Gang Life Downlow

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Gang Life Downlow, a hardcore tale of black thugs having gay sex on the DL; it’s full of dubcon domination and hardcore action. You can read it for free through KU for the next three months!

Calvin walked into the City Barbershop of Clay Street. He was nervous and stressed, carrying with him virtually all of his belongings in a trash bag. He tried not to think of himself as homeless, even though he knew that’s precisely what he was.

He had money. Not quite enough to rent a nice place, but he might have been able to get a cheap room somewhere. The downside to that was that he wouldn’t be able to afford to save up somewhere nicer. His stepdad kicking him out without warning had really put a damper on things.

Calvin had had a rough couple of months. After losing two ounces of heroin, he was in trouble with his boss, Samson. Then his girlfriend dumped him, and now his stepfather had kicked him out as punishment for selling drugs. Everything was going wrong in Calvin’s life.

He had a feeling the customers and barbers at the Barbershop knew why he was carrying a trash bag into the back. He also knew that Samson didn’t tell them, but they looked at him with a mixture of pity and scorn. They knew he was homeless.

Of course no one said anything. Everyone was aware that Samson laundered money through the City Barbershop, but no one acknowledged that they knew it. They pretended to think Samson was taking in a roommate half his age.

He came into Samson’s apartment. Samson was in his mid-forties, which was ancient as far as Calvin was concerned. He sat in his living room with a few other gangbangers. Samson kept a clipboard in front of him, and he scrawled notes as they talked. He nodded to Calvin, who nodded back and put his bag of stuff in the corner of the room.

There was no spare bedroom, so Calvin was sleeping on the couch. He was fine with that because he hoped it would spur him into finding a new place.

“Yo, Calvin, come here and rap at us,” Samson said. His voice was deep and tough, commanding respect. “We talkin’ ‘bout what to do regardin’ the Sweet Hill boys. Whatchoo think?”

“Well, I think we gotta beat them niggas down,” Calvin said, more because he wanted to seem tough than because he had any particular knowledge of the situation. He was only vaguely aware that the Sweet Hill gang had begun selling crack on territory Samson considered to be his own.

“Alright, that’s a plan,” Samson said. He smiled at Calvin. “You get yo’ niggas together and do it this week, okay?”

Calvin hadn’t thought he’d be put in charge of it, but he could hardly say no when Samson was letting him stay here rent-free. He nodded as though it wasn’t going to be difficult. Some of the other thugs looked at Calvin pitiably, and Calvin tried not to notice.

Samson clapped his hands together, and the other gangbangers stood up to go. Calvin’s mind raced as he tried to think of a way out of this. Once the door shut, Calvin was alone with Samson for the first time ever — it hadn’t occurred to Calvin until this moment that he had never been alone with Samson.

“You ever fuck around on the downlow, Calvin?” Samson asked after a long, awkward silence fell between them.

“Uh, yeah. Once,” Calvin said. He instantly regretted saying that. It was true, but he had heard Samson was often on the downlow with his close niggas — only for Samson, “downlow” meant you serviced him, not any kind of reciprocal behavior.

He looked at Calvin and raised his eyebrows. “Just once, huh? You do it with a nigga you respec’?”

“I guess so.”

“Huh,” Samson said with a knowing nod. He raised his eyebrows. Calvin sighed. It was apparent Samson wanted a blowjob, but Calvin couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Samson crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating the softball-sized pecs beneath his tight t-shirt. He ran his tongue over his teeth and clucked. “Huh,” he said again.

“Samson, I… Uh, thanks a lot fo’ lettin’ me stay here,” Calvin said.

Samson nodded.

Calvin sighed again. This wouldn’t be that bad, he thought, he’d done it before, and he knew Samson was discrete; he could be confident Samson wouldn’t tease him or spread rumors. He sunk to his knees, in front of Samson, who grunted his satisfaction. Calvin waited for a moment, thinking Samson would take his own dick out, but he didn’t. He just towered over Calvin and watched. Calvin winced at the realization that Samson wanted Calvin to take it out.

Reaching up for Samson’s dick, Calvin shuddered. Then, much to his surprise, Samson batted his hand away.

“You should ask a nigga fo’ permission befo’ you start sucking his dick,” Samson said. “If that’s what you wanna do.”

Calvin spoke quietly, blushing so hard his cheeks burned. “Samson… do you want, uh…? I mean… is it okay, uh, if I suck your cock?”

“That’s a real nice offer, boi. That’s a good gesture,” he said, as though it was the first time he had said that word. Before Calvin could undo his belt, Samson clucked his disapproval. “Play wit’ it through my pants first, nigga. Be romantic and shit.”

Calvin blanched and winced. He gently stroked the bulge in Samson’s dick, and for some reason just feeling that spongy flesh through his jeans made Calvin gag. Samson’s manhood stirred beneath the denim. He groaned in a way that made Calvin shiver with disgust.

“Now, don’t take my pants off,” Samson said. “Just undo the fly and take it out. Look me in the eye when you suck my dick. That’s a mark of respec’, nigga.”

His hands trembled. Calvin wasn’t sure if he could do that — sucking cock was humiliating enough, but looking Samson in the eye while he did it would make it even worse. The zipper seemed impossibly loud, and when it was open, Calvin got a burst of stale crotch sweat in his nostrils. He gagged again, and Samson clucked with disapproval once more.

“You may take it out now, Calvin,” Samson said. Something in the way he said Calvin made Calvin shudder all over again.

Calvin had to reach in to pull out Samson’s dick, which was half-hard and veiny, dark-brown, slick with sweat. He wanted to wipe it off, but Calvin was sure Samson would say that was disrespectful.

He opened his mouth, gagging profusely as the spongy tip pushed into his mouth. There was already a slight cummy taste, either precum from Calvin’s masturbating it through Samson’s pants or maybe left over from whenever he had sex before. Calvin tried not to touch it with his hands, and Samson kept his arms over his chest, so Calvin had to chase his cock with his mouth.

But he couldn’t quite bring himself to go any deeper than the tip. Even that felt impossibly thick, and Calvin wasn’t sure he could go any farther.

“When you suck the dick of a nigga you respec’, Calvin, you should deep-throat it,” Samson said. “You know what that means? You evuh get head from a girl?”

“Yes!” Calvin said, annoyed at Samson’s patronizing tone.

“Don’t you talk to me like that, nigga,” Samson said, his voice growly and threatening. Calvin shuddered. Samson forced his eyes open — Calvin hadn’t even noticed he closed them — and sneered down at Calvin. “Real niggas got backup plans, Calvin, you know that? They ready to get kicked outta they place. They got cash.”

Calvin wanted to defend himself, but when he tried to pull off Samson’s dick, Samson’s hands gripped his head and held it in place. Samson growled again, and pushed Calvin’s head deeper onto his shaft. Calvin gagged all over again as that cock pushed into his throat.

“Take my balls out wit’ one hand, and play wit’ em. Gentle-like,” Samson said. He groaned as Calvin did so, gingerly playing with his sweaty sac. The feel of that slick flesh made Calvin’s stomach churn. “Yeah, that’s nice, boi. That’s respec’.”

The sour flavor of precum assaulted Calvin’s senses, and brought tears to his eyes. He was glad it was dark enough in this room that Samson couldn’t see — it wasn’t really crying anyway, he thought, it was tears from suffocation and stress, not being a pansy. He didn’t think Samson would acknowledge a difference though.

The tasty of sweaty black cock grew more and more tolerable, though Calvin thought that was mainly because he sucked off all the sweat and grime, replacing it with plain spit. The veiny shaft invaded his throat with each powerful thrust of Samson’s cock.

The moist grunting of Samson’s voice was offputting to Calvin. He sounded like a rutting animal, and it reminded Calvin that his mouth was just being used now, that this wasn’t part of a relationship or anything. Samson was going to continue to use his mouth and body — though hopefully not his ass — until Calvin moved out. That seemed like a reasonable tradeoff to Calvin, even if it was humiliating and foul-tasting.

“Whatchoo plan wit’ my nut?” Samson asked as he groaned.

Calvin didn’t understand the question. He just looked up at Samson, and tried to ignore that massive shaft drilling into his throat.

“Huh? I’m gonna blow my load,” Samson said. “Whatchoo gonna do wit’ it? You want me to shoot it on yo’ face or what? In yo’ hand?”

Calvin was glad to hear that he had a choice. He pulled off Samson’s dick, intending to say in my hand, which was the least objectionable option. But then he saw Samson’s scrunched-up face, and Calvin knew this was a test. He wasn’t sure exactly what the answer was, but in my hand wasn’t it.

“Think long and hard, Calvin. You got a lotta factors to consider. Yo’ respec’ fo’ me, if you got any,” Samson said. He sniffled.

“I’ll… uh, swallow it,” Calvin said, wincing as Samson flopped his cock on Calvin’s head, smearing spit and precum all over it.

“Yeah,” Samson said. “You will. But befo’ that, I wanna see it. I like seeing it. Playin’ wit’ it a bit.”


“So whatchoo think?”

“I, uh… I guess I’ll do that.”

“So where you want me to nut? In yo’ mouth?”

It was obvious he wanted Calvin to say yes, so he did so. Then Samson pushed his cock back in Calvin’s mouth. He grunted as he wrapped his hands behind Calvin’s head.

He thrust his hips so powerfully his cockshaft rammed down Calvin’s throat until his nose was nestled in Samson’s pubic hair. Calvin couldn’t even gag because his throat was so choked; all he could do was sit there on his knees and let it happen.

“That’s a good idea, Calvin. I’ll shoot my load in yo’ mouth, just like you askin’ me to. That’s very respec’ful, nigga. Don’t swallow nothin’ till I tell you too, okay? We gonna play a bit first.”

Calvin nodded, but even as he did, Samson was blowing his wad. He shot it right in the back of Calvin’s throat. Some of it dripped into his gullet, but Calvin instinctively avoided swallowing it. He would have accidentally spilled it all but Samson kept a tight grip on his head. Samson grunted, rutting like a pig as his fat cock spasmed inside Calvin.

At last it was over. Salty cum filled his mouth. It seemed like a huge amount, but Calvin wasn’t sure. His stomach churned with disgust, begging him to spit it out.

“Open up,” Samson said. He kneeled down and looked in. “Come on,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. “It’s dark in here. I wanna see yo’ pretty-boy mouth.”

Gagging the whole way and holding onto his stomach, Calvin made it into the kitchen without spilling any. Samson looked into his mouth as though trying to find something. He smiled with satisfaction, then spat right into it. The bitterness of his saliva made Calvin choke. He nearly spilled but Samson held him by the neck.

“That’s a big one,” Samson said. He stuck one finger in, all the way back until Calvin gagged. Then Samson held the palm of his hand out until Calvin spat the entire wad into it. Calvin was glad to be rid of it, though he could still feel that snotty texture on his tongue. There was a pubic hair stuck in the back of his throat too, but he couldn’t get at it right now.

Samson raised his eyebrows as Calvin got ahold of his stomach and his gagging. He kept that cum-filled palm right in front of Calvin’s face, where the scent assaulted his nostrils, making it hard for Calvin to regain his composure. Samson cleared his throat. “I’ll ignore your gagging, Calvin. That seems rude, but I understand…” It was obvious he wanted Calvin to suck the cum back up, and he raised his eyebrows as though to say You better do it now, it’ll get worse when it’s cold. Calvin opened his mouth, but Samson cleared his throat and shook his head.

Calvin blushed. “Uh… Samson, can I eat your nut?”

“Yes, you may. Thank you for askin’, boi.”

Calvin gagged and nearly vomited as he sucked it off Samson’s callused palm. He choked it down and waited there, blushing intensely as Samson looked him in the eye. Then Samson’s fingers forced his mouth open, and he checked that Calvin had swallowed the whole thing.

“Good,” he said. “Now go to bed.”

The Taming of a Korean

Here’s a new sample from The Taming of a Korean, a new story of bwam femdom action (black woman/Asian man) — it’s available now through Kindle Unlimited, but only for the next three months, so you can read it free until March!

Missy had been selling crack since she was fourteen. She was never a girlie-girl; she had been a butch tomboy her entire life. Her earliest distinct memory was her grandmother asking, in a hushed whisper, whether she was a “nasty dyke”. She had asked her mother what that meant later, and her mother said not to worry about it, to just remember that boys are cute and that she should always be trying to impress the boys.

Missy had said okay at the time, but it wasn’t okay with her, she just didn’t know it yet. She wasn’t a lesbian; she had never had even the slightest inkling of a desire for other girls. She liked men. She liked the shirtless thugs who sang R&B on TV; they made her hot and wet and thinking of nothing but what she could do to them, and what they could do to her.

But she wasn’t a girlie-girl, so she was never the kind of girl who might get a man like that — at least, not as a girlfriend. She could have been a ho, sure, she could have hung out in crack dens and fucked every thug who came through. A fairly large percentage of them would have been sexy.

But Missy didn’t want to do that, and she couldn’t bring herself to submit to anyone or anything. She could never have let a bunch of gangbangers call her a bitch — or rather, “their bitch”. She didn’t mind one bit being called a bitch in general. A bitch was a female dog, and Missy was definitely a street dawg. She was a fighter, a tough nut to crack; the last thing her grandmother said to her before she died was, “You one tough bitch, you could eat a dozen dykes for breakfast”. Grandma hadn’t meant that as a compliment, but that was how Missy took it. She would have never accepted a thug calling her his bitch while fucking her though, and that meant she had to be a gangbanger herself if she were going to survive in her neighborhood of St. Louis.

“You think you can handle this mission, Missy?” asked Marcus. He was one of those sexy thugs that Missy would have thrown herself at if he would have even considered fucking her. He was tall and broad-shouldered and sexy as all-getup. But he had a pretty Asian girl with narrow hips and perk tits — and a dozen equally-skinny hos on the side. That was not Missy to say the least. She was short and thick-bodied; a lot of that was muscle, she had learned to hold her own on the street many years ago. She lifted weights with the other niggas in the Nine Tats — last week she had bench-pressed Calvin, the newest and youngest dealer in the crew, to the hooting and catcalls of her fellow bangers. Marcus was never going to be interested in someone with a body like hers. “Huh?” Marcus asked, grizzled beard shaking as he chewed on his inner cheek. “You up to this, girl?”

“Who you think you talkin’ to, nigga? I can put the squeeze on some chink, no problem,” she said. The other gangbangers in Marcus’s apartment burst into laughter. She put her hands on her hips. “I can shove those chopsticks where the sun don’t shine.”

“Hell yeah, Missy!”

“Cut ‘is nuts off!”

“You ain’t even know, Marcus. Missy can do it. She could squeeze blood from a stone, you bet she can squeeze a few yen out of a Chinaman’s balls.”

Marcus smiled as though he didn’t really believe them, but wasn’t going to argue. He had only just taken over Nine Tats operations in this neighborhood of St. Louis — Missy had built up a reputation with Marcus’s predecessor, Tom-Ten, who was now in prison for the next twenty years. Missy hadn’t yet proven herself to Marcus. That was why she had volunteered for this job, to show that she could take on any mission that needed doing.

And that was why she stood near the entrance to the Jameson Avenue Convenience Mart, trying to find her center and calm down. She had sold crack, beat up other dealers, distributed guns, trafficked in whores and done just about every other crime the Nine Tats participated in. But she had never extorted money from a shop-owner. It seemed like something from a Mafia movie, but Marcus had said that everyone did it, that Tom-Ten was weird in that he had never put them on the extortion trip.

It’s now or never, Missy, she thought to herself. She saw the owner flip the sign to Closed. She strode right to the door and pushed in before he locked it.

He glared at her, his mind whirring as he tried to decide whether to tell her to leave because they were closed or to let her buy something. In the end, he must have decided he needed the revenue. He forced a smile on his face and nodded politely to her.

“What’s your name?” she asked, stepping closer to him. He didn’t know anything was up yet, so he went behind the counter to wait for her to check out. He was tall, especially for an Asian man, with a lean, lanky body, athletic limbs and ropy muscles. His skin was smooth and creamy, just slightly yellowish.

“Dae-won,” he said.

At first she wasn’t sure if that was a name or if he was speaking in a foreign language, but when he didn’t go on, she assumed it was his name. Her heart pounded — in her mind, he had been a mousy elderly man, not a rather strong-looking, flinty-eyed stud — not that she was afraid; she had beaten up gangbangers twice as tough as him.

“Hello, Dae-won,” she said. “My name is Missy.”

“You buy something? I close two minute ago. Buy quick-“

“No,” she said. “Stop talking, Dae-won. I’m not here to give you any money. I’m here to get money from you.”

“What? I no buy. No solicitor,” he said. His accent was really not very strong, despite his diction being off. He sounded like he knew English well but had never really buckled down to learn proper grammar.

“I’ve got a very strong sales pitch, Dae-won, I’m confident you’ll buy something before I leave,” she said. “There’s a lot of crime in this neighborhood. It’s not a safe place.”

“I can defend self.”

“That’s good, Dae-won. But it isn’t a solution,” she said. She paused and smiled, then grabbed his shirt collar. She pulled until he was dragged over the shop counter, holding him taut so his hands could do nothing but flail uselessly. His torso knocked over the tray of glass rose-stems: crack pipes, which shattered to the ground. To her surprise, he flailed for only a few seconds before holding himself still. He instinctively held onto her arms but didn’t attempt to push her, as though he either didn’t think he should push a woman or wanted to see where she was going with this. “I can protect you from that crime. I can make sure they don’t target your store.”

“You are gangbanger,” he said. “Your type is always to do crime. Thug culture, I know that.” He scoffed right in her face. “Black persons! I don’t need-“

“Hush your stupid Chinese mouth, Dae-won-“

“I am Korean.”

“You are stupid if you think I’m playing,” she said. “And that was rather racist of you. Some of the robbers around here are white, and there’s a lot of Latinos-“

“None are Asian.”

“Uh…” Missy was momentarily taken aback. He was correct, but she didn’t want to acknowledge that or get into a serious racial discussion. “No matter what color their skin, they’ll be coming after you sooner or later. Probably sooner. You want me to stop them?”

“I call the police-“

“Go ahead. They won’t help you. And we know where your daughter goes to school,” she said. “In Seattle. We know all about that.”

That definitely got his attention. He blanched and tried to pull away from her grip again. He sneered at her. “You stay away from her, you pig!”

“That’s not very nice, Dae-won,” she said. “First of all, you should know that in America, ‘pig’ is an insult directed at cops, not gangbangers. Secondly, I only need a hundred dollars a week to ensure that no one ever targets this place, or your daughter. That’s a good value. That’s the Wal-Mart of extortion.”

“You bitch.”

“Yes, that’s right, that’s a much more appropriate insult,” she said. “Your hand can still reach the register, can’t it? Why don’t you reach in there and pull out a hundred dollars. You know what? I’m a very nice woman, Dae-won. There’s ten days until the end of the month, and I’ll let your first payment last until then. How’s that? That’s three free days of protection. You should thank me.”

He paused and bit his lip. “You stay away from daughter? You are evil bitch!”

“Yes, I’ll stay away from your daughter,” she said. “And yes again, I am an evil bitch.” His hand clawed at the cash register — he couldn’t see what he was doing because his eyes were drilling directly into Missy’s face, but he managed to get the register open. He pulled out the stack of twenties and counted out five of them. He slid it over to Missy. “This is why my people do not like your people.”

“That’s racist, Dae-won.”

“Your people do not like mine either. I know about Al Sharpton,” he said.

“Don’t you talk to me about Al Sharpton,” she said. Her eyes narrowed to slits. She crumpled up the hundred dollars and put them in her pocket, still holding onto Dae-won by the collar. He was taut, tense, muscles flexed and still. They remained in perfect harmony for what felt like an eternity.

She could leave now. She got what she wanted. It would be best just to go home, or go to Marcus’s and tell him she was successful. Yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. An unbeatable forced kept her standing there, feeling the heat emanating from Dae-won’s nervous body.

A part of Missy’s mind knew she was aroused by Dae-won, but a bigger part of her refused to accept that. She didn’t even like white men, much less Asians.

“Okay, first of all,” Missy said. “Don’t pretend there’s no Asian crime. I know all about the yakuza. I’ve seen-“

“They are Japanese. I am Korean,” he said. “Yakuza are barbaric trash.”

“Well, I bet there’s a Korean mafia too.”

“Mafia is Italian. I seen Godfather,” he said.

She kissed him. She didn’t think about it before it happened; her body just reacted on its own. His body did the same, and he kissed her back as though he was just waiting for her lips to plant on his. The kiss lasted a long time before Missy pulled away.

When Dae-won spoke again, his voice was deep and guttural, growly, half-threatening, half-terrified. “Jopok,” he said. “Korean crime gang is called Jopok.” He paused again. “Stay away from daughter.”

“We won’t hurt a hair on her pretty Chinese head.”


“Which Korea?” Missy asked, blurting out the question just because she felt awkward — she had never kissed a man in a situation like this, and she didn’t know whether she could (or even wanted to) take it any farther.

“South Korea, of course,” he said, as though it should have been obvious. He squirmed beneath her touch, but Missy didn’t let go of his shirt collar, so his face remained just inches from her own.

Then, before she knew what was happening, she was on the floor behind the counter where no one outside could see. His hands roamed up and down her body, caressing her belly and her thick thighs. Missy was flush with both embarrassment and fear at being caught.

“If we’re going to do this, Dae-won, you’re gonna have to do what I tell you,” she said breathlessly. She wasn’t sure if he thought he was in control of this situation, but she wanted to establish that she was the one who made decisions, not him. “First of all, this is not a payment. You still have to pay on the first, and every week after that. And secondly, we’re doing it my way. I’m on top; I tell you what to do. You better get your tongue ready,” she said as she pulled her jeans down. She normally felt self-conscious about her weight, but she got the feeling Dae-won loved it. He licked desperately at the air, trying to reach her pussy though he was nowhere’s near close enough. “Now… beg me to sit on your face, Dae-won.”

“Sit on my face, please, please,” he said, then blushed like he didn’t want to admit that was what he wanted. His narrow eyes faced down. “I have always want beautiful woman like you sit on my face.”

The fact that he was into facesitting was exciting for Missy, since she usually had to browbeat her boyfriends into trying it. She had always loved facesitting, and she thought Dae-Won’s face was ideal for it. It would fit perfectly between her thighs.

“Okay, Dae-won, I’ll do that. You had better lick like a madman.” She smiled as he nodded even though it was apparent he didn’t understand her words. She lowered herself just enough that he could reach her womanhood with his tongue, if he stretched. He lifted his head the best he could and his tongue flickered into her pussy. At once, Missy felt a surge of sexual desire. She moaned.

Unable to control herself any longer, Missy dropped her pussy right onto his face. His tongue pushed all the way inside. He had a long, thick tongue, and a dick to match she saw as she pulled his pants down.

“Oh god yes, Dae-won,” she muttered, trying to keep him from knowing how arousing this was for her. He couldn’t see anything but her pussy, so she tried to control her voice. If he knew how incredible this felt, he’d have power over her, and Missy couldn’t have that.

Still, her body’s instinctual squirming atop him provided a pretty clear signal of how she felt. Her limbs undulated as sexual energy wracked her body. She bit her lip to stifle a loud moan.

Grinding her womanhood on his face, Missy smiled and grunted. She was glad to not have to worry about looking tough or sexy or anything else — Dae-won still couldn’t see her face right now and didn’t seem to care. He enthusiastically shoved his tongue in and out of her quivering pussy.

At last her orgasm began building. Missy felt up her own nipples, then guided Dae-won’s hands to take her place while she stroked him off. She loved the meaty feel of his thick cock pulsating between her fingers.

The moist muscularity of this tongue seeped into every nook of Missy’s womanhood. He explored it as though looking for lost treasure, and every motion send additional shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

Her world went white, or rather, a yellowish eggshell-white. She forgot her desire to avoid making too much sound, and instead she squirmed as she vibrantly orgasmed. Moisture flowed down his cheeks.

She ground on his face as though trying to suffocate him, but he didn’t complain at all, even as he flailed and squirmed. He still lapped at her shuddering body.

Pleasure ran through her, as he shot his load over his belly, cum coating her fingers, and an orgasm wrapped its way up her spine. Missy let out another moan, a low, slow one that seemed so loud she was sure people outside the shop could hear. He moaned as well, the sound absorbed by her pussy; she felt is resonating deep within her, keeping her orgasm going until she felt she was about to shatter into a thousand little pieces.

Finally it was all over. She blushed and shivered as aftershocks shot through her body. She remembered to put her tough-thug demeanor up only just before stepping away from him. He took a deep breath when his face was revealed, gleaming with her juice.

Dae-won smiled sheepishly at her. “Thank you, miss,” he said. “That is one protection fee I am glad to pay.”

The Big Book of Reacharounds

This is a sample from The Big Book of Reacharounds, a new massive megabundle — with more than 80,000 words compiled from dozens of books, each one full of hardcore gay reacharound sex!

For a man approaching fifty (or maybe even past it, Edward wasn’t sure), Samson was surprisingly limber. This was proved by an encounter they had in the middle of March, when Edward yelped when he saw out of the corner of his eye a person leaping over the fence into his backyard. It took Edward a few seconds to realize it was Samson (why not just knock on the front door? He’s allowed to do it, he did it last time) The fence was a good seven feet high, but Samson was strong enough he had hefted himself over in one smooth motion.

Edward had to laugh because his first thought, when he saw the dark blurry man-shape dive into his backyard from above, was ninja! But of course it was only Samson, dressed in a blue denim shirt and dickeys, with a name tag over his chest. It looked to be a janitor’s uniform.

He beamed drunkenly at Edward through the sliding glass door, and tottered slightly. He made that jump drunk, Edward thought, impressive.

“Yo, baby, you lookin’ at one employed nigga,” Samson said, his smile broad as he danced a little jig and came into the dining room.

“Oh, congratulations,” Edward said, too tired to be all that impressed.

“I even gotst me an advance on my salary, so I got some new drawers at home,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Edward said. He really wanted to get to sleep — if Samson wanted a blowjob, Edward would gladly oblige. But he wasn’t a social worker. “So that’s cool-“

“I’s workin’ at the community college. Shift custodian, yessirree.” Samson looked down at Edward, eyes flashing with horniness. “I’m-a get real nasty wit’ you tonight, boi. You ready for that?”

Edward’s voice broke. He wasn’t exactly afraid but something about Samson was so intimidating he couldn’t help but shrink back. “Oh… Okay.” He paused — last month, he had seen Samson with a girl, so he assumed that was why he hadn’t been looking for sex recently. “What happened to yo’ girl?”

“She doing six months now, on a resistin’ arrest beef,” Samson said. “And she don’t get nasty neither. You lick ass, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Edward said. He actually normally did not eat ass as a rule, but Samson had such a big, perfect ass that he decided to make an exception. If there was ever going to be an ass he would rim, it would be exactly like Samson’s, so he might as well go for it while it was right in front of him.

“Hot fuck, yeah,” Samson said, grinning like a fool. “Go’n make me a sandwich while I get ready.” He stripped off his shirt.

His powerful chest and its silvery fur loomed in front of Edward, who had difficulty focusing on what he wanted to say. “I, uh… I ain’t, uh… I don’t got no, uh… bread.”

“You got no bread?”

“I’m on a low-carb diet.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a, um, diet, where you eat low-carb, like food with no carbohydrates.”

“You don’t eat bread?”

“Not really. I can have five carbs a day, but I don’t normally buy bread. I have meat and cheese-“

“Then bring me that, man,” Samson said. He looked at Edward as though he had grievously wounded him. “And something to drink. They breathalyze me every night, so no alcohol. You got juice or milk-?”

“No,” Edward said as he went into the kitchen. Samson scoffed in disgust. “All that stuff has carbs. There are low-carb drinks, but they taste like ass.”

“You don’t like that?”

“They don’t taste like your ass,” Edward said. He put the last of his lunch meats together on a plate with a few slices of Muenster cheese. Then he got a glass of ice-water and brought it out to the living room.

Samson was there doing jumping jacks. He wore only those damn prison boxers, which were already tinged with sweat. He stopped doing push-ups and smiled at Edward. He gestured towards his ass, where the boxers were plastered to his skin with sweat. “I made it extra-spicy for ya. You gonna enjoy this one, nigga. Taste like aaaaaaass!”

Edward blushed. “Oh, yeah, okay…”

Samson dropped his underwear and got on the couch. He turned the TV on and started flipping as he began eating the meat and cheese. He frowned at Edward. “Get bread, bitch, next time you go shopping.”

“I’ll do a lot of things for you, Samson, but I’m not breaking my diet, and if I have bread in the house, that’s exactly what’ll happen. You know how cruel gay guys are to fat gay guys? You can bring your own bread,” he said as he sunk to his knees in front of the couch. He kissed Samson’s dick as Samson glared down at him. “What?” Edward said, glad to have an opportunity to assert his role. “If you don’t wanna do this without bread, that’s fine. You can go home.”

Samson curled his lip. “Fine. What about bagels?”

“No. Also carbs.”

“English muffins.”

“Also carbs. Anything bread-like, Samson. No flatbread, no pita, no naan, no pancakes, no waffles, also no to rice, noodles, pasta and fruit.” Edward sucked on the tip of Samson’s cock, the anger melted away on Samson’s face.

But he did sniffle before muttering “Fine.” Then he barked out, “You got porn on here?” as he flipped through the channels. He stopped at a beach-themed show of some sort, where he ogled the bikini-clad beauties.

“I got gay porn,” Edward said, giggling at Samson’s awkward sneer. “You can use my laptop.”

“Suck my balls,” Samson said.

At first Edward thought it was just a rude way to say no, then realized Samson wanted him to actually suck his balls. So he got down between Samson’s thick hairy thighs and snarfed down the man’s entire sac. Samson moaned and lifted his hips so Edward could get even lower.

Then Samson growled. “You don’t eat fruit?”

Edward said no without removing Samson’s balls from his mouth, so it was an indistinct muffled sound. But he also shook his head, and Samson seemed to get it.

“That’s some crazy faggot diet.”

Edward shrugged. He gurgled loudly on Samson’s balls, juggling them with his tongue. They were fat, heavy balls, low-hanging without having that old-man droopiness that was so unappealing. They were still tight and juicy.

And they tasted spicy with fresh sweat, while still having a thick muskiness from being cooped up in those prison boxers for so long. Samson tasted so strong his scrotum’s acrid scent brought tears to Edward’s eyes.

Then without warning, Samson lifted his legs up. Edward moved onto his hairy taint, sucked it clean and lowered his head even further.

“Look me in the eye when you lick my asshole,” Samson said. Then he added as though he had forgot, “Bitch.”

Edward’s tongue plunged in. He had only tried this once before, and hated it so much he immediately stopped. But Samson’s plump ass was so inviting the taste was nearly enough by itself to make Edward cum. It was bitter and savory, and it brought tears to Edward’s eyes.

“You nasty in all the right ways, faggot,” Samson said. “You should get locked up wit’ me sometime. I would treat you right, boy… I mean, I’d treat ya wrong accordin’ to the Bible, but I’d make you my perfect little prison bitch.”

He lapped at that brown hole, savoring the musky flavor. Samson looked him deep in the eye, a bit shocked as though he never thought someone would willingly lick his ass.

Samson stood up quickly. He grabbed Edward by the hair, and pushed his cock into Edward’s ass. Blinding pain hit him, but Edward yelped with excitement instead. He hadn’t thought Samson wanted to fuck him as well.

“I ain’t gonna kiss you on account of you got ass on yo’ face,” Samson whispered, “But I give you a reacharound.” His callused hand wrapped around Edward’s cock. That sent a shock through Edward’s body — Samson seemed so macho that Edward would have never thought he’d give a reacharound, especially that he would volunteer to do so. That simply wasn’t something straight men did.

Edward was already on the brink of orgasm, so Samson’s clumsy stroking sent him over the edge right away. Semen sprayed over Samson’s hand and the floor beneath Edward.

Samson groaned in disgust but didn’t stop stroking. He came seconds later, spraying his hot load deep into Edward’s body. He bucked and jerked as though his orgasm was painful.

“Yeah, all up in ya, bitch,” Samson said. “Did you like that?”

“Hell yeah.”

Wrinkling his nose, Samson said, “Weird. No one’s ever said yes before.”

Samson sighed. He pulled his cock out, then used his prison boxers to wipe the santorum off his shaft. He tossed the stinky boxers on Edward’s head.

“You want these? There yours,” he said,” I ain’t want ‘em. I give you permission to jack off wit’ those, but you ain’t allowed to think about me taking dick. I only give it, even in yo’ imagination.”

“Yes, Samson.”

Black Men Can Be Cuckolds Too

Here’s a sample from Black Men Can Be Cuckolds Too, a new story of black woman/Asian man erotica!

When Mr. Oshimitsu came in to her classroom, Marlene didn’t know who he was. She didn’t even have a guess. She had met Lee’s mother (or, as it turned out, Lee’s aunt, though Marlene didn’t find that out until much later) at the first parent-teacher conference. Most of the parents she interacted with were women. Men played a bigger role in their kids’ lives the older the kids got, but Marlene taught second grade, so it was all about the mothers.

There were a few reasons Marlene couldn’t even guess which kid was Mr. Oshimitsu’s until he said his name. Most importantly, she was flustered by how unbelievably sexy he was. He also had a certain authoritarian, intimidating vibe, and he didn’t look much like Lee — though in retrospect it should have been obvious, because Lee was her only Japanese student.

Marlene was a proud black woman who, back in college, had been part of a militant group that shamed black men for dating outside their race. That wasn’t because she particularly disliked interracial dating per se, she just hated that black women like herself were ignored and marginalized by, it seemed, everyone. Every time she saw a good black man with some petite blond thing, Marlene had felt a surge of fury.

But she settled down after college. She met Lyle, who was an Afrocentric political activist though not as extreme as her; he was kind and knowledgeable, and he had a stable job as a college professor. He was the perfect man for her.

Things had gone downhill though. Marlene had trouble admitting it, but she wasn’t exactly compatible with Lyle anymore. He had only grown more boring with time, and while Marlene had settled down a bit, she still wanted adventure. She wasn’t interested in protesting endlessly like she used to (though she was still politically active); she wanted some excitement; she wanted to go places and see new things. Lyle just wanted to stay home and read books about World War 2. What had seemed intellectual and charming when they were dating was stultifying now that they had been married for twelve years.

But Marlene didn’t want her family to be yet another broken black home. She had two teenage sons who were on the right path, but a sudden stress from a divorce might be enough to send them over the edge. Though she refused to think about it too much yet, she had already decided to divorce Lyle as soon as her kids were both moved out and settled into their own lives.

“I must ask you, ma’am,” he said, “about this grade.” He showed Marlene a test that Lee had flunked. He got an F, which surprised Marlene — Lee was an excellent student, but he had gotten nearly every answer wrong on the last half of the test. Mr. Oshimitsu flared his nostrils. “Lee does not fail tests.”

“Everybody makes mistakes… Mr. Oshimitsu,” she said, glad to have remembered Lee’s last name in time.

He nodded. “Certainly. But I do not understand your grading. Please explain.”

Marlene took the test from him to look at it more closely. She sat down at her desk, and Mr. Oshimitsu came closer. He smelled of cologne, but with a distinct, pine-like scent — not like a car air freshener, this was an odd aroma like nothing she had ever smelled before. It reminded her of fresh, mossy forests.

He was muscular, and sinewy. Not tall, but he brimmed with power. He was more than a little disconcerting, she thought, and though he walked stiffly and properly, she felt intimidated. She felt like she did when she walked through a bad neighborhood and saw sexy macho thugs — she never liked that kind of man, but she did often find them sexy. Mr. Oshimitsu came across like a mobster, she thought, just a strange non-Italian one. She half-expected him to start singing opera and offer her a bowl of spaghetti.

Forcing herself to focus on the test, Marlene looked over the answers. She wrinkled her brow. Mr. Oshimitsu was right, she realized slowly — she had made a mistake in grading. It looked like about halfway through, she just marked everything as an error.

Of course! That was it, she thought, she had been distracted when Lyle came home. His plump body turned her off, then he had loudly used the toilet. She was so disgusted and reminded of everything about Lyle she no longer liked (she knew he was in there reading) that she couldn’t think about anything else. She had taken a break, then gotten back to grading.

She must have picked up the wrong answer key. Normally seeing any student get every single question wrong would have been alarming — especially a good student like Lee — but she had been so distracted it hadn’t occurred to her that she made a mistake.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Oshimitsu,” she said. “Thank you for bringing this my attention. I believe I started using the wrong answer key here, around question twelve.”

“You failed?”

“Uh… well… Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it. Let me get the correct answer key,” she said, shuffling through her papers until she found what she was looking for.

“You graded my boy wrong?”

“Yes, Mr. Oshimitsu, it was my mistake-“

“Because he is Japanese?”

“What? Oh no-“

He say you are nicer to black boys,” Mr. Oshimitsu said, “And girls in general. He ask if he can be black girl so he get called on in class more.”

“What?!” Marlene was shocked, both by the accusation and Mr. Oshimitsu’s sudden anger. He looked as though he didn’t often show emotion, but now it brimmed beneath the surface. She had never thought she discriminated, but Lee’s claim that black girls got called on in class seemed awfully specific for an incorrect accusation. Did she treat black girls differently?

“You give better grades to black girls for worse work,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a tight, tailored suit, so the motion had the effect of accentuating his powerful chest. Marlene was flustered by his red-faced accusations and his accent, which had grown thicker now that he was worked up.

“I do not!” Marlene said. “Absolutely not! I don’t even look at the child’s name when grading.” That was true, though she didn’t mention that she could recognize her students by their handwriting.

“You do not help them by lowering standards. You should hold them to-“

“I do not lower my standards, Mr. Oshimitsu,” she said.

“You did not want your best student to be Asian!”

“That is a lie!” Marlene shouted. “If I did, I wouldn’t have used the wrong answer key, Mr. Oshimitsu, it guaranteed you were going to point it out! And even with this test, Lee still has the best grade in the class!”

“You will fix grade!”

“Yes, I’ll fix it!” she said. “I apologize for my mistake! But I had no idea this was Lee’s test when I graded it! If I doesn’t seem like I call on Lee in class, it’s because he raises his hand for every question. I have to ask the students who are less confident-“

“Lee is good boy! He will go to college, not like most of the trash of your class!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it mean,” he said. But he bit his lip as though he didn’t want to elaborate. Marlene did know exactly what he meant — his intent was offensive, since he was clearly implying her largely black students were incapable of doing the work and getting into college, but at the same time, Marlene couldn’t deny that his claim had a certain element of truth to it. Her black students were not, by and large, going to go to college, even with affirmative action helping them; Lee clearly would, even with affirmative action working against his interests. And Marlene could hardly defend herself appropriately given the blatant mistake she had made.

A long awkward silence fell between them. Marlene fingered the answer key on her desk. She was torn between starting an argument, telling Mr. Oshimitsu to get out and just ignoring him as she corrected Lee’s test.

In the end, Mr. Oshimitsu made the decision. He leaned in and kissed her. Marlene saw it coming only a second or two before it happened.

Even while her mind told her to get away from him — you’re  a married woman, Marlene, what are you doing?! — her body kissed him back. His lips were soft and supple, his skin tight and smooth, in stark contrast to Lyle’s flabby listlessness.

Mr. Oshimitsu’s fingers delicately ran up her body, from her waist to her shoulders, and caressed her skin. His fingers were not rough or callused, but also didn’t have the milky smoothness of Lyle’s lazy body. Mr. Oshimitsu felt like a man who had worked hard all his life, Marlene thought, it was a stark contrast from Lyle.

When he took off his suit, Marlene was overwhelmed — he had an amazing body, lithe, tight, like he had more muscles than his body could contain. Colorful tattoos danced over his chest; there was a tiger in a snow-dappled forest, a mossy stone over his heart, a rippling Japanese flag over kanji above his belly button.

It was all happening so fast, Marlene never made the decision to have sex with Mr. Oshimitsu. Even in her younger, wilder days, Marlene never had sex so wantonly. She had never slept with someone she had known for less than a month, and even that had felt irresponsibly quick.

His pants came off, and Marlene lifted her skirt. Her heart thumped as someone walked past her classroom; she worried that whoever it was was going to come in. The door wasn’t lockable, and it wasn’t even shut all the way, resting just slightly ajar. Though a part of Marlene’s mind told her to go shut it, she didn’t want to pull away from Mr. Oshimitsu’s gentle touch.

She caressed his bare back as he revealed his cock. For the first time since this had started, Marlene realized she was sleeping with a non-black man — she was reminded of it because his huge cock reminded her of the small-dicked Asian stereotype. She was glad to see that Mr. Oshimitsu proved that it was a lie, and though Marlene had never really cared about penis size, she was also glad to be with a man who was bigger than Lyle.

Just as Mr. Oshimitsu’s cock pushed into her womanhood, and Marlene squirmed around his touch, the door to her classroom opened. Lyle’s plump body waddled in, as he rubbed the smudges off his glasses.

“Hey, sweetie, did you want-?” Lyle screamed like a girl, which made Marlene giggle. Even Mr. Oshimitsu seemed put-off by Lyle’s loudness.

“Shut the door,” Marlene said with a grunt. Lyle did as he was told.

“Baby, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting fucked,” Marlene said. She sneered at Lyle. She had no intention of being so mean to him, but her oncoming orgasm was so intense she couldn’t help it.

Mr. Oshimitsu drilled her inexorably, his thick cock pulsating deep inside her. His muscles writhed above her body, and Marlene ran her fingers through his short, carefully coiffed hair.

“But… What are you doing?” Lyle asked again, as though he had no idea what sex was.

Mr. Oshimitsu shot him a stern glance. “We are fornicating,” he said simply. “Your coworker is-“

“Not my coworker! That’s my wife, you bastard, get off her!” Lyle approached as though he wanted to be threatening, but he was such a wimp that Marlene laughed.

Mr. Oshimitsu didn’t stop fucking even as he lifted his chest off Marlene, crossed his arms and frowned at Lyle. His gyrations were long and slow, like he was demonstrating to Lyle how it was supposed to be done.

Lyle moaned. He burst into tears and fell to his knees. “Baby, what are you doing?”

“Oh my god, stop asking me that, Lyle! I’ve found a real man,” Marlene said.

Lyle crept closer and closer. Then Mr. Oshimitsu reached for his head and put him in a bear hug. He didn’t slow down his fucking though, he continued those long, languorous strokes, each one of which built inch by inch into a little mini-orgasm exploding in Marlene’s body.

“Your wife has chosen me,” Mr. Oshimitsu said. He laughed as he pulled his dick all the way out of her pussy — Marlene felt momentarily empty and cold, and the sensation awakened her imminent climax — so Lyle could see how big and wet it was. “Only I can satisfy her. She needs Japanese cock. She wants Clan Kyuu,” he said. “All women do, some just don’t know it yet.”

Marlene knew what Clan Kyuu was; they had been in the paper recently. It was a yakuza family, which ran most of the crime in this area. There had been a big bust a few months ago, but almost all the charges had been dropped. Marlene wondered if Mr. Oshimitsu was among them.

The thrill of danger sparkled through Marlene’s body as Mr. Oshimitsu’s tattoos took on added significance in her mind. She wondered if each tattoo meant something different in his clan. She would have asked if she weren’t overcome by passion and if Lyle’s loud blubbering hadn’t drowned out any other sound in the classroom.

“Please, stop, baby,” Lyle muttered through his tears. It sounded like he knew very well that wasn’t going to happen, he was just begging because he didn’t know what else to do. His plump belly jiggled.

Mr. Oshimitsu sneered at him as they both reached orgasm. “I’m filling your wife up with my seed now, you weakling,” he said, just before the first burst of hot cum hit her insides. “You probably love watching this, don’t you?”

Marlene orgasmed at the same time, clawing at Mr. Oshimitsu’s yakuza tats as her body was overcome by intense pleasure. She moaned and Mr. Oshimitsu’s muscles rippled. He made sure Lyle saw his cock pulsate as it filled Marlene up.

Then it was all over. Marlene shivered with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and giggled at Lyle’s reaction. When Mr. Oshimitsu let go of Lyle’s head, he scurried away. He held back sobs and ran out of the classroom.

Mr. Oshimitsu pulled out. He smiled at Marlene, then pulled his pants back up. He cleared his throat. “I apologize, ma’am,” he said. “This was inappropriate. I was overcome by your beauty.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I needed that.

He carefully put his suit back on, and even checked that his tie was straight before looking at her again. He frowned. “I trust you will solve your grading problems? I insist on Lee being treated fairly.”

“Of course…”

Taboo AB/DL Camping

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Taboo AB/DL Camping, a new tale of hardcore ageplay, diaper lust and taboo pseudoinest!

Daddy Tom said they were going to bond this weekend. Shelly was not looking forward to it. She had no interest in “bonding” with her stepfather, especially not now that she was on the verge of moving away. Shelly hadn’t decided to marry him, after all; Shelly hadn’t invited him to join the family; Shelly never wanted to be as close to him as she was now, much less any closer.

But Mom browbeat her into going. Shelly was furious about it, and had argued strenuously against it. This was one of her last weekends before going to college, and she was going to spend it with Tom. How disappointing, she thought.

On the other hand, if she weren’t going camping with Daddy Tom, she’d probably be out flirting with boys, none of whom would ever turn out to be what she was looking for. Shelly wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for in a man, but she was sure she hadn’t found it. She rather hoped it would be different when she got to college, but she wasn’t sure that was true.

“I know you didn’t want to come here today,” he said with a grin when they pulled into the parking lot. Daddy Tom went camping with his buddies at least once a month, so he had a regular campground. Shelly had never been, and now that she had, she just wanted to go home. She rolled her eyes at him. He cleared his throat. “But I’m glad you did come.”

“Whatever, Tom,” she said. She knew he hated it when she called him Tom rather than Daddy Tom. Aside from her general desire to annoy him, she thought he was sexy when he was angry. He was a cop who bristled with authority, and he brooked no rebellion at work; it was plainly difficult for him to accept it from his stepdaughter, but he had long since learned that Shelly was stubborn, and that what worked on the perps he ran into on the job did not work in the family he had married into.

He snarled, then forced a smile on his face. “You’re eighteen now, Shelly. You’re an adult like me. You can call me Tom.”

She didn’t respond; now that she was allowed to call him by his first name, she didn’t want to. That thought just made her feel immature. You’re eighteen now, Shelly, too old to be rebelling without a cause. She got out of the truck, and followed him into the woods. She had two big bags that she struggled to carry. Tom watched her work but didn’t offer to help — he had said she was bringing too much stuff, and that he wouldn’t help her carry it all. Shelly didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of needing his help in the first place.

So when they finally got to the campsite, she dropped her bags on the ground and sat at the picnic table. She snuck a glare at Daddy Tom as he began setting up the tent. He asked her for help, but she just sat there in silence, sulking. He didn’t ask her again.

Finally, however, she saw that he wasn’t going to be able to put the tent up all by himself — someone needed to hold the poles in place while he hooked the fabric up. He cursed at himself as he continued to fumble with it. His scalp wiggled beneath his crewcut as he furrowed his brow; he ran his tongue through his thick dirty-blond mustache.

“Fuckin’ shit,” he muttered.

That spurred Shelly to get up and help. She realized she wanted the tent to be solid and upright all night just as much as he did, and that wasn’t going to happen if he did it all himself. So she wordlessly held onto the support poles while he hooked the tent up. She sighed as though it was a huge imposition.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said. “This tent is a real motherfucker to put up by yourself. I done it before, but it ain’t easy.”

Daddy Tom cursed a lot, but rarely the f-word, and he always seemed to be guilty about it. Shelly liked seeing this side of him. He seemed a lot more real than the dorky stepfather who had always reminded her to do her homework and study for tests. He had always insisted she go to church every week — his idea of liberalism was “allowing” her to choose the denomination.

“Now we gotta start a fire,” he said. “Why don’t we collect some firewood?”

Shelly sighed. The next few hours were very boring. Shelly had no interest in camping, not really, and she wanted Daddy Tom to know it for sure. He didn’t seem to notice her blatant disinterest, however, or he just ignored it. He led her through the woods, explaining why it was just as important to find big, thick logs as small twigs. Shelly couldn’t give any number of shits about that.

But when the fire actually came to life, and the sun began going down, Shelly was glad to see those roaring flames. It did feel comforting, and she momentarily forgot how important it was to be sure Daddy Tom knew she didn’t want to be here.

“You lookin’ forward to college?”


He nodded. “That’s good. You know, when I went to college, I dreaded it. I thought I’d hate it, but it was the best time of my life.”

“Neat story.”

“Some of my friends was excited about it. They couldn’t wait, and every single one of them ended up hatin’ it,” he said. “I think that’s normal. Usually the people who think they’ll like it wind up hatin’ it, and the people who think they’ll hate it wind up likin’ it.”


“Not tryin’ to discourage you, sweetheart,” he said.

“Well…” she bit her lip. “I guess I have been nervous. I’m still looking forward to it. But I’m not deluded enough to think it will be all that different from high school. Nothing major is going to change.”

He nodded. “Well, yeah, it’s not strange to feel that way. You’re only going to be an hour away. We’re farther away from home right now than you will be at college.”


“You know you can call me anytime, right? About anything. I won’t tell your mom, if you don’t want me to,” he said.

“Okay. Thanks, Daddy.”

There was another long awkward silence. Daddy Tom was obviously happy she had thanked him and called him Daddy, while Shelly already regretted it. He bristled with pride in his fatherhood.

“You still seeing that Daniel?”

“No,” she said.

“Why not? He seemed nice.”

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

He shrugged. “I ain’t gonna like any guy you bring home, sweetheart. Because if I did, he’d take that as permission to get fresh with you, and besides, if I liked him, you’d stop seein’ him just to disappoint me.”

“That’s not true!” she said, though she knew she was lying.

“Sure, okay,” he said with a grin that suggested he knew he had been right.

“I dumped him because… I dunno, it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right, I can’t put into words why,” Shelly said. That wasn’t entirely true — she knew exactly why she dumped him; she just couldn’t tell Daddy Tom. Or could she? He had promised to keep a secret for her, after all, and while she didn’t like him in general, she did trust him to keep his word.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said. “I think you do know why it wasn’t right. And I think I can guess. I won’t guess right now, because I don’t want to embarrass you, sweetheart. But if it doesn’t feel right, then you should stop it.”

“That’s what I thought,” she bit her lip. “What…? Uh… How do you know what you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… let’s say I liked, I dunno, tall guys, for example,” she said, choosing a simple, noncontroversial example. “How would I know that? Do I have to sleep with a tall guy to find out?”

“Well, you ain’t gotta go that far, sweetheart,” he said. “Just go out with one, I guess, see if the height thing works for you.”

“That’s… not exactly what I mean. Maybe height was a bad example.”

“Just say what you mean. I won’t tell your mom, I swear, no matter what.”

“What if it’s… kinky? Like, let’s say I like whips, or think I do, if I tell some guy I want to try it, he’ll do it just to get laid, right? He might not know how to use whips. He might not be giving me a good example of it, and even if he is, if I decide I don’t like it, he’ll think I’m saying he’s bad at sex, or he’ll think I’m pervert, and I’ll have to dump him or something. What if the guy I’m compatible with isn’t into the same things I’m into?”

Daddy Tom blushed as she spoke, then cleared his throat. “Experimentation is normal, sweetheart. If your boy gets mad that you tried something and didn’t like it, he ain’t the boy for you,” he said. “Is there something you want to try? Something Daniel didn’t want to do?”

“He treated me like a pervert!”

Daddy Tom smiled. “Then he was always bad for you, sweetheart.”

“I know, I guess that’s right. He was just so nice and so cute.”

“I could have told you that boy wasn’t into anything kinky,” Daddy Tom said. “He looked about as adventurous as a dead tortoise.”

Shelly giggled. “Maybe a bit of an exaggeration,” she said. “But yeah, he was kind of boring.”

“If you like whips…” his voice trailed off as though he couldn’t really think of how to end the statement without embarrassing himself.

“It’s not whips, Daddy.”

“I know,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I bet I can guess what it is.”

“Oh, please-“

“Why don’t I give you something? There’s a box in my truck,” he said. “It’s got everything you’ll need. Don’t judge me for having it if I’m wrong, but I’m fairly certain it’s exactly what you’re looking for.”

He walked back to the parking lot, leaving Shelly there alone in the flickering firelight. She watched the ash grow in the center of the campfire as she waited for him, wondering what it was. Could he have really guessed her newfound interests? It seemed so improbable, but she had a feeling he just might be right. He was very astute and perceptive, after all, a trait she thought came from his career.

When he came back with a large box in hand, he smiled and sat down next to her. He was closer now than when he had gotten up before, and Shelly could feel the body heat emanating from him. She was entranced by the flexing of his arms, revealed by the sleeveless t-shirt he wore. She was reminded of the crush on him that she’d had when they first met.

“Daddy Tom… is there a bathroom here?”

He gestured to the woods all around and grinned. “There is no spot that is not a bathroom,” he said as he took a key out of his pocket.

Shelly giggled. She had suspected as much, and she wasn’t looking forward to peeing in the woods, but obviously it was going to happen at some point tonight. She wouldn’t be able to make it all the way through the night and the ride home tomorrow.

He unlocked the box, and handed it to her to open. Shelly squealed when she lifted the lid and saw a stack of clean white diapers, a rattle and a baby bonnet — all of which, she noticed after a few seconds of shocked staring, were adult-sized.

No Homo: Soldiers

Here’s a sample from No Homo: Soldiers, an entry in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica that’s too hot for gay sex! The most recent entry is No Homo: Jocks, and if you’re interested, please let me know (either in a comment here or email at what theme you want to see next — I’m currently deciding between Workers and Thugs…


Warning: This sample is full of outrageous dry-humping (that’s actually quite moist) and teabagging!

Hawthorn knew he was going to get a boner when he did the rescue swim. He always had during practice but managed to hide it. They were only short swims anyway. It wasn’t a gay thing, he told himself over and over. It was just the close contact, pressing his dick against someone else’s body and rubbing it back and forth as they swam.

But the day had come when he was going to have to take someone — the muscled beefcake Tony — on a four lap rescue swim of the pool. His form had to be perfect, and that meant his dick would be nestled in Tony’s tight Italian asscrack.

Tony looked like a model, Hawthorn thought, or like what Hollywood would consider a perfectly handsome leading man. He was just slightly grizzled, perfectly built with a V-shaped torso and a square jaw, a deep voice and sultry dark eyes. Hawthorn was a little jealous — he knew he was a country bumpkin in the eyes of these city folks. He was big and a little plump, dumb and naive. In truth, he didn’t know what was going on a lot of the time, he really didn’t understand the slang the others used, just pretended he did, and felt overwhelmed by the pace of modern life. He wanted to be back on the farm he had grown up on, where things made sense and he always knew what he was supposed to do next.

He wrapped his arms around Tony’s muscles, thick black hairs scratching his skin. The Italian stud’s tight six pack rippled as he lay as still as possible. He was trying to make it easy. Hawthorn’s dick was wedged between his asscheeks. He got into the correct rescue swim position easily and began his laps.

The two moved through the body effortlessly, Tony’s heavy body easily carted along by Hawthorn’s heft. They were the two biggest men in the squad, that was why they had been assigned together. Tony had already done his rescue swim and did fine, with no boner at all that Hawthorn could tell. Tony’s rippling back muscles and tight ass squeezed on Hawthorn’s body, making his dick grow harder and harder with every motion through the water.

Hawthorn remembered the punishment in the shower a few weeks before. He had felt dirty then, Ransom’s big black cock shooting a load over his back, and he realized he was going to do the same thing. His dick was wedged between Tony’s asscheek just like Ransom’s had been before, and he was getting hard only a few strokes into the rescue swim.

He tried to shift his weight to hide it, but Railton called out for Tony to begin struggling — this was supposed to be a mock rescue, after all, and actual drowning victims fight back against their rescuers. Hawthorn knew that would be it: if Tony started moving, Hawthorn had no hope of reducing his erection.

When Tony’s body began twisting and fighting against him, Hawthorn had to hold him right in position, which meant every time Tony moved, Hawthorn humped him. The movement caused further friction, making his hard cock leak precum into the water. He didn’t think Tony could tell, but it was hard to say. Between the cheering and catcalling from the surface, the splashing of water and the sounds of cars driving not far away, Hawthorn couldn’t hear anything Tony was saying.

He had a good grip on Tony, immobilizing him with his head above water. Tony’s muscles contorted beneath him, and he squeezed his asscheeks together. Hawthorn felt the tightness around his dick and knew there was no stopping his orgasm. He hoped the water was warm enough Tony wouldn’t notice.

Almost done, Hawthorn paused, tired, and Tony took the opportunity to renew his struggle, apparently trying to give Hawthorn a real test. Aside from the embarrassment over his imminent orgasm, Hawthorn enjoyed the rescue swim test — it was like a combination of wrestling and swimming, two of his favorite activities.

Then his climax came. He stifled a grunt, and timed his swim strokes to the thrusts of his hip, hoping to mask the feel so Tony wouldn’t notice. But as he did it, and the hot cum bloomed above Hawthorn’s crotch, he knew there was no chance of that. It was obvious, the water was cloudy, and he could even taste it. Tony may have been able to taste it as well.

But maybe Tony will be too embarrassed to bring it up, Hawthorn hoped. He was a proud, straight macho who wouldn’t want to admit something like that, or so Hawthorn hoped. Tony had seemed prone to embarrassment so far, like most city boys Hawthorn had met.

Railton liked to tease the recruits as they tested, and when Hawthorn and Tony got near the ladder out of the water, having finished the rescue swim, Railton only nodded at them to continue. Hawthorn’s heart pounded as he realized he wasn’t done yet, and Tony struggled against him.

“Come on, Sarge, he’s done!” Tony called out.

“One more lap, I wanna see better form, Hawthorn. I know you know how to do it better than this,” Railton said.

Hawthorn moved his arm, remembering his lessons in rescue swims. He was touching Tony’s nipples now, which grew hard in the cold water. But Tony had given up on fighting back, no doubt wanting the whole experience to be over.

Unfortunately for Hawthorn, he was a randy young buck who had always gotten erections easily, so by the time they were done, he was hard again. His exhausted muscles were almost ready to give out, he thought, but he managed to get through the last lap.

Tony crawled up out of the pool, followed by Hawthorn, whose Army-issue swimming trunks were tented by his hard cock. Hawthorn blushed when he saw his fellow squadmates giggling at him.

“That bastard had a boner. I think he nutted on me!” Tony screamed. He clawed at the small of his back as though he might still get the cum off him.

Hawthorn wanted to defend himself from his snickering squadmates, but his massive cock strained uncomfortably against the fabric of his shorts.

“Get over here, Private Kyle!” Drill Sergeant Railton said. He narrowed his eyebrows at the sight of Hawthorn’s huge cock. He pulled Hawthorn’s shorts down and Hawthorn’s half-hard, dwindling cock popped out. He wasn’t sure if it was obvious that Tony had been right, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to Tony’s continued complaints. Drill Sergeant Railton’s interest in Hawthorn’s dick was more important, it seemed, much to Hawthorn’s delight.

Somebody else whistled. “No wonder he can suck it himself.”

Railton openly stared at his thick manhood, and Hawthorn, for the first time in his life, felt embarrassed about it. “That rod might be bigger than regulation, son,” Railton said to scattered, nervous laughter. “We might have to chop a bit off.”

Hawthorn was glad to see Railton being jovial for once, and not obviously mad that he had nutted on Tony. No one seemed to care about that except Tony, who was washing himself off in the pool.

“Can you really suck your own cock?” Railton said. “Let’s see it.”

Hawthorn pulled his shorts the rest of the way down. His dick was already hard and cummy, but he sucked the tip down. He had only ever done it once before, just licked it a few times because he discovered that he could. He didn’t like the taste, and it felt faggy too him even if it was his own cock.

“Suck it, suck it!” Ransom shouted. “Deepthroat it, bitch.” He and Malik laughed but stopped when Railton glared at them.

“If I ever hear you two talking to a real woman that way,” Railton said. “I’ll have you court-martialed before you can blink.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Malik and Ransom said in unison.

An awkward silence fell over the squad, and Hawthorn wondered if he wouldn’t be able to finish. He didn’t want the guys to start ragging on him for being slow, because if he got more nervous, he might lose his erection. He had just cum on Tony’s back, so he was glad he was still a young buck, who hadn’t had any pussy lately, so he was pretty sure he’d be able to bust a nut.

“Come on, son,” Railton said. “We ain’t got all day. You ain’t datin’ it, just a booty call.”

There was more scattered laughter from the recruits, and Hawthorn sucked with renewed vigor. He got almost a third of the way down the shaft, straining his neck and beck to do it. Precum slid down his throat.

“Lemme help,” Railton said, placing one of his hands on Hawthorn’s head. He gently pushed, and though it strained Hawthorn’s neck, he got another inch or so in his mouth.

Finally he felt his nuts draw up in his sac and cum flowed into his mouth, down his throat. The familiar, but gross, flavor of sour-salty cum flooded his senses. Hawthorn gagged and spat it out, rolling onto the ground before jumping to his feet to scattered applause.

“Alright,” Sergeant Railton said. “We had our fun. Let’s get cleaned up for mess.” He looked to both Hawthorn and Tony. “You two hit the showers.”

Tony was obviously pissed. Hawthorn wasn’t surprised, but he was annoyed — everything rolled off Hawthorn’s shoulders, and this wasn’t the first time he had done something that he saw as a minor faux pas but those around him saw an egregious offense. Hawthorn didn’t let anything bother him in the long run. What good was it being upset over things that already happened?

But obviously Tony didn’t take that route. He glowered, with his hands across his chest. He looked like he was considering whether he could get away with strangling Hawthorn right there.

“Man…” Hawthorn said, putting on his biggest, most easygoing grin. “That was fucked up. I can’t believe I did that in front of Railton, and he was sort of fucking my face with my own dick. Did you see that?”

“I was in the water. Trying to get clean”

“Oh yeah,” Hawthorn said. “Sorry about all that. It was… I didn’t try to do it. It just sort-of happened.”

“You virtually raped me!”

“I didn’t stick it in!”

“You came pretty damn close.”

“Don’t tell me you never had an accidental boner,” Hawthorn said. “Did you say you was a wrestler in high school?”

“That is not the point. I never came on somebody’s back,” Tony said.

“Well, Ransom already came on me, remember that?”

“That wasn’t my fault. You wanna hump him, you be my guest,” Tony said.

Hawthorn sighed. “You ain’t being very cool about this.”

“You did hump me. That’s not very cool either.”

“But it was an accident!”

“So? You want me to have a little accident too?” Tony asked. He pantomimed humping Hawthorn’s thigh thigh.

“You don’t even wanna do anything like that,” Hawthorn said. But he saw Tony raise his eyebrows and realized that wasn’t true — he wished he hadn’t said that, as it implied he would allow Tony to do so if he did want to. Which, it seemed, he did.

“I don’t want to,” Tony said. “But I will.”

Hawthorn sighed again. It would hardly be the worst thing that had ever happened to him — for country boys like Hawthorn, campouts and hunting trips often led to much more compromising sexual adventures than a little dry humping. But he still didn’t want to go through with it.

Tony pulled his own shorts down, followed by Hawthorn’s. His fat limp cock was wedged between Hawthorn’s cheeks.

“Hey, this is more than you did to me. You’re almost fucking me!” Hawthorn said.

“You was pretty damn close to fucking me,” Tony said. He began grinding his dick in between Hawthorn’s sweat-lubed asscheeks.

“We wasn’t naked though,” Hawthorn said. He always tried to act confident, even when he wasn’t, but bending over so Tony could hump his asscheeks was making it hard to feel confident. He thought it would be almost easier to actually be raped than this weird pseudo-sex. But he certainly didn’t want to admit that.

“Well, consider that your punishment for doing it without permission,” Tony said. His dick was getting hard and leaking precum, which lubed him up. The stickiness was spreading up to the small of Hawthorn’s back and down to his taint.

“This is fucking gross,” Hawthorn said.

“I agree, that’s why I was disgusted you started it. You better tell people, if anyone ever brings it up or makes fun of me, you tell people that I humped you back.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hawthorn grunted in shame. “I’ll make sure everyone knows about this. I’ll put it on my fucking resume.”

“Ah shit, here it comes, get ready,” Tony said with a laugh. He stopped humping with his cockhead just poking out above Hawthorn’s hips, so his load shot across Hawthorn’s back. He had a huge wad of cum, warm and sticky on Hawthorn’s flesh all the way up to his neck.

The semen sat there, so hot it felt near burning on Hawthorn’s skin. He tried to wipe it off with a hand but had trouble reaching behind himself, so he had to use his own bath towel. He still felt filthy as he straightened his back, avoiding eye contact with Tony.

“Alright,” Tony said. “Now we’re even.”

The Black Boxer, Ball-Sweat and One Sexy Sauna

Here’s a sample from The Black Boxer, Ball-Sweat and One Sexy Sauna, a new story of hardcore alpha male black service and raunchy gym sauna sweat worship! It’s now available through Kindle Unlimited, and if you don’t have that, it’s also in the great-value bundle The Sweetest Musk, Vol. 6!


When Tom transferred to the Irontop Gym of Queens, he assumed it would be like the gym he had long worked at. After being purchased by Irontop Gyms Enterprises, nothing much had changed aside from the signage. He took well to the Irontop corporate structure. Tom felt like moving to a big city, and he happened to see an opening in Queens. Irontop Gyms Enterprises had a policy of preferring internal advancement, so he thought he might as well apply. Moving to New York City sounded like fun, so he sent in his application on a lark.

At the time, he thought he might not even go if he got a job offer. It was just a spur of the moment decision to apply. But when he actually was offered the job, he took it. He didn’t even really know why, he just thought it was time to make a change.

Besides, he was tired of being one of very few openly gay men in his tiny corner of Wisconsin. He had already dated the eligible gays, and found them all wanting. He knew that Irontop Gyms weren’t normally meeting places for gays — they only had that reputation in Wisconsin. So he wasn’t surprised that the Irontop of Queens was different than the Irontop of Elkington.

But what did surprise him was that it wasn’t even a normal gym at all. It had all the normal equipment, and it was men-only just like all Irontop Gyms, but it was mainly a gym for boxers. There was a large boxing ring in the center, and the equipment was scattered around nearby. Punching bags and old-fashioned medicine balls abounded.

Another thing he found surprising was that it was almost entirely black. There was another Irontop Gym down the street, which Tom thought was strange until he realized the unofficial demarcation between the two — this one was for black men, and a smattering of Latinos; the other one was for white men.

As the only white guy on staff, Tom felt a bit out-of-place. He even considered transferring to the other one, but they didn’t have an opening and besides, it would seem blatantly rude, maybe even racist, to switch right away. So he stuck it out.

He tried to avoid staring. Tom knew he couldn’t pass for straight if he had wanted to, so he didn’t try that. He just didn’t want to look like a leering pervert, especially when he noticed one boxer, Jaequon Darling, who had a handsome face and a sexy heavyweight body. Tom’s dick stirred in his pants from the moment he saw Jaequon. He felt flush and giddy like a schoolboy having his first crush, and he blushed the one time he felt Jaequon’s eyes on him.

He managed to avoid making a scene though. His first day was easy enough, and he was glad to have avoided making a fool of himself. He was just about to walk out the front door when a middle-aged black man stopped him.

“Hey, fancy-boy,” said the man. “You off now right?” He looked like he used to be a boxer, with a powerful frame, flat ears and a crooked nose. His scruffy beard was tinged with gray, but he was still vibrant and sexy in his own way — Tom had always liked the daddy-types.

Tom nodded, not sure if he should be insulted by the term fancy-boy or not. And had he intended it as an insult or did he figure out that Tom was gay? He probably had figured it out, but Tom wasn’t sure.

“C’mon wit’ me,” he said, and walked towards the back without waiting to see if Tom agreed, or even understood. He had such an authoritarian vibe, however, that Tom followed without giving it a second thought. The man stopped outside the door to the sauna. He sneered at it as though he was disgusted by saunas. He looked at Tom. “My boy Jaequon is in there. He wanna see you.”

“He wanna see me? What for?”

“Don’t ask,” said the man. “Just do it.” He opened the door. Tom hesitated before stripping off his shirt and shoes, then walking in. It was a nice summer day, so he had worn his jogging shorts to go back to his apartment. The sauna was thick with fog, and at first, Tom didn’t see Jaequon at all. His shorts fabric clung to his skin with moisture.

“Yo, Pops, when can I come out?” Jaequon asked when the door was open.

The man slammed the door shut without answering, then yelled from outside. “Later, nigga. You got a pound and a half to sweat off. Or whatever, shoot off.” His words made Tom shudder with anticipation — was he really going to get to service Jaequon?

The Werewolf, the Jock and the Mahogany Stud

Here’s a sample from The Werewolf, the Jock and the Mahogany Stud, a new story of hetero alpha male interracial shifter sex!

This was an interesting development, she thought as she caught a glimpse of his glistening biceps. Paula had thought moving to this nice suburban HOA-monitored development would mean a quiet life at home. That quiet, idyllic lifestyle was precisely why she decided to move there. But her neighbor had proven to be someone very interesting indeed, and as long as he was next door, Paula knew her home life would be exciting. She could never resist seducing men she found alluring.

“Hey, Raheem,” she spoke through the fence slats separating their yards, just a few days after she moved in — she had hoped he would hit on her, but it seemed if he was going to do that, he was going to take his time. So she decided to take a more proactive position. He was on his back porch, lifting weights, grunting. “How are you doing?”

Between grunts, he said, “‘Sup. Just gettin’ ready for the game.” He played for the Baltimore Blues, the pro football team nearby — Paula had never had any interest in football, but she was certainly interested in any football player who looked like Raheim. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and he had a broad, strapping body, without a six-pack; that was her preference, since Paula liked men who have a little meat on their muscle.

“So… are you the kind of athlete who likes to have sex before a game? Or just after?” she said. She blushed, and was glad he couldn’t see her face clearly through the fence, so he couldn’t tell how hard she was blushing. It probably sounded sexier that way.

He chuckled as he put the free weights down. “Fuck… Before, during, after, I don’t care. You want me to come over?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You want me to shower first?”

“No, I don’t. I want to be there for the shower.”

He smiled like a cocky bastard, his handsome face barely visible through the slats in the fence. He nodded and hurried out to the front yard, where he could come over to her side of the fence. When she saw him, Paula felt her knees go weak — shirtless and already so horny he was walking funny, Raheem was an ungodly sexy beast of a man.

She jumped onto his chest, and he grabbed her. She kissed him and held his sweaty shoulders. She normally was a very clean person and would not have done something like this, but she knew they were about to share a shower, so she decided to go for it. His clean sweat and overwhelming musk turned out to be erotic, however, and her pussy was instantly just as wet as his chest.

He chuckled as her tongue explored his chest, clutching him tightly so he held on to her as he carried her inside. His torso was rock-hard, tensed to hold her aloft. She suckled on each nipple and directed him to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, baby…” he murmured. “I’m glad you talked to me. I had you pegged for a feminist who wouldn’t want me to holla atcha.”

The shower turned on, but Paula knew they weren’t actually going to make it that far. By the time the water warmed up — it took a long time in her house — Raheem had already dove his head between her legs. They slipped into the tub as the water sprayed over them both.

His tongue was impossibly thick and long, and it made Paula shake with sexual desire. She gripped his broad shoulders as he lapped at her.

“Fuck yeah,” Paula muttered. She blushed — she didn’t normally let herself show how much she wanted a man, especially the first time they were together. It was easier, she had always thought, to pretend not to care. She didn’t like giving men the power of knowing they were good at sex; it always turned them into cocky jerks.

But she couldn’t hide it from Raheem. Her limbs shuddered, and he smiled at her reaction. She reached for his thick cock, and stroked it, but the position was awkward in the bath tub, and she was too distracted on his attention to her clitoris to really jack him off. She enjoyed the solid meatiness of his iron cock.

Paula was so focused on the pleasure suffusing through her body that she didn’t notice right away when he stopped. He lifted her up in the bathtub, all in one smooth motion. She squealed and grabbed the shower curtain, her vulva rubbing up and down his chest as she lowered herself.

He slipped his cock inside her with a dog-like growl. Paula was so moist and eager that she took every inch without a problem. Supporting herself on his body, Paula ground down on his cock.

Wave after wave of pleasure wracked her body. Paula screamed so loud it rattled the picture frames on the wall, and Raheem chuckled at her reaction. He had a gruff, growly quality when he fucked, like a rutting animal. He even barked at her as they both approached orgasm together.

He gyrated and thrust his hips, pressing his cock into her. Paula straightened her back. She grabbed his chest and held on tight as energy overwhelmed her. She dug her nails into his skin.

He barked and howled again, and she buried her head in his chest. He grunted, and she yelped. Her toes curled next to his powerful torso.

At last he was done. He sprayed his load inside her, shooting so much she felt it dripping down onto the floor of her new bathtub. She sighed as she shook in his arm. Tremendous relief flowed through her body.

“Whoah,” he said with a laugh now that it was over. “Nice to meetcha, neighbor.” He pulled up his workout shorts.

“Yeah, that was nice. I’m glad to live next to you,” Paula said. “I just might start watching football.”

“Hell yeah. We got a game this weekend, baby.”

Paula blushed. “Raheem… I, uh, I-“

“Nah,” he said. He pulled away from her defensively, as he kneeled to put his shoes back on.. “You gonna ask me to be yo’ boyfriend, right? I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I got… reasons,” he said. He stood up and tucked his cock away. “We ain’t got a serious relationship, and we never will. But come on by whenever you want some more of my meat.”

Paula had rarely felt so rejected. The worst part was that she couldn’t stop herself from watching his plump ass sway as he walked out the door. Once he was gone, however, Paula wanted to cry.

No Homo: Jocks

Here’s a sample from No Homo: Jocks, a new story in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica that’s too hot for “gay sex”! This entry is all about college jocks hazing the freshmen on the wrestling team!

As soon as he got to his first practice on the college team, George regretted signing up for wrestling back in high school. The team had been short one man, and the coach, his mother’s boyfriend, insisted he join up, just so he could put it on his college application. Since George’s admission to college was in doubt, it seemed like a good plan. Colleges were competitive in 1951 on account of so many soldiers attending on the GI Bill, and George needed to do something to differentiate himself from all the other high schoolers with good, but not great, grades.

But then in his first, and only, match on the high school team, he drew three weak opponents, defeated them all and became the team savior. There was even a college scout there who signed him up on the spot for a scholarship at Goldendale Hills University, the elite private school in Mississippi.

He was elated then. But when he showed up for orientation in the required suit and tie, he realized that staying on the team was a prerequisite to keeping his scholarship, without which he had no hope of continuing his education. It had all seemed so simple before it began.

So George knew he needed to learn how to wrestle for real. This wasn’t his rinky-dink little town in southern Mississippi, this was a major sport at a big school. He’d be competing against the cream of the crop.

That put a lot of pressure on him, which wasn’t helped by his heavy workload. As a pre-engineering student, he would be taking a lot of dense math classes that he was sure he’d struggle with. The thought of being unable to balance his work and school, and having to go home to his mother a failure, made his heart race.

The first practice was easy enough. It was a lot of running and some other general exercises, along with a bunch of yelling from Coach Winnow about representing the university well. George was fit and quick, and a few of the clumsier boys attracted Winnow’s ire that first day, so George managed to acquit himself well.

As that first practice ended, George and the other wrestlers kneeled, listening to Coach Winnow go over the sports program’s rules. “That means that if I find out any of you are breaking the law, or consorting with girls, or anything like that, you are off the team,” he said. Then he looked around nervously. “Anybody here Jewish?” Nobody said anything. “Then I expect all of you at chapel on Sundays too. And if you’re Catholic, you can go to Saint Andrew’s. The college sends a bus in the morning, and I know Father Murphy, so I will make sure you’re there. No excuses.” He motioned into the crowd of young men, and one of the other wrestlers stepped forward.

Wayne Dashell was tall, and looked too old to be in college, George thought, at least twenty-five (though he later claimed to be only twenty-one). He had a thick shock of dirty blond hair and a smattering of it on his chest, which was broad and strapping, his muscles straining against the singlet he wore. He was the oldest and biggest senior, and he grinned like a cocky bastard as Coach Winnow introduced him.

“Most of you’s already met Wayne. He’s the team captain. What he says, goes. If he tells me you ain’t giving this team everything you got, then you are off the team,” Coach Winnow said. “Now go shower up.”

They walked slowly towards the locker, but then Winnow clapped and shouted something angry that George couldn’t quite make out. He gathered the gist of it was “Run, shitheads!”, since that was what everyone else did, so George sprinted the rest of the way to the locker room. The crowd of wrestlers were so intent on following Coach’s directions, they almost charged en masse into a colored janitor who pushed a mop bucket through the hall.

George and a few other freshmen in front fell in a pile near the colored janitor, who just smirked and walked away. George squirmed as he tried to free himself from the writhing pile of freshmen. Wayne and the other seniors laughed and threw their sweat-stained practice singlets at them as they went by. More than a few stripped even further than that, standing there in the hall in the nude as they watched the freshmen scamper away from their jockstraps.

Freshmen pile on!

Spitting away the salty fabric of someone’s undershirt, George rose to his feet. He tried to appear nonplussed by it, but he had always been a clean boy and didn’t like this kind of close contact with other men and their clothes. He knew there’d be a lot of hazing here at college though, so it wasn’t a surprise.

The upperclassmen stood imposingly above George, here in the hall, right outside the locker. No one was around, but still, George was shocked — in his hometown, men just didn’t get naked outside of the locker room. He stood there dumbfounded as one hairy Italian-type man bared a thick hairy prick. He wagged it in George’s direction.

“Hey!” Coach Winnow barked from the gym. “Git in there! What’d I tell you about strippin’ off in the halls? There’s wimmin on staff here, Joey!”

Joey smiled proudly but did as he was told; he waited for Coach Winnow to turn around, then grabbed his crotch and spat on the ground. George followed the last of the seniors into the locker room. It was not a large room, and George felt cramped immediately. There wasn’t really enough space for the entire team to change at once. He felt more than one limp, greasy cock brush against his hand as he found an empty locker. It looked like the others by and large weren’t upset by it, so George pretended he didn’t mind the nudity and cock-contact either.

George was nervous. He had never liked naked showering with his teammates, and at his high school, his mother had intervened to get him out of it. He had always claimed the humidity upset his lungs, but in truth he was self-conscious about a smallish penis. He hoped nobody noticed, especially as he saw a few of the freshmen, including Wayne and Joey, were noticeably huge — that was probably why they were so willing to get naked in the hallway.

“Freshmen get the Corner!” the seniors called out as they lined up at the shower entrance. They were naked, sneering and carrying thick wooden paddles, which they had gotten from a closet in one corner of the locker room. The Corner apparently referred to one showerhead that stuck out more than the others, and looked older, as though it was a relic of an earlier showering area that had later been expanded. This one showerhead was large enough that its spray covered the entire corner with vaguely rust-flavored water, which freshmen were required to share so the older players could shower freely in the modern-day showerheads.

The freshmen were lined up at the entrance, where the seniors and juniors barred entry. The two biggest seniors were right there watching as the freshmen got ready. They had their hands on their hips, thick cocks swinging between their legs. Since both men were very tall, their crotches were at most of the freshmen’s belly-height, or even higher.

Let’s see ‘em, nitwits! We gotta examine yer meat! Better meet the minimum or you get beat!

George’s heart skipped as he saw what was happening — before going in the shower, all the freshmen had to compare cocks with the five head seniors. Anyone smaller than all five got a paddling on the way in. The upperclassmen inside the shower brandished paddles and smiled at the younger men.

“It’s for your own good!” Wayne called out as the fourth freshman in line, a ratty, lanky kid with a faint mustache, winced. “Paddling makes your dick bigger!” The other seniors laughed and hooted as though they really believed that.

The lean freshman bent over and blushed, but the seniors weren’t so quick, telling him to wait until everyone had gone through the line. He was the first to be singled out for his small penis, which was a relief to George — he hoped he would pass the exam, but he was glad to at least not be the first to fail.

“What’s your name, little boy?”

“Travis Barnett,” said the lean kid, while the other seniors began quickly checking through the other freshmen. “I’m not a boy. I’m almost nineteen.”

“You got a cock like a little boy.”

Travis, who blushed beet-red, was still the only one pulled aside when George got to the front of the line. As soon as he saw the seniors’ naked cocks, he knew he would be paddled too. They were huge, seemingly impossibly huge — he didn’t think cocks came that big, much less that all five of them would be so gigantic.

Joey, that hairy Italian barrel-chested swarthy bastard was at front. George had never liked Italians very much. Joey whacked his own dick against George’s, smiling as he said, “Hey boys, I think we gotst another one.” He seemed to delight in watching George squirm at their cock-to-cock contact. George thought this kind of touching was inappropriate, maybe even sinful, but he wasn’t surprised that Joey didn’t see things that way — George’s pa had always said Italian men were like that. If’n you ever get locked up, George, pull whatever strings you have to so you ain’t got an Eyeteye for a cellmate, they’ll take your manhood like it were’t nothin’. George had always assumed that was his father exaggerating, as he was prone to do, but he felt sure that Joey was dangerous.

“Lookit him, he got a dick like my thumb,” Joey said.

They all crowded around to look. Joey’s dick was at least ten inches long and as thick as George’s forearm. He took his own dick and George’s in the same hand, stroking both shafts together. Joey was at least twice as long as George, and even thicker in comparison.

Damn, Joey, you touchin’ him!

“Cuz I ain’t mingherlino,” Joey said. It was obvious that he didn’t really speak Italian and he used that word — whose meaning George didn’t know — without really pronouncing it right. He probably had only a vague idea what it meant himself. “You squeamish weaklings are worried you’ll get hard if you touch another man.” He laughed and rubbed his entire hairy body against George’s, to prove that he didn’t get hard.

George blushed beet-red, though he tried to look stoic. Next to him was Travis, the puny redneck who looked like he was on the verge of tears as he and George were led into the shower.

“Bend over and grab your ankles, you pencil-dicked freaks!” Joey bellowed. He looked on hungrily at the pair of fresh-faced freshmen stammering as they got into position. George’s cock had never felt so small. “Come on, girls, grab your ankles. Keep your butt up!”

George did as he was commanded. He grabbed his ankles and tried to ignore the hot, humid shower air wafting over his suddenly open asshole.

The first sharp crack of pain made him yelp, and the whole team laughed, even the other freshmen. Make the fresh piggies cry! But when Travis started sobbing after his first hit, everyone soon started to ignore George.

Toughen up, little piggie!

The sound of the paddle slapping against Travis’ ass caused George to feel like he was being hit all over again; it made his ass-cheeks twinge with remembered pain. The upperclassmen switched between paddling Travis and George, but when it became apparent that George was not reacting much and Travis was crying, they gradually forgot that George was supposed to be paddled too.

If you don’t stop crying, we’ll give you something to sob about, you little weakling!

Shove the handle up his ass!

He stood up when it was done, gently rubbing his red asscheeks. George pretended to be in more pain than he was, in the hope that everyone would forget he was still owed more paddling. Travis had difficulty staying still, and so Wayne was holding him down as Joey whacked him with the paddle. Wayne’s blond hair shook and dripped with shower water as he hugged Travis tight. He even made sure to line his crotch up with Travis’, so as Travis writhed in agony, his small cock pressed against Wayne’s oversized meat.

The most disconcerting aspect of all this, George thought, was that a couple of the seniors were starting to get hard. They weren’t quite erect, but George saw their cockshafts jerk to attention when Travis’ thick cheeks jiggled. Back in high school, when someone had a boner in the shower, the rest of the team teased them about it mercilessly. He was shocked that the wrestling team here at GHU took it so lightly. No one even seemed to notice, even when Joey’s hand instinctually fluttered to his own dick; he gave it a stroke. George gasped (and he thought some of the other naked freshmen nearby did the same) — he masturbated himself right here in front of everyone, only for a moment and he didn’t blow his wad, but still, as far as George was concerned, that was beyond the pale.

Any girl who sees that is gonna laugh at you, limp-dick!

Finally it was all over. The seniors laughed at Travis’ red, tear-stained face, but one of their buddies had run by the shower to tell them something about a party with girls, and now the seniors were in a hurry to finish up and get out of there. They continued calling Travis a girl as they showered, however, and Travis stayed there pretending he wasn’t on the verge of tears.

Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed that George didn’t get all of the paddlings he had been promised. He hurried up and got out of there as soon as he could do so without attracting attention. He avoided making eye contact with Travis on the way out.