Category Archives: Redneck Screw Society

First-Time Jocks in the Campground

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Campground, a new story by Happiest Ending!

Wayne stomped away from the campsite feeling like a spoiled child. He was twenty-one, but he was acting like a brat. He knew that. He just couldn’t stop himself.

Sheila had gone, and everyone else was fucking. Balls slapped against pussies and asses, and men grunted while women moaned. Almost the entire GHU football team was here, and they had all brought a girl. Now Wayne was the only single one in the whole site. He couldn’t bear to stick around, that was why he left.

It would be too humiliating to simply walk around the campground alone. He couldn’t do that. He had hated going anywhere alone ever since coming to college — back in high school, he was the most popular kid around, the star football jock and all-American handsome stud, and he always teased the kids who ate lunch alone.

But nearly everyone on his college football team had been the most popular kid in their high school. Wayne wasn’t special anymore. He wasn’t even the star quarterback, just a backup. Everyone thought the kicker Ronaldo Tironi was the sexiest player on the team, and he wasn’t even American — he looked more like an underwear model than an athlete anyway, Wayne thought.

Ah, yeah, suck it, bitch…

Sheila had gone because Wayne called her a bitch. He didn’t say it in an insulting way. A lot of other guys said that when they fucked. It was just dirty-talk, he thought. Wayne had, admittedly, said it a bit early — she was just starting to suck his dick when he said it — and he hadn’t said it in a sufficiently light-hearted manner like the others.

So now his entire team was off fucking their girls, probably trading females without him. His dick could do nothing more than painfully wither to full limpitude. It was so unfair.

He had grabbed his shower stuff simply because he wanted his teammates to think he was walking away for a purpose, not because he was a loser whose girl had dumped him. Maybe, he thought, they’d think she was going to fuck around with him in the shower. He headed towards the showerhouse simply because he had nowhere else to go.

Since no one was in there, and Wayne had everything he needed, he thought he might as well take a shower. He was going to do it eventually, and he’d rather do it now, when no one was around, instead of later, when all the drunk rednecks and fat-ass bikers who camped here would be showering. Wayne showered with his teammates a lot, but he didn’t cotton to the idea of showering with a bunch of fat old strangers.

The showerhouse was empty, which was nice. Wayne was glad to see that there was even hot water. The showering area was open to the stars, like an inner courtyard surrounded on all four sides by a square shelter with toilets, sinks and a baby-changing station.

The shower didn’t relax him. Even with no one around, the bikers whooping drunkenly and the prospect of strangers coming in any time were nerve-wracking for Wayne. He showered quickly.

Then someone did enter. Wayne’s heart skipped a beat, picturing some massive biker with a big swinging dick advancing towards him like the climax of a prison movie.

But it was a small man, skinny, weak, not a biker at all. He had an idle grin on his face as he entered. He glanced at Wayne but didn’t say anything to him.

Wayne didn’t want to look weird, so he turned around. It looked like the small man was going to brush his teeth, and Wayne intended to look the other way until he was gone.

“Hi,” said the man, startling Wayne. He turned around to face him. The other man looked up at him. “I’m Holly.”

“Oh. I’m Wayne,” Wayne said. He had never met someone new when they were both naked. It was awkward. He couldn’t look down without seeing Holly’s cock and balls. He couldn’t bring himself to look in any direction — what was the etiquette in a campground showerhouse anyway? — so his head rigidly stared forward, above Holly’s head, at the wall behind him.

“You look horny, Wayne,” Holly said with a giggle. Wayne realized only then that he was gay — he had a lilting flamboyance that strongly suggested it — and became nervous. He thought he should cover his crotch but that seemed silly, since Holly had been looking at it for some time now.

“Oh.” Wayne bit his lip.

“I can help,” Holly said softly. He really did sound like a woman, Wayne thought. He had a light voice with a singsong note to it, and he carried himself like a girl. Holly reached for Wayne’s dick. Wayne watched his hand move as though in slow motion. He told himself to leave, or just to tell Holly to fuck off.

Gutter Trade: The Portapotty Blumpkin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey faggot, is he hard?!

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

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

“Shut yer mouth!” Barrett yelled out there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dwayne, did you set this up?”

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

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

“I know you wanna call me a nigger.”

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

“I’m-a fuck him. I bet-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want to-“

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

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

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

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

“Did she suck dick good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Topple it! Topple it!


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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya farted in my face, man-“

“I farted in the faggot’s face-“

“But he’s right in front of my face!”

“Then move ya face, ya redneck shit!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucker!”

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

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

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

Hairback Trade: Rim the Roughneck

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

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

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

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

“Who you gonna pick?”

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

“Fuck you, man, shut yer mouth.”

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

“Albert’s over there-“

“He’s the one you want, I’m sure-“

“Shut the fuck up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did you become a gayologist?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you!”

“Get ya cock off me, bitch!”

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

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

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

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

“Jerry’s hard!”

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

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

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

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

“So, uh, you wanna suck my dick now?”

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

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

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

“Damn, Tex, he got you deep!”

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

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

“He suck you off better than Mariah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck him, Tex! Fuck him! Hell yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shower Trade: The Green Barn

Here’s the entirety of Shower Trade: The Green Barn, a new story by Bubba Marshall! If you like gay erotica about rednecks, you’ll like the bundle Gay Redneck Erotica, Vol. 2 , which features this story and five more like it!

Roger felt like his body was falling apart. He had gotten a job as a farmworker in the summer of 1951, just to make a little money before he headed off to college at Goldendale Hills University. Luckily he came from a rural part of eastern Mississippi were the soil was poor, which meant there was not enough demand for farmwork to attract very many of the braceros who did most of that labor outside of Mississippi. That was the only reason he and his friends had managed to get a job picking strawberries at all.

It sounded like dainty women’s work. A part of Roger knew that it wasn’t, that just because little girls loved strawberries didn’t mean little girls were capable of picking them. A part of him wanted it to be a difficult job — he had always been pudgy, and he thought a summer of hard work might help him lose the weight. He had a wrestling scholarship to Goldendale Hills University, so he needed to get in shape. He thought a summer job working hard in the fields would be a great way to get himself ready for training in the fall.

But he had no idea how arduous it would be. By the end of his first day, he was dripping with sweat. The hot Mississippi sun pounded on him like a fist, like he could really feel its rays smacking into him. It was windy, but that didn’t help, it just blew more waves of buffeting heat and humid air all over him. His shirt and his pants were caked onto his skin, like he might not ever be able to undress. His socks were soaked in sweat, which also dripped off his brow in rivulets.

He stumbled at the end of the day, unable to even walk normally. He staggered through the fields with the other workers, who talked and laughed like they did this every day — of course, they did do this every day. They were just as sweaty as Roger, but they were better able to tolerate it.

“Yee-haw! I’m going out to the bar once the old lady passes out, who’s with me?! I am gonna get sinful with whichever bar wench looks at me first!”

“It’ll be Suzie-“

“Any bar wench except Suzie!” They all laughed as though this was a hilarious joke, but Roger had the feeling they made this same joke every day. A couple of the men grabbed their crotches, outlining their cocks in the denim of their jeans, and spat on the ground — Roger didn’t know if they were expressing scorn towards Suzie or suggesting that they would, in fact, fornicate with her despite her being unappealing. He suspected it was both. He blushed. His father had always taught him that speaking ill of women, grabbing one’s lower regions, carrying-on and spitting in public were all markers of poor character. But Roger was too shy to say anything to the other workers; he wanted to be accepted just like the others, so he just nodded and went along with it. He was too tired to tell them they were committing serious sins anyway.

There were two barns that the workers split up to go to after their shift was done. There was a red barn at the north edge of the farm, in which the vast majority of the workers went to shower. Roger suspected there would be a line there. There couldn’t possibly be enough showerheads for everyone at once, and Roger didn’t want to wait.

So he decided to go to the green barn, which was a little further away, along the northeastern edge of the farm, away from the road and away from the main farmhouse. That, he thought, must be why the workers had mostly gone to the red barn, because it was closer and larger and newer. The green barn was distant, small, old-fashioned, ramshackle and it smelled permanently of goats.

It was just a small barn that had been rigged with running water for a big group shower. It wasn’t even an actual shower — the red barn had real showerheads in individual stalls, but not the green barn — it was just a powerful hose suspended over the barn floor and possessing many small holes aimed in every direction. It sprayed lukewarm water. There was a little changing area with some slabs of wood to use as benches, and next to it was a shelf lined with ratty thin towels and bars of white, unscented soap.

The green barn was primitive, but it was exactly what Roger wanted in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want hot water — he would have been happy with ice-cold water if that was an option. He didn’t want to choose a spot to shower in or wait for his preferred stall, which is what he would be doing back at the red barn. He’d have to sit there crowded by naked, hairy men older than he was, their bodies brushing against him and everyone having plenty of opportunity to see Roger’s dick. He would feel vulnerable there, not that he really felt safe and comfortable here either.

“New guy’s horny, huh?” someone shouted when they realized Roger was here. The other workers laughed.

Roger smiled. What did that mean? He wasn’t especially horny. He was too tired right now. He didn’t like ribald talk. His father taught him not to act that way. But he knew most of the men here had been in the Army until very recently, fighting in the Pacific and in Europe — they had learned rudeness and crudity there, or so Roger’s father sermonized over and over. Roger respected their service and was intimidated by their machismo; he was just a bit too young to have ever served, and he was raised as a pacifist anyway. He just hoped none of these men ever found out how easily-intimidated he was.

“Green barn! The green barn!” They were shouting, at each other and at Roger, who had no idea what was happening or why they were so excited. Obviously there was some special significance to the green barn, something Roger didn’t know. He pretended to be just like the others, and he nodded along as though he knew why the green barn was important.

He felt small and weak in comparison to the other workers. He was the youngest by far — most of the other young men went to the red barn, it seemed. The men here were rough and tumble types, would-be cowboys and brawny bikers, men who looked like they struggled to come in to work sober every day. Now that they were getting naked, Roger could see their muscles and the military tattoos they had, reminding him yet again that he was youthful, pitiful and frightened. Some of them even had naval-type tattoos. Roger’s father said that tattoos were a sin, and that sailors were not trustworthy. Roger felt a twinge of fear as he steeled his nerves.

“Why did everybody else go to the red barn?” Roger asked Brad Hixton.

Brad was the nicest person in the green barn, at least out of the folks Roger had met so far. He was tall, broad-shouldered, easy-grinned, with a confederate flag tattoo over his heart. He had a thick mop of blond hair that was soaked with sweat even before he got under the spray of the water. Brad guffawed at Roger’s question, attracting attention from the other workers.

“Hey, this guy ain’t know about the green barn!” Brad called out. The others laughed along with him.


Brad placed one hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can still go to the red barn. Normally we don’t make it easy to change your mind, but we know you’re new. I’ll make sure the others let you go, if you can’t handle the green barn,” he said. “You see… The green barn is for men who want to… Well, it’s for men of loose morals.”

“… What?”

Brad laughed again, and the other workers who were within earshot laughed too. Roger blushed. He was down to his underwear, but most of the others were naked now, including Brad, whose massive cock put Roger to shame. It swung between his legs like a pendulum. Roger found it very distracting, which made it hard to focus on understanding Brad’s words.

“We trade sex,” Brad said with a wide grin. “Sodomy. We trade, uh… womanly acts.” He raised his hand to get attention from the other workers, who filed their hairy, sweaty, tattooed bodies into the shower. Brad addressed them. “Hey, the new guy didn’t know about the barns, guys. Let him leave, okay?”

“Uh…” Roger’s heart skipped a beat. Was this barn really meant for homosexual activity? He couldn’t believe that. Mr. Walsingham — he was the farmer who owned this land, and both barns — was a good, Christian man. He went to church where Roger’s father preached; that was how Roger got this job. Mr. Walsingham wouldn’t tolerate any kind of sodomy, would he?

“So, if you aren’t manly enough to handle this, go ahead back to the red barn. That’s a great place for small, weak men who don’t want anyone to see their manhood,” Brad said. He glanced down at Roger’s cock, which was small. It wasn’t always tiny, it got a lot bigger when it was hard, but Roger blushed just the same. “It’s okay. Only really horny horse-cocked men have a need to drain their balls like this. Don’t be embarrassed. If you don’t need to, you’re a better, more civilized man than us.” He and the other workers cheered on their own barbarism. They pounded on their own chests and smacked each other’s hairy asses, laughing at their horseplay.

But of course, Roger was embarrassed. He didn’t want to seem like half a man. So he cleared his throat and said, “No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay. I’ll… do whatever.” He looked down at his feet as Brad clapped his hands.

“Really? Wow, you did not look like the type,” Brad said. He shrugged and headed into the shower water. He closed his eyes as it ran through his thick blond hair and washed over his flesh. His muscles rippled, attracting Roger’s attention though he tried to look away. He didn’t want to look like what his father called a lavender lad.

Roger went into the water too. It did feel good. Now that he had sat down for a few minutes, he was no longer quite so exhausted as he had been. He had caught his breath But his legs still felt like jelly; they might have even felt worse now that they rested for a bit.

“Now get down on your knees,” Brad said. He wagged his dick in Roger’s direction. It was thick and soapy, fleshy, almost inviting for some reason. Roger really did want to taste it, even if the others were already teasing him for it and he hadn’t even begun.

Suck it down, rookie!

Some of the other men were already touching dicks. They laughed nervously when they did, like they were regretting choosing the green barn. Some of them grabbed each other’s cocks, others touched themselves as they watched.

Roger sunk to his knees. He was shocked at himself for agreeing to this, but he wanted desperately to fit in. Besides, he thought, he might be able to distract anyone from noticing he had a small cock — and if he got hard, they might not even see it until it had gotten bigger.

Brad had a cocky grin on his face. He slapped his cock over Roger’s face and laughed when he winced. The dickmeat was slick and sour. It still tasted like sweat even though it had been washed off by the shower spray; it still tasted of salt and body hair and sunlight and loamy soil, and it still made Roger hungry despite his distaste for it.

Then Roger choked a little as Brad fed his dick into Roger’s throat. The taste of cock filled his senses. Brad’s dick stiffened and hardened so quickly Roger could watch it swell until it was hard as rock.

“Open your mouth wider,” Brad said with a chuckle.

Make him suck it! Make him suck it, Brad!

Precum leaked down Roger’s throat. It tasted sour and salty-sweet, and it made Roger’s eyes water. He was surprised not just by how quickly Brad was getting hard but also by how hard he got — Roger was never that hard. Brad’s cock was like a crowbar in his throat, a hot rod of steel.

He was also surprised because he really didn’t mind the taste of cock or of precum. It wasn’t exactly delicious, but there was something savory and craveable about it. Roger wouldn’t have minded doing this again.

Not that he planned on doing it again, mind you. He fully intended to shower in the red barn from now on. He didn’t want to admit he had made a mistake, so he would just tell the other workers that he was no longer horny, that he had showered in the green barn today because he wanted to have sex, and after today, he will have chosen to shower in the red barn because he didn’t want to have sex. No mistake. No perversion. No sodomy.

But before he could enact that plan, he had to get through today. He was so focused on sucking cock that he didn’t hear the other workers chant.

Stick it in his ass, Brad!

Make him a whore!

Brad looked a little nervous, like he didn’t expect it to go this far. No one else was having anal sex. There was only one other pair of workers sharing oral sex — most of them just circlejerked. Normally they all circlejerked in a big circle, but today half of them watched Roger suck dick. Roger had no idea that it wasn’t commonplace to suck cock here in the green barn, but he was beginning to get suspicious because no one else had begun doing so.

“Okay, now it’s your turn to bend over,” Brad said. He drew in a deep, satisfied sigh.


“Don’t worry, it’s real easy. Just get down on all fours,” Brad said. He didn’t wait for Roger to get ready, he pushed him into position on his hands and knees. Lukewarm shower water sprayed over Roger’s back, and someone swiped slick soap on Roger’s ass to lube him up.

Then a powerful, mounting pain hit him in the backside. Roger moaned, in pain first and then pleasure as the most incredible sensation of his life hit him. There was intense pressure that he couldn’t quite handle, and he screamed.

The other men clapped and hooted. They were shooting their own loads now as they watched, circlejerking onto the floor of the green barn just a few feet from where Roger crouched.

“Hey, get off!” Brad shouted, yelping as he pushed Lawrence away — Lawrence was a greasy cowboy-type farmworker who had rammed his finger in Brad’s ass because he thought it was funny. While Brad worked his dick into Roger’s butthole, Lawrence got the other workers to watch while he slipped his pinkie finger into Brad. They all guffawed together as Brad shoved Lawrence away.

Brad grabbed ahold of Roger’s hair, and he pulled just tight enough to keep him from squirming. That placed Brad’s strapping chest muscles right against Roger’s bare back, so Roger could feel the strength and the power radiating off him. It made Roger feel weak, but he didn’t mind anymore. He was glad to be weak in front of Brad. He wanted to feel Brad’s dominance on top of him, inside him and throughout every inch of Roger’s body.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you,” Brad said as he reached around to Roger’s cock. It was hard, so it had grown considerably, but Brad still snickered. “Damn, that is one tiny cock.”

“It’s not that small!”

But arguing about it just made Roger seem defensive and drew attention to it. Soon the other workers were kneeling in front of him to see, and they all laughed, gibbering about how tiny it was.

It’s like a fingernail!

Are we sure he ain’t a female?

Cum popped off all over the place. The shower did not feel very clean, and Roger realized he now felt dirtier than he had when he first came in. If it was like this all the time, he thought, then the floor here must be covered in cum. That made him feel grimy and gross because he was on the floor now. How many stale old loads was he rubbing himself into right now?

But he couldn’t concentrate on that. His body writhed in both pain and pleasure, precum leaking down Brad’s fingers as he stroked Roger off. Roger knew it was embarrassing to get hard with a cock in his ass, but he couldn’t help it.

Oh, wow, Li’l-Dick Rookie is into it! He loves it!

With a cock like that, I knew he was a girl!

His prostate sang and screamed as Roger reached orgasm. He grunted. He gasped. He heaved for air, writhing beneath Brad’s farm-toned muscles. Cum sprayed over the floor and Brad’s fingers.

Roger sighed. His entire body went limp and he collapsed belly-first onto the pile of steaming-hot cum he had just sprayed. Brad cheered.

“Hell yeah, I made you blow first! That makes me a champion!”

Every else clapped and laughed. About half the workers were proud of Brad and jeered at Roger, while the other half thought that Brad should be more ashamed of his sinfulness. Brad pumped his biceps and wiped his cum-dripping hands off on Roger’s back. The shower water washed away all of Roger’s load from his back, but his stomach — which had become covered in cum when he laid in his own load on the floor — was not facing the water, so most of his semen stuck to his skin there.

Then he withdrew his cock all the way from Roger’s ass. He called for silence and everyone watched as Brad very slowly pushed his entire manhood back in.

“Gonna finish now, fill you up on the inside…” Brad groaned right into Roger’s ears.

Roger squealed and yelped. He couldn’t even pretend to be in pain anymore — there was a little pain, but it was overshadowed by the mind-blowing pleasure of his prostate being stimulated. Roger moaned. His fingers tightened into claws that ripped at the loose, splintery boards of the green barn floor.

He sensed Brad’s orgasm a few seconds before it began. Brad’s chortling laughter turned into a low, grumbly groan of bliss, a cringing sound so intense it made the hair on the back of Roger’s neck stand on end.

Cum sprayed into his ass, a big, creamy load that soaked into his flesh. It dripped into the folds of his guts as he took wad after wad of hot cum. Its heat seeped into his body, and Roger could feel it in his arms and his legs, his fingers, his toes and even in his face.

Finally it was all over. Roger was limp, on the floor on his belly, both sides of him covered in cum, both his own and the other workers — they had circlejerked onto the floor, but in the confusion and cramped quarters, Roger ended up with more than a little bit all of him as well. He couldn’t tell if he should cry, fight or beg for more. He wanted to do all three.

But more than that, he wanted to lay there and bask in the aftershocks of his orgasm. They cracked through his body like earthquakes, so intense he couldn’t think about anything except the mind-blowing experience he had just had. He didn’t know how long he rested there on the floor. It felt like eons.

Eventually, however, he was done. He crawled to his feet, and sheepishly exchanged glances with the other workers who were still here. Brad had gone, as had most of the others — once they blew their wads and finished their showers, there was no reason to stick around.

One person was left, standing there naked and watching him with pity in his eyes. He was Gerry, the oldest of the farmworkers, well into his forties though with a well-muscled body that could keep up with the younger workers.

“You okay?” Gerry asked. He put one hand on Roger’s shoulders as Roger finally rinsed off all that cum. He felt clean for the first time since he had started work this morning.

Roger nodded.

Gerry smiled. He led Roger back to the changing area, where they both slowly put some clothes on. Roger was dazed and groggy.

“Next time,” Gerry said, “you should hold back. One of the rules of the green barn is that whatever you give, you gotta take too. So if you didn’t cum first, you could have made Brad bend over and take it in the ass.”


Gerry nodded. “Next time. If you’re ready, I’d be glad to fuck you next time.”

“And then I get to fuck you?”

“Well… I’m going to give you a reacharound just like Brad did,” Gerry said with a grin. He headed towards the door to the outside, and Roger followed. “If you blow your load in my hand, then you don’t get to fuck me. So enjoy it, but don’t enjoy it too much.”

“Oh, okay. I, uh, I can do that,” Roger said. He wasn’t very confident in that though. He had enjoyed himself so much he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to hold off on cumming the entire time he was fucked. If it always felt like it did today, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to delay it at all. If it was always like that, he’d never want to slow down.

He decided right then and there that he was going to shower in the green barn every day.

Niggas Can Be Rednecks Too!

Here’s the first chapter of Niggas Can Be Rednecks Too! It’s a hot tale of an urban black thug who finds that life on the run in rural Alabama is going to be sexier than he ever imagined!

The bus ride turned out to be very boring. In retrospect, that should have been obvious.

Topper left in a hurry. He wasn’t technically a fugitive, but the police wanted him for questioning and he knew that, if they questioned him, he would likely end up under arrest. So it made sense to find a way out of the state.

In his mind, he risked the bus being boarded by jackbooted FBI agents interrogating passengers as they tried to find him. But that didn’t happen. It was just a long, slow, boring bus ride to Bumcraw, Alabama. Nobody even looked twice at Topper the entire way down there.

When he finally arrived, it was just a dusty old bus station in the middle of nowhere — there were literally no employees at the station, and the nearest other building was a hundred feet away. One elderly black woman hobbled along the road nearby, and a young white girl had gotten off the bus with him but then disappeared. Other than that, there were no other human beings around.

But his boss Samson had given Topper directions to the bar. It was called the Colored Camper, and it was owned by someone named Barley. Samson knew him well. He had said that Barley would take Topper in and give him a place to stay.

Two years. Samson had said that Topper needed to stay away for two years or risk getting arrested. After that, the murder was going to be a “cold case” and no one would be actively investigating it. If someone did ever ask, Topper could credibly say he didn’t remember anything. No one had an alibi two years later.

The streets here weren’t marked. Topper was annoyed. The directions said things like “make your second right”, but there were many unmarked dirt roads that Topper assumed didn’t count as the first right.

This is why they give roads names and put street signs on ‘em, Topper thought. Did Alabama not get the memo?

Finally he saw a building that looked like a bar. It seemed like a strange place for a bar, out in the woods and far from any main road. But Samson had said it was a nigga-bar and had been since before the civil rights movement. Maybe, Topper thought, it was in an unobtrusive location to avoid drawing attention. Or maybe it had been a busy area decades ago.

Regardless, it was the Colored Camper, and Topper went in. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, so only a few dour-faced old niggas drank alone at the bar. They all glared at Topper when he made eye contact with them.

He went straight to the bartender, a burly middle-aged black man with a scruffy beard and a mouth full of chewing tobacco. He spat on the floor behind the bar when Topper came to him.

“Hey, I’m looking for Barley,” Topper said.

The bartender snorted. “Found ‘im,” he said.

“Oh. Hi,” Topper said. “I’m Topper-“

“Sssh,” the bartender said. He nodded to the dour old men. “Tommy. Nice to see ya again, nephew.” He spoke loud enough that everyone in the bar could hear. The drinkers all looked to Topper, who tried to look like he knew what was going on. Barley was not his uncle, so Topper knew that Barley was covering for him — were these old drunks snitches? Or was Barley just careful, assuming that everyone was a snitch? Barley cleared his throat. “Yo. This is my sister’s boy. Tommy.” The men all nodded at Topper.

“Hi. Uh, hi, e’rybody,” Topper said. His northern, urban accent felt very out-of-place here in Alabama. He wouldn’t be able to fit in until he installed a drawl into his voice.

Barley lowered his voice. “Go in the back. Wait in there.” Then he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m glad to put ya up for a night befo’ you head off to college, nephew.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks for that, Uncle Barley,” Topper said. It didn’t look like anyone in the bar paid attention, but he played along anyway. He went into the backroom. There was not much there, just storage of stuff for the bar. From a window in the back, he could see a farm.

Topper soon learned that the farm was Barley’s. This bar was on the outskirts of his property. Barley didn’t make a lot of money from the bar — he mainly owned it as a way to launder money, which he actually made from growing marijuana on his farm. That was how he knew Samson. He was Samson’s supplier.

But Topper only figured all that out gradually over the next few days. He soon learned that the bar made the bus seem exciting, but Topper was only allowed to be here in the backroom of the bar or in an abandoned barn on the farm, which was where Barley had made up a small sleeping area for him.

It was boring and hot — neither the backroom nor the barn were air-conditioned — but it was better than jail, which was also both boring and hot. Topper had thought that he’d miss alcohol and weed while he was on the run, but as it turned out, he had plenty of both since the two places he was allowed to be were a bar and a marijuana field.

But he soon lost his taste for both. He spent his days lounging around and working out in the barn, then he read at night, or listened to the radio. It wasn’t even satellite radio. Living as a fugitive in Alabama was like living in the eighties, he thought, right down to the afro he started to grow since he couldn’t arrange for a haircut.

Barley mostly ignored him. The first time he came to hang out was a month after Topper arrived, when Barley’s wife was gone for a trip to see her sister. Topper wasn’t expecting him. He just showed up in the barn late at night.

“G’evenin’, hoss,” Barley said.

Topper was excited to have a visitor, but he tried to hide it. It would seem weird if he was giddy about seeing a man, and Barley — though kind — was a gruff, sweaty, hairy-bodied redneck. Topper had never met a black man who was such a redneck; he hadn’t even believed they still existed.

“You know my wife is gone,” Barley said. He chewed on a piece of straw right now because he was trying to quit chewing tobacco, but he chewed on the straw as though it would turn into tobacco if he chewed hard enough.

“Yeah. How she doin’?”

“She fine. She prolly in Texas right about now,” Barley said. “Look, nigga… Samson tol’ you the rules, right?”

Topper nodded. “He said I can’t have no contact wit’ my family, or wit’ no one else.”

“That’s right.” Barley sighed. “Includin’ girls.”


“So you must be gettin’ right horny, huh?”

Topper shrugged. “Yeah. I am. Yeah,” he said. He wasn’t really all that horny, but he didn’t want to admit to Barley that going a month without sex was normal for him.

“Me too,” Barley said. He took off his shirt to reveal a powerful body, dark brown and gleaming with drying sweat. He cleared his throat. “Whatcha wanna do about it?” The piece of straw moved to the other side of his mouth.

Topper’s heart skipped a beat as he realized what Barley was asking him. This wouldn’t be the first time Topper messed around on the downlow, but it would be the first time he did it with someone he didn’t know well. He and his best friend used to trade blowjobs a few times. Topper had never even touched anyone else’s cock besides his buddy’s. He wasn’t sure he could handle sucking off someone he didn’t know, someone bigger, older and tougher than him, and a foul redneck to boot. He wasn’t dirty, exactly, but he wasn’t really clean either.

Could Topper do this? He didn’t want to go to jail, or almost as bad, take another bus all the way to Oregon where his grandmother would take him in. That would be even more humiliating, he thought. At least she wouldn’t make him suck any dicks.

But even as he told himself not to do it, Topper dropped to his knees in front of Barley. His dick smelled like the farm, like a combination of sweat and mud and hay and sunlight, with a faint acridity from chewing tobacco as well.

Barley’s callused fingers gripped Topper’s chin, pulling his jaw apart. Topper didn’t resist, but he didn’t open his mouth either, allowing Barley to do it for him. That made Topper feel a little better — at least he could always claim that Barley “made” him do it even if that wasn’t exactly true. As Topper’s mouth parted, Barley flopped his limp dick over Topper’s lips.

That sent a wave of salty taste through Topper’s senses. Even though he hadn’t even made tongue-on-dick contact, he tasted Barley’s redneck meat.

Then at last Barley pushed his dick in. He laughed when Topper gagged the moment he felt that spongy limp cock on his tongue, and he relentlessly pushed it in to Topper’s mouth.

But he had to admit that the taste diminished rapidly. Soon it just tasted like spit — rather foul to be sure, but not anything Topper hadn’t experienced before. It tasted, he thought, like his mouth did after a night of drinking, when he awoke with a dry mouth and an upset stomach that meant he didn’t want to wetten his tongue with anything.

His stomach was upset now too, just like those hungover mornings, and he gagged with every thrust of Barley’s dick down his throat. He was soon rock-hard, his cock growing into a long piece of brown meat that jabbed into Topper’s mouth.

“Yeah, hoss, you got nice, soft lips… Samson tol’ me you’d suck real good…”

The one good thing about this, Topper thought, was that he didn’t really have to do anything — Barley didn’t seem to expect Topper to actually suck. Instead, he held on to Topper’s short hair and his ears, and he gyrated his hips.

He moved slowly at first, not really trying to force his cock in. He let Topper just take the tip. But with every grinding thrust of his waist, he shoved a bit more of his cock down Topper’s throat.

Soon Topper found his entire belly roiling each time. It felt like an alien probe, he thought, and it was impossibly hard — was his own cock that hard when he had a boner? It didn’t seem that way now, but of course right now his dick had never been softer.

“Take it deep in there, hoss, take it real deep…”

The taste of precum reminded him how disgusting this was. By then Topper’s throat had widened up enough that Barley’s entire rod nearly fit in there. Topper’s nose brushed his pubic hair, and Barley’s swinging ballsack slapped against Topper’s chin.

The sour and salty flavor of precum assaulted Topper’s senses. It was all he could think about, and even Barley’s moist heaving breath seemed like a distant distraction. The precum flowed like water down Topper’s throat, coating his flesh and settling deep in his gullet.

“Alright, nigga, you go’n swallow, right?” Barley asked as though that wasn’t a real question.

When Topper and his nigga used to exchange blowjobs, they never swallowed. That was unthinkable. Tasting dick was humiliating enough, but could he really taste cum too? Even as his mind said no, Topper knew the answer was yes — he wasn’t about to just get up and leave now. He’d be humiliated running away to grandma with his tail between his legs and precum dripping from his chin.

Topper preferred to shoot his load right down girls’ throats. That felt good because it meant their entire mouth encircled his cock. He assumed that was what everyone wanted in a blowjob.

But it soon became apparent that Barley wanted something different. As he neared his orgasm, he pulled his cock out. He kept the moist precum-soaked tip resting right on Topper’s tongue, but he didn’t try to shove it back into Topper’s throat.

“Now use bot’ hands, nigga,” Barley said. He guided Topper’s hands to his dripping-wet shaft.

Topper shuddered but did as he was told. He felt like he was humiliating himself this way, but he had to admit it should be better than the alternative. Surely, he thought, this was better than actually being throat-fucked when Barley shot his wad. He couldn’t think of a reason to complain even if he felt like this was worse.

“Oh, yeah, nigga, swallow that nut…”

He could sense the orgasm in Barley’s cock throbbing beneath his fingers and in the loud snorting from Barley’s mouth. He sounded like an angry oxen, and for a moment Topper really felt like he was draining cum out of an animal and not a person.

He shot a huge, creamy load, which again felt like too much for a person. But Topper didn’t really know what was a normal amount. He gagged profusely as his mouth filled with cum, so much that it dripped down his chin.

“Ugh, yeah, yeah, nigga, yeah…”

He couldn’t swallow yet because Barley kept dipping his dick in to Topper’s mouth, which spasmed as he felt hot cum and little swimming sperms coating his tongue and lips and cheeks. Barley chuckled at Topper’s writhing, and he used his limpening dickshaft to spread cum all over Topper’s face.

In the end, when Topper actually swallowed, there wasn’t much cum left in his mouth. Most of it clung to his face or dripped down his chest and onto the floor beneath him. The lemony smell of semen filled the air, so he continued to taste cum even after he pulled away from Barley’s limp dick.

“Damn, nigga,” Barley said. He snorted loudly and wiped his dick off with a rag. “You suck dick good. Did Samson teach ya that?”


Barley nodded. “You a natural then, nigga. You got a nice, purty mouth. You ever wanna do that again, you come find me, nigga. You ain’t got to, but, y’know… If’n you wanna show a little respec’, you come find me.”

Topper nodded his understanding, but he had no plan to do that. If this was how redneck niggas in Alabama showed respect, Topper had every intention to be disrespectful.

Str8 Till Dark: Bathmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Bathmates, a new story by Dusty Richols. It’s part of the Str8 Till Dark series of hardcore gay erotica about what straight alpha males do when the lights go out! If you like it, also check out the Str8 Till Dark 12-Story bundles! (The megabundles do not contain this particular story.)

When Miles and Hawthorn had promised they would finish the fence today, they hadn’t realized how long it would take. Miles assumed that Hawthorn was more experienced at fence construction, and Hawthorn assumed likewise. Neither wanted to sound like they couldn’t get it done.

So the fence wasn’t complete until the sun had very nearly gone down. Miles breathed a sigh of relief. It was still his first year as a ranchhand at Prairie Stone Ranch in Colorado, and he needed to prove his worth to Mr. Carlton.

Hawthorn, on the other hand, had been here for six years. He was tall, broad-shouldered, tan-bodied. He that cocky swagger that all the experienced ranchhands around here had. He was much stronger and bigger than Miles in every way, and he carried himself like everyone knew he was the toughest hand in Colorado.

The other problem Miles hadn’t foreseen was that finishing the fence was hard work. It was simple, but it was hard, and his muscles ached by the time they were done. By then, it was getting cold as the sun went down, and then Miles realized the third problem.

They had finished the fence around the outer north pasture. They were almost three miles from the ranchhouse, and they didn’t have a horse. That was a lot of walking for two men who felt every step was arduous. Miles had never been more tired. He wished he hadn’t promised to finish the fence today (it didn’t even really need to be done until next week, there was no reason to rush like that).

By the time they got home, it was fully dark. The moon hid behind the clouds in the sky. Miles was drenched in sweat. Hawthorn had taken off his shirt, his broad golden-brown chest a silhouette gleaming with sweat. Miles wanted to take his shirt off too, but his deeply ingrained sense of propriety stopped him — Mrs. Carlton was around somewhere and could see him — and, though he didn’t want to admit it, he knew his skinny body would make him look weak in comparison to the bronzed blond god Hawthorn. He looked like some Renaissance artist’s impression of Apollo.

The only consolation was that Hawthorn was almost as exhausted as Miles was. He limped as they made it back to the ranchhouse. They could have gone straight to the little barn-cottage shared by Hawthorn, Miles and the other hands, but the showering barn was closer. They both wanted a shower before going to bed, and neither wanted to walk to the barn-cottage then walk back to the shower, then back to the barn-cottage again for bed. Miles thought his feet would fall off if he tried that.

It felt so good to take his boots off that Miles wasn’t sure he’d ever put them back on. He exulted in the breeze that blew through the barn as he slowly undressed. Then he headed towards the shower area — Prairie Stone Ranch had only gotten running water in the barn a few years ago, and it was still a primitive arrangement, little more than a hose that filled a bucket with holes on the bottom. But the water that sprayed over Miles’ body was hot, which felt good in the cold night air.

The only downside, Miles thought, was that he had to share the shower with Hawthorn. The ranchhands usually took turns, since the shower was very small, but neither wanted to take the time tonight.

“I ain’t waitin’ fer ya, and I don’t ‘spect you’ll wanna wait fer me,” Hawthorn said as his naked, sweat-gleaming body stepped into the steamy shower. “So come on in, pardner. We can be bathmates.” He whooped.

Miles didn’t have the energy to whoop along with him. But he followed him into the billowing clouds of steam. It felt good to wash off the layer of sweat and grime that had built up on Miles’ body. He felt like a new man.

“My pa always said not to be scared of a naked man,” Hawthorn said. It sounded like he was trying to reassure himself as much as Miles. “If you ain’t ashamed of yerself, you shouldn’t be worried about seeing a man without clothes on.”

Despite his words, Miles remained uncomfortable with the situation. He was used to showering by himself. He wasn’t a prisoner, after all, why should he share bathing facilities? He hadn’t done that since he was a little boy and he and his brother had bathed together.

But the main reason he didn’t like it had nothing to do with Hawthorn, or even with nudity really. Miles had worked hard to get a job on Prairie Stone Ranch, which was a nice enough place that the ranchhands got a real place to live, with indoor plumbing. There were ranches in the area who hired anyone, but the hands there lived like hogs. Miles was better than that, had worked hard to get a job somewhere nicer, and he deserved to have a shower to himself.

Not that he was complaining today. He wanted to get clean and flop into bed more than anything. He could handle showering with Hawthorn. It just made him nervous.

The sight of Hawthorn’s massive Texas cock made Miles awkward again though. He wondered if Hawthorn noticed that Miles’ dick was much smaller than his. Miles tried to angle his body away so maybe Hawthorn wouldn’t notice. It was still dark in the showering area, so Miles had to strain his eyes to see Hawthorn’s cock when moonlight flashed upon it. He kept his own crotch outside of the light, hoping Hawthorn wouldn’t look.

“So… You scared of naked men?”

“No,” Miles said. He gulped nervously as he caught a shadowy glimpse of Hawthorn stroking his dick. What was he doing?

“That’s good. You think tradition is important, Miles?”

“Yeah. Of course, tradition. Yessir,” Miles said. His heart raced. His father had warned him about cowboys like Hawthorn. Miles always thought he was kidding, but now maybe his predictions were coming true. Miles considered going over to the main house right now to tell Mr. Carlton.

But nothing much had happened yet. Mr. Carlton would just say that Miles was overreacting. He’d call Miles a pervert for having such improper thoughts — Mr. Carlton was a devout Christian who didn’t tolerate wrongdoing among his employees, especially wrongdoing of a sexual nature. Besides that, Miles didn’t want to gain a reputation as a tattler.

“This ranch has got a tradition,” Hawthorn said. He came closer to Miles, so close his thick cock brushed up against Miles’ thigh. He casually wrapped one of his massive arms over Miles’ shoulders.

“Oh…” Miles held his breath. He felt so small next to Hawthorn’s bulky body, and he wondered if he would get that big if he continued to work as a ranchhand for his whole life. It seemed impossible now; Miles had always been skinny, but his time at Prairie Stone Ranch had filled out his body considerably.

“You ain’t gotta join in, but you look like the kinda man who wanna do what’s right. You look like a man who behaves properly towards his elders and his betters. You gots respect, Miles, unlike a lot of them hands Mr. Carlton hired this year. You ain’t a welcher.”

“No, sir.” Miles trembled.

“Why don’t you get on your knees and open your mouth, boy?” Hawthorn said. He was speaking up to be heard over the water falling around him, but his voice was partially drowned out, so it sounded like he whispered. “Don’t worry. What happens between bathmates, stays between bathmates. That’s another tradition we got in these parts.”

“You sure? I don’t want them to know about it,” Miles said, gesturing towards the ranchhand house where their coworkers were no doubt drinking and carousing right now. That was what happened as soon as the sun went down every night, since Mr. Carlton strictly left them alone when they were done with their work for the day.

“They ain’t nevuh gonna know, boy,” Hawthorn said. He had a cocky grin on his face, chewing on his lower lip and rubbing the scruffle on his square jaw.

Miles sunk to his knees and opened his mouth. “My pa told me this was gonna be expected of me,” he said. He was nervous. He wanted to back out but his father had told him that he needed to fit in at whatever workplace he found. That was part of being an adult man — it might not be the traditions you would make if you were in charge, but you have to accept the traditions around you. “He said I gotta show proper respect.”

“Your pa is a wise man,” Hawthorn said. Then he pushed his dick past Miles’ lips. The taste of cockmeat enveloped Miles’ tongue. He closed his eyes though he couldn’t really say anything anyway in the dark barn — the only light that filtered through the clouds and the cracks in the barn ceiling illuminated Hawthorn’s cock. Miles didn’t want to see that, so he scrunched his eyes closed tight.

He gagged at first, but he had to admit it didn’t taste as bad as his father had led him to believe. It tasted like trail dust and saddle-leather Mrs. Carlton’s hog-fat soap; it tasted like sweat, salt and skin, and it made Miles both drool for more and wish he had told Hawthorn he didn’t want to do it.

“Yeah, rookie you suck dick pretty good,” Hawthorn said. His massive muscles rippled as he felt up his own nipples with one hand. His other hand grabbed ahold of Miles’ head, holding onto the thick shock of dirty blond hair on Miles’ scalp. He used that for leverage, holding Miles in place as he worked his dick deeper and deeper.

Precum overwhelmed Miles’ senses. It added a more intense salty flavor, and it made Miles gag all over again. He gripped Hawthorn’s plump asscheeks for support.

Soon Miles’ nose pressed into the meaty part of Hawthorn’s crotch, and the coarse pubic hairs of his groin scratched at Miles’ skin. Though Miles knew he was supposed to be ashamed of this — his pa had said he needed to submit, but it was still a sin he needed to get forgiveness for later — yet he inexplicably wasn’t. He didn’t want to look like he enjoyed it, but a part of him did treasure the sensation of Hawthorn’s thick meat sliding down his gullet. He enjoyed the thrill of being used by such a big, superior man.

A loud, spine-rattling moan escaped from Hawthorn’s lips. It sounded like he didn’t expect this to feel as good as it did, and he was trying to hide it just like Miles was. Hawthorn grunted with each thrust of his manhood down Miles’ throat.

“Now bend over and grab the floor, boy. Get yer ass up,” Hawthorn said with a growl. He pulled his moist cock out and humped Miles’ face like a dog. He groaned and shuddered, his massive cock pulsating and leaking precum all over Miles’ nose and lips.

Miles winced, and his heart raced as he got in position. He hoped this didn’t hurt as bad as his pa had predicted, but he had a feeling this was one area his father would be proven correct in. He grabbed the rough wooden floor, sticking his ass high in the air. He closed his eyes again, and held his breath in anticipation of what was about to happen. He left his ass as high in the air as he could.

That was a little too high. Hawthorn slapped his cheeks until Miles lowered himself to a correct height. His knees already ached from the tension of crouching in this position.

“Get down a little, boy, I ain’t that tall,” Hawthorn said with a grunt.

Then an eruption of pain in his ass distracted Miles from any soreness in his knees. The feeling exploded within him like a punch to the gut, but behind it all, he could feel a tingling pleasure emanating from his prostate. He grunted and howled, but bit his lip to cover up the sound — the barn where the ranchhands lived wasn’t that far away, so Miles didn’t want to make any noise. If he yelled loud enough here at the shower-barn, the other ranchhands would be able to hear him.

“Sssh, it’s okay,” Hawthorn said over and over. He grabbed Miles’ upper body and lifted his tense head up, whispering directly in his ear as he worked his dick in deeper and deeper.

The fucking was intense and overwhelming. Miles could do little more than try to submit, and to remind himself that when this was over, he would be accepted as a full-fledged ranchhand, not a rookie, but a successful worker. Getting Hawthorn on his side would guarantee that Miles got all the best jobs — Hawthorn was Mr. Carlton’s favorite.

Not that that made it easy to accept the agony of getting fucked. But Miles had to admit there was a faint glimmer of pleasure as well. If he had to do this again, once his ass was not as tight, he thought he might even be able to enjoy the feeling.

But he would never have admitted that, even assuming it came true. He certainly hoped that Hawthorn didn’t intend to do this often. For once, he thought, the lack of privacy that workers at Prairie Stone Ranch endured would work in his favor. Hawthorn wasn’t going to do this where anyone would see, and someone would see virtually everywhere, except right here in the bath.

Obviously, Miles thought, I need to shower alone from now on, no matter what.

His ass was loose enough now that Hawthorn could fuck him hard, slamming his dick in and out. Miles roared in pain and bliss, and he grabbed wildly around him, getting a handful of his own trail leathers and Hawthorn’s musty brown boots.

It suddenly occurred to Miles that, if Hawthorn was telling the truth about this being ranch tradition, then that meant that Hawthorn must have done it as well, when he was new. That made Miles feel better. He could picture Hawthorn in this position, bent over and moaning as he got fucked by some bigger ranchhand. Hawthorn had probably been skinny and lanky then, like Miles was now.

While Miles had started off experiencing incredible pain and a dimly-felt sense of pleasure roaring underneath that, now the situation had reversed. He was in the same position, but now the pleasure roiling deep within his ass was so intense he couldn’t think about anything else, while the tortuous agony in his virgin hole seemed like a distant memory that had happened years ago to someone else.

“Alright, boy, you almost done…” Hawthorn said, his gritty Texan accent resonating in the shower barn. “Here I go. Close your eyes, try to think ‘bout somethin’ else. Relax yerself.”

Miles pretended to do that, but really he was so overcome by pleasure and curiosity about what was happening to him that he didn’t want to ignore it. He didn’t want to think about something else. He wanted to think about this, the incredible, awe-inspiring thing that was happening to him, a thing he had never experienced or thought he would ever experience. It wasn’t even done yet, and Miles already knew this was going to change his life.

Luckily it was dark, so Hawthorn couldn’t see that Miles’ hand crept into his own crotch. Miles didn’t know what it meant that he want to pleasure himself while Hawthorn fucked him, but he wanted that more than anything.

As soon as he touched his own cock, Miles felt an orgasm hit him like a runaway bronco. He twitched and clenched down hard on Hawthorn’s dick, as though he was trying to rip Hawthorn’s meat off with his asshole. He roared and bucked, which looked to Hawthorn like he was resisting the pain of Hawthorn’s climax, but in actuality, Miles experienced the most incredible orgasm of his life. His spurted a puddle of cum onto the floor, where it immediately mixed with shower water and disappeared through the slats onto the ground below.

Then it was done — Hawthorn groaned and grunted, slamming his dick all the way into Miles’ ass. Miles let out a roar of pain, followed by a low, rolling grunt of pleasure.

“Here I go, boy… Good boy, takin’ my dick just like you should…”

Cum sprayed into him, a hot and thick load that Miles felt seeping into his flesh. He sighed, hoping Hawthorn didn’t notice the pleased rattling sound to his voice. This was the first time Miles had ever felt another man’s cum besides his own, and he was surprised by how much he liked it. It felt like a comforting internal blanket, warming up his insides and tingling like a kiss.

It seemed to take an impossible amount of time. Cum just kept pouring out of his cock, filling him up until it dripped down his thighs. Even then, Hawthorn remained still, his bulging muscles all tense and hard like iron, his craggy face still and stony. He waited until every drop of his seed had drained into Miles’ ass.

At last it was over. Miles didn’t know how long they stayed like that. He hadn’t even been aware of his own hand jacking himself off. He only realized what he had done because he saw his limp cock and his hand dripping with cum.

When Hawthorn pulled out, Miles let out a long, low sigh of relief. He had enjoyed it, but still, he was glad that it was all over. Now that his ass was empty, it was exquisitely sensitive, and Miles was so overwhelmed he couldn’t do anything but collapse onto the moist wooden floor of the barn. He laid there in the shower spray for an eternity.

“There you go, boy,” Hawthorn said. He spat on the ground. “You can tell yer pa you did good. You showed the propuh respect, boy. That’s important ‘round here. You showed respect fer tradition.” He smiled and stretched his limp cock.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Miles said. He blushed.

“Now that you done taken yer turn on the bottom,” he said. “You can always take a turn on top too, wit’ one of them new men. He gotta be newer and younger than you. That’s a rule.”


Hawthorn nodded. “You gotta keep it a secret too. Mr. Carlton knows, but he don’t wanna know, you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?”

Miles nodded. “Sure. I’ll do that! I mean…” He hadn’t mean to sound so eager. “I’ll… Maybe I’ll do that. Some of those new guys have pretty nice asses.”

“Yes, they do. The new, young ones always do,” Hawthorn said with a grin. He smacked Miles’ ass, which jiggled. Hawthorn whistled as though it was impressive to see, though the barn was still dark as night, so he couldn’t have actually seen the cheeks jiggle. “Maybe we can shower again together sometime, boy. We can be permanent bathmates.”

Miles smiled. “Thanks, Hawthorn,” he said. “I think I’d like to be your bathmate very much.”

Alpha Cellmate: The Redneck

Here’s a sample from Alpha Cellmate: The Redneck, a new story from Brutewood Medium Security! It’s the outrageous tale of a gay man getting a bit too much of what he wanted behind bars…

Dewayne settled into his prison cell and ignored his cellmate, Piggie, who in turn ignored him. For the first three hours, neither spoke. Dewayne had been waiting in his local jail for weeks, so he was used to being incarcerated. He knew what was going to happen, and he was fine with that — he intended to initiate it — but he wanted to let it happen on his terms.

So he waited. He unpacked the few things he was allowed to bring and placed them on the empty shelf behind his bed, the bottom bunk in the tiny cell. He brushed his teeth and took a piss in the toilet, all while ignoring his cellmate, who had been introduced to him simply as Piggie.

Despite the name, Piggie was not fat — he later explained that he had been chubby as a boy, which was when he got the nickname — he was a tall, broad-shouldered redneck, covered in tattoos and a fine sheen of hair over his chest. He had a tangled mop of dirty blond hair. He watched Dewayne dourly whenever Dewayne wasn’t looking.

Finally, Dewayne sensed the time was right. It was almost time for dinner, and he wanted to have a firm place in the prison hierarchy when he got to the mess hall.

“Hey,” Dewayne said. He was gay but he was not ordinarily very flamboyant. He tried to accentuate that now, to make certain Piggie knew that Dewayne was gay. Piggie raised his eyebrows and listened to Dewayne’s words. Dewayne stammered. “I, uh… I heard you run some shit around here.”

“You heard wrong,” Piggie said.

“Oh, really? They said you were a powerful motherfucker-“

“That much is true.” Piggie chewed on his lower lip as he looked Dewayne up and down.

“Good, good,” Dewayne said. He took a deep breath. “I, uh… Did you…? Are you comfortable with fucking? I mean… with me?”

Piggie sat up. He snorted as though the answer was obvious, but it wasn’t clear if it was “obvious” because he thought Dewayne should know that Piggie was a prison top who fucked queers, or because he thought Dewayne should know that Piggie hated queers. Dewayne momentarily wondered if he should try pretending to be a straight tough guy, but he knew he couldn’t pull that off.

“I, uh… I’d like to suck you off, or whatever. If you want, and if you will protect me-“

“You wanna be my bitch?”

“Well… I think you’re hot and I’m gay and I need-“

“You wanna be my bitch?” He flared his nostrils.

“Well… yeah, kinda,” Dewayne said. He normally loved redneck alpha males like Piggie — Dewayne was more than a bit rednecky himself, so he had a natural attraction to men like Piggie. If he wasn’t in prison and could have gone home anytime, Dewayne would have jumped at the chance to be Piggie’s bitch. Ever since getting out of the Army, Dewayne had been getting into riskier and riskier sex. It was a way to feel the adrenaline rush he had gotten used to in Iraq. This was more frightening than he was accustomed to, because he wasn’t role-playing the role of prison bitch, he was living it.

“You queer?” Piggie asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” Dewayne said.

Piggie jumped down from his bunk. He patted Dewayne down, a mix between a utilitarian frisk and a sexy grope. His rough-skinned fingers roamed over every inch of Dewayne’s body. Then he separated Dewayne’s jaws and looked in his mouth as though checking how big it was. He rammed his finger in until Dewayne gagged on it.

“If you gonna be my bitch, you gotta be obedient. You gotta serve me right. You gotta suck dick. You wanna suck dick?”


“You wanna take it in the ass? You want me to butt-fuck you like a bitch? I don’t fuck easy. You okay wit’ that?”

“Yes,” Dewayne said. He gulped. “I… I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

Piggie smiled. He leaned in as though he was going to kiss Dewayne right on the lips, but then he turned Dewayne around and slammed him into the wall, face-first, hard enough to hurt but not break anything. Dewayne tasted the grime and dust clinging to the rock wall of their shared cell.

“I am gonna hurt you.”

Dewayne’s heart sank. He had assumed this would work. “Oh. I-“

“Shut up. You can be my bitch. I just wanna prepare you. I am gonna hurt you at some point. I’m gonna fuck you hard and I’m gonna smack you when I’m in a bad mood, when it ain’t even yer fault. I’m gonna treat you bad. That’s cuz I’m a bad man. You feel me?”

“Uh, yeah-“

“The promise I’m gonna make to you right now is not that I ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m gonna promise to make it up to you later. I ain’t gonna let no one else hurt you, not without my permission, but I am gonna hurt you myself.”

“Oh… Okay,” Dewayne said. His mouth was pressed against the rock wall, so all he could do was mumble. Piggie’s breath condensed on his cheeks. Again, he thought if this had happened in a biker bar instead of a prison cell, he’d be salivating at the chance to service Piggie. It was just disturbing to know he had no choice to go home later. It was either service Piggie, find a different man or take a chance on taking care of himself. Servicing Piggie was both the sexiest and most dangerous route.

“You queer, huh?” Piggie asked. He rammed his hand into Dewayne’s pants and caressed both cheeks. He gave them a pinch, hard, which made Dewayne yelp and squirm against the wall.


“So you ain’t a virgin?”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s too bad. I love making straight boys cry when I fuck ‘em,” he said. He sniffed Dewayne’s head and snorted. It sounded like he swallowed a mouthful of phlegm. He fingered the rim of Dewayne’s asshole but didn’t stick his finger in. “I love breakin’ ‘em down.”

“Oh, well, sorry, I ain’t-“

“I can handle queers too. I ain’t gonna mind that one bit,” he said. “Long as you’s okay wit’ me treating you poorly.”

“I guess so, I just hope-“

“Get on yer knees, queerboy,” he said. “If you can suck me good enough, I’ll take you in as my bitch. If not… then you’s on yer own.”

Dewayne did drop to his knees. He sighed and opened his mouth, drooling at the sight of Piggie’s fat cock dangling between his legs. Piggie didn’t take his orange prison pants off, he just pulled them down.

Dewayne kissed the tip, then licked the shaft. The taste of unwashed masculine musk flooded Dewayne’s senses. The flavor reminded Dewayne of a horse-barn; it was both unpleasant and arousing, and it made Dewayne hungry to taste Piggie’s load. He moaned and blushed because Piggie laughed at how enthusiastic he was.

“Is that fun, little bitch? You really wanna be my bitch? You that kinda queerboy?”

“Yes, I am,” Dewayne said. He wrapped his lips around Piggie’s shaft and moved his mouth up and down it. He knew straight men loved that technique, and he smiled as it made Piggie shudder. His dick straightened and stiffened.

Then Piggie grabbed Dewayne by the head and forced him to remain in place. Dewayne opened his mouth wide, sighing as Piggie’s cock pushed down his throat. Piggie drilled it in slowly and laughed as Dewayne struggled to swallow it.

Dewayne gagged, but only because he knew Piggie would want him to. Dewayne could deep-throat nearly anything without gagging if he wanted to. But he wanted to puff up Piggie’s ego by pretending it was difficult to suck his dick.

He let Piggie facefuck him, Dewayne focusing on little more than keeping his throat wide open. He loved the flavor of Piggie’s redneck dick; his precum tasted like fertile soil, a forest thunderstorm, engine oil and stainless steel, and its savory flavor made Dewayne wish he could suck it forever.

Piggie’s balls slapped against Dewayne’s chin as he fucked Dewayne’s face. He made loud rutting sounds, like the piggie he was named after. Every time Dewayne choked and sputtered, men in the other cells all laughed and jeered.

Damn, Piggie got a new bitch!

Piggie’s gonna make him squeal!

New guy’s a bitch already!

Dewayne gurgled happily, though he hid it out of fear that Piggie would interpret his enjoyment as license to facefuck him harder and harder until he no longer enjoyed. Instead Dewayne just sat there, allowing Piggie to drill his shift in and out of Dewayne’s throat.

Precum slid down his gullet, the sour-salty flavor overwhelming Dewayne’s palate. Piggie moaned and for a moment, his alpha machismo dwindled — he hadn’t expected it to feel this good.

Dewayne was proud of himself. He liked servicing big thugs and rednecks like Piggie, and he knew making his blowjobs indispensable was the best way to ensure Piggie kept him safe. He choked up a mountain of spit and let it drip down into Piggie’s hairy crotch.

Soon Dewayne could tell that Piggie was almost ready to cum. Dewayne slowed his rhythm down, which sent such powerful spasms of pleasure up Piggie’s thick body that Piggie’s knees buckled. He almost fell on top of Dewayne, but he used him for support.

Dewayne deep-throated all the way, ignoring his body’s cry for oxygen. His nose nestled in the wiry pubic hair of Piggie’s crotch as he felt veins throb inside his mouth. The cum flowed up Piggie’s massive shaft.

Finally Piggie reached orgasm. Dewayne could feel it in the pulsating of his balls and the throbbing of his cockshaft in Dewayne’s mouth. Piggie closed his eyes and groaned.

“Here I come bitch, get ready to taste it.”

Salty cum flew into Dewayne’s mouth, coating his tongue. Dewayne sighed and squirmed as he tasted a massive load of creamy juice. It sprayed right down his gullet and collected in a warm puddle deep in his belly.

Piggie stood there with his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes as his cum flowed, a huge load that just kept collecting. Its thick texture coated Dewayne’s tongue with the salty flavor.

“I’m gonna take my dick out now,” Piggie said softly. He shuddered as aftershocks of his orgasm roiled his hairy chest muscles. He peered directly into Dewayne’s eyes. “You keep your mouth open. I like watchin’ my cum dry on yer tongue, boy.” Then he pulled his dick out without moving his eyes.

The entire cell fell silent. Every fiber of Dewayne’s being told him to clean his face off, close his mouth, attack Piggie or run away, but he didn’t do any of those things.

Piggie closely inspected his tongue. He even stuck a finger in Dewayne’s mouth, all the way back until Dewayne gagged again, and Piggie pulled his finger out dripping with cum. He wiped it off on Dewayne’s nose, sending the acrid bite of sour semen smell assaulting Dewayne’s senses.

Finally Piggie nodded. “Go clean yerself off, bitch. We’re done now.”

Str8 Till Dark: Cellmates

Here’s a story called Str8 Till Dark: Cellmates, one of the tales in the new, best-selling Str8 Till Dark series! This one is about macho rednecks getting freaky behind bars…

Tim had fallen asleep quickly for the first night since he got to Brutewood Prison — or really, for the first time since he was arrested. That was because he had finally completed his initiation into the Ivory Way. His head was freshly shaved, his skin prickling sensitively in the chilly air of the prison cell.

He wasn’t really racist and he didn’t feel good about the things he had said to fit in, but he had always known he would have to join a gang to survive here. Given that he was a slim white man with no ties to the Italians or any other gang, he had no choice but to join up with the Ivories.

His cellmate, who slept above him, was a tall, wiry hillbilly-turned-prison-thug named Stumbler. Tim got the impression he didn’t really buy into the Aryan ideology of the Ivory Way either, but he was a loyal lieutenant. He was, in a sense, Tim’s boss, and also his chief protector; he had assured Tim that he’d be safe as long as he was loyal to the Ivory Way.

So when Tim awoke to the sound of Stumbler climbing down from his bunk, he assumed the man was going to the toilet. Instead, he lifted the blanket off Tim’s body and climbed into the bunk next to him, carrying the sheet and blanket from his own bed with him.

“Hey, I’m cold, my brother,” Stumbler said. He sounded sleepy, and a bit bashful. “Lemme in here.”

Tim’s heart pounded. Was Stumbler about to hurt him? He had seemed friendly all along, and the Ivory Way steadfastly forbade all manner of homosexuality, including rape, no exceptions. That was the one part Tim basically agreed with.

“Relax, everyone does this here, it’s cold. We gotta share heat, not a big deal,” he said. He added his blankets on top of their bodies. “We got twice as many blankets if we double up, hoss. No homo.”

It was cold, Tim thought, he had been shivering as well. He nodded, blushing but glad that Stumbler couldn’t see it. Tim made sure to face Stumbler, so that they wouldn’t be ass-to-crotch. He had been assured no one raped the Ivories, but still, he wanted to be certain he wasn’t making it easy, just in case Stumbler wanted to make an exception.

Of course, once he was in that position, he wasn’t sure it was what he really wanted — it felt rather like making out. Tim’s face was just inches from Stumbler’s scruffy tanned cheeks. He could smell the man’s deodorant and feel his chest hair rubbing against Tim’s flesh.

“You see that new guard today? The blonde?” Stumbler asked once he settled in, blankets covering both men, their body heat mingling in the stony cell. “Damn, I wanted to fuck that bitch, hoss. I would fuck her hard! Any hole she want.”

“Yeah, she was pretty hot,” Tim said, too nervous to really think about what Stumbler was saying. He didn’t remember seeing any blonde guard.

“You happy about joinin’ the Ivory Way?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Stumbler smiled. It was too dark for Tim to see his face, but he could sense Stumbler’s grizzled face move. They were so close that Tim could feel the man’s smile in the pattern his breath made when it condensed on his cheek. Stumbler said, “I know that ain’t true. You ain’t really racist, is you, hoss?”

“Well… I meant what I said. I swore loyalty to the organization.”

“You did what you needed to do,” Stumbler said. He reached up and rubbed Tim’s freshly-shaved head. He chuckled when Tim winced and moved his head. “You look good with a shaved head. I bet you’s cold though. You wanna put yer head under the covers?”

He did, very much so, but Tim shook his head. He could live with a cold head. He wasn’t sure what Stumbler would do to him under the covers. Stumbler’s head had been shaved, but not that recently; he at least had a little insulation on his head, not to mention a thicker build overall.

“Does everyone really share a bunk when it’s cold?” Tim asked.

“Yeah. Ain’t no one really admit it, but they all do it,” Stumbler said. “Now come on, relax. I ain’t gonna rape ya, okay. The Ivory Way don’t allow that one bit.”

“Yeah. I’m glad.”

“If you decide to fuck around, y’know, that’s different-“


“Relax, Tim. It’s your choice,” he said, then laughed as he placed one hand on Tim’s asscheek and squeezed. Tim yelped instinctively moved away from his hand, which meant he scooted closer to Stumbler’s body.

Tim’s dick, in his sweatpants, touched Stumbler’s, in his pants. Tim’s chest bumped up against Stumbler’s, and he felt twinges of inadequacy. Stumbler had a big, powerful chest and a thick, long cock. Tim was lean and, while he had a substantial cock, it was nowhere’s near as big as Stumbler’s.

“Relax, Timmy, relax,” Stumbler said. “Keep it quiet… Don’t attract attention from the guards. I ain’t gonna rape ya, I’m just playin’.” But he kept his hand on Tim’s ass, and even caressed it as he whispered in Tim’s ear. “We ain’t gonna tell no one what happens in the cell when the lights go out. Nobody need to know we share a bunk.”

“Are you really racist?” Tim asked, hoping to change the subject from rape to anything more comfortable. Stumbler had a Confederate flag tattoo on his bicep, but no swastikas or anything like that. He was not as scary as the other skinheads; he seemed more like a lovable muscle-bound redneck. He said he drank a lot on the outside, but Tim thought he was probably one of those overly gregarious drunks.

“Nah, I don’t believe in any kinda white power nonsense,” Stumbler said. “If you tell anyone that, I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t.”

“We both had to join up for protection, hoss,” Stumbler said. “In this place, you gotta do whatever you gotta do to survive, to protect yer body, and yer mind. You understand that, son?”

“Yeah. I get that. You gotta do what you gotta do,” Tim said.

“That’s right,” Stumbler said, his voice low and slow. Then he added, “Hoss.”

Tim realized as a silence overtook the cell that Stumbler was stroking his own dick. Tim gulped and tried to move away, but he was at the very edge of the bunk. Stumbler’s hand, resting on Tim’s ass, pulled him closer. Stumbler’s dick was out of his sweatpants now, and it jabbed into Tim’s crotch.

“Sssh,” Stumbler said. “I need to get my nut off, or I’ll go crazy. You wanna play with it?”


“Sssh… Before you answer, lemme remind you of a couple things. First, you gonna get so horny here yer balls are gonna burst, if you don’t start stroking yerself off. Second, you gonna go crazy if you only jack off and never get to show any affection with anyone. Third, I ain’t gonna rape ya, son,” he said. He slipped one of his big callused mitts down Tim’s pants and grabbed his dick. He whistled in an obviously patronizing way. “You got some meat there, boi.”

“Uh, Stumbler, uh…”

“You can tell me to stop,” Stumbler said, “any time you want.” But he didn’t stop, and Tim couldn’t bring himself to say it. Stumbler’s hand stroked Tim’s meat until it was hard.

Tim held his breath, too nervous to think, the Stumbler’s sweat assaulting his senses when he did force himself to inhale. A part of him wanted to say no, but he knew Stumbler was right — he’d need to do something to get his rocks off, and this was about as good as anything. Tim had circlejerked with his friends a few times, so it wasn’t like he had never touched a cock before in his life. And a part of him was afraid that if he said no, Stumbler would just decide to rape him; maybe it would be easier, he thought, to give in. He could draw a line at handjobs, he decided. Stumbler probably didn’t intend to go any farther than anyway, he hoped.

As if Stumbler knew what he was thinking, he grabbed Tim’s hand, gently but firmly. He pulled it to Stumbler’s warm crotch, and wrapped his fingers around his cock.

“Sssh, relax, it’s okay… No homo, Timmy…”

Stumbler’s cock was thick and greasy and hoggish, and Tim wanted to let go. But pleasure pulsated up his body from Stumbler’s hand on his dick; Tim didn’t want that feeling to stop, so he kept stroking.

Stumbler groaned. The low, mind-melting sound made Tim’s remaining hairs stand on end. It sounded like Stumbler was making love, he thought, and it became even grosser moments later when Stumbler’s hairy body began humping. His hips flexed and his dick spasmed in Tim’s hand.

“Feels good, don’t it?”

Tim blushed and mumbled his agreement. A few drops of sticky precum lubricated his fingers.

“Everyone thinks getting a handjob from a man is pointless. You might as well stroke yourself off, right? But that ain’t right, at least, not in this place. You need some affection, Timmy,” he said. “Or you go loco.” Then he leaned in and kissed Tim on the lips, his scratchy beard rubbing against Tim’s cheeks.

It was a quick, chaste kiss. Then Stumbler pulled away. His hand sped up his stroking. He smiled and looked deeply into Tim’s eyes, as though trying to seduce him. Tim held his breath, waiting for Stumbler to say something else.

But it seemed he was waiting for Tim to complain, and when he didn’t, Stumbler kissed him again. This time, he used his tongue.

It was a long, slow, passionate kiss now, and his muscular tongue pushed into Tim’s mouth. His hand dropped Tim’s dick as Stumbler swooned and pushed Tim onto his back. Stumbler mounted his body as though going to have sex with a woman, so both crotches lined up.

“Put yer hands on my ass,” he said breathlessly.

Tim couldn’t think of anything but the precummy mess in his crotch. Both dicks rubbed against each other, leaking their fluids onto his skin. Stumbler’s seemed impossibly hard and thick, like a weapon clubbing Tim’s dick into submission. Unable to think of a way to say no, Tim put both hands on Stumbler’s plump, hairy cheeks.

Stumbler crooned right in Tim’s ear, which made Tim shudder. He found his hands moving of their own accord, caressing Stumbler’s ass. Stumbler kissed him again and again, and that was all Tim could think about. Stumbler reached behind himself and moved Tim’s hand from his cheek to his crack.

“You can put your pinkie in if you want,” Stumbler said.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to, but before Tim even decided not to, his finger did. His pinkie plunged into Stumbler’s ass, and Stumbler bucked. His dick spasmed and leaked even more copious precum into Tim’s crotch.

“You ain’t gonna tell no one about fingerfucking me, right?”

“No way. What happens in the cell, stays in the cell,” Tim said nervously.

“Good,” Stumbler said. His kisses moved to Tim’s smooth neck, and he licked a trail down to Tim’s nipples.

Then Stumbler’s ass squeezed around Tim’s fingers as though not going to let him go. That distracted Tim from what was happening — Stumbler simply picked him up in those big redneck arms and flipped him over. His finger was out of Stumbler’s ass, his own ass bare and right under Stumbler’s throbbing cock.

Before Tim could say anything, Stumbler had angled his dick in and pushed just the first millimeter or so inside Tim’s ass. Then he paused. Tim yelped and squealed, squirming beneath Stumbler’s hairy body.

“Sssh, sssh, Timmy,” Stumbler said like a father reassuring his son during a thunderstorm. “I ain’t gonna rape ya, okay? I promise. I said that. Can you say it too?”

“What?” Tim’s voice sounded weak. The pain in his ass was negligible at this point, it was only the tip of Stumbler’s cock inside him. But he felt burning humiliation, and he was so terrified of what might happen next that he didn’t know what to say. “I know this isn’t-“

“Say Stumbler won’t rape me.”

“Stumbler won’t rape me.” Tim said. “I know that. Can you-?”

“Sssh, ssh, let’s talk,” Stumbler said. “You know I’ll give you a reacharound anytime we fuck.”


“Sssh. And you can always say no,” he said. “But we need this, Timmy. You’re so pretty and smooth, and in the dark you kinda feel like a girl.”


Stumbler reached for something up on his bunk, or on the shelf next to it. Then his fingers slathered something cold on Tim’s ass. Tim writhed again in discomfort.

“Sssh, this’ll warm up soon, and then it’ll feel good. It’s hog fat, from the kitchen. It melts from body temperature, Timmy, and we’re both so hot here, snug as bedbugs together, ain’t we?”


“Sssh. It ain’t gonna hurt bad, son,” Stumbler said, his mouth hovering just above Tim’s ear, his warm breath condensing there. “I’m just gonna make love to ya. We ain’t nevuh gonna talk about this outside of the cell, okay?”

“Okay, but go easy on me…“ Tim really didn’t mind the idea of it — he was no homophobe — and he trusted Stumbler to keep it a secret, so he reasoned it wasn’t a boundary he had sworn to never cross. As long as he wasn’t actually treated like a prison punk, he’d be okay, he thought to himself over and over as he submitted.

Then Tim bit his lip as another surge of pain hit him. The hog fat did help, but Stumbler began pumping his dick in deeper and deeper. While it wasn’t pure agony, the pressure was intense and Tim could do little more than bite the pillow.

“You know what downlow means?”


“The colored gangs say it. When two guys fuck on the downlow, it means it don’t count. The bottom ain’t a bitch,” Stumbler said. “They just need to get their nuts off, so they fuck. That’s what we’re doin’. We’s making love on the downlow, Timmy. You’re so pretty and delicate. I’d never hurt you. You believe me?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim said. He grunted, trying to clear his mind so he could decide what to do. His whole body spasmed then as Stumbler grabbed his dick and gave it a stroke. A bolt of pleasure shivered up Tim’s spine, even as pain radiated from his ass.

“See, a reacharound? We’s gonna be moister than a Louisiana croc farm, son, this is nice, ain’t it?”

“It kinda hurts…”

“It always hurts the first time. You’ll get looser.”

Tim opened his mouth to respond — he wanted to point out that Stumbler had promised not to hurt him just seconds ago, and that he didn’t want to get looser — but the pressure and the pleasure grew more intense, and all he could do was bite his pillow. He grunted and gasped, embarrassed that his own cock was still leaking precum even as he was fucked.

“Don’t make a lotta noise,” Stumbler said. “We can’t let no one know what’s happenin’ here. I won’t tell no one if you won’t. We each got somethin’ to lose, right? You put a finger in me too, remembuh?”

That didn’t quite seem like equal dirt, but Tim didn’t have the wherewithal to speak. He writhed beneath Stumbler’s rapidly strengthening fucking.

The feel of the bigger man’s rippling muscles and coarse mat of chest hair made Tim’s stomach churn, especially combined with the smell of the man’s sweat as he smeared it over Tim’s body. He grunted and heaved his breath onto Tim’s face with every thrust. From where Tim was, it was impossibly loud; Stumbler sounded like a rutting pig.

He licked Tim’s face too, as he drilled his dick deep within Tim’s intestines. He moaned exquisite but indecipherable syllables in Tim’s ear and licked his face until spit dripped in rivulets onto Tim’s pillow.

“Here it comes, sweetheart, kiss me,” Stumbler said, then kissed Tim on the lips. There was something about the way he said sweetheart that made Tim want to gag. His tongue explored the depths of Tim’s throat. Stumbler stopped moving just as the orgasm roiled through him, and he let out low, loose sigh right into Tim’s ear.

Seconds later, cum erupted deep within him. Tim had never experienced anything like that. It felt like some alien device was malfunctioning in his body, spewing grease everywhere. Its warm creaminess spread to every corner of Tim’s body; he could have sworn he felt it flowing to his arms, his feet, and everywhere else.

But the most disturbing part of it, Tim thought, was the way he felt the orgasm in Stumbler’s body. He felt Stumbler’s pecs tighten, his breathing stop momentarily. His toes curled around Tim’s feet, and his hands dropped Tim’s body to clench the mattress beneath him.

Then it was over, but Stumbler didn’t stop humping, even as his dick got limp inside Tim. Instead, he focused on stroking Tim off even more enthusiastically. He used both hands, one on Tim’s root and one stroking the shaft.

“Now it’s yer turn, Timmy…”

Despite the pain and the embarrassment, Tim felt his orgasm coming on quickly. He felt pleasure deep in his ass, not that he would ever admit it, and when the climax finally came, it was more potent than he ever thought it would be.

It was also more painful than he ever thought it would be. Tim grunted as his body moved, causing fresh spasms of pain to shoot up his spine from his tender asshole.

Hot cum sprayed up his chest and into Stumbler’s hand. Stumbler kept going like a professional, even as Tim’s orgasmic bliss turned to overly sensitive writhing.

Then at last Stumbler pulled out. His limp, greasy cock wedged between Tim’s cheeks. He held his cum-coated hand in front of Tim’s mouth as though going to make him eat it, but then he didn’t.

“Timmy, I’m gonna do something serious to show you how serious I am ‘bout what happened here tonight,” Stumbler said, his voice low and grim. Then as Tim watched, he stuck each of his cummy fingers in his mouth, one after the other. A few drops got stuck in his scruffy chin hair.

He gagged profusely, from the moment he tasted Tim’s cum. He also growled in a seductive way, but his whole body twisted as his stomach churned. Tim thought he might even vomit, but Stumbler held it together.

At last his hand was clean, and he wrapped his arms around Tim’s shoulders. That forced Tim to use the man’s biceps as a pillow, and he could taste Stumbler’s sweat-matted chest hair in his mouth.

“You got any questions, Timmy?”

“Questions? … No, that was okay, really. You really won’t tell no one?”

“On my mama’s grave, son,” Stumbler said. “We’s all done. We ain’t gonna talk about this again. Tomorrow night, when I fuck you, I’m gonna ask if you’s a virgin. You say yes, okay?”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

“Good. You always say yes, Timmy.”

Teabag Hazing Downlow

Here’s the first chapter from Teabag Hazing Downlow, a new story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series!

Todd gulped nervously. He had planned on skipping the fraternities. He didn’t think it was worth the hazing and the risk, but once he got to GHU of Georgia, he found that, without a frat, he’d have no social life. So there was no choice. The only fraternity he thought was likely to take him — since he was neither rich nor handsome nor popular nor athletic — was Kappa Gamma Pi.

“Three times, pledges, let’s see hear the oath three times!”

I pledge my eternal loyalty to this fraternal organization, and to these men who support me in my endeavors and my growth as a man. I promise to uphold the laws and traditions of Kappa Gamma Pi, and I promise not to tolerate those who fail at living up to this organization’s strict standards of honor, decency and respect. I promise to be obedient to those who are above me in this organization’s hierarchy, and to follow their orders without question.

He had learned the oath just earlier today, but had already recited it so many times he had it memorized. He repeated it again, twice more. There was no way the upperclassmen heard him say it three times, but Todd did it anyway, not wanting to get in trouble like the others who stumbled over the words or failed to remember them.

But once they finished it, Willie Mitchum — Todd’s personal upperclass sponsor and the pledgemaster for the whole organization — just told them to do it all over again. Three more recitals, freshies! He had the attitude of a Southern drill sergeant, and if it weren’t vital for Todd’s social life to join this frat, Todd would have pointed out that he wasn’t one. But Willie would have called that “freshie gettin’ lippy”, which he did not tolerate.

“Alright, freshies, we’ll see how well you have this memorized. Keep on repeating it,” said Willie, who was a senior and a hardcore redneck — so Southern he literally had perpetually-sunburnt shoulders — as he pointed to the floor. He had a sick smile on his face. “Get on the ground, on your backs. Don’t stop pledging, pledges.”

To the floor, bitches!

The other upperclassmen were huddled together, drinking, laughing. They loved how extreme Willie took the hazing, though it was clear many of them didn’t think that was quite necessary. Nobody stopped Willie.

Kick their asses, Willie!

Todd sunk to the ground, squeezing into the small floorspace in the center of the den. The floor was cold hardwood, badly scuffed and stained. It smelled of feet. Todd had heard rumors about Kappa’s hazing, so his mind raced with all the terrible things they might ask him to do. They might even make him take off all his clothes and run through campus, or make him go out on a date with a drag queen, both rumors that Todd had heard were required in years past.

“I pledge my eternal loyalty to this fraternal -“ Todd began reciting the pledge with the other recruits. He could see Willie whispering with the other seniors, but not hear what they were saying. It looked like the others did not believe Willie would follow through on whatever he was planning on doing.

Willie was tall and athletic, though he didn’t play any sports as far as Todd knew. He didn’t quite have a six-pack either, he drank too much beer for that, but he came close. He wore, as always, a dingy brown baseball cap, and his tattooed arms extended from a sleeveless muscle shirt. His camo pants were loose and baggy.

He walked over to the pledges and stopped with his bare feet right next to Todd. “Keep on pledging, freshies. Let’s hear it, come on…”

Todd paused when he saw one of the other seniors, Brian, a beefy football player, dropping his pants. He had a huge dick so he always found an excuse to show it off, but once he was naked, he lowered his hips, squatting on the face of another freshman. He aimed his balls right for the freshman’s mouth, shouting, “Teabag time!” and laughing like a caveman.

A sense of horror erupted within Todd — was it possible that Willie was going to take this even farther? Maybe the rumors had understated how difficult Kappa Gamma Pi’s hazing was. Brian’s big linebacker body bristled as he tried to get his sac in the other freshman’s mouth.

Get that freshie, Brian! Teabag the fuck out of him!

Earl Grey that bitch! They all cackled as though it was hilarious — they had been joking about putting their balls in and on each other, so Todd wondered if that was what was hip right now: ball-sucking. It seemed gross and pointless to him.

The other freshman, George, rolled away from Brian’s balls. He stood and cursed the seniors. “I’m out,” he said. “That’s fucking gross you guys.” He grabbed his jacket and walked out the door to the catcalls of the other seniors. They called him a wuss and a loser, and said he’d never get invited to a party on-campus again.

Todd knew what was about to happen to him, obviously, so he had to consider whether to leave or not. But ultimately it was no tough decision for him — he needed to have a social life this year, and Kappa Gamma Pi was his ticket in.

Willie dropped his shorts and leered at Todd. “Didya stop saying the pledge, freshie?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the other seniors baring their own sweaty ballsacs. Willie’s redneck body was especially disgusting to Todd, however, who wished that he had any of the other seniors instead of Willie.

Todd had no sooner begun the pledge again when Willie pulled off his boxers as well, revealing his low-hanging balls and thick cock. Todd struggled to focus, but managed to speak the pledge once more with Willie’s dick swaying in front of his face. He caught a whiff of that redneck crotch, which made Todd wrinkle his nose as he struggled to recall the words of the pledge.

“I pledge my eternal loyalty to this fraternal organization-“

Then he plopped those balls right on Todd’s face, and Todd choked on the scent. Direct hit on the freshie! The slickness of sweat and the smell of taint assaulted Todd’s senses; he gagged and sputtered. Willie’s crotch smelled like stale sweat, and the coarse pubic hairs of his scrotum got stuck between Todd’s teeth.

Tea bag! Tea bag! Tea bag!

Sweat dripped down Todd’s throat. He could feel it running in rivulets, and the scent made his eyes water. He blushed intensely as he saw Willie looking him in the eyes, with that stern Southern drill sergeant look on his face.

“Keep on reciting, freshie! Don’t stop or I’ll make you suck on the other end next!”

Even as Todd’s throat heaved and he wasn’t sure he could keep going, he did. He got a few more syllables out before he gagged, nearly vomiting over the ballsac in his throat. All around him was gagging freshman, who watched in shock as Willie dipped his balls in and out of Todd’s spasming throat.

Damn, Willie’s goin’ all the way with his freshman! He’s hardcore as hell! He gettin’ a handjob!

That is too fuckin’ gay! You ain’t gonna try to jack me off, is you freshie?

Willie took hold of Todd’s hand in his and lifted it slowly up as the other fraternity brothers shouted and chanted. None of them could believe Willie was taking it this far, and not even Todd could really believe it. His face blushed a bright red as pubic hair tickled the back of his throat.

Jack that redneck off, freshie!

“Who you callin’ a redneck, ya yankee bastard?!”

When his hand wrapped around Willie’s cock, Todd thought he should really back out. He could just walk out the door. The worst that could happen to him for quitting was that he’d get called names, maybe not invited to a party or two (and not even the big, major parties, since they were always open to everyone). But he had already come this far, and Todd desperately wanted to be in a frat this year.

“Stroke it, freshie, don’t just play with it.”

Willie’s dick was clammy and limp at first, but it quickly hardened beneath Todd’s grasp. It was thick and greasy, and it made Todd want to vomit. At least, he thought, he wasn’t actually sucking dick.

But it didn’t feel all that different, he decided as precum dripped down that shaft and into his throat. He might as well be sucking on it. His hands were sticky with fluids, his face covered in ball-sweat. Each time he saw a droplet of moisture roll down that throbbing, veiny shaft, Todd thought he wouldn’t really taste it, his mouth was already overwhelmed by salty bitterness. However each time a drop actually rolled past his lips, Todd gagged on the explosion of sour flavor in his mouth all over again.

Then when the end finally came, Todd ended up sucking dick anyway. Without giving it a second thought, he kept his mouth open when Willie suddenly pulled his balls out and pushed his spasming cockhead in.

Hot damn, Willie is fuckin’ hardcore!

Fuck that freshie’s mouth, ya nasty hillbilly!

Hot cum spurted into Todd’s mouth. He gagged furiously and sputtered some more, but that succeeded only in spreading cum all over his face and chin. Willie’s ropy-muscled redneck body writhed as he orgasm and his face screwed up with pleasure.

It seemed like a preposterously huge load, like he was really pissing right down Todd’s throat. But the thick creaminess and salty flavor made it clear he simply had a big wad brewing in those balls, which now dripped with Todd’s spit as they bounced against his chin.

“Swallow that nut, freshie!” Willie cheered himself on as he moaned and flexed his big redneck pecs. He pumped his biceps too, and slammed his cummy dick so far into Todd’s throat he gagged all over again.

At last Willie pulled out and rested his fat cock on Todd’s face. He leered down at him and said, “That was some good respect, freshie. I’ll make a man out of you yet, my brother…”

Str8 Till Dark: The Roommates

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Str8 Till Dark: The Roommates, a hardcore gay redneck erotica story you’ll have to read to believe!


“Is this gonna be yer first home wit’ a roommate, Charlie?” Tommy had asked when Charlie first arrived.

Charlie had shook his head, and Tommy had laughed as though it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. If Charlie weren’t so lacking in confidence in that moment, he would have asked what was so funny — he would have asked in an aggressive way, with feinting and mean-mugging, and it would have probably ended in Tommy being beaten up.

Now Charlie regretted not asking for details, because he now had a guess what made Tommy laugh. He knew Charlie would not like the person he was going to share a room with — his new roommate was a hillbilly named Piggie.

Charlie himself was not a hillbilly, and he didn’t like rednecks at all. He was from urban Detroit. He had been one of six white kids in his entire high school. He was covered in urban tats, wore a baseball cap backwards and talked like a gangsta.

And like a gangsta, he was currently on the run from the cops. His fingerprints had been found at a murder scene. Charlie was genuinely innocent of the murder, but was guilty of plenty of other things. If he was caught, he was likely to end up convicted of at least one serious felony, so he had gone on the run.

That was when he had been sent to Tommy’s operation out in rural Michigan, in the Upper Peninsula. Tommy grew weed for the Barren Nine, which was the gang Charlie had pledged himself to years ago. Tommy and Piggie had been growing marijuana out here in the middle of nowhere for years.

And now Charlie was supposed to help. His first day, however, he had done little more than walk around the fields. He had never seen so many marijuana plants, or smelled such an intense fresh-weed scent. For someone who had always struggled to afford weed, it seemed like heaven, even if Charlie wasn’t allowed to smoke any of that — Piggie and Tommy did buy their own weed to smoke, but Charlie wasn’t allowed to smoke any of the fields upon fields of high-quality bud.

He had shared a few drinks with Charlie and Piggie before retiring. Tommy had shown him to his room, which was a small chamber with a bed and a dresser and not much else. It wasn’t even much bigger than a prison cell. Charlie didn’t really have much stuff, so that wasn’t a problem for him.

It was only when he brushed his teeth and sank into the strange, unfamiliar bed that he remembered Tommy laughing about him having a roommate. Wasn’t that a strange wording? Tommy was one of his roommates, so why had he worded his question like that?

Wait… Weren’t there only two bedrooms? Tommy had never been given a formal tour, but when he looked around, he only saw two.

But maybe, he thought, Piggie slept elsewhere. Tommy was a redneck, but Piggie was a hillbilly; he seemed like the kind of man who might live in a barn outside. Maybe he guarded the fields at night. He spoke like a gibbering cartoon character, and Charlie could barely understand a word. Piggie wasn’t fat at all — they said he got the name because he used to be fat — but he was big and barrel-chested, with a prominent Confederate flag tattooed on his neck. Charlie was surprised his boss, a black man named Tyson, had agreed to work with a neo-Confederate.

He checked the alarm clock — it was set already. Tommy had told him to be up at six o’clock (which seemed ungodly early), so Charlie assumed Tommy had set the clock so he would have no excuse to be late. Why were there boots there by the door and clothes in the drawers? Charlie assumed Tyson had provided those, because Charlie was on the run and hadn’t been able to go back to his mama’s house for clothes.

But still, he felt unsettled. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep. He felt like there was something here he was missing. A part of him wondered if this room had been someone else’s, and that person was… gone. This wasn’t the kind of job you quit, so whoever it was could only be dead or in prison (and if he were in prison, Piggie and Tommy would be too).

His mind raced. He felt tired, but he was nowhere’s near falling asleep. He was simply in too strange of a place, his life in flux, and he was unable to relax. Piggie and Tommy were out in the main room drinking, but they were getting quieter and quieter.

Tommy seemed cool, he thought, but Piggie was both strange and off-putting. His accent was intimidating and hard-to-understand. He was bigger than Charlie, and looked quite possibly meaner; that was not a combination Charlie liked. Charlie really wished it could just be him and Tommy.

The door to his room slid open, and Piggie walked in. Charlie only saw the silhouette, but he knew it had to be Piggie because of his size and shape (Tommy was skinny, while Piggie was broad and strapping). Piggie stumbled a little, burped loudly and mumbled an apology.

Charlie sat up straight. “Whatchoo want, man?”

“Sssh, just goin’ to bed,” Piggie said.


“Scoot over,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and began untying his shoes.