Straight Trade at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of Straight Trade at the City Barbershop, a hot new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s the sequel to City Barbershop Downlow, but it’s a standalone story, no need to have read that one. It’s about the City Barbershop, a company with a special tradition — what happens between men there stays between men there!

This story is now available for a great low price as part of the bundle Gay Ebony Erotica, Vol. 1, which has three novelettes, three shorts and bonus content

 

Quincy had worked for the City Barbershop of Brooklyn for more than five years, so it wasn’t easy to leave. On the other hand, he had been considering moving on for some time. It was a comfortable position. Quincy was a good barber. The perks were exciting.

But it had become boring to Quincy regardless. So when his brother was arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, Quincy decided to move to Baltimore to be near him. He had enough saved to rent an apartment, which he could even share with his brother, who was out on bail in the run-up to the trial.

Even more importantly, he got a job before he arrived in Baltimore. He was hired by the local City Barbershop franchise, which gladly accepted his transfer from the establishment in Brooklyn. Quincy was happy to be in a new city while having the security of the same job he had had back in Brooklyn.

The aspect of this job that he liked best — aside from the flexible schedule so he could support his brother — was the sex. The City Barbershop was a notorious chain of black-owned barbershops with a peculiar reputation as a place for sex on the downlow. Black men who needed a little action on the side went there, and barbers like Quincy serviced them. Quincy loved swinging on straight black meat, so it was an ideal situation for him.

When he showed up on his first morning, he met Reggie, the man who had hired him over the phone. He owned the City Barbershop of Baltimore. He was a tall, lean-muscled man in his early forties, with a square jaw and old-fashioned jheri-curl hair.

“Sup, smoothness,” Reggie said with a low roar, bopping on his feet as he danced to unheard music in the empty barbershop. No one else was here yet. He wore a fine purple suit, like a pimp, and when he shook Quincy’s hand, he used both of his hands, then leaned in and hugged him expansively. “You must be Quincy, yeah? Paul told me all about ya.”

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you,” Quincy said. He upped his flamboyance as far as it would go, both to be sure Reggie realized it and because he thought Reggie was sexy. He was a throwback to the 1980s, but he was a sexy throwback.

Reggie ran his fingers through his hair. He smiled and dipped and dapped as he showed Quincy to the chair he’d be using. Quincy had a bag with some of his own equipment, which he set up while Reggie told him about the store’s policies. This place operated much the same as Quincy’s old one, so he felt sure he’d be comfortable here.

“Now… I need to be headin’ upstairs in a few minutes,” Reggie said. “I gots a staff meeting coming up real soon. I gotta be ready for that.”

“Oh? A staff meeting? I’ll meet-”

“Nah, not a barbershop staff meeting,” Reggie said. His voice lost its ebullience, and he lowered his eyes. “I got other business interests.” From his knowing tone, Quincy gathered that his other business was illegal, presumably some sort of drug dealing. That was another aspect of most City Barbershops, one that Quincy would have gladly done without.

“Oh,” Quincy said. “Okay. I guess I’ll wait down here. It’s almost nine o’clock anyway.”

Reggie paused. He bit his lip and smiled awkwardly. He resumed shifting his feet in tune to a beat only he heard. Quincy could tell what he was going to say before he opened his mouth, but he let him continue. Quincy liked watching nervous straight men proposition him. Reggie’s jheri-curl shook as he stumbled over his words.

“I was, uh… Paul told me that you was… uh… y’know, a real good nigga, a model employee,” he said. “He… said you provide a high level of service.”

“That’s right,” Quincy said. He smiled bashfully. “I always treat customers with the utmost respect.” He made sure to end with a kissy face, which appeared to make Reggie horny. He swayed his hips too, shaking his ass for Reggie’s benefit.

Reggie clutched at his crotch through his black slacks. His thick dick was momentarily outlined. Quincy licked his lips but didn’t do anything explicit — he wanted to make Reggie work for it.

“So, uh… you… wanna come in the backroom wit’ me?”

“What’s back there?” Quincy asked. He put one hand on his hips and jutted out his ass.

Reggie murmured through gritted teeth. “Something you gonna enjoy, boy. You gonna enjoy it real nice.” Then he moved closer, so close he almost kissed Quincy. “I’m-a fuck you Quincy. I’m-a fuck you in any way you want it.”

“Any way I want it?”

“Any way, nigga. You got a ass I need, and you got nice dick-suckin’ lips. I fuck you in whichever hole you want. You want me in both? I’ll grow a second dick for ya, boy, right here and now.”

Quincy blushed. “Well, I’d like to see that. But why don’t we start with just one hole at a time?” he said. He held out his hand, which Reggie took gallantly. He kissed the back of Quincy’s hand like he was seducing him, then led him into the backroom.

The backroom was a lot like the one in Brooklyn, Quincy thought. He giggled at the sight of a stack of porn mags in one corner of the closet. Reggie sneered and pushed them away.

“Some of dem niggas can’t do it wit’out some trim to look at,” Reggie thought. He unzipped his fly and pulled out a massive cock and low-handing pair of balls. “Back in my day, that weren’t the way it was. A nigga wasn’t never ashamed of getting hard. Now they gotta pretend they don’t really like getting head from a nigga.” He leaned in and kissed Quincy on the lips. It was a quick, chaste kiss, but it sent a thrill of desire up Quincy’s spine.

Then Quincy sunk to his knees. “No one can pretend they don’t like my head,” Quincy said. That made Reggie chuckle, until his voice broke and he gasped as his dick disappeared down Quincy’s throat.

Since he wanted to make a good first impression, Quincy moved slow and deep. He produced copious spit and let it drip all over Reggie’s pants. He lovingly traced the veins that lined Reggie’s dick.

“Hey, I gotta make a phone call,” Reggie said with a grin that vanished as he dialed. He had an old-fashioned fliphone. His smile was replaced by an angry scowl. “Yo, nigga. Is you suckin’ my dick right now? Huh? I say, is you suckin’ my dick right now? Oh? Cuz I know I tol’ you to come in here at eight forty-five from now on, and the only person here besides me is that new nigga. He got a pretty face and he suckin’ my dick right now. Is that you? No? That’s funny, Opie. I could’ve sworn I nearly fired you and you promised you’d never be late again. You swore you’d be here early from now on. Did that happen? It did, huh? I dunno, Opie. Maybe. I have to think about it. If you don’t get here by nine, I am gonna make you suck my dick and I will fire you. I ain’t even gonna want a blowjob cuz I’m getting an expert one now, but I will shove my limp dick down your throat, boy.” Then there was a long pause. Reggie sighed into the phone, and Opie laughed loudly on the other end. “Yeah, he queer. You think I’m just rapin’ the new guy or some shit? I’m saving my rape for you, nigga. I’m savin’ up a big nice barrel full of rape for yo’ late ass. Yeah, I better see you then.” He hung up and shook his head. “I oughta prison-rape the joy outta that nigga’s life.”

There was some movement out in the main barbershop now. It sounded like a few people had arrived and were getting ready. Presumably Opie was not among them. Conversation murmured though Quincy didn’t hear any of the words.

He focused instead on the silken texture and sweet flavor of Reggie’s massive meat. He smiled as he deep-throated it, and Reggie crooned. This was nice, Quincy had to admit, Reggie was right that a lot of niggas at the City Barbershop had to prove how straight they were by being mean when Quincy serviced them. Quincy did enjoy that — he had always had a wild hair for humiliation and throatfucking. But it was nice to be treated like a joyous present once in a while as well.

Then conversation out in the barbershop died suddenly. Something had happened, Quincy thought, something that sent a chill in the air.

The door to the backroom opened, and someone walked in. From his vantage point inside the back closet, Quincy couldn’t see who it was.

The newcomer hesitated. Reggie let out a low moan, which made the person in the backroom chuckle nervously.

“Whatchoo doin’ back there, Reggie? You fuckin’ another fat bitch?” The door swung open, and that deep, gruff, young man’s voice burst into nervous laughter. “Oh, damn, nigga. You doin’ that, huh?”

“Yeah… Lil Blue, this is Quincy. Quincy, this is Lil Blue. He works for me. He ain’t a barber. He got… other duties. He here for that staff meeting I was tellin’ you about.”

Quincy turned around to say hi, but he hesitated when he saw how ungodly handsome Lil Blue was. He must have gotten the name from his sapphire-colored eyes, which contrasted with his high-yellow skin. He had a nervous, deep-dimpled grin as he watched Reggie luxuriously hump Quincy’s mouth. “Nice to meetcha, Lil Blue.”

Lil Blue just nodded gruffly. He didn’t seem to much like gay people.

“Nah,” Reggie said. “You say hello like a nice nigga, Lil Blue.”

Lil Blue sighed as though he had argued about this with Reggie before. He rolled his eyes. “Nice to meet you too, Quincy. I don’t fuck around on the downlow, just so you know. I got bitches. Females. Female bitches.”

The door opened then, just as Quincy returned to Reggie’s dick. Two more young black men came in, talking about some argument that had occurred recently. They were Terrence and Pumper, and they laughed like Lil Blue had when they saw what as going on. “Damn, Reggie, that shit’s nasty. Can’t you be ashamed of it like a normal nigga?”

“Yeah, hide that shit… Ain’t supposed to let no one know you fuck around in the City Barbershop. That’s a rule and shit. You gotta at least shut the door.”

“Shut the the fuck up,” Reggie said absent-mindedly. He focused on grinding his moist dick deep down Quincy’s throat.

Lil Blue, Terrence and Pumper moved to go upstairs, but Reggie stopped them. “All three of you niggas is too squeamish,” he said. “You wait right here and watch.”

“Man, nigga-“

“Fuck that!”

“No way!”

But despite their words, none of them moved to disobey Reggie. They averted their eyes and shifted their weight on their feet as Quincy sucked. Reggie moaned and grunted. He was putting on a show, Quincy thought, making the others as uncomfortable as possible.

His dick pulsated against Quincy’s tongue, and just like Reggie made this as exaggerated and extreme as he could manage, so did Quincy guzzle and sputter like a champion. Spit dribbled past his lips and down Reggie’s shaft, while the younger straight bucks watching tittered nervously.

“Ugh, I can smell yo’ old nigga-nut, Reggie,” Pumper said with a frown. The others laughed along with him.

Reggie mumbled something that was maybe an insult or maybe a threat, or maybe a little of both. He didn’t really articulate any words though, just a general sound that communicated his disdain for Pumper. Quincy didn’t listen anyway; he focused on slathering spit moistly all along Reggie’s dick, and sucking up every drop of precum that hit his lips.

Since Reggie was such an animated fucker, it was apparent that his orgasm was imminent for a minute or two before it arrived. He tweaked his own nipples and grunted, his old-fashioned jive disappearing momentarily as he was overcome by pleasure. His knees buckled and he bit his lip.

Cum flowed down Quincy’s throat. That familiar sour-sweet flavor overwhelmed his senses, and Quincy grunted as he swallowed it all. It tasted of masculine musk and sweat, which made Quincy so aroused he would have kept sucking forever, but Reggie removed his dick. He wiped the spit off on Quincy’s face.

“Damn, nigga, that was a hell of a blowjob… You is gonna be a valuable part of this organization,” Reggie said so forcefully it made his audience laugh. He tucked his dick away in his pants.

When Reggie was done, Quincy turned around and blushed — someone knew had entered. Another older man, around Reggie’s age, but without the 1980s-look. This was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shit and tie, a bristly mustache and a serious, no-nonsense look on his face. He looked like a businessman, but Quincy got the feeling he was a gangsta just like Lil Blue and the rest — he was simply the respectable face of the business.

“Quincy, that there is Winslow,” Reggie said. “He’s my business partner.”

Winslow nodded at Quincy, who wiped the cum off his lips. He blushed; Winslow was very hot, and he checked out Quincy’s ass, so Quincy knew he was achievable. Reggie wiped his dick off and stuffed it back in his pants. He sighed, rubbing Quincy’s cheek, then looked to Winslow and the others.

“You ready fo’ this meeting?” Winslow asked like he was annoyed he had to wait. Reggie nodded, and they all went up the stairs that connected to the corner of the backroom. Quincy wiped his face off, pounded himself off real quick, and then headed back to the front to meet his new coworkers. He was already greatly enjoying his new job.

Str8core Pimp Submission

This is the beginning of Str8core Pimp Submission, a hot new story of… well, str8core pimp submission. It’s about a white prison bitch who’s been released but feels he needs to have a big black cock to order him around. When he hooks up with an alpha pimp named Starling, all hell breaks loose! This is a sequel to Cuckolded by Gangbangers, and it follows Robert’s life after that stories incredible bisexual action!

For a better value, consider reading this story in the Ultimate Str8core Submission Trilogy, which also includes Str8core Sheriff Submission and Str8core Sheikh Submission! Note: There is a fourth one, Str8core Addict Submission, which is so hot it made Amazon’s servers explode, so it is only available through Smashwords (use the coupon code: SY65E for a 67% discount).

 

Robert followed Starling through the streets of Atlanta. His heart pounded, and he felt eyes following him. He had never been in this part of the city. It was the worst ghetto in Atlanta, full of boarded-up storefronts and grizzled homeless men stumbling past. One lean, rat-faced thug called out offers to sell crack, uncaring of who heard. Robert shuddered. Aside from being so open, it reminded him of prison.

(Only thing you good for is suckin’ nigga dick. You know you want it too, every honky is beggin’ to have big black cock shoved inside ‘em. That’s what honkies like you always want. Ain’t it, bitch? It’s only in a prison cell that you can’t hide how you feel no mo’.)

They stopped at a nasty motel, where Starling went straight to one of the rooms. Inside it was dark, and it smelled of blunts and sex. Robert shivered with anticipation. This was it. He was finally going to have a purpose in life again.

As soon as Robert was inside, Starling slammed the door shut. He straightened the white tie on his mustard-yellow suit. His tongue pushed against his lower lip as he looked over Robert’s body.

“I don’t normally sell male hos,” he said. He sneered. “But I ain’t nevuh say no to a new bitch neither. Even if you can only make a few dollars, it was a few dollars I ain’t gonna have any other way.”

“Okay-“

He slapped Robert across the face. Then he barked, “I ain’t ask you for an answer, bitch. You wanna be my bitch? You shut yo’ mouth till I tell you to open it.”

Robert was a slim young man who had always been straight. Everything changed just two years ago. His wife cheated on him with a group of black thugs — an event documented in Cuckolded by Gangbangers — and pushed him to suck their big black balls as they fucked her. That led to a string of events that culminated in Robert being sent to Brutewood Prison. There he had been raped repeatedly by a different black man, who had told him when he left that he needed to find a pimp.

(You’s a bitch now. You might not be my bitch no mo’, but you still a bitch. So when you get out this joint, you find yo’self a new daddy who can pimp you out. Don’t you even think about goin’ straight, bitch. Ain’t nothin’ there fo’ you.)

Robert didn’t have to do what his owner said, now that he wasn’t in prison anymore. He knew there was nothing forcing him to submit to any pimp. His former prison master was behind bars for life, and hadn’t even claimed he could punish Robert from inside. It was really entirely up to Robert

But he had been submitting to niggas for what felt like forever. He didn’t have a wife to go home to anymore, and he had a criminal record, so he didn’t think he could get a real job anyway. Now he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel right again unless he had a big black cock inside him, and a mandingo daddy to treat him like shit. He needed a real man like Starling to tell him what to do.

(Tell that nigga ovuh there you suck his dick for ten dollah. If he say no, you offer to suck his dick fo’ five dollah. If he say no to that, you offer one dollah. If he say no to that, come back he’e so’s I can punch yo’ teeth in.)

After a long silence, Starling spat in Robert’s face. His spit was thick and stinky. Robert gagged and tears came up in his eyes. He tried to wipe his face off, but Starling pushed his hand down.

“Bitch,” Starling said. It wasn’t an accusation or a question, just a word, angrily sputtered so that it hung there in the air like a nasty fart. Robert winced.

“Yes, I need you to take me in as a-“

“You already told me that. Don’t evuh tell me what you need again,” he said. He smacked Robert in the face. “You’s an ugly bitch. I ain’t gonna be able to sell you off as some high-class ho.”

(Make that nice prison-bitch cock-sucking face again, the one with the tears on yo’ cheek- There it is, you so pretty when you cry, bitch. I like how yo’ ass shake in that cocktail dress too.)

Robert blushed. He had been handsome back in college, and not a lot had changed, but his hair had thinned and his face was gaunt now, lined with wrinkles of anxiety that came from his time in prison.

“Please let me be a ho…” Robert said. Tears twinkled in his eyes. He felt naked in the skimpy cocktail dress he had worn. He was given that to wear in prison. It had been humiliating at the time, but now he felt he needed it. It showed off his feminine legs and wide ass.

Str8 Till Dark: Bunkmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Bunkmates, a new story from Brutewood Correctional. It’s part of the Str8 Till Dark series of hardcore str8-trade erotica!

 

Henderson tried hard to remain cool. It wasn’t easy. He knew there was a good chance he’d be beaten to death before his trial, and even if he made it, there was no telling what would happen. He had been charged with resisting arrest, and the police had said they could add narcotics distribution and the attempted murder of a police officer.

He was innocent of most of those charges — he sold marihuana, sure, but he hadn’t resisted arrest so much as walked away from an officer, and he had struggled when handcuffed, but hadn’t tried to kill anyone. It wasn’t fair.

Still, he had been preparing for this night for a long time. Most of his childhood, Henderson had listened to his uncle talk about his numerous stints behind bars. “No nigga is nevah gonna skip it, boi,” he said over and over, “You listen up. You gonna need to know this sooner or later. Prolly sooner.” He had given all kinds of terrible advice, about fashioning a knife from a toothbrush, trading handjobs to get through the loneliness and avoiding getting fucked in the ass at all costs.

At the time, Henderson had refused to accept it even as a possibility. He said that America was changing, that the war had changed it all — a generation of white men had served in an integrated Army with colored soldiers. Congress was perpetually on the verge of passing civil rights legislation.

But it seemed Henderson had fallen through the cracks on the wrong side of that verge. He had no illusions about the white justice system here in New York — he’d be lucky if he ever spent a day as a free man again.

The other inmates were catcalling to him. The white men were calling him a nigger. The black men were calling him a nigga. He didn’t much like either one.

His cellmate was a Negro named Fletcher, who had unstraightened hair, like most of the inmates here. Fletcher’s head had a big afro, which he picked at constantly as he watched Henderson move in. It seemed like Fletcher was waiting for something. He was a wide-shouldered, gruff-jawed man, with deep-set eyes and biceps like corded rope.

Henderson tried to make conversation, but Fletcher only grunted. Eventually Henderson decided to just do push-ups — that should keep him occupied, while making it easier for him to ignore Fletcher watching him. His uncle had advised him to it anyway; of course, the reason he advised it was because it could be intimidating, but Henderson was half Fletcher’s size. He’d have to do an infinite number of push-ups to intimidate someone so much bigger than he was.

He could feel Fletcher watching him as his body moved up and down. Henderson wondered if he had listened to the wrong advice. Was he just turning Fletcher on by working out right in front of him.

His uncle had warned Henderson about what happened in prison. Henderson thought he could defend himself, but he knew there was always a chance he’d be murdered for no reason. He didn’t much like the way Fletcher looked at him either, like he was a cut of meat that needed to be cooked and eaten right away or it was going to go bad, like he was just waiting for the oven to warm up.

His shoulders ached. Henderson was glad. He wanted to be pumped up, to look as big and tough as he could. Fletcher was much larger, but he was older and presumably slower. Henderson had been a wrestler in school, and he was good at using speed to his advantage.

Henderson stood up. He had to suppress a yelp as he saw Fletcher had taken his manhood out of his pants. Fletcher stared at him from the top bunk, his cock in hand. He licked his lips.

“I been locked up a long time, nigga,” Fletcher said.

(Looks like Fletcher is gonna seduce his new cellmate!)

(Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Henderson got fresh fish!)

“How long?” Henderson hoped small talk would diffuse the tension. He fidgeted nervously. He didn’t like the sound of all the other inmate screaming and pounding on the cell bars. They yelled insults at each other, come-ons, racial sluts. It was deafening, but somehow felt like all that happened in a different world. In the only world that mattered to Henderson, he stood here in front of his much bigger man and his huge slab of cockmeat.

“Twenty-two years,” Fletcher said. “You wanna suck my dick?”

Henderson gulped. “No.”

Fletcher shook his head. “That’s too bad.” Then there was a long, pregnant pause. Fletcher moaned and shot his load all over his belly. Henderson was disgusted but found he couldn’t bear to look away. Fletcher moaned and pulled up his shirt to play with his nipples. He bit his lip. “It would be better if you did.”

(Nasty, Fletcher!)

Fletcher looked away as he wiped up the cum on his hairy belly. The tension was gone. It now seemed apparent that Henderson was safe, for the moment at least.

After that Henderson moved himself into the cell and got situated. Soon enough it was time for dinner, and then back to the cell for the evening. Fletcher ignored Henderson completely the entire time. Henderson, for his part, remained focused; he tried to figure out who was in charge among the inmates, who controlled the various gangs and clans. But it was hard to tell, everyone was full of machismo and bravado; they all claimed to be the head nigga in charge, Henderson thought, so it was hard to tell who wasn’t bullshitting.

At least Henderson fell into a restless, shallow sleep. The guards walked by every few minutes, speaking loudly as though trying to disturb everyone. They laughed when Henderson cursed at them.

He awoke very gradually, at first with no awareness of why. He soon realized that Fletcher had come down from the top bunk, pulled Henderson’s blanket off and taken his cock out the fly of his prison boxers. Fletcher was stark nude himself, and rock hard, holding both his own and Henderson’s cock in both hands. He stood next to Henderson’s bunk.

“Sssh, you wanna fuck, nigga?” Fletcher asked, whispering, with strong emphasis on fuck. His hand rested on Henderson’s belly, and roamed up his flat torso to his pecs. He played with each nipples.

“Uh… No, not really.”

“Well, let me know when you get horny. I don’t rape niggas. Y’ain’t gotta worry about that. You want me to stop this handjob?” His hand wasn’t yet on Henderson’s dick, but it moved slowly in that direction.

“Uh…” every fiber of Henderson’s being told him to say no, but he had to admit it felt good. He worried that if he said no, it would be obvious he really wanted it. It seemed Fletcher got the hint. Henderson gulped as Fletcher’s hand wrapped over his dick.

Then something warm and wet dripped over Henderson’s dick, sending waves of sexual desire up his body. He grunted and bit his lip to avoid making too much sound. At first he thought the sensation was Fletcher sucking his dick, then realized that couldn’t be right: he still felt Fletcher’s hand clutching his rod. Fletcher must have poured something oozy over it.

(Ooh la la, Fletcher, you makin’ sweet love over there?)

“Feels good, don’t it? Brutewood lube, that’s why.” Fletcher chuckled and snorted. “Just hog fat, really. Lard. Nature’s lube.”

Henderson gasped. He had been so asleep he didn’t notice how hard he was getting until now, when he felt precum spilling out of his dick. It slicked up Fletcher’s hand. They both moaned as a few men who were still awake tittered with laughter.

A flashlight shined into the cell. Henderson averted his eyes, ashamed. He heard a white man chuckle. “Er… you two… fuck, nevermind. Have I gotta intervene?”

“Nossir,” Fletcher said.

A long pause followed. The guard cleared his throat. “You… new guy. I gotta hear it. I know it’s embarrassing, but… you into this? You can say no. I’ll put you in protective custody with the other queerbait- Sorry. I mean, victims. Or whatever.” His face was shrouded in darkness, but it was obvious he was blushing.

“Yes, it’s fine,” Henderson hissed. “Just go away.”

The guard turned and left, but within moments the other inmates nearby began chanting and laughing. Fletcher and… new guy… Ooh la la, you two in love or what? Fletcher got a new boyfriend already? Henderson would have been humiliated but he was near orgasming and barely paid attention to their teasing.

“Ignore them,” Fletcher said. “You like the way my hand feels on yo’ dick?”

“Yeah, but… I, just…” Henderson couldn’t think of what to say. His mind focused on the overwhelming pleasure emanating from his dick.

Do it, Fletcher!

Henderson wondered if this was it — was he going to have to fight or fuck like his uncle had warned him? He knew he couldn’t possibly take Fletcher in a fight. He might have to suck some dick to avoid taking it in the ass.

But then, much to Henderson’s surprise, that wasn’t what happened. Fletcher pulled Henderson’s legs out from the bunk, so his feet were on the floor and his dick stood straight up. Henderson was about to start fighting and kicking when Fletcher turned around.

“What’re you doin’?” Henderson’s voice dropped as Fletcher backed his ass up into Henderson’s crotch.

It was so shocking that Henderson didn’t respond at all. He just looked down at his own crotch as his dick disappeared in Fletcher’s giant ass. He could barely see it in the dim light of Brutewood Prison at night.

(Yo, Fletcher, you givin’ it or takin’ it?)

(What do you think, nigga? Fletcher love takin’ it, by the foot!)

There was so much laughter a few men woke up, and soon loud, disorganized chanting had broken out. Henderson gulped at the realization that everyone was watching from the other cells.

Then that guard banged on cell bars and started barking out threats. He threatened to cancel rec time tomorrow, which got everyone quiet again. Soon it was so silent that Henderson was sure the other inmates could all hear that moist, squishing sound as his dick slid into Fletcher’s ass.

Without thinking about it, Henderson’s hands moved to Fletcher’s broad back. It was etched with muscles and scars from being beaten by the guards — Henderson didn’t know it yet, but the screws who managed the workfarm still used whips and chains to keep the inmates in line. Fletcher’s burly body showed the scars of that method of discipline.

Wanting to get a better angle, Henderson stood. Passion overtook him as he got more and more into it. His uncle had never warned him about something like this, he thought, and he wondered if he would end up regretting it. His uncle had said niggas shouldn’t do anal with each other, that they should just trade handjobs. But Henderson had been so lonely and scared since he being arrested, he just wanted to feel a little warmth.

“Kiss me, nigga,” Fletcher said. He turned his face around so Henderson had access to it. Fletcher was so much bigger than Henderson that they would have to strain to reach, but it was definitely possible. Henderson almost went through with it without giving it a second thought, then realized that was a step too far. He stopped.

“I dunno, man,” Henderson said. “I ain’t nevuh kissed a man before.”

“It’s in the dark, nigga. It don’t matter. Nothing matters in the dark,” Fletcher said.

“What?-“

“Kiss me.” Fletcher’s voice was breathless and desperate. He was trying to be quiet, but he was too impassioned to really pull it off. Henderson blushed as he heard men in the other cells giggling as silently as they could muster, to avoid attracting attention from the guards. “Come on, nigga. No one is gonna bring this up during the day.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of a rule here. We’ll all keep it a secret. At night we fuck around a bit, you got to, in a place like this.“

(What happens in the dark, stays in the dark, nigga. Now come on, give us a nice little show. No one takes meat as good as Fletcher does.)

Fletcher made a kissy face at Henderson. “We can fuck all we want now. But tomorrow we’s all real men again.”

(Except Walter. He’s a genuine poofter! But he makes you pay if you want a blowjob.)

(It’s totally worth it.)

(Shut up, Walter. But yeah, it is worth it. He could suck the black off a nigga, man, he can suck the sun out the sky.)

“Hey, I said shut the fuck up!” A guard screamed. “I ain’t gotta let you boys fuck each other all night! That’s against the rules, technically!”

Henderson stopped moving, his dick deep in Fletcher. He hadn’t even noticed himself leaning forward, but now he was just inches from Fletcher’s face. He wanted to stop himself. Despite that, his face collided with Fletcher’s, which was tense as he grunted and accepted Henderson’s meat.

Their tongues touched in Fletcher’s mouth. It felt a lot like kissing a girl, Henderson thought, aside from the grizzled beard hair on his chin. That was hard to avoid thinking about though. They kissed passionately for what felt like hours.

“Damn, can’t you two put a privacy sheet up or somethin’?” asked a guard as he walked past. It was that same guard who had asked before if Henderson wanted to leave, and a part of him wanted to say he had changed his mind.

“Just walk away, Williams,” Fletcher grunted through gritted teeth. But the guard didn’t walk away. He stood there watching, rubbing his dick through his dirty pants. Soon he unzipped it and let his dick flop out.

Fletcher took one step towards the front of the cell, where Officer Williams stood with a raging erection. Henderson instinctually followed. Much to his surprise, Fletcher dropped to all fours and opened his mouth. He took Officer Williams’ dick in his mouth, making Williams moan and shudder. His dick grew hard right away.

Soon the smell of precum filled the air. It was more intense than it had been when it was just Fletcher and Henderson. That made Henderson wonder if it was a quality of white men that their precum was so smelly.

Then Fletcher reached behind himself and took Henderson’s hand. in his. Fletcher’s fingers were padded and callused. He dragged Henderson to the front of his body, which Henderson had to strain to reach on account of Fletcher’s massive, hulking size.

A murmuring sound came from Fletcher’s mouth. He was saying something around the dick in his throat, but all that came out was an indecipherable gagging sound that churned Henderson’s stomach.

Despite his disgust and confusion, Henderson gathered what Fletcher wanted. His uncle had told him about this — a reacharound. It was what men did behind bars if they didn’t intend to make you into a bitch. He said it was the second-best thing to not getting fucked at all. Henderson had never thought he might be on top of a reacharound. He was going to have to tell his uncle that things had changed since he was locked up.

With his dick pulsating in Fletcher’s ass, Henderson felt his orgasm rising. Every time he thought he was about to blow his load, however, he remembered where he was, or he caught a whiff of Officer Williams’ cocksmell, and that made his dick a little more slack.

“You wanna suck my dick too, boy?” Officer Williams asked. His voice was low and slow, even, like he expected the answer was no but felt he needed to ask anyway.

“Uh… No thanks,” Henderson said. He wondered if Williams was going to accept no for an answer. His uncle had said guards never did — it didn’t count if you took dick from a guard, he said, because everyone did. But he had also said that prison guards have tiny cocks, that that was why they became prison guards in the first place: it was the only way to gain any power over a real man. That definitely wasn’t true of Officer Williams, who was hung like a nigga.

In the end, it was Officer Williams who shot his load first. He groaned and grunted, and stuck his hands through the cell bars to grip Fletcher’s head. He held on tight as his whole body shook. He threw his head back.

The smell of cum made Henderson want to run away, but of course there was nowhere to go. It was a thick and cottony scent, so intense that Henderson thought he could taste it. In the dark he didn’t see the cum flow into Fletcher’s mouth, but he could hear it spurt; he heard Fletcher’s sputtering as he swallowed it, and he could see a few drops drip onto the cement floor beneath him.

Then Officer Williams backed off. He cleared his throat and shot an angry glance at the inmates in the next cell, who giggled and whispered jokes to each other. They fell silent. Williams tucked his dick back in his pants.

“You two need to finish up,” Williams said. “If you’re still going at it when I come through here again, I’m gonna punish you both.”

“Yessuh,” Fletcher said. His voice was moist as though his mouth was still full of cum.

Officer Williams had no sooner walked away when Henderson felt his own climax finally approach. He grunted, trying to hide how intense it felt — he didn’t want to seem like the kind of lavender pervert who might be into this, after all.

But the pleasure was mind-bogglingly intense. Henderson had only been with a few women, and this experience beat anything he had felt with them. Fletcher’s ass clenched around Henderson’s dick as though trying to hold onto it.

As he finished, and the cum flowed into Fletcher’s guts, Henderson sighed. He was glad he had finished that without embarrassing himself. He left his dick in, limpening inside Fletcher for a moment, then let it flop out.

He resumed jacking Fletcher off, but he barely paid attention anymore. He sunk to his knees as his muscles relaxed. He only jolted back into awareness because his head collided with the meaty cheek of Fletcher’s ass.

Then Fletcher turned around. He didn’t ask, and Henderson didn’t need to be told — he knew what was coming, and he welcomed it.

He opened his mouth as Fletcher’s fat cock pushed into his throat. It was sour and cummy already, and it pulsated in Henderson’s mouth. It tasted like salty lemon-snot, Henderson thought. He gagged but submitted to Fletcher pounding his dick deep into Henderson’s throat.

Fletcher was already so close to orgasm that it began pretty much the moment Henderson tasted it. Cum flooded Henderson’s tongue and flowed down his throat like water from a hose.

Fletcher groaned and grunted. He felt up his own nipples, and his big body jiggled as he sprayed down Henderson’s throat. Henderson was surprised at how not-unpleasant it was. Though he hardly enjoyed the taste, it wasn’t humiliating and it didn’t make him want to throw up; it actually tasted a lot like a girl’s pussy, he thought.

Then it was over. Fletcher pulled out of his mouth, leaned down and kissed him. He laid down in Henderson’s bunk, on his side, and left enough room for Henderson to join him.

“C’mon, bunkmate,” Fletcher said. “Remember, it don’t count in the dark. Let’s just sleep together, and in the morning, I’ll get up and move to my own bunk. That way it won’t count when we wake up tomorrow.”

Henderson nodded, too drained to argue, but he did hesitate before laying down. He was tired now, and his bunk looked so inviting, even with Fletcher’s hairy body and bare cock laying there. Henderson shuddered but laid down, and allowed Fletcher to wrap one thick arm around him.

“You can’t go through your entire sentence wit’out a little human affection,” Fletcher said. “And since there ain’t no girls, it’s you and me, Henderson. We gonna be snug as a hug, nigga, like bunkmates in love. But only after dark.”

Str8 Till Dark: Cellmates

Here’s a story called Str8 Till Dark: Cellmates, one of the tales in the new, best-selling Str8 Till Dark series! This one is about macho rednecks getting freaky behind bars…

Tim had fallen asleep quickly for the first night since he got to Brutewood Prison — or really, for the first time since he was arrested. That was because he had finally completed his initiation into the Ivory Way. His head was freshly shaved, his skin prickling sensitively in the chilly air of the prison cell.

He wasn’t really racist and he didn’t feel good about the things he had said to fit in, but he had always known he would have to join a gang to survive here. Given that he was a slim white man with no ties to the Italians or any other gang, he had no choice but to join up with the Ivories.

His cellmate, who slept above him, was a tall, wiry hillbilly-turned-prison-thug named Stumbler. Tim got the impression he didn’t really buy into the Aryan ideology of the Ivory Way either, but he was a loyal lieutenant. He was, in a sense, Tim’s boss, and also his chief protector; he had assured Tim that he’d be safe as long as he was loyal to the Ivory Way.

So when Tim awoke to the sound of Stumbler climbing down from his bunk, he assumed the man was going to the toilet. Instead, he lifted the blanket off Tim’s body and climbed into the bunk next to him, carrying the sheet and blanket from his own bed with him.

“Hey, I’m cold, my brother,” Stumbler said. He sounded sleepy, and a bit bashful. “Lemme in here.”

Tim’s heart pounded. Was Stumbler about to hurt him? He had seemed friendly all along, and the Ivory Way steadfastly forbade all manner of homosexuality, including rape, no exceptions. That was the one part Tim basically agreed with.

“Relax, everyone does this here, it’s cold. We gotta share heat, not a big deal,” he said. He added his blankets on top of their bodies. “We got twice as many blankets if we double up, hoss. No homo.”

It was cold, Tim thought, he had been shivering as well. He nodded, blushing but glad that Stumbler couldn’t see it. Tim made sure to face Stumbler, so that they wouldn’t be ass-to-crotch. He had been assured no one raped the Ivories, but still, he wanted to be certain he wasn’t making it easy, just in case Stumbler wanted to make an exception.

Of course, once he was in that position, he wasn’t sure it was what he really wanted — it felt rather like making out. Tim’s face was just inches from Stumbler’s scruffy tanned cheeks. He could smell the man’s deodorant and feel his chest hair rubbing against Tim’s flesh.

“You see that new guard today? The blonde?” Stumbler asked once he settled in, blankets covering both men, their body heat mingling in the stony cell. “Damn, I wanted to fuck that bitch, hoss. I would fuck her hard! Any hole she want.”

“Yeah, she was pretty hot,” Tim said, too nervous to really think about what Stumbler was saying. He didn’t remember seeing any blonde guard.

“You happy about joinin’ the Ivory Way?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Stumbler smiled. It was too dark for Tim to see his face, but he could sense Stumbler’s grizzled face move. They were so close that Tim could feel the man’s smile in the pattern his breath made when it condensed on his cheek. Stumbler said, “I know that ain’t true. You ain’t really racist, is you, hoss?”

“Well… I meant what I said. I swore loyalty to the organization.”

“You did what you needed to do,” Stumbler said. He reached up and rubbed Tim’s freshly-shaved head. He chuckled when Tim winced and moved his head. “You look good with a shaved head. I bet you’s cold though. You wanna put yer head under the covers?”

He did, very much so, but Tim shook his head. He could live with a cold head. He wasn’t sure what Stumbler would do to him under the covers. Stumbler’s head had been shaved, but not that recently; he at least had a little insulation on his head, not to mention a thicker build overall.

“Does everyone really share a bunk when it’s cold?” Tim asked.

“Yeah. Ain’t no one really admit it, but they all do it,” Stumbler said. “Now come on, relax. I ain’t gonna rape ya, okay. The Ivory Way don’t allow that one bit.”

“Yeah. I’m glad.”

“If you decide to fuck around, y’know, that’s different-“

“What?!”

“Relax, Tim. It’s your choice,” he said, then laughed as he placed one hand on Tim’s asscheek and squeezed. Tim yelped instinctively moved away from his hand, which meant he scooted closer to Stumbler’s body.

Tim’s dick, in his sweatpants, touched Stumbler’s, in his pants. Tim’s chest bumped up against Stumbler’s, and he felt twinges of inadequacy. Stumbler had a big, powerful chest and a thick, long cock. Tim was lean and, while he had a substantial cock, it was nowhere’s near as big as Stumbler’s.

“Relax, Timmy, relax,” Stumbler said. “Keep it quiet… Don’t attract attention from the guards. I ain’t gonna rape ya, I’m just playin’.” But he kept his hand on Tim’s ass, and even caressed it as he whispered in Tim’s ear. “We ain’t gonna tell no one what happens in the cell when the lights go out. Nobody need to know we share a bunk.”

“Are you really racist?” Tim asked, hoping to change the subject from rape to anything more comfortable. Stumbler had a Confederate flag tattoo on his bicep, but no swastikas or anything like that. He was not as scary as the other skinheads; he seemed more like a lovable muscle-bound redneck. He said he drank a lot on the outside, but Tim thought he was probably one of those overly gregarious drunks.

“Nah, I don’t believe in any kinda white power nonsense,” Stumbler said. “If you tell anyone that, I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t.”

“We both had to join up for protection, hoss,” Stumbler said. “In this place, you gotta do whatever you gotta do to survive, to protect yer body, and yer mind. You understand that, son?”

“Yeah. I get that. You gotta do what you gotta do,” Tim said.

“That’s right,” Stumbler said, his voice low and slow. Then he added, “Hoss.”

Tim realized as a silence overtook the cell that Stumbler was stroking his own dick. Tim gulped and tried to move away, but he was at the very edge of the bunk. Stumbler’s hand, resting on Tim’s ass, pulled him closer. Stumbler’s dick was out of his sweatpants now, and it jabbed into Tim’s crotch.

“Sssh,” Stumbler said. “I need to get my nut off, or I’ll go crazy. You wanna play with it?”

“No-“

“Sssh… Before you answer, lemme remind you of a couple things. First, you gonna get so horny here yer balls are gonna burst, if you don’t start stroking yerself off. Second, you gonna go crazy if you only jack off and never get to show any affection with anyone. Third, I ain’t gonna rape ya, son,” he said. He slipped one of his big callused mitts down Tim’s pants and grabbed his dick. He whistled in an obviously patronizing way. “You got some meat there, boi.”

“Uh, Stumbler, uh…”

“You can tell me to stop,” Stumbler said, “any time you want.” But he didn’t stop, and Tim couldn’t bring himself to say it. Stumbler’s hand stroked Tim’s meat until it was hard.

Tim held his breath, too nervous to think, the Stumbler’s sweat assaulting his senses when he did force himself to inhale. A part of him wanted to say no, but he knew Stumbler was right — he’d need to do something to get his rocks off, and this was about as good as anything. Tim had circlejerked with his friends a few times, so it wasn’t like he had never touched a cock before in his life. And a part of him was afraid that if he said no, Stumbler would just decide to rape him; maybe it would be easier, he thought, to give in. He could draw a line at handjobs, he decided. Stumbler probably didn’t intend to go any farther than anyway, he hoped.

As if Stumbler knew what he was thinking, he grabbed Tim’s hand, gently but firmly. He pulled it to Stumbler’s warm crotch, and wrapped his fingers around his cock.

“Sssh, relax, it’s okay… No homo, Timmy…”

Stumbler’s cock was thick and greasy and hoggish, and Tim wanted to let go. But pleasure pulsated up his body from Stumbler’s hand on his dick; Tim didn’t want that feeling to stop, so he kept stroking.

Stumbler groaned. The low, mind-melting sound made Tim’s remaining hairs stand on end. It sounded like Stumbler was making love, he thought, and it became even grosser moments later when Stumbler’s hairy body began humping. His hips flexed and his dick spasmed in Tim’s hand.

“Feels good, don’t it?”

Tim blushed and mumbled his agreement. A few drops of sticky precum lubricated his fingers.

“Everyone thinks getting a handjob from a man is pointless. You might as well stroke yourself off, right? But that ain’t right, at least, not in this place. You need some affection, Timmy,” he said. “Or you go loco.” Then he leaned in and kissed Tim on the lips, his scratchy beard rubbing against Tim’s cheeks.

It was a quick, chaste kiss. Then Stumbler pulled away. His hand sped up his stroking. He smiled and looked deeply into Tim’s eyes, as though trying to seduce him. Tim held his breath, waiting for Stumbler to say something else.

But it seemed he was waiting for Tim to complain, and when he didn’t, Stumbler kissed him again. This time, he used his tongue.

It was a long, slow, passionate kiss now, and his muscular tongue pushed into Tim’s mouth. His hand dropped Tim’s dick as Stumbler swooned and pushed Tim onto his back. Stumbler mounted his body as though going to have sex with a woman, so both crotches lined up.

“Put yer hands on my ass,” he said breathlessly.

Tim couldn’t think of anything but the precummy mess in his crotch. Both dicks rubbed against each other, leaking their fluids onto his skin. Stumbler’s seemed impossibly hard and thick, like a weapon clubbing Tim’s dick into submission. Unable to think of a way to say no, Tim put both hands on Stumbler’s plump, hairy cheeks.

Stumbler crooned right in Tim’s ear, which made Tim shudder. He found his hands moving of their own accord, caressing Stumbler’s ass. Stumbler kissed him again and again, and that was all Tim could think about. Stumbler reached behind himself and moved Tim’s hand from his cheek to his crack.

“You can put your pinkie in if you want,” Stumbler said.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to, but before Tim even decided not to, his finger did. His pinkie plunged into Stumbler’s ass, and Stumbler bucked. His dick spasmed and leaked even more copious precum into Tim’s crotch.

“You ain’t gonna tell no one about fingerfucking me, right?”

“No way. What happens in the cell, stays in the cell,” Tim said nervously.

“Good,” Stumbler said. His kisses moved to Tim’s smooth neck, and he licked a trail down to Tim’s nipples.

Then Stumbler’s ass squeezed around Tim’s fingers as though not going to let him go. That distracted Tim from what was happening — Stumbler simply picked him up in those big redneck arms and flipped him over. His finger was out of Stumbler’s ass, his own ass bare and right under Stumbler’s throbbing cock.

Before Tim could say anything, Stumbler had angled his dick in and pushed just the first millimeter or so inside Tim’s ass. Then he paused. Tim yelped and squealed, squirming beneath Stumbler’s hairy body.

“Sssh, sssh, Timmy,” Stumbler said like a father reassuring his son during a thunderstorm. “I ain’t gonna rape ya, okay? I promise. I said that. Can you say it too?”

“What?” Tim’s voice sounded weak. The pain in his ass was negligible at this point, it was only the tip of Stumbler’s cock inside him. But he felt burning humiliation, and he was so terrified of what might happen next that he didn’t know what to say. “I know this isn’t-“

“Say Stumbler won’t rape me.”

“Stumbler won’t rape me.” Tim said. “I know that. Can you-?”

“Sssh, ssh, let’s talk,” Stumbler said. “You know I’ll give you a reacharound anytime we fuck.”

“Stumbler-“

“Sssh. And you can always say no,” he said. “But we need this, Timmy. You’re so pretty and smooth, and in the dark you kinda feel like a girl.”

“Stumbler…”

Stumbler reached for something up on his bunk, or on the shelf next to it. Then his fingers slathered something cold on Tim’s ass. Tim writhed again in discomfort.

“Sssh, this’ll warm up soon, and then it’ll feel good. It’s hog fat, from the kitchen. It melts from body temperature, Timmy, and we’re both so hot here, snug as bedbugs together, ain’t we?”

“Stumbler…”

“Sssh. It ain’t gonna hurt bad, son,” Stumbler said, his mouth hovering just above Tim’s ear, his warm breath condensing there. “I’m just gonna make love to ya. We ain’t nevuh gonna talk about this outside of the cell, okay?”

“Okay, but go easy on me…“ Tim really didn’t mind the idea of it — he was no homophobe — and he trusted Stumbler to keep it a secret, so he reasoned it wasn’t a boundary he had sworn to never cross. As long as he wasn’t actually treated like a prison punk, he’d be okay, he thought to himself over and over as he submitted.

Then Tim bit his lip as another surge of pain hit him. The hog fat did help, but Stumbler began pumping his dick in deeper and deeper. While it wasn’t pure agony, the pressure was intense and Tim could do little more than bite the pillow.

“You know what downlow means?”

“What?”

“The colored gangs say it. When two guys fuck on the downlow, it means it don’t count. The bottom ain’t a bitch,” Stumbler said. “They just need to get their nuts off, so they fuck. That’s what we’re doin’. We’s making love on the downlow, Timmy. You’re so pretty and delicate. I’d never hurt you. You believe me?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim said. He grunted, trying to clear his mind so he could decide what to do. His whole body spasmed then as Stumbler grabbed his dick and gave it a stroke. A bolt of pleasure shivered up Tim’s spine, even as pain radiated from his ass.

“See, a reacharound? We’s gonna be moister than a Louisiana croc farm, son, this is nice, ain’t it?”

“It kinda hurts…”

“It always hurts the first time. You’ll get looser.”

Tim opened his mouth to respond — he wanted to point out that Stumbler had promised not to hurt him just seconds ago, and that he didn’t want to get looser — but the pressure and the pleasure grew more intense, and all he could do was bite his pillow. He grunted and gasped, embarrassed that his own cock was still leaking precum even as he was fucked.

“Don’t make a lotta noise,” Stumbler said. “We can’t let no one know what’s happenin’ here. I won’t tell no one if you won’t. We each got somethin’ to lose, right? You put a finger in me too, remembuh?”

That didn’t quite seem like equal dirt, but Tim didn’t have the wherewithal to speak. He writhed beneath Stumbler’s rapidly strengthening fucking.

The feel of the bigger man’s rippling muscles and coarse mat of chest hair made Tim’s stomach churn, especially combined with the smell of the man’s sweat as he smeared it over Tim’s body. He grunted and heaved his breath onto Tim’s face with every thrust. From where Tim was, it was impossibly loud; Stumbler sounded like a rutting pig.

He licked Tim’s face too, as he drilled his dick deep within Tim’s intestines. He moaned exquisite but indecipherable syllables in Tim’s ear and licked his face until spit dripped in rivulets onto Tim’s pillow.

“Here it comes, sweetheart, kiss me,” Stumbler said, then kissed Tim on the lips. There was something about the way he said sweetheart that made Tim want to gag. His tongue explored the depths of Tim’s throat. Stumbler stopped moving just as the orgasm roiled through him, and he let out low, loose sigh right into Tim’s ear.

Seconds later, cum erupted deep within him. Tim had never experienced anything like that. It felt like some alien device was malfunctioning in his body, spewing grease everywhere. Its warm creaminess spread to every corner of Tim’s body; he could have sworn he felt it flowing to his arms, his feet, and everywhere else.

But the most disturbing part of it, Tim thought, was the way he felt the orgasm in Stumbler’s body. He felt Stumbler’s pecs tighten, his breathing stop momentarily. His toes curled around Tim’s feet, and his hands dropped Tim’s body to clench the mattress beneath him.

Then it was over, but Stumbler didn’t stop humping, even as his dick got limp inside Tim. Instead, he focused on stroking Tim off even more enthusiastically. He used both hands, one on Tim’s root and one stroking the shaft.

“Now it’s yer turn, Timmy…”

Despite the pain and the embarrassment, Tim felt his orgasm coming on quickly. He felt pleasure deep in his ass, not that he would ever admit it, and when the climax finally came, it was more potent than he ever thought it would be.

It was also more painful than he ever thought it would be. Tim grunted as his body moved, causing fresh spasms of pain to shoot up his spine from his tender asshole.

Hot cum sprayed up his chest and into Stumbler’s hand. Stumbler kept going like a professional, even as Tim’s orgasmic bliss turned to overly sensitive writhing.

Then at last Stumbler pulled out. His limp, greasy cock wedged between Tim’s cheeks. He held his cum-coated hand in front of Tim’s mouth as though going to make him eat it, but then he didn’t.

“Timmy, I’m gonna do something serious to show you how serious I am ‘bout what happened here tonight,” Stumbler said, his voice low and grim. Then as Tim watched, he stuck each of his cummy fingers in his mouth, one after the other. A few drops got stuck in his scruffy chin hair.

He gagged profusely, from the moment he tasted Tim’s cum. He also growled in a seductive way, but his whole body twisted as his stomach churned. Tim thought he might even vomit, but Stumbler held it together.

At last his hand was clean, and he wrapped his arms around Tim’s shoulders. That forced Tim to use the man’s biceps as a pillow, and he could taste Stumbler’s sweat-matted chest hair in his mouth.

“You got any questions, Timmy?”

“Questions? … No, that was okay, really. You really won’t tell no one?”

“On my mama’s grave, son,” Stumbler said. “We’s all done. We ain’t gonna talk about this again. Tomorrow night, when I fuck you, I’m gonna ask if you’s a virgin. You say yes, okay?”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

“Good. You always say yes, Timmy.”

Blatino Str8 Trade

Here’s the first chapter from Blatino Str8 Trade, a new gay-thug erotica novelette by Marcus Greene! It’s full of hardcore alpha thug sex!

Thumper kept his apartment very warm, which was uncomfortable for Hernan. He was used to his own place and its powerful air conditioner that he kept running all summer and most of the spring and autumn. He just preferred it cold.

But he could hardly complain now. This wasn’t his home. Hernan — or Harley, as he was going by more or less exclusively now — felt like he’d never be able to sleep here. It was better than prison, so he was glad to be here, but still, Harley longed for his mother.

He couldn’t think too much about her though. Everyone, including Thumper, thought she was dead. Harley had told everyone he was an orphan so nobody could ever get to him by tracking her down. He could still go to her and hide out there if he needed to.

But he didn’t want to. Harley had been slinging rock since high school, and now he was on the run. He wasn’t technically a fugitive, but there was a warrant out for him — it was a material witness warrant. Harley could end up in prison if he refused to testify about certain events he had witnessed, and he had no intention of testifying.

So here he was, living with Wendell “Thumper” White, a former boxer, long-time ex-con and current gangbanger. Thumper was thirty years older than Harley, who felt like a skinny weakling in his presence, though he tried to hide those feelings the best he could.

At least he had a bed to sleep on. Harley lay atop his sheets, sweat beading on his flesh. He wondered how long it would be before he got laid again — Thumper said he shouldn’t leave the apartment at all, for any reason, and Thumper, judging from his reputation, was not likely to bring any girls back for Harley.

The door to his bedroom slowly swayed upon with a loud creak. Thumper stood there in the darkened doorway. He was not a very tall man, but he had that thick-bodied ex-boxer’s frame.

“Hey, yo, you awake?” Thumper asked, but his deep, commanding tone and his striding towards the bed suggested he already knew the answer, or didn’t care.

“Yeah,” Harley said, sitting up.

Thumper stood over Harley’s body on the bed. He smiled and sat down on the edge, resting one hand on Harley’s smooth chest. He caressed the skin there, and Harley’s heart burst into overdrive. What was happening now?

“You feelin’ okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harley said. That wasn’t true, of course, he had been anxious in general before Thumper came in his room, and now Harley felt vulnerable because of that specifically. So he definitely did not feel safe right now.

“That’s good. I’ll keep you safe, Hernan,” he said. “Long as you live here wit’ me, I keep you safe.”

“I’m s’posed to go by Harley all the time now. Samson said not to use my real name-“

“Hush,” Thumper said. “What else did Samson tell you?”

“Uh… I mean… he said to keep my mouth shut and shit.”

“Yeah. Unless’n I tell you to open it.”

“He said to stay here, with you. He said not to leave your apartment,” Harley said.

“That’s right. Good,” he said. He licked his lips as one of his hands began caressing Harley’s chest.

“He, uh, said not to call my girlfriend-“

“You got a girlfriend?”

Harley nodded. He felt like kind of an idiot for it — hardcore thugs like him had multiple bitches, not one serious girlfriend. He hadn’t even really loved her though, which was the only thing that might have made a serious-girlfriend reasonable. He was glad to have an excuse to be rid of her.

“This ain’t no place for girls,” Thumper said. “You gonna be celibate?”

“What’s that?”

“It means you don’t have sex at all.”

“I dunno, I guess so. I was hopin’, y’know… Maybe I’d get a whore eventually.”

“Nah,” Thumper said. “Whores always talk.” Then he moved quickly, laying on his side on the edge of the bed. He kept his arm on Harley’s body as he did. “Whores always talk, Hernan. That’s a real handsome name. I like it. I’m gonna keep calling you that at night, okay?”

“Just at night?”

“Right. During the day, I’ll call you Harley, just in case anyone can hear,” Thumper said. His bare thick thigh brushed up against Hernan, who felt small and weak.

He squirmed. “Get off me, nigga-“

“What?!” Thumper barked, suddenly menacing. He rolled Harley over so he was on his side as well, and they were spooning. Harley yelped and moved some more, but Thumper held him tight and put him in a chokehold. “Quit movin’, nigga.”

“Quit playin’, Thumper! Get yo’ hand off me!”

“I ain’t playin’,” Thumper said. “Go limp, motherfucker.” He throttled Harley until he managed to calm himself down and go limp. Then Thumper kissed him in the back of the neck. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“Good, cuz I’ll-“

“Shut yo’ mouth, nigga. I know you ain’t about to say somethin’ disrespectful to the man who is lettin’ you stay here, rent-free,” Thumper said. He paused for a long time, giving Harley time to say something. Harley couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say that wouldn’t insult Thumper. His mind was intensely focused on the kinky salt-and-pepper chest hairs brushing up against his back.

“Thumper…”

“You ever fuck around on the downlow, prettyboy?”

“No…”

“I don’t believe you,” Thumper said with a chuckle. He was right, technically, Harley and his buddies had exchanged blowjobs once. But Harley had never told anyone that and didn’t acknowledge it. Thumper kissed his neck again. “But that’s okay. You ain’t gotta tell me. Don’t you worry, I ain’t makin’ you into my bitch. You still a nigga, nigga.”

“Thumper-!”

“Hush, yo’ man is speakin’,” Thumper said. “When we talk business tomorrow, I won’t bring it up, okay? No one is gonna know we fuck around. What happens at night in Thumper’s apartment didn’t happen during the day.”

“What? That don’t make sense-”

“Just say it with me.” Thumper’s heavy breathing erupted in chuckles, his hot breath condensing on Harley’s cheek. “What happens at night in Thumper’s apartment didn’t happen during the day.”

Harley breathed deeply. “What happens at night in Thumper’s apartment didn’t happen during the day.”

“Good. You wanna kiss me?”

“Ew, no-“

“Okay, okay, you can say no. I respect yo’ decisions, Hernan,” he said. He licked Harley’s cheek from lips to forehead like a cat cleaning its young. Harley shuddered.

He shuddered again as Thumper’s hot cock pushed between his asscheeks. Harley squirmed in Thumper’s chokehold, which wasn’t tight — Harley could have theoretically squirmed away if he tried. But he decided it was easier just to submit. He’d be able to find a different place to crash later, and he could always go home to mom if he just wanted to give up on being a gangbanger.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t tryin’-a hurt cha,” Thumper said, whispering into Harley’s ear.

Harley opened his mouth to respond, but then Thumper pushed his dick into Harley’s asshole. He bucked and squirmed as pain shot up his back, his muscular shoulders writhing beneath Thumper’s broad chest.

“Make some sounds like a girl,” Thumper said. That sent a wave of humiliation through Harley as a few more inches of cock squeezed into him. He mewled and groaned, squirming in Thumper’s arms. Thumper grunted in such a sexual way it gave Harley goosebumps. “Yeah, just like that. Make some noise, boi. You past the worst part. You doin’ real great. Samson was right about yo’ ass. It’s real nice and pretty.”

“Samson said…?” Harley’s voice broke as the last of Thumper’s dick pushed inside him. He held his breath, unable to focus on anything else but the pain radiating from his ass. He had to admit that there was a little teasing ball of pleasure inside him as well, though he didn’t want to admit it.

“That’s right, nigga, it’s okay, you ain’t my bitch. We’s just fuckin’ around on the downlow,” he said. “That’s why I’m gonna give you a reacharound. I don’t give bitches a reacharound.” His callused hand wrapped over Harley’s shaft. It was still totally soft, and it felt small even if it wasn’t. “You gonna thank me for givin’ you a reacharound?”

“Uh… thanks…” Harley said through gritted teeth. He tried to tell him not to, that he didn’t really want a reacharound and certainly didn’t need to thank Thumper for it, but he struggled to form words with the intense pressure in his ass. That pleasurable sensation kept growing however, and a part of him began to enjoy the feeling.

“You got a nice big dick, nigga. I love fuckin’ niggas wit’ big-ass dicks. Feels right, ya know?”

“Yeah…” Harley said, though he didn’t know that at all, and barely even listened.

“You ain’t hard. Why not, nigga?”

“Uh… Cuz it hurts… and I ain’t a faggot,” he said.

“You don’t gotta be a faggot to get hard wit’ a dick in yo’ ass,” he said. He stopped moving. “I wanna feel you cum, okay?”

“What?”

“I like fuckin’ big-dick niggas when they cum, they shoot a big load, and I can feel it through they asshole.”

“Thumper…”

“You wanna jack yo’self off? Or you want me to do it?”

Harley sighed. He knew he’d cum quicker if he did it, so he took over. With Thumper not moving at all, the pain subsided a little. It didn’t go away, and Harley felt it every time he squirmed. But he managed to get himself hard quickly enough.

But then with Thumper whispering in his ear and his chest hair leaving a layer of sweat on Harley’s back, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to cum.

Much to his surprise, the more he jacked off, the better his ass felt — the pain remained, but the prostate pleasure grew and grew. He moaned and bit his lip as his orgasm approached.

“You such a pretty nigga…” Thumper said, making Harley twitch.

“Uh… Thumper…?” he asked breathlessly. “Could you not call me pretty?”

But Thumper wasn’t listening. He stayed perfectly still as Harley jacked himself off, and Thumper’s dick throbbed inside his ass. Thumper grunted as Harley shook, clenching on Thumper’s meat.

“Yo’ cherry taste real sweet,” Thumper said as he licked Harley’s face again.

Harley had an instinctual desire to fight him, to reassert his masculinity by challenging Thumper. But he didn’t for a couple of reasons: most importantly, the pain was too intense; more rationally, he couldn’t help but lose in any challenge to Thumper, who was bigger, stronger, smarter and better-connected; most embarrassingly, Harley simply didn’t want to stop, not in this moment.

His ass loosened as Harley moaned in pleasure, blushing when Thumper chuckled in response. The last of Thumper’s dick disappeared inside Harley.

“Ain’t I learn how to fuck niggas good? Huh? I was in prison for thirty-seven years, nigga, and I can turn any nigga into a faggot for a few minutes at a time. Huh? Ain’t you feel that, Hernan?”

Harley shuddered and mumbled no. He refused to consider that the answer might be yes, and he frantically jacked himself off beneath Thumper’s big body. The way he kept murmuring Hernan — in a very urban American accent, so it sounded more like Urnah — made Hernan shudder with disgust. He could hear Thumper’s sexual pleasure in the tenor of his voice.

“You so good, li’l nigga, I ain’t even gotta move,” Thumper said, “the way you squirm and squeal like a pretty little piggie, that’s enough fo’ me.” He remained still as Hernan stroked himself off, blushing at how easy it was for him to get hard with a cock in his ass.

Of course, Hernan couldn’t deny that it felt good for him, beneath the pain. He would, and did, deny it when Thumper asked over and over. But deep inside, Hernan felt mounting pleasure with every thrust of Thumper’s dick past his prostate.

It was right at that moment of maximum bliss, when the first drops of cum spewed from his dick, that Thumper finally resumed fucking. “Here it comes, nigga, gonna make you love it one way or anothuh…” He slammed his dick in and out, sending a mind-melting bolt of pain up Harley’s spine.

That wasn’t enough to cancel out his pleasure, however. Harley grunted and blushed at how loud he was, how much he sounded like a real bitch. But he couldn’t stop himself even if he had wanted to.

“There you go, pretty-nigga, you’s clenchin’ down now, that’s how you do it!” Thumper was enthusiastic as his orgasm hit him like a train, and he grumbled through gritted teeth, muscles roiling atop Hernan’s still-spasming body.

Semen sprayed all over Hernan’s chest, a bigger wad than he remembered ever shooting before. He writhed, painfully, in Thumper’s arms. It coated his skin and seeped in as Thumper, unworried about touching cum, rubbed it in with one hand.

“Nice big load, nigga… I love a nigga who shoot a big load…”

Thumper let out a low, slow groan as he came moments later. Hot cum flowed within Harley, who squirmed despite the pain. It felt like his body was filling up, like Thumper’s semen covered his insides.

“There you go, there’s my load,” he said. “That’s how it feels when a bigger nigga cum all up in ya guts. You like that, huh? Do you?”

“Not really…”

“Hush now, don’t be mean, I fucked you good,” Thumper said. “You got hard right away. You loved it.”

“I didn’t-“

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ dat, li’l nigga. You ain’t a bitch. We’s just fuckin’ around on the downlow. We on the downlow-and-nasty trip. Real low, real nasty,” he breathed heavily on Harley’s face as the aftershocks of his orgasm ran through him. He rested his weight on Harley, who was so much smaller he could barely breathe beneath Thumper’s heft.

Then he gagged as Thumper scooped up all of Harley’s cum from his own chest and smeared it over his face. Thumper chuckled at Harley’s frenzied gagged as he grunted and slammed his dick in.

“Eat that up, pretty-man.”

Thumper pulled out but left his ass-slimed dick in the crack of Harley’s ass. It pulsated there hotly, and left a layer of who-knew-what fluids pooling in Harley’s crack. Thumper even used a hand to spread the mess up Harley’s finely muscled back.

Then he slapped Harley’s cheek — which sent another wave of arduous pain up his spine — and got up. “Go on and take a shower now, nigga. Get cleaned up.”

Harley got up on his feet, wincing as his sore ass sent spasms of pain up his body. He struggled to walk with his ass clenched. He blushed as he made it into the hall, Thumper following close behind.

“I ain’t gonna get in the shower wit’cha, I just like watchin’ big-dick niggas struggling to walk cuz of my dick,” Thumper said. He stopped Harley at the bathroom door with one hand on his shoulder, then rammed a finger from his other hand into Harley’s ass. Harley bent over and howled in pain, though it only lasted a moment. Then Thumper said, “Good. You still tight. I’ll keep you ‘round a bit longer, nigga.”