Ramon couldn’t see whether they were.
Ramon’s anxiety about his imminent release diminished as he tried to figure out what was happening. Newly-hired guards sometimes thought they could smuggle drugs in and sell it to the inmates easily, since that happened in the movies all the time. But the state prison had ways of preventing that, and it was common for new guards to work a day or two and then be seen leaving the prison in handcuffs (they never served a sentence here).
Officer Uglymug opened the door to Ramon’s cell. He smiled broadly. “You are one lucky sissy, Mister Mercado,” he said. “Meet Barrack Zales, a former guard here.”
Barrack smiled wanly at Ramon. “Congratulations on your release,” Barrack said. His voice was deep and gruff, and he sounded confident, but it was a faux confidence, like he really was insecure but tried to hide it.
“Thanks, Officer Zales,” Ramon said.
“Don’t call him that,” murmured Uglymug. “He ain’t an officer.”
“Oh… Okay, well, then, Barrack,” Ramon said. He stuck his hand out to shake, but Barrack was handcuffed, so all he could do was nod back.
“Barrack here thought he could smuggle heroin into my prison,” Officer Uglymug said. “He wanted to get inmates like you addicted so he could profit off you-“
“That ain’t what I was planning!”
“Oh? What was your plan again?”
“I was… I mean… I wasn’t gettin’ no one addicted,” he said. “I was just gonna sell…”
“You were going to sell drugs at inflated prices to people who would otherwise be in rehab, but aren’t since they get drugs from you,” Officer Uglymug said. “Can you explain the morality of that to me? It sure sounds-“
“Okay, we’ve been over this, man. I’m doing what you want,” Barrack said. He rolled his eyes.
Officer Uglymug stared daggers at Barrack until the silence was so thick it could be stabbed with a shiv. Then he turned back to Ramon and smiled again. “But we decided to spare the taxpayers the expense of a trial. We think you can, uh… well, insert the law into Zales through the asshole, and I figured that’d be a good going-away present for you too.”
Another long silence filled the cell. Ramon cleared his throat. “So… you want me to cornhole him? Instead of being arrested, he gets it up the ass from me?”
Barrack flared his nostrils. “I’ll do whatever you want, man.” He flexed his biceps the best he could with his wrists handcuffed behind his back, and his big bear-like pecs jiggled beneath his uniform shirt. “I don’t care.” Despite his words, it sounded like he did care very much. He looked nervous and vaguely ill. He ignored it as Uglymug undid the buttons of his uniform shirt, which couldn’t come off without removing the handcuffs, but Uglymug let the shirt fall off his shoulders behind his back.
Ramon sighed. “Hell yeah, come on in, Barrack. I’ll do you so good you decide to go to prison for fun.”
Officer Uglymug laughed, but Barrack bristled and rolled his eyes, staying put until Uglymug shoved him forward. The Uglymug closed the door behind him. He remained outside Ramon’s cell though, watching through the cell bars.
“Can I get the handcuffs off?”
“No,” Uglymug said. He stood there with his arms folded over his chest once again.
Barrack straightened his back, towering over Ramon. He struggled against the handcuffs on his wrists, muscles bulging as though he was seriously trying to tear the handcuffs apart with his raw strength.
“Well, I guess… Why don’t we get started?” Ramon said. He pulled down the fly of Barrack’s uniform slacks and removed his throbbing slab of thick dickmeat.
One “good” (relatively speaking) part of coming to the state prison was that Ramon got to show off his substantial dick. Everyone assumed that since he was a little man, he had a small cock, and Ramon was glad to prove them wrong. It had been enough to make him into a celebrity on his first day. The Aryans called him the “Mexican wit’ a big prick”.
Now Barrack sighed and shook his head when he saw it. He looked away, and he gulped.
The tension in the cell remained thick, as Ramon gently picked up Barrack’s meaty member. He swayed it back and forth in his hand. It was thick and juicy, and it made Ramon lick his lips. Then Ramon walloped Barrack’s dick with his own, and they sword-fought there — well, Ramon did, Barrack stayed still like a stone statue, wrinkling his nose, keeping his chin high, like he was pretending not to notice Ramon smashed both limp cocks together. Ramon liked the feel of Barrack’s fat limpness rubbing against his own, leaving a layer of masculine sweat and grime. The tension in the cell diminished, replaced by a comfortable arousal. Ramon’s hands roamed all over Barrack’s body.
When he got to Barrack’s nipples, he tweaked one, then the other, then both, and Barrack twitched. His pecs rippled. Barrack bucked, and Uglymug laughed out loud.
“You seriously uncomfortable with that shit, huh? You were never gonna like workin’ here,” Officer Uglymug said with a big grin on his face. “Can’t be squeamish if you gonna be a prison guard.”
Ramon kept jousting with Barrack, who faced away from him, his body stiff but tense. Ramon’s cock was firming up, so their jousting turned rapidly from dickfat jiggling together to Ramon stabbing his erection into Barrack’s soft cock and trimmed pubes. Barrack wrinkled his nose.
“Get on your knees,” Ramon said, then added, “Bitch!” Uglymug reacted with thunderous applause.
Barrack sneered and lunged like he was going to punch Ramon, but his arms were still handcuffed, so Ramon held firm. He didn’t flinch. Barrach growled.
“Get on your knees,” Ramon said again.
Barrack gritted his teeth and sunk to the ground on his knees. His eyes narrowed into slits aimed up at Ramon.
He was still much too tall to swallow Ramon’s dick like that. Ramon stood there with his hands on his hips. Even on his knees, Barrack’s face was even with Ramon’s bellybutton. Ramon rubbed his erect dick between Barrack’s massive pectoral muscles. Barrack ignored it.
“Ya gettin’ titty-humped, nigga,” Officer Uglymug said. “I think you’re gonna have to go lower than that to swallow his dick.”
“Take your time though,” Ramon said with a smirk. He really meant that, he was enjoying humping Barrack’s muscles. He wasn’t gonna cum like that, but Ramon was in no hurry. Anything to distract from the stress of his imminent relase was worth it. His dick rubbed on Barrack’s sternum, which made his pecs ripple, so Ramon switched to thwacked his erection on the meat of Barrack’s muscle.
Barrack scowled but did open his mouth. He stooped over and took Ramon’s stiff dick past his lips. He gagged loudly, and spit choked down Ramon’s shaft, which he spat out. There was something defiant in his gag, like he was proving that he couldn’t do this.
Little did he know — or maybe he did know — that a gag wasn’t gonna stop Ramon Mercado. Gagging made Barrack’s muscles flex, and it sent a squeezing shiver of pleasure up Ramon’s spine. He smiled.
When Barrack had regained his composure, Ramon rammed his dick in, laughing as Barrack sputtered, eyes opening wide. Ramon’s cock throbbed in his throat, and since he was handcuffed, with his arms behind his back, he could do nothing but submit while Ramon drilled into him.
“Yeah, make him choke!”
“Hmmm…” Ramon gripped Barrack by the head and pushed his dick in, not throating him down like a lot of men in this prison do — Ramon had found his mouth was in strong demand during his time here — but more making love to his throat, humping his tongue, and making sure Barrack tasted Ramon’s cock with every inch of his mouth.
“Gag him! Gag him! Gag him!” Uglymug chanted
The tightness of Barrack’s throat was exhilarating. Every time he gagged on Ramon’s cock, it sent a wave of pleasure through Ramon’s body. He moaned and blushed at how intense his reactions were. He hadn’t topped anyone since well before coming to this prison, so it was nice to experience a hot mouth on his cock again, even if it was unwilling.
Copious spit leaked out his mouth, as Barrack was unable or unwilling to swallow anything. He drooled up on Ramon’s shaft, his whole body buckling when he gagged. Ramon was gentle now that he was getting into it, forcing — gently — oh so gently — his cock down Barrack’s throat. When he did it slow enough, Barrack was unable to spit it out, as he could only retch.
Ramon was in charge of his gullet though. He forced his cock down there then held it in place, as he played with Barrack’s face and head. He had handsome features, big ones too, Barrack was a large man with a big head and big everything on it. Ramon’s petite hands played with his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, his ears, and Barrack glowered and simmered, erupting in a furious choke every few seconds.
At last, Ramon pulled his cock outta Barrack’s mouth, quickly lest he bust his nut. He did not want to finish this until he had gotten up Barrack’s behind.
“Lay down on your back, here on the bunk,” Ramon said. He blushed as he pointed to his bunk.
When Barrack hesitated, Ramon frowned. Officer Uglymug pulled out his cattle prod, which made Barrack roll his eyes and shake. He struggled to fit his broad body into the bunk. He was too tall, so his feet had to curl up so that his head could rest over the edge, and it was difficult to balance himself with his hands still cuffed behind his back.
“Up like this, so I can really get deep in that throat,” Ramon said. He lightly tapped Barrack’s cheeks, then leaned down and kissed him on the lips. Barrack had nice, full lips and a big tongue, which lay in his mouth like a dead fish. He didn’t kiss Ramon back. He just stayed limp as Ramon explored his mouth.
When his burgeoning orgasm had died down, Ramon placed his spit-dripping cock right at the entrance to Barrack’s mouth. Barrack’s lower lip quivered — it was his upper lip at the moment, because his head dangled upside-down over the end of the bed — as Ramon wiped precum off on his handsome face.
His chin and cheeks were smoothly shaved. Ramon slid his dick over the man’s face until Barrack’s entire face glistened with pearly white pre-cum. He gagged every few seconds even when Ramon pulled his dick away, as the smell of precum had seeped into his skin. Ramon thwacked his erection on Barrack’s nose.
There was a symbol of three claws tattooed onto Barrack’s neck. Ramon rubbed them with one thumb as he played with the precum on Barrack’s face.
“What’s the significance of this tattoo?”
Barrack bit his lip. “It’s a gangsta thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re a gangsta?!” Officer Uglymug barked angrily. “What? Why did they even hire you? You got a fuckin’ neck tattoo…”
“Fuck you, Uglymug.”
“Shut up, you don’t get to call me that,” Uglymug said.
“You fuckin’ bitch-ass-!” Barrack’s shouts were muffled moments later by Ramon’s balls, which dropped right into Barrack’s mouth. They were sensitive, and his mouth sent tingles of sensation up Ramon’s body, but Ramon did so mainly to shut him up. He didn’t want this to turn into a fight between Barrack and Uglymug. Ramon could end up blueballed.
Instantly Barrack gagged on the sweaty ballflesh coating his tongue and slipping into his throat. His mouth quivered and the fluids pooled there, a mixture of Barrack’s and Ramon’s bodily secretions filling up Barrack’s mouth. Barrack’s mouth filled and overflowed with drool and ballsweat, as all his muscles flexed when he struggled not to retch. Ramon’s balls filled his mouth and tickled his throat.
“Gargle, motherfucker,” Ramon said. He had to repeat himself as Officer Uglymug turned the cattle prod on again before Barrack did so.
He wasn’t able to gargle in any meaningful sense, because as soon as he moved his tongue at all, he gagged profusely. He spat up a giant ball of spit that landed on the uniform pants he still wore. Ramon wiped up all the saliva he could with one hand and smeared it over Barrack’s face.
“You are one nasty shit,” Officer Uglymug said, as though he was both impressed and sympathetic to Barrack’s struggle.
“Open your mouth wider,” Ramon said. He demonstrated an open mouth. Barrack had a large mouth by nature, but Ramon thought he could do better. “Open that mouth, bitch.”
Barrack looked away, then scrunched his eyes shut.
“Nah. Look me in the eye like the bitch you are,” Ramon said. He was petite, even effeminate, so he knew he sounded ridiculous calling someone else a bitch. But that was what made it so humiliating for Barrack.
“Shut up,” Barrack muttered, his voice weak cuz he was struggling not to gag. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide.
“Let’s see how this does,” Ramon said. He pushed his dick in slowly, dragging it out so Barrack tasted every drop of salty precum on his tongue. Barrack held out until his nose nestled into Ramon’s crotch. His throat squeezed around Ramon’s shaft. But Ramon was relentless — he had been a bottom in prison for years, so he knew a lot of tricks to force someone into deep-throating a huge cock.
“That was pretty good deep-throating,” Ramon said, as he let his erection slide out so Barrack could take a breath. “You’re learning… Good job.”
“You fuckin’ pansy!” Barrack screamed.
“That was rude,” Ramon said with a laugh. “I’ll give you a choice for this next part. Do you want to lick my ass? Or would you rather drink some piss?”
“Fuck you!”
“Both? Really? Officer Uglymug, did he really say he wanted to both lick asshole and drink piss?”
“That’s what I heard. He said, ‘I love licking prostates, almost as much as I love drinking urine.’ I heard him say that,” Officer Uglymug said with a chuckle. “Thought it was weird, but you know… I don’t like to judge.”
“That was a really good impression, Officer Uglymug. Sounded exactly like him,” Ramon said. He paused. “Maybe you can help with this. My dick is hard, and I’m not sure I can piss.”
“I’d be glad to assist, inmate,” Uglymug said. He pulled out his thick cock, and he left it dangling out the fly of his uniform slacks.
“Stick your tongue out, bitch,” Ramon said. When Barrack didn’t immediately comply, Ramon grabbed his tongue with his fingers and pulled. He had a notably long tongue, at least two inches sticking well out of his mouth. Ramon shuddered with anticipation. He had never gotten a rimjob like this. “Keep your tongue out. Remember when folks say you gotta lick ass, that isn’t really what they mean. You gotta stick your tongue inside my ass and lick the insides. Not the asscheek. There’s no point to licking an asscheek. Got that?”
Barrack wiped away tears from his eyes. “Please! I-“
“That was a yes or no question. Do you understand?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Keep that tongue out. Move it around,” Ramon said. He faced his pale, smooth ass at Barrack’s face. “Move your tongue around.” He laughed as Barrack wiggled his tongue. Then Ramon planted his ass on Barrack’s face.
Barrack bucked and screamed into Ramon’s asshole. His tongue flickered away at first, then gingerly touched Ramon’s hole. He gagged as Ramon’s ass-sweat dripped into his mouth.
“Get that tongue in there,” Ramon said. He did not expect a real rimjob, but it was fun to try, and the delay meant he moved further away from the orgasm he could feel gathering deep within.
Barrack struggled to make himself do it. His big tongue pushed into the hole, then out, then back in again. Each time he penetrated Ramon’s asshole, a wave of pleasure washed over Ramon’s body.
Grinding his hips to get his ass lower, Ramon managed to literally sit on Barrack’s face. With Barrack laying on his back on the bunk, Ramon was supported entirely by his head, by his tongue sliding in and out of his slippery asshole.
Ramon’s dick twitched and spasmed. Precum dripped from his shaft. Ramon threw his head back and moaned. He could have cum like this, from the intense pleasure emanating from his prostate. But he didn’t want to.
He pulled away just in the nick of time. Barrack hoarsely belched and gasped for air. He sat up and took a deep breath. His reddish face looked away from Ramon until Ramon pulled on his handcuffs to get his attention.
“Look me in the eye! Beg me for more ass!”
“Please… Please… Uh, Inmate… Please… Let me lick your ass some more.”
“What did I say? Are you supposed to be licking my ass?”
“I mean… Let me lick your rectum or whatever,” Barrack said. Tears winkled in his eyes. He turned to Officer Uglymug. “Please… You can arrest me. I would rather be on trial. Please!”
“Too late now,” Officer Uglymug said. “Besides, you don’t wanna know how they’d treat you when you are convicted. At least this will only last one day, Zales. You ready to drink some piss?”
“No!”
“Well, here it comes,” Officer Uglymug said. He had his hoggish prick out and aimed towards the bunk. After just a moment’s silence, he began pissing, a long, solid stream of acrid yellow piss arcing all the way to the bunk. It soaked into the mattress.
It landed on Barrack’s leg. He squirmed and looked away, then he saw Ramon’s harsh glare. His big, muscled body crept forward and to the ground. He opened his mouth right in the stream of piss, which dripped from his face.
“Alright, lemme take a turn on that ass,” Ramon muttered, as Uglymug was finishing up his stream of piss. He pulled away from Barrack’s mouth and got behind him. Barrack didn’t seem to notice since he was focused on the bitter piss filling his mouth and spilling past his lips. He sputtered and spewed, and he twisted around on the now-soaked mattress.
Barrack had such a wide, broad back that Ramon could barely wrap his arms around it. With his dick wedged between Barrack’s toned asscheeks, Ramon couldn’t reach Barrack’s nipples — it was like climbing onto a great beast whose muscles rippled beneath Ramon’s tiny body.
“What are you doing?!” Barrack screamed as Officer Uglymug finished pissing. Barrack’s face dripped. Since he was in the midst of a furious storm of retches, his asshole wasn’t clenched tight.
A loud pained croaking sound ripped out of Barrack’s throat as Ramon forced his dick in. He pushed it in farther and farther while Barrack squirmed and cried out. With his body unprepared for the sensation, Ramon got most of his cock in before Barrack instinctively tightened his asshole
That made it feel even better. Ramon loved the sensation of Barrack’s entire musculature tightening as he tried to buck Ramon off him. But Ramon just held on tight, his feet no longer on the floor. Barrack roared and screamed.
Ramon had no idea how long that lasted. He held on as Barrack wiggled and squirmed. Ramon couldn’t really ram back and forth at all, he had no leverage with which to move his body. He just gripped Barrack’s muscles and kept his cock all the way in Barrack’s ass, while the writhing of Barrack’s powerful body massaged pleasure into Ramon’s cock.
“God damn, man… Get off me!” Barrack screamed.
Then he went down, and his asshole clenched even tighter again as Officer Zales zapped Barrack with the cattle prod. The tingling of his skin was palpable, and Ramon even squirmed as the electricity poured through him as well.
But it was just a little buzz for Ramon — those cattle prods weren’t set to a strong shock — while Barrack screamed and collapsed into a sweaty, piss-covered heap of limp muscle on the bunk. His entire body tightened and stayed tense.
“There you go, good…” Ramon whispered into Barrack’s sweat-covered face. He began pistoning his hips, slamming his cock in over and over. Barrack’s asshole was clenched tight, but Ramon didn’t care, and he had already torn through his ass once. Barrack couldn’t do anything to stop him as Ramon pounded away at his plump behind.
The sound of Barrack’s tears were music to Ramon’s ears — he had spent years enduring the jeers and taunting of the other guards. He had been extorted and beaten and even worse, and now he got to hear a guard (or a former guard anyway) going through the same tortures.
“At least you get to leave here too,” Ramon said. He hoped his point was getting through to Barrack, but the man was sobbing hard enough that Ramon wasn’t sure he could hear.
Every time Ramon’s cock reached the deepest depths of Barrack’s ass, Barrack’s entire well-muscled body flexed and contorted like he was having a seizure. Sprawled out on the bunk he could do little more than writhe as Ramon slammed his ass again and again.
Finally Ramon could put it off no longer. An orgasm ripped through his body, so powerful it made him gnaw like a baby on Barrack’s shoulder. He grunted. Barrack roared and Ramon barked. They both tensed as Barrack clenched his ass around Ramon’s dick, which spurted a flood of cum into his tight asshole.
It was a huge load, having built up over the last few days — Ramon wasn’t in general population since he was about to be released, so he hadn’t had busted a nut. He hadn’t even masturbated because he hoped to fuck a woman s soon as he was released, and he wanted to have a big buildup of cum. He was glad to have saved it up for something special like this.
He twitched as his passion drained away like the last drops of cum that filled Barrack’s ass. Ramon stayed right there in position, giggling at Barrack’s exhausted choking, as his dick slowly limpened inside Barrack’s ass.
“Do you regret your actions?” Ramon asked. He crawled forward to wipe his ass-dripping cock off on Barrack’s face and lips.
“I do! I’m sorry! I’ll never try anything like it again,” Barrack said. He winced but opened his mouth and even extended his tongue to suck the filth of his own ass off Ramon’s cock. His skin was still so sensitive Ramon shuddered, his knees weakening. Barrack’s tongue sent him to new heights of pleasure, as Ramon experienced the final aftershocks of his climax.
“Good,” Ramon said. He leaned back and took a deep breath of the cum-scented air. He sat on Barrack’s muscled chest.
“You better get your clothes together, both of you,” Officer Uglymug said. “I”m takin’ you both for showers. You’re both going home today, and hopefully, neither of you are coming back.”