thugs – Mansploitation

The Fat Cop

Bart is out and about when a violent encounter leads to him meeting the hunkiest of pudgy cops — Officer Lawrence Lumpowski! Can Bart handle the voluminousness of Lumpowski’s alpha male meat?

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Read the whole thing here!

Bart was tiny, and he felt like an idiot standing outside with a broom in his hand. What was he going to do with a broom? Sweep the man to death?
A few yards away, Josh Winters, a skinny white thug with a tattooed neck and a ropy-muscled body, stood in a wifebeater and jeans, shouting into a brick wall. He wasn’t even comprehensible anymore, just red-faced, blaring, spittle flecking the wall, fingers tightened into a fist that smacked against the bricks. He had so many endorphins running through his veins he didn’t even respond like he was in pain, even though he must be, his hands were bleeding.
A lesser man, Bart thought, or any woman would think Josh was the most handsome.
But Bart wasn’t into skinny guys, or even muscular guys. He appreciated the physiques of fat, stout, big or chunky men. Josh was the exact opposite of Bart’s preferred body type.
He stood in the doorway with his broom, ready to jab it into Josh’s face if he tried to come in again. Luckily it didn’t seem to have occurred to Josh to try a window, or one of the other doors into the photography studio — which, now that it was relevant to him, seemed disastrously hard to secure to Bart. There were a dozen windows on the ground-floor, and three doors.
If this was a zombie movie, he thought, there’d be no way I could keep this place secure.
There was just the one man though, not a horde of zombies. He had shown up to “speak to” his girlfriend, a plus-sized model named September. She was stunningly gorgeous, and she worked for Bart at his plus-size modeling agency. She was here to model lingerie intended for “rubenesque ladies with curves for miles”, according to the description the label had sent him. That was September. She was rubenesque for sure, or maybe a few pounds under rubenesque, which was even better for fashion purposes. She was achievable-hot for actual rubenesque women.
Anyway, Bart had been keeping Josh Winters at bay with the broom for ten minutes, waiting for the cops to show up.
“Girl, you had better get ya stanky ass out here or I swear I will smack the tits off ya body! Huh? You playin’ wit’ me? Huh? You think I wouldn’t find out about ya sluttin’ it around! You is fuckin’ every man in the state, bitch! You disrespectin’ me! I swear to Christ, girl, I will take that broom off ya bitch-ass boss and ram it so far up his ass I gonna sweep his tongue clean!”
Bart’s heart raced as he jabbed the broom at him. He had started off using the handle-end, but he soon learned that the straw end was actually very painful, and it covered a wider area. He jabbed it into Josh’s face, leaving a multitude of red marks and making him groan and scratch at his eyes. Bart tried to punch Josh while he screamed obscenities, but he only bumped into the door itself.
“Ah!” Bart squealed. He was a tiny man who had never been in a fight in his life. He didn’t know what to do about this. He swatted Josh in the face again and tried to push him away.
“Fuck you! Little bitch! I’m comin’ in there! Bitch, you had better get out here right now-!” His face was blustery as the broom handle again pushed him from the doorway.
Finally, a siren could be heard. It felt like he had called the police an hour ago. It had actually been some twenty minutes, which was a superlative response time for the Baltimore City Police Department. Bart waved the broom towards Josh, who staggered around, blinded — some of the straw from the broom had scratched his eyes.
“Fuckin’ shit! Did you call the cops on me, you bitch?! I never hit you! I ain’t never hit you! Don’t tell ’em I was ever violent, bitch! You fuckin’ bitch! I never hit you! You fell, you fall, you fell, you fell, bitch! You know that!”
Soon it was all over. Two bored-looking cops got out of their car and grabbed Josh. They seemed to know him personally, and they seemed to take offense at having to arrest him yet again. They tossed him into the wall until he stopped shouting, and they got handcuffs on him. His nose bleeding, eyes red like a stoner, bleary and cursing under his breath, he was forced into the back of the cop car.
One of the cops went in to talk to September and take her statement, while the other cop stayed with Bart. Bart had been so excited and worked up that he didn’t notice until then that this second cop had one of those physiques he craved.
He was pudgy, which was what Bart liked most about him. He was white and bald — it looked like he was balding by nature, but he shaved his head to a gleaming cue ball — with a powerful body and a layer of fat atop it. His flesh bulged against his uniform shirt.
“Uh-huh, sweet, okay, so you jabbed him wit’ the broom?”
“Only when he was trying to get in and threatening my model,” Bart said. He wondered if he should be making a statement at all — would they charge him with a crime? What if Josh was blinded by that broom?
“Don’t worry, we ain’t lookin’ to charge no one. You shoulda broke that broom off inside his bitch-ass,” the cop said. He had deep dimples like he would have been handsome if he weren’t so pudgy. He had a stentorian Baltimore accent with a souciant of East Coast stawk. His name, according to the badge on his chest, was Officer Lawrence Lumpowski.
The name was appropriate, as he was shaped like a muscle-bound lump of manmeat.
Bart wondered if he could get a taste of Officer Lumpowski. He wanted to so bad he could already imagine what it would taste like — bitter and salty and warm, fleshy, soft and firm at once. He wanted him real bad.
But how could he make that happen?
As Bart finished giving his statement, another car pulled up, followed by a second one. These weren’t police cars. A pair of young men got out, running their fingers through their fantastic hair. They wore sunglasses and sleeveless shirts that showed off their bodies. They had six-packs and perfect teeth.
They were models as well, and a few minutes later they were joined by a photographer, a makeup lady and a talent agent — they were who had rented this photography studio after Bart. Bart had forgotten that he only had the space until four o’clock. The fashion shoot was supposed to be quick in the studio, then him and September were to go to the florist shop on Elm to shoot some more pictures. The arrival of Josh Winters had delayed everything.
As the male models filed in, and September came out with her girlfriends comforting her — she had called them — Bart stood back with Officer Lumpowski. Lumpowski’s eyes opened wide at the sight of September — a big-ass beauty if there ever was one — and watched her get in her friend’s car. He didn’t stop staring until she was out of sight, and there was nothing to look at but two male models comparing abs.
“Shit… Was I starin’ at her? I shouldn’t stare at battered girls, but damn, she was hot,” Lumpowski said. “What was she doin’ with a loser like Josh?”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started. You shoulda seen her last boyfriend. He tried to get her to sign one of those consensual slave contracts, and he lived with his mom in a trailer,” Bart said. He rolled his eyes. “Women have awful judgement.”
“Yeah.”
“You like your girls thick, huh?” Bart said.
“If they look like that, hell yeah,” Lumpowski said with a low whistle aimed at no one in particular. He glanced at the male models with their oil-glistening six-packs. Lumpowski laughed and clutched his belly. “I ain’t never one day in my life have a six-pack like that. Shit, I ain’t never have a one-pack. I once had a dream ‘bout doin’ half a situp and woke up sore as a dog.”
“I prefer the physiques of a larger man,” Bart said. He cleared his throat. “In fact… I love to jack off big men.” He patted Lumpowski on the arm. “Including large cops.”
Lumpowski laughed, then cut himself off, bit his lip and blushed. His big chunky cheeks turned bright red. He realized Bart was serious. “Oh… Wait, what?”
“You actually have the perfect male physique, Lumpowski,” Bart said. “I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d gladly get you off anytime. You could treat me like a fake pussy, like your own personal fleshlight. Shit, if you weren’t a cop, I’d have already offered you fifty bucks just to let me stroke it a bit.” He threw his hands up. “But I realize you’re not into that. Sorry.” He paused and giggled. “I was just kiddin’ about offering money, Officer. That’s probably a crime, I would expect, some sort of hygiene thing, right? At least against department policy, I’m sure. And I would never ask you to violate a department policy.”
“Uh-huh. You serious? You into them…?” He grunted and covered his leering eyes, suppressing a laugh. “You’re into… like… fat… men?”
He looked so embarrassed that it made Bart laugh along with him. Luckily September was gone so it didn’t seem disrespectful. Bart clutched Officer Lumpowski’s jiggling body for support as he guffawed, and Lumpowski turned redder and redder. He watched Bart’s hands clutch his chest and belly.
“Oh yeah, yeah, I sure do-” Bart said, clutching Lumpowski’s bicep through his uniform shirt. though covered with a layer of flab, Bart could feel the giant firm muscle beneath.
“Lumpowski! Let’s go!” His partner, Heartley, called out. He was getting in the patrol car, but he stopped when he saw Lumpowski. He motioned towards the driver’s side door as though Lumpowski should already be behind the wheel. Then Officer Heartley said, “Whatchoo makin’ that face at?”
“Oh, just this dude…” Lumpowski said. “It’s a… Nothing. Nevuhmind.” He glanced at Bart. “Nevuhmind, you. That ain’t… Don’t do nothin’ Jesus wouldn’t do.” He was still red-faced and chuckling as he got in the patrol car and drove away. Bart was disappointed. He had thought that that encounter was going somewhere.
So he just went home. That photo shoot had been a bust. Lumpowski had been a bust. He never even took a single pic for the lingerie company. He was going to have to set up another photoshoot with September. He sent her a text asking how she was doing and asking her to let him know if she would be willing to do the photoshoot again, once she was ready.
He’d already paid her too. Shit…
Then he went out for his nightly walk. He liked to walk as the sun went down and it wasn’t so hot anymore, and the traffic on the road wasn’t so bad — there was no sidewalk in the area he did most of his walking. It was much easier once the day’s traffic died down, and he preferred walking in the neighborhood to using a treadmill.
He hadn’t gotten very far, however, before there was a car by his side — a police car. It pulled to a stop and the driver’s side window rolled down.
“Hey, man! Hey… you want a ride home?” It was Officer Lumpowski, his big bald face gleaming as he smiled. Heartley was gone, it seemed.
“Oh, uh, well… I was just walking, y’know… for walking.” Bart slid into the passenger seat. “But thanks.”
Lumpowski started driving again. “So, uh… I was kinda hopin’ I’d run into you,” he said. He cleared his throat.
“Uh-huh.” Bart pretended to have no idea what Lumpowski was talking about, though he had a pretty good idea where this was going.
“And, like… how you… you’re into… jacking off big guys. You know? Like… was you serious?”
“Very,” Bart said. “Did you get my address from the statement I made? Is that legal?”
“It ain’t illegal unless I access the data in the database for an impropuh purpose,” Lumpowski said. “Ain’t illegal to remembuh what you told me and write it down somewhere othuuh than the private database.”
“I see. That’s a cute technicality. Remember to take it for a walk and feed it every day.”
“So, like… If you serious, y’know… When I was growin’ up, my Uncle Ralph, he was a biker and shit-“
“Sounds nice.”
“And he was always, y’know… He said one time — or a couple times, but y’know… like he said… you know… it ain’t wrong, like it ain’t a sin — you know, like you can still — I don’t mess wit’ girl crime victims. Okay? Don’t make me do that sensitivity trainin’ again, I can’t handle that-“
“I won’t complain. You can park there,” Bart said, pointing to his driveway. Lumpowski pulled in and stopped the car.
“So, like…” Lumpowski’s big face was as red as a cranberry, shadowy with the dim light of dusk. “So, uh… I was… My uncle… and like, my dad, and some other guys, uh… back then… They was like… It ain’t, you know, makin’ ‘em sinfulnessly… if they’s… like on top. You know? Like… tops and bottoms, you know about that?”
“Yes, I know about that.”
“So, uh… like… Do you… think that… is right?”
“Well, it didn’t make any sense, you were babbling. But your uncle sounds like a very smart man, Officer Lumpowski,” Bart said. “I think he was right.”
“Shit, so like… I want… I mean… I got a wife, you know, but uh… She don’t like me… We is on the feud… I mean… She’s at her sister’s. She say I’m… Well, she ain’t too fond of me right now,” he said. “So, y’know-” He gasped and sucked in his breath as Bart’s hand snaked over to his lap. Bart’s delicate fingers snuck under his belly and into his crotch, where he ran his fingertip over the shaft of Lumpowski’s cock, stretching against the fabric of his uniform slacks.
“How far back does that seat go?” Bart asked softly.
“Pretty far, see?” He raced to activate the lever and scoot his seat back. That gave Bart plenty of room to get his face on Lumpowski’s dick between his belly and the steering wheel.
“I think cops should blow their nut all the time. It aids in focus,” Bart said. “But of course I’d never make girls do it, that would be wrong. So I’d just have to step up to the plate and jerk all those dicks.”
“Ah, shit, man, I ain’t stick my dick in a wet mouth in like six months. My wife won’t do it anymore. She said she read on a website how it’s like… impressive.”
Bart looked up at him. “What?” He undid the belt and unzipped Officer Lumpowski’s slacks.
“I swear, that’s what she said. She can’t do it anymore because it’s impressive.”
“Oh… Are you sure she didn’t say oppressive?”
“Ah! Oh, fuck! Yeah, that makes more sense!” He lifted his ass up enough to rearrange the tight white briefs he wore, giving him enough space to pull his fat bullish prick out through the fly. It flopped onto Bart’s face. “Oh sorry, I ain’t mean to mollywop you.”
“That’s okay,” Bart said. “I appreciate a good mollywopping.” He took Lumpowski’s dick in his hand and let it slide into his mouth.
Lumpowski sighed. “Shit, man…” One of his heavy hands touched Bart’s head, spreading his mouth open. “Sorry, shit, Jesus, man, that feels good. I needed that.” He leaned his head back and sighed. His dick stiffened up quickly — he must have been very horny, Bart thought.
Soon it jabbed into the back of Bart’s throat, and Bart deep-throated him into his meaty crotch, his nose nuzzling Lumpowski’s unkempt pubic bush. He inhaled deeply of his unwashed scent, the day’s musk having built up. Bart bet Lumpowski didn’t wash these slacks every day either, they smelled stale, like they were soaked in Lumpowski’s intense scent.
“Damn… My wife never sucked me off like that, yo,” he said. “I used to know this girl who did, but she dumped me a long time ago. My wife, shit… she never deep-throated me. Or even tried to. I thought that was messed up, she was always givin’ me tips on how to lick her pussy better, and printing out these weird-ass articles about how I should watch her put makeup on cuz that’ll make me lick pussy better. She said it helped but then like a week later…” His voice trailed off into a moan, and he humped his hips up, forcing his dick deeper into Bart’s throat. “Shit, man…”
Car 91. Car 91. Are you still on the road?
“Shit!” Lumpowski grabbed the radio off the dashboard. He took a deep breath, hoping he didn’t sound like he was getting off. “Yeah. I’m still out. What’s up?”
Chief says you gotta come back, you never signed that report about the domestic violence call.
“Goddamn it…” Lumpowski said. “Hey, man, was there anything you forgot to tell me earlier?”
“What?” Bart pulled off his cock, thick tendrils of spit still connecting him to the shaft.
“I gotta go back to sign it today, which is a pain in the ass, unless I gots a valid reason for not finishing it. It’s a law,” he said. “If you forgot to tell me somethin’…”
“That guy, Josh, he called me a pussy. Did I mention that before?”
“Nah, you ain’t say that. Good. That’s good, that’ll do,” he said. He spoke into the radio. “I had to re-interview the witness, about a possible miso… misojinny hate-crime charge. I’m doing it right now,” he said. “I’ll have to sign it tomorrow.”
Ten-four.
Lumpowski laughed. “Shit, thanks, man.”
“No problem… You could say thanks another way, you know…”
“What?” Lumpowski was already trying to feed his dick back into Bart’s mouth. He grunted, his cheeks ruddy again as he was nearing his orgasm. Precum ran down his shaft, and Bart licked it up.
“Hmmm… You taste real good, but you’d feel even better in my ass,” Bart said.
“Holy shit, you’re serious? You don’t think I’m too pudgy?”
“Too pudgy? Is that a thing?” Bart said. “I’m pretty sure it isn’t. I’m an expert, and I’ve never heard of it.” He leaned his own seat back as far as it would go. Then he climbed up into the basket-seat, facing backward. The cop car was barely spacious enough for Lumpowski to fit behind him, but Bart enjoyed the feel of him squeezing in there.
“Man, can’t we go inside?”
“No way,” Bart said. “I wanna get plowed in a cop car. Don’t worry, none of my neighbors can see.” Trees and an unkillable grove of bamboo blocked the view from the road, and the only house nearby was for sale and not currently being lived in.
“It’s a tight fit,” he said, then he chuckled as he slid past Bart. He grunted and squeezed to get behind him, his rock-hard dick rubbing against Bart’s ass. “Ha, ‘tight fit’.”
Bart giggled too. “Tight fits are the best.” He didn’t make it too easy for Lumpowski to get behind him. He liked making Lumpowski work and rub all over Bart’s body as he squeezed into the passenger seat. Bart was crouched down, spreading his cheeks to give Lumpowski easy access.
“Does your wife ever let you fuck her in the ass?” Bart asked.
He snorted. “No way. She wouldn’t even let me look at her ass,” he said. “She said I got a dick like a billyclub. She weren’t never gonna let me try anal.”
“Why did you hook up with her? She sounds like a bitch.”
“Yeah… But she’s hot, and y’know… Women don’t like pudgy guys, so I don’t got a lotta choices.” he said. “And she was nice… y’know, before. Before we got married.” He wedged his dick between Bart’s cheeks. “Ah, shit, I can’t believe I’m gonna stick a dude’s butt. I seen guys do that in jail, but shit, man…”
Bart opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a wrenching oomph as he felt intense pressure in his ass. He could understand why Lumpowski’s girlfriend was not so enamored of the way he plowed into — he was aggressive and awkward, plowing in at different angles, huffing and puffing like a tired bull, his heavy body pressing down on Bart.
But while his girlfriend might not have liked it, Bart loved being treated like a piece of meat. Lumpowski could use and abuse his ass for as long as he wanted and, ideally, a little longer than that. He groaned and moaned, turning his face so Lumpowski’s hot breath condensed on his cheeks instead of the back of his head. His hands turned into claws that dug into the upholstery beneath him.
“Shit, man, damn, lemme in, shit, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move—” Lumpowski said. He sucked in his breath and a few drops of spit escaped onto Bart’s face. Intense pressure erupted in Bart’s ass, as Lumpowski’s cock rammed inexorably deeper and deeper. You could tell he’d never fucked a woman in the ass, because he was awkward and fumbling, with the cramped quarters contributing to his struggles. Bart writhed in his powerful body, as pleasure flowed like wine through his veins.
Bart slurped it all down, and when he got Lumpowski’s thick arm in front of him — Lumpowski’s writhing atop him ended with Bart in a loose chokehold — he slurped the sweat that clung to him, and he licked Lumpowski’s dense arm hairs. The smell of Lumpowski’s armpits wafted into his nostrils. A cavernous moan of bliss escaped from Lumpowski’s throat, and he squeezed Buck tight.
His uniform scratched at Bart’s back as Lumpowski pressed down on him, cock all the way in, moving in little circles, grinding atop Bart’s prostate. Bart cried out, the sound muffled by Lumpowski’s uniform and arm. Bart jacked his own self off, reaching his orgasm as his prostate exploded in ecstasy.
Cum sprayed onto the seat, followed moments later by a burst of semen into Bart’s ass. Bart sighed and moaned, slurping on Lumpowski’s forearm hard enough to leave a hickey. The pain in his ass right now was intense, but the pleasure was even intenser, and it made Bart dizzy, giddy with desire. He could have gladly flailed beneath Lumpowski’s body forever.
But eventually he was done, and Lumpowski’s cock fell limp inside him. Great gobs of cum spilled out, but Lumpowski remained right there. He murmured “don’t move” every few seconds, though Bart couldn’t move anyway, the pleasure within him was so potent he couldn’t think of it, and there wasn’t space to move in the tiny squad car.
Then Lumpowski backed out with a chortling gasp. He struggled to back away enough to get his dick out, since he was trapped in the little space between the seat and the dashboard.
Finally, Lumpowski was out, and Bart scampered over the passenger seat into the back, where he sprawled out, exhausted and spent. “Shit…” Bart said.
Lumpowski sat back, his dick out, copious sweat beading on his forehead. “Goddamn… Hey, can I come see you again, man?”
Bart smiled. “Sure. Anytime. I’m not always around though. Text me first,” he said. “If I’m in the city, I’ll come running.”
Lumpowski nodded. He lay there in the passenger seat, dazed, while Bart cleaned himself up. Then Bart cleaned off Lumpowski’s cock, kissed him on the neck and climbed out of the car.
He hoped Lumpowski did call him, though Bart expected he might not be around. He traveled often, both to find new plus-sized ladies for his modeling agency and to go in search of his ultimate love: fat men.

Reacharound From an Aryan

Zach had to join an Aryan gang in prison, and now that he’s released, his only option is to move in with his hulking gangmate Tower. But it turns out sharing a bed with someone like Tower can result in a touch-filled night of man-on-man action! Can Zach succeed in satisfying Tower’s needs?

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

When Zach Waters joined the Aryan Way in prison, he was surprised at how low-key it was. Aryan prison gangs in the movies were always full of muscular skinheads bristling with tattoos and machismo, always on the verge of beating someone to death, so he assumed that was an accurate depiction of them.
But they were very relaxed. They encouraged him to shave his head and get tattoos but didn’t require it. He thought they might make him do something terrible like kill someone. But they never required anything from him except a few minor chores, mainly acting as a lookout while they ran a craps game. Zach got through his nine month sentence without any traumatic experiences. The worst thing was that he was responsible for losing a volleyball game against a mafia gang, and all of his fellow Aryans were given one free punch to punish Zach for his error. They mostly held back their punches, so it hurt, but it wasn’t agonizing and he didn’t have to go to the infirmary afterwards.
Zach had been so focused on getting through prison without being stabbed that he gave very little thought to what he’d do on the outside. That meant that when he was finally released, he needed to make a plan in a hurry.
And the easiest plan was to move in with Tower — Leopold Sales was his real name. Tower had been one of the Aryan Way’s main commanders behind bars. He was big and muscular, a porcelain-skinned marble-hard giant of a man with a carved body and crude Nazi tattoos covering his flesh. He had been released the same day as Zach. They were the only two white inmates to walk out of the state prison that day.
“You wanna stay with me?” Tower asked on the bus as they rode away from the prison. Zach had come to trust Tower well enough, so he said yes. He’d lived in the same cell block as Tower for nine months in prison. It seemed like no big deal to move in with him on the outside too.
It was only at that point, when Zach moved in, that he was required to shave his head and get an iron cross tattoo on his back. Tower said that he needed to adopt the uniform of his new tribe, and Zach had felt like an Aryan skinhead for so long that he didn’t complain.
He simply submitted that night to Tower shaving his head and drawing the iron cross to be tattooed at a later date. Only one tattoo shop in town would do white supremacist tattoos, so they had to wait for an opening. Zach was glad because he was in no hurry to get any tattoos, much less a nazi one.
“We’s skinmates now, brothah,” Tower said when he was done. He had a rough, ragged voice with an oddly black accent.
Before night fell, Zach’s sensitive skin tingled on his now-bare scalp. His head was so cold he shivered even in the warm night air.
He kept rubbing his bare head as he tried to sleep. When Tower had offered him a place to stay, Zach assumed he’d be sleeping on a couch somewhere. But Tower had a “safehouse” set up — it was just a ramshackle old shotgun-house outside of the city, with little furniture and not even a working refrigerator (there was a broken one, which kept cold things cold for awhile just because it was so well-insulated). The walls were stained with who-knew-what fluids. It looked like a crackhouse or an abandoned meth lab, but Zach didn’t want to ask what it was.
But Zach didn’t have a lot of choices, so he settled in and allowed Tower to shave his head. Then Tower presented him with drawings of several iron cross designs to choose from when he got an appointment with the tattooist.
The most pressing problem, however, was not the tattoo. The most worrisome factor was that there was just one bed. It was a double-sized mattress laying on the floor, no sheets or bedspread, just one ratty old blanket.
Zach had assumed he was going to sleep on the floor, and Tower would take the bed, but when Tower decreed it lights-out at nine o’clock, Tower motioned for him to get on the mattress. Zach did so, wincing and shrinking back as Tower brushed his teeth and showered.
And then Tower joined him on the busted old mattress.
“You scared of me or what?” Tower asked when Zach scooted away from. The thickness and firmness of Tower’s body made him seem so huge next to him.
“No, I mean… I trust you. It’s just…” Zach gulped.
“Then shut the fuck up. We been showerin’ togethuh for months, Zachary,” Tower said. He wrapped one powerful arm around Zach’s body, meaning Zach got a faceful of his armpit hair. Zach hated the name Zachary, but Tower had been calling him that since they left prison. “Don’t tell me you gettin’ squeamish now.”
“No.”
“Good. It’s a war, y’know, even out here. You probly just thought the Aryan Way was about prison, but that ain’t right. The war extends everywhere. We gotta fight, man, we gotta keep the struggle going. That means we spend our time and money winning, not buying extra beds or worrying about touching each other’s cocks,” Tower said.
“Oh. Okay. That, uh, makes sense,” Zach said. He never bought into any of that stuff about race war. He didn’t want a race war. He had only joined the Aryan Way for protection in prison and, now, outside of it.
“You know, in prison, we gotta protect ourselves from deviance,” Tower said. “That’s why we don’t allow nobody in if they get penetrated by a colored man.”
“Yeah.”
“But that ain’t a problem out here, where we don’t gotta get involved in no colored man,” Tower said. He lay on his side now, so close Zach could feel his body heat and his breath condensing on Zach’s cheek. The warmth of his heft cock was palpable too.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Out here, we see women all the time, don’t we? You saw that slut walking down the street earlier, right?”
“Yeah.” Zach felt nervous, and excited, about where this was going. Tower had pointed out the girl a few hours before. She was stunningly gorgeous, dressed like a cheap whore. She was Latina, and Tower had spewed out a litany of abuse, which she luckily was too far away to hear.
“So we get tempted a lot, right? But we can’t be distracted by females. It’s their virtue we fight this war for,” he said. “Fine white European virtue. Hmm-hmm.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now that we ain’t in prison, Zachary, we ain’t gotta worry about the feds. But we do gotta worry about females distractin’ us from what’s proper.”
“Okay.”
“So how you wanna do that?”
Zach squirmed as Tower placed one meaty hand on Zach’s chest. He just rested it there at first, then slowly rubbed the smooth flesh. Zach shook with anxiety, dick throbbing as he realized what was happening. Zach murmured, “What, uh… what do you mean?”
“I mean, Zachary, that I want to get my nut off tonight,” Tower said. “Don’t worry, I won’t ramrod ya. I ain’t ramrod ya in prison, did I? I coulda. I ain’t want to, cuz I knew you would say no and I’d hafta force it. But out here, if you let me in that ass, I’ll give you a reacharound and won’t nobody be around to know you did it.” His hand crept under that blanket and grabbed Zachary’s dick. It was felt small to Zachary, but that didn’t slow Tower down at all. He gave its limp shaft a few strokes. “Sssh, Zachary… Relax, okay?”
“Well…” Zach sucked in his breath
“It’s okay. I won’t tell no one. Everyone in the Aryan Way does this, y’know,” he said. “It ain’t a big deal. I won’t bring it up ever again.”
“I mean… I guess so,” Zach said, his heart thumping.
“Oh, thank you, my man, this means a lot to me,” Tower said. He leaned down and kissed Zach on the cheek, much to Zach’s shock. Then before Zach could even respond to that, Tower straddled his chest. Tower was a good foot and a half taller than Zach and at least a hundred pounds heavier — a hundred pounds of solid muscle, shaved smooth and inked with amateur prison tattoos.
He had on a disintegrating pair of cheap, gauzy prison underwear, which he dropped as soon as his crotch was in front of Zach’s face. He had a massive cock — Zach had noticed that in the prison shower — which he flopped between his fingers. He wiped it across Zach’s lips and laughed at Zach’s gagging.
When Zach opened his mouth, Tower shoved it right in. It was already growing hard, as Tower’s prison-starved horniness took over. It tasted like sweat, Zach thought. Tower’s cock was salty and sour, and it brought tears to Zach’s eyes. He gagged to cover up a moan when that fat manhood pushed into the back of his throat.
Tower let out a chest-rattling moan, a sound midway between a grunt and a roar, but low and rumbling. The sound itself made Zach gag again because he could not only hear it in his ears, he could feel it in the throbbing of the cockmeat in his mouth. He was surprised to find his own cock had swelled to full erection.
“Oh damn, you’s a good skinmate, man,” Tower said. He sounded genuinely grateful. His massive pecs flexed. “Sssh, sssh, skinmate. That’s what we call Aryan brothers who spent time in prison together. Skinmate. You’re my skinmate, Zachary,” he said over and over, as though Zach was trying to say anything, or could have with Tower’s cock overflowing from his mouth.
Tower grabbed one of Zach’s hands and brought it up to Tower’s chest. He was a truly massive man, broad as a motorcycle, and each of his pecs felt like an overinflated basketball beneath his tight skin. He placed Zach’s hand on his nipple.
That seemed like too much, Zach thought — was he expected to play with Tower’s nipples? Surely Tower wouldn’t allow that. But then, he thought, Tower had kissed him on the face. Indeed, Tower had Zach play with his nipple, which grew hard beneath his grasp. Zach had never felt such a solid breast, with all the hardness of prison-sculpted muscle rather than the meaty goodness of a female tit.
Tower groaned again as he leaned forward. He grabbed the wall behind the mattress for support, and he began humping his hips forward. He throated Zach like that for what felt like an eternity.
The sour flavor of precum assaulted Zach’s senses. He guzzled it down and sputtered as Tower worked his dick deeper and deeper with every thrust of his hips.
“Yeah, you’s a good soldier in the race war, Zachary,” Tower said. He guided Zach’s other hand to Tower’s other nipple, which made Zach choke all over again. He could barely reach those mountainous pecs, which bristled with so much power that Zach felt like a weakling in comparison. “Spit up a little, okay?”
Zach didn’t even quite comprehend those words, but Tower had such an authoritarian vibe and he had been giving Zach orders for so long that Zach did as he was told without thinking about it. He let a big ball of spit roll down Tower’s shaft and collect in his thick nest of pubic hair.
“Good… Now gimme a finger,” Tower said. He grabbed one of Zach’s hands and slowly lowered it. “You remember what I said about this being a secret, right? That’s a secret that runs both ways. You gotta keep yo’ mouth shut too — I mean, shut once yo’s mouth is done workin’ on my dick.”
Zach nodded, the motion reawakening his gag reflex all over again. Tower’s dick was so moist now it made loud crackling sounds as it pushed down his throat, his balls dripping with wetness when they slapped against Zach’s chin.
Much to Zach’s surprise, Tower led his hand around to his ass. He had a thick, plump pair of cheeks, the flesh of which was cold and solid, like overset jello. Zach’s hand disappeared between those cheeks, and Tower separated his pinkie finger from the others.
The idea of fingering a giant alpha male Aryan like Tower was so unthinkable that Zach assumed he had some other plan, right up until his pinkie disappeared into Tower’s ass, guided by Tower’s own hand. It was so tight that Zach couldn’t get it in any farther than the first knuckle, but that was enough for Tower’s whole body to buck and squirm. His dick spasmed in Zach’s mouth.
“Yeah, Zachary, you know how to treat a skinmate right…”
Zach had barely inserted his pinkie a few times before Tower groaned as though he was orgasming. He bent his head back and slammed his dick all the way down Zach’s throat.
Tower’s voice was pinched and tight, like he experienced intense pain from the pinkie in his ass but still was overwhelmed by orgasmic pleasure. His dick pulsated in Zach’s throat, and Zach realized he was about to cum as the man’s balls lifted up in their sac.
“Hey, Zachary, I’m gonna blow my nut in a minute,” he said softly. He grunted a few times before continuing. “You gonna taste it. I know this is humiliatin’ for you, and I’m sorry to ask you to do this. It ain’t right. This is my fault, okay? I’ll get forgiveness fo’ it. You ain’t got nothin’ to feel bad about. You just showin’ respect for a man who’s been helpin’ you out since you got locked up. Okay?”
Then cum began to flow down Zach’s gullet. He savored the taste even as he choked on its sourness, the sticky texture coating his insides and flowing into his belly. He felt its warmth settling inside his roiling stomach.
“I know I promised you a reacharound when I ram you,” Tower said softly, breathing heavily as he finished his orgasm. His asshole clenched around Zach’s finger. “I’m still gonna do that. I steady nuts twice when I ain’t nut in a long time.”
As his dick stopped spewing cum, Zach thought Tower would pull out of his mouth. But he didn’t. Zach found himself unable to avoid reacting, and he choked again and again. Tower’s dick grew limp and clammy in there, but still he didn’t move.
It wasn’t until he was completely soft and relaxed that Tower pulled his cock out. Zach choked up a big ball of cum and saliva, which landed on the filthy mattress beneath himself. He was bright red from both embarrassment and lack of oxygen.
“You doin’ great, Zachary,” Tower said. He backed his body up just a bit, his sweaty ballsack resting on Zachary’s chest. Tower was breathing heavy too, those powerful pecs now dappled with his sweat. Zachary still tweaked one of his nipples, his other hand still finger-penetrating Tower. “You doin’ real great. And you ain’t actin’ like a new-skin at all. I’d nevuh accuse you of that. You actin’ like a guy showing respec’ to a bigger, stronger man. That’s right. That you fulfillin’ yo’ proper role. You believe me?”
“I dunno, Tower-“
“Hush, keep thinkin’ about it, man. Now take that finger out,” Tower said. He smiled, which was barely visible in the darkened room. He held onto Zach’s hand, keeping the pinkie finger extended as he brought it back to Zach’s face. “Lemme see you suck on that. That’ll get me going again. I wanna watch you taste my ass on yo’ finger, Zachary.”
“Oh god-” Zach said before Tower guided his finger in. He didn’t force it, he just showed it the path and Zach didn’t resist. The sour flavor of Tower’s asshole assaulted Zach’s senses as his finger entered past his lips. It tasted of ass-sweat and coppery body hair, and Zach’s entire body rumbled as he gagged.
The sight and sound of Zach’s gagging apparently turned Tower on — his limp dick jerked to half-attention as soon as it happened. Zach licked on his own pinkie finger, hoping he didn’t look too excited.
“Alright, I can tell you want this, you ready for it,” Tower said. He gave his own limp dick a stroke, and his body spasmed like it was painful for him. He was covered in sweat, and since his body was so smooth (above the waist at least), he was slippery as he slid behind Zach. He pushed Zach onto his side and settled down on the ratty mattress behind him.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Zach said, his voice weak and wavering.
“Here, you can bite me if it hurts too bad, Zachary,” he said. He kissed the back of Zach’s head. His forearm was so sweaty that the salt brought tears to Zach’s eyes.
Then that rapidly firming cock pushed into his ass. Zach spasmed as pain erupted within him. He was shocked by how hard it was considering that Tower had just shot a nut a few minutes before. But his dick showed no evidence of that, aside from the smell of saliva it had before inserting itself into Zach’s ass.
Zach moaned again as he tasted sweat and forearm meat, and his ass screamed in pain-cum-pleasure. He felt like he was being torn in two, every nerve crying out with every sensation he could think of. He did scream in pre-orgasmic bliss, his prostate sending waves of pleasure through his body, but the sound was muffled by Tower’s forearm in front of his face. Tower grunted and snuffled like an animal, his sounds sounding impossibly loud because Tower was right in front of Zach’s ear. His chest was so smooth — shaved every other day — that it slid against Zach’s back like a wetwipe on a glass wall.
Tower’s other arm wrapped around Zach’s upper chest, very near his neck, and held him close. It was half-hug and half choke-hold, but not so tight as to impair his breathing. Zach squirmed as pain and pleasure overwhelmed him simultaneously.
When that hand on his chest drifted down, Zach didn’t know what was coming. Even though Tower had said he would give a reacharound, Zach was too engrossed in his own experience to remember that.
Until Tower’s hand actually wrapped around Zach’s dick. In that moment, three things happened at once — first Zach realized Tower was serious about giving him a reacharound. Second, Zach realized with an embarrassed shock that he was rock-hard already, from the stimulation of his prostate. The pain was so intense he hadn’t noticed his erection until Tower touched it. The third thing was that Tower laughed at him.
“You already heard, boy? You wanted this all along, huh?” Tower said. Zach couldn’t form any words because the sensations overwhelming him were too intense. All he could do was bite down hard on Tower’s forearm. Tower sharply inhaled but didn’t complain no matter how hard Zach gnawed on his muscular arm. “I’m gonna ram you hard then, Zachary, since you seem to be enjoyin’ this so much.”
Tower took a deep breath then, and he pounded his dick all the way into Zach’s ass. Zach bit down hard on his forearm, tears welling up in his eyes. Tower groaned loud and began ramming his dick in and out with long powerful thrusts.
His other hand furiously jacked Zach off. He had a well-practiced hand — Zach wondered how often he had given a reacharound — but his fingers were callused from work, from digging with a splintery wooden shovel handle on a prison crew. Despite the rough texture, it felt amazing to Zach, who experienced both agony in his ass and intense pleasure in his crotch.
Zach wished that he didn’t cum so quickly, but once Tower began stroking him off, his orgasm approached and Zach couldn’t resist. He spasmed and squirmed in Tower’s arms, but Tower shushed him and kept going. The thwump-thwump of his balls slapping against Zach’s ass seemed impossibly loud.
“Oh god, Tower…!”
Semen sprayed over Tower’s fingers and all over Zach’s thin chest. Tower laughed as it happened, and Zach squirmed. He gasped, his tongue slathering spit on Tower’s solid forearm. Tower didn’t express pleasure vocally, but Zach sensed it in the rippling of Tower’s polished chest muscles pressing against Zach’s back.
“Taste it, man,” Tower said softly as Zach recovered from the aftershocks of his orgasm, the agony in his ass only growing worse now that he didn’t have pleasure in his cock to distract him. Tower quickly rubbed his hand along Zach’s belly and chest, scooped up all of that cum and then smeared it over Zach’s face. “Taste yo’ nut.”
Zach gagged all over again, feeling like he was swallowing dick once more. He sputtered over the salty flavor, which was more intense now since he tasted it directly on his tongue rather than shot all the way down his throat. His face was covered in his own sticky goo.
Then Tower let out a low groan and stopped moving for a moment, with his dick deep inside Zach. He lifted his dick almost all the way out, and slowly reinserted it, inch by inch. Zach could tell this was it — he felt the cum flowing through the man’s cock as it filled up his ass again.
But he was distracted when it actually happened because Tower kissed him. It was the most shocking part, Zach thought, because it seemed genuinely affectionate. Tower kissed him right on the lips, inserting his tongue into Zach’s mouth and didn’t even mind tasting the semen that still coated Zach’s face.
Cum flowed into Zach’s ass. He was surprised at how big the load was, since Tower had already cum once. It was a torrent of thick, hot juice that trickled into every corner of Zach’s body. There was so much of it that Zach imagined he could taste it all over again.
Then it was all over. Zach didn’t know how long it lasted. He winced and blanched laying there in Tower’s sweaty, tattooed arms, feeling cum flow into him and drip down between his legs.
Finally Tower let his limp dick flop out, which was followed by a leaking flow of jizz. But he stayed right there with his arms around Zach, breathing heavily and letting his hot breath condense on Zach’s cheek. Zach groaned as relief flooded him. His ass had never felt better than it did in the first few seconds before a dull ache appeared within him. He squirmed again, but Tower squeezed him tight.
He kissed Zach again. “Thanks, Zachary,” he said. “That was nice. We’re gonna sleep like this, okay?”
“Uh… okay,” Zach said, mainly because he couldn’t think of a reason to say no, given everything that had already happened between them.
“Good. I promise, from now on, I’ll just ram you once at night, okay? No more double-duty,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll put a swastika on your chest too. We’ll get some guns. We got big plans, Zachary,” he said. “Tomorrow, we start gettin’ shit done.”
Zach’s heart pounded. He nodded, but didn’t say anything. He really needed to find a different place to live. While he enjoyed getting rammed by Tower, he didn’t want to use guns for any plan that Tower might come up with. It wasn’t worth the risk.
He lightly patted Zach on the cheek. “Don’t worry. As long as we’re together, it’ll be okay. You’re gonna take so much cock, boy, you gonna feel like a chicken coop soon. You’ll learn to love it. And we’ll have money from robbing Mexicans, we won’t be poor for long.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Ssh, now go to sleep. If you want, you can wake me up with a handjob. I love that,” Tower said. He nuzzled the back of Zach’s head as he settled in to sleep. His sweaty chest still pressed against Zach’s back.
Zach sighed and closed his eyes. All he could think about was the limp dick throbbing between his asscheeks, the stone-hard pecs and nipples rubbing against his shoulderblades and where else he might live.
For now though, he didn’t have any better options than to fall asleep in the man’s Aryan-tattooed muscles…

The Cocky Gangsta Bottoms

Braxton has gotta do something for his girlfriend, and that means letting the twinky barber Desmond go to town all over his alpha gangsta body!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here

It was one of the slowest days since Desmond had been working at the Cityside Barbershop of Lawndale. He sat on his barber’s chair, playing idly on his phone. There was nothing to do. Virtually no one had come in all day.
People didn’t seem to get haircuts when the weather was very hot or very cold. Today it was very hot, even hotter than it normally was in the middle of August in Baltimore. It was like a kiln outside. But the weather had been kind of weird lately, Desmond thought, because last night was very cool for August. Desmond got up in the middle of the night to get a blanket from his closet. So maybe that was why business was so slow today. The weather was both too hot and too cold for haircuts.
He was horny too. The Cityside Barbershop was a nationwide chain with a reputation — what happened there, stayed there, so black men who wanted to get their nut off could always swing downlow discretely. That was plenty fine with Desmond, with a limp wrist, a girlish figure and a seductive lilt to his voice. He greatly appreciated the men who came through on the downlow.
Today, however, none of his regulars came through asking for any dome. Desmond gave three haircuts, none of which resulted in a chance to swing on any nigga dick.
Then one of his regulars did come in — Braxton Bird, a swagger-heavy gangsta in the Bloods — just a few minutes before close. Finally. Desmond straightened his back and nodded at him. Braxton had just come in last week for a haircut, so he must want something else.
He wants to bust a nut. They all do, Desmond thought and licked his lips.
“Hi, Braxton,” Desmond said. He rotated around the barber’s chair so Braxton could sit in it, though Desmond did not think he would do so.
Braxton’s homies stayed out on the sidewalk, holding back nervous laughter and sneaking peeks into the barbershop. It looked like they thought Braxton was going to back out of coming in here.
“Yo, Desmond,” Braxton said. His deep, booming voice was authoritarian, like he expected to be obeyed. “We gotta go in the back and talk.”
Was he upset about something? Did he not like the haircut last week? Desmond couldn’t imagine why, but he didn’t know of any other reason Braxton might be mad at him. Desmond shivered. Braxton had a reputation as a gangsta, and Desmond didn’t know how real that reputation was. He at least had gang connections. If he thought Desmond betrayed him or snitched to the cops about him (or about anything), he might become violent.
On the other hand, Desmond had gang connections too. This was a Bloods neighborhood. And Desmond was not a snitch.
So Desmond followed him into the backroom nervously. The other barbers watched and snickered. They all knew why Braxton was here — or at least why they assumed Braxton was here. It was considered rude to mention it in the shop, but that didn’t always stop them.
“Have fun back there, nigga…” murmured the barber Skelton.
Braxton ignored Skelton. When the door swung shut behind him, he took a deep breath.
“Yo, uh…”
“You mad at me?” Desmond opened his eyes wide and cocked his head to the side, giving Braxton an insouciant grin, like a girl. He delicately teased his fingers over the waistband of Braxton’s boxers, which were visible above his sagging jeans.
“No, no,” Braxton said. He licked his lips and scratched his fingers through the dense beard of coarse hairs on his chin. “I, uh… I was dealin’ dat rock, and uh… Well you ain’t gotta know that part.” He sighed. His confidence was deflated in comparison to his usual cocky, braggy self. Just a few days ago, he walked in here as though he owned the place, chains jingling, swagger dripping off him like a rap star. Braxton closed his eyes. “Ain’t a big deal. Gangsta shit. You know my nigga Jaycee and me, we fucked around one time, when we was in lockup for a weekend. Last year.”
“Oh. Sweet.” Desmond straightened his back. “Jaycee Sands?”
Braxton nodded. “So it ain’t a big deal. I took it in the ass once already. Weren’t nobody’s bitch. It was on the downlow.” He paused. “I mean, not real downlow, that’s why I’m talkin’ ’bout it. It just wasn’t no big deal then, and so it ain’t gonna be a big deal now.”
“What ain’t a big deal? What are you talking about?” Desmond said. He placed one finger on Braxton’s barrel-chest, overtop his shirt, and then traced a line down to his sagging jeans. His pants sagged low enough to feel the pubic hair beneath Braxton’s boxer shorts even before he got to the waist of his jeans. Braxton took a deep breath and his chest muscles undulated like he was aroused by Desmond’s touch but unwilling to touch him back.
“My niggas… Uh, we was hangin’ out wit’ a couple girls last night,” Braxton said. “And we, uh… We been playin’ a game wit’ em.”
“What game?”
“Uh… Truth or Dare,” he said. He took a deep breath. “And, uh… We dared ’em to do some girl-girl shit. You know…”
“Sounds hot.” Desmond shrugged.
“And they dared me, uh…”
Desmond’s mind whirred and he finally realized where Braxton was going with this. “To do something on the downlow? Do girls even know about that?”
He nodded. “These do. But they knew I done let you jerk me off. So it can’t be that. They said… I gotta let you, y’know… Be on top.” His big burly muscles shook.
Desmond’s mind whirred. Was this giant alpha male gangsta offering what he seemed to be offering? Desmond assumed he must have misunderstood what was happening.
“Uh… what?”
“I’ll jerk you off,” Braxton said. “I done it befo’. Don’t think you makin’ me yo’ bitch or somethin’.”
“Course not, sweetheart. I’ll be so gentle…” Desmond said, his voice light and saccharine though he was actually so excited he wanted to shadowbox the air. His heart skipped a beat. He still thought he must have misunderstood what was happening, but he didn’t want to fight against it. He smiled at Braxton. Desmond sighed. “So… you have to let me ramrod you, in exchange for which some girls will let you watch ’em do girl stuff?”
He nodded.
“I don’t have to watch the girl stuff, do I?” Desmond asked.
He shook his head.
“Good. Cuz vaginas are kinda gross,” Desmond said. “I think if I saw that many at once, I might throw up. I don’t know how you put your tongue in there.”
“You put your tongue in butts! Man-butts. That’s nasty.”
Desmond shrugged. “Yeah, but sexy butts! Children come out of vaginas, Braxton! Children!”
“That… I don’t fuck ’em when they’re giving birth!”
Desmond rolled his eyes. “Still. Vaginas look like the forehead of a Star Trek alien.”
“You wanna do it or not?” Braxton asked.
“I do.” Desmond quickly stripped off his own clothes. Desmond watched Braxton undress. “No one is going to know you went through with this.”
“What?”
“You won’t be able to prove to the girls you did it,” Desmond said. Then there was a loud banging sound, and he jumped. When he realized it was Braxton’s friends opening a window to watch, Desmond smiled and pretended to be so frightened by the sound that he collapsed in Braxton’s bare arms. “Oh my god, robbers!” He nuzzled Braxton’s bulging biceps.
“They ain’t robbers. They my niggas,” Braxton said. “Fuck off! Get outta here!” But his friends didn’t go anywhere. The window was very low to the ground outside since the backroom was technically below ground — the Cityside Barbershop of north Lawndale was in the basement of a building, accessible only through a narrow stone staircase from the street. The window that was accessible from the alley was one of those narrow half-windows just above the asphalt. Braxton’s niggas had to get on the pavement and crowd in to watch.
“You ain’t get started yet?!”
“Ramrod the fuck outta that nigga, Desmond! Make him yo’ prison bitch!”
Braxton snorted and flared his nostrils as he stripped off his clothes. He went very slow, reluctant, while Desmond’s eyes went from excited to drooling in a matter of moments. He folded all of his clothes, even his drawers, and he kept his chains on, jingling when he moved. Braxton had a broad, muscular chest and plenty of thickness. Each ass-cheek was like an overinflated volleyball, tight and hard and expansive. His butt was also juicy and just slightly hairy, a perfect rear on a perfectly imperfect-shaped man.
“Swallow that nigga nut, Braxton!”
Braxton stood awkwardly. He didn’t know how to begin. His massive brown dick dangled between his legs. Desmond tried to joust — that was a simple act, so he thought it’d be good to start with that — but Braxton was much too tall. Even on his toes, Desmond couldn’t get his cock to touch Braxton’s.
So he led Braxton by the cock to a corner of the backroom where there was a barber’s chair waiting to be reupholstered because there was a bullet-hole in it. Desmond stood on the barber’s chair, which finally made it possible to jack both him and Braxton off at once.
Desmond stroked both throbbing shafts. His own dick throbbed forcefully, like there was something in there trying to escape, because he was hard and every moment he touched Braxton’s big dick brought him closer to orgasm. Braxton remained limp, ignoring his dick as he eyed his niggas through the window with a hostile glare. They leered and teased him from afar.
“Come on, you do it,” Desmond said with a giggle. “Jack us both off.” He enjoyed playing with Braxton’s soft meat, but he wanted to see Braxton do it. He kissed Braxton on his thick, scruffy neck and his powerful pecs.
Braxton scowled but grabbed both cocks. He leaned his head back and looked away. He spat on the cement floor. He took both shafts in one hand, shivered when his limp dick touched Desmond’s hard one, and stroked them both together.
“You like dat, Braxton?!
“Ooh, lookit that gangsta meat! Gettin’ hard, ain’t he? Gonna get love from Desmond soon.”
“I say shut the fuck up, niggas! You think I won’t come out there and kick yo’ ass?” Braxton shouted. His chest heaved, and he pounded on his pecs. His upper half was ruddy and raging, but his lower half was awkward, limp and too-nervous to be excited about anything. His meaty hand absent-mindedly stroked Desmond’s dick, which throbbed and leaked precum into his fingers. The fluids coated his shaft, proving lubrication for Braxton’s hand. He didn’t seem to notice because he was focused on threatening his friends. “We agreed we wouldn’t make fun of whoever did this. That’s a rule, niggas!”
“We said we wouldn’t make fun of you after it’s done, nigga. That’s what we said. That was what you said. It was yo’ idea. It was yo’ idea to draw straws too. We was gonna let Desmond choose.”
“Fuck you!”
They were laughing so hard they were crying. Desmond smiled as Braxton roared in anger.
“Dem bitches better do it so good,” he said. “Fuck… I wanna see ’em do it all. Lacy Nichols is gonna be there, nigga. Hot damn, if I see her sticking a dildo in that thick girl’s ass… I will bust my nut right there.”
His dick finally perked up as his eyes grew cloudy, picturing the women. Braxton’s meaty shaft grew hard beneath his hand, and it throbbed next to Desmond’s dick. Now that he was erect, his cock was much bigger than Desmond’s.
“If you wait until they tell you what to do, it’ll be more embarrassing than if you just do it yo’self, sweetie,” Desmond said. He acted as feminine as possible to make this easier for Braxton, who growled and looked at Desmond as though his flamboyant lilt made Braxton horny enough to forget that Desmond was a man.
He nodded and flared his nostrils again. He sunk to his knees, ignoring the catcalls and jeers of his friends. He opened his mouth.
“Open wide, bitch!
“Swallow that meat, nigga! Swallow it good!”
“No teeth! If you feel teeth, Desmond, you can punch him. He’ll get the message!”
Desmond’s cock slid past his lips, and Braxton choked from the moment he tasted it. His moist tongue twitched when Desmond’s cock entered his mouth, sending a shiver of desire up Desmond’s spine.
His cock was already hard, so when it reached the back of Braxton’s throat, he was already leaking precum. It flowed down Braxton’s gullet, making him wince and writhe. Despite his discomfort, he soon relaxed and got better at deep-throating it — his massive body helped, since he had a massive mouth and a massive throat to go with it.
“Throat his face, Desmond!”
Desmond was planning on doing that anyway. That was how Braxton did it when he came in for a haircut, so it made sense to throat him back now that their situations were reversed. Desmond felt tiny touching Braxton’s head — Desmond’s fingers were small and delicate in comparison.
The haircut was really very good, Desmond thought. He was proud of himself. Thinking about that as his cock slid down Braxton’s throat made him giggle like a schoolgirl. His fingers massaged Braxton’s scalp through his hair.
Desmond began grinding his hips, rubbing his cock over every corner of Braxton’s mouth. Despite his initial reluctance, Braxton almost seemed to be enjoying himself. He gurgled and slathered spit all along Desmond’s throbbing cockshaft.
The dense nest of beard hair scratched at Desmond’s cock and his balls when they slapped against his chin. The hairs were coarse and kinky, and thick enough that it looked like Desmond’s dick disappeared into Braxton’s beard rather than his mouth. Spit and precum dripped from Braxton’s lips and soaked his beard.
At last Braxton pulled off, just as Desmond began to get worried he would blow his load early. He grimaced and looked away, holding back a gag as a ball of fluids leaked from his mouth and landed with an audible plop on the floor.
“Nice mouth, Braxton! You can do me next!
“Yeah, but you gotta shave that beard first!
“Fuck you, niggas! I’ll kick yo’ ass when we done in here,” Braxton said. “I don’t gotta let you watch them girls get nasty, man! I’ll make you leave!”
“Ain’t up to you, nigga. You ain’t the grand marshall of they pussies. They made an agreement wit’ all of us. As long as one nigga let Desmond ram ‘im, they gonna let all of us watch ’em get nasty wit’ each other.”
“Ah shit, you think they gonna scissor? I hope they scissor.”
As the boys outside laughed and argued over what they could get the girls to do to each other, Desmond thought it was funny that the girls didn’t want to watch. They wanted Braxton to humiliate himself, but they weren’t interested in seeing it happen. The boys, meanwhile, were desperate to see some girl-on-girl action, no matter what it took.
“Don’t worry, I’ll lick you till you good and loose, nigga, and I’ll give you a reacharound,” Desmond said.
Braxton grunted as he bent over. He first grabbed his ankles like a soldier at boot camp waiting to get it up the ass from his drill sergeant. But he was so tall that was not at all an effective position for Desmond. He tapped Braxton’s hefty asscheeks until he got down on all fours.
That was perfect. Desmond dived in, tongue-first. He slammed his tongue deep into Braxton’s asshole, in the thicket of hair in his asscrack. He wanted to shock him into opening up right away, which worked even better than he thought it would — that hole parted like the Red Sea. Desmond’s tongue fit easily inside.
“Make love to that nigga, Desmond! Shoot some babies up inside him!”
He could have licked that big burly asshole for hours. Desmond loved giving rimjobs, and he had never gotten to taste Braxton’s insides before.
But he was ready to move on. He left a finger in the hole to keep it loose as he got ready to ram.
“Here I go, baby, tell me if it hurts too bad,” Desmond said, quietly enough that only Braxton could hear.
When his dick pushed in, a shudder of pleasure ran up Desmond’s spine, while Braxton grunted. He lifted his head and rolled his eyes. He bit his lip to stifle a louder sound.
“Ah, damn, there it is, Braxton! That’s a dick in yo’ ass!”
“Fuck you, niggas! You know this ain’t a big deal, right?! I ain’t a bitch! He ain’t a real man!” Braxton barked. Then he sniffled. “Sorry. I mean… You is a real man, Desmond. Just… you ain’t a gangsta. Don’t count.”
Desmond nodded. That was fine with Desmond. It all seemed silly to him.
A long, low howl escaped from Braxton’s throat as the last of Desmond’s cock slid inside him. His massive ass swallowed up Desmond’s dick just like his mouth had done. His insides were soft and warm and tight, but just loose enough that Desmond could slip in and out. He had never rammed anyone quite so perfect, he thought as he slapped each of Braxton’s big brown cheeks. He watched them jiggle and felt the muscle tense beneath his touch.
“Ha ha! He like it! He lovin’ it! Can I go next, nigga?!”
“I do not! No way!” Braxton groaned. He wrenched his head back and groaned. It sounded like a moan of pain, but Desmond could tell it wasn’t — or rather, there was some real pain there, that was understandable, but even more than that was a wave of prostate orgasm rolling through Braxton’s body. His muscles all tensed, turning him into a giant slab of warm marble into which Desmond slammed his body.
As Braxton squirmed in pain and pleasure, Desmond reached around him. Desmond was so much smaller than Braxton that it wasn’t easy to do. He had to really stretch to get his hands onto Braxton’s dick.
But as soon as he did, he saw that he was right — Braxton was as hard as he had ever been. He must be really enjoying this, or at least enjoying part of it. Luckily from their perspective, Braxton’s friends couldn’t see that he was hard. All they saw was Braxton’s intense squirming and his agonized grunts.
Desmond decided to lie. “Come on, you gotta get yo’ dick hard, nigga,” he said. The men outside laughed, calling Braxton a limp-dick nigga, but it was clear they were disappointed — it’d have been easier to make fun of him if he was hard when he got it up the ass.
Of course, his dick was hard. He grunted as it throbbed and leaked precum into Desmond’s fingers. He tried to whisper something, but he couldn’t quite form any words. Desmond could tell he wanted to say thanks for Desmond pretending he wasn’t hard, and Desmond responded by affectionately licking the small of Braxton’s back.
The more Desmond plowed back and forth, the more intense was Braxton’s reaction. Since he was such a big man, his every motion provoked an even bigger response in Desmond’s body as he tried to keep up. Braxton even lifted himself up, forcing Desmond to climb onto his back.
He couldn’t really hump effectively in this position. His dick was all the way deep inside Braxton, throbbing within his guts, but his feet were not on the floor anymore. Braxton thrashed and grunted, and Desmond could do little more than hold on to his meaty shoulder with one hand, while his other hand gripped Braxton’s cock — he couldn’t even get enough leverage to masturbate Braxton, all he did was hold on as Braxton squirmed.
“Wreck dat nigga, nigga!”
“You can use his tears as lube, Desmond!”
From a distance, to the men in the window, it no doubt looked like Braxton was in tremendous pain, like tiny Desmond was holding him down and ramrodding him hard. But in fact, Desmond could barely maintain his position. He wiggled his hips a bit, moving his cock around within Braxton’s ass, but all the power came from Braxton, who shifted and moved, tightened and relaxed his ass, and humped his hips so he that humped Desmond’s hand and penetrated himself with Desmond’s cock at the same time.
In the end, Braxton even shot his load first. Desmond clutched desperately to his shoulder with his left hand, while his right held onto Braxton’s throbbing cock.
Cum sprayed over Desmond’s fingers, bursting forth in a thick torrent that coated the floor of the backroom. Braxton moaned loudly, and the pleasurable tenor of his voice was unmistakeable. His spine shook and he threw his head back as beads of sweat dappled his flesh.
“Hot damn, nigga, looks like Desmond gettin’ you good!”
“You wanna take my dick next, Braxton?!”
Braxton shook his head and grunted, heaving deeply for air. He finally relaxed enough to drop back down to all fours, which placed Desmond back on his feet on the ground.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He had no sooner flexed his hips one time when an intense orgasm began deep within him. His cock slid all the way into Braxton’s ass, making the bigger man contort all over again.
Braxton’s exhausted knees buckled, and he slid to the floor. His belly landed with a splat in the puddle of cum he had just spewed out, while he groaned into the cement floor.
With his arms spreading over Braxton’s thick back, massaging the muscles there, Desmond shot his own load deep into Braxton’s ass. Though he couldn’t see it of course, it felt like a huge wad of cum, thick and creamy, spreading into Braxton’s guts. They both moaned together, Desmond’s weaker voice harmonizing with Braxton’s baritone boom.
He kept going as he came, because Desmond loved doing that — they called it butter-churning. His cock slid in and out, lubricated by his own load. Pangs of unimaginable bliss shot up Desmond’s spine, and judging from the way Braxton sighed at the same time, he experienced the same thing.
Since he kept penetrating Braxton, churning butter in his guts, Desmond’s cum soon turned into a thick, frothy mess. It dripped out of Braxton’s ass, the pearly white color of Desmond’s cum contrasting with the deep brown of Braxton’s skin. It soaked into his ass-hair and dripped between his legs onto the floor.
At last, Desmond was limp. He could have laid like that, head resting on Braxton’s broad sweat-dripping back, for hours. But he could tell that Braxton was getting calmer, which meant his ass was going to start hurting now that the adrenaline rush was over.
“You like that, big boi! Sure look like you loved it!”
So Desmond pulled out. He kissed Braxton’s bare shoulders, and pulled out some wetnaps he always kept back here. He wiped off his own cock and carefully cleaned all of the cum and santorum that had dripped out of Braxton’s ass.
Aside from wincing a little when Desmond’s fingers and his wetnaps touched Braxton’s sensitive asshole, Braxton remained still and silent, recovering. Then he rolled over to let Desmond wipe off the cum from his belly and his limp, pulsating cock. He smiled bashfully.
“That weren’t so bad, nigga,” he said. He whispered, looking suspiciously towards the window as though his friends might try to climb in (which was impossible anyway, since it was only a very narrow half-window). “Don’t tell them I said that though. Tell them I didn’t cum. Tell them I didn’t even get hard. Tell them I’m too gangsta.”
“Okay. The girls didn’t say you had to cum too?”
“Nah,” he said as he stretched his legs and stood on weak knees. “That was it.” He smiled. “Ah, hell yeah, they gonna let me watch. I bet they let me finger ’em too while they do it.”
“Good luck,” Desmond said. “If you ever wanna play Truth or Dare with me, come on by.”
He smiled politely, but he shook his head. “That’s a baby’s game. We only play it wit’ bitches cuz they act like fuckin’ babies,” he said. He slowly got dressed. “But, I mean… maybe we could mess around sometime. I mean, not like we normally do. But, y’know…”
“Yeah,” Desmond said. He waited to put his own clothes on so he could watch Braxton’s naked body for as long as possible. “I do know, and I’d like that very much.”

The Inmate

Rob Winthrop bought a house abutting a prison so he could service inmates through the fence, but he never thought they’d have meat like this! His name is Tanker, and he’s got the goods if Rob is willing to cough up some dough…

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Rob Winthrop knew it would work eventually, it was just a matter of time. He had bought the house on Theodore Street both because it was a good investment — it was undervalued due to its neighbor — and because it abutted a prison, and there was nothing Rob loved more than hardcore prison thugs, mafioso and toughs of all kinds.
Of course, prisoners weren’t simply allowed to roam around all the time, or really any of the time. So Rob went for frequent walks along the couple of acres where his property shared a boundary with the prison, but there was never anyone outside whose attention he could get.
It was a wooded area, and on the prison side of the fence, there was a dirt road about thirty yards past the property line. Rob could barely see it from his property. That was the only thing he could see, since the trees were too dense to actually see the prison yard or any buildings.
But he could hear people talking between three and four o’clock in the afternoon — there was a distant, dull roar every day in that time. That, he deduced, was their rec time. The prison yard must have been beyond the trees somewhere.
Every day he hung out there in the afternoon, waiting for an opportunity. Finally on a Monday afternoon he saw a young black man in orange prison pants, shirtless, creeping down the dirt road. He was on the lookout for people following him, but he didn’t pay any attention to the far side of the fence, so he didn’t notice Rob standing there.
“Hey,” Rob said when he got real close.
“Aaah!” He yelped and put up his fists like he was about to box. Of course there was a fence in the way, and he screwed up his eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“What? Who the fuck are you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Rob said. He was too nervous to think clearly. This guy was a handsome dark-skinned thug with cornrows and bluish tattoos covering most of his body below the neck. Most prominently, there was a dagger inserted in his chest above the heart, with blood seeping out and covering most of his torso. Another wound, a bloody gash, was tattooed over his sternum. Rob took a deep breath, entranced by the man’s muscles, which gleamed with sweat. “I’m sorry. I’m Rob. I live here.”
“In the woods?” He wrinkled his nose.
“There’s a house over there,” Rob said. “Are you… escaping?”
“What? No, man, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“You were creeping along like you were hiding.”
“I ain’t want no one to follow me,” he said. “I’m allowed to be here.”
“What is this road?”
“Nothin’. It’s s’posed to be a nature trail or some shit. No one ever uses it,” he said.
“Why are you here?”
“None of yo’ business, dude,” the prisoner said with a sneer like dude was a slur.
“What’s your name?”
“Also ain’t none of yo’ business.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Rob said. “Do you want me to jack you off through the fence?”
There was a long, awkward silence. The man peered deep into Rob’s eyes to see if he was kidding. His chest muscles flexed and he stepped close to the fence.
“What?”
“I really wanna get you off,” Rob said. “If you tell the others, I’ll jerk anyone off. And I swallow..”
“Anyone?”
“No diseases, no fatties, no old people,” Rob said.
“You nasty.”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “What’s your name?”
“Tanker.” He curled his lip like he was disgusted.
“Tanker? That your last name? Or your nickname?”
“Fuck you. Lick my dick,” he said. He spat on Rob’s face through the fence. Then he raised his eyebrows like he wanted to see if Rob would walk away or not. But Rob loved being spat on and treated poorly by prison thugs like him.
Rob dropped to his knees. He reached his fingers through the fence, getting just enough leverage to pull on Tanker’s loose orange pants. That lowered them. His dick flopped right out the fly of his coarse, gauzy prison-issue boxer shorts.
“You got a lighter, man?” he asked.
Rob nodded. He handed it over while licking on the shaft of Tanker’s dick. It tasted unwashed, but not exactly dirty — it tasted like cramped sweaty men, like Tanker had been spending time with other men in such a tiny area that his body, and his cock, brushed up against his homeboys and cellmates. That was precisely what Rob had hoped it would taste like. He gurgled merrily, and Tanker twitched like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good.
He lit a hand-rolled cigarette with the lighter, which he then pocketed. The woodsy smell of cheap marijuana filled the air — that must be why Tanker was sneaking into the woods by himself. He didn’t want to get caught with weed and he didn’t want to have to share it with anyone.
His dick perked up and jerked. Rob switched to swallowing the whole thing, or as much as he could since it kept getting thicker while it hardened in Rob’s mouth. Soon it was so thick Rob struggled to get more than the first inch or two into his mouth.
He paused and took a deep breath. He needed to focus on relaxing his throat, and he told himself over and over to relax. He was so excited that his plan was finally working.
“Damn, dude, I ain’t had a mouth like this in a minute,” he said, taking a deep drag on his joint. “You like homeboy meat, huh?”
Rob blushed. Thwacking that massive brown cock over his face, he smiled up at Tanker. “I like prisoner meat,” he said. “I don’t care too much about its color.”
Tanker nodded. He bucked his hips, slamming his dick forward. His entire body pressed on the fence, which swayed with his weight. His flesh pressed against the chainlink fence.
“Deep-throat that shit, man, swallow it,” Tanker said. He sounded frustrated, his fingers stretching through the fence the best he could, like he wanted more than anything to grab Rob’s head and pound him.
But Rob wanted to tease him a little. He slathered spit with his tongue all over the sensitive tip of Tanker’s dick, until the saliva dripped down onto the ground in long, thin tendrils. Rob knew how good this felt, and how powerful Tanker’s instinct would be to ram his dick into Rob’s mouth.
He didn’t though; he couldn’t. He could do nothing more than grab the chainlinks, gyrate his waist like he was humping the fence and moan loudly. He bit hit lip and bucked his hips. He fingered Rob’s hair through the fence, trying to grip it but all he succeeded in doing was pulling a few hairs out of Rob’s head.
“Damn, quit teasin’ it, man, come on, swallow it. Swallow it, man. Swallow it,” Tanker said. Rob lazily stroked it, giggling at Tanker’s exaggerated reaction.
“How long has it been since you blew a nut?”
He paused for a long time, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to lie. “I ramrodded this punk a couple weeks ago,” Tanker said.
“Who’d you ramrod a couple weeks ago?”
Tanker shrugged. “This prisoner. He Mexican.”
Rob nodded.
“He only charge twenty bucks for anal,” Tanker said. “I ain’t have the money for that though. I had to pay other ways.”
“What other ways?”
He thought for a long time. He chewed on his inner cheek. Then he shrugged. “I stabbed a homeboy. Ain’t kill him. He was a bad homeboy anyway.”
Rob relaxed his throat and deep-throated him, all in one smooth motion without warning. Tanker moaned so violently it sounded like it hurt. His humped his hips forward, pressing his crotch so hard into the chainlink fence that it bowed outward.
Precum flowed down his throat, its sweet and salty flavor assaulted Rob’s senses. It tasted frustrated and horny, exactly like a man who hadn’t had sex in months. Rob rammed his own head so far down that his nose nestled itself in Tanker’s untrimmed pubic hair.
“Ah, god-damn, boy,” Tanker swore. His entire body pressed against the chainlink fence.
He took a deep breath and snorted. He pulled away from Rob then, sneering at him. “Fifty bucks, sissy,” he said.
“What?”
“You wanna keep gettin’ me off?”
“Yeah.”
“Then pay me. Fifty bucks.”
“If I don’t pay you, you’ll just walk away?” Rob had every intention of paying him — he was going to hand over money even if Tanker hadn’t asked — but he wanted to see if Tanker would seriously claim he would walk away. Rob didn’t believe it. Tanker was too obviously horny to blueball himself.
He shrugged. “I can jack off,” he said. “I know you want it, and I know you got money. You got a taste of it. You know how big it is. Pay me.”
Rob slyly turned around. He shook his ass in Tanker’s direction. He pulled out his wallet and counted out fifty dollars — he didn’t want Tanker to see how much cash he actually had, or Tanker would just demand more.
He handed the money through the fence. “Hey, if you bring me other guys like you, I’ll pay you. If you get them to accept twenty bucks, I’ll give you the other thirty.”
“Hell yeah,” Tanker said.
“Gotta keep it low-key, or the guards will find out,” Rob said. “Make sure you-“
“Don’t tell me how to handle the prison, bitch,” Tanker said with a growl through gritted teeth.
“Oh. Okay, sorry. Just don’t get caught,” Rob said. He stuck his face into the chainlink fence, so his mouth squeezed through one of the openings. It was just big enough for his lips to fit through to the other side. He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it.
“Beg me fo’ it.” Tanker spat in the palm of his hand, and wiped it over his gleaming cockshaft as he stroked it.
“What?”
“I say beg me fo’ it. I like hearin’ pussies beg,” Tanker said.
“Please let me touch your dick some more. It tastes so good, and it’s so big and you’re so tough, I just need it. I need your dick in my throat, Tanker, sir, and I want to all of your cum. I want you to drown me in cum,” Rob said.
Tanker gurgled. He spat on Rob’s face through the fence. He stuck his dick through the fence and swayed his hips, trying to slap Rob over the face with his manhood. Rob had to move his head to be in the right position though. He moaned as its meaty thickness thwacked onto his cheeks. Tanker chuckled dryly.
Opening his mouth, Rob chased Tanker’s dick. He didn’t use his hands, he just tried to swallow it while Tanker rotated his hips to tease him over and over again.
“Chase it, sissy, huh? You gonna catch it or what?” He laughed some more.
Then Rob did catch it. Tanker stopped moving for a moment, and Rob deep-throated his dick as far down as ever. Tanker moaned and stretched. He raised his arms and gripped the chainlinks, his unwashed muscles beaded with sweat as he slammed his entire body into the fence.
The precum flowed freely. It was clear he would have cum already if there wasn’t a fence in the way, meaning he couldn’t plow the way he liked, he just kept spasming inside Rob’s mouth.
“Damn, man, I wish I could hold onto you,” Tanker said. “You’d regret this, fo’ sho’, bitch. I don’t hit boys nice in the butt. I’d be grabbin’ yo’ scalp and rammin’ you till you throw up, man.”
“I wouldn’t regret that. I’d love it,” Rob said.
“What?”
“That’s why I like prison thugs,” Rob said. He blushed and looked down. He kissed the tip of Tanker’s dick, the piss-slit winking at him as he flickered his tongue into it. “I love servicing cruel machos like you.”
“Can’t grab yo’ head,” Tanker said. He took a deep drag off his joint, which he had to hold carefully with two fingers now.
Rob had an idea. He took off his belt and passed it through the fence to Tanker. He took it having no idea what to do with it at first, then he got the idea.
Rob pressed his face against the fence again, and this time Tanker fed the belt through as well. He had to whip it around Rob’s head — Rob helped guide it — and wrapped it over Rob’s scalp. That meant Rob couldn’t back his head away. He wasn’t unable to move away, since he could still lower his head, but his head was immobilized enough for Tanker’s massive dick to throat him down.
“Take a deep breath, bitch,” Tanker said. He took one last puff on his joint, which he then swallowed without extinguishing it. Rob inhaled deeply of the scent of Tanker’s unwashed crotch.
Rob was still exhaling when Tanker jammed his dick down Rob’s throat. That now-familiar flavor of masculinity, dirty clothes and stainless steel hit Rob’s tongue, and he groaned as it shoved into his throat.
That triggered his gag reflex, but Rob was good at suppressing that, and in any case, Tanker seemed to like it. He grunted and pulled on the belt a little tighter. He held his dick deep in Rob’s throat, relentless even as Rob began to squirm and choke. Massive quantities of saliva dripped in clumps onto the ground at Rob’s feet.
One of Tanker’s hands remained on the belt to keep it taut, while the other squeezed a pair of fingers over Rob’s nostrils. It was a tight fit, since there was little space in front of Rob’s face, but he managed to do it, and that forced Rob’s throat open a little wider.
Finally Tanker allowed Rob to take a break. He let go of one end of the belt, and Rob’s body instinctively pulled away. He let out a hoarse, choking gasp for air.
“You okay?” Tanker asked as though he was unused to it, like he rarely inquired after anyone’s wellbeing.
“Hell yeah!” Rob exclaimed as enthusiastically as he could with a throat crying out for more oxygen.
Tanker looked dourly down at him. “You got a nice throat, bitch. If you was my bitch, I’d tattoo some pussylips on yo’ face.”
“I’d like that very much, Tanker.”
“You got a marker?”
“Uh… Yes!” Rob had forgotten he had his work bag with him because there was lube and some other stuff in it, including a sharpie. He handed it through the fence.
Tanker chuckled again, suppressing a smile, like he hadn’t really thought Rob would say yes. He did as Rob hoped though, and he drew some labia on Rob’s lower and upper lips. Since he had to do it through the fence, the drawing wasn’t very good — just a blurry smear of black ink really — but Rob couldn’t see it anyway, so he wasn’t disappointed. Tanker pocketed the marker.
Then he put the belt back in place again. His cock was still rock-hard and throbbing, looking even darker now that it was moist with saliva and bile and even some of Rob’s oxygen-starved tears.
“Let’s see how you manage, bitch. You can take dick, I give you dat, but can you take it right? Gonna make you throw up, bitch, I swear to god,” Tanker said once Rob was back, belted to the fence with his mouth open. Tanker hocked a big loogie into Rob’s open mouth.
This time, he didn’t just deposit his cock directly into Rob’s throat. He held onto his head through the belt and explored Rob’s gullet, humping his dick in from every direction and even moving it in a wide, slow circle. He seemed to be trying to make Rob gag — and succeeding, laughing each time — so he fucked his throat every way he could, as if it was a disreputable fleshlight.
“Love hearin’ dat sound,” Tanker said. “The sound of a bitch chokin’ on yo’ dick, ‘specially a pussy like you. Hell yeah. Choke up some more, bitch.”
Rob gurgled. He tried to say yes, sir but since his mouth was full, he succeed only in tickling Tanker and triggering a heave in his stomach. More saliva flowed over Tanker’s dick, soaking his pants.
“I think I’ve made a mess,” Rob said as he gasped for air. “Sorry.” Tanker’s orange prison pants were soaked with Rob’s spit-up.
Tanker shrugged. “I’ll tell e’ryone I got off with a bitch. They won’t care. I ain’t gonna say who you is.” He paused. “If you here all the time, man, they gonna see you. I can’t control who get a nut off, y’know, I can’t get paid if they know when you gonna be here. Why don’t you just schedule it wit’ me? Then I can send you homeboys when you ready, and you pay me.”
“Okay,” Rob said.
“You best pay me, motherfucker. I got connections on the outside. They can put a hurtin’ on you if you try and stiff me,” Tanker said. He spat again, aiming for Rob’s face. But his spitwad hit the fence, and only a few drops splattered onto Rob.
“Okay. I’ll pay,” Rob said. “No problem. I’ll be here at three o’clock every day.” He lazily stroked Tanker’s pulsating cock, which dripped with saliva. Rob spat more up and onto the shaft. “You can meet me and bring whoever you want. I’ll hide behind this tree, so if someone else comes through they won’t see me.”
Rob knew he could get more prison cock if he just hung out here. He could tell anyone who came by that he was jacking off anyone, and he’d probably have dozens of men coming through. But he didn’t do that for a couple reasons. First of all, most prisoners were really not very handsome — the average age of an inmate in America was sixty-two, and a lot of them were fat as well — but Rob felt confident that Tanker would only bring his gang buddies over. They’d be younger on average, and no doubt having a better physique than most. Besides that, with dozens of inmates crowding the fence, it was likely that fights would break out, and guards would soon learn what was happening. If the prison administration made this a solid fence, or electrified it, or just added a second fence a foot away from the first one, it’d be impossible for Rob to get anyone off.
And the most important reason to let Tanker bring him men was that Rob liked the idea of Tanker bringing men here and keeping them quiet. The only downside was that Tanker was a black prison thug whose buddies were no doubt also black prison thugs, whereas Rob enjoyed a little diversity — he would have to offer Tanker extra cash to bring rednecks, mafioso, bikers and more.
“I’ve got an idea, Tanker,” Rob said as he licked the shaft and suckled moistly on the tip. Tanker’s whole body writhed and he nearly orgasmed right then, jabbing his salty cocktip into Rob’s mouth. The belt had fallen to the ground, and Tanker was too distracted by pre-orgasmic pleasure to notice. He gripped the fence with his hands and even bit the chainlinks, dick throbbing on Rob’s lips. Rob giggled. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Rob turned around and undid his pants — since he had already taken his belt off, all he had to do was stand and his pants fell down.
“Aw, damn, dude, you want me in yo’ ass?”
Rob nodded.
Tanker chewed on his lower lip. “I promised my mama I wouldn’t do that. She don’t like ugly.”
“Oh well, you don’t have to do it,” Rob said. “I don’t wanna make you break a promise to your mom and-“
“I ain’t say no,” Tanker said. He sighed. “Gimme more money.”
Rob shrugged. “I’m not paying you more every time,” he said. He handed over the hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. Tanker’s eyes opened wide like he had never seen a hundred-dollar bill before.
“Damn, you really want my dick in yo’ ass, huh? Well for a hundred and fifty bucks, I’ll stick it in anything,” Tanker said. “Come on, back dat ass up.”
Rob got down on his hands and knees. He backed up until his ass was pressed against the fence.
“Nah,” Tanker said. “You gotta get up higher. I got some self-respect. Ain’t gonna ram a male down in the dirt, like a fuckin’ swine.”
Rob blushed but agreed. He raised his ass higher. Since Tanker was so tall, it wasn’t easy, and in the end, Rob had to stand and bend over to grab his ankles.
“Spread yo’ cheeks, bitch. I can’t get a grip,” Tanker said. He jabbed his dick towards Rob’s hole, but he couldn’t get any leverage to spread his cheeks.
This was a very difficult position for Rob. He had to use both hands to separate his asscheeks, which meant he couldn’t support himself on his hands. He was bent over, head nearly on the ground with his hands in the air behind his back.
A twinge of pain hit him, followed by a long, slow melting pleasure that wrapped over his bones in waves, emanating from his ass. It took a long time for the pleasure to build, but Tanker’s rock-hard cock explored Rob’s ass and found his prostate soon enough.
Despite his claim that he had promised not to plow a man in the ass, Tanker did not plow like someone who wasn’t used to it — that made Rob wonder if that had been a lie, if maybe Tanker only said it to get more money out of Rob.
“Keep yo’ cheeks spread, bitch,” Tanker muttered whenever Rob’s hands slipped. It didn’t slow him down any, now that his cock was in Rob’s ass. His fingers slipped through the fence and fingered his cheeks desperately, trying to get a grip on his flesh.
Soon his entire cock pulsated in Rob’s ass. Precum flowed within him, and Rob could feel the man’s dick throbbing, the orgasm bubbling under — Rob sensed it growing with each thrust of Tanker’s dick.
If Rob had any hands free, he would have been jacking himself off and would have undoubtedly cum already (at least once). But he couldn’t stop spreading his cheeks, even for a moment, or Tanker would bark at him to get back in position.
“You tryin’-a get away from me, bitch? Stay there. Stay in position, ya fuckin’ sissy,” Tanker roared through the fence.
But Rob didn’t stay in position. For the first time since this had begun, he didn’t do what Tanker said. Despite the pain it caused in his ass, Rob lifted his head and upper body.
The motion sent waves of agony through Rob’s spine as his ass moved around Tanker’s dick. Meanwhile Tanker moaned and grunted like he was surprised. He had to focus to keep his cock deep in Rob’s ass while it moved, but he managed to do so.
Rob lifted himself up until his entire upper body leaned against the fence. Tanker was still deep in his ass, and his upper body leaned against the other side of the fence. So they were close enough now that Rob could feel Tanker’s solid muscles writhing, and he could feel the sparse body hairs scratching at Rob’s smooth back skin. Just the wiry edges of the chainlinks separated their bodies.
“Oh, you down fo’ that standin’ shit, huh?” Tanker muttered. He slammed his hips, whistling in appreciation at the new position. “That’ll do nicely, baby.”
His fingers pinched Rob’s back and his asscheeks, as he tried to grab ahold of him through the fence. All he could manage was a few pinches.
But his face was right behind Rob’s head, and his hot breath condensed on Rob’s neck and cheek. Rob even rolled his head to the side, so his face was against the fence. Much to his surprise, Tanker kissed his cheek through the fence, moaning as he did. He nibbled seductively on Rob’s earlobe.
Though his words were still menacing, Tanker’s voice broke and showed some affection as he neared his orgasm — Rob could feel it coming deep in his own ass. Tanker’s cock, which seemed to be getting bigger with every passing thrust, rammed easily in and out now, like Rob’s ass had been built just to accommodate Tanker’s manhood.
“I love the way yo’ asshole feel around my dick, boy,” Tanker said softly. “It feels real good. You got a nice ass. I like destroyin’ it, boy. I love it. I think I might love you, bitch. You love me?”
“Yes, baby!”
“Good. I don’t love you, you too nasty. You too dirty,” Tanker said. “You don’t love me neither. You love my cock, right?”
“Yes! Oh god, yes, I love your cock!”
“‘Course you do. E’ryone loves Tanker’s cock ‘ventually,” he said. He gasped. “Gonna fill you up in a minute. Beg me fo’ it.”
“I want your cum inside me! I wanna feel yo’ baby batter flowing into me, please!”
“Jack yo’self off, baby,” Tanker said. He nibbled on Rob’s earlobe again, then kissed him on the cheek. Rob nearly collapsed in shock as Tanker even kissed him on the lips the best he could — since Rob’s face was sideways on the fence, it was an awkward kiss, but it felt perfect to Rob. “You love me, baby.”
The switch from calling Rob a bitch to calling him a baby was unexpected, and it made Rob croon with desire. No one like Tanker had ever called him baby before.
The sensations in his ass were incredible, mind-blowing. It felt like he was being ripped apart yet at the same time it felt so good Rob had trouble remaining upright. His knees were weak. His own dick throbbed in his fingers.
“C’mon, I wanna blow,” Tanker said. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, but I ain’t doin’ it yet, baby.” He kissed Rob on the lips again. “I wanna feel you cum, okay? I always make my prison punk jack off when I ram him, that way he clench down when he cum. C’mon, finish yo’self off.”
Rob’s mind whirred — that confirmed that Tanker was lying about promising not to be a ramrod (or at least it confirmed that he had never upheld that promise). That made Rob feel a little better, since he didn’t like the idea of making someone break a promise to his mother and pastor.
His whole body undulated as an orgasm hit him. It was the most powerful climax of his life, since it began in his prostate and kept building as Rob stroked himself off. By the time his first few drops of cum landed on the ground at his feet, the pleasure was already so intense it wracked his body like a seizure.
And then Tanker reached orgasm as well. He grunted and moaned, cursing indecipherably as he slammed his dick into Rob’s ass one last time. He held it there, unmoving, for what felt like forever, while Rob clenched and writhed.
A spurt of white-hot cum sprayed within his ass, followed by more. Then it flowed out like piss, a long, constant stream of creamy cum that felt so good Rob moaned as loud as he could.
“Take it, baby, gonna fill you up, hell yeah… Gonna drown yo’ ass in nut, baby, gonna fill you up so much it come out yo’ ears…”
Tanker’s whole body flexed, then relaxed and he groaned. He slapped Rob’s ass, sending a wave of bliss through both men’s bodies. Tanker’s balls drained wad after wad of his seed, so much so that it dripped out of his ass and flooded his innards. Rob felt it seeping throughout his body, soaking into him until it was everywhere, like he was becoming one with Tanker.
At last it was all over. Rob had no idea how long the climax had lasted, but it felt like forever. His knees were weak. When he finally pulled off Tanker’s dick, a tremendous sense of relief overwhelmed him, and he could do nothing more than stagger away and collapse onto the ground.
Tanker took a deep breath and wiped his cock off with one hand. He wiped his hand off on a nearby tree. He grimaced at Rob when he saw how his hand was now covered in sticky santorum.
“That was good, baby,” Tanker said. He sighed. “You got a nice ass.”
“Thanks. I love your cock. When you’re released, you can come see me,” Rob said. “I’ll let you stay with me. As long as you fill me up every day, you don’t have to pay any rent.”
He nodded. He frowned. “I ain’t gonna be released till I’m nearly fifty.”
Rob shrugged. “As long as you still got that dick, come see me,” he said with a giggle. “Don’t forget. You get thirty bucks for bringing me men.”
“Don’t pay ‘em nothin’,” Tanker said. He pulled his pants up and walked a few feet away. “Just gimme fifty bucks each. I’ll tell ‘em you do it for free. They’ll do it for free. Hell, I might be able to make ‘em pay a few bucks.”
“You’re gonna get paid from both ends?”
Tanker smiled broadly, and wiped the sweat off his dark brown brow. He licked his lips and squeezed his dick in those orange prison pants. “I’m a pimp, baby. That’s why I’m in here in the first place. Courts don’t like pimps.”
“That’s a long sentence for pimp.”
“Three strikes, baby, and I tried to shoot a cop.” He paused. “I did shoot a cop. He lived though.”
“Oh, cool. You’re gonna be my pimp.”
“That’s right, baby,” Tanker said. “I loves ya, and I’ll make sure you get treated just like you deserve. You do whatevuh I say, baby, or I’ll make you go find some other pimp to bitch-slap you.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Come back tomorrow at three,” Tanker said. “And bring some cigarettes. Menthol. 100s.” He walked away without waiting for a response. The bare muscles of his sweaty back flexed as he strode through the woods back towards the prison.
“Okay. Love you too, Tanker!” Rob stood there and watched him disappear into the woods, and he was so aroused by the experience that he stood there and jacked off again by himself. He daydreamed about Tanker coming to visit him outside of prison, a little older, a little grayer, but still full of all his prison thug appeal.
Rob couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Gettin’ Dome at the Barbershop

Desmond cuts hair in his barbershop, and he often gives his studlier customers a “happy ending”… But when one encounter with a wannabe rapper leads to a hit song name-checking Desmond’s oral skills, this downlow arrangement becomes more out in the open than Desmond expected! That leads to a series of man-on-man encounters with some of the toughest and handsomest alpha male thugs, ex-cons, jocks and even strippers around!

Read it now as an ebook!

The Cop

Desmond has long heard tales of the cruel cop known as Officer Awful, but Desmond can’t wait to experience the kind of punishment Awful metes out! He likes to make men bend over and take it, which is exactly what Desmond craves.

Can Desmond handle the punishment Officer Awful has in store?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Desmond staggered down the road, pretending to be drunk. Well, partially pretending. He was drunk, just not extremely drunk. He staggered like he was extremely drunk. He’d had a few drinks to settle his nerves, which didn’t work. His heart raced. He had never done anything quite like this before. The city was quiet but bustling in the early evening. Desmond stood out both because he appeared to be drunk and because he was the only black man here.
Sure enough, the first part of his plan worked: Desmond saw the police car pull to a stop, and Officer Auffernan got out. He was tall and strapping, his broad shoulders barely fitting into the uniform shirt he wore. He was both a literal and figurative redneck, his tan skin having a ruddy hue from working outside. He had a military crew-cut, but his hair was a dark blond so it almost looked like he had a bald head.
“Young man, come here,” he said. He sounded both bored and aggressive, and Desmond shivered in anticipation.
He smiled, dropping the drunken act. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“You drunk…?” Auffernan asked, eyebrows furrowing as he realized mid-question that Desmond no longer seemed drunk.
“No, sir. But you can charge me with public intoxication if you want.”
He chewed on his lip. He looked like the kind of man who was not often surprised during the course of his work and didn’t much like it now that it had happened. “What’s yer game, boy?”
The way he drawled out the word boy made Desmond shiver again. This time it must have been obvious that it was sexual, and Auffernan bristled. Desmond felt cold and small, and he had to resist the urge to grope Auffernan’s broad chest right now, here in public.
“I probably shouldn’t say in front of all these people,” Desmond said. There were a few onlookers on the other side of the street. No one was close enough they could hear, but it certainly wasn’t private.
“I feel like you wastin’ my time, boy. So I’m gonna put you in handcuffs for now and take you down to the station. I’ll figure out why later,” he said. He slapped cuffs on Desmond, whose dick burst into life when Auffernan’s hands gripped his wrists.
As soon as he was in the back of the cop car, Desmond caught a whiff of leather and sweat and uniformed musk. He took a deep breath before Officer Auffernan got in the front seat and drove off.
“Well, boy, out with it. What ain’t ya wanna say in public?”
“I’ve heard you… sometimes take young black men and have your way with them, and-“
“You one of them Black Lives Matter folks?” He looked away from the steering wheel, frowning at Desmond.
“No, sir.” Desmond’s heart nearly pounded out of his chest. “I was hoping you’d have your way with me.”
Auffernan paused, then let out a long, booming laugh. “Well, boy,” he said. “First of all, I do not have my way with black men, or wit’ no one I arrest. That would be a crime.”
“Certainly.”
“Let’s say if’n I was gonna do somethin’ like that, I wouldn’t be targetin’ black folks. I love black folks. My deputy is as black as night,” Auffernan said. His squad car glided down the moonlit street. “But I don’t like thugs. I don’t like cocky thugs comin’ down here and making a stink in my nice little town.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You ain’t a thug.”
“No, sir.”
“So you see my problem, boy?”
“You won’t abuse me because I’m not a thug?”
“I ain’t say that. I don’t abuse no one.”
“Would it help if I acted like a thug?”
“Boy, you the queen of all the sissies.” Auffernan said. “I doubt you could pull that off.”
Desmond knew Auffernan was right. He could not pull off a thug act. He tried his best though. He leaned back in the backseat and gave off the disaffected air of a real thug. “You, pig, you best jerk ma dick like ya life depends on it, muddahfuckah-“
“That ain’t workin’. You about as thug as Urkel, boy,” Auffernan said. He sniffled and sighed. “You know I gotta charge you, right? I called this in. There gonna be questions if I just let you go.”
“That’s fine.”
“Gonna be a two hundred dollar fine,” Auffernan said.
“I can afford it.”
“Well hell, ain’t you the uppity kind? You loaded or what?” Auffernan said with a laugh. He made eye contact with Desmond in the rearview mirror.
“Not exactly loaded,” Desmond said. “But I can afford a couple fines.”
Auffernan pulled into the parking lot of the police station. It was a tiny building, barely bigger than an efficiency apartment. Auffernan dragged Desmond out of the back seat. Desmond struggled like a thug the best he could.
“Yo, pig, get off me!”
Auffernan dragged him to his feet. He whistled. “You really like it when it hurts, huh?” He tightly gripped Desmond’s arm with one meaty hand, causing a twinge of pain where Desmond’s wrists were bound.
“Yes, officer. Pig. Go fuck a donut.”
As he walked him to the front door, Auffernan snorted in derision. “Shit, most thugs get more creative than that, boy.” He slapped his thigh.
“I’ll work on that,” Desmond said. He followed Auffernan inside the police station.
There was no one inside. It was just an open room with a few desks scattered about, and at one end was an office — Auffernan’s, presumably. The other end had two small jail cells. That was where Auffernan led Desmond. He added a second pair of handcuffs attaching the first pair around Desmond’s wrists to the cell bars, so Desmond was forced to face away from the rest of the station. “You wait there, bitch. Gonna make you show a little respec’.”
Desmond shuddered. He felt sure Auffernan was going to do it now, and his dick raged in his pants. He had trouble sounding like a thug when he was so horny and so desperate to be submissive. “Who you calling a bitch, pig?”
There was a loud clattering noise, then Auffernan loudly locked the front door. “You shouldn’t be comin’ ‘round to my town and insultin’ me, boy.”
“You evolved in a cave, cracker!”
That made Auffernan stop walking. His menacing cop routine vanished. “What?”
Desmond dropped his thug act as well. “It’s a Five-Percenter thing.”
There was another long silence. “What?”
“Five-Percenters. They believe white people evolved in a cave… Nevermind,” he said. “It’s just what I thought a thug might insult you with-“
“Ain’t all people evolve in a cave? Like cavemen?”
Desmond shrugged. “I dunno. I guess so.”
“Every black person I ever arrested was better at insulting me than you is,” Auffernan said with a sigh. “Even this deaf motherfucker I arrested a couple years back.” Auffernan was right behind Desmond now, unbuttoning his shirt. Desmond moaned.
Desmond could hear Auffernan taking his clothes off but couldn’t see him. The police station had become dark since Auffernan turned the lights off, leaving only the illumination of the emergency lighting in the jail cell.
“Sorry,” Desmond said. “I’ll try to get better.”
“You want something to bite on, boy?” Auffernan asked. He was right behind Desmond now, so close his breath condensed on Desmond’s cheek. He wrapped a piece of red vinyl cloth in front of Desmond’s face, like a tether he could bite on.
As Desmond opened his mouth to let it in, he realized what it was — a Confederate flag. That made him feel even hornier, and he wished he could take his pants off.
“Ain’t nothing racist about me using this flag, boy. ‘S just about culture and heritage, not race,” Auffernan said. “You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I use this flag e’ry time I got a northerner come down here, need to be reminded he ain’t from ‘round these parts,” Auffernan said.
“You fucking honky,” Desmond said. He meant for it to sound threatening, but it came out like a seductive groan as the situation made him aroused and panty.
“You gonna jerk me off, boy.”
“Yes, oh god yes!”
“T’weren’t a question,” Auffernan said. “It was a prediction.” He uncuffed Desmond from the cell bars, leaving his wrists cuffed together. He pushed Desmond to his knees. “You ain’t gonna bite me, right?”
“I won’t bite! I promise!”
“I’m sure you won’t. And you got nice soft lips, so I think I’m gonna like this,” Auffernan said. He had a wide, strapping body and a furry blond chest. He had unbuttoned his uniform shirt but not taken it off, revealing a Confederate flag wifebeater underneath, torn and stained with sweat around the armpits. Auffernan still wore his black uniform slacks.
“Can I lick your armpits, officer?”
Auffernan sneered in disgust. “Yes, but you can’t enjoy it. That’s gross,” he said.
“Fuck you, pig, you can’t tell me what to do. Muddahfuckah,” Desmond said. He smiled and attacked Auffernan’s left pit. He inhaled deeply and licked the hairs there, tasting the stale salt of past sweats sticking to his skin. He managed to gag in an authentic way — it was musky and disgusting in an objective sense, so it was easy to respond like it was foul, even if Desmond actually loved it. “Oh god yes,” Desmond said as he moved to the other armpit. “Don’t make me suck on your balls next.”
Auffernan chuckled. “You like swallowin’ white balls?”
“I like the taste of redneck balls.”
Auffernan’s eyes flashed darkly. “I don’t like it when people who ain’t rednecks call me a redneck. Seems kinda like a slur,” he said.
“Let’s talk punishment, hillbilly,” Desmond said before diving his head between Auffernan’s legs. He still wore his slacks so Desmond’s tongue wettened the fabric, which was salty and sour.
“Oh now, I ain’t a hillbilly. I ain’t that rural,” Auffernan said as he undid his belt. His pants fell to his ankles, and he had on a pair of white briefs, dingy and grayed. His cock and balls bulged, thick pubic hair sneaking around the edges of the fabric.
Desmond whistled. “You sure you ain’t part black? You got a massive slab of meat there, ‘specially for a redneck.”
“You just tryin’-a piss me off now, boy.”
“I’ve been trying to piss you off since you arrested me,” Desmond said. He used his teeth to bite the elastic of the briefs, then awkwardly pulled them down — he was still handcuffed, so that was the only way to do it. He had never done this with briefs before — only boxers, but he had ample experience with them — and it was awkward. Auffernan looked down at him with his arms folded over his chest.
“There’s a part of my ballsac-” the way he drawled out ballsac to last for what seemed like ten syllables to Desmond — “thass always itchin’ me, boy. I wanna see if yo’ tongue can scratch that itch.”
As much as a part of Desmond wanted to go right for the dick, which was plump and already stirring with a trace of erection, he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. He stuck his head between Auffernan’s legs and licked his balls.
They were thick and heavy, dripping with sweat — there was air conditioning in the station, but it did not seem to be effective, and the building remained extraordinarily hot, making Auffernan’s balls slippery. The sweat flowed from those hairy balls right down Desmond’s greedily guzzling throat. The musty, salty flavor exploded on Desmond’s tongue, and he gurgled as he savored it.
Auffernan pointed to the rear of his balls, having to awkwardly reach behind his own ass to get his finger there. “Right there,” he said. The spot was right where his scrotum met his taint, and it was covered in sweat-stickied hairs.
Without taking Auffernan’s overflowing ballsac from his mouth, Desmond stretched his tongue out to that spot. The taste was grimy and dirty, making Desmond moan around the flesh that quivered in his mouth. He had to strain to get his tongue out that far, but when he touched it, Auffernan grunted.
“Damn, you one hell of a ballslurper,” Auffernan said as though he was shocked. “Ain’t nevuh had no one suck my balls who really liked it, I guess.” His dick sprang to full erection above Desmond’s face, and it twitched every time Desmond lapped at Auffernan’s sensitive sac.
Goober in. Auffernan, you there? What’s up?”
Auffernan reached to the uniform shirt that he had placed on a nearby desk. He grabbed the radio mic off it and said to Desmond, “This is that black deputy I was tellin’ you about. He always messin’ wit’ pinkboys. Keep quiet fo’ now,” Then he spoke into the mic. “Hey, Goober. Nothin’ going on right now. I picked up a drunk boy. You might have some interest in him.”
A long pause. Crap. My wife’s gonna kill him. Rashaad right? He promised he wouldn’t drink outside the home. Was he on liquor? His mom made him promise only beer-
“Nah, stop, Goober, no-” Auffernan said until Goober stopped talking long enough that Auffernan could transmit. “Nah, not one of yer boys like yer son. I just mean he’s black.”
Oh, well, whatever. You givin’ him the standard welcome?
“Even as we speak,” Auffernan said with a chuckle. “He got a real sour look on his face, and he making these chipmunk sounds.” He held the mic near Desmond’s face so the sound of his moist sputtering could be heard. “You hear that?”
Not really. Just sounds like static. I’m sure it’s a pretty sound. You tell him to keep it real for me, Auffernan. I’m-a go serve that warrant now.
“Roger that,” Auffernan said. He put the radio mic down. Then he looked down at Desmond’s red face and bugging eyes. “You keep it real, okay?”
“Yes, officer,” Desmond said through the balls filling up his mouth.
“You ready to swallow that dick?”
His dick had gotten rock-hard from Desmond’s attention to his balls, and from his position underneath the massive cop, Auffernan’s cock took up almost all of Desmond’s field of vision. He gurgled his excited agreement around the ballflesh overflowing from his throat, which continued to send trickles of tasty fluids down Desmond’s throat.
He pulled away, keeping his mouth open so Auffernan could see the pool of drool and sweat that had collected in the back of his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and licked the entire shaft from root to tip. It twitched. With his tongue, Desmond traced the veins that ran up the side of the shaft. He choked up plenty of spit, which ran down Auffernan’s dick into his bushy forest of crotch hair.
Auffernan lost his disaffected pose, and he shuddered, pleasure visibly rippling through him. His arms were crossed over his chest, but as Desmond licked, he clutched at his body and played with his nipples as though uncontrollably aroused.
“Shit, yeah!” Auffernan muttered. “You do that good!” Desmond swallowed his precum-leaking cocktip, letting that mess of fluids in his mouth leak out and down Auffernan’s shaft to moisten it up. Auffernan sighed. He leaned against the cell bars. “Shit…”
Desmond began deep-throating him in earnest, working his dick all the way down his throat. He was an expert cock-sucker, so he didn’t need to gag on it, but he liked to, both because it was enjoyable on its own terms and because it made Auffernan get cockier, which turned Desmond on.
“You can’t handle this much meat, huh?”
He didn’t want to stop to answer, so Desmond just said ‘no, it’s too much!’ around the meat in his throat. All that came out was a gurgling sound, but Auffernan seemed to get the gist of what he was saying.
“Lemme lube it up some,” Auffernan said. He very slowly spat, letting a thick wad of saliva drip down, plopping onto Desmond’s upper lip as he slid down the shaft.
Desmond suckled the spit into his mouth as he stretched his jaw and got all the way down. Then he let that spit roll out down Auffernan’s shaft, as Auffernan grunted. His knees buckled. His balls crawled up in his sac as though about to cum, but then Auffernan removed Desmond’s face from his cock. He lightly slapped it.
“You’s tryna’-a make me cum too early,” he said. “I’m cornholin’ you in the ass, boy. Ain’t gonna let you cum neither.” He chuckled throatily. “You ain’t gettin’ outta here with an intact booty. No way. Not on Auffernan’s watch.”
“Never, you fuckin’ pig!” Desmond said. He stood up, taking a deep breath now that his throat was clear. He grabbed the cell bars with his cuffed wrists and stuck his ass out a bit to give Auffernan a good angle. “I’ll fuck you up, officer!”
“Speaking of pigs,” Auffernan said as he rammed his dick in. A jolt of pain shot up Desmond’s spine, and he howled. Auffernan gripped him by the waist. “Lemme hear you squeal.”
Desmond squealed as loud as he could. He wasn’t sure how pig-like it was, but it was an animalistic squeal anyway. The cock in his ass pushed in a little farther, pulsating deep within him. It awakened a chord of intense pleasure that sounded up from his booty, traveling up his spine and hitting him with a wave of exquisite sensations.
“That ain’t a pig. You just squealed like a… big, retarded rooster,” Auffernan said. “Try it again. Like this.” Then he made a rough, honking noise — to Desmond, he wanted to say it sounded like an angry goose. But he didn’t argue, the pleasure exploding in his ass was too intense to form any words. He just made the sound the best he could.
Auffernan’s dick was all the way in him now, and Desmond’s prostate throbbed with every thrust of his cock. He squealed again, making that angry goose sound.
“Hey, here, make that sound again,” Auffernan said, shoving the radio mic in front of Desmond’s face. He pushed the ‘transmit’ button.
Desmond squealed as loud as he could to be sure the mic could pick it up. The pain was melting away now as his ass loosened up, and Auffernan’s cock flowed in and out easily. Auffernan slammed with all his mind, ramming Desmond into the cell bars with each thrust of his hips.
After a few seconds, there was a click, and then Deputy Goober’s bass laughter came out of the radio.
There a pig loose in the station, hoss? Want me to get the assholes at Animal Control?
“Nah, I got this piggie under control. He just makin’ noise to let me know he feel strongly ‘bout what’s happenin’ to him,” Auffernan said into the radio. Then he whispered into Desmond’s ear, “Alright, boy, I’m-a give you this flag to bite on again.”
The cold vinyl Confederate flag again pushed between Desmond’s lips. He bit down hard, which made the plowing a little easier to take. The fabric was thick enough to have some purchase, so he could relieve the pressure he felt with a strong clamp of his teeth on the flag. As he did so, he bucked his ass backward, forcing it deep onto Auffernan’s cock — he wanted to make this as good as possible for Officer Auffernan, who groaned appreciatively. That groan turned into a shudder like he was holding back his orgasm.
“Fuck yeah,” Auffernan said. He looked around as though checking for anyone else in the station, then whispered again. “Look… I learned somethin’ in the military, a sorta rule. I don’t follow it on the force,” he said. “Cuz normally I only cornhole pissheads.” He took a deep breath. His hands reached around Desmond’s body, squeezing first his nipples as though Auffernan hoped to find tits there. Then his hands roamed lower down until they came to Desmond’s rock-hard cock. Auffernan pulled away for a moment like he was scared. Then he resumed touching and even stroking Desmond’s dick with one hand, while his other hand held the flag in place in Desmond’s mouth. Auffernan moaned, sounding a little disgusted. “My drill sergeant said you can ram a man in the ass, but you gotta give a reacharound. It’s against the rules otherwise.”
“Really?” Desmond asked through gritted teeth, his voice muffled by the flag that was still in his mouth.
Auffernan shrugged. “I’m sure that wasn’t a real Army rule or nothin’. Just what my drill sergeant was into,” he said. “You ever tell anyone, I will get you locked up — not here where you gonna get rammed all the time neither, I’ll get you locked up somewhere terrible where the guards are all fat.”
“Won’t. Tell.” Desmond could barely speak. His ass was on fire with orgasmic energy, while his dick pulsated beneath Auffernan’s fingers. He wished he could prolong it, but he was already bucking and shooting his load. All it took was a few strokes from a massively muscled alpha like Officer Auffernan.
“Dang, boy, you nut fast!” Auffernan let out a wolf whistle.
Semen sprayed across Auffernan’s fingers and into the cell, dripping all over the floor and coating the cell bars in Desmond’s cream. Desmond groaned loudly, and then Auffernan did likewise, but with a more grossed-out tenor, his hand still stroking Desmond’s orgasming cock. He lifted the fingers of his other hand to Desmond’s face, where he wiped cum the cum off his hands onto Desmond’s cheeks.
Then he took both ends of the flag in his hands, pulling tight so Desmond’s head was forced upward. As though he needed to reassert his masculinity after touching Desmond’s cock, Officer Auffernan began pounding his dick in and out, all the way with each powerful stroke. That only continued Desmond’s orgasm.
“Take it, boy,” Auffernan said, growling through gritted teeth. Just as he was saying boy, his voice broke and the first jet of cum hit Desmond’s ass. He continued longdicking through the shoulder-shaking power of his orgasm.
Desmond shuddered and squeezed as though trying to hold on to Auffernan’s cock with his ass. A huge load of cum sprayed into his guts, and a seeping warmth spread to his guts. Desmond moaned along with Auffernan as jet after jet of white-hot cum coated his insides.
That orgasm seemed to last forever. Desmond’s had begun when Auffernan jacked him off and continued through Auffernan’s climax, and even now, Auffernan’s cock spurting out the last of his cum, Desmond writhed and gasped as ecstasy coursed through his veins. His prostate thrummed and hummed, and Desmond struggled against the handcuffs binding his wrists together.
At last, when his balls were good and drained, Auffernan pulled out and Desmond breathed a sigh of relief. His ass felt cold and empty. He stayed there, bent over and with a Confederate flag in his mouth — Auffernan no longer held on to it, so Desmond could have spat it out anytime. He didn’t want to though. He wondered how many other men had bit this flag while they got rammed. He hoped it was a lot. Maybe that was why Auffernan used it. Maybe he liked the flag soaking up all the ass-pain sweat and drool of the men he ramrodded.
Officer Awful. That was what they called him. Desmond had heard about that, and he came running to this tiny town so he could run into him.
As Desmond recovered from his orgasm, he turned his head to see Auffernan writing him a ticket. He was still naked, his sweaty body swaying, limp dick moist with cum and assjuice. Auffernan put the ticket in Desmond’s hand.
“Here you go, boy. That’ll be two hundred dollars. You can pay at the county courthouse.” Public intoxication was checked, but at the bottom of the list of possible charges, Auffernan had written in, inappropriate squealing, and checked that box as well.
“If I don’t pay, do I get to stay here?” Desmond asked with a grin and a gasp.
“That is exactly correct,” Officer Awful said.