Masseur Seduction: The Finn and the Roughneck

Here’s the entirety of Masseur Seduction: The Finn and the Roughneck, and a hot new story of blue-collar lust and massage seduction! It’s part of the Masseur Seduction trilogy.

Dwayne is a rough-and-tumble redneck roughneck who didn’t especially want to get a massage, and he really didn’t want to get one from this massive muscle-bound Finnish masseur, Juha. But once it starts, Dwayne finds himself so turned on he loves every second of his masseur seduction! You won’t believe where Juha takes this outrageous short tale of one straight blue-collar’s first-time gay experience!

 

Dwayne went to the massage parlor kind of hoping it wouldn’t happen. He had never wanted to come here. It did not look like his kind of place. It was ornately decorated, sumptuous with dense carpets, incense burning and colorful tapestries. There was a statue of Buddha, fat and jolly and wise, made of gleaming brass with steel inlays.

He shifted nervously on his feet. Dwayne had never in his life gotten a massage, not even informally from a girlfriend or anything like that. He wondered if he was supposed to get naked. Was he too dirty? Was he supposed to take a shower first? No one told him that.

In Redfern, North Dakota, most people looked more like Dwayne than the fey Asian man at the desk inside. Dwayne was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in heavy workboots. He wore a knee brace atop his black jeans, and he walked with a limp.

That’s why he was here. His insurance company wanted him to get a massage before they paid for more expensive treatments. Dwayne did not like the idea of some stranger pawing over his body.

He didn’t visit prostitutes, but he would rather have gotten an awkward handjob from some skeezy lady than get a real massage from one of these clearly gay Asian men. (Will they enjoy feeling up my body?) But this was not a prostitution kind of massage parlor, he knew that. The masseur he was seeing was named Juha, and he was a certified medical professional. That was why Dwayne’s insurance company sent him here. He was the only qualified masseur in this section of North Dakota.

What kind of an Asian name was Juha anyway? It didn’t really sound Chinese or Japanese, he thought. Korean? Vietnamese? There were pictures of snow-capped mountains in the massage room he waited in, and pictures of a man skiing. There was a flag too. It wasn’t Japanese, but Dwayne couldn’t place it (Japan was the only Asian country whose flag he could picture off the top of his head).

The door opened, and Juha walked in. Dwayne’s heart sank.

Juha was not a slim gay Asian man at all. He was taller than Dwayne, and at least as muscular. He had long blond hair like a man from the cover of a romance novel. He glanced at Dwayne and smiled.

He spoke with an odd, singsong accent — Finnish — and introduced himself. He discussed Dwayne’s pain and had him take his clothes off. Dwayne hesitated, but did so. He left his underwear on.

He definitely felt dirty. There were smudges of grease on his legs. He had come straight from work. Juha was very clean, and he smelled like soap.

He lifted Dwayne’s leg up, which caused agonizing pain, but then he massaged the meat above and below Dwayne’s leg. Dwayne nearly stopped him the pain grew so bad.

“Oh, hey… Oh oh, shit, oooooh, shit, are you… is it…. Oooh shit…”

But Juha just ignored him and kept massaging. After a minute or two, the pain in Dwayne’s knee let up substantially. Juha moved down to his calf. Dwayne closed his eyes and tried to relax.

“You have much tension in you, yes,” Juha said. He sounded like the Swedish Chef, Dwayne thought, but with one of those very deep voices that rattled your bones. A lot of people said Dwayne had a voice like that, but his was softer, raspier, gentler — Juha was taller, so his voice was achingly baritone.

“Yeah.” Dwayne didn’t think he could relax while he was being pawed by this great big Finn. He gasped and sighed — was this almost over? He didn’t think he could take it.

And then a great sense of please overtook him. He relaxed almost instantly, and his knee felt so much better he had to look down to see if something was wrong. But no, the massage had just worked extremely well, at least for the moment.

“Wow, that feels… a lot better,” Dwayne said.

“That is good for certain, yes,” Juha said with a baritone grunt. “I must use oil now.” He grabbed a bottle of sweet-smelling massage oil and squirted it onto his hands. He worked it into Dwayne’s thighs.

Dwayne realized he had an erection only moments before Juha grabbed onto it with his lubed-up hand. Every fiber of Dwayne’s being told him to stop Juha, but it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just looked at it like a gory scene in a horror movie, one that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

“You will be better. You are tension too much,” Juha said with a grin. “It is okay. Do not have worry.”

“Uh-huh.” Dwayne’s teeth were gritted shut. He lifted his weight off his ass, jutting his hips upward.

His cock throbbed in Juha’s hand. Dwayne couldn’t believe how good it felt. The massage oil sent a wave of warmth and arousal through his body, and that feeling made him moan like a seduced girl. He blushed.

Then Dwayne’s dick disappeared into the burly Finn’s mouth. Dwayne threw his head back and bit a lip. He was humiliated and so turned-on he wanted to bust. His dick felt like it was going to explode.

This was the first time Dwayne had ever really been with a man. Once he and his roughneck buddies had been in Fargo for a weekend, and they all got a blowjob from a prostitute in an alley. That was the first time Dwayne had ever touched cocks with another man — one of his coworkers had insisted on jousting with him because Dwayne had a legendarily huge cock (that they had all seen in the showers). It was also the only time Dwayne had ever touched someone he thought was a man — afterwards, when it was all over, Dwayne had noticed an Adam’s apple and a distinctly masculine gait in the “woman” who had swallowed his nut. Dwayne chose to pretend he hadn’t seen it; he didn’t tell anyone, and he convinced himself that he should assume she was a woman until he saw solid proof refuting it.

But there was no doubting it this time. Juha’s broad, muscular back rippled in front of Dwayne’s face. Juha was built like a fieldhand. Dwayne hadn’t wanted to get sucked off by anyone, much less a man; if he had been forced into it, however, he would have preferred one of the fey Asian men. That would have been a lot like getting sucked off by a woman.

Juha sucked like a man, like he had a job to do and needed to do it the best he could. It wasn’t exactly erotic, though it did turn Dwayne on and make his dick spew precum. Juha sucked Dwayne deep, to the root, nose nestling in Dwayne’s unkempt pubic hair. He sucked like it was an attack, like he was violently annexing Dwayne’s cock to his throat.

“Oh, god, Juha!” Dwayne moaned. He writhed as though the pleasure emanating from his cock was actually pain. He touched Juha’s back, not deliberately, just as part of his flailing, and he shuddered at the sensation of his muscles writhing beneath Dwayne’s fingers.

But he didn’t move his hand away. His mind screamed at him to stop, to let go of Juha’s back — there was sweat there too, clinging to Dwayne’s skin where he touched it — yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. It was like clutching a barrel of rope. Dwayne was strong, but he was not muscular like that, he had never had a six-pack. He had always had a thin layer of pudge over his powerful body. He had never had muscle-upon-muscle just beneath his taut skin, with seemingly not a drop of fat anywhere on him. Dwayne was jealous (sort of — guys with bodies like that got made fun of on the oil rig; everyone loved teasing prettyboys and making them dirty).

He wasn’t used to being the small guy in the room. Dwayne had hit six feet tall in the tenth grade, and he had only gotten taller since then. He was a baritone-voiced beast in most communities — only in this roughneck town was Dwayne seen as normal or even small-sized in comparison to the average local.

A chill ran up Dwayne’s spine. He realized his hand on Juha’s back had roamed lower. He didn’t mean to, but somehow his hand rested on Juha’s ass.

He had never touched a male ass (aside from some male bonding on his baseball team in high school) until now. He gulped nervously. Still his mind wanted him to stop even as his body refused to comply.

Why am I doing this? Dwayne felt like sobbing. His finger slipped into Juha’s asscrack. Was Juha manipulating him deliberately? Was it possible he had been hypnotized? Dwayne knew that was ridiculous, but he couldn’t understand why his body failed the feel the same revulsion his mind did.

His finger slipped into Juha’s ass. Dwayne had never even done that with a woman. Dwayne had lied to his coworkers about that. They talked about giving girls “The Shocker” — a sex move where you put two fingers in a girl’s pussy and one in her asshole — during a late-night jaw session, and Dwayne had felt left out, so he pretended he had done it. He wasn’t even sure it was a real thing, not just a joke. But everyone else reacted as though sticking a finger in a girl’s ass was normal, and Dwayne had pretended the same thing.

In truth, Dwayne was not very experienced with women. He was bold and confident when it came to his muscles, to work, to sports and to violence — he had been a high school wrestler and briefly, an amateur boxer — but he was completely lacking in confidence with girls. He’d only had sex with three women in his lifetime (he told his fellow roughnecks seven), and he’d only screwed one of them more than one time. He’d gotten his dick in that girl’s ass once, but she said it was too big and it hurt too much, so he had barely gotten started before she called it off.

It had felt amazing though. For those first few seconds when he had the first inch or so of his dick inside her tight, virginal asshole, he had nearly cum right there. Now he couldn’t even wait to do that again.

His finger slipped into Juha’s tight asshole. He was presumably not a virgin like that girl had been, but Dwayne was still shocked at how tight his ass was. Dwayne’s pinkie finger struggled in. Dwayne gurgled and bucked at shock that he would do such a thing.

Juha grunted around the cock in his throat. He licked the shaft, slathering spit up and down it. Dwayne couldn’t tear his eyes away from his finger plugged into Juha’s bubble-butt. Copious saliva dripped down his oil-slicked thigh.

“Oh god,” Dwayne gasped as Juha finally pulled off his cock. Dwayne sat up, but Juha just pushed him onto his back again on the massage table. “Uh… So, uh…”

“Shush,” Juha said. “Do not talk. It is not needed. I will give you relaxation and take away the tension that is inside of you.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Yes, excellent, good, very good,” Juha said. He stroked Dwayne’s dick, the waves of pleasure his hand sent up Dwayne’s spine distracted him enough that all he could do was sputter and mumble.

“Hm, oh, I see. Okay then, well, I uh… Okay, I see… Ah-hah, ah… Okay, well, that is, oh…” Dwayne threw his head back. He couldn’t watch. He knew what was coming and he didn’t want to stop it — but even if he didn’t much like it, he definitely didn’t want to see it.

Juha’s huge body didn’t prevent him from being quick and graceful as he climbed up onto the massage table. He gripped the sides of it with his feet like a chimpanzee, barely fitting his hulking body atop the massage table, which didn’t seem strong enough to support two huge men.

But the massage table did hold, as much as Dwayne rather wished it would break. That would, at least, mean he didn’t have to go through with this.

“Oh god…” Dwayne turned his head to the side so he didn’t have to see.

Juha sank down on his cock. Dwayne sighed and Juha twitched as Dwayne’s cock slipped into his tight ass. Juha stopped moving with his plump butt atop Dwayne’s manhood. He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes. He groaned and ground his hips from side to side, moving his ass over Dwayne’s cock.

“You are good, yes, okay?” Juha said. He leaned forward and massaged the meat of Dwayne’s pecs. Dwayne wasn’t used to being manhandled by someone so strong; it felt almost violent and painful, the way Juha rubbed his skin, like he wanted to rub Dwayne’s pecs all the way off and get access to his innards that way. Dwayne bristled and lifted his head up.

Dwayne kept his hands up. He fleetingly touched Juha’s back, but it felt too real to touch his spasming muscles now. Dwayne wondered if he could feel his own cock through Juha’s body. Definitely not, he decided, since Juha was such a huge thickbody. A thin, delicate woman, maybe? Or one of those fey Asian men.

Oh how Dwayne wished one of those Asian men might have come on to him. He would have refused that. It was ironic because, if he had given in and fucked one of the gay Asian men, he would have felt more comfortable with it. But his more comfortable feelings also would have meant he just said no. He disliked flamboyant gays anyway; he routinely got annoyed at their antics. It would have been easy to say no to someone like that.

Juha, however, had surprised him. Now Dwayne could do little more than keep his hands above his head, watching his dick slide haltingly into Juha’s broad ass. Juha struggled and bit his lip as he lowered himself. He used his thighs to control his descent, making it slow and even, inch by inch. Dwayne watched his cock disappear like he was being led to his own execution, which felt good for some strange morbid reason.

He tried to close his eyes, thinking it would be easier if he didn’t have to watch himself fuck a man, but that was not easier. As soon as he closed his eyes, he panicked, feeling out of control. At least watching, he could watch Juha’s back writhing and he could see that his cock was safe.

“Your knee is feeling much better in your leg, yes, no?” Juha asked when his ass was all the way down on Dwayne’s cock. He acted like that hardly mattered, like he hadn’t struggled to take it all. He rocked back and forth on Dwayne’s cock as he leaned forward and rubbed Dwayne’s knee again. “Does it have healing?”

His accent was not too hard to understand, but it was hard enough that Dwayne had to stop and concentrate. He nodded and bit his lip. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock. “Uh-huh.”

“Good, that is for excellency. That is healing, I am certain,” he said. “Do you have sauna?”

“Uh-huh.” Dwayne didn’t really listen to the question. There was, of course, no sauna on his oil rig, but there was a small showering nook — technically it was the women’s shower, but there were no women, so it was mainly unused — that was sometimes adapted into a sauna. The vents were closed or blocked, and the showerheads were turned on, with all but one on the hottest possible setting. The men sat in there, naked in the dark since the fluorescent lightbulbs had never been replaced and no longer worked. The five hot showerheads and one cold one combined to fill the room with steam. Dwayne and his friends would sit there and drink beer (kept cold in a cooler just outside the shower). He enjoyed that, in large part because he got the comfort of nudity without having to see or be seen due to the darkness.

“You should have use for sauna. It is Finnish, and it is very good for Finns. It will do much benefits for your knee,” Juha said.

“Ah. Okay.” Dwayne sharply inhaled. He could not even think about his knee right now. His heart was about to pound out of his chest, and he wanted more than anything for Juha to move. But the giant Finn just stayed still with his ass full of Dwayne’s cock.

“The steam is doing much good, it is certain, for sure,” Juha said. “You can also do steam bath. That is a thing, yes, it is, right?”

“Uh-huh. Yep,” Dwayne said. He had no idea what a steam bath was.

“Excellent, it will do much to promote your healing, yes,” Juha said. “You will fuck me now.”

He took a deep breath and lifted his ass, at last moving it atop Dwayne’s cock. Dwayne gasped. Juha seemed practiced and proficient at fucking in this position, though it seemed very awkward for Dwayne. Juha gripped the edges of the massage table with his toes and used his feet for leverage. He lifted himself almost all the way up off Dwayne’s cock, so Dwayne saw his entire pulsating, veiny shaft, then Juha lowered himself all the way back down.

When he planted himself on Dwayne’s dick, it sent a wave of pleasure up Dwayne’s spine. It was uncontrollably intense, mind-melting, and it made Dwayne moan like no woman had ever caused — he was normally so shy and reserved during sex he barely made a peep.

But this was already so incredible and stressful that he could do nothing more than submit to it. He certainly couldn’t filter his reactions or feel shyness. He just submitted.

The orgasm that erupted within him was so powerful he thought his shaking would break the table. Dwayne fully expected to plummet to the floor with that giant Finn on top of him — would that shatter my pelvis? He tried not to rock the table too much, but the feelings flowing through him were too potent not to move and shake.

“Oh god, yes!” Dwayne screamed, the first time he had ever done anything more than grunt when he came.

An orgasm ripped through his body, as Juha did the same, spraying his wad onto the floor of his massage room. Dwayne spurted his cum into Juha’s tight ass, sending jet after jet of his juices up inside Juha. Some of it ran right back down Dwayne’s shaft, coating his manhood in it and soaking his pubic hair.

Juha sighed. Dwayne grunted and gasped, feeling a mixture of relief, fear and pleasure. His hands gripped Juha’s ass again, despite his misgivings, and his fingers tightened into claws that held onto him tightly. Dwayne gulped and bit his tongue as the last aftershocks of his orgasm wracked his body.

At last he was done. Dwayne’s limbs fell limp, arms dangling off the sides of the massage table. Juha slowly, awkwardly lifted himself off Dwayne’s cock. When his ass finally plopped off, both men sighed grandly. Intense relief flooded Dwayne; his dick was painfully sensitive at first, and the cold air made him gasp again.

“You are very good, you are nice man,” Juha said. He stretched his legs and his arms. He smiled broadly. He pulled his long blond hair back.

“Uh-huh.”

He grabbed some tissues from the box on his counter. He wiped off Dwayne’s cock and his own ass. Then he helped Dwayne up. “You are complete now. You can be going. I will massage you again in two weeks, yes?”

“Uh… Yeah,” Dwayne said. Once more, his mind told him to never return here again. His body wasn’t sure it could wait two whole weeks.

“Your insurance will cover two massages every time every month, every two weeks is appropriate, yes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Excellent, good. I will do suck on your dick too, if you want. Come back to see me,” he said. He frowned. “Insurance company will not pay for that. You must pay if you come before two weeks.”

“Oh, okay,” Dwayne said as he hurriedly put his clothes back on.

Juha placed one thick, meaty hand on Dwayne’s shoulder while Dwayne laced up his heavy workboots. Dwayne bristled but didn’t make him move. He just grabbed his shirt — it felt too confrontational to put it on while Juha caressed his bare back — and stood.

“Uh, thanks,” Dwayne said. He turned around and walked out, shirt in hand. He could feel Juha’s eyes watching his ass shake in his faded dirt-caked jeans.

It was only as he walked out into the bright light of a warm North Dakota summer day that Dwayne knew what his decision was: yes. He’d spend the next two weeks listing all the reasons he shouldn’t come back. He was so focused on that he didn’t even notice how good his knee felt.

But at the end of it all, at the end of that last, was the only factor that really mattered: Dwayne really wanted to fuck again. He couldn’t wait to come back. Just so long as he didn’t have to tell anyone about it.

Gutter Trade: The Portapotty Blumpkin

Here’s the entirety of Gutter Trade: The Portapotty Blumpkin, a new story from the Gutter Trade series! Warning: This story contains racist banter, light scatplay and hot interracial action!

Abe took a deep breath of fresh air before going in. He giggled. A half-dozen leering men in filthy clothes and bright orange vests looked at him with a mixture of excitement and disgust. They shushed each other as they watched him open the door.

The smell of portapotty stank air hit his senses. Abe’s nostrils wrinkled at the scent.

“Hey, man. I’m in here. Occupied. Hey. Oh, hey, hey,” Barrett said. He was a tall, craggy-faced redneck with a stink about him (even when he wasn’t in the portapotty). He had a thick body, tattoos all over, burn scars dotting his neck and chin, and a scraggly mustache. He had been a cop for a few years in his twenties, but he was disgraced by accusations of violence towards suspects in his custody. Since then, he had been working a series of road crew and a handful of other blue-collar jobs, and he did more than a few stays in prison.

And he was a two-striker on a very strict probation-lease — he had technically committed a felony just last week by getting in a bar fight. He managed to convince the judge that there was a glimmer of self-defense to his fight, and the judge allowed him to remain out.

But he absolutely needed to avoid getting in trouble, or even the appearance of getting in trouble. That was why the other workers had told Abe he could get away with this. Barrett wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop Abe because he couldn’t get in legal trouble. No cop would ever believe that the tiny delicate twink Abe had assaulted the terrifyingly crude, massive redneck Barrett.

“Yo, man, get outta here!” Barrett’s face turned bright red. Abe ignored his words and dropped to his knees. He was so close he could smell the stink of the toilet tank, and he planted his face between Barrett’s meaty, hairy thighs.

You best let him on ya, Barrett! You don’t wanna go back inside!

Abe didn’t pause, even when Barrett smacked him on the cheek. He licked Barrett’s dick from tip to root and nuzzled his face in Barrett’s musky sweat-choked crotch hair. He slathered spit all over his groin, then popped his greasy cock in his mouth.

“You motherfuckers set this up?!” Barrett screamed in rage. He pounded on the sides of the portapotty, and as he did a few drops of shit plopped out of his ass to the pile below. His tan face was a dark red.

There’s a cop right up the highway doin’ a speed trap, Barrett. Don’t make us call the police!

He’s hotter than most of the chicks you fuck!

Barrett don’t fuck chicks, he just molests deer and shit… I mean literally, he molests deer and also he molests shit.

The other workers laughed so hard it was deafening inside the portapotty. They tapped on the sides near Barrett’s head.

“Yo, faggot, you had best… Ah… fuck, if I wasn’t on parole, you fuckin’ faggot! Jesus Christ! Hey! You fuckers!” Barrett’s hands flailed above Abe’s head. “This is fuckin’ nasty!” He smacked his hands against the walls of the portapotty, making the whole thing rock. That awakened a wave of stink from the tank below, which caused both Abe and Barrett to gag.

Soon his dick stiffened up in Abe’s mouth, despite his protestations. That mollified Barrett somewhat, though he still shielded Abe from his view with both hands. His ruddy face was tense, upper lip stiff, nose twitching as he watched Abe suck.

His cock was greasy and unwashed, like he hadn’t showered in days. It smelled like the shit underneath it. Abe gagged as he got started, but once salty precum flooded his mouth that flavor mostly overpowered the more pungent shit smell. He still got an occasional whiff of it though, when Barrett shifted his weight or farted.

“You are the most disgusting faggot I’ve ever seen. You’re why I hate faggots, damn it,” Barrett said. “Shit, if I was fifteen years younger, boy… I’d use up one of my three strikes on you and not regret it at all.”

Hey faggot, is he hard?!

“Yes!” Abe said, giggling as he thwacked the man’s cock against his face. “He got hard right away!”

Told you, Barrett! Hey faggot, he bet me a million dollars he couldn’t get hard from a faggot’s blowjob outside of prison! I ain’t gonna collect on that, obviously.

“Shut yer mouth!” Barrett yelled out there.

“You can facefuck me. If you want,” Abe said. “You can take out your frustrations on my throat.” He paused. “Wait though, lemme just suck your ballsweat off.”

“Ew, what, no way, no way, no way!” Barrett said. He didn’t stop Abe though, he just closed his eyes.

Abe worked both balls into his mouth, and he gargled loudly, loud enough that the people outside could hear, even over the din of cars driving by. The portapotty was close enough to the road that, when a large truck drove past in the right-hand lane, it made the portapotty shake and rattle.

“He’s suckin’ my balls now!” Barrett called out, prompting another outburst of laughter from the others. “This faggot is fuckin’ disgusting. I swear to God, I’m gonna puke.”

You’re the one who’s fuckin’ him, you redneck shit!

“You come in here and say that to my face, Dwayne!”

The portapotty door opened up, and a tall, gaunt-faced, ropy-muscled black man appeared. He had frizzy cornrows tinged with gray and a long, scraggly beard. “You’re a redneck shit, Barrett!”

“Dwayne, did you set this up?”

“Hell yeah, redneck, fuck you,” Dwayne said. “Go ahead and throw a punch at me, motherfucker. Go back to prison then.”

Barrett grunted and threw his head back. “I swore this kinda shit off when I left prison, man. I never let no faggot do it and enjoy it.” He paused. “Dwayne…”

“I know you wanna call me a nigger.”

“Yes I do,” Barrett said. He closed his eyes. He grabbed Abe by the ears and rattled his skull. “Hurry up, faggot.”

“I’m-a fuck him. I bet-“

“Man, Dwayne, get the fuck out, nigger,” Barrett said with a chuckle.

“Don’t you wanna suck my dick?” Dwayne asked. He flopped his cock out through the fly of his jeans. He thwacked it in Barrett’s direction. Barrett scowled jokingly, but then Dwayne flopped his dick so close a few beads of sweat flew onto Barrett’s upper lip.

“Get the fuck outta here, nigger!” Barrett screamed. He threw a punch at Dwayne, but with Abe there in between them he didn’t even get off the portapotty toilet. His whole body shook, and Dwayne laughed. Barrett threw a punch at Dwayne’s flat belly, which was still covered by layers of tattered shirts and his orange safety vest.

“I said I’m-a fuck ‘im,” Dwayne said. He grabbed Abe’s ass and ripped his pants down. He frowned at the sight of Abe’s cheeks. He rammed one finger in unceremoniously, and a jolt of pain shot up Abe’s spine.

“This is fuckin’ nasty, man,” Barrett said. “You’s in here by choice, Dwayne. How can you fuck like this? Huh?”

“Like this…” Dwayne scoffed. “If you wanna experience true pleasure, man, you gotta get down and dirty, you know… in the gutter. You don’t know shit ‘bout gutter-fuckin’, whiteboi.”

“I don’t want to-“

“Yeah you do, I know you do. I seen that bitch you was fuckin’ wit’ last weekend-“

“She wasn’t nothin’, man,” Barrett said. He blushed and looked away though. His dick spasmed in Abe’s mouth. “She wasn’t nothin’.”

“She was fat in all the wrong places, man, and she got a face like a walrus with Down’s syndrome,” Dwayne said, laughing. That was enough to make Abe giggle some too.

“Man…” Barrett closed his eyes like he was going to ignore Dwayne. Then he said quietly, “I was… I heard a rumor she sucked dick real good or somethin’, that was all. I ain’t in love or nothin’.”

“Did she suck dick good?”

Barrett shrugged. “Not really. This faggot do it better. Can’t really get me goin’ cuz it stinks like shit in here though.”

Dwayne withdrew his two fingers from Abe’s ass. He jammed his dick in without a word of warning, and when Abe squealed and squirmed, Dwayne grabbed him by the back of the head.

“Open that ass up, faggot. Open it up you nasty-ass bitch,” Dwayne murmured. He pulled on Abe’s hair. He pounded his dick in, smacking Abe in the neck whenever he felt resistance. “Don’t you dare fight me, I know you want me in ya. You gonna pay me extra for the fuck, faggot-“ Dwayne stopped himself and groaned.

Barrett was engrossed in sneering at Abe’s gurgling on his dick, so it took him a moment to realize what Dwayne had just revealed. “Wait, what? This faggot is payin’ you? I thought it was just a prank. Damn it, that is such a fucking nigger thing to do, you are exactly why I hate niggers, Dwayne!”

Dwayne threw a punch, which shifted his weight forward enough to slam his entire cock in Abe’s ass. Abe gurgled around Barrett’s dick. Pain enveloped him and he slobbered all over that throbbing shaft.

“Fuck you!” Barrett tried to punch back. They proceeded to fight the best they could with their cocks in Abe’s respective orifices, but it lasted only a few seconds before they were interrupted by more hooting from outside.

Topple it! Topple it!

Wrestle!

The guys outside wanted a fight to erupt because it would be funny for the portapotty to topple over. Their laughing and insults chanted over each other so that none of them were understandable. The gist of it was clear though, and it annoyed both Dwayne and Barrett enough that they stopped fighting. They glared at each other as they drilled Abe in the ass and mouth.

After a few minutes, Dwayne said, “We decided to do this prank first, Barrett. We needed a faggot and this little piece of shit paid me to piss on him once. Well, a couple times. So I made him pay me.”

“Fuck you.”

“If you was nice to me, I might-a share it wit’ you.”

“No way. You wouldn’t. You’re too much of a nigger.”

Dwayne paused, then laughed. He slapped hands with Barrett. “Yeah, that’s true.”

All was forgiven, it seemed, with that. It felt like as good a time as any to turn around, Abe thought, so that was what he did. He pulled off both dicks, then turned around.

They both erupted in shouts and hoots when they realized Abe was going to suck his own assjuice off Dwayne’s cock. Barrett gagged and retched, and he shouted no even as he guided Abe down on his dick.

Dwayne’s manhood tasted so bad Abe almost vomited — he loved it, but it was gross. He tasted slick, gooey assjuice, which tasted sour and fetid, like the air in the portapotty but wet and gritty and nasty. Abe’s stomach revolted.

“He’s doin’ it! Ass-to-mouth! Ass-to-mouth!” Dwayne cheered.

“That is so gross, man, no way, no way, no way, I ain’t fuckin’ no ass just after a nigger. Nope. I got my pride-“

“Fuck you, redneck bastard,” Dwayne said. He grabbed Abe’s head and fucked his throat, leaning his weight forward so as to force Abe’s all the way down on Barrett’s cock.

Barrett leaned back and closed his eyes. He even pinched his nostrils shut with one hand. His cock was hard, but the rest of him was limp as though he was nonviolently protesting. Abe couldn’t bring himself to do much more than grind his ass, swaying back and forth, because he was so distracted by Dwayne’s face-fucking.

Whenever Abe gagged, Dwayne clucked his tongue and smacked Abe on the side of the head. “I’ll bust you, faggot, I swear to God, you best quit fightin’ me,” he said.

“If I wasn’t on parole, faggot, I’d bust you too, I’d bust ya head clean off, man, but no way would no judge believe me ‘bout this right now,” Barrett said. “Fuck you…”

Abe just giggled as he sucked assjuice off Dwayne’s cock, which throbbed painfully in his throat. The sour, rancid flavor was overwhelming, and it made Abe’s mouth drool even as his stomach twisted into knots. He retched over and over, but Dwayne just ignored him, both hands on Abe’s head. He spoke his threats through gritted teeth.

“Swear to God, faggot, I will destroy you if you fight me back, yeah ya little bitch, yeah, you wanna-“ He stopped himself and chuckled. He pulled out of Abe’s mouth, making him gasp for air. Then he turned around and planted his asshole right on Abe’s face. After a brief pause, he farted loudly. His asshole opened and fetid air hit him.

Since Abe sat on Barrett’s ass, Dwayne farted on him just as much as on Abe, and Barrett screamed in rage. He smacked Dwayne’s asscheek while Dwayne rubbed his sweaty asshole over Abe’s face.

“Ya farted in my face, man-“

“I farted in the faggot’s face-“

“But he’s right in front of my face!”

“Then move ya face, ya redneck shit!”

Dwayne turned around and resumed face-fucking Abe. He lit a cigarette, which only added to the nasty air and made Abe’s eyes stream as he got reamed in the gullet.

The two of them continued arguing, but only half-heartedly because they were both more focused on fucking Abe right now. Abe was in heaven, bent over and split at both ends by massive cocks. He spat up all over Dwayne’s dick, his saliva dripping in clumps onto the portapotty floor.

When he felt Dwayne’s balls crawl up in his sac, Abe used both hands on his shaft so Dwayne shot his load onto Abe’s tongue. Abe didn’t swallow it. He just watched Dwayne’s body writhe beneath his filthy clothes, while Abe shot his own wad into the palm of his hand. He put that in his mouth too, and turned around to gargle it in Barrett’s face.

“Oh damn, this faggot be makin’ noise wit’ my nut!” Dwayne said. He clapped his hands.

You two done in there?! Hurry up, we still got work to do today!

What is that sound? Is that what I think it is?

Dwayne had a deep-throated barrel laugh, which echoed in the thick air of the portapotty. He let out a low throaty growl. “Yeah, nigga, this faggot be gargling on some nut. His and mine.” Dwayne knew how nasty Abe wanted it. So he lowered his head so close he nearly kissed Abe on the cum-choked mouth, then Dwayne spat once again right onto Abe’s face.

Abe tried to say, thank you, daddy, please spit on me some more while I get fucked but his mouth was full of cum, so all that came out was a moist gurgling sound that made Barrett, Dwayne and all the men outside gag violently.

Sensing that Barrett was near his orgasm, Abe pulled off his cock and stroked him. He licked off every trace of nastiness from his hand and from Barrett’s cock, letting the gritty sourness invade his senses.

“Ah, damn…” Barrett tried to subdue his orgasm, but it rippled through his body anyway. He spat in Abe’s direction, missed his face and only got him on the shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice. He spat vituperatively towards Dwayne, “I can’t believe you set this shit up, man, it is fucked. You’re fucked.”

“This faggot is fucked,” Dwayne said. “Lighten up, man, we’re just doin’ some down ’nd dirty fuckin’. Nothin’ wrong wit’ that.”

Abe dropped to his knees as he felt Barrett’s dick throb beneath his hands. Barrett retched at the sight and sound of Abe gargling with cum in his mouth. Abe lowered himself to Barrett’s dick.

It was slick with remnants of assjuice and precum, which Abe licked off with his tongue. You could never quite get all of it; Abe kept trying though, like a dog licking up peanut butter. He struggled to keep the cum in his mouth as his dripping tongue flickered out to touch Barrett’s nasty cock. He gagged and nearly spilled the two cumwads in his throat, but he managed to hold it together while he stroked Barrett to completion. The stink of shit filled the air, penetrating even the mess all over Abe’s face and nose.

“I can’t believe I’m fuckin’ blowin’, oh god, man, this is so nasty…” Barrett gagged even as he orgasmed. His big hairy muscles writhed, and Dwayne applauded like it was the end of a concert.

Barrett sprayed his wad right into the soupy mess in Abe’s mouth. Abe gurgled on it merrily, making some of the cum trickle down his chin. Barrett spat on his face and cackled, seemingly relieved now that it was all over and he hadn’t done anything to get himself arrested. Dwayne joined in, so neither of them noticed Abe slowly get dressed.

“Nasty faggot, nasty faggot, nasty faggot!” Barrett shouted until it turned into a chant that the men outside joined in on.

Finally Abe’s mouth overflowed with both cum and spit. He stood and smiled at Barrett, then spat all that raunchy mess onto Barrett’s tan, grizzled face. Barrett — whose eyes were closed at first — gagged hoarsely and reached forward to grab Abe.

“You fucker!”

But he darted out the door. He was quick and he was the only one with clothes on, even if his whole body was filthy beneath that. Dwayne erupted in laughter, and blocked Barrett with his naked body. Barrett got through, but that gave Abe enough of a head start to leave.

He made it to his car and drove away before Barrett even waddled, half-naked still, out of the portapotty. He screamed in rage while Abe just peeled away.

He was excited — obviously he needed to leave the area, but that was fine with him. He was done here anyway. There was a whole world of gutter trade out there, and Abe intended to sample every bit of it.

Pacific Trade: The Solomon Islander Stud

Here’s the entirety of Pacific Trade: The Solomon Islander Stud, which is only available in Too Weird to Publish 2016 — that’s a multi-author bundle whose proceeds will go to charity!

Conrad watched the musicians play. The air was humid and even in the limited clothes he wore, he was already hot and sweaty. He thought he should change into the traditional garb of a Solomon Islander man, but he already thought the locals were making fun of his appearance and he didn’t want to worsen that problem — a dozen children had gathered to laugh at him and shout at him in their language (probably Kwara’ae, but Conrad couldn’t be sure). It wasn’t meant to be mean on their part, but Conrad still didn’t like looking like an outsider. Among other reasons, it meant he was less likely to get the kind of open, frank conversations he needed with the locals.

The village was beautiful, and was worth the trip. Conrad had never seen anything like it, not even in all his voyages around the Pacific and abroad. He stood underneath a house — all of the homes here were on elevated stilts — as the music began.

It was very nice music, in its own way. Conrad wasn’t about to throw away his Violent Femmes albums and listen to nothing else, but it was appealing in its way. It was called “bamboo music” in English: it was created by slapping bamboo tubes with an object, or slamming the bamboo tubes down on an object, usually a rock but sometimes a sandal or whatever else was at hand. It produced an oddly compelling percussive tune that Conrad enjoyed. There was a pleasant fluteiness to the music’s breathy tenor, like a panpipe with a rhythmic drum-like sound (truthfully less like a drum and more like a percussive-idiophone, similar to a mbira or a Jew’s harp, dear reader, but you’re not likely to understand that comparison).

But the music wasn’t really why Conrad was here. It was the purpose of the trip, but it wasn’t why Conrad had made the trip — he worked for a world music company, looking for new styles to record. He could have declined this voyage, however. There was a new woman working for the company who was Papuan — not the same as a Solomon Islander, but still, it gave her a racial and cultural link that Conrad simply didn’t have. He could have begged off the trip and given it to her. He was busy with the liner notes for a Hawaiian album, and Hawaiian music was where the money was. Releasing records of Solomon Islander music was only commercially viable because they weren’t going to spend much on it and it made the company look better to have a wide variety of styles available. As far as Pacific Islander music went, people only really bought Hawaiian ukulele-pop versions of well-known songs.

There he was. Hadisi was his name.

He was a popular local singer and bamboo player. Hadisi was tall, a bit lanky but well-muscled, with a smattering of kinky yellow-white hairs on his chest. He had wild hair and a beard too, both jutting out in every direction as though bits of his head were trying to escape. He was, like many Solomon Islanders, blond despite having dark skin and very curly black hairs. The gene that causes blond hair among Melanesians is completely unrelated to the gene that causes blond hair among those of European descent, so Hadisi’s hair was yellow-blond but different than blond white people’s hair, and even different than African black people with blond hair — it was yellower, like the color of a sun-drenched hay field. It was common for children here to be blond, but most of them outgrew it and developed black hair by the time they were adults. Hadisi was an exception.

He was also ungodly handsome, which was why Conrad’s company wanted to sign him and his village band. If anyone were going to make this album a success, it’d be Hadisi and his jawline, his toned muscles and his deep-dimpled smile. No one was going to buy it because they loved bamboo music, so the only audience would come from dilettantes, collectors and middle-aged ladies at Starbucks who thought the exotic guy on the cover was hot.

When the concert was over — or at least, when most of the musicians had gotten tired, and the children lost interest, leaving only a small cadre of performers and listeners behind — Conrad went to talk to Hadisi. He lived in a small house with his parents, his brothers, his siblings and a few hangers-on of unclear relationship to Hadisi.

“Do you know Bob Marley?” Hadisi asked when Conrad finished explaining his sales pitch. The company was going to pay Hadisi’s village ten grand in US dollars for the rights to the recording. That was a whole lot of money here, and Hadisi’s family was excited. Conrad had made sure to specify that he needed some photographs for the album cover, and that Hadisi needed to be in them. But Hadisi didn’t seem to notice that part, and his family didn’t see past the top-line number. Hadisi gave no indication he heard any of it; he was just waiting for an opportunity to ask about Bob Marley.

“Uh, no… Bob Marley died thirty years ago,” Conrad said with a smile.

Hadisi looked disappointed. He argued in his own language with his family — from the body language, it sounded like people had been telling Hadisi his idol was dead for a long time. Hadisi sniffled but shrugged it off. He went into a backroom and picked up an old beat-up improvised guitar. It was a crudely carved wooden box with strings stretched over it. The neck was irregular and inconsistent, and it sounded out of tune (or more likely, was not capable of being tuned).

“I can play Bob Marley, we play that on bamboo all the time,” Hadisi said. His lilting, singsong accent was smooth like melted butter. He was well-educated in English, more than most of his fellow villagers, whom Conrad found impossible to understand. Most Solomon Islanders spoke a pidgin language they called Pijin, which was recognizable enough to hear a few English words, but not enough to communicate in. The villagers here mostly didn’t even know Pijin — they only spoke the local language — much less standard English. Hadisi, however, had left the Solomon Islands to work in New Zealand for a time, so he had learned English well enough to communicate.

Hadisi plugged out a recognizable version of “No Woman, No Cry”, which Conrad enjoyed even if he was also annoyed — the one constant as a scout for a world music record label is that even in the most remote, uncontacted areas, everyone wanted to record a cover of a Bob Marley song. At least, Conrad thought, it’s not “Redemption Song”.

He clapped politely when Hadisi was done. He hadn’t known the lyrics aside from the chorus, but still, Conrad had heard worse versions of “No Woman, No Cry”. He was a little mesmerized by Hadisi’s body anyway, his muscles gleaming and flexing in the dim light of his house. A man who looked like that could sing all the Bob Marley songs he wanted, even “Redemption Song”.

“That was so good, Hadisi, I would love to put it on the album,” he said with a smile. “But I’m not sure we can. We’d have to get permission from the Marley family. That will cost a lot of money.” He paused. “Do you know ‘Sugar, Sugar’? That’s a Bob Marley song, we might be able to do a cover of that. It’s not written by Bob Marley so it’s cheaper.”

“I do not know ‘Sugar, Sugar’,” Hadisi said. It didn’t sound like he had ever heard it. It was definitely one of the more obscure Marley tracks, so Conrad wasn’t surprised. That was why he had brought it up.

“Ah, well, that’s too bad. Honestly my boss is going to want more traditional bamboo music than that. If it is a success, we’ll consider doing it again with covers of popular songs,” Conrad said. “Come along, Hadisi, can you show me some places we could take pictures at?”

Hadisi nodded and led him out of the stilted house. Conrad was glad to get away from crowded house and the children who poked and prodded at Conrad’s straight hair. Hadisi was visibly calmer once he was away from them as well. He ran his fingers through his dense, wild afro of yellow-blond hair.

“My father is stupid,” Hadisi said. He held Conrad’s hand as he led him through the village and out into the rainforest. “He does not think you will pay. I know about American music business though. I know the man who works in the music store here in the Solomons. He knows everything about it. He tells me that you will pay. You are a real record company, like Island Records.”

“Yes, I promise we will pay,” Conrad said. He felt like a giddy child getting excited about holding hands with Hadisi — which was friendly, dear reader, not romantic. In the Solomon Islands, public displays of affection between men and women were not appreciated, not even holding hands. But same-gender friends frequently held hands. Conrad loved the feel of Hadisi’s work-coarsened hands, and he enjoyed being close to the man’s powerful body. Conrad cleared his throat. “That’s what we do. I’ve recorded albums all over the world. We always pay, I promise.”

“You are a good man, I am thinking that.”

“Oh. Good. Cool-“

“You can be send money to my father?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, the ten thousand American dollars. They can be sent to my father, yes?”

“Uh… Well, our protocol is to send it to the chieftain or mayor. That was the older gentleman, right? We-“

“No. It can be sent to my father,” Hadisi said. He didn’t make eye contact with Conrad. He bit his lip. “He is stupid and foolish and he does not know about reggae music. He has not been gone to New Zealand.”

“I won’t hold that against him.”

“But he is smart about money. He is good with money.”

“Okay… Hadisi, I can’t do that. It’s not up to me where the money goes. My company has a policy. I think it’s agreed upon with your government. We don’t have any way of proving who performed on the recording and even if we did, we have no way of paying them separately,” Conrad said. “The money has to be sent to your leader. He’ll divide it up, according to whatever process you folks have for that. Do you need money?”

Hadisi nodded. He stopped walking at a copse of trees. He gestured for Conrad to continue. There was a sharp embankment, and then a wetland valley beneath it on the other side, where a dizzying array of flowers stretched as far as Conrad could see. There must have been a hundred thousand varieties, no two plants even looking like the same species. Conrad gasped.

“Wow, what is this place?”

“It is flowers. It is where we go for… Uh… I do not remember the polite English word. Kissing girls. It is where we kiss girls, and sometimes marry them,” Hadisi said with a grin. He had deep dimples. Conrad blushed as he felt a surge of desire again, like a boy watching his idol. Hadisi was ungodly handsome, he thought, he probably brought every girl in the village here to “kiss”, or whatever verb Hadisi had been trying to think of. “It is good place to take photograph, yes?”

“Oh, yeah, good idea, Hadisi, this’d be perfect,” Conrad said. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Hadisi nodded. “That is why I am needing money. You can send it to my father. He will make sure I am able to marry her. I must pay for the wedding. We are already bush-married, but my father says it must be made official in a church. That means I must pay for my bride-“

“Oh! It’s like a dowry?”

Hadisi nodded again, but he was hesitant like he didn’t really know the word dowry. “It is must to be paid for, or I can not marry her. It is bride price.”

“Oh, sorry, Hadisi, you must love her?”

“Yes, I love her very much. I want to bring her here and do kissing with her,” he said. Once again, it was clear kissing was not what he was actually thinking of.

“Hmm, interesting,” Conrad said. He cleared his throat. “Hadisi, in your village, are there any men who act different from other men?”

“What? Yes…” He furrowed his brow.

“I mean… You know how you like kissing with girls? Maybe there are men who aren’t into that?”

“Ah yes, I know of men like that. We do not have any. Don’t worry, we are all real men in my village.”

“Right, super,” Conrad said. “Do you really hate men like that?”

Hadisi shook his head. “I do not hate them. We do not have any. All our men marry women and make kissing with them. No exceptions.”

“I see,” Conrad said. That was actually a fairly normal view in these kinds of remote villages. Conrad was often warned that gay men were not tolerated, but it usually meant that they were denied and pushed into relationships with women no matter what. Hadisi and the other locals might be rude regarding homosexuality, but they weren’t going to be violent about it.

“Would you ever… let a man touch your dick?”

“What? Yes. During our ceremony for-“

“Not as a ceremonial thing, I mean… for sex?” Conrad said.

Hadisi shook his head virulently no. “What? No! No, I do not do that. I like girls.”

“I see-“

“When I did not have a girl, there is a weak man who would come to visit, but I did not need him often,” he said. He stood up and bristled a bit, like he felt challenged. He jogged on his feet and flexed his chest. Conrad felt a shudder of arousal and his dick twitched in his pants. Hadisi’s nervous smile showed off his dimples, which made Conrad desire him even more.

Hadisi went on to tell a long and involved story, the bulk of which was about an unscrupulous trader (the “weak man”) who purchased fish from the village. He often underpaid or tried to trick them into accepting less money than they were due, and Hadisi had many, probably untrue, stories where he used his wit to protect his people.

But the more interesting part of the story, from Conrad’s perspective, where the hints that this trader was gay. “He distracts the men with his mouth!” Hadisi said over and over. Conrad had trouble getting a word in edge-wise — Hadisi was very upset, though he said he had never personally been fooled.

“I am very wise, and my father knows about matters of money,” Hadisi said. “I do not lose money to him. Or my manhood.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Interesting… So he does…? You said he sometimes does sexual things with you? With his mouth?”

“Not me, I have a girl. I do not need that.”

“Excellent, good, I know you love her,” Conrad said. “Would you let me do those things to you? I’ll pay you. You can pay for your marriage with it-“

“You want to do those things? You mean sex, right? Not cheating my family out of fish?”

“That’s right, the sex-part, not the scamming,” Conrad said. “Most gays aren’t like that, by the way-“

“You will pay me for it?”

“Yes,” Conrad said. “I’ve got the money right here. You never even have to tell your father how you got it. You can tell him we gambled or something.”

Hadisi’s eyes lit up. “Like Texas Holden poker card game?”

Conrad chuckled. “Yeah. Like that. Do you people play poker here?”

“Not in this village. They do it in the village along the river that way. They have a man who lived in California,” he gestured vaguely to the north. “You would like it there. The men all do… that. They are all weak, and stupid. Their women are loose. That is why they kiss with each other instead.” He dropped his pants and waved his dick in Conrad’s direction. “They are not good at bamboo music though, do not pay them for music.” He stroked his dick as he peered into Conrad’s eyes. “You suck on it, yes? And in the buttocks?”

“Yes, definitely, both,” Conrad said. He kneeled in the moist soil of the flowered valley, surrounded by multicolored blossoms. He reached into his wallet to pull out a wad of cash, which he handed over.

Hadisi counted the money. He didn’t even seem to notice when Conrad got a taste of his cock. Conrad’s tongue snaked out and planted right on the tip. Conrad peered up to test Hadisi’s reaction, but he was intensely focused on counting the money.

So Conrad swallowed his fat cock, which was nice and thick but not so big it was difficult to suck. It perked up almost right away in Conrad’s mouth, and he used both hands to keep it stimulated. He slathered spit up and down the shaft.

“Ah, you are good at this,” Hadisi said. He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes.

One of Conrad’s hands snaked up to his chest. Sometimes straight men didn’t like it when he touched their bodies like this, but Hadisi didn’t seem to mind. When Conrad’s fingers closed around his nipple, Hadisi even shuddered and let out a little moan like he liked it. Conrad giggled.

He deep-throated Hadisi down to the root, his nose nestling in the man’s kinky pubic hairs. A few drops of precum escaped down his gullet. Conrad guzzled down all of it, savoring the flavor and the creamy texture.

The taste was different than he was used to — that wasn’t a surprise. Conrad had been traveling long enough to know that cum tasted differently in different parts of the world. He assumed it was due to diet. Indeed, Hadisi tasted a bit like the tropical fruit he ate, but with a savory note to it; he tasted like the local fruits after they had been cooked into a savory stew; he tasted a little like the fresh, crisp air of this blossomed valley, and a bit of the salty, astringent tasted of unadulterated male musk.

His blowjob was moist and loud, because Conrad knew that’s how men liked it. He choked up so much spit it soaked Hadisi’s crotch, and it made Hadisi grunt and groan. Hadisi bit his lip.

“I hope my wife is like you,” Hadisi said. It sounded like he was not hopeful that would be the case, which made Conrad giggle again. Conrad licked a trail up Hadisi’s crotch to his chest. He wanted to keep going and maybe even get to kiss Hadisi — some cultures considered gay kissing to be far worse than any actual sex, but others considered it irrelevant non-sex. Conrad licked until it was clear Hadisi was in the former category; he was visibly uncomfortable with it when Conrad’s tongue got to his neck, so Conrad stuck with the man’s ropy-muscled chest.

The layer of thick blond hairs on his torso tasted a bit coppery like any man’s body hair, but there was an underlying note of sweetness that Conrad enjoyed. He ran his tongue through the thick fur, lapping up every drop of sweat. Hadisi ignored it at first, seemingly just happy that Conrad wasn’t trying to kiss him on the neck or lips, but then he laughed a little like he was ticklish. Conrad’s hands caressed Hadisi’s plump asscheeks and trunk-like thighs.

Conrad spat into his palm and used it to lube up his ass, since there obviously was no lube here. He had taken enough cock in exotic locations that he didn’t think it would hurt too much, even if Hadisi did have an exceptionally large member. Conrad knew how to take it.

“Are you okay, Hadisi?”

“Yes!” He was nervous, but, it seemed, enthusiastic. He blushed a little and looked down. “I am ready to do buttocks.” He smacked Conrad’s left asscheek and watched it ripple.

That made Conrad smile — it was funny how some straight-guy behaviors were universal. He backed his ass up to Hadisi’s crotch until he felt that hot slab of meat pulsating in his crack. It stayed there, wedged between his cheeks. Hadisi humped it up and down at first, teasing Conrad, the throbbing of his shaft sending tendrils of pleasure up Conrad’s spine from his ass.

Then Hadisi gripped Conrad by the back of the neck. He squeezed tightly to hold him in place. Hadisi sucked in breath and gritted his teeth. Conrad nearly slipped in the moist ground, and he dropped to all fours. Hadisi went with him, both of them ensconced in the flowers that blanketed the forest floor here.

A jolt of pain hit Conrad, who bit his lip. Hadisi’s cock slipped in, and the pain melted away into a wave of pre-orgasmic bliss. The pressure was intense since Hadisi had a thick manhood, but Conrad took a deep breath and relaxed himself.

Hadisi worked it in inch by inch, with workmanlike precision. He didn’t even appear to be enjoying it at this point, looking at his dick disappear inside Conrad like a carpenter watching his project come together. But once he was done, and his cock fit entirely within Conrad, Hadisi let his passion flow through him. He kept one hand on Conrad’s neck, while his other caressed Conrad’s smooth back.

He began to flex his hips, gently at first. He worked his dick in, then almost all the way out, then back in again. Once he got into the swing of it, Hadisi closed his eyes once more.

“Ah, yes…” Hadisi continued to speak in low, crooning tones, but he spoke in his own language. Conrad didn’t need a translation to know he was speaking like he would with a girl, saying things that, in English, might be called sweet nothings. Since Conrad didn’t speak the language, they were even nothinger to him right now, and he moaned with desire. So many straight men acted like prison rapists as though they need to prove their straightness, but Hadisi fucked Conrad like he was Hadisi’s beloved. He made love to Conrad’s ass, grinding and rubbing himself over every inch of Conrad’s body.

An orgasm erupted within Conrad, who jacked himself off onto the flower-strewn forest floor. He moaned and squirmed, writhing atop the massive cock he was impaled on. He clenched and grunted.

“Oh god, Hadisi, fuck me…”

Conrad lifted his head up and leaned his body back against Hadisi, who leaned against a tree. The motion and the tightening of Conrad’s ass sent Hadisi over the edge, just in time for Conrad to feel the orgasm flowing through his muscles. His blond chest hairs and black skin trembled behind Conrad’s body.

A burst of hot cum sprayed within him, followed by more, copious jets of creamy goodness filling him up inside. It kept coming, Hadisi’s body heat and his sticky juices seeping to every corner of Conrad’s body. Conrad shuddered as the cum coated his prostate, keeping his own orgasm going while Hadisi grunted in his ear.

His hot, tropical breath condensed on Conrad’s cheek. Hadisi wrapped both of his ropy-muscled arms around Conrad’s body and kissed him on the back of the neck. His tongue teased Conrad’s earlobe.

“Ah, yes… You can come back, you know,” Hadisi said breathlessly, even before his orgasm was complete. His voice broke and his muscles flexed against Conrad’s back. “Just do not tell my girl why. Once we are married…”

“Hmm…” Conrad knew he wouldn’t be back. “If I can, yeah…” Unless by some freak coincidence this bamboo-music album became a platinum best-seller, there was no way his company would release another album of it anytime soon.

“That is good,” Hadisi said. “Thank you.” He pulled his dick out and chuckled when it finally plopped out limply. He wiped it off with a leaf. “If you come back, will you bring me a new Bob Marley cassette? Mine is old and it will not be working for much longer.”

“Yeah,” Conrad said. “Sure.” He planned on mailing the cassette, assuming he could find one. If the locals saw him delivering Bob Marley recordings, they’d never play traditional music for him again. He breathed deeply as his ass recovered, sweet relief flooding him. Hadisi stood over him, cock dangling between his legs while he recounted the money.

“Stay here,” Hadisi said. “I will get the village together so you can take the photo here. Do you want me naked?”

“Oh… Well… Yeah,” Conrad said. They’d have to put a black bar over his cock, but they could arrange it so it still showed off his six-pack abs, muscled chest and handsome face. That would be a great way to attract the horny housewives in Starbucks. “If that’s cool… Yeah, naked would be great.” But Hadisi was already gone.

Conrad pulled out his camera to get ready. He needed to decide where to take the picture. This trip to the Solomon Islands was going better than he had hoped. He wasn’t sure how well the album would actually sell, but at least he had it made and he had even gotten his first-ever taste of Melanesian meat.

This, he thought, had been the most successful voyage yet in his career as a talent scout. If only the men of every country could be as sexy as Hadisi.

Ingénuefication: Brothel Hag to Giddy Babe

Here’s the entirety of Ingénuefication: Brothel Hag to Giddy Babe, a new story about an elderly haggard woman who gets to live life again for a time as a voluptious, perky young babe in the Old West! It’s part of the Ingénuefication series.

Martha Twaddlestuff came downstairs to the tavern in the late afternoon. Her head pounded. She didn’t know why — she had not drunk all that much last night, but she felt like she had a terrible hangover. She’d been lounging around in her home all day recovering.

It was time to visit her empire; she didn’t quite feel good, but she felt good enough. She didn’t like to be away for more than a couple hours. If her lifetime spent managing this place had taught her anything, it was that employees need to be managed and herded and corralled more strictly than the cows that constituted the lifeblood of Mikasaukee, Nebraska. If she were gone for an entire night, the place would erupt in a frenzy of cowboys fighting, ranchhands screwing anything with a pulse, the fae-faced bartender giving out free drinks so he could seduce macho vaqueros. That wasn’t catastrophizing, she thought, it was what had actually happened the last time she took a night off.

That, she supposed, came with the territory. Running the only brothel in this corner of Nebraska came with it certain perks. Martha made a comfortable living, had plenty of power in the town and could sleep with virtually any man she wanted.

Her employees stared at her like she was an idiot for coming down here. They didn’t want her here. They were giving her the silent treatment, it seemed, pretending they didn’t know her.

The tavern was fine. It was open for business, on time, which was good. It had been swept and cleaned appropriately. There was nothing she needed to get angry about, which was good. She did not feel up to yelling or threatening anyone today. Even besides the hangover — which was finally going away — she was in a bad mood this afternoon, a relic of the night before.

Last night, Martha had been depressed. She didn’t remember why or what she had done to fix it — aside from getting blind drunk — but she remembered feeling she had wasted her life. When she was growing up, she thought whores were disgusting, just as she had been taught. And now she managed them; she spent her days brainstorming plans to make them more popular; she profited off the girls who worked for her and the men who hired them.

Is that what she had wanted to do with her life? The married women of Mikasaukee seemed to have such simple, pleasurable lives. They didn’t have to worry about anything but pleasing their man. A part of Martha knew it wasn’t that simple, yet she couldn’t stop daydreaming about being a normal married woman.

If she were younger, of course, she could be single. That had been glorious. For a few years when Martha was a young woman, she was popular and beloved by all the boys. She had fun every moment of every day. Doing something scandalous like hanging out in a low-class tavern was the most fun she had ever had. Taking a management role in the brothel had been a delight, until the day she bought it, and her dream became the grave she was very, very slowly being buried alive in.

What a dream it would be to be young and virginal again. Martha would have given anything to be a virgin once more.

She sighed. The wrinkles on her haggard face were so familiar to her she didn’t even notice them anymore. She caught her reflection in a bottle of whiskey behind the bar, and for one glorious moment, she thought she looked young and beautiful once more. It must have just been the angle of the bottle, she thought. She wished the whole world only ever saw her through that bottle.

“I’m not going to tell her. Madam Twaddlestuff can suck an egg,” said Janey. She was one of the prostitutes who worked for Martha. “She can hit me all she wants.”

Martha knew her girls didn’t much like her. That was normal. No one liked the brothel owner, but no one stopped going there either. Janey and the lavender-voiced bartender, Albert, must have not seen her. They talked in hushed tones at the bar.

“If she finds out you, she won’t beat you, Janey. She’s not like that,” Albert said. “She’ll deduct the cost of the mirror from your pay. You’ll go hungry for a few weeks, that’s it.”

Janey sounded like she was near tears. “I can’t do that! I’m hungry all the time as it is!”

“Hush, hush, she’ll hear you!” Albert said. He glanced down at Martha, who assumed she had been caught. But then Albert just whispered, “if you don’t tell her you broke it, she’ll deduct it from everyone’s pay. She’s an evil cow, Janey, she’ll figure it out-“

“Then I’ll go! She can’t stop me! I can make it to California,” Janey said. “Don’t you try to stop me either, Albert.”

“I won’t. I’ll miss you, but if that’s where your heart is telling you to go, then that is where you should go,” Albert said. Then he stopped talking because a man entered the tavern. Albert smiled and greeted him. “Sit anywhere, sir. Did you need any refreshments? Or a woman? Any of the women here are available for the right price,” Albert said. Then he pointed to Martha, “except her. Sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to give the impression you worked here.”

Martha cocked her head to the side. Did Albert fail to recognize her? That couldn’t be; they’d known each other for eight years. Maybe he was distracted, she decided, by the cowboy who had entered.

That’s because the cowboy was ungodly sexy. He had a thick shock of blond hair, broad shoulders and deep dimples. He was tall, with a crooked smile, clean leather outfit clinging to his muscled frame. He was the kind of customer that the girls might fight over.

“Oh, I just came in to wet my lips,” said the cowboy. “Name’s Harkness.”

“Nice to meetcha, Harkness.”

Harkness sat down at the bar, a few stools down from Martha. He tilted his cowboy hat at her. “Ma’am.”

Before Harkness could even take a drink from the beer Albert served him, Janey pushed next to him. She smiled coquettishly. “You’re one hell of a cowboy, Harkness. I bet you know how to ride a mare real good.” She licked her lips lustily.

“Sure do,” he said. He smiled at her in a way that suggested he was aware of her implications, and wasn’t interested.

“Nice try, Janey,” Martha said. She intended for her words to be the trigger that made Janey and the others realize she was here — no one had yet suggested they recognized her. It was because, she thought, she was in a shadowy corner of the tavern. Neither Janey nor Albert had gotten a good look at her.

But Janey just looked at her like she was crazy. “What are you even doing here, slut?” Janey walked away without waiting for a response. Albert laughed.

The cowboy, Harkness, frowned. “Ignore her, miss. There’s nothing wrong with a woman drinking alone in a tavern. I’m sure you are a chaste young beauty.” He smiled. He flashed his dimples at her.

This was not the first time anyone had flirted with Martha. She recognized it well. But it was a shock since hardly anyone flirted with her like this anymore — Harkness seemed to think she was young and virginal, not a bawdy old mare. He treated her like a girl instead of a woman.

She looked at herself in the whiskey bottle again. Then she looked at herself in the brandy bottle next to it.

That was no optical illusion: Martha had changed. She looked like a young blonde maiden, with fresh cheeks, rosy skin and bright, clear eyes. Martha was young again. Her tits were perky, her legs sinewy and smooth. Her hair glistened. Her lips were full. Her eyes were bright and bubbly.

And this man, Harkness, he liked her. He looked like he should be a knight in an old-fashioned tale. He had a square jaw and noble nose like a Roman gentleman. He looked kind too. He looked merciful and gentle and strong and brave. He looked like he would never hurt a soul.

“Oh, I may not be the perfect maiden you were hoping for,” Martha said with a giggle. That made Harkness laugh. Martha had rarely been this silly. It was obvious to everyone who looked that Martha was indeed a “perfect maiden”. She looked like an unsoiled beauty because she was.

A part of Martha was aware that she had become an ingénue, which was precisely what she had wished for last night. She didn’t know why, but it had happened. Of course, part of being an ingénue is being naive, trusting and sweet. So she was nonplussed about the transformation and it never even occurred to her that Harkness might not be the noble virtue-toting gentleman that she had assumed. Old Martha would have seen Harkness as dollar signs at best and as a seducer and lover of her girls at worst — he was precisely the kind of cowboy who would fall in love with a girl like Janey and take her to California. Old Martha did not want that.

As an ingénue, however, Martha did not care if Janey left. She preferred it, in fact, because prostitution seemed rather gross and unpleasant. She would rather have seen Janey fall in love and start a family anew. But Martha’s ingénue mind was much more focused on Harkness. She didn’t care about Janey, she cared about Harkness and his flashing eyes, dimpled smile and tan skin.

“Do you want to see the upstairs?” Martha asked, suppressing her girlish giggles.

“Upstairs? Don’t you want a drink first?” he asked.

Albert jumped in between them. “Uh, miss… Miss Twaddlestuff owns this tavern, and the upstairs is her apartment, her personal home-“

“I know,” Martha said. “I have a key. Miss Twaddlestuff trusts me implicitly. We knew each other when we were young.”

She led Harkness away from the tavern by the hand. He had a nervous, excited smile on his face like he couldn’t believe his luck in getting to bag a non-whore — there were simply not many nice women in this part of Nebraska, so it was an uncommon experience for him.

“You really know Miss Twaddlestuff?” Harkness asked when they made it to the stairs. His voice trailed off because Martha shook her ass; she was a few steps higher than him, so he was mesmerized by the sight. When Martha was this age originally, she didn’t know how to use her ass like that — it was a skill she had retained during this transformation. Her ingénue-mind was only vaguely aware that Harkness even looked at her. Ingénues didn’t know about leering, lecherous men.

“She’s an old and dear friend,” Martha said.

“Old is about right.”

Martha giggled. She knew Harkness was making fun of her, but it was hard not to laugh. He was right. She was old. Or she had been old, anyway, she had been old until sometime today. Now, she thought, she was gloriously young all over again.

“Girl, you look good enough to eat when you bend over like that,” Harkness said, his deep voice resonating in the small stairway. He whistled.

Martha blushed. She felt so suddenly nervous she couldn’t get the key in the apartment door. Her fingers trembled. She was so anxious she wanted to cry. She felt the body heat radiating off Harkness, who was close enough behind her she could virtually feel his body — he had come up closer, as near as he could possibly be without actually touching her. She sensed his presence and his physicality just beyond her body’s touch.

“Girl, you are beautiful,” he said. “Lemme help.” He guided her trembling hand to the doorknob and the key underneath it. The key clicked into the lock. The door slid open.

“Oh, thanks, I… I haven’t opened this door often, since this isn’t my home-“

“Sure, girl,” he said before either of them entered. “I think… You’re going to think I’m just saying this to seduce you, but I think I might love you. It’s been… I never felt this way about anyone before. No girl can live up to your perfection.” Harkness scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold into her apartment. She slammed the door shut with one foot.

For virtually anyone who might have been watching, Harkness’ sweet words were obviously canned. He was a serial seducer of women. His lines were well-practiced and smooth, not spontaneous. That was clear to most people, who saw Harkness as shallow and stupid.

Martha, however, never doubted his sincerity. That’s because Martha was no longer capable of being insincere — it was her stock in trade as an elderly brothel owner, but as a beautiful young ingénue, she took everything Harkness said at face value.

“I want to be with you forever,” he said as he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Then he dropped her on the bed. Martha squealed and laid back. The old Martha would have ripped off her own clothes and/or Harkness’, but ingénue-Martha did not think to do that. Only sluts got naked, she thought, nice girls were undressed.

That was precisely what Harkness did. As he kissed her on the lips and the neck, and suckled on her sensitive flesh, Harkness took off her clothes. His lips traveled down her body, stimulating every inch of her skin. He suckled on each nipple in turn. Ingénue-Martha had no idea that nipples were sensitively sexy; when his lips touched her, she moaned and crooned. Nothing had ever been like this, she thought, it was totally unprecedented; all of her past lovemakings had been undone and replaced by this man, this occasion, this body and this series of overwhelming, overmounting, overcoming sexual sparks spiking her system. She moaned more potently than she thought possible.

His muscles roiled beneath her touch. Martha was overcome. He murmured sweet nothings in her ear, his soft, deep voice rasping in her senses, wrapping itself around her thoughts until she could ponder nothing but the depths of pleasure in her womanhood.

“You’re so beautiful, the most amazing creature I’ve ever seen. So pure, so clean, so wonderful… I want you, girl. I need you. I need you more than anything. I need you like no one has ever needed anything else in this world.”

And that was only his finger, all this pleasure came from nothing more than his pinkie finger teasing her femininity. Martha clenched down tight on it, out of pure instinct. Harkness moaned into her mouth as he kissed her again and again.

This version of Martha was a virgin. Not only that, but Martha didn’t even know what that meant — she was so virginal she learned what sex was as she experienced it for the first time — she had long understood the concept, of course, but she didn’t expect the intact hymen or the flood of uncontrollable sensations when he entered. She didn’t know it would be like this. She’d fingered herself as a young lady, exploring her burgeoning sexuality, but this made her feel different than that; this was a world apart from her own experimental fingering. This was a mind-shattering, world-altering explosion of desire within her.

There was pleasure, rotating around her womanhood for now, and growing only slightly more potent with each thrust of his hips. There was pain too, intense at first but gradually disappearing as he went on. There was fear, and anticipation, and confusion. Martha’s skin tingled, overwhelming her mind. All she could do was frisson atop the clean sheets of her own bed.

“Oh hell, baby, I… You alright? You got virgin-sheets, I see, couple drops of blood. Ain’t mean to hurtcha,” he whispered in her ear. “You just tell me if I’m going at ya too hard. Got me?”

Her body cried out for more. He fucked very slowly at first, just the first few inches of his meat filling her up inside. He rotated his hips, moving his cock around to tease her entire body. He smiled with a pinched expression on his face, like it took all of his focus to fuck her so he struggled to smile at the same time.

“Don’t stop! Don’t slow down! Harkness, oh yes!”

One of his fingers roamed down to her clitoris, even as his manhood slid into and out of her as well. He gently touched it, caressing it, exploring it as it awakened her orgasmic pleasures deep within her body. Martha moaned, which made her blush — nice girls like her shouldn’t be moaning.

But she found it difficult to stay quiet. She felt such intense sensations that she wanted to cry and beg at once; she wanted to swoon, sob and sing. She could do none of those things, however, because his cock was relentless. It sent a constant array of shifting blisses through her body, making her writhe on her own sheets.

“Oh, baby, I can’t believe you were a virgin. I didn’t think any girls in this town were virgins,” he breathlessly heaved. “Don’t worry, I’m no cad, I’m not here to seduce you and leave you. I love you so much.” He planted his lips on hers. She couldn’t respond to him verbally — not that she wanted to — because the pleasure in her body made her mind weak and empty. She could think of nothing else but the feeling of his manhood plowing into her body over and over again.

“I’ll be with you always, no matter what,” he said. “We’ll live in paradise in California.” His kisses traveled down her body once again. He stopped moving with his meat all the way inside her, the pressure so intense she squirmed on his cock. She gasped and bit her lip. Her frenzied reaction made him chuckle, and the movement of his body when he laughed sent Martha over the edge. “Is this too much, girl? You want me to stop?”

“Oh god! No! Don’t stop!” Martha screamed. She blushed at the realization that she was loud enough the people downstairs might hear. As an ingénue, the idea that people would know she was having sex before marriage was abhorrent.

Not that she wanted to stop.

Her fingers tightened into claws as pleasure shot through her veins like a swig of grain liquor. She dug her nails into the muscled back of Harkness, making him grunt and grimace. His skin twitched, and his whole body trembled, the movement awakening her final climax.

But it felt slutty to claw at his back. Martha had overheard her aunts talking once when she was a girl, and they spoke poorly of a low-class woman by describing her as having dug her nails into many men’s backs. She didn’t know what that meant when she was young, or even just a few hours ago, she would have been at a loss to explain it.

Now, however, she knew exactly what it meant. She knew she had always been meant to be precisely that kind of woman. She had always dug her nails into her men’s backs precisely to make herself into the kind of women her aunts disapproved of.

“Oh, god, yes, fuck me, Harkness!” she said. It was the first time she had said fuck — as an ingénue, of course — and it made her blush. She hoped no one heard, except for Harkness himself.

He grinned and kissed her on the lips, then threw his head back and moaned even more loudly. His baritone rattled the wooden walls of the apartment, and his trembling body made the bed shake underneath her.

He sharply inhaled, while Martha closed her eyes and endured her orgasm. It was so potent it hurt, and it made her beg herself for mercy. She both wanted it to continue forever and couldn’t handle it going on for even another moment.

“Aw, damn, sweetheart, you are too good for me…” He said, his kind voice now tense, his face pinched and pained.

Cum flew into her body. He moaned. She had never experienced this in her conscious memory, and it made her want to shout. He groaned and exhaled sharply on her neck, his tongue lolling out and touching her sensitive skin. She clutched him closely as her own climax wracked her body.

Once again, she dug bloody rills into his back. She blushed and tried to stop herself, but her body tensed up and refused to respond to her brain’s entreaties. She just ripped up his back while he groaned, seemingly unaware the entire time.

“Oh god, girl, god-damn…” He let out a long slow moan. It was an intense enough sound to make her cringe and giggle, as the last pangs of ultra-sensitive pleasure wafted out of her.

It was still too powerful a feeling for her to say anything until he finally pulled his cock out of her body. She felt an onrush of air and an explosion of oversensitive bliss deep inside her. It was agonizingly wonderful, and it made her squirm beneath his muscular chest.

“Harkness… Thank you for seducing me,” she said.

He rolled over on the bed. He lay next to her. He wrapped his arms and his legs around her, and held her close.

“Damn… I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

“I can’t wait to go with you,” she said. She nuzzled him close. His body heat was so inviting, she wanted to go to sleep right away. “What is California like?”

He bit his lip. “About that… I can’t wait for us to go either. I love you, girl. I’ll take you there one day. I’ll make a respectable woman out of you yet. I might need… I gotta save up some money though, first.”

“I can wait. I’m so glad we’re in love. With a love like ours, we can achieve anything together,” she said.

He smiled at her. He kissed her on the lips. “That’s right, girl, love. We’re in love. We’ll be together forever.”

Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop, a brand-new story of hot gay ebony urban fiction! It’s also part of the Gridiron Yards series of hardcore gay erotica about football jocks!

Willie could tell that the beefy young man waiting for a haircut wanted something more than a haircut. He had a feeling he knew what it was. But there was something alluring about a straight guy who was nervous about sex, so Willie didn’t hurry.

When another one of the barbers — Jameson — finished and offered his chair to the beefy young man, he shook his head and pointed to Willie as though it was a secret that he was waiting for him. Willie stuck his ass in the air and waved it around as he finished with the hair of the elderly man in his chair now.

The beefy young man tapped his feet. He was trying to look nonchalant, bobbing his head to the beat of the song on the radio. He pretended to be participating in the conversation Jameson was having with the third barber, Hardy.

But it was obvious he was bursting at the seams with anticipation. When Willie finally finished taking the money from the old man, the young buck leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat in a way that he surely hoped was not attention-grabbing but ended up making everyone else in the room look at him.

“Hey, uh… hi.”

“Hi! What’ll it be?” Willie smiled and giggled. He was the only gay man in the barbershop, so he was used to being the center of attention — he was the feminine element. This young beefy guy was clearly here hoping to get Willie to suck him off. That was not rare. But Willie liked to make his straight bait work for it.

“Uh… A special. A special haircut.” He spoke softly, which again drew much more attention than he had intended.

“Yo, Willie, just do it, man, quit torturin’ him,” Jameson said with a snicker.

“Do what, Jameson?” Willie asked with mock insouciance. He paused to take a long sip from the bottle of water on his counter.

Jameson rolled his eyes. He turned to the young man. “What’s yo’ name, nigga?”

“Lake.”

“Okay, Lake, this is Willie. Willie, this is Lake. Willie, it is obvious to everyone that Lake wants you to suck his dick but is too shy to ask. Lake, it is obvious to everyone but you that Willie wants to suck your dick and likes to tease you-“

“Shut up, Jameson, come on, I don’t go out to the nightclubs and tell fat chicks you don’t eat pussy worth a damn,” Willie said. He pushed Jameson away. Everyone else in the barbershop erupted in howls of laughter. Jameson just rolled his eyes, while the beefy college-age kid, Lake, looked so nervous he was going to faint.

“I never had no complaints!” Jameson said as he walked away. He continued to discuss eating pussy loudly with the other straight men, all of whom boasted so loud that Willie and Lake had to raise their voices to be heard.

“So… Lake… that’s a cute name,” Willie said.

“Oh. Thanks. My mom came up with it.”

“Were you conceived at a lake?”

Lake’s eyes opened wide. “I-I-I don’t… I don’t know.”

Willie giggled. “Haven’t you ever asked why she named you that?”

He shook his head. “I think she just likes it.”

“So do you really want a blowjob?”

“Uh…” He had a very serious look on his face. He raised his voice to be heard but tried to whisper at the same time. “I don’t know if that’s… I was told I should ‘fuck you’.” He made little scare quotes. “But uh… Khalad ain’t elaborate, that’s all he said. I dunno if a blowjob is all that, y’know… They need.”

“Who? What?”

“Uh…” He sighed and glanced over at Jameson and them, who were laughing uproariously.

“Let’s go in the back,” Willie said. He took hold of Lake’s belt and held onto that. Lake leaned back as he walked, like he didn’t want to get any closer to Willie than he had to. Willie guided him by the belt to the backroom.

The others started making rude porno noises. Someone moaned oh, give it to me, Willie, stick it in me! Thanks for making me bottom! Lake bristled a bit as though he wanted to assert his dominance, but he was too nervous in this situation.

Once they were safely in the backroom, Lake breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know how to do this. I know how to hit on girls, you know, not-”

“You can treat me like that.”

He stepped forward and for a moment it looked like he was going to sweep Willie into his arms and kiss him. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that. Man… What if I can’t?”

“What is going on?”

“I’m on the football team at GHU, and the seniors said everyone on the team has to fuck a gay guy. It proves your masculinity or something. You were on the list.”

“I’m flattered,” Willie said. He made it seem like he didn’t know about the list, but in fact, he had asked to be on it.

“But all Khalad said was ‘fuck a gay guy’, or something, I don’t know, they ain’t say if it’s gotta be anal or not-“

“Relax, Lake, it’s okay, quit whining. You know you don’t have to do it, right?”

“They said the freshmen have to do it, no matter what.”

“How are they going to check? I’m not going to give them a list of the guys I sucked off, Lake. I promise I’ll tell them you did it, okay?” Willie paused. “But yeah, if it said you have to fuck, that implies anal.”

“Man…”

“Do you want to do it?”

“Kinda…” He bit his lip and looked down. “I’m not into guys.”

“You’re just horny?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s harder to get laid at college than I thought.”

He leaned back in Pete’s office chair. Pete would have hated that, which made Willie giggle — the owner, Pete, hated it when people sat in his chair. Willie got on his knees and fished Lake’s cock out of his pants.

Lake stiffened up and grunted. He closed his eyes when Willie’s tongue hit his cocktip, which stiffened up in Willie’s mouth. Lake was a healthy young athlete so his cock perked right up into a full erection almost right away. Willie liked that — sometimes the straight guys he serviced treated his blowjobs like a chore they had to struggle to complete, even when they initiated it.

Willie let his fingers roam up Lake’s body. Lake hadn’t taken off his jersey, so Willie had to sneak underneath it to touch his muscles, which were firm and stiff. Lake was tense. Willie could feel his anxiety roiling beneath his flesh, his worry that he was going to become gay or look gay or be perceived as gay or even just feel gay later. It made Willie giggle again.

“Have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?” Willie asked as he thwacked Lake’s cock all over his face.

“I’m not a virgin,” Lake said. “But no, I never got a girl to give up the booty — man, don’t tell no one. If they ask you about it, tell them I was an expert, that I fucked a lot of girls in the ass, okay? I don’t know how to do it.” He sniffled a little. Was he about to cry from tension? It almost looked like it.

“Lake, Lake, relax, nigga, chill out. I don’t like to tell people about everything I do, okay? I’m not gonna spread stuff about you. I promise they’re not even gonna ask, okay? They don’t care. They’re just teasing you.”

“What?”

“They always tell freshmen weird shit like that because they wanna see what you’ll do,” Willie said. He turned and backed his ass up towards Lake’s cock. Lake kept his eyes closed, even as he listened attentively to Willie’s words. “Last year the seniors told the basketball freshmen they all had to cum on my face at the same time or they’d never make a three-pointer all season. That wasn’t a real superstition, they just wanted to make them do it and make fun of them for it when they finally did it after a bunch of tries-“

“You let them do it?”

“Is that a joke? Of course I let the basketball team bukkake me. I made it as tough as possible so they’d have to keep trying to cum simultaneously, over and over again” Willie said. He grimaced as he backed his ass onto Lake’s cock. There was a twinge of pain, but Willie was well-lubed and ready to go. He held his breath as that massive cock slid into his ass.

“I can guess why you never talked a girl into givin’ up the ass. You got some hefty meat, nigga,” Willie said with a laugh. The laughter made his back shake, which in turn caused a bolt of pain.

“Oh, sorry, does that hurt?”

“Yes, and don’t apologize,” Willie said. He leaned back and stroked Lake’s muscles beneath his football jersey. Struggling with the intense feelings in his ass, Willie lifted the football jersey off Lake’s body. That gave him easy access to nuzzle Lake’s barrel chest.

“Is that… I mean… do straight guys normally let you suck their chest? That’s weird,” Lake said.

“You can tell me to stop,” Willie said softly. “But most guys don’t mind. You have a great chest. Girls must love you.”

He shrugged. “I got a girl,” he said. He groaned and exhaled sharply. His cock twitched in Willie’s ass.

“You have a girl?”

He nodded. He opened his mouth to say something — probably her name — but then he just moaned and grunted. Willie kissed him on the neck, stretching to reach it because Willie was so much shorter than Lake.

“She doesn’t do anal?”

Lake chuckled. “Nah. She say she don’t do that. She say only sluts do that.”

“You poor baby… Does she suck your dick at least?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I know what that means,” Willie said. “Well anytime she leaves you hanging, you can come see me, big guy. I’ll take care of you.” Willie bit his lip. “Are you going to tell her about this?”

“Hell no,” he said. It sounded like he was having trouble talking now, unable to concentrate as he approached his orgasm. He even very briefly kissed Willie’s earlobe before shuddered at the realization was sort-of making out with a gay man. A tortured cry escaped from his throat.

And then cum flew into Willie’s ass, coating his prostate in creamy warmth. Willie moaned as well, and the pressure inside his ass was enough to send him over the edge too. He shot a big wad that sprayed over his chest and belly, filling the air in Pete’s office with the cottony scent of cum.

“Ah, damn…” Lake said. He shuddered. When Willie started to pull off his dick, Lake grunted and spasmed, his whole body shaking.

Then his dick at last plopped out. Lake looked down at it, his muscles utterly relaxed — he had gone from tense and firm as a statue to a limp pile of brown muscles in just a few minutes. Willie licked some of the sweat off Lake’s chest and biceps.

“What the fuck?! Willie! Willie, you piece of shit!” Pete’s voice rang out. He barged into his own office. “You! Whoever you are, nigga, get your bare ass outta my chair! I oughtta kick your ass!”

Lake was scared of getting in trouble, even though Pete had no authority over him. All Pete could do was kick Lake out of the barbershop. He could, in theory, have fired Willie.

But Willie knew that wouldn’t happen. Every City Barbershop had a gay guy; it was virtually in the corporate handbook. Willie’s blowjobs kept the sexy straight studs coming in, and they made the place popular enough and hip enough to bring in everyone else. Pete wouldn’t fire Willie to replace him with a different gay guy (who would almost certainly continue sucking guys off in Pete’s chair anyway).

So Willie teased him, rubbing and caressing Lake’s muscles as Lake hurried to put his clothes back on and Pete screamed at him to hurry up. Willie dove his face between Lake’s big quarterback asscheeks while Lake tried to pull his pants up. Willie giggled as Pete roared in frustration and dragged Lake out the best he could — it was tough because Lake’s pants were around his ankles and because Lake was a huge athlete twice Pete’s middle-aged size.

Eventually, however, that left Willie there alone to giggle and wait for Pete to return to his office.

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, nigga.”

“You don’t gotta talk,” Willie said. “You want a blowjob?”

“Just go cut someone’s hair!”

Street Trade: Stealing a John

Here’s the entirety of Street Trade: Stealing a John, a new story from the Str8 Trade series! It’s about Chazz’s ongoing quest to explore the exciting world of Street Trade!

There you are, Johnny-boy, I see you comin’ my way! Why don’t you break me off a piece of that sugar?

That was it, that was him. Chazz stepped out from behind the dumpster and stopped in front of John. He was a short black man, muscular but not large, firm and tight-bodied beneath an ill-fitting suit. It wasn’t quite colorful enough or nice enough to be a pimp suit — it was faded and frayed, loose threads and old stains abounding. Chazz knew who John was because he had been living in a flophouse nearby and watching.

John came down here to Canal Street every weekend. He always paid for a blowjob from one of the hookers. He always asked for anal, but he never had the money for it. He begged them to let him in the back-door for free, promising that he’d lick their pussy when he was done — Chazz suspected he would have an excuse to leave if that ever happened: no straight man ate prostitutes’ pussies, he thought.

Chazz thought John was sexy, and he thought John was willing to try a different route to that backdoor. He had been working on this plan for weeks.

“I’m comin’ fo’ you, girl!” John said to the prostitutes. He walked slowly, with a barely perceptible limp.

“Hey,” Chazz said. He startled John, who glared at him. “You wanna make some money? I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to do to me whatever you were gonna do to her, and more. You can fuck me six ways to Sunday.”

John had been bopping his head to an unheard beat as he came down the alley. He kept bouncing on his feet, even as his eyes bugged out. Then finally he stopped and chuckled.

“Yo,” he said, flat and simple. “What?”

Chazz repeated himself. He blushed a little. This was always the awkward part, and he was suddenly a lot less confident that John would say yes. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars. All you gotta do is fuck me.”

“Yo, I, uh, I ain’t homosexual, right, and I don’t fuck ‘round on the downlow.”

“This wouldn’t be on the downlow, this would be here in public.”

“That ain’t a sellin’ point, man,” he said with a snarl. He pushed Chazz out of the way. “Go’n, boi, get outta here b’fore I swipe ya head off. I ain’t no boytoy for no gay, no way, no way, I ain’t gonna lay no fay limp-wrist doin’ sashay always the gay.” He had barely even stopped walking for a moment before continuing on, doing his little rap to that same beat he had been tapping as he came in. He shook his head and headed towards the girls.

C’mon, baby, you look tasty tonight! You wear that suit like a stud!

You get all dressed up like that for me, sweetie? Ain’t you the handomest?!

Chazz was disappointed. He was usually a good read on men. John had seemed like he’d do it for some money, but the way he phrased that and the way he moved on right away made it seem like he would not do it for any amount of money.

“Yo, sweetheart, you lookin’ fine in that purple. Whatcha think ‘bout-“ John stopped talking and turned around. He jogged back to Chazz and smiled, showing off deep dimples. “Yo, I forgot, I do it. Two hundred and some pee.” Then, he gasped, “I mean, in a cup, man. Pee in a cup. Not, you know, like a sex thing. Pee in a cup. I need it tomorruh for a pee test.”

Chazz was taken aback. “Oh. You forgot? You forgot you do swing downlow?”

“I just… I remembered this little business I got, man, it’s real impo’tant and it ain’t not a bit of yo’ business ’t all,” he said. He snorted. “But yeah, I gots a plan fo’ that money, hell yeah. And that’ll be the first time I evuh got clean pee for my PO.” He peered at Chazz. “Do gays smoke weed? You smoke weed?” He screwed up his eyebrows like he had never pondered the possibility that gays might smoke weed.

“No. Well, yes, but I haven’t smoked in months,” Chazz said.

He nodded. “Okay, good.” He produced a specimen cup — an actual one, from a lab — and handed it over.

Chazz went behind the dumpster to pee. “You carry this around with you?”

“I was goin’ somewhere wit’ it,” he said, snarling like he didn’t like Chazz inquiring about it. He came up behind Chazz by the dumpster. He swiped the cup from him as soon as Chazz had replaced the lid. He didn’t seem to care that a few drops of pee got on the sleeve of his ratty old suit. “Get on yo’ knees. You ain’t a girl, so don’t even think I’m gonna seduce you or call you sweetheart or kiss you. I don’t nevuh did love no male man, no way. Nope.”

“No problem,” Chazz said as he dropped to his knees.

Where’d Johnny-boy go? He was just here.

John chuckled dryly. He had a nice, raspy throat that made Chazz hard. Chazz undid the fly of his nattered suitpants. He pulled out a juicy, fat cock. Since John was short and not especially large, his cock looked even bigger, extending almost all the way to his knees and as plump in diameter as his forearm.

“Just put the tip in yo’ mouth, boy,” John said. Then he clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Sorry, I don’t like sayin’ that. I gonna call you girl. Okay, girl?”

“Uh-huh,” Chazz spoke around the cock throbbing in his throat. It was limp still, but it was gathering steam. He could feel it twitching and twinkling as John got used to the situation.

“Alright, girl, put the tip in yo’ mouth.” He paused and pulled out a cigarette. He patted his pants pockets. “Damn, girl, you got a lighter?”

Chazz shook his head. He put the tip of John’s dick in his mouth and suckled loudly, moistly. He got a taste of clean cock — it was clear John had showered right beforehand. He must have wanted to be at his cleanest for the prostitute he had planned on hiring.

John snorted. A trashy-looking white redneck walked past the dumpster, heading towards the girls. He didn’t notice John getting a blowjob in the shadows. “Yo, hey, man,” John called out to him. “You got a light, man?”

The redneck nodded. He fished a lighter out and gave it to John, who lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. The redneck realized then that John was getting a blowjob from a man, and he backed away. “Uh, keep the lighter,” he said. He turned around and darted towards the safety of the prostitutes.

John cackled. “Whiteboys don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this kinda shit. They squeamish as all hell, man.” He took another drag. “Free lighter, alright, alright, alright.” He sighed. “Alright, now get ya tongue out a bit, girl. Move it around some.”

Chazz did what he said. He kept sucking on the tip and licking the shaft at the same time, his tongue flickering out to tease every inch of his manhood. John leaned against the brick wall facing the dumpster. He closed his eyes and groaned.

“Yo, lick right here, baby,” he said. He pointed to a spot, and when Chazz licked that enthusiastically, John groaned again. He smiled. “Yeah, you pretty good. I’m gonna keep tellin’ you how to do it, girl. Hope that’s okay. I’m sure you got ‘xperience, but I like it done in just the right way. Lick here now, girl, get that tongue out… Yeah…” He spoke in a low, slow-melting voice.

Is that you, Johnny? I see you there. Whatchoo doin’ behind the dumpsters? Ain’t you gonna come see me?

John laughed and covered his face. He poked his head out from behind the dumpster. “Hey, sweetheart! I might take a break this week.” He snorted and smiled. “Wait! Nah! You come on ovuh here, Sharlene! I got somethin’ for ya! It’s gonna be real special!” His voice was smooth and kind, but then he glared down at Chazz and spoke more brusquely. “Alright, you can deep-throat me now, girl.”

Chazz was excited to show his capabilities. He slammed his face all the way down on John’s dick, until his nose mashed into the fabric of his slacks. His wiry pubic hair scratched at Chazz’s lips and his balls swayed past his chin.

“Okay, nice, alright then, alright, alright,” John said, like he hadn’t expected Chazz to suck so well. He smiled as Sharlene approached. She was a big black girl with a wide ass. She wore a bright green dress that showed off her assets. She smiled at John, then frowned when she saw that he was receiving a blowjob from a man.

“Hello,” she said. She glared at Chazz and barked out, “what’s this? You stealin’ my customers? My daddy ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout that.”

Chazz grinned, but he didn’t pull off John’s cock, which throbbed in his throat. John gasped like he was shocked that John could deep-throat him all the way to the root.

“Don’t be salty, baby,” John said. He leaned over and kissed Sharlene on the cheek. “He payin’ me, I’m just savin’ some money. You still my one and only. Maybe I can pay you fo’ some anal action next week, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” She put her hands on her hips. “You leavin’ me high and dry.”

“I don’t want you dry, girl, no way. Lemme give you ten,” he said. He pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “I finger ya real good, baby.” He smiled and held up two fingers like he was negotiating. “I put two fingers in ya pussy and one in the ass. You like that? Huh? Or you want two in the ass and one in ya pussy?”

She took the ten-dollar bill. She frowned down at Chazz. “You best hurry up, gayboy. If my daddy come by and you still here, he go’n kick at least three people’s asses. Ten dollars ain’t enough to make him happy.”

John kissed her on the lips. His tongue plunged into her mouth. His head was turned to the side to reach her face, while his crotch was forward for perfect access for Chazz.

As always, when Chazz got into the swing of his latest piece of street trade, he felt a real sense of intimacy with his man. He always thought the best way to get to know a straight man was to suck him off. All of his inner feelings and dreams were palpable when you had him at his most vulnerable, allowing a man to swing on his meat.

And John was no exception. Chazz swallowed his cock to the root as John kissed the prostitute and fingered her pussy and ass. She submited boredly, but John acted like she was just as passionate as she was. Maybe his heterosexuality blinded him, Chazz thought, while Chazz was gay enough that he could see when a woman was just pretending.

John wore this suit to impress her. Chazz had been going back and forth whether he wore it for her or because he just thought he looked good or maybe he was going to go club-hopping later, maybe he just wanted to get his rocks off before hitting on pretty girls so he wouldn’t be too horny. Or maybe he just always wore a suit, or he was hoping to become a pimp one day. There were a million reasons he might be wearing the cheap, ill-fitting burgundy suit.

But the more he sucked, the more Chazz knew the answer — John wanted to look his best for Sharlene, or whichever prostitute looked best to him when he got here. He felt like a trashy loser when he dressed in his ordinary t-shirt and jeans to get a blowjob from a whore, so he wore his only suit instead. He talked like he was seducing her, like she was his girlfriend, like he really loved her, because he wished he was the kind of man who felt that way about a girl.

Now that John was knuckle-deep in the plump prostitute, his dick throbbed and jerked around within Chazz’s throat. It spewed precum in copious quantities.

“I love you, baby, I love you so much,” John murmured to her. He completely ignored Chazz, focusing instead on kissing the prostitute on her neck. “Am I the only nigga you want?”

“Baby, you really are,” she said with a canned moan. She kissed him back on the neck.

He chuckled. “Damn, I like this. Only cost me ten bucks, and I’s gettin’ paid by the fairy. I’s makin’ a profit tonight, damn-howdy!”

The prostitute took a step back. She shook her head. “Nah. My daddy gonna be very mad ‘bout that, Johnnyboy.”

“What?” He had a big smile on his face like a mischievous little boy who had just gotten in trouble.

“Only his girls is allowed to work this alley,” she said. “He go’n cut you. Or just demand all the money the fairy is paying you. Or both.”

John chuckled. “Baby, don’t tell him, okay? You still gettin’ paid-“

“He’s my daddy, I gotta tell him! He get salty if’n I don’t.”

“If you don’t tell him, he won’t know nothin’, baby,” John said. He slipped a second finger into her pussy and groaned. She kissed him on the neck. John groaned. “Tell him the fairy ain’t pay. Tell him I let him have suck me as a freebie.”

“He won’t like that much either, nigga,” she said.

John sighed. “Then tell him to suck my dick or whatevuh, I don’t care. Quit talkin’ ‘bout yo’ pimp.”

He didn’t need to add talk about me instead, but that was what Chazz gleaned he wanted. The prostitute realized that too, and immediately started rubbing his chest through his shirt and talking about how much she wanted a taste of his cock. John just smiled and fingered her pussy. He brought his fingers up to his nose to sniff them.

“Suck ‘em off, baby, lemme see it,” John said. He tried to put his fingers in her mouth, but she kept her lips closed.

“Another ten bucks, sweetheart,” she said softly.

“You charge money to suck on my finger? It just got ya pussyjuice on it, baby? I love you-“

“I love you too, Johnnyboy, but I gotta pay my daddy,” she said. “Ten bucks and I’ll suck on any finger you put in front of my mouth.”

He chuckled and handed over another ten-dollar bill. He shook his head and bit his lip. He put his fingers back in her pussy, then removed his other finger, the one that had been in her ass.

“Hmm,” she moaned like she had been waiting for that. She swallowed his callused finger, making him shudder and lean back again.

Chazz stopped sucking his cock. John watched his finger slide in and out of her mouth like he was hypnotized, like he hadn’t even noticed the blowjob was finished. Chazz pulled his pants down and bared his ass.

Without a word from John, Chazz backed up. He squeezed John’s cock into his asshole. John just kept sticking his fingers in the prostitute’s holes; he switched his fingers around like it was a game, smilingly sickly as he watched her suck her pussy and ass juices off his finger.

Finally he looked down to see his cock slide into Chazz’s ass. He wrinkled his nose a bit, then went back to kissing the prostitute. His whole body trembled beneath the suit.

“Damn, baby, I love anal,” he said. He said it to her even though the only person whose ass he was in was Chazz. His hands roamed over her tits and tweaked her nipples through her green dress. “Can I suck on ya titties, baby? I love you so much. I’m gonna be wit’ you forevuh.”

“Uh-huh,” she crooned. “Twenty bucks.”

“Twenty bucks to suck on ya titties?!”

She smiled. “If you gimme another twenty bucks, I’ll have made fifty bucks off ya. That’s enough I can give my daddy, he ain’t gotta be mad,” she said.

“Alrighty, then, alrighty, but only cuz I love ya and I don’t want him beatin’ on ya, baby. That ain’t a good value, twenty bucks fo’ some titties, nah,” he said with a laugh. But he paid the twenty dollars anyway, and dove for her chest. He lowered her dress to bare the tits and began licking. He groaned. His cock spasmed in Chazz’s ass.

Chazz savored the exquisite feeling of John’s meat throbbing inside him. He moaned. He had to grip the side of the dumpster for support. It took all of his coordination to keep moving his ass back and forth on John’s cock, because John didn’t move his hips at all; Chazz was responsible for the entirety of the fucking. John ignored Chazz completely, kissing and pawing over the prostitute instead.

His sweat soaked his suit, which he had bought in Goodwill for a job interview years ago. John got the job, delivering flowers for a small florist shop. He hated his boss, a mean Armenian man who ran a flower shop even though he was allergic to pollen, disliked romance and thought any man who bought flowers for a woman besides his mother was not a real man. The only part of his job that John liked was that he was not usually in the shop, so he got to walk the streets, smoke joints when he wanted to, and he sometimes got married white housewives to suck his dick (okay, once he got one to suck his dick, but he got handjobs fairly often).

John had never told anyone, but Chazz was not the first man he fucked. When John was in prison for two years, he had a thin, delicate gay black man as a cellmate. Initially, John had beaten him up and taken his fruit cup in the mess hall. He arrived at prison wanting to show off and make a name for himself, and he was glad to have a small, weak cellmate he could pound on.

But over the next nineteen months, John went him hating his lilting, gay-faced cellmate to feeling sorry for him to being grateful for his attention to enjoying fucking him to even giving an enthusiastic reacharound after a few gulps of toilet wine (when there was a sheet up over the cell bars so no one knew John had touched a gay man’s cock). When John was released, he had sworn to himself he was going to make changes in his life, and one of those changes was that he was going to keep visiting his former cellmate. He wasn’t going to be embarrassed about it; he’d do it because he liked the support and adoration and the gay’s unqualified, relentless lust for his body. He liked to feel wanted. He had sworn on his good name that he’d keep coming back.

But once he was free, and he saw girls all over the place, and he got some good-natured ribbing about what he might have done with other males in prison, John wasn’t comfortable with it. In his cell, he could put up a sheet for privacy. If he went to prison as a visitor, he couldn’t hide anything.

So in the end, he had never once visited the man he almost fell in love with. He regretted it often, but John never looked him up again. He counted down the days to the man’s scheduled release date, and then he counted up the days since he had been released.

When he fucked Chazz there in the alley, that was what he thought about, even as he fingered Sharlene. He kissed her while imagining he was kissing a man who didn’t need to be paid to care for him. He bristled with pride at the thought that he had turned someone on enough to pay him for sex. He was a gigolo now, right? Or maybe not technically, but close enough he could claim he was and swear on his mama’s grave he wasn’t lying.

“Kiss me, baby,” he moaned. He grabbed her body and held her close. He kissed her tight on the lips, his tongue exploring her mouth. He was short and she was a little taller than him, but she was much thicker, so he looked even smaller in comparison, like she could have swallowed him up whole if she wanted.

His cock spasmed as he groaned into her mouth. His muscles tensed beneath the suit, which was now plastered to his chest with sweat. His balls drew up in his sac, and for the first time since this had begun, he gripped Chazz’s bare asscheeks. He loudly orgasmed, gasping and heaving in the shadowy alley.

John held Chazz in place and swayed his hips from side to side, fucking every inch of his insides. Cum sprayed over his prostate, triggering Chazz’s own orgasm at last. He sprayed his wad onto the garbagey alley ground, while John’s load coated his body.

John kept on fucking, sucking on the prostitute’s tongue and tweaking her nipples with both hands. His cock rammed in and out of Chazz’s cum-dripping ass. The more he fucked, the more of a mess he made — John had developed this game with his cellmate, making his load frothy, spilling out, bubbling forth in a big drippy wad that made him gag and laugh.

“Damn, boy, you take it — I mean, damn, girl, you got real nasty there, that was nice,” John said. He whistled. He pointed to the messy ass. “You see that, Sharlene? Lookit that. That is some nasty anal. That is right. That’s how you do it.”

“I do that, sugar,” Sharlene said like she was offended at the insinuation that she didn’t know how. “You know my price. You know I don’t give no discounts on anal, not no how.”

He smiled. He kissed Sharlene on the lips. “Yo’ daddy lettin’ you go out sometime, baby? I take you out to dinner-“

“No, sugar, that ain’t allowed,” she said. She pulled her dress back up over her tits.

He shrugged like he was expecting that answer, which he was: he asked her that every time she sucked him off. She said no every time he hired her, which was most weeks — basically unless she was with a different john when he arrived. He didn’t like waiting for her because it gave him plenty of time to wonder what kind of guy she was with, and then she’d inevitably taste like another man when he did get to kiss her. He knew that she was with a lot of men regardless; it was just easier to forget that when he didn’t have to wait for her to be finished with them.

“Hey, girl,” he said to Chazz as he smacked Chazz’s asscheeks. “Will you suck my nut out ya asshole? I want that. That’s hot, man. I love that. Ain’t no kinda girls ever do that. I never seen a female do that, and it turns me on so much-” He paused, then lied as he realized he had sort of admitted he did this with a man before “I mean, some girls do it, some do. That’s how I know how hot it is. But a lot of ‘em won’t do it.” The only person he had ever seen suck cum out of his own ass was his cellmate, but John wasn’t about to admit that.

“Okay, yeah,” Chazz said.

John smiled. He let go of the prostitute and slowly withdrew his limp dick. He gagged at the sight of juices dripping from it. He laughed so loud it echoed against the walls of the dumpster. “Ugh, this is so nasty, girl, I love it. I’m gonna love you too if you do this. I swear to God, I will marry you any day if you promise to suck on ass-to-mouth. So fuckin’ nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. I love it.”

He stroked his cock with one hand. It was so sensitive he yelped and his body undulated beneath the suit. He loosened the tie with his other hand. He rammed two fingers into Chazz’s ass. He gagged again, laughing nervously at his own reaction. He clawed inside Chazz’s body, causing a torrent of pain and exquisite post-orgasmic pleasure. He pulled his fingers out and watched with wide-eyed amazement as Chazz sucked them clean.

His fingers and hand were soaked in cum and assjuice. Chazz loved it. If he had thought John would ever agree to finger his asshole, he would have asked — he would have paid more if he knew it was an option, so he was glad John had initiated it for free instead. John’s fingers were callused and scarred, and they tasted like stale sweat beneath the assjuice and cum.

“That was so disgusting, girl, I love it,” he said to Chazz. “I swear to God, I will marry you, baby.” He paused. “I ain’t serious, I know you ain’t no girl. I won’t marry you. No how. You ain’t my boyfriend.”

“I know,” Chazz said. He pulled his own pants up. He felt grimy and dirty, but he loved that feeling. He watched John tuck away his own cock and zip his slacks back up.

Daddy’s here, where’s my money, babies?!

A big black man in a fine blue suit — this one was perfectly tailored, vibrantly colored and clean as a whistle; this man was clearly a pimp — walked into the alley. He bellowed, and the prostitutes at the other end of the alley all spoke at once. There was a chorus of feminine voices.

The pimp didn’t notice Sharlene there, so she stepped out from behind him. She smiled and giggled to get his attention.

“Oh, hello, baby, whatchoo doin’ back there?” He saw John. “G’evenin’, sir. You got ya usual?”

John laughed. “Not the usual, exactly. But I got what I need, nigga, no pro’lem.” He walked away, dapping his head as he walked, dancing to an unheard beat just like he was when he entered the alley.

Chazz hid there in the shadows for a moment, while the prostitute handed her money over and explained what had happened. When her pimp glowered a little like the money she had earned was not enough, Chazz wondered if he was going to get in trouble after all.

So he fled into the night. He was thin and quick, and the pimp didn’t know he was there, so he just darted right past him and ran out of the alley.

Chazz was ready to move on. The city streets were alive with hot straight men, and Chazz couldn’t wait to service every last one of them.

Hairback Trade: Rim the Roughneck

Here’s the entirety of Hairback Trade: Rim the Roughneck, a new tale from the Str8 Trade universe! It’s the first in an ongoing series of gay erotica about sexy men with hairy backs!

When Shane arranged for the encounter at Site G9, an oil rig in a remote part of North Dakota, he was deliberately vague about what he wanted. Roughnecks were one of the easiest kind of straight guy to suck off — the only hard part was getting to them at their workplaces. When they were off, they fucked women, no matter how ugly or skanky. But when they were stuck on oil rigs far from civilization, Shane could have his pick. There was a tradition on oil rigs — it’s not gay if the nearest woman is a hundred miles away was how it was put to Shane. That was a tradition he could get behind (or more often, in front of).

The locker room stank to high heaven, which meant Shane was rock-hard from the moment he walked in. He loved the smell of sweat and toil, filth, grease and raunchy bodyjuice. The men were loud and boisterous. He had insisted he get his pick before anyone showered, so the scent was freshly rank.

Space was at a premium, and the locker room was crowded. About fifty hairy, unkempt men were crammed in, asses to elbows. When they saw Shane, everyone fell silent. He squeezed through the crowd as someone began to hoot.

“Who you gonna pick?”

“Pick Albert, he got a big ol’ schlong-“

“Fuck you, man, shut yer mouth.”

But Shane knew whom he wanted. He just wanted to take his time. He brushed past all of the men, most of whom were naked, or at least stripped to their boxers. He snaked his tongue into the nooks and crannies of their bodies, teasing bits of armpit sweat, biceps, and even a lick of one plump young hairy buttcheek.

“Albert’s over there-“

“He’s the one you want, I’m sure-“

“Shut the fuck up!”

Albert was indeed very hot. Shane went over to him — it was clear which one he was because he was blushing and insisting Shane not choose him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a jutting jaw, the kind of guy who seems more handsome than he really is, a bit too tall and scruffy for most women (though Shane suspected that, when he cleaned himself up and went out on the town, he was very successful with chicks). He had a deep voice, a hairy chest and a grizzled chin. Shane licked his pecs, prompting a torrent of laughter.

The other guys all suggested Albert because he was the most classically handsome, the one that gay guys had hit on the most in the past. Shane wouldn’t have turned him down.

But Shane had promised to pay for all of these men to have a wild weekend off, as long as he got his taste of whichever one he chose. He did not want Albert. Shane liked a particular kind of man. Albert was entirely too handsome.

He had known who his target was before he ever got to North Dakota. He wanted Joseph, the one they called Tex. He sucked on Albert’s nipple, his pec nervously throbbing and flexing in Shane’s mouth, while everyone else sighed with relief, thinking they had not been chosen. Albert groaned — he had probably suspected he’d be the one picked. He endured Shane’s tongue on his chest and belly like a man letting his doctor palpate him, just getting through it and rolling his eyes until it was done.

But then Shane pointed to Tex, who was shocked at the sudden reversal. Everyone laughed like it was a joke.

Tex was not classically handsome at all — he was craggy, rough, grizzled, with a big nasty scar running across his neck like he had been nearly decapitated once. He was also very hairy, especially on his back, a thick nest of kinky black hairs extending down to his ass. That was what Shane wanted.

He loved hairbacks, and Tex’s hefty body and hairy back were exactly what he had been searching for. Tex blushed — he was very tan, so it wasn’t real obvious at first, but when the other roughnecks realized that Shane wanted Tex instead of Albert, they clapped and hooted and slapped Tex’s ass until he barked at them to stop. Soon Tex was beet-red even through his tan skin.

“Hey, why you wanna service him? He’s a hairy motherfucker!”

“Yeah, I thought he’d be last on ya list, princess.”

“Gays like it dirty, man, don’t you know anything?”

“When did you become a gayologist?”

Shane smiled. He kissed Tex right on that scar on his neck. He bristled a bit but allowed it. His whole body was stiff like a robot. Shane rammed his hand down Tex’s paper-thin white boxers — were they prison-issue boxers? They looked like it, Shane thought — and grabbed his dick. It was throbbingly huge, and it perked up like he was very horny, or maybe he just liked attention.

“I like hairy backs,” Shane said. He turned Tex around and licked all the way up from the small of his back to his shoulders — as far as Shane could reach on his short legs. He snuffled down every drop of sweat he found. There was so much hair that Shane’s tongue got stuck there, and had to push through the fur. Tex bent his knees a bit, sticking his ass out and lowering his back enough that Shane could run his tongue all the way up to his neck.

The roughnecks cheered as Tex snorted and chuckled. He sort of dance a little on his feet, like an athlete warming up before practice. Shane kept a tight hold on his limp dick the whole time.

“Get down on all fours so I can lick your butthole,” Shane said, blushing. He had to whisper it to Tex, who cheered even though he looked mortified. He got down on all fours and covered his head, so his face was near the shower drain, just in front of the bank of lockers against one wall.

Shane planted his face right down there in the crack of Tex’s ass. It was so hairy that Shane’s tongue couldn’t even get to the hole. He encountered a thick tangle of greasy hair, and Shane began by teasing it clear with his tongue.

“Ah, fuck…” Tex moaned. He covered his face and howled into the floor like a sad wolf. The sound boomed and echoed in the metal-walled showering area.

“He’s lickin’ ya ass like a inside-out lollipop…”

“Damn, Tex, I ain’t nevuh realize how hairy you is. You like a sasquatch.”

“No wonder girls ain’t into ya, man, you gotta shave!”

“Fuck you!” Tex roared. He lifted his head up to reveal a bright red face. His scraggly beard hairs quivered. “Y’all wanna shave my back and my ass?”

“No way!”

“Fuck that shit, I ain’t goin’ near it!”

Tex frowned. “See? I can’t shave it myself,” he said. He groaned and looked behind himself at Shane’s face disappearing between his cheeks. He gagged at the sight. “Aw, fuck I feel it! I feel it, man! His tongue is in my ass, man, I feel it!”

He didn’t actually feel it — Shane didn’t say anything, but Tex was mistaken: Shane had made contact with his asshole, but hadn’t actually gotten his tongue in there yet. He just teased the rim and sucked up all the sweat and grime from his crack.

“He got his tongue in there, man! I ain’t know they put their tongues in there! I ain’t know they did that!” Tex said. He laughed nervously, a deep belly laugh that made his asshole flare and open wide.

Shane used the opportunity to plunge his tongue all the way in. He got a burst of stale, stinky musk on his tongue. It made him croon and moan. He had rarely gotten such a delicious asshole, and he was glad — this was already worth the thousand mile trip to this remote section of North Dakota.

“Aw, fuck! Aw, fuck!” Tex looked like he was about ready to cry. He gasped and moaned while his friends hooted and teased him. He stuck his face up in the air. His muscles were all tense, perfectly still except for his ass, which undulated uncontrollably. He rubbed his ass all over Shane’s tongue.

“Holy shit, Tex, you really into that. If you like stickin’ stuff up ya asshole, I got somethin’ you could try.”

“Texans are always into it. Texans love butt-stuff. That’s a fact.”

“Fuck you guys.” Tex’s voice was weak and distracted.

“Only thing in Texas is queers and steers, and I don’t see no horns on you,” someone said, prompting a chorus of laughter from the others. He got down real low and squeezed Tex’s cheeks like a doting grandmother. Tex swatted his hands away.

“Get off me, man.” Tex let out a long, slow growl. He probably intended for it to be menacing, but he was so aroused it just sounded like a seductive moan.

Now that Shane had been lapping at for a few minutes, Tex’s ass was wide open. Tex cringed and squirmed as Shane’s tongue filled him up. Shane could feel Tex’s spongy prostate, and he teased it, giggling into the man’s hairy asshole when it made Tex shake and gasp.

When Shane reached underneath Tex’s body, between his legs, to grab his dick, Tex chuckled. “Ah, damn, he’s jackin’ me off, man, he’s jackin’ me off… Ah shit, ah shit…”

“You lookin’ pretty nice bent over on all fours, Tex. He got ya asshole all loosened up with that tongue… You wanna fuck?”

“I will destroy you if you try anythin’, man,” Tex said with a grunt. He lifted his upper body off the ground, groaning as though it hurt to do so with Shane’s tongue in his ass. Tex reached for his friend to punch him, but he twitched and fell back onto his hands and knees as Shane’s tongue rammed into his prostate.

The other roughnecks burst into laughter. They teased the red-faced Tex mercilessly as Tex shuddered and shook. His cock leaked precum into Shane’s fingers, and his hairy ass clenched around Shane’s face.

“Gonna ride you like a cowboy, hoss!” said one redneck, a lean and lanky one with a colorful tattoo of a bald eagle on his lower back. He had a big, long dick swaying between his legs. He mounted Tex’s back, just in front of Shane’s face in his ass. He plopped himself on Tex, bare cock and balls landing on Tex’s writhing back muscles.

“Get off me!” Tex yelled. He squirmed and would have thrown the would-be cowboy off his back, but the man just stood. He hesitated there, waiting with his balls resting on Tex’s spine. He cackled until Shane moved his tongue from Tex to the other man’s ass, so quick nobody noticed until it was too late.

He just rammed his tongue in for a second, and the other man blushed a bright red. He danced away so fast he slipped on the wet floor and landed in a pile of roughnecks. Shane giggled, crawled over and threw himself on the same pile.

“Fuck you!”

“Get ya cock off me, bitch!”

This tiny showering area was seemingly made for maybe twenty men — there were fewer than two dozen showerheads. But there were fifty men in here, and they all had tried to stay as far away from the rimjob as possible. So all fifty men were crammed in a space so tight they rubbed up against each other. They didn’t seem to mind too much — that kind of situation happened a lot on oil rigs. But it did mean that, when the one guy darted away and into the crowd of men, he knocked just one or two people over. The whole space was so crowded that it caused a chain reaction, and soon most of the men were in a hairy, muscle-bound pile of flesh.

And that was where Shane went. He knew it wouldn’t last long, and it wouldn’t be as sexy in reality as it seemed in his mind — these kinds of things never really were. The men disentangled themselves pretty quickly, and Shane just stuck his tongue out to lick whatever he could get. That meant he got a lot of dusty elbows and glancing licks, a few brief touches of limp cockmeat, that was about it.

But Shane hardly minded. The sexiest thing about it was not so much that he got to touch lots of men, it was that they pulled away from him so forcefully that, when they stood, they were in an even smaller area. They were virtually dry-humping each other now. Shane saw fat redneck cocks disappearing into hairy assholes, muscles rubbing on muscles, hands tightened into fists that dangled stiffly at their sides.

“I’ll kick ya ass, man, I swear to God. You had best get ya dick off my ass.”

“Jerry’s hard!”

“No, I ain’t man, I just got a big dick.”

“Ah shit that hurt, you accidentally kicked me in the nuts when you knocked into me, man.”

“How do ya know it was an accident, fucker?”

They continued to trash-talk each other. They continued to demand that the others spread out some more, since there was a pretty big area in front of Tex, but no one wanted to get close to the action. The ones who were nearest complained about “splashback”, while the others complained about the smell of roughneck sweat filling up the shower. Tex still blushed a deep beet-red. He had plopped himself down on his ass on the floor. He looked at Shane with a big nervous grin on his face.

“So, uh, you wanna suck my dick now?”

“Hell yeah, but only if you promise to let me deep-throat you,” Shane said, prompting a nervous giggle from Tex — even his giggles were so loud and baritone they echoed — and laughing jeers from the others. Shane got down on the ground, laying on his belly.

He plopped Tex’s fat cock in his mouth. It was salty and hot, iron-hard already. It filled up Shane’s throat, prompting a torrent of choked gags as Shane took in as much as he could.

He was a very good deep-throater. Shane was a perfectionist though, so he was disappointed when Tex’s fat cock proved to be too thick to swallow all the way. Shane got just close enough he could feel Tex’s wiry pubic hair on his nose.

“Damn, Tex, he got you deep!”

Tex threw his head back and moaned so violently it sounded like a cry for help. He covered his eyes with one hand. His powerful torso trembled. His muscles all flexed at once.

An explosion of salty precum hit Shane’s tongue. He moaned and swallowed down every drop, gurgling moistly to make enough noise he could be heard over the catcalls and laughter. It was clear no one had ever deep-throated Tex, at least not anywhere’s near as deep as Shane got.

“He suck you off better than Mariah!”

“He got better tits than Mariah too! She got them saggy old titties!”

From their continued joking, Shane gathered that Mariah was a prostitute who charged them only five dollars for a behind-the-dumpster blowjob. Every time they had leave in town, they swore they’d get a different girl — a non-whore — and seduce her, and every time, the vast majority of them ended up getting a blowjob from Mariah, the possible-tranny behind a dumpster.

“I swear, I touched ‘em, they ain’t real-“

“No tranny would get saggy tits put in, man, that ain’t how they do sex-changes!”

“You don’t know jack-shit about trannies! Maybe she’s pre-op!”

A loud, powerful howl emanated from Tex’s throat. It made him wince and blush as his coworkers all fell silent, watching his muscles writhe and squirm beneath Shane’s mouth. His cock was on the verge of orgasm: Shane could feel that in the throbbing of his shaft and the juicy heaviness of his balls, just beginning to rise up in his sac.

Shane pulled off. Tex barked incomprehensibly, his whole body jerking in frustration. Shane licked a trail up his chest, sucking off every drop of sweat. Tex had been sweaty from the day’s work, and he hadn’t showered yet, so there was a layer of dusty, sun-drenched musk, clinging to his hairy flesh. Shane teased every kinky black hair with his tongue, cleaning all the sweat off his pecs, his flat but not six-packed abs, his bulging biceps and firm calves. He even sucked on Tex’s hairy toes.

But beneath the day’s sweat lay a more fresh musk, a rutting smell, like pure, bottled sex itself. That was the sweat generated right now, by Tex’s fucking. It had both a sourness and a sweetness that made Shane crave more. This, he thought, should be bottled and sold in gay nightclubs. It was intensely salty, with a metallic afternote that reminded Shane of licking the filthy steel floor and walls of the oil rig’s showering area.

Shane plopped his ass down on Tex’s cock. Tex’s eyes were closed, both forearms covering his face. Shane lowered himself on Tex’s cock, grunting when there was a burst of pain. Tex’s dick was thick enough to hurt even for Shane’s well-practiced ass.

“Fuck him, Tex! Fuck him! Hell yeah!”

“We ain’t gonna have to settle for Mariah this weekend! We gonna get that Asian chick!”

It sounded like they all agreed to fuck the Asian prostitute, like they had been planning on saving up to fuck her anyway. They clapped and hooted, cheering Tex on.

Shane timed his orgasm perfectly — he was an expert at doing that. He faced Tex and rode him in the cowgirl position, so when Tex reached his own climax and Shane allowed himself to do so at the same time, Shane sprayed his wad all over Tex’s hairy chest.

Tex gasped and boomed, his callused fingers gripping Shane’s ass and holding him down deep on his cock. Hot cum spurted into Shane, each drop teasing his prostate into releasing more orgasm in Shane’s veins. It flowed through him. He moaned loud enough to be heard over the cheering and jeering of the other rednecks.

“Aaaaaaaaah!” Tex moaned as pleasure wafted through his body. His muscles tensed. A symphony of emotions played out on his face — pleasure from the orgasm, of course, but also disgust at the sight of another man’s cum plastering his chest hair to his skin, humiliation at the realization that his friends were going to tease him for getting cum on his body, pride that his own fuckery and big cock was going to get a nice weekend off for all of his buddies, and a bit of fear like he thought it might hurt to have cum on his chest.

Finally it was all over. Tex gasped and his whole body jerked. His cock twitched within Shane, who threw his head back and howled as his own orgasm continued. The dick in his ass sent wave after wave of white-hot pleasure up his spine. His toes curled, and his fingers tightened into claws that dug at Tex’s meaty chest.

“Alright, gayboy, you got what you paid for,” Tex said, his voice weak and breathless. “You can get off me now.”

“Okay, okay,” Shane said. He sighed. He didn’t want to get off just yet. Luckily both he and Tex were sweaty enough to be slippery. When Shane leaned on Tex’s sweat-and-cum-coated chest to support himself, his hands slipped right off. Shane landed with a grunt on Tex’s chest, his cock still in Shane’s ass. Shane moaned as a post-orgasmic burst of bliss hit him, while Tex grunted and shook like a wet dog — it wasn’t clear if he enjoyed his limp dick in Shane’s ass or if his sense of disgust outweighed it, especially now that Shane leaned forward, balls dragging on Tex’s belly, smearing his cumwad all over his hairy torso.

Finally Shane rolled off. They both breathed an intense sigh of relief. The ruddiness drained away from Tex’s face, and he watched with a bemused, faintly disgusted look on his face as Shane licked all the sweat off Tex’s hairy chest.

“Alright, you got it all, man,” Tex said after humoring him for a few minutes. “You’s actin’ like a dog tryin’-a get all the peanut butter off the floor, man. It got all stuck in my chest hair and shit. You ain’t gonna get every drop.”

“Okay,” Shane said, but he didn’t stop licking until Tex physically removed his face from his strapping muscles.

Tex stood up and shook. He smiled wanly at his friends. “Damn… I gotta get a shower, man, all y’all best get out the way. I’m gettin’ a showerhead to myself too, you best believe that.”

“Man… I think we should get blowjobs from Mariah early, man. Barely costs a thing. We’ll be ready to go later on when we get laid-“

“You ain’t nevuh gonna seduce no girl, man.”

“Fuck you, I get plenty of girls. Remember that chunky female wit’ the lips-?”

As though they had forgotten what just happened moments ago, they all ignored Shane. They went straight to their shower. Shane stood there and watched. He stretched his sore legs as he signed the checks written out to each of them — that took a long time even though he had filled out the checks beforehand. He just needed to sign them.

But Shane dragged it out to take as long as possible so he could watch them crowd into the showers. Tex quietly showered by himself, but the others were at two or three to a showerhead — these were not ordinary showerheads, they sprayed in a wide arc, so it was just barely enough space for several men. Shane lazily jacked his limp dick as he watched them bump into each other, show off their muscles and argue about who was going to fuck which prostitute in what order this weekend.

Eventually he was ready to go. Shane loved hairy-backed men, and Tex had been a perfect specimen. But there were more. There were thousands of studly hairbacks in this world, and Shane couldn’t wait to track down every single one of them.

Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Bimbofication in Bangkok

Here’s the first chapter of Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Bimbofication in Bangkok, a black-billionaire-turns-blonde-bimbo tale that’s the latest release in the Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour series!

Gracelyn was not expecting how colorful Bangkok would be. It looked like Tokyo as interpreted by Disney, but then with a couple decades of wear, tear and repainting. It was cartoonish, vibrant, loud, bustling, dingy in spots, ramshackle. She sometimes got the impression the entire city was held together with duct tape.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to do anything here anyway. Gracelyn was flanked by security as she went to the World Passion Vacations office in downtown Bangkok, so she didn’t feel too safe. The security guys were surprisingly sexy though. She almost wished she’d get to spend the week with them instead of with whomever World Passion arranged for.

Gracelyn was a billionaire on vacation. She had arranged for World Passion Vacations to set up one of their legendary sex tours. She wanted to explore the sexual fruits that the Asian continent had to offer. After a few interesting — and strange — encounters in Japan, Hong Kong, South Korea and Mongolia, Gracelyn was here in Thailand for something new.

This was technologically mind-blowing. When she was told on the plane ride here what was in store for her, Gracelyn didn’t believe it. She said it must be a trick: some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion seemed possible.

But they were totally serious. The security guys were serious too. Gracelyn was shocked at the intimidating swagger of the guards surrounding her — previously on this trip, World Passion had set her up with local off-duty cops. They were sometimes macho and swaggery, but never like this.

The security guards here were buff like athletes, wearing Western-style suits that they clearly didn’t know how to wear correctly — ill-fitting, crooked, wrinkled. Gracelyn found out the reason only much later: these were not professional security guards. They worked for the Chao Pho, which was a sort of Thai mafia. They were not private security; they were goons, thieves, extortionists, strongarm men. That’s why they had a menacing look to them even though they acted submissive and obedient.

They avoided looking at her, as though they had been told to maintain a distance. Gracelyn had noticed that was a pattern, either for Asia or for World Passion Vacations, she couldn’t tell which made the decision: the people treated her like an empress, like she’d behead them for making eye contact. When she tried to chat casually with her driver at the Bangkok airport, he reacted like his family would be murdered if he said the wrong thing. She was unable to make him relax.

“So, uh… is this place for real?” Gracelyn asked one of the guards as they led her through the lab.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He was short, even for a Thai man, but he was built like a muscle-bound rectangle, with no neck, bulging arms and a craggy face. He wasn’t exactly handsome — certainly not in a Hollywood-protagonist sense, or even in a Hollywood-villain way — but he had an awkward sexiness that Gracelyn found alluring. She had a feeling that World Passion Vacations was going to set her up with some Thai boytoy, but she would have preferred this security man.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Chati,” he said. It sounded rather like the word chatty, which made Gracelyn giggle because Chati was the least chatty person she’d met in all of Asia. He hadn’t yet managed any multi-word answers to her questions.

“Oh-“

“Miss Brown, we’re ready for you,” said a pretty Thai woman. She stood in a doorway. She had no trace of a Thai accent.

Gracelyn followed her in. She had already been filled in on the details, but now it was up to her to decide whether or not to go through with it. She had initially thought no, then yes, then no again. And now she just couldn’t decide.

Gracelyn was a proud black woman. She was curvy and thick, and there were very few occasions when she thought about changing herself. She was constantly trying to lose weight, but she didn’t want to lose a lot. She didn’t want to be some skinny little thing. She had fantasized about being white, of course, wondering what it would be like — her conclusion: not as much fun as it might seem — but she never seriously wanted to change anything about her appearance.

Until the option presented itself.

World Passion Vacations had invented a machine they called the Bimboficator. It could take any woman and turn her, for a limited time, into a blonde bombshell with a thin waist, huge tits and a dim mind. No part of Gracelyn wanted those things. She couldn’t even imagine why a man would want a woman like that.

But as she walked out of the bimbofication room, giggling, throwing her newly blonde hair back behind her head, Gracelyn had never been more sure she made the right decision.

I’ve done it. I’m a bimbo. I’m blonde. I’m white. I’m a bimbo. She giggled to herself.

The security guards escorted her out. This time, their brusque crudeness and mean looks weren’t just alluring; they were arousing. Gracelyn had never wanted to get laid more than she wanted it right then.

“Chati?” she said. “My thin little feet are weak. I’m not used to these matchstick legs.“

“”Yes, miss.”

“Will you carry me? Can I ride on your back?”

He smiled, and if Gracelyn hadn’t been a bimbo, she would have seen the hostility in his grin, the menace and intimidation. If Gracelyn weren’t blonde, she would have noticed it, but of course, if she weren’t blonde, it wouldn’t have happened. So she had no idea she was in danger. Her stupid-bimbo mind simply assumed that Chati was as kind and friendly as everyone who worked for the escort agency.

“Yes, miss,” he said. He got down on his knees in front of her. He smiled like it was a foreign expression for him, like he had rarely ever done so, like it was just as ill-fitting on his face as his suit was on his muscled body.

Gracelyn hopped up onto his back. She liked being small enough to easily fit on his back. The old Gracelyn sometimes liked the idea of riding muscular men on their backs — there was something so sexy about it — but she was always scared that she’d be too heavy. It’d be humiliating if her man were unable to support her. So she had never done it until now.

But she was small and light, and Chati was plenty strong. The rippling of his muscled shoulders beneath her body stimulated her pussy, and making Gracelyn giggle like a slut. She blushed intensely.

Chati’s muscles writhed beneath his suit. The other guards chuckled, and they exchanged words in Thai. Gracelyn got the impression that Chati bragged she liked him the best.

“To your hotel, miss?” Chati asked when they were back out on the street.

As a blonde, people stared at Gracelyn. There weren’t many blondes in Bangkok. Of course, there were even fewer large black female billionaires, but blondes were the ones plastering the billboards, magazines, movies and American TV that was advertised everywhere she looked in Bangkok. So the locals had looked at her as a black woman like an oddity; they looked at her as a blonde woman like a movie star.

“Yes, thank you, Chati,” she said. She giggled. She didn’t know why, but she did. She giggled as she climbed off Chati’s body, so shocked her knees went weak when she felt his iron-like arm. She had touched strong men, of course, but Chati was so short and small that his muscles had an oddly compact, tight power to them, which was a shock. He felt different than big beefy muscular guys had been. She had never touched a man like that as a bimbo, and it made her pussy get a little wetter, her lips quiver, her mouth water. As a bimbo, she loved tough alpha males like Chati. She wanted him more than anything, and the possibility that it would be dangerous to be with him seemed like a very minor, distant irrelevancy.

The driver took her to the hotel. Chati was right next to her in the back of the limo. Every few seconds his deep gravelly voice barked out a few Thai syllables. She didn’t know what any of it meant, but she got the impression that Chati was arguing with the other security folks.

It was a nice hotel, but when the limo pulled to a stop, it looked so tedious. There were men there to help her out of the limo, men to help her up to her room, clerks and bellhops everywhere. She didn’t want to go through all this, trying to decide who to tip, who to smile to, wondering who would know that she was the same woman as the large black lady from earlier. It all seemed so time-consuming.

“Chati,” she said after they got out of the car. “Do you have a car?”

He shook his head. “I have a scooter, miss.”

“Do you live alone?”

He shook his head. “I live… with other men. In a home.”

“Will they be there right now?”

“No, miss. They are away.”

“Will you take me there? I don’t want to be here.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her waist. He smelled so good. He smelled very faintly like cologne, but that wasn’t why he smelled good — he smelled like he had worn cologne with this suit months ago and hadn’t washed it since then. He had a certain innate muskiness that Gracelyn had noticed only dimly to begin with, and it was that scent that mixed with the lingering cologne to make her horny. Now that she was a bimbo, however, his spine-tingling musk was all she could think of.

That smell grew even more intense as she climbed onto his scooter behind him. She again wrapped her arms around his broad, strapping chest. His muscles rippled beneath her, and his scent assaulted her nostrils. Gracelyn was glad she fit easily on the scooter, not struggling to balance her hefty body.

The scooter sped off. Gracelyn didn’t know if the rest of the security team knew she was gone or not. She didn’t even think to tell them until much later — she was a bimbo, and bimbos didn’t worry about stuff like that.

Air flowed through her long, wavy blonde hair. It was delightful to Gracelyn. Even when her hair was at its straightest, the wind didn’t flow through it quite like that. It sort of tickled her scalp. Was that normal for all white people? She guessed maybe, but it was hard to tell. The sun also seemed to shine extra hotly on her skin. Was that a white thing? Maybe she should buy some sunblock? That was not an issue Gracelyn had ever dealt with before. She was excited at the prospect of getting a sunburn.

But she didn’t say anything. She just took in the sights and sounds of Bangkok, the bustling streets, the hustling men selling wares, the women hawking their bodies, bowls of soup and more. The air smelled slightly astringent, a bit fruity, a bit sooty, a bit sour.

Chati lived in a very nice neighborhood. Gracelyn was surprised. It took her stupid bimbo mind a long time to realize why — Chati was security for the Chao Pho, a high-class mafia organization; this neighborhood was inhabited exclusively by gangsters, and Chati was their security.

He and the other Chao Pho goons lived together in a small house. It used to be the servants’ quarters for the colonial estate that had been here. It was now modernized and adapted, but it was still a small home with barely enough room for three men rather than the fourteen who lived there.

But Gracelyn didn’t know any of that just yet. Chati bristled and sighed as he opened the door.

It was a bachelor pad, that was for sure. It was minimally furnished, aside from the cots everywhere. It smelled like men. There was a pile of free weights near a bench press. There were no chairs, no beds — just cots — nor a computer. There weren’t even any closets used as closets; they had converted the closets into sleeping quarters.

“I am sorry, miss,” Chati said. “It is not suitable. I did not know you would want to come here. My boss told me only that we were to escort you-“

“Where did your boss think I was going to go?”

“There is a resort nearby. It is called World Passion Sands Bangkok,” he said.

Gracelyn giggled. “Well, they don’t know me at all. They just want to sell me overpriced daiquiris. Or whatever the Thai equivalent of a daiquiri is.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. It didn’t sound like he knew what a daiquiri was.

“Can I kiss you?”

He hesitated. Then his deep voice rumbled. “Yes, miss.”

She kissed him right on the lips. Chati grunted a little in surprise, but he kissed her back. He was awkward at first, like he had never done it before. After a few moments, however, he kissed with renewed passion. His arms wrapped around her back.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “I love blonde women. I have never touched one before.”

She giggled. Gracelyn was glad she had done this. She didn’t even remember what her objections had been. She had never felt more aroused. All of her skin felt new, like when she just shaved her legs, that same tingling sensitivity to Chati’s touch sent a frisson up her spine.

Though he had been slow at first, Chati took charge more and more. It was clear he did not see it as possible to have sex with a woman without him being utterly dominant. Gracelyn was fine with that. He guided her head down to his cock, and she licked a trail over his belly.

“Lick my penis, miss,” he said. He sounded like that was the most explicit, sexy thing he could say in English. He gasped a little when she did as he told her to, and his manhood throbbed against her lips.

Her mouth planted itself on his cock. He said something in Thai. Gracelyn didn’t know what it meant, of course, but the gist of it was: suck my dick, you slut. He gently pushed her face into position.

Gracelyn had sucked her fair share of cocks in her life, and she had sucked several Asian cocks just in the past few weeks. But there was something especially savory and sweet about Chati’s manhood. She didn’t know if that was because he was Thai — maybe something about the diet, all the pineapple that was in everything could be it — or if it just innate to him. But she loved it, lusted for it and wanted more.

She hocked up copious spit and let it run down his uncut shaft. It twitched in her mouth, salty precum flowing over her tongue. She slathered her saliva all up and down it, from root to tip, and giggled when it made Chati moan.

“Yes, baby, you are sex… sexy, I…” His voice trailed off. It sounded like he was so aroused he had trouble remembering English. He said something in Thai, but again, Gracelyn didn’t know what it was.

“Will you fuck me now, Chati?”

“Yes,” he blurted out. He blushed. His muscles rippled. “I will fuck you very good, miss.”

She was about to tell him to call her Gracelyn, but she rather liked hearing him address her as miss. It was so old-fashioned it was sexy. His tattooed chest flexed beneath her fingertips, and she licked at it, her head getting in the way as he tried to fuck her.

He pushed her face away, which made her giggle some more. She leaned back and spread her legs. He moaned, kissed her on the lips and slid into her.

A shiver of pleasure and desire coursed through her body, and Gracelyn bit her lip. She felt so light and small, battered by Chati’s power. He was relentless, gentle but firm, pounding and caressing all at once.

Gracelyn moaned. She lost track of time. Chati was an accomplished lover, and from the moment he entered her, Gracelyn couldn’t think about anything but her desire for more. She didn’t know if that was because of Chati’s effectiveness or something about being a bimbo that made it better, but Gracelyn was overcome by passion that hit her like a punch.

She let out a scream of joy and dug her nails into Chati’s back. He snorted and sniffled like a horse, murmuring in Thai as he slathered her face and neck in kisses. His cock filled her up, seemingly expanding to tickle every spot of her body.

“Oh god, fuck me, Chati!”

“Yes, miss,” he said with a rumbling groan. There was a menacing look in his eye, which reminded Gracelyn that he was a thug — that was how he came to be hired as security — and sent a chill of excitement up her spine.

Her clitoris melted as an orgasm overwhelmed her. She screamed again, a hair-raising tone to it this time. She threw her head back and bit her lip. She hyperventilated, then held her breath as spasms of bliss flowed up her body.

He grunted and howled as he came inside her, and his hot juices sprayed within Gracelyn’s quivering body. He barked out something in Thai — it sounded like profanity — and his muscles undulated. Gracelyn moaned again and licked his chest, tasting his salt and the fresh musk of his orgasm.

At last it was done. He fell limp. He snorted and collapsed atop her for a moment, his heavy body pressing down on hers. Then he rolled over, and Gracelyn sighed with relief.

She intended to say something, to tell Chati thanks for helping her, to ask if he was going to get in trouble for leaving the hotel. But she was too overwhelmed, and it looked like Chati felt the same.

So she just drifted off to sleep there in his arms.

Holiday Trade: Thickest Thanksgiving

Here’s the entirety of Holiday Trade: Thickest Thanksgiving, a new story about rough trade on turkey day when one roughneck in need of money endures his first man-on-man experience! It’s part of the Holiday Trade series, which is, in turn, part of the Str8 Trade series!

Martin was glad to have the house to himself on Thanksgiving. He lived with his sister, her husband and her two daughters, but they were all away at Martin’s brother-in-law’s parents’ house. Martin was invited but begged it off. He rarely got the whole house to himself and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Besides that, he didn’t like his brother-in-law’s family, and he didn’t get the impression they liked him much either. So he was alone for the holiday weekend. He couldn’t really complain though, he had a whole apartment above the garage, so he didn’t have to see his nieces at all if he didn’t want to (and there were times he definitely did not want to see the screaming terrors).

But he did love holidays, so he was a bit disappointed that he didn’t have anyone to celebrate it with. Tomorrow, he and a few friends would be having a Friendsgiving after a day of shopping, but that wasn’t really the same thing.

There was a knock on the garage door. Martin was in the main house right now, since he could have it to himself, but he heard someone banging hesitantly on the garage door.

A deep raspy voice called out, “Hello?!”

Martin peered through the window. There was a man standing there. The first thing Martin noticed was that he was underdressed for the weather, in just a wifebeater and camo pants. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, and it was very cold for northern California. He shivered. The second thing Martin noticed was that he was extremely sexy.

He had a shaved head, though a stubble had grown recently, and he had a scruffy beard too. He had a husky build, with muscles bulging out of his wifebeater. He was very tall. He carried himself like a blue-collar worker, Martin thought, maybe a carpenter or plumber.

Martin opened the front door of the house. “Hey,” he said.

“Oh, hi, you must be Martin.” He came to the front door and shivered. He looked like he expected to be let in. “I’m Tommy. I’m Greg Thicke’s grandson.” He gestured to one of the houses across the way. That made Martin giggle — Mr. Thicke was an elderly redneck who was hilarious in his own little way; Martin could only imagine what Mr. Thicke had told him. Tommy smiled nervously. “Can I come in?”

“Uh… Do you… have a reason?” Martin asked. “Sorry, I mean, I don’t know you or anything-“

“No, yeah, I, uh, I guess… I should have expected that. It’s just really cold,” he said. He bit his lip.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“Uh… My granddad said you’d be, uh… that you’d get me inside quicker than a… Well, I guess he ain’t mean it literally, I should’ve… I, uh…” He shivered again and laughed. “It’s never this cold at Thanksgiving, man, I ain’t even bring no long-sleeves back with me. Uh…”

“Yeah, weird weather this year.”

“Look… My granddad… You’re gay, right? Course you are. My granddad — I mean, no offense man, you got like, a lisp and a limp wrist and, uh-“

“Yeah, I know what gays look like, man, you got me. It’s okay,” Martin said. He smiled and threw his hands up. He suspected where Tommy was going with this, but he wanted to make him struggle to get there.

“Yeah.” He blushed. “So my granddad said… Look, I’m gonna be honest wit’ you, I got some money problems right now. Okay? It ain’t like… It ain’t, you know, drugs or nothin’ like that. But, uh… my granddad says you… You like, sometimes pay dudes to like… suck their dick, or whatever.” His cheeks turned bright red, and he gestured increasingly wildly. “No offense, man, I love gays. I mean, I don’t love gays like, physically. I mean, I ain’t gay. I ain’t, you know, into dudes. That’s, uh, but I am, like… I am okay, with the whole… thing.”

Martin chuckled. “So your granddad said I’d fall head over heels in love with you and pay you, so you should come over here to make some money? And I’d just open the door for you right away?”

“Well… He ain’t exactly phrase it like a suggestion. He kinda meant it, like… you know, a bad thing, like somethin’… Like he said basically if I was a deadbeat, you know… He ain’t okay with the gay thing. He said he’s not giving me money and if I should just come over here if I’m… Well, he’s old-fashioned.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Martin sighed and opened the door. “Your granddad is totally right, by the way. I’ll give you five hundred dollars to fuck me.”

“Oh hell yeah, okay, finally,” Tommy said. He came in and immediately took his wifebeater off. He tossed it on the couch and begun to unlace his heavy workboots.

“Finally?”

“I work at an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, right? And we get leave off in this crapdunk little town called Masquerez, ain’t jack-shit there to do. All the chicks is Mexican and fat. Not a single one is fuckable. I mean, I still fuck ‘em, but I ain’t proud,” he said with a chuckle. His deep voice boomed; he spoke loudly, like he was used to being on an oil rig where engines constantly whirred. “And uh… me and my buddies Leif and Rock and Bolabutunde — he’s from Ghana — and we all heard this rumor ‘bout this gay dude who pay money for it. And we spent all fucking night chasing this dude, never found him, man. We found one gay Mexican who ain’t speak no English and he got even less money than me, so we ain’t fuck him.” He leaned back and wiggled his toes. He propped his feet up on the coffee table. He grabbed the remote control. “You got porn on here. Like straight porn?”

“Prolly not. This is my sister’s place. I doubt her husband dares to keep porn in here,” Martin said. “And I bet he’s into something gross like diapers.”

“Ew, nasty,” Tommy said with a chuckle. He burped. “Sorry if that weren’t romantic.” He flicked through the channels and eventually found some hip hop music video channel that was nearly softcore porn. “So, uh… I dunno how gays do it. I mean, I know… like the gist of it. But I dunno what to do.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” Martin said. He sunk between his knees in front of Tommy.

“Oh, I should shower first, man,” Tommy said. He chuckled. He sniffed his armpit and wrinkled his nose. “I smell rank, sorry. I know gays is all about clean, man.“

“What? No. You are way off. You got an F on that gayology quiz. Shoulda studied more,” Martin said. “Gays love dirty guys.”

“Ew, why?”

“Uh… I dunno, I just do,” Martin said. He dove his face into Tommy’s armpit, the same one he had sniffed and found wanting. It was disgusting, he was right about that. It was slick with sweat — Tommy’s grandparents kept their house at a sweltering temperature, which was why he had been wearing just a wifebeater and shorts until he put on pants to come over here. So Tommy had been sweating since he got to the house late last night.

His armpit was so wet it was like he had just taken a shower, though the smell proved he hadn’t. Martin also tasted a bit of snow because a few flakes still came down outside.

Martin kissed up Tommy’s arm from his pit. He had tattoos there, a silhouette of a naked woman, an iron cross, a network of barbed wire, and Martin licked an outline of each one. Tommy watched him with a wry smile like he might watch a child explore something mundane.

Then Martin kissed his shoulder, and the lower side of his neck, where a climbing ivy tattoo extended up to his ear. As soon as Martin’s tongue and lips touched Tommy’s scruffy neck, Tommy’s whole body tensed. Martin knew he had made a mistake.

“Ugh…”

Martin’s heart skipped a beat. Tommy was huge and bulky and possibly violent. He was a roughneck. Martin wasn’t sure how’d respond. He should not have tried to kiss his neck.

But Tommy just placed one heavy hand on Martin’s head. He gently but firmly pushed him down. He chuckled nervously and pointed to a spot about a third of the way up his neck — he was very muscular, so he didn’t really have much of a neck; he pointed to just above his shoulders. “You can kiss me up to here, man. No higher than that. We ain’t makin’ out. No hickeys neither. I can’t explain that to my mama.”

“Okay,” Martin said. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief like he thought his rule might have ended this.

Martin didn’t mind. He just liked pushing straight men to their limits. He took off his own clothes as he sucked on Tommy’s bare chest and shoulders, below the limit. Tommy was hairy and dusty, and tense wherever he kissed; Tommy’s skin puckered underneath Martin’s lips.

“Ah… Damn,” Tommy said. He blushed a bright red. “Man, this shit is crazy. I ain’t know it was gonna be like this.” He shifted his weight on the couch. “I mean… they said that gay dude in Texas, man, he was… It was like a gloryhole thing. Supposedly. You ain’t gotta look at him or nothing. He ain’t lickin’ ya nipples. Shit’s crazy.”

“You like blowjobs, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“You want me to just go straight to sucking your cock?”

He snorted and chuckled. He whipped his cock out the fly of his tattered brown boxers. He thwacked its limp shaft around, battering Martin’s shoulder with it.

“Hell yeah, man, fuck,” Tommy said. He bit his lip. “You deepthroat? Ain’t no girls deepthroat no more.”

Martin giggled. He stuck his finger down his throat to demonstrate. He got it way down there before gagging. Tommy lowered his eyes and breathed deeply. His cock twitched.

“Ah yeah, man, like that,” Tommy said, his voice rumbling like he had to force himself not to attack Martin’s throat right now.

“I’ll let you facefuck me,” Martin said. “If you let me get you hard with a little jousting.” Martin giggled.

Tommy laughed a deep barrel laugh. He covered his face with his hands. “Okay, but I’m puttin’ a time limit. One minute, man. If I don’t get hard in one minute, you put it in your mouth. Ain’t no way I’m gonna get hard touchin’ a queer’s dick. No offense.”

“None taken.” Martin knew that Tommy was probably right. Martin didn’t care. The point wasn’t to actually get him hard. Martin would just enjoy trying.

Martin thwacked his own hefty cock against Tommy’s, and when he did, Tommy’s whole body jerked. Tommy’s eyes were closed, one hand covering his face. He groaned and giggled like a boy. He covered his eyes with both arms.

“Ah, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he said. His voice was muffled by his arms.

“You ever touch cocks with another man?”

He laughed again, the anxiety evident in the wavery tone. His face was covered by his forearms, but even through the gaps in the flesh, Martin could see his dingy face turning red like a cranberry. He giggled so uncontrollably he squealed like a mouse, a very deep-voiced, raspy-throated mouse.

“You okay, Tommy?”

“Yeah.” Tommy had to take a deep breath to regain control of himself. He peered through his fingers, but when he saw his cock touching Martin’s, he squirmed and re-covered his eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure. “Nah, I never touch no dick.” He paused and bit his lip. “Alright, yeah. One time. Bolabutunde — that’s that African dude — he was… he had this game. He said it was Ghanaian but some other dude googled it and said he saw nothin’ ‘bout it in Ghana or anywhere else.” He paused and laughed. “I only did it one time. But, uh… He like come up at ya wit’ his big floppy dick, and you… you know, you hit each other’s dicks and shit. Like joustin’ for real, you know? And uh… if you back out cuz his dick hurt ya — and Bolabutunde knows how to do that too, he got a massive rod and he uses it like a fucking club, man, he really gets ya with it. He hits ya in the balls with it. Anyway if it hurts and ya gotta back out, you lose, and if you get hard, you gotta suck his dick.” Martin chuckled. “It’s how Bolabutunde always wanna settle things.”

“You did that?”

“Just one time. That motherfucker was trying to take my towel, man. He said he just forgot his, he wanna share. I was like, I do a lot of things for my friends, but I ain’t gonna let you wipe ya ass off with my towel and then I’m gonna use it. I’m gonna wipe my face off wit’ ya ass all over my towel? No way, no I ain’t.”

“You won?”

He shrugged. “Kinda. We was still goin’ when my boss came in the shower. He ain’t tolerate faggotry, so he made us stop.” He paused. “Okay, man, start suckin’.” He breathed a sigh of relief when Martin pulled away from his cock. Then Tommy gasped. “Oh, sorry, man! I ain’t anti-fag. I mean, anti-gay. I ain’t anti-gay. I know faggot is a bad word-“

“It’s okay, Tommy, relax.”

“Okay. I don’t use it, you know. On the rig, we got a lotta Africans and shit, Arabs, that kind of thing. They ain’t nice about gays. I’m the tolerant one there,” he said like he expected a medal. “I tell ‘em not to talk shit about faggots. Ain’t right.”

“Well, thanks for… standing up for us, or whatever.” Martin swallowed Tommy’s cock, which was still limp and ropy. Tommy’s proud smile disappeared.

His cock remained limp at first, as an awkward silence filled the room. Martin wondered if Tommy would even be able to get hard — not all straight guys could do it, no matter how much money they were offered.

But then finally, Tommy’s dick perked up. It twitched in Martin’s mouth, then got firmer and firmer. Tommy watched like he had never seen this happen before. His eyes were open wide.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, like that,” Tommy said. He moaned like Martin was scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach for a long time. He leaned back on the couch. He grabbed his pants and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Can I smoke in here?”

“No, sorry. It’s my sister’s house. She would literally shit a brick,” Martin said.

He smiled. “I’d like to see that.” But he did put the cigarettes away. He shrugged. “I’m trying to quit anyway.”

Martin rammed his head all the way down on Tommy’s cock. He gagged but he kept his mouth in position. He choked up spit, while Tommy groaned and grunted.

He was a very loud lover. Tommy kept on making sounds, whirring and hooting at himself, chuckling at jokes only he heard, shifting his weight on the couch. Martin couldn’t tell if he always fucked like this or if he just did it because he was nervous.

“You ready to fuck me?”

Tommy blushed again. “Yeah, course,” he said. He said it like a macho man, but it was obvious that he was nervous. When Martin bent over his lap with his ass in the air, Tommy sighed with relief. “Damn, thank god, I was worried you’d be hairy. You shave your ass, right? I’m glad girls don’t get hair in their asses.”

“Girls absolutely get hairy asses,” Martin said as he backed his ass towards Tommy’s lap. “They shave.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way, I swear. Or a lot of them do, anyway. Not all. Not the Asians.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose. “Well… I don’t much like that, they shouldn’t get hair in their asses, man, that’s gross.”

Martin giggled. “I will be sure to inform the Committee to Regulate Female Asses,” he said. Then he shuddered in both pain and pleasure when Tommy’s dick pushed into his asshole.

Tommy gasped. “Aw, fuck, aw, fuck, man, aw, fuck, I don’t even… Aw, fuck…”

“You like that?” Martin asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Tommy groaned and his whole body rattled. He held his breath, watching Martin squirm backwards deeper and deeper onto his cock. “Yo, man, yo… I gotta… Yo, man, you, uh… what kinda positions you like?”

Martin found it difficult to concentrate while his ass loosened and adjusted to Tommy’s cock. So he just said, “Any, really. What do you want to try?”

“No big deal, just… no girls ever wanna do this,” he said. “They say it hurts too bad. Man, girls complain a lot. Why don’t you complain?”

“Cuz I like getting fucked by dirty guys with big monster dicks,” Martin snapped. “Girls don’t.”

He sniffled. “Fuckin’ bitches…” he said. There was a faint note of pride there, like he enjoyed hearing talk about his “monster dick”. He wrapped his arms around Martin’s chest. He rotated so that he laid out on the couch — he was a little too tall, so his feet had to be angled off the edge. Martin struggled to remain atop his cock, but all the extra motion made him horny enough to burst.

Tommy hugged Martin to keep him close. Martin held his breath, trying to endure the awe-striking pressure in his ass. Tommy’s entire cock was in him, throbbing, and since he was mounted on Tommy’s sweat-slippened body, Martin could do little more than slide around on his muscles.

But Tommy wrapped his arms over Martin’s chest, and even hooked his legs around Martin’s ankles. That pinned Martin on his back on Tommy’s chest and cock. The smell of his unwashed roughneck body was overpowering, like Martin was bathing in his funk.

“This alright, man?” Tommy asked.

“Hell yeah.” Martin’s voice was weak and thready. “Girls are never going to like this position, Tommy. It hurts. I like it because… well, for my own reasons. Don’t bother asking girls to do this.”

He sighed. “I know.” He took a deep breath and started fucking, ramming his dick upwards into Martin’s ass. He was quick like it was a race, like he was trying to shatter Martin’s insides. Martin yelped and screamed, in pain at first but then with pleasure flowing through his veins.

Tommy’s cell phone rang. He cursed and answered it, only slowing down a little bit. “It’s my sister,” he said like he didn’t want to talk to her. He answered it anyway though. “Hey. I’m around. None of your business. No. No. No! No! No! You better not!” His cock trembled in Martin’s ass. “I am not! I don’t even know the neighbors here. Grandpa is a fuckin’ homophobe, I don’t think he was right about that. I’m… at the store! I wanted to pick up…”

“Bottle of wine.”

“A bottle of wine, Shelly! I wanted to get some wine for the dinner tonight! Yes, I know what wine is! We’re not that barbaric on the oil rig, you know! Oh, you think you know everything? I ain’t a rentboy, shut up!” He hung up the phone. His cock twitched angrily in Martin’s ass. “Fucking bitch. She knows where I am, by the way. If she ever asks, I didn’t come over here. I’ll tell her I dropped the wine and broke it on the way back.”

“I have wine,” Martin said. “You can take a bottle.” His voice was tense, breathless, clipped. He sounded like he was near tears, though he was merely near orgasm instead. “You can leave out the back. You can come out down the street, it’ll look like you’re coming back from the store.”

“Shit, alright, thanks,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I wanna do somethin’ nice for you, but I can’t think of nothin’. Don’t ask for a reacharound, I don’t do that.”

“Take a video of that African guy. Record yourself thwacking dicks with him. I wanna watch,” he said.

Tommy gagged and winced. “Ah…” He smiled. “Oh, okay, yeah, I’ll just tell him it’s for a girl, alright? I’ll say I know a girl who wanna see it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Martin yelped like a puppy. He at last reached orgasm as Tommy finally began fucking again, triggering Martin’s whole body to tense and send pleasure pounding up his spine. Tommy didn’t notice right away because he was focused on his own cock, which spasmed as his balls drew up in his sac.

Then Tommy moaned in disgust when he saw Martin spray cum over his belly and chest. Tommy closed his eyes and muttered a complaint about the cummy smell. “Nasty…”

But it didn’t slow him down any. He groaned right into Martin’s ear. He jackrabbited his cock into Martin’s ass again, so hard and so violently that Martin screamed in both pain and pleasure. His fucking accentuated the orgasmic aftershocks that wracked Martin’s body.

“I’m gonna nut, man, gonna nut, gonna fill you up, aw shit, man aw shit, aw shit!” His voice gradually rose to a plaintive yell.

Hot cum spurted into Martin’s ass. It was a thick, creamy load, even denser and stickier than most. It coated Martin’s ass in warmth, and it kept on going. Martin took a deep breath and savored the feel of looping jets of cum covering his prostate and dripping throughout his body.

Tommy sighed grandly. When Martin moved, Tommy gasped and held Martin’s hips in place. His cock twitched, which made Martin hold back a howl of pain. The movement kept his post-orgasm going, however, and Martin shuddered uncontrollably.

At last Tommy was done. Thick gobs of cum dripped down his shaft and into his pubic hair. He shuddered too, and then he fell limp.

Even when Martin lifted off him, Tommy just sprawled out on the couch. He groaned. He burped again. Martin stretched his legs and grabbed some napkins. He cleaned off Tommy’s cock, which rapidly limpened in Martin’s fingers.

“Damn,” Tommy said. He sighed. “Do I gotta go back to my family? Can I stay here all day?”

“Fine with me.”

He frowned. “I know. But I can’t. My mama would kill me,” he said. “You’ll still be here tonight?”

“Yes,” Martin said. He went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. He handed it to Tommy.

“Good. I gotta wait till my sister goes to sleep, or she’ll be a total bitch,” he said. He smiled. “Will you pay me again tonight?”

Martin giggled. “Not five hundred dollars.” He wrote out the check to Thomas Thicke and handed it over. In the memo field, he had written meat, but Tommy didn’t even look at it yet.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry though. We can have fun, and I bet you can make some money one way or another. Maybe not five hundred bucks…” Martin said. Tommy nodded and agreed. He put his clothes back on, then left through the back door. Martin watched him sneak down the street, then shiveringly walk in his wifebeater back to his grandfather’s house, carrying the bottle of wine.

Martin couldn’t wait for him to be back. He loved servicing straight studs, and they always seemed to come out around the holidays.

Thanksgiving, he thought, was the best. That’s when all the hottest str8s came out to play. Martin wondered how many other straight studs were visiting family on this street right now. He couldn’t wait to taste them all.

Twink on Top: The Native American Masseur

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Native American Masseur, a hot tale of Indian sex, rough trade and a massage with a very happy ending! This is part of the Native American Masseur series, which is all available along with much more in Gay Masseur Erotica, Vol. 1!

Timmy was surprised by how nice the massage parlor was. He tried not to act like a New York elitist; that was not easy to do here in Anchorage. It was a nice little town, but it looked like a village as far as he was concerned. There were few cabs, no Thai restaurants, like two black people in the whole city; there was no live theater, at least not while he was here; there was a university, but it didn’t seem to have much impact on local culture.

So he thought the massage parlor would be some low-rent dive. When he saw the Asian women who scurried about in beautiful kimonos, he wondered if he had made a mistake — was this a brothel? He had called and spoke to the front desk. Of course he didn’t ask directly if it was a brothel, they would never have said yes anyway. But he asked about their services, and it sounded like a real massage parlor.

He acted as flamboyant and twinky as possible, just to be sure. He didn’t want any awkward situations with a Chinese woman trying to give him a handjob. He wasn’t positive the girl at the front desk was familiar enough with American culture to get that he was gay, but he gayed it up to the best of his ability. Timmy had always been a pretty blatantly gay man, so he thought he had gotten his point across.

Now he wasn’t sure it was worth it at all. It might have been better to just use the back massager he had gotten for Christmas last year, but he had never really liked it. He genuinely needed a massage — his shoulders were tight, as they often were. His doctor had recommended an occasional massage, which usually worked.

“Sir,” said a gruff, deep voice. Timmy turned around and his jaw dropped. There was a man in front of him — not an Asian man, an American, an Indian, it seemed. “Patuk,” he said by way of introduction. Then he nodded towards the rooms in the back of the massage parlor, and Timmy followed.

Timmy was shocked for a couple reasons. First of all, Patuk was a man; he was not Asian; he was unlike everyone else who worked here. Even more than that, he was sexy. He was ungodly hot, Timmy thought. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long, straight black hair. His jaw was square, his cheekbones high, and he had a thick scar on his neck as though someone had tried to decapitate him.

He led Timmy down the hall, wearing a tight pair of jeans that framed his ass. He wore a plain brown shirt that ended at the shoulder. He looked more like he was on his way to job as a farmworker than a masseur, Timmy thought. Had he come into the wrong place after all? Maybe Patuk was the owner, not a masseur?

“Lie down,” Patuk said. It was impossible to tell whether he was happy with this or not — he looked rather like he was already bored of this massage.

He certainly had that Native American taciturnness, Timmy thought, shivering a little with delight. Patuk had on a sleeveless shirt, so his lumberjack-like biceps were plainly visible. Timmy wanted more than anything to kiss them, but it was obvious Patuk was straight.

“I have trapezitis,” Timmy said. “That means my shoulders are-“

“I know what it means,” Patuk said, glaring at him. “Lie down.” After flipping on a stereo and waiting for New Age music to fill the air, he rubbed oil into his hands. His powerful biceps glistened with baby oil as well, or maybe it was sweat, Timmy couldn’t tell from where he lay on the massage table.

Timmy gulped and laid on the table as ordered. Had he offended Patuk? His brown face was still, like he was thinking about something very important and paying no attention to Timmy. Timmy settled into position on the table.

Laying on his belly, Timmy couldn’t see Patuk. He felt tense though. Patuk was not a very good masseur, Timmy decided before the massage began — he seemed almost hostile. He wasn’t sure he could relax at all. This was not the kind of environment that he usually found in massage parlors. Masseurs were supposed to be kind, friendly, evoking a calm and relaxed atmosphere. Patuk seemed as likely to chop him up with a hatchet as give him a massage, but Timmy was too scared to consider leaving.

But then the New Age music became a bit louder and more engrossing, and the smell of burning sweetgrass filled the air. Timmy felt a momentary surge of relaxation. He had been through enough massages that he was primed to feel the tension melt away when the atmosphere approached that of a more typical massage parlor. He sighed as Patuk finally touched his skin, and calmness flooded his system.

The feeling only intensified as Patuk’s strong hands began kneading Timmy’s back. He was a good masseur, Timmy realized with a start. He sighed. The tension began to drain from his shoulders.

Patuk’s hands were callused and rough, beneath the massage oil he used. He felt like a roughneck, Timmy thought, like he should be working on an oil rig, not in a massage parlor. But since Timmy was gay and Patuk was sexy, he didn’t mind at all. The extra friction from his fingerpads actually made the massage feel a little better, he thought.

His hands moved down Timmy’s back and Timmy had an urge to remind him that he really just needed shoulder-work. But Patuk either forgot or didn’t care, and Timmy was rather enjoying himself. Patuk’s hands worked the flesh of his ribs and his lower back, and he even got close enough that Timmy felt Patuk’s breath condensing on the back of Timmy’s neck.

Then Patuk’s hands reached Timmy’s ass, concealed only by a towel. Timmy shivered with anxiety at the realization that Patuk wasn’t stopping. As a flamboyantly gay man, Timmy certainly had no reason to tell Patuk to stop touching his ass, but he was shocked just the same.

When the towel came off, the warm air made the sensitive skin of Timmy’s ass pucker. The sparse short hairs there stood on end, and Timmy’s whole body quivered with desire.

Much to his surprise, Patuk didn’t just rub his cheeks a bit and move on. A lot of masseurs did that. Instead one of those big, rough hands worked its way between his cheeks. Patuk grunted, but didn’t say anything.

Timmy moaned and blushed as Patuk’s finger teased the rim of his asshole. Timmy’s back arched. He wondered for the first time if Patuk’s machismo, his gruff exterior and his Indian stoicism masked homosexuality. He wasn’t sure — both Indian culture and Alaska itself were different than anything Timmy had known before, so he had no idea how gay men acted here. Maybe this was normal, he thought.

Timmy was so relaxed that when Patuk turned him over, it was like dead weight. He just flipped Timmy onto his back. Timmy’s lean, pale body trembled, his bare dick sticking straight up. Patuk frowned as though he had expected to see a vagina.

Then before Timmy could say anything, Patuk kneeled between his legs and swallowed his dick. His dark eyes flashed upward at Timmy, who moaned. Patuk’s craggy face vibrated as he licked Timmy’s shaft and produced copious spit.

There was something almost machine-like about Patuk’s blowjob, Timmy thought, like he had scientifically determined the best way to get Timmy off and was now following through on the plan. Timmy writhed, his climax already approaching even as he leaked his first drops of precum.

But before he could cum, Timmy guided Patuk’s head down. Patuk licked Timmy’s shaft and then suckled on each ball in turn. He licked Timmy’s smooth sac (Timmy shaved his crotch bald every week) and the first hint of a smile appeared on his face.

Seeing his dark eyes only reminded Timmy how shocking this was. Patuk was as straight-acting as any man Timmy had ever seen. He had rough skin and ropy muscles; he wasn’t hairy, he was too Indian for that, but he had a swarthy complexion, and a few colorful tattoos covering his chest and back. Most prominent was a large eagle — not a bald eagle, but some other kind Timmy didn’t quite recognize — whose wings outstretched from his back, up over his shoulder, to end over his heart.

His mouth moved back up to Timmy’s cock, and he sucked with fervor and abandon. Spit dribbled past his lips and down Timmy’s shaft, pooling there on this bare balls. Patuk let out a low, slow growl, not loud or even especially passionate, but in comparison with his otherwise silent demeanor, it was a compelling sound that made Timmy shudder with anticipation.

“What, uh…-?” Timmy intended to ask what is this? But his mind was distracted by pleasure coursing through his veins, and he couldn’t form the last half of his sentence. It didn’t matter, he thought, since Patuk didn’t seem likely to answer anyway.

Then Patuk pulled off his cock. He looked at it like it was his final meal, and licked its shaft as he stroked it. He spat onto his hand for lubrication — he didn’t spit like a gay man, Timmy thought, he spat like a baseball player or a redneck.

“I, uh… I can’t pay you for this-“

“I am not prostitute,” Patuk said. He glared at Timmy. Despite that, his tone was flat, with no indications that he was offended.

“Oh. Okay, it’s just-“

“I am not prostitute,” he repeated, this time sounding angry enough that Timmy gulped and fell silent.

Patuk climbed up onto the massage table with more limberness than his big body suggested. His broad muscles barely fit up there, but he easily stood around Timmy’s body. He continued to glare right into Timmy’s eyes as though frustrated, and one of his hands wrapped around Timmy’s throat.

For a moment, Timmy panicked. Maybe this was a case of gay rage, he thought, and Patuk was going to kill him because he knew that Patuk was gay. But that didn’t seem likely — ‘masseur’ was hardly the ideal job for someone who wanted to accentuate his heterosexuality, and in any case, Timmy knew Indian culture approved of gays. It didn’t make any sense for an Indian masseur to be a self-hating gay.

“I am not prostitute,” he said again, this time squeezing Timmy’s neck just a little bit. He hovered above Timmy’s crotch, his tight brown ass resting there. Timmy’s dick spasmed and jerked as though trying to find a hole to penetrate.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Timmy said. “I’m gay. I’m sure you figured that out. I, uh… it’s okay to be gay. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Shut up, Timmy, you’re babbling.

Patuk nodded as though he had been waiting to hear that. He leaned in closer, keeping his hand on Timmy’s neck, and kissed him on the lips. He was still crouched over Timmy’s body, his flexible limbs stretching to reach Timmy’s face.

Hesitating, Timmy clutched Patuk’s back, savoring the feel of the corded muscle like coiled rope, and he fingered that eagle tattoo. Then he thrust his tongue into Patuk’s mouth. They both moaned together, though Patuk’s was a low, barely audible sound that made Timmy’s back shudder.

Then he lowered himself down, letting his ass land right on Timmy’s cock. Timmy moaned as his dick disappeared inside the big Indian, who closed his eyes and moaned, the first sound he had made since this began.

Patuk’s craggy face winced a little in pain, but he mainly remained stony as he rode Timmy’s dick. He stroked himself off as well, until Timmy took over, playing with Patuk’s dick with one hand and hefting his balls with the other.

He was uncut, which Timmy liked. He wondered if that was normal for Native Americans. Timmy stretched out the man’s foreskin and played with his sensitive head, which made Patuk writhe above him. Patuk’s muscles flexed all at once.

The first few drops of Patuk’s precum dribbled down Timmy’s hand. He brought his fingers to his mouth to suck on them, only for Patuk to beat him to it. In the end they both sucked Timmy’s hand clean, as Patuk’s heavy balls dragged on Timmy’s smooth belly.

There was a knock on the door, and Timmy gasped. He held his breath.

A Japanese woman’s voice filtered through the doorway. “Patuk? Patuk? Do you have a client in there?”

His voice was clipped and strained, whether from pain and pleasure at being penetrated, or from annoyance at being interrupted, Timmy didn’t know. He scowled. “Yes,” Patuk said.

There was a long pause. Timmy wondered if the Japanese woman knew what was going on in here, or suspected it at least. Maybe that was why it took her a long time to answer.

“Mrs. Donnelly is here,” the woman said. “She said she has a massage scheduled with you,”

“Yes.”

“She asked me to make sure you have… uh-“

“Yes.”

“The coconut oil, and uh… She asked if you did your tongue stretches. Maybe that was a joke? She laughed-“

“Yes, Kimo, that is fine. Tell her I will be ready shortly,” Patuk said. “Tell her to prepare herself. She will know what that means.”

The Japanese woman outside waited a long time before leaving, without saying another word. Patuk looked momentarily embarrassed. Timmy had trouble focusing with the pleasure of his cock throbbing in Patuk’s tight ass — but Timmy did realize what was going on: Patuk must have sex with all of his clients, or at least many of them, apparently including at least one woman.

“Are you, uh… going to have sex with her?”

Patuk didn’t answer, but from the stoic stare he produced, Timmy suspected the answer was yes. Was he embarrassed because it made him look like a slut? Or because it made him look bisexual? Or some other reason.

As Patuk began lifting his hips again, using his entire body to ram his ass up and down on Timmy’s dick, Timmy felt the man’s erect nipples. They kissed again, and Timmy stroked Patuk’s hard cock.

“Are you going to be able to cum again? With her, I mean?” Timmy asked just because he wondered if he was only going to eat her out — maybe that was why she had asked about his tongue. But he was too aroused to be articulate, so his point wasn’t clear.

Regardless, Patuk didn’t answer. He put his hand back around Timmy’s throat and growled, “Stop talking. I will do my job.”

Timmy didn’t need to be told twice — he didn’t want Patuk to get annoyed and stop. In any case, his climax approached and Timmy moaned. His balls crawled up in sac, as his hand in Patuk’s crotch felt his balls do the same.

They both finally reached orgasm at once. Timmy had an animated reaction. He blushed and gasped; he yelped; he bit his tongue so hard he drew blood; his fingers clenched into claws that clutched at Patuk’s nipples and the tattoo of an eagle that hovered above his heart. Patuk threw his head back, his long hair flowing in front of his face. The crags of his cheeks and chin shook as they both vibrated in sync with each other.

The sound that emanated from Timmy’s mouth was so loud he was sure the Japanese masseuses heard it, but nobody responded outside the room. Timmy writhed, his throat clenched as the most powerful orgasm of his life wracked his mind and body.

“Oh, god, Patuk!”

Hot cum coated Patuk’s insides just as Patuk’s own load sprayed right over Timmy’s chest and mouth. The flavor of his juice coated Timmy’s tongue, and he licked enthusiastically, getting every drop that he could. His muscles flexed all at once, while Patuk’s entire body rippled, from his stoic face down to his tattooed chest and trunk-like thighs. His smooth flesh was dappled in sweat, and a loud euh jumped out of his throat — it wasn’t much, but Timmy suspected it was as powerful an orgasm as Patuk had had in a long time.

Then Patuk pulled himself off. He stretched as he got down off the massage table. He walked stiffly to the counter, where he withdrew a tissue and wiped his ass clean. His powerful cheeks jiggled and he threw the used tissue in a trash can. Then he frowned at Timmy.

“You are done,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his pecs and that eagle tattoo, which rippled as his skin shifted. His bare cock shimmered with remnants of his cumload. Timmy got up, intending to put his clothes back on, but found himself sinking to his knees in front of Patuk.

It was just because he was so used to being a bottom, Timmy felt he needed to worship that cock. He hadn’t even tasted it. He kissed the tip, and licked it down to the root. Patuk sneered a little as though surprised, maybe a bit annoyed at the delay.

“You are done. The massage is complete.”

“Oh… okay,” Timmy said. “Well, that was… uh, good..” This has been a sudden transition, he thought. He was still feeling aftershocks from his orgasm as he hurriedly put on his pants. He could feel Patuk’s awkward stare, glaring at him for not getting his clothes on quickly enough. Timmy was unsure of what had just happened. “Was, uh… was that okay? Is that what you always do?”

Patuk scowled. “You have your massage, sir. Please leave.”

“Oh, I just-“ Timmy started towards the door. His pants were on, but he still carried his shoes and his socks, and his shirt was draped over his shoulders.

“Hush. You may return if you wish,” Patuk said. “Ask for Patuk.” He shoved Timmy outside and slammed the door shut. Timmy was so shocked he stood there for a moment, then headed towards the front door.

Mrs. Donnelly, Patuk is ready to see you now.

Mrs. Donnelly was a plump, yet still attractive white woman with dark hair and a thick ass. Timmy was sure that was who she was because she hurried back as soon as the clerk said her name, and she had a slightly embarrassed blush on her face as though wondering if everyone here knew what went on in the backroom.

He smiled. He was so surprised by what had happened that he hadn’t noticed until now that his shoulders felt better. He grinned. He’d have to get another massage from Patuk next time his shoulders felt that way. He was glad he’d found a good masseur here in Anchorage.

And you thought this town would be boring…

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