The Cholo Bottoms

Anthony got it bad in prison, and he never thought his fortunes would be turned upside-down! That’s cuz the bad-ass cholo who hurt him is gonna hafta turn around and bend over, so that tiny twink Anthony gets to climb on top!

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When Anthony got out of the prison infirmary, he struggled to walk at all. The doctors had sewn up his cuts and got his bruising to go down, but he was still in intense pain with every step he took. That’s because he got cornholed, and it felt like his ass tore in half, like wet tissue paper, like he was being torn up all over again each time he stepped forward. The stairs were especially difficult to make it down.
Much to his surprise, the guards were kind. Officer Bignose in particular allowed him to walk back to his cell as slowly as he needed. Usually he pushed guys along, practically dragging anyone who didn’t hurry.
Anthony’s ramrod was named Franco, but he went by Sucio — a Spanish word that means “filthy or vulgar” and implies sexual perversion as well. He was tall, heavily tattooed from forehead to feet, broad-shouldered and meaty, strong as an ox. He had cornholed Anthony harder and harder until Anthony begged him to stop. He made Anthony lick the prison toilet seat; he stuck his assjuice-stained dick in Anthony’s mouth, and he pissed on his face. It was a tortuous experience.
Anthony certainly didn’t intend to wag his ass at any more cholos. He had thought he’d be able to get on Sucio’s good side by seducing him, but he didn’t know Sucio’s intense desire to remain uno hombre. His authoritarian manhood demanded he take charge of uno pasivo like Anthony.
But he was safe now. Anthony shared a cell with an elderly man, and he didn’t plan on leaving the cell any more than he had to. Sucio was sent to solitary confinement as punishment for the attack, so Anthony didn’t see him for a long time.
When he finally did return to the cell block on the same day Anthony did, Sucio made a kissy face as he walked by in chains, and the sight of that reawakened the lingering pain in Anthony’s ass. Shame flooded him, and he blushed as he looked down at his feet. Everybody knew Anthony was small and weak in comparison to Sucio, but he was still embarrassed for that to be made obvious. Officer Bignose led Sucio through the cell block. When they saw the kissy face, Bignose pulled on the manacle connected to Sucio’s legs, tripping him. He fell in a big bronze lump on the floor.
Sucio’s dingy white prison shorts and wifebeater were filthy with his sweat and raunch from his time cooped up in solitary. Anthony felt a surge of sexual desire, followed by shame. Anthony wished he could have serviced him in a consensual way. On the outside, he’d have said he wanted Sucio to ravage him. But it didn’t go how he had pictured it in his head. Anthony guessed that Sucio would never allow it — Sucio wouldn’t want to do it so Anthony enjoyed it. He was always going to do it harder than his victim wanted. His machismo demanded it.
“Come on out here,” Officer Bignose said, poking his head into the cell Anthony shared with the old man. Anthony had backed away from the door, not wanting Sucio to see him. Fear surged all over again as he wondered if Bignose’s kindness had only been a front for his true aim: retorturing Anthony by setting up another ramrodding. When Anthony didn’t respond right away, Bignose barked his order again, “Inmate Delunez, get the fuck out here right now!”
Anthony trembled but nodded and crept out of the cell. The cell block was having a Sunday afternoon indoors today, since it was raining outside. That meant dozens of men milled about, almost all of them vatos and cholos — Cell S99 was reserved for inmates associated with the Latin Kings. Anthony had only a glancing connection with them, which was why he had been turned out as Sucio’s bitch.
Bignose held a hand up, palm out, which made the cell block stop whispering. They all glared at Bignose. Anthony shivered with fear — was Bignose going to cornhole him now as well?
Outside of prison, Anthony hadn’t been a thug at all. He had only pledged himself to the Latin Kings because he was going in for a year and needed protection, and luckily his brother was a well-respected vato who could vouch for him. Of course, that hadn’t ended up mattering for very much.
“Listen up, you shitheaps. A lot of you are aware of what happened awhile ago. Inmate Delunez here was treated… poorly, to say the least-” Bignose was interrupted by a chorus of cheers and jeers from the assembled cholos, who yelled insults at Anthony. He blushed, especially when Sucio — standing nearby in chains — sneered at him. Someone pinched Anthony’s ass. Bignose whistled and demanded silence; everyone ignored him until he brought out the taser and brandished it. “Shut the fuck up! There’s a prison policy here we ain’t always followed. That’s because the victims are usually as bad as the perpetrators, but it’s a rule we got a right to enforce.”
“Fuck yo’ rules, esé!” Sucio said. He pumped his hips as though literally fucking Bignose’s rules. His dick-bulge shook in his prison shorts, and he rolled his tongue beneath his lips.
Bignose smiled at Sucio. He nodded to the other guards around him, and one of them jumped into action. Before Anthony could process the sudden turn of events, Sucio had a mouthguard placed on his face. Sucio roared and pulled away, but there were four guards on him, and they kept him in place, even forcing him to his knees. His complaints vanished into a wordless burst of syllables.
The mouthguard was a plain piece of plastic with wire forceps-like edges and a strap binding it to the face. It was made for prison dentists who couldn’t otherwise safely put their hands near the inmates’s mouths. Sucio tried to spit but with his jaw stuck pried apart, all he could do was sputter and writhe in the muscular guards’s arms.
“The rule that we’re going to enforce from now on,” Officer Bignose said with a cruel smile, “is that prison tops get bottomed.”
Total silence filled the room. Then there was a torrent of shouting, angry Spanish and vituperative English — a few of them were in support of the policy, it seemed, but many were against it, and some just wanted to watch the world burn. A few of the inmates rushed towards Bignose as though going to fight him, but Bignose flipped his taser on and they backed off when the sound of electricity crackling hit the air.
Silence once again fell over the cell block.
“Now, not all you alpha cholos are gonna get it up the ass. I ain’t got no interest in that,” Bignose said. “But if yer bitch complains, then I’m gonna let him treat you the same way you got treated. That’s how we gonna decide what’s consensual or not. If your bitch is upset enough to file a complaint, he’s gonna get to climb on top of yer stupid ass. Inmate Delunez here is gonna be first.” He smiled at Anthony, and extended his arm like a fancy butler unveiling an expensive dish.
It all happened so fast that Anthony only realized what was happening right now, as he stepped towards Sucio. The inmates mostly quieted down. None of them really loved Sucio, after all. Bignose had no doubt started off with what seemed like terrible news in order to be sure they’d be supportive and happy when he backed up into a less atrocious rule.
Anthony blushed as he took his dick out. He had been showering with these men, and occasionally jerking them off, for more than a month before Sucio attacked him, so this wasn’t the first time they had seen his dick. But he was still self-conscious knowing that they were looking at him now, and no doubt comparing his dick to theirs — when he was just another prison punk, they avoided looking at his manhood; his ass and his mouth were his only body parts that mattered.
But now his rather thick dick was the center of attention. Anthony had never felt smaller, despite the grande size of his meat. Sucio roared as he tried to pull away, but the guards kept him on his knees. His chest and shoulders were soaked with sweat, which made his wifebeater stick to his flesh. His muscles strained the fabric.
¡Destrozar el culo! ¡Que sea sangrienta!
Anthony chuckled as he flopped his limp dick onto Sucio’s face, his heart racing — this felt so dangerous, even if it wasn’t. Sucio’s face was heavily tattooed, seven tears dripping from his eyes (which meant he had murdered seven people, and the fact that one of the tears was colored red meant that one of those seven was either a cop or a snitch).
¡Su garganta es su culo!
Sucio flinched and writhed. He breathed heavily, drool dripping past his lips. It was obvious he was trying to say something but couldn’t with his mouth pried open. All he could do was champ up moutfuls of saliva.
“You ever tasted cock before, bitch?” Anthony asked, simply because the silence made this all more intense, and he felt a need to do something to break the tension. The pain in his ass was gone now, and he smiled as the cholos filling the cell block burst into laughter and applause. Sucio was a powerful gangbanger, and though they were all nominally allied with him, no one liked him — now that he was a bitch, they’d treat him like one, which meant everyone here could move up a rung in the Latin Kings hierarchy.
Fuck ‘is throat, Anthony. Make him choke! ¡Hacer que se ahogue!
Anthony pushed his dick into Sucio’s big, wide mouth. His moist tongue shook as though trying to find a place to hide, but Anthony just pushed his dick all the way in to the root in one smooth motion — Sucio was big enough to swallow a lot of meat. Sucio retched and gagged, a big ball of spit dripping down his chin and onto his wifebeater.
“Keep your eyes open, puta!” Anthony said. He pounded on his thin twinky chest. This was exactly how Sucio had treated him, so he enjoyed returning the favor. “Bitches should look in they owners’ eyes. I wanna see yo’ stupid bitch face suffocating on my cock, esé.”
He rammed his dick in all the way, even lifting one leg to hump his face like a dog. The mouthguard on Sucio’s face pinched at his jaw whenever he tried to open it, so his mouth was open as wide as it would go — every time he stretched it a little wider, the mouthguard didn’t allow it to go back without pinching into his gums.
Anthony rubbed the Gothic lettering tattooed on Sucio’s forehead — Latin Kings por vida, it read. He spat right onto that tattoo, and when he saw that Sucio shook and gagged, he did it again. He spat on Sucio’s nose and hocked up a big loogie, which he plopped into Sucio’s mouth.
This felt so good that Anthony would have gladly kept going until he came. But he felt his orgasm coming and he knew Officer Bignose wouldn’t hold Sucio down again, at least not unless Sucio cornholed him again. So Anthony decided to go after him in the ass while he could.
After all, he wasn’t gonna get more chances to ramrod a muscle-bound alpha like Sucio.
There were now five guards holding Sucio down. One was on each limb (which were also manacled), and one kept him in a bear hug from behind. That one behind Sucio winced like he was disgusted when Anthony pulled out of Sucio’s mouth — he was awfully close to the action, getting splashed. Anthony blushed, still unused to being the center of attention.
The guard with Sucio in a bear hug leaned onto his back, forcing Sucio onto his back as well, his big body resting on the guard’s chest. He squirmed but with his chained arms and legs held by the other quartet of guards, there was little Sucio could do.
Officer Bignose pulled on the chains of Sucio’s legs and attached them to the wall nearby. That forced Sucio’s legs up. Anthony pulled those dingy prison-issued boxers up, revealing a thick and meaty ass coated in kinky black hairs and amateur tattoos. His cheeks quivered and tensed — he was clenching his ass.
Not that that was gonna stop Anthony.
When Anthony saw that cock again, he knew he was going to stroke Sucio off — both because he genuinely wanted to, and because he knew he could get Sucio hard in front of the entire cell block. Nothing would be more humiliating than treating Sucio like a bitch and making him like it, in front of every cholo in this joint.
There was a Salvadoran flag tattooed right on Sucio’s dick, its blue and white stripes waving in unseen wind. Anthony gave it a stroke while just resting his dick at the entrance to Sucio’s ass.
“You want this real bad, donchu?” Anthony asked, then repeated it loud enough that he could be heard over the hoots and hollers of the other inmates.
¡Si, él realmente quiere!
Sucio’s body roiled and writhed. He struggled against the guards holding him down, but there was nothing he could do, especially on his back with his legs in the air — he was like a turtle stuck on its back.
“You ever took it in the ass before?” Anthony asked. Sucio shook his head and heaved out some indecipherable syllables, but Anthony couldn’t understand him. He cupped one hand behind his ear as though asking Sucio to speak up. The inmates behind him all roared their approval of Sucio’s humiliation. Anthony smiled and said, in an overly loud voice, “Oh, you loved getting rammed by sumisos?! Well, I got exactly what you want! Don’t worry, I’ll ram you again whenever you want. You just let me know.”
He rammed one finger in Sucio’s ass, keeping his dick right there so Sucio could feel it. His other hand remained on Sucio’s cockshaft, lightly stroking it — it was just a bit hard right now, no doubt more from anxiety than actual arousal.
Sucio arched his back and clenched his ass when Anthony’s pinkie entered him. Anthony laughed and smacked him on the asscheek, over and over until Sucio let go of his clenching for just a second, long enough that Anthony could ram his pinkie all the way in.
The sweat drenched Sucio’s body now, soaking those guards who held him down. They looked like they regretted agreeing to this — they probably enjoyed the idea of holding a giant cholo like Sucio down while he got cornholed — Sucio had been insulting and threatening them for years, after all — but now realized that the actuality of it was more difficult and less satisfying than they had predicted beforehand. His sweaty muscles and coarse black hairs rubbed all over their bodies, especially the burly redneck guard who held onto Sucio’s bare back.
“Gonna get that ass to open up one way or another…” Anthony shouted over the din — that was another thing Sucio had said over and over while cornholing Anthony hard. Anthony did it the same way Sucio had, by strangling him.
His thin, delicate fingers gripped Sucio by the neck and squeezed, just hard enough to make him heave and writhe. It was a sudden enough surprise that his ass unclenched when Anthony let go a moment later, and Anthony rammed his ring finger in alongside his pinkie. Sucio breathlessly gasped, his tongue writhing in his mouth as he tried to shout.
Anthony had been so focused on watching Sucio’s agony that he hadn’t really taken a moment to savor the fingering. With two fingers now in Sucio’s virgin ass, he wiggled them. He loved that tight moistness and he especially enjoyed how Sucio’s dick pulsated in his hands now that Anthony was on his prostate.
“Muy apretado…” Anthony said with a slow smile. The other inmates rushed forward to either join in or clap Anthony on the back, but Officer Bignose waved them away.
He rammed his fingers in and out, each thrust making Sucio contort. His muscles were pulling the guards this way and that as they held him down — they couldn’t quite keep him from moving, but they could keep him from getting up. His chains rattled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd of inmates.
Then Anthony pulled out. He pushed his dick in before Sucio’s ass had time to clench again, but Anthony didn’t want to go too fast. He just put the tip of his dick in and held on as Sucio flexed all over. Motionless, Anthony bit back his burgeoning climax, so he could drag this out.
Pain rattled up and down Sucio’s body; Anthony could see it in the undulating tension in his muscles, which tightened and loosened in waves from his trunk-like thighs to his broad muscles. Those muscles clenched his ass as though to grip Anthony’s cock.
“Taste some ass, puta!” Anthony shouted, too aroused to think of anything wittier to say. He wished he could — Sucio had thought of lots of (relatively) clever insults and threats to shout as he had fucked Anthony, but Anthony couldn’t think of a single one right now. He just laughed as he pushed his ass-slickened fingers into Sucio’s mouth.
Sucio sputtered and gagged as soon as he tasted his own ass. He spat the best he could with an open mouth, but Anthony just wiped his fingers off on Sucio’s tongue, groaning as he slid a few more inches of his manhood into Sucio’s behind.
“You feel it in you, bitch?” Anthony asked. “Huh? You feel my dick in you?”
Sucio shook his head, throwing his neck back and forth. He wasn’t really saying no, probably didn’t even hear Anthony’s question, but Anthony decided to take it as a no.
“Oh, okay, I’ll ram you harder then, so you can feel it!” Anthony said. He smiled as the cholos behind him screamed their approval.
Make ‘im bleed, Anthony! Wreck his ass!
Anthony pistoned his hips, slamming his dick the rest of the way in. He pushed his cock all the way to the root, which made Sucio arch his back. He gasped and choked on the fingers Anthony still kept in his mouth.
Then Anthony remained still for a moment, working on Sucio’s dick. It was rock-hard, but he gathered that Sucio wasn’t even aware; he was in too much pain to notice his erection. Anthony used both hands on the meaty, uncut shaft, then cupped his low-hanging balls. He gathered up all the sweat from Sucio’s own crotch and then wiped it over Sucio’s tongue, which stuck out of his mouth like a panting dog.
He wanted to really humiliate Sucio by making him cum with a dick all the way up his guts. So he stimulated Sucio’s prostate while stroking off his manhood.
The tension was so great that it was actually quite easy — Sucio was too distracted to fight against it, so his body’s instinctual arousal was enough to send him right over the line. His orgasm was painful, bringing tears to his eyes as his asshole clenched around Anthony’s rampaging dick.
Cum sprayed over Sucio’s chest and belly. He blushed a bright red as the other inmates, his fellow gangmates, all roared their shocked approval. Some of the cum missed Sucio’s body and landed on the face of the guard holding onto his right arm, who flinched but didn’t pull away even as the semen dripped down his lips.
Anthony pumped his biceps over Sucio’s body. He knew he looked ridiculous, since he was acting like he had overpowered Sucio when he was actually about a third Sucio’s size. But it felt good to be victorious — Anthony hadn’t felt like a real man since even before Sucio plowed him.
Gathering that the guards were losing patience and weren’t going to hold Sucio down for much longer, Anthony decided to finish up. He had been on the verge of orgasm pretty much since this began, so he focused his energy on going hard. His hands sopped up all that cum and wiped it off on Sucio’s tongue, making Sucio retch, writhe and clench down on Anthony’s dick.
The pain must have been excruciating; Anthony knew well that getting plowed with a clenched asshole was excruciating, and Anthony wasn’t even using lube besides Sucio’s own spit, so it was no doubt tortuous. He rammed his dick back and forth, cackling with laughter as Sucio heaved for breath, gagging on his own cum which he couldn’t wipe away. Anthony made sure that what semen that did leak out his mouth got smeared all over his tattooed face.
When his orgasm finally hit, Anthony pulled out — a part of him wanted to cum inside Sucio’s guts, which would have been humiliating for him, turning his culo into a panocha. But it would have been invisible to all the men watching.
So he pulled out instead. Sucio breathed a deep sigh until he saw that Anthony aimed for his face. He gagged again even before Anthony had made it to his head, a potent orgasm rocketing through Anthony’s body. His dick was more slimy than he had ever seen it — Sucio’s ass had really reacted to the hardcore fucking, excreting copious fluids that clung to his cockshaft.
He managed to get his dick in Sucio’s mouth just moments before he came. Sucio wretched and writhed, and spat up a big ball of bile that just leaked out over his face. Anthony groaned as the orgasm finally hit him. His little lithe body writhed, ass clenching and fingers gripping Sucio’s face tightly.
Anthony had never seen someone retch so badly. He shot a huge load right into Sucio’s gullet, but Sucio just spat it right back up. Cum dripped from his lips and coated his face, alongside that slimy assjuice that Anthony brought back from Sucio’s hole. His face was shiny with fluids, eyes scrunched up and flashing bright.
A long, loud sigh escaped from Anthony’s lips as he finally fell limp. His knees buckled, the orgasm so intense he could barely support himself. He used Sucio’s meaty belly for support, and he tweaked Sucio’s nipples.
Finally the guards — disgusted by all the fluids that had leaked to every inch of Sucio’s body — slipped away. Sucio dropped to the ground and landed with a thud. He writhed and rolled over, groaning as he tried to get to his feet. He winced in pain every time he moved, just like Anthony had when he had been led away from the infirmary.
Officer Bignose grabbed the chain attached to Sucio’s neck and pulled until Sucio could do nothing more than pull against the chain, n his knees. Bignose pulled the mouthguard off and Sucio screamed a litany of Spanish insults. He couldn’t reach his face to wipe off.
“Shut your mouth, or we’re all gonna ram you!” Bignose said. Sucio couldn’t breathe with his chain pulled taut, so he soon had no choice but to fall silent. Bignose cleared his throat. “I’m gonna take you back to solitary to chill out for awhile. You’re a bitch now. You’ll have to accept that.” The other inmates roared their approval, but Bignose waved them quiet with one hand. “Now thank Inmate Delunez.” Sucio pulled against the chain again as he growled, but Bignose snapped it tight. Sucio sputtered, spit dripping past his lips. Bignose smiled. “Thank him.” When Sucio didn’t respond right away, Bignose whispered something in his ear.
Sucio blanched. “Thank you… Anthony,” he said through gritted teeth. “I… am alegre you done ram me.”
“Why, you’re welcome, Sucio, de nada. Anytime, I’d be alegre to ram you again.” Anthony held his hand up.
Sucio narrowed his eyes but kissed Anthony’s hand like a suitor wooing his girl. Anthony giggled at the sight of his big cholo body being dragged away. The other inmates clapped Anthony on the back, congratulating him and Anthony’s red face smiled.
The pain in his ass had diminished entirely, and Anthony was beginning to think his prison stay might not be as bad as it had initially seemed. He wondered if he could afford to buy a bitch, and if so, he knew exactly which one it would be. Anthony strode back to his cell like a returning champion.

The Basketball Coach: Chapter 1

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CHAPTER ONE
Professor Thickman

Avery walked slowly through the hallways of the Forrester Building. The corridor was choked with young men and women — more women than men, though Avery was only interested in the latter. He felt a little old and out-of-place because… well, because he was old and out-of-place.
He was hardly ancient, but he didn’t quite fit in here. He didn’t mind too much, it was just very apparent at times like these. Everyone here was wrinkle-free and skinny, with fine, mussed-up hair — apparently college males weren’t allowed to style their hair these days — and active, charming grins. Avery didn’t remember being anywhere’s near this active when he was their age. These folks spent all day running around, taking classes, then spent all night partying, with tons of interpersonal drama and even some occasional studying. Whereas if Avery went to the bank and spent ten minutes there, he considered that “enough errands, I’m too tired to do anything else today”. He couldn’t imagine going to class and partying and giving a crap about social issues — all in one day.
He went into his poetry class and sat down. As usual, he sat near — but not next to — the seat near the back where Rayshawn Mitchell would be. Rayshawn was a star basketball player on the college team. He was a bedimpled, well-coiffed young black man with a six-pack that was so perfect it was nearly an eight-pack. He had females literally hanging off him most of the time — last time Avery saw him outside of class there was a girl hanging off his arm by the bicep and giggling like she wanted him to think it was gross, even though she was obviously about to suck Rayshawn’s dick.
Avery had to admit he thought Rayshawn was alluring. He was immaculate, almost too perfect, like what an alien might conclude was a handsome man after spending years studying human attractiveness. His cornrows were tight and more symmetrical than seemed possible; his eyes were living pools of brown that gleamed and flashed in the light.
Avery stared into his dreamy eyes as Rayshawn sat down. Then Avery slipped over a couple pieces of paper onto Rayshawn’s desk.
It had an interpretation of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” by Thomas Gray. Two thousand words, double-spaced, original material not based on or inspired by any of the online essays about this poem.
Avery had written it, and another one besides to turn in for himself. He wrote all of Rayshawn’s papers for him, in exchange for jacking him off. Rayshawn didn’t like to masturbate but he enjoyed spending time away from women sometimes. Avery was ideal from his perspective. Avery licked his dick but didn’t make him watch comediennes or go to political protests.
Rayshawn leaned over to Avery, holding onto the assignment Avery had done for him. “Thanks… Hey, you gotta go see Coach Thickman.”
“What?”
“You gotta go see Coach Thickman. He wanna see you.”
Avery had no idea who that was or why he would want to see Avery, or why Rayshawn would deliver a message about it. Avery furrowed his brow. “Uh… What?”
“Go see Coach Thickman, man. He’s the industrial development teacher,” Rayshawn said, before smiling at a pretty blonde girl who sat down near him. She shivered and giggled at nothing in particular.
Avery sat back and furrowed his brow. He looked it up on his phone. Mr. Thickman was real; he was an assistant basketball coach, and he taught “industrial development”; Avery had no idea what that was.
It turned out to be something like metalshop, possibly. Avery went to see Coach Thickman after Poetry Appreciation. It was in the Forrester Building, but in the basement — which Avery hadn’t even realized featured any classrooms — and it was dark, dim, smelling of steel and oil and mopwater.
Mr. Thickman taught certain blue-collar skills like welding but mainly focused on Foreman Qualifications Engineering — which was apparently a degree program intended for factory foremen. Avery had never heard of it before because it was mainly taken by athletes who needed an easy A and a simple degree.
He was there in a heavy black apron, a helmet, filthy jeans and little else — no shirt beneath the apron. The helmet, with built-in goggles, was to protect himself from the sparks flying from his welding torch. They illuminated the caliginous workshop like a spotlight aimed at his sweat-gleaming cabled shoulders.
Avery yelped and stepped back, surprised both to see him welding and that he did so without a shirt on. The apron protected his chest, but a few bits of spark scorched his bare arms and shoulders.
Oh god those arms… Professor Reginald Thickman — as the sign on the door said, not Coach Thickman — had incredible arms. He was a black man with very dark skin and big fleshy arms. He had a thick barrel chest too. He was entirely unlike the skinny, lanky college boys Avery had been chasing after.
He was exactly what Avery wanted nowadays.
Avery blushed and cleared his throat. Professor Thickman glanced up at him, turned the welding torch off and removed his helmet and goggles. He had a dense mustache that was well-trimmed and a layer of unkempt beard hairs beneath that.
“Yeah?” His voice boomed like fireworks but rasped like sandpaper.
“Uh, hi… I’m… Avery,” Avery said, his voice weak and tinny because he felt small in the cavernous space. He blushed and shrank back from Professor Thickman.
“Sup.” He made a face like he was annoyed Avery hadn’t already finished explaining why he was here.
“I, uh… I heard…”
“You wanna sign up for the Factory Skills Seminar?”
“Umm…. No.”
He grunted, which made his mustache quiver. “Good. Cuz you ain’t…” He looked Avery’s slim body up and down. “I dunno if it’d be a good fit.”
Avery blushed. “I like things that aren’t a good fit.” He came closer to Thickman, who furrowed his big squarish brow.
“What?”
“I’m just sayin’… Sometimes it’s fun to take something big and stick it in something small, even if you have to struggle-“
“Oh.” He rolled his eyes and took off his leather apron, revealing that massive chest with protruding muscles, cradled tightly beneath a sleeveless tee. It had been concealed by the apron until now. It may have been a white shirt at some point, but now it was gray in the areas it wasn’t stained with black grease. “Whatchoo want? I got shit to do, get to the point.”
Avery frowned. He had hit a brick wall — he initially thought Thickman seemed like he might be down to mess around, but he now glared at Avery as though that was not an option. Avery shrugged. “Well, Rayshawn Mitchell said you wanted to talk to me-“
“You? You the guy?”
“Well, I dunno about the guy, but I am a guy-“
“Shut up. You the pervert.” Professor Thickman scowled. He went to the door and slammed it shut. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, which showed off his big beefy pecs, a few hairs poking out from under that rancid wifebeater. He must wear that whenever he welds and never washes it… Avery blushed. Professor Thickman came closer. “I know what you doin’. You ain’t even young, man. You like thirty or somethin’, you got no business goin’ after my boys. They some upstanding men, they gonna marry nice girls and not chase skirt or do the nasty on the DL.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb wit’ me, I know about you, man. I know.” He looked like he didn’t want to say anything more specific. But he sighed and added, “you jackin’ off my boys. You goin’ after ’em, chasin’ ’em around like they some goddamn hoes and you the playa callin’ after ’em-“
“I’m sorry, what? I don’t chase them around, first of all — and anyway I don’t mess with your boys — first of all — second of all, I mean — they’re not your boys. They’re adults. They can choose to hang out with me if they choose-“
“They choose no.”
“Have you told them that?” Avery quaked. He was so much smaller than Professor Thickman, but his nostrils flared like he might take him on in a fight.
“Yes, I told them that, you little punk. I told ’em in no uncertain terms, but they say you makin’ pers’stent advances. Rayshawn Mitchell say you always beggin’ him for it, you followin’ him around and givin’ him money and shit-“
“Uh, I don’t think so, you big-ass blockhead! Rayshawn Mitchell calls me! He says he needs to get a nut off every night or his dick’ll fall off. Are you gonna swallow his nut at four in the morning? I gave him twenty dollars to buy some flowers for his mama for her birthday, that’s the only money I ever gave him-“
“You do his homework? His… poetry…homework?” Professor Thickman snickered a little.
“I… I help… and…-“
“No more. I put him in that fuckin’ poetry class cuz it’s easy. You can’t do poetry wrong, man. Make him do it. Nobody has ever failed that class.”
“I…”
“What?”
Avery put his hands on his hips. “No. I don’t want him to do it himself! I like his dick!”
“Man! I said leave my boys alone-“
“Rayshawn is twenty-one! He has a baby of his own! He can ask me to get his nut off if he wants! If you don’t like it, tell him to ask you to jack him off-“
“I oughta smack the pansy outta your garden! You are distractin’ my boys, and I don’t like it one bit!”
“You bullying asshole! First of all, Rayshawn is the only basketball player I mess with — is Jamaal Hartlee telling you shit about me? Cuz I told him no, cuz he is a skinny fuck with a dick that is also a skinny fuck, and he’s a douchebag-“
“You don’t mess wit’ Jamaal Hartlee?”
“The only way I’d touch his dick is if it was full of Rayshawn’s dick.”
“And Tommy Smith?”
“Tommy Smith, didn’t he graduate? I got him off last year.”
“Hmmm… You swear you ain’t messin’ around with them all?”
“Just Rayshawn. And he calls me. He says he’s too busy ‘smashin’ pussy’ to read poems,” Avery said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You make it sound like I hang out in the locker room trying to cop a feel-“
“Well, I don’t much like you messin’ around. The rumors are a distraction for the team, and they spendin’ all they time arguin’ ’bout who got jacked off by you and who don’t do that. You like black boys?”
“No! I like Rayshawn-“
“Then why don’t you leave my boys alone and fuck wit’ the rugby team or some shit? Or lacrosse?”
“Uh, I do! I’m good at seducing jocks, race irrelevant. It’s kinda my thing. I jack off Greg Lambert every day! He’s on the rugby team.” Avery paused. “I didn’t know this school had a lacrosse team. What do they look like? Where do they practice-?”
“They’s intramural. I dunno where they practice. I dunno what they — I never seen ’em.” Professor Thickman frowned. After a long pause, he said, “Look… Just don’t let yo’ mouth distract him from practice, okay?”
“No.” Avery had his hands on his hips. “Your basketball games are a low priority for me. If they’re high priority for Rayshawn, then tell him to appreciate poetry by himself.”
Thickman took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. He was used to bossing around big tough guys, both his students and his players. When he wore this nasty shirt that showed off his arms and he told his “boys” what to do, they jumped to it. They knew he meant business. Professor Thickman did not play around.
So he was annoyed that this fruitcake was so insolent. Thickman frowned again. He shifted his weight between his leather-booted feet.
“You’re not gonna bully me,” Avery said. “Rayshawn is his own man. If he lets you plant your flag in his dick, that’s fine with me. Until then, it’s his dick, it’s my mouth, and it’s happening. Look away if you don’t like it.”
Thickman growled, making that mustache shake. “I ain’t bullyin’ no one. You a grown man. Kinda.” He throatily chuckled.
“Okay, well, I’ve had enough of that. I am a man, you piece of shit. At least I’m man enough to pursue my own life instead of domineering some fucking college boys. You spend all day telling them how to spend their life just so you can go home to what I’m guessing is a sad little apartment all by yourself, microwave a sad little TV dinner, lift your little weights like a fucking convict. Hey, how much furniture do you have that isn’t a bench press?”
“Hey!” Thickman had to hold himself back. If one of his athletes talked to him like that, he’d grab him by the balls and shout some goddamn respect into his throat. “You ain’t gotta be personal-“
“Oh, I’m personal?! You made accusations at me, Thickman! You called me a pervert first! You virtually accused me of being a gropey stalker! Don’t get all self-righteous now.”
“I ain’t mean it like that, okay? Just…” Thickman growled again. “Just quit fuckin’ bitchin’.”
“No.” Avery crossed his arms over his chest.
“Look… I know you… I ain’t mean for this to get all rude. I wasn’t gonna like… I know I got a rough manner, okay? I ain’t threatenin’ you or nothin’. I ain’t a bully.”
“Well, that’s nice.”
“I was gonna let you swing on my dick if you promised to leave Rayshawn alone, I thought, y’know, I was thinkin’ you love black dick-“
“So you were going to do me a favor? Oh well, the great Professor Thickman sees fit to bestow his dick upon me!” Avery threw his hands up and dropped to his knees like he was going to worship him. “Let this day be forevermore remembered as the day Professor Thickman granted the gift of his magnificent manhood-“
“You are such a bitch, dude. You’re as bad as my sister. If you don’t wanna do it, just say no.”
He sighed again and rolled his eyes as Avery grabbed his cock through his paint-splattered jeans. It throbbed beneath his touch. Thickman looked around and sniffled. He didn’t look down, even as his dick twitched beneath Avery’s grasp.
“I didn’t say no,” Avery said. Thickman’s chest muscles flexed beneath his wifebeater, and he lifted his arms up to avoid touching Avery. The smell of his armpits overcame the sulfurous steel and sparks scent that had lingered in the workshop.
“Man… I ain’t… In case you wonderin’, you racist prick, I ain’t a ex-con.” His dick twitched beneath Avery’s touch. He still hadn’t taken his pants off, so it was under the grimy denim of his workpants.
“But you do live in a small apartment by yourself, and lifting weights is your only hobby, and you don’t get why, when you hit thirty-five, your muscles became a turnoff for girls, and you don’t wear enough deodorant-“
“Shut up.”
“No. Do you want me to get you off or not? I promise I won’t come on to Rayshawn, okay? And I’ll make him write his class poem by himself. No help. But he’s going to call me and say he needs me to suck his nut, and I’m going to go, Professor Thickman. I’m going to open wide and swallow every drop I can find. I like him. If some hot chick wanted to skip her, I dunno, jazz recital or whatever, to fuck you, would you tell her no?”

Professor Thickman grumbled and nodded but didn’t answer. He stood there with his arms folded over his chest. He looked hostile, but Avery thought he had technically just agreed to Avery’s offer.


Avery blushed and continued stroking him through his jeans. “You’re really handsome. Would you ever convince Rayshawn to cornhole me?”
Thickman grunted and held back a laugh. “He don’t do that?”
“He says it’s too dirty,” Avery said, shaking his head. He unzipped Professor Thickman’s jeans and pulled his dick out through the fly. Thickman looked away and chewed on his lip. Avery kissed the tip. He flopped it limply over his face. He kept checking up at Thickman’s face, waiting for him to respond, but he just stared at the thing he had been welding — an unidentifiable hunk of metal — and ignored Avery.
So Avery pulled his balls out too, and gave each of them a quick suck. He kept teasing Thickman with his mouth while his hands roamed up, under that disgusting old wifebeater. He tweaked Thickman’s nipples.
Soon his dick twitched where it rubbed against Avery’s lips. Avery spit right on the shaft and then sucked it off. He repeated that a few times, making it as loud as he could. But he still hadn’t actually put Thickman’s cock in his mouth.
“Alright, boy, you just teasin’ me now, that ain’t fair,” Thickman said, voice like an old gravel road. He grunted. “You teasin’. You playin’ games. I don’t like games. Put it in if you gonna put it in.”
“You don’t like games? Aren’t you a basketball coach?”
“Basketball ain’t a game, it’s a war,” Thickman said with a groan. He glanced down at Avery long enough to slap him over the face with his cock. Then he drilled it into Avery’s mouth. He sighed and looked away, glad to have finally got this twerp to shut up. They had both teased each other — Avery had licked his dick and played with it rather than swallow it, just to annoy Thickman, while Thickman had stood there like he was uninterested just to annoy Avery.
Now Thickman’s dick finally firmed up, and they were both eager to get started for real. Thickman refused to admit that though — he tried to look like he was doing a favor for Avery. Once he got his dick ramming in and out of Avery’s throat, he again looked up as though coming up with a lesson plan for tomorrow, like he didn’t have any interest in why Avery choked and loudly gagged on the cockmeat invading his throat.
Avery didn’t mind the choking. He preferred it. As far as he was concerned, if you didn’t struggle a bit, it wasn’t worth it. He throated Thickman down to the root, until his nose nuzzled his pubic hair and that girthy shaft threatened to split his neck wide open.
“Damn, boy, you eager as shit now, huh? I guess I see what Rayshawn sees in ya,” Thickman said with a guilty leer. He watched Avery slurp on his dick as though it had little to do with him, even as his chest heaved and his heart sped up. He didn’t touch Avery’s head except when his dick accidentally popped out, and Avery took a long hoarse breath. Thickman didn’t wait for even a second, he just forced Avery’s head back into place and relentlessly forced his cock back in.
It was so moist and tight, it was unlike any mouth Thickman had had had in years. He had had no intention of sticking Avery in the ass, right up until he heard Rayshawn refused to do so — Thickman wasn’t going to let some punk like that show him up. He was going to have to cornhole this twerp, and he was going to have to do it better than Rayshawn ever would.
“You ready for me to get up in ya guts?” Thickman asked. His voice was throaty and gurgly.
“Oh. God. Yes.” Avery blushed and spoke through his gasps for air. He let Thickman’s cock throb and leave a layer of precum all over his face. He stuck his tongue out to tease it a little more while he lowered his pants and boxers.
Then he turned around and gripped the metal thing Thickman had been welding — was it a plow? It kind of looked like a plow, but Avery assumed that couldn’t be right. Why would any modern-day American human weld a plow? Weren’t they made in factories? In… presumably like Vietnam or something? Avery didn’t know. But he assumed they weren’t made by one middle-aged American with a welding torch in a college basement.
“What is this?” Avery finally asked as he jutted his ass back. It hit Thickman’s cock, and he rubbed it up and down — teasing him once more by making it difficult to aim for his hole.
“What is what? That’s my dick-“
“No, this… thing I’m leaning on,” Avery said. He rattled the plow-like collection of steel. “What is it?”
“Oh. It’s a sculpture,” he said. “It ain’t done.” He slipped the tip into Avery’s ass, then wrapped one arm around Avery’s neck to keep his head in position. His other hand brusquely spread Avery’s asscheeks.
“You- Shit, goddamn –” Avery took a deep breath, inhaling the sweaty funk of Professor Thickman’s elbow. “Goddamn, man.” He loosened his ass the best he could. “You’re a sculptor?”
“Shut up. It ain’t only white snobs who can be into art,” he said. He used his hips to mercilessly force more dick in. The nice thing about ramrodding men, he thought, was that they liked as much dick as possible, as hard as possible. Women loved gentle fucking, which annoyed Professor Thickman.
He liked to ram.
“I didn’t say that, I just… Ah shit…” Avery couldn’t even remember exactly what he had been trying to say. He didn’t care. He just held onto the sculpture for support as he accepted every inch of Thickman’s incredible cock.
His prostate sang with every thrust of Thickman’s hips. Once he got into it, Thickman thrusted with all his might, making Avery howl and scream. At first Avery tried to be quiet, but then he realized this entire basement was devoid of people, so he could be as loud as he wanted. He moaned out loud, the sound echoing in the industrial arts basement.
Thickman rammed into him hard, like it really took every muscle in his body to do it the way he wanted. He kept his workpants and wifebeater on the whole time. His balls slapped against the back of Avery’s ass, sending wave after wave of pleasure through his body.
But he wouldn’t let Avery know how good this felt. He tried to make it feel like he was doing a favor for Avery, grinding within him, finding his spongy prostate and ramming into it over and over. But Thickman couldn’t help but moan a little himself, his deep voice carrying and echoing through the empty space.
Finally he was done, and he let out a loud grunt as he smacked Avery’s cheeks, making them ripple around his cockshaft. He tightened the chokehold around Avery’s neck, just enough to make him struggle and clench Thickman’s manhood.
“Take it, almost done, don’t worry, I’s almost done, you got it, you got it, baby, you doin’ great,” Thickman said into Avery’s ear as he squirmed beneath his powerful body. The sculpture rattled beneath Avery.
Just as the first wad of cum hit Avery’s insides, Thickman snarled and grabbed his hands. He pulled Avery off the sculpture, and for a moment, Avery was falling — he had nothing to support himself on but Thickman’s arm wrapped around his neck. Avery gripped Thickman’s sweat-soaked bicep and squealed.
Cum sprayed into him. Avery had been jacking himself off until this moment, but now he panicked and let go of himself to claw at Thickman’s arm. Thickman’s dick felt so good inside him that it didn’t even matter, and Avery orgasmed anyway.
“Oh shit-“
“Ssssssshush, shut up, boy, I’m nuttin’ in ya. Don’t move.” Thickman gurgled throatily into Avery’s ear. Avery struggled to breathe and to remain upright, even though he could tell Thickman had a firm grip on him — Avery’s mind kept panicking, sure he would fall flat on his face any moment now.
But instead he just shot his own wad onto the floor, some of it hitting the sculpture, while he took the biggest load of his life in his ass. It was creamy and hot, seeping through his flesh and sinking into him. Thickman moaned right into Avery’s ear, deafeningly loud and raspy, a little moist because Thickman let out a few drops of drool too, wetting Avery’s face.
Finally he was done, and Thickman put Avery down on the floor. His dick popped out. Avery sighed. Thickman grunted and wiped sweat off his forehead. He waddled to his desk with his dick still jutting straight out through the fly of his workjeans. He wordlessly wiped his cock off with a clean rag.
“You good?” Thickman asked. He tucked his cock away in his jeans, then straightened up his wifebeater. It had been sweaty even before he started today, but now it was like a wet rag again. He knew he needed to bring a new one in so he wasn’t wearing this every day. Some of his students were beginning to make fun of him for smelling bad. And Avery’s comment about needing more deodorant had gotten to him.
But Avery never responded. Thickman chuckled. Sometimes, when he cornholed males, they were too overwhelmed by his massive dick to do anything afterwards but experience the majesty of it. Thickman went over to Avery, who was bent over in front of the sculpture.
“You okay, boy?”
Avery nodded. “I was just… I like your sculpture,” he said. “I can’t really think of why. But it’s very… well, not pretty, but it has a certain, I dunno, elegance to it. All of the joints are different.”
“Yeah.”
Now that he wasn’t getting cornholed, Avery could take a closer look at the sculpture. It was intensely complex, with different kinds of welded joints combining each piece of steel. Some of the steel was more polished than other steel. There was a pattern to it, something consistent in the seemingly haphazard collection of steel beams and rods.
It was a chaotic panoply of monochrome — all black — yet it seemed somehow more vibrant than it had any right to be. It was sturdy like a tool, solid like its sculptor, with a bewildering firmness like a mountain. But it had wiggled when Avery leaned on it, and now it gently swayed in the delicate breeze from the far-off industrial fan that kept this basement cool. It was a plow at heart — an old design, an ancient and functional workhorse that looked already as though it had been used in the fields — but it had the looping whorls, looming grandeur and shimmery sheen of modern space-age materials. Its curves echoed of timelessness, the past and the future leading together into a present that made this very moment feel like a lifetime.
Avery couldn’t look away from it, not until he smelled Professor Thickman’s nasty wifebeater coming closer to him. Then Avery looked up and smiled. “I like your sculpture.”
Thickman grunted. He didn’t take compliments well, especially about something like that. “Fine.” After a long pause, he stroked his mustache and said, “Cool. Thanks.” He added, “If Rayshawn calls you again, I will beat his ass.”
“Sounds hot. Can I watch?”
“I ain’t mean it like that,” Thickman said, his dour voice concealing the smile underneath his mustache.
“I know.” Avery stood. He hugged Thickman around the belly and nuzzled his stinky wifebeater. “Thanks for that. How about the next time Rayshawn calls me, I’ll come over to your place? I’ll make your apartment less sad, then you can stick me. I’ll tell Rayshawn to jack off and do his homework. No promises after that, I might hook up with Rayshawn later. But next time, I’ll give you another chance.”
“Okay.” He wiped his cock off with a paper towel.
Avery smiled and walked away. “I’ll see you soon,” he said.

(continue to Chapter Two)

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