The Taming of a Dealer

Here’s a sample chapter from The Taming of a Dealer, a new story in The Taming of Man series!

When Scott didn’t call back the next day, Vanessa assumed it was just him being a standard male. They never called back the next day. Or the day after. The day after that, Vanessa knew she should be worried, but she told herself that it was different in college, that maybe white boys waited longer. They were always concerned about looking too desperate.

But after a week and a half, even Vanessa’s most optimistic side couldn’t pretend there was a chance he might call. It was obvious he wasn’t going to call her, and there had probably never been any chance. He probably just wanted to sleep with a black girl, she thought, like he had some sort of sexual scavenger hunt and he wanted to check off African princess.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. Her first relationship at college had been a disaster. She had hoped Scott could be a real boyfriend, but it seemed he had only ever been looking for a one-night stand. She should have known better.

“Hey baby, wuzzup,” said a voice that sounded gruff, yet caring, with a syrupy sweetness contrasted by a smoker’s hoarse tone.

Vanessa was on her way back to the dorm from class, and walked through a trashy ghetto neighborhood that separated the campus from the freshman dorms. There were always homeless people and drug dealers there trying to find a way to get some money out of the college kids who streamed through in throngs. The man speaking was a lean and thickly muscled black man with short dreadlocks and a thuggish swagger to his lean. He nodded at her. “You in college, sweetheart?”

Vanessa nodded back at him. She stopped walking even though she told herself she shouldn’t. She should just pass him by, like the urban flotsam he almost certainly was. She hadn’t come to college to date drug dealers. She could have done that at home — at least there, it had the fringe benefit of pissing off her parents.

“Yeah, I’m a freshman.” She was nervous and bit her lip, which seemed to turn him on. He smiled at her and touched her arm. She wanted to walk away but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

They started talking like old friends, and Vanessa soon forgot her anxiety. When he invited himself up to her dorm, she didn’t even think about saying no. Her roommates would be at class and other activities until late in the evening. This time, she told herself, it was different because they were in her room; she could tell him to leave anytime. The RA was right nearby. This guy was smooth and charming and not as slick as Scott was, so Vanessa was hopeful that he’d be a nicer person.

The dorm security girls looked at her like are you sure? as she signed the man in. He was sexy, but was he a good idea? It seemed the security folks didn’t think so, judging from the way they shook their heads at her when she walked by.

His name was Rashad, and he was very hot. Vanessa couldn’t deny how horny he made her. She wanted desperately to fuck, and her anxiety around being used and left behind like Scott had done vanished. The entire elevator ride up to her floor was tense and silent, as she had to resist the urge to throw herself at him.

“Are you a drug dealer?” she asked once they got back in her dorm. He sat on her bed, and she sat next to him, vividly conscious of his body heat emanating towards her.

He laughed softly. “Not everyone in my neighborhood is a dealer,” he said. “Just most of them are.”

“I ain’t ask about everyone in your neighborhood,” Vanessa said. “I asked about you.”

“And I didn’t answer.” He kissed her on the lips. Their tongues had only touched for a few seconds before Rashad suddenly stripped off his shirt.

His chest was both sexier and less sexy than Scott’s, Vanessa thought: Rashad was a muscle-bound thug with a tattooed chest that made her want to lick every inch of his body. Scott was leaner, less obviously sexy, but she wanted to curl up in his chest and sleep with him forever. They both had their attractive qualities.

But for the moment, Vanessa was glad to be with Rashad.

Despite her misgivings, Vanessa didn’t even consider backing out. She dug her nails into Rashad’s body just as she had imagined, and it felt as good as she could have hoped. He responded by howling, which was sexy, Vanessa thought, unlike Scott who had apparently though he needed to remain stony-faced.

Rashad’s muscles writhed atop her as he dropped his pants and her skirt. She heard people outside her dorm room listening at the door, giggling, no doubt making jokes about her screwing some strange thug; she should have been embarrassed, but she wasn’t.

In no time, Rashad was spreading her legs so he could get inside her.  His cock was hot and heavy, and it was a lot like Scott’s, a bit thicker but not quite as long, which was fine with Vanessa — she preferred meaty thickness over length. Vanessa leaned back to allow him in, and moaned as her clitoris came alive under his touch.

His cock pushed deep within her. Vanessa felt deliciously dirt; she never thought she’d come to college and sleep with guys she had just met, but here she was doing it again. And with a guy she could just as easily have hooked up with back at home, in the ghetto.

Baby you are so hot, I don’t even know what to do with you.

Her hesitation vanished a little more with every thrust of his hips deep inside her. He had a big cock, not bigger than Scott, she thought, or maybe only a tiny bit, but he somehow managed to use more of it. He explored every corner of her body with his cock and his tongue, and Vanessa was so turned on by it she couldn’t even speak to tell him to keep going. Luckily he didn’t seem to need her to say it.

He groaned as he approached his orgasm. His voice was low and gruff, that cigarette-steeped hoarseness making her mind roll with uncontrollable lust and passion. She loved his growly voice and the exhilarating way he plunged into her.

Here I comes, baby, you ready for it? Course not, nobody ever is.

An orgasm wracked her mind and body. Vanessa moaned, uncaring of how much her dormmates heard — she was glad they heard; they’d be jealous once they saw Rashad. They wished they could get someone like him.

Hot cum filled her up, his creamy seed spilling out and running down her thigh. She bit her lip to avoid grunting in a most unladylike way, and used all of her limbs to grip his body tightly. She threw her head back and squealed.

He kissed her on the neck as their bodies both spasmed in sync with each other. Rashad’s strapping muscles flexed all at once, then fell limp. Vanessa felt drained, like she couldn’t stand up now even if she wanted to.

She sighed and leaned back on her bed as Rashad pulled away from her. He smiled and took a deep breath. He laid down on the bed next to her and nuzzled his face in her neck. “You’re so sexy, baby,” he said. “Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t want to leave you.”

What a nice change of pace from Scott, she thought, but in this case, I’m not sure I want him to stick around. She didn’t answer, she just cuddled up with his powerful body and let her actions speak for her. He nuzzled her body.

“My roommates will be back soon.”

“Good. I want the whole world to know what we did here.”

Filthy Alpha Male Worship: The Redneck

Here’s a new sample chapter from “Filthy Alpha Male Worship: The Redneck“, a story in the Redneck Screw society gay redneck erotica project!

 

It’s not easy being Pan, Jason thought, as he gazed out at the empty stretch of road his house sat on. He had become the reincarnation of Pan on his eighteenth birthday, gaining all of his former memories of time in ancient Greece but with few of the deific powers. He had the raging eroticism of the godly energy that possessed him, and there were times he could think of little else but fucking.

There were times when Jason wished he was a normal man again, but that phase of his life was gone. Everything had changed one moonlit night in September when the sky flashed with light, and a magical energy had consumed him. He was unharmed, waking the next morning feeling refreshed and ready to go. But he quickly discovered that he had gained a magical power: anyone near him became hornier and hornier.

It was, he soon learned, also a curse. Every person who lived near him ended up cheating on their spouses, so he moved to a little house in the country where his nearest neighbor was a mile away. When he saw a movie in a theater, the people around him started making out regardless of what movie it was. He couldn’t stay at a party for more than about six hours without it turning into an uncontrollable orgy.

Of course, he had as much sex as he wanted. Not only did he arouse anyone at any time, but he had grown significantly in stature and stamina during the magical lightstorm that had given him his powers.

As he settled into his new powers, Jason realized he hadn’t actually tested the radius of its effect. He had assumed the neighbors living a mile away wouldn’t be affected, but after living there for six months, even a residual effect might have become substantial. He decided to pay them a visit.

He had met the married couple one time before, when he first moved in. They were Tommy and Susan, but when he pulled up the driveway, it was only Tommy that he saw.

He didn’t look like things had been going well for him. He was a little skinnier, hairier and unshaven, his chest bare and gleaming with sweat. His hairs even extended over his shoulder to the top of his back.

The sun shone on his chest. He was dirty, as though he was just coming in from a camping trip. He looked dourly on as Jason got out of his truck.

“Howdy, neighbor,” Jason said. “I just wanted to invite you out for a beer-“ He paused, looking over the dirty home, which he knew had been clean when he was here last. That must have meant he lost his girlfriend, and Jason could probably guess why — he or she or both cheated. That’s what happened to everyone around him. “You and your wife?…” He let his voice trail off, and the look on Tommy’s face confirmed their separation.

“She gone,” he said. “I dunno about going out for a beer. I be fixin’-a look for a female. I need to get my nuts drained, pardon my french, and I know she gonna want money one way or another.”

“Sure, sure, but what if there was another option?” Jason stepped forward and let his eyes very clearly drop to Tommy’s crotch. Jason cleared his throat. “A way to get those nuts drained without paying for a female?”

Tommy looked down at him and wrinkled his nose. He stepped closer, his bare chest gleaming in the light that filtered through the trees. The smell of his sweat was heady and intoxicating. “You… queer?”

Jason nodded. “Not exactly, but…” He didn’t need Tommy to say yes to know what he wanted. Tommy’s reddish shoulders shuddered as Jason grabbed his crotch through his camo pants. He winced a little and looked around as though worried someone might see that he wasn’t resisting strongly, but he made no effort to stop Jason.

He dropped Tommy’s pants to his ankles and Jason fell to his knees. His tongue dived into Tommy’s tattered boxers, tasting the funky flavor of his drawers. The cotton was cheap and dingy, and it tasted like dickmeat, Jason thought.

He pulled his cock out through the fly. It was long and uncut, a dark brown like the tanner parts of his body, and it throbbed with veins. It was already half-hard as Jason gobbled it down.

“Oh fuck, I have been so horny, boy I tell you what… wish you was around last year, might-a saved my marriage.”

He tasted precum right away, and Tommy moaned. He sounded surprised at how good this felt. That made Jason proud — that was how sex with Pan should be, he thought, life-alteringly good. Tommy was right, I could have saved his marriage, Jason thought, because I’m a god.

His redneck cock began fucking Jason’s throat, delicately at first, then more boldly as Tommy realized he wasn’t dealing with a chick who didn’t like sucking dick. Jason devoured as much cockmeat as he could, and he made sure he got as much in his throat as anyone ever could. He even managed to hold his breath and snortingly, gaggingly bury his nose in Tommy’s unkempt pubic hair, all the way to the sweaty skin of his crotch.

“Goddamn, boy, you are fucking incredible!”

His filthy, mud-caked fingers gripped Jason’s head and held on tight as he shot his load. A thick wad of cum coated Jason’s mouth and slid down his throat. It was creamy and sour, and Jason savored the mind-numbing flavor. It soaked into his stomach. Jason sighed with relief.

As soon as he got every drop in his gullet, Jason slid down to the man’s balls and suckled. He was sweaty and unkempt, so sensitive that he gasped and held his breath as long as he could.

“Damn, that was good,” Tommy said. “Are all queers this good?”

“No,” Jason said. “Just me.” He loved the flavor of Tommy’s salty, post-fucking scrotum in his mouth. He reached up and stroked Tommy’s limp shaft, which was slowly getting hard again. Tommy’s whole body jerked, his muscles tensing up with every touch of Jason’s hand.

With his head under Tommy’s body, Jason left his balls behind and licked Tommy’s hairy taint. The sweat was stale and thick. He lapped his tongue all the way up Tommy’s crack to his butthole, then plunged his tongue all the way in.

Tommy grunted in shock and got down on all fours. His dick was fully erect again, and pulsating in Jason’s hand. His body writhed with the tension of getting hard again so soon after cumming once before.

But Jason’s tongue relentlessly poked and prodded Tommy’s prostate. The taste of his anal filth made Jason shoot his own load in his pants.

A thick spurt of cum leaked out Tommy’s dick, and his whole body jerked. His rectum tightened around Jason’s tongue as he grunted. His load wasn’t as big this time, but when Jason licked it up, it tasted just as good.

Tommy laid on the ground, on his back. His dick was angry red and pulsating. Jason stood up and grinned. “Thanks, neighbor,” he said.

Love and Lust Between Men in Squad Car Nine: Policemen Downlow

This is a sample chapter from Love and Lust Between Men in Squad Car Nine: Policemen Downlow, a new story in the Love and Lust Between Men series. This is outrageous interracial gay erotica between two Baltimore City cops.

Willie Swandale settled into the passenger seat of Squad Car Nine. He was excited to finally do some real policework — he had been enthusiastic about being a cop two years ago, but it had taken so long to enter the academy, graduate, get a job and go through the required departmental training that he felt like an experienced old hand even though he hadn’t done so much as a single act of actual policing.

Not anymore. Willie hoped he’d be able to make an arrest today. If his first day ended up entirely uneventful, he’d be pissed.

Officer Thomas Payne was his partner. He was experienced, mid-40s though you’d never know it by looking at him, and had worked in Chicago, Fresno and Sioux City before coming here to Baltimore. Willie was from Kentucky and had never lived outside of the state until he was hired here by the Baltimore City Police Department.

“How you feel, kid?” Officer Payne asked. “You nervous?”

“Nah,” Willie said with a forced air of nonchalance.

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“Maybe a little nervous.”

“Good. This won’t be easy,” he said. The radio crackled into life. It was too staticky for Willie to understand it, and he was too nervous to focus anyway, but Payne grinned at him. “That’s for us, boi! Get ready to rock!” He flipped the sirens on and sped away.

By the time they pulled up to the house, Willie’s heart was pounding. He just wanted to get through this call alive and without being sued. It was a domestic disturbance call, one that Payne said was “not a shocker”.

It turned out Officer Payne had been to the ramshackle old house so often he knew the neighbors by name. He spoke briefly to the elderly couple outside, then knocked on the door. Willie hung around and tried to look like he was also in charge, even though he barely said a thing.

The trashy redneck couple screamed their responses to Payne’s questions, and most of their words were insults aimed at each other despite apparently attempting to respond to the questions. Officer Payne just went through the standard litany of statements and questions without even seeming to pay attention to the answers.

“Has there been any violence today?”

“Have you hit her?”

“Have you hit him?”

“Would either of you like to press charges?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to keep it down this evening? Or will we be called back later tonight?”

“Do you have anywhere else you can stay tonight?”

The husband eyed Willie suspiciously, then said, “Nah, I ain’t stayin’ somewhere else. This is my house, man. Who dat?”

After a pause while Willie waited to see if Payne would introduce him, Willie stuck his own hand out and said, “William Swandale. Willie. Or Officer Swandale,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too nervous. He couldn’t decide if it was better to be formal and rulebound or friendly and charming, but it looked like these people were going to see him as a threat regardless.

Both the man and the woman looked at him as though there might be a secret code to decipher, then they nodded and looked back to Payne. “Fine,” he said. Then she added, “We’ll quiet down.”

“Good,” Payne said. He smiled, tipped his hat and left. Willie followed, surprised that that was all that had happened. He thought they’d at least cite them for the noise complaint.

Once they got back in the squad car, Payne said, “Ain’t no point in arrestin’ someone like that. As long as they show up to court sober and white, they’d just get a little fine that they’ll never pay.”

“Okay.” Willie didn’t feel sure about that, but he was glad to have gotten through his first call with no major mistakes. He breathed a sigh of relief, then felt embarrassed at being so obviously nervous.

“Relax, kid.”

“Yeah, okay,” Willie said. He didn’t sound at all relaxed.

Payne pulled Squad Car Nine to a stop on the side of the road. They were in the deserted parking lot of a city park. Payne got out, and Willie did likewise. “Ain’t it a nice night?” Payne asked.

“I guess so.” Willie shrugged.

“I can tell you all worked up,” Payne said. “Heart pounding and shit. You need to relax.”

“It’s just my first call. It was nerve-wracking. But I’ll be okay,” Willie said.

“You ever fuck around on the downlow?”

“Whatchoo mean?”

“When me and my old partner got worked up, we’d come here — at night, I mean, when the gate’s closed, and circlejerk. You get a nut off and it calms you down.”

“Circlejerk?”

“Do white people do that?”

“Yeah, sort of,” Willie said. He had done it a few times, but he had never really enjoyed it — his old wrestling team had done it as a hazing ritual, and he did it at boot camp but only because his black squadmates had been doing it. “I’ve done it before. Ain’t really a circlejerk with two people though.”

“Shit, Transom and Weeks are on-duty tonight. You want me to call them over?”

“Nah, whatever… Let’s do it,” Willie said. He didn’t want to look like a prude on his first day, and besides, he did want to get his rocks off. He also liked showing off his dick, which he knew was bigger than most people expected, since Willie was kind of short. He let it flop out of his uniform slacks.

The darkness was nice, Willie thought, this would have been a lot more awkward if he could see Payne’s face and dick. They both kept their uniform on, and the badge on Payne’s shirt caught the moonlight, illuminating his grizzled chin. It was less unappealing than Willie thought — he remembered circlejerking as a hazing punishment and an awkward misadventure among horny Marine recruits, but this felt positively affectionate.

Payne’s dick was thick and uncircumcised. Willie felt like remarking on its uncut foreskin, but worried it would come across as gay. So he just stroked Payne’s veiny dick, which jerked right to attention beneath Willie’s fingers.

His own dick got hard easily too, and the awkwardness of the situation rapidly melted away. Payne’s heavy breathing was loud and warm on Willie’s neck, reminding him of actual sex. He thought he would imagine a beautiful woman tugging on his cock, but to his surprise, he was content being perfectly in the moment, attuned to Payne’s hand on his rod.

Precum adding a squishing sound to the mutual handjobs, and Willie realized he was breathing hard too. He hoped he wasn’t louder than Payne, as that would make him look weak, but he was beginning to feel himself lose control.

He was self-conscious about his own expressions, but Willie saw that Payne didn’t care. His whole body undulated beneath the uniform shirt his chest barely fit into, and as his arm stroked Willie’s dick, his biceps stretched the sleeves. His dark skin absorbed moonlight, which Willie was glad for since it meant he could barely see Payne at all, except the shine of his badge on his chest.

“Damn, you’re good at this,” Payne said. He bit his lip and moaned loudly.

Where are we supposed to cum? Willie wondered. Should I try to cum first or not? Which would look more manly? Willie wasn’t sure he had enough self-control to make the decision anyway, and moments later Officer Payne shot his load regardless.

He aimed his hips away from Willie, but not perfectly, and a few drops of creamy white cum landed on Willie’s wrist. He decided to pretend it hadn’t happened, as he would otherwise feel obligated to get angry with Payne. Back on the wrestling team, getting your cum anywhere other past the palm of the stroker’s hand was a punch-able offense.

The smell of cum bloomed in the air. His creamy seed spread across the ground, and his great muscles contracted within his uniform shirt. Payne’s musky sweat must have gotten worse as he nutted, Willie thought, because he could smell the man’s chest through his shirt.

Despite that, Willie shot his load just moments later. Payne’s warm hands caressed his cock and drained copious cum from it, filling the air with that familiar cottony scent. Normally Willie didn’t like that smell, but at the moment, it didn’t bother him. The odor mixed well with the clean night air.

“Whew, don’t ya feel better?”

Willie was surprised by how much he did feel better. He took a deep breath. His face, shoulders and neck were red, but it was so dark Payne couldn’t tell, which Willie was thankful for. Payne didn’t sound like the orgasm had been so overwhelming, and Willie didn’t want to seem more into than he was, so Willie was self-conscious about appearing weak. He murmured as strongly as he could, “Yeah, man. I feel better.”

“Course you do.” Payne stroked his own cockshaft slowly, working out a few errant drops of cum that dripped onto his slacks. Then he tucked his dick back inside, and Willie felt much better — the sight of other men’s cocks always made him nervous, even if he tried to hide it. Payne sighed. “Real men always feel better once they nuts is drained.”

Doctor Diaper Punishes His Brat

Here’s a sample chapter from Doctor Diaper Punishes His Brat, a new ABDL story.

The hospital was bustling, men and women hurrying back and forth with serious looks on their faces. Rachel was not here for a serious purpose, but she tried to blend in the best she could as she searched for Daddy Craig. That was her stepfather, and he was a doctor here.

She was frustrated. Every time she came to the hospital, Craig was nowhere to be found. He always said to just come to the fourth floor nurse’s station, and if he isn’t there, they’d be able to page him. But today there was nobody at the nurse’s station.

The main reason Rachel was frustrated was that she had come here prepared for a little action with Craig, and she didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity. She hoped he wasn’t too busy.

Craig was her stepfather, and he had been married to Rachel’s mom for three years. He and Rachel had become close over the years, and had recently decided to pursue a relationship — Mom was gone most of the time; Craig was just her boy-toy.

Finally she saw him. He was tall and elegant, moving like a panther, all sinew and strength. He was black, with perfectly smooth skin and a carved chest. He looked perfect in his scrubs, talking to an old man as he was wheeled away in a wheelchair.

Craig saw her and smiled. He hurried in her direction, and Rachel felt excited. Her pussy stirred and came to life, just because she saw a bulge in his scrub pants, his cock briefly outlined with every step he took. Memories of all their past encounters flooded her mind and her knees weakened.

“Hey, baby,” he said. He bit his lip and looked down at her, then checked to make sure no one was watching. “What’re you doing here?”

Rachel blushed. She still wasn’t used to any relationship — she still felt like her friends were going to make fun of her for having a man, like they did back in middle school — and it made her especially self-conscious when he looked at her like a horny sailor. She steeled her nerves, reminding herself to act normal because she was in public. “Mom went to Cleveland today.”

His eyes brightened. “Really? Sweet.”

“She said she won’t be back until Monday.”

“Oh, yeah…” He nodded, smiling along as he looked at her seductively. It was obvious what was on his mind, and Rachel hoped no one else at the hospital knew she was his stepdaughter.

“So you should pick up some more diapers,” Rachel said.

He nodded. “I will. I can get you some right now. You ain’t wearin’ one?”

Rachel blushed. “Of course I am, daddy. You said I have to wear a diaper. I wouldn’t disobey my daddy.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You wouldn’t? I seem to recall some willfullness, girl. Remember that?”

Rachel giggled. “Okay, yeah, sometimes I break the rules. But only because you are so sexy when you punish me.”

He growled, then pointed to a room whose tag read Pulmonology Consultation. “Go on in there and get ready for me to punish you.”

“Ooh, Daddy, here at the hospital?”

“That’s where you was at when you started actin’ bad,” he said. He sneered and chewed on his lip as he talked. Rachel was flush with horniness from the way he talked — his black accent was minimal most of the time, but the hornier he got, the thicker it was, and Rachel had come to associate it with sex. “Gotta teach you a lesson, girl. ‘Bout proper behavior.”

She hurried into the room, which was a sparsely furnished medical office. There was a desk with a few items on it, but it wasn’t clear that anyone actually used this office, no personal items, no photos or objects that suggested there was ever a pulmonologist here.

“Dr. Wu is under investigation for prescribing benzos to his lover,” Daddy Craig said by way of explanation when he followed her into the room. “So he probably won’t be back.”

“I don’t know anything about benzos, daddy,” Rachel said in exaggerated baby-talk. She leaned backwards over the desk and spread her legs, revealing the clean diaper she had put on before coming here. Her hips pushed a pen off the desk. It landed on the floor and generated a loud noise as it rolled to the edge of the room.

“You shouldn’t have come here, baby,” Craig said. He pulled her diaper down and sniffed it deeply. “‘Specially not wearin’ this. I’m gonna have to punish you.”

“I needed you to see me, Daddy. I was home alone and I was so scared because Mommy was gone,” she said. She managed to eke out a cry as though she was near tears, and that made him caress the back of her neck. She was still bent over the desk with him atop her, but he was much taller so she looked at his shoulders rather than his face; despite that, she could he was looking at her tenderly but sternly. He didn’t like it when she got scared, but he didn’t get angry over it.

“You have to be a big girl. You can’t come running to Daddy every time you get lonely,” he said. He spoke softly and let his hand run down her back. She scooted closer to him, so close she could feel his body heat radiating from him as he reached into the bag he carried and pulled a few items out. Then he pulled her diaper all the way off and threw it on the floor.

“I don’t wanna be a big girl!”

“I know,” he said. “But shut your mouth and take your punishment. Here, suck on this.” He put a pacifier in Rachel’s mouth, but instead she sucked on one of his fingers. He hesitated at first, then let her take it and pushed his finger deeper into her throat. He tasted of baby powder and rubbing alcohol.

Then he shoved a rubber pacifier into her lips, and she sucked on that. There was a sweet, bitter flavor on it, and it was biting, astringent, and tasty. Strawberry brandy, she thought — he had doctored the pacifier with strawberry brandy, which she loved.

“This’ll make baby go to sleep,” he said. “Not yet, I mean, obviously. When you’re done being punished, a little brandy’ll put you right to sleep. No temper tantrum when it’s over.”

“Oh… It’ll be over, Daddy? Sometimes I like being punished and don’t want it to be over.” She giggled.

“Suck on that pacifier or you’ll be in so much trouble,” he said. Then he jammed his dick into her pussy, and Rachel squealed over the pacifier in her mouth. She sucked on it as though trying to use her lips to rip it apart.

He loomed over her and the desk, and he shut his eyes as he squeezed deeper within her. “Yeah, baby, you like Daddy’s dick, huh?”

“I do, I do, Daddy,” she said. Her toes curled. Her eyes fluttered and her voice broke. She wrapped her arms around his broad back and held on, so he lifted her up slightly on the upswing of each gyration. She even grabbed his calves with hers, leaving her body completely intertwined with his.

His dick throbbed mightily inside her. He grunted with each thrust, and Rachel’s moist pussy beckoned him with warm tightness. She squeezed around his manhood as though trying to hold him in place.

Somehow there was a rattle in her hand. She didn’t notice Daddy Craig put it there, but he must have. She shook it as her whole body jiggled in sync with his, so the sound lined up with her growing orgasm.

“Hush, girl, you bein’ too loud,” he said when she grunted. She dropped the pacifier from her mouth, but he picked it up and disinfected it before handing it back. “Don’t drop this, baby. It’s not sanitary.” He put the rattle back in her hand too, but her feelings were so intense she couldn’t grip it; her talon-like fingers just dropped the rattle immediately, and it rolled loudly to the same spot in the office where the pen had fallen before. It wasn’t within arms-length this time so Daddy Craig didn’t reach for it.

She bit into the pacifier when he put it back in her mouth, but she knew she wasn’t going to be able to hold onto it for long. She moaned as she reached orgasm, and her whole body squeezed around Daddy Craig’s cock.

He grunted as well, and bit his lip as he shot his load. Jet after jet of white-hot cum spread inside her. There was so much it dripped out of her pussy and soaked into her diaper, which sat on the desk surface beneath her.

“Oh, girl, you are nasty. You better go home and wash that pussy out.” He grabbed some wetnaps out of his bag and busily wiped her off — he didn’t do it in a sexy way, he did it like a father cleaning off his baby, which made it even sexier for Rachel.

“Why, Daddy?” She asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Because when I get home…” he said, “You are gonna turn from a girl into a woman.”

Hairback Appreciation Society: Turkish Oil Wrestler Worship

Here’s a sample chapter from a new series, the Hairback Appreciation Society. This one is called Turkish Oil Wrestler Worship, and it’s the incredible story of Rufus, a hairback lover who travels to Turkey for macho oil wrestler str8core alpha male servicing. It’s also part of the Under the Kisbet series.

Rufus nervously waited for Mustafa to arrive. Rufus was dressed like a tourist — which he technically was — and sat there nervously watching the lessons going on in front of him. He was at a grassy field in a small, rural town in Turkey, where the locals practiced for an upcoming oil wrestling tournament.

Turkish oil wrestling was a popular sport here, and similar sports were common in other Turkic communities. Rufus had long thought it was the sexiest sport in the world. It was a form of wrestling in which the men — the biggest, hairiest, most macho men in all of Turkey — greased each other up with olive oil from head to toe, while wearing these loose leather trousers called a kisbet. Then the goal was to gain control of your oil-slippened opponent by holding onto his kisbet. It inevitably required sticking one’s hands down into one’s opponents kisbet, feeling their crotch, ass and every other olive oil-stained muscle. It was, Rufus thought, a centuries-old practical joke played on straight Turkish guys, and it had just gone on so long nobody even remembered that it was originally a joke.

Rufus had done a lot of work to find Mustafa, a professional Turkish oil wrestler who didn’t normally teach lessons. Rufus didn’t want to take lessons from a normal class, where there would be little opportunity for what he desired — back hair.

As president and founder of the Hairback Appreciation Society, Rufus had been alerted to Mustafa by some Turkish aficionados, who suggested he’d be open to downlow action in the right circumstances. Rufus intended to taste every inch of the man’s body, including his back hair, and hiring him as a tutor was the easiest way to start.

A few tourists and a couple locals were practicing their moves with a lean, handsome Turk in the center of the field. He spoke English well and was encouraging, coach-like, cute but not sexy. He obviously shaved his chest, for one thing, and probably didn’t have any hair on his back by nature. Rufus had suspected as much when he learned there was a tourist-oriented oil-wrestling coaching service — he didn’t want a polished Turk shaved and dolled up for Westerners. He wanted Mustafa Mounsir.

His heart started pounding when he saw Mustafa, a big, hulking brute of a man. He was in the heaviest weight class in Turkish oil wrestling, and it showed in his giant barrel-shaped body, his strapping chest and belly, and his broad shoulders.

Most importantly for Rufus, however, Mustafa also had thick curls of body hair stretching up from his chest and over his shoulders. Like all Turks, the hair was dense, kinky and broad, and his sweat clung to it.

“Hello, my name is Rufus,” he said, followed with a carefully rehearsed Turkish translation.

Mustafa’s English was only a little better, but he managed to introduce himself. He then spat out some highly accented syllables, but Rufus focused only on the closeness of his body hair and the heat emanating from his overworked muscles.

Rufus was entranced by the man’s masculine beauty and his anxiety over his plan. But Rufus had discussed Mustafa extensively with his hairback-loving online friends, and he was sure he knew how to get what he wanted.

After a few minutes of stretching, Mustafa began showing him some moves. It was obvious that Mustafa was not a teacher; he was gruff; he failed to explain what he was doing; he got frustrated when Rufus didn’t do everything exactly right. For his part, Rufus did not do well — every time he was instructed to place his hands on Mustafa, he shuddered in desire and lust.

And all they were doing so far was practicing a few simple holds. About halfway through the first lesson, Mustafa said it was time for a scrimmage, and that meant the best part of Turkish oil wrestling was about to happen. Rufus had to force his dick to quiet down as Mustafa brought him to the side of the field where a pitcher of olive oil waited.

Rufus was pretending to have little idea what Turkish oil wrestling was, so he submitted while Mustafa prepared him first, showing him how to do it. Mustafa’s callused hands spread oil over Rufus’ body, extending down into his loose kisbet.

Praying that he wouldn’t get hard yet, Rufus stayed placid and stony-faced. He didn’t want to make Mustafa uncomfortable, at least not yet.

Then it was his turn. Mustafa sneered at him — it seemed he didn’t love the idea of giving lessons to a non-Turk. Rufus’ hands dripped with olive oil as he touched Mustafa’s back, which was covered in the thick, kinky black hair that extended over most of his torso. He was like a Turkish sasquatch, Rufus thought with a giggle he had to suppress — a Turkquatch! Rufus’ heart pounded as he forced his fingers through a tangled forest of hair on Mustafa’s lower back.

Then he moved around to the chest, where the hair was even thicker, unapologetically dense, and when Rufus disturbed it with his fingers, the odor of stale oil and sweat wafted over him. He got the impression Mustafa expected Rufus to be disgusted, and Rufus decided to play along — he had the feeling Mustafa didn’t like gays very much.

His body wasn’t perfect, which Rufus liked; six-pack abs were nice to look at, but Rufus preferred having some meat to grab onto. That described Mustafa perfectly, his powerful chest like a hard slab of iron with just a thin layer of padding on top.

Rufus’ hands moved back around to his ass, hands slipping under the kisbet. Much to Rufus’ delight, Mustafa’s ass was just as hairy as his chest. The hair there was tangled, so Rufus moved slowly, caressing olive oil into those big beefy orbs slowly enough that he worked out all the kinks. His fingers crept between the asscheeks, even though he had the feeling actual Turkish oil wrestlers skipped that, and for a moment he touched Mustafa’s quivering hot asshole.

Then he reached underneath Mustafa’s ass, hands stretching between his thighs to the hairy taint. He stood still in front of Mustafa, so he had to step even closer until his face was pushed up against Mustafa’s hairy pecs, and the flavor of sweat-scented olive oil hit his tongue.

By the time Rufus got back to the front, shivering in delight when he touched Mustafa’s sweaty scrotum, Rufus was already rock-hard. He moved both his hands to the front of Mustafa’s body, starting with his thighs, which were slick with sweat from being in the hot kisbet. He rubbed olive oil into first one trunk-like thigh, then the other.

He cradled Mustafa’s ballsack with his olive oil-laden fingers, and gave his dick one quick stroke. It was long and so thick Rufus couldn’t wrap his fingers around it, uncircumcised with extra flesh that moved along with Rufus’ fingers.

At last they were done, and Mustafa arranged them for their first lesson. “Feet like this,” he said gruffly, and Rufus played along. “No, like this.” He pushed Rufus into position.

Having no idea how to defend himself, Rufus was on his ass as soon as Mustafa started wrestling. The bigger man had both of his hands down Rufus’ kisbet, gripping the leather from inside. The top side of his palms touched Rufus’ dick, but Mustafa gave no sign of noticing that Rufus was hard.

Then they did the same again, and again. Rufus managed to dodge Mustafa for a few seconds, but he couldn’t defend himself in any way. Soon enough, the lesson was over. Rufus didn’t think he had learned much — Mustafa was a lot of things, but a quality pedagogue was not one of them — but he was so horny he couldn’t think, so he was glad to be done.

“You give respect to superior man,” Mustafa said. “Instructor, me. Respect.”

Rufus hesitated. They were still in the middle of the field, so he thought Mustafa was asking for a tip, but Rufus didn’t have any cash — or anything at all in his kisbet. He tried to explain that, but Mustafa just growled.

He took Rufus hand and shoved it into Mustafa’s kisbet. His hand was in the dense thicket of sweat, oil-lubed pubic hair, and he felt Mustafa’s hot cock.

Terrified at first as he wondered whether he was in trouble, Rufus realized Mustafa wanted a handjob. He thought it might be a test, to see if he was gay, but then Mustafa growled again and repeated himself. “Americans must have respect!” He barked.

Rufus gripped his shaft tight and gave it a stroke. Mustafa settled down with a self-satisfied smile, and Rufus nervously began stroking his dick.

In no time it was rock-hard and pulsating between Rufus’ fingers. He thought maybe it had gotten half-hard from the wrestling, which made Rufus glad — obviously Mustafa wasn’t that homophobic then.

Precum leaked down the shaft and added to the mix of fluids in Mustafa’s crotch. Rufus wished he could kneel to get a better whiff, because he could tell he would adore that musty scent, but he knew that would be too gay for someone like Mustafa.

His dick spasmed as his muscles tensed, his toes curled, and the hair on his chest stood on end. Mustafa closed his eyes and groaned. He bit his lip.

“Yes, good respect, American cowboy,” he murmured.

All of Mustafa’s muscles tightened and flexed at once, and his balls crawled up in his sweat-slickened sac. Rufus kept on jacking even as the cum shot out and coated the inside of the kisbet, not to mention Rufus’ hand and wrist.

He pulled his cum-streaked hand out and looked at it, wishing he could lick it clean. But he knew that would be too gay too, so he didn’t; he just stared at it as though he was disgusted and followed Mustafa into the dugout.

“You come tomorrow,” Mustafa said without looking back. “I continue lesson. Keep paying.”

 

Hairback Appreciation Society: Convict Worship

Here’s a sample chapter from a new series, the Hairback Appreciation Society. This one is called Convict Worship, and it’s the incredible story of Rufus, a hairback lover who worships a convict alpha male fresh out of prison. It’s also part of the Brutewood Correctional Facility.

 

Rufus’ heart started pounding from the moment he saw men file past the prison gates. This is really happening, he realized, I am about to find the sexiest hairback around! He didn’t see the one he was looking for at first, but when he did, Rufus almost fainted.

He was Wendell “Thumper” White, a former pro-boxer who was finally leaving prison. He was not extremely tall, but he was thick and wide-bodied, not sculpted like he used to be yet still retaining all the power of his pro-athlete days. Rufus had arranged to pick him up and take care of him, but hadn’t given Thumper any information on who he was or why. Thumper, for his part, gave little indication that he cared. He seemed to just assume that Rufus was from some sort of halfway home.

Rufus waved to him and approached to shake his hand. Thumper just shrugged, shook and hopped in the passenger seat of Rufus’ car.

“Hello, Mr. White,” Rufus said. “I-“

“Thumper.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Thumper. Not Mr. White,” he said.

“Oh, okay, sure. Thumper it is.”

“Whatchoo want from me?”

“Well… I’ve heard that you were in need of a place to stay. I-“

“What’s in it fo’ you? You a cop? I won’t snitch, man.”

“No, I’m not a cop. I just want to service you. I want to lick every inch of your body. I want to suck your dick and your ass and your balls-“ Rufus wasn’t usually this blunt, but he got the impression Thumper liked being direct.

“I ain’t queer,” Thumper said, in a way that suggested he was fine with Rufus’ plan, he just wanted to be sure Rufus knew it would be one-sided. In truth, Rufus only liked bottoming, he wouldn’t want to be with Thumper if Thumper was versatile.

“I know,” Rufus said. “I heard you were flexible behind bars, that you like fucking slim, hairless twinks. That’s me.”

“I don’t take dick.”

“Oh, I know. I wouldn’t want you to. I’m a bottom,” Rufus said. He didn’t live far away from the prison, so they were already pulling into his driveway. His heart nearly pounded out of his chest — there were so many ways an arrangement like this could go wrong, he thought, and so few it could go right.

“You like prison cock?”

Rufus nodded. “I love it.”

“You like black cock?”

“Love that too.”

Thumper smiled. “Alright, but if I’m gonna let some queer paw all over me, we doin’ things my way. Gimme money too.”

Rufus frowned. “Well, I don’t have any cash…”

“You can go get some later,” Thumper said. He got out of the car and walked with Rufus to the front door. Thumper leaned over and whispered in Rufus’ ear, “You gonna worship me?”

“Yes.”

Thumper sneered in disgust. He looked around for neighbors as Rufus unlocked the front door, then Thumper grabbed Rufus by the head. He pulled on his hair until Rufus’ whole body tensed up. Thumper sneered at him. “If you gonna be my bitch, you gonna act like a bitch, a female dog. A bitch decide what kinda man she like by sniffin’ his ass. So get on yer knees and smell my ass, bitch.”

Rufus blushed but did as he was told. Thumper wore lime-green basketball shorts which sagged low to reveal a bare asscrack covered in thick, kinky black hair. Rufus inserted his nose into the sweaty crack and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, smell yo’ daddy real good, bitch.”

The smell was overpowering, musky and it made his eyes water. Rufus inhaled again as Thumper scoffed, then strutted inside. Rufus had to scamper behind him to keep his nose ensconced in Thumper’s hairy crack. Thumper grinned. “When you’s about to leave, they don’t let you stay in yo’ cell. They make you be in solitary for a couple days,” he said. “So I ain’t had a bitch in a bit.”

“You must be horny as hell, you poor baby… You want me to put on some straight porn?” Rufus asked.

“Hell yeah. Put on something wit’ a white bitch gettin’ double-teamed,” Thumper said. “I’ll take a shower.”

Rufus stood up, then blurted out, “No!” He hesitated as Thumper bristled at being given an order. “I mean… I want to lick the prison off you.”

“Oh, you one of them nasty kind of faggot?”

Rufus nodded. “The nastier the better.” He bent over his computer and hurried to a free porn site he knew of — he didn’t have any straight porn, so it took him a few minutes to find one.

Thumper started grabbing at his ass in a decidedly prison-rough way — he was crude and forceful, and he growled as though having trouble not raping Rufus right then and there. Stripping his shirt off, Thumper shoved one hand down the back of Rufus’ pants and jabbed a finger into his asshole.

“You my bitch?”

“Yes,” Rufus clicked play. He wasn’t sure this was a long enough video, but he was suddenly too horny to focus. It would have to do. It didn’t seem Thumper was paying much attention anyway.

“Who owns yo’ ass?”

“You do.”

“Say my name.”

“Thumper owns my ass,” Rufus said.

“That’s right,” Thumper said.

Rufus turned around and kissed his bare bicep. He tasted of dust and sweet and stainless steel, the flavor of prison, Rufus thought, distilled into one musky flavor that Rufus couldn’t get enough of. Thumper flexed his arm and chuckled at Rufus’ aroused reaction.

Diving into one armpit, Rufus inhaled deeply. The overpowering sweat hit his nostrils like an acrid train, and Rufus moaned with pleasure. He suckled each hair in Thumper’s armpit, marveling at how thick the hairs were, how kinky and curled, and how much of his own manhood had been trapped there over the years. It was strong enough to make Rufus’ eyes water.

He licked around to Thumper’s back, tasting each hair as he went. He licked the man’s back from shoulder to the top of his asscrack, going back up and down, kneeling to get as low as he could then standing on his toes to get up on top of his shoulder.

Thumper shuddered; he was a little ticklish, it seemed. He chuckled dryly. “You really is nasty. I made one of my bitches do this a couple years ago. Cried the whole fucking time.”

“He’s an idiot.”

Thumper nodded. “Yep, that he is. You don’t mind that my back’s hairy?”

“Mind? I love it. That was one of the things that drew me to you,” he said.

“All the young cats in my cell say I gotta get my bitch to shave my back,” he said. “They said you can’t leave prison with a hairy back. It’ll look bad to everyone outside the gang. You’ll never get a chick.”

“Not everyone gets it,” Rufus said. “Specially women.” He normally didn’t lick anyone’s back this long, but the more Thumper made a big deal out of it, the more he didn’t want to stop. He did move to the small of Thumper’s back and worked on slathering every inch of that with his spit.

“You know what to do,” Thumper murmured softly as he dropped his pants. He had hairy trunk-like thighs, and Rufus gave them each a quick lick. But it was obvious that Thumper wanted a rimjob. He bent over the couch and stuck his round, hairy ass in the air right in front of Rufus’ face.

He dove right in and licked the sweat out of Thumper’s asscrack. His tongue left a trail right through the center of his ass, while Rufus used both hands to separate the cheeks. Thumper’s dark asshole beckoned like a tasty treat.

He plunged in, and tasted a direct feed of Thumper’s essence. It was like chugging a beer made of musk, he thought, and the grimy, hairiness of Thumper’s ass made it even hotter.

Thumper growled and grunted and his muscular body writhed as though Rufus’ tongue was painful. He howled and bit his lip. He pounded his meaty fists on the ground to emphasize how good this felt, and he even lifted one foot off the ground. He shook his dangling foot as sexual tension roiled his middle-aged body.

His was dirty and grimy and hairy, exactly as Rufus liked it. As he lapped at the ebony hole, his hands delicately massaged Thumper’s hairy lower back, which writhed above Rufus’ head as Thumper responded to the rimjob. Rufus suspected he hadn’t had a rimjob from someone who wanted to give one in a long time, and he was surprised about how intense the pleasure was shooting up his intestines.

“Ah, fuck yeah nigga, you oughtta go to the prison and give some fucking lessons,” he said softly. His hips were undulating and pushing back now, as though his rectum was trying to fuck Rufus’ mouth. He used his ass and hips to pin Rufus against the wall, rubbing his hairy cheeks and hole on every inch of Rufus’ face.

Without a word of warning, Thumper turned around and slammed his dick down Rufus’ throat. He was just in time for the first wad of cum to land deep in Rufus’ gullet, making him gag just a little before guzzling the rest of the load down.

Thumper lightly smacked him on the cheek with one hand, using the other to caress his neck like an owner making sure his dog swallowed a pill. “Go on, swallow it, bitch. Swallow daddy’s seed.”

His semen was copious and creamy, but it had a certain wateriness that Rufus suspected was due to the prison diet. It was sour and snotty, and it stuck to Rufus’ tongue and mouth as he swallowed it down.

“Show me yo’ mouf, boi.”

Finally he was done and Rufus showed off his empty mouth. Thumper sneered and nodded. “Disgusting, faggot. Go clean my sweat off yo’ stupid queer face. Then go to the ATM and get me cash.”

Hairback Appreciation Society: Redneck Worship

Here’s a sample chapter from a new series, the Hairback Appreciation Society. This one is called Redneck Worship, and it’s the incredible story of Rufus, a hairback lover who travels to North Dakota for macho roughneck str8core alpha male servicing. It’s also part of the Redneck Screw Society.

Rufus didn’t want to lose money on it, even if he didn’t buy the building as a financial investment. It was a good deal anyway, he thought, since real estate in North Dakota seemed likely to only get more and more expensive.

So he forced himself to meet all the tenants, just like a real landlord would. He introduced himself, shook their hands, gave them each his business card with his cell number on it, then he waited for the man he had really come to meet.

His name was Charlie Beaumont, a roughneck from the Interdriller Oil Field just to the northwest of town. He waited for Charlie, the only reason he had even come to North Dakota. Rufus had started a new organization called the Hairback Appreciation Society, a group that sought to legitimize and sexify men with hairy backs. Rufus had always liked guys as hairy as possible — back, chest, arms, legs, it didn’t matter to him.

He heard Charlie come home, and Rufus waited — he didn’t want to make Charlie uncomfortable, so he didn’t go over right away. He paced, his horniness rising the more he thought about what was about to happen.

When he thought Charlie must have gotten settled into his apartment, Rufus went down and knocked on the door. Charlie was tall and broad-shouldered, shirtless, his chest covered in day-old sweat. He wore only a pair of shorts, as though he had been about to take a shower — Rufus was glad to have caught him beforehand. He looked dourly on at Rufus, who stumbled over his words as he introduced himself.

“Well, nice to meetcha, Rufus,” Charlie said. “Apologies if I ain’t seem sweet on ya. Our last landlord was a lady, and there ain’t many of them around these parts. So I’m kinda wishing you wasn’t a man.”

“I’ve noticed,” Rufus said.

Charlie grabbed at his crotch and snorted. For a moment, the outline of his cock was clearly visible. “That bitch wanted me something fierce. She dropped fifty bucks a month from the rent in return for some dick.” Charlie paused. “Sorry, nevermind. That’s illegal, ain’t it? I-“

“It’s okay. I won’t tell,” Rufus said.

“Wasn’t even really worth it. She made me sleep with her all night once a week, and I had to shave my chest and back,” he said. “So I spent like thirty-five hours a month to save fifty bucks. But how can you say no to gettin’ paid for pussy?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. What if you could save fifty bucks a month and got your nut off, no need to spend the night anywhere or shave anything?”

“What?”

“I love hairy dudes, especially men with a hairy back,” Rufus said. He was entranced by the thick blond hairs creeping up over Charlie’s shoulders, which Charlie only just now noticed Rufus was watching so closely.

Charlie was awkward, though not uncomfortable; he had to suppress a giggle, as though he had never thought he’d meet a gay in the wild. He stumbled over his words, hemmed and hawed, then said, “So you wanna suck my dick?”

“Shit yeah. You let me suck you off at least once a week — more if you get horny, y’know — and I’ll take seventy-five bucks off the rent,” Rufus said.

“Shit, I can’t turn that down,” Charlie said. He let Rufus come in. Charlie shut the door behind him. “You know I ain’t touchin’ you, right? I ain’t down with taking no dick. None, man. Don’t try to talk me into it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. All I want is to suck on your dick,” Rufus said, “And maybe lick your back and shoulders and ass and armpit.”

Charlie looked disgusted. “You wanna lick armpits? You want me to shower first?”

“God no, please don’t,” Rufus said. To illustrate his point, he dived into Charlie’s hairy armpit and sniffed loudly. That made Charlie laugh, his redneck drawl apparent even in that.

Charlie started to take off his wifebeater, but Rufus stopped him as he moved over to the other armpit. He inhaled loudly there too and sucked on the thick blondish hairs. Charlie chuckled again out of both awkwardness and ticklishness.

His tongue moved over the salty sweat-stained strap of Charlie’s wifebeater, slathering spit over his broad shoulder. He was a literal “red neck” right now, the back of his neck, his upper back and his shoulders were a light pink sunburn. They didn’t seem sensitive though, and Rufus licked the entire surface.

He was glad to feel that Charlie’s back was even hairier than it seemed. He had blond hairs, so it wasn’t as visually apparent, but now that his tongue was in contact with Charlie’s broad back, he tasted short, fuzzy hairs over the entire surface. It was just a little bit too much to be considered peach fuzz, he thought, but not so much it was like a jungle.

Dropping down to the small of Charlie’s back, Rufus desperately wanted to lick his ass. But he thought that might be a step too far for a first-timer like Charlie. He did pull down Charlie’s dirty workpants and kissed both hairy, sweaty globes. Charlie winced as though astonished anyone would ever touch his dirty ass. “Damn, you one nasty gay,” he said with a snort of derision. The sweat there was even sweeter than on his back, but Rufus moved right back around to Charlie’s front.

His dick was long and thick, uncircumcised and throbbing already. It wasn’t hard, but it was obviously just waiting for someone to touch it. Indeed the moment Rufus’ fingers touched his shaft, it jerked to attention and Charlie’s whole body stiffened.

He was obviously uncomfortable with man-on-man contact, and he had even taken out his cell phone, watching porn on the tiny screen while he tried to ignore the man on his cock. But it was also obvious he hadd to suppress how much he was enjoying this pretend, to himself at least, that he was too straight to let it happen easily. Rufus deep-throated him the best he could and suppressed a giggle when Charlie found it difficult to maintain his focus on the porno. It sounds like lesbian porn, Rufus thought, he must be trying to accentuate his heterosexuality.

“You’re better than that lady was, man, she couldn’t suck dick worth a damn.”

His dick was fully hard and leaking precum, and Charlie’s knees even buckled a little as Rufus nestled his nose in Charlie’s pubes. He gagged but strained to hold the whole shaft in his throat; he loved how Charlie reacted as though the pleasure was an attack on his body, and all his muscles flexed to fight it.

“Yee-haw, goddamn, boi.” He was smiling, excited as he put one hand on Charlie’s head and rode his face like a bull at a rodeo. His hot shaft pushed into Charlie’s throat and pulsated there.

His balls ascended in his sweaty sac beneath Rufus’ fingers. Moments later creamy cum coated the back of Rufus’ mouth and slipped down his throat. The flavor of salty-sweet cum hit his tongue, and Rufus shot his own load in his pants.

He tried to swallow it all, but some spilled out his lips and dripped onto the floor below. Rufus sucked all the cum off his shaft, then suckled all the sweat off his hairy balls, which were so exquisitely sensitive Charlie bucked like an angry bronco. He gasped and spasmed from head to toe.

“Will that do, landlord?” he asked breathlessly.

Rufus pulled off his balls, picked pubic hair out of his mouth and grinned. “That’ll do very nicely.”

Linebackers Downlow

Here’s a new sample chapter, from a hot story called Linebackers Downlow, the tale of a college football team whose linebackers don’t quite have the physique to get laid like most of the other players. Be forewarned: this book is about curvy, powerful, macho guys who aren’t sculpted Hollywood hunks; they have hairy chests, arms and backs. Caveat emptor, motherfuckers. This story is part of the Str8 Studs Downlow series.

Once again, the party dwindled and Jason was left behind. He was a senior, a starting football player and a popular jock… with the guys. His fellow teammates all thought he was hilarious. The cheerleaders thought he was funny and liked getting piggy-back rides from him because he was so big.

But when push came to shove, those cheerleaders went off to screw the brains off the quarterback and running backs with six-pack abs. Jason and his fellow linebackers were left behind, the least popular players on the Jacksonville University squad.

“Am I fat?” Jason asked himself for what felt like the millionth time this week. He knew that objectively the answer was no — he didn’t have a ton of fat. But he was more than six and a half feet tall, and he was covered in just enough paunch that it was obvious which position on the team he played.

So now this party had dwindled to just him and the other four linebackers on the team. It was a perfect summary of the way Jason’s football career went — he worked hard with the team; he struggled with them; he played along with them; he coped with their cockiness; he sat behind and watched while they fucked all the hot chicks.

“Guess we’re alone again,” said Rick, another one of the linebackers. “I really thought that blonde was gonna suck my dick.”

Nobody responded. Jason wanted to tell Rick that there was never any chance she was going to suck his dick — that had been obvious to Jason, who saw her flirting politely with Rick before moving on to one of the handsome basketball players. Rick grabbed at his crotch with one big, meaty hand.

Rick was probably the fattest of the linebackers, but even he wasn’t fat. He was powerful; he was also probably the strongest of the linebackers. He just had a generous layer of padding on top.

Aside from Rick and Jason, there was the burly dreadlocked black man, Dante; the fresh-faced redneck Garraty and the hairy-as-hell Vinnie, all of whom looked nervously between each other. It was Garraty who sighed and ran into the other room, returning moments later with a stack of magazines.

“Well, hosses,” he said. “Guess we gotta do what we gotta do.” The magazines had naked women all over them, petite blondes and brunettes cavorting with each other and with a bevy of smooth, six-packed studs. Jason was annoyed.

Garraty took off his shirt and then put his cowboy hat back on his head — he never went without it, except during a game. He smiled his youthful freshman grin, as though he still had hope he’d get girls when he was a senior. Jason was annoyed by his optimism.

“Let’s do this, boys,” he said with an enthusiastic shout. He clapped his hands together, then grabbed at Dante’s dick.

Dante jumped and backed away, “Yo, man, hey, no homo!”

Garraty laughed. “What? You wanna circlejerk or not?”

“Not.”

Jason felt himself blush at the thought of a circlejerk. He had assumed they were just going to jack off to the magazines, probably go separate corners of the locker room. Did people really circlejerk? He thought that was just a punchline and a way to scare freshmen.

Vinnie and Rick both seemed to think it was normal. They teased Dante, calling him a prude. “Probably can’t get it up,” Rick said with a knowing smile.

Dante sighed and looked away, and he caught Jason’s eye. Everyone then turned to Jason, who blushed even harder. He always felt exposed in the locker room — he wasn’t as comfortable with nudity as most of his teammates. But then, most of his teammates had six-pack abs. Jason wasn’t ashamed of his dick size, which was ample, though he and the other linebackers had talked about it once and come to the conclusion that their height made their dicks seem shorter, since all five got teased for it from time to time despite having larger than average cocks. The shorter you are, the longer your dick appears to be in relation to your thigh.

But Jason didn’t want to be the one to start a real conflict over it — Rick was overbearing and would want them all to circlejerk, and it would turn into an argument. “Ain’t really my cup of tea,” Jason said, “But if’n y’all want it, let’s do this shit.”

He was annoyed to realize he should have moved — Vinnie was to his right, so that’s whose cock Jason touched. He stroked it and let out a groan of disgust. “Man, yer cock feels like a fucking uncooked greasy Italian sausage.”

Vinnie burst into laughter and pumped his hips so his cock flopped around. It was already half-hard, the foreskin now fully retracted and the head getting thicker by the moment.

The main thing he didn’t like about jacking Vinnie off — aside from the general idea of touching another man’s penis — was that Vinnie was the hairiest one here. They were all pretty hairy, chests, back, thighs and arms covered in fur; Rick was blond; Dante had naturally kinky black hair, while Garraty and Jason were thick and brown.

Vinnie was like a sasquatch, which is exactly what some on the team called him. He was covered head-to-toe in dense tangles of Mediterranean hair, which he seemed alternately proud of despite the teasing and ashamed of from time to time, mainly when it kept him from getting laid.

It felt like he was pushing his hand into jungle undergrowth, he thought, and the hairs, slick with moisture from (Jason hoped) a shower, stuck to Jason’s body where they collided.

The five linebackers had pulled into a tight circle so they could look at the magazines, which Garraty had opened to a few random pages laid out on the floor and bench in the center of the locker aisle. Garraty was to Jason’s left, so that’s who began stroking Jason off as the circlejerk got into full swing.

“Yo, if any of y’all get yo’ nut on me, I will beat yo’ ass,” Dante said. He was gingerly stroking off Garraty, who looked at him with an exaggerated frown, then kissed him on the grizzled cheek.

Dante glared at him sternly. He probably wanted to fight about it, as Dante was always quick to throw a punch over anything that insulted his manhood. But coach had made it clear anyone who fought — anywhere, but especially in the locker room — would be kicked off the team, and that appeared to be enough motivation for Dante to let it slide.

Oh shit, the linebackers is circlejerkin’!

They all groaned — no one wanted to be caught at this, even if they knew the rest of the team would keep it quiet. That was just the way they operated. Jason focused on himself despite the tension, as he realized he wasn’t fully hard. He didn’t want to be the only one who couldn’t do it.

He stared at the sexiest photo he could see, a pair of stunning redhead girls sixty-nining. They had perfect pussies, he thought and finally felt his dick stiffen to its fullest extent. He felt a few drops of precum lubricate Garraty’s fingers.

Damn Rick, you got big fuckin’ fingers, ya damn hillbilly! Why couldn’t you have dainty fingers like that chick in the photo?

It was Dante who came first, grunting and shooting a load so unexpectedly it made the others laugh. He had been so reluctant, Jason thought, it was strange he came first. His dark body jiggled and he closed his eyes as he sprayed his nut all over the magazines. He had a gut that shook, his thuggish tattoos barely visible through the sweat and dark skin.

As the circle closed and Vinnie grabbed Garraty’s cock, Jason felt Vinnie get close — his balls crawled up in his sac, and his dick throbbed. Cum flowed into his cockshaft, palpably pulsating beneath Jason’s fingers. Jason was shocked at the realization he was going to get cum on his fingers, and he almost stopped then made himself keep going. If Vinnie came, at least he wouldn’t have to touch the man’s hairy body anymore.

Vinnie grunted and said something in Italian, spraying one fat wad of jizz in a giant blob on the bench in the center of the circle. “Direct hit!” Vinnie shouted — he had covered the sexy photo of lesbian redheads.

“Thank god, you hairy wop,” Jason said with a laugh. He grabbed at Garraty’s dick then, glad to touch someone only moderately hairy. “Ya ain’t have to nut on the redheads, jackass.”

“Oh yeah, redneck, there’s no rule about interference in circlejerk, ya knows,” he said.

“Wha-?”

Jason felt like gagging as Vinnie came up behind him and hugged him close. Vinnie’s powerful arm encircled Jason’s chest, and he mockingly played with both of Jason’s tits. Jason blushed — he wasn’t fat, as he had told himself over and over, but he hardly had bodybuilder’s pecs either. That just wasn’t how linebackers were built. The other players had made fun of his “tits” more than a few times.

Dense pubic and chest hair scratched at Jason’s bak and ass, and he even felt a slimy, cum-slickened cock against his ass. Jason protested, but everyone else laughed as though it was the biggest joke in the world, even Dante, and Jason didn’t want to be the only one who “didn’t get it”. If he just gave in, he thought, and hoped, Vinnie might give up soon.

Rick shot his load while Jason was adjusting to the brillo-like feel of Vinnie’s body behind him, and the smell of cum was now so strong in the air that Jason wanted to just give up. But they’d tease him forever, so he was determined to finish, and ideally, not last.

It was down to him and Garraty, the relatively small cowboy and freshman linebacker. He had barely played in any games yet. He used Jason’s dick to pull him closer, until their dicks were both touching.

“This is what we call a Double Hog-Ride back in Montana,” he said. He spat into his hands as he used them both to stroke both cocks at once. Jason was horrified to see his dickshaft mash into Garraty’s, but he had to admit it did feel better than an ordinary handjob. Plus he wasn’t touching anything, his hands were free since Garraty used both his.

They both nutted at once too. It felt so good that it came on suddenly, and both dicks were coated in semen. Jason’s muscles roiled beneath the layer of padding that caused him so much embarassment, and their semen mixed as it spread over both shafts. It dripped down their thighs and ballsacks, and onto the few dry spots of the magazines below.

“Well, fuck, we ruined my magazines,” Garraty said, “And you can bet I ain’t pickin’ em up. They’s gross.”

“Just leave ‘em there. The janitor’ll get them,” Vinnie said. He was already getting dressed. Jason felt bad about agreeing, but he certainly wasn’t going to pick up the cum-soaked rags. He was embarrassed enough about what happened he didn’t care about the details, he just wanted to get dressed and get out of there. Hopefully before anyone else from the team saw what they were doing.

A Muscle-Bound Terrorist Came Through the Irontop Gym

Here’s a sample chapter from A Muscle-Bound Terrorist Came Through the Irontop Gym, a new story in the Irontop Gym series!

 

Gary was assigned Mohammed Al-Mansour because he was taking Arabic at the college, and Mr. Al-Mansour did not speak perfect English. But he was good enough at English for ordinary conversation, and Gary’s Arabic was rudimentary at best. Mr. Mansour seemed like the stern kind of man who would not tolerate bad Arabic, so Gary didn’t tell him; he just spoke in English, and Mr. Mansour did likewise.

He tried to act straight too. Mr. Mansour had not given any indication he was a gaybasher, but he was a devout Muslim who had said he only joined the Irontop Gym because he heard it was men-only, and he didn’t want to ever work out with any women present. So Gary assumed he was probably a fervently homophobic Muslim and butched it up as best as he could.

As a physical trainer, Gary had many opportunities to touch Mr. Al-Mansour without drawing too much attention to himself. The less he tried to think about it, the more he could think about nothing else. Mr. Mansour had been a soccer player in his native Lebanon, but was now almost forty; he had retained most of his athleticism even if he had covered it in a thin layer of padding. To Gary, that was even sexier — there was nothing wrong with a six-pack, and he loved looking at men who had them, but he liked men with a little bit of flesh to grab on to as well. Mr. Al-Mansour had just the right amount of extra flesh, and in just the right spots.

When his workout was done, Mr. Al-Mansour strode towards the locker room. It was obvious from his tone and body language that he expected Gary to follow. He did so, both because he hoped to have the opportunity to see Mr. Al-Mansour naked and because he had a feeling he tipped well.

“The showering area is over there,” Gary said as they walked into the otherwise empty locker room. He was mesmerized by Mr. Al-Mansour’s thick ass swaying in his ultra-short shorts. Gary had to clear his throat to gather his thoughts. “And there are clean towels right here.”

“I bring my own towels,” he said.

“Ah, I see. Okay,” Gary said. He was feeling very awkward now, especially since there was no one else around. Was it possible Mr. Al-Mansour was a gaybasher? Could he have lured Gary here to hit him? It was very possible, he thought, and there were no witnesses around to stop him. He backed away slowly.

Mr. Al-Mansour stripped off his sweat-stained shirt and shorts, then tossed them at Gary. The smell of his unlaundered sweat-stained clothes hit Gary’s nostrils, and he couldn’t help but inhale deeply; he tasted the saltiness and a faint earthy smell that was reminiscent of Middle-Eastern cuisine. Gary could only enjoy the scent for a moment because Mr. Al-Mansour was watching him and speaking in a grim and flat tone. “Wash these. I’ll be back on Thursday.”

“Uh, I’m sorry?”

“Wash those clothes,” Mr. Al-Mansour snapped. “Is your brain mush? Do you need me to write it down for you?”

“That’s not really something we do,” Gary said nervously.

Mr. Al-Mansour pulled down his jockstrap. His dick was thick and long, and Gary tried not to look at it. The hair on the man’s chest extended down to his thick crotch bush. Mr. Al-Mansour frowned. “That is something trainers do in Lebanon, and in Britain.”

“Well, we do not have laundry facilities here.”

“Where do you wash these towels?”

“We send them out.”

“It sounds like your problem is solved then,” he said. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. His dick dangled between his legs. “I pay you a fair salary, I expect you to service me as I demand.”

“Yes, sir.” Gary just said it out of distracted obedience to the man’s monstrously thick cock. His heart started pounding as he realized it was obvious that he was gay.

“You are queer, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

He sneered. “Get on your knees.” He hesitated only a moment before shouting, “Now!”

Gary dropped to his knees before even considering whether he should. The smell of Mr. Al-Mansour’s sweat and his musty balls assaulted Gary’s nostrils, and he stumbled over words even though he wasn’t trying to say anything. His own dick jumped to rock-hard in his pants.

Mr. Al-Mansour took one of his own towels out of his locker — it was a dark gray, thin towel with a fringe on either end — and wrapped one end around both hands. He grimaced as he stretched the towel like a bully about to snap it at Gary’s ass. But he just put it around Gary’s head. “Open up if you want my cock in your throat.”

Gary hurried to do as he was told. One of his hands crept into his shorts to jack himself off, and he hoped Mr. Al-Mansour didn’t notice. He gagged on the tip of the cockshaft the moment Mr. Al-Mansour shoved it down his throat, both because of its size and because it was dripping with fresh sweat.

He got hard almost right away, which made Gary think Mr. Al-Mansour was horny. He grunted a bit too, as though surprised by how good the blowjob felt. Gary wanted to do his fellow gays proud by deep-throating the man’s cock as well as anyone could, but Mr. Al-Mansour’s thick, piggish member struggled to squeeze down Gary’s throat.

He laughed when Gary choked, and spit on Gary’s face. “You want to be female whore, faggot, I will treat you like female whore. You like that?”

“Fuck yes,” Gary said between gasps for air.

“Disgusting.” He began pistoning his hips back and forth, fucking Gary’s face hard. Spit came out of Gary’s lips and stuck to Mr. Al-Mansour’s heavy ballsac as it swung and hit Gary’s chin.

Humiliation pumped through Gary’s veins, and he felt like he was being bullied back in school again; the only difference was that this time he liked it. He had come to love being humiliated by the hot straight studs who came through the Irontop Gym, of which there were loads, but Mr. Al-Mansour was even rougher than Gary was used to.

His throat ached as Gary coughed up a big ball of spit from the back of his throat. He knew how straight guys loved it when their bottoms had so much trouble deep-throating it that they coughed up copious fluids, so Gary didn’t try to stop himself. In no time, Mr. Al-Mansour’s crotch and legs were soaking wet with spit and precum.

He said something in Arabic that Gary didn’t understand, then all his muscles flexed at once. Mr. Al-Mansour grunted as though he was trying to hide how much he like it. Gary moaned. Cum shot out and coated the back of Gary’s throat.

It was salty and creamy and nutty, and its flavor made Gary moan again as he shot his own load in his shorts. He was glad that Mr. Al-Mansour hadn’t noticed him jacking himself off.

“I hate faggots. Practice deep-throating for next week.”

Ganged by Cholos

Here’s a sample chapter from Ganged by Cholos, the latest hardcore gangbang story from Ursula Kinkenstein.

It felt like her first real college party. It wasn’t literally her first college party, but it was the first one that wasn’t sponsored by the college, that she had truly been invited to and that wasn’t a total dud when she first walked in. It was, in other words, the first real college party she ever went to.

“You don’t look like a nice girl, you look like the best kind of bad girl,” said the Latino boy, his voice low and rumbly, but a bit awkward in a sweet way.

Bridget had told him she was a nice girl, that she wasn’t going up to a bedroom with him. He was ungodly hot, she had to admit that (to herself, of course, she could never have said it out loud). He was short and slim, bulging with tattooed muscles that were just big enough to be noticeable. He was a cholo, wearing an unbuttoned shirt over a wifebeater and baggy khakis; she had the feeling he didn’t really go to school here, though she didn’t want to ask and find out for sure. Going to college in southern California had been a big culture shock, not the least because instead of the hippies and beach bums she was expecting, the area actually looked like the nicest part of Mexico.

“I am nice,” she said, giggling. “I really am.”

“Well, we don’t have to go upstairs,” he said. Then he leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.

“I’m not fucking you right here in front of everyone,” she said. She blushed as she realized she had implied she would fuck him in a different situation, which wasn’t her intent. A part of her did want to fuck him though, more than anything. She had never been into thugs and bad boys, but something about Juan was making her hot. His biceps were rock-hard and searing hot, she noticed as she clutched his arm. She could smell his cologne, which was faint, as though he had watered it down many times to make it last.

“Why not? They won’t be mad.”

“I’m sure,” she said. The party was mostly men, and she was positive they’d love to watch her fuck. “I can’t do that! They’ll see… you know, all my parts.”

He laughed. “Doesn’t bother me,” he said. He undid the zipper of his loose-fit slacks and reached in. He hesitated, gauging her reaction, then went ahead and pulled out his cock through the fly in his khakis. No one in the party noticed right away. It was long and thicker than her forearm. Not his though, she noticed with a flush of arousal, he had forearms like a Greek statue, corded muscles and bulging a bit near the elbow. He touched her arm and she felt those muscles and wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his embrace.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you did that!” She couldn’t quite turn away from his cock. Some people were murmuring nearby, and she thought that meant others had seen it by now. There was a few scattered masculine chuckles, but they all appeared to be trying to come across as nonchalant.

“You wanna suck on it? You don’t gotta show no one nothin’,” he said. “Nobody has to see anything you got. Just open that pretty mouth.”

She did open it. She still thought she wasn’t going to suck his dick. Of course she wasn’t, she wasn’t that kind of girl. But he had such an intent, determined face when he told her to open it that Bridget didn’t even think twice, she just showed him her mouth. Her pussy was getting moist. She did want to fuck him now, suck his cock, do anything he wanted. But in front of strangers at a party?

He gave his cock a few more strokes. No one was directly watching. She was sure they had noticed, but they all wanted this to be the kind of party where chicks started sucking dick, so they didn’t make a big deal out of it. They were facing away. She blushed even though no one was paying attention to her.

His cock looked plump, already rock-hard and pulsating as though he genuinely had a physical need for her touch. He stroked it once, the loose skin of the shaft moving with his hand. Again she saw those well-muscled forearms and decided she wanted him bad enough to do it. She wasn’t finding the idea of people watching as gross as it had seemed originally, and now that it was actually happening, she didn’t want it to stop.

She found herself sinking to her knees as though her legs had a mind of their own, and obviously that mind wanted to suck some cock. She had never been interested in blowjobs; they were a disgusting and pointless sex act, she thought.

Except tonight. Tonight, it didn’t seem pointless at all. His clammy lotion-scented cock loomed in front of her face. It smelled so tasty, she couldn’t help but suck it down to the root.

The spicy musky flavor hit her suddenly, and she lost her inhibitions. She let his thick shaft caress her tongue and her throat, while her hand stroked his cock to full erection.

His dick was too long and too thick for her to actually suck down a significant amount of it. But she licked the tip the best she could and she squeezed the first couple inches down her throat.

A crowd formed. Bridget was aware of it, and she blushed, humiliated, as a bunch of Latin cholos began chanting for her to keep sucking. This was not how she had sex — but tonight, it felt totally appropriate. She blushed, but she was glad to have the approval of these men. A part of her wanted to suck them all off, but she pushed that part of herself away.

Oh damn that slut is nasty

Bridget knew intellectually that she should be offended and ashamed by the men calling her a slut, but she wasn’t. Every time she heard the word her pussy got a little wetter beneath her fingers, and she moaned around the throbbing cockshaft in her mouth.

Letting her tongue follow his shaft to the root, Bridget moaned as she reached her own climax. Her whole body shuddered, and the audience laughed and clapped along.

She never thought it could feel good to have a dick in her mouth. She loved the musty, spicy flavor, like old fruitcake, with a slightly acrid aftertaste to it, which kept her mind focused on the flavor suffusing her body. She felt like it was his inner essence melting to every corner of her body.

Her limbs all tightened then limpened as she shook with the power of her orgasm. She forced herself not to take his dick out of her mouth, so she wouldn’t skip a moment of his incredible taste.

Her face was bright red from both embarrassment and excitement. She could hear the men commenting on it — they liked redheads, and they liked her face turning ruddy to match her hair. She threw her hair back so they could get a better look at his cock in her mouth, and Bridget blushed even harder when they cheered her on.

By the time Bridget finished licking every inch of his dick, returning to the tip, it was leaking copious precum. The salty sour flavor bit at her tongue, and she shuddered again with post-orgasmic bliss as she licked all the precum up. Juan gasped and his balls ascended in his sac.

“You ready to swallow, baby?” he said. He chuckled dryly as his buddies cheered. Swallow that nut, slut!

Bridget felt a warm burst of fluid in her mouth before she tasted it, then the flavor of salty-sweet cum coated her tongue. She moaned as he grunted and gripped her head. Semen flowed down her throat, and what didn’t fit leaked past her lips.

The men watching all burst into laughter and cheers. Someone slapped palms with Juan, who smiled as he let his moist cock dangle between his legs. He swung it around a bit, letting its meaty thickness whack Bridget in the face.

“You suck cock like an expert,” he said as Bridget stood back up. “You should give some fucking lessons.”