Category Archives: Twink on Top

Twink on Top: The Houngan

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Houngan, a hardcore noncon tale from the Twink on Top series! It’s about a sexy Haitian villain forced to submit! It’s only $0.99 with the coupon code XA27L!

Jonal waited until the stars and the moon were just right to maximize his power over the loa. It shouldn’t have been necessary to do that, but he wanted to have the greatest chance of success. He didn’t just want to control Vernand — he wanted to utterly dominate him.

Vin jwenn mwen…

He didn’t really know it worked, but in his heart, he knew it did work. He could feel it even before he sat down to pray to his loa, and then saw what was happening, with his mind’s eye. His spiritual vision was hazy, but it was enough to know that his spell was a success.

On the other side of Port-au-Prince, in a shanty-town, there was a circle of men sitting around a raging fire. One of them was playing drums, and the others were playing cards. One of the card-players was a tall, broad-shouldered man in dreadlocks. He had dark skin marked with scars and a faded tattoo from his old military batayon.

He was the biggest man in the shanty-town, with muscles bulging from his sturdy frame. He was menacing too. The others were frightened of him. They allowed him to win at cards — Jonal could tell that because the loa could read their minds. Even though Jonal aimed the spirits at the man, Vernand, he could get some superficial information from the minds of the other homeless men as well.

That man stood up, dropping his cards, leaving behind the money that had been resting in his lap. He walked, propelled by the loa that Jonal commanded from afar. He screamed, begging someone to stop him, but there was nothing anyone could do.

Ou yo ale nan mouri nan labou a, sa ki mal nonm…

Not that anyone tried to help. Nobody liked the man, whose name was Vernand. Nobody there in the shantytown knew who he was, but Jonal knew. He had just been released from prison; no one behind bars knew who Vernand really was either. But Jonal had known even then, even before Vernand had been released.

He had been waiting for a long time. He was glad that Vernand had not been killed in prison, though that would have been a fitting end. Jonal had been looking forward to getting his revenge ever since his sister was raped and murdered.

Vernand had done it. He was a soldier then, in the Haitian army, and he had raped her in the street, just because he could. Because he knew that no one would stop him.

Jonal had not had the power to stop him then, and by the time he did, Vernand was in prison. Now he was out, and he walked against his will through the streets of Port-au-Prince. Jonal was glad he had resisted his soul’s demand for revenge while Vernand was still imprisoned — Jonal could have easily made sure he was tortured, raped and kill in there. But Jonal didn’t want that to happen.

Because Jonal wanted to do that himself. He wasn’t going to let Vernand be tortured by someone else.

“Yon moun ede m ‘, tanpri, yon majisyen pran kò mwen an!” Vernand screamed. Jonal allowed him to do that. Vernand had control over his mouth for the moment, but nothing else. People looked at him strangely as he walked through Port-au-Prince, but no one stopped to help him. Vernand had no friends, and anyway, no one wanted to get involved. They all knew how much power magicians like Jonal had, and they weren’t going to risk their own safety by getting involved. Even the handful of good Samaritans who looked like they considered it changed their mind when they saw Vernand’s military tattoos — they knew what that meant: Vernand had been part of the villainous soldiers who raped and murdered with abandon during the Duvalier regime. No one was going to lift a finger to help someone who had been part of that hellish era.

Jonal waited in his home. He had a large house with a manicured lawn around it. Not many people in Haiti could claim that, but Jonal was a business success. Since his sister’s rape and murder, Jonal had made himself into a tycoon — he knew he needed more power to punish Vernand, and he had spent years building up a business empire to make it possible.

The wait was difficult. It took Vernand hours to walk all the way over here. Jonal couldn’t make him walk faster, since Vernand fought him every step of the way.

Finally, however, he had arrived. Jonal warned the two security men at his gate, so they let Vernand in, ignoring his plaintive cries for help. Vernand was tall and broad-chested, and he could only speak through gritted teeth — Jonal didn’t allow him to open his mouth all the way. The security guards didn’t even hear Vernand’s words exactly, so they didn’t know he had no control over his body.

Eventually Vernand stood in the hallway of Jonal’s house. There was a picture there of Jonal’s sister, but it did not look like Vernand recognized her. Why would he? He had probably raped and murdered a hundred girls just like her.

He ripped his shirt off his chest, then pulled his pants down. Jonal was in the other room, controlling him through the loa. In his mind, he could feel Vernand’s muscles writhing as he struggled against the vodou power compelling his movements. Jonal had always been a thin, weak man — that was why he became a hougan in the first place. He knew he could never succeed based on physical prowess, and in the midst of civil strife and war, Jonal’s intellect was of little value. He could only work on his spiritual power.

Now Jonal commanded an army of loa. He had built a business empire with the spirits he had made deals with. He could have done anything he wanted to Vernand. But there was only one thing he wanted to do.

At least, one thing for now.

Vernand’s muscles were shiny in the well-lit hallway, because he had sweated profusely as he fought against his body the entire way over here. His muscles remained tense. He was stark naked, his massive cock dangling between his legs. It must have hurt to be raped by that huge manhood, Jonal thought. He approached Vernand and gave him enough freedom to speak.

“Who are you?” Vernand spat out his words like he had to fight against his own throat to speak.

“Your worst nightmare. I am your punishment embodied,” Jonal said. He lightly tickled Vernand’s muscles, which twitched beneath his touch.

Vernand wept like he had been expecting this for some time. He wanted to fall to his knees, to collapse to the ground, but Jonal didn’t let him at first. Vernand’s chest heaved as he tried to sob. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Then Jonal allowed it. Vernand fell to the ground, on all fours. He wept and begged for mercy, but Jonal just listened and caressed his long, coarse dreadlocks.

“Lift up your head,” Jonal said. He allowed Vernand just a bit of control over his body, enough that Vernand could choose to follow Jonal’s command or not — when he chose not, the loa forced Vernand to do it anyway, but more painfully.

Vernand’s dark hair and bearded face looked up into Jonal’s eyes. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.

Jonal cackled as thunder clapped outside. It began raining hard, the sound of water pounding on the roof becoming deafening. Jonal had to raise his voice to be heard. “Prepare to be no longer a man, Vernand. You will be nothing but submission. You will be filth. You will never be clean again.”

He pushed the tip of his limp cock onto Vernand’s tongue, and he allowed Vernand to gag furiously. Vernand tried with all his might to bite down, but Jonal didn’t let that happen. He pushed his moist cocktip in deeper into Vernand’s mouth.

All he could do was retch and choke as Jonal slowly fed his dick down Vernand’s throat. A loud throaty sound escaped from Vernand’s mouth, and Jonal had to suppress a laugh at his frenzied reaction — Jonal didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by laughing. Luckily he could smile and giggle a bit, since Vernand couldn’t see from his position or hear over the sound of the thunderstorm outside.

Letting his fingers grip Vernand’s scalp through his dreadlocks, Jonal began to slam his hips in. He fucked Vernand’s face, making his balls slap against Vernand’s chin with every thrust of his cock down his tight throat.

If it weren’t for the loa controlling his body, Vernand could not have deep-throated Jonal’s dick, that much was obvious. His neck instinctively fought back, trying hard not to accept the taste of dick. In Haitian culture, the fact that Vernand took dick, even against his will, made him an accursed figure, less of a man. Now that one man had fucked him, others would too — he would be seen as a prostitute and a slut, whom no man need respect.

Ou pa janm yo pral yon nonm ankò!

Jonal was relentless. He enjoyed the loud retching sound of Vernand’s throat as he leaked precum down his gullet. Jonal savored the spiritual struggle as well — it was easy for Jonal, who was much stronger in the ways of the loa. It felt like Jonal was physically holding him down, even though Vernand outweighed Jonal by more than a hundred pounds of solid muscle. Jonal very rarely outmuscled anyone, so it was a delightful, arousing feeling. He savored the utter submission Vernand felt every time Jonal let go of his control, just in part and just for a second, long enough to give Vernand a feeling like he could fight back.

Then Jonal made Vernand’s asshole twinkle and clench, forced his jaw to open so wide it ached and nearly snapped — Jonal had utter control and could have shattered the man’s jaw as he fucked his throat, but he didn’t. He knew it was more humiliating to make it feel like Vernand’s body was cooperating, allowing himself to be treated like a loose woman.

Jonal fingered Vernand’s ass, just hugging the rim with one finger while it twitched and clenched. That made Vernand know what was happening next, and he wept. Tears ran in rivulets down his dusty cheeks.

“Now we move on to the real punishment,” Jonal said. “Do you know what this is for?”

As he spoke, he pulled his cock out of Vernand’s mouth. He used one hand to wipe up all the excess spit that clung to his shaft, and he smeared it all over Vernand’s tense face. Vernand spat and sputtered. He yelled curses as he heaved for air, but Jonal had protections in place — no loa heard Vernand’s curses or pleas for help.

“Huh? Say it, girl-man. What are the loa punishing you for now?”

“For… my sins!”

“That is too vague,” Jonal said. He kneeled behind Vernand, who was so tall that even bending over wasn’t enough — Jonal still couldn’t reach his cock into Vernand’s ass. So he made Vernand kneel on his knees, with Jonal kneeling as well behind him. That placed Jonal’s smooth face right in the narrow groove in the center of Vernand’s muscled shoulders.

“I have… murdered.”

“Yes, but tell me more.”

“I have raped,” Vernand said. He hung his head in shame, then bit his lip as Jonal shoved the tip of his cock in. Vernand writhed and struggled against the loa who kept him in place. Jonal didn’t need to use his powers to sense the agony in Vernand’s body — he could feel it in the tension in his back muscles and in the way he sucked in his breath.

“Who did you rape?!”

“I do not know their names,” Vernand said through his tears. His dreadlocks shook as he cried.

Jonal grabbed one of his dreadlocks with each hand, using them like a yoke around a mule. He ground his hips, pushing a bit more cockmeat into Vernand’s ass. He pulled on those dreadlocks until Vernand lifted his head up. Jonal aimed his eyes right at the photo of Jonal’s sister.

“Do you recognize her?”


“You raped her. In 1959, you raped her in the street like a dog. You held her down and raped her mouth, her womanhood, her ass like a dirty prostitute, but worse because you did not pay her. You just slit her throat and let her die there in the dirt,” Jonal said. That reminded him why he was doing this, not for fun, but for justice. He thought he shouldn’t be enjoying this too much or the loa might punish him for it later.

As he spoke, Jonal worked more and more of his cock in. Finally every bit of it was inside Vernand’s tight ass, which clenched and tore. A few drops of blood even smeared over Jonal’s crotch. Vernand would have been screaming at the top of his lungs if Jonal allowed him to, but Jonal wanted to be sure Vernand heard everything Jonal said. Besides that, if he was too loud, he might attract attention from the security guards outside — Jonal had protections in place to be sure he wouldn’t be surprised, but he preferred to keep Vernand quiet enough not to get their attention in the first place.

“Say you’re sorry,” Jonal said.

“I’m sorry!”

“Are you? Are you really?” Jonal asked. “Say you’re sorry again. Beg me to forgive you.” This time, he didn’t force Vernand’s mouth to say anything.

“Fuck you!” Vernand shouted.

“I was hoping you would say that,” Jonal said. “Because it means I get to keep punishing you.” He slammed his hips down, shoving his cock all the way in. He groaned as his balls slapped against Vernand’s muscled thighs.

Vernand writhed and squirmed. Jonal allowed him a little more control over his body. He made sure only that Vernand couldn’t fight him off or push away from him. Instead Vernand heaved and yelled into the floor, on which he contorted wildly.

It was difficult to remain mounted on his body because he moved so much, but Jonal enjoyed the struggle. He gripped Vernand’s body tightly and pulled on his dreadlocks. The more Vernand moved and tried to expel Jonal’s cock from his ass, the tighter it was and the more pleasure flowed through Jonal’s body.

“What are you going to do from now on?”

“What?!” Vernand screamed. His eyes were blurry with tears, his mind dizzy and confused.

Jonal pulled on his dreadlocks so hard a few drops of blood appeared on his scalp. Vernand’s wild eyes bugged out of his sockets. He slammed his massive fists onto the ground and bucked his back, which Jonal allowed because it sent a wave of pleasure up his body while causing a tortuous twinge in Vernand’s ass.

“I asked you what you’re going to do from now on,” Jonal asked. “Huh? You’re not in the army anymore. So what?”

“I don’t know!”

“You’ve been robbing people, right? Tourists when you can, or whoever else is available. Right?”

“Yes, yes…” Vernand said. He bucked his hips again and wept into his muscled forearm.

“Well, no longer. You work for me now. You’re my slave. You’ll make up for the loss of my sister. You’ll never be able to make up for it, but I’ll enjoy making you try,” Jonal said.

“Yes, master,” Vernand said. His formerly arrogant voice was now weak and trembling.

“You’re going to be a prostitute,” Jonal said. That made Vernand buck and sob harder. Jonal ground his dick in deeper, moving it in little circles to be sure it caused plenty of pain. “Men will pay money to fuck you in the ass and in the mouth. They will turn you into a human pussy.


“Yes,” Jonal said. “You’re my slave now. I own you.”

“Yes, master,” Vernand said.

Jonal wanted to drag this out longer, but he felt an orgasm coming over him. He decided that he could keep playing later, but he wanted to finish this off and humiliate Vernand as much as possible. He had a whole lifetime to experiment with punishments, and if his spells had worked, Jonal would have the entire afterlife to continue it.

He gasped as the orgasm finally overcame him. He bucked and bit down hard on Vernand’s shoulder. Cum filled Vernand’s ass, a great big load of creamy hot cum that sloshed and spilled out of his ass. Vernand gagged because Jonal made sure he could taste it — he used magic to transfer Vernand’s tongue momentarily into his ass, so Vernand tasted every drop of cum mixing with his own filth and degradation. Vernand gagged violently.

The heat of Jonal’s seeped into Vernand’s body, spreading to every corner of his insides. Jonal sighed as Vernand screamed when Jonal returned his tongue to his mouth. His hips flexed like he was trying to push Jonal off, but the loa didn’t allow him to do much more than squirm.

That only made the orgasm even more intense. Jonal groaned, emitting a spine-tingling sound. Vernand cried into the wooden floor of Jonal’s mansion.

Finally he was done. Jonal pulled his limp dick out and slapped Vernand’s asscheeks. That sent another spasming wave of agony through his sensitive ass. Vernand barked like a dying dog.

Ramming his thumb into Vernand’s ass, Jonal pulled out wad after wad of cum. He made a big frothy mess in Vernand’s asscrack, letting the cum coat his deep black skin.

Then he wiped all that cum off on Vernand’s face. His untrimmed beard was white with semen, which he sucked off Jonal’s fingers. He gagged profusely as ass-slime hit his tongue, and he swallowed all of that anal filth off Jonal’s fingers.

“Now you lay here in your own mess and think about your sin,” Jonal said. “I’m going to think up new things to do with your body.”

“Yes, master,” Vernand said. His spirit was broken, which made Jonal smile — he hadn’t forced Vernand to say yes. Vernand had done that on his own because he had submitted. His soul was dead now, and Jonal knew he wouldn’t need to do much to keep Vernand under control.

But he wasn’t going to let go. Jonal had been working up to this for years. He had no intention of stopping, at least not until Vernand was used up and desiccated. This revenge was going to be even more fun than Jonal had thought.

Jonal smiled as he left Vernand there on the floor, so Jonal could clean himself up and decide what the next step would be. He was so excited he was already hard again. This, he thought, was going to make all of his study and struggle over the years worthwhile.

He’d finally have his revenge.

Twink on Top: The Finn in the Sauna

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Finn in the Sauna, a new story from the Twink on Top series! For fifty more Twink on Top tales, check out the first fifty-story boxed set, 50 Twinks Top 50 Tops!

John both cursed and praised his proudful streak after a day of hard negotiations in the far-north of Finland. He experienced a torrent of emotions because he couldn’t tell if he had totally blown it — making his current business venture a failure — or if he was about to call a press conference and declare a success. So a tumult of emotions roiled in his heart as he headed to the sauna. But when he finally settled in at the Irontop Sauna in Rovaniemi one Saturday afternoon to relax, the only feeling he could identify was fear. His business problems vanished, replaced only by sheer terror. Only one other person was in the sauna, and he was frightening.

The other man in the sauna stared at him, sweat dripping from his high cheekbones. He was a tall Finn with deep-set eyes, a grizzled jaw and muscles that went on for days. He looked like a shaved bear, John thought, except for the fact that the hair on his head — long, flowing hair that went past his broad shoulders — was blond like the sun. John had always thought men with long hair were sexy, and this guy also had muscle like a bodybuilder and a square, jutting jaw. He turned John on like few white men ever did.

John was an American businessman who had been living in Finland for two years, so he was comfortable with Finnish culture. He knew he wasn’t breaking any rules of the sauna. But the man glowered at him with unabashed hostility.

A part of him said to leave, begged him to rush out of there before this burly Finn attacked him. He could dress in a hurry, rush out the door and high-tail it to his car in the parking lot. He could call the police, but to say what: there’s a man looking at me? There’s a Finn in the sauna, help!?

Besides, John had been chased around by a bunch of bullies in his time. He didn’t intend to let that happen again; he wasn’t the weakest boy on the reservation anymore. He had never met an anti-gay Finn, but maybe, he thought, this burly fellow would be his first. If so, John intended to stand up for himself. John certainly made little effort to hide his homosexuality, so if there were any anti-gay Finns around, they might come looking for him.

Or it could be a racial thing — no Finns had expressed any racism to John since he came to this country, but they had no exposure to Native Americans aside from old Western movies from decades ago. Several of them had laughed when John said he was a Native American who owned a TV studio; they all thought natives didn’t operate businesses aside from bars, casino, nature trails and New Age massage parlors. The TV studio didn’t even have anything to do with Native American life; John had made a fortune in the US on a channel devoted exclusively to professional wrestling, and now he had come to Finland to start an all-LGBT Europe-wide channel.

The long-haired Finn stood and took a step towards John, whose heart raced. He was a thin little twink who couldn’t defend himself at all. What if this guy really was racist? Finland was very tolerant, but they had a contingent of wildly racist xenophobes who might not like Native Americans one bit. Or it might not even be a racial thing, he thought, this guy might assume anyone who owns a television channel is loaded with cash. Maybe he just wanted to rob John for the most traditional reason: to take his stuff.

“Hello,” said the man in thickly-accented English. His craggy face gleamed with sweat in the haze of the sauna’s löyly (“steam” — though that was a special word, used only for steam in a sauna because it carries spiritual connotations).

“Uh… Hi,” John said. When had the sauna emptied? It was just he and the big man now, and John was terrified.

“My name is Heikki.”

“Nice to meet you, Heikki. I’m John Redleaf,” he said. He held out a hand to shake, and when Heikki’s giant meaty paw collided with his, John shuddered in both fear and desire. Heikki was like a bodybuilder but without that vascular veininess that bodybuilders had, and which John didn’t find appealing. Heikki looked like he had built his muscles through real work, as a lumberjack or ice fisherman or who knew what. John had never felt so slender and weak.

Heikki grunted. “You are… American, yes? Indian?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m an American Indian. Native American. Native American Indian. Not the Asian kind of Indian. American, uh… I’m from Montana. Indian-Montanan. Montanan-Indian. I, uh… That’s in America. In the West. Native Americans…-“ John was too nervous to think of anything meaningful to say right now.

“You are one of the gay. Yes?”

“Uh… Well… Uh… Yeah,” John said. Every part of his being told him to lie. Maybe John’s mannerisms wouldn’t come across as gay in Finnish culture. Maybe Heikki wouldn’t notice the slight lisp or the limp wrist. But John had never, at any point in his adult life, managed to pretend he was straight. In the heat of the moment, he couldn’t even think of how to lie much less how to do it successfully.

“That is good,” said Heikki. “You will do have some sex. Yes?”

“Uh…” John couldn’t tell if that was an offer, a prediction, a threat or a question, or some combination thereof.

Heikki walked away. John breathed a sigh of relief until he saw that Heikki wasn’t leaving. He walked to the door to the sauna and wedged it shut with a chair against the doorknob. Past the door was the “hot room”, where Finns got acclimated to heat before actually coming into the sauna itself. It didn’t sound like anyone was out there right now, making John nervous.


“I have always been seeing Surrounded by Tombstones,” said Heikki. “I have wanted to be doing this for many years.” He flopped his massive uncut cock between his fingers.

That name, Surrounded by Tombstones, sounded familiar but John couldn’t quite place it. Was it a movie? If he wasn’t distracted by Heikki’s shifting heft, his massive thighs and his giant cock, John might have recalled it as a TV show. In the US, it was called Surrounded by Arapaho. It was a Western action/drama show starring Sally Greenwald and Brendan Mitchell. John’s network didn’t air it, so he was only vaguely aware that Brendan Mitchell’s character — a cowboy named Sterling — had fallen in love with a male Arapaho Indian named Okomi. Their forbidden lust was one of the main plotlines on the show.

“Uh, so wait, I’m sorry… You want me to, uh… like suck your dick? Or whatever?” John said.

“Yes, I think we are agreementing,” Heikki said. He blushed. “I am not homosexually oriented. I like Indians.”

“You’re only gay for Indians? Is that… a thing?” John’s voice trailed off because he realized he didn’t care why Heikki wanted to do this. John loved servicing big alpha bears like Heikki, so if that was what he wanted, John didn’t care about how politically incorrect it was.

John shuddered when he reached up and tentatively grabbed Heikki’s cock. It was limp and moist from the humid sauna air, dripping with condensed löyly. Heikki’s muscles rippled like he was uncomfortable with John’s touch, but he sat down next to John on the wooden bench of the sauna.

Before John could get on his knees to suck cock, Heikki’s mitt-like hands gripped John’s delicate shoulders. John nearly fell backwards but Heikki held him in his massive biceps as John swooned. Then Heikki kissed him right on the lips.

It was an awkward kiss for a few reasons. First of all, Heikki seemed to have little experience with this — he seemed like the kind of rural lumberjack who rarely got laid despite his handsome face and bulging muscles; he was too crude and big for most girls, John suspected. Second of all, Heikki was clearly uncomfortable kissing a man. He hesitated at the last moment and his callused fingers explored John’s lithe chest as though Heikki expected to find breasts there. Thirdly, Heikki was simply huge.

He was at least a foot and a half taller than John, and probably outweighed him by two hundred pounds of solid muscle. John lost himself in those arms, and Heikki’s mouth was so big it felt like four Johns could have kissed him at the same time. John wondered if Heikki could swallow his entire head — it sure felt like it.

Heikki’s massive tongue pushed into John’s mouth. It was too awkward for John to lose himself in the heat of the moment, but his dick was rock-hard and he couldn’t think about anything other than the feel of Heikki’s pulsating muscles against John’s smooth skin.

When Heikki pulled away and grinned sheepishly, John reached into his crotch and gave his dick another stroke. Heikki was still totally limp, adding evidence to his claim to be straight — John was shocked; in America, when a man said he was straight but wanted to have sex with you, he nearly always turned out to be gay but in denial. Heikki really, genuinely came across as a straight man who had no idea what to do with a gay man. His dick was like a fleshy uncooked sausage dangling between his legs, behind a nest of curly dark-blond pubic hairs.

John stood and stretched his knees — he had been sitting for more than an hour — he was about to sink to the ground to suck on Heikki’s meat when Heikki dropped to his knees in front of John instead. He kissed John on the lips again, then moved to John’s neck, which he nuzzled with his slightly grizzled chin.

Their heights nearly matched up now, with Heikki on his knees on the ground and John standing in front of him. Heikki’s head was only a little above John’s.

From Heikki’s body language, it was obvious what he was going to do next, but John’s mind refused to accept it. Even back on his (relatively) gay-tolerant reservation in Montana, the sexual roles were pretty well set in stone — John was a twink who serviced bears. Big, strong and/or hairy men were tops, and John was a bottom. When straight or seemingly-straight men had gay sex, they sought out feminine-looking bottoms like John. All that was normal, predictable, exactly what John wanted and needed, back in America.

But maybe things were different in Finland. Much to John’s surprise as he stood there in front of Heikki, Heikki’s hand gingerly grabbed John’s dick. He gave it a few strokes, until precum leaked from the tip.

“Oh, wow, Heikki…” John blushed. He felt tiny. His cock was substantial, bigger than most men, even bigger than most Native Americans who, John thought, always had big cocks. But compared to Heikki every part of John felt small and weak. Heikki’s massive hand stroked John off by itself (most men had to use two hands to jack John off). When John was overcome by shocked passion, he leaned on Heikki’s massive chest, reminding John how tiny he was in comparison. Heikki’s muscles rippled beneath John’s touch.

But John assumed that that was where this ended, as far as Heikki pleasuring John went. Now Heikki would stand and want a blowjob. He’d probably facefuck John violently like macho straight guys usually did — that was fine with John, who loved it when men like Heikki abused his throat.

“You are smooth like girl and tasty on my tongue,” Heikki said as he kissed John’s arm and shoulders. He licked a trail of sensitive skin all the way down John’s chest, as John wondered where he would stop.

Was this really going to happen? A part of John’s mind had realized for several minutes that Heikki acted as though he was going to bottom, but that had been difficult to believe. It simply didn’t happen that way. John barely knew how to top. He had never in his entire life been on top with a man who was so much bigger than he was.

Then before John could process this, Heikki opened his mouth and swallowed John’s cock. He gagged right away as though he regretted doing it, then he let out a loud mewling sound around John’s dickshaft.

John was already hard, and his dick instantly sent pangs of pleasure up John’s spine. John drew in his breath and found he couldn’t bring himself to exhale, like he was worried anything he might do would remind Heikki that he is supposed to be a top.

His hands moved instinctively, and John found himself running his fingers through Heikki’s long blond hair. John had never felt anything so silken and beautiful, and the writhing mass of shoulder muscles beneath it made it even hotter.

“Ah, damn, Heikki, where did you learn to do this? What the fuck is on that Arapaho show?” John said — it seemed that Heikki was too intent on sucking cock to listen or remember any English, so Joh talked to himself. “I should have fucking bought that for my network. Fuck… We need more shows about gay Indians.” Who played Okomi in that show? John couldn’t think about it right now, but whoever it was must be the sexiest Indian in the world, if he had seduced a straight Finn from a continent away. John made a mental note to hire that actor for something, anything at all.

Heikki pulled away and spoke in Finnish. Haluan sinun naida persettäni! John had learned a few words here and there, but he had no idea what Heikki said. He smiled and nodded, though this experience had been so stressful and exhilarating that John’s smile was more of a grimace.

Heikki returned to sucking. It was awkward for him, having to stoop down to get into John’s crotch. To make it easier, John stepped up onto the wooden bench he had been sitting on. At last that meant John towered over Heikki, who was on his knees on the floor. Heikki could more easily suck cock, while John rested on his broad shoulders and massaged the tight layer of back muscles beneath him.

Then at last Heikki pulled off him again. He lightly tapped John’s asscheeks. He turned John around. John’s instinct was that this was it, Heikki wanted to top now, he was going to fuck John — which John was fine with, even if he was a little disappointed that his topping adventure ended so soon.

But Heikki didn’t fuck him in the ass. He dove his face between John’s cheeks and licked his asshole. Heikki shuddered in a mixture of delight and disgust as his tongue lapped at John’s ass. Due to the heat and humidity of the sauna’s löyly, both men were covered in salty moisture, and Heikki guzzled down every drop that clung to John’s flesh.

That didn’t last long before Heikki pulled away again. His big, callused hands roamed all over John’s body. He pushed John to sit back down on the bench.

Heikki stood and stretched his legs. Now that he stood and John sat, John’s face was well below Heikki’s crotch. John had to look up at him like a colossus, half-hard cock throbbing in the air as Heikki added more water to the hot coals on top of the sauna stove (the kiuas). A fresh burst of steam filled the air.

“It is good warm. Air is good for skin. And it is also for sex,” Heikki said. He may have blushed or his cheeks might have just gotten rosier from the heat, John couldn’t tell which.

Then Heikki took a deep breath, sighed and shook his head as he kneeled down on the ground. He sprawled his upper body over the bench John was sitting on. John was entranced by the looping curves of the man’s incredible shoulder muscles, and John’s delicate fingers traced the powerful, throbbing lines of his meaty shoulderblades.

Even though Heikki had made it clear he wanted to bottom, John’s tingled, shocked body still didn’t quite process what was happening, not right away. Heikki sprawled out on the bench next to John with his ass in the air — Heikki was so tall that even knelt over, his upraised ass was well above John’s navel.

It was obvious he wanted to get fucked, but John hesitated. What if he was misreading this situation? What if he accidentally offended Heikki by trying to fuck him?

But then Heikki reached one of his big-biceped arms around himself and rammed his pinkie into his ass to loosen it up. He grunted and his whole body tensed at first, then he relaxed.

Taking a deep breath, John mounted him from behind. “You gotta lower your ass some,” he said as he patted Heikki’s jiggling asscheeks. Heikki obediently lowered his hips until his ass was even with John’s crotch. That forced Heikki to awkwardly half-bend and half-stoop over the bench, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His mind reeled as he slipped his dick into Heikki’s ass. Heikki howled like a wolf, and John again wondered if he had done something wrong. But Heikki made no effort to leave, and John could tell that Heikki’s cock jerked from half-hard to stone-like and leaking precum. He must be into assplay, John thought.

That was confirmed as John slid more of his dick in. Heikki’s ass was not loose, but it was clear he was not a virgin either.

Heikki bit his lip and his muscles tensed all at once. He grunted, half-in-pain and half gasping with pleasure. It was like fucking a statue, John thought, all firm and unyielding. John couldn’t get a good grip, though he greatly enjoyed trying, clawing all over Heikki’s powerful frame.

But that was only the surface of Heikki’s body, which was indeed iron-like all over. He had muscles in places where John didn’t even think there were muscles. Inside Heikki’s ass, however, he was soft and pink and moist, inviting and warm, even compared to the heat of the sauna. John sped up his humping when it became clear that Heikki wasn’t in pain, and he moved from gingerly sticking it in and out to slamming his entire little twink body down on Heikki’s ass.

Like flicking a switch, it was obvious when John hit Heikki’s prostate and got past the big man’s discomfort. Heikki’s muscles all relaxed at once, and touching him was like a big warm, firm pillow. John lost himself in all that flesh, which throbbed and pulsated beneath John’s touch.

He had to stand on his toes, and when Heikki’s body rose a bit, John found himself elevated off the ground. He gripped Heikki’s back with both hands and humped until Heikki lowered himself again.

He even pulled on that long blond hair. It felt like perfect irony, he thought, since he usually serviced straight bears who liked to pull on John’s long black hair as they fucked him. John never understood why straight guys were into it.

But now that he was fucking a straight man with long hair, John totally understood. His delicate fingers grabbed a fistful of the löyly-moistened blond hair and pulled. He didn’t pull hard, just hard enough to make Heikki lift his head up.

Heikki crooned and let out a long, low moan that echoed in the small wooden sauna. John shuddered as Heikki’s asshole clenched. John’s free hand tried to stroke Heikki off but Heikki was so big that John struggled to reach his cock, and when he did, Heikki’s own paws were already furiously stroking his meat.

Then both men came at the same time. John was surprised by how suddenly his orgasm approached — he was not often a top, so he had little experience in this position — and overwhelmed him. His fingers tightened into talons that ripped at Heikki’s writhing muscles, while Heikki’s whole body tensed.

The smell of semen filled the air. Heikki groaned. He sprayed cum over John’s hands and onto the wooden bench beneath him, while John slammed his cock all the way in.

A thick burst of cum spurted out, coating Heikki’s insides. They both moaned together, in harmony like they were singing. The most intense orgasm of his life wracked John’s body. He shuddered and shivered despite the heat of the sauna.

He didn’t know how much he had shot. It felt like a huge orgasm. John could feel it sloshing around inside Heikki’s ass, sticking to John’s shaft and dripping down into the nest of hair around Heikki’s thighs. Every motion either one of them took sent shivers of exquisite afterclimax up John’s spine.

Then it was all over. The sauna seemed impossibly silent. Heikki’s labored breathing was audible, but distant, like the howl of a wolf outside.

John’s cock slowly limpened inside Heikki, whose muscles tightened as John dragged his fingertips overtop Heikki’s taut skin. Heikki gasped for air. Drops of cum dribbled from his cock, which John stroked while they both recovered from the intense orgasm.

Finally John was done. He gently extricated himself from Heikki, hopping off his back and letting his dick plop out. Heikki let out a sound that was half-sigh and half-roar, like an angry bear about to fall asleep.

He turned around, his broad chest gleamed with sweat and cum. John fell into his arms, sat on his lap and nuzzled the filthy flesh of his pectorals. Heikki cradled him close.

This felt more normal, John thought, a little twink like him relaxing in his alpha bear’s biceps. That was something John had done a hundred times before, but never with a big blond-haired muscle-god like Heikki. He traced the bulging curve of Heikki’s biceps as they both relaxed there.

“Thank you, Indian.”

John giggled. “You’re welcome, honky.” It didn’t look like Heikki recognized that word, which made John giggle even more. Heikki smiled along with him.

“We have become dirty,” Heikki said. He stood, looking down at the cum dripping from his chest. He glanced behind himself, where more cum clung to the fine blond hairs of his ass. He smiled awkwardly. He gestured towards the showers — Finns always showered before a sauna, so there were a few showerheads in the other side of the building — and smiled. “We must clean off.”

“Okay, yeah,” John said. “I guess we should.” He stood and stretched his legs as Heikki removed the chair that blocked the sauna door from opening. Then they both headed off to the showers.

“You have hotel?” Heikki asked. John nodded, and Heikki grinned. “You give to me hotel room number. I will come to visit. You will put penis in other Finns?”

“Uh… what?”

Heikki pantomimed chopping wood with an axe. “The men who I am working with, at wood-chopping camp. We all watch your show-“

“It’s not my show…” But it didn’t seem that Heikki was listening.

“And we like the Indian man. It is okay. We are all straight but we are tired of putting penis in each other. We want Indian man. We will come to hotel. Yes?”

John’s knees buckled and he nearly fell to the floor of the showering area. Was this for real? He couldn’t believe his luck. “Uh, yes! Yeah! Of course. Yes. I’ll… fuck any number of Finnish lumberjacks, is that what you’re asking?”

Heikki nodded and smiled. “We will all do it. It is a good show. Surrounded by Tombstones.”

“Yeah. Obviously a great show,” John said. He took a deep breath. “I will definitely start watching it.”

Twink on Top: Penal Party

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Penal Party, the hottest story yet in the Twink on Top series! It’s a Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary story, and it’s in the 50 Twinks Top 50 Tops megabundle for a great value.

It was the most enjoyable party Ted Halloway had ever been to. He knew perfectly well that it was only this fun because he had been in prison for a year and a half before it happened. It was the first enjoyable event in his entire time behind bars. So it felt like an evening in heaven.

It helped that there were no women. That meant the biggest alphas and thugs danced with gay girlish twinks like Ted as though he was a girl — Ted didn’t like cross-dressing, so he wasn’t as popular as certain other inmates, but still, he got closer to some sexy men than he had in quite awhile. He even got to kiss an incredibly hot redneck named Bubba, whom Ted had been drooling over for months.

The guards watched like it pained them to see inmates having a good time. Supposedly — Ted wasn’t privy to this because he was a pitiful twinky queer — all of the gangs were told that they’d be punished if anyone got in a fight during the party. That was why it went off without a hitch.

There was no alcohol, but the guards did allow a little weed in for the night. That was probably a wise decision, Ted thought; alcohol would make men fight, but the weed just made them giggle. Without any women among the inmate population, the feminine gays like Ted were treated much like women. He was feted as a queen by the entire prison.

But all good things come to an end, and this penal party was no exception. Ted was disappointed to hear the music come to stop. The guards bellowed at the inmates to head back to their cells Everyone slowly lined up, dragging their feet, grumbling and claiming they weren’t going to stop partying even as they did stop. But a part of Ted was at least happy that the party had gone off without a hitch — there was no fight, no smuggled-in booze, no one got hurt. That meant there was a chance the guards would allow another party in the near-future.

“Halloway, hey, Halloway… Ted!” boomed a male voice. It was one of the guards, Officer Armstrong, who grinned and grabbed Ted off the line. “Come on,” he said.

“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Armstrong said. “You’re gonna have a second little party.”

“Do I have a choice?” Ted wasn’t sure what this was and he was nervous. He didn’t trust Officer Armstrong, whose voice was always menacing. It sounded like a threat even when all he said was it’s going to rain today.

“Well… yeah, I guess,” Armstrong said. “But come see what it is first. You won’t say no. If you refused this, I would be… more shocked than I have ever been in my life.”

It was hard to argue with that, and Ted was intrigued, so he followed Armstrong into an old disused showering area — he didn’t trust Armstrong in general, but he did trust him not to be a murderous psychopath or anything like that; he might strike back extra-judicially against an inmate who had wronged him, not someone easygoing and rule-abiding like Ted. Inside the dingy old shower were a handful more guards, all brimming with nervous smiles, and seated on the ground in the center of the shower, was Chowder.

Chowder was the leader of a gang called the Nineliner Mob. He was white, heavily tattooed, nearly inch of his body covered in Gothic letter, naked ladies, wild animals and an outline of Massachusetts over his left pec. He had a handsome jawline with deep dimples. His broad chest was hairy, and he had developed a six-pack since coming to Brutewood. He was also the tallest inmate in the facility; at nearly seven feet tall, he struggled to fit through doorways and down corridors.

He winced but smiled at Ted. His friendly grin wasn’t unusual — he was outgoing and charming, but he didn’t let that get in the way of business. He was one of the few big alpha males in Brutewood whom Ted had never sucked off. That was because he had a bitch named Sammi, whom Ted hated. Chowder fucked Sammi publicly, hard and often; Ted was jealous because he loved to get fucked hard by alpha thugs like Chowder. Ted normally preferred black thugs, but Chowder was insanely hot and his Boston accent aroused Ted every time he spoke.

“So, uh… Ted,” Chowder said. “I was, uh… I put togethah that pahty. I was… y’know… Uh, I had to arrange it all.” He laughed nervously into his hand.

“Chowder… come on, we ain’t got all day,” Officer Armstrong said. “Don’t drag this out.”

“They said we could have the pahty if I did somethin’ aftah it, to prove I’s really serious about makin’ sure the party was good. I had to show I was gonna make sure it went off without no fightin’ or nothin’,” Chowder said, sucking his teeth every other word. His thick Boston accent made it sound like his mouth was full of cotton balls. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Ted… will you… please fuck me.” The guards all whooped and hollered. Ted blushed even harder than Chowder, who bit his lip. He took Ted’s hand in his like he was gonna propose. “Will you let me suck yo’ dick and take it in the ass and lick yo’ ass but only fo’ five seconds? And no kissing, and no tellin’ nobody aftahwahds.” That sounded like something that had been carefully negotiated with Armstrong.

“Oh wow,” Ted was so excited his knees were weak. He looked to Officer Armstrong, who had a gleeful smile on his face — Chowder was often in trouble for fighting with the guards, so they were understandably glad to watch him get fucked.

Everyone looked at Ted, who didn’t know what he was expected to do. He looked down at his feet, too scared to say anything.

“You gotta say yes,” Armstrong said with a chuckle. “If you wanna do it.”


They all laughed at Ted’s excitement and Chowder sighed again, like he had hoped Ted might say no. He took off the plain blue baseball cap he wore — the only non-religious hat anyone at Brutewood Prison was allowed to wear — and ran his fingers through his clipper-short hair. He sucked his teeth and spat on the ground. He looked at Ted sternly. “No tellin’ nobody. ‘Specially not Sammi. I can’t let her find out I cheated on her.”

“Sure! Okay. I promise, nobody will find out,” Ted said. “I hate Sammi. I never talk to him. I-“

“Call Sammi a her.” Chowder said. He narrowed his eyes to slits, making it clear that was a threat.

Ted gulped. He knew Chowder, like most Brutewood alphas, referred to their bitches as a woman; Ted had simply forgotten because he was so excited. “Okay. Yeah, I won’t tell her. Or anyone else. I swear.”

Chowder stood there, his confidence gone as he very slowly dropped his orange prison jumpsuit. The guards laughed and clapped, hooting like he was a stripper. They demanded he dance as he undressed. “That weren’t paht of the deal,” Chowder said grimly. The guards seemed to accept that, but they had fun cheering him on, pretending he was stripping like a dancer even if he wasn’t.

The sight of his bare chest made Ted’s heart skip a beat. Chowder had been a violent thug, but one of those rather fat swaggalicious men whom Ted thought were hot even if they had a belly. In his time in prison, however, all of that fat had melted away, leaving behind a mass of muscle that bulged from his skin as though begging him to get fat again. Ted had seen him naked in the shower, of course, so this was hardly the first time, but this was closer and more exciting. Ted literally felt drool escaping from his lips as he caught whiff of Chowder’s post-party musk.

“If I evah catch you lookin’ at me in the showah like you lookin’ at me now, I will rip yo’ goddamn ahm off and smack yo’ face off with it,” Chowder said.

“Uh, Chowder-“ Officer Armstrong cleared his throat. “That’s not okay. You can’t control how people look at you.”

“What I can’t control is my reaction when some queehboy look at me like he wanna eat me up,” Chowder said through gritted teeth. “You may not fuck me in yo’ imagination, okay, not aftah today.”


“Fine. I’m sorry, queehboy. Or Ted or whatevah. I ain’t tryin’-a police yo’ mind.” He rolled his eyes at Armstrong’s stern face.

Ted still didn’t quite trust him, but he had already discovered that making it obvious whom he thought was hot was a bad way to stay safe in here. Chowder wasn’t the first prison alpha to forbid anyone from having gay fantasies about him.

“It’s okay. I won’t, Chowder, I promise. My dream man is Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson, and I’m sorry, you’re not hotter than him,” Ted said. That was accurate, at least. Ted blushed as the guards and Chowder all laughed together.

Chowder dropped his dingy prison-issued boxer, which had faded bloodstains ominously covering the crotch area. Ted wondered where that blood had come from. Was it Chowder’s? Probably not, he thought.

“Well, you the queeh, right? How do we proceed?” Chowder scowled.

“Uh… I guess… You should suck my dick,” Ted said. His voice had never sounded so weak and so flamboyantly gay, at least in his mind.

“Hope this party was worth it,” Officer Armstrong said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Get on your knees, Chowder. I mean… Chowdah.”

Chowder glared at him but sunk to his knees. He was nearly seven feet tall, so even on his knees, his face was even with Ted’s shoulders and neck. He was nowhere’s near close enough to suck Ted’s cock.

As Ted dropped his own pants, Chowder slunk lower and lower. In the end he laid on his back, propping himself up with his arms. Ted felt weak and cold, but he was glad no one was looking at his own body, which was skinny, pale and trembling with anxiety. He strained to spread his legs wide enough to straddle Chowder’s chest. He wanted to touch him, but Ted was still nervous about this — if there was one ironclad rule of prison life that nobody ever broke, it was that slim gay weaklings like Ted did not top massive alpha thugs like Chowder.

Yeah, suck it, Chowdah!

Fuck his face, Ted!

“Just foh’ the recahd, I’m doin’ this cuz I want to,” Chowder said. He spat on Ted’s dick. “I could say no. These mothahfuckahs ain’t got proof I agreed to nothin’. And I done it before. Not in prison of couhse, but back in the day, me and my boys shared some blowies on the downlow. Ain’t no shame in that-“

Less gabbin’, more suckin’!

Chowder glared at the guards, but he sighed, and seemed to decide that just going for it was the best way to get started. The longer he drew it out, the more they were going to tease him. He opened his mouth, took a deep breath and closed his lips around the tip of Ted’s dick.

He gagged even before his tongue touched it. He closed his eyes and his entire muscular chest roiled with disgust, but he didn’t slow down even a bit. He let the rest of Ted’s dick slide deeper even as his eyes frantically darted around as though looking for a way to escape.

Almost immediately Ted felt a surge of pride and confidence; he felt better than he ever had since coming to Brutewood, and even before that. He pushed his dick in even deeper, ignoring the angry look in Chowder’s eyes.

“Come on, make more spit,” Ted said, making the guards laugh. “You’ve gotten blowjobs before. You know how to do it.”

Chowder did as he was told, even as his nostrils flared and his eyes filled with hostility. He choked up a mountain of saliva — since he was such a huge man, he produced a truly copious torrent of spit — that dripped down his chin and into his bare crotch.

A shudder of desire ran through Ted’s body as he gripped Chowder’s broad shoulders. His inhibitions melted away. Chowder was crisscrossed with scars and tattoos, including a handful of bullet wounds on his back. Ted reached down to caress his body, savoring the feel of his rippling muscles.

That made precum leak from the tip of his dick, which reawakened a torrent of sputtered gagging from Chowder. The guards laughed and clapped, again hooting and hollering like they were watching a strip show.

Suck that dick/Suck it like I ain’t rich/Suck it like a bitch/Suck it till you sick/Like you ain’t nevuh turn a trick/Yeah, suck that dick

One of the guards was rapping; Ted wasn’t hip enough to know for sure whether he was freestyling or repeating a popular song. It sounded rehearsed though.

Chowder pretended it didn’t bother him, but Ted could feel him bristling at the teasing. It was funny how Ted could sense Chowder’s reactions through his muscles’ twitching and the way his throat clenched around Ted’s spasming cock, like Ted could read Chowder’s mind through his body. Chowder arched his back as he nestled his nose deep in Ted’s crotch, easily deep-throating every inch of Ted’s cock. His new position meant his ass rose in the air.

Ted lusted after it. He couldn’t believe he was going to get to fuck Chowder in that ass, and he wondered if Chowder had ever done it before. He tried to reach but Chowder was too tall for Ted to reach his ass with his dick in Chowder’s mouth.

“Okay, you said you will lick my ass, right?” Ted asked, remembering that suddenly.

Chowder pulled off his dick. Thin tendrils of spit connected his greenish face to Ted’s cockshaft. Chowder grumbled. “Fo’ five seconds, that’s all I agreed to.”

Officer Armstrong laughed. “That’s just a minimum, Chowder. You can lick his ass as long as you want. We got all night.”

“No!” Chowder said.

Ted turned around and bent over as though he was going to get fucked, as that was the only position that raised his ass high enough for Chowder to lick it. Chowder looked away, breathed deeply through his mouth and closed his eyes.

He dove between those cheeks and slammed his tongue in. He was so forceful — and his tongue was so big — that it almost hurt. Chowder rimmed him more aggressively than anyone had ever rimmed him before, and Ted got the impression that Chowder had never done it before, not even on a girl. Chowder definitely enjoyed receiving rimjobs from his bitch and he always demanded more tongue-in-ass action, but since Chowder was so much bigger than Sammi, he needed as much tongue-penetration as possible, as deep and as hard as possible. Now Chowder’s cock-sized tongue shoved into Ted’s ass and explored there, hesitatingly as Ted’s ass-juices smeared over Chowder’s square-jawed face.

Five! Four!

But Ted then felt a ripple of pleasure emanating up his back as Chowder’s tongue explored his prostate. Chowder moaned into his ass and gagged without slowing down. Ted’s eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure walloped his petite frame. Chowder’s tongue suckled every drop of grime out of his ass, even as Chowder himself sputtered and choked on it.

Three! Two! …

The guards conspicuously stopped counting, but Chowder pulled away from Ted’s ass anyway. He spat on the linoleum shower floor. He wiped his face off with one hand, and his chin waggled but he kept it together. He sniffed, pointedly ignoring the guards as they cheered. He glanced over and saw one of the guards had bared his hairy ass — extremely hairy, nearly gorilla-like — and winked his asshole in Chowder’s direction.

If you enjoyed that, give Officer Torelli a try! He got all the ass-hair you could eat, boi! He be a ass-buffet for ya!

Chowder grimaced and looked away. He sighed as he stroked Ted’s dick with one meaty callused hand. It was the worst handjob of Ted’s life, but it was also somehow the greatest, its lack of rhythm and rough texture sending shockwaves of bliss through Ted’s body while slowing down his arousal enough that he was no longer nearly ready to blow his load.

Time for the ass, Chowder!

Give up the booty!

Chowder snarled at the guards. He turned around and bent over. His initial position was laughably impossible — he simply put his hands on the floor, sticking his ass in the air so high Ted’s short little body couldn’t even reach it. Ted had to stand on his toes to touch Chowder’s asscheeks and tap them, signaling him to lower himself.

Best get down lower, or we gonna need a winch and a pulley to do this right.

Chowder dropped to all fours. He had a nice plump ass, just enough padding for Ted’s taste — a remnant of when Chowder was fat-bodied in his pre-prison life. There was a tattoo on his left asscheek, an arrow pointing to his asshole and the words Cop Kissing Zone.

Ted separated those thick blubbering cheeks; at first it was difficult because Chowder instinctively flexed his cheeks, keeping them tight, but he forced himself to relax. His crack was lined with sweat-matted hair. Each of Chowder’s asscheeks was bigger than Ted’s head, making Ted feel truly tiny by comparison. He took a deep breath and pushed his dick in.

Chowder bit his lip so hard it drew blood. He breathed through his nose and snorted like a rampaging bull. His face turned bright red from both pain and humiliation. The muscles of his back tensed, lines flexing and curving, distorting the tattoos as he stretched.

Lookit him take it! Like a bitch!

Damn I wish we could fuckin’ tape this. Put it on the Internet, make a goddamn fortune.

“You bettah not!” Chowder said, but for once his voice was not bristling with confidence and machismo. It sounded like a whine, not a threat. He hung his head.

Ted hadn’t topped anyone since before he came to prison, so this was a refreshing experience for him. He pushed his dick in deeper and deeper, using copious lube (which was provided by Officer Armstrong — that seemed sweet, Ted thought, he didn’t need to do that; prisoners usually used hog fat from the prison kitchen, so Armstrong was being nice by providing actual lube). Chowder’s ass was clearly virgin, so tight that Ted struggled to shove every inch in his hole.

Chowder was on all fours, so the more powerfully Ted slammed into his ass, the more Chowder was forced to lower himself. He winced and dropped his hips, making it easier for Ted to fuck him harder. To his credit, Chowder managed to take every inch even though it was obviously difficult for him.

That hairy Italian guard had his dick out now, wagging it in front of Chowder’s face. Ted couldn’t hear his words because he was overwhelmed by pleasure and the boisterous laughter of the other guards drowned out the hairy guard, but it was clear he politely offered Chowder to suck his dick. Chowder just blushed and kept his eyes pointed away, even as the guard followed his face with his massive, uncut Italian cock.

Eventually Ted was just on top of Chowder, his feet no longer on the floor at all. Chowder’s broad muscles rippled beneath Ted’s face, and he licked the salty sweat that beaded on his skin. Chowder writhed beneath him.

Ted didn’t know how normal this was — he had only ever topped with thin gay twinks like him. He felt like a weird circus novelty, like a midget fucking a strongman to a shocked crowd. Chowder panted like a dog beneath him.

“God-damn, man,” Chowder said, his fingers and toes curling as though trying to dig into the linoleum floor of the prison shower.

Yeah! Get ‘im good, Teddy!

Lookit his little body on top of Chowder. Looks like a kid whose big bro is lettin’ him beat him up.

Ted blushed at the guards’ closeness. They were peering into Chowder’s ass as though they had never seen anal sex before and weren’t sure what was actually happening. Ted was a private person by nature — the public nudity, showering and toilet use of prison life had been difficult for him to adjust to — so having an audience like this was nerve-wracking for him.

His orgasm came on too soon. Ted was disappointed, but not surprised. As he felt it arising deep within him, Ted wasn’t even sure how long it had been — it felt like just a few minutes, but at the same time, it felt like hours. Surely Chowder would have complained if it had taken that long though, he thought.

The most powerful orgasm of his life ran through him. Ted’s entire body shook and trembled, and he moaned so loud he blushed as the guards erupted in a mixture of embarrassed grunts and excited shouts.

Cum sprayed within Chowder’ ass, a thick and copious loud that filled up every inch of his insides. Chowder moaned too, matching Ted’s voice, and he buried his face in his forearm. Then he grabbed the blue baseball cap he had thrown on the ground, and he buried his face in that instead.

One of the guards pulled the cap away and looked Chowder in the eye. Chowder’s red face was tense and a few tears of pain and embarrassment drifted down his cheek.

“Who’s the pussy-faced bitch now?” the guard asked. “Hope the party was worth it.” Chowder snarled and grabbed his hat back as his ass clenched again around Ted’s dick.

Exhausted, Ted fell back. His ass plopped out of Chowder’s ass, and Chowder breathed a sigh of relief. He stood and blushed as the guards laughed at the river of cum dripping down his trunk-like, tattooed thighs.

“Hey!” Chowder barked. “We said no bringin’ it up again after it’s done.”

“Ain’t done yet,” Officer Armstrong said. “It ain’t done until you both get your clothes on. Whatchoo think, Chowder? Was the party worth it?”

Chowder hurriedly threw his underwear on, wincing when he accidentally touched his ass and reawakened a torrent of sensitive pain. He put his jumpsuit on and then hurriedly slipped into his shoes when the guards made it clear they counted that as well. “Yeah,” Chowder said. “The party was totally worth it.”

Ted slow-walked it, both because he didn’t mind the guards teasing Chowder and because he was too overwhelmed to really focus on anything but the aftershocks of orgasmic pleasure wracking his body. But when Chowder was done and he saw Ted wasn’t, he shot him a few dirty looks until Ted jumped in action.

Soon they were both dressed. Ted still felt weak-limbed from the power of his climax, and he could still taste Chowder’s back-sweat in his mouth.

True to their word, the guards stopped teasing as soon as both inmates were dressed again. There was still some scattered laughter, especially when Chowder winced and skipped a step while he walked towards the door behind Officer Armstrong.

“Hey, if you want — and you don’t think Sammi will mind — you can fuck me later. As hard as you want,” Ted said. “If that, y’know, makes you feel better.”

“I know I can.” Chowder’s voice dripped with menace. “I will.”

Ted smiled. That promised to be almost as good as what had just happened. He couldn’t wait. The next couple days promised to be exciting.

Twink on Top: The Warrior and the Wizard

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Warrior and the Wizard, a new entry — and the first fantasy entry — in the Twink on Top series! That’s the best-selling series of hardcore gay tales about twinks on top and bears who bottom!

Saxen breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the last goblin fall to the ground. Every time his party fought a battle, he thought it would be the last. He was not the strong one, he was the mage. If just one person died, it would probably be him. He shuddered at the thought — the goblins wouldn’t stop here, he knew, they’d send another wave of attackers sooner or later. Probably sooner.

As usual, Carmon had finished off the last goblin and ended the battle. His massive arms and broad shoulders were splattered with blood, muscles rippling as he moved. His battle axe gleamed because he had cleaned that off, but didn’t care about the dirt and filth on his body just yet.

After that, the party decided to rest for the night. Saxen had used all of his spells, and the cleric was running out of magic as well — if she used up all of her curative ability, the party would be unable to heal if attacked again.

So they quietly found a small opening in the wall where they could sleep for the night. The dungeon had been continuing for what felt like forever, and every part of it looked the same. Saxen barely remembered what they were even doing here. Rescuing a princess? No, he thought, that couldn’t be right; she’d be long-dead by now.

After a quick supper of dried meat and hardtack, Saxen sighed. He was given first watch because he needed uninterrupted sleep in order to rememorized his spells in the morning. He watched Carmon finally wipe the nastiness off his body with a rag not much cleaner than Carmon himself was. Saxen was too exhausted to be aroused, even though he thought Carmon was hot.

But Carmon was not tired, he said, so he stuck around as Razamir the thief and Haggathin the cleric settled in to sleep. Saxen flipped through the spellbook he had acquired in the Lair of the Seven Serpents. Most of the spells in it were beyond his reckoning right now — he required more experience in order to understand the runes and incantations that were needed — but he didn’t care. That was not the reason he looked through the spellbook.

He buried his head in the book because the situation between he and Carmon was awkward and strained. Carmon was from the city of Balder, a rough frontier town with few women and a lot of warriors, mercenaries from the Hinterlands, scoundrels and cutpurses. That was why he was such a tough fighter and a valuable asset from the troop — few children ever lived in Balder, but Carmon had grown up there. He was an experienced fighter back when he was a child, and he had only grown in skill, size and musculature since then.

The Baldurrians had another reputation, though Saxen hadn’t known about it until Carmon explained it. He didn’t believe it at first. In Saxen’s country — the island academy of Saint Grattan — lavender men like himself were tolerated but not exactly beloved. In contrast the Baldurrians didn’t see homosexuality as a distinct orientation, exactly: all they cared about was who was on top.

The bigger, stronger Baldurrian dominated the smaller and weaker ones, demanding sexual favors. Because Carmon was big and handsome, Saxen had gladly sucked him off when they began adventuring together; he even allowed Carmon to sodomize him with his massive bull-like cock. But Carmon was verbally abusive during these encounters, and Saxen had had enough of it. This dungeon had frayed Saxen’s nerves.

So he had told Carmon he wasn’t going to do it again unless Carmon agreed to take a turn on bottom. Saxen didn’t think Carmon would ever agree to that — he considered the idea an abomination and an attack on his manhood — but Saxen held firm. In truth, he knew he’d give in eventually, because he loved sucking Carmon’s dick, but he wanted to make Carmon work for it.

And tonight Carmon’s body language suggested he very much wanted a “blowjob”, as they called it in Carmon’s hometown. Carmon, as usual, was too arrogant to ask for it — he wanted Saxen to beg for a taste of his dick. Saxen pretended to read his spellbook to avoid awkward looks from him.

Finally Carmon sighed. “Please will you suck my dick?” He rolled his eyes like he shouldn’t have had to ask.

“You know what I want.” Saxen was glad Carmon was upset over it — he had gotten angry when Saxen initially asked Carmon to bottom. He had said he would never submit to a man, especially a thin, reedy half-elf like Saxen.

This time, however, Carmon didn’t react with anger at not getting what he wanted. He flared his squat, taurine nostrils and inhaled sharply. “What… uh… what would I have to do?”

“Everything you want me to do. I want you to know what it’s like,” Saxen said, without taking his head out of that incomprehensible spellbook.

“So… if I suck your dick, and I let you put it in my ass…?”

Saxen looked up. Carmon sounded like he was going to agree to it. Carmon’s thick mane of black hair trembled as his whole body shook. Saxen’s voice was suddenly weak as he realized this might really happen. “You gotta let me cum in your ass. But I’ll give you a reacharound while I do it, if that helps — that’s nicer than you’ve ever been when you fucked me.”

“That just ain’t how we do it where I’m from. The bottom isn’t supposed to enjoy it. That ain’t proper.”

“We’re not in Balder, Carmon. You can say no if you want, just hurry up and decide.”

Carmon blushed, but thought for a moment, rolled his eyes and nodded. “My balls are about to burst, man. Just keep it quiet, okay? I don’t want to wake them up.” He nodded towards the sleeping Razamir and Haggathin.

“Fine. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse. Hell, I’ll cast a silence spell if you want,” Saxen said. “But… I guess I shouldn’t. I am on watch, after all. I have to be able to hear, and to wake them up if something happens. We’ll just have to be quiet.”

Carmon bent over and his big sausage-like fingers grabbed Saxen’s britches. He pulled them down and wrinkled his nose at the sight of Saxen’s dick. “I thought the delicate types, like you, was s’posed to have little dicks. That is gonna hurt.”

“Your dick is not exactly small.”

“Well… yeah. I ain’t a delicate type,” Carmon said with a sheepish grin. He sighed and sunk to his knees. But he was so tall that even on his knees, his face lined up with Saxen chest, not his crotch. “My dick I supposed to hurt men like you.”

Carmon had to lower himself even farther, stooping over as though looking for a coin he had dropped on the ground. His broad ass trembled in the air while his head buried itself in Saxen’s crotch. A part of Saxen had thought he wouldn’t actually go through with this, so he was shocked that Carmon’s mouth actually encircled Saxen’s dick.

The air in the dungeon filled with the smell of sex, of filthy rutting, and for once, Saxen thought, it was nice to be on the other side of that scent. Carmon wrinkled his nose and groaned at the taste of cockmeat in his mouth, but he didn’t stop or pull away. His tongue tentatively touched Saxen’s dick while he choked up a torrent of spit that dripped down to the ground.

Saxen, so shocked his knees went weak, reached forward to caress Carmon’s broad back. He was a fighter so his muscles were strapping, rippling as though it took his entire body to suck dick, and his muscles roiled as he gagged on the flavor — Saxen personally liked a little unwashed dungeon-musk on the cocks he sucked, but then, he liked men. He was not surprised that Carmon was less enthusiastic.

It didn’t take long for Saxen to get hard. His half-elven body was lithe and trim, skin puckering in the cool night air as his own weak muscles writhed. He had never experienced something quite like this, with such intense pleasure emanating from his dick.

A loud booming retch came from Carmon’s chest when precum dripped from Saxen’s dick, coating Carmon’s throat. Saxen’s knees buckled again, and he used Carmon’s broad back for support.

“There you go, big guy, you got it, you’re doing okay,” Saxen said as supportively as he could with pleasure wracking his body.

His hands roamed to Carmon’s ass, which was wide and plump and just hairy enough for Saxen. He couldn’t quite reach the asscrack because he was too short, but he did manage to get the tip of his middle finger in the dense tangle of hair that began just below his back. It was sweaty and moist, virtually begging Saxen to get started fucking him.

His dick was rock-hard now, pulsating in Carmon’s mouth. Saxen had never experienced something that was so intensely wonderful while also being rather awkward and imperfect — if Saxen had gotten this oral action from another half-elven slim gay man, it would have been lackluster. But from a big-bodied warrior like Carmon, it was sexy enough to outweigh the toothy sucking and inexpert tonguework.

“Okay, let me take a turn in that ass,” Saxen said when he had finally had enough; he didn’t want to accidentally cum too early, after all. Carmon’s cheeks were so plump and fuckable that Saxen’s mouth watered at the thought of penetrating that tight ass.

Carmon sighed and blushed like he didn’t want Saxen to say it out loud. He looked back to make sure that Razamir and Haggathin were still asleep, while Saxen took a quick look around — it was tough to think about anything other than what he was about to do, but he was on watch so he wanted to make sure no one was sneaking up on the camp.

Then he came back to Carmon who stood, his confidence deflated. He looked down at Saxen like he was a disgusting bug whom Carmon couldn’t squash. Carmon’s massive prick dangled between his legs. Saxen had an instinctive desire to start sucking on it right away, but he knew if he did that, he would never teach Carmon a lesson about showing respect and taking it as good as he gives it.

“Alright, bend over, big boy,” Saxen said. “Get ready to love my dick inside you. I’m gonna fill you up, Carmon. Beg me for it.” He chuckled, knowing Saxen wouldn’t do that — he was just imitating how Carmon treated him when the tables were turned.

“I’m not begging you for nothin’!” Carmon said. He glared at Saxen, who blushed. Then Carmon bent over and grabbed his ankles.

But that just made Saxen laugh — Carmon was much too tall to fuck him in this position. Without bending his knees, his hairy ass was at Saxen’s face-height, nowhere’s near low enough for Saxen to penetrate him, at least not without a ladder.

“What are you doing? I can’t fuck you like this.”

“When I was in Prince Xavier’s army, this is the position he made men take when they had messed up,” Carmon said. He beamed. “I never had to do it. My friend Ratter got fucked by like thirty men after he fell asleep on watch. He was never the same after that-“

“This isn’t Prince Xavier’s army, and I’m much too short for this, Carmon. Get on all fours,” Saxen said.

Carmon wrinkled his nose but did as he was told. He lowered himself to all fours, but with his ass in the air — that was closer, still not quite low enough. Saxen smacked his bare light brown cheeks and smiled at how they jiggled while Carmon lowered himself even farther. His ass down, his face up, Carmon squatted like he was about to jump as high in the air as he could.

Saxen’s heart pounded as he approached. Saxen had rarely been on top — elves were usually bottoms, after all, and that was one attribute where everyone assumed his elven side was more prominent than his human. Not that Saxen could complain, he did love taking dick in his ass, sucking it dry and servicing every inch of alpha warriors like Carmon. That was half the reason Saxen had originally become an adventure, he wanted to get straight human fighters to fuck him.

And now he was turning the tables. Saxen would have never guessed this might happen. He wasn’t even sure he was doing it right as he wedged his hard dick between those massive cheeks — he had fucked men in the ass before (and even one confused woman) but he had never fucked a man who was so much bigger than he was. It felt like his entire body could be swallowed up by Carmon’s ass, which was wider by far than Saxen’s body.

“Here it comes, big boy, hope you’re ready for it…”

The crack was choked with sweat-matted hair, which helped lubricate Saxen’s dick as he pushed it in. Carmon grunted and gritted his teeth, lifting one leg off the ground and shaking it like a horse in pain. Saxen withdrew the leather sac of tallow he used as lube, and he slathered some on his cockshaft.

That helped his dick slide in easier. Carmon sighed, holding his breath as he took it. Saxen gripped Carmon’s back like the men topping him usually did — but Saxen couldn’t reach Carmon’s shoulders like most straight men did when fucking Saxen. All he could do was grasp uselessly at Carmon’s spine and back muscles.

“Don’t say I never did nothing for you,” Saxen said as his hands moved around Carmon’s body, reaching his dick and giving it a squeeze. “This is called a reacharound.”

Carmon sighed as though he had been waiting for this moment. He arched his back, and for a moment it was like he was trying to pull away from Saxen. But Saxen lightly tapped his ass, his cheek jiggled and he submitted.

His cock throbbed beneath Saxen’s grasp. It felt just slightly hard, like it wanted to be erect but couldn’t while Carmon was being fucked. Saxen stroked it anyway, and savored the meaty feel of that veiny shaft as it slowly got hard.

Then all at once, Carmon writhed, Saxen grunted and Carmon’s dick became raging erect. Carmon sounded like he was surprised, but Saxen wasn’t — he had found Carmon’s prostate. He could feel its spongy texture throbbing as Saxen’s shaft rubbed up along it.

Some men claimed only a certain kind of man could ever feel pleasure from being fucked in the ass, a certain kind of lavender-livered feminine dandy. Saxen was precisely that kind of man, so no one was ever surprised that he enjoyed it.

But even Saxen was shocked that Carmon’s dick was stimulated by Saxen’s fucking, that Carmon’s body reacted with intense orgasmic energy as soon as Saxen hit his prostate. Carmon’s face was bright red, the color even extending down to his shoulders and upper back. He writhed in a combination of agony and ecstacy.

His dick pulsated in Saxen’s hand, and Saxen could even feel the same pulsations through the tight ring of Carmon’s ass. It was like he fucked every cubit of Carmon’s body all at once; Saxen could feel his heart beat, the straining of his trunk-like thighs, the curling of his toes and the relentless flexing of his biceps as he gritted his teeth.

When he felt his orgasm coming on, Saxen slowed himself down. He wanted to make this last as long as he could, and he especially wanted to be sure that Carmon finished before Saxen did.

“Oh damn, it’ll be over soon, Carmon, just hang in there, buddy…”

He could feel the climax building in Carmon’s body. Carmon wrenched and writhed beneath Saxen’s tiny body pounding away at him, and Carmon panted like a tired dog, even hanging his tongue out of his mouth. Saxen kissed the scarred skin of his back, where the legacy of a hundred battles remained on Carmon’s flesh even after Haggathin magically healed him. Saxen giggled as he wondered whether Haggathin had a spell that would heal Carmon’s ass after this.

They both stopped moving as a sound erupted from the campsite. Carmon looked up, eyes frantic — he didn’t want to be caught like this. Saxen kind of did want to get caught, so everyone knew he wasn’t just a submissive bottom, but he was more worried about a goblin attack.

But it wasn’t goblins this time, just Razamir and Haggathin. Razamir had snored loudly, which he did occasionally, and it had awoken Haggathin, which happened often. They both stirred and moved about in front of the dwindling campfire, but neither moved.

Saxen waited, without moving, until no sound came from the campsite for several minutes. Though a part of him wanted to get caught, he wasn’t mean enough to want to humiliate Carmon like that. As they waited, Saxen’s dick throbbed in Carmon’s ass, and Carmon kept his mouth open in a wordless scream, alternately sticking his head in the air and muffling his heavy breathing with his muscled forearm. His ass twinkled and squeezed around Saxen’s dick as Carmon struggled to accept the pressure in his ass.

Then Saxen ground his dick back in to the root, smiling while Carmon’s whole body retched. All at once Carmon grunted loudly, burying his face in the crook of his arm. Carmon’s entire body tensed and his ass clenched Saxen’s dick as a climax erupted in him.

“Fuck! Fuckin’ hell, Saxen…”

It seemed he wasn’t entirely happy with himself for cumming with a cock in his ass, but it was too late to stop himself, so Carmon shot his plentiful load directly into the palm of Saxen’s hand. It was a creamy and dense load, which Saxen sucked off his own finger after Carmon was done.

That left Saxen with nothing to focus on but fucking Carmon as hard as he could. Now that his dick was well-lubed and he had even pleasured Carmon, Saxen had no inhibitions. He slammed his dick in mercilessly, chuckling as Carmon bit his lip and contorted beneath Saxen’s pounding.

“Yeah, take it, big boy…” Saxen whispered. He laughed at himself — Carmon often said the same thing, though he meant big boy ironically since Saxen was tiny — and at Carmon’s embarrassment.

Having shot his load and experienced a powerful orgasm, Carmon tried to conceal the intense feelings roiling his body. He kept his head held high and bit his lip, forcing his ass to remain low enough for Saxen to fuck.

Saxen’s orgasm was intense and sudden. He wished he could have put it off longer, but when he finally felt it overcoming him, it was too late. The uncontrollable potency of his climax erupted from deep within like a volcano, and exploded in every part of his body. He moaned exquisitely and slammed his dick all the way in.

Intense pleasure rocked Saxen’s body, and his petite elven muscles tensed all at once. Carmon’s body did likewise, his massive frame squeezing and clenching tight like he was hoping to hold Saxen in place with his ass. Carmon switched from holding his breath to panting and heaving for air.

Hot cum sprayed within Carmon, coating his insides. Saxen grunted and lost all of his feminine grace; he normally acted like a woman to make straight alphas more comfortable, but when the most incredible orgasm of his life wracked Saxen’s body, it was all he could do to avoid crying out so loud he awoke Razamir and Haggathin. He squealed as quietly as he could manage, and Carmon let out a similar muffled yelp at the same time.

“God damn, boy, that was a big load,” Carmon muttered. He shook his head and snorted like an angry bull.

“Sorry…” Saxen said breathlessly. His dick flopped out of Carmon’s ass, and Carmon breathed a sigh of relief. Saxen traced the outline of his muscles and battle-scarred back. “No… wait. I’m not sorry. You deserved that. Now we’re even.”

“So can I start fucking you again? We’re not trading off every other time are we? I ain’t doin’ that,” Carmon said. His own cock hung limp and ruddy between his legs.

Saxen chuckled as he cleaned his dick off with a rag. “No, I know that wouldn’t work. Maybe every couple months you let me fuck you?”

Carmon shook his head and sighed. “We’ll see how I feel about this tomorrow. That hurt like hell, man.”

“Yeah, well… That’s what it is, that’s what you do to all those men you plundered back in your hometown-“ Saxen stopped himself because Carmon blushed a bright red and looked down at his feet. He covered his crotch with one meaty paw as he grabbed his clothes and got dressed. Saxen laughed. “You never did it, did you?”

Carmon shook his head. “You were my first. I could have fucked men in Prince Xavier’s army… But I didn’t. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get hard. Plus we had plenty of female whores. It was only when I saw your tight little ass that I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh, Carmon…” Saxen laughed and clutched Carmon’s chest muscles. He kissed both pectorals — the highest spot on Carmon’s body he could reach.

Then they both stopped moving suddenly. There was a sound. Someone was approaching the camp from deep within the dungeon. Carmon made a G-shape with his hand in front of Saxen’s face, and Saxen nodded. They both knew what that sound was.

Saxen was just glad he and Carmon had managed to dress themselves before the attack. He whistled to wake up Razamir and Haggathin, while his mind rummaged through the spells he had memorized to see what would be helpful.

He and Carmon lined up back to back, with Carmon’s ass pressing into Saxen’s back. There were goblins afoot, which should have been frightening, but with Carmon behind him, Saxen had never felt better. He was exactly where he needed to be.

Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven, a new Brutewood Medium Security story and part of the best-selling Twink on Top series!

Eddie strode into prison as confident as he could muster — he didn’t want to look like he was really a sniveling weakling precisely because he was about to act like one — but his ego quickly deflated. He was searched, poked and prodded by Officer Barnett. He felt like a prisoner, which was sexy but also humiliating. It both helped and exacerbated the problem that Officer Barnett was a sexy redneck guard himself; being poked by him would have no doubt satisfied many gay twinks fantasies.

But Eddie wasn’t here for Officer Barnett, who wasn’t really his type anyway. Eddie loved black thugs, the bigger and thuggier the better, ideally with an alpha attitude, a penchant for verbal sex, denigrating dirty talk and a willingness to let gay men service them. That was why he had arranged this opportunity of a lifetime. He didn’t even think there was any chance Barnett would agree to it, but he did, and Eddie could even afford the rather massive sum Barnett had charged him.

Most of that money would be going to the inmate that Eddie chose. He walked through Brutewood Prison increasingly nervous as they came to Cell Block Omega, which Barnett had said was not in use normally. Barnett had found the eight prisoners who met Eddie’s criteria and were willing to let Eddie’s tiny twink body service them, like the prison bitch Eddie wished he could be. Eddie had been daydreaming about setting this sort of encounter up since he was a teenager, and he never thought he’d go through with it until a few months ago, when he realized he needed to just bite the bullet and try. The worst that could happen (aside from being beaten to death by a homophobic prisoner and/or guard) was being refused.

He didn’t have a whole lot of time — Barnett only promised him ‘seven minutes in heaven’. But Eddie thought that would be enough time. Barnett assured him that these men would be horny and ready to take charge, so the brief duration wouldn’t be a detriment to some quality alpha service.

That was what Eddie wanted. He wanted to be held down and fucked hard, slapped, treated like a submissive prison bitch, because that’s what he was at heart. The sight of empty cells and the hollering of men in a far off block made him hard even before he had seen a single inmate.

The first one was tall and lean, with dreadlocks and hawkish features. He spoke with a faint island accent, but Eddie suspected that was an affectation. He flopped his dick between his fingers and showed off his perfect six-pack. “Yo, mon, you want me-uh treat you poorly? I will rape you senseless, whiteman. You will be crying when I am done wit’ you. I will fuck the batty-boy outta you, and then I gonna fuck it right back in.”

That wasn’t quite for him. Eddie preferred men with a little meat on their bones — as much as he wished he could get on his knees and suck the dreadlocked man off through the cell bars, Eddie thought there was someone better in one of the other cells.

Then he passed a burly black man with a beard, and a sour look on his face. He nodded at Eddie, ran his tongue under his upper lip and said, “Damn, whiteboi, you look good enough to eat.”

But Eddie moved on. He wasn’t quite right. The next one was bald-headed, with a Latin look to his skin and face. “You wanna be my puta?” he asked as Eddie walked past.

The fourth person was heavily tattooed, which Eddie didn’t find especially sexy. He didn’t say anything, he just nodded at Eddie and bucked forward as though he was going to attack Eddie through the cell bars. Eddie instinctively shrank back and blushed when the tattooed thug cackled at him.

As soon as Eddie came to the fifth cell, he knew he had found his man. “So, you the faggot who wanna be my bitch, huh?” Eddie blushed. He quickly hurried to the end of the corridor to see the others — that just seemed polite, after all — but he knew what he wanted. The fifth man was tall, broad-shouldered and built like a linebacker, dripping with muscle and meat. He didn’t have a six-pack, just a tiny belly, barely enough to grab on to, but that was the perfect size for Eddie. There was a crucifix tattooed over his sternum, and a gun on each bicep.

“Yo,” he said with a big wide, shit-eating grin when Eddie chose him. “I’m Dump Truck.” He undressed Eddie with his eyes, and his dick visibly shifted in his orange prison pants.

“Charles Everly,” Officer Barnett said. “Mister Everly here is an armed robber and an arms-trafficker-“

“I sold one gun, Barnett, don’t be fucking dramatic,” he said. He snorted and avoided looking at Eddie. “So you the one who wanna be a prison bitch, huh? Ain’t nevuh heard of no one who want that. But you kinda look like a bitch, so it ain’t hard to believe. It’s been awhile since I had a bitch who was faggy. Might be kinda nice. I enjoy holdin’ a nigga down and makin’ him cry uncle — not that I stop then, it’s just nice to hear him cry — but I might like fucking a faggot too.”

“Don’t hurt him, Mister Everly,” Barnett said. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Can we put the curtain up?” Dump Truck asked as Barnett unlocked the cell.

Officer Barnett looked to Eddie, who blushed again and nodded. “Please! Let’s do that. I wanna have the real prison bitch experience.” His heart felt like it might jump out of his chest.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what we gonna have,” Dump Truck said. He laughed, and the men in the other cells joined in. “I am gonna treat you bad, whiteboi, bad in all the right ways. Hope you wasn’t intendin’ to walk outta here.”

Destroy ‘im, Dump!

Eddie had never felt so weak and submissive. His dick was rock-hard, and it started leaking precum the moment he heard the lock slide into place. The door was shut.

“Gonna destroy you, faggot,” Dump Truck said with a sneer. He quickly hung up a sheet that blocked the cell from view. Eddie shivered as he anticipated what was going to come next. His ass already ached a little. Dump Truck towered over him by more than a foot, and he must have outweighed Eddie by a hundred and fifty pounds or more.

Make him squeal like a piggie, Dump!

“I will!” he called out. Once the sheet was hung up, however, his smile changed. He sunk down so he looked Eddie right in the eyes; it almost felt like he was going to kiss Eddie, though of course he didn’t. He whispered, “Yo, faggot. I ain’t queer, but… I got a proposition for ya. I been in this place fo’ a long time, and I done had a million prison bitches. I fucked ‘em up, and I wrecked ‘em and I moved on. I wanna do somethin’ different.”

“Oh… like what?”

“I want you to fuck me,” he said. He looked down and bit his lower lip. Then, for the benefit of everyone listening on the other side of the curtain, he called out, “You know what Brutewood lube is? It’s how we get a bitch to deep-throat. Lemme spit in yo’ throat, lube it up real good.” He spat on the ground and everyone cheered him on. Then he whispered again, “I wanna taste yo’ dick and feel you inside of me.”

“Are you serious?”

“This is a serious place, and I am a serious nigga,” he said. “Come on, honky. I know you came here to bottom, and I’ll fuck the shit outta you — literally — if that’s whatchoo want. But I wanna get fucked. It’s gotta be a girlie-looking twink like you, but I can’t let anyone in here know a gay white faggot fucked me. That’s ruin my rep. So this is my only option. I ain’t think I was ever gonna have the chance to bottom for a pretty little boy like you. Whatchoo think?”

“Are you serious? Hell yeah,” Eddie said, focusing hard to keep himself from being too loud. This was all happening so fast, it was hard to recalibrate his expectations. But he couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than fucking Dump Truck’s massive body.

“Alright,” he grinned. “Let’s hurry up, or we gonna run outta time. Seven minutes ain’t much.” He hesitated, then stooped over and kissed Eddie on the lips. He was halting and slow — it was obvious this was the first time he had kissed a man, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His tongue even pushed into Eddie’s mouth.

Though his passion was lacking at first, a few seconds in, Dump Truck let out a moan that resonated in Eddie’s mouth. His tongue suddenly moved, clobbering Eddie’s own tongue, and his thick fingers grasped Eddie’s shirt. He ripped it, buttons flying to the bunk and dingy toilet in the corner of his cell.

I ain’t hear him squeal yet, his mouth full?

Sounds moist in there, I can kinda hear it. He fucking that fairy in the face, I think.

Dump, how that batty-boi takin’ it, mon?

“You can’t hear him choke, nigga? Guess his faggot mouth is just too full to choke. He ain’t breathe in a minute, son,” Dump Truck said. “Got too much dick in there, and he lovin’ it, like a fuckin’ Big Mac and shit!” His big eyes twinkled as he pecked Eddie on the lips and then worked his way down Eddie’s pale, lithe body. He shuddered a little like he was surprised at the taste, and he stopped to play with Eddie’s nipples. Then he licked Eddie’s flat belly and stopped only when he reached Eddie’s pubic hair (which he kept trimmed very short).

Dump Truck was so much bigger than Eddie that even getting on his knees wasn’t enough, he was still too tall to suck Eddie’s dick. He had to get on all fours, with his plump ass high in the air, while Eddie stood on his toes in front of Dump Truck’s face.

But when he did get his head in position, Dump Truck wasted no time in swallowing Eddie’s dick to the root. He seemed surprised that Eddie’s cock wasn’t as proportionately small as his body was. He motioned for Eddie to make some noise.

Eddie blushed but spat and sputtered, hocking up a few loogies and even sticking a finger far enough down his throat to gag once. That made the other men laugh and cheer, banging on the bars of their cell.

That sounds right, nigga!

Choke him! Show him the Brutewood way!

In no time Eddie was rock-hard, and he started getting into it. Every time the men quieted down, he made it sound like he was getting throatfucked and loving it, and they’d laugh again. Even Officer Barnett chuckled quietly.

You got this, Dump!

Dump Truck had a broad, dark brown back, pocked with a few scars and marks, plus some dark blue prison tats that Eddie couldn’t quite make out (some kind of writing, he thought, possibly Hebrew, like an Old Testament verse). He stroked Dump Truck’s muscles, trying to reach his plump ass, but he was much too short. Instead he just grasped at his back and shoulder, sighing as pleasure moved through him; they both threw their heads back and moaned. Eddie’s moan was drowned out by Dump Truck’s, and Dump Truck made his sound exaggerated and comical so it wasn’t obvious to their audience why he was moaning.

He change his mind about being a prison bitch, Dump?

“No, he ain’t! He is lovin’ every second of it! He’s fucking serious. You should commit some crimes and shit, whiteboi. You could be the queen bitch in this place, man,” Dump Truck said. His voice was joyous and light-hearted, even as his face was serious, gasping, with Eddie’s dick throbbing against his face.

As he resumed sucking, Dump Truck moved his head more and more aggressively up and down. Eddie felt like he was being attacked by Dump Truck’s massive head, which made him giggle — he covered his mouth with a hand to muffle the sound. Dump Truck took Eddie’s hands in his and wrapped it over his head.

He wanted Eddie to facefuck him like a prison alpha might do. Eddie had been on the receiving end of a jailhouse-style facefuck on several occasions, but he had never topped for that kind of scenario — he had rarely topped at all.

But he wanted to give Dump Truck what he desired. He held onto the ragged short afro on Dump Truck’s head, gripping his hair, and he slammed his dick all the way in. Dump Truck let out a chortling gurgling sound with a moistness that made everyone else burst into cheers. To Eddie, it sounded much too deep to be his own voice — he was more high-pitched and feminine than that — but luckily it seemed the other inmates didn’t realize that. They had never heard Eddie before today so they had no basis for comparison.

Rape ‘im harder!

Dump Truck pulled off and laid on his back on the bare mattress on the bunk in the cell. He snorted and sniffled, wiping fluids off his face; he smiled silently at Eddie. He let his head hang over the foot of the bed. “This is the proper position for a prison bitch, alright, faggot? Get ready to get yo’self throatfucked.”

Yeah, fuck ‘is gullet, man, show him how we do it right in here!

Fuck ‘im the Brutewood way!

Eddie squealed loudly, blushing as the other inmates cheered him on. Dump Truck was in exactly the position Eddie liked to get facefucked in; Eddie had never in his life been on this side of it. He approached Dump Truck’s broad face and pushed his dick past those thick, juicy lips. His cock slammed into Dump Truck’s throat, making him wretch and writhe atop the filthy prison mattress.

He regrettin’ signin’ up fo’ this yet?

Incredible pleasure rocketed through Eddie’s spine. He had never felt like this, not even on those few occasions when he got to top someone. He shuddered and moaned quietly, every ounce of concentration he could muster going towards not being so loud that he alerted the others to the fact that he wasn’t bottoming as they thought.

Precum flowed down Dump Truck’s throat. From the reaction on his face, it seemed he had little experience with that. Did he like the taste or hate it? Eddie couldn’t tell, and in this position, he didn’t have to care. He really felt like he was overpowering Dump Truck, whose muscular limbs contorted as he accepted the throatfucking. His muscles flexed and bucked as though he was fighting back, and his movement made the bunk beneath him move. The sound of steel scraping against the prison cell floor caused a torrent of cheers from the other cells.

He pulled off once again, grabbed Eddie’s slick dick. He lowered his head farther, so he could suck Eddie’s balls. Then he called out, “He suckin’ the sweat off my balls now, what a nasty slut he is!” He swallowed both of Eddie’s balls, easily fitting them both in his big mouth. He suckled loudly, making a sputtering sound that provoked more cheers from the other cells.

Nasty faggot! Can’t believe he signin’ up for this voluntarily!

Then Dump Truck pulled away, stood up and turned around, in a hurry like he had just remembered they were on a time limit. Spit clung to his lips in tendrils, and his ruddy face was moist with tears from lack of oxygen and sweat dappling his forehead.

“Four minutes left, guys,” Officer Barnett said. “You better hurry up.”

His ass was much wider than Eddie’s body, not because he was fat, it was just big and broad and juicy. Each cheek was nearly twice the size of Eddie’s head. He lowered his ass onto Eddie’s dick, slowly. Eddie still stood at the foot of the bed, so Dump Truck crouched on all fours on the ground and backed up (rather like his eponymous vehicle) until his ass lined up with Eddie’s crotch. His crack was choked with sweaty hair, which ordinarily Eddie would have licked clean like a good submissive twink. He felt like he was losing his entire body in the choked masculine jungle of Dump Truck’s ass.

“Fuckin’ ‘im now, Barnett, cool yo’ jets,” Dump Truck said. “Don’t worry, he gettin’ e’ry inch of me that he entitled to. Don’t you worry yo’ sweet redneck head about that, Barnett.”

“You alright in there, sir?”

“Yeah…” Eddie said, too embarrassed to think of anything else to say. He wasn’t sure how to say it that wouldn’t give away what was really happening in here. “I… uh, he’s treating me right.”

That’s right he is! Showin’ you how it’s done!

You mean he treatin’ you wrong, but he doin’ it in the right way.

Eddie gulped as Dump Truck penetrated himself with Eddie’s dick. Eddie gingerly gripped his shoulders and held on while he began humping back, gradually losing his inhibitions. A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine from the moment his dick poked through that jungle of sweaty ass-hair and into his tight hole.

When Dump Truck grunted in pain, he covered it up with a louder roar, an aggressive bitch-fucking sound that made the other inmates roar and chant alongside him. Fuck that queer! Fuck that queer! Dump Truck threw his head back and wordlessly moaned, smiling at Eddie even as he grunted out threats and insults.

“Gonna fuck you so hard you wear a diaper, faggot…”

Eddie was not an actor. He tried to pant like a submissive man might — he should have been better at it, since that was the role he normally played, but everything happening here was outside his wheelhouse. He couldn’t remember what kind of sounds he might normally make in the reverse of this situation.

Make ‘im beg for mercy, nigga!

It was clear that Dump Truck wasn’t kidding about having never gotten fucked — not that Eddie ever doubted him. His asshole was so tight that Eddie had to really shove to get his dick in there. There was no time for a gentle approach either; Eddie pushed it in farther and farther, and when Dump Truck didn’t stop him, he began to ram it back and forth, uncaring of his resistance or the hairs that Eddie’s dick accidentally ripped from his crack.

Teach ‘im a lesson! Fuckin’ faggot, comin’ in here, tryin’-a get fucked and shit, like prison is a goddamn orgy! Fucking honky!

Each time he did, Dump Truck winced and blanched. The whole experience was so incredible that each time Eddie thrust past Dump Truck’s resistance in his ass, a surge of awkward pleasure hit him and Eddie moaned in a pained, struggling way. It genuinely did sound like a prison bitch getting fucked, which just egged the other inmates on.

Wreck him! Ruin him! Show him how we do it, nigga! No mercy!

No mercy!

Eddie did indeed fuck with no mercy. Of course it was Dump Truck who responded, “He takin’ it, nigga. Ain’t like a prison bitch, he been opened up a million times before. Kinda nice fuckin’ a bitch who ain’t too squirmy. Gonna fill him up wit’ some nut.”

“Two minutes left, guys. You still alright in there?”

“Yes! Yes, officer…” Eddie said, his excitement making everyone, including Barnett, laugh. “I’m, uh… I’m just finishing up.” He threw his head back and moaned as wave after wave of unimaginable bliss washed over him, so intense it was painful as he lost himself in the massive brown ass trembling before his tiny twink frame.

Dump Truck’s ass clenched when he approached his own orgasm. He had started jacking himself off; Eddie tried to give him a reacharound, but he could barely reach all the way around, so he just fumbled with Dump Truck’s body while slamming his dick in Dump Truck’s jiggling, tight ass.

“Aw, fuck…” Dump Truck grunted. “You take dick good, faggot!”

When Eddie’s orgasm finally came, it felt like it had been a lifetime, way more than seven minutes. Eddie yelped and scratched at Dump Truck’s back — he was so big and thick-skinned he didn’t seem to notice — while incredible pleasure suffused both men’s bodies, in sync with each other like no one Eddie had ever been with before.

Cum flowed into Dump Truck’s ass, a huge load that dripped out and down those giant trunk-like thighs. It splatted on the floor, but still Eddie came. Dump Truck roared as he shot his own load into his hand and all over his chest; he managed to make the roar sound like a manly cavemanesque grunt.

Eddie’s entire body went limp. He knew they were running out of time, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out, not yet. He kept it there, stimulating Dump Truck’s prostate while Dump Truck’s body writhed and flexed with both bliss and agony, pride and shame visible on his contorting face.

Dump Truck turned around, his massive chest gleaming, covered in his own cum. Eddie licked every inch of it, savoring the meaty feel of the man’s muscles. He deliberately made sure the cum soaked into his face, so when he moved upward and kissed Dump Truck on the lips, he tasted it. He had to climb the man’s mountainous torso to get there, gripping his throbbing muscles with Eddie’s delicate fingers.

They shared cum for another minute or so, stopping only when Officer Barnett began counting down the last thirty seconds. Eddie was bashful, and hurriedly cleaned himself up with a napkin and started putting his clothes back on. Dump Truck just stood there, covered in fluids, his cum mingling with his sweat so it wasn’t obvious what it was. His dick dangled between his legs.

“Damn, Dump Truck, put some clothes on,” Officer Barnett said when he pulled the curtain down after hitting zero.

Eddie was bright red, too scared he’d blurt out what happened to say anything at all. He quickly dressed and clasped the sweaty small of Dump Truck’s back.

“Bye, Dump Truck, that was amazing. You’re the best prison alpha-“

“Shut the fuck up, bitch, I ain’t tryin’-a please you,” Dump Truck said. “You come back here again and I’ll fist you to death, faggot.”

Eddie just nodded and followed Officer Barnett out. He pretended his ass hurt as he walked past the other inmates; he winced and blushed.

“Was that everything you thought it was gonna be?” Officer Barnett asked once they were out of Cell Block Alpha.

“No,” Eddie said. “It was completely different, and so much better.”

Twink on Top: Cramped Closet

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Cramped Closet, a new story in the Twink on Top series! If you’ve had enough of alpha bears penetrating delicate little twinks, the Twink on Top series is for you, if you can handle what happens when a twink climbs on top!

When the door opened, Habib was laying on his back, covered in Mohammed’s juices. They had just finished having sex. Habib, as usual, had bottomed: he sucked Mohammed off, licked his hairy, muscular ass and taken his load, letting it spray all over his smooth chest and belly. That was how they always did it. He lay there, covered in juices while Mohammed cleaned himself up; he did not allow Habib to clean himself until Mohammed was done doing the same.

Mohammed, as usual, looked at him with cruel, judgmental eyes. Mohammed did not see himself as gay, nor as having gay sex — like many Egyptians, he saw the penetrative partner as being totally straight, while the receiving partner, Habib, was gay. He often told Habib to seek forgiveness from Allah after sex.

But today, there was no time for that. They had just finished when the door opened, and two people walked in: a man and a woman. They were Mohammed’s wife and her brother, chatting about the car that had just broken down on the side of the road. That was why they had come home early.

“It is not the battery, Ruha. The car would never have started in the first place if it was the battery.”

“It felt like the battery to me…” Her voice drifted in from the front door.

Mohammed gasped and Habib squealed. He could be arrested if he was caught like this — technically Mohammed would be arrested too, but he’d pay a minor fine, if that, while Habib could be jailed for years. It wouldn’t be surprising if the police just plain killed him.

Before Habib could say or do anything, however, Mohammed grabbed him by the arm, dragged him across the room and tossed him in the closet. Then he angrily shushed Habib and slammed the door shut.

Habib sat there in the darkness, feeling a mixture of humiliation, rage and fear. A million possible courses of action ran through his head, but Habib knew he wouldn’t do any of them. He was just going to sit here in the darkness until Mohammed’s wife and brother-in-law left. Then Mohammed would probably apologize, make Habib suck his dick again and kick him out with cum still drying on his lips.

But Habib could hardly complain, he thought. He could walk away any time. He kept telling himself he should do that. In the West, gay men were respected and valued. Here, he would be pilloried if everyone knew what he was. He could sneak into Europe, or he could at least try. But he sighed, knowing he would never do that — Habib was not a brave man, and that was a risky trip. Plenty of human traffickers would take Habib’s money, see that he was a small-boned queer and throw him in the ocean.

He listened to Mohammed and his wife and brother-in-law. They discussed the car trouble, and made plans for dinner the following night. Finally Mohammed called them a cab, then arranged for a tow truck to pick up his car off the side of the road.

At last the cab arrived, after an eternity of waiting. Mohammed saw them off and shut the door. Habib waited. Was he supposed to remain hidden? He hadn’t heard anything, so he wasn’t sure if Mohammed was certain his wife and brother-in-law wouldn’t return.

After what felt like hours, Habib realized this was it — Mohammed simply had such little respect for Habib that he didn’t care about making him wait in the closet. He didn’t bother telling Habib it was safe to come out. Habib stepped out, anger brimming within him. His knees were sore from remaining crouched among all those women’s clothes and shoes.

Mohammed grunted a greeting as he ate a sandwich of lamb and cucumber. He was a big man, and he ate constantly. Habib normally thought it was sexy, his big brown muscles and hairy body flexing as he shoved meat and bread in his throat.

But right now Habib was furious. He felt like the last year of furtive, hidden lust was bubbling up inside him, in the form of rage instead of desire. Memories of each time Mohammed had fucked him then pushed him into a ditch on the side of the road, or made him hide in the trunk of his car, came to the forefront of Habib’s mind.

“You asshole!” Habib shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me they were gone?”

He shrugged. “I thought you heard. I thought you liked it in there, queer.”

“If I’m queer, what are you?”

His lips pursed. He stopped chewing, and glared at Habib. He swallowed and put his sandwich down. “I am a man! I’m a real man!” he barked.

“I’m a real man too!”

“You are no man,” he said with a sneer. “You are a queer, a pansy.”

“You are… a real jerk!” Habib said. His voice broke and he had to hold back tears. He knew he was acting exactly like everyone expected him to act, like a lithe delicate fairy, but he couldn’t help it. Mohammed snorted and looked away in derision. Habib stomped towards the door. “Fine! Fuck you, Mohammed! I’m leaving you.”

“Wait!” he stood. Bits of bread stuck to his thick, coarse beard. Habib waited, but Mohammed didn’t follow that up with anything.

“What?” Habib asked.

“I mean… You don’t have to leave,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. He wiped crumbs out of his beard and licked his lips. Habib was suddenly more aroused than he had been in a long time; he cursed himself for it, because he didn’t want to admit how much he wanted Mohammed to take him back.

“I’m… I’ve been acting like a jerk,” Mohammed said. “I’m sorry for making you wait in the closet while I ate a sandwich.”

“Do you want me?”

Mohammed didn’t answer. He flared his nostrils. Habib knew he wouldn’t want to say it — Mohammed had never said he wanted to have sex with Habib. He always made it clear when he wanted to fuck, but he expected Habib to initiate things. Mohammed made it seem like he never wanted to do anything gay but was willing to because Habib wanted it. Habib could tell none of that was true; Mohammed wanted him just as much as Habib wanted Mohammed.

Habib turned towards the door in a huff. “Fine. See ya.”

“Wait. Yes, I want you, damn it… Just… Don’t go,” he said, and for the first time, he showed a tiny bit of tenderness. He blushed deeply.

“You have to start treating me better,” Habib said. He put his hands on his hips.

“Fine. I will. I can’t leave my wife.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?”

Habib didn’t really know. He wanted Mohammed to be openly gay, but that wasn’t realistic. He decided on the next best thing. “You have to be willing to bottom for me.”


“I don’t wanna be on bottom all the time,” Habib said. “You have to suck my dick once in a while, and take it in the ass from me.”

“Ha! No way,” Mohammed said. “I’m a real man.”

“Then have fun with your wife,” Habib said. He turned around and again walked towards the door.

“Wait!” Mohammed bit his lip. “I’m not like you, Habib.”

“I think you’re more like me than you want to admit. You’re thinking of me when you fuck her, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at Habib and chewed his lip. “I want you. I like your ass and your mouth and… your, y’know… personality, and all that. I like you.”

“I like you too. We need to have a relationship as equals, Mohammed.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Fine! I’ll do it! You better not tell anyone,” he said. He sunk to his knees right there in the hallway and opened his mouth. “You can put your… dick in me.”

A long awkward silence filled the air. Mohammed sat there with his mouth open, wincing already, like he could taste Habib now even though Habib was on the other side of the room.


Mohammed sighed and rolled his eyes again. “What what? I told you what! Just do it, damn it!”

Habib stepped closer, his heart pounding. He really hadn’t thought Mohammed would ever agree to this. He kind of assumed he could maybe talk Mohammed into giving a handjob (or more likely a reacharound), but that would be it. He could feel his dick getting hard already.

“Are you serious?”

“If you don’t stop talking and start doing it, I’ll change my mind,” Mohammed said. He spat on the ground. “I… want you to stay, Habib. Okay? I don’t want you to leave me. I like you more than my wife. She’s stupid and annoying and she laughs like a damn jackal. Every time she opens her mouth, I want to punch her in the face, but her brother would kill me. So… I want you. I want to fuck you, Habib. I like your voice, and your laugh, and I like spending time with you.” Despite his kind words, he said it like it pissed him off, like he wanted to hurt Habib’s feelings by telling him how much he liked him.

Habib smiled and dropped his pants. “Really? Oh, Mohammed, that’s all I wanted to hear.” He flopped his dick between his fingers as he approached Mohammed.

Habib had received a blowjob a few times, but not often. Thin and delicate twinks like himself were almost always on bottom in Egypt, where the man on top wasn’t really perceived as gay — he was seen as committing a very minor sexual sin, only slightly worse than masturbation.

So this was a major step for Mohammed, who had been angry months ago when Habib asked if he had ever sucked dick. Now he opened his massive mouth and stooped down so Habib could reach his face, since Habib was much shorter than he was.

His dick entered Mohammed’s mouth, and Mohammed immediately encircled his dick with his lips. His thick beard hair scratched deliciously at Habib’s skin — Habib had a beard too, of course, since he was a devout Muslim, but he had never been able to grow much more than a scruffy layer of fuzz. Mohammed, on the other hand, had a thick, full beard, like Habib had always imagined Saladin had.

It was only after Habib began thrusting his dick back and forth that Mohammed gagged, as though he had to remind himself to pretend he was being pushed into this by Habib. Habib smiled. It was clear that a part of Mohammed did want to do this, and Habib even wondered if Mohammed was glad to have a chance to suck dick without feeling like he had volunteered to do so.

Soon precum leaked from Habib’s dick, coating Mohammed’s tongue with his salty issue. Mohammed greedily gobbled up every drop, and even snaked his tongue out to caress Habib’s cockshaft.

“Oh damn, Mohammed, you’re amazing at this,” Habib said, trying to sound as supportive as possible, so Mohammed wouldn’t be too embarrassed.

As he sucked and licked, Habib reached forward. He caressed Mohammed’s strapping back above his thobe, then slowly pulled it up. Mohammed had to pull of Habib’s dick long enough for Habib to take the thobe the rest of the way off. That revealed his broad chest covered in thick, coarse hairs.

“You taste… nice,” Mohammed said with a crude grunt. He avoided eye contact as he said it. He licked Habib’s dick from root to tip, sending a shiver of desire up Habib’s spine.

“That’s sweet of you, darling,” Habib said with a giggle. He gripped Mohammed’s thick curly hair as he guided his dick back in, while his other hand stroked Mohammed’s shoulders and upper back — Habib was so short he couldn’t reach most of his back. But Habib loved Mohammed’s muscles, that was one of the things that had drawn him to him. Mohammed was a construction worker, and his job kept his muscles thick and bulging, veiny, well-worked and inviting. Habib cherished those few moments when Mohammed let him sleep in Mohammed’s powerful arms, though that didn’t happen often.

Precum dripped down Mohammed’s throat. He screwed up his eyes like he hated the taste, but he kept licking every drop he could reach with his tongue. He used one of his big, work-callused hands to stroke the base of Habib’s dick while Mohammed sucked the tip. Habib felt an urge to facefuck him — that was how Mohammed treated him, after all — but he knew Mohammed wouldn’t like that.

Though Habib had said Mohammed needed to give up his ass if he wanted to stay with Habib, he hadn’t really intended to follow through on that demand. But when Mohammed lifted up his plump ass, as though begging Habib to do it, Habib couldn’t resist.

He pulled out and walked around to Mohammed, who was on all fours in the hallway of his home. He trembled as he got in position. Then Habib giggled — Mohammed was in the same position that he wanted Habib in when Mohammed fucked him — his ass in the air, and his face on the ground — but that only worked because Mohammed was much taller than Habib. With their positions reversed, Mohammed’s ass was even with Habib’s belly, above his bellybutton.

“You gotta get lower,” Habib said with a giggle. He patted one of Mohammed’s giant hairy cheeks.

Mohammed shook and sneered, but he lowered his ass. He buried his face in his forearm. “Will this hurt?”

“Maybe a little,” Habib said. Mohammed winced as though it hurt already, and Habib cooed, massaging his back. “You can tell me to slow down. I’ll do whatever you want. And if you want to change positions, we can do that.”

Mohammed nodded. Habib still had to get on his toes to get his dick lining up with Mohammed’s ass, but he was glad to do it. He first stuck his hand in between those giant asscheeks, and stroked his hairy crack. He caressed the rim of Mohammed’s asshole.

Mohammed trembled as soon as Habib touched his hole. He grunted like it hurt already. Habib was glad to put him in this position because it might convince Mohammed to use a little lube when he fucked Habib — he regarded it as a disgusting sin to use lube, because it suggested he was planning on having gay sex rather than allowing Habib to seduce him. A rumor had also spread through Egypt recently that all lube was derived from pig fat, so most men refused to use it right now, even with women. Habib was practiced enough at taking big dicks in his ass that he was able to take it, but still, he hoped Mohammed changed his mind on lube now.

He used both hands to spread those cheeks. Mohammed buried his face in his meaty forearms, breathing heavily. His asshole was tight, though it was clear he tried to keep it loose for Habib, who pushed the tip of his dick in.

Mohammed instantly straightened his back. He bit his lip and let out a yelp, which he muffled with his arm. Habib made soothing clucking sounds and stroked Mohammed’s tense spine, reaching as far up Mohammed’s back as he could get (which wasn’t very far).

“Oh god,” Mohammed said, “That hurts like hell. Go slower.”

Habib chuckled. He spat in the palm of his hand, adding that to Mohammed’s own spit dripping from his cockshaft. That helped considerably, but Habib kept going slow, using just the first few inches of his dick to fuck him.

As Mohammed’s ass gradually opened, Habib worked more and more of his dick in. He was so focused on making this not too painful for Mohammed that he forgot how pleasurable it was until a bolt of sexual energy shot up his spine.

That sensation must have been communicated to Mohammed through his ass, because as Habib shuddered, Mohammed’s groans turned to moans. His back muscles writhed and flexed like a barrel of snakes, which Habib caressed — he often massaged Mohammed’s back after a hard day at work, before he went home to his wife, so Habib was happy to have a chance to do it again while his cock pulsated inside Mohammed’s body.

Pounding away harder and harder, Habib was surprised by how much Mohammed seemed to enjoy this. He would most likely deny it later, but the look flashing deep in his eyes suggested he wanted nothing more than to take Habib’s dick for eternity.

Finally Habib felt an orgasm approaching. As Mohammed’s ass twitched, clenching around his dick, Habib realized that Mohammed was jacking himself off. He was reaching orgasm as well — obviously his lack of interest in bottoming was not as strict as he had presented it, Habib thought with a smile. He reacharound to gently juggle Mohammed’s balls, which filled his hand and pulsated before rising up in their sac.

But then his climax overwhelmed him. Habib grunted, losing all of his feminine grace, making snorting, rutting sounds just like Mohammed did when fucking him. Habib collapsed onto Mohammed’s back and slammed his dick in hard.

Since Habib was so much smaller than Mohammed, he could easily rest atop the man’s strapping back, which was covered with a few short hairs. Habib licked his skin and hair, and even chewed a little as pleasure rocketed up his spine.

He had never felt anything quite like this, as Mohammed shuddered and clenched down on his dick. Habib’s lithe muscles went limp all at once. Cum flowed into Mohammed, who let out a loud roar and shot his own load onto the floor. It was thick and pearly white and gave off that distinctly pleasant aroma, which Habib inhaled deeply of as he sighed.

They lay there, Habib atop his man, burying his face in his meaty back, for what felt like forever. Incredible pleasure wracked Habib’s body, which writhed atop Mohammed.

Then at last they both went limp together. Mohammed collapsed to the ground, his hairy belly colliding with the puddle of cum he had shot onto the floor. Habib’s juice dripped from his ass around Habib’s cock, sliding between Mohammed’s giant thighs and joining that puddle on the floor.

Habib sighed and pulled out. Mohammed grunted in relief, and he rolled over. His belly, cock and balls were covered in cum, which matted his coarse body hair to his skin. Habib sensed that Mohammed needed a little burst of machismo, so Habib kissed his nipples, and licked a trail down his belly.

The sour-salty flavor of cum assaulted Habib’s senses. He loved that flavor, and he savored every drop of juice. He licked Habib’s entire torso, his hips, his cock, his balls, and the hairy inside of his thighs. Then Habib moved his cum-dripping face up to Mohammed’s head.

He hadn’t planned on going any farther, assuming Mohammed was at his limit, but when he saw those thick lips and hairy beard, Habib couldn’t resist. He sensed Mohammed was expecting a cum-coated kiss anyway.

So they kissed, for the first time since Habib had met Mohammed as he left a construction site in downtown Cairo. At the time, Habib had never thought their relationship would continue past a one-time encounter, but now that it had, he couldn’t imagine his life without it.

“Habib…” he said softly, like he was on the verge of tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” Habib said. He kissed Mohammed again, then nestled in the nook of his arm to nuzzle his biceps as they both rested there alone.

For the first time since he had known Mohammed, Habib felt like his equal.

Twink on Top: Evil Eye

Here’s the entirety of a story called Twink on Top: Evil Eye! It’s part of the series, which is full of hardcore dubious-consent or non-consent gay erotica in which the twinks climb on top! You can read all of the stories for $0.99 (each) with the coupon codes! That includes Roidrage, The Drunkard at the Saloon, Prison Policy, Cuckold’s Revenge and more!

Emanuele was about to start putting makeup on for his show tonight when the sound of a brouhaha outside drew his attention. He didn’t want to be bothered by whatever it was — almost certainly a girl having lost her virginity, which was what the local townsfolk had been most concerned about for a long time.

That concern did not extend to Emanuele. He did not like girls, not in that sense, though he did play one on stage. At the moment, he dressed in nothing more than plain white (or off-white, now) britches, but before the show started, he’d wear one of his stunning diaphanous dresses to look like the graceful and elegant woman he had always wished he were. His slender upper body glistened with the cream he had just finished rubbing into it.

He hurried to the front of his home to see what was happening. When he flung open the door, he saw a man and a woman standing there. They were about to knock on the door when he opened it.

The man was naked, awkwardly bent over so the woman could grip the thick mop of black hair on his head. She held on tight and he flailed, trying to use his hands to cover his bare crotch. Emanuele felt a surge of desire — that was Bruno, the sexiest man in the village. He had had an irrepressible crush on Bruno ever since spying him swimming in the river with his friends, all of them naked. He had hidden in a tree and watched their dicks flop, muscles flexing as they roughhoused in the water.

But that had been from a distance, not right up front. Now he was here in front of Emanuele’s door — stark naked — and he was about a million times sexier. Emanuele’s knees went weak just looking at him.

He had a perfectly flat belly with a beefy chest, all of it covered in fine black hairs. He was young, just barely eighteen, so his skin was smooth and the chest hair wasn’t quite a dense tangle of coarse fur yet; it was still silken and it ended at his shoulders. His dick was slightly visible through the gaps between his fingers, which made Emanuele’s mouth drool. Bruno had a square jaw with a few day’s grizzle on it, and a broad nose, with deep dimples that were apparent now, while he winced in pain while the old woman pulled on his hair.

“Tell him!” the old woman barked. Emanuele recognized her now — Anita Riullo, Bruno’s aunt. She was a perpetually angry spinster who was active in the church and led the women’s group there. She was a fierce defender of female chastity, presumably, Emanuele suspected, because she was too bitter, old, wrinkled and nasty to get any kind of man. Her purity was unravageable.

“Hi, uh… Emanuele,” Bruno said; his voice was pinched and tense. He winced as the woman pulled on his hair. In order to let her grip his hair, he had to stoop down low. His muscles were flexed, like he really wanted to just push her away, but of course, he couldn’t push a woman, especially an old woman who was related to him. He cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… I, I gotta ask-“

“Oh, this is taking forever,” Anita snapped. She pushed him into the house past Emanuele, letting go of his hair. He tripped and landed on the floor. “My good for nothing nephew has put another fine feminine soul at risk, Emanuele!”

“Signorina, you are upset, I can see that. Let me make you a cup of coffee-“

“I do not want any coffee. If it were only him, I could ignore it. Su vergüenza sería únicamente su propia!,” she put her hands on her hips. “But he has brought shame upon this entire family. He has been consorting with… Well, I shouldn’t say her name. I will not bring shame upon her family as well. Di lei nome deve essere un segreto…”


“Hush,” she said. “This girl is from a good family, Emanuele. She has been plundered, ruined, by him! That alone would be bad enough. Jeopardizing souls like it meant nothing to him! He goes to church every week and then spends his days, and his nights, with loose female flesh, the donne troia.”

“Zia Anita, come on…” He stood now, right behind Emanuele, so close that Emanuele could feel his body heat and could sense his limp, low-hanging dick just centimeters from Emanuele’s own back. He had to resist the urge to start sucking on it right now in front of his dear Zia Anita.

“But that is not all. He threatens to ruin our family in this life as well as the next,” she said. Then she made the sign of the cross over her ample bosom. Gesticulating wildly, she continued, “He has plundered a girl whose grandmother knows well the olden ways! She has cursed the entire family with her evil eye! She has worst malocchio in the village, this I know well…” Tears escaped down her chin. “You cannot escape her curse!”

At first, Emanuele assumed something else was coming. Villagers here were always talking about the evil eye (malocchio), but no one took it very seriously, did they? Of course, some people did, and Emanuele knew the elderly church-folk like Anita were precisely the type who cared. Anita looked like she was about to faint.

“Signorina, I am very sorry to hear that. But I do not know about witchcraft,” Emanuele said. “I would not know how to undo the evil eye.”

“You do not need to know how. So come. I have consulted with Padre Ricardi, and I have consulted with my grandmother’s notes. I spoke with the matriarch who placed the malocchio in the first place,” she said. She shook her head and bit her lip. “I can not speak it. You must lay with the boy, as though… with a girl, as though he were a girl. You must plunder him, make him feel the shame and filthiness that that poor girl must be feeling.”

Bruno burst in with a nervous smile. “I don’t think that’s how she feels, Aunt Anita. We’re in love. I was going to propose matrimonio to her-“

“She will never marry you! She is a high-class woman! She will not marry a man with broad shoulders, callused fingers and sporco sotto le unghie!” Anita said, throwing her hands in the air. She glared at Emanuele. “Will you do this? You are the only man in the village who would enjoy undoing this particular curse.”

Emanuele stammered over himself. Logically, he wanted to say no; he was a bit offended that she assumed he’d want to, but on the other hand, Bruno was the sexiest man in the village, maybe in the whole country. Emanuele did want to do it, even if he thought the reason for it was nonsensical. “Signorina, I… I will do it.”

“Oh, wonderful! You may make it hurt,” she said with a cruel glint in her eye. She glared at her nephew. “Egli deve soffrire molto…”

“Wait, Zia Anita, what are you talking about?” He put his hands on his hips. “He can’t treat me like a girl. I don’t have una micio-“ His eyes went wide and he gasped, like he only just figured out what his aunt intended. He again covered his crotch with both hands. “Zia Anita! I can’t submit to that!”

“The curse upon you is great, mio nipote! It can only be undone this way,” she said. It sounded like she was near tears, like she was consigning her nephew to certain death.

It sounded like Bruno was in a similar place, and he also sniffed back tears. He trembled and shook as Emanuele closed the door — it was obvious they could keep wailing like this all afternoon, so he just needed to shut the door and move things along. Emanuele was excited to get started.

“Please… isn’t there any other way?” he asked, partially aiming the question at Emanuele and partially aimed out the door.

“Your curse has already harmed this family! Tua cugina Valentina was stricken today with consumption!”

“Really? Dio mio!” Bruno turned to face Emanuele before the door finally slammed shut. Tears welled up in his eyes as he ran his fingers through his thick black hair, which now was a messy tangle since his aunt had dragged him here using his hair as a handle. He blushed and stepped away from Emanuele, hands still covering his crotch.

That seemed doubtful to Emanuele, but Anita confirmed it through the door. It took time for consumption to appear and for it to be confirmed to be that and not a similar illness. It was entirely too early in the day for Aunt Anita to have heard confirmation that it was consumption, assuming the illness began after Bruno was caught with the girl. But Emanuele didn’t want to point this out, and besides that, he had long ago learned that the superstitious mind would always find a way to rationalize it — Bruno had presumably intended to bed the girl before it actually happened, for example, so perhaps the curse reached backwards in time to cause punishment when the sin was planned but not yet executed. Perhaps Valentina would have quickly recovered if Bruno had decided not to take the girl’s virginity.

Bruno was pale now. He kept his hands over his crotch and his muscles rippled as anxiety flowed through him. He had been to see Emanuele’s show at least once, and he had reacted like any other male — aroused but ashamed of it because he knew that Emanuele was a man dressed like a woman. Now though, Emanuele was dressed as a man; there was no way to pretend he was a real girl.

“Get on your knees, Bruno,” Emanuele said. His voice was flat and firm. “Your soul is going to learn a very difficult lesson today.”

Bruno sunk to his knees as Emanuele dropped his britches. He pulled his dick out and gave it a few strokes. It was already half-hard, so it quickly swelled to full erection in front of Bruno’s trembling, tear-streaked face.

“Open your mouth,” Emanuele said. When Bruno hesitated, Emanuele used both hands to force his lips apart. He enjoyed touching Bruno’s handsome face, which was even still beautiful still, despite being streaked with tears, his confident charm replaced by choked terror.

He pushed his dick in and Bruno gagged loudly. He sputtered and choked with just the tip of Emanuele’s dick on his tongue. But he didn’t pull away or try to leave, he just submitted even as his body rejected Emanuele’s shaft.

“Good! Make him choke! Everyone come listen to my nephew’s shame!”

Emanuele blushed almost as red as Bruno — Emanuele normally liked to keep a low profile. The men of this village did not much enjoy girlie-men like Emanuele, so the more attention he attracted, the more danger he was in. Emanuele could never forgive himself if he didn’t take full advantage of the situation he was in though, so he didn’t slow down. If he was exiled as a result, he thought, he could find a new town that needed a feminine dancer. He could even move to Rome if he needed to.

Bruno choked up so much spit it made Emanuele giggle. He had never seen someone produce so much saliva while sucking dick — it seemed he tried not to swallow any of the moisture in his mouth, like it was contaminated with cock, so he wanted to spit it out. But Emanuele didn’t remove his dick, so Bruno couldn’t close his mouth, which meant he couldn’t actually spit; he could only drool and drip saliva from his lips.

There were more people around now. Emanuele could hear them gather at the front of his house. Women muttered among themselves, variously either laughing at Bruno’s superstition or silently praying to protect themselves from the malocchio as well. Men jeered and laughed, muttering insults as they scattered around the house looking for open windows (which they wouldn’t find because Emanuele had always kept his curtains closed). No matter how much the men didn’t want to watch a girlie-man like Emanuele go at it, they all wanted to see Bruno’s humiliation, no doubt in part because Bruno was so handsome he was the object of affection for every woman in the village.

The pleasure in his cock was intense, and made it hard for Emanuele to focus on being serious. He giggled at Bruno’s frenzied sputtering, and the puddle of saliva that formed on the floor. His dick throbbed in Bruno’s throat, swelling to fit in and forcing the big Italian macho to gasp for air when Emanuele backed out just enough to allow it.

Emanuele eventually pulled away, not wanting to finish in Bruno’s mouth. He had bigger plans. Bruno sputtered and gagged profusely, spitting over and over onto the floor as though trying to get every drop out. Emanuele moved behind Bruno and rammed a finger in his ass even before Bruno realized what was going on.

“Oh, dio mio!” he shouted. “Che fa male come l’inferno!” A torrent of laughter arose from outside, and Bruno blushed. He bit his lip. His ass clenched hard on Emanuele’s finger.

Emanuele giggled. Every time he moved his finger even a bit, it sent waves of agony through Bruno’s muscles. Bruno hung his head as he settled on all fours — the only position that made this fingerfucking easy for him, since he was massively taller than Emanuele — and arched his back. The muscles of his back rippled, and he gripped the ground as though trying to rip the floorboards up.

Hooking his finger to one side or the other made Bruno grunt. He hyperventilated, his entire body stiff and tense as he focused on relaxing the only muscle that counted. Emanuele rammed his finger in and out, enjoying the spongy feel of the man’s body.

“Go over to the window,” Emanuele said.

Bruno hesitated but did as he was told when Emanuele used his finger in Bruno’s ass to point the way. Bruno crawled with difficulty across the floor. It took what seemed like a long time to get there, but Emanuele wasn’t sure — time always seemed to pass slower during sex. Bruno gasped and twisted his head as he suppressed the agony in his trembling ass.

“Poke your head out the window,” Emanuele said. Bruno hesitated again, and Emanuele repeated himself. “Put your head out the window. You are supposed to experience all the shame and humiliation that poor girl felt. That means people must see what happens to you. If not, the malocchio will surely haunt your family for generations to come.”

He gritted his teeth and pushed his head out past the curtain. Outside, his face was on the side of the building, so no one noticed right away. Emanuele’s house was built on a hill, which meant Bruno’s face was high in the air compared to the folks on the ground outside.

The people out front didn’t notice his head until Emanuele lined his dick up with Bruno’s ass. It had just a bit of hair, the perfect amount, Emanuele thought, for a man’s ass. It was enough to be clear that it was a man’s ass and not a woman’s, but it didn’t have the dense thicket of smelly hair that Emanuele mostly associated with sailors, soldiers and Greeks.

To put his face out the window, Bruno had to crouch rather than remain on all fours. That put his ass much too high for Emanuele to effectively penetrate. He got a short stool and stood on that, which made it much easier.

When he slammed his dick in, Bruno let out a screeching yelp. That was what attracted the attention of the crowd. Bruno’s legs straightened and his back arched, but Emanuele tapped his back until he got the message — he had to crouch in order for Emanuele to reach him.

“Che è troppo grande per un uomo femminile!” Bruno grunted and groaned, turning bright-red as the crowd moved to the side of the building. They were throwing rotten fruit at him now, and every time they got a direct hit on Bruno’s face, they all cheered and clapped.

Ignoring the resistance he felt, Emanuele fucked hard and slow. He enjoyed the long grinding motions as he pushed into Bruno’s ass, and he sighed with satisfaction every time he let his dick lower almost all the way out of it.

The pleasure was unbelievably intense for Emanuele, who had never felt anything quite like it. He had penetrated only a few men, all of them feminine girlie-men like him. Those occasions had been nothing compared to the fleshy, meaty feel of Bruno’s muscles tightening underneath him, the masculine hair of his ass or the macho grunting as he tried to pretend he wasn’t in agonizing pain. Emanuele laid atop him, grinding his dick in, making certain to hit every corner of Bruno’s sensitive insides.

“Feliciana!” Bruno shouted.

The front door opened, and a pretty black-haired girl marched in, pushing past Anita. She slammed the door shut behind herself. That must be Feliciana, and, Emanuele assumed, it must be the girl whose honor Bruno had to make up for plundering. She was pretty, but with an arrogant, upper-class look to her face.

She squealed in shock at the sight. Bruno brought his fruit-dripping head back in the building and exclaimed back at her, grunting too hard to form words as his movement reawakened the agony in his backside. He nearly collapsed to the ground at her feet. The sensation was too intense for Emanuele to stop now, so he continued humping Bruno’s ass as he writhed in pain and humiliation at his girlfriend’s feet.

“Bruno!” she shouted. “You are… what are you doing?! Che è disgustoso!”

“I’m doing this for you, my cara Feliciana,” he said.

“I never asked you to do this!”

“Your grandmother… She put a curse on me. Malocchio,” he said. Tears twinkled in his eyes. Emanuele groaned. He allowed Bruno to angle his body to face the girl, but Emanuele was relentless on his ass. He didn’t even slow down as Bruno’s body tightened with the shame overcoming him.

“So, you do this for a curse?” she asked.

He nodded. “I must do it. But we can still be together afterwards! Possiamo sposarci…”

Feliciana thought for a long time. She cocked her head to the side and chuckled. “No… Bruno… You were very sweet to me, and you have such a handsome face… But you are from a poor family,” she said. “And now… you are not a real man. Si hanno meno di un uomo…”


“You have been sodomizzato…” she said with a giggle. She smiled at Emanuele. “You are letting a small man inside you. That is… I can not respect you after this. I must marry a man who acts like a real man.”


“Close your mouth. A real man would rather submit to a curse than that,” she said. She shook her head in disappointment, then walked out the door. When the front door was briefly open, Anita’s voice filtered in, her braying laughter filling the house for a moment before the door slammed shut again. Bruno sobbed into the floor.

Anita’s voice was audible from outside. “You do not much like him anymore, do you? Good. Tell no one about this, girl.”

It seemed that the crowd was focused on chanting on the side of the house where Bruno’s face had been seen through the window, so none of them realized why Feliciana had gone inside. Her virtue, it seemed, was intact in the eyes of the villagefolk.

Bruno had straightened his back partially when talking to Feliciana, so Emanuele was clutching his muscles, trying to hang on — when they both stood plainly, Emanuele’s face was even with Bruno’s upper back, which mean that the straighter Bruno stood, the less Emanuele could easily penetrate his ass.

But he refused to take his dick out, even as Bruno’s massive body quaked and trembled with the power of his sobbing. Emanuele had to claw at the man’s skin for support, and he used his feet to grip Bruno’s hairy thighs.

Finally Bruno seemed to realize that he had to change his positioning if this was going to ever end. He dropped to all fours, and Emanuele at last had some leverage again. He pounded away at Bruno’s ass.

Since he had been fucking him for awhile, Bruno’s hole was loosened and opened now. Emanuele could easily drill his dick in and out. A loud thwacking sound came with every thrust of Emanuele’s hips.

When Bruno wiped tears off his face, Emanuele felt a twinge of pity. He reached around to Bruno’s dick and gave it a stroke. It was already hard, but it must have been close to finishing despite his despair, because Emanuele could already feel the orgasmic energy collecting and roiling in the shaft.

As though he hadn’t been aware of the intensely pleasurable feelings in his dick until Emanuele touched it, Bruno’s weeping turned into a momentary moan of bliss. Precum leaked profusely from his cockshaft and coated Emanuele’s fingers.

“You can come see me anytime, Bruno,” Emanuele said softly. He repeated it, but Bruno didn’t acknowledge it, whether because he didn’t want to admit he might allow this to happen again or because he genuinely didn’t hear it, Emanuele didn’t know which.

Then at last Emanuele felt his own orgasm overwhelm him. He grunted and nibbled on Bruno’s smooth back as it happened, and pleasure rolled up and down his spine. Bruno gasped at the sensation even before the first drops of cum filled him up; his back muscles rippled beneath Emanuele’s lolling tongue.

Cum sprayed inside Bruno, a torrent of male juices that coated the inside of Bruno’s body. It felt like an incredible amount of cum, more than Emanuele had ever shot before. Bruno gulped and moaned, making an ear-shattering sound.

Anita must have been listening at the door, because she called out when Bruno made a noise. “Good! Is that it! That’s how you made that poor innocent girl feel, Bruno! Not so proudful anymore, are you!?”

Emanuele had to suppress a giggle at Bruno, who wept again at that reminder. The crowd cheered and shouted. But Bruno’s sadness was short-lived — he reached his own orgasm moments later in Emanuele’s hand.

It was a painful orgasm, Emanuele could tell that from the way Bruno sucked on his teeth and bit his lip, asshole clenching on Emanuele’s limp dick. But there was also an intense pleasure behind it, which Emanuele sensed in the rippling of his back muscles and the exhausted tenor of his grunting.

Emanuele had to strain to reach all the way around Bruno’s body to jack him off, but he did that now with his second hand as well. He scooped up all of the cum as it sprayed from Bruno’s uncut cock.

A part of Emanuele wanted nothing more than to eat the cum off his own palm, but he could do that with nearly any of the men who came to see him. Today, Emanuele wanted to do something different.

“Give me your mouth,” Emanuele said, and Bruno did as he was told. He winced painfully as he turned his head with Emanuele’s limp dick still throbbing in his ass. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes.

It was apparent that Bruno thought Emanuele wanted to kiss him again, but instead Emanuele tipped his hand full of cum right into Bruno’s mouth.

Bruno gagged and choked on the snotty texture and sour-sweet flavor. His asshole clenched down again as though trying to rip Emanuele’s dick off. That sent a second wave of orgasmic pleasure up Emanuele’s body. He gasped as Bruno moaned in pain.

While he smeared the remnants of cum from his hand onto Bruno’s face, Emanuele let his dick flop out slowly. It made a moist popping sound when it finally came out. Bruno collapsed into a sweaty heap on the floor, sniffling and holding back tears.

Emanuele sat down next to him and clucked his tongue. He massaged the thick black hair of Bruno’s head. “There, there,” he said. “It’s over now. The curse is lifted. Malocchio è andato…”

Bruno sniffled. “She was right, I am less than a man. No girl will ever marry me now.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Emanuele said. “Besides, even if it is, you can always go to America, or to England or France, or just Rome. No one there will know.”

“I will know.”

“Or you can stay here. You can come visit me whenever you need a girl… I normally don’t do any of this, y’know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can… treat me like a girl. That is more normal. When you don’t have a curse to remove, that is what I would expect. You can come here and hump my ass, my face — every part of my body is yours.”


“Really. It feels like a girl, or so everyone tells me,” Emanuele said. He patted Bruno on the ass and giggled when Bruno winced in pain. “Now come on. Hold your head high. You did what you needed to do for your family. The reason those men out there are teasing you is because they are jealous. Their wives would give anything to be your wife instead of theirs.”

He smiled behind his tears and crawled to his feet. The agony was evident, but he shook it out and took a few tentative steps before wincing in pain again. “Can I wait in here for a few minutes?”

Emanuele motioned for him to sit down on the couch, which he did, and Emanuele curled up next to his muscular arms. When Bruno found that sitting on his ass was too painful, he slid down to laying on his side. Emanuele sat there in the crook of his chest, massaging his muscles.

“Of course, baby,” Emanuele said. “You can wait here as long as you need. I’ll take care of you.”

Twink on Top: The Strongman

Here’s a sample from the newest tale in the epic Twink on Top series! This is called The Strongman, and it’s about a little person who gets the chance to top a Polish circus strongman!

Randy Hollingsworth was billed as “The Littlest Dandy” in the Warren Heights Traveling Circus, so everyone there called him Dandy. He was only just above two feet tall, making him — so some doctor said — the shortest man in the state (the state at that time being California, where Dandy grew up, though the circus had just arrived in Gaithersburg, Maryland, which wasn’t a big state so Dandy guessed he was likely the shortest man there as well).

As the Littlest Dandy, he gathered folks in with his loud mouth and charismatic laugh, helped control crowds when they arrived at the circus and lubricated the transitions between attractions. He had long ago learned he had the gift of making men laugh, and his feminine personality didn’t attract too much attention because it seemed like a harmless byproduct of his small size. He could lilt and prance like any queen without threatening the normals’ sense of propriety.

It was the summer of 1928 when Dandy and the Warren Heights Circus arrived in Gaithersburg. Dandy spent the day passing out fliers and answering questions about the circus and his height, and by the time he got back, he was too tired to do anything more than sit back in his tent and rest.

“Hey, Dandy!” boomed a bone-shakingly deep voice from outside the tent.

Dandy jumped to his feet, so startled he yelped. He had just been drifting off to sleep. He went to the tent flap, rehearsing how he would tell Gerwazy no if he was here to ask for another favor. There was no mistaking the voice, it was Gerwazy.

Gerwazy was the circus strongman, and he too was one of the most extreme men in the country — he was both tallest and biggest. Gerwazy was a Polish-American boy of nearly twenty years old, already seven feet tall and still growing. He had a farmwork-toned body that he kept building as they traveled, lifting weights at every opportunity, both onstage and off. He was a boisterous, adventurous man, domineering and brash, macho and more than a bit intimidating when he wanted to be. He was billed as The Pumped Pollack of Pennsylvania. His thick mustache twitched as he made eye contact with Dandy, and he smiled broadly. One of his hands nervously clutched his muscular chest, which he had shaved smooth today. Dandy deeply liked him and his easygoing smile, even if he often overestimated Dandy’s willingness to go on adventures.

“What do you want, Gerwazy?” Dandy asked. He stood in the entrance to his tent as though he might be able to exclude Gerwazy from entering.

“You had better take a nice tone with me, Dandy Littlepants, I’m about to give you a present you’ll deeply enjoy.”

“Oh, what’s that? Do I have to go somewhere?” Dandy asked. He was much too tired to walk even to the other side of the circus encampment with Gerwazy, who had such long legs that Dandy had to sprint to keep up with him. To Gerwazy, that was hilarious. Dandy took a dim view of it.

“No, we’re doing it right here,” Gerwazy said. “I… I know you don’t believe in God. But-”

“I really don’t feel like having a theological discussion, Gerwazy,” he said, but Gerwazy wasn’t listening. Dandy had to talk very loud for Gerwazy to hear him, so these misunderstandings were common. Gerwazy pushed right in, oblivious to the fact that Dandy hadn’t invited him in. Dandy sighed. Gerwazy sat in the only chair in the tent, which was too small for him, so he had to wedge his ass into the seat. Dandy stood in front of him with a hand on his petite hips, looking up at him.

“God is very important to me, and my salvation. I went to the church in town, St. Joseph’s. And I went to confession, Dandy. You know what that is?”

“Yes, Gerwazy, I know what confession is,” Dandy said with a sigh. As usual, Gerwazy was oblivious to his social cues.

“I… confessed some sins of a sexual nature, Dandy. The priest ordered me to say the hail mary nine times and- Well, the point is he told me to do a few things. One of them was to make a moral inventory of my life, to see what my sins are and how they have affected the victims of my deviance.”

“Deviance? Gerwazy… are you talking about the women? God’s not going to throw you in hell for-“

“You don’t even believe in God, little man,” he said. “And I’m worried about it. I think I need to punish myself by making myself feel what those women feel when I plunder them. I know… that’s your speciality. And you’re a little guy, it couldn’t hurt that bad with you. I’m hoping I’ll learn-“


“Do you need me to be more specific?” he said with a blush. “I… I don’t really know what you people do.”

“I get that part, Gerwazy, I understand the anatomy of it,” he said. “But are you serious? You want me to… let’s dispense with the euphemisms for now, considering what you’re asking me for… you want me to fuck you to teach you that fucking is wrong? A lesson that I don’t even believe?”

He paused and gulped, the sound of which was impossibly loud to Dandy. Gerwazy nodded. His hand clutched his smooth white pectoral muscle, which twitched; its gigantic size attracted Dandy’s attention as it rippled, his anxiety apparent in its tension. Gerwazy scratched at his bare chest.

“You make it sound stupid.”

“If that was a part of Catholicism, which it isn’t, it would be stupid. Your priest told you to do this? Are you sure he wasn’t trying to fuck you? Cuz they do that. You can’t trust priests.”

“Not in so many words, he didn’t say that exactly. He said I needed to confront what the victims of my sin experienced. This is what I came up with,” he said.

“There’s a big difference between a woman being penetrated by a man she likes, because she wants to, and a man being penetrated by me-“ Dandy stopped himself. “Why am I talking you out of this? It’s idiotic, but you’ve always been a dumbass, Gerwazy.”

“Get bigger, shitwit,” he said.

“If you want me to fuck you to save your soul or whatever, I am down all around!” Dandy said. “Don’t come asking for a refund when this doesn’t work.” He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt. Gerwazy sighed as though a part of him had hoped Dandy would say no (but what kind of dandy would say no?).

Of course, Dandy realized as Gerwazy took off his pants that their size difference was going to make for some rather awkward positioning. Gerwazy sighed, his chest rattling. It seemed that he was having second thoughts.

“You really wanna do this? I won’t… tell God if you back out,” Dandy said. He couldn’t help but laugh. He had always thought religion was silly — would an omnipresent God make a midget like Dandy? Someone whose body was definitely never meant to be this size? He could feel God’s nonexistence every day in his weak knees and his pained spine, in the doctors who were perennially surprised that Dandy was still alive.

Gerwazy shot him an annoyed look. “You don’t need to laugh. I believe in God-“

“I know, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Then quit laughing at me about it,” he said. He flared his nostrils. He dropped his underwear, and his massive, uncut cock flopped out. That was why he needed forgiveness — his big dick and bulging muscles attracted women, many of whom were married and some of whom even paid him for sex. That was at least a handful of separate sins. He rolled his eyes. “Okay… what do dandies do? How do we do this?”

Dandy was still trying to figure out the mechanics of it himself, but he decided to just get started. Instinct would take over, he thought. He motioned for Gerwazy to sit down on the ground. Even sitting on his ass, Gerwazy towered over Dandy, who climbed up to stand on his thighs. The thick muscle of his hairy legs was like a rock beneath his feet.

His pecs and their hard nipples were right there in front of Dandy’s face. The left breast was tattooed with the red and white flag of Gerwazy’s native Poland (he had moved here when he was an infant, so he didn’t remember it, but he did speak a little Polish that he learned from his parents). Dandy blushed as he kissed each pec in turn.

Gerwazy giggled like a schoolboy, his booming laughter audible through his chest. It rattled around in Dandy’s tiny skull. He felt a little awkward  at Gerwazy’s tense submission to his kissing, but the more Dandy felt those gigantic slabs of Polish muscle, the more aroused he was. He dropped his own shorts and let his rapidly hardening dick free.

Then he jumped up to Gerwazy’s neck. Gerwazy oomphed as Dandy gripped his neck and lifted himself up. He didn’t mean to choke Gerwazy — he just wanted to kiss him on the lips — but that was exactly what happened.

Gerwazy sputtered and dropped Dandy onto his feet on the ground. He shook his head. “What the hell-?”

“Sorry, I was trying to kiss you! Come down here,” Dandy said. Gerwazy shook his head but did so. He lowered his neck, then had to get down on his belly on the ground. Only then could he get his head low enough to easily kiss Dandy on the lips. He puckered like he was sucking on a lemon as he did so.

After all the fuss, the kiss was rather crude and passionless. Once again, however, what Dandy missed in enthusiasm was more than made up for by the thrill of touching the man’s huge muscles. Dandy stroked his broad shoulders, each blade of which was as big as Dandy’s entire body. He plunged his tongue into Gerwazy’s mouth. Gerwazy was still, his tongue laying limp like a dead fish at first, but after a few moments, he moved around some. Their tongues interlocked as Gerwazy’s bristly mustache — which seemed impossibly huge, thicker than Dandy’s own forearm even though it never looked that big from a distance — scratched at Dandy’s face.

The muscular lines on Gerwazy’s back beckoned. Dandy had always loved staring at Gerwazy’s back muscles; he didn’t know why, but something was appealing about those perfectly smooth, looping curves. He kissed Gerwazy’s smooth chin, then around to the back of his neck. He lowered his head, kissing the dimpled skin atop his spine, as Dandy’s fingers gripped his flesh.

Gerwazy lowered himself until he lay flat on his belly on the ground of Dandy’s tent. Outside Mariella — the bearded lady — cleared her throat as she began warming up her voice. She practiced singing every night, still hoping a professional opera company would look past her beard and hire her. It made Dandy giggle, because her fancy opera was going to be a strange score for his and Gerwazy’s copulation.

Dandy’s mouth reached the small of Gerwazy’s back. Dandy stopped there for a moment and kneaded the copious flesh of Gerwazy’s plump asscheeks. Then Dandy dived between them.

Gerwazy gasped — it sounded like he had no idea dandies liked to pleasure each other’s asses. Dandy loved it, even now as his head disappeared between those massive cheeks. They were hairy and musty and dripping with sweat from the day’s workout. Dandy licked up every drop as his tongue explored the nooks and crannies of Gerwazy’s ass. The taste was sour and sweet, with a flavor that Dandy could only describe as pure, unadulterated manhood.

Then his tongue entered the grimy rim, and an explosion of masculine flavor overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned with desire, which made Gerwazy giggle nervously as he arched his back. Gerwazy’s ass separated and his hole loosened to allow Dandy’s tongue better entrance.

This was one area where Dandy didn’t feel his size made a difference. Gerwazy’s asshole was as tight as a small man’s, and Dandy’s tongue struggled to push inside just the same as it did with any other person’s. For a moment, Dandy could nearly forget his disability.

It felt so intensely pleasurable to Gerwazy that he slowly arched his back, lifting his ass. He groaned and grunted as he submitted to Dandy’s tongue-bath. He even bit his lip like he was trying to avoid making too obvious how much he liked the experience. It wasn’t very long before his ass was much too high for Dandy to lick it.

That was okay with him. He was ready to move on. As Gerwazy lifted his ass up, his heavy cock and balls dangled. Dandy scooted beneath him, his tongue tracing a trail from his ass to those hairy ballsacks.

He tried to get the entire hairy sac and both balls in his mouth, but Gerwazy was too big. One ball took up all of Dandy’s mouth, and the folds of hairy, sweat-dripping flesh enveloped Dandy’s face. He didn’t mind; it felt like Gerwazy’s body was all-encompassing, his heavy-hanging sac spreading to every aspect of Dandy’s perception. His little tongue snaked out and caressed the sensitive flesh of Gerwazy’s scrotum.

Gerwazy yelped and squirmed. His dick was rock-hard now, and Dandy wanted nothing more than to suck him dry. He could feel all the tasty cum brewing up in those balls, which pulsated in and on his mouth.

But Dandy knew he wouldn’t have many opportunities to do more than suck some dick. There were a lot of muscular guys who would let a dandy suck them off. There weren’t many who would let Dandy be on top. He needed to do what he could while the option was open to him.

So Dandy just licked up the veiny shaft of Gerwazy’s dick, then continued licking the best he could up Gerwazy’s chest. Gerwazy was on all fours, with Dandy standing beneath his chest and the floor, as though Gerwazy’s body was Dandy’s new tent-within-a-tent.

He crawled up to the chair that Gerwazy had sat in. With Gerwazy on all fours, his head was right around the chair’s height. That meant he could suck dick when Dandy sat there on the edge of the seat.

People were often impressed by Dandy’s dick size, he showed it off to strangers sometimes who insinuated he couldn’t measure up to taller men’s manhood. It was big, at nearly seven inches, but Dandy knew that wasn’t really remarkably big — it seemed that way because Dandy was so short. His dick was nearly a quarter of his body’s height, and it stretched to his knees.

Gerwazy was clearly surprised by its heft now that it was in front of his face. He screwed up his eyes, looked away and opened his mouth. Dandy was already rock-hard when he pushed his dick down Gerwazy’s throat.

Dandy moaned. Most men had trouble deep-throating his dick, but Gerwazy was such a big man that his throat was wide. He swallowed the whole thing easily even as his body gagged and rejected it. His muscles all flexed at once, undulating with each sputtering choke.

The sensation for Dandy was incredible. It felt like his dick was massaged by all of those strapping muscles, which writhed before his eyes. He gripped Gerwazy’s shoulders, then grabbed his thick mop of black hair. Using his tiny fingers and delicate hands, Dandy guided Gerwazy up and down on his dick.

The sound of Gerwazy’s moist sputtering filled the tent, and the smell of precum followed it. Dandy wondered if Mariella — whose clumsy Italian phrasing emanated from outside — could smell it. Probably not, he thought, as she bathed in perfume every day. Dandy leaned his head back and groaned as pleasure wrapped over his body.

His hands seemed impossibly tiny next to Garwazy’s head, which he gripped and led up and down. Dandy was used to being short, so it wasn’t often that he noticed these disparities in size anymore, but Garwazy was so massively huge that Dandy couldn’t help but see. He loved the feeling of power he got, however, from his weak little lavender arms pushing Garwazy’s massive Pollack head up and down.

Gerwazy licked Dandy’s cockshaft, his giant head moving along with his tongue up and down. Dandy’s dick jerked and spasmed, and Dandy yelped as sexual arousal overcame him. He had to force himself to pull away to avoid shooting his load right then.

Wanting to move on before he blew his load early, Dandy pulled out. Gerwazy gasped and said something breathlessly in Polish — it sounded like he was expressing his dislike for the taste of Dandy’s cock, but Dandy didn’t bother asking him to say it in English.

“Turn around,” Dandy said. “Lemme at your ass.” He smiled as Gerwazy sighed, wincing and blanching. He turned around, remaining on all fours, backing his wide ass up to the chair where Dandy still sat.

His ass was right at chair-height, but Dandy couldn’t lean off the chair and support himself that way. He hesitated before just jumping off the chair and landing right on Gerwazy’s bottom. He held on like a drowning man clinging to a liferaft.

Gerwazy lowered his head, while Dandy lined his crotch up with Gerwazy’s ass. He didn’t have much leverage in this position, since he had to stand on Gerwazy’s thighs as he pushed his dick between those perfectly juicy cheeks.

A part of Dandy wanted to get down and suck on his ass again — that would be more comfortable for him, more like what he was used to. But because he was so small, men always assumed he was only interested in servicing bigger, stronger studs. There was certainly an element of truth to that — Dandy did love sucking men off and getting fucked by them — but he wanted to prove he could be on top too.

He shuddered as his dick slid inside. Gerwazy’s ass was loosened and moistened by Dandy’s oral ministrations earlier, so now Dandy could get the first few inches of his meat inside easily. A wave of pleasure suffused Dandy’s body.

Then Gerwazy’s muscles all tensed at once and stayed that way; his asshole clenched and he bit down hard on his upper lip. He growled and muttered something, which Dandy couldn’t hear because of Mariella’s blasted opera singing from the tent next door.

“Relax, Gerwazy, relax your ass. You’re doing fine,” Dandy said. He lightly stroked Gerwazy’s back.

Gerwazy breathed heavily through gritted teeth. He snorted and shook his head, and his ass bloomed into laxity again, just long enough for Dandy to put another few inches in.

“Damn, Dandy… I thought you’d have a small dick,” he said. He chuckled as his face turned red. “Did you kill a big man and take his dick?”

“Yes,” Dandy said. He laughed at Gerwazy’s pained reaction. “You still don’t have to do this, you know. The whole idea is idiotic. It’s sexy. But it’s idiotic. God won’t love you more because of this.”

“Just finish up, little man,” he said. His voice was weak and pinched by pain.

Dandy grunted as he nodded and pumped his hips. He forced the last few inches of his dick inside, sighing when he actually felt his dick disappear into Gerwazy. Gerwazy had such a thick ass that a substantial part of Dandy’s dick didn’t actually enter the hole — Dandy simply couldn’t separate those asscheeks enough for his little body to get in there, especially with his feet not even being on the floor, so he still had no leverage.

It was all he could do to hump like a dog. He flexed his hips, slamming his entire little body down with every thrust on Gerwazy’s ass, the cheeks of which flapped and jiggled each time he descended. His fingers formed tight little balls and his nails dug into the flesh of Gerwazy’s back.

“Normally,” Dandy said. “I’d give you a reacharound. I know that’s dandy-slang, but you can probably guess what it means. My arms are way too short.” To demonstrate that, Dandy reached around Gerwazy, but his hands barely made it past his hips. He couldn’t even grip Gerwazy’s thick pubic hair much less touch his dick.

“You’re short? I never noticed,” Gerwazy said, his joking tone hidden by the agony evident in his voice. “I just always figured there was more of you that you kept locked safely away.”

“Why don’t you jack yourself off?”

Gerwazy laughed, making a strained and pained sound. “I can’t, little man. Are you crazy? I’m not a dandy. I don’t enjoy this.”

“You sure about that?” From his vantage point, Dandy couldn’t see Gerwazy’s dick, but he had a strong suspicion about it. He knew there was a spot in every man’s ass that, when touched, triggered intense physical arousal. He was certain he had been hitting that spot. Due to the pain, Gerwazy hadn’t really noticed. But when he shifted from all-fours to just-threes, leaning to the side so one of his hands could grab his dick, he yelped in surprise to find it was hard and throbbing.

“Well… I didn’t see that coming.”

“Macho men never do,” Dandy said. He spoke through gritted teeth now too because Gerwazy had shifted to using just three limbs to support himself, and in turn Dandy. That meant his body was not flat anymore, and Dandy had to clutch desperately at his flesh to avoid falling to the floor.

Somehow, despite the awkwardness of the positioning — or maybe because of it — Dandy felt his orgasm coming on. He humped wildly at Gerwazy’s ass, which was now loose enough that he could go for it with abandon. His balls slapped against the man’s flesh, the sound becoming impossibly loud.

As his climax erupted, Dandy could feel Gerwazy shooting his own load at the same time. The most intense orgasm of his life overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned, making a sound that was, to him, a loud shout. It was buried in the meat of Gerwazy’s lower back, however, as a minimal grunt from Gerwazy exploded and reverberated in the tiny tent.

Cum flowed into Gerwazy like water from a hose. Dandy shot more cum than he ever had before, and he could tell that Gerwazy’s load was similarly impressive, even if he couldn’t see it. Dandy shuddered, and every motion he made caused a wave of sensitive pleasure and exquisite blushed to flow up Gerwazy’s spine.

Dandy didn’t know how long he lay there, clutching Gerwazy’s flesh for support as he clung on like a puppy holding onto its mother’s scruff. His post-orgasmic daze only ended when Mariella finished her song, and the sound was replaced by Marcus, the head clown, barking orders at the other clowns — they were practicing their new act.

Letting out a sigh of relief as he slid down, Dandy’s cock left a trail of assjuice and cum clinging to Gerwazy’s thick thighs. Dandy’s knees were weak with the power of his orgasm. As soon as his ass was empty, Gerwazy collapsed to the ground in an exhausted heap of sweaty flesh.

Dandy sat next to him, using his back for support. He lay across Gerwazy’s shoulder and kissed his muscles there. “Do you feel forgiveness, Gerwazy?”

“I’m not sure it worked. I… I thought it might remove my desires for female flesh,” he said softly, or as softly as he could manage with that booming bass voice. “But I fear it has only added a desire for another kind of flesh.” He chuckled.

“Maybe we’ll have to try again to find out,” Dandy said with a laugh.

Gerwazy nodded gravely. “That’s an area of theological philosophy I’d like to consider more, Dandy, and I’m glad to have you around to help me through it.”

Twink on Top: The Native American Masseur

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Native American Masseur, a new story in the Twink on Top series! It’s also available in the first Twink on Top compilation, which contains twelve twink-on-top-bear-on-bottom tales, plus bonus content!


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,”


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


“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…

Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Hillbilly Heaven

Here’s a sample from Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Hillbilly Heaven, a brand-new story of twink-topping turpitude!


Lyle didn’t want to go to the party, but it was being thrown in his honor, so he couldn’t really refuse. The Dixie Arms Gang had lit a big bonfire by the time he got there, and they were all shotgunning beers — they hadn’t been allowed to drink while they were on house arrest, so now they were making up for lost time.

To Lyle, it was bittersweet. He was a lawyer who was proud of his success in getting all of the charges dropped. On the other hand, he knew they were guilty. They had beat a man so badly he spent ten months in the hospital. On the other hand, the state of Oklahoma had been unable to prove it, so he didn’t regret getting them off. That was his job, after all, and he was good at it.

Congratulations, man!

My girl’s pussy thanks ya!

Someone handed him a beer, and Lyle sipped it. He refused to chug beers, even as they chanted otherwise. He blushed as they all clapped him on the back. These men were big, strong rednecks — at best, they were rednecks, Lyle thought, they were the kind of men his mother would have uncharitably called hicks.

“Come on, man, drink it!” Hawthorn yelled, and the others echoed him. Hawthorn was the youngest, only nineteen, so he was technically still not allowed to drink even now that they were off house arrest. Despite that, he tossed an empty beer can on the empty pile and grabbed two more. He gave one to Lyle and kept the other for himself.

Chug it! Chug it!

“Hey, so… uh…” Yoder sidled up to Lyle, shooing his friends away and telling them to stop pestering him. Yoder was the leader of the Dixie Arms guys, but he was also the quietest and softest-spoken of the gang of rednecks. He had trouble being loud enough to ask his question over the hooting of the men, who were now taking turns on a three-wheeler. The engine was impossibly loud. Finally Yoder leaned in so close his handsome face was right next to Lyle’s ear. “So, uh… How gay is you?”

Lyle was just drunk enough to giggle at that question. “Very,” he said. Then without thinking about it, he kissed Yoder on the lips. Yoder shrank back amid the laughter and shocked gasps from the other rednecks. For a moment, Lyle thought someone was going to hit him, but Yoder smiled — it hadn’t been much of a kiss, after all, just a dry peck on the lips.

Yoder pointed to the only three girls at the party. They were hot, in a slutty redneck way, and they lounged in one corner as though waiting. They wore skimpy outfits that showed off their tits and ass, and they each had trashy tattoos on their lower back.

“You wanna fuck one of them? Or all three?”

Lyle shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “Not interested. Too gay for that.”

“I told you guys!” Yoder called out to the others. Most of them had moved on and were trying to get the three-wheeler unstuck from a muddy ditch it couldn’t extricate itself from, so the bonfire was suddenly quiet enough for an ordinary conversation.

A burst of chatter hit the guys around the bonfire. Lyle didn’t hear what they were saying because everyone spoke at once, but he realized they had argued over whether he was gay or bisexual, and whether he would be interested in the girls. It sounded like a few of the guys had refused to believe that he might be so gay as to refuse sex with hot chicks.

“My cousin’s gay,” Yoder said. “I could call him cuz you’d probably like fuckin’ him, he’s a cute little twink like you. But I don’t think he’s in town.”

“I don’t, uh… I mean, I don’t need sex right now,” Lyle said. “It’s not a big deal. You don’t owe me anything. You already paid me for my services.”

“I ain’t tryin’-a pay you,” Yoder said. “I’m trying-a congratulate you.” He sneered as though Lyle should have known the difference.

“Let ‘im fuck you, Yoder!” said someone else, laughing as though it was a huge joke. “You’s the one who had the most to lose.”

That was true — Yoder had faced some extra charges because he was in charge of the beatdown, and the bloody bat had been found in his trailer here in the Dixie Arms Trailer Park. But Yoder looked horrified at the thought.

“He don’t wanna fuck me,” Yoder said. “Queers don’t like rednecks. Right?”

“Uh…?” Lyle was too drunk to treat it as a reasonable question. He laughed so hard his face turned red. “No, Yoder. You’re wrong about that. I think every one of you is sexy.”

“Really? We was gonna let you swing on some dick if you wanted, but we thought you’d want some willowy queer,” Yoder said.

“You thought that, Yoder.”

Yoder shrugged. “Well, fine, pick someone to suck off,” he said. “Ain’t no one here gonna take no dick, but a mouth is a mouth, right guys?”

Lyle was astonished. He would have never thought these rednecks would agree to something like that — they had made it clear they were opposed to homosexuality. They had gotten permission to attend a anti-gay marriage rally while on house arrest; Lyle had had to argue to the judge that it was protected political activity.

Hawthorn, that young fresh-faced hillbilly, giggled and blushed. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! We should play Seven Minutes in Heaven with him!” he blurted out a few times until the others heard. He was a husky baby-faced redneck, with a literal red neck and scruffy chin like he only just gained enough facial hair to shave and was growing a beard because he finally could. “Seven Minutes in Heaven!”

What are we, middle-schoolers?

Shut the fuck up, Hawthorn.

“What’s Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Lyle had never heard of it, but it seemed that he was the only one.

Despite most of the rednecks saying no and telling Hawthorn it was a stupid game for teenagers, they all apparently accepted his idea. Lyle had no idea what he was talking about, as the rednecks all formed a tight circle near the bonfire.

Yoder explained, “So this is a game, we normally play it with just the girls, or we used to play it in high school,” he said. “It’s stupid, a kid’s game. We don’t do it no more.” But despite his words, they got ready to play, Yoder included. The girls joined the circle as well. “It’s basically Spin-the-Bottle but rather than just kiss, you have to go in the fuck-trailer-“ he pointed to an uninhabited trailer next to the bonfire, “for seven minutes.”

“And we… have sex?”

“Or whatever,” Yoder said. “You don’t have to. It ain’t a rape trailer. But if someone refuses, I’ll call him a pussy and I won’t let him fuck my females anymore.” The other guys hooted and moaned as though that punishment was beyond the pale.

Even you, Yoder?

Yoder nodded grimly. “Even me, man. It’s just a blowjob, or whatever. Nobody’s gotta bottom for the queer. Just let ‘im taste yer nut. Ain’t a big deal. We all spent a night in lockup-” He stopped because the other guys clapped and coughed over him as though they had all promised not to speak of whatever had happened there.

Someone put the bottle in Lyle’s hand. If he weren’t tipsy, he would have declined — Lyle wasn’t into anonymous sex, and he could get in trouble with the Bar Association for having sex with a client, even a former client. But he spun the bottle anyway.

Not me! Not me!

Hey, after the queer, let’s keep going, we got three girls, that’s nine holes to fill!

It almost landed on one of the girls, but just barely managed to rotate to the next person in the circle. Hawthorn. Lyle’s heart started pounding — if he had thought rationally about it, Hawthorn would be exactly whom he would have picked. But this was all happening so fast that Lyle didn’t even think about his ideal first choice before it was all done.

“Makes sense, it was your idea,” Yoder said over the hooting laughter. The others laughed and catcalled at Hawthorn, who blushed beet-red. Somebody smacked him on the ass as he walked towards the trailer. He had a nice phat ass, and his cheeks rippled as his friends tapped him on the ass. He bristled like he was uncomfortable with it, but didn’t complain.

“I don’t even care, I’ll let some queer swing on my dick,” Hawthorn said. He grabbed his overflowing crotch-bulge as he stood in the threshold of the trailer, then entered. His confidence disappeared entirely once he was in the trailer. He made eye contact with Lyle and winced as though it was painful.

Hawthorn was a tall, beefy young man, with broad shoulders and a barrel-shaped body. He had been a linebacker on his high school football team. He had peachfuzz on his cheek and his chest — visible under the wifebeater he wore — and a thick mop of blond hair on his head. He had a powerful body beneath his layer of padding, which was just thick enough. He had the physique of an athlete who had never watched what he ate, so his perfect frame was concealed by a layer of sexy plumpness. He smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant, a scent that made Lyle’s dick get hard in his pants.