Hairbacks Downlow

Here’s a new sample chapter from Hairbacks Downlow, an outrageous new story in the Hairback Hollow project. It’s got hot guido action and sexy hairy backs!

Joey stayed home from work on Monday. He told his boss that he had diarrhea, because nobody ever thought you were lying if that was your excuse. But in truth, the real answer was more embarrassing for Joey than even that rather humiliating lie.

He had to shave his back. He grew hair down his shoulders so quickly that he needed to shave his back once a week or so. It had been getting even worse lately, and when a series of events had left him unable to shave for two weeks, he knew he needed to take a day off to do it right.

Not only was it physically difficult to shave his own back — though he had managed to come up with enough tricks to get it done — but it was also problematic for him, health-wise. Joey was an Italian-American guido with thick hair on his head and chest; he had kinky black hairs that curved and grew inward when shaved, resulting in ingrown hairs.

So while his buddies spent all their time bragging about screwing chicks, going to the gym to work out shirtless, and tanning their bare, smooth bodies, Joey could only pretend to play along. He went shirtless whenever he could but even a tiny bit of fuzz would be enough to be teased mercilessly. He and his fellow Jersey Shore guidos demanded perfectly smooth chests — to say nothing of course, of their backs, shoulders and necks.

There was a knock on his front door. Joey stood in the bathroom looking at his back in the mirror, holding a can of African Essence shaving cream — he had found that products marketed toward black people were the most effective at preventing ingrown hairs — and he was glad to have an excuse to put it off. He truly hated shaving his back.

He hurried to the front door, grabbing a shirt on the way in case it was one of his buddies. He wouldn’t want them to see him with hair sprouting from his shoulders and even beyond that, well into his upper back.

Peering through the peephole, Joey saw that it was only Rufus, his gay neighbor. Joey thought that Rufus had a crush on him, so he kept the shirt off — he figured seeing his hairy back would be enough to turn any gay off. That might stop the awkwardly flirtatious stares.

“Hey, Joey, I just wanted to say hi and invite you to my Christmas party. It’s actually a few days after Christmas, since I know it’s difficult for people to get away from their families before-“

“I dunno,” Joey said. “I’ll think about it.” He didn’t want to go to any gay party, but it seemed rude to say that directly. He just shrugged and made sure his face looked hostile, so Rufus wouldn’t think he was being seductive. But even that seemed to turn Rufus on even more.

“Are you okay?” Rufus asked. “You look upset. You stayed home from work today.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just playing hookey?”

Joey scowled. He turned around to show off his back. “There? I gotta shave my back today. I usually take off work cuz… nevermind, I just gotta take care of myself. I’m sure you understand-“

“Wait!” Rufus stopped Joey from shutting the door. “You shave your own back?”


“That must be tough. How do you get back there?” Rufus pantomimed trying to reach his own back.

“I manage.”

“You want some help?”

“You wanna shave my back?”

“Well, no… I love hairy backs,” Rufus said. “I don’t want to shave it at all. But if someone’s gonna shave it, I’d rather it be me.”

Joey thought about it. The idea of a queer touching him was revolting — Joey wasn’t homophobic, but he didn’t like gays and didn’t want to be touched by them — but it would be so much easier than shaving his own back.

He sighed and nodded. His shaving things were already set out and ready on the bathroom counter. Rufus looked excited, Joey thought with a sense of disgust, and he wondered if Rufus had a hardon. But Joey suspected if he could get a smooth back tonight, he’d be able to get laid when he went out later, and that was enough to motivate him. He was very horny.

Rufus’ fingers spread over Joey’s back, rubbing shaving cream onto his muscles. His fingers kneaded the hair on Joey’s upper back, and Joey could see his orgasmic face in the mirror. Joey closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see that; looking at Rufus’ face made him feel like he was doing something gay, which now occurred to him was a possibility — he could get a no-strings attached blowjob, probably.

The razor touched his back. It felt good, Joey thought, surprisingly so — it had always been so awkward and humiliating to shave his own back, but now this was outright arousing. He felt his dick get hard in his boxer shorts.

“I know plenty of gay guys who are into hairy backs, y’know.”


“I’m actually the president of an organization called the Hairback Appreciation Society,” he said. “We honor and promote the sexiness of men with hairy backs.”


Joey blanched as he felt Rufus touch him in two spots. First he kissed the spot just under Joey’s neck, where he hadn’t shaved yet, so Rufus’ lips connected with the thick hair there. Second, at the same time, Rufus reached around and grabbed Joey’s cock, where it was sticking out of the fly of his boxers.

Joey grunted. He blushed and closed his eyes as he felt the razor continuing to move up and down his back. It was hard to focus on that though, with a soft hand slowly stroking his shaft.

His back was done. He could feel the last vestiges of shaving cream being wiped off. Rufus stepped in front of Joey, on his knees, and opened his outh. He swallowed Joey’s dick down to the root.

Joey moaned, then bit his lip — he didn’t want to let a gay man know he sucked dick better than any woman, even if it was true. Joey’s cock pulsated, spasming, leaking precum from the moment it touched Rufus’ mouth.

“You can fuck my face,” Rufus said breathlessly, a trail of spit extending from his lips to Joey’s dick.

Joey groaned. He grabbed Rufus’ head with both hands. It was so rare that girls let him do anything like this. It was unfortunate that Rufus had short hair, because that made it harder to pretend he was a girl, but once Joey began controlling the blowjob, he forgot about his anxiety.

He held Rufus’ head in position and humped his dick deeper and deeper down his throat. Rufus valiantly took every inch, choking and gagging every few strokes but making no effort to stop Joey. His fingers reached up to the kinky black hairs that remained on Joey’s chest.

Joey loved face-fucking, loved the feeling of power and dominance it aroused in him and loved the way he could penetrate Rufus’ throat into a frothy fluid-filled mess without concern for how it made Rufus feel. He groaned and sighed as his dick soaked in Rufus’ gullet.

Almost as soon as Rufus touched Joey’s nipples, Joey came — he had always loved nippleplay — even as Rufus’ hands continued around to Joey’s now-smooth back. Hot cum coated Rufus’ mouth and throat, and it flowed down his gullet.

Joey grunted and said a few curse words in Italian, just about the only words he knew. His muscles all shook at once as a powerful orgasm washed over him. His knees went weak and he almost fell on the ground, but he used Rufus’ shoulders for support.

Finally it was done, and Joey pulled out. He took a few deep breaths, trying to sound nonplussed, as though this wasn’t the best orgasm of his life.

His fingers still clutching Joey’s chest hair, Rufus smiled and wiped his face off. “What about that chest?” he asked. “Do you want me to shave that too?”

Extreme Russian Military Hazing

Here’s a new str8core story that’s too hot for Amazon! It’s called Extreme Russian Military Hazing, and it’s full of military punishment and initiation sex. Warning: this is overflowing with noncon and dubcon sex, with an outrageous and humiliating conclusion that will leave you spent!


A part of Dmitri had known that it was a bad idea to complain to Sergeant Mitrovich. The older cadets were making him do their chores, however, and he thought the Sergeant would be glad to know that. They were about to become soldiers in the glorious Russian Army; he should know if they were shirkers. If the Americans invaded, the older cadets’ reluctance to do their duties could make all the difference in the world.

“You are snitching on your comrades?” He asked slowly. His rough, wrinkled face sneered down at Dmitri.

Dmitri swallowed nervously. It was obvious that his plan had backfired — Sergeant Mitrovich was not happy about the snitching. Sergeant Mitrovich had a squarish face with a few old faded scars on it, and stern, deep-set eyes. Dmitri wondered if he could pretend it had all been a joke, but he decided Sergeant Mitrovich would not like humor any more than he liked tattling.

“You are supposed to be form a band of brothers,” Sergeant Mitrovich said. “Not bunch of thugs betraying each other as soon as you can. This is not Army of snitches.”

“They are make me do their chores! It is supposed to be for them-“

“Then tell them no!”

“They will hit me!”

“Then stop to be a pussy, and hit them back,” he said with an angry scowl. “Or you can always quit.”

Dmitri bit his lip. “I am not pussy… I just do not like to be fighting. I know I might have to, this is the Army, but I do not want to be in fighting with other Russians.”

Sergeant Mitrovich shook his head as though he was ashamed. He stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt. The thick hair on his broad chest poked out from under the telnyashka undershirt he wore. “You act like pussy-bitch,” he said. “I will show you how Army will treat pussy-bitches like you. Open mouth.”

Dmitri stammered but didn’t know what to say. He was nervous about what was going to happen next — he wished he could just take a punishment of increased chores, or physical training, just not what he had a feeling was about to happen. He could have chosen to quit, he knew that, he could have left the Army, but then he’d always feel like a failure.

“Open mouth!”

Dmitri did so. But then nothing happened. Sergeant Mitrovich slowly removed his uniform shirt, sneering down at Dmitri’s open mouth.

“What do you want-?”

“Keep mouth open!” he shouted, as though Dmitri should have known. Dmitri opened his mouth and blushed. Sergeant Mitrovich sneered at him as he took off his telnyashka, revealing a powerful, hairy barrel chest. “Open mouth more wide. You are going to now be taking dick in mouth-pussy. You will learn how Russians treat tattling bitches.”

“I’m not-“

“Hush!” He screamed.

Dmitri kept his mouth wide open even as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thought, he should be contributing to the glory of Mother Russia, not being punished like some cheap streetwhore. He again considered running away — he knew he could claim to be gay and they’d kick him out, or he could pretend he heard voices, and he might spend a few months in an asylum, but he’d be able to get out of the Army. But he’d still feel shame for abandoning Mother Russia. He resolved to follow orders as best he could, no matter what.

“You should be thankful I am not treating you as they treated cadets when I was your age,” Sergeant Mitrovich said. He snorted. “The seniors would tie the wussies up in the bathroom at a sodomite bar, let the perverts fuck him all night.”

“Sir, please don’t-“ Dmitri’s words were cut short by Sergeant Mitrovich’s fat cock pushing into his mouth.

The taste of sweaty, unwashed flesh hit Dmitri. It tasted like dry dirt and musky balls, he thought as he gagged uncontrollably. His stomach heaved with disgust and shame.

“You are being acting like a pussy, private. That is why I treat you like pussy. You are not worthy of being a man in glorious Russian Army,” he said. “But you can learn.”

He paused while Dmitri erupted in a fit of choking. He coughed up a big ball of spit and bile, which landed on one of Sergeant Mitrovich’s boots. He hurriedly wiped the boot off with his undershirt, to Sergeant Mitrovich’s approving glare.

“If you do not start acting like a man — fighting when you are challenged, and never doing snitching on anyone — then you will always be treated like this, treated like a weak man,” Sergeant Mitrovich said, kneeling down so he could whisper it right in Dmitri’s face. “Now be ready. I am to make face into vagina.”

Sergeant Mitrovich wrapped both of his hands around Dmitri’s nearly bald head, his fingers interlocking at the back of his scalp. He held Dmitr’s head in place as he began pushing his hips with more force.

He chuckled when Dmitri heaved again, but he didn’t let up. Dmitri’s effluvium spilled out of his throat and moistened Sergeant Mitrovich’s hairy swinging balls.

The shaft in his mouth pulsated, tickling Dmitri’s gag reflex. He gagged against just as the first spurt of cum coated his gullet.

The flavor was not at all what he had expected. It was sour and so salty Dmitri’s lips puckered. He wanted to spit it out but Sergeant Mitrovich’s dick squeezed into his throat and didn’t allow him any freedom to spit anything up. He sighed as his cockshaft drained its juices into Dmitri’s throat.

As his whole body rejected the foul creamy fluid, Dmitri bucked, and he even tried to bite down but his jaw was so stretched he didn’t have any leverage. He could only submit as his stomach filled with cum.

The flavor was salty and sour, overpoweringly strong, so much so that it brought tears to his eyes. Even more disgusting than the taste was the texture; the snotty, creamy mouthfeel to it made him want to throw it up. He had a feeling that spitting it out would be taken as disrespectful, so Dmitri clutched his belly and held the cum in his throat even as his whole body spasmed and rejected it.

Sergeant Mitrovich’s cock plopped out of his mouth, and Dmitri gasped for air. Mitrovich stayed where he was, kneeling with his knees on Dmitri’s elbows so he could move. Mitrovich’s sweaty cock and balls rested on Dmitri’s face.

“Say I will never snitch again.”

“I will never snitch again.”

“Good. Get away from me, faggot.”

Werewolves Downlow

Here’s a sample chapter from Werewolves Downlow, a new story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series. It’s an outrageous redneck shifter interracial erotica tale that you’ll have to read to believe!

When he got out of prison, Forrest Lowell didn’t have a lot of options. The thought of becoming a farmhand like some migrant worker did not seem appealing. But the position he was offered was technically supervisory — he’d be overseeing the Latino workers. The pay was barely better than the migrant workers got, however. The main qualification for this position was that he was both bilingual and desperate enough to do farmwork.
It was humiliating. He used to be in charge of shit, running operations, commanding a couple hundred men — drug dealers and traffickers, but still, he was the head redneck in charge, or the Chief Neck as he was called by the men who worked for him. He could order men to do whatever he wanted, from beat up their friends to shave Forrest’s back (which he did make his drug dealing lieutenants do as punishment).
Now he was subservient to some sniveling twenty year-old parole officer who didn’t care about anything but not smoking weed and having a job, any job at all. That was why Forrest had been desperate to take any offer of work he could get. So he grinned and bared it, and trying to make the best of a bad situation. It was better than being back in prison.
The only other Anglo person he saw on a daily basis was Reggie Mullinix, the son of the man who owned the farm. Reggie was a bull-headed young man with an arrogant grin and a military buzz-cut even though he had never been in the military. Forrest really didn’t like that; he knew the type from prison, not as inmates but as guards, men who weren’t military because they couldn’t make the cut, so they found some easier route to boss people around, a route that didn’t require much effort or honor, obedience or respect for others.
Luckily for Forrest, Reggie mainly enjoyed bossing around the Mexican workers. He treated Forrest as a disdainful, pitiful but ignorable henchman. He did, however, love sending the Mexican workers on nonexistent errands, telling them nonsense and laughing as they nodded like they understood. He’d tell them to go get a “smoke-stack” or “a baker’s dozen of barley jugs”, then howl with laughter when they wasted hours trying to figure out what they were supposed to do.
So Forrest already didn’t like Reggie very much when he walked in on him getting a blowjob from a slim young Mexican man, Hernan. Reggie had his pants around his ankles and was snarling like a dog as he fucked Hernan’s mouth. His balls slammed against Hernan’s chin with each thrust of Reggie’s hips.
Drool dripped past Hernan’s lips, and every time Reggie’s dick tickled the back of his throat, Hernan choked up another ball of spit that coated Reggie’s cockshaft. His balls slapped against Hernan’s chin, leaving a layer of sticky sweat glistening.
“Yee-haw!” Reggie said, not loudly so he didn’t attract attention, but very emphatically, almost like it was an accusation aimed at Hernan sucking his dick. Then he spoke with an exaggeratedly-bad accent, “dime te gusta este” — tell me you like this. Forrest had heard Reggie speak with a better accent, so he thought Reggie must have been talking like a gringo now to make fun of Hernan.
The Mexican did as he was told. He took the dick out of his mouth just long enough to say me gusta and then mumble something Forrest didn’t catch while Reggie’s dick slid back down his throat. His lips caressed the man’s shaft and struggled to fit the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes flitted about wildly as though looking for a way out.
Reggie’s dick plunged inexorably in and out of the Mexican’s throat. Forrest stood there for what felt like an eternity, though he knew it was only a few seconds; he was disgusted, frightened, confused and offended all at once, and he wasn’t sure what to do. The worst part for him was that watching this blowjob reminded Forrest how long it had been since he had sex; his dick even jerked a bit as though considering whether or not to get hard.
Cum spurted from Reggie’s dick, and he moaned. Even the moaning sound he made came across like a sarcastic insult to Forrest, who thought Reggie was trying to humiliate his Mexican bottom. The smell of semen filled the barn with its humid and sticky scent, which made Forrest feel queasy. He also felt bad that he hadn’t intervened yet, and that reaction was what made him decide to do something about it.
Forrest had been in prison, so he assumed this was a rape situation. That was how people orally raped their bitches behind bars, holding onto their head and fucking their throat. His protective instincts kicked right in — he would later learn it was not rape, so looking back he felt ashamed, but at the time the thought that he was misreading the situation never occurred to him. He was proud of himself for defending Hernan, something he had never been able to do behind bars because he needed to focus on protecting himself. He pushed Reggie to the ground and shouted, “What the fuck, man?”
After that there was a flurry of blows. Hernan said something in Spanish and cried as he ran away, and for the first time, it occurred to Forrest that it might have been a consensual encounter. He had been in prison too long, he thought, and Hernan was clearly gay — that had occurred to him in the past when hearing the lilt in the man’s Spanish — so it wasn’t out of the question.
Reggie flew into a bestial rage though, and he even looked something like a monster. He was more fearsome than any rich man’s son had a right to be, Forrest thought, snarling and red-faced as though he might lose control. He was more monstrous in that moment than even the cruelest prison thug that Forrest remembered from his time behind bars. Reggie pounced on him and actually bit Forrest on the shoulder before he could roll away.
His heart pounding, Forrest jumped to his feet and kicked Reggie. Reggie howled in pain and darted into the field of wheat on the other side of the barn.
Forrest cradled his injured ribs and bleeding shoulder as he watched Reggie leave. He wasn’t surprised to see a spoiled rich man flee from a fight like that, he thought, but he was surprised at how fiercely he had fought in the first place, and the bestial way he had battled.
Forrest sighed as he realized he was likely to end up fired as a result of this, and possibly just for a misunderstanding — he needed to find that Mexican, Hernan, and ask if it had been consensual. If his parole officer violated him, he could go back to prison for a year and a half, he realized with a shudder. Even if it was a rape, he should have looked the other way.

Irontop Gym of Moscow, Russia

Here’s a sample chapter from Irontop Gym of Moscow, Russia, a new story from the Irontop Worldwide series of hardcore gay gym rat erotica. This story contains outrageous verbal homophobic alpha male bullying, so it’s only for those with a strong stomach.

Moscow was a beautiful city, and Wilson was excited to be there. It wasn’t the safest city, but Wilson enjoyed a little danger — if not, he would never have taken a job opening new gyms around the world. Once his gym got fully funded and staffed, it would be the largest Irontop Gym in Europe. He was proud of having gotten this far all by himself.

The “soft opening” had gone well. A little foot traffic, and two signups — not bad for the first day for the first gym in the chain’s Russian expansion. They didn’t have the facilities fully built yet anyway, so Wilson was hardly expecting a stampede.

The one worry Wilson had was crime. Both of the two first day signups were young men who looked like hoodlums. They had broad, crude faces, like tamed cavemen, with pale skin and rough-looking tattoos covering their limbs. They had paid in full, so Wilson accepted their money, but he remained unsure. They were joined the next day by two of their friends, who used their respective guest passes.

The four Russian toughs stripped off their shirts and began loudly working out. Wilson avoided watching them too closely, not wanting to attract attention — he was openly gay but had gone back in the closet for his time in Russia.

The men encouraged each other in Russian and, Wilson guessed from their tone and bravado, they insulted each other as well. It almost turned to a fight a few times.

The one time Wilson stood, heart pounding, to break up a conflict, it stopped right away when they saw him coming. The two men who were bumping bare chests and yelling at each other glared as they resumed their workouts.

Finally they were done, and they disappeared into the showers. Wilson was glad to know they’d be leaving soon. He became suspicious, however, when he didn’t see them come out of the locker room.

He hurried back to check, and heard them talking in fluid Russian. They were laughing, in the showers, which were running. He snuck close enough to see, but he remained in the relative darkness while they were in the well-lit shower, so they couldn’t see him.

They were circlejerking. Each one had the cock of the man to his right and was stroking it furiously. Wilson got the impression it was a competition of sorts, but he wasn’t sure what the rules were. They were each concentrating, like they were rushing to finish first.

Wilson considered jacking off — he knew he didn’t want to be outed as gay in Russia, so he couldn’t afford to get caught. But he couldn’t bring himself to look away, and he wasn’t sure he could watch without masturbating. The men had big muscles, with a fleshy, worn look of people who worked hard rather than sculpting themselves in a gym like this one. Their bodies shook and flexed as they stroked each other’s uncut cocks.

“Hey, you!” one of the men called out in thickly accented English.

Wilson’s blood ran cold as he stepped forward. He had been caught. Luckily it was before he was touching himself, so it looked only like he had walked in on them. Were they embarassed or angry? Wilson couldn’t quite tell.

They burst into Russian chatter, interspersed with a few words of hard-to-understand English. It seemed none of them were truly fluent in English, but it didn’t stop them from trying. They barked orders at each other and at Wilson, and they stopped stroking each other’s cocks but didn’t let go. They just stood there in a circle manhandling the throbbing cock of the man to their right.

They beckoned for Wilson, who hesitated before joining them. They smiled as though they were about to beat him up, but instead they just pointed to their cocks. Wilson still couldn’t quite be sure whether they were going to hurt him or not, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from their rough naked bodies.

All Wilson could think was that they wanted blowjobs. But they weren’t gay, and Russians weren’t likely to be on the downlow, were they? Wilson hesitated even though ever fiber of his being told him to get on his knees and start sucking.

There was a piece of bread on the floor. Before Wilson could figure out its significance, one of the Russians grabbed his arm and wrapped Wilson’s hand around his cock, pantomiming stroking him off.

“Soggy biscuit!” Wilson thought as he finally figured out what the bread meant. He didn’t realize that Russians played Soggy Biscuit, but it seemed these Russians did. Of course, he thought, they didn’t see this as gay because it was a contest of manhood; it was hazing maybe, or an initiation.

Nobody even seemed to notice that Wilson was rock-hard before anyone touched his dick. In no time his pants were around his ankles, and one tattooed ruffian was stroking him off while Wilson jacked off the man to his right.

The hand on Wilson’s cock was rough and callused. In almost any context, it would have been a big turnoff, but here, it turned Wilson on even more, reminding him that this straight thug was a low-class straight macho, probably a blue-collar worker (if not a criminal, which seemed likely). Wilson’s dick pulsated precum all over the thug’s fingers, but he kept stroking as though he didn’t notice.

Was this a common game for them? They were playing rather as though it was, like this was an everyday prank and they didn’t even consider that it might be new to Wilson. Wilson, for his part, tried to pretend this was normal — if they did this regularly, he’d have to find a way to get an invite each time.

The smell of manjuice and ballsweat filled the air even before anyone finished. It was so strong it felt like Wilson had planted his nose right into someone’s balls as they shot their load.

The first two Russians sprayed their juice almost at the same time. One pearlescent wad after another landed on the piece of bread, and the smell of semen filled the locker room. The other Russians laughed when it happened, and they made disgusted faces — Wilson got the impression they complained about touching cum and the odor of semen clogging up their nostrils.

Wilson wanted to lose, knowing he would get to eat all that cummy bread. But he’d also look suspicious if he did it too willingly, and he wasn’t sure what a straight man would even do — should he fight about it?

The big, rough man stroking off Wilson was next to cum, and his big muscles jiggled as he covered the entire piece of bread in a huge torrent of cum. That left only Wilson and the man to his right, the youngest and smallest of the Russians.

The semeny odor that filled the room grew even stronger now that the bread was soaked in it, and the only two remaining cocks were spurting precum enthusiastically. The bread looked so tasty with manfluid that Wilson could already taste it in his mouth.

Wilson was still planning to cum last when he nutted unexpectedly. It looked like the young Russian was nervous and awkward being jacked off by a man, so he hadn’t finished yet. Wilson felt tremendous relief flooding his veins as his balls drained onto the piece of bread.

The men, except for the youngest, all burst into laughter, clapping and encouraging the young man to finish up. He blushed and closed his eyes, taking over his own dick as he hurried to ejaculate. One of the bigger Russians even pranked him by humping his asscheek for a few seconds, stopping only when the younger Russian glared at him.

At last his lean, wiry body shook as he orgasmed. Wilson stood close, as he saw the others do, apparently unaware or uncaring of the drops of cum that splattered on their thighs.

He shot a desultory load, no doubt too nervous to really be excited. When he was done, he picked up the piece of bread — which fell apart as chunks of semen dripped onto the Russian’s hand. His buddies chanted something in Russian, and even Wilson found himself joining in though he didn’t know the words.

The young Russian gagged as the bread fell apart in his mouth. A lot of it fell to the floor, but it seemed no one noticed, and he had moist bread and cum sticking to his lips and cheeks as he finally finished.

“Good gym,” said the oldest one gruffly. He shook Wilson’s hand. “Not too many rules.”

Six Str8 Black Thugs and a Gay Preacher

Here’s a sample from Six Str8 Black Thugs and a Gay Preacher, a new story from the City Barbershop. It’s the incredible tale of a lock-in at a church, wherein a preacher seduces six hot black macho thugs!


Note: this cuts off soon after the action begins because this story isn’t cut into chapters.


The church looked exactly the way he wanted it. Reverend Jacobs had been planning this night for months, and he was glad that it had, so far, turned out how he hoped — of course, the difficult part hadn’t even begun yet. There was still a lot that could go wrong.

Just down the hall was the gym, where six young men were playing basketball; the sound of their sneakers scuffing against the floor and the bouncing ball rebounding off the backboard filled the church. They were all high school dropouts ranging from eighteen to twenty years-old, and they had come here for a lock-in. They’d be in the church all night, with Reverend Jacobs being the only other person around. His job was to convince them to stay out of sin, or at least gang life.

“Yo’, Reverend, where’d you say those drinks was at?” asked Lincoln. He was the youngest of the six, and was almost nineteen, but he was also the tallest at nearly six and a half feet tall. He was slim and ropy-muscled, with gangland tattoos over his sweat-covered bare chest. He held the dingy brown basketball under one arm.

“There’s a cooler in my office, Lincoln, I’ll show you.” He walked down the corridor to his office, where he had planned on exactly this eventuality. The other five young men were out in the hall, breathing heavy, holding basketballs and sweat-stained shirts in their hands.

He opened his office door, then yelped with practiced surprise and humiliation. He darted over to his computer and shut off the monitor, just in time for the six young men to see the naked women on the screen. They all laughed.

“Minister Jacobs likes the pussy!”

“Oh shit, we all thought you was a faggot.”

“That chick was hot. What site was that?”

Reverend Jacobs pretended to be embarrassed and hung his head in shame as the six young men crowded into his office. The smell of their burly, sweaty bodies made the room feel smaller and hotter, and made Reverend Jacobs start getting aroused. He sighed and held his hand up. They all stopped talking at once.

“I am sorry for letting you see that, guys, that was not deliberate,” he said. “I should not have tempted you.”

“Tempted us?” Gray said. He scoffed. He was the only one who had come wearing something more than basketball shorts and a t-shirt — he had a tight-fitting pink polo shirt (in his hands at the moment) and blue track pants, with a bevy of gold chains around his neck. The chains he didn’t take off even when playing basketball shirtless, so they bounced around atop his tatted pecs. He normally wore a brilliantly colored suit; Reverend Jacobs had seen that on many occasions: Gray was a pimp, and he unapologetically scoffed at Reverend Jacobs. “No temptation, man. I don’t know ‘bout these niggas, but I get pussy.” He spoke over the crowd of bragging from the others. “I get all the pussy, man. I don’t look at no pictures of some whore, I collect whores, niggas. I got a motherfuckin’ stable!”

Hell yeah nigga! Keep it real!

“Guys, gentlemen, please,” Reverend Jacobs said until the others all quieted down again. “Let’s try to talk, okay? Just talk. We’re not gonna worry about women. Come on, we’re being chill. There’s drinks in the fridge back there.”

“Oh shit, beer,” said Jamaal as he opened the door. He was the one who had been most insistent he wouldn’t come without alcohol. Reverend Jacobs was fine with that — he was always going to provide it, he just didn’t want it to seem like it was his idea, so he made Jamaal talk him into it. Jamaal smiled and opened one. “I kinda thought you was fuckin’ around on this front. I thought we’d get here and you’d have some goddamn apple juice and shit.”

Jamaal was the burliest one here, with a thick and powerful body. He wore a shirt even though he was drenched in sweat, which Reverend Jacobs assumed was because he was self-conscious of his body. The other five all had six-packs, or nearly so, but Jamaal wasn’t even close.

“None for me,” said Theo dourly. He was grim and joyless by nature. He was a militant activist with a thick afro and a powerful frame. He always wore a suit, but today had dressed down to play basketball. He had been the toughest to convince to come here. “Alcohol dulls the mind and deadens the body,” he said, sounding like he was reciting something he remembered.

“Shit, I’ll drink his,” Jamaal said with a laugh. He grabbed at his dick, which was briefly outlined by his basketball shorts. He had an outrageously thick manhood, and Reverend Jacobs licked his lips at the thought of getting a handle on it. Jamaal’s thick body shook, making Reverend Jacob’s dick harden to full erection beneath his pants

The last two refused the beer, but did pour themselves drinks of vodka. They were Mitchell and Darien, both handsome and sexy: Mitchell was a charming, cornrowed ladies man, while Darien was a muscle-freak with too much machismo and swagger to appeal to most women. They both suggested beer had too many carbs for them, and Reverend Jacobs was glad he had bought a bottle of vodka at the last moment. Mitchell and Darien passed it back and forth.

They talked about women then, and Reverend Jacobs didn’t interrupt. He just listened. He didn’t want to do much until later in the night anyway. Gray bragged about all the girls he had slept with and turned out as whores. Theo kept his arms across his chest, staring judgmentally at Gray. The others listened to Gray like some kind of folk hero.

“That apple-butt bitch was tellin’ me she was done every goddamn day,” Gray said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “But she ain’t walk away. She still lick my asshole when I tell her to.”

They all burst into laughter at Gray’s words, and Gray smiled in response. He bent over on all fours to demonstrate getting his asshole licked. Reverend Jacobs was entranced by his wide, plump ass, just begging to be fondled, the fabric of his basketball shorts clinging to his pert young flesh.

“Yo, Gray, can you bring any chicks over here?” Lincoln asked near midnight.

Gray smiled like a cocky bastard. “Hell yeah I can, I got bitches-“

“No, no, no,” Reverend Jacobs burst in, stepping in front of Gray. “That’s against the rules, guys, nobody is allowed to come in or out until the morning.” The guys all grumbled their agreement. Reverend Jacobs casually put one hand on Gray’s broad, sweaty shoulder. “Come on, we need to talk for real, guys. No women. No distractions.”

“About what? Temptation?”

“I think all of you have succumbed to street life,” Reverend Jacobs said. “I wanted to have a serious talk about why.”

“Man, nigga, I just need pussy,” Gray said. He pounded his fists in the air to accentuate his point. “Ain’t nothing but pussy worth fighting for, nigga. I’m ‘bout to call some pussy up.”

“No, don’t do that,” Reverend Jacobs said. He smiled. “Let me take care of you instead. Just keep your mind open, it won’t be as bad as it seems.” He darted his hand into Gray’s baggy shorts and smiled as all six men burst into nervous laughter.

As Reverend Jacobs had always assumed, Gray had a mountainous dick. It was impossibly thick even now, when it was totally limp, and so long Reverend Jacobs could have put a third hand on it.

“Whatchoo doin’, Reverend?” Gray said. For the first time since Reverend Jacobs had known him, Gray was visibly uncomfortable — though he was also blatantly aroused. He was awkward, knees tense and straight, and his muscles were all flexed as though about ready to punch someone.

“I don’t want you to be distracted by base urges,” Reverend Jacobs said. “I can help you guys relax, any time you want.”

“Ain’t this a sin?” asked Theo. He sneered in disgust. He was the only devoutly religious one here, so it wasn’t surprising that he was alarmed by this. He took off the red, black and green skullcap he wore.

Reverend Jacobs shrugged. “There are many sins, boys. This is a serious one, to be sure, but so is fornication; so is gang life; so is throwing your life away on thuggism. If I can help you move past temptation, it is worth some minor sin.”

“Sounds dubious.”

“We are all sinners, Theo,” Reverend Jacobs said. “Who else is horny?”

Nobody spoke at first. Only Gray made noise, moaning as his dick got hard beneath Reverend Jacob’s fingers. Like all men with big dicks, Gray needed a little time to get fully hard, and Reverend Jacobs moved slowly, so he remained only intermittently erect, partially hard, so close that Reverend Jacobs could feel the precum getting ready to come out.

“So is you queer or ain’t ya?” asked Lincoln. He looked down at Reverend Jacobs dourly. He motioned towards the computer on which they had all just seen hetero porn. “We thought you was, but then…”

“I am not gay,” Reverend Jacobs said — that wasn’t a lie, since he was bisexual, but he knew they’d be uncomfortable with him if he told the truth about that. “I don’t enjoy this any more than you guys do. Actually I enjoy it a lot less. I’m doing it to help you, to give you a chance.”

“Well, there’s no way I’m doing that kinda faggy shit,” Theo said. “That’s ugly, and God don’t like ugly. ‘Specially doin’ it in a church.”

Mitchell nodded his agreement enthusiastically, and the others — minus Gray — did so without enthusiasm. That was alright with Reverend Jacobs, who knew they wouldn’t say no all night long, or at least not most of them. He was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake in inviting Theo, who seemed dead-set on not participating in anything gay and was even talking the others into refusing as well.

“Can’t believe you lettin’ a nigga touch ya,” Theo said to Gray.

Gray shrugged. “I’m a pimp, nigga. I gotta get my nuts off, man, I’ll explode if I don’t.” Gray closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of Reverend Jacobs’ office. He chuckled as he dropped his shorts, so his hard dick was fully visible, encircled by Reverend Jacob’s hand, to all of his friends. They all burst into nervous tittering laughter, except Theo, who sneered in disgust. Gray sniffed. “I ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of. ’Sides, you gonna suck it now, right? Don’t be talkin’ ‘bout no handjob shit, Reverend Jacobs. No disrespect, but I am too much of a big-dick mandingo nigga to get off from a handjob. You gotta get on those knees, man.”

The room erupted in shocked laughter. Again all of them except Theo guffawed, while Gray just kept his eyes closed, looking satisfied — he obviously liked coming across as the uncontrollably horny black buck. Reverend Jacobs sunk to his knees. He opened his mouth.

But he didn’t suck on it. He waited for the men behind him to fall silent, then he watched Gray’s face. Soon Gray realized no blowjob was forthcoming, and he opened his eyes.

“Whatchoo doin’?” he asked, looking down at Reverend Jacobs who just inches from his dick. “You gonna suck on it or what?”

“I am. But I wanted to talk about God-“

“Nigga, please!”

“Sssh, ssh, relax, Gray,” Reverend Jacobs said. Gray had a wounded look on his face, as though the handjob was painful. Reverend Jacobs slowed it down to a languorous pace. “We should talk about… your behavior.”

“Damn, man, you gonna talk about it now? With yo’ hands on my dick?”

“What would it take for me to talk you out of pimping?”

“Shit… Money, man, money,” he said. He shook his head.

“What if I could get you a job? As a janitor at the Rottenheim Building?”

“A janitor? Man, that’s bullshit! I can’t look fly on a janitor’s salary,” he said.

“You told me you how much you make, Gray, you’ll make even more as a janitor,” Reverend Jacobs said. “With the Earned Income Tax Credit. You remember when I explained that?”

“Yeah, but…”

“And with that money, you can look as fly as you want to,” Reverend Jacobs said. “You can afford any clothes.”

“Okay, fine, man, just suck on it, quit blue-balling me,” Gray said. “I’ll try it. I promise.”

Reverend Jacobs smiled. He opened his mouth and let Gray’s cock slide down his throat. It was so long and thick that he barely fit any of it in, but Gray was already perilously close to cumming. Precum poured out of his cocktip and the salty-sour flavor coated Reverend Jacob’s tongue.

At the last moment, Reverend Jacobs remembered to gag a little, just to remind the others that he wasn’t gay. The cock in his mouth was sweaty and musty, after all, if he was a genuine straight guy, he would have found it disgusting.

As he sucked, Reverend Jacobs became aware that one of the others had taken his dick out and was stroking it. He had to strain to see out of the corner of his eye, but he managed to make out Lincoln’s face. As the youngest here, Lincoln was also the horniest, so it made sense, Reverend Jacobs thought.

“Yo, man, don’t jack off! That’s fucking gay!” Theo shouted. He had backed away from the others, as far from the blowjob as he could get without leaving the room. The remaining young men, Mitchell, Jamaal and Darien, stepped back as well.

Lincoln sounded embarrassed — as the youngest here, he was the least secure in his masculinity. “The pimp’s doing it, man, that ain’t gay. We just on the downlow.”

“That’s right, nigga. Real niggas ain’t ashamed of they meat,” Gray said. He took Lincoln by the body and dragged him closer. Lincoln was reluctant but he wanted to be more like Gray, so he didn’t fight back. Gray grinned as he pulled Lincoln right next to him so close their bare torsos touched, sweat intermingling much to Lincoln’s apparent dismay.

It was obvious that Gray intended for Reverend Jacobs to suck them both off at once, so he did so. He put both cocktips together and let them both push into his mouth. Lincoln groaned in nervous disgust, but his youthful horniness showed through, and his dick got hard right away.

“Man, we… touchin’ cocks…” Lincoln murmured. He sounded embarrassed about touching dicks but also embarrassed about being embarrassed about it. He avoided eye contact with anyone.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” Gray said. “This is how you should do it. You should be able to control yo’ meat, Lincoln. Get hard when you want to. Shoot yo’ nut off when you want.”

Daddies Downlow

Here’s a sample chapter from “Daddies Downlow“, a new story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series! It’s the outrageous tale of a stepdad and his adult son on a camping trip they’ll both remember forever.

Billy was glad to be camping. He hadn’t always loved to camp with his dad — actually used to complain bitterly about it, but now that he was on the verge of leaving home for college, he leapt at the opportunity to spend one last weekend with him.

They quickly set up their shared tent and talked about past times. Neither brought up college, and Billy was careful to avoid thinking about it. This would be his last opportunity to be a kid, of sorts — even if he was almost nineteen — and he wasn’t going to worry about majors and tuition reimbursement and bursars (whatever a bursar even was).

Then they went for a brief hike. There was a hill — called Mount Cotmen, for reasons no one around remembered, even though it wasn’t really a mountain, just a big hill with a beautiful view at the top of it. They hiked this trail every time they went camping. It wasn’t long, but it was steep and rocky, so by the time they got to the top, Billy was exhausted. His face was red and pained.

And then they barely stopped long enough to drink some water at the top of Mount Cotmen before going back. It was a swift pace, and they were both dripping with sweat by the time they made it back. The sun was just going down.

“You ready to take a shower?” Dad asked. He raised his eyebrows. “You finally get to use the adult shower.”

Billy hadn’t realized that. He was eighteen now, so of course he wasn’t allowed to use the juveniles’ shower — the signs were very clear on this point. He was going to see his father naked, a thought that sent a chill up Billy’s spine.

His father had always been a burly, hairy man, with a powerful body from his extensive yardwork — he maintained a beautiful garden and lawn back at the house, and did plenty of maintenance work as well. Billy didn’t like to admit that he had had a huge crush on his father for years.

They walked to the showerhouse in shorts and t-shirts, carrying a small baggie each, filled with their soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, and they each carried a towel.

The showerhouse was a small, open-air square, with five showerheads along one wall, a pair of toilets at the other end and three sinks opposite it. The ground was brown with dirt and mold, and covered by a black mat so no one’s feet had to touch the filthy concrete. Billy’s father had told him to wear sandals anyway, and Billy was glad he did.

Two other middle-aged men were there. One was a muscular military man, with a crewcut and dog tags between his pecs; he was about Dad’s age, in his mid-forties, but still with a tremendously athletic figure. The other guy was shorter and Hispanic, with a thick mustache and a lean blue collar worker’s frame; he looked like a builder or contractor.

It almost looked like Billy and his dad had interrupted something. But both guys were quietly getting into the shower. Billy tried to look like he was not surprised to see their bare cocks. He felt his heart speed up when he did see them, however, both were big, daddy-types who turned him on.

They were Lawrence and Gus. They chatted with Dad as Billy blushed and got naked; he felt a little out-of-place because he didn’t have any kids, and Lawrence and Gus both did.

Billy also felt self-conscious about being naked. He was always proud of his dick when he was with his friends, because he was so much bigger and thicker than most of them, but now that he was surrounded by real adults, he felt small.

Dad’s dick was especially big. It was thick and reddish and there was a giant blue vein running down the center of the shaft. Billy had trouble looking away from it.

“My boy’s at college too,” said Lawrence. They had gotten into  conversation about their sons while Billy wasn’t paying attention. Now he blushed as he realized his father had talked about his own college-bound son.

“He’s going to do you proud,” said Gus, nodding to Billy’s crotch. “The girls are gonna love him.”

Billy stood beneath the shower — the water was not warm, but it wasn’t freezing cold either, so he could just barely tolerate it. He tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed Gus pointing to his dick, but then all three fathers looked. Billy blushed.

“Nothing to be ashamed about son,” Dad said. “You got a nice one.”

The other two men nodded their agreement. Billy was too awkward to really respond.

“When he gets to college, he’s gonna be the star of every circle,” Gus said with a laugh. He had a slight Spanish accent, which grew more apparent when he laughed. He reached out and tugged on Billy’s dick, ignoring Billy’s horrified stare.

“A circle?” Dad said. Then he chuckled. “Oh, right. You mean a circlejerk? Do college kids still do that?”

“Shit, we did it in the Army,” Lawrence said. He tugged on his own cock. “Every day. Our commanding officer made us do it. Any man who refused had to sit in the center and get nutted on.” Lawrence reached over to Gus’ crotch and gave his dick a squeeze. “You folks wanna do it?”

Nobody answered. It seemed the answer was yes. Billy looked at Dad, who just nodded at him. “Go on, son, you’ll probably end up doing this in college anyway. Might as well get used to it.”

Dad took Billy’s cock in one hand. It was electric and warm and it made his dick perk up as soon as he touched it. Billy blushed, but luckily no one noticed.

He took a deep breath as he reached for Lawrence. He couldn’t believe he was touching a stranger’s cock. The air was tense, and Billy’s mind raced with anxiety.

It pulsated hotly beneath his fingers, and almost immediately it began to get hard. Billy gave it a stroke, ignoring the disquiet in his stomach at the clammy feel to its flesh.

Almost as soon as he started, Billy began to enjoy it. It was still an awkward, nerve-wracking experience, but he also loved the feeling of power he experienced when he touched Lawrence’s cock, the sensation that he had control over Lawrence’s burly military muscle. The overpowering hotness that ran through his body.

Billy’s heart beat louder and louder as he got more nervous, sure the others would make fun of him for enjoying himself. Billy wasn’t yet comfortable with being gay — hadn’t even really admitted that he was — but it looked as though Lawrence and Gus didn’t consider a circlejerk to be gay anyway.

Dad’s hand squeezed Billy’s cock, giving him a burst of confidence. Billy was so focused on stroking off Lawrence that he had almost forgotten his own rock-hard shaft pulsating beneath his father’s fingers. Now that he felt it, he savored the confident strength that Dad demonstrated in gripping his cock, his hand sliding rhythmically up and down, working Billy up into a pre-orgasmic frenzy.

Gus shot his load first. Maybe because Lawrence had so much experience in the Army, Billy thought, he must be good at it. Gus’ burly brown body shook as he shot a thick load that landed right on the drain in the center of the showerhouse.

Billy didn’t really think he was giving a very good handjob, but Lawrence came very quickly, so it must have been alright. He felt Lawrence’s balls crawl up in his sac, and the vein on his cockshaft pulsated beneath Billy’s fingers.

Cum spurted out and coated Billy’s hand. It was hot and thick and it seemed to seep all over every inch of Billy’s wrist before he managed to rinse it off in the shower.

The heat from Lawrence’s throbbing shaft grew palpably more pronounced as he shot his load, and Billy felt the warmth suffusing over his whole body. He let out a little moan in sync with Lawrence; both sounds echoed in the dirty linoleum shower.

Lawrence’s Marine-toned body shook, and the dog tags on his chest rattled. He patted Billy on the ass and murmured, “Good job, soldier.”

That left Billy and his father. Billy nervously grabbed his father’s dick, and they faced each other. He had never seen his father with such an intense and studious look on his face.

They both shot their nuts at the same time. Warm cum spilled over Billy’s cock, while he spurted his own load onto his father’s hairy crotch. A powerful orgasm ripped through Billy, and he moaned so loudly it made Lawrence and Gus laugh.

“Yeah, you’ll fit in just fine at college,” Dad said breathlessly.

Blacks Downlow

Here’s a sample chapter from Blacks Downlow, a new story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series. This one is set at the founding of a (fictional) Historically Black College in the Deep South in the early 20th century, and it’s a hot and kinky tale of straight black men and their interracial dean!

Julius was feeling confident as he woke up on his first full day in Nashville. He had arrived late in the afternoon the night before, and was met by Winston, the head groundskeeper. He had had barely enough time to make it to the building and meet the other groundskeepers (the only employees so far), and he didn’t even look at most of the area.

Now he was glad to have some time to look around. He was nervous, even more nervous than he had been before he got married. There, the worst thing that might happen was that he’d get the timing wrong when he danced klezmer at his wedding. Now, he could get run out of town, tarred and feathered, lynched or beaten or arrested on trumped up charges.

There were so many terrible ways this could turn out. But Julius had never shyed away from a fight. The colored folk of Nashville, and beyond, weren’t able to run away from white America’s racism, so Julius wasn’t going to run away either. He had stuck it out in Memphis even when his synagogue was burnt to the ground, and he could stick it out here as well.

He decided to stop by the groundskeepers’ shack first, so he could say good morning to them. He wanted the workers to know that he trusted and loved them like a brother, even if their skin was a different color. He wanted them to know he saw them as his equals. That was why he he had decided to open a black college here in Tennessee anyway, to prove to himself and others that Negros were educatable and worthwhile.

When he opened the door, the smell of sweat hit his nostrils. There were four black men there, looking at him guiltily. For a moment, that was all Julius could see because it was dark inside and his eyes were used to the brilliant Tennessee sun. When he blinked them back open, however, he saw that all four men were standing there in a circle with their pants around their ankles.

One of the men stepped forward; he was Winston, the head groundskeeper, whom Julius had met when he hired him; Winston had hired the other maintenance workers, which must be the three men standing behind him, Julius thought. Their cocks were in each other’s hands, and Julius nervously wondered why — was it a traditional Negro practice? He didn’t want to criticize them if it was. But if not, he didn’t like the idea of perversion going on in his own university’s shed.

Chuckling to himself nervously, Winston reached out to shake Julius’ hand. “G’morning, sirruh. Sorry about this, ain’t wanna make you see it. Didn’t think you’d be in this early.”

Julius blushed. “What is-? I mean… It’s okay. If this is your way, it is okay. I don’t want to prohibit traditional practices.”

“Mighty nice of ya, sirruh,” he said. He nodded back towards the other three, who were still, unmoving with each other’s hard cocks throbbing in each other’s hands. “You want in?”

Julius blushed even harder, but nodded. He wanted to fit in with the blacks, and it seemed this was what it took. Besides, he thought, he had nothing to be ashamed of. He had a manhood just like any other, and in fact much bigger than most.

Standing next to Winston in the circle, Julius made anxious eye contact with the other three black workers. They were introduced to him as Benjamin, Chuck and Hartley. They were less charming than Winston; they were each mean-looking, boorish and proud of it, muscular enough to rip a tree out of the ground, uncultured and more than a little bit dirty.

“You think you can handle touchin’ nigga-dick?” Chuck said as they resumed their circlejerk. He smiled like a cocky bastard when Julius nodded his agreement.

It was Benjamin who stood to Julius’ left and made him nervous most of all. Benjamin was tall, bull-faced Negro with a big scar on his face and a scowl that looked to be permanent. He was to Julius’ left, so when Julius dropped his pants, it was Benjamin who took his cock in one callused hand.

Julius gasped. He had never had a man touch his erect penis before. Benjamin’s fingers were rough from his tough job, and he stroked Julius off furiously, like it was a race. His thick biceps flexed and the body heat from his muscles was intense, standing as he was just a few inches from Julius.

“Y’ain’t never had no nigguh on yo’ cock, huh?”

“No, I never did,” Julius said. He knew that was a sensitive word, and he resolved not to say it — he planned on forbidding it at the university.

He took hold of Winston’s cock with his right hand. He stroked it, haltingly at first — he had never done anything of the sort. But once he got started, it became easier and easier, and he could almost forget it wasn’t his own cock.

It even felt suprisingly pleasant, he thought, and he rather enjoyed how Winston’s lanky-muscled body shook at his touch. It made him feel powerful, as though he had complete control over Winston. His every stroke made Winston’s muscular body shake with anticipation.

Precum leaked out Winston’s cock, lubricating Julius’ hand. That made this much easier because it made Winston’s cockshaft a slippery, warm tube of meat, that actually felt good as it pulsated beneath his fingers.

Oh shit, boy, yo’ fingers is better than some cats, damn!

Chuck and Hartley both shot their load quickly, and Julius was so intent on his own dick and Winston’s that he didn’t notice until it happened. The workman’s shed filled with the sour, cottony smell of cum.

The circle tightened up, and now it was down to just Julius, Winston and Benjamin. Julius didn’t want to cum last, thinking that he would look like less of a man, so he hurried himself along. He closed his eyes and thought of beautiful women.

It was Benjamin who shot next. His big mean face momentarily loosened, and his cum flew across the rather small circle. It landed on Winston’s hand, disappearing beneath his fingers as he continued to stroke off Julius. Julius was panicking internally at the thought of another man’s cum on his cock, but he hid it because it seemed from Winston’s reaction that it wasn’t a big deal.

“Oh good, the final two…” Winston said. He stepped forward and took Julius’ cock in one hand. He combined his and Julius’ dick and began stroking them both off with both hands.

Lookit that white man go!

Julius was nervous at the realization that his cock would be touching Winston’s. It just seemed perverted, he thought, but he went along with it because it felt so good. Winston’s hands were warm and lubricated with other men’s cum, and in no time, Julius could feel his orgasm approaching.

He was astonished at how good this felt. Julius never thought perversion would be this pleasurable. His knees buckled, and for a moment, it was like his entire body was supported by Winston’s hand on his cock.

He and Winston ended up cumming at once. Julius shot a thick load right into Winston’s pubic hair, while Winston did the same to him. The cum was hot and sticky, and it dripped to the floor between their legs.

Julius took a deep breath. He was now awkward again, standing there with his dick next to Winston’s. The sweat from Winston’s chest was overwhelming now, and Julius was suddenly aware of how much weaker he was then these men.

“Whew, sirruh,” Winston said. “I’m glad you’s willing-uh dirty yuhself like this, suh.”

Julius nodded, blushing as he pulled his pants up. “I’m one of you,” he said. “We’re all equals here.”

The Man of the House Is a Minotaur!

Here’s another outrageous story from Loveslice Family’s The Man of the House Is Sexy! series of hardcore pseudoincest erotica! This one is about a young woman who discovers her stepfather is a minotaur!

This story is now also available on Smashwords!

Tonya has always been curious about the corn maze behind her house. But she’d never gone in, until now, when she wanders around stumbles across the man of the house revealing his secret… He’s a minotaur!

It turns out he’s afflicted with a hereditary curse that causes his environment to turn labyrinthine and allows him to take human form for only a few hours a day. That’s enough for Tonya, however, who wants nothing more than to be pleased by the roughly-rutting man of the house in this outrageous taboo adventure of household-smashing fantasy fun!

The Redneck Ravages a Saudi Princess

This is a sample chapter from The Redneck Ravaging of a First-Time Saudi Princess, a new story of redneck erotica and one naughty Arab virgin, written by the great Afra Zaman!

Rafah had a bounce in her step as she left the apartment. It was her first day in her new home in America, the first day she could exercise her freedoms fully. Her opulent apartment took up the entire top floor of the largest building in Houston, and she was overjoyed to have all that room to herself. Back in Saudi Arabia, she lived in a palace but never felt like it was really her space.

Equally as exciting was the prospect of decorating all that room. She could put whatever she wanted there, without getting approval from her father, mother or any of the servants. She had never been allowed to even choose the color of the sheets on her bed, but now she could buy whatever she wanted.

There were poor people all over Houston. Rafah wasn’t used to them being allowed near her, and she tried to stay away. They looked dangerous and rough; they made her shudder with fear when she walked past. But she didn’t want to look like an elitist, which she knew was considered wrong here in America, so she just ignored them the best she could. That’s what the others on the street seemed to do, ignoring them even when they screamed drunken insults on the street-corner.

The sun felt good on her face. She had rarely felt it back in her native Saudi Arabia, and if her father had known she were walking around with her face fully exposed, she’d be in so much trouble she would never be allowed out of the palace again.

There was a store called “Fast Eddie’s Outdoor Supplies”. Rafah had no idea what that was, but she liked the outdoors — now that she could experience it without a hijab in her way — and wanted to see what an American store was like. So she hurried through the doors; not wanting to seem like an idiot foreigner, she strode confidently, as though she knew what she was looking for.

She felt out-of-place. The patrons and the old man behind the counter were all white, and they looked like Americans from the movies — they were big, hairy, with grizzled chins and flannel shirts, dirt-scuffed clothes that no Saudi man would be caught dead in. They looked like farmers, she thought, like what she thought an American farmer probably looked like. Was that what “Outdoor Supplies” were? Farms were outdoors, after all.

But these appeared to be tents, knives and military equipment, with some camping gear and other items Rafah didn’t recognize. She walked through the aisles as though she knew what to do in this place. Hillbillies! She didn’t exactly remember what that word meant, but she felt confident these Americans qualified.

There was a knife. It was only ten dollars, and it looked like it might actually be useful for slicing fruit and the like; more importantly, it would make it look like she had a reason to shop here. Rafah walked to the counter.

The men were staring at her as though she shouldn’t be there. Rafah wondered if she had been mistaken — she had thought women were allowed to go anywhere in America, but these men watched her like they were astonished she would go shopping on her own. Was she mistaken? Had they already called the cops?

“That’ll be ten-fifty-six,” said the cashier.

Rafah was unsure, but she handed over a ten-dollar bill and a one. The price had said $10. She wasn’t sure why she was being charged more, but she didn’t get the feeling she was being ripped off. It was probably some sort of fee or tax, she thought, though she didn’t understand why it wasn’t included in the price.

“Hey, sweetheart,” said one of the other customers, a younger man with a drawling accent and thick arms that were bare in his sleeveless shirt. “You new around here, huh?”

Rafah nodded.

“You want me to show you around?”

Rafah said no and stepped away, then stopped herself. “I… I was wondering if you could show me where some other stores are. I don’t know this area.”

“Course, darling,” he said, walking towards the door with her. “My truck is right outside. I’ll show you anything you wanna see.”

Rafah would never have even spoken to a strange man back in Saudi Arabia. Even here in America, she was so nervous she wouldn’t have done it if there weren’t a brand-new, sharp knife in her purse. She kept her hand very near it as she followed him outside.

He led her to the parking lot behind the store, where a large, mud-splattered red truck sat. He opened the passenger side door and put his hands down as a step for her to use to get in. She blushed at the realization that she would need to touch him to do so.

Her foot gingerly landed on his hand, and he lifted. She put her arm on his shoulder, which was bare sticking out from his sleeveless shirt. His skin was hot and taut, and his muscles bulged, and in the half-a-moment it took for him to hoist her into the cab of the truck, Rafah recalled every man she had ever thought was sexy. A lifetime of repressed sexuality washed over, and away from, her.

She was alone in the truck for a moment. Rafah felt an urge to start masturbating, but she repressed it. The man hopped into the driver’s seat and smiled at her.

“Well, missie, my name is Darryl, by the way, what was you hopin’ to find? I can show you the Wal-Mart or-“

She kissed him right on the lips. Rafah had never touched a man like that; she did it without thought, and would surely have never done it if she had thought about it first. He felt impossibly hot; the scruffy hair on his chin scratched her face.

At first he resisted, out of surprise. His hands touched her shoulders, pushing her away. Then he stopped and kissed her back. His tongue pushed into her mouth.

He pulled away from her, grinning like a fool. “I was not expecting a woman like you to be so forward.”

“A woman like me?”

“You know, a woman from… wherever you’re from,” he said. He blushed.

“Saudi Arabia. Women from there are not forward. They are most modest,” she said. She blushed and kissed him again. “I am an exception.”

He groaned loudly and leaned back as his hands roamed up her body. When he touched her tits, Rafah’s nipples stuck out; they were exquisitely sensitive now, and every touch of his fingers sent shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

Something hot was in her hands. Rafah hadn’t even realized she was instinctually reaching for his crotch. As shame flooded through her, she saw herself — as though from a distance — undoing the fly of his jeans.

“Yee-haw, damn, you are one explosive fucking broad-“ he muttered, then stopped himself. “That wasn’t racist. Pun not intended.”

She didn’t actually know what he was referring to, but she guessed it was friendly enough from his tone. She was too entranced by his thick prick between her fingers; she had never seen a penis before, besides her brothers when they were young; she had certainly never touched one.

It was hot and pulsating in her fingers, as Darryl’s own fingers crept down from her tits to her skirt — it was the shortest skirt she felt comfortable wearing, though it seemed conservative compared to how most young American women dressed. He gripped her thigh, his biceps flexing as he held her tight and ran his fingers up and down the side of her legs.

Precum leaked out the tip of his cock, lubricating her hand. She was stroking it now, and exulting in the feeling of power it gave her to see how Darryl spasmed from pleasure due to her touch. She had never had such an impact on a person.

When his finger touched her clit, Rafah threw her head back and moaned. She had fingered herself before but it never felt like this. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the situation they were in or because his work-callused fingers were rough and stubbled, providing additional texture as he massaged her clitoris.

“You a virgin?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of hope.

She gasped an affirmative but wordless answer as her pussy was throbbing at his tough and she couldn’t speak. Her clitoris burned beneath his grasp.

“You’s a natural,” he said, matter-of-factly. He leaned over to her and kissed her on the cheek, his scruffy beard scratching at her chin. She moaned.

There were people walking by behind them, but the body of Darryl’s truck was so big it blocked their view. Rafah’s heart pounded though she didn’t think they saw what was happening in the cab. She wondered how shocking it would be if they were caught here in America; in Saudi Arabia, it would be the end of her world. But here, she didn’t know, and the thrill of risk intensifed her climax. Her mind raced with thoughts of what her father would do if he knew she was doing this. Oh well, she thought, this doesn’t count anyway, I’m still a virgin.

An orgasm ripped through Rafah. It felt nothing like it did when masturbating, she thought as her back wrenched and her toes curled. She flailed, slamming her body into the back of the seat and kicking the truck with her feet as powerful waves of pleasure washed over him.

She had never imagined it would be like this — she was expecting shame, humiliation and despair. But what she felt was freedom, and an uplifting, nervewracking orgasm that began deep in her pussy before emanating outward in powerful waves of peasure. She groaned and exclaimed in Arabic.

He chuckled as she went, then grunted when he reached his own orgasm. His body roiled and his hairy muscles beneath that sleeveless t-shirt all flexed at once, then loosened.

Hot, creamy cum jetted from his dick and covered her fingers. Rafah smiled at the sticky feeling covering her hand, something she had never experienced before. She giggled as Darryl moaned; he sounded surprised at how good this felt, and maybe a little embarrassed.

Rafah took a deep breath. She wiped her hand off, nervous now that the sex-part was over — that had felt natural. Every animal could do that. Rafah wasn’t sure how to talk to him now.

“Redneck.” Rafah blurted, the word having just now popped into her head.


“Is that… what you are? A redneck?” she asked.

He laughed. “Uh, yeah, yes I am. You must be real new to these parts, huh?”

“I’m new to a lot of things,” she said with a smile.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. “Welcome to America, miss. You gonna fit in real good.”