vegetables – Mansploitation

The Boyfriend

Forrest is a studly alpha trying to impress his hippie neopagan girlfriend, leading to an incredible man-on-man encounter! Forrest has gotta prove he doesn’t have any hangups, even if that means letting a man taking a hardcore swing on his manly meat!

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“I’m sexually open,” said the other neopagan, the one who wasn’t hot. “I think that part of having a really open view of everything is being able to see the beauty in all people.”
“Yeah, totally…”
“That is so true! Beauty is all around us!”
Avery sighed. He hadn’t really wanted to spend this much time here, but one of the guys had such an amazing physique he couldn’t bring himself to leave. They were all shirtless — even the women were topless — and some of the women had gotten completely nude (or “skyclad”).
The one man Avery couldn’t tear his eyes away from was dappled in twilight sweat. He didn’t fit in with the others, and he sat apart from them at a picnic table, near the girl he had come here with. Avery watched him out of the corner of his eye, as he nodded along with the rest of the coven.
“Sexual expression is the holiest mode of art, after all,” said another one of the neopagans.
“The prudish media will never allow the sexual power of someone like me to be seen,” someone else said, a lumpy woman with an asymmetrical haircut and an acne-scarred face. “Because once they lose their monopoly on beauty, true power will flow to the people.”
The neopagans all rushed to agree. The only one who didn’t seem full-throatedly in concordance was the one Avery liked. His name was Forrest, and he was a burly, hairy-chested alpha male, a minor league baseball player who laid asphalt by day and was, seemingly, a neopagan. His strapping body had bulged from his overalls before he took them off and revealed his powerful torso and thunder thighs. He didn’t look like a neopagan, Avery thought.
Avery was also not neopagan. He had happened upon this coven when he was out for a walk in the park. He was removed from the situation, so for him, it was painfully obvious that Forrest wasn’t here because he had an earnest interest in the Wiccan holiday of Samhain.
Forrest was here for only one reason: to bang Vicky Suncross. She was the hot chick with the big, juicy nipples and an ass like a welcome-home sign.
It was clear he had only come to hang out with these neopagans because he wanted to bang Vicky. Pretending to celebrate Samhain was simply what he needed to do to get inside her. Men would do a lot for a woman like Vicky, who was soft and nice and had tits like sweaters. Forrest kept looking at her and blushing as if he hadn’t yet approached her and was working up the nerve.
Avery was less interested in her. He liked Forrest, the macho work-hard with a Southern accent, rippling muscles and an iron cross neck-tat.
Forrest was hot, big, horny, and he looked like the kind of guy who might give Avery a taste of his meat with the right incentive. On the other hand, Vicky seemed like the high-libido free-love kind of girlfriend, and she might even give him blowjobs. She seemed like the type. Sex-positive. Not picky about locations and settings. Probably likes getting caught. You can always tell the ones who like getting caught.
“Yeah, I think, uh… open… uh… sex is, like… okay.” Forrest said. He blushed like a shy cranberry and bit his lip. His baritone voice didn’t meld with the other women and lightweight men like Avery. You could tell from his voice he did something with his hands for a living, he was used to shouting over machinery.
Vicky touched his arm and whispered something softly that Avery didn’t quite hear. She was doing hand motions over some candles. She had explained the purpose, but Avery couldn’t have feigned interest in that even if she had put a gun to his head. It was a neopagan thing, some sort of ceremonial activity to garner, who knows, good luck or some dumb bullshit like that. Vicky might have mentioned “fertility”, like she was some kinda farmer who cared about how productive the landscape was. Bet she never grew a vegetable in her life.
He had only really agreed to come to the celebration to be polite and to eat the food. But the food turned out to be vegan, so he lost interest after a few bites. That wasn’t a bad thing, really, he had gone for a walk in the park to burn calories. Eating a big meal on the walk would have been counterproductive. But he did not enjoy the vegetables and quinoa he had eaten. It was not even very good by vegetables-and-quinoa standards, which were very low indeed.
The only reason Avery had stayed was Forrest. And now, as the coven began to thin, Avery was desperate to find a way to offer him money for a chance to swing on his dick.
Forrest’s deep, barrel-chested voice shocked Avery out of his reverie. “I got this cherry fuckin’ El Camino, in perfect condition. This guy literally cleaned the engine, the actual engine. He cleaned it… with like… a rag,” Forrest said. He went on to describe the car thoroughly — he had gotten his boss to front him the last two hundred dollars he needed in lieu of a Christmas bonus — which he was very excited about. Avery didn’t care about the El Camino, but he did care about Forrest’s rumbling voice and the sweat clinging to his bare chest. There were smudges of paint on his biceps and forearms from when he had participated in some sort of Wiccan ceremony before Avery arrived. Forrest ended his story with an angry afterthought. “But I ain’t realize they gonna charge me an arm and a leg for the insurance, man, that shit is messed up,” he said. “Now I might not be able to keep it. Insurance is messed up. Man. Right? Whole thing is messed up.”
Nobody else much cared about Forrest’s car either. They coughed, smiling politely. Forrest noticed how poorly he fit in with Vicky’s friends, and he looked down at the picnic table. He rolled his eyes and sighed. He wished he hadn’t told the story. Vicky patted him on the well-muscled arm.
After that, a big chunk of the others excused themselves — they all drove together, so they left together — which triggered a few others to head home too. The coven dwindled. The body odor problem improved when that thick bundle of “Lithuanian pantheon” neopagans left. Apparently Lithuanian neopagans don’t believe in Jesus or deodorant.
Finally, before Avery knew it, the coven was down to him, Forrest and Vicky.
“So, were you serious about what you said? About sexuality being open and stuff?” Avery asked Forrest. “Because that was really cool. Profound.”
“Yeah, it was, sweetie!” Vicky said, patronizingly supportive. She squeezed Forrest’s bicep, which bulged like Popeye.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, man. I mean… Yeah.” Forrest blushed and ran his fingers through his dense, tangled mop of black hair. He kept his arm low like he was trying not to bare his armpit.
“Well… if you wanted some help paying for the insurance on that El Camino, I have a proposition,” Avery said. “If it’s okay with your girlfriend.” He paused. “Will you give me a chance on your cock? I’ll PayUp you a thousand dollars to let me taste your dick. I’ll swallow. I always do. I’ll go deep.” This was not the kind of thing Avery would normally mention in front of a woman, but he sensed that Vicky would approve. She said her last boyfriend was black, and you know what that means as far as ramrodding goes.
She probably watched.
His eyes opened wide when his ears caught up to Avery’s words. Vicky squealed and giggled like she had never heard anything so silly. They both blushed. She blushed a bright red immediately, then laughed. His eyes bugged out, and he blushed very slowly, growing from tan to ruddy to bright red over the next few minutes.
Forrest blushed. “Oh, uh…” He looked at Vicky as though hoping she would forbid it, but it was clear she was into it. “I, uh…”
“Oh my god, you need this, sweetie,” she said. She looked at Avery. “He’s got a really big dick. He wants me to throat it down, but I’m like, no way. I’ll swallow half your pinkie finger, that’s it, that’s my limit.” She laughed; she held up one of her pinkies to demonstrate. Forrest wrinkled his nose like he was annoyed at her. She put her pinkie in her mouth as though to demonstrate that it didn’t fit.
Avery smiled. “Big cocks are wasted on you, you crazy bitch,” he said, which made her laugh harder. She slapped her knee. Avery looked up at Forrest’s beet-red face. “You alright? You into this?”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah… Fine… Okay… Whatever, sure. Okay.” He closed his eyes and sighed again. He looked at Vicky. “Are you sure this is okay with you? You won’t be jealous…?”
“No, oh my god, no! This’ll be so hot. I’ll play with myself while you do it, okay? You wanna watch me?”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “I can do that. It’s just… A mouth is a mouth, right? It doesn’t matter. Okay. Sure. It’s just a stranger’s mouth. No big deal.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “Cuz, uh… sexuality is ’bout the… earth mother, and stuff.” He leaned back on the picnic table and snorted. He undid the fly on the overalls he had put back on, and Avery got down on the ground in front of him.
Forrest stared straight ahead at his girlfriend, as though he would get hurt if he accidentally saw his dick in Avery’s mouth. Avery unzipped his jeans and popped his cock out. He was glad to see that Vicky was not kidding about him having a big dick — sometimes nice girls like her didn’t know what counted as “big”, but Vicky had been right on the money. His dick was at least ten inches long even before it was hard, and it was as thick around as a baseball bat.
A grumble escaped from Forrest’s lips as his dick flopped onto Avery’s face. It tasted clean and soapy, warm, inviting and meaty, like a nice stew, with a strong umami to it. A shiver of either discomfort or pleasure or maybe a mixture of both ran through Forrest’s body, and he even when he shook he kept his eyes deeply trained on his limp dick roping around over Avery’s face. He moved his forearm near his eyes like he wanted to block his view but couldn’t bring himself to do it, either because he didn’t trust Avery and wanted to watch or him or because he wanted to watch his girlfriend finger herself. His eyes were wild and frantic, and he held his breath even as his whole body stayed still, watching Avery lick the funk off Forrest’s fat shaft, his tongue encircling it and slathering spit all up and down it.
“Ah, damn, alright then, alright, alright,” Forrest said. His face was a bright red, and his neckless shoulders were beading up with sweat. He licked his lips. His shoulders were as hard as rock — he was tense, muscles firm like a statue. He stared at Vicky as though his life depended on it, like the slightest view of his dick in Avery’s mouth would be a disaster.
Forrest gurgled and choked nervously when Avery’s fingers reached up to his bare chest. His muscles didn’t throb or ripple because they were tensed and unable to relax even for a moment. His pecs were like boulders beneath Avery’s grasp.
“Are you okay, Forrest?” Vicky asked.
“Yeah.” He sounded like he was about to vomit and had to physically hold himself back. He gasped but cut it off mid-gasp by biting his lip. He hadn’t taken a full breath or possibly any breath in some time.
Despite his obvious terror, Forrest’s dick jerked up in Avery’s mouth. It felt purely physical, like Avery could tell from its fleshy texture that Forrest was not aroused by choice. Forrest’s eyes were firmly trained on Vicky’s wet pussy, but it looked like he didn’t register what he was seeing. All of his concentration was aimed at not looking at, touching or interacting with Avery in any way.
Then his cock spasmed, and Forrest moaned like it hurt. He gripped the picnic table with both hands as though trying to rip it to pieces. Or he felt an intense urge to grab onto Avery’s head and plow into his throat, slamming into him until his balls slapped against his chin, but he couldn’t do that both because he didn’t want to touch Avery’s head and because Vicky was too much of a hippie to be turned on by that.
“Oh, god…”
“Does that feel good, baby?” she asked, her voice a low, slow croon. She fingered herself slowly, just a few yards away so Forrest could watch.
“Yes.”
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Does his mouth feel good-?’
“Yes.” His voice stayed tense as a guitar string.
“Relax, baby, relax,” she said. She came closer and kissed him on the lips, making sure to stay out of Avery’s way.
That seemed to help a lot. As soon as Forrest came into contact with Vicky’s mouth and body, he sighed. His muscles relaxed like warm pudding, and Avery got a mouthful of precum. He gurgled and suckled on it loudly.
Avery grabbed one of Forrest’s meaty, callused hands. He guided it to the back of his head. Forrest didn’t notice at first, focused instead on kissing Vicky, but when he realized he touched Avery’s hair, Forrest dropped his hand away.
A sharp gasp escaped from Forrest’s lips. Avery giggled. It was always fun to tease an alpha.
Avery moved lower on Forrest’s cock, licking his veiny root. Then he got into his hairy crotch and filled his mouth with both of Forrest’s plump balls. They were sweaty and dingy and they tasted like the essence of manhood. Avery loved it. He gurgled and loudly drained every last drop of fluids from his scrotum.
“Aw, man, he’s slurpin’ my balls… He’s slurpin’ my balls…” Forrest’s deep, rumbling voice sounded weak and plaintive. He kept his eyes trained directly on Vicky, who cradled his head in her arms.
“You can tell him to stop, baby,” Vicky said. “It’s okay. I’m sure he’ll stop.”
Forrest shifted his weight on his plump asscheeks. He took a deep breath. “No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s okay. It’s cool and all, no problem. I’m, uh… It’s okay. No big deal. Just… I ain’t know that was a thing… you know, that people did… that guys did, y’know, that they did that… I didn’t know balls were… like… a thing… You know, whatever. I’m not into none of the… It’s okay though, I mean… free sexuality and all that, you know, like tolerance. And stuff. All that. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine,” he said. He forced a wan smile aimed at her. He gasped and bit his lip, a shiver of pleasure running up his back. His veiny shaft throbbed in Avery’s mouth. Forrest seemed even more nervous, like Vicky had caught him in something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. “It’s all that… uh… spectrum stuff, and energies… Like the energies you were talking about, the female and the… the spirits… spiritual energy. It’s… uh… yeah.”
“Does it feel good, baby?”
“Yeah.” That sounded like a lie. He blushed intensely and sputtered. “I mean, it’s okay. It’s cool. It feels good. Yep. Not as good as you, sweetie. I like you. I like girls. I like you. Girls in general, and you specifically. Girls. Women! Ladies! Females! No, women. Yep. This is fine. It’s okay. I can do it. Yep, no problem.” He forced out a very unconvincing moan — it was strictly amateur theater, and it made Avery giggle. Forrest cleared his throat. “I prefer you though. I still prefer girls. You. One girl. You, I mean. You’re special. I, uh… I’m not… I’m, uh… Just… uh… Girls… Yep. Women.” He paused. “Pussy. No! Vaginas.”
Vicky giggled too. She kissed Forrest on the cheek, her tits brushing over his muscled chest. He groaned and relaxed. She caressed his shoulders. “Relax, baby, just relax and enjoy it.
“Yep. Okay. Fun.” Forrest squirmed.
The more Vicky touched him, the more Forrest’s cock throbbed and leaked precum. It was salty and thick, coating Avery’s throat. He loved it. He had jacked off alphas while they messed around with a girl before, but he had never done it like this.
He pulled off Forrest’s cock before he came. He let him recover, while Avery licked his nipples and his pulsating pectorals. Forrest still hadn’t looked at Avery since this began, and now he stared right at Vicky’s tits. His heart raced beneath his mountainous chest, which rippled under Avery’s teasing tongue.
Avery turned around. He was glad he had shaved his ass just last night. He knew from personal experience that the best way to scare off an alpha was to have a hairy ass or chin. Forrest would have freaked out if he felt hair on his cock.
His cock plopped into Avery’s tight hole, sending a wave of pleasure up Avery’s spine. A few beads of sweat appeared on Forrest’s broad shoulders, and for just a moment, he touched Avery’s ass to guide his cock in. Then he let go and held his hands in the air as though to prove he wasn’t touching Avery.
“Oh shit! Baby! You see that? Baby, he’s got it in his ass!” Forrest was plaintive, like a boy tattling on his brother. He clapped his hands one time above his head.
“That’s so sexy, sweetie,” Vicky said. She guided one of Forrest’s fingers to her pussy. She kissed him on the neck.
Forrest closed his eyes as his manhood slid into Avery’s ass. Avery threw his head back and moaned, making sure to sound as feminine as he could muster. Forrest’s dick was rock-hard despite his discomfort.
“Oh, great Earth Mother…” Vicky continued her prayer, but she whispered it into Forrest’s ear. He must have liked hearing her voice — and she licked his earlobe a bit — because he twitched and sighed. Avery heard her say something about masculine energies, and he suspected she puffed up Forrest’s ego with her words.
A jolt of pain hit Avery, both because Forrest had a huge cock and because the positioning was kind of awkward. Avery had to guide himself up and down, and Forrest’s huge body was sprawled out, taking up all of the space on the picnic table. There was nothing for Avery to grab onto for leverage, except for Forrest’s trunk-like thighs.
“Oh, yeah, man, stick it in me,” Avery said with a flamboyant lilt to his voice. He looked back at Forrest, whose face was red and tense, eyes closed, lips pursed. Avery giggled and stroked his chest. “I’ll give you another thousand dollars to give me a reacharound.”
All was silent, except for the moist squishing sound of Avery impaling himself on Forrest’s cock. It wasn’t clear that Forrest even heard Avery’s words. Forrest was slouched; he could have almost looked like he was asleep if it weren’t for his tense muscles.
Then all at once, he sat up, abs rippling. He looked at Avery like he was crazy.
“Oh, baby, you should do that! Oh my god, two thousand dollars! You need that money,” Vicky said and squealed. “And it would be so hot. I’d cum all over you if I got to see that.”
“I, uh…” Forrest gulped nervously.
“Come on, I’ll let you lick my pussy while you do it,” Vicky said. “You don’t even have to watch.” She straddled Forrest’s chest, standing over Avery’s head with her pussy in front of her boyfriend’s face. Forrest lapped at her womanhood. She giggled. “He licks pussy so good. He’s like an expert, oh my god. You are, Forrest, you’re so good at this. You should give lessons, like on YouTube.”
It sounded like she did believe that but only really said it to puff up Forrest’s ego. It worked. He bristled and rammed his tongue into her pussy like he wanted to fuck her violently with it.
That was fine with Avery. He thought it would seem awkward at first, but Forrest was so tall that he could lick her pussy while leaving his entire broad chest and crotch open for Avery to play with. So Avery leaned back until he rested his head on Forrest’s rippling chest muscles. He guided one of Forrest’s callused hands to his cock.
Forrest’s arm was utterly stiff. His muscles were heavy, his fingers tough and callused. Avery arduously placed his hand in position. Forrest shuddered when he felt Avery’s cock, and he moaned into Vicky’s pussy, making a muffled moist sound.
“You can do it, baby,” she said softly, rubbing his scalp.
His hand awkwardly gripped Avery’s dick. He didn’t move. He didn’t jack Avery off. He just held Avery’s cock in his hand very lightly, barely coming into contact with it. He held on just enough that he could say he touched it.
Avery didn’t mind so much. On the one hand, it was the worst reacharound ever, in a strictly objective sense. It was like trying to get jacked off by an unconscious person. But Avery loved alphas, and the awkwardness was part of the appeal.
Besides that, Avery moved himself plenty as he slid up and down on Forrest’s cock. That was enough to move his dick in Forrest’s hand, and it sent a wave of orgasmic pleasure up Avery’s spine.
Forrest groaned as he finally orgasmed. Avery waited until the last possible minute before letting himself go as well, that way they both came at once. Forrest sprayed his hot wad into Avery’s ass, groaning the whole time because his hand was covered in Avery’s cum.
“Aw, fuck, baby, I’m doin’ it, I’m doin’ it, I’m bustin’…” He groaned like it hurt.
The smell of semen filled the air. Forrest shot a huge load inside Avery, great big jets of it spurting into every corner of his body. It was hot and creamy, sticky, seeping and flowing throughout him. Avery moaned so loud it made Forrest shudder.
At last they were both done. Forrest fell limp, his muscles relaxing for the first time since before Avery touched him. Forrest let out a great sigh of relief. Avery’s head swam, dizziness overwhelming him as he began to remove himself from Forrest’s cock.
“Get off me, you’re done,” Forrest said with a crude grunt. He pushed Avery to the ground. Avery crumpled up in the dirt and moaned.
“Baby, be nice,” Vicky said softly in his ear.
Forrest wrinkled his nose. He sniffled. “You best pay up, man. Don’t stiff me.”
“I won’t,” Avery said. He stretched his legs and went to his pants. He slowly filled out the payment details on PayUp. For the purpose, he wrote long-dickin’ it and giggled when Forrest saw it and frowned. He didn’t complain though.
“That was so hot, I’m so glad you did that.”
“I ain’t doin’ it no more. I had an open mind. I did it.”
“Okay, that’s-“
“I swear to God, girl, I did it. I did it. Don’t make me do it again,” he said. “I love you and all, but… Don’t make me do that again.” He blushed.
“I won’t, sweetie, I’m glad you tried it,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek. He was mollified by her tits pressing against his chest.
Avery would have loved to stay there and cuddle with Forrest’s muscled body, but it was clear Forrest’s tolerance had run out. Avery quickly dressed and headed towards the parking lot.
He was glad he had gone for a Samhain walk.

Thumper the Booty Bandit: Chapter 9

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Thumper the Booty Bandit

Chapter One: The Old Head

Chapter Two: Still Whistlin’

Chapter Three: On the Systemic Racism of the So-Called “Road” and Its Origins in Patriarchal Patterns of Oppression

Chapter Four: Debt

Chapter Five: Crossing the Bridge

Chapter Six: The Sauciest Noodle

Chapter Seven: Nights of Long Love

Chapter Eight: Hazing

Chapter Nine: The Trustee

Chapter Ten: Missus

Chapter Eleven: Whitey

Thumper churched every Sunday. He bin going to Ebenezer Baptist, but when his parole officer let slip which church he went to — a boring white church — Thumper decided he oughta go to that one. He could suck up to Mr. Perry there.
Sure enough, Mr. Perry sat in the front pew. Thumper got there too late to sit nearby. He was shunted into a rear pew with the mamas carrying babies and them teenagers in all black.. Pastor Steve was a chucklesome stringfellow who thought he got a sense of humor, and the congregation laughed along with his jokes. It made Thumper miss Reverend Cherrymore at Ebenezer Baptist. The good Reverend Cherrymore understood that church only mattered if it was serious and somber and purported potent positions, while Pastor Steve wish-washed and told his worshipers to follow they conscience. Who needs church if you can follow your own conscience? Pastor Steve replaced meaning with humor, and he weren’t funny.
More than half them pew-ploppers was sticky in they phones throughout.
But Thumper pretended to nod along with that sea of paltry honkies, listening still as spillt milk to ear-shattering Christian pop insteada singing they praises theyselfs.
After the service, he made sure Mr. Perry peeped his presence — Thumper was big and broad and baritone, so it was easy to draw attention when he got to. All them white fellahs craved photos of theyselfs shaking the hand of a nigga in a suit, so Thumper introducyfied hisself to ’em in a boom-big voice until he got Mr. Perry’s attention. They took pics with they ubiquitish phones, and Thumper smiled for ’em like a jolly-hogging nigga.
Mr. Perry nodded at Thumper and motioned to meet him outside amid the massive post-service crowd. Folks was gripping gladhands and grinning cheek to cheek, clogging up the aisles and exits like clumps of cheerful cholesterol. Thumper took a few minutes to make his way outside, on account of the crowd and the need to check out some the hip-mad mamas sending him desiraceous glances.
This church was boring as boogers, Thumper thunk, but it got gobs of white ladies with steamy slices of pecan pie between they legs. Thumper could get used to that. He might need to provide his own lube for they dry-bone snatches, but he had thirty-four years of creativity in that area, so he was well-equipped to get them white bitches slippery as shady otters.
“Wendell, I’m glad to see you here today,” Mr. Perry said, jowls wrinkling down at his phone, when he met Thumper in the parking lot. He looked Thumper up and down, taking in his too-small suit — he buyed it in Goodwill special for church, and Thumper was too staturous a man to find secondhand clothes that fit. Mr. Perry frowned at the sight of his tight-pants crotch. “You got a bulge, son. You sportin’ a stiffy at church? That ain’t right.”
“Ain’t a stiffy, suh,” Thumper said. “I just… These pants is small.” He ain’t realize how obvious his bulge was. That was likely why them lady-crackers was checking him out. They was eager to ride a rod with a real man attached and listen to music with a beat you can fuck to.
But Mr. Perry gripped his dick through his secondhand slacks, unconcerned by the churchgoers filing past them. He frowned even deeper. “May not be fully stiff, but you got that mandingo meat. Gonna scare the nice white ladies, son. Go’n see that black fellah over there, the one with the mustache. He’ll take care of it.”
Thumper ain’t know what that meant, but he goed to the nigga Perry pointed out. Ain’t but a handful of black folk at this church, so he was easy to see. They musta had some kinda arrangement, cuz Thumper ain’t say much — couldn’t hear nothing anyhow in the crowd of plain-suited honkies pushing politenesses — but that darkskin nigga with the push-broom on his lip motioned for Thumper to come with him. They got in his beat-up bucket of peely-brown Buick and made they way outta the crowded parking lot.
“Where you takin’ me? Mr. Perry ain’t say nothin’,” Thumper said.
“Hmm-hmm,” the mustachioed nigga said. He got a run-around face, circle-cheeked and round-jawed like he was made of stacked tires. It took Thumper till now to recognize he a cop for sure. That was a copstache if Thumper ever saw one, and he got authority dripping outta his midgety fingers. You could tell he lick lotta pussy, but he too good to eat a bitch’s butthole. “You one of his parolees, right?”
Thumper nodded.
“And you got a stiffy at church?”

Thumper shook his head. “He makin’ it seem I was doin’ somethin’ pervy. I got big meat, nigga, I ain’t always stiff just cuz you can see a bulge.”

“Uh-huh. How long was you in for?” the nigga driving said.
“Thirty-four years,” Thumper said. The pushbroom nigga whistled, and then Thumper asked, “Why you go to a white chu’ch?”
“Mayor and sheriff church there,” said that nigga behind the wheel. He straightened his suit and tie. “Gotta suck up to them honkies for my career ‘nd shit. Goddamn, white church is boring though.”
Thumper nodded. “I only went so Mistuh Perry see me do it. I bin goin’ to Ebenezuh Baptist.”
The policeman nodded, the bristles on his upper lip moving up and down. “You see that fine rosy-nose lady in the purple dress?” he said with a guilty grin on his face. “Golly darn do she stay lovin’ a nigga dick. I’s tryin’ to be holy upon my wife and that matrimony trip now…” He rearranged his cock in his slacks. “She do get me bothered though. I can enjoy myself a white female.” He whistled to hisself. “I is Officer Goober, by the way. Harrison Peanut, but most bodies call me Goober.”
Thumper nodded and introducyfied hisself. “You takin’ me to get down wit’ a white bitch?”
“Nah, nigga,” Officer Goober said with a throaty chuckle. “Mistuh Perry ain’t that cool.” He pulled his car into the parking lot of Precinct 17. “We bein’ good boys today. No sex.” He sighed. “No females, ‘nless you got a godly wife hidden in yo’ pocket.”
He led Thumper into the police station. It felt weird enough to sit a spell next to a uniformed officer, and now he was hoofing it friendly-like into a precinct. Six months ago, Thumper’d slit a nigga on a rumor about sitting copioacetic alongside a cop.
But shit was different on the outside.
The police station was crowded with burly cops, prodding they eternal phones and shooting Thumper nasty looks like they knew he came outta the iron college recent-like. They could smell it on him. Or maybe they just looked at all black fellahs like that, or maybe, Thumper thunk, he was imagining it. Both he and Goober was in they Sunday best, but them cops knowed Goober. They all nodded they hellos, but ain’t nobody say boo to Thumper.
They mosey-butted into the jailhouse, where there was a cell at the back reserved for the station trustee. That was a prison lifer entrusted to work as a janitor here at the police station. It gave him lotta freedom, more than he’d get at the prison, and it put him nearby enough to visitation with his daughter every month.
His name was Hassle, and he be scribbling a letter to his daughter when Officer Goober and Thumper came to his cell. Hassle was a chowder-white Aryan — complete with swastikas visible on his back around the moth-nibble holes and raggedy edges of his wifebeater. He got a cueball head and a bald chin, a big noble jaw and a fist-shape nose.
He looked up and frowned. “Goober? You off today, whatchoo want?” His eyes flicked over to Thumper.
Goober made a little grunt and gestured Hassle up. “Get up, Hassle. This is Thumper. He need a nut.”
Hassle wrinkled his nose and resumated scribbling that epistle. He side-glanced at Thumper again with his square honky face. Thumper coulda applied to be a trustee too — prolly wouldn’t-a got it, but he had the option to apply. He ain’t do it on account of his self-respect. Thumper ain’t wanna be sitting right where Hassle was now.
“‘G’on, Wendell, take yo’ dong out. Hassle’ll do it,” Goober said.
Still in his Sunday best, Officer Goober came into Hassle’s cell and rubbed his shoulders through his wifebeater, kneading the big iron cross on his nape. That was a colorful, professional-done tattoo, not a prison tat. Most the rest his tats was crooked and simple-color, faded and sagging.
“You a Aryan Way brothah?” Thumper asked. He bin trucking against the Aryan Way since back in the day, and he recognized some them prison tats. He stood up close to Hassle a-bent over his writing desk.
“No,” Hassle said. He bristled his shoulders to push Goober’s hands off him. He went back to them words he be writing, putting out ignore about Thumper afronta his grill and Goober behind.
“Don’t be shitty, Hassle,” Goober said. “Tonight’s pork chops and mashed taters-“
Hassle turned to look at Goober. “Really? Ah shit, hell yeah. You bring me all them potatoes you can. They’re tasty as a angel’s asshole.”
Goober threw his hands in the air. “She gonna want leftovuhs, Hassle, you can’t have ’em all,” he said. “Wifey like leftovuh taters. She fry ’em up like pancakes.” He licked his teeth. “You can have my sprouts though.”
With a long pause outta his squareness, Hassle said, “I’mma tell Edna you ain’t eatin’ ya sprouts.”
“I’s a grown man, Hassle, I don’t gotta eat sprouts if I don’t want to,” Goober said. Hassle kept that stone upon his visage like he ain’t believe Goober would say that afront his wife. Goober looked down at his feet and said to Thumper, “Go’n, take yo’ meat out, nigga. Hassle’ll get’cha off.”
A smile creeped onto Thumper’s face. He ain’t got no stiffy, but something about caboosing in a jailhouse again made his pecker fit to pop. He kicked off his shoes and jacket, then loosened up his church tie. He ain’t drop his pants cuz he enjoyed making punks do that.
With a heavy-hearty sigh, Hassle undid Thumper’s belt and his suit pants plummeted. Thumper’s shirt dangled down his drawers, until Hassle tugged ’em to his ankles. He ain’t even look at Thumper’s dingdong swanging between his legs.
After a couple seconds, Thumper plopped his pecker on Hassle’s shoulder, beside the strap of his wifebeater. His skin was warm and soft, and Thumper’s shaft rested on some scrawly prison-tat symbols that he recognized — another Nazi once told Thumper some similar tats was “Nordic runes”. He asked what Nordic runes was but never got a answer, cuz some stabbings happened.
Thumper moved his body to make his dicktip smackify Hassle in the cheek. He got them high honky cheekbones and a blockish jaw, pale as could be and contrastsome with Thumper’s tawny cock. Hassle ignored the meat going slappity slap on his face. “Was writin’ a letter to my daughter, Goober-“
“She’ll still be yo’ daughter when yo’ guts is fulla dingaling,” Goober said. “It’s Sunday. Mailman ain’t comin’ till tomorruh anyhow.”
With a scowl, Hassle leaned back and took Thumper’s softy in one hand, still without looking at it. He was slow and desultory. Thumper ain’t mind. He pressed his thirteen-incher onto Hassle’s cauliflower ear like his piss-slit was whispering something Hassle gotta hear. Hassle put down his pen, as Thumper’s sweaty ballsac went plop-a-plop-a-poo on his shoulder.
“Quit it, I’m doin’ it,” Hassle said.
“If you was doin’ it, my dick’d be hard and wet right now. Put’cha lips on it,” Thumper said, aiming his limpness for Hassle’s mouth. Hassle ain’t open it, so it just poked him in the upper lip. “Dang, I know you know how. Bet’choo slurped up plenty dingdong in prison, right? I know them Aryan Way honkies all do it — they all got a ‘olduh brothuh’, right? Thank you big brothuh, can I get anothuh?” Thumper laughed up-roaring.
“I ain’t Aryan Way,” Hassle said. He grunted. He took Thumper’s dick in one hand, but he ain’t stroke it, he just held it so as Thumper couldn’t mollywop him with it no more. His palm was thick with rough calluses. Thumper pumped hisself back and forth to lazy-hump his hand regardless, and he aimed it to again ram limp as a cripple onto Hassle’s face. Hassle’s squashy-fat nose wrinkled.
“Cuz they kicked you out,” Goober said with a chuckle. He took his own dick out through the fly of his church pants. He let his peanut-buttery flapper flop atop Hassle’s alabaster face alongside Thumper’s, while Hassle’s cheeks went from marble-white to blushing-virgin pink. Both them big-nigga dicks was coating his paleness in crotchsweat. Goober said, “He was Aryan Way, he snitched to get this trustee jawn-“
“Shuddup, Goober,” Hassle said, his voice swallowed up by the two black dicks upon his face. He stayed ignoring them soft nigga dicks til Goober got his’n to jab Hassle’s eye. Hassle blinked and sniffled. “You s’posed to keep my information private. Ain’t accurate any-” Goober got his dick in Hassle’s mouth, making Hassle sputter and spit it out. “Uehck — you spoutin’ falsehoods, Goober. I’mma tell Edna you eat french fries for lunch.” He opened his mouth and put Goober’s cocktip on his tongue. He kept stroking Thumper’s dick with one hand, while he slurped up some spit onto Goober’s cocktip. He was slow to get it going, but Hassle was experienced at this, and he slobbered tight on Goober’s knob. It rocketed right to full erection and pushed into his unresistant mouth.
“Fuck you, Hassle,” Goober said with a impish frown, watching his dick explore Hassle’s mouth. “Edna ain’t the boss of my lunch. You don’t gotta tell her nothin’.”
His voice crinkly-wet from mouthing Goober’s veiny brown meat, Hassle said, “She make you a salad e’ry day, and you throw it away.”
“She ain’t gonna believe yo’ nazi ass,” Goober said. “I don’t throw it all away, I eat the croutons.”
“Croutons don’t count, Goober!” Hassle snapped.
Thumper nodded at Goober.
Goober said, “Whatevuh. I eat the chickpeas too.” He gripped the back of Hassle’s head and plowed his half-hard meat down Hassle’s throat. Hassle smacked at Goober’s asscheeks, which was still clothed cuz Goober was just poking his pecker out his fly. Goober clucked his tongue, and Hassle’s throat visibly stretched to accommodate his cock then spat it back out. Goober’s moist brown shaft popped out to seep spit onto Hassle’s forehead. “C’mon, Hassle, lemme down that throat. I know you can swallow the whole thing. Lemme feel yo’ nose in my pubes.”
Still Thumper’s foot-long shaft flapped around in Hassle’s hand. He weren’t in no hurry, and he liked watching a Aryan Way honky slurp-a-durp a nigga. He slow-stroked Thumper’s rod with one lazy hand, but he focused on pushing Goober away so he could get a breath. Goober again forced his wingwang down Hassle’s throat, and again Hassle ain’t fight it. His lips and throat stretched. Thumper touched his neck so he could feel Goober’s dick throbbing beneath the skin.
“Aw, fuck yeah, go deeper, deeper-” Goober threw back his run-around face and moaned, a-holding Hassle’s cue ball. Hassle twitched and swallowed it ’til his nose was nuzzling Goober’s coppery pubes. “Shit yeah, there you go, hold it — fuck yeah, Hassle-“
Couple seconds in, Hassle punched Goober in the thigh and squiggled. His paleness turned red. He went twitchy, but Goober got a grip on his scalp.
Clucking his tongue against his teeth, Goober moaned again. He fought against Hassle’s cranberry noggin pulling from him. “Shit, c’mon, Hassle, hold it, hold it-“
With a loud choke, Hassle squirmed away. Goober’s cock slipped outta his mouth, and the Aryan took a hoarse breath as both Goober’s and Thumper’s big black cocks rubbed into each other atop Hassle’s face. Goober was hard as a trump card, but Thumper remained mostly limp.
“Fuck you, Goober, c’mon!” Hassle said, and he spat a ball of fluids into a washcloth. Then he went back to slurping up Goober’s cock, with one hand on Thumper’s meat and the other smacking Goober’s hand away so he couldn’t throat it down Hassle again.
“Hey, can I ramrod his poop chute?” Thumper asked. He took off his shirt and rubbed his dick on Hassle’s smooth cheek, which was wet with his own spit and maybe some policeman precum. Hassle kept a hand on Thumper’s shaft but weren’t doing nothing with it. “He just touchin’ it, lemme fill up his backside, Goober.”
Goober shrugged, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Go ‘head.” He leaned like he wished there was a wall behind him, then put one hand on Hassle’s shaved scalp to support hisself. He ain’t throat Hassle down though, so Hassle kept stroking it with one hand and going slurp-a-spit on the tip — Hassle done learnt that trick prison bitches do where they stroke it mostly and spit up a little, with a tiny bit of lip. If a nigga don’t pay attention, he mightn’t realize his bitch is slipping tricks in. Thumper wouldn’t let no bitch get away with that, but Goober was a small-ball nigga, so he let Hassle take the lead.
A prison punk was the only chance most homeboys had to get they whole meat swallowed up, so you best believe Thumper was gonna make a bitch go deep. But Thumper’s dick was bigger than Goober’s, and he’d rather make room in Hassle’s rump than his neck.
“Nah, nah — no way. I don’t gotta do that,” Hassle said when he pulled his lips off Goober’s eggplanty knob. Despite his words, he stood so Thumper could sit on his chair. Hassle grunted. “Edna makin’ dessert?”
Goober shrugged. His eyes was closed, his pecker jabbing Hassle in the nose and dripping prenut onto his upper lip. “Prolly ‘nana puddin’,” he said. “But I’s eatin’ all of it.” He laughed and patted his belly through the church suit he still wore. He did loosen the tie, but he ain’t take nothing else off. His pecker poked out the fly of his billowy slacks, which was getting wet spots where oozy prenut done drip. “Bare yo’ butt, Hassle, don’chu whine ’bout it, I know how loose yo’ guts is. I’ll bring you a apple pie from McDonald’s. Sheriff Terwiliger say-“
“Don’t buy it now though!” Hassle said, precum dripping from his lip. He scowled at Goober as he pulled down his denim trustee pants. He got a big pale-as-marble booty, and you could just tell it was well broke-in. His hole was winking like a flirty girl. “T’ain’t no good once it get cold, Goober! Can’t microwave it, shit, the crust get the texture of a demon’s butthole.”
“A’ight, I will, I’ll buy you it fresh as a prom queen’s cooter, if you don’t tell Edna ’bout my lunches,” Goober said. Hassle nodded dour-faced, and Goober muttered, “damn, shut up and do yo’ job…” He firmly shoved his dick into Hassle’s mouth. Hassle was still stooped over and dropping his trustee denims. He was a big boy, and he got big marble bootycheeks. Thumper sat in Hassle’s chair and grabbed ’em with both hands and a giant grin, while Hassle smeared a big wad of some kinda lube onto his buttcrack.
Thumper leaned back with his hand on his dick, which he stuck upwards. He was only half-hard yet, so he just rubbed the tip on Hassle’s butthole. It stretched right open and accepted Thumper’s cocktip. “Aw, shit, you is goddamn loose, Hassle. Yo’ butthole be invitin’ in this nigga dick-“
“Shuddup,” Hassle said. “I’m doin’ it, ain’t I? No whinin’.” He moved his ass down with a disgusted sneer on his face. He still got Goober’s knob knobbling up and down his lips and nose, prejissom dribbling out. A little wince of pain hit him when Thumper’s tip pushed in deeper.
Officer Goober chuckled throaty as could be. He thwacked his manhood onto Hassle’s face, but Hassle ignored it, focusing on sitting his dirt down onto Thumper’s dick. It slid up Hassle’s asshole. He gritted his teeth.
“Ah, shit, you got nice booty, despite the slack hole-“
“Shuddup!” Hassle said with a frustrated roar. “I can do it quicker if you shut up.” Goober slipped his cocktip into Hassle’s mouth. Hassle ain’t fight it, but he spat it out as he kept talking. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ my ass, you shithead-“
“Ain’t say nothin’ was wrong wit’ it,” Thumper said. He gripped Hassle by the shoulders and rammed upwards hard. A whinge of pleasure hit him, and he start thrusting his rod back and forth.
Hassle groaned in pain, but he ain’t whine or nothing. He was well broke-in. He managed to hold his mouth open too, so Goober could hump his tongue and throat. He spread his asscheeks with one hand, his other hand holdin’ Goober’s waist for support. His muscles was getting dappled in sweat, which made his wifebeater cling to his broadly-marble body. His pecs shifted up and down with his hips.
“Here I go, almost done, buddy,” Thumper said with a groan. He put his hands behind his head. That was a lie — he ain’t near done. Thumper just liked it when Hassle loosened up a bit. He moaned and smacked one of Hassle’s asscheeks, which was too firm to really jiggle. Hassle still kept ’em spread apart with one hand, while his other hand stroked Goober off into his mouth.
Being in a jailhouse reminded Thumper of prison. If you’d-a asked him yesterday, he’d-a said that was a bad thing. He ain’t wanna be reminded of it.
But Hassle’s cell was warm and comfortable, and so was his butthole. It was nice to have a simple, clean line of authority — Mr. Perry and Officer Goober, then Thumper, and Hassle at the bottom. The hierarchy made sense here. Shit was pell-mell out there — Carson was in charge of the Bloods of Baltimore, but Carson was doing everything Thumper wanted, even though Thumper ain’t even got a role in the organization, because Carson gotta prove to other niggas that the Bloods would take care of they own. Thumper was in charge of that punk-ass nigga Rico, though Rico ain’t wanna admit it, and that sly bitch Miriam was kinda like Thumper’s boss, even though he was kinda like her babysitter too. And then there was that batty old bint Vera — got not a lick of authority, but she still manage to boss niggas about.
In jail, life was simple and smooth like Hassle’s buttcrack. You stayed knoing who’s in charge behind bars.
You could tell Hassle done took miles of dick up that poop-chute, Thumper thunk, watching Hassle’s heft slide up and down. He gripped the bright red swastika on Hassle’s back. Hassle was muscle like a oxe — he musta kept up his prison-training regiment even after trusteeing out. Thumper ain’t even gotta do nothing, Hassle was slipping his butt back and forth on it, squeezing tight like he was eager to feel a nut inside him.
“Hey, you a real Nazi?” Thumper asked. He knew about a thousand “Nazis” in prison, and he always asked if they really believe in it.
He still got Goober’s pecker in his mouth, so Hassle ain’t answer. He soured on precum and fluttered his arms behind hisself in a way that maybe suggested “no”. His back muscles flexed hard against his too-tight wifebeater.
“Why you got swastikas all over?”
Hassle pulled off Goober, his mouth fulla pre-nut. “Shut the fuck up, we ain’t gettin’ to know each other,” he said with a grunt as he lowered hisself as low as he could on Thumper’s shaft, precum dribbling onto his face. “Just finish jacking off.”
That was exactly what Thumper did, a-grumbling that Hassle ain’t answer. He shrugged it off though, as he grabbed Hassle’s buttcheeks. He smacked Hassle’s hand away and pulled him down until Hassle’s heft fell onto Thumper’s meat.
A loud groan of pain came from Hassle’s throat, the sound coming around the policeman meat still jabbing down his throat. Goober’s church shirt dangled on Hassle’s face, and his balls went smackity-smack on Hassle’s chin. They left a sheen of ballsweat there.
“Ah, shit, humdinger-” Thumper moan-laughed. His orgasm wracked his body. He kept a tight grip on Hassle so he couldn’t get up off Thumper’s lap. Thumper’s dick was all the way in him, his bushy pubes rubbing on Hassle’s pair of porcelains. Hassle wiggled mighty hard, but Thumper kept a grip on him. Bitches stayed trying-a not get they guts full of goo. Thumper’s other hand fingered Hassle’s cock.
“Ow, fuck! You ain’t gotta stick the whole thing in there!” Hassle shouted. He was gonna say more, but Goober put his sticky dick back in there. Hassle’s asshole split open — he was well broke-in, but Thumper got damn big meat, so he stretched him good.
Grinding his dick in Hassle’s booty, Thumper moaned into the meat of his back, and he watched Hassle’s slurp-and-burp on Goober’s fat cock. With one hand still on Hassle’s limp cock, Thumper also stroked Goober’s meat at the root to jack it off down Hassle’s gullet, as a climax wracked Thumper’s frame. He pulled up Hassle’s wifebeater so he could kiss him right on the bottom of that red swastika on his back, and he moaned into the meat of Hassle’s body. Cum brayed into Hassle’s asshole, a great thick flow that seeped through his body. His first cumload went on for a good ten seconds, while Thumper sighed and groped Hassle’s body.
A second wad spurted into his guts, and Hassle tried to slap Thumper’s hand away. He ain’t able to get enough leverage to lift off Thumper’s old-head crotch, so he gotta let his booty swallow up all them spermies. Thumper’s hands roamed up and down Hassle’s chest as he shot wad after creamy wad up Hassle’s booty.
It dripped down his taint and into Thumper’s crotch. Thumper shot great big gobs of creamy jizz that flowed into Hassle’s guts. Since Hassle was upright, it all gooed right down outta Hassle as soon as Thumper could fill him up, while Hassle wrinkled on the sour taste of Officer Goober’s precum filling his mouth.
He did feel an intense relief though, when Thumper let his limp pecker slip out. All that jissom leaked down Hassle’s cabled booty, making his porcelain cheeks gleam. He still wore his denims and his wifebeater, so his tighty-whiteys was soaked with Thumper’s cockjuice.
Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, Hassle tried to pull off Goober’s meat, as he mumbled incomprehensible-like through all that free-flowing precum. It dripped down his lips. Goober was fitting to nut too, so he gripped ahold of Hassle’s mouth and forced his cock deep down his throat.
Once again, Hassle’s neck and lips stretched and quivered, but he again accepted every inch of Goober’s dick, down to the root, until Hassle’s crooked blotch of a nose rammed into Goober’s coarse pubes.
Hassle couldn’t pull off, though he smacked Goober in the meat of his buttcheeks. Goober gripped the back of his skull and shot his salty wad deep down Hassle’s throat. “Aw, fuck yeah…” Goober murmured, riding Hassle’s twitchy throat.
The scent of jiss bloomed wild in the cell, while Goober’s rod throbbed betwee his lips. Hassle gagged so violent-like Goober couldn’t keep him in place. Buncha that nutjuice leaked out Hassle’s mouth and plopped onto Thumper’s face, as Hassle was still sat on Thumper’s lap. Thumper ain’t care. He wiped up that goop with one hand and smeared it on Hassle’s drippy face.
Goober clucked his tongue, still spewing a long flow of cum onto Hassle’s cheeks and nose. “Lemme see, lemme see,” Goober said with a crooning moan. He tried to put his dick back in Hassle’s mouth, but Hassle smacked his lips shut. A jissom spurted onto Hassle’s crooked nose and stuck there for a few before it rolled down his upper lip. Goober again rammed his dick at Hassle’s mouth and said, “Lemme see, Hassle-” His voice broke, desperate and plaintive, as more cum dribbled onto Hassle’s lower lip. “Two apple pies then,” Goober said desperately. Hassle cringed but opened his mouth, holding back a gag as one last big jazz flowed in. It filled then overflowed past his lips. Hassle closed his eyes and gagged couple times, wincing, but he ain’t spit none of it up — that was rare, Thumper knew that, most bitches couldn’t gag without spitting, but Hassle did. He kept that mouth open while Goober’s piss-slit dribbled jiss in.
With Hassle’s mouth still open, Goober grunted, and his whole body buckled. He jacked his dick like a hose, getting the last couple drops out, even as his shaft was already limpifying. He dropped his cocktip into the cummy soup in Hassle’s mouth. He was still wearing all his church clothes, his manhood coming out the fly, so he kept hisself leaning back to keep the dribbling cum off his smooth slacks.
Goober sneered and laughed. “Okay, you can swallow it,” he said.
With a painful-looking cringe, Hassle swallowed the cumload in his mouth, cradled his belly and waddled, pants around his ankles, to the toilet to spit up what remained in his mouth, finally using a wad of toilet paper he bin clutching to wipe his asshole off at the same time. Thumper’s cum still dripped down his legs into the cup of his briefs and denims, which was still around his ankle. He tried to speak but only gagged again. Thumper came up behind him and rubbed his limp, sensitive dick between Hassle’s buttcheeks, smearing all his assjuices right where he just wiped hisself clean. Hassle was spitting up into the toilet, so he ain’t stop Thumper at first, then he shoved him back and pulled his pants up.
With a stern, cum-dripping frown, he managed to choke out, “You two are done. You can get the fuck outta my cell.” He spat again, forceful enough to make jizz bubble out his butthole. “And bring me plenty of mashed taters with them hot apple pies.”