Category Archives: Gigolos and Male Strippers Local #1

Holiday Trade: Santa Is a Stripper!

Here’s the entirety of Holiday Trade: Santa Is a Stripper!, a hot new story from the Holiday Trade series.

Martin loved his nieces. They were beautiful little girls, and he wanted to spend as much time with them as possible.

But he did not want to attend their Christmas party. It sounded boring, and not only that, but since Martin was a cool, funny, outgoing gay uncle, his nieces would mob him, demanding he do silly voices and give them piggyback rides as soon as he got there.

It was, unfortunately, difficult to avoid because Martin lived above the garage at the same house as his sister, her husband and their two daughters. So he was invited and he heard the little girls running around excitedly with their friends (the idea of spending time with more than a dozen little girls sounded exhausting; just thinking about it made Martin want to take a nap).

That was, after all, the nice thing about not having kids — you didn’t have to spend time with them when you didn’t feel like it. Today was definitely a day when Martin didn’t feel like it.

But it would be rude not to go at all. It was the day before Christmas Eve after all. He needed to make an appearance. He decided to bring his Christmas presents for the girls. They were all wrapped and ready to go, so he could put them under the tree and his nieces would forget that he wasn’t at the party — the only thing they would remember was that Uncle Martin had brought them their presents.

He was just about to head down there when he saw a ramshackle Chevrolet pull up outside. A man in a Santa costume got out and headed for the door.

Martin put his presents down. He didn’t want to compete for attention with a Santa. He scoffed — when his sister first got pregnant, she said that she was not going to fritter away money on nonsense, and here she was throwing a child’s Christmas party (which isn’t even a tradition) and hire a Santa for it, when they could just go to the mall and do the same thing for nearly free. Sounds like money frittered away on nonsense to me. But then, Martin’s sister had also sworn that she wouldn’t buy her daughters “girls’ toys”, and that lasted until her eldest daughter was old enough to ask for specific toys. Martin’s sister had sworn she wouldn’t let them wear makeup until they were sixteen, and they started playing with makeup last year, when the youngest was only eight.

Not that Martin really cared about any of these things, he just thought it was funny that his big tough sister fell victim to marketing pretty much as soon as her ideals were tested.

Soon Martin stopped hearing the Santa’s ho-ho-ho — whoever it was, he had a great deep booming Santa-voice — and heard the now-familiar tune of the Frozen soundtrack.

He went downstairs and headed over to the main house. That must mean the Santa was done. Martin hadn’t seen him leave yet and his car was still out front, but the show seemed to be done. Martin could hang out with the adults until the movie was over, then make a big show of bringing the girls’ presents to the tree. It wouldn’t take very long and he’d look awesome in front of his nieces.

Martin’s sister and a few other moms were in the kitchen. He came through to say hello. The girls sang along to the movie in the other room. Santa was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, hi, Martin, merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Happy holidays!”

Groans emanated from some of the other moms. Martin wasn’t interested in quibbling over “holidays” vs “Christmas”, so he just smiled and nodded and small-talked with them until he thought he had done enough.

“What happened to Santa?”

“Oh, the girls got a little over-excited. There was some throw-up,” Martin’s sister said with a wry smile. “He’s taking a shower.”

“A merry, jolly North Pole shower?”

“No, a normal shower in our bathroom,” she said. The other moms giggled. “I think he might need some men’s clothes, something to wear under the Santa suit. Probably just a t-shirt or something. Do you have anything? You know… that might fit him?” She was a little awkward because her tremendously overweight husband was in the next room, watching football. He pretended he wasn’t sensitive about his weight, but he was.

“Your husband’s clothes…? I just thought… You know… Santa?” Martin pantomimed a large belly.

“Oh no, this Santa’s not fat. He’s got a fatsuit on,” said one of the other moms. “I think he might be hot. I didn’t see him without the fatsuit and the big beard, but I think under all that, Santa might be a hottie.” The women all giggled, the same sound their daughters were generating in the next room. Females, Martin thought, are so annoying.

He went upstairs. He didn’t think he would likely find Santa all that hot. Middle-aged housewives did not have good taste in men, Martin had discovered that on several occasions.

He knocked on the bathroom door. The shower was running, so he opened the door just a crack. “Hey, uh, I live next door, man, do you need some clothes?! I can give you some of mine if you need it!”

The shower turned off. “What?” A handsome man’s face appeared poking through the shower curtain.

“Oh, hi, I’m Martin…” His voice trailed off because this Santa was hotter than he had any right to be. He had a thick shock of black hair, a square jaw and deep, dark eyes. He looks like the hero on the cover of a fantasy novel, Martin thought to himself.

“Uh… Hi, Martin,” he said. “I’m Jeff.”

“Hi.” Martin blushed. “Uh… My sister said you got thrown up on? Did you need some clothes? They uh… They said you might fit in my clothes, but you definitely won’t. They don’t know men’s sizes I guess. What are you, like six and a half feet tall?”

“Almost.” He smiled, flashing deep dimples. “I’m six-four.”

“Cool. Cool.” Martin blushed even deeper. “Sorry, I, uh… Did you want to come look at my clothes? I might have something that fits you.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks, I really just need a t-shirt. That fat suit is uncomfortable without a shirt on underneath, and my shirt is vomity. I just need something I can get on, you know, it doesn’t have to fit right.”

“Okay, well, come on over to the garage then,” Martin said. “I’ll go see what the biggest shirt I have is.”

He felt giddy as he hurried out to the garage again. Martin loved straight guys — that Santa was clearly straight — and he often managed to suck them off. He was beginning to think that Santa was a potential conquest.

He knew exactly what his biggest t-shirt was, because a different rough trade conquest had left it here after a July 4 party — Martin loved holidays, and most of his best sexual experiences with straight men came during or after a holiday party. He had sucked off a fireworks man, a big tough redneck who had left his sweaty t-shirt here. Martin sniffed it and jacked off for a month or so, then accidentally washed it.

It was about four sizes too big for Martin. It would probably be a bit big for Jeff too, but not cavernously large like Martin’s brother-in-law’s shirts would be. Martin hid it at the bottom of his dresser drawer so he wouldn’t accidentally “find” it before he had a chance to work on Jeff.

There was a knock at the door. Martin let Jeff in, his jaw agape — Jeff wore dingy old basketball shorts, sneakers and little else, aside from a dog tag. There was a military-looking tattoo on his bicep as well, a bald eagle flying with a rifle in its talons.

“Oh, are you a soldier?”

“Not anymore. I got out of the Army last year,” he said.

“And now you bring presents to all the children at Christmas? That’s super,” Martin said with a giggle. He started to make a show of looking through his own shirts, all of which were way too small for Jeff’s broad shoulders and chest.

He smiled. “I’m actually… Don’t tell your sister this, some people don’t like the idea of children’s entertainers who are… well, I’m a stripper,” he said. “That’s what I was doing until Christmas. Still am, but Santa gigs pay better now, and anyway I can do kids parties during the day and still strip at night.”

“Oh, that is so cool! You’re so hot, you should be a stripper! I’d have suggested it if you didn’t say it!”

He grinned wanly. “Yeah, well… so if you have any, you know… parties, you know that, uh… I’m gay-friendly, just so you know.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“I mean, I do gay parties, if you want. I’m not gay. I don’t do anything gay. I just, you know… Well, I rub my dick on guys’ faces, that’s pretty gay. I guess I do some gay things. But I’m not gay. I don’t do any of, you know… the really gay… very gay stuff. I only do, you know… I dance. I’m a good dancer,” he said. He blushed. “That’s all. I’m a good dancer.”

Martin sat down in his computer chair. He withdrew a twenty-dollar bill and tucked it into the waistband of Jeff’s shorts. “Prove it.”

Jeff blushed a little deeper red. He looked around. Martin got the feeling he had never given a man a lapdance outside of a crowded party. But Jeff took a deep breath and snapped his hips to one side, making his massive cock shake and bulge in the shorts he wore. He clearly didn’t have on any underwear beneath that.

A pounding house music beat filled the air. That helped Jeff a lot, and he danced around the room for a few seconds to get into the rhythm of it. Martin watched his back muscles writhe.

“You ready?” Jeff asked, flashing his dimples. He backed up to Martin, who was still seated so Jeff’s ass was around his face level. Martin’s cock rocketed to attention. The fact that Jeff hadn’t prepared to strip today actually made him hotter — dirty basketball shorts were hotter than contrived stripper clothes; the faint layer of chest hair that hadn’t been shaved yet even extended just barely over his shoulder; his natural musk was only barely covered up by deodorant — he no doubt wore cologne when he stripped, but he assumed no one would notice through the fatsuit. All those things were hotter than any polished Hollywoodized stripper.

His asscheeks flexed, one after the other, in front of Martin’s face. Martin inhaled deeply of the sweaty scent and moaned loudly, giggling. That made Jeff laugh too — it was clearly forced; he was in agreeable-stripper-mode — and Martin even tried to tease those shorts down before Jeff batted his hands away.

“No touching the stripper,” Jeff said.

Martin was expecting that. He slipped a hundred dollar bill into Jeff’s hand.

“Oh, well… Thanks,” Jeff said. He blushed.

Martin dove his face between Jeff’s buttcheeks. He inhaled deeply and licked the fabric of those shorts. Jeff grunted and laughed with a nervous tremor to his voice.

“I bet you could use more money,” Martin said. He pulled down Jeff’s shorts, revealing perfectly plump, pink cheeks. He kissed each one, making Jeff yelp and laugh again. Martin smiled. “How about two thousand dollars?”

“What?”

“Fuck me,” Martin said. He patted Jeff on the left asscheek. Jeff turned around. He covered his bare crotch with both hands, shorts around his ankles. With his arms over the center of his body, his pecs were bunched together, making Martin so horny he wanted to burst.

“What?!”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me I’m the first gay guy to offer!”

He shrugged. “Well, uh… No, I guess you’re not. But you’re the first one to be serious! They, uh… I mean, at parties they make jokes, but…”

Martin giggled. “Oh, Jeff… What do they teach you in the Army? Gay guys are rarely serious, but I can assure you those gay guys were serious at that time. They made it like a joke because you were more comfortable that way. It meant you could say no and not get awkward, you could just shrug it off. If you said yes, they would pay you.”

“They would?”

“Well, I can’t vouch for all gay dudes. I’m sure some would trick you and not pay. You gotta use some discretion,” Martin said. “But I’ll definitely pay you.”

“Oh… Uh… Okay. Yeah, fine,” he said. He closed his eyes. “Whatever. Fine. Yeah. I’ll do it. You gotta hurry though, they’re gonna want me back there when Frozen is done.”

“Well, then get to dancing,” Martin said.

Jeff took a deep breath and resumed his strip show. He shook his ass in front of Martin’s face, then turned around — his shorts were already around his ankles, so there wasn’t much stripping in this strip show. He simply wasn’t wearing enough clothes to strip.

But he did dance. He had a nice hefty cock that flopped between his legs. Martin switched the house music to a techno-Christmas album, and Jeff danced to a dubstep version of Little Drummer Boy. He even air-drummed like a drummer boy, and the sight of his bulging biceps made Martin’s dick so hard it was about to burst.

He beckoned Jeff, who gulped and approached. Martin grabbed his cock. Jeff winced and closed his eyes. He stood there with his hands on his hips, as far away from Martin’s chair as he could be while still being close enough for Martin to grab his dick.

Martin pulled. Jeff came closer, and closed his eyes again when his dick disappeared down Martin’s throat.

“Ah… alright…” Jeff grunted. As soon as he began, he seemed to lose a lot of his inhibitions — many straight guys reacted that way, as though they thought a gay blowjob was going to be painful and were surprised when it felt more or less the same as a straight blowjob. Jeff’s face was bright red. “Wow, okay… You, uh… you suck dick pretty good.”

Martin already knew that, but he liked to hear it again. He rammed his nose all the way down deep in Martin’s crotch, nuzzling his pubic hair — which was mostly shaved. He inhaled deeply of that masculine musk.

In no time, Jeff’s cock was rock-hard and throbbing in Martin’s mouth. Jeff gasped and writhed. He moved like he hadn’t gotten a blowjob in a long time, and it took every ounce of concentration to keep himself from blowing a load embarrassingly quickly.

Wanting to be throat-fucked, Martin dragged Jeff’s hands up to his head. But Jeff just gripped his scalp and held on.

“You can fuck my throat,” Martin said, wiping up all that drool that dripped past his lips. He licked Jeff’s cockshaft, making his whole body shake as Jeff moaned.

“Oh… I, uh… I don’t know… I mean, I know what that is, but uh…” Jeff blushed. “I don’t know how…”

“What? Really? Don’t you and your fellow soldiers spend your leave banging whores? Don’t tell me you make sweet love to them and lick their pussies all night long?”

“Ew, no! No way! I don’t do that, man! No way! I don’t do prostitutes!” he looked genuinely shocked. “I mean, some guys in my unit… I’m not like that, man. You can be discharged for that. They’ll court-martial you in a heartbeat. I’m not into… I’m Christian, okay? I mean… things are different now. It was… I’m only doing this for the money. It’s not lust. That’s a sin.” He paused and bit his lip. “It’s not greed either, okay? It’s… It just makes fiscal sense. I can make more money this time of year if- Nevermind, I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“That’s right, quit talking and fuck my throat!”

A strangled choking moan escaped from Jeff’s lips as he drilled his dick down Martin’s throat. He gasped and gulped. Jeff’s throat was somehow louder than Martin’s, even as Martin gagged uncontrollably and allowed his throat to be drilled.

Jeff may have been too nice to ever throat-fuck anyone before, but he was tough enough and macho enough that it came easily to him. In no time, his balls swung against Martin’s chin, and Jeff grunted while precum flowed like a river down Martin’s throat.

The creamy, salty taste of his precum made Martin moan. This was already shaping up to be his best Christmas encounter ever, and Christmas hadn’t even come yet this year.

“Okay, I’m gonna bust in a minute…” Jeff said. He pulled away. His face was bright red. His hands flailed above his spasming cock as he struggled to avoid blowing his load just yet. Martin watched and giggled. Precum flowed thickly down his shaft, and Martin licked it off, making Jeff shake like he was in pain.

Then Martin turned around and lifted his ass in the air. The sight of a man’s ass seemed to make Jeff’s erection die just a little bit, enough to bring him back from the bring of orgasm anyway. He hyperventilated as he approached Martin’s ass. He grimaced and wedged his dick between Martin’s cheeks.

“Okay, I, uh… I’ve never done this,” he said. “So you gotta tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”

“Sure thing, baby,” Martin said. He paused. “Wait, does that mean you have gotten a blowjob from a man before?”

He chuckled. “It wasn’t my fault. She was dressed like a woman. I mean, he was dressed like a woman. The guys in my unit said they had all gotten blowjobs from her. But it was just a prank. I was drunk. It was a dark alley,” he said. “I didn’t notice she was, you know… a he.” He sounded defense. “He had tits. Real tits, or I mean… maybe not real, but they weren’t just tissues stuffed in a bra. Transgender, I guess. Pre-op.”

“Transgenders don’t count, just so you know,” Martin said. Then he backed his ass up. He rubbed his hole against Jeff’s cock.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never gotten a blowjob from a man. You got a blowjob from a transgender woman. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He reached behind himself to aim Jeff’s cock for the whole. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it either way. I’m just saying…”

“So my friends can’t call me a… can’t insult my sexuality?”

“You were going to say faggot, weren’t you?”

“I don’t call anyone that. I think that’s wrong. You can get court-martialed for that too. It’s hateful language, it’s against the UCMJ,” he said.

“Well, your friends should not call you a faggot. Or make fun of you for a blowjob you got. Or trick you into getting blowjobs from transgender people. Or get you to have sex when you’re drunk. They shouldn’t do anything of those things. It sounds like they just did everything wrong,” Martin said. “You said you wanted to hurry this up, right? Let’s not talk about your friends. Just fuck me.”

“Ah…” Jeff gasped at the sight of his cocktip already in Martin’s ass. He had been so focused on telling Martin about the transgender-blowjob that he didn’t even notice that Martin had already gotten him started. Jeff bucked his hips and smiled at the feel of Martin’s tight ass squeezing around his cock.

One of Martin’s hands wrapped around his own dick, while Martin lowered his head and raised his ass. The sound of little girls screaming filled the air outside — Frozen must be finished.

“We better hurry for real then,” Martin said. He slammed his ass back, grimacing as most of Jeff’s cock slipped in. Jeff gasped. He had a big enough cock that he wasn’t used to anyone taking his entire shaft so easily.

He was still so shocked and overwhelmed by all that was happening that Jeff did little more than stand there. His rock-hard dick filled Martin’s ass up, but all of the motion came from Martin sliding back and forth. Martin didn’t mind — he enjoyed being a power bottom, and it was funny to watch a big macho soldier like Jeff react with such intense anxiety. Jeff watched his cock disappear inside Martin with his eyes wide open, as though he was constantly surprised and elated that his manhood wasn’t chopped off inside Martin’s body.

It was only right before his orgasm hit him that Jeff finally relaxed. He grimaced and gripped Martin by the hip with one hand, and by the shoulder with the other. He held on tight and slammed his dick in one time. He grunted loudly.

“Oh fuck, don’t move, man, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he said over and over like he was panicking. Then he moved quickly, gyrating his hips and plowing Martin’s ass hard.

He groaned and grunted. His whole body twisted, muscles all flexing at once. He collapsed onto the ground atop Martin, his heavy Army muscles writhing above Martin’s head. He fucked a few more times, humping his dick deep in Martin’s ass in sync with the pounding bass beat of the stripper-music that still hadn’t ended.

Hot cum flowed into Martin’s ass, huge arcing jets of it that crept through Martin’s body. The warmth of his cum spread on his skin and through his veins, flowing throughout his body until Martin could feel and taste creamy cum over every inch of him.

Martin shot his own load as well, getting most of it on the floor. Jeff didn’t seem to notice. He kept on pumping his own wad deep into Martin’s ass, ending only when he got every last drop out. Jeff sighed.

“Wow,” he said. He was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by Martin’s cell phone dinging to say he had gotten a text message.

Overwhelmed by the pressure in his ass, Martin struggled to pick up the phone. Jeff didn’t move yet, just kept his limpening dick inside Martin’s tight ass. His hot breath condensed on the back of Martin’s neck.

U suck him off?! He is santa not yr playtoy bring him back girls want santa. Gross.

“My sister says you need to go back. The girls want Santa,” Martin said.

He nodded and pulled away. Potent relief flooded Martin, who sighed and sprawled out on the floor. He lazily wrote out a check for Jeff before typing a response to his sister.

Don’t be jealous sis. His cum tastes like peppermint so it is still holiday-appropriate. Deck yr own halls.

Jeff hurriedly got dressed again. He had put the fatsuit in the garage, so he walked out of Martin’s apartment above it wearing just those shorts again, putting on Martin’s t-shirt as he went. “Thanks!” he called out.

“No. Thank you,” Martin said. “Can you bring those presents there over?” he pointed to the pile in the corner. “They’re for my nieces. Tell them they’re early presents from the North Pole. Or whatever, make up your own story.”

“Yeah, sure, good idea.” He seemed relieved — that would explain where he was, it was a good excuse. He didn’t know Martin’s sister had already guessed what was happening.

“See you later, Jeff. Remember — those gay dudes are not joking. You can make money letting them suck you off.”

He blushed with the undersized t-shirt half-on his chest. He pulled it down and cleared his throat. “Sweet. Okay. Thanks,” he said. “Yeah, I guess… I should’ve figured that out. Thanks. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Santa!”

The Male Stripper at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of The Male Stripper at the City Barbershop, a new story about an alpha ebony stud who will do anything for the right price

Sam was annoyed that he had to cut hair today. He owned a City Barbershop in Richmond, Virginia, and he spent most of his time managing the store, taxes and paperwork. That was more than a full-time job in itself.

But he had only one backup barber, so when that backup left for a family funeral, and then a full-time barber, Calvin, called out sick, there was no one else to take over a chair for the day. Sam still had his cosmetology license — he was required to keep it active in order to maintain his business license — so he had no other options besides stepping in and cutting hair himself.

Yo, boss-man workin’ upfront today!

Once he got into the swing of things, however, Sam had a good time. He enjoyed cutting hair, and he enjoyed meeting new people. He was still treated like a minor celebrity because he was referred to in a song by Tallboy. The song had been a major hit, and it was what helped rescue his business when it was failing.

The reason there was a song about Sam was that the City Barbershop had a peculiar reputation — everyone knew it as a place where a straight nigga could go to swing downlow. Whatever happened there, stayed there, and there was always a gay man, like Sam, ready to service any hot alpha thugs who came through.

He still did that from time to time. But after a major rapper releases an entire song about how legendary your blowjobs are, you get an awful lot of men who want to find out about it for themselves. Sam had withdrawn from the City Barbershop because that made him uncomfortable, and because an awful lot of those men were desperate for blowjobs because they were old, fat, weak, stupid, obnoxious, dirty or gross, or more than one of those. It was easier just to stay in the office rather than keep telling people no.

But he thought while he was out front today, he might as well find someone he could have a little fun with. The song had been off the charts for more than a year now, so the torrent of nasty niggas had died down to an irregular trickle. Sam’s first few customers weren’t appealing to him though, and none asked for a blowjob anyway.

It wasn’t until just before lunch when Talaab walked in. He was tall, broad-shouldered and square-jawed, with a smooth chin, easygoing smile and deep dimples. He looked like a soap opera star, Sam thought, so handsome that Sam wanted to suck his dick, punch him in the face and watch him fuck a girl, all at the same time.

Sam considered his options as he began cutting Talaab’s hair. The sexiest men didn’t usually swing downlow because they had plenty of girls on their meat. Sam decided to bring up the song and his reputation as a legendary cocksucker, as that would be the best way to convince Talaab it was worth it to let a gay man suck on his cock.

“You must be new to Richmond,” Sam said. “Cuz I ain’t seen you around.”

“Yeah, I’m new,” Talaab said. He smiled, flashing those brilliant dimples. He had deep, light-brown eyes that made Sam swoon.

“Well, welcome to the city. Where you from originally?”

“I was born in Alabama,” Talaab said. “But I grew up all over the place. Most recently I lived in New Jersey.”

“Aah, cool. They got City Barbershops in Jersey?”

Talaab nodded.

“Good, good. So you know about their reputation? About my reputation?”

“Your reputation?”

“Yeah. Ain’t a big deal or nothin’,” Sam said. “I just thought maybe that was why you came here. That rapper Tallboy, he got that song, ‘Gettin’ Dome at the City Barbershop’, you know that one?”

“Yeah.”

“That was about me. About this shop,” Sam said.

“No shit?” It sounded like Talaab genuinely did not believe it, but Chuckie — the other barber working today — confirmed it, as did the guy whose hair Chuckie was cutting. Talaab raised his eyebrows in shock. “Damn, you like a celebrity and shit.”

“Oh, it’s not that cool. Everyone just knows I suck cock like a champion,” Sam said. He was disappointed. Talaab was charming and friendly, but he gave no indication he wanted a blowjob. “I can deep-throat anyone.”

“Cool.”

Then there was a long pause. Talaab smiled but didn’t say anything. He gave no hint that he recognized what Sam wanted from him. Sam decided he needed to take a different tack. “What do you do, Talaab?”

“I’m a stripper.”

Another long pause ensued. Sam stopped cutting for a moment. Talaab chuckled. Sam smiled. That must be why he was so resistant, he was used to being propositioned, and he probably had chicks hanging off him, demanding meat. This could be difficult, Sam thought.

“Oh. Wow, okay,” Sam said. “That’s cool. You like that?”

“It’s alright.”

Sam sighed. “Ah. Well, then I guess you won’t be wantin’ a blowjob from me. You must have to fight off the girls with a stick.”

“Kinda.”

“You prolly get all them deep-throatin’ girls, any one of ‘em so good you-“

“You can stop it,” Talaab said. He narrowed his eyes to slits. “I know what you’re doing. You wanna suck my cock? Pay me.”

“Pay you?”

Talaab nodded. “I don’t give a shit. You can suck my cock e’rytime I come in here if I get a free haircut. I don’t wanna pay for haircuts. You pay the tip too. Ya dig?”

Sam hesitated. He was used to men begging him for a blowjob, not him paying them. But the cost to Sam would be minimal — he didn’t pay out to barbers for each haircut, so all he would lose was the tip. He’d be basically paying a few dollars to give a blowjob to the hottest guy in Richmond. Talaab was probably charismatic and outgoing, so he might give good word-of-mouth too, Sam thought.

“Fine,” Sam said. He blushed as Chuckie laughed. Then he straightened his back and got out the mirror to show Talaab the back of his head. The haircut was over.

Talaab nodded his satisfaction and stood. He grabbed his cock through his low-hanging jeans. It was briefly outlined by the fabric. It was big and thick, and it made Sam’s mouth water. Talaab rolled his eyes. “Where do we do this at?”

“Back here,” Sam said. He led Talaab into the back room. His heart raced. He was really surprised that Talaab had agreed to this, but he was also excited. He giggled nervously.

As Sam dropped to his knees, he stroked Talaab’s cock through his jeans. It was still limp but even then it was long and thick, and Sam could tell it was juicy. He pulled it out the fly of Talaab’s jeans.

It was even more beautiful than Sam had hoped. It was thick and veiny, and it smelled like clean cocoa butter. Sam inhaled deeply of Talaab’s scent.

“Yeah, baby, you got it figured out,” Talaab said, “You got technique.” He smiled. Sam couldn’t tell if he was really glad he had agreed to this or if Talaab was just used to acting seductive and pretending to be aroused by people. Sam suspected it was the latter.

He put the tip in his mouth and suckled. It perked up quickly now that his tongue was on it, and Talaab leaned back, putting his hands on his hips.

But Sam liked it a little more aggressive than that. He guided Talaab’s hands from his waist to the back of his head. He flickered the tip of his tongue in Talaab’s pisshole, causing Talaab to groan with desire.

“Ah…” Talaab said. “You like it like that, huh? You like facefuckin’, huh? You want my balls slappin’ against yo’ chin like this?” He slammed his dick in violently enough that Sam gagged and Talaab’s balls thwacked against his chin. Talaab laughed. Sam nodded the best he could around the cock in his spasming throat.

“Well, I will try to oblige,” Talaab said with mock sincerity. He started grinding his hips, moving his cock around in Sam’s throat as though he needed to hump every inch.

Sam gripped his jeans and held on tight. A part of him wanted to pull down Talaab’s pants so he could get a good feel of his ass, but Sam had always thought there was something dirty about sucking a man off without removing his pants first. Plus Sam had discovered that straight men loved it — perhaps it didn’t seem as gay to them? Or maybe it was easier to pretend for Talaab that he was overcome by horniness and not responsible for doing something gay?

Regardless, Sam knew Talaab liked it. A part of his mind knew that Talaab could just be pretending — as a male stripper, he no doubt knew how to tease gay men along, but Sam didn’t think that was what was happening. Talaab moaned and grunted like he was required to make as much noise as possible; he hissed, sucked on his teeth and chuckled every time Sam gagged and choked. He rolled his hips, flexing his muscles beneath the perfectly ironed clothes he wore.

“Yeah, nigga, alright, I can see why Tallboy done rapped about ya, this is worth a verse or two,” Talaab said. He tweaked his own nipples under his tight wifebeater.

Finally Sam could tell Talaab was about to blow his load. Sam felt it in the spasming of his veiny cockshaft and the rise of his balls in his heavy sac. Sam sucked the precum off the tip as he felt Talaab’s orgasm in his mouth.

“Here I go, you ready for the money shot? Move yo’ tongue around as I cover it up, nigga…”

Then thick and creamy cum landed in jets on his tongue. Sam moaned and deep-throated until his nose nestled in the trimmed pubic hair of Talaab’s crotch. Talaab moaned loudly, gripping Sam’s head tight to keep it in place as he bucked his hips.

The taste of sour and sweet cum overwhelmed Sam, who could think of nothing else as Talaab’s balls drained down Sam’s throat. He shot a huge load, as Sam supposed a stripper was required to, and it just kept on going, flowing in great wads into Sam’s belly.

At last it was over. Talaab leaned back a little like he didn’t want to touch Sam any more than absolutely necessary. The last few drops of salty cum slipped down Sam’s gullet.

Talaab sighed. He pulled away and slapped his limp dick over Sam’s face. He laughed cruelly. “You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a few weeks for another haircut and a blowjob,” he said as he tucked his cock away. “Be ready for me.”

My Gigolo Is a Tongan Prince!

Here’s a sample chapter from My Gigolo Is a Tongan Prince!, a new story by Josephine Stentorian!

 

Sally’s twenty-fifth birthday was anticlimactic. She hadn’t been expecting anything, of course, she didn’t throw herself a party or even remind anyone her birthday was coming up. She didn’t have any surviving family except one shitty brother whom she never expected to do anything except maybe send her a gift certificate in the mail, which as it turned out, he didn’t do.

The only really important thing to happen that day was that Sally’s trust fund was unlocked. She had been allowed to access it only for certain approved needs before her twenty-fifth birthday — if she had gotten an MBA, she could have had it earlier, but Sally was stubborn and insisted on the art history degree she had always wanted.

And now all that money was hers. It was more than a hundred million dollars last time she calculated the cash equivalent (of course it was mostly tied up in long-term financial instruments, so there was no clear way to count an exact figure, since that depended on when and how the money was turned into cash — Sally had always been financially illiterate). She was determined not to let it change her. That was why she refused to change her major no matter how much her father pleaded. He had always said he didn’t want his money to change her life; that meant she should go for what would make her happy, not him. He never quite saw it that way.

Being a museum curator would make her happy. She had never found a job at a museum, of course — they mostly required many years of internship, which she hadn’t been able to stomach. It had occurred to her, of course, that she would never have been free enough and confident enough to pursue this course of study if it weren’t for the guaranteed windfall when she was twenty-five. If she didn’t have that money waiting for her, she’d have had to find a better-paying career option.

But that wasn’t an issue now, and she was glad for it. She had the money and didn’t even intend to use it for anything substantial. Her first big expense, just two days after the money was unlocked, was not even for her at all.

That seemed like a good way to start, she thought, spending the money on someone else. It wasn’t exactly a charity, but it was nice and it wouldn’t mainly benefit her: a stripper. Sally paid for the stripper for her friend Alyssa’s bachelorette party. Sally didn’t even care if there was a stripper, but she didn’t mind shelling out a few hundred dollars for her friend’s once-in-a-lifetime party.

She was upstairs smoking weed with her gay friend Rick when the doorbell rang. Her spine shuddered at the realization she was about to see a sexy man and would certainly get at least one lapdance from him. She might even touch his cock. This wasn’t news, of course, but all of her thinking on the matter had been about that money and how good it was that she wasn’t spending it on herself. She hadn’t really pictured herself seeing, and presumably touching, him until she heard the doorbell chime.

Only now, Sally thought, maybe she was spending it on herself after all. She couldn’t deny that a part of her had been looking forward to the stripper. She hurriedly told Rick she was stoned enough, and scurried downstairs. He agreed and followed — he was looking forward to the stripper as well.

Alyssa had always had a thing for Latin guys. She was denying it strenuously since she had gotten engaged to a white man, but Sally and Alyssa had been best friends for years, and Sally knew perfectly well what she found sexy.

And so she had hired a Latin male stripper. By the time she got downstairs, he was already dancing and had taken off a shirt, revealing a powerful brown chest.

Was he Latin? Sally had assumed as much because he looked Latino in the thumbnail on the website, and his stripper name was Big Brown. But his skin looked a bit browner than Hispanic skin, and his hair was curly in an almost Jewish or Arab manner; his face was broad, slightly slant-eyed. Was he Filipino? Mixed-race? He didn’t look un-Latino, she thought, but he didn’t exactly look Latino either.

Probably mixed race, she thought. In any case, it would be impolite to ask at this point, and it didn’t matter, Alyssa was enjoying the first lapdance of the evening.

The party droned on. Once the initial excitement wore off, Sally wasn’t having as good of a time as she had hoped, but Alyssa was, and that was what mattered. Unfortunately, for Alyssa, having a good time meant getting drunk; so she was passing out and falling over before nine o’clock in the evening. Sally didn’t know most of Alyssa’s other friends, and she sat alone most of the evening.

It seemed at first as though that might ruin the party. Once the bachelorette was put to bed, was there any point to a bachelorette party? Sally wasn’t sure, but it seemed Big Brown had some thoughts on the matter.

He kept on dancing, giving lap-dances and running out to his car to get a different costume he could strip off (an American Indian leather skirt and headdress, which just made his racial background more confusing).  The other girls were into it, and Sally pretended to be as well.

Finally it was her turn for a lapdance. Sally blushed and submitted, awkwardly at first. He was ungodly sexy, with a foppish head of untamed hair, a wide body brimming with muscles, and a kind smile that made Sally want to dance with him all night long.

It was against the rules to touch strippers; Sally knew that, but some of the other women had done it, and Big Brown hadn’t complained. She didn’t think about it, she just wrapped her hands around his big, firm asscheeks as they bounced up and down in front of her. Her heart thumped. The drone of the party faded away and blood pumped through her veins like she had just done a line of coke.

She squealed in delight as she realized she liked it — she had never been into male asses, no matter what they looked like. Sure some guys had notably ugly butts, but no one had a sexy ass, not really, she thought, until she laid her hands on Big Brown’s shaking ass.

One of her hands had crept around to his front. Did she really do that? Or did he guide her hands? She didn’t remember doing it herself, but she squealed again just the same as her hand wrapped around his erect cockshaft.

The other girls howled with laughter and mocking. They had been daring each other to stroke his dick all night, but most had barely touched it at all.

The song ended, and it wasn’t immediately replaced — Sally heard something dim, like the next song began with a very quiet intro that couldn’t be heard with the current volume settings. A grim silence fell over the room, as everyone watched Sally jacking Big Brown off.

“You ready to squeeze one out?” he asked.

Did she? Was she going to give some strange guy a handjob in front of a crowd of mostly strangers? That sure didn’t seem like her, Sally thought, but she wanted more than anything not to take her hand away.

His whole body writhed as though it took every muscle to respond to her hand on his dick. He shook and moaned, and in the silence of the music, his deep voice echoed.

He did have an accent, a lilting yet masculine tone — she could even hear it in his moan now that their was no music to cover it up. It wasn’t Latino, nor Middle-Eastern. Greek? Filipino was still possible, she thought. He had ornate tribal tattoos running up and down his trunk-like thicks, and she was mesmerized as his dick spasmed between her fingers. He grunted.

His muscles writhed as he moaned and reached orgasm; she didn’t stop, even as his creamy cum dripped over her fingers and down her wrist. Again his entire body shook, and his knees went weak. His toes curled. The crowd of women burst into cheers.

“Oh, god, that was so hot,” she said, blushing intensely. Her fingers massaged up his toned six-pack and bulging chest, smearing his semen over him. Without thinking about it, Sally added, “You’re such a sexy little papi.”

A new song started up. It was a catchy dance tune, and in no time the drunk girls had forgotten about the handjob, and were dancing with each other.

He smiled. “How did such a bunch of sexy ladies become friends? That never happens, where’s the ugly girls you always hang around with?” He flashed a big toothy grin. . He kissed her on the cheek and said, “Damn, mamacita, you gotta let me clean up. I still got a couple hours left to work.”

“Mamacita…” she repeated as she stood up, and he wiped himself off with a towel. He hadn’t said that as though it was a word he really knew. “Are you actually Latino?”

He shook his head. “I just play one. I am Tongan.”

Sally thought that sounded familiar, but couldn’t place what it meant. Was it an African country? He was dark-skinned, but he certainly didn’t look African. Her ignorance must have been obvious on her face.

“Tonga, it is a small kingdom in the Pacific,” he said. He smiled. “I am Polynesian.”

Strippers Downlow

This is a sample chapter from Strippers Downlow, a story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series.

Pauly hated dancing for gay men. He was good at hiding it, or so he thought, but he was disgusted by every moment of it. He had been raised in a good Catholic home, and though he wasn’t homophobic, he was disgusted by manly, callused fingers caressing his body. He always made sure gay partygoers understood that he didn’t allow men to touch him.

But his coworkers didn’t care about that rule, which was supposed to be company policy even if it was never followed. The worst offender was a fellow guido stripper named Vito, but who went by Brown Thunder on account of his very dark skin. Vito was straight but he didn’t mind a little man-on-man touching for extra money, and he didn’t mind molesting Pauly against his will when he was paid enough. Pauly was astonished by how little care Vito had for faggots pawing all over his body.

It was merely an annoyance until one night when Vito went way over the line, raising Pauly’s ire worse than ever. It was a small party of gay men, and somehow that was always worse than a large party, Pauly thought. At a large party, every man really just hoped to catch a grope of the stripper. At a small party, everyone expected personal attention and constant grinding all night.

“Hey, how much money you want to suck each other’s dick?” asked the gay man who hosted the party, a young blond queer named Terry. He had a lisp and a limp wrist that made Pauly sick, as did his leering eyes that stared at Pauly’s dancing cock.

“No way,” Pauly said without thinking about it. He didn’t want to give any hint that he might be talked into it.

“Three grand,” Vito said, also without thinking about it.

Everybody laughed as Pauly and Vito stared each other in the eye. Pauly thought Vito was totally straight, and would refuse to do something like that no matter what. Dancing with a man was one thing, but Vito was really willing to trade blowjobs for money? It almost looked for a moment like they would fight. Vito shrugged and looked away, blushing a little. Was he surprised Pauly wouldn’t do it for any amount of money? Pauly was astonished by his new friend’s reaction.

“You can close your eyes. It’ll feel like a woman,” Terry said.

“No it won’t,” Pauly said. “Besides, that ain’t the main problem. I’m a Catholic, and that’s a sin. I mean… I sin sometimes too, we all do, but I ain’t sinnin’ in a way I don’t even like.”

Terry nodded. “Okay, whatever. I don’t have three grand anyway,” he said. “I am one poor queer.”

“I’ll let you suck me off for one grand,” Vito said. He pushed in front of Pauly to make the offer to Terry.

Pauly was astonished he would offer that. A thousand dollars was not really even that much money, he thought, and Vito was willing to compromise his spirituality and his integrity for it? Maybe he was desperate for cash right now, Pauly thought. He was glad he had never been that desperate.

Terry looked at Pauly. “I can give you both eight hundred to let me suck your dicks,” he said.

“Nope,” Pauly said.

“It’s a package deal,” Terry said. “I’m not doing just one of you. I really wanna double-suck two Italian studs like you. I’ve done one at a time, I only wanna do it if it’s something new. That means both at once.”

“Come on, man,” Vito said. “I don’t know about you, but I need the money.”

“How about a handjob?” Terry said. “I’ll give you both a handjob at the same time, and you cum on my face. Five hundred bucks each.”

“Eight hundred,” Pauly said.

“I’m not gonna pay you just as much for a handjob as I was gonna pay for a blowjob,” Terry said.

“Fine, don’t pay,” Pauly said.

There was a long tense silence. “Seven hundred,” Terry said.

Pauly sensed that Vito desperately wanted him to accept, and Pauly needed the money too. A handjob wasn’t that bad, right? It was no worse a sin than jacking yourself off, he thought. He wondered if Father Neil would accept that excuse in the confessional. He sighed and nodded. He didn’t need to make an enemy at his job, though he had a feeling that Vito was already angry with him for turning down any chance at more money than that.

Terry grinned as he reached out to both men’s crotches. Pauly and Vito both had dark skin and hairy bodies normally, though they both kept themselves reasonably trimmed, so when Pauly came close enough to feel Vito, he felt thick, coppery body hair. Vito’s body heat was palpable, as was the must of his sweat after hours of dancing. Vito wrapped one arm around Pauly’s waist and squeezed him close.

He gasped as Terry put both cocks together, jacking them both off at once. Pauly wanted to stop him, but Vito was getting rock-hard and even seemed to be enjoying himself.

It’s just a little cock-touching, he told himself over and over, it’s not a big deal. This’ll be enough money to pay off the smaller of the two credit card debts. Just let him do it.

He managed to get hard despite Vito’s body next to his. Vito’s body heat was relentless, the scratchiness of his belly hair was painful, the smell of his sweat and precum overwhelming. How did gay men do it?

Vito moaned and flexed his muscles as he orgasmed. The feel, sight and sound of it made Pauly nauseous, his stomach churn — Vito was basically dry-humping Pauly’s dick with his own dick. Vito’s reactions obviously overacted, Pauly thought, as though this was the best sex he had ever had, but the gay men watching didn’t seem to mind. They hooted and hollered passionately.

Hot, creamy cum shot onto Terry’s mouth and on his hands, some of which smeared onto Pauly’s hand. That did make him gag, the feel of its slimy texture — it felt alive, as though he could actually feel sperm swimming on his skin.

Terry licked his hand off but kept on jacking off both men simultaneously, even though Vito’s shaft was now limp and spongy. He grinned as he licked every drop of cum off his own fingers.

Pauly had to concentrate to shoot his own load. He was glad it finally happened — he didn’t want to humiliate himself by being unable to perform. He couldn’t bring himself to put on a little show like Vito had, so it was a quiet, embarrassed orgasm.

He shot a giant wad that coated Terry’s face in dripping cum. Terry used his fingers to wipe every drop into his mouth. Pauly took a deep breath and blushed as he saw the entire party staring at him.

“Thanks, boys. Here’s your money,” Terry said, handing over a wad of cash to both Pauly and Vito.

Taking the money just made Pauly feel dirtier.

Jailhouse Downlow

The moment the handcuffs clicked onto my wrists, I got a boner. The cop who arrested me was the square-jawed ex-military type, with a bored expression and a detached tone. C-Bone Bliss— or Calvert Howard, as he was apparently named — slid into the back of the cop car first, with me to his right. I was terrified of what I was doing, even though I knew this silly vandalism charge was not going to mean anything in the long run. The small fine was a fraction of what I was paying, and was well worth it.

“Yo, pig, I can’t believe you lockin’ me up on this shit,” C-Bone said, muttering over and over. “I ain’t some punk kid, homes.”

“Zero tolerance for vandalizing public property, guys, there’s been an epidemic of that. You the fourth and the fifth motherfuckers brought in today for it. I gotta bring you in and charge you. You’ll be out in the morning,” the cop said.

The sun was just setting, and we had a long night ahead of us. C-Bone had set this up for me, in exchange for more money than I feel comfortable disclosing. He said three of his boys had been transferred to a local lock-up for the last few months of their incarceration. They were, he said, ready for some consensual sex to get themselves re-oriented to the outside world.

“You ever been arrested?” he asked when we arranged it the month before. I told him no, and he said, “Well, this won’t be a big deal. It’s just a fine. But don’t give them any lip, or they could arrest you for something worse. Let me push the boundaries. I can make it work.”

“Have you been in prison before?” I asked, “Like for real?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“What…? Y’know, what was it like?”

“You mean was there a lot of hot sex?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, blushing.

“Yeah, there was,” he said, “But it’s not what you think. It’s not sexy like you’re imagining it. Everything good about a person dies in prison, everything beautiful or sexy or smart. Not always right away, but it goes sooner or later.. You don’t need to worry about that tonight, though. I’m setting this up, and it’s going to be good.”

Processing was sexy, especially with C-Bone there, muscles bulging out of his dingy wifebeater, scowling, unshaven, and scruffy for once. He hadn’t showered today, he said, just as I asked, and neither would his boys. I could smell the caked on sweat emanating from him as we sat in the local jailhouse. The rows of cells lined up before us, and I could hear men calling out, gruff rednecks and black men, their voices tinnily echoing. Their timbre turned me on, and I was so intent on making out their catcalls that I kept failing to follow instructions from the cop who had arrested us and was trying to process us. C-Bone continued to complain the entire time, and even fought back a little, needing to be forcibly restrained when the cop removed his bling and shoes. “Be careful with them sneakers, man,” C-Bone said menacingly. “Don’t scuff them up.”

C-Bone had promised he’d arrange things with the night staff, and he followed through exactly. I don’t know how he did it, but we were shoved roughly into a cell with his three friends, or his “niggas,” as he called them.

Raheem was the biggest and the roughest, covered head to toe in tattoos and bulging with prison-toned muscles, his abs perfectly lined, dick bulging out of the thin white prison boxers he and the other two all wore. He had scars crisscrossing his face and neck, and a mean sneer. Next to him was Jamil, a portly man, not fat, but strong and possessing a visible belly, like a real working man’s frame, with a fat dumb face and a protruding jaw. He scratched his balls and spat on the floor when we arrived in the brightly lit cell. The third, Eric, was very tall and lean, with a handsome face and long dreadlocks. He looked straight at me with a sick grin, stepping towards C-Bone without taking his eyes off me.

“Yo, nigga,” Eric said, slapping hands with C-Bone. They proceeded to greet C-Bone, all three of them hugging him closely, lingering as though they hadn’t seen each other in years, which, indeed, they hadn’t, if C-Bone could be believed.

There were two bunk beds and a small cot next to the toilet and sink. The three men had already claimed bunks, with photos taped to the walls and clothes (street clothes, I noticed, presumably in preparation for their release) stacked on the shelves by each bed. Calvert moved to sit on the one empty bed, stretching out and taking his shirt off. He was almost too tall for the tiny space. I sat on the cot, only to have all four of them immediately stare at me as though I had insulted their mothers.

“Yo, white boys sit on the floor,” Jamil said, patting his gut and pointing to the floor.

“That’s our sittin’ cot,” said Raheem, and they all laughed.

I moved to the floor where Jamil pointed, right at his feet, so close I could smell his stank ass through the jogging pants he wore.

“Yo’ Calvert, what kinda whiteboi you bring in, anyway?”

“He’s my bitch,” C-Bone said. “I didn’t wanna be in here without a whiteboi to fuck, so I always bring one along when I break the law. I know what it’s like to be locked up without a bitch. Don’t wanna go through that again.”

“That mean we can fuck him?” Raheem said, eyeing me. I was touching myself through my pants, incredibly turned on as they chatted about me as though I wasn’t there.

“Nah,” Calvert said. “That ass is mine.” That was part of our deal — I was worried about diseases from strange, imprisoned men, and besides, I knew Calvert had a big black dick and could fuck me good with it. I didn’t see any need to to risk the Big H when Calvert got himself tested regularly and used condoms. “His mouth, however, is open for business.”

“Nigga, we ain’t got no cash to pay for it,” Eric said. “We been locked up, remember?”

“You can pay me when you get out,” C-Bone said. He looked right at me. “You hear that, bitch? You suck on whatever they tell you to suck on.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I wasted no time in pulling down Jamil’s sweatpants, his fat cock springing out, limp but long and dimpled with sweat. The smell of his balls overwhelmed me.

“Oh, this bitch is eager,” Jamil said.

His dick tasted musty and strong, and it swelled to fill my mouth right away, precum leaking out and filling my throat. I squeezed at the base, my hands roaming around to his heavy, thick asscheeks. Oh, this bitch is nasty. He likes nigga dick, don’t he? I spat up around his shaft, letting my frothy saliva drip down to his balls. He is doing that shit right. He got a fag-whore mouth, huh?

I took his dick out of my mouth and grabbed the sweatpants between his leg, lifting up the seat to my mouth and inhaling deeply of his stale farts and ground-in stains. Jamil laughed and groaned in disgust, shushing himself as Calvert waved his hands around to tell him to be quiet. This is some faggot shit, man, I don’t even know about that. I been in prison for three years, ain’t never seen nothing that gay. I licked the worn seat of his pants, little bits of fuzz sticking to my teeth along with the musk. I blushed in embarrassment at the men’s disgusted laughter.

Jamil’s balls looked enticingly sweaty, covered in coarse nigga hair. I took one in my mouth, savoring its thick meaty fullness, those hairs tickling my lips and tongue. I moved back up his shaft while behind me, Raheem and Eric approached, flopping their dicks against my back. We gonna destroy that bitch’s throat next, nigga. He ain’t gonna swallow solid food for a week.

Calvert arranged the bunk beds with sheets hanging from the sides, in order to protect us from the prying eyes of the jailers. Tell me you like nigga dick. I reached out to Raheem’s ass, which was so well-muscled it felt like solid granite. I caressed his thighs until he cruelly muttered that I was a faggot and pushed my hand onto his dick instead.

I love nigga dick. I moved on to Eric’s long cock. I slurped it down, savoring the sweaty taste to it. I kept one of my hands on Jamil’s rod, so I was now servicing all three of them. Calvert too was slipping into place behind me, his penis already lubed up and sliding against my ass.

Calvert slid his dick into my ass. Say it again. His cockhead sat there, pushing against my tight prostate, the pressure building up slowly inside me. My intestines loosened and relaxed, while his meaty hands roamed around to my back and chest, pushing me down so he could fuck me better. He spat on my asshole to lube it up, the rough friction against my sphincter overwhelming with alternating waves of pleasure and pain. I love nigga dick!

All three inmates jammed their dicks together, fleshy heads leaking precum against each other. Oh, you are lucky we just got out of the pen, and we used to this kinda fag shit. I woulda slit yo’ fuckin’ throat if you made me touch some other nigga’s dick before I got locked up. Their precum leaked down all three shafts, and I licked each one in turn.

I love nigga dick!

Jamil’s stout belly jiggled as his eyes rolled back in his head, his fat cock spurting a thick wave of jizz that covered my face, some of it even leaking into my nostrils. Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah! He sucks better than most females. Raheem and Eric didn’t let up at all, jamming both their dicks into my mouth. Jamil wiped every last drop of cum on my forehead, its thick snotty tendrils getting all over his hands and his niggas’ dicks. They groaned in disgust but continued, slimy shafts rubbing against each other.

Calvert roared and heaved behind me, my prostate splitting in half, it seemed, as his dick pressed deeper into me. Pain blinded me while pleasure shook my spine. I shuddered and pushed back, helping squeeze a few more inches of his manhood inside me.

Now that he had cum, Jamil simply kneeled behind me, flopping his sticky dick against my shoulder. Okay, watch this. Here’s how I learned to punk a bitch out behind bars. If you just fuck his back, between his shoulders, it kinda feels like a shitty blowjob. But it ain’t rape and the guards won’t stop you, so it’s got its advantages.

Raheem tapped out Eric and positioned his hips square in front of my face. He smiled down at me and let out a thick wad of spit, which landed right on my forehead. He grabbed my ears. I won’t lie. This ain’t gonna be easy. Raheem gripped my ears tight and rammed his dick down my throat. I choked instantly, gagging all over him.

He was relentless, ignoring my coughing and cries. I was sure I bit down a little, his cock flesh filling every corner of my mouth and squeezing against my teeth, but he didn’t notice or didn’t care. He jackhammered his whole body into me, while Calvert did the same from the other end.

Holding my head in place with his muscular thighs, Raheem stopped moving, keeping my head still. Calvert rammed his cock the rest of the way into my ass. Cum spilled out of Raheem’s cock, filling my mouth and spurting out my nostrils. He held me in place until his orgasm was completely done, then let his cock flop out. A huge bubble of spit and semen exploded out of my mouth.

I gasped for air, motioning for Eric to come quickly. I loved the intense high of being suffocated by cock, so I eagerly sucked Eric’s fat rod right down. His was even longer than Raheem’s, but less thick, so I was able to get most of it down my throat. I gagged on it and spit up all over Eric’s crotch, but kept his pulsating dick in there.

Oh shit, you can see his dick in the bitch’s throat! Jamil laughed, massaging my throat as though jacking Eric off through my skin.

My ass was so torn up it was numb, except for the shooting pangs of sexual bliss that hit me with every thrust of Calvert’s cock. I felt a spreading warmth and knew he had cum, his gruff voice whispering in my ear, muscles pressed against my back.

Eric came at the same time, filling my throat up for the third time since I arrived in the cell. I let his load sit on my tongue, then gargled with it, showing him and his other niggas the wad of semen I savored.

“Hey!” came the cop’s voice, the one who had arrested Calvert and I to begin with, “You bitches shut the fuck up behind that sheet. I don’t wanna see whatever fag shit you doing, so don’t make me come back there. Just quiet the fuck down.”

From Male Escort to Straight Trade Hunter

This is the entirety of From Male Escort to Straight Trade Hustler by J.T. Washington.

“Hey, this is Vance,” said the deep gravelly voice on the other end. It took Ryan a moment to remember who Vance was. Ryan’s partner, Sam, was reading the newspaper, but put it down when he realized Ryan had picked up the phone and paused. Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Oh, right, Vance, hello. Leslie’s… friend,” Ryan said, trying to sound as butch as possible, though he wasn’t very good at it. Leslie was Ryan and Sam’s lesbian friend, whose hiring of Vance as a male escort was how Ryan and Sam had met Vance in the first place.

Vance cleared his throat. Ryan got hard at the memory of Vance’s ruggedly handsome face, and his strong body perfectly filling out the suit he had worn the last time they saw each other. He was a perfect ladies man, full of confidence and swagger without losing any of his charisma and grace.

That last time they saw him, when he was with Leslie in a tailored tuxedo that showed off every inch of his body, had been when Ryan and Sam offered Vance a lot of money for a taste of his cock. He had refused, said he was strictly heterosexual regardless of how much money was on the table.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “I was wondering if that offer you made was still on the table.”

Ryan was frantic to say yes, and he stood up as though about to run a marathon. “Yes, yes, yes,” he said. Sam was looking at him confused, so Ryan clarified into the phone, “Yes, of course our offer is still open.”

Sam raised his eyebrows again, this time in surprise. Vance had seemed so certain before, and he made it seem like he made enough money escorting that he wasn’t likely to be desperate.

“Oh thank god,” Vance said, “Please don’t tell Leslie. I don’t want word to get out that I was talked into it, or everyone will start trying to get me to switch teams. I just need a little money right away, that’s all.”

“Sure, of course. The economy’s tough out there,” Ryan said, too excited to think of anything more coherent to say.

So they made plans to meet that weekend, Ryan thought of little else as the day approached. He had been daydreaming about getting in Vance’s pants, and could barely believe his luck at getting Vance to agree. He was glad he and Sam had in common their love for straight hustlers — he could never be in a relationship with a man who wouldn’t let him pursue some straight cock on the side. It seemed silly to nitpick over that, it barely counted as cheating if the man you were with wasn’t attracted to you at all.

They met at a hotel room, a fancy one with a big plush mattress. Vance brought along a portable DVD player and some lesbian porn, which he sheepishly pulled out as they got ready. . The look on his face was that of a man on his way to his own execution. He walked slowly, eyes averted, and put the lesbian porn on wordlessly.

“We’re going to make this as good for you as we can,” Ryan said, as sympathetically as he could. It was a little awkward to be pushing a man into doing something gay that he really didn’t want to do. But it was clear he needed the money more than he needed a pure heterosexual soul, and Sam had more money than he had sexual inhibition. It was a good combination for Ryan, who was down for whatever but didn’t have the resources on his own to attract anyone with class like Vance. He could afford to hire an occasional street tough for some downlow action, and he often did precisely that, but it wasn’t the same as the professionally-sexy Vance.

Vance shut his eyes and focused on the sounds of women loudly orgasming on top of each other. He undid his slacks and pulled them to his knees, then let a long, thick swarthy cock flop out. It was limp, seeming almost scared by what was about to happen.

Ryan dove onto it first, wanting to get the taste of homo-virginity deflowering. He knew Sam would be pissed — Sam was the actual payer, after all — but Ryan didn’t care. Vance had obviously been keeping himself clean and perfumed for the ladies. His dick tasted like lavender and cream, and Ryan moaned around the cockflesh in his mouth.

Sam began licking around the base, and soon they both worked their lips and tongue up the shaft of his dick. It got hard quickly and pulsated beneath their tongues, its heat filling up first Ryan’s throat and then Sam’s. They took turns choking on it, letting its thickness ad fullness quench their thirst.

Precum leaked from his dick. Its sour-salty taste flowed into Ryan’s mouth, and he closed his eyes in bliss as his own cock reached orgasm. He loved the taste of a nice, clean cock like this, though he had to admit a love for rough and filthy dick too. There was something enticing about flesh that smelled like fresh laundry.

“I can’t believe how good this feels,” Vance said, “Don’t tell anybody I liked it. I mean, don’t tell anyone about this, but for god’s sake, don’t tell them I got hard right away.”

Ryan and Sam couldn’t answer with their mouths full of his cock, but Vance didn’t seem to need a real answer. He was too intent on his impending orgasm to listen anyway.

When Vance’s balls pulled up in his scrotum, which Ryan felt in his fingertips massaging his nutsack, Ryan knew his orgasm was imminent. A selfish part of his mind told him to get right on the cockhead, so he would get the full taste of his cumload, but Ryan knew he would never hear the end of that. Besides, he really did love Sam and wanted him to want this — if he didn’t have a good time, he’d never pay for it again, after all.

So Ryan shared Vance’s dick with his boyfriend, and they both took his cockhead in their mouths just as the first spray of cum came out. It landed on Ryan’s tongue, but the next one hit Sam’s lip.

Vance moaned in uncontrollable ecstasy, his body shaking with every thrust of his hips. Semen jetted out of his shaft in great, thick arcs, which Ryan and Sam enthusiastically lapped up with their tongue.

They kissed when Vance finished, letting their shared cum pool on their interlocking tongues. They collapsed onto the bed, rubbing their own bodies together, while Vance awkwardly stood.

They were deep in the throes of love-making when Vance finished dressing, took his cash from the table and said, “Okay, thanks guys, bye. Don’t tell anyone I enjoyed that.”

Ryan didn’t know if Vance was hard-up for cash or if he had decided that gay blowjobs weren’t as bad as he thought, but he called them back just a few weeks later to set up another appointment. Ryan was just glad to hear that sultry voice, which reminded him of the previous sexual encounter and made his dick jerk to attention in his pants.

They made a quick date, and Ryan was excited at the possibility of this becoming a regular event. As long as Sam could afford it — which Ryan didn’t know, since Sam never told him anything about his finances — Ryan would have loved to make it a Thursday night event for the couple.

But this time, Sam had an idea to make it even better. As Vance dropped his pants, Sam made eye contact with me and smiled. He spoke softly, tentatively, as though if he was quiet enough, Vance would say yes without hearing the offer. “We’ll pay you an extra two hundred bucks to lick your ass too,” Sam said. Ryan was proud of him. He wasn’t usually so forward about this kind of thing.

Vance turned around and blushed. “Four hundred,” he said.

“Three hundred,” Sam countered. “That’s all the cash we have.” Ryan knew he would have agreed to four, so he was glad Sam was the one haggling. Ryan could never bluff anyone.

“Fine,” Vance said. He sighed a little as though regretting it as soon as he said it. But he was resigned to it now, and slowly turned around. He began undoing his belt buckle to drop his jeans — it was nice to see him in something other than the fancy suit he normally wore, and Ryan was glad to see he looked just as sexy in workman’s boots and jeans, with a plain t-shirt over his trim torso.

“Wait,” Sam said, “Let us take it off.”

Sam undid the belt buckle and Ryan pulled down his pants, his head just inches from his cologned, pert asscheeks. He kissed Vance’s ass through his designer red boxer shorts, and Vance winced as though it hurt.

Ryan slowly pulled down his boxers, while he and Sam licked the rapidly revealing asscheeks, his swarthy skin slightly paler there, the color of milky coffee. A few fine black hairs crept up from his thigh, and some lined his crack, but it appeared Vance shaved. Ryan was a little disappointed about that. He loved the meaty, unkempt feel of male ass against his tongue, but he knew Sam preferred the clean approach.

The smell of sweat was always overwhelming at a man’s ass, that was one of the thing’s Ryan loved about rimjobs — it was like pure, unadulterated man; it was like freebasing masculinity, and Ryan couldn’t get enough of it. He licked from the top of the asscrack, and Sam licked up from the bottom. Their tongues met near his asshole, and there they kissed, Vance’s curly asshairs caught between their lips.

Vance’s whole body tensed up as they penetrated his rectum with their tongues. The taste and smell of his manhood wafted over them, and Ryan felt his own dick nearing orgasm.

As Vance neared his climax, Sam went around to the front and got down on his knees there. He opened his mouth, but Vance was too intent on enjoying his rimjob from Ryan to pay attention.

Vance’s body bucked and arched as Ryan’s tongue explored his ass, flickering into his anus and delicately teasing the hairs around his crack.

Vance suddenly stood up and his knees straightened. His cock jutted out angry and red, nearing orgasm so closely Ryan could almost taste it in the air.

Sam dove down on the cockhead, surrounding its tip with his tongue. He moaned as the taste filled his senses, and he stroked Vance’s cock with one hand.

Ryan reached forward to play with Vance’s balls, and his hand met Sam’s. They worked Vance’s scrotum together and cooed in sync with his involuntary buzz of pleasure coming out of his mouth.

Vance was obviously surprised by how good it felt, but it seemed he wasn’t bothering to stifle his pleasure anymore. He flexed his muscles and sighed as the orgasm finally overtook him. He sighed and shook, cum flowing out of his cockhead and into Sam’s waiting mouth.

Ryan crawled across the floor to his lover, one hand still kneading Vance’s hot, sweaty balls. Sam held the wad of cum in his mouth, waiting of rRyan, who was just a little jealous he hadn’t gotten the wad of cum in his own mouth.

They kissed, sharing the load and letting it run down their bodies as they sunk onto the ground together. They made out there, more passionately than they had in years, not since they were courting had they been so passionate and lustful together.

Vance looked away, as usual too grossed out by gayness to even watch. He kept his face pointed at the wall while he wordlessly put his clothes on.

“Thanks for that, guys,” he said.

Ryan was startled out of his sleep by banging on the front door. He and Sam panicked, jumping to their feet and running to see who it was. Sam grabbed an aluminum baseball bat they kept in the bedroom in case of home invaders. Ryan always thought it was ridiculous, the idea of the two of them, the queeniest queens on Queen Street, fighting off any home invader older than twelve.

But the prowess of their faggy fists was untested that night. it was only Vance, so drunk he could barely stand, leaning against the door threshold for support.

“You better say… Better say yesh to this while I’m shtill drunk,” Vance said. “I couldn’t do it sober.”

“Say yes to what?”

“I’ll fuck you both in the ass,” Vance said, then paused and giggled drunkenly. “Not at the same time. That’s not posshible.” He raised his finger as though making a grand discovery. “Unless you have two dicks. Which I don’t.”

Ryan felt his heart drop to the floor. He had thought they hit the jackpot at this hot, smooth straight stud letting them lick his asshole. But getting that cock inside him? That was something he couldn’t turn down.

“I really need the money,” Vance said. “I’ve got bills, and y’know… Shit’s expensive, man. Inflation and all that.”

“Right, yeah, inflation,” Sam said, and his patronizing tone made Ryan laugh. Sam was undoubtedly the only one of the three who knew what inflation was, beyond some sense that it was had something to do with higher prices. Vance didn’t seem to notice Sam’s tone or Ryan’s laughter. He was focused on his payday.

“But I need some big cash,” Vance said.

“We don’t have any cash…” Sam said, “I mean, maybe a few bucks, but we didn’t know you were coming. We don’t normally keep that much cash around.” (Ryan knew that wasn’t totally true — Sam kept ten grand in cash in the bedroom safe, his “get the fuck out of dodge” cash).

Vance said, “Oh, I mean a check is fine, I just need it by the end of the month. Three grand.”

“Three grand to fuck both of us?”

“And we suck your dick and lick your ass again too,” Ryan said. He wanted to make sure to throw that in so Vance didn’t try to charge more for it later.

He sighed and said, “Yeah, fine. Ass-licking is gross, though, you two should be ashamed of yourselves. You kiss each other with those mouths.”

“Yeah, the grossness is the best part,” Ryan said.

Ryan and Sam looked at each other. Ryan raised his eyebrows. He wanted to do it, but that was a given. It wasn’t really his money, so it was easy for him to spend it. Sam was the only one who made a significant salary.

“Fine,” Sam said, “Let me get the checkbook. Don’t cash it until Friday though, I have to move some money over from savings.”

Vance nodded. He already dropped his jeans. He was wearing tattered white briefs today, the elastic slightly torn. He made an embarrassed face as though he had forgotten he wasn’t wearing hip underwear, but Ryan and Sam both showed a flush of sexual heat on their necks and faces.

“I call ass,” Ryan said, smiling at his partner. He knew Sam would be fine with that — he preferred blowjobs, given a choice.

Vance let out a wicked smile that he quickly suppressed. Ryan caught it for just a moment and smiled back, glad that some part of Vance enjoyed what was going on. While the idea of plying a straight guy into gay sex was a turn-on, Ryan didn’t want to feel like a rapist or extortionist.

The whiff of man odor coming off the old briefs gave Ryan a complete erection, which he massaged into fullness while licking Vance’s thighs. Sam pulled down the underwear from the other side, and Ryan moved his tongue up to the clammy flesh of Vance’s ass.

He wedged his face between Vance’s cheeks, diving straight in with his tongue to Vance’s hole. It puckered at his approach, and Ryan dived straight through. He enjoyed sharing the rimjob with Sam last time, but was glad that this time, he could go all in himself.

His tongue explored deeply into Vance’s body, flickering through the tangled mess of hair and sweat, manly juices flowing down Ryan’s gullet. He came for the first time but barely noticed, and once he was done, his hands darted around to Vance’s cock.

Ryan’s stroked Vance’s cock at the root where Sam couldn’t quite deepthroat. He kept his face buried in Vance’s ass, savoring the smell of the younger man’s quivering, awkward muscles around him.

“Okay, who wants it in the ass first?” he said, pulling out. He was a little out of breath, which Ryan took to mean he had stopped because he was about to bust his nut too early.

Ryan and Sam exchanged glances, and he nodded. He wanted Sam to go first, hoping he might get to take the cumload if he goes last. Sam either didn’t think of that or didn’t care, and he just bent over the bed with his pants down.

“Damn, you go right for it,” Vance muttered. He sneered a little as though disgusted as he guided his saliva-slickened cock to Sam’s pale ass.

Vance pushed in all at once with his eyes closed, his hands tightly clenched around Sam’s slim shoulders. Both their bodies shook, with disgust and pleasure respectively. Sam smiled at Ryan, while Vance frowned at the ceiling.

Their bodies pressed together as Vance began to slam his dick in and out of Sam’s ass. They quickly began moving in rhythm, Vance’s awkwardness faded as he seemed to realize that a man’s asshole was the same as a woman’s.

Ryan got himself into position next to his lover, ready to take his turn being impaled on Vance’s manhood. He clutched Sam’s hand while using his other hand to lube up his ass.

Vance switched quickly and without warning. He really must be close to cumming, Ryan thought. He thrust back with his hips, hoping to give Vance such a grand fucking he couldn’t wait to come back.

Vance signaled that he was cumming with enough notice to pull out and wait for Ryan and Sam to get in position at his feet. They both dove onto his cock, their tongues cleaning off the santorum and savoring its taste.

His cum was huge and thick, like he had been waiting for a long time for this one. It filled up first Ryan’s mouth and then Sam’s, and again they collapsed onto the bed in each other’s arms, letting his delicious cum run down our cheeks.

“Well shit…” he said, “Remember, don’t tell anyone I liked it.”

The Male Stripper From Heaven

This is a sample chapter from The Many Manipulations of Calvert Howard: For Gay and Bisexual Men, a story from Eroticature.org.

Teddy and I almost share a birthday — he was exactly one day older than me, leading to my pet name for him, “Coot.”. Like all queers, we feared and dreaded our fortieth birthday, and made a pact to start lying about our age at thirty-eight, and to never reveal the secret, even if we break up. We reasoned that it might even have a certain placebo effect and prevent us from getting older. However, we did want to do something special for our real fortieth birthday.

We had heard about Calvert (though we only knew him as Ebony Pain) from our friend, Eric Polowyciak, a dermatologist in Teddy’s practice. Calvert was straight, unbelievably so. We knew Eric had sucked him off, and we knew intellectually that he had been doing this for years, and while we believed he was truly straight — it is wrong, after all, to question somebody’s sexuality — we did not believe that he was so new to men on his dick that he needed to place a porno mag over our heads. He looked away, murmuring come-ons to the black women in the magazine, while we both went to town on his throbbing hot dick.

That first night was an unqualified success. That was the night before my birthday, not ideal but the nearest time Calvert could make it. We were so turned on by the night of fucking — Calvert came four times, once directly in each of our mouths and once each on our faces, and it was precisely that sort of professionalism that made me certain he was not the awkward neophyte he sexily pretended to be — that we hired him right then and there for a few more evenings, including Halloween and the weekend between Christmas and New Year’s. That last holiday would be our tenth anniversary together, and we wanted it to be special. With him there, talking about how desperately he needed to hire a lawyer for his “nigga Ragtime,” who was waiting for an appeal on a life sentence, how he would never fuck a “homosexual” (which he said as though it was some exotic species of slug he was forced to train) unless he needed it so bad, and how sinfully good we had been at sucking his cock.

We paid a few grand at Halloween to hire him for the evening to do something much sexier than be a stripper. He came to our annual party, which was well attended by all the queens in DC. He switched between the sexiest costumes you could ever see, arriving as the no-nonsense Officer Mahogany, then surreptitiously changing into a loinclothed caveman, then the Roman gladiator Cocktinius and finally the escaped convict in an orange prison jumpsuit Big Mickey. He was even sexier than he would have been as a stripper because he played all four characters as straight macho men forced by circumstances to amuse us homosexuals.

He gave Teddy and I special attention in each costume. As Officer Mahogany, he came at me by surprise, sneaking up behind me and wrapping one of those thick arms around me. I could taste his sweat and feel his muscles pounding against my chest as he put me in a chokehold, not squeezing at all, so I could simply drop out anytime I wanted.

“You got the right to remain silent, honky,” he whispered in my ear, pushing me down to the ground as though forcing me into submission. His heavy frame was right on top of me and my skin-tight Superman costume, the hairs of his chest and arm rubbing against me. My cock sprang into tumescence, pressing against my costume as a crowd formed to watch. “Quit fightin’ me, honky. You under arrest.” He slid the trick handcuffs onto my wrists and lifted me up in his strong arms, bending me over my own couch and roughly patting me down. He slowly groped every crevice of my body, running his fingers through the flab of my belly, my hair, my legs and even up the side of my thigh, his hand just barely brushing against my balls through my pants.

He pressed his muscular chest against my back, groping me and breathing heavily on my neck. I could feel his nightstick poking into my back, and next to it, his dick, which seemed to be at least a foot long and hard as granite. It was so hot I almost orgasmed right there, in my clothes, just from the hot impression of his dick through his uniform slacks.

“You think you could submit to a nigga cop?” he whispered in my ear. “Or would you be too proud? Huh?”

“I would love to,” I said, breathless. His stubbled jaw brushed against my pudgy face.

“So I could put you in handcuffs and bend you over? Make you my little whiteboi bitch in front of everyone?”

“Oh god yes,” I said.

“You’re out of luck then, fag. I only fuck criminals who don’t want it,” he said. The few of my friends who were watching closely, laughing at my blushing, intensely aroused face, burst into cheers.

He moved on to Teddy while I staggered to a chair on weakened knees. The next few minutes passed in a blur, and then I got distracted discussing the latest dramas with my friends.

The caveman thing seemed almost racist, as did the convict outfit, but they weren’t my idea, or Teddy’s (who’s half-black anyway, if that makes it better). He was a sexy caveman, coming out of the bathroom with a tiny loincloth that just barely covered his cock and balls, his incredibly toned asscheeks flexing with every movement. He made primitive sounds, jumping around the room to show off his muscles. The assembled men watched, clapping and throwing money in the tip bowl he had laid out. Only people who paid money were allowed to feel up the caveman’s ass, with everyone else getting a playful wrist slap.

Caveman Calvert slowly pushed me to the ground in front of the crowd, squatting over my face like a primitive man about to shit, then lowered his ass onto my face. Though sweaty and funky, it was clean and tasted like pure musk. His cheeks flexed around my face, and I heard cheering from my friends as Calvert posed for them.

Not sure if he intended for me to lick his ass, I just laid there at first, taking in the feel of his gluteus muscles around me, the sexy jiggling of those ass cheeks as he moved, but when he stayed and pushed his ass on my face harder, I gathered up the courage to stick my tongue out of my mouth. It came into contact with his tight little hole, which puckered around it. He wiggled his hips, smearing sweat across my face, then stood up and playfully slapped me.

I was so turned on by the impromptu rimjob, Teddy and I snuck into the bathroom to suck each other off. We were glad to have spent so much money on what was already sure to be called the party of the year among our friends.

We came out together, arm in arm, in time to see Calvert stride into the living room in a toga that showed off his legs, chest and biceps. He stood proudly, letting our friends prod him, their hands roaming under his clothes and groping him from head to toe.

Cocktinius got the attention of everyone there with an announcement: “Due to my vanquishment of my white-skinned opponents in the arena, I have been granted free reign by Emperor Caligula to drain my balls into any white man’s mouth I can find.” He slowly surveyed the crowd, who fell silent. He reached out one thickly muscled arm and swept across the assembled people as though unsure who to pick. He withdrew his magnificent cock and pointed to my friend Marcus Harbridge. I thought that was going to be who got to do it, and Marcus did too, it seemed. He grinned like a fat kid on Halloween and opened his mouth.

But then Cocktinius turned away from Marcus, prompting a loud groan of disappointment. He swung his dick and pointed it directly at me. My heart skipped a beat.

He restraightened his toga, the partygoers booing because his dick was covered up again. But then he lifted his toga over my head, his cock and balls flopping on my face, leaving a film of sweat and precum.

My friends cheered me on, and Cocktinius flexed his muscles for their amusement. I took one of his balls in my mouth, sucking on it like a delicate popsicle, then popped the other one in, his ballsac overflowing over my lips.

He swung his toga open to adoring cheers from my friends, who laughed at the sight of me suckling on his balls. I heard Teddy laughing so hard he snorted, no doubt red-faced from embarrassment.

Cocktinius grabbed my ears and took his balls out of my mouth. “Are you ready to suck my dick, citizen?”

“Oh god yes,” I said, swallowing his cockhead and moving down the shaft in a spiraling motion.

He grabbed my head and pulled it off, keeping my face inches from his dick. “I did not give you permission yet, citizen.” I eyed his dick hungrily, my eyes glancing up and seeing him sneer at me with that ungodly sexy face.

“Alright, citizen,” he finally said, “You may serve your lord as befitting a man of your station.”

I took his rod back in my mouth, producing as much spit as I could, coating his shaft with it. One of my hands stroked the base of his huge dick, the other caressed his moist balls.

He swayed his hips, front to back and side to side, making sure his dick hit every corner of my throat. It tasted so good I wanted to swallow the whole thing, but I could barely get half of it inside me.

Saliva and precum trickled out of my mouth, as we slowly shifted from me sucking him off to him treating my face like a pussy he hates. He held my head in place and pushed his dick in until I choked and my friends cheered. He went slowly at first, then faster and deeper.

By the time he came, Cocktinius’ throbbing dick was three-quarters of the way down my throat. I spasmed around it, spitting up his cum and smearing it all over his cock as soon as he ejaculated.

I licked up all the cum myself until Teddy joined me, both of our tongues lapping up every inch of Cocktinius’ dick, which quivered with every touch.

Teddy and I kissed each other, and Cocktinius backed away, disappearing to a back room to change into his last costume. Teddy and I again returned to the bathroom to wash our faces off and make out a little.

“I love you,” Teddy said.

“I love you more,” I said back. We usually engaged in a round of romantic arguing over who loved whom more, but we heard a crash from out in the front room.

Running out of the bathroom, we saw the party had coalesced in one corner. Calvert was there, having crawled in through a window, it seemed, dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit. He was addressing the crowd as ‘Big Mickey,’ an escaped convict.

“So if any of you faggot-ass motherfuckers call the cops, I will rape you in ways you do not like–”

“Impossible!” somebody called out.

“What about Officer Mahogany?” Teddy asked, laughing, pulling me to the front of the crowd.

“Officer Mahogany happens to be one of my niggas, so that’s okay,” Big Mickey said. “But I know he’s out fucking bitches right now. So don’t bother him.”

“Big Mickey,” Teddy said, giggling, holding me close, “Can you show the birthday boy here what you do in prison?”

Big Mickey moved close as though sizing me up. He sneered and snorted, lifting me up by my armpits. Even though I knew Calvert was a nice guy, I was terrified at the cruel face he presented. He was so close I could feel his strapping muscles beneath the prison jumpsuit.

He felt my ass, roughly squeezing each cheek. Nodding his head slowly, as though still considering it, he reached one of his hands into my pants and rammed a finger into my hole. Just the tip, but it hurt a little, and felt amazing. It wasn’t tender like when Teddy did it, it was mean, rude and clinical.

“Alright, bitch, come here,” he said. He took me by the arm into the kitchen. “We gonna do some prison foreplay.”

I smiled and grabbed his cock through his jumpsuit, sinking to my knees. He stopped me, though, and said, “Nah, I already got a blowjob from my bitch today. We doing something else. You got honey?”

I nodded and went to the cupboard to get the little plastic squeeze jar in the shape of a bear.

“Ain’t that cute? White people always got honey,” he said, holding up the bear bottle. He dropped the jumpsuit to the floor, turned around and bent over in front of me. “Spread my cheeks,” he said, and I did. He had a beautiful rectum, just begging to be licked. He used one hand to squeeze out most of the honey in the bottle right into his ass crack, his hole twinkling and sucking it up. “Back in lockup my bitches usually only get one little packet of honey or grape jelly, and I make them lick that shit up for hours. Ain’t much else to do after all.”

I dove right in, my face instantly sticky with honey, the sweet flavor filling my mouth. My tongue darted straight into his tight asshole, which puckered around it. The sour taste rectum usually has was masked by the honey, which I enthusiastically lapped up.

Teddy joined me, which was a surprise because he hates rimjobs, but he only stuck to Big Mickey’s ass cheeks. He licked each globe and even sucked on Big Mickey’s hairy taint.

“Yeah, bitches, you shoulda been in lockup with me. Get yo’ tongue all the way in there. Yo’, come on,” he said, “Fucking hell, gimme that shit.” He reached back and pulled on my tongue roughly, pushing it deeper inside him. “Hold it in there and wiggle it around. Eat up all that honey.”

He sat up suddenly, pushing me to the ground and sitting on my face. He didn’t put all his weight on me, so I could still breathe, but his asshole was directly on my mouth, my tongue still inside him.

After riding my face for a few minutes, he kneeled and turned me around. I gasped, realizing that his huge rod was about to be rammed inside me. An indescribable pressure overtook me then, his cockhead pushing against my ass.

I gasped as my sphincter loosed and his cock slipped inside, first a few inches, then a few more. I winced with about half of it in there, feeling also a bolt of pleasure that made my dick stand up.

“Oh, you already resistin’?” he laughed a deep, rolling barrel laugh. “I love a little resistance. You got a long ways to go, boi. This is gonna be a journey for you.”

He squeezed a little lube onto his dick, greasing a few more inches into my ass. His cock throbbed against my prostate, the pain dwindling as the familiar pleasure of ass-fucking began to hit me.

More than half of his dick was inside me now. My senses constricted to the point where I could feel nothing but his cock inside me, his muscles pressing down on my back, and heard only his harsh words, murmuring that he was going to turn me into his pussy.

“You got most of it, bitch. Get ready for the last push,” he said. He thrust his hips forward, another shot of pain rocking my body underneath the roiling storm of a gathering climax.

I gasped, yelping with every slam of his body against mine. The last of his dick slipped inside, and he began fucking me hard. Taking his cock all the way in, then most of the way out, he teased me with his tongue on my ear, nibbling on my earlobe. His biceps crossed my chest as though trying to stop me from crawling away.

He stopped it with the threats, his body tense and still, his balls constricting. His dick was all the way inside me, pulsating, shooting a shower of cum that washed over my intestines.

I came too, shooting all over the floor at the same time, and he let go of me, pushing me into the mess I had just made. His dick plopped out.

As my breathing returned to normal, I heard the excited cheers and gasps of my friends, who had gathered by the kitchen door to watch.

Calvert dropped his Big Mickey act and rose to his feet, slimy cock resplendent in the well-lit kitchen. “Okay,” he said, “Who wants a Big Mickey? That’ll be five hundred bucks, and I have a credit card machine in my car.”

Everybody Loves a Black Man in a Suit

This is a sample chapter from The Many Manipulations of Calvert Howard: For Straight and Bisexual Women, a story from Eroticature.org.

“You’re still nervous,” he said. “Relax. They’ll like me. You’ve told me enough about them I can probably get you a raise.”

I laughed. “No way. I just got hired on.”

“If you get a raise in the next month, give me five hundred bucks?” he raised his eyebrows at me.

“Fine,” I said. “It won’t happen.”

Calvert leaned the passenger seat back because he barely fit in my tiny European car. I snuck a momentary glance into his soulful eyes, pretended to check my blind spot. He had deep, chocolate skin and impossibly beautiful dimples, which popped out with every expression on his ruggedly handsome face. His hair was braided in tight round cornrows, which I ached to rub my fingers through. I knew he wouldn’t be interested though, not in me — for a girl working in IT, I was cute, sure, but I was round and my face was eternally blotchy.

“Nobody will ever believe you’re my boyfriend,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re… much, y’know… hotter than me,” I said.

“Are there any other black people there?”

“No.”

“You’ll be fine then. They’ll just think it’s a black thing,” he said. “What’s your political persuasion?”

“What? Progressive left. Liberal. Liberal-left, but I-”

“Can you pretend to be right-wing?”

“You mean this weekend?”

“Well it’d be weird if you change on Monday morning, so probably as long as you work there,” he said.

“You want me to pretend to be conservative?” I asked.

“It’ll help you get a raise,” he said.

“But, I mean… I’m liberal because I believe in things. What’s the point of believing in things if you hide them from people?”

“You’re working for a right-wing company, right? That’s what you told me,” he said.

“But you don’t have to be conservative to fix their computers.”

“You do have to be conservative to get a raise,” he said. “I mean, it might just be enough if I’m a conservative, but it would help if we both are. An unmarried woman and a black dude in the Republican Party? They’ll treat us like the last mating pair of whooping cranes.”

“But don’t you actually believe in anything?”

“What do you mean? Like about economics and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck no,” he said, waving me off like the idea was preposterous.

“You just have no opinion?”

“I don’t give a shit. It doesn’t matter to me. I can fit in either side, no matter who wins. Not a big deal,” he said.

“This is the election of a lifetime, Calvert. You should care. Believe in something,” I said, feeling awkward at being so uncynical, which is very unlike me normally.

“Like what?”

“Well I think you should be a liberal because we’re all about helping people, basically,” I said. “And the other side isn’t.”

“Yeah, helping people is cool,” he said. “But self-reliance is neat too. It’s a conundrum. Hence, I don’t give a crap.”

I shrugged and said, “Fine, be like that if you want. Don’t blame me when President Bush starts World War III.”

“I will not blame you for that,” he said, with such seriousness I had to laugh.

We were approaching the campgrounds where our team-building weekend was to be held. To say I had been dreading it would be the understatement of a lifetime, and I was glad to have somebody to come with me, even if it was only my big sister’s fuckbuddy. This was my first real job and I couldn’t blow it by being the only girl, the only ugly person, the only single person and the only awkward person to be there. We were the Washington DC branch of a large multinational mining company, and since there were no mines in DC, our offices were entirely administrative, legal and professional, meaning that everyone was handsome, pretty and charming yes-men. And now here I was, Princess Piggie of Nerdshire, showing up with Prince Charming inexplicably at her side.

The camp was flawlessly manicured, grassy lawns and beautiful trees, ornate cabins built into the woods. Calvert and I made our way to a cleared area they called “Admin”, which was where we were to meet up with my coworkers. There, we chatted together, waiting for everyone else to arrive.

“I’m gonna be Donald Bureaugard,” he said. “I’m from Louisiana.”

“What? A fake identity? Doesn’t that seem a bit much?”

“You want me to get you a raise?”

“How will that get me a raise? I’ll forget and call you Calvert. I know I will,” I said, shaking my head.

“Then I’ll say it’s my middle name. Yes, it’ll help you get a raise. You gotta commit to things, girl. You wanted me to come along and make you look good, but they’re gonna ask me questions, and if I tell the truth, it’s not gonna make you look good. Come on, I gotta be Southern, and ‘Calvert’ almost sounds like a street name,” he said. “‘Donald Bureaugard’ it is-” he drew out the vowels of his name, sliding into his accent, which wasn’t strong but was just barely noticeable, and though I wasn’t a student of accents, it was distinctive enough that I noticed the Creole hint to it. “It’s a perfect name, yessir it is. Donald Bureaugard is a Southern solicitous nigger, and they gonna like that.”

“How do you know they’ll like you? How can you be so sure?”

He shook his head and furrowed his eyes as though I should have known the answer. “Cuz e’rybody love a black man in a suit. Just relax, see? Let me do the hard part. We got honkies incomin’.” He nodded to a man approaching us.

“Kendra, so good to see you here,” said Terrence, the branch lawyer, a handsome man with thinning blonde hair and a fine suit. He was staring at Calvert with that stare that I had expected, that ‘what the hell are you doing with this troglodytic computer-goblin, you handsome stud bastard?’ Calvert wrapped his arm around me and kissed me, the feel of his muscles around my body sending a shiver of excitement up and down my spine.

“This is my boyfriend,” I said, blushing as I said it, sure he would catch me lying. “Donald Bureaugard.”

“How do ya do, sirruh?” Calvert said, his accent making the words drip out like maple syrup. He shook Terrence’s hand with a grip so firm I could feel it from here. He used two hands to enthusiastically shake Terrence’s whole arm.

Terrence was taken aback. We were an office of staid white folk, and Calvert — Donald, sorry — had an energetic aura, attracting attention with every motion. His drawling accent somehow made his voice louder, more resonant, and even sexier to my ears.

“This is a mighty fine campground here,” Donald said. “I ain’t wanna come here but, y’know…” He nodded at me, then hugged me again, “My li’l lady insisted. She say if I gotta get torture, you get torture wit’ me.” He laughed louder than seemed necessary for the joke, and Terrence joined in as though it was genuinely funny. I laughed too, praying it didn’t look forced.

The initial presentation began then, and I stood by Donald until we were separated into employees and spouses. Since neither of the other two female branch employees had attended, the spouses group consisted of Donald and about two dozen middle-aged or elderly women, who fawned over him immediately.

By the time us employees were released, I had lost track of Donald. I found him again smoking a cigar with Mr. Franks, the branch chief, a no-nonsense businessman with a wide belly and an imposing barrel laugh.

“I like you, Mr. Bureaugard,” he was saying. “You get it. You ain’t like one o’ them race-baiting preachers on the TV.”

“Oh, no sirree, I b’lieve in harmony, equality, y’know. My pappy ain’t take no handouts, no welfare, and neither does I,” Donald said.

Mr. Franks roared in approval, more red-faced than I had ever seen him. He clapped Donald on the back. I wrapped one arm around Donald’s neat waist, ashamed for a moment as I saw Mr. Franks’ confused stare, no doubt wondering why he was with someone like me.

“What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mr. Franks asked. “A handsome, articulate young man like you must have a job, right?”

“I’m a mover right now, see,” Donald said, “But I be takin’ business classes on the side. I gonna open my own auto shop one day, Mr. Franks, sir.”

“An auto shop, eh?”

“Oh yessirree, I grew up in a garage,” Donald said. “My uncle used to own one. I been workin’ there since I was too young, had to hide from the damn state regulators- Pardon my French, Mr. Franks, nothing makes me madder than bureaucrats,” he said. Mr. Franks enthusiastically agreed. Donald wrapped his arm around me. “Thass one of the many reasons I am so lucky I done got this beautiful lass right here, yessirree. She believe in me and know I can do it. She gonna wait for me, yessirree, years of savin’ bills and takin’ classes and working hard-”

We were interrupted by a member of the staff, who began the first trust-building exercise, and Mr. Franks had to address the crowd before it began. Throughout the day, I caught Mr. Franks giving Donald and I thoughtful glances every time there was a lull in the action.

The actual instructional portion of the day was as boring as I thought it’d be. We brainstormed buzz words, fell into each other’s arms and worked together in highly structured games that forced teamwork. It was, on the whole, equal parts humiliating and mind-numbingly dull.

Despite the dearth of enjoyment we got out of it, Donald shined in that kind of group, lightly-athletic setting. He was skilled at everything, carrying me across the “hot lava” rather than build a bridge like he was supposed to, laughing and carrying on with the instructors, the only one to do so, injecting a few sparks of liveliness into the morning.

Finally the morning session was over, and we were allowed to wander the camp for a little while. As soon as Donald and I walked into our cabin to prepare for lunch, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him on the lips. He seemed surprised but still kissed me back.

“Thank you so much! You’re doing great,” I said.

He kissed me again on the neck, one of his hands exploring under my blouse. I hadn’t intended to sleep with him until that very moment, though in retrospect, I realize now that it was always a guarantee.

His body filled out the dark suit he wore, which was noticeably not as well-tailored as the other men in the office, but he looked so much better in it than they did. His muscles fit perfectly inside it, and as he worked his kisses down the front of my face and neck, he slipped off his jacket. His pecs throbbed beneath the tight white shirt and he moaned with delight, kissing my breasts, my belly, my hips, reaching his hands into my groin.

He got down on his knees in front of me, showing off his impossibly long and thick tongue. “I love pussy,” he said quietly, ramming his tongue into me. His piercings — which my big sister had warned me about — vibrated, battering me inside and out with orgiastic energy.

I felt a surge of sexual pleasure ringing through my ears. I squeezed my thighs around his face. Gasping for air, I clasped one hand over my mouth, certain that anyone walking nearby could hear me.

His tongue flickeringly explored my body, filling up every inch of my sensitive parts. He was passionate, seemingly so overcome by his love for my pussy that he dove in, scurrying to take his slacks off and wrap one meaty hand around his hard cock.

The orgasm flowed across me like the heat and the moisture gushing out of me. I was embarrassed at how loud I was.

I don’t know how long it lasted, or how long I laid there with my legs wrapped around his face and neck as though I was trying to smother him. When I moved to disentangle myself from him, I discovered that his tongue was still sitting limp and motionless in my pussy — which was still numb from the fucking — and as soon as I moved and it touched the sides of my pussy, a second orgasm ripped through me.

The second climax was so powerful it brought tears to my eyes. Donald jerked back into action, fucking me with his tongue. He was relentless, driving his oral meat deeper and deeper into me with every thrust.

He finally removed himself from me as I fell limp again, looking up at his handsome, slick face. He smiled at me and said, “God, I love women.”

After that I was relaxed. I thought I’d be nervous that people would see me flushed, with a just-fucked look to my hair and makeup. But I didn’t think about at all, and I was more charming and outgoing all afternoon than I had ever been at the office. Donald was the hit of the weekend, and every single person there asked me how he was doing the next week.

Less than a month after the retreat, Mr. Franks called me into his office and said he was proud of the work I’d been doing and that he wanted to give me a raise. His last words as I walked out of his office were, “And tell that boyfriend of yours good luck on his auto shop. He should drop by to see me when he gets it up and running.”

Thugs on the Downlow

This is a sample chapter from The Many Manipulations of Calvert Howard: For Gay and Bisexual Men, a story from Eroticature.org.

In my head, I had practiced a hundred clever ways to engineer an ideal situation to ask to suck a black thug’s dick, but in the end, I did it on the spur of the moment. I saw someone that looked sexy and not too gaybashy. He was tall and muscular but not bulky, just the way I liked them, and he wore a black doo rag over his dark chocolate scalp. His handsome features were rugged and serious.

“Hey,” I said, parked on the side of the road, as he walked by. He looked at me in surprise. “Hey I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you let me suck your dick.” I gasped for air when I let the words out — it was surprisingly easy. I thought I might have gotten tongue-tied, or flabbergasted at the last second, but they just tumbled right out of my mouth.

He looked me up and down, no doubt wondering if I was a cop. But I knew my battered four-door didn’t look suspicious, and I was too scuzzy to be a cop; besides, these sorts of propositions are so rare, it’d be silly for an officer to go undercover to attempt one. He looked like he was about to nod, then shook his head and bit his lip in a way I found incredibly sexy.

“I ain’t a faggot,” he said.

“You don’t have to be,” I said, sure he had almost said yes. “I’ll just suck it. You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“Man…” he looked up at the sky, maybe praying for guidance, maybe thinking through his options. “Two-fifty,” he said.

I had told myself two hundred was going to be my final offer, but he looked incredibly sexy there in his plain white t-shirt and saggy jeans, muscles and crotch bulging. He flashed a nervous, desperate grin, with a brilliantly white smile and a chipped front tooth.

I nodded and he slid into my passenger seat, looking around first to make sure no one was watching. I drove away. “My name is T-Cal,” he said. “If anybody ask you, you buying weed off me. ‘Cept the cops. If they ask, you don’t tell them nothing.”

“Okay,” I said. “If you give me your phone number, I can make this a regular thing, y’know.” I wanted to get that out there right away — I figured if he thought I’d pay him for a blowjob regularly, he’d be less likely to rob me now.

He didn’t answer, but he wrote a number down on a piece of paper and slipped it in my shirt pocket. I pulled into the back parking lot of a grocery store, a dumpster blocking the view of my car from outside.

“My windows are all dark-tinted,” I said, “So no one can see us.”

“You always sucking nigga dicks?” he asked, undoing the zipper on his jeans and fishing his cock out. He had a long, thick dick with veins and a sexy foreskin.

“I always wanted to,” I said. He was still jacking his dick and seemed unsure of himself.

“I dunno if I can do this,” he said. “I don’t even have no porno. I wouldn’t never do this faggot shit, but I need the money. I just got outta prison. I ain’t a whore. I ain’t trash.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t say that. You think I am trash. That’s what you think is sexy about me. There’s a million hot guys around here, you coulda propositioned any of them. You picked me even though I’m dangerous because you wanna feel dirty touching garbage like me. You think I’m some trashy street nigga like everyone else,” I said.

“No I don’t,” I said, but he continued talking as though he didn’t hear me.

“I don’t give a shit what you think about me, honky. I just wanted you to know that I know what you really think. I’m in a tight spot though,” he said, then sighed. “I need money. I gotta start again, with nothing.”

“You just need a hand,” I said, “I can give you that hand. It’ll feel great. I’m very good at sucking dick.”

I touched it and he winced as though it hurt. I wrapped my fingers around his fleshy shaft, stroking it gently. “You have a beautiful cock,” I said.

“Why couldn’t you be a chick?”

“I know… I’ve asked myself the same question. I’m going to put it in my mouth now,” I said.

“Okay, I can’t watch,” he said, looking up at the roof of my car. I slipped one hand under his shirt. His whole body contorted in embarrassment. I tweaked his nipples and he groaned awkwardly. I bent over, savoring the deep musky smell of his crotch. I wrapped my lips around his shaft, and his dick immediately jumped to half-hard.

My tongue worked its way into his foreskin, and I tasted his musty cheese, flicking against his piss-hole. He yelped in surprised pleasure, and my mouth enveloped the whole of his cockhead. I couldn’t deep-throat him, but I got closer than probably any woman he’d ever had.

“Ah fuck,” he said, obviously astonished at how good it felt. “Just like a bitch, man, yo’ mouth is just like a bitch.”

I gurgled up a fountain of spit, marveling at how it gleamed on his pitch-black cock-skin, slipping down to his jeans. His hands grabbed my ears and he muttered “You wanna be a bitch, gonna treat you like a bitch.”

He held my head in place and began grinding his dick into my throat, laughing every time I gagged on it. His precum and my spit and bile mixed and dripped into his crotch. I slid one of my hands into the fly of his jeans, rubbing the base of his cock, then moving down to his sweaty balls.

“You want me to cum in yo’ mouth?” he asked and I nodded without letting his dick out of my mouth. “An extra fifty bucks.”

I had to empty my mouth long enough to catch my breath and say, “I don’t have fifty bucks.”

“Then you can owe me,” he said. “Bring three hundred next time.”

His dick tasted so good it seemed totally worth it, and I went back to the facefucking. He didn’t wait for me to catch my breath, he just put his big hands on my head and shoved his dick back in.

“This is how we treat faggots around here,” he said a few times, softer with each iteration. He was relentless, and seemed to enjoy every contortion of my throat around his cock. Every time a giant gurgling wad of spit and precum rose from my throat and ran down his cockshaft, he both laughed and groaned in disgust at me. He wiped up the frothy mess in his crotch with one hand and wiped it all over my head, face and neck.

After a few minutes more of facefucking, he let me catch my breath again. I gasped hoarsely. He looked at me with his cruel eyes and said, “You doin’ good, faggot. But if I’m gonna let a faggot on my dick, we doin’ it my way. Got it? That means you deepthroat it. And I don’t mean this pussy kind of middle-school deepthroating you doing right now. My daddy taught me that females is little, and you should be gentle with them, but men in prison and faggots can suck any size dick down, you just gotta make it fit.”

“You have a huge cock,” I said. “I won’t be able to fit that whole thing in my throat.”

“You might not, but damn, you gonna try,” he said. “This is what I miss about prison, faggot. You’d probably like it in there. I had this one bitch who barely got two inches in his mouth his first day. Took like a month for him to take every last bit of this dick.”

Without waiting for a response, he shoved my head back into his sweaty, spit-covered crotch. I got maybe the first third of it, and he became frustrated, pushing on the back of my head.

“Relax yo’ fuckin’ throat, bitch. Relax that shit,” he said. “I said we do this shit my way.”

Something broke deep in my throat, and a few more inches slid right down. It was uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure my neck wasn’t about to burst. But it also felt incredibly good, sitting there inside me, hot and moist. I gagged every few seconds. He nodded sagely, looking down at me, “Yeah, that choking you feel? That’s a good thing, faggot. That’s the sound of yo’ throat adaptin’ to nigga dick. Ain’t never gonna be the same again.”

He lifted my head off his cock and frowned at me. “You doin’ pretty good still, but I know you can do better. I’m gonna cum soon and I want you to take it all the way down yo’ throat. I’m gonna charge you ten bucks for every drop you spill.”

I wanted to protest but I was still gasping for air. He didn’t wait anyway, he just pushed my head back down on his cock. I got about two thirds of it in my throat this time, my nose tickled by his pubic hair, filling with the scent of his ballsweat.

He gyrated his hips back and forth, his dick sliding up and down in my gagging throat. Finally he held it in place as all of his muscles tightened up, his balls constricting in his sac.

Groaning loudly, he flexed his pecs under one of my hands; I tweaked his nipple, caressing his giant muscle. I felt his balls constrict in my other hand, and I knew his orgasm was nearing.

“Yeah, honky, take that shit, take it. You gonna be my bitch for real now,” he murmured over and over. “Yeah, you gonna take all this cum real good.”

His dick spurted into my mouth, filling it with creamy, salty cum. I coughed and spit some of it back up, then slurped it up from the shaft of his cock. His whole body shuddered beneath my fingers, and he was so excited he punched the ceiling. “Yeah!” he said.

He sat next to me catching his breath. “You really gonna call me?” he said.

I nodded, still holding his delicious cum in my mouth while he put his dick away and opened the door. “I’ll leave here,” he said, “I don’t wanna be seen with you.”

I nodded and swallowed his cum, watching his sexy ass walk away in my rearview mirror. I left a few minutes later, but he was already gone, invisible in the city’s shadows. It wasn’t until I got home that I noticed my watch was missing, but I could still taste him in my mouth, and it seemed like a small price to pay.