Masseurs Gone Wild: The Wrestling Champions

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Gone Wild: The Wrestling Champions, a brand-new tale by Happiest Ending and the conclusion to the Masseurs Gone Wild series!

 

When Mansur dragged Ethan’s hand to his cock, he growled and snorted like he didn’t like it, even though he was the one who did it. He closed his eyes. Ethan wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to jack Mansur off. That seemed right, except that Mansur had a face like he didn’t want it.
He had also implied he wouldn’t allow that, back when he first showed up for his massage. Ethan was the only male masseur at the Tophaul Massage Parlor, so he sometimes got clients who were annoyed they didn’t have a woman. Mansur was such a client.
He scowled when he came in, and looked back out in the hall.

“Where is the Chinese woman?” he asked with a crude, British-inflected voice.
“She’s with another client,” Ethan said. He motioned for him to get up on the table.
Mansur was a thick-bodied, barrel-chested Turkish man. He had a hairy torso and a dense beard, and he wore a fez above a Turkish men’s suit. He didn’t look like he was used to dressing in nice clothes. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in them as he came into the room. People didn’t usually dress so formally at a massage parlor.
“I do not want to do anything gay,” Mansur said with a sneer.
“Oh. Okay.”
“I am here for the tournament,” he said. “My coach has warned me of America. There is too much gay here.”
“I see,” Ethan said. He had already guessed that Mansur was here for the tournament. This city was home to the International Wrestling Tournament right now, so the streets were crawling with hot muscle-bound foreigners. Ethan was excited to think he was starting to get them in his massage parlor.
He was disappointed, however, that Mansur did not want a happy ending. He awkwardly stood there and waited while Mansur took off his clothes. He quietly removed everything — most men needed encouragement to take off their clothes in front of Ethan, but Mansur didn’t seem to care. He folded his jacket, shirt, pants, and even his tie and socks. His folding was awkward though, like he had little experience with it but knew he was supposed to do it.
When he dropped his briefs (hairy men in tight briefs were so sexy Ethan thought, trying not to be obvious as he checked out Mansur’s package), Mansur hopped up onto the massage table. He had a massive, uncut cock that flopped against his thigh.
Again, that was unusual. The vast majority of American men were reluctant to get naked and then when they did, covered their crotches. When they got up on the table, they laid on their belly to cover up their cock and balls, and because it was generally assumed that massages would be focused on the back and shoulders.
But Mansur apparently expected Ethan to work on his chest. Ethan used warming, scented oil, and Mansur groaned as Ethan began to knead his flesh.

Twink on Top: The Male Cheerleader

Here is the beginning of Twink on Top: The Male Cheerleader, a hot new tale in the Twink on Top series!

Charlie was insulted when he found out the girls just assumed he wanted to suck off every football player on the team. It was an accurate guess on their part, but they had no reason to think that except a general stereotype of slutty gay men. So Charlie really wanted to decline the plan they had come up with.
He didn’t decline it, but he wanted them to think he might.
The cheerleading squad consisted of fourteen girls and Charlie. They were best friends, and the girls were almost as slutty as Charlie. That was half the reason he had joined the cheerleading squad. He figured he’d be surrounded by sexy straight guys all the time.
That prediction was proven correct, but it was less satisfactory than it seemed. At first Charlie was overjoyed to watch the cheerleaders take turns sucking off Malik, the quarterback, but soon it became old hat. He watched them take turns “reverse-gangbanging” every guy on the team, or almost every guy. Not every cheerleader participated, but most of them did. They thought it was hilarious; they tried to make it like those interracial gangbang porn, with lots of trash-talking and awkward-looking positions, but with lots of girls and one man.
One of the few players they didn’t think was sexy was Gaspack. He was a linebacker, and like most linebackers, he was huge.
He wasn’t fat, but he hardly had a perfect body either. He was one of those men who was too muscular to have a six-pack. His belly jutted out with the sheer power of his oversized frame. He had an ass that just didn’t quit — too plump to be a “bubble-butt” but plenty round and thick and inviting. Charlie just wanted to spend hours covering it in whipped cream and licking it off.
They called him Gaspack because he supposedly used to light his farts on fire back in high school. Charlie thought that was gross and nonsensical and kinda cute. Gaspack was goofy, with a big round face, a perpetually uncombed shock of thick black hair, and an awkward sprinkling of tufts of hair over his strapping chest.
At a giggley late-night drinking session on Saturday, Charlie and the girls had rated the members of the football team. The discrepancy over Gaspack’s ranking was tremendous — Charlie rated him rather highly, while the girls uniformly put him on the bottom of the list.
That was what had sparked the girls to come up with this plan, which Charlie had agreed to because it was hot even if he also found it insulting.
“Hey, so we’re having a sauna, Gaspack, and you can come in if you want…” said Suzie, the head cheerleader.
Gaspack’s eyes opened wide. Everyone else in the locker room fell silent. They usually did when one of the girls came in. Gaspack had never been invited into the sauna with the cheerleaders before.
He grinned like a goofy bastard, and he even did a little dance there in front of Suzie. That made his jockstrap bounce, and his pecs shake. Suzie squealed a little, disgusted because of his big caveman-like face leering at her. She blushed.

Masseurs Gone Wild: The College Locker Room

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Gone Wild: The College Locker Room, a hot new story by Happiest Ending!

 

“Oh shit, lemme tell Jeremy my dick got hard- Hang on.” Donald got up and poked his head out the door. He yelled, “Hey, Jeremy, you were wrong! Hey! You are a fucking idiot, man, I told you I can get hard for anything.”
Jeremy shouted something back. Ethan couldn’t hear what it was, but it made Donald guffaw, his thick body shaking as he did. Donald was a little ruddy right now, his rock-hard dick jutting out between his legs. He smiled at Ethan.
“Sorry, sorry, that’s my friend Jeremy. He’s a prickhole.” Donald knew that Ethan already knew Jeremy, he was just explaining because he forgot that fact. It was Jeremy who had urged Donald to come get a massage because Jeremy frequently did so.
“Sure, that’s fine. Just lay down, Donald. You have to stay still,” Ethan said.
Donald sheepishly laid back down on his belly on the table. He had such a perfectly thick ass that Ethan had to resist the urge to suck all the sweat off him. Donald was a rugby player for GHU, and Ethan was a masseur for the athletic department. He kneaded the flesh of Donald’s muscles. Donald closed his eyes, but he didn’t look particularly relaxed — he looked bored, like he was only doing this because someone had told him he should.
“Hey, do you massage girls too?”
“Yes,” Ethan said.
“Do you ever massage Katie Marleywine?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about other clients. What team is she on?”
“Oh, she doesn’t play any sports.”
Ethan sighed. “I work for the athletic department, Donald. If she’s not on a team, I can’t massage her.”
“But she’s like, superhot. If you were at a party, you’d offer to massage her. She’s so hot. She’s got tits that are like… amazing.” He thought for a long time but struggled to come up with any words to describe how awesome her tits were.
Ethan was shocked that Donald didn’t know he was gay. Ethan was slim, flamboyant, feminine. He normally never bothered to come out of the closet because it was obvious to everyone that he was gay.
In actuality, Ethan should have been even more shocked — Donald knew very well that Ethan was gay, he had simply forgotten. Donald’s friend Jeremy had urged him to come get a massage because it would lead to a happy ending, and Jeremy thought it would be hilarious if Donald got a handjob from a man. His teammates frequently dared each other to come let Ethan give them rimjobs (they had no reason to think Ethan would do so, they just thought the idea was funny). Donald had discussed Ethan being gay on several occasions, so there was no way he didn’t know.
But at the moment, Donald was thinking about girls. He had Katie Marleywine on the mind, and so it didn’t occur to him that Ethan was gay. How could anyone, he thought, not think Katie Marleywine was the most beautiful girl ever?
That was why his cock get hard. The more he thought about her, the harder his dick got, until it was sticking straight up and throbbing. Donald blushed.
“Donald, it’s okay-“
Donald sat up and looked at his dick. He smiled — he had no embarrassment. “Sorry, I get hard sometimes.” He got up again. “I’m-a go slap Jeremy in the face with it. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait-“

The Ogre Stud and the Motor in the Mud

Here’s the beginning of The Ogre Stud and the Motor in the Mud, a brand-new short story by Cassandra Flicker!

 

Lisa loved her new house. She had always wanted to live in an old-fashioned little farmhouse, and now she did. It was rickety and drafty and a little spooky at first, but it was everything she hoped it would be.
The land, however, was less appealing. The reason she could buy this land for a steal was that it simply wasn’t very good land — it had been farmed, briefly, but the family gave up decades ago. That’s why the farmhouse had been abandoned.
She went out one day to meet a local with a truck, whom she had hired to come help her. There was a large mud pit on her property, about a half-mile from her house. It was located where a couple of hills met, and it was down in the valley between them all. It looked like it would be perpetually muddy. If there was just a little more rain around here, it would have been a pond.
And there was an engine in it. An entire engine block, as though a car had vomited up its innards then crawled somewhere else to die. It was covered in inky black mud and moss.
So she had hired a local with a truck to pull it out. His name was Frederick, and he spoke like Boomhauer but he was very nice. He wasn’t helpful though. “I can’t get my truck in the mud there, miss, you gonna need a tow truck.”
She sighed and thanked him for trying. She even paid him twenty dollars, which was half of what she had offered to pay him. It felt like a rip-off since he hadn’t actually done anything, but she didn’t want to get a reputation as a skinflint among her new neighbors.
So now what to do? She had a feeling hiring a tow truck to come out here was going to cost hundreds of dollars. She could just leave the engine. It wasn’t hurting anything.
She decided to go to her neighbor, Dwayne. He was a bit weird, very intense and off-putting, so she didn’t really want to talk to him. But he was her only neighbor, and he had a small, successful beet farm. She thought he might know how to get the engine out, or at least he could satisfy her curiosity about why it was there.
“The engine? Oh yes, Martin Huffenpatter was drifting in the mud, doing donuts. He had done a lot of mods on his truck, making it purr like a kitten, and he spent a lot of time making sure the engine worked. He spent very little time making sure it was adequately secured within the body of the car in which it didn’t fit.” He leered and laughed. “As soon as he finished his run, he got out of the car, slammed the door and all of the car’s insides plopped right out in the mud.” Dwayne frowned, disappointed that she didn’t find the story as amusing as he did.
“Oh. I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas on how to get rid of it.”
“I could do it. I’ll get rid of it for a thousand dollars,” he said with a grin.
“Um… Lemme think about it,” she said. She was about to ask if he had a tow truck — maybe she could just rent it from him and do it herself — when he snapped at someone in the house behind himself.
“Hush, Elijah,” he said. He looked to Lisa. “Sorry, that’s my brother. He’s an ogre.”
“Oh. I, uh… Okay.”
She left soon after that. It was clear neither Dwight nor his weird brother, whom she didn’t even know existed until just now, could help her. Dwight didn’t have a tow truck. Apparently his plan, in its entirety, was to take her money and hire a tow truck himself. She could just do that directly.
Overnight, Lisa had an idea that she was pretty sure was stupid. She could, maybe, slide the engine block onto planks of wood that could be slid over the mud, like skis. She had no idea how feasible that was, but it seemed like the kind of thing that might work.
So on her morning jog, Lisa went to the mud pit just to see what it looked like again, with that plan in mind. Could she lift the engine block just a few millimeters to start wedging it under a piece of wood?
But she was distracted when she came near the mud pit because she saw a man standing there. He towered high, well over seven feet tall, and broad-shouldered like a bull. He had a thick, squat face that wasn’t exactly handsome — his features were squashed and thick and bulgey like his muscles — but there was something about him that was appealing too.
He had the engine block in his hands, dragging it through the mud. He glanced in her direction but didn’t acknowledge her. Finally he had the engine block out of the mud, laying on the side of the road. His shirtless frame was sticky with sweat and splattered with mud.
“Hello.” He had one of those ultra-deep voices, so baritone it hurt to listen to it.
Lisa blushed. “Hi.” She cleared her throat. “Uh, did you really just drag that engine block?” She would never have guessed that was possible. Even the strongest man in the world couldn’t do that, she thought.
He nodded and looked at her for a long time. “You are a very pretty lady. I will not eat you.”
“Oh.” Lisa had to blush and giggle because she was so nervous. “I, uh… I won’t eat you either.”

Masseurs Most Macho: The Handsy Coach

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Most Macho: The Handsy Coach, a new story by Happiest Ending!

“Oh shit, lemme tell Jeremy my dick got hard- Hang on.” Donald got up and poked his head out the door. He yelled, “Hey, Jeremy, you were wrong! Hey! You are a fucking idiot, man, I told you I can get hard for anything.”

Jeremy shouted something back. Ethan couldn’t hear what it was, but it made Donald guffaw, his thick body shaking as he did. Donald was a little ruddy right now, his rock-hard dick jutting out between his legs. He smiled at Ethan.

“Sorry, sorry, that’s my friend Jeremy. He’s a prickhole.” Donald knew that Ethan already knew Jeremy, he was just explaining because he forgot that fact. It was Jeremy who had urged Donald to come get a massage because Jeremy frequently did so.

“Sure, that’s fine. Just lay down, Donald. You have to stay still,” Ethan said.

Donald sheepishly laid back down on his belly on the table. He had such a perfectly thick ass that Ethan had to resist the urge to suck all the sweat off him. Donald was a rugby player for GHU, and Ethan was a masseur for the athletic department. He kneaded the flesh of Donald’s muscles. Donald closed his eyes, but he didn’t look particularly relaxed — he looked bored, like he was only doing this because someone had told him he should.

“Hey, do you massage girls too?”

“Yes,” Ethan said.

“Do you ever massage Katie Marleywine?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about other clients. What team is she on?”

“Oh, she doesn’t play any sports.”

Ethan sighed. “I work for the athletic department, Donald. If she’s not on a team, I can’t massage her.”

“But she’s like, superhot. If you were at a party, you’d offer to massage her. She’s so hot. She’s got tits that are like… amazing.” He thought for a long time but struggled to come up with any words to describe how awesome her tits were.

Ethan was shocked that Donald didn’t know he was gay. Ethan was slim, flamboyant, feminine. He normally never bothered to come out of the closet because it was obvious to everyone that he was gay.

In actuality, Ethan should have been even more shocked — Donald knew very well that Ethan was gay, he had simply forgotten. Donald’s friend Jeremy had urged him to come get a massage because it would lead to a happy ending, and Jeremy thought it would be hilarious if Donald got a handjob from a man. His teammates frequently dared each other to come let Ethan give them rimjobs (they had no reason to think Ethan would do so, they just thought the idea was funny). Donald had discussed Ethan being gay on several occasions, so there was no way he didn’t know.

But at the moment, Donald was thinking about girls. He had Katie Marleywine on the mind, and so it didn’t occur to him that Ethan was gay. How could anyone, he thought, not think Katie Marleywine was the most beautiful girl ever?

That was why his cock get hard. The more he thought about her, the harder his dick got, until it was sticking straight up and throbbing. Donald blushed.

“Donald, it’s okay-“

Donald sat up and looked at his dick. He smiled — he had no embarrassment. “Sorry, I get hard sometimes.” He got up again. “I’m-a go slap Jeremy in the face with it. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait-“

He went out into the locker room, cock jutting right out from his crotch. A torrent of shouts and baritone laughter filled the air. Someone screamed, and there was a loud bang like something heavy had fallen to the ground.

“Shit, get your dick off me, Donald!” Whoever it was, it wasn’t Jeremy. Ethan got the impression Donald had fallen on top of someone. He hadn’t slapped anyone in the face with his dick.

Donald came back, grinning. “He got away from me.”

“Donald, I don’t have time for you to put the massage on hold,” Ethan said. “Lay down-“

“Are you gonna jack me off?” Donald asked. He sat on the table and looked at his dick. He gave it one stroke and smiled at Ethan. “You can. Jeremy said it isn’t gay. He said it doesn’t count during a massage.”

“Oh. Is Jeremy in charge of that?”

“Yeah,” Donald said. He sounded totally serious, like Ethan should have known that already.

“Well… Yeah, okay,” Ethan said. Normally he said no to any athlete that asked for a handjob — Ethan did it if he thought they deserved it, but he said no when asked.

Until now. He sighed and grabbed Donald’s dick, which was thick and veiny. Donald closed his eyes and sighed as soon as he did, and his cock throbbed in Ethan’s grip.

“Hey do gay guys jack off?” Donald asked.

Ethan was focused on stroking Donald’s dick, so his question didn’t quite sink in at first. Then he assumed he misunderstood. He kept stroking, and Donald’s dick throbbed as though he enjoyed it, though Donald kept talking as though he didn’t notice.

“I mean do they jack themselves off? You? Do you jack yourself off?”

“What? Donald… I’m not-…” Ethan sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been known to masturbate from time to time.”

Donald blushed. “Really? It seems like, you could just jack each other off. Like other gay guys.”

“Who?”

“Whoever, I mean-“

“So just go out and meet some gay guys so we can jack each other off?”

“Yeah.”

“That just sounds like dating, but with more jacking off.”

Donald thought for a long time, then he nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. I just think, y’know, if you like dick, why touch your own?”

“Yeah… That’s… Sure, okay, Donald.”

“Or maybe it would make more sense to never touch anyone else’s dick. After all, if you can fuck yourself, you’d never need to go out. If girls could fuck themselves, they’d never go out on dates.”

“Dildos.”

“What?”

“Girls have dildos,” Ethan said. He sighed because Donald looked like he didn’t understand. Ethan rolled his eyes. “Girls use dildos, Donald. They can fuck themselves with dildos. How am I the one educating you about vaginas?”

“Yeah, but dildos are cold.”

“What?”

“If I were a girl, I wouldn’t use dildos because they’re cold. That must feel bad, I wouldn’t want to put something cold in my pussy,” he said, giggling and blushing. He stretched his muscles like he was on the verge of falling asleep.

“I don’t think… They’re not…” Ethan had to admit that sounded reasonable. Women didn’t warm dildos up, did they? They’re usually stored under the bed, Ethan thought, that’s not cold. It sounded ridiculous but Ethan couldn’t think of a reason why. “Look, Donald, if you want me to jack you off, you have to stop talking about vaginas.”

“Oh. Sorry. What am I supposed to talk about?”

Ethan had to laugh. “Donald, I’m jacking you off — stop talking. You’re not supposed to talk.” He stopped masturbating Donald’s dick, thinking Donald wouldn’t even notice because he wasn’t paying attention. But then Donald did notice, and he frowned. Ethan said, “Do you really wanna make small-talk while I jack you off?”

Donald shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Ethan felt a little bad. Donald had such an expressive face that, when he looked wounded, Ethan felt like he had kicked a puppy.

Str8 Till Dark: Closetmates

Here’s the beginning of Str8 Till Dark: Closetmates, the long-awaited rebirth of the Str8 Till Dark series!

The storage closet was dim and dark. Raisin hurried in, then tried to switch the light on. The door shut as he flicked the switch. The light didn’t turn on. The closet remained pitch-black.
“Damn it,” he muttered to himself. He grabbed for the doorknob to reopen the door — just enough to get some light in so he could see.
But the door swung open before he could, and Officer Martin walked in, quickly, quietly shutting the door behind himself as though he didn’t want anyone to see him come in here. Raisin caught a whiff of his cologne and had to hold back a moan.
That’s because Officer Martin was sexy, and Raisin had had a crush on him ever since coming to the Peoria Jailhouse. The worst thing about prison, Raisin thought, was the sex.
That was the part he had been looking forward to. As a slim gay man with a feminine personality, Raisin had always fantasized about being bent over by some hulking alpha male cellmate or a stern uniformed guard. That part, he had hoped, should have been fun.
But as it turned out, jail was different from prison, and in jail — or at least in this one — the average inmate was sixty-four, sickly, fat and possessing a cock like a mosquito bite. Raisin was not into it. The one genuinely hot guy he got to share a cell with at all was a male stripper (a bit of a prettyboy, but Raisin wasn’t going to complain) who was straight but also literally piss-drunk. Raisin wasn’t into molesting unconscious prettyboys who stank of urine.
He hadn’t actually had sex since getting arrested. The closest he came was fantasizing about Officer Martin.
That’s because Martin was a thick-limbed amateur bodybuilder, with a craggy face, square jaw and an ungodly sexy accent like a Bronx cabbie. He was short, about Raisin’s height, and he had a harsh voice like he gargled with cigarette butts.
“Yo, hey man, hey,” Officer Martin said, whispering.
The jailhouse was quiet. Martin was the only officer on-duty right now, though the kitchen staff was in the other room cleaning up for the night. Raisin wasn’t in his cell because he was a prefect now; that meant he was allowed out to work during the day and evening. He worked in the jailhouse itself, mopping floors and doing whatever other tasks the cops asked.
It was Officer Martin who had asked him to come into this walk-in closet to get a box of breathalyzer tubes. As always, when that gravel-coated voice filled Raisin’s ears, Raisin giggled, blushed and gazed into Officer Martin’s dark eyes.
“Yo, hey,” Officer Martin said. He pursed his lips. His gravelly voice was nervous and wavering, and it filled the air, resonating in the walk-in closet.
“Hey. The light isn’t working. I think the breathalyzer tubes are over here. But the lightbulbs — if you just open the door a crack-“ Raisin blushed, not that anyone could see it. It was obvious Officer Martin wanted to talk to him, probably to ask if Raisin knew who was smuggling weed into the jail. Raisin did know, but he wasn’t about to say.
“I know. The light ain’t workin’ cuz I took the bulb out,” Martin said. “Shush, boi.” He wrapped his powerful arms around Raisin, whose heart fluttered, then picked him up to switch positions with him. That placed Raisin right next to the door.
“Oh. Martin…” Raisin was confused, a bit scared, and a whole lot aroused because he finally got to touch the only sexy man he had seen for the last three months.
“I put ya next to the door, on account of so you can leave,” Martin said. He whispered, but he had such a deep, potent voice that it wasn’t very quiet. No one was around anyway — it was after five, so all the cops save Martin were gone. There were only four inmates right now, so there was only a need for one officer at night.
“Oh…” Raisin’s dick rocketed to attention. He was already imagining getting fucked by Martin’s massive bodybuilder frame, but the intellectual part of his mind assumed that wasn’t it. He presumably had something else to ask. Raisin was just too horny to think of any other reason to go through all this.

MM Thugs Downlow

There’s a freebie giveaway going on for a book called MM Thugs Downlow over at Instafreebie! This is the same story as Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit, so don’t download it if you’ve read that one (you almost certainly haven’t, I goofed that book’s rollout a long time ago, almost no one has ever read it).

Walter was nervous about starting his new job for two reasons. First of all, he was beginning work as a barber, having just earned his cosmetology license. The second reason was that he was a gay man working at the City Barbershop, a chain that had an unofficial reputation as a spot where straight men could get some no-questions action from a gay man. Traditionally speaking, what happened there didn’t count, and no one was allowed to talk about it outside of the shop.

Since Walter was gay, it would undoubtedly be assumed that he was going to service these straight men. He absolutely wasn’t opposed to it — he loved str8 cock, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. He was excited. But it was still a nerve-wracking experience. He didn’t know how the other barbers would react to him, how violent the neighborhood was, or even how many guys might expect his services in a given day (either haircutting or cocksucking services, he didn’t know).

His first couple clients, however, were children — his first day was the last day of summer break, so there were a lot of children getting gussied up for school. It wasn’t until near closing-time that the first even remotely plausible conquest showed up.

His name was Dwayne. It seemed everyone in the shop knew him. (Yo, wuz crackin’, Dwayne?) He was tall and lanky, though not exactly skinny — he had long limbs and ropy muscles, inked with tattoos. He had a wild and untamed fro when before his haircut.

“You new, huh?” he asked with a nod once Walter got started. Walter nodded. He lowered his voice. “You queer, right?” Walter nodded to that too. Dwayne frowned and looked down.

(Yuh, nigga…)

Did he just grab his dick? Walter wasn’t sure. It looked like he might have, beneath the barber’s chair apron. Walter didn’t want to make an unwelcome pass at someone, especially a mean-looking thug like Dwayne. He glowered at Walter as though mad the haircut wasn’t already complete.

“So what’s back there, huh?” He nodded towards the door to the backroom. “Bathrooms and shit?”

“Uh, yeah… Yeah, bathrooms… Or one bathroom, I mean.” Walter said. He smiled as he brought the mirror up so Dwayne could see the back of his head. His afro was now very short, but at least it was even. He nodded with satisfaction.

“That it?”

“Uh… I mean, there’s storage back there, I think.”

Dwayne chuckled. There was some scattered laughter from elsewhere in the shop. “Damn, nigga, you need to pick up on some goddamn hints,” Dwayne said, loud enough that everyone could hear. They all laughed. Dwayne stood up and took his apron off. Then he spoke as though making a grand announcement, “I would like you to suck my cock now, in the back room. Damn… I try to be discrete and shit, fuck!” He stalked off towards the backroom before even waiting for Walter to agree.

Laughter filled the shop. Walter blushed, but followed Dwayne, entranced by the swaggerous lean to his step. Dwayne shook his head — it seemed he would have preferred to not make a scene about this, but now everyone was watching him go back there.

As soon as he shut the door behind himself, Dwayne frowned at Walter. “You gonna eat my nut, right? I don’t like it when bitches spit it out. That’s disrespec’ful.”

“I would never spit it out,” Walter said. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue over his lips, which made Dwayne shudder in anticipation.

“Good. Git on your knees, bitch,” he said with a leer. “Get busy.”

Walter did so. He could hear laughter out in the main part of the shop — it sounded like they were teasing Dwayne, presumably thinking their words would carry. But all Walter heard was a jumble of laughter and murmuring.

As Walter had suspected would happen, Dwayne didn’t drop his pants. He just let his cock flop out the fly of his sagging jeans. A lot of gangstas didn’t take their clothes off for a man (and not even for most women) so that they could still run away if they needed to — or so they said, Walter had long suspected a lot of them were embarrassed of their chicken legs, since they only ever worked out their glamour muscles.

The tip of Dwayne’s cock pulsated in Walter’s mouth. Walter knew exactly how to get Dwayne to fuck the way Walter wanted to fuck, and he started by just sucking on the tip — frustrating him by not deep-throating would get Dwayne excited about fucking Walter’s throat. He gripped Dwayne’s thighs through his jeans.

Gradually, Dwayne began flexing his hips to hump Walter’s mouth. “Come on, nigga, suck on it, don’t just play wit’ it,” Dwayne said over and over. At last he got the hint that he would need to fuck Walter’s throat — exactly what Walter wanted all along.

That was what it took for his cock to stiffen up the rest of the way, until it was an iron rod jamming right down his throat. Walter choked up a mountain of spit that dripped down Dwayne’s shaft — he knew from personal experience that thugs like Dwayne enjoyed lots of spit and gagging. They liked to know that sucking their cock was difficult.

And it was difficult — it was also sexy and delicious and Walter loved every bit of it, but it did have a sour, sweaty flavor, and it made him gag every time Dwayne daggered himself into Walter’s throat.

His phone rang. Dwayne wrinkled his nose, annoyed, and he almost didn’t answer it. After a few rings, however, he did. “Yo, what?” He sounded angry at being interrupted.

Walter heard laughter again from the main part of the shop, braying guffaws of embarrassment being covered up with cockiness. Someone from the shop was calling Dwayne, he realized, though he couldn’t hear the voice.

“Yeah, nigga. You know what I’m doin’. Shut the fuck up. I know you done it too, nigga. Don’t you lie to me! Last Christmas, motherfucker, at yo’ momma’s party. That Latin gayboy took you in- Don’t gimme that shit, you ain’t just smoke a bowl wit’ him. You ain’t in the habit of smokin’ bowls with strange queers, nigga, and you told me right afterward he sucked yo’ balls dry.”

Everyone in the barbershop cheered. Walter was distracted by the powerful flavor of precum coating his tongue, but he got the impression the phone in the shop was on speaker, so everyone heard what Dwayne said. The person who dialed must have been embarrassed. Whoever it was — maybe Roc, Walter guessed from the voice — then said something else, something more serious.

“Don’t you be talkin’ ‘bout that shit on speakerphone, nigga,” Dwayne said. “If you want somethin’, you know what corner to holla at.” Then he hung up the phone without waiting for another reply. He scoffed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Fuckin’ foolish-ass niggas…”

He moaned then, and grabbed Walter’s head so he could hump it more effectively. His whole body spasmed as he reached orgasm, his balls pulsating where they rested against Walter’s chin.

Oh damn, I hear that shit, nigga be done now! You tastin’ that nut, huh?

A burst of creamy cum wrapped around Walter’s tongue, as he savored every drop of juice dripping down his gullet. Dwayne’s muscles flexed all at once, and he grunted loud enough that the men in the other room cheered.

“Ah, damn,” Dwayne muttered. He pulled his pants up, speaking loud to be heard over the cheers. “You suck like a fuckin’ champion, nigga.” Then he eyed Walter suspiciously. “Sorry, I gonna tell them you ain’t that good. I gonna say you pretty good for a faggot.” He looked genuinely apologetic for a moment.

“That’s okay,” Walter said as Dwayne walked towards the door. He wiped cum off his chin, his eyes drawn to Dwayne’s plump ass in his sagging jeans and revealed boxers. Walter made a kissy-face at Dwayne before he walked out the door. “I plan on proving myself to every single nigga in that room.”

The Honky in the City Barbershop

Here’s the latest urban MM fiction from Calvin Freeman! It’s called The Honky in the City Barbershop and it completes the all-interracial urban hot trilogy The City Barbershop of Providence, Rhode Island!

 

Ryan knew working at a City Barbershop would be difficult. He didn’t fit in here. The City Barbershop was for black men to get their hair cut. It was an unspoken rule as rigid as any law. There was a different barbershop right down the street, a well-lit place where the barbers were Italian. That was where white people went.

But they weren’t hiring, and Ryan needed a job now. He had applied thinking it wouldn’t go anywhere, but now here he was, starting his first day at a City Barbershop.

He thought this particular location would be a pretty good one for a white guy to work at. That’s because there were, until recently, two non-white barbers here — one of them was Asian, the other Native American. They were both gone now.

So Ryan was the only non-black person there. He was also the only gay man in the barbershop. That wasn’t normal either. City Barbershops had a reputation as a place where black men could go to swing downlow. Whatever happened here, stayed here. Ryan found that part of his new job pretty exciting.

But not a single person wanted a blowjob on his first day. He was almost totally ignored, except for the suspicious glances. He only cut two people’s hair that first day. He barely made a dime in tips.

It wasn’t until his second day, near the end of the day, before he had a real conversation with anyone there. Ryan sat in his chair playing on his cell phone. He had resigned himself to not getting any more clients today, since it was only a few minutes before closing time. He had deliberately made his workstation messy because he thought it would be embarrassing if he was ready to go literally the moment the clock ticked over.

Four minutes before close, a thug named Deon sauntered in. He was a grizzled, deep-dimpled drug dealer who came in with a dour expression on his face. Ryan stood up and smiled at him.

“Hello, I can take you in my chair if you-?”

Deon scoffed. “What?”

“Uh-“

“You a barber here?”

Ryan nodded.

Deon scoffed again. “What? They hire white guys now?” He laughed a little to himself. “Nah, whiteman. I do not want a haircut. I don’t let white folk touch my hair. I ain’t here for a haircut anyway.” He made eye contact with one of the other barbers, Wilson, who nodded at him. They went into the backroom,

At first Ryan wondered if he was being upstaged — were they having sex? It was normal for gay men to take straight clients like Deon into the back to suck them off. But Wilson wasn’t gay, was he? He certainly hadn’t come across as gay.

They came back upfront after only two minutes, which was quicker than Ryan thought plausible. It was only when Wilson walked past Ryan’s chair and he got a fruity whiff of marijuana that Ryan realized what this was — it wasn’t sex, it was a drug deal.

“Thanks, nigga,” Wilson said.

Deon snorted. “I-“ He stopped because the front door opened and the owner, Mr. Wiltshire, strode in. Deon stopped short. Mr. Wiltshire glared at him.

“Deon.” Mr. Wiltshire grunted. He was stern, strict, no-nonsense. It was clear he disliked Deon and seemed to be aware of why he had come here. Deon had cornrows, so he couldn’t pretend he had come in for a haircut. Mr. Wiltshire stared him down. “I know you didn’t come in here to sling drugs, Deon.”

“No, I ain’t.”

Mr. Wiltshire looked from barber to barber. They all avoided eye contact with him. Wilson cleaned up his station, looking away from Mr. Wiltshire.

“So why did you come in here?”

Deon smiled and touched his hair on his scalp. “Oh, you know…” He sniffled. “I was just…”

“He wanted to try out the new boy’s mouth,” Wilson said with a mischievous grin, aimed at Deon. Deon shot him an annoyed look.

“Oh? Is that true, Deon?”

Deon nodded. “Yep. I just…” He rolled his eyes like he didn’t want to say anything else, but then he added, “y’know… I like fuckin’, y’know… I like gettin’ head from gays.”

Mr. Wiltshire looked dubious. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well…?”

“Fine.” Deon snarled. He grabbed Ryan by the wrist and virtually dragged him into the backroom. Ryan stumbled after him. This had all happened so fast, and Ryan didn’t know the people very well, that he only realized what was going on when he got to the back room. Once the door slammed shut behind him, Deon feinted as though he was going to knock the door down and attack Mr. Wiltshire on the other side. “He’s such a cock, man. You wanna suck my dick for real?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ryan said. He was confused, but he couldn’t lie about his desire to give him a blowjob — Deon was plenty sexy and dripping with swagger. Ryan wanted him very badly. He sunk to his knees.

First-Time Jocks in the Dorm

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Dorm, a new story by Happiest Ending! It’s full of outrageous interracial action!

Meathead made no effort to hide the fact that he was jacking off. Almost as soon as the lights went off, Meathead took his dick in hand. He had porn magazines — actual magazines, as though this was the nineties — stashed under his mattress. Greg was too embarrassed to even say that he was awake.

Greg rather liked it better when Eduardo — or “Meathead” — was always gone. Greg had been terrified when Meathead showed up to the dorm in September. He had been a huge, hulking brute, like the bullies who had teased Greg back in high school but somehow even bigger and hairier though he was barely older than those bullies had been. He didn’t look like a college freshman.

Greg was no weakling anymore either, but Meathead made him feel like that ninth-grade loser all over again. Greg was on the golf team, so he was a jock too — he even had an athletic scholarship. But no one really thought about golfers like that.

Meathead played football. He was a tight end, and he was tall and dark-skinned because he was half-Latino, and he had a face like a retarded bulldog, or at least that was how Greg saw it. He was widely regarded as stupid, which was how he had gotten the nickname (and why he had gotten a flotilla of Asian math nerds tutoring him and taking tests for him).

But Meathead had had a serious girlfriend at the beginning of the year. Her name was Suzie; she was beautiful, and she was a total bitch. Greg was not surprised that she had dumped Meathead. He wished she hadn’t only because Meathead went from spending all his time with her to spending all his time naked, flopping his massive dick in front of Greg’s face.

And now he was jacking off, not even trying to hide it. Greg rolled over. He coughed lightly, hoping to make sure Meathead knew he was awake.

But Meathead just ignored him, pounding away. He used both hands. The porn magazine rested on his strapping chest now, he wasn’t looking at it anymore. The smell of precum filled the tiny dorm room, made even more powerful by the added astringency of his sweat — Meathead seemed to sweat constantly.

Meathead stood. Was he still jacking off? Greg thought so. Was he looking at him? He stood over the bunk beds where Greg lay. Greg had his eyes closed and he didn’t want to open them.

“Hey, Greg, you awake?” Meathead asked. His voice was impossibly deep — was he really a freshman? It seemed unlikely — and it made Greg’s whole body cringe.

Greg had the lower bunk, so if he sat up, his head would be right at Meathead’s crotch height. He knew that well because he was often sitting there reading when Meathead came back to the dorm and worked out, or sometimes just stood there naked on the phone with his girl.

“Meathead, man-“

“Hey, you wanna jack off? C’mon, let’s circlejerk,” Meathead said with an excited leer. He sat down on Greg’s bunk at the foot of the bed. Greg rolled over and sat up.

Downlow Rappers at the City Barbershop

Here’s the beginning of Downlow Rappers at the City Barbershop, a new story by Calvin Freeman!

 

The impromptu concert was a success. It got more than ten million views on YouTube, and Omar felt like a hero even if very few people knew the role he played in it. The best part of it for Omar, however, was that he got to play with Grizz all day.

Grizz was not entirely into it. He had volunteered for this job, so he wasn’t unwilling, but he was straight and he did not mess around on the downlow. He showed up at the Barbershop very early in the morning, looking dourly on at Omar in a gauzy feminine robe.

“So Craig say we gotta get this place set up,” Grizz said. He chewed on his lip.

Omar nodded and yawned. He didn’t intend to actually do any work beyond waking up and opening the Barbershop. He hadn’t expected Craig to send a sexy big man like Grizz though. That, he decided, changed his plans for the day.

Grizz was tall and broad-shouldered and his muscles barely fit in the dark suit he wore. He was dark-skinned, with a rather squat face — no one would ever call him handsome, but Omar thought he was ungodly sexy. He walked with swagger like his dick was too big for his body. Omar wondered if he would be able to swing on that no-doubt massive dick.

He settled in at his desk while Grizz set up. There needed to be changing areas for the backup dancers (both male and female changing areas were required due to union regulations). The lights needed to be unpacked and set up. The alley out back needed the dumpster moved so as to allow for the stage to be built — the carpenters were standing by.

All this for Craig. Omar had shut down his shop for the day. He was a manager for the City Barbershop of Dallas, a local institutions in the black community here. He had built the shop into something special, with a reputation as a place where a straight man could go to get a little action on the downlow (and a haircut). Omar loved being able to service those straight men.

Craig was one of his conquests. Actually Omar had known Craig since they were children, but he didn’t get to swing on Craig’s dick until they were well into their twenties. Sometime after that, the genial, perpetually-befuddled stoner Craig had become the world’s most unlikely pop star.

And so now he was putting on a special, unannounced concert here in his old neighborhood. Omar had closed his shop for the day so he could set up. Grizz was Craig’s bodyguard, sent ahead of time to make things ready.

As Grizz unloaded heavy boxes of amplifiers and mysterious audio equipment Omar couldn’t identity, Omar tried to avoid gawking at him. He was pretty sure he could get to swing on Craig’s dick later — though Craig had girls hanging off him now, he usually let Omar have a taste for old time’s sake.

But Grizz was ungodly sexy. Omar wondered if he was aware of the City Barbershop’s reputation. Probably, he thought, since Craig had rapped about it (rather famously) and Grizz worked for him. But Grizz eyed Omar as though he had only just now guessed Omar was gay and was not a fan of it.

Finally around eleven o’clock, Grizz declared it done. “All we gotta do now is wait for the tech guys to show up,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and nudged his feet together. “Okay, so, uh, look… Craig say… Craig say I gotta let you swing on my dick. You ain’t allowed-“

“Really? Okay!” Omar blushed at how over-excited he was.

“You ain’t allowed to touch my butt, and we ain’t kissin’,” Grizz said with a snarl. He looked up at the ceiling and crossed his arms over his chest.

Omar dropped to his knees in front of him. Craig had said he would give him a gift as partial payment for use of the shop, but Omar had assumed it was a taste of Craig’s dick. This, he thought, was just as good, maybe even better since it was new. Omar always enjoyed breaking in a fresh new cock.

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