Category Archives: Black Men and White Men

The Honky in the City Barbershop

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deon scoffed. “What?”

“Uh-“

“You a barber here?”

Ryan nodded.

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

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

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

“Thanks, nigga,” Wilson said.

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

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

“No, I ain’t.”

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

“So why did you come in here?”

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

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

“Oh? Is that true, Deon?”

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

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

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

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

Downlow Thugs on City Streets

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Downlow Thugs on City Streets, a new story by Calvin Freeman, about the sexy man-on-man shenanigans that go on in urban Baltimore!

 

Chad didn’t try to act tough, and he made it very clear he was gay. He had been living in rough urban ghettos for most of his life, so he knew that was the best way to go — if he tried to be tough, people would challenge him. If he acted like a sexy flamboyant gay man, the thugs, addicts and drug dealers who lived around here would treat him more or less like a woman they weren’t attracted to: they’d ignore him.

That was what Chad wanted. So he didn’t worry about the eyes following him whenever he came into the courtyard of the Baltimore housing projects he lived in. He knew he looked good — slim, pale skin, blond hair, lithe and leanly muscled body visible beneath the bare midriff t-shirt and short shorts he wore. He heard snickering from the black men and women who filled the courtyard, but Chad didn’t care.

“Crack! Crack!”

“Want some rock, Pinkberry?”

There were two young black men sitting on a couch in the middle of the courtyard. They were there all the time. They offered Chad crack every time he walked past. It seemed they didn’t know of any other reason a gay white man might be here in the projects. They had to have figured out that Chad lived here by now, he thought, but they still acted like he was just hanging around looking for drugs.

“I can sell you whatchoo want, boy,” said the younger one, Brodie.

“You want tina? I can get you tina too,” said the older one, Marcus.

That impressed Chad enough to make him giggle as he passed them by. “Tina? Somebody’s been doing research.”

“You smoke meth?”

“No,” Chad said. “But I appreciate you looking up gay lingo online.”

“We aim to please, whiteboy.” Brodie said. He was younger, with a harsh, arrogant face — he looked like he was supposed to be a jock and bully, but had gotten sucked into a life of crime instead, so his jutting face was lined with premature wrinkles even though he wasn’t even old enough to drink. He had deep dimples and dark, flashing eyes. Chad had thought he was sexy since the moment he first saw him (Marcus was sort of hot too, in his way, but he was portly and scruffy; Brodie could have been a model, Chad thought). Brodie tried his best at a charming smile. “Cuz you look like you need a pipe in ya mouth, boy. Yo’ mouth is needin’ something to fill it, that’s for sure.”

They both guffawed and slapped hands with each other. Chad stood there and smiled, jutting his ass out so they could see how plump and round it was. They both glanced at it, then fell quiet and avoided looking at each other.

Finally Brodie added, “So wuzzup, you want that rock or not? Or meth?”

“I said no.”

“You ain’t actually say no about crack. You said no about meth.”

Chad made a big dramatic show of pondering the issue. He tapped on his forehead with one finger. “Well, Brodie, I’ll give you a simple yes or no answer, if you pull your cock out and let me take a look.”

Brodie sniffled and his eyes bugged out, but he affected a look of a nigga who ain’t care. He shrugged, flashing an annoyed look at Marcus — who seemed to think that was hilarious. Marcus screamed laughter, clapped his hands and ran in a little circle around the couch they were both sitting on.

“So…” Brodie winced and looked at Marcus. Brodie rolled his eyes. “Uh…” It was hard to say anything over the sound of Marcus screaming peals of laughter.

“Do it, nigga, c’mon. Don’t Stringer say do what you gotta do to make the sale?”

“He ain’t say he gonna buy somethin’, he just gonna tell me whether he into it,” Brodie said. “And we already know he ain’t cuz we asked him before.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Chad smiled and crossed his arms over his much more delicate chest. His skin rippled, visible because of that bare midriff his t-shirt exposed. “So you asked me before and you remember my answer? You already know whether or not I smoke crack?”

Brodie nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I know you don’t.”

“So why did you ask me again?”

“Cuz you might’ve started, man!” Brodie threw his hands in the air. “I don’t gotta do it.” He looked at Marcus, who was quieting down. “I ain’t gonna do it, nigga. It ain’t about a sale. He just wanna look at my dick.”

Chad nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. It’s kind of chilly today anyway, your dick is probably small right now. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Man…”

“I’m sure no one will ever find out I was considering buying some crack and only didn’t cuz you were too scared to show my your dick.”

“You ain’t considerin’!”

“You don’t know that. Every crackhead has a first time, Brodie,” Chad said.

“I ain’t scared. My dick ain’t small,” Brodie said.

“Well, then, ugly or whatever, I don’t know. Obviously there’s a reason you don’t feel safe whipping it out. That’s understandable. Gay men are catty bitches. If your dick doesn’t pass muster, I will critique it thoroughly,” Chad said, making Marcus erupt in laughter again.

“Man, fuck you, whiteboy,” Brodie said. He sucked on his teeth and glared at Marcus. He did that several times, like he kept deciding to do it, then changing his mind before talking himself into it again. “Man! Fine! Whatever, nigga! Marcus, shut ya face! Man, Marcus! Marcus!” He shook his head because Marcus ignored him. “Marcus, don’t act like a fuckin’ fool! Hey!”

“I’m waiting,” Chad said with an exaggerated yawn.

Brodie snarled. He unzipped his fly and reached in. He let a suitably massive cock flop out, making Chad blush a little and gasp. Brodie looked around, but no one was looking in his direction — Marcus danced around the courtyard laughing and attracting attention — so he swung his hips, making his cock bounce around.

Chad reached for it, wrapped one hand around it and squeezed. Brodie gasped. For just a moment, it felt like Brodie was going to allow this, and Chad would be able to give him a handjob. But then Brodie tucked his dick away and pushed Chad.

“Alright, you got ya peek, whiteboy,” Brodie said. “So go ahead and say yes or no.”

“He did it! He did it!” Marcus screamed, his face exuberant as though he had been waiting for this. “He whipped it out, nigga!”

“Marcus, shut up!”

Chad smiled. “Are you the kind of dealer who makes his customers suck him off sometimes?”

“No. I got females, nigga. Can’t use a crackhead’s blowjob to buy food for my mama, can I?”

Marcus scoffed. “You don’t buy food for ya mama-“

“It’s just an example, Marcus.”

Chad shrugged. “A pity. Well, my answer, Brodie, is no. I do not want to buy crack, but thanks for giving me a peek at your cock. It’s very nice. A little smooth for my taste, but I bet it gets veinier when it’s hard.”

“Yeah.”

Chad turned around. “I’m not going to give you permission to watch me walk away.” He shook his ass. “But I know you will.”

The Prison Bitch

Here’s the first chapter of The Prison Bitch, a hot new hardcore and extreme story from Brutewood Maximum Security Penitentiary.

Charlie had gotten through his first day in Brutewood Prison and, so far, everything had gone very well. People more or less ignored him. He was processed along with several weaker men, included one disgraced cop and a pedophile, so they were the target of most of the ire from the other inmates.

When he returned to his cell after dinner, he saw his cellmate — an elderly Latino man — being led out on a stretcher. He was alive, but he looked sick. He had looked sickly since Charlie met him, but now he looked much sicker.

Charlie was nervous. What did that mean for him? Was he going to get a new cellmate? Maybe it’d be someone else new, he thought. Was this a good thing or a bad thing for Charlie? He had no idea.

Soon after dinner, his cell door opened, and a middle-aged black man entered. He was Jackson; he was wiry and ropy-muscled, not huge or bulky but powerful. He had a shaved head and a wide, flat nose that looked like it had been broken several times. He was covered in gang tats, including the underlined words NINE TATS on his belly — Charlie knew that meant he was one of the head generals of the Nine Tats street gang.

Jackson stopped in the center of the cell, holding onto a box containing all of his belongings. The cell was open, since this was free time; anyone could just walk in or out. Jackson checked Charlie out from head to toe.

“Yo, you faggot, whiteboy?” Jackson asked.

“I-“

“Wait just a sec, boy, befo’ you answer, I got somethin’ to explain,” he said. He spoke quickly but with great intent, like there was meant to be hidden subtext to everything he said. He had a very faint lisp like a pimp — it wasn’t very noticeable, but Charlie heard it. Charlie still hadn’t really decided if he would tell people he was gay. Some had said he should, some had said he shouldn’t. He had planned on playing it by ear.

When Jackson checked that no guards were around, he sat next to Charlie on the bunk. “Yo, lemme rap at you. But first, my name’s Jackson, howdayoudo?” He smiled broadly and shook Charlie’s head.

“I’m Charlie.”

“Charlie. That’s a pretty name. That’s very good. I like that, boy,” Jackson said. “Welcome to my cell. You should know this is my cell, alright? I be settin’ all the rules in here. You got any kinda problem wit’ that? Huh? You tell me now.”

He leaned forward until his eyes were right in front of Charlie’s, his lips so close he was virtually kissing him. “Yeah. You a faggot. I can tell. I can smell it on ya lips, yes, I bet you is. I can’t wait to hear yo’ answer. But don’t say yet. I ain’t finish askin’ the question.”

“Okay-“

“Shut yo’ mouth. That’s rule one. You don’t speak unless I allow it, boy.” He paused as though giving Charlie a chance to disobey him. Charlie’s heart raced. Jackson smiled. He remained so close to Charlie their lips almost touched. “Good. Now when I ask if you a faggot, you gotta understand I’s askin’ cuz you gotta have a role. You gotta get somethin’ to do around here, somethin’ that contributes to the organization.” He pointed to his Nine Tats tattoo. That entailed leaning back so Charlie could see it, which meant he finally pulled his face away from Charlie’s. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Jackson smiled at him. “Oh, that’s the Nine Tats. They’s my organization. See, if you say you ain’t no kinda faggot, then when I rape you a little later, you gonna be my bitch. You gonna be prostituted out for a cigarette or two, ya dig? I’m gonna sell yo’ ass. If I can find a way to sell yo’ organs, that’s what I’m gonna do. Okay? So that’s option one. You can tell me you straight, and I turn ya body into cash any way that I can. You like option one?”

“No-“

“I ain’t think so. It ain’t popular. I think it’s got a branding problem, you know? Like maybe if we call it the Doritos Extreme Prison Bitch Experience or some shit, you know, then people would give it a try,” he said. “But option two might be better. Since I think you might really be a faggot, that’s the one that might suit ya needs the best. See, in option two, you tell me you a faggot. Then I tell you that you my wife now. I will treat you right-“ He held one hand up as though to forestall any objections. “Now I may still treat you wrong from time to time, cuz I am an imperfect man. We all just faded and disto’ted copies of God’s glorious visage, ain’t we?”

“Uh-“

“No talkin’ just yet, boy, but I like yo’ enthusiasm,” he said. He gave Charlie a quick peck on the cheek. “If you my wife, I still rape you. I still gonna hit you when I gotta correct yo’ behavior, and maybe a little fo’ fun — but I always make that up to you, baby, I always say I’m sorry and give you some sugar to make up for misbehavin’.” He paused and smiled. “See? I normally give this little speech to straight boys who gonna pretend to be gay. I make love to they squirmin’ virgin ass till they bore me and I sells ‘em off. But you really a faggot, right?”

“Yeah-“

“See, now that’s nice. You ain’t gotta pretend. I might not get bored of you. I love fuckin’ faggots. Once you fuck a straight boy hard enough, he stop fightin’ back, then it’s like fuckin’ a dead fish. But a faggot, boy, I can make a faggot squirm for days,” he said. He licked his lips. “Suck on my finger.” He held up his middle finger, and Charlie sucked it down. It was callused and salty, and tasted a little of tonight’s dinner — hot dog and ketchup. Jackson licked his lips. “If you was straight and pretendin’ to be gay, you’d be gaggin’ right now, and I’d be saying that I fuck you so good you turn into a faggot fo’ real. I tell ‘em I know how to make ‘em cum from the prostate — you know about the prostate, right? Course you do, you a faggot — I tell ‘em that and make ‘em tell me they like it. I make ‘em jack off when I fuck ‘em. Ain’t nothin’ better than a straight boy cumming when you fuck ‘im.”

“Can I suck your dick now?” Charlie asked. He thought getting on Jackson’s good side would be helpful. Jackson was very sexy and in any other environment, Charlie would have genuinely wanted to suck his dick. But this was too frightening for him. He couldn’t even think about any actual desire for sex. All his mind focused on was Jackson’s intense words ringing in his ears.

“No you may not, but thank you for askin’,” he said. “I gotta work out. You watch me and study my body, so you can worship it later.” He paused. “Straight boys get this real cute look in they face when I say that.”

“I bet,” Charlie said. He smiled. “You are really hot, you know.”

“I know. Thank you fo’ sayin’ it, sweetheart.” He smiled. He got down on the ground and started doing push-ups. He counted off, and Charlie watched him the whole time. Then he did a series of other workouts using a pillowcase filled with odds and ends as a weight, and he almost totally ignored Charlie the entire time.

Eventually Charlie lost interest in watching him. He studied the marks carved into the stone wall of the cell, trying to decipher their meaning.

“Alright, you can suck my dick now,” Jackson said suddenly, startling Charlie, who suspected that Jackson had been waiting for Charlie to get distracted. He seemed like he enjoyed those sorts of mindgames — he wouldn’t want Charlie to suck his dick because Charlie desired it, so he waited for Charlie to get involved in something else. He didn’t wait for Charlie to react either, he just grabbed him by the neck and made him lean over the edge of the bunk. In seconds, Jackson had his limp dick ramming into Charlie’s throat, while his hand squeezed his neck and his balls swayed in front of Charlie’s eyes. If Charlie had been straight, he thought, that would have been terrifying. “Open up that throat, boy.”

Jackson coughed like he was surprised at how good Charlie was at deep-throating, especially so suddenly. He whistled his appreciation as his balls slapped against Charlie’s nose. There was nearly a foot of black throbbing cockmeat in Charlie’s throat.

“Fuck, you oughta give lessons to the prison bitches around here. A lot of ‘em can’t suck worth a damn, man.” He groaned and started grinding his hips to get his dick in even deeper.

Charlie’s throat did gag and clench, but he was used to that. He was able to fight against his instincts, allowing every last inch of Jackson’s dick to fill up his gullet. His head swam. He was dizzy, tears leaking down his cheeks.

“Hey, boy, hey boy, look up here. Focus,” Jackson said, snapping his fingers to get Charlie’s attention. He swayed his hips, making Charlie gag as his balls dragged over his chin. “Look me in the eye when you suck my dick. Touch me right here if you understand.” He pointed to his left pectoral muscle.

Charlie had to reach up to touch him there. Jackson nodded like he was satisfied. Then he pulled out. As soon as he did, Charlie hoarsely gasped for air. Jackson grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head up so Jackson could watch.

“Yo, it takes three seconds to take a breath.” He held up three fingers, quickly counted down, then pushed Charlie back to the ground. Charlie had barely gotten a breath in before Jackson’s cock slammed back into his mouth.

Jackson was relentless and had his cock deep in Charlie’s throat again in moments. Once more he swayed his balls over Charlie’s chin and laughed when he choked. Spit spilled out of Charlie’s mouth, sliding down his cheeks and making a little puddle on the floor of the cell.

“You got three seconds to breathe. That’s what it takes. Any more than that is you on vacation, and I don’t allow my boys to take no time off,” he said. “You is doin’ a good job. I’s proud of you, sweetheart.” He spoke rather flatly, like he had read somewhere that he should give positive reinforcement but didn’t understand why.

He repeated that cycle several times. He held his cock in Charlie’s throat, fucking him back and forth, reminding him to keep his eyes aimed up at Jackson’s face, then gave him three seconds to breathe before resuming the cycle all over again. Charlie was so dizzy and discombobulated that he had no idea how long that lasted, and it was a complete shock when Jackson came — if he gave signs beforehand, Charlie didn’t notice them.

All of a sudden, just as Jackson slammed his dick in once again, a load of salty cum hit Charlie’s tongue. This time Jackson didn’t move, he rammed his dick down Charlie’s gullet and held it there, his load flowing directly into Charlie’s stomach. It was hot and creamy, salty, sour and delicious on Charlie’s tongue.

“Good boy, swallow it all, swallow it all. Don’t gag, no, I don’t like gaggin’ at this stage — you can gag when I fuck ya throat, that’s yo’ body reactin’ instinctively, but don’t you never gag on my cum, boy. That’s disrespectful. I might have to punish you if you do that. You look so pretty wit’ my cum dripping down yo’ chin. Look me in the eye. Who do you love?”

“Uh, you-“

He slapped Charlie, not as hard as he could, but hard enough. “Don’t say uh, don’t hesitate. If you in love, you ain’t gotta hesitate. If you know that shit in yo’ heart, you don’t gotta think about it.” He paused. “Who do you love?”

“You.”

“Good boy.” He bristled and sniffled. “Sorry I hit ya. I don’t like hearin’ my boys hesitate, that’s all. Who do you love?”

“You.”

“Good. Good, good. Who fucks you the best you ever been fucked?”

“You.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Finally it was all over. Jackson made him sit there with remnants of cum on his face. Charlie stayed motionless, basking in the glow of his own orgasm. He was glad to be settling in, he thought, and he was glad Jackson was his prison husband.

At last, Jackson allowed him to clean up and go to bed. Charlie was genuinely grateful, and he already couldn’t wait to be fucked again. As soon as lights out came, Charlie had an idea.

“Jackson, can I masturbate tonight thinking of you kissing me? I just think you’re so hot-“

“Yes, sweetheart, you may, as long as you eat all yo’ own cum. Thank you for asking.”

The Black Cop

Here’s the beginning of The Black Cop, a new yaoi tale by Lee Lane Lamplight!

 

Nelson never thought this would happen. It only happened in gay porn, right?

But here he was, sliding to his knees in front of the mountainous black cop, Officer Toulouse, with his deep Louisiana accent and a chest so broad and strapping he looked like a professional wrestler. Any moment now Nelson expected him to rip off his shirt and pound on his chest.

Officer Toulouse — or Alan, as he had said Nelson should call him — had a handsome if gruff face, with a noble jaw, high cheeks and a brilliant cop mustache. Nelson loved men with facial hair, and Toulouse had one of the best, fullest and sexiest copstaches he had ever seen. He barely fit in his uniform shirt too, biceps bulging from his sleeves and tattoos peeking out from his chest.

That was fine with Nelson, who didn’t even want him to be wearing a shirt right now. But he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask him to take it off. He seemed like the kind of macho alpha male who thought real men didn’t take their clothes off when they let gay dudes suck them off. So Nelson just watched his pecs bounce beneath his brown uniform.

“Ah, yeah, man, my wife ain’t suck me off in years, man… Used to be just on my birthday, but then she stopped doing that,” he said with a moan. He closed his eyes.

His fat cock drilled down Nelson’s throat. It stiffened almost right away, his big veiny shaft rubbing against every inch of Nelson’s mouth. The flavor of his musky body and his hairy crotch assaulted Nelson’s senses. He moaned, gurgling merrily on the taste of his cock.

Nelson had had a crush on Officer Toulouse for more than a year. A homeless man had passed out drunk on Nelson’s porch one night, so when Nelson woke up, he called the police. Officer Toulouse showed up and Nelson was so smitten he blushed and giggled as he explained, even despite the smell of the homeless man who had pissed himself on the front lawn. That was a long time ago, but Nelson kept running into Toulouse — buying coffee at the same time, on the side of the road when Nelson’s car broke down and once in the courthouse parking garage while Nelson paid a speeding ticket.

His hands gripped Nelson’s head and held on tightly. He groaned as though Nelson was scratching an itch that Toulouse had been unable to reach for a long time. Toulouse leaned his head back and his crotch forward, bending himself in both directions to give Nelson easy access to his cock.

“Ah, shit, man… You should give lessons on handlin’ meat…”

Nelson gurgled as he deep-throated him. Nelson loved sucking dick, and Officer Toulouse’s was particularly sweet and meaty. Nelson had never been one of those gay men who were into rough trade, or big black cocks, or even uniform studs. He saw the attraction of that stuff, but it wasn’t really his thing.

The Pimp

Here’s the beginning of The Pimp, a new yaoi MM novelette by Lee Lane Lamplight!

 

Carl was glad to be single again, but he was beginning to regret his living arrangement. After divorcing his husband, Carl had moved into an apartment in Bloomington, Illinois. He couldn’t afford a really nice place, but he didn’t want to live in the ghetto. He found an apartment in a safe-looking building; it wasn’t exactly in a nice neighborhood, but the building was fine and the front door was locked all the time. Carl thought he’d simply stay in most nights, avoid the streets when it was dark out and keep his head down. He didn’t intend to live here long-term anyway, it was just a short-term way to get through this stressful period in his life.

He didn’t have much stuff. It was all Brandon’s. Carl felt both like he had discarded a useless appendage but still kind of missed it and like he was a useless appendage that had been discarded but, he hoped, was still kind of missed. Carl was glad to be rid of Brandon regardless. Brandon had become toxic, a destructive part of Carl’s life. Brandon wasn’t even into gay guys, not really — Brandon only liked sex if it was rough trade. He sucked off straight guys, the rougher and dirtier the better. Carl wasn’t into that.

There was a knock on his door. Carl peered through the peephole, where he saw a tall black man with broad shoulders and a big nasty scar on his neck. He wore a vibrantly colored purple suit with a matching hat and a brilliant yellow tie.

“Uh, hello?” Carl hesitantly opened the door. He kept it on the chain, but as he did so, the chain pulled right off — it wasn’t attached to the door. The door swung wide open.

“Howdy, suh, it’s right nice to meet’cha, yessuh,” said the black man with a charming smile. “My name is Lance, I live right down the hall from ya. I just wanted to say how-do-yo-do and make sure you settlin’ in alright.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah. Cool. It’s cool. I’’m, uh… cool. You’re… cool. It’s okay. Thanks. Thank you,” Carl said. Then he added, “I’m Carl.”

“Well alright, Carl. If you need anythin’, suh, you come see me, reckon? I run this buildin’ more than Mr. Sazo. I got you covered,” he said. “Ya feel me?”

“Yeah-“

“Also, I think it’s important to keep the lines of communication flowin’ between neighbors. Don’t you?”

“Yeah-“

“Good, good, I think open and honest communication is what matters. That’s what makes this buildin’ a community,” he said.

“Sure, sure-“

“So I promise — I swear to God, on my Mama’s grave, on the American flag I hold so dear-“ He took the purple hat off his head. “-I swear, if I got some kinda problem wit’ you, suh, I will come right to you. I will have the respec’ to come to you like a man. Ya feel me?”

“Yeah-“

“And we can talk about it then. We can work together to find a solution,” Lance said. He paused for a long time. He peered directly into Carl’s eyes. He stank of cologne, and his strapping muscles rippled beneath that purple suit, making Carl’s dick stiffen in his pants. Lance snorted. “You feel the same way?”

“Uh… yeah-“

“Good. So if you start dislikin’ the way I act, or if you see somethin’ that makes you uncomfortable, you come right to me. Don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars, don’t call the cops, don’t sit at home and stew like a passive-aggressive loser, don’t call the cops, and most importantly-“ He touched Carl’s lips with one callused finger. “Don’t nevuh call the cops.”

“Okay.”

“Good. I’m glad we on the same page, Carl. Lemme give you a welcome present,” Lance said. “What kinda girls you like? I don’t allow my girls to come in this buildin’ — that’s just a rule I got, no exceptions — so you gonna have to take her to a motel. I pay for it. This is my gift to you, Carl.”

“Oh. So you’re…?”

“A pussy-rancher, yeah,” he said. He chuckled dryly and grabbed his cock through his violet slacks. “A girl-farmer. If you evuh need to find me out on the street, I’m Mr. Fantastic.”

“Cool…”

“Yeah. It is cool, man,” he said. He smiled, showing off huge dimples. “You alright, whiteman. Most people who move in here get all scared of me, actin’ like I’s some kinda nigga who gonna steal they car, but I ain’t down with that. I don’t allow crime, nosuh, when you live in my building, you be safe, you be protected, you get all of ya needs fulfilled, boy, for real. Come on, what kinda girls you like? You want a fat Asian girl to lick your butthole? I got two Chinese, but one of ‘em is Malaysian, you know what Malaysian is? Malaysians is exotic, whiteman.”

“No. No, thanks, no fat, uh, Asian rimjobs,” Carl said. He blushed, heart thumping and sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m, uh, not really into girls.”

Lance scoffed and leaned back. He furrowed his brow, sizing Carl up. He lowered his head and inhaled Carl’s face. He nodded.

“Yeah. I see that,” he said. “Alright, yeah. I believe ya.” He pushed past Carl into his apartment. “Where’s ya stuff? This place is empty.”

“I don’t really have a lot of stuff. I need to buy some furniture,” Carl said. He wanted to tell Lance to leave, but he didn’t want to start off his relationship with his neighbor on poor footing. Besides that, Lance’s muscle-bound body was so sexy Carl couldn’t help but daydream about him even through that purple suit.

Is this a home invasion? It feels polite, but I didn’t invite him in.

“Mr. Fantastic got ya covered, boy, swear to God.” He snapped his fingers in front of Carl’s face. “Lookit me, sweetheart.” When Carl’s eyes were trained on his, Lance unzipped his slacks and pulled out a massive, veiny black shaft. “There ya go. Give it a suck.”

The Prison Wife Treatment

Here’s the beginning of The Prison Wife Treatment, a hardcore story of alpha male worship by Calvin Freeman!

 

“Alright, baby, go in there and make me somethin’ tasty,” Ruddy said. He kissed Sal on the cheek, making Sal flush with desire and arousal.

He was Ruddy’s prison wife. Not really, of course, since they weren’t in prison, but Sal had asked Ruddy to treat him like a prison wife (and paid him handsomely for it). That’s because Ruddy was the sexiest mandingo stud Sal had ever seen. He was a tall thug with short braids and a harsh glare to his mean eyes; he had broad, strapping muscles like a farmworked ox, marked with legions of prison tattoos. He had spent twenty of his forty years in prison, though it was mostly in short stays of a year or two at a time.

Sal hurried into the kitchen. He had assumed this would be mainly about sex, but the first thing Ruddy asked for was food. Sal cooked him a quesadilla because that was just about all Sal had — he didn’t cook much and the kitchen was mostly empty. He hadn’t thought about buying food just for Ruddy.

This all started because Sal had gathered up the courage to go to the local prison and make an offer. All he wanted to do was suck Ruddy’s dick — he was the sexiest non-skinhead to be released that day — but Ruddy said no. Ruddy said he wasn’t gay and wouldn’t fuck with any man under any circumstances.

But, Ruddy said, there was a loophole: when someone became a prison wife, he said, that person was effectively female. It didn’t count fucking a prison wife. I reckon I could use one too, whiteman, yessuh, I don’t think there gonna be lotta females who wanna give up the pussy, so I could use a prison wife on the outside.

So they had both agreed upon the terms of their relationship. Even though it was scary and strange and off-putting, Sal had agreed to it. He had agreed to pay Ruddy a bit of money every week, plus give him a free place to stay. That was how Ruddy strolled into Sal’s house just a few hours after getting out of prison.

He just took one look at Sal’s dumpy little house and scowled. “You best start cleanin’ up in here, baby. I don’t much like mess, and I hate clutter. I’s gonna start punishin’ you tomorrow e’ry time I see it like this.”

“Okay, yes. I will.” Sal caught a harsh glare from Ruddy’s dark eyes. He stumbled over his words. “I will… uh, sir.”

“I ain’t a cop, don’t call me sir. Call me papi, and say it as though I make you horny,” Ruddy said. He imitated a Spanish girl seducing her boyfriend. “Papi!”

“… Oh-“

“You hesitatin’?” Ruddy advanced on Sal as though going to hit him.

“No! I’ll call you whatever you want! Papi,” Sal said, struggling to make it sound sexy because he was scared of Ruddy. He had always known there was a chance that this would be dangerous, but now that he had Ruddy in his home, it seemed even riskier than Sal had ever guessed. Ruddy could do rob him, burn the house down, frame Sal for a crime or just fly into an uncontrollable rage.

As Ruddy moved into his room — he had very few things after this most recent stay in prison — Sal finished cooking the quesadilla. He served it on a plate with a few sprigs of cilantro, but Ruddy scowled as though he didn’t like that. He didn’t tell Sal not to do it though.

“Get on your knees while I eat.”

Sal did as he was told. Ruddy sat on the couch. He was shirtless now because he had been moving his things into the house, and now he was sweaty. His chest muscles gleamed. Sal kneeled in front of him.

“You don’t eat when I eat. You should be on your knees watching in case I want something,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I’m a good husband, baby. As long as you mind yaself and do as ya told, I’ll treat you right.”

“Yes, papi.”

“Start fingerin’ ya throat.”

Sal hesitated before he pushed his finger into his mouth. Ruddy didn’t respond, he just took another bite. Sal pushed his finger deeper in, until he gagged.

“Good. Keep doing that,” Ruddy said. “Work on your gag reflex.”

“I will, papi, I promise. I won’t gag on your cock. I-“

He smacked Sal. “No. I ain’t say that. Did I? Don’t you get ahead of yaself. You don’t know what to do, you stupid bitch, don’t try and pretend you smart.”

Sal blushed. “Oh. Sorry, papi.”

“You s’posed to gag. I like makin’ bitches gag,” he said. He paused and sniffled. “Sorry I got salty wit’cha, baby. I got a demon inside-a me, it comes out when I see pretty girls like you behavin’ improperly. Don’t speak outta turn, baby.” He snorted. “You s’posed to gag, I ain’t trainin’ you not to gag. E’ry time you gag on my meat, that’s how I know you love me.”

“Yes, papi.”

“You gotta work on gaggin’ more, and gaggin’ without spitting out my dick. I like gaggin’. Gaggin’ on my dick is how you show you care, girl,” he said. He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Did I hurt ya feelings? You can still make me leave. You still gotta pay me, but-“

“No. I want to be your prison wife. Treat me like that. I’ll learn,” Sal said. He blushed. “I’ll learn how to behave properly.”

“That’s right. You will. I am a good educator, baby. I am a firm and fair teacher.” He finished his quesadilla and wiped the grease off his fingers on Sal’s shirt.. He put the plate down on the coffee table. He spread his legs and pulled his cock out.

“Take your clothes off,” he said. He had a big black cock, which was already throbbing beneath his fingers even though it was still limp. He burped loudly, blowing the fetid air into Sal’s face. He thwacked his cock against the palm of his hand, accentuating how thick it was. Sal couldn’t wait to do anal (though they had already planned on that not happening just yet — Sal wanted to build up to it).

Sal felt skinny and weak next to Ruddy, who stood up. He peered at Sal’s naked body. He caressed each of his limbs and his chest and back — not in a sexual way, more like a farmer might inspect a horse — and grunted his approval. He grabbed Sal’s dick and snorted.

“You got a tiny dick,” he said. He flopped his own massive cock against Sal’s. He chuckled. “No wonder you act like a girl.”

Sal blushed. “Yeah. I guess so, papi.”

Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court

Here’s the first chapter of Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court, a new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s an incredible tale of rough trade, urban lust and mandingo meat!

“Blowjob.” Jake spoke quietly, hanging out near the basketball hoop. He didn’t want to attract a lot of attention, not from the crowd — he did want to attract attention from the two guys playing.

Jake was gay, and he was hanging out at the Wilson Street basketball court, like he used to do when he had just come out of the closet. Since then he had gone to college, started a career, had a long-term relationship with a jerk named Adam, dumped Adam, got really into homemade sushi, nearly made the disastrous decision to open his own sushi house, briefly hooked back up with Adam before dumping him again, and now he was back here at the Wilson Street basketball court once more.

“Blowjob.” Jake felt a little silly, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t planned on doing this until he drove by and saw his old haunt.

There were two young black men playing one-on-one basketball. They were both shirtless, their bare brown chests gleaming with sweat. One of them was very tall and lanky; the other was shorter and more muscular.

“Blowjob.”

“What?” said one of them, the taller one. He was named Hardesty, and he stopped moving near the basket after having scored.

“I’ll suck you off, man,” Jake said. He smiled flirtatiously at Hardesty, stepped forward and placed one finger on his chest. Hardesty furrowed his brow and looked down at the finger. Jake scooped up sweat from his pectoral muscle, then sucked it off his finger.

Hardesty chuckled. “You crazy, man.”

Jake nodded. “Maybe. But I suck dick good.”

“Hey, whatchoo doin’, come on,” said the shorter player, jogging over to Hardesty. “We got a game goin’ on.”

“Sweetlips over here gonna suck off the winner,” Hardesty said. He and the shorter guy were both out of breath but trying to hide it so they didn’t look weak to each other.

“He gonna suck me off?” the shorter man said with a grin. “I ain’t agree to that, but… well, okay-“

“Nah, the winner,” Hardesty said. “He gonna suck off the winner. Me.”

“Winner? You gotta score some points, nigga. You light-years behind right now.”

“I’s only behind cuz you off on some travel, nigga, you been travelin’ all over this court-“

“Oh, come on, there ain’t no ref to work, boy, you just gotta play-“

They continued bickering as they resumed play. Jake was disappointed. He hadn’t gotten any firm answer. But they didn’t say no either.

The game was over soon after. Maybe Hardesty really wanted the blowjob and it made him play harder, because he scored three times in quick succession, giving him the lead. When the game was over, Hardesty pounded on his chest and flexed his biceps towards the folks hanging out on the sidelines. Most of them didn’t pay any attention. The only person who cheered was Jake.

Hardesty smiled awkwardly at him, as the shorter player laughed and patted Hardesty’s bare belly. Hardesty bit his lip and made eye contact with Jake.

“You got that, boy,” the shorter player said as he walked away, shirt in hand. He cackled. “You nasty, Hardesty. He ain’t even dressed like a girl.”

“Don’t be hatin’ just cuz I got meat that needs attention, nigga! Real thugs like me gotta get they shit handled!” Hardesty called out loud enough to attract attention from the others, who giggled at him. Hardesty grabbed his dick through his shorts and smiled at the girls. “Hey, how you doin’?”

They didn’t give him the time of day. Hardesty scoffed and walked away, basketball in hand. He nodded at Jake, who quietly and surreptitiously followed him into the public bathroom. It was almost never used, so it wasn’t dirty, but it was almost never cleaned, so it wasn’t clean either. It was just dusty and grimy. Jake knew it well.

He immediately sunk to his knees, even before the door had swung shut. Hardesty blocked the door with the heavy trash can so they’d have some privacy.

“Ain’t seen you… uh… Damn, boy, you in a rush?” Hardesty grimaced at Jake’s eagerness. Jake pulled his shorts and boxers down, then kissed his dick right on the tip.

“I don’t see any reason to slow down,” Jake said with a grin. He put the tip of Hardesty’s cock in his mouth and hocked up spit right onto it. Hardesty groaned and leaned against the wall of the bathroom.

“Goddamn,” Hardesty said. He closed his eyes. “Shit… Boy, you are one crazy gay.”

Jake smiled. He slathered spit all over Hardesty’s rod, which made Hardesty gasp and bite his lip like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good. Hardesty shifted and wiggled.

As his cock stiffened up in Jake’s mouth, Hardesty lifted his shirt up. He didn’t take it off, but he raised it over his head and the back of his neck. He had ropy muscles, which Jake reached up to caress, his bulging biceps, flat belly — though he didn’t quite have a six-pack — and his mountainous pecs. His muscles all twitched as though he didn’t entirely want Jake to feel him up but thought it would be rude to say that.

Jake didn’t mind. When he used to suck basketball players off, a lot of them thought it seemed too gay to let Jake do anything besides suck cock. They sometimes got angry if he even massaged their asscheeks or played with their balls.

Luckily, Hardesty didn’t seem too bothered by it, even if he did dumbfoundedly watch Jake’s fingers explore his body. A few drops of sweat ran down his skin and onto Jake’s hand.

“Shit… This is some nasty thug shit. Why don’t girls ever suck like this, man?” Hardesty asked as he leaned back and sighed. His whole body wriggled and he bit his lip.

“Girls don’t have the right equipment,” Jake said. He flopped Hardesty’s dick over his face. “They don’t know how it feels. Besides, girls like relationships and stuff. They don’t just suck off hot guys. They’re so stupid. If I was a girl, I’d be the biggest slut in the world, oh my god. I’d suck off all the thugs.” Jake giggled as salty precum flowed over his tongue and his lips.

“I bet you would.” He paused. “Hey, you smoke weed?”

Jake nodded. “You got some? Light it up, baby-“

“Nah, nah, I’s sellin’. You wanna buy?”

“Oh… no thanks,” Jake said. “I’ve already got a guy.”

“Who? What’s his name? Tell me,” Hardesty said with a big grin. He moved his hips, swaying his cock back and forth over Jake’s face. Jake chased it with his tongue.

“Greg. You don’t know him.”

“He gay?”

Jake nodded.

“Why you buy weed from a gay? They ain’t thugs. They don’t know nothin’-“

“He’s really convenient, sorry,” Jake said. He grabbed Hardesty’s dick and licked it all up and down, hoping that would punctuate how final Jake’s decision was.

“You shouldn’t buy weed from whiteboys.”

“I didn’t say he was white. I said he was gay.”

“He a nigga?”

Jake nodded. “They can be both.”

Hardesty bristled a little and shifted his weight between his feet. “Guess that’s okay then. If he evuh run out or somethin’, you gimme a call, I can hook you up.” He paused. “You gonna swallow my nut, right?”

“Of course.” Jake resumed deep-throating while Hardesty beamed like he was getting away with something. Hardesty’s hands wrapped over Jake’s head and he held on tight.

Hardesty moved his hips as though he was going to facefuck Jake, but Jake didn’t cooperate — he kept on moving his head and sucking, sputtering up mountains of spit which he then suckled right off Hardesty’s dick. Hardesty groaned and moaned, twisting, squirming, wincing when he saw that his boxers were soaked with spit.

“Ah shit, whoah…” Hardesty yelped. He stood on his toes, then his knees buckled and he almost collapsed onto the floor. He leaned against the wall. “Alright, yeah… I can take it, boi, go ‘head, keep on suckin’.”

Jake smiled to himself. He had Hardesty right where he wanted him. He rammed his mouth all the way down and forced Hardesty’s dick deep into his gullet. The sweet, musky flavor of his manmeat assaulted Jake’s senses and made his eyes water.

A sound came from Hardesty’s mouth, a mixture between a bark and a grunt, with a long, low sputtering quality. A few drops of drool even slipped out past Hardesty’s lips as his cock sprayed cum right into Jake’s throat.

Jake was well-practiced at this part — he loved swallowing cum. He stayed on his knees, holding onto Hardesty’s body with his nose nestled in Hardesty’s sweat-musky crotch. His bristly pubic hair scratched Jake’s face.

“Ah! Oh! Oh shit! Ah! Ah, damn, ah damn, don’t move, boy, damn, ah, ah, ah, ah…”

Hot and creamy cum coated Jake’s throat, while Hardesty squirmed and gasped. The flavor of salty, sour juices flooded Jake’s senses, making him think of nothing but servicing Hardesty’s hot body. Even as Jake felt himself growing dizzy from lack of oxygen, he stayed right there, swallowing every drop of cum.

Then he pulled off, with a loud lip-smacking moan. He had sprayed his own wad onto the linoleum floor of the public bathroom.

Hardesty had his eyes closed. He was a little pale, and he looked like he might cry. His whole body shook. “Holy shit, goddamn…” He sunk to the ground.

“Was that your first time?”

Hardesty chuckled dryly. “Yeah, man. I was gonna lie, I was gonna pretend I did this before. But… I ain’t got the energy to lie, man. I ain’t nevuh get a blowjob like that before. You my first male and… damn, you suck like you got somethin’ to prove.”

“You have a nice dick.”

“I think you ruined it man,” he said with a sigh. He was on the ground, his pants and boxers around his ankles. “Damn, you got me on the ground in this place. It’s nasty.”

“You want help up?” Jake asked as he stood and stretched his sore knees.

“Nah, man. Lemme just… I gotta recover, man. You got a cigarette? I don’t smoke, but…” He took a cigarette from Jake, who even lit it first for him. He took a deep drag off it. Despite his words, it looked like he did smoke — he inhaled like he knew what he was doing, and he didn’t cough.

Jake moved the trash can that blocked the door. Then he wrote down his phone number and gave it to Hardesty. “Anytime you want me to rock your world again, gimme a call.”

He walked out before the bleary-eyed Hardesty could come up with an answer.

Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates, which is now permanently free in the Kindle Store and on Smashwords! It’s part of the amazing Str8 Till Dark series of gay erotica about men whose straightness bends when the lights go out!

As Brian curled up on the floor to get some sleep, he tried to decide whether this had gone better or worse than he had expected. It was hard to tell. He had predicted a catastrophically bad entrance to prison life — that was just the way his mind worked, constantly coming up with disastrous possibilities. But it wasn’t really as bad as it could be. The worst part was simply that Brian had no protection. Nothing good had happened to him, which was bad, but nothing too bad had happened to him either, and that was good.

Brian had covered up his anxiety when he strode into Brutewood prison. He was a handsome young white man with long hair he kept pulled back into a ponytail. Given everything that he knew about prison life, he fully expected to have gay sex.

He was fine with that, more or less. Brian was straight, but he loved being anally penetrated by dildos or fingers. He had never actually taken a cock in his ass, and he was willing to try it — giving it up in exchange for protection behind bars was not his ideal scenario for experimenting with getting fucked, but he wasn’t too upset about it either.

Officer Armstrong shoved him into the prison cell and shut the door. It was much larger than Brian had thought it would be, but there were already twelve people there. There were also only twelve bunks, while Brian was the thirteenth person.

“Turn around and stick your hands out,” Officer Armstrong said. He sounded bored.

Brian was not bored. His heart felt like it might pound through his chest. He stuck his cuffed hands through the opening in the doorway. Officer Armstrong unlocked the cuffs.

“There’s not enough bunks,” Brian said. He shook his head to unlodge his hair where it stuck to the back of his neck.

“Then kill yourself,” Officer Armstrong said as he walked away. He laughed, the deep, baritone sound resonating in the steel-lined prison corridor.

Brian turned around. Twelve dour black man stared back at him. No one said anything. Brian had always been an outgoing and friendly young man, so his mind raced as he tried to think of something to say.

“So, uh… guys… I guess we’re prisonmates, huh?”

Someone chuckled dryly, but no one responded. Six of the men were playing poker, and they resumed the game without looking at Brian. Three others were taking turns working out, doing improvised pull-ups on a bar they had set up in the middle of the cell. The bar was also for hanging laundry, but they had taken all the clothes off before exercising. Their corded muscles gleamed, and Brian felt small and vulnerable.

He supposed he was meant to sleep on the floor. There was plenty of room in one corner, and he had been given a sheet, a blanket and a pillow, which smelled like piss though it looked clean. Brian wanted to cry.

He took a deep breath. He had been told what to do, and he had rehearsed it. He thought for sure he could pull it off.

He went to the biggest thug in the room. He was a tall, middle-aged black man with a burly body brimming with muscle and bravado. He was not exactly dressed like a thug — not like the others, he had a trimmed mustache, well-fitting pants, just a few tattoos, but he still talked like a pimp as he encouraged the others in their workout.

“C’mon, nigga, yeah! Push it!” He barked, slapping a younger black man  on his ass as he lifted himself up and down doing pull-ups.

“Hey, uh, excuse me, uh,” Brian said, trying to get the man’s attention. He blushed. “My name is, uh, Brian-“

“Nice to meetcha, Brian,” said the large man. Despite his relatively polite words, he spoke with a crude sneer on his face and a harsh look in his eyes. “Whatchoo want, whiteboi?”

“Uh… I’m just, I was told… uh… I know this can be a dangerous place-“

“Hurry the fuck up and say it.”

“I want your protection!”

“What?”

“Please protect me,” Brian said. He blushed again. “I… I’ll let you fuck me. I promise. I’ll… You can fuck me. I’m not gay, but, uh-“

The man cocked his head to the side. “My name is Samson, Brian. I ‘ppreciate yo’ offer. But I gotta decline.”

“Yeah, whiteboi, we ain’t like that no mo’.”

“We don’t rape whitebois.”

“That’s against the rules nowadays.”

“No one here gonna fuck wit’ you, whiteboi.”

“Ha! Queerbait!” That was Officer Armstrong, who was walking past the doorway. Brian blushed. He hadn’t meant to offer in front of a guard.

And so that was that. They dismissed Brian, who blushed and stumbled back to the corner of the cell he had decided to use as his bed. They ignored him after that. He wasn’t sure how to take that. Had they only said no because Officer Armstrong was there? He didn’t know. They hadn’t promised he’d be safe outside of the cell, and he didn’t trust them in the slightest.

But there was nothing to do. He couldn’t force them to promise he’d be safe everywhere in prison. He’d just have to come up with a different plan. Maybe, he thought, movies overdramatized prison life. Maybe it won’t be that bad.

The lights turned out. The evening had gone by faster than he thought. His prisonmates stayed up talking for a long time, but Brian didn’t complain. He zoned out and pretended he was asleep.

And so that was why he laid fitlessly on the floor, wondering how this was going to turn out. Maybe, he thought, he shouldn’t have asked to get fucked. That might have been bad advice.

Once the prison was quiet, however, a few whispered voices filled the air. Brian couldn’t tell if they spoke thinking he was asleep and couldn’t hear, or if they wanted him to hear it.

“You gonna fuck that whiteboi?!”

“Hell nah. I ain’t down wit’ dat.”

“I betcha big-nigga do it.”

“Fuck you, asshole. I ain’t down wit’ dat gaybones shit. You know who gonna do it? That whiteboi got it right when he offer Samson-“

“Hey!” Samson’s deep voice boomed. “Shut yo’ stupid nigga faces.” Samson was the biggest and oldest and, it seemed, he was in charge. No one talked for a few minutes. Then someone chuckled, which caused someone else to laugh. Soon the cell was full of deep-voiced thugs laughing, at what Brian couldn’t tell.

“Samson gonna get gay as shit, we all know it.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Samson got up and stalked around the cell like he wanted to figure out who had spoken. “None of you say jack-shit, motherfuckers. I ain’t no kinda queer.”

Brian was still nervous. The more they insisted that they weren’t going to fuck him, the more sure he was that they were. He really wouldn’t mind trying it. He just wanted the option to change his mind partway through, and of course he wanted to be assured he’d be protected while he was locked up.

Samson went back to his bunk, while the rest of the cellmates gradually fell asleep. Brian was wide awake. He soon gave up hope that he’d be able to sleep at all tonight. It was going to be a fitless night without rest.

Soon the cell was silent aside from the noisy breathing and occasional stirring of his prisonmates. Officer Armstrong walked by every half-hour or so but he didn’t look in the cells. Far away, Brian heard an inmate snore, but it wasn’t loud enough to keep him awake.

He yelped when someone touched him. A heavy hand pressed down on his mouth. Callused, rough skin rubbed against his face.

“Sssh…” Samson’s gravelly voice filled Brian’s ear. Brian squirmed, but Samson held him down. “Don’t worry. Ain’t gonna hurtcha. Relax. Chill out, whiteboi. Sssh…” Brian tried to stop moving, but he was instinctively frightened with that hand muffling his mouth. The knowledge that he couldn’t cry out if he wanted to made this terrifying.

Finally Samson calmed Brian down by removing his hand and planting his lips on Brian’s. Brian had never kissed a man before, and he had never thought a straight thug like Samson would kiss him, especially out of nowhere like this. It was so unnerving that Brian did stop fighting back, exactly as Samson intended.

“Good. Relax, whiteboi,” Samson said. He kissed Brian again on the neck. “I ain’t gonna hurtcha.”

“Okay.”

“Sssh… whisper,” Samson said.

“Okay, look-“

“Sssh. You wanna sleep wit’ me?”

“What?”

“We can share a bunk if you want. You can suck my dick like you want, and I’ll fuck you. I ain’t gonna promise you protection though.”

“Oh.”

“Cuz you don’t need it. I always take care of my family, and if you in this cell wit’ me, you my family. You my prisonmate, whiteboi,” Samson said. “If you wanna get fucked cuz you love gettin’ fucked, just come sleep in my bed. You gotta get up and out on the floor real early, so no one sees you. I got a rep to protect. The guards don’t allow us to make love.”

“Oh, well…” Brian felt like kind of a prick. He was glad to have protection, and he didn’t care about doing anything for or with Samson if he didn’t need to. Was it wrong to accept Samson’s protection without giving him anything in return.

But on the other hand, Brian did say that he had wanted to try this. He wanted to see what it was like to get fucked, and he could think of no one better to introduce him to the world of sodomy than the sexy massive prison-thug Samson.

“Okay-“ Brian said. Before he could say anything else, Samson had scooped him up in his arms and brought Brian to his bunk.

It was not a large mattress. Samson was a huge man, well over six-feet tall and built like a brick fuckhouse, as Brian’s grandmother would have said. Samson barely fit in the bunk by himself. When Brian crawled in with him, he was forced to cuddle with Samson’s iron-like muscles.

Samson smacked his lips. He kissed Brian on the ear, and he slowly pushed Brian’s hand to Samson’s crotch. Brian gulped and stuck his fingers through the fly of Samson’s prison-issued shorts.

“There you go, whiteboi, you doin’ nice, keep at it,” Samson said with a low, rumbling groan. He whispered but his voice was so deep it rumbled and echoed in Brian’s ear. “You gay?”

“No,” Brian said. “I, uh… I-“ He gulped. “I like to, uh… I use dildos. Like, on myself.”

“Oh? You like anal?”

“Yeah-“ Brian grunted as Samson rammed one of his fingers in Brian’s asshole. It was his pinkie finger, but he was a big man so it was hefty, and it was callused and rough. Brian squirmed and yelped again.

“You like dat, whiteboi?”

“Uh, no-oooooo!” Brian’s voice broke because his pain turned into pleasure all of a sudden as Samson’s finger hit his prostate. Brian tightened his ass around his finger. “I mean…”

“Ah, yeah, I see dat, you like it. Good boy,” Samson said. “I teach all these niggas in here how to love it when I fuck ‘em. That’s a lesson e’ryone learn sooner or later. I’m glad you learnin’ it sooner. It’s a good lesson, ain’t it?”

“Uh… yeah,” Brian said, his mind too focused on his asshole to think about what Samson was saying. He didn’t even stroke Samson’s dick as he endured the finger-fucking; he just laid there, pinned between Samson and the wall, with his hand gripping Samson’s half-hard dick but not stroking it.

“You wanna suck on it? I’d mighty ‘ppreciate it,” Samson said. He guided Brian’s head. He didn’t force it, but he did give Brian a push.

Brian did want to try it. Samson was ungodly sexy, and the more Brian endured his finger in his ass, the more Brian wanted to experience it all. He didn’t even mind if his other prisonmates found out.

So he allowed Samson to push his head into Samson’s crotch. Brian opened up and swallowed the tip of Samson’s cock.

The taste was powerful and sudden, an explosion of salty meat in his mouth. Brian gagged but that just opened his mouth a little wider, and Samson pushed his dick in farther. Samson groaned and started to move his pinkie finger in and out.

Samson began to writhe as though the blowjob felt so good he couldn’t control himself. His dick stiffened all the way up in Brian’s mouth. He loved the musky, unwashed flavor, and he loved the way he could feel Samson’s heartbeat in the throbbing of his dick. Samson’s muscles tensed when Brian’s hand caressed his chest.

“Told you, nigga,” someone said, and someone else giggled knowingly.

“Samson, we knew you was gonna do it.”

“Samson fuckin’ dat whiteboi! Least surprisin’ thing evuh.”

“Hey! Shut up!” Samson barked. “You gonna get Off’cer Armstrong lookin’ in here.”

They all settled down a little, but it didn’t last long. Now that he knew everyone else was awake, Brian was very self-conscious. His mouth made loud, moist suckling sounds as Samson worked his dick deeper and deeper, and every few seconds Brian choked despite his best efforts. Samson’s finger in his ass made noise too. Brian couldn’t tell how loud it was to everyone else, but to him, it was deafening.

“You doin’ okay, whiteboi, not bad ’t all,” Samson said. He caressed Brian’s head and kissed the air. Then Brian gagged very loudly and Samson clucked his tongue caringly. He grabbed Brian by the ponytail and dragged his head off Samson’s cock. It was such a crude, barbaric action that Brian was surprised when Samson kissed him on the lips. His tongue plunged into Brian’s mouth, but just for a moment.

He returned Brian to sucking his cock. Samson sighed. “You like dat? I don’t kiss boys a lot, okay? I don’t like it much, but I wanna show my ‘ppreciation for you suckin’ my dick nice.”

There were more moist sounds filling the air. At first Brian thought maybe his other prisonmates were having sex. That would be nice, he thought, because it would make him feel less self-conscious.

But then he realized that wasn’t true — they weren’t fucking each other, they were masturbating. They watched Samson’s finger disappear in Brian’s ass in the dim light as though it was an exciting movie, and all eleven of them stroked themselves off. They were each standing or at least sitting up on their cot and watching, cock in hand.

Brian had never been more aroused. He had also never been more embarrassed, but right now the arousal was more prominent in his mind. His own cock was rock-hard, and he tried to jack himself off the best he could crammed into the tiny bunk with Samson.

“Alright, whiteboi, we gonna see how much fun you really is,” Samson said. “Is it okay if I fuck you?”

“Yes, oh god, please, do it,” Brian said. He blushed, not that anyone could see in the darkened cell. His mouth was empty then, and Samson moved with catlike grace despite his huge size and bulky body.

Samson kneeled against the wall, crouched awkwardly so he fit beneath the bunk above his head. His cock stuck straight out. He wrapped his arms around Brian and had him kneel right in front of Samson’s crotch.

His dick rammed right in. Brian’s ass was already open and loose from the fingering, but Samson soon added some lube anyway — it was hog fat, or lard, that he had stolen from the prison kitchen — and his massive dick slid right in.

“Yeah, whiteboi, take it, take e’ry inch of that nigga meat,” he said with a laugh. The others all joined in chuckling, but then shushed each other.

“Yo, guards gonna hear, man, shush.”

“Be quiet!”

Brian squirmed as he endured the ass-fucking. It started off painful, then felt so good he had to suppress a moan again, and then it hurt again before it became a low, slow, melting pleasure that made him wiggle like a worm.

His body was limp and submissive. Brian felt like he was falling because he kneeled on the bunk in front of Samson, who was also kneeling, but the bunk wasn’t really wide enough for both of them to sit up in front of each other like that. So Brian was suspended over the air, held aloft only by Samson’s arms keeping him in a bear hold. If Samson let go, Brian would plummet face-first onto the floor.

The pressure and pleasure in his ass was so intense Brian couldn’t even moan. He kept his mouth open but the only sound that came out was a strangled moan.

One of Samson’s hands remained in place, wrapped around Brian’s chest and holding him in place, while his other hand roamed south. Brian had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to say anything about it as Samson’s hand wrapped around his dick. Brian spasmed and gasped. The other prisonmates laughed quietly at Brian’s frenzied reaction, but they didn’t know Samson gave Brian a reacharound as he fucked.

“Hey,” Samson whispered into Brian’s ear, his chest muscles writhing and flexing against Brian’s back. “You wanna be the coolest whiteboi evuh?”

“Huh, yeah?”

“Whatchoo think, whiteboi?”

Brian’s mind struggled to focus on Samson’s words. He gasped and squirmed in Samson’s muscles. What had seemed awkward and strange at first was now deeply arousing. Brian loved the feel of potent, hairy, masculine power flexing against his flesh, and Samson’s throbbing fuckstick demolishing Brian’s ass. It was better than his girlfriend’s purple strap-on, which had been Brian’s go-to orgasm device for a long time.

His prostate tingled with such intensity that Brian could barely speak. He managed to say, “yeah”, not caring what the plan was — he would do anything his ebony sex-god of a cellmate wanted.

“Open yo’ mouth, whiteboi,” Samson said. He pried Brian’s mouth apart. “Yo’ prisonmates gonna nut in yo’ throat. This is like all of us sayin’ hello, okay? We gonna be good friends aftuh this. You gonna taste our nuts, nice and creamy goin’ down yo’ throat, okay?”

“Oh god yes,” Brian said. He opened his mouth.

Instantly two cocks pushed in at once. There were some deep grunting noises, and someone pushed someone else.

“Get outta my way.”

“I’m first, nigga, move!” In the end, both men shot their loads just seconds after Brian got the first taste of cockmeat. They had both been on the verge of orgasm already. Creamy, salty cum invaded Brian’s mouth. The flavor was not exactly tasty, but it was savory and Brian wanted more.

A loud clanging sound erupted, and everyone jumped “Hey!” Officer Armstrong stood outside the cell. He had slammed his nightstick on the door. “I’m gonna turn on the light in about five seconds, shitweasels. Ya hear me? If I see somethin’ in there that I gotta intervene about, you had best believe I am gonna shove this entire prison up your stupid shitweasel assholes!”

A moment of silence filled the air, and then Officer Armstrong began counting. “Five!” He banged on the door once more. Everyone in the cell burst into a frenzy of activity. Brian was annoyed to slide off Samson’s cock and crawl, still shuddering from the aftershocks of his interrupted orgasm. “Four! Three! Two! One!”

He turned the cell light on. Brian groaned as bright light assaulted his eyes. Everyone was in their bunks, sheets and blankets covering their hardons.

All in all, it must have been blatantly obvious what had been happening in here. But Officer Armstrong just flared his nostrils as he looked over the thirteen men pretending to be asleep. He spat a big loogie onto the floor of the cell, then shut the door again.

“Go to sleep, shitweasels. If you’re gonna fuck, finish in the next couple minutes so I don’t have to hear it when I come back around,” he said as he walked away.

Everyone — except the two who had already cum — was eager to finish up, having nearly been blue-balled by Officer Armstrong. Before Brian could even get up, Samson was behind him again, ramming his dick back into Brian’s ass.

Brian grunted and Samson growled seductively. He wrapped all of his arms and legs around Brian’s limbs, bringing him to the ground. Samson laid on his back, while Brian submitted, resting on Samson’s chest with his ass on Samson’s massive cock.

The pain was intense once again, but only for a moment before that mind-numbing pleasure hit him once more. As Brian tasted that ebony prison-cock and drooled over its meaty goodness, he smiled. He was going to love his time in prison, he thought.

“Yeah, whiteboi, swallow my nut,” someone said as he shot a hot load of salty cum all over Brian’s face. “Let’s bukkake him. Let’s make him real messy.”

The others all agreed, but most of them were barely listening — they were already about to bukkake him regardless. Their dicks sprayed heavy loads all over Brian’s face. He couldn’t even tell how many. He knew logically it should have been eleven, or no more than eleven, but it surely felt like more. Had someone jacked off more than once? It was impossible to tell.

But his mouth and face were covered in dripping cum, which coated his skin and seeped into his flesh. It leaked down the sides and onto Samson’s body, but Samson didn’t care — in prison, these kinds of sanitary, privacy issues stopped being so relevant. A few drops of cum even found their way into Samson’s mouth, but he barely noticed that either.

The sensation of getting fucked and the taste of a torrent of cum flooding his mouth was so overwhelming that Brian didn’t noticed his own orgasm until happened. It was the most intense experience of his life. It felt like it lasted the entire nine to twelve years he was to spend behind bars — his prostate sang and danced within him, sending waves of pleasure to every corner of his body. He squeezed around Samson’s dick.

“Swallow it while I nut inside you, whiteboi,” Samson said with a moan. He rammed his dick all the way in, making Brian scream, unable to muffle the sound at all. As he spewed hot wad after wad of cum inside Brian’s guts, Samson’s callused fingers pushed semen into Brian’s mouth. He smeared every drop of that bukkake mess down into Brian’s waiting throat.

He didn’t mind touching his niggas’ cum, and Samson groaned as the taste made Brian’s body clench around him. Samson knew how to make a prison bitch’s body react the way he wanted, so he filled Brian’s mouth up with eleven loads, plus Brian’s own cum that Samson scooped up from his chest.

“Yeah, whiteboi, nice…” Samson moaned as he shot the last few drops of his own cum into Brian’s ass. He laid there, dick throbbing while it limpened inside that tight hole. He had rarely felt such a wonderful ass.

“Comin’ back soon, boys!” Officer Armstrong called out. “Finish up!”

The other prisonmates slowly made their way back to their bunks. They stopped to wipe off their dicks first with toilet paper, since most of them had done a little jousting and gotten each other’s cum on their shafts. They quietly shuffled into their beds, giggling nervously about what had happened.

But Samson remained right where he was, resting on his back on the floor, dick limpening inside Brian while Samson flopped Brian’s soft cock between his fingers.

“You wanna come sleep in my bunk?” Samson asked. “Remember, when the sun comes up, you gotta move back to the floor so the guards don’t see.”

“Okay,” Brian said breathlessly. He breathed a sigh of relief when Samson finally took his dick out of Brian’s ass.

Brian was so exhausted he fell right to sleep. He curled up in the tiny space Samson left for him, and he buried his nose in Samson’s warm bicep. He kept one hand on Samson’s belly, just low enough where he could feel the beginning of Samson’s pubic hair. He inhaled deeply of the musky scent of Samson’s sweat-dappled body.

“I love you, Samson,” Brian whispered.

“Shush, whiteboi,” Samson said. “I know you love me. E’ryone falls in love when I fuck ‘em. Don’t worry. I ain’t nevuh gonna stop fuckin’ you, Brian. So we gonna be in love forevuh.”

The Prison Wife

Here’s the first chapter of The Prison Wife, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!

Hawk stumbled as he entered the cell block. He heard hooting and clapping. Luckily some of the other prisoners were worse off than Hawk — there was a fat man who started sobbing even before they came onto the cell block. He attracted most of the attention from the other inmates.

Tubby crybaby wants his mommy!

But Hawk knew plenty of them were looking at him too. He could feel their eyes staring at him. Hawk took a deep breath to calm himself.

He had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a plan he would enjoy. There was no reason not to enjoy it. While Hawk didn’t want to be in prison, he had a good plan — Hawk was gay. He loved sucking cock and getting fucked, and he especially loved being fucked by huge alpha male thugs.

So spending time in prison gave him plenty of opportunities to do what he wanted to do anyway. He wished he could come and go as he pleased, getting fucked whenever he wanted and then going home to sleep in his own bed. But of course, that was not an option.

This place would be his home for the next two to five years.

Hawk tried to look tough. He was not in bad shape. He had been playing soccer and baseball for years, but he was short and he was wiry, not muscular. He had long straight black hair and dusky brown skin.

“Yo! Yo! Yo!”

An explosion of laughter and some angry shouts erupted. Hawk’s heart skipped a beat — was this a prison riot? Had he walked in on a prison riot?

“Yo, yo, yo!” There was a man coming towards the new inmates.

“Get back- Oh…” The guard escorting the new inmates chuckled dryly at the sight of the man coming towards Hawk and the others. The guard didn’t seem to care what he did. Hawk didn’t know if that meant he should be scared of this inmate — was the guard scared to stop him? — or if he should be calm — was the guard aware that this inmate was a paper tiger?

But Hawk thought the inmates would test one of the fat blubbering idiots first. So he just furrowed his brow. He made as tough a face as he could manage.

But then the inmate came to him. He was Thumper White, a middle-aged black man with cornrows tinged with gray. He was an ex-boxer and he still had the body of a fighter half his age. He moved like his muscles and his heft were in the way — he was much faster than a burly, barrel-chested man like him should be.

“Uh…” Hawk didn’t know if he should throw a punch or not. The entire cell block stared at him.

Thumper pushed inmates — new and old, weak and tough alike — out of the way as he barreled to Hawk. Then he stopped in front of him and smiled like a schoolboy.

“Yo, hey, what’s yo’ name?” Thumper asked. His grizzled, gray-tinged scruff shifted as he licked his lips. It sounded like he was trying to be casual, even though he had knocked several people over as he came here, and the entire cell block had fallen silent to watch him.

“Uh… Hawk.”

“Hawk? What kinda name is that?”

“It’s Indian. I’m an Indian. Native American Indian.”

Thumper’s eyes opened wide. “Ah, shit, nice. That’s why you got pretty long hair?”

“Well… I have pretty long hair because, uh… I like it.” Hawk’s mind raced too fast for him to speak coherently.

“You some kinda gay or bisexual?” Thumper asked.

“Um, yeah… I’m gay.”

Thumper let out a growl. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Boy, you serious?”

“Yeah.” Hawk squeaked like a mouse. Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that, he thought, since it looked like Thumper became hostile when he said it.

“I think I love you, boy,” Thumper said. He took Hawk’s wrist and kissed the back of his hand. That finally broke the silence of the other inmates. They howled peals of laughter. Someone clasped Hawk on the back, making Hawk stumble and cry out in surprise. Thumper kissed his hand copiously, and even sucked on his middle finger.

“Oh-“

Thumper stood up. He made a stern, angry face and addressed the crowd of jeering inmates. They all cheered as though they were glad for Thumper, though it was obvious from their tone and body language — and the harsh laughter filling the air — that they were teasing Thumper for forming a relationship with a man.

You in love, homo thug?!

You gonna suck that Indian boy’s dick, Thump?

Thumper held one hand up, palm out. The inmates all got quiet — the black ones first, since they were in Thumper’s gang — Thumper was in charge of the Nine Tats here at Brutewood; Hawk didn’t know that yet, but he would soon figure it out. The Nine Tats then forcibly hushed up the other gangs.

“All y’all shut yo’ mouths,” Thumper said. “This boy here is Hawk. He too pretty to be any kinda bitch, so don’t none of you try nothin’.” There was some scattered groans. Someone threw a chess piece that bounced off Thumper’s chest. Thumper bellowed, “Hey! Nah! Shut yo’ bitch-ass mouths!” Then he waited for silence again. “Ain’t none of y’all’s business, nosirree. Prison love is private, even if you can see it, niggas.”

Then Thumper turned around. He ignored a few whooping catcalls from the other inmates. He dropped to his knees in front of Hawk and grabbed his hand once again. He sucked on that middle finger just like before. Then he pulled it out and smiled up at Hawk.

“Boy, will you do me the honor of bein’ my prison wife? I will treat you so good, boy…” He let out a long, low growl. His kisses traveled up Hawk’s hand to his arm, then his neck.

Hawk shivered. He wanted to say yes, of course. Thumper was pretty much Hawk’s ideal man — right down to the flecks of gray in his chest hair and cornrows. Hawk loved men with a bit of maturity in their bones.

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk finally managed to croak out a response.

The cell block erupted in both cheers and jeers. Someone threw more chess pieces — aiming at Thumper, it seemed, but many of them hit Hawk instead. Thumper planted his lips right on Hawk’s, and his massive tongue pushed into Hawk’s mouth.

That was such a shock that Hawk resisted at first, purely out of instinct and surprise. He pushed on Thumper’s shoulders, but Thumper didn’t even seem to notice. He just barreled through ramming his tongue down Hawk’s throat as though invading his gullet, like his goal was to get as deep as possible.

Hawk was so surprised by everything that had happened that he barely even noticed when Thumper scooped him up in his arms. Hawk was dizzy and confused. Thumper carried him like a bride through the crowd of cheering black men — his own gangmates formed a line on either side, leading back to Thumper’s cell.

It was obvious to Hawk that these thugs clapped and cheered both because it was expected of them and because they teased Thumper. He was their boss, but he was much more comfortable with man-on-man sex than the rest of them — he was from an earlier generation. They thought proposing to a prison wife publicly was hilarious and shameful (for Thumper). They called him a groom and encouraged Hawk to throw a (nonexistent) bouquet of flowers to tease Thumper.

If Thumper realized that they were laughing at him, however, he gave no indication. He had a big smile on his face like a groom carrying his bride to their shared bedroom. His big muscles carried Hawk easily through the cell block.

The tiny cell was barely big enough for one person, and there was already a young man there. He was clearly gay and effeminate. He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow when he saw Thumper carrying Hawk into the cell.

“What’s up, Thumper? That a bitch or wha-?” His voice trailed off when he saw the men crowding the cell outside to watch as though they were witnessing history. Thumper’s current cellmate crossed his arms over his chest.

“Brian.” Thumper sounded like he had forgotten he had a cellmate. “Get yo’ shit and get out.”

“What?”

“You don’t live here no more. Go tell Armstrong you need a new cell assignment,” Thumper said. He looked at Hawk and kissed him.

“Oh. You’re dumping me?”

“I am in love, nigga. You know what love is? It’s the most powerful force in the universe. I ain’t nevuh loved you. You just a slut,” Thumper said without taking his eyes away from Hawk. “Go’n, get out.”

The man sniffled. “Fine. Later.” He gathered up his clothes and other belongings, most of which were already in a cardboard box.

“Hurry up, nigga. We got some connubial bliss to construct,” Thumper said. He snarled at the man, who darted out of the cell. He had to squeeze past the other inmates to get out.

Yo, Thumper, you gonna lick his butthole?! Huh? You want some syrup?!

“Ignore them niggas,” Thumper said with a growl. Once his former cellmate was out, he slapped their hands when they tried to reach in past the cell bars. “Get outta here, niggas! Get out! This ain’t none of yo’ business. This ain’t gang business. This ain’t no concern of yours. This is just love, that’s all. You don’t know jack-shit about love.” He reached his arms between the cell bars and grabbed one young man by the neck — it was a young black man, skinny, definitely not old enough to be anyone important, Hawk assumed — and whispered something Hawk couldn’t hear. The young man’s eyes opened wide, and he hushedly got the other inmates to be quiet and walk away. It took awhile though, so there were still hands reaching into the cell, sarcastic laughter and whooping filling the air.

Does his dick taste like curry?! Huh? Thumper, huh? You like curry?!

“That’s the wrong kinda Indian, nigga!” Thumper yelled out of the cell. It wasn’t clear that anyone could hear him because they hollered in his direction. Thumper smiled at Hawk was though he expected to be congratulated for knowing the different kinds of Indians.

“Oh, uh… So this is my cell, right? I, like… I’m not gonna get in trouble being here, right?”

Thumper smiled. “You got a pretty voice, boy. I like hearin’ you say words,” he said. He got up real close to Hawk like he was going to kiss him, but then he didn’t. “Yeah. This is yo’ cell. Officer Armstrong runs this place, Hawk, and I run Officer Armstrong.” He paused. “Hawk. That is the sexiest name for a gayboy I ever heard. Hawk. I just wanna keep sayin’ yo’ name over and over. Hawk. Hawk. Hawk.”

“Oh…”

“We are gonna make such sweet love in here, boy,” Thumper said. He leaned in again like he was going to kiss Hawk. But he just put his lips next to Hawk’s ear and whispered, “We are gonna brew a big pot of love in here. You like gettin’ fucked in the ass?”

“Yeah.”

“You need a pet name for me, boy,” he said. “Like daddy or papi or somethin’ like that.” His eyes lit up. “Or somethin’ Indian. What do pretty Indian girls call they man?”

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“You don’t speak Indian?”

“Uh… No.” Hawk wanted to explain that there were lots of American Indian languages, each, presumably, with their own pet names a girl might call her boyfriend. Hawk didn’t speak any of them though. But Hawk was too scared to think of any words to explain all that, and the end result would just be “no” anyway, so he simply said no. “Most Indians just speak English.” He croaked.

Thumper nodded. “Okay, okay,” he said. “You scared, huh? You scared of me?”

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk had never felt smaller.

“Don’t be scared, boy. I wouldn’t nevuh hurt you. You much too pretty for that. You ain’t gonna be my bitch. Or no one’s bitch. You mine. You my boy from now on. You my lover,” he said. Then, like he had only just noticed the men still laughing at him — the one thug he had whispered to had gotten many of them to leave, but there were still more. Hawk noticed that they were all black men. He didn’t know the gang politics of this prison yet, but in fact, they were all Thumper’s own gang — they could, more or less, get away with teasing Thumper while members of other gangs might have gotten stabbed even coming near Thumper’s cell.

You goin’ on a honeymoon, Thump?

C’mon, Thumper, I wanna watch you lick that boy’s asshole.

Snorting like an angry horse, Thumper stood up and went to the corner of the cell. Only two walls were bars through which people could see, and Thumper put up a sheet as a curtain. There were tacks already in the wall to make it easy, he just put the curtain back up where, it seemed, he put it every night.

“There, now we got some privacy. I wanna make you comfortable, boy,” Thumper said.

“Okay.”

Now that they couldn’t see, the gangbangers lost interest in teasing Thumper. They turned around and walked away, and at last, there was silence. Hawk hadn’t even realized how loud the men were being until they were gone.

Thumper faced him. Hawk’s heart raced. Thumper smiled. “Boy, you still scared.”

“Well… It’s scary.”

“Am I scary?”

“Yeah…” Hawk had to hold back his tears. He thought he would do alright on his first day, and really, today’s result hadn’t been bad. He’d wanted to get some sexy thug to promise to protect him, and that was exactly what he’d gotten. It was just so stressful — and Thumper’s stare and body and presence were so intimidating — that Hawk felt like sobbing.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Thumper said with a throaty growl. He wrapped one muscular arm around Hawk’s thin shoulder. He brought Hawk down to the lower bunk on the cell — that would be Hawk’s bunk now. “Relax, boy. Lemme make you a promise.” He took off his shirt and his pecs bounced, making a shiver of desire run through Hawk’s body. Thumper was really very sexy; he was just so scary that Hawk couldn’t think about anything besides his own fear. Thumper kissed Hawk on the lips again. “I won’t initiate nothin’ ‘bout sex. Okay? You decide when you ready to suck my dick or take it in the ass. Okay? That’s up to you.” He paused.

Thumper undid his shoes and pulled his orange prison pants off without getting out of the bunk. In no time he was naked. He had a huge brown cock, which was soft but looked to have just a touch of an erection.

He was so sexy it hurt. Hawk wanted more than anything to caress Thumper’s muscles. He knew Thumper wanted it too, but this situation was too tough for Hawk to respond at all. He just sat there on his bunk, fully clothed, sneaking glances at Thumper’s body every few seconds.

“You like my body?” Thumper asked.

Hawk nodded.

“I like yo’ body too. I ain’t nevuh seen it yet. But I like it already,” he said. “You know if anyone hurts you or even looks at you funny in this place, you tell me ‘bout it. I’ll kill ‘em. No questions asked.”

“Oh. Okay… That seems… harsh.”

“I’m a harsh nigga. None of those men was makin’ fun of you. They know better. They can call me a faggot cuz they know I ain’t one,” he said. He licked his lips. “They gonna treat you like a queen. I’m serious, nigga. If you want somethin’, you tell the nearest Nine Tat. If he don’t drop e’rything to give it to you, I’ll punish him, and if he got any brothers in this place, I punish them too. I do that. Brothers is responsible for each other.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You can’t fuck ‘em though. If you wanna fuck some nigga, you gotta ask me. I’ll decide if he gets fucked. You can ask ‘em for anything else, like food, or beatin’ up some other nigga.”

“Oh. Alright. I probably won’t, uh… want anything like that,” Hawk said. The idea of ordering some strange black thugs to do stuff seemed strange and off-putting. He was certain he wouldn’t do that.

“Okay. Whatchoo in for?”

Hawk cleared his throat. “Uh… Selling weed. I was caught with a lot of weed in my trunk.”

“You a pothead?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Cool. Me too,” Thumper said. “I got weed. We can’t smoke it today — it’s Monday, that means Warden Mitchell might be by later. He freak out if he smell weed. We save that for weekends.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. Then he grabbed Thumper’s pulsating pectoral muscles. He stroked his nipple and giggled, the anxiety of the situation finally giving way and turning to excitement. He was still scared and intimidated, but the easiest way to move forward, he thought, the path of least resistance, was to just do what both he and Thumper wanted him to do.

But Hawk wanted to know how truthful Thumper was being when he said that Hawk could decide when and how they fucked. So Hawk massaged Thumper’s muscles and then reached down to his dick, but he didn’t start sucking.

“I don’t wanna do anything else today,” Hawk said. “Let’s just start with a handjob, okay? I’ll get you off all day and all night, but just with my hand. We’ll build up to actual sex, alright?”

“Hell yeah, boy, I do that.” He beamed and licked his lips. “We got all the time in the world in this place. Let’s go slow.” His dick twitched as soon as Hawk touched it. It looked like Thumper wanted to kiss, but Hawk kissed him on the neck instead. Thumper growled, and Hawk could feel the rumbling in his throat.

His enormous cock was nearly a foot long once it firmed up in Hawk’s hand. Hawk stroked it and giggled again. Thumper had such a serious look on his face, like this handjob was a matter of life and death, that Hawk couldn’t help but laugh.

It was clear Thumper wanted to touch Hawk. He kept lifting his hands, then stopping himself because he had promised Hawk was in charge. Hawk smiled.

“Okay, Thumper, you can touch me,” he said.

Thumper jumped into action. He literally ripped Hawk’s prison uniform off his body. He let out a seductive growl and planted his lips on Hawk’s cheek. He pressed his weight onto Hawk’s body, pinning him on the grimy mattress.

“Stop!” Hawk screamed. His heart raced. Was Thumper about to tear him limb from limb? It rather felt like it.

Thumper pulled off him and frowned. “Sorry, boy. I came on strong, ain’t I?”

“Yeah…” Hawk said softly. Again he wanted to cry. “You, uh… You’re a big man. I’m little. You can’t just lay on top of me like that.”

“You turn me on, boy. You make me so horny,” he said. He kept his eyes downcast. His cock was still rock-hard. Hawk gently grabbed it once again and resumed stroking it. Thumper moaned and licked his lips. “Boy, you make me so fucking horny. I need you. I need you right now. Stroke that shit, damn…”

“Okay, Thumper, you can kiss me on the lips and-“

Thumper rammed into him. They kissed and once again Hawk was pinned against the wall. Thumper’s tongue invaded his mouth. Hawk pushed Thumper away once more — Thumper was much stronger than Hawk, of course, so Hawk only pushed him away because Thumper allowed it.

“Sorry, boy.”

“Thumper… Can you kiss me… normally? Like… not like a prison rapist? Just kiss me. How about… don’t move me? Like, when you kiss me and I’m sitting right here, you’re not allowed to kiss me so hard I have to change positions. You can kiss me while I’m sitting here,” Hawk said. “So you have to be gentle.”

“Okay, boy.” He moved his head in slowly, and kissed Hawk on the lips. This was almost too gentle, like kissing air. Despite his huge hulking size, Thumper could be very soft when he wanted to be, and when he could avoid his instincts.

Hawk was fine with it. It was a little like kissing an unconscious man, Hawk thought, since Thumper didn’t really move once he started, but Hawk wasn’t about to tell him to be more forceful. This would have to do for now.

His cock throbbed in Hawk’s hand. It felt like he was near orgasm for the first time, like he had been so horny all it took was a few kisses and strokes to get him off. For the first time, Hawk wondered if Thumper would reciprocate. Presumably not, he thought, so Hawk used his other hand to jack himself off.

“Yo, boy, you know I’m straight, I like girls. I like pussy. I like eatin’ pussy-“ He pantomimed sucking on an invisible pussy. “I like fuckin’ females in the ass. I like tits.”

“Okay.”

“I love you cuz I’m in this place, and I ain’t nevuh gonna fall in love wit’ no girl again. Only love I got is boylove,” he said. “Gayboys, I mean, not kiddies.” Precum flowed from his cock. It felt creamy and warm, and Hawk had to fight against his urge to start sucking.

“Uh-huh.”

“I wouldn’t nevuh wanna touch no boy’s meat.”

“Sure. I didn’t think you would.”

“On ‘ccount of my love for you, I’d demonstrate it, if you asked me to,” he said. “I’d show you my love by jackin’ yo’ dick. But you gotta tell me you want it.”

“Oh. I want it. Thumper, will you jack me off?”

“Call me a pet name.”

“What?”

“Call me somethin’. You know, like daddy or papi or whatevuh. Call me somethin’ special, somethin’ you ain’t nevuh call none of yo’ boyfriends,” he said. “Somethin’ just for me. That’ll demonstrate yo’ love for me.”

“Uh… how about papi? I like that. I’ve never called anyone that since I’m not Spanish, but I always thought it was hot,” Hawk said. “So, papi, will you please jack me off? You’re so sexy and so perfect… I need you, Thumper.” His words felt hollow and forced, even though he loved the idea of getting a handjob from Thumper.

Thumper bucked like he was near his own orgasm as he grabbed Hawk’s cock. He immediately stroked it, in sync with Hawk’s handjob — it was clear Thumper had done this before.

“Can we… touch dicks?” Hawk asked. He felt an overwhelming urge to joust with Thumper. He had never done it before, but he wanted to ask for something that Thumper hadn’t told him he could ask for, and he figured Thumper couldn’t say not to this if he was willing to use his hand.

“‘Course, boy. If’n it makes you happy, we can touch dicks e’ry day,” he said. He scooted forward and spread his legs. Hawk did the same until their crotches touched, cocks mingling. Thumper’s dick was much bigger than Hawk’s, though Hawk had a larger than average dick too — Hawk’s dick actually looked more impressive because Hawk’s body was so much smaller; Thumper’s dick looked appropriate for his body size, while Hawk looked like he had stolen the cock off someone bigger than himself.

But in the shadowy bunkspace, none of that mattered. It wasn’t even easy to see which dick was bigger (though it was obvious when Hawk stroked them both off at once). Even outside of the bunk, the cell was dark because of the curtain, beyond which shouting and laughter could be heard — everyone had moved on, it seemed, and they ignored Thumper’s cell. People walked by the cell close enough that Hawk could hear them breathe, but they didn’t know what was going on in here (or rather, it seemed they mostly had some idea, but they didn’t know exactly what was going on in here).

“Thumper… you can softly kiss me,” Hawk said.

Thumper opened his mouth and croaked like he was going to say something but was interrupted by a spasm of pleasure shooting up from his cock. He planted his lips on Hawk’s.

The kiss was a little forceful, but Hawk didn’t mind. They were both overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm in the same moment as Thumper’s tongue explored Hawk’s mouth. Hawk spasmed from head to toe.

Cum flew out of both dicks. It was impossible to tell how much came from which person because the flow combined. It jetted over Hawk’s hand and onto Hawk’s flat belly.

It kept flowing too. The smell of cottony cum filled the air, and Hawk imagined he could taste it even though none of it got into his mouth. Tendrils of potent pleasure exploded deep within Hawk’s body. He writhed with exquisite bliss wracking his muscles.

His orgasm seemed to last forever. Hawk knew it didn’t, only because it was almost time for dinner and he hadn’t heard the whistle yet. But time stopped as intense feelings assaulted Hawk’s senses, and Hawk contorted in Thumper’s muscles.

“Ah, god, boy, you got such a nice hand… You make me feel so good…”

Finally they were both done. Somehow they were lying down — Hawk hadn’t remembered doing that, but Thumper wouldn’t have done it since he had promised not to move Hawk when kissing him, so Hawk must have done it — and Thumper sucked on Hawk’s delicate neck.

“I love you, boy,” Thumper said with a growl. “You ain’t gotta say that back to me. I’d appreciate it mightily. I wouldn’t expect you to mean it neither. It won’t be like it is on the outside. I don’t expect no marriage or nothin’. All it means if you say it is that you got love in yo’ heart for me right now, in this moment. Ain’t no kinda commitment. Okay? So when I say I love you, you can decide whether you wanna make me the happiest nigga on Earth by sayin’ it back to me.” He paused and kissed Hawk on the lips. “I love you, boy.”

“I love you too, papi.”

Street Trade: Stealing a John

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Twenty bucks to suck on ya titties?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, yeah,” Chazz said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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