Twink on Top: Biker in Diapers

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Twink on Top: Biker in Diapers! It’s part of the Twink on Top series, and it’s available for free through Kindle Unlimited!

Paul went to the biker bar below his apartment whenever he was bored and lonely. He knew he’d feel out of place, but they had cheap beer and there were always people there (at least until they closed at four o’clock in the morning), so he didn’t feel so alone. He was always the only gay man there. He was the only non-biker, usually, except for the barwhores. He was the smallest, thinnest and weakest too, usually including the barwhores. Occasionally he’d get a straight biker to let Paul swing on his dick, but that was rare and it was never the really hot straight bikers. That, Paul was disappointed but not surprised to learn, only really happened in gay porn — in the real world, hot straight bikers had sex with women, quite strictly.

But one slow November night, Paul had an encounter there that he never thought possible. It was the night before Thanksgiving. Only a few men sat there drinking, and they all nodded sourly at Paul when he showed up. Paul ignored them and sat to drink some cheap beer.

“Scuse me…” came a deep voice when Paul had been sitting there for awhile. He turned to see an unbelievably sexy biker-type, wearing a leather jacket and dark pants. He had a dark mop of greasy black hair and tattooed muscles bulging from under his clothes. He was white, but his skin was a dark-brown, suggested he worked outside and often went shirtless. Paul wondered where so he could come by and gawk at his chest. The biker rolled his tongue under his lip as he looked Paul over. “You’re the… guy who lives upstairs right?” Then he whispered as though it was a secret. “The… homosexual?”

“Sweetie, you don’t need to whisper. I’m so far out of the closet, I have nowhere to hang my kimonos,” Paul said. He threw a limp wrist aimed at the man, who smiled and inhaled deeply of Paul’s scent. There was something sexual in the way he sniffed, and the sensation sent a shiver of desire up Paul’s spine. Was this finally going to be the legendary straight-sexy-macho-biker-willing-to-get-sucked-off-by-a-queer? Paul certainly hoped so, but he tried not to get too optimistic; he didn’t want to be disappointed again.

“That sounds like just what I need. The name’s Snake,” he said softly. It was still almost a whisper, but the bar was quiet enough that Paul could hear it.

“Nice to meetcha, Snake. I’m Paul,” he said.

Snake was easily six and a half feet tall, maybe even closer to seven feet, and he was built like a Swedish shithouse, as Paul’s grandmother would have said. He had a thick musk about him, a scent of car engines, spilled beer and maybe faintly of piss. Paul wanted him badly, and he wondered if Snake was hoping for a blowjob. He seemed like exactly the sort of alpha biker who, in a gay porn movie, would call him a faggot, fuck his face like it was a displeasing bitch, then demand money and leave him in the bar’s bathroom. Paul wanted very badly for him to be that kind of alpha biker. If there ever were such a man, this was him, and Paul felt his heartbeat quicken as he allowed himself to get excited.

Snake was so tall, he had to aim his head down to speak to Paul. “You, uh, into kinky shit or what?”

“I am into kinky shit. Certain kinds of kinky shit…” Paul placed one delicate finger on the part of Snake’s chest that was visible above his torn t-shirt. He let his finger snake down as far as it would go, between the cleavage of Snake’s massive pecs.

“Come with me,” Snake said. “You know where Eugene’s office is? Follow me into the storeroom next to that. Wait ten minutes, pretend like you’s goin’ to the bathroom.”

Paul nodded. Eugene was his landlord, and the manager of the bar. He wasn’t usually there, even during the day. His office was by the back door. Paul had never really noticed the storeroom there, but now that Snake mentioned it, he did remember it.

Waiting ten minutes was difficult. Paul measured it on his watch, and the moment the time had passed, he walked away. He had already paid for his drinks and everything, so he could just leave as soon as this was over, whatever this was. A part of him worried it was a set-up for a mugging, but he had a feeling that wasn’t it, and he didn’t even consider backing out.

When he opened the door to the storeroom, Paul’s knees went weak. Snake stood there, his tall body blocking some of the light from the bare bulb. He had taken off his leather jacket and carefully hung it on the corner of the shelves, but he still wore the rest of his clothes. His inked muscles bulged out of a sleeveless t-shirt. He had a flat, vaguely sour look on his face.

“Hi,” Paul said. He was too nervous to think of anything to add. There was a large flat table in the center of the storeroom, like the tables in the bar, but there were no chairs. On the shelves were boxes of napkins, cocktail onions and other odds and ends.

“Once you leave this room, Paul, what happens in here tonight never happened. Got it? I will beat you so hard you forget to be gay, motherfucker, if you ever tell a soul, including your priest, your mama or your buttbuddy, no one.”

“Uh… Okay.”

He handed over a single pair of clean white diapers, very large in size. He raised his eyebrows at Paul, who was so shocked he took a moment to realize what Snake wanted.

“Oh, uh…”

“You into diapers? I want you to be my Daddy. I been real bad, Daddy,” he said. “I… saw this video, on AB/DL, and… I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about it. I’ve never done it with a man, Paul. I’ve never… I don’t know how to do this. But I have to… I need a Daddy-“

“Hush, Snake. If you want me to be your Daddy, then you have to respect my words. I know what you want. I’ll give it to you, boy. I’ll put this diaper on and treat you right, but you have to promise to obey.” Paul was nervous; he didn’t really know how to do this, and he was shocked that it had gone in this direction. He assumed Snake would just want a quick blowjob, and maybe his wallet, but did he really want to get fucked by a tiny twink like Paul?

A faint smile crept on Snake’s voice. “Yes, Daddy.” He leaned against the large table in the center of the storeroom. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Str8 Till Dark: Churchmates

Here’s a sample from Str8 Till Dark: Churchmates, a new story in the Str8 Till Dark series. It’s a hardcore look at what happens at night in a church lock-in!

Kyree felt like the exact kind of nigga he would have teased when he was younger. Hadn’t there been a young man he made fun of in very similar circumstances? He seemed to recall telling a kid off and calling him a nerd for going to a church lock-in. That kid had at least been a child; Kyree was twenty years old and here he was.

That’s because it was an adult lock-in. The First Baptist Church of Good Hope in Greenville, Mississippi ran a juvenile lock-in as well, but Kyree was too old for that.

Why had he come here? After listening to Brother Randall sermonize, Kyree couldn’t really remember. The gist of it was that he didn’t want to get in trouble anymore. After spending two years in prison, he wanted to assure himself that wouldn’t happen again. Back in high school and middle school, the kids who were absolutely certain they’d never be gangstas all went to church lock-ins. That was why Kyree made fun of them then. So it made sense that he should go to one now that he no longer wanted to be gangsta.

But how did this prevent anything? He didn’t feel any less gangsta. He was just bored. He had lost an entire evening to endless basketball, a Bible-based board game that had been simply dreadful and Brother Randall sermonizing while everyone became sleepy.

Finally the handful of attendees had scattered. They had set up cots throughout the church. Most of them slept in the main church area; Randall could hear them laughing — had they brought that Bible study board game out again? He thought it sounded like they had.

But Kyree didn’t want to be with the others. So he had set up in the church locker room. The First Baptist church of Greenville was also a community center with a rec area, that was why it had a locker room. Kyree used play basketball when he was a teenager; he stopped only when he was caught with some weed by the pastor — who was then a fat man named Brother Lamar — and he was banned from ever returning. It seemed there was no one around now who knew that; Kyree had actually forgotten he wasn’t allowed back until he had been here a few hours. He was glad Brother Randall didn’t know; he supposed there was probably never any sort of list or a means of preventing him from returning. He had just not come back because he knew he wasn’t welcome. But so much had changed since then, and now here he was; back then, he wanted to be seen as gangsta and went out of his way to seem as unmanageable as possible, and now he wanted the exact opposite. He was back in this locker room, where he had first seen another man naked.

A thought popped unbidden into Kyree’s mind: had he chosen the locker room because the smell of steel and male flesh reminded him of prison? He hoped not. It did remind him of his time behind bars though; it smelled the same, and the sound of rambunctious black men in the other room sounded similar. Plus the uncomfortable cot — it was actually a bit better than his bunk at Brutewood Prison, but it was uncomfortable in the same way, like it had been designed to hurt. All in all, the only big difference right now between this locker room and prison was the air-conditioning, the pitch-black darkness and the lack of any cellmates. It was like prison, but alone.

The door to the locker room swung open. Kyree turned his head in time to see Brother Randall step through, carrying a folded up cot and a sleeping bag. He still wore his suit and tie, though he had loosened the tie. The suit was black but the shirt beneath was bright purple, and the tie was yellow — if he had had a colorful hat, he’d look like a pimp.

“Good evening, Brother Kyree,” he said. He nodded respectfully. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping in here. Is it alright if I join you?”

Kyree nodded. “Yeah, whatever, man. I mean… Brother Randall.” He felt uncomfortable around men of God. They were like authority figures, whom Kyree normally bucked at, but they were kind and reassuring, so he didn’t wish to be disobedient. He had been awkward around the prison chaplain as well.

First Brother Randall went to the bank of lockers. Kyree saw that he opened the last locker on the right, the same one Kyree had used — there were only nine lockers and around twenty people at the lock-in, so they had had to share.

“You played good out there today,” Brother Randall said as he took off his clothes and changed into a pair of sweatpants. He had a slim but well-muscled body, smooth and unmarked by tattoos. “Did you used to play in high school?”

“Yeah.”

“You ain’t get a college scholarship?”

“No,” Kyree said. “I wasn’t that good.” He used to brag about his skills, claiming he had only not been offered a scholarship because of his outspoken attitudes. But his time in prison changed all that. None of it seemed so important anymore, and everyone behind bars had outspoken attitudes, or at least everyone who mattered. There were a hundred niggas, maybe more, there who claimed they could have gone pro. Besides that, Brother Randall had been a college basketball star, certain to go on to the NBA, before a broken kneecap ended his career; he had gotten closer than Kyree ever did.

“I’m sure you were good-“ He sounded so supportive and patronizing that he annoyed Kyree; he was coming across as more like a therapist than a pastor.

“Look, Brother Randall… I don’t care about basketball, okay? I don’t care about your sermons. I don’t care about any of this.”

“Then why did you come here?” he asked as he set up his cot. His muscles flexed, and he smiled at Kyree, revealing deep dimples on his smooth cheeks.

“For the free meal, and because it would look good to my parole officer,” Kyree said. He stroked his grizzled chin. Was he actually lying? That was what he told himself when he signed up, and when he actually came over here. But a part of him had really wanted to. He’d been in the ghetto, hanging out with his old niggas since being released. He hadn’t done any gangsta shit, and nobody pressured him to — they knew he was on parole — but Kyree was glad to have spent an evening around law-abiding people.

“That’s very honest of you. Religion is not important to you?”

“No, it ain’t. It don’t matter anyway, Randall. I can’t stop sinning now. Like I couldn’t go without sex except when I was locked up, and only cuz there weren’t no females to be had,” he said. “If there’s sluts around, I’m gonna fuck ‘em. Sorry if that hurts yo’ ears or whatever-“

“Not at all,” Brother Randall said. His lithe brown body reflected the dim light of the locker room as he rubbed cocoa butter into his skin. The smell made Kyree hungry. Brother Randall cleared his throat. “You are unable to control your own behavior?”

“I just need to get a nut off, nigga, or I can’t concentrate.”

“Lustful acts are only a sin if they are motivated by lust,” Brother Randall said. “Did you not have a bitch in prison?”

Kyree chuckled. “Damn, I ain’t think I was gonna hear you talk about prison bitches. No, I ain’t have one. I ain’t into violence. I don’t wanna hold some nigga down and make him take it. That ain’t fo’ me. There was some queers who would-a sucked me off for a few bucks, but they was nasty and I ain’t wanna pay for it. I’d rather jack off.”

“Am I nasty?” Brother Randall asked. When Kyree didn’t immediately respond, he continued, “Because I would be glad to pleasure you, Kyree. It will bring us closer together under-“

“Uh, what?” Kyree was certain he had heard that incorrectly. But much to his surprise, he then felt Brother Randall’s lotion-smooth fingers slipping under Kyree’s blankets. He caressed Kyree’s torso on his way down to his crotch. Kyree’s skin twitched.

“Sssh…” Brother Randall said. “There is nothing to be ashamed about. Men have needs. Whether in prison or not, whether a man of god or not…” He whispered, but his voice sounded loud in the echoey locker room.

Yeah! They were cheering in the other room of the church. Someone probably rolled double-sixes in that board game, Kyree thought, snorting in derision. Board games, he thought, were for pussies, especially Bible-themed board games.

“I know that you have deep, urgent needs,” Brother Randall said. He used both hands to stroke Kyree’s cock under the sleeping bag and beneath his sweatpants.

Kyree gulped nervously. A part of him wanted to flee from the church, but another part of him wanted to stay. This was better than prison because Brother Randall wasn’t a mincing queen, plus no one had to ever know — unlike in prison, where there were no secrets. Tomorrow, Kyree thought, he could pretend none of this had happened.

“Yeah… I got needs,” Kyree said.

If Brother Randall had asked beforehand, Kyree would have definitely said no. But his dick was already throbbing in Brother Randall’s delicate fingers, growing hard as he stroked it slowly. When Kyree didn’t say anything, Brother Randall interpreted that as agreement. He pulled down Kyree’s sweatpants, freeing his cock.

Kyree gasped as Brother Randall leaned in and kissed Kyree on the chest. His tongue lapped at Kyree’s pecs, making his nipples hard. Kyree groaned and threw his head back — he wasn’t expecting this to feel so good.

Then Brother Randall’s mouth encircled Kyree’s cock. He had known this was coming, but a dusty prudish corner of his mind hoped that Brother Randall would just give him a handjob. Instead his smooth lips gripped Kyree’s dickshaft and stroked it slowly.

Despite his misgivings, Kyree had no intention of backing out. He was already hard, and he didn’t much mind getting head from a man, even if he had never gone through with it before. There had been a gay white man once offering money to get facefucked by niggas, but that had seemed too trashy to Kyree at the time — he wasn’t a prostitute, he was a gangsta. He had made fun of all the men who did it. Now he was doing the same, and he wasn’t even getting paid for it. He wondered if he could track down that white man again.

His dick hardened as Brother Randall licked the shaft. He produced copious spit, which dripped down and into Kyree’s crotch. Kyree grunted, trying to hide how pleasurable this was for him — he rather felt like it should feel too good, that would be gay. But deep in his heart he had to admit this was already the best blowjob he had ever received.

His tempo increased as Kyree moaned and precum flowed down Brother Randall’s throat. Kyree’s hands flailed awkwardly — he didn’t want to touch Brother Randall for fear he he’d be turned off by the texture of male hair. His hands did flutter over and grip Brother Randall’s shoulders, but that was even worse because their lean musculature was distinctly masculine.

After a few seconds, however, Kyree could no longer resist. His dick begged for him to take charge of the situation. He gripped Brother Randall’s hair and gently guided his head up and down.

Brother Randall sputtered but submitted. He seemed to genuinely enjoy cocksucking, which Kyree supposed shouldn’t surprise him. Brother Randall’s tongue flickered along Kyree’s shaft, sending waves of pleasure up his body.

When Brother Randall pulled off, he gasped and wiped the spit off his face. Brother Randall smiled and murmured, rubbing his own throat as though trying to hold on to the taste of Kyree’s cock. He caressed Kyree’s chest. Kyree wanted desperately to beg him to suck some more, to not leave his dick unstimulated, but Kyree was too proud to beg for sex from a man.

“You are a handsome black man, Brother Kyree. You should be proud of yourself,” Brother Randall said softly. “You are beautiful in God’s eyes, and in mine.”

As Brother Randall leaned in, Kyree realized he was going to kiss. Kyree wasn’t sure he wanted that, though in the heat of the moment he couldn’t think of why. He allowed Brother Randall’s tongue to push into his mouth. Randall was so smooth and delicately muscled that his kiss did feel decidedly feminine; Kyree was glad he didn’t feel any scratchy beard hairs, though his own scruffy chin did rub against Brother Randall’s cheeks.

Without even thinking about it, Kyree wrapped his hands around Brother Randall’s back and held on. He pulled him close and kissed him back, even as his mind said to stop, that this was too gay for a straight macho like him. But Kyree didn’t want to stop.

“Oh God, thank you for bringing me Brother Kyree to help me through this night,” Randall said when he pulled off Kyree’s face.

He sat up in Brother Randall’s arms. Kyree was much bigger and stronger than him, and his muscles throbbed beneath Brother Randall’s touch. They sat there on the creaking cot, Brother Randall facing Kyree and kissing him, with his legs straddling Kyree’s body so their dicks touched. Brother Randall stroked them both off at once.

Kyree didn’t notice his own hand doing the same until it had already started. Like someone else controlled it, his hand took both cocks and jacked them slowly back and forth.

Their precum mingled and ran down Kyree’s shaft. He had never experienced anything quite like this. Brother Randall’s kisses moved from Kyree’s mouth to his neck, while Brother Randall gently pushed Kyree to lay back down.

Kyree did, too nervous to even think about taking charge of this experience. Brother Randall positioned himself atop Kyree’s crotch, while Kyree continued to stroke Randall’s dick, precum dripping onto his flesh.

Then Brother Randall lowered himself, plunging Kyree’s dick into his body. Kyree moaned as intense pleasure rocketed through his body. His dick was already near orgasm, and now the intense sensations caused uncontrollable reactions in him.

Kyree writhed there on the tiny cot, which swayed as though having trouble supporting them both. His dick fit easily in Brother Randall’s ass — suggesting, Kyree thought, that this was not Brother Randall’s first time by far — and glided in and out as Brother Randall lifted his own body up and down.

A few months ago, Kyree would have responded violently to the idea that he would jack a man off, especially with that man facing Kyree so when he came, he would shoot his load all over Kyree’s chest. But that was precisely what he was doing now, and he was loving every moment of it.

His dick throbbed and pulsated inside Brother Randall’s body. Kyree thrust his hips upwards the best he could, but in this position, Brother Randall was mainly in charge of the rhythm and timing. He was well-practiced at this, and he lifted himself up and down like an expert. He took every inch of Kyree’s dick each time, sending spasms of pleasure wracking Kyree’s limbs.

The most astonishing thing, Kyree thought, was how he could feel the orgasm in Brother Randall’s cock well before it actually happened. He could feel cum flowing through his veiny dick, and he sensed it in the way his balls crawled slowly up in his sac. He felt closer to Brother Randall than he ever had to any of his girlfriends; they were in sync, moving in perfect harmony as they both reached their climaxes.

“Aw, god yes, nigga, damn!” Brother Randall shouted, suddenly forgetting his pastoral placidity, his tone suddenly deep and rough, even a tough thuggish, which made Kyree smile. Brother Randall’s ass rode Kyree’s dick up and down even as Randall moaned with intense bliss.

When at last Kyree felt his onrushing orgasm, he bit his lip, too embarrassed to cry out. That didn’t last long, however, as Brother Randall climaxed at the same time, his ass clenching around Kyree’s dick. That sent another wave of bliss through Kyree’s body.

Unable to prevent himself, Kyree let out a long, low moan that echoed in the locker room. He hoped nobody else in the church could hear, but it sounded like they were still playing their board game in the other room.

Cum flew into Brother Randall’s ass, a giant load that kept coming and coming with every thrust of Kyree’s dick. He coated Brother Randall’s insides, while Randall’s lithe muscles contorted and he moaned as well, releasing a sweet, mellifluous sound in Kyree’s ears.

Another load sprayed, this time covering Kyree’s chest. Brother Randall shot so powerfully that some even landed on Kyree’s chin and lips, and he tasted a burst of salty-sweet cum. His own pleasure was too intense to think about complaining though, so he just accepted it.

Finally they were done. Brother Randall remained there, however, planted on Kyree’s dick while Kyree lazily stroked his limp dick. A few more drops of cum leaked out and coated Kyree’s fingers.

At last Brother Randall climbed off. He cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Kyree was too embarrassed to actually respond. He just nodded.

“God knows that we are not driven to this by our lusts,” Brother Randall said. He pulled a box of tissues out of the locker they shared, and he wiped his ass off. He knelt down and wiped off Kyree’s chest as well. “God will forgive us for this, Brother Kyree. Do you believe that?”

Kyree nodded. “I guess so.”

“Good,” Brother Randall smiled. He kissed Kyree’s chest again. “You should come to me anytime you feel yourself tempted to lay with a woman. I can please you and offer you forgiveness for it. Okay?”

Kyree shrugged. He was shocked at how easy this had been. If only someone like Brother Randall had been with him in prison, that could have been a much less stressful time in his life. “Yeah,” he said. “Whatever… I’ll come see you when I need… y’know, somethin’.”

“Good. I look forward to your visit,” Brother Randall said.

The Reacharound Game: At Brutewood Prison

Here’s the first chapter from The Reacharound Game: At Brutewood Prison, a new novelette from Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary. It’s the hot tale of a pair of cellmates who play a uncontrollably sexy game!

Jake was expecting to be afraid when he was shoved into the prison cell that was to be his home for seven years, but he was not expecting how pervasive the terror was in him. He panicked like he had never panicked before. He wasn’t sure how obvious it was to his new cellmate either; he tried to maintain a tough façade.

The cell was a tiny rectangle with a toilet and two bunks. Pictures of naked black women with plump asses plastered the walls and ceiling. It smelled strongly of sweat, and faintly of cum. Jake’s cellmate sat on the top bunk.

He was a towering figure, Harmey was his name. He had a big shaved head and a squat nose, dark brown skin and bulging muscles. Jake had been assured that he’d be given a cell with a fellow Nine Tat, which meant he’d be safe, yet he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Harmey glared at Jake as though he already hated him.

“Yo,” Jake said. He nodded at Harmey, who nodded back.

That was the extent of their interaction for the next two hours. Jake lay on the bottom bunk. He hadn’t “unpacked” the tiny number of items he was allowed yet. He didn’t want to do it at first because he was too nervous, his hands would have been shaking, and then he thought he could save it so he’d have something to do when the boredom began to get to him.

A moist smacking sound began above him. Jake had no idea what it was at first, then realized it could only be his cellmate masturbating. He gulped and blushed. He should have known something like this would happen, but he had been predicting much worse things than masturbation — he supposed all cellmates must go through this eventually. It was really a pretty minor indiscretion, even if it seemed like the most disgusting thing he had ever experienced right now. He wondered if he should say something.

“So, whatchoo in for?” Harmey asked.

Jake felt too awkward to answer. Was Harmey really trying to have a conversation while he masturbated?

When Jake didn’t answer, Harmey spoke louder. “Huh? Nigga? Whatchoo doin’ down there? You jackin’ off? You wanna have a circlejerk?”

“Uh… no,” Jake said. “I’m… I’m in for possession. Cocaine, and a gun.”

“Uh-huh. You a Nine Tat, right?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Are you beatin’ yo’ meat up there?”

“Yeah. You wanna suck it?”

“No!”

“Cuz I let you suck it anytime, boi. No problem. You ain’t even got to ask, you can just start doin’ it.”

“No!”

“A’ight,” he said with a chuckle. “Yo’ loss.”

“Do you have to do that, uh, now?”

“Ain’t got to, no. Is there a better time for you, nigga? You want me to schedule it with yo’ secretary?”

“Why are you talking to me while you jack off?”

“Just gettin’ two things done at once, nigga,” he said. “I ain’t gonna rape you. You ain’t gotta worry about that. I ain’t a rapist.”

“Good to know.”

“I do play the Reacharound Game. Anyone told you ‘bout that?” He asked. Then he paused and moaned. Jake’s skin crawled as he realized Harmey was orgasming. His big body shifted its weight on the bunk above Jake, who closed his eyes. The sour, acrid smell of cum filled the room, and Jake felt like he was inhaling Harmey’s semen. Harmey grunted like an angry hog. “Huh? You know what the Reacharound Game is?”

“No.”

“It ain’t really a game, that’s just what we call it,” Harmey said. “If you join in, then you can fuck me in the ass at night. But you gotta give a reacharound, and you gotta let me get yo’ booty too, next time. I’ll give you a reacharound too. We switch off, so one night you gimme a reacharound, next night I do-“

“No.”

“You ain’t wanna play? Nobody’ll judge you for it. That’s a rule around here. You don’t lose no respect if you get fucked at night, wit’ a reacharound. Ain’t nobody s’posed to know, that’s a rule too, but there ain’t no privacy. So they gonna know-“

“No. I don’t wanna play.”

“You don’t wanna fuck?

“No!”

“You will. You can change your mind, nigga. You just lemme know. You can fuck me whenever you need to, I’ll let you be on top first,” he said. “I hope you do join in. You look like you got a nice ass.” He jumped down from his bunk.

The sheen of cum on his chest and belly was bright, attention-grabbing, and the smell grew strong now that he was near Jake’s bed. That made Jake gag and look away. “Damn, nigga…”

“You squeamish, huh? You one of dem squeamish niggas?” Harmey asked. He laughed and jutted his cum covered-chest forward, towards Jake in his bunk. One drop of pearly cum landed on the edge of his bunk, and Jake watched it dry there with unabashed horror. Harmey wiped his chest off with a wad of toilet paper.

“You one of dem nasty niggas.” Jake said. He shook his head, but smiled too, along with Harmey. He was beginning to feel better about Harmey, who, despite his size and tough mien, seemed like a jolly sort of man.

After that, Harmey started talking about his wife. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a year, but he said he knew she was keeping herself ready for him. He said he’d fuck the shit out of her when he got out, even if that didn’t happen until he was old and gray. Jake was glad he was friendly, even if he was also gross and seemed to talk a lot about his dick.

Then came lunch and an afternoon in the rec yard, followed by dinner. They ate at five o’clock and the morning meal wasn’t until seven the next morning, so it would be fourteen hours before he ate again. Jake knew he would be very hungry by then, so he forced himself to eat every bite of the rancid-tasting dinner.

By the time night arrived and the lights turned out, Jake felt more at home and less nervous. He was beginning to think he’d be alright. But one problem that had been more serious than he thought was his horniness. He had assumed he wouldn’t feel horny at all, at least not until he had been away from females for a few months.

The naked women all over the walls made it tough to concentrate. Jake was constantly just a bit aroused, daydreaming about any of those models sucking him off, bending over in front of him and showing off their tits. He wanted to fuck more than anything.

On the outside, he regularly went a few days, even weeks, without sex. But now, in here, he was feeling horny even though it had only been a few weeks since he got locked up in jail before his trial. He wanted to ask if he could pull the pictures down, but he knew Harmey would say no, would call him gay and that nobody else would back him up. Who didn’t want to look at naked women?

He decided to just play the Reacharound Game. It couldn’t be that bad, he thought. He’d had sex with a male friend once when they both very drunk and horny — that was just shared blowjobs, but still, he thought he’d be able to handle it. It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

He stood up. Was Harmey asleep? He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t sure how to begin.

“I know what you want,” Harmey said with a chuckle, his deep voice resonant in the tiny cell. It sounded like he had been awake all along, like he had assumed Jake would change his mind tonight. He sat up and grinned. “Go’n and put the curtain up.”

Jake sighed and did so. There was a spare sheet, which he taped up to conceal them from prying eyes outside the cell. Jake’s hands shook. He wondered if anyone outside the cell knew why he was doing hanging a curtain.

He shouldn’t be too nervous, he thought. This wasn’t the first time he’d had sex with a man. He’d never given a reacharound though. He couldn’t help but feel like if he didn’t do this perfectly, Harmey would tell the others that Jake wasn’t a real man. The possibility that he’d be too nervous to even get a hardon occurred to Jake; he was horny, but what if that wasn’t enough?

By the time the curtain was up, Harmey was out of his bunk and on all fours on the ground. He was stark naked, his giant brown body stretching as he spread his legs. Jake was quite a bit shorter and skinnier than Harmey, so getting behind him was awkward. He had to stand on his toes.

“Don’t forget, you gotta give a reacharound,” Harmey muttered.

“I will…” Jake’s voice sounded weak in his own mind. He hoped no one else heard him. He used his left hand to guide his dick in, while his right roamed around to the front of Harmey’s body. Touching him like this felt very intimate, and reminded Jake of how much bigger Harmey was than himself.

When his cock finally entered, Harmey grunted and Jake shuddered. It felt nothing like a woman’s ass, he thought, all those gay men were lying about that. Harmey’s crack was choked with hair, the cheeks cold and plump, but the inside was hot and tight just like any woman’s. If he could just ignore the ass itself and focus on Harmey’s hole, this might be easy, Jake thought.

Harmey’s dick throbbed, thick and fat in Jake’s fingers. Jake shuddered. He had circlejerked once with his old basketball team, so this wasn’t the first time he touched another man’s cock. But he had never touched a big old horse-dick like this, and he had never felt so intimate with a man.

Harmey’s muscles felt even bigger than they looked, especially in this position, with Jake’s arms wrapped around his body. Harmey had hair on his chest, coarse and kinky, and there were even a few stray hairs extending over his shoulder. Jake’s face mashed into the man’s meaty back as he pounded away at his ass.

“Damn, nigga, you fuck like a champion,” Harmey said, grunting in a combination of pleasure and pain. Something slick covered Jake’s fingers, and it took him a moment to realize it was Harmey’s precum. A part of his mind thought that was disgusting, but his body didn’t quite react that way — he focused more on the pleasure accruing in his dick, which throbbed in Harmey’s tight ass. Jake thought he could learn to enjoy this before he was released.

The more he got into it, the more he was able to forget about the hair and the meaty muscles beneath his arms. Then it was more like fucking a woman, a giant woman with a powerful ass.

His pleasure was intense enough that Jake could forget the dick in his hand as well. Harmey’s cock was huge and thick; Jake couldn’t even get his hand all the way around the shaft. But it was enough to get Harmey hard, it seemed, and he even moaned in a combination of both pleasure and pain.

An orgasm ripped through Jake’s body. He groaned, resting his face on Harmey’s rippling back so he could muffle the sound. Hot cum flew into Harmey, who grunted as well, his body writhing beneath Jake. Semen dripped out and down his powerful thighs.

Jake wanted to ask if he was supposed to pull out and focus entirely on jacking Harmey off, or if Harmey just wanted to finish himself off. But before he opened his mouth, he felt Harmey’s entire body throb. Harmey’s muscles flexed all at once, and he let out a long, low groan.

Jake shuddered when he realized Harmey was orgasming right now, with Jake’s dick growing limp in his ass. He kept stroking by habit and instinct, as he felt Harmey’s balls crawl up in his sac. His shaft pulsated with cum flowing through it. It was almost like a second orgasm, one he experienced vicariously through the undulations of Harmey’s body on Jake’s dick and in his arms.

Then his semen sprayed over Jake’s hand and onto the floor. The smell of cum was thick and cloying, and it made Jake dizzy. He wanted to stop but he had a feeling that would anger Harmey, so he kept on stroking. Harmey’s floppy horse-cock rapidly limpened in Jake’s fingers.

At last it was all over. Jake tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal that his hand was covered in cum. He wiped it off with toilet paper, while Harmey chuckled and stood there in the center of the cell. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers.

“Thanks,” Jake said.

“Nah, thank you,” Harmey said. He winced in pain as he rubbed his sore ass. “I’m gonna love turnin’ this around and fuckin’ you, boy. That’ll be nice. I’m gonna fill you up till it comes out yo’ ears.”

Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven, a new Brutewood Medium Security story and part of the best-selling Twink on Top series!

Eddie strode into prison as confident as he could muster — he didn’t want to look like he was really a sniveling weakling precisely because he was about to act like one — but his ego quickly deflated. He was searched, poked and prodded by Officer Barnett. He felt like a prisoner, which was sexy but also humiliating. It both helped and exacerbated the problem that Officer Barnett was a sexy redneck guard himself; being poked by him would have no doubt satisfied many gay twinks fantasies.

But Eddie wasn’t here for Officer Barnett, who wasn’t really his type anyway. Eddie loved black thugs, the bigger and thuggier the better, ideally with an alpha attitude, a penchant for verbal sex, denigrating dirty talk and a willingness to let gay men service them. That was why he had arranged this opportunity of a lifetime. He didn’t even think there was any chance Barnett would agree to it, but he did, and Eddie could even afford the rather massive sum Barnett had charged him.

Most of that money would be going to the inmate that Eddie chose. He walked through Brutewood Prison increasingly nervous as they came to Cell Block Omega, which Barnett had said was not in use normally. Barnett had found the eight prisoners who met Eddie’s criteria and were willing to let Eddie’s tiny twink body service them, like the prison bitch Eddie wished he could be. Eddie had been daydreaming about setting this sort of encounter up since he was a teenager, and he never thought he’d go through with it until a few months ago, when he realized he needed to just bite the bullet and try. The worst that could happen (aside from being beaten to death by a homophobic prisoner and/or guard) was being refused.

He didn’t have a whole lot of time — Barnett only promised him ‘seven minutes in heaven’. But Eddie thought that would be enough time. Barnett assured him that these men would be horny and ready to take charge, so the brief duration wouldn’t be a detriment to some quality alpha service.

That was what Eddie wanted. He wanted to be held down and fucked hard, slapped, treated like a submissive prison bitch, because that’s what he was at heart. The sight of empty cells and the hollering of men in a far off block made him hard even before he had seen a single inmate.

The first one was tall and lean, with dreadlocks and hawkish features. He spoke with a faint island accent, but Eddie suspected that was an affectation. He flopped his dick between his fingers and showed off his perfect six-pack. “Yo, mon, you want me-uh treat you poorly? I will rape you senseless, whiteman. You will be crying when I am done wit’ you. I will fuck the batty-boy outta you, and then I gonna fuck it right back in.”

That wasn’t quite for him. Eddie preferred men with a little meat on their bones — as much as he wished he could get on his knees and suck the dreadlocked man off through the cell bars, Eddie thought there was someone better in one of the other cells.

Then he passed a burly black man with a beard, and a sour look on his face. He nodded at Eddie, ran his tongue under his upper lip and said, “Damn, whiteboi, you look good enough to eat.”

But Eddie moved on. He wasn’t quite right. The next one was bald-headed, with a Latin look to his skin and face. “You wanna be my puta?” he asked as Eddie walked past.

The fourth person was heavily tattooed, which Eddie didn’t find especially sexy. He didn’t say anything, he just nodded at Eddie and bucked forward as though he was going to attack Eddie through the cell bars. Eddie instinctively shrank back and blushed when the tattooed thug cackled at him.

As soon as Eddie came to the fifth cell, he knew he had found his man. “So, you the faggot who wanna be my bitch, huh?” Eddie blushed. He quickly hurried to the end of the corridor to see the others — that just seemed polite, after all — but he knew what he wanted. The fifth man was tall, broad-shouldered and built like a linebacker, dripping with muscle and meat. He didn’t have a six-pack, just a tiny belly, barely enough to grab on to, but that was the perfect size for Eddie. There was a crucifix tattooed over his sternum, and a gun on each bicep.

“Yo,” he said with a big wide, shit-eating grin when Eddie chose him. “I’m Dump Truck.” He undressed Eddie with his eyes, and his dick visibly shifted in his orange prison pants.

“Charles Everly,” Officer Barnett said. “Mister Everly here is an armed robber and an arms-trafficker-“

“I sold one gun, Barnett, don’t be fucking dramatic,” he said. He snorted and avoided looking at Eddie. “So you the one who wanna be a prison bitch, huh? Ain’t nevuh heard of no one who want that. But you kinda look like a bitch, so it ain’t hard to believe. It’s been awhile since I had a bitch who was faggy. Might be kinda nice. I enjoy holdin’ a nigga down and makin’ him cry uncle — not that I stop then, it’s just nice to hear him cry — but I might like fucking a faggot too.”

“Don’t hurt him, Mister Everly,” Barnett said. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Can we put the curtain up?” Dump Truck asked as Barnett unlocked the cell.

Officer Barnett looked to Eddie, who blushed again and nodded. “Please! Let’s do that. I wanna have the real prison bitch experience.” His heart felt like it might jump out of his chest.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what we gonna have,” Dump Truck said. He laughed, and the men in the other cells joined in. “I am gonna treat you bad, whiteboi, bad in all the right ways. Hope you wasn’t intendin’ to walk outta here.”

Destroy ‘im, Dump!

Eddie had never felt so weak and submissive. His dick was rock-hard, and it started leaking precum the moment he heard the lock slide into place. The door was shut.

“Gonna destroy you, faggot,” Dump Truck said with a sneer. He quickly hung up a sheet that blocked the cell from view. Eddie shivered as he anticipated what was going to come next. His ass already ached a little. Dump Truck towered over him by more than a foot, and he must have outweighed Eddie by a hundred and fifty pounds or more.

Make him squeal like a piggie, Dump!

“I will!” he called out. Once the sheet was hung up, however, his smile changed. He sunk down so he looked Eddie right in the eyes; it almost felt like he was going to kiss Eddie, though of course he didn’t. He whispered, “Yo, faggot. I ain’t queer, but… I got a proposition for ya. I been in this place fo’ a long time, and I done had a million prison bitches. I fucked ‘em up, and I wrecked ‘em and I moved on. I wanna do somethin’ different.”

“Oh… like what?”

“I want you to fuck me,” he said. He looked down and bit his lower lip. Then, for the benefit of everyone listening on the other side of the curtain, he called out, “You know what Brutewood lube is? It’s how we get a bitch to deep-throat. Lemme spit in yo’ throat, lube it up real good.” He spat on the ground and everyone cheered him on. Then he whispered again, “I wanna taste yo’ dick and feel you inside of me.”

“Are you serious?”

“This is a serious place, and I am a serious nigga,” he said. “Come on, honky. I know you came here to bottom, and I’ll fuck the shit outta you — literally — if that’s whatchoo want. But I wanna get fucked. It’s gotta be a girlie-looking twink like you, but I can’t let anyone in here know a gay white faggot fucked me. That’s ruin my rep. So this is my only option. I ain’t think I was ever gonna have the chance to bottom for a pretty little boy like you. Whatchoo think?”

“Are you serious? Hell yeah,” Eddie said, focusing hard to keep himself from being too loud. This was all happening so fast, it was hard to recalibrate his expectations. But he couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than fucking Dump Truck’s massive body.

“Alright,” he grinned. “Let’s hurry up, or we gonna run outta time. Seven minutes ain’t much.” He hesitated, then stooped over and kissed Eddie on the lips. He was halting and slow — it was obvious this was the first time he had kissed a man, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His tongue even pushed into Eddie’s mouth.

Though his passion was lacking at first, a few seconds in, Dump Truck let out a moan that resonated in Eddie’s mouth. His tongue suddenly moved, clobbering Eddie’s own tongue, and his thick fingers grasped Eddie’s shirt. He ripped it, buttons flying to the bunk and dingy toilet in the corner of his cell.

I ain’t hear him squeal yet, his mouth full?

Sounds moist in there, I can kinda hear it. He fucking that fairy in the face, I think.

Dump, how that batty-boi takin’ it, mon?

“You can’t hear him choke, nigga? Guess his faggot mouth is just too full to choke. He ain’t breathe in a minute, son,” Dump Truck said. “Got too much dick in there, and he lovin’ it, like a fuckin’ Big Mac and shit!” His big eyes twinkled as he pecked Eddie on the lips and then worked his way down Eddie’s pale, lithe body. He shuddered a little like he was surprised at the taste, and he stopped to play with Eddie’s nipples. Then he licked Eddie’s flat belly and stopped only when he reached Eddie’s pubic hair (which he kept trimmed very short).

Dump Truck was so much bigger than Eddie that even getting on his knees wasn’t enough, he was still too tall to suck Eddie’s dick. He had to get on all fours, with his plump ass high in the air, while Eddie stood on his toes in front of Dump Truck’s face.

But when he did get his head in position, Dump Truck wasted no time in swallowing Eddie’s dick to the root. He seemed surprised that Eddie’s cock wasn’t as proportionately small as his body was. He motioned for Eddie to make some noise.

Eddie blushed but spat and sputtered, hocking up a few loogies and even sticking a finger far enough down his throat to gag once. That made the other men laugh and cheer, banging on the bars of their cell.

That sounds right, nigga!

Choke him! Show him the Brutewood way!

In no time Eddie was rock-hard, and he started getting into it. Every time the men quieted down, he made it sound like he was getting throatfucked and loving it, and they’d laugh again. Even Officer Barnett chuckled quietly.

You got this, Dump!

Dump Truck had a broad, dark brown back, pocked with a few scars and marks, plus some dark blue prison tats that Eddie couldn’t quite make out (some kind of writing, he thought, possibly Hebrew, like an Old Testament verse). He stroked Dump Truck’s muscles, trying to reach his plump ass, but he was much too short. Instead he just grasped at his back and shoulder, sighing as pleasure moved through him; they both threw their heads back and moaned. Eddie’s moan was drowned out by Dump Truck’s, and Dump Truck made his sound exaggerated and comical so it wasn’t obvious to their audience why he was moaning.

He change his mind about being a prison bitch, Dump?

“No, he ain’t! He is lovin’ every second of it! He’s fucking serious. You should commit some crimes and shit, whiteboi. You could be the queen bitch in this place, man,” Dump Truck said. His voice was joyous and light-hearted, even as his face was serious, gasping, with Eddie’s dick throbbing against his face.

As he resumed sucking, Dump Truck moved his head more and more aggressively up and down. Eddie felt like he was being attacked by Dump Truck’s massive head, which made him giggle — he covered his mouth with a hand to muffle the sound. Dump Truck took Eddie’s hands in his and wrapped it over his head.

He wanted Eddie to facefuck him like a prison alpha might do. Eddie had been on the receiving end of a jailhouse-style facefuck on several occasions, but he had never topped for that kind of scenario — he had rarely topped at all.

But he wanted to give Dump Truck what he desired. He held onto the ragged short afro on Dump Truck’s head, gripping his hair, and he slammed his dick all the way in. Dump Truck let out a chortling gurgling sound with a moistness that made everyone else burst into cheers. To Eddie, it sounded much too deep to be his own voice — he was more high-pitched and feminine than that — but luckily it seemed the other inmates didn’t realize that. They had never heard Eddie before today so they had no basis for comparison.

Rape ‘im harder!

Dump Truck pulled off and laid on his back on the bare mattress on the bunk in the cell. He snorted and sniffled, wiping fluids off his face; he smiled silently at Eddie. He let his head hang over the foot of the bed. “This is the proper position for a prison bitch, alright, faggot? Get ready to get yo’self throatfucked.”

Yeah, fuck ‘is gullet, man, show him how we do it right in here!

Fuck ‘im the Brutewood way!

Eddie squealed loudly, blushing as the other inmates cheered him on. Dump Truck was in exactly the position Eddie liked to get facefucked in; Eddie had never in his life been on this side of it. He approached Dump Truck’s broad face and pushed his dick past those thick, juicy lips. His cock slammed into Dump Truck’s throat, making him wretch and writhe atop the filthy prison mattress.

He regrettin’ signin’ up fo’ this yet?

Incredible pleasure rocketed through Eddie’s spine. He had never felt like this, not even on those few occasions when he got to top someone. He shuddered and moaned quietly, every ounce of concentration he could muster going towards not being so loud that he alerted the others to the fact that he wasn’t bottoming as they thought.

Precum flowed down Dump Truck’s throat. From the reaction on his face, it seemed he had little experience with that. Did he like the taste or hate it? Eddie couldn’t tell, and in this position, he didn’t have to care. He really felt like he was overpowering Dump Truck, whose muscular limbs contorted as he accepted the throatfucking. His muscles flexed and bucked as though he was fighting back, and his movement made the bunk beneath him move. The sound of steel scraping against the prison cell floor caused a torrent of cheers from the other cells.

He pulled off once again, grabbed Eddie’s slick dick. He lowered his head farther, so he could suck Eddie’s balls. Then he called out, “He suckin’ the sweat off my balls now, what a nasty slut he is!” He swallowed both of Eddie’s balls, easily fitting them both in his big mouth. He suckled loudly, making a sputtering sound that provoked more cheers from the other cells.

Nasty faggot! Can’t believe he signin’ up for this voluntarily!

Then Dump Truck pulled away, stood up and turned around, in a hurry like he had just remembered they were on a time limit. Spit clung to his lips in tendrils, and his ruddy face was moist with tears from lack of oxygen and sweat dappling his forehead.

“Four minutes left, guys,” Officer Barnett said. “You better hurry up.”

His ass was much wider than Eddie’s body, not because he was fat, it was just big and broad and juicy. Each cheek was nearly twice the size of Eddie’s head. He lowered his ass onto Eddie’s dick, slowly. Eddie still stood at the foot of the bed, so Dump Truck crouched on all fours on the ground and backed up (rather like his eponymous vehicle) until his ass lined up with Eddie’s crotch. His crack was choked with sweaty hair, which ordinarily Eddie would have licked clean like a good submissive twink. He felt like he was losing his entire body in the choked masculine jungle of Dump Truck’s ass.

“Fuckin’ ‘im now, Barnett, cool yo’ jets,” Dump Truck said. “Don’t worry, he gettin’ e’ry inch of me that he entitled to. Don’t you worry yo’ sweet redneck head about that, Barnett.”

“You alright in there, sir?”

“Yeah…” Eddie said, too embarrassed to think of anything else to say. He wasn’t sure how to say it that wouldn’t give away what was really happening in here. “I… uh, he’s treating me right.”

That’s right he is! Showin’ you how it’s done!

You mean he treatin’ you wrong, but he doin’ it in the right way.

Eddie gulped as Dump Truck penetrated himself with Eddie’s dick. Eddie gingerly gripped his shoulders and held on while he began humping back, gradually losing his inhibitions. A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine from the moment his dick poked through that jungle of sweaty ass-hair and into his tight hole.

When Dump Truck grunted in pain, he covered it up with a louder roar, an aggressive bitch-fucking sound that made the other inmates roar and chant alongside him. Fuck that queer! Fuck that queer! Dump Truck threw his head back and wordlessly moaned, smiling at Eddie even as he grunted out threats and insults.

“Gonna fuck you so hard you wear a diaper, faggot…”

Eddie was not an actor. He tried to pant like a submissive man might — he should have been better at it, since that was the role he normally played, but everything happening here was outside his wheelhouse. He couldn’t remember what kind of sounds he might normally make in the reverse of this situation.

Make ‘im beg for mercy, nigga!

It was clear that Dump Truck wasn’t kidding about having never gotten fucked — not that Eddie ever doubted him. His asshole was so tight that Eddie had to really shove to get his dick in there. There was no time for a gentle approach either; Eddie pushed it in farther and farther, and when Dump Truck didn’t stop him, he began to ram it back and forth, uncaring of his resistance or the hairs that Eddie’s dick accidentally ripped from his crack.

Teach ‘im a lesson! Fuckin’ faggot, comin’ in here, tryin’-a get fucked and shit, like prison is a goddamn orgy! Fucking honky!

Each time he did, Dump Truck winced and blanched. The whole experience was so incredible that each time Eddie thrust past Dump Truck’s resistance in his ass, a surge of awkward pleasure hit him and Eddie moaned in a pained, struggling way. It genuinely did sound like a prison bitch getting fucked, which just egged the other inmates on.

Wreck him! Ruin him! Show him how we do it, nigga! No mercy!

No mercy!

Eddie did indeed fuck with no mercy. Of course it was Dump Truck who responded, “He takin’ it, nigga. Ain’t like a prison bitch, he been opened up a million times before. Kinda nice fuckin’ a bitch who ain’t too squirmy. Gonna fill him up wit’ some nut.”

“Two minutes left, guys. You still alright in there?”

“Yes! Yes, officer…” Eddie said, his excitement making everyone, including Barnett, laugh. “I’m, uh… I’m just finishing up.” He threw his head back and moaned as wave after wave of unimaginable bliss washed over him, so intense it was painful as he lost himself in the massive brown ass trembling before his tiny twink frame.

Dump Truck’s ass clenched when he approached his own orgasm. He had started jacking himself off; Eddie tried to give him a reacharound, but he could barely reach all the way around, so he just fumbled with Dump Truck’s body while slamming his dick in Dump Truck’s jiggling, tight ass.

“Aw, fuck…” Dump Truck grunted. “You take dick good, faggot!”

When Eddie’s orgasm finally came, it felt like it had been a lifetime, way more than seven minutes. Eddie yelped and scratched at Dump Truck’s back — he was so big and thick-skinned he didn’t seem to notice — while incredible pleasure suffused both men’s bodies, in sync with each other like no one Eddie had ever been with before.

Cum flowed into Dump Truck’s ass, a huge load that dripped out and down those giant trunk-like thighs. It splatted on the floor, but still Eddie came. Dump Truck roared as he shot his own load into his hand and all over his chest; he managed to make the roar sound like a manly cavemanesque grunt.

Eddie’s entire body went limp. He knew they were running out of time, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out, not yet. He kept it there, stimulating Dump Truck’s prostate while Dump Truck’s body writhed and flexed with both bliss and agony, pride and shame visible on his contorting face.

Dump Truck turned around, his massive chest gleaming, covered in his own cum. Eddie licked every inch of it, savoring the meaty feel of the man’s muscles. He deliberately made sure the cum soaked into his face, so when he moved upward and kissed Dump Truck on the lips, he tasted it. He had to climb the man’s mountainous torso to get there, gripping his throbbing muscles with Eddie’s delicate fingers.

They shared cum for another minute or so, stopping only when Officer Barnett began counting down the last thirty seconds. Eddie was bashful, and hurriedly cleaned himself up with a napkin and started putting his clothes back on. Dump Truck just stood there, covered in fluids, his cum mingling with his sweat so it wasn’t obvious what it was. His dick dangled between his legs.

“Damn, Dump Truck, put some clothes on,” Officer Barnett said when he pulled the curtain down after hitting zero.

Eddie was bright red, too scared he’d blurt out what happened to say anything at all. He quickly dressed and clasped the sweaty small of Dump Truck’s back.

“Bye, Dump Truck, that was amazing. You’re the best prison alpha-“

“Shut the fuck up, bitch, I ain’t tryin’-a please you,” Dump Truck said. “You come back here again and I’ll fist you to death, faggot.”

Eddie just nodded and followed Officer Barnett out. He pretended his ass hurt as he walked past the other inmates; he winced and blushed.

“Was that everything you thought it was gonna be?” Officer Barnett asked once they were out of Cell Block Alpha.

“No,” Eddie said. “It was completely different, and so much better.”

Twink on Top: Cramped Closet

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Cramped Closet, a new story in the Twink on Top series! If you’ve had enough of alpha bears penetrating delicate little twinks, the Twink on Top series is for you, if you can handle what happens when a twink climbs on top!

When the door opened, Habib was laying on his back, covered in Mohammed’s juices. They had just finished having sex. Habib, as usual, had bottomed: he sucked Mohammed off, licked his hairy, muscular ass and taken his load, letting it spray all over his smooth chest and belly. That was how they always did it. He lay there, covered in juices while Mohammed cleaned himself up; he did not allow Habib to clean himself until Mohammed was done doing the same.

Mohammed, as usual, looked at him with cruel, judgmental eyes. Mohammed did not see himself as gay, nor as having gay sex — like many Egyptians, he saw the penetrative partner as being totally straight, while the receiving partner, Habib, was gay. He often told Habib to seek forgiveness from Allah after sex.

But today, there was no time for that. They had just finished when the door opened, and two people walked in: a man and a woman. They were Mohammed’s wife and her brother, chatting about the car that had just broken down on the side of the road. That was why they had come home early.

“It is not the battery, Ruha. The car would never have started in the first place if it was the battery.”

“It felt like the battery to me…” Her voice drifted in from the front door.

Mohammed gasped and Habib squealed. He could be arrested if he was caught like this — technically Mohammed would be arrested too, but he’d pay a minor fine, if that, while Habib could be jailed for years. It wouldn’t be surprising if the police just plain killed him.

Before Habib could say or do anything, however, Mohammed grabbed him by the arm, dragged him across the room and tossed him in the closet. Then he angrily shushed Habib and slammed the door shut.

Habib sat there in the darkness, feeling a mixture of humiliation, rage and fear. A million possible courses of action ran through his head, but Habib knew he wouldn’t do any of them. He was just going to sit here in the darkness until Mohammed’s wife and brother-in-law left. Then Mohammed would probably apologize, make Habib suck his dick again and kick him out with cum still drying on his lips.

But Habib could hardly complain, he thought. He could walk away any time. He kept telling himself he should do that. In the West, gay men were respected and valued. Here, he would be pilloried if everyone knew what he was. He could sneak into Europe, or he could at least try. But he sighed, knowing he would never do that — Habib was not a brave man, and that was a risky trip. Plenty of human traffickers would take Habib’s money, see that he was a small-boned queer and throw him in the ocean.

He listened to Mohammed and his wife and brother-in-law. They discussed the car trouble, and made plans for dinner the following night. Finally Mohammed called them a cab, then arranged for a tow truck to pick up his car off the side of the road.

At last the cab arrived, after an eternity of waiting. Mohammed saw them off and shut the door. Habib waited. Was he supposed to remain hidden? He hadn’t heard anything, so he wasn’t sure if Mohammed was certain his wife and brother-in-law wouldn’t return.

After what felt like hours, Habib realized this was it — Mohammed simply had such little respect for Habib that he didn’t care about making him wait in the closet. He didn’t bother telling Habib it was safe to come out. Habib stepped out, anger brimming within him. His knees were sore from remaining crouched among all those women’s clothes and shoes.

Mohammed grunted a greeting as he ate a sandwich of lamb and cucumber. He was a big man, and he ate constantly. Habib normally thought it was sexy, his big brown muscles and hairy body flexing as he shoved meat and bread in his throat.

But right now Habib was furious. He felt like the last year of furtive, hidden lust was bubbling up inside him, in the form of rage instead of desire. Memories of each time Mohammed had fucked him then pushed him into a ditch on the side of the road, or made him hide in the trunk of his car, came to the forefront of Habib’s mind.

“You asshole!” Habib shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me they were gone?”

He shrugged. “I thought you heard. I thought you liked it in there, queer.”

“If I’m queer, what are you?”

His lips pursed. He stopped chewing, and glared at Habib. He swallowed and put his sandwich down. “I am a man! I’m a real man!” he barked.

“I’m a real man too!”

“You are no man,” he said with a sneer. “You are a queer, a pansy.”

“You are… a real jerk!” Habib said. His voice broke and he had to hold back tears. He knew he was acting exactly like everyone expected him to act, like a lithe delicate fairy, but he couldn’t help it. Mohammed snorted and looked away in derision. Habib stomped towards the door. “Fine! Fuck you, Mohammed! I’m leaving you.”

“Wait!” he stood. Bits of bread stuck to his thick, coarse beard. Habib waited, but Mohammed didn’t follow that up with anything.

“What?” Habib asked.

“I mean… You don’t have to leave,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. He wiped crumbs out of his beard and licked his lips. Habib was suddenly more aroused than he had been in a long time; he cursed himself for it, because he didn’t want to admit how much he wanted Mohammed to take him back.

“I’m… I’ve been acting like a jerk,” Mohammed said. “I’m sorry for making you wait in the closet while I ate a sandwich.”

“Do you want me?”

Mohammed didn’t answer. He flared his nostrils. Habib knew he wouldn’t want to say it — Mohammed had never said he wanted to have sex with Habib. He always made it clear when he wanted to fuck, but he expected Habib to initiate things. Mohammed made it seem like he never wanted to do anything gay but was willing to because Habib wanted it. Habib could tell none of that was true; Mohammed wanted him just as much as Habib wanted Mohammed.

Habib turned towards the door in a huff. “Fine. See ya.”

“Wait. Yes, I want you, damn it… Just… Don’t go,” he said, and for the first time, he showed a tiny bit of tenderness. He blushed deeply.

“You have to start treating me better,” Habib said. He put his hands on his hips.

“Fine. I will. I can’t leave my wife.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?”

Habib didn’t really know. He wanted Mohammed to be openly gay, but that wasn’t realistic. He decided on the next best thing. “You have to be willing to bottom for me.”

“What?”

“I don’t wanna be on bottom all the time,” Habib said. “You have to suck my dick once in a while, and take it in the ass from me.”

“Ha! No way,” Mohammed said. “I’m a real man.”

“Then have fun with your wife,” Habib said. He turned around and again walked towards the door.

“Wait!” Mohammed bit his lip. “I’m not like you, Habib.”

“I think you’re more like me than you want to admit. You’re thinking of me when you fuck her, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at Habib and chewed his lip. “I want you. I like your ass and your mouth and… your, y’know… personality, and all that. I like you.”

“I like you too. We need to have a relationship as equals, Mohammed.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Fine! I’ll do it! You better not tell anyone,” he said. He sunk to his knees right there in the hallway and opened his mouth. “You can put your… dick in me.”

A long awkward silence filled the air. Mohammed sat there with his mouth open, wincing already, like he could taste Habib now even though Habib was on the other side of the room.

“What?”

Mohammed sighed and rolled his eyes again. “What what? I told you what! Just do it, damn it!”

Habib stepped closer, his heart pounding. He really hadn’t thought Mohammed would ever agree to this. He kind of assumed he could maybe talk Mohammed into giving a handjob (or more likely a reacharound), but that would be it. He could feel his dick getting hard already.

“Are you serious?”

“If you don’t stop talking and start doing it, I’ll change my mind,” Mohammed said. He spat on the ground. “I… want you to stay, Habib. Okay? I don’t want you to leave me. I like you more than my wife. She’s stupid and annoying and she laughs like a damn jackal. Every time she opens her mouth, I want to punch her in the face, but her brother would kill me. So… I want you. I want to fuck you, Habib. I like your voice, and your laugh, and I like spending time with you.” Despite his kind words, he said it like it pissed him off, like he wanted to hurt Habib’s feelings by telling him how much he liked him.

Habib smiled and dropped his pants. “Really? Oh, Mohammed, that’s all I wanted to hear.” He flopped his dick between his fingers as he approached Mohammed.

Habib had received a blowjob a few times, but not often. Thin and delicate twinks like himself were almost always on bottom in Egypt, where the man on top wasn’t really perceived as gay — he was seen as committing a very minor sexual sin, only slightly worse than masturbation.

So this was a major step for Mohammed, who had been angry months ago when Habib asked if he had ever sucked dick. Now he opened his massive mouth and stooped down so Habib could reach his face, since Habib was much shorter than he was.

His dick entered Mohammed’s mouth, and Mohammed immediately encircled his dick with his lips. His thick beard hair scratched deliciously at Habib’s skin — Habib had a beard too, of course, since he was a devout Muslim, but he had never been able to grow much more than a scruffy layer of fuzz. Mohammed, on the other hand, had a thick, full beard, like Habib had always imagined Saladin had.

It was only after Habib began thrusting his dick back and forth that Mohammed gagged, as though he had to remind himself to pretend he was being pushed into this by Habib. Habib smiled. It was clear that a part of Mohammed did want to do this, and Habib even wondered if Mohammed was glad to have a chance to suck dick without feeling like he had volunteered to do so.

Soon precum leaked from Habib’s dick, coating Mohammed’s tongue with his salty issue. Mohammed greedily gobbled up every drop, and even snaked his tongue out to caress Habib’s cockshaft.

“Oh damn, Mohammed, you’re amazing at this,” Habib said, trying to sound as supportive as possible, so Mohammed wouldn’t be too embarrassed.

As he sucked and licked, Habib reached forward. He caressed Mohammed’s strapping back above his thobe, then slowly pulled it up. Mohammed had to pull of Habib’s dick long enough for Habib to take the thobe the rest of the way off. That revealed his broad chest covered in thick, coarse hairs.

“You taste… nice,” Mohammed said with a crude grunt. He avoided eye contact as he said it. He licked Habib’s dick from root to tip, sending a shiver of desire up Habib’s spine.

“That’s sweet of you, darling,” Habib said with a giggle. He gripped Mohammed’s thick curly hair as he guided his dick back in, while his other hand stroked Mohammed’s shoulders and upper back — Habib was so short he couldn’t reach most of his back. But Habib loved Mohammed’s muscles, that was one of the things that had drawn him to him. Mohammed was a construction worker, and his job kept his muscles thick and bulging, veiny, well-worked and inviting. Habib cherished those few moments when Mohammed let him sleep in Mohammed’s powerful arms, though that didn’t happen often.

Precum dripped down Mohammed’s throat. He screwed up his eyes like he hated the taste, but he kept licking every drop he could reach with his tongue. He used one of his big, work-callused hands to stroke the base of Habib’s dick while Mohammed sucked the tip. Habib felt an urge to facefuck him — that was how Mohammed treated him, after all — but he knew Mohammed wouldn’t like that.

Though Habib had said Mohammed needed to give up his ass if he wanted to stay with Habib, he hadn’t really intended to follow through on that demand. But when Mohammed lifted up his plump ass, as though begging Habib to do it, Habib couldn’t resist.

He pulled out and walked around to Mohammed, who was on all fours in the hallway of his home. He trembled as he got in position. Then Habib giggled — Mohammed was in the same position that he wanted Habib in when Mohammed fucked him — his ass in the air, and his face on the ground — but that only worked because Mohammed was much taller than Habib. With their positions reversed, Mohammed’s ass was even with Habib’s belly, above his bellybutton.

“You gotta get lower,” Habib said with a giggle. He patted one of Mohammed’s giant hairy cheeks.

Mohammed shook and sneered, but he lowered his ass. He buried his face in his forearm. “Will this hurt?”

“Maybe a little,” Habib said. Mohammed winced as though it hurt already, and Habib cooed, massaging his back. “You can tell me to slow down. I’ll do whatever you want. And if you want to change positions, we can do that.”

Mohammed nodded. Habib still had to get on his toes to get his dick lining up with Mohammed’s ass, but he was glad to do it. He first stuck his hand in between those giant asscheeks, and stroked his hairy crack. He caressed the rim of Mohammed’s asshole.

Mohammed trembled as soon as Habib touched his hole. He grunted like it hurt already. Habib was glad to put him in this position because it might convince Mohammed to use a little lube when he fucked Habib — he regarded it as a disgusting sin to use lube, because it suggested he was planning on having gay sex rather than allowing Habib to seduce him. A rumor had also spread through Egypt recently that all lube was derived from pig fat, so most men refused to use it right now, even with women. Habib was practiced enough at taking big dicks in his ass that he was able to take it, but still, he hoped Mohammed changed his mind on lube now.

He used both hands to spread those cheeks. Mohammed buried his face in his meaty forearms, breathing heavily. His asshole was tight, though it was clear he tried to keep it loose for Habib, who pushed the tip of his dick in.

Mohammed instantly straightened his back. He bit his lip and let out a yelp, which he muffled with his arm. Habib made soothing clucking sounds and stroked Mohammed’s tense spine, reaching as far up Mohammed’s back as he could get (which wasn’t very far).

“Oh god,” Mohammed said, “That hurts like hell. Go slower.”

Habib chuckled. He spat in the palm of his hand, adding that to Mohammed’s own spit dripping from his cockshaft. That helped considerably, but Habib kept going slow, using just the first few inches of his dick to fuck him.

As Mohammed’s ass gradually opened, Habib worked more and more of his dick in. He was so focused on making this not too painful for Mohammed that he forgot how pleasurable it was until a bolt of sexual energy shot up his spine.

That sensation must have been communicated to Mohammed through his ass, because as Habib shuddered, Mohammed’s groans turned to moans. His back muscles writhed and flexed like a barrel of snakes, which Habib caressed — he often massaged Mohammed’s back after a hard day at work, before he went home to his wife, so Habib was happy to have a chance to do it again while his cock pulsated inside Mohammed’s body.

Pounding away harder and harder, Habib was surprised by how much Mohammed seemed to enjoy this. He would most likely deny it later, but the look flashing deep in his eyes suggested he wanted nothing more than to take Habib’s dick for eternity.

Finally Habib felt an orgasm approaching. As Mohammed’s ass twitched, clenching around his dick, Habib realized that Mohammed was jacking himself off. He was reaching orgasm as well — obviously his lack of interest in bottoming was not as strict as he had presented it, Habib thought with a smile. He reacharound to gently juggle Mohammed’s balls, which filled his hand and pulsated before rising up in their sac.

But then his climax overwhelmed him. Habib grunted, losing all of his feminine grace, making snorting, rutting sounds just like Mohammed did when fucking him. Habib collapsed onto Mohammed’s back and slammed his dick in hard.

Since Habib was so much smaller than Mohammed, he could easily rest atop the man’s strapping back, which was covered with a few short hairs. Habib licked his skin and hair, and even chewed a little as pleasure rocketed up his spine.

He had never felt anything quite like this, as Mohammed shuddered and clenched down on his dick. Habib’s lithe muscles went limp all at once. Cum flowed into Mohammed, who let out a loud roar and shot his own load onto the floor. It was thick and pearly white and gave off that distinctly pleasant aroma, which Habib inhaled deeply of as he sighed.

They lay there, Habib atop his man, burying his face in his meaty back, for what felt like forever. Incredible pleasure wracked Habib’s body, which writhed atop Mohammed.

Then at last they both went limp together. Mohammed collapsed to the ground, his hairy belly colliding with the puddle of cum he had shot onto the floor. Habib’s juice dripped from his ass around Habib’s cock, sliding between Mohammed’s giant thighs and joining that puddle on the floor.

Habib sighed and pulled out. Mohammed grunted in relief, and he rolled over. His belly, cock and balls were covered in cum, which matted his coarse body hair to his skin. Habib sensed that Mohammed needed a little burst of machismo, so Habib kissed his nipples, and licked a trail down his belly.

The sour-salty flavor of cum assaulted Habib’s senses. He loved that flavor, and he savored every drop of juice. He licked Habib’s entire torso, his hips, his cock, his balls, and the hairy inside of his thighs. Then Habib moved his cum-dripping face up to Mohammed’s head.

He hadn’t planned on going any farther, assuming Mohammed was at his limit, but when he saw those thick lips and hairy beard, Habib couldn’t resist. He sensed Mohammed was expecting a cum-coated kiss anyway.

So they kissed, for the first time since Habib had met Mohammed as he left a construction site in downtown Cairo. At the time, Habib had never thought their relationship would continue past a one-time encounter, but now that it had, he couldn’t imagine his life without it.

“Habib…” he said softly, like he was on the verge of tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” Habib said. He kissed Mohammed again, then nestled in the nook of his arm to nuzzle his biceps as they both rested there alone.

For the first time since he had known Mohammed, Habib felt like his equal.

The Blasian Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of The Blasian Barbershop, a new story from the City Barbershop! It’s full of hot black-on-Asian action, with a sexy twink and a bevy of swaggerous thugs on the downlow!

 

Kwan knew he wouldn’t be made to feel totally comfortable at his new job. That much was a given. But he had been working in a black barbershop in Boston for years, and he was good at black hair. He’d had to prove himself there, so he was confident he could prove himself here in Providence, Rhode Island.

Yo, Kwan, yo’ chair is as empty as Bradley’s head!

They laughed both with and at Kwan, who pretended to play along. He was used to the relatively calm, caring environment of an urban beauty parlor, not a barbershop. That was where he grew up. That was why he felt comfortable among black people — his mother had been hired to do nails in a black beauty parlor, and Kwan spent his evenings there. He had always known more black people than Asian people.

Spending all his time with a bunch of black women might have been awkward if he had been straight. But it was obvious at an early age what he was. He put on shows, dancing and singing for the girls in the beauty parlor, and they cheered him on like he was one of their own. He learned everything about hair before he even went to cosmetology school, and there was never any real doubt about his career path.

I seen that nigga over there talkin’ to the fattest, skankiest bitch you ever seen up on Gilmore! She had nasty leakin’ out her nose and shit.

But now he was working in a men’s barbershop. It was a City Barbershop, which Kwan was glad about — the City Barbershop was a notorious chain around the country, notorious for one perk that attracted young gay men like Kwan to work there. It was known as a place where straight black men could get serviced on the downlow.

Of course, it was also known as a place where straight black men could go to get away from the white-dominated world. The workforce was almost entirely black. Kwan, though not white, would never fit in there, no matter how he had grown up.

Ya Chinese motherfucker, you got the only chair and I’m in a hurry. If I come outta here lookin’ like Jet Li or some shit, I am suin’ yer yellow ass…

On Kwan’s first day, not a single person had sat in his chair. He knew that was to be expected. Trapper said that was normal — he didn’t mention that is normal even for a black barber but that was the subtext of his claim.

It helped that Kwan was outgoing and friendly. He liked to crack jokes. He knew that black people would feel uncomfortable with him if he tried to force fitting in, pretending he was black and that he was understood everything going on around him. They would trust him more if he acted like himself. So he pretended to have a minor accent; he asked what yungin meant, he claimed not to know what a blunt was.

On his second day, he had his first customer. It was a young boy whose two brothers sat in Bradley’s and Latrell’s chairs. He had wanted to wait for a black barber, but his mom said they were in a hurry.

Kwan had never been more nervous, not even at his cosmetology exam. After all, at an exam, you could always take it again. If he had messed up the boy’s hair, the entire neighborhood would know in about ten minutes. Kwan would never get a customer here. He wouldn’t even be able to put it on his resume, because if anyone called to verify his work experience, they’d find out he’s a Chinese guy who can’t cut black hair.

“I’m gonna beat yo’ ass down if you mess my hair up-“

“Rayshawn, shut yo’ mouth, he’ll do fine. Yo’ head was shaved till a few months ago. If he fucks up, we’ll just shave it again.”

“Moms-“

“Shut up and quit squirming, or he is gonna fuck up!”

But all went fine. The kid just needed a trim, and Kwan performed adequately. The boy looked at him like a disgusting species of bug, either because he was flamboyantly gay, blatantly Chinese or a bit of both. In the end, he and his brothers and his mother left satisfied.

After that, the customers warmed up to Kwan. It wasn’t easy, and he was still usually their last choice, but at least they didn’t sit and wait if he was the only barber available. Aside from Kwan, there were usually only two barbers working, sometimes a third if the owner came down when the shop was extra-busy, but that was rare.

When I was locked up they try and put me on that white-barber trip, they say there ain’t no nigga available. We just about rioted till they find one.

Damn right. Lettin’ a Chinese queer on my hair is one thing, that’s bad enough — nothin’ personal, Kwan — but no honky is evuh gonna cut my hair.

The owner was Trapper. He was a businessman who always wore fine suits, and he had a thick mustache. He used to work as a barber and he kept up a valid license, but he mainly only filled in on people’s days off. He was sexy in an older-daddy kind of way, but he wasn’t as hot as Latrell.

Latrell and Bradley were the two other barbers. Latrell was, objectively speaking, the hottest. He was handsome, smooth, charming, and he always had a girl on each arm. He played basketball, which was pretty much all he talked about. He still seemed to think he might join the NBA — Kwan didn’t know much about sports, but he was under the impression the NBA mainly hired from college, and Latrell was not a student. He was twenty-four, which seemed too old to begin a career as an athlete. But Kwan didn’t say any of that; he was certainly not in a position to make any enemies. He just smiled and nodded when Latrell talked about which pro teams he would never join for any amount of money.

The last barber was Bradley — which Kwan eventually found out was his last name, his real first name was Arthur — and that was who Kwan thought was hot. He was taller than Latrell, bigger but not as cut; he didn’t have a six-pack, that much was obvious even through his baggy clothes. He looked like he probably did have a six-pack when he was younger though. He had a bushy, unkempt beard and a crucifix around his chest, which he kissed every time Kwan looked at him.

He was a convict. He had earned his cosmetology license in prison, and Trapper had hired him because he got a nice tax break for it. He had a square, jutting jaw and dark eyes, with a thick body that Kwan would have loved to lick from head to toe. He was not “handsome” like Latrell but he was bursting with swagger and sex appeal, and Kwan thought he had to have him.

Luckily, Kwan worked at the City Barbershop, where an awful lot of straight men agreed to receive a blowjob from a gay man, even if they normally wouldn’t. The ordinary rules of heterosexuality just didn’t apply in this female-free zone. But that was a touchy, awkward subject that neither Trapper now Kwan had brought up yet. Kwan wondered if this City Barbershop was different — maybe Trapper didn’t allow downlow action.

“Damn, if I had a girl like that, I wouldn’t nevuh leave the house,” Bradley said to a rousing chorus of laughs. “I’d just lick that pussy all day and all night, damn! I love lickin’ fine pussy.” He demonstrated his pussy-licking technique between his fingers, which was so hot Kwan’s dick stiffened in his pants. Latrell’s latest girlfriend had just hung up on him, after some sort of hushed argument. Latrell stalked back to his chair and sat down, looking at his smartphone. He sighed and shook his head at Bradley’s comment.

“A girl like that would nevuh hook up wit’ yo’ wrinkled old ass, Bradley,” Latrell muttered.

Bradley nodded. “Prolly true. But if she did hook up wit’ me, I’d lick her pussy clean off. She’d nevuh dump me, not wit’ a tongue like this.” He again licked the air, showing off his massive tongue, which matched his big body. His tongue poked out from his grizzled beard.

Kwan saw his chance to let it be known he was down for whatever. He jumped in, blushing even before he spoke. “When I dress up like a slut, Bradley, I’m about forty percent as hot as she is. That’s a respectable figure for someone who ain’t even got tits or a pussy to lick, so…” He didn’t need to add a punchline, which was good because he couldn’t think of any — the barbershop erupted in a torrent of laughter. One of the customers squeezed his arm and clapped him on the back.

And so that was how Kwan let it be known that he was aware of the City Barbershop’s reputation, and that he was willing to do his part. No customer asked him for a blowjob that day, but word soon spread that the ‘Chinaman barber’ was hot to trot.

Later that afternoon, near closing time, Kwan went into the backroom to make a phone call. When he was done, he squealed in shock. Bradley stood there in front of him; he had snuck in while Kwan was on the phone, then waited for him to finish.

“Yo.”

Kwan giggled. “Hi,” he said. He was nervous. He had really wanted to suck Bradley’s dick, and now, it seemed, he was going to have that opportunity. Ex-cons like Bradley were always the most receptive to his advances, because they had usually fucked a man behind bars; of course, they often fucked like they were still locked up with their bitch. Kwan liked being treated badly by the rough-and-tumble type. Bradley’s menacing stare filled him with desire, and made Kwan shudder with anticipation.

“You wasn’t kiddin’ ‘bout being pretty. I bet you look real nice in a dress, China White,” he said. His voice was low and rumbling, like a caged animal might growl when it knew it couldn’t strike.

“I do,” Kwan said. “I look fantastic.” A part of him wanted to blurt out an invitation to come to Kwan’s home and see him in a dress, but he still didn’t know if Bradley was safe to invite home. He was a reformed gangbanger, so he was probably safe enough — he had been working at the shop for more than two years, after all — but still, Kwan hesitated.

“I don’t fuck wit’ men. Not even girlie men. Not even chicks wit’ dicks,” Bradley said, emphatically, as though he was weirdly strict by not fucking with transgenders.

“Oh,” Kwan said. He had never felt so disappointed. In his mind, Bradley had asked for a blowjob simply by coming into the backroom. He felt like a child whose Christmas presents had been taken away from him.

“Lemme see yo’ hand,” he said softly. He didn’t wait for Kwan to agree. His callused fingers gripped Kwan’s palm, which he brought to his face. He inhaled deeply, and sucked on Kwan’s pinkie finger. “Smells like hair.”

“Well… Yeah, I guess… That makes sense. I have perfume-“

“No. Don’t bother,” he said. He leaned against the wall, angling his hips outward as though he was going to ask for a blowjob. “You can jack me off.”

“Oh… uh… really? Okay,” Kwan said. He was still disappointed, but handjobs were fun. Besides, if Bradley were willing to get a handjob now, he might be willing to go even farther later. Kwan rammed his hand down Bradley’s loose-slung jeans before Bradley could think again.

His dick was hot and thick, exactly what Kwan was hoping for. He gave it a squeeze, and Bradley let out a long, bone-rattling moan, as though he had been waiting this for a long time.

Kwan knew this was his chance to convince Bradley to go a little farther. He was already reacting so intensely that Kwan hoped he might change his mind right now — he wouldn’t be the first straight thug who told Kwan he’d never let a man swing on his dick but then allowed Kwan to easily seduce him time and time again. Sometimes a man just wanted to be talked into something, so he could feel like he didn’t want to do it.

Bradley’s chest rippled beneath his t-shirt, which was too small for his strapping body. Kwan let his free hand tease the root of Bradley’s cock, then gradually roam upwards until he was under Bradley’s shirt, tweaking his nipples. He had rock-hard pecs that twitched at Kwan’s touch. There was a scar there, either from a knife (maybe a shiv) or a bullet, Kwan couldn’t tell which from the feel.

“Ah, damn,” Bradley said. He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the wall. “Why can’t you be a girl, China White? Huh? I love Asian girls.”

“I can dress like a geisha if you want,” Kwan said with a giggle. “I bet your dick tastes nice-“

“It do, and you’d love it, but nah,” Bradley said. “I’m a Christian nigga. I’m reformed and shit. Twenty years ago I’d have wrapped my hands around yo’ neck and fucked you till yo’ eyes is buggin’ outta yo’ head. I’d have wrecked you fo’ other men. I’d fuck you then punch you to punish you fo’ having a seductive ass. I ain’t like that no more. I believe in the Bible now.” He sighed, his hot breath condensing on Kwan’s cheek. His dick throbbed in Kwan’s hand.

The first drops of creamy precum snuck out of his dick, sliding down onto Kwan’s fingers. Bradley’s chest heaved beneath Kwan’s other hand, muscles rippling like he was uncomfortable with being touched but didn’t want to tell Kwan to stop.

This was unlike any handjob Kwan had ever given because Bradley reacted physically and intensely, moreso than some men did with outright sex. Bradley’s whole body rippled and groaned loudly, his rumbling voice echoing in Kwan’s ear.

“I miss those days sometimes,” he said. His eyes closed. “But I don’t miss jeopardizin’ my eternal soul.”

“That’s too bad. I think I’d have enjoyed meeting you twenty years ago,” Kwan said. He shrugged. “I mean… I’m not trying to talk you out of being Christian, or whatever. That’s your call.” Kwan blushed. It didn’t seem like Bradley actually listened to his words.

Bradley grabbed Kwan’s hand out from under his shirt. He pulled it up to his mouth. At first it looked like he was going to bite off Kwan’s fingers. But then he just spat a big wad of saliva onto Kwan’s palm. “Use both hands, China White.” The sight of him spitting made Kwan’s knees weak. His lips spat slowly, like it was a holy sacrament that Kwan should savor.

Kwan shuddered. His own dick was hard and throbbing in his pants, but he was determined to focus entirely on Bradley’s pleasure for now. He stuck his second hand into Bradley’s pants, which were loose and low-slung enough he could easily fit both wrists down there.

His dick was so long Kwan could have added a third hand if he’d had one. It was like a forearm, he thought, and it even throbbed firmly like a muscular arm in his hands, all veiny and now moistened with precum.

Bradley undid his belt and his pants dropped. He pulled his shorts down to his knees, so his dick poked out from his body. His small t-shirt ended just above his waist, clinging to the slight layer of padding over his belly. Kwan stroked faster and faster as Bradley squeezed his eyes shut. His chest beaded with sweat, making the shirt stick to his skin. His nipples were hard beneath the fabric.

“The Bible say don’t spill yo’ seed,” Bradley murmured. “But it’s a sin to put yo’ dick in any kinda man. I try not to sin. So if you wanna catch my seed, China White, that’s fine wit’ me. Just don’t be puttin’ my dick in yo’ mouth. No pen’tration.”

Kwan dropped to his knees so his face was right in front of Bradley’s dick. He smeared the tip of his cheeks and lip, getting a taste of salty cum. He hoped this might mean Bradley was softening his stance, but that didn’t happen. Bradley glared at him before looking away and groaning. Kwan thwacked his club-like cock against his face. Bradley grunted like he was going to give in, like every fiber of his being told him to ram his dick down Kwan’s throat until he choked.

But he resisted those urges, much to Kwan’s disappointment. Kwan felt the man’s dick pulsating as his balls crawled up in his sac. Kwan stuck his tongue out and, slowly to see if Bradley stopped him, he licked the tip of his dick like a lollipop. It was slick with precum, salty and sweet and sour all at once.

As soon as his tongue touched Bradley’s dark cocktip, Bradley’s muscles shook and flexed all at once. “Nigga, damn, damn, fuckin’ Christ- Goddamn, China White, yo’ tongue is… fuckin’ magic…” Cum sprayed onto Kwan’s tongue, a huge load that coated the inside of his mouth. It tasted hot and sweet and so delicious Kwan had to fight urges to swallow Bradley’s dick despite his warning.

But since Bradley hadn’t complained about licking, Kwan rubbed his tongue up and down the shaft as cum poured out and coated his face. It seemed like a silly rule, “no-penetration”, what kind of religion would allow such an arbitrary distinction? But Kwan had never been raised Christian, so he assumed it was a real rule. The veins of Bradley’s cockshaft pulsated beneath his tongue’s touch, like his dick itself begged for Kwan to suck it.

Bradley took a deep breath, then swiped his dick away before Kwan could even finish cleaning it off. He tucked it back in his shorts and pulled up his scuffed jeans. His upper lip sneered. “Alright, China White. You done.”

“Anytime you want-“

“Shut up yo’ mouth, man,” he said. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I ain’t no kinda gaybasher or nothin’. Just… Yo’ voice, man, it’s like a fuckin’ fairy. Ya gotta repent, Kwan. Go to church or some shit, whatever the Chinese equivalent is.” He redid his belt and fly, then walked away while Kwan wiped the cum off his chin. Kwan wasn’t sure what to say so he just watched his swaggerous lean as he left.

“Bye,” Kwan said softly. He took a deep breath. He hadn’t really noticed how intimidating Bradley was until he had walked away, and Kwan felt a surge of relief.

That handjob, he thought to himself as he cleaned up, was the sexiest thing he had ever experienced.

Twink on Top: Evil Eye

Here’s the entirety of a story called Twink on Top: Evil Eye! It’s part of the series, which is full of hardcore dubious-consent or non-consent gay erotica in which the twinks climb on top! You can read all of the stories for $0.99 (each) with the coupon codes! That includes Roidrage, The Drunkard at the Saloon, Prison Policy, Cuckold’s Revenge and more!

Emanuele was about to start putting makeup on for his show tonight when the sound of a brouhaha outside drew his attention. He didn’t want to be bothered by whatever it was — almost certainly a girl having lost her virginity, which was what the local townsfolk had been most concerned about for a long time.

That concern did not extend to Emanuele. He did not like girls, not in that sense, though he did play one on stage. At the moment, he dressed in nothing more than plain white (or off-white, now) britches, but before the show started, he’d wear one of his stunning diaphanous dresses to look like the graceful and elegant woman he had always wished he were. His slender upper body glistened with the cream he had just finished rubbing into it.

He hurried to the front of his home to see what was happening. When he flung open the door, he saw a man and a woman standing there. They were about to knock on the door when he opened it.

The man was naked, awkwardly bent over so the woman could grip the thick mop of black hair on his head. She held on tight and he flailed, trying to use his hands to cover his bare crotch. Emanuele felt a surge of desire — that was Bruno, the sexiest man in the village. He had had an irrepressible crush on Bruno ever since spying him swimming in the river with his friends, all of them naked. He had hidden in a tree and watched their dicks flop, muscles flexing as they roughhoused in the water.

But that had been from a distance, not right up front. Now he was here in front of Emanuele’s door — stark naked — and he was about a million times sexier. Emanuele’s knees went weak just looking at him.

He had a perfectly flat belly with a beefy chest, all of it covered in fine black hairs. He was young, just barely eighteen, so his skin was smooth and the chest hair wasn’t quite a dense tangle of coarse fur yet; it was still silken and it ended at his shoulders. His dick was slightly visible through the gaps between his fingers, which made Emanuele’s mouth drool. Bruno had a square jaw with a few day’s grizzle on it, and a broad nose, with deep dimples that were apparent now, while he winced in pain while the old woman pulled on his hair.

“Tell him!” the old woman barked. Emanuele recognized her now — Anita Riullo, Bruno’s aunt. She was a perpetually angry spinster who was active in the church and led the women’s group there. She was a fierce defender of female chastity, presumably, Emanuele suspected, because she was too bitter, old, wrinkled and nasty to get any kind of man. Her purity was unravageable.

“Hi, uh… Emanuele,” Bruno said; his voice was pinched and tense. He winced as the woman pulled on his hair. In order to let her grip his hair, he had to stoop down low. His muscles were flexed, like he really wanted to just push her away, but of course, he couldn’t push a woman, especially an old woman who was related to him. He cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… I, I gotta ask-“

“Oh, this is taking forever,” Anita snapped. She pushed him into the house past Emanuele, letting go of his hair. He tripped and landed on the floor. “My good for nothing nephew has put another fine feminine soul at risk, Emanuele!”

“Signorina, you are upset, I can see that. Let me make you a cup of coffee-“

“I do not want any coffee. If it were only him, I could ignore it. Su vergüenza sería únicamente su propia!,” she put her hands on her hips. “But he has brought shame upon this entire family. He has been consorting with… Well, I shouldn’t say her name. I will not bring shame upon her family as well. Di lei nome deve essere un segreto…”

“Signorina-“

“Hush,” she said. “This girl is from a good family, Emanuele. She has been plundered, ruined, by him! That alone would be bad enough. Jeopardizing souls like it meant nothing to him! He goes to church every week and then spends his days, and his nights, with loose female flesh, the donne troia.”

“Zia Anita, come on…” He stood now, right behind Emanuele, so close that Emanuele could feel his body heat and could sense his limp, low-hanging dick just centimeters from Emanuele’s own back. He had to resist the urge to start sucking on it right now in front of his dear Zia Anita.

“But that is not all. He threatens to ruin our family in this life as well as the next,” she said. Then she made the sign of the cross over her ample bosom. Gesticulating wildly, she continued, “He has plundered a girl whose grandmother knows well the olden ways! She has cursed the entire family with her evil eye! She has worst malocchio in the village, this I know well…” Tears escaped down her chin. “You cannot escape her curse!”

At first, Emanuele assumed something else was coming. Villagers here were always talking about the evil eye (malocchio), but no one took it very seriously, did they? Of course, some people did, and Emanuele knew the elderly church-folk like Anita were precisely the type who cared. Anita looked like she was about to faint.

“Signorina, I am very sorry to hear that. But I do not know about witchcraft,” Emanuele said. “I would not know how to undo the evil eye.”

“You do not need to know how. So come. I have consulted with Padre Ricardi, and I have consulted with my grandmother’s notes. I spoke with the matriarch who placed the malocchio in the first place,” she said. She shook her head and bit her lip. “I can not speak it. You must lay with the boy, as though… with a girl, as though he were a girl. You must plunder him, make him feel the shame and filthiness that that poor girl must be feeling.”

Bruno burst in with a nervous smile. “I don’t think that’s how she feels, Aunt Anita. We’re in love. I was going to propose matrimonio to her-“

“She will never marry you! She is a high-class woman! She will not marry a man with broad shoulders, callused fingers and sporco sotto le unghie!” Anita said, throwing her hands in the air. She glared at Emanuele. “Will you do this? You are the only man in the village who would enjoy undoing this particular curse.”

Emanuele stammered over himself. Logically, he wanted to say no; he was a bit offended that she assumed he’d want to, but on the other hand, Bruno was the sexiest man in the village, maybe in the whole country. Emanuele did want to do it, even if he thought the reason for it was nonsensical. “Signorina, I… I will do it.”

“Oh, wonderful! You may make it hurt,” she said with a cruel glint in her eye. She glared at her nephew. “Egli deve soffrire molto…”

“Wait, Zia Anita, what are you talking about?” He put his hands on his hips. “He can’t treat me like a girl. I don’t have una micio-“ His eyes went wide and he gasped, like he only just figured out what his aunt intended. He again covered his crotch with both hands. “Zia Anita! I can’t submit to that!”

“The curse upon you is great, mio nipote! It can only be undone this way,” she said. It sounded like she was near tears, like she was consigning her nephew to certain death.

It sounded like Bruno was in a similar place, and he also sniffed back tears. He trembled and shook as Emanuele closed the door — it was obvious they could keep wailing like this all afternoon, so he just needed to shut the door and move things along. Emanuele was excited to get started.

“Please… isn’t there any other way?” he asked, partially aiming the question at Emanuele and partially aimed out the door.

“Your curse has already harmed this family! Tua cugina Valentina was stricken today with consumption!”

“Really? Dio mio!” Bruno turned to face Emanuele before the door finally slammed shut. Tears welled up in his eyes as he ran his fingers through his thick black hair, which now was a messy tangle since his aunt had dragged him here using his hair as a handle. He blushed and stepped away from Emanuele, hands still covering his crotch.

That seemed doubtful to Emanuele, but Anita confirmed it through the door. It took time for consumption to appear and for it to be confirmed to be that and not a similar illness. It was entirely too early in the day for Aunt Anita to have heard confirmation that it was consumption, assuming the illness began after Bruno was caught with the girl. But Emanuele didn’t want to point this out, and besides that, he had long ago learned that the superstitious mind would always find a way to rationalize it — Bruno had presumably intended to bed the girl before it actually happened, for example, so perhaps the curse reached backwards in time to cause punishment when the sin was planned but not yet executed. Perhaps Valentina would have quickly recovered if Bruno had decided not to take the girl’s virginity.

Bruno was pale now. He kept his hands over his crotch and his muscles rippled as anxiety flowed through him. He had been to see Emanuele’s show at least once, and he had reacted like any other male — aroused but ashamed of it because he knew that Emanuele was a man dressed like a woman. Now though, Emanuele was dressed as a man; there was no way to pretend he was a real girl.

“Get on your knees, Bruno,” Emanuele said. His voice was flat and firm. “Your soul is going to learn a very difficult lesson today.”

Bruno sunk to his knees as Emanuele dropped his britches. He pulled his dick out and gave it a few strokes. It was already half-hard, so it quickly swelled to full erection in front of Bruno’s trembling, tear-streaked face.

“Open your mouth,” Emanuele said. When Bruno hesitated, Emanuele used both hands to force his lips apart. He enjoyed touching Bruno’s handsome face, which was even still beautiful still, despite being streaked with tears, his confident charm replaced by choked terror.

He pushed his dick in and Bruno gagged loudly. He sputtered and choked with just the tip of Emanuele’s dick on his tongue. But he didn’t pull away or try to leave, he just submitted even as his body rejected Emanuele’s shaft.

“Good! Make him choke! Everyone come listen to my nephew’s shame!”

Emanuele blushed almost as red as Bruno — Emanuele normally liked to keep a low profile. The men of this village did not much enjoy girlie-men like Emanuele, so the more attention he attracted, the more danger he was in. Emanuele could never forgive himself if he didn’t take full advantage of the situation he was in though, so he didn’t slow down. If he was exiled as a result, he thought, he could find a new town that needed a feminine dancer. He could even move to Rome if he needed to.

Bruno choked up so much spit it made Emanuele giggle. He had never seen someone produce so much saliva while sucking dick — it seemed he tried not to swallow any of the moisture in his mouth, like it was contaminated with cock, so he wanted to spit it out. But Emanuele didn’t remove his dick, so Bruno couldn’t close his mouth, which meant he couldn’t actually spit; he could only drool and drip saliva from his lips.

There were more people around now. Emanuele could hear them gather at the front of his house. Women muttered among themselves, variously either laughing at Bruno’s superstition or silently praying to protect themselves from the malocchio as well. Men jeered and laughed, muttering insults as they scattered around the house looking for open windows (which they wouldn’t find because Emanuele had always kept his curtains closed). No matter how much the men didn’t want to watch a girlie-man like Emanuele go at it, they all wanted to see Bruno’s humiliation, no doubt in part because Bruno was so handsome he was the object of affection for every woman in the village.

The pleasure in his cock was intense, and made it hard for Emanuele to focus on being serious. He giggled at Bruno’s frenzied sputtering, and the puddle of saliva that formed on the floor. His dick throbbed in Bruno’s throat, swelling to fit in and forcing the big Italian macho to gasp for air when Emanuele backed out just enough to allow it.

Emanuele eventually pulled away, not wanting to finish in Bruno’s mouth. He had bigger plans. Bruno sputtered and gagged profusely, spitting over and over onto the floor as though trying to get every drop out. Emanuele moved behind Bruno and rammed a finger in his ass even before Bruno realized what was going on.

“Oh, dio mio!” he shouted. “Che fa male come l’inferno!” A torrent of laughter arose from outside, and Bruno blushed. He bit his lip. His ass clenched hard on Emanuele’s finger.

Emanuele giggled. Every time he moved his finger even a bit, it sent waves of agony through Bruno’s muscles. Bruno hung his head as he settled on all fours — the only position that made this fingerfucking easy for him, since he was massively taller than Emanuele — and arched his back. The muscles of his back rippled, and he gripped the ground as though trying to rip the floorboards up.

Hooking his finger to one side or the other made Bruno grunt. He hyperventilated, his entire body stiff and tense as he focused on relaxing the only muscle that counted. Emanuele rammed his finger in and out, enjoying the spongy feel of the man’s body.

“Go over to the window,” Emanuele said.

Bruno hesitated but did as he was told when Emanuele used his finger in Bruno’s ass to point the way. Bruno crawled with difficulty across the floor. It took what seemed like a long time to get there, but Emanuele wasn’t sure — time always seemed to pass slower during sex. Bruno gasped and twisted his head as he suppressed the agony in his trembling ass.

“Poke your head out the window,” Emanuele said. Bruno hesitated again, and Emanuele repeated himself. “Put your head out the window. You are supposed to experience all the shame and humiliation that poor girl felt. That means people must see what happens to you. If not, the malocchio will surely haunt your family for generations to come.”

He gritted his teeth and pushed his head out past the curtain. Outside, his face was on the side of the building, so no one noticed right away. Emanuele’s house was built on a hill, which meant Bruno’s face was high in the air compared to the folks on the ground outside.

The people out front didn’t notice his head until Emanuele lined his dick up with Bruno’s ass. It had just a bit of hair, the perfect amount, Emanuele thought, for a man’s ass. It was enough to be clear that it was a man’s ass and not a woman’s, but it didn’t have the dense thicket of smelly hair that Emanuele mostly associated with sailors, soldiers and Greeks.

To put his face out the window, Bruno had to crouch rather than remain on all fours. That put his ass much too high for Emanuele to effectively penetrate. He got a short stool and stood on that, which made it much easier.

When he slammed his dick in, Bruno let out a screeching yelp. That was what attracted the attention of the crowd. Bruno’s legs straightened and his back arched, but Emanuele tapped his back until he got the message — he had to crouch in order for Emanuele to reach him.

“Che è troppo grande per un uomo femminile!” Bruno grunted and groaned, turning bright-red as the crowd moved to the side of the building. They were throwing rotten fruit at him now, and every time they got a direct hit on Bruno’s face, they all cheered and clapped.

Ignoring the resistance he felt, Emanuele fucked hard and slow. He enjoyed the long grinding motions as he pushed into Bruno’s ass, and he sighed with satisfaction every time he let his dick lower almost all the way out of it.

The pleasure was unbelievably intense for Emanuele, who had never felt anything quite like it. He had penetrated only a few men, all of them feminine girlie-men like him. Those occasions had been nothing compared to the fleshy, meaty feel of Bruno’s muscles tightening underneath him, the masculine hair of his ass or the macho grunting as he tried to pretend he wasn’t in agonizing pain. Emanuele laid atop him, grinding his dick in, making certain to hit every corner of Bruno’s sensitive insides.

“Feliciana!” Bruno shouted.

The front door opened, and a pretty black-haired girl marched in, pushing past Anita. She slammed the door shut behind herself. That must be Feliciana, and, Emanuele assumed, it must be the girl whose honor Bruno had to make up for plundering. She was pretty, but with an arrogant, upper-class look to her face.

She squealed in shock at the sight. Bruno brought his fruit-dripping head back in the building and exclaimed back at her, grunting too hard to form words as his movement reawakened the agony in his backside. He nearly collapsed to the ground at her feet. The sensation was too intense for Emanuele to stop now, so he continued humping Bruno’s ass as he writhed in pain and humiliation at his girlfriend’s feet.

“Bruno!” she shouted. “You are… what are you doing?! Che è disgustoso!”

“I’m doing this for you, my cara Feliciana,” he said.

“I never asked you to do this!”

“Your grandmother… She put a curse on me. Malocchio,” he said. Tears twinkled in his eyes. Emanuele groaned. He allowed Bruno to angle his body to face the girl, but Emanuele was relentless on his ass. He didn’t even slow down as Bruno’s body tightened with the shame overcoming him.

“So, you do this for a curse?” she asked.

He nodded. “I must do it. But we can still be together afterwards! Possiamo sposarci…”

Feliciana thought for a long time. She cocked her head to the side and chuckled. “No… Bruno… You were very sweet to me, and you have such a handsome face… But you are from a poor family,” she said. “And now… you are not a real man. Si hanno meno di un uomo…”

“What?!”

“You have been sodomizzato…” she said with a giggle. She smiled at Emanuele. “You are letting a small man inside you. That is… I can not respect you after this. I must marry a man who acts like a real man.”

“Feliciana…”

“Close your mouth. A real man would rather submit to a curse than that,” she said. She shook her head in disappointment, then walked out the door. When the front door was briefly open, Anita’s voice filtered in, her braying laughter filling the house for a moment before the door slammed shut again. Bruno sobbed into the floor.

Anita’s voice was audible from outside. “You do not much like him anymore, do you? Good. Tell no one about this, girl.”

It seemed that the crowd was focused on chanting on the side of the house where Bruno’s face had been seen through the window, so none of them realized why Feliciana had gone inside. Her virtue, it seemed, was intact in the eyes of the villagefolk.

Bruno had straightened his back partially when talking to Feliciana, so Emanuele was clutching his muscles, trying to hang on — when they both stood plainly, Emanuele’s face was even with Bruno’s upper back, which mean that the straighter Bruno stood, the less Emanuele could easily penetrate his ass.

But he refused to take his dick out, even as Bruno’s massive body quaked and trembled with the power of his sobbing. Emanuele had to claw at the man’s skin for support, and he used his feet to grip Bruno’s hairy thighs.

Finally Bruno seemed to realize that he had to change his positioning if this was going to ever end. He dropped to all fours, and Emanuele at last had some leverage again. He pounded away at Bruno’s ass.

Since he had been fucking him for awhile, Bruno’s hole was loosened and opened now. Emanuele could easily drill his dick in and out. A loud thwacking sound came with every thrust of Emanuele’s hips.

When Bruno wiped tears off his face, Emanuele felt a twinge of pity. He reached around to Bruno’s dick and gave it a stroke. It was already hard, but it must have been close to finishing despite his despair, because Emanuele could already feel the orgasmic energy collecting and roiling in the shaft.

As though he hadn’t been aware of the intensely pleasurable feelings in his dick until Emanuele touched it, Bruno’s weeping turned into a momentary moan of bliss. Precum leaked profusely from his cockshaft and coated Emanuele’s fingers.

“You can come see me anytime, Bruno,” Emanuele said softly. He repeated it, but Bruno didn’t acknowledge it, whether because he didn’t want to admit he might allow this to happen again or because he genuinely didn’t hear it, Emanuele didn’t know which.

Then at last Emanuele felt his own orgasm overwhelm him. He grunted and nibbled on Bruno’s smooth back as it happened, and pleasure rolled up and down his spine. Bruno gasped at the sensation even before the first drops of cum filled him up; his back muscles rippled beneath Emanuele’s lolling tongue.

Cum sprayed inside Bruno, a torrent of male juices that coated the inside of Bruno’s body. It felt like an incredible amount of cum, more than Emanuele had ever shot before. Bruno gulped and moaned, making an ear-shattering sound.

Anita must have been listening at the door, because she called out when Bruno made a noise. “Good! Is that it! That’s how you made that poor innocent girl feel, Bruno! Not so proudful anymore, are you!?”

Emanuele had to suppress a giggle at Bruno, who wept again at that reminder. The crowd cheered and shouted. But Bruno’s sadness was short-lived — he reached his own orgasm moments later in Emanuele’s hand.

It was a painful orgasm, Emanuele could tell that from the way Bruno sucked on his teeth and bit his lip, asshole clenching on Emanuele’s limp dick. But there was also an intense pleasure behind it, which Emanuele sensed in the rippling of his back muscles and the exhausted tenor of his grunting.

Emanuele had to strain to reach all the way around Bruno’s body to jack him off, but he did that now with his second hand as well. He scooped up all of the cum as it sprayed from Bruno’s uncut cock.

A part of Emanuele wanted nothing more than to eat the cum off his own palm, but he could do that with nearly any of the men who came to see him. Today, Emanuele wanted to do something different.

“Give me your mouth,” Emanuele said, and Bruno did as he was told. He winced painfully as he turned his head with Emanuele’s limp dick still throbbing in his ass. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes.

It was apparent that Bruno thought Emanuele wanted to kiss him again, but instead Emanuele tipped his hand full of cum right into Bruno’s mouth.

Bruno gagged and choked on the snotty texture and sour-sweet flavor. His asshole clenched down again as though trying to rip Emanuele’s dick off. That sent a second wave of orgasmic pleasure up Emanuele’s body. He gasped as Bruno moaned in pain.

While he smeared the remnants of cum from his hand onto Bruno’s face, Emanuele let his dick flop out slowly. It made a moist popping sound when it finally came out. Bruno collapsed into a sweaty heap on the floor, sniffling and holding back tears.

Emanuele sat down next to him and clucked his tongue. He massaged the thick black hair of Bruno’s head. “There, there,” he said. “It’s over now. The curse is lifted. Malocchio è andato…”

Bruno sniffled. “She was right, I am less than a man. No girl will ever marry me now.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Emanuele said. “Besides, even if it is, you can always go to America, or to England or France, or just Rome. No one there will know.”

“I will know.”

“Or you can stay here. You can come visit me whenever you need a girl… I normally don’t do any of this, y’know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can… treat me like a girl. That is more normal. When you don’t have a curse to remove, that is what I would expect. You can come here and hump my ass, my face — every part of my body is yours.”

“Really?”

“Really. It feels like a girl, or so everyone tells me,” Emanuele said. He patted Bruno on the ass and giggled when Bruno winced in pain. “Now come on. Hold your head high. You did what you needed to do for your family. The reason those men out there are teasing you is because they are jealous. Their wives would give anything to be your wife instead of theirs.”

He smiled behind his tears and crawled to his feet. The agony was evident, but he shook it out and took a few tentative steps before wincing in pain again. “Can I wait in here for a few minutes?”

Emanuele motioned for him to sit down on the couch, which he did, and Emanuele curled up next to his muscular arms. When Bruno found that sitting on his ass was too painful, he slid down to laying on his side. Emanuele sat there in the crook of his chest, massaging his muscles.

“Of course, baby,” Emanuele said. “You can wait here as long as you need. I’ll take care of you.”

Servicing Black Thugs: The Pimp

Here’s the entirety of Servicing Black Thugs: The Pimp, a story in the Servicing Black Thugs series! It’s about a pimp named Slickback teaching one of his hos a lesson in a way that will leave you breathless!

Roger sighed and leaned back on the bed. He was exhausted. It was funny how a day spent driving felt like a day of hard work even though it was neither physically nor mentally taxing. He had gone almost all the way home, stopping only when he thought he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

He was in Detroit, Michigan, or possibly just outside it, he wasn’t sure. It was not a nice neighborhood. He would have been better off planning ahead by making a reservation somewhere better, even if it meant getting off the road a bit earlier. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable here.

But the Whiteland Hotel was a reputable chain, and he had stayed there before, just not at this location. He would just stay in, order some takeout and not leave until the morning. His car was not valuable, nor did it have anything valuable in it, so he felt reasonably confident.

You’ll be safe, he told himself, as long as you don’t go looking for a good time. You’re tired. You need to get up early to drive the rest of the way home. Just go to bed. But even as he thought it, he had a feeling that wouldn’t happen — it may have been a dangerous area, but that was prime hunting grounds for Roger.

He checked in and made his way to his room. The hotel was cleaner than he had expected. The carpet was dingy, and the windows were smudged, but the sheets were fresh and the bathroom was fine. All in all, he was happy with it. In this neighborhood, it was better than he could have reasonably hoped.

There were whores outside, and he didn’t love that. Roger was gay, so he had no interest in women of any kind. Just ten yards from his hotel room door, he could see through the peephole as a pretty black girl in a green “dress” (a swathe of fabric that barely covered her necessary parts) strutted her stuff.

And then he saw a pimp come into view. He heard the man’s growling, menacing voice, but couldn’t understand the words. The general thrust of his point was clear, however, when the whore handed over a few wads of bills. It sounded like the pimp was angry with her, as though she hadn’t produced as much money as he wanted.

Roger opened the door, grabbing an ice bucket so he’d have a reason to go outside. Roger had a thing for sexy black thugs, and he had a nearly flawless ability to detect which sexy black thugs would let him suck their dick. This pimp, he thought, was precisely such a sexy black thug. He just needed an excuse to start a conversation.

He filled up the ice bucket at the machine outside. He was closer, so he could hear the conversation now.

Yo bitch, you suckin’ like I said to?

Yes, papi, I swear, I’m doing it-

Then why ain’t they saying what they s’posed to, huh? Do I gotta hit you again?

No, papi.

I think I might. I’ll let you slide for tonight though. You best start workin’ on it. I told those niggas that if you don’t choke on they shit, they ain’t gotta pay full-price. They sayin’ you ain’t always chokin’.

Well, I deep-throat, papi, just like you say. But they don’t always have big dicks like you do-

I don’t give a shit! You can still choke. I tol’ you to pretend, right? Just like you pretend you love the taste of nut.

I love the taste of yo’ nut, papi.

Shut up, bitch. I don’t care if you like it. You gonna swallow it either way, or at least you would if you wasn’t such a sloppy cocksucker. And speakin’ of nuts, you ain’t lickin’ nutsacks for free, right?

No, papi. I make ‘em pay ten bucks for that.

Good. Ain’t no one doing it?

Not really.

Well, you work on that. Keep tryin’. You tell ‘em you suck balls like a champion. Whatchoo gigglin’ at?

Roger had crept close enough now he could see the pretty black girl giggling, embarrassed. She closed her eyes and hugged the pimp, who pushed her away.

“Whatchoo gigglin’ at, gurl?”

She whispered. “I just think it’s funny, Slickback, there’s no skill in ball-sucking. You can’t be good at it. Anyone with a mouth is just as good as anyone else with a mouth.”

“Shut up, bitch, whatchoo know about it? You gotta convince ‘em that-“

Roger stepped forward, close enough he could be seen. Both the pimp, Slickback, and the whore looked at him. Slickback was hostile at first, angry at being interrupted, then realized he had a potential customer and smiled.

“Yo, man, you look horny. You horny? You like black girls? She sucks nuts like no one’s business,” he said. When Roger didn’t immediately respond, Slickback sidled closer. “Or no? You don’t like black girls? That’s okay. I got a white chick around the corner, she can lick yo’ asshole, baby, all night long if that’s what you want. She loves that funky shit. Or I got a fat Asian chick, you like that? Ain’t many of them. She ain’t real fat or nothing, but she curvy, ‘specially for an Asian chick. She real tight-“

“Uh… no, none of those are my cup of tea. I-“

“Two girls? You look like you could satisfy two-“ Slickback cut himself off. He looked closely into Roger’s eyes and wrinkled his nose.

“I think he’s gay, papi,” said the black girl, softly, so as not to anger Slickback.

Slickback nodded as though he had been thinking the same thing. “She right, huh?”

Roger nodded. “I’ll take a swing on your cock, sir, Slickback.”

“Sir Slickback, I like that,” he said with a confident grin. “So you pay to suck my cock?”

The whore giggled into her fist. “Go on, papi, do it. You always say you do anything for money.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch. What I always tell you is that you will do anything to make me money,” he said. He straightened his orange and green suit.

“I can suck your dick better than her,” Roger said. “And I’ll suck your balls and any other body part you want.” The whore straightened her back and stared daggers at him.

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite a promise.”

Roger nodded. “I’m an expert.”

Now the whore looked at him crossly. “You fucking faggot, I bet I suck twice as many cocks as you-“

“Yeah, but I suck ‘em twice as good,” Roger said, “Besides, you suck a lot of wussy little needle-dicks. I specialize in sucking big mandingo cock, and I always swallow the whole thing.”

“You can get my whole cock in yo’ throat?”

“I promise. If I don’t, I’ll pay you twice as much,” Roger said. He glanced at the whore. “Come on, bring her. I’ll give her a lesson.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, but did as she was told when Slickback said to come with him. Slickback never actually said he agreed to the deal, but he walked towards the hotel and Roger hurried to show him to the room.

He licked his lips at the sight of Slickback’s thick ass filling out his orange suit pants, visible in the hotel’s lighting. He looked perfect dressed as a pimp, Roger thought, not like some awkward, ill-fitting TV pimp.

Once he got in, Slickback let out a sigh of relief. “I’s always nervous ‘round this place. Ain’t used ta let niggas in, y’know.”

Roger nodded.

Slickback continued anyway. “The Whiteland Hotel used to be the White Man Hotel. Whites-only. Used to have a sign out front, said, whites and non-Chinese Asians only. That ain’t allowed no mo’, but still. I don’t usually come here.”

Roger nodded. “The front desk clerk is black,” he said. “So I think this hotel is pretty safe.”

Slickback shrugged. “Whatever. It’s a shitty hotel, man. Got whores right outside. You ready? Show me how you do this. And show Emerald, maybe she learn some new tricks.”

Roger shut the door to his room. He glanced at the whore, who was much less pretty now that she was in a well-lit room. Her name was apparently Emerald — that must be why she wore green, Roger thought — and she crossed her arms over her sagging tits.

“Well, let’s see it,” Emerald said.

Roger knew waiting was the best way to get someone horny, so he just smiled dramatically at her. “I’m not rushing. I don’t believe in sucking cock unless I do it right,” he said. He turned to Slickback and smiled, “Sir Slickback, you should take your clothes off while I get ready.”

Slickback chuckled. “Pimps don’t take off they clothes, faggot.” He unzipped the fly to his slacks, and let a long cock flop out. Still limp it was nearly a foot long, and Slickback laughed at his shock. “You ain’t know it was gonna be that big, huh? Ain’t gonna be easy to deep-throat this one, faggot. We gonna see how good at faggotry you really is.”

Roger smiled. “I am surprised, but don’t worry. I can take it. I’m an expert, and I’m good at what I do,” he said, making eye contact with Emerald. She scowled at him.

He hurried into the bathroom. Roger didn’t actually have a pre-blowjob routine, but he pretended he did. He cleared his throat loudly, hocked a couple of loogies into the toilet and brushed his teeth.

“Whatchoo doin’ in there, faggot?”

“I have a routine. It helps me deep-throat big dicks,” Roger said. He came out into the main room, holding the bottle of shampoo from the bathtub. He asked for Slickback’s hand, then let a dab come out onto Slickback’s middle finger. “Stick this in my throat until I gag. That’ll help lubricate it.”

Slickback smiled like a cocky bastard. He did as Roger said, with a disgusted sneer on his face. When Roger gagged, he instinctively bit down, but not hard enough to really hurt.

Samson looked impressed. He turned to Emerald and said, “You remember this, bitch. When I tell you to suck dick like a faggot, you do all this stuff. When you suck my cock, you do it like this. Keep a little tube of shampoo wit’ you.”

Roger opened his mouth as wide as he could. The bitter taste of shampoo overwhelmed his senses, and he couldn’t wait to replace it with Slickback’s cock. He demonstrated to Slickback how big and how loosely open his mouth was.

Then Roger got onto the bed in the center of the hotel room. He laid on his back with his head dangling over the edge of the bed. He reached out for Slickback’s cock, which was half-hard, sticking out the fly of his boxers and slacks.

Gripping Slickback by the cock, Roger pulled him closer. Slickback grinned at him, then frowned at Emerald. “See, bitch? He wants me to fuck his face. Why can’t you be like that?”

“I ain’t some trashy faggot!” she said.

“Shit, you should be…” Slickback muttered. He almost looked like he was going to hit her at first, but he relaxed when the tip of his cock pushed into Roger’s mouth. He didn’t tear his eyes from her.

“That ain’t fair, faggots like that stuff,” she said.

“Unless you a lesbian, you should like it too, bitch.”

Then Slickback began powerfully slamming his dick in and out. He was uncaring of Roger’s resistance, and in only a few strokes managed to squeeze it all in. Roger gagged uncontrollably, but he didn’t fight back. His throat stretched to accommodate Slickback’s manhood.

“Come here, bitch,” Slickback said. She got on the bed, mounting Roger’s body so her pussy was just over Roger’s bellybutton. Slickback began kneading her tits. “Nevermind, bitch. This ain’t helpin’ me. You got saggy tits, go and get on your knees to watch.”

She blushed but did as she was told. She got on her knees and peered closely at Roger’s face, which turned red as he struggled to swallow all of Slickback’s cock. He loved this part, the difficulty of it all, the way Slickback fucked his throat without regard for Roger’s feelings, his alpha male body writhing as he destroyed Roger’s gullet.

Slickback groaned and grunted as he slammed his dick in and out of Roger’s mouth. His heavy balls slapped against Roger’s face. He laughed at the sound it made, and changed his angle to make a nice meaty sound when his scrotum collided with Roger’s chin.

“You suck balls, bitch?” Slickback asked. Though he phrased it as a question, it was clear what answer he expected.

“Like an expert,” Roger said. He glanced into Emerald’s face as she looked at him hatefully. She looked grossed out by the thought of sucking balls. He licked Slickback’s shaft, following a vein down to the root.

Slickback lifted his nutsack up, moving it out of the way so he could make eye contact with Roger. Roger opened his mouth wide and stretched his tongue, just barely tickling the bottom of Slickback’s scrotum.

Then Slickback dropped his balls, which landed with a splash in Roger’s mouth. He loved the sweaty, musty flavor of balls, and he made a hungry sound as he sucked all the moisture off.

“Oh shit,” Slickback said. “You wasn’t kiddin’ about being an expert. You like a fuckin’ juggler and shit.” He sounded genuinely surprised, enough so that he didn’t light the cigar he put between his lips. He held a lighter in his hand, then dropped it and groaned. His balls tasted hot and salty in Roger’s mouth.

Roger gargled, making as much noise as he could, and he generated so much drool it dripped out and down his cheeks. His tongue stretched up the back of Slickback’s scrotum, tickling the tip of the man’s hairy taint.

“See? Bitch… You best believe it’s possible to suck balls good,” Slickback said. He pushed her head closer. “Study that shit. Motherfuckers who’s already paying for a blowjob gonna pay ten bucks for this too, I promise. You might have to give it to ‘em for free one time,” he said. “But ask me first if that’s okay.”

“Balls are so gross…” she said. She sounded disgusted now, as though she could taste them already.

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re gross, slut, but I still manage to sell yo’ ass,” Slickback said. Then he picked his ballsac up and dropped it on Roger’s nose. “Take a deep breath, queer. You like how that smells?”

Roger inhaled deeply. “Oh god yes, you smell so good!”

The girl moaned in disgust, but she stopped when Slickback glared at her. Slickback chuckled, pulled his balls out and put the tip of his cock right on Roger’s tongue.

“Please cum in my mouth,” Roger said, around the cock in his mouth — he managed to say it clearly enough that Slickback understood.

He nodded, sneered and drilled his dick down deep. When Roger gagged, he grunted approvingly but didn’t slow down. His hips thrust back and forth, pushing his sweaty cockshaft over Roger’s savoring tongue.

His rhythm was faster, stronger, more inexorable. He stopped paying attention to Emerald, stopped telling her to pay close attention, and his balls crawled up in his sac. She looked away and lifted her nose. Roger could feel Slickback’s moist balls resting on his chin.

“Okay, faggot, I’m gonna shoot my load. Don’t spit, don’t swallow. You show me a mouthful of cum,” Slickback said softly.

Roger said okay through the cock in his throat. All that came out was a choked cry, but Slickback seemed to understand what he was saying.

Semen flew from his cock. It coated Roger’s throat, and he gagged violently. Slickback didn’t care, he kept his cock right there in Roger’s throat, pulsating so thickly it was visible through Roger’s neck.

He shot most of his cum right into Roger’s stomach, so Roger would have had an empty mouth except that he was gagging the entire time. So he ended up spitting a mouthful up as Slickback’s cock plopped out, and holding the puddle of cum between his lips.

Slickback took Roger by the lips. He examined the mouthful of cum closely. He hesitated.

“You ain’t strugglin’ huh? You see that, bitch? Not everyone is grossed out by it.”

“He’s a fucking faggot!” she said. “I can’t do that!”

“You can!” Slickback glared at her. He stuck one of his fingers in the cumload in Roger’s mouth, pushing it all the way in until Roger gagged again. “Alright, faggot, I was gonna tell you to spit that into her mouth, let her practice on it. But I can tell you wanna swallow, huh?”

Roger nodded, careful not to spill any of the cum as he did.

“Okay. First, gargle.”

Roger gargled. That reawakened his gagging reflex, and he almost spilled it but managed to keep it. Emerald looked at him with a mixture of respect, hatred and disgust.

“Say I love Slickback’s load.”

Roger said it, though the only sound that came out was a confused gargling sound.

“Okay, now you can swallow,” he said.

Roger swallowed. The hot load slid all the way to his stomach, and sat there, thick and heavy. Roger smacked his lips, and showed Slickback his open mouth.

“Okay, now give my asshole a kiss. Not a rimjob, just a kiss to show you what kind of trash you is,” Slickback said. He turned around and pulled his pants down to reveal a wide, smooth ass. He spread his asscheeks, showing off his funky asshole.

Roger dived in and kissed it. He even poked his tongue through the hole, savoring that funky flavor. Slickback yelped. He stood up, turned around and pulled his pants back up. He lightly slapped Roger.

“That’s for stickin’ yo tongue in when I ain’t tell you to,” he said. “But I’m glad you did it. She always fucking complains.”

It sounded like Emerald was near tears. “No other papi makes his bitches do that! And he’s a faggot, you can’t compare me to what he does!”

“Yes, I can, bitch,” Slickback said. He sauntered towards the door. “Now tell the faggot thank you for showing you how to do your job.”

“Thank you, faggot, for showing me how to do my job,” Emerald said. Her voice was bitter and hateful.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Roger said. “Keep practicin’. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of of it soon.”

The Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit

Here’s a chapter from a novelette, The Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit! It’s a sexy tale of a gay man who gets to provide oodles of alpha thugs with sexual services they’ll never forget! This story’s got a pimp, a dozen colllege football players, one studly daddy-bear and more!

“Nah, nigga, girls ain’t into muscles like that,” said Reggie, sounded like he was too cool to give a shit even if he was sharing his opinion.

Naluke burst out into cocky laughter. He sneered at Reggie, his stepfather, and scoffed. “You don’t know whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, old man.”

Reggie looked at Walter, who was cutting Naluke’s hair. Walter was about to take Reggie’s side — that’s who was paying, after all, and giving a tip, or so Walter assumed (hoped). Before Walter could say it though, Naluke interrupted him.

“That queer? He don’t know shit about girls, pops.”

Everyone in the shop oohed as though a fight was going to break out. They began loudly debating how attracted girls were to muscular men.

“I betcha he know mo’ than you,” Reggie said, laughing at his stepson. “Most queers know a lot about girls. How many pussies you ever touch, gayboy?”

Walter blushed. “Uh… Well, like… eleven, maybe twelve.”

Reggie laughed even harder, and Naluke flared his nostrils; he avoided his stepfather’s gaze. Naluke wasn’t ugly, but he was hardly handsome either. Walter wasn’t surprised he had trouble getting girls. He didn’t have enough charm to make up for his rather rough face either. Walter thought he was sexy, not least because he dripped with machismo and had a burly body no eighteen-year-old should have; Walter didn’t mind that hawkish, overly angular face — he looked like he was supposed to have a chiseled, Hollywood-handsome jaw, but the chiseler had been drunk. He was a football star, about to go back to college.

“You shoulda heard this nigga talkin’ befo’ he went to college, man,” Reggie said, addressing the whole shop as Naluke tried to stop him. “He be sayin’, ‘oh, Pops, the girls around here is sloppy, and they’s uptight and shit. You just wait till I get to college. Them white girls gonna fall all over my shit.’ And-“

“I ain’t say that!” Naluke said, but he sounded defensive, as though he had said something very similar. The whole shop was laughing at him now.

“Yo, you ever fuck a girl in the ass? You still a virgin as far as I’m concerned, if you ain’t nevuh tap any ass. Pussy’s nice, but you ain’t a man unless you got a girl givin’ up that ass.”

“That ain’t right,” Naluke said, still sounding defensive — it was obvious the answer was no, he had never fucked a girl in the ass. “You ain’t gotta fuck some ass-“

“Betcha can’t do it, nigga,” Reggie said. He wrapped one wiry arm around Walter and said, “Lemme see you fuck this gayboy. Huh? You ever fuck around on the downlow, boy?”

“I don’t do that shit! I get girls!”

“You ain’t got shit for girls. You ain’t got game, nigga,” Reggie said. He got up and went towards the back before either Walter or Naluke had agreed; it seemed he simply assumed they would both go along with his plan.

The haircut was over by then, and Walter was excited to follow Reggie to the backroom. Naluke didn’t follow at first, but after the others all taunted him for a few more moments, he got up and sauntered in as though he had always meant to do so. (Yeah, nigga, you gonna see what ass is like, yuh!) It sounded rather like the other barbers were trying to make Naluke as uncomfortable and tense as possible, so that he wouldn’t be able to get hard and they could all make fun of him for it.

Walter rather liked the older daddy-types, like Reggie, so he was excited to see his lean body — he pulled his t-shirt over his head as he leaned against one of the storeroom walls. He smiled cockily at his stepson and pulled his dick out of the fly of his jeans.

“Let’s see ya meat, Naluke,” Reggie said as though he knew it wasn’t going to be that big.

Naluke winced. He was a big boy — not fat by any means, but he had a bit of pudge and plenty of mass. He unceremoniously dropped his pants to his ankles, revealing a fat prick, not outrageously small but substantially shorter than Reggie’s slab of meat.

“Bring it in, nigga. This is called a spitroast,” Reggie said with a smirk. Walter sunk to all fours in front of Reggie, sticking his ass in the air for Naluke — he hadn’t taken his pants off yet, as he wanted to make Naluke work a little for it.

Yo, you fuck that nigga yet, Naluke? Huh? I ain’t hear him beggin’ fo’ mo’ yet.

That’s cuz he ain’t a white college girl, man, you just don’t know.

Reggie was already getting hard even before his cock pushed into Walter’s mouth. He must have been horny, Walter thought, as he tasted the man’s distinctive funk. He moaned as the exquisite taste dripped down his throat. Reggie kept his focus on his stepson, however, as though he barely noticed his own blowjob.

The sound of Walter moaning made Reggie chuckle like a cocky prick. “See, Naluke? When you’s a real nigga, faggots get off on the taste of yo’ meat. You ain’t nevuh gonna get that good, cuz you ain’t got game.”

“Shut the fuck up, Reggie!”

Despite his bravado, it was apparent that Naluke had no experience with anal sex. (He in there yet, Reggie?) He nervously pulled down Walter’s pants and underwear to reveal his bare ass, but then sucked in his teeth as though he was expecting to see a vagina. He nervously wedged his limp dick between Walter’s cheeks.

“Get hard, nigga, what’s wrong wit’ you?” Then Reggie called out to the front of the shop, “Nah, he ain’t in yet. He playin’ around some first. Flopping rope and shit… Mo’ like floppin’ string though.”

Naluke muttered to himself. He was plainly embarrassed, by both his stepfather and the torrent of laughter from the shop. Walter was worried he might decide to give up. He could save face by claiming he couldn’t get hard with a man and the smell of his stepfather’s precum filling up the backroom. Walter squeezed his asscheeks around Naluke’s shaft, then reached behind himself and gave it a few strokes. It perked up in his hands.

Flop that string, nigga!

His coordination ended then as Reggie began fucking his throat more violently — showing off, Walter guessed, to his stepson, who watched with horror as though he had no idea blowjobs could be so violent. Walter gagged and choked on Reggie’s cock, opening his mouth as wide as he could. His hands flailed around behind himself, but it seemed Naluke no longer needed help. He breathed a sigh of relief as he got his dick hard enough to plunge deep into Walter’s ass.

“Oh damn, he in there now! He did it! I admit, I wuz wrong,” Reggie said, cackling as he slapped hands with Naluke. “He got his meat goin’ and he tappin’ that ass now.”

It took only a few thrusts of his hips for Naluke to get the hang of it. He laughed cockily as though he had never struggled to get hard, and grabbed ahold of Walter’s hair. He held on, pulling Walter’s head back even as Reggie kept a tight grip on it, forcing him to stay still. Walter didn’t mind at all, being pulled in two directions made this session even hotter for him.

The pain grew stronger as Naluke fucked with greater and greater intensity. He slammed his dick in with increasing confidence, and even bragged about it when Walter winced with agony. This queerboy gonna start cryin’ and shit! That was a major exaggeration — Walter was nowhere’s near crying, but he liked hearing Naluke’s bravado so he emphasized his pain the best he could.

I’s surprised he still got juice left in those nuts, what with all them white girls beggin’ fo’ it.

Yo, my brother went to campus and said Naluke been banned from every sorority on account of actin’ like a cockhead to all the girls. He ain’t allowed in any party where the girls show up.

“That ain’t true!” Naluke shouted vociferously. “It was two sororities, and they both full of stuck-up bitches. It don’t hardly matter.” But none of them were really listening; they laughed at each other — Walter suspected one of them was doing an imitation of Naluke’s heavy-bodied walk and his clearly forced pimp-lean.

It was Naluke who came first, even though he got started quite a bit later. He roared and pumped his biceps as his balls crawled up in his sac. Walter could feel it in his ass just moments before the first wad of cum hit his inside.

That was followed by a flood of hot semen invading Reggie’s ass. He moaned and writhed around Reggie’s cock, which still pulsated in Walter’s throat. Naluke grunted so loud the men in the front room applauded again.

“What’d that take you, like a minute? No wonder no girls want you, nigga,” Reggie scoffed. He didn’t wait for Naluke to be done before pulling out of Walter’s mouth and moving behind him.

Yo that was Naluke?

Took like three minutes, nigga. You sure you ain’t gay? Should be a little tough to nut in a male, nigga.

Much to Walter’s shock, Reggie didn’t get Naluke to pull out first either. Naluke stood still, ignoring the taunting as he drained the last of his nut into Walter’s ass. Reggie chuckled as he mounted Naluke from behind.

At first Walter thought Reggie was going to shove his cock in Naluke’s plump ass, which would have been utterly shocking. Instead he — in an apparent bid to make Naluke uncomfortable — attempted to double-penetrate Walter’s ass. There was no way Walter would open up enough to even let him get started, but Reggie only really wanted to get behind Naluke and make it feel like he was about get fucked.

Naluke yelped and startled, but didn’t move away — with Reggie right behind him, there was nothing he could do but submit. Reggie slapped Naluke’s asscheeks and yee-hawed at their jiggling.

“Naluke be about ready to take mah shit,” Reggie called out, causing another torrent of laughter.

But at last Naluke was done, despite Reggie’s distractions, and he did pull out. Reggie caressed his bare asscheeks, laughing when Naluke finally realized what was happening and darted away. He had to climb over Walter’s body, meaning his sweaty balls dragged over Walter’s back as he went.

Reggie wasted no time in plunging his cock in. There was a splashing sound, as Naluke’s cum dripped down between Walter’s legs.

“Yo, that nigga tell he don’t gangbang girls cuz he ain’t into sloppy seconds,” Reggie said. “You think he right? Or is that just an excuse, gayboy? Cuz I seen a lotta niggas say they ain’t want sloppy seconds, no how, no way, but when they got a hardon and the only hole around is dripping wit’ nut, I ain’t seen a one say no.”

Walter was too entranced by his own orgasm, as he shot cum through his fingers and onto the ground, to answer Reggie’s question. It didn’t seem that Reggie was really expecting an answer anyway, and Walter certainly didn’t have any way of knowing how straight gangbangs typically went.

Reggie must have been close, because he shot his nut after barely getting started on Walter’s guts. He rammed his long dick all the way in and sighed deeply. He held it there, shooting his load so far and so hard that Walter imagined he could taste it.

Then they were done. Reggie pulled out. He walked right past his stepson, who winced with embarrassment at the sight of his stepfather’s cock. Reggie grabbed a napkin and, standing just inches from Naluke, wiped his dick off, smiling at Naluke’s pained expression.

“Alright, say thank you to the queer, Naluke. That’s only polite.”

“Uh, thanks,” Naluke said as Reggie finally put his clothes back on. “I needed that.”

“Yeah,” Reggie said. “He really did.”

Twink on Top: The Strongman

Here’s a sample from the newest tale in the epic Twink on Top series! This is called The Strongman, and it’s about a little person who gets the chance to top a Polish circus strongman!

Randy Hollingsworth was billed as “The Littlest Dandy” in the Warren Heights Traveling Circus, so everyone there called him Dandy. He was only just above two feet tall, making him — so some doctor said — the shortest man in the state (the state at that time being California, where Dandy grew up, though the circus had just arrived in Gaithersburg, Maryland, which wasn’t a big state so Dandy guessed he was likely the shortest man there as well).

As the Littlest Dandy, he gathered folks in with his loud mouth and charismatic laugh, helped control crowds when they arrived at the circus and lubricated the transitions between attractions. He had long ago learned he had the gift of making men laugh, and his feminine personality didn’t attract too much attention because it seemed like a harmless byproduct of his small size. He could lilt and prance like any queen without threatening the normals’ sense of propriety.

It was the summer of 1928 when Dandy and the Warren Heights Circus arrived in Gaithersburg. Dandy spent the day passing out fliers and answering questions about the circus and his height, and by the time he got back, he was too tired to do anything more than sit back in his tent and rest.

“Hey, Dandy!” boomed a bone-shakingly deep voice from outside the tent.

Dandy jumped to his feet, so startled he yelped. He had just been drifting off to sleep. He went to the tent flap, rehearsing how he would tell Gerwazy no if he was here to ask for another favor. There was no mistaking the voice, it was Gerwazy.

Gerwazy was the circus strongman, and he too was one of the most extreme men in the country — he was both tallest and biggest. Gerwazy was a Polish-American boy of nearly twenty years old, already seven feet tall and still growing. He had a farmwork-toned body that he kept building as they traveled, lifting weights at every opportunity, both onstage and off. He was a boisterous, adventurous man, domineering and brash, macho and more than a bit intimidating when he wanted to be. He was billed as The Pumped Pollack of Pennsylvania. His thick mustache twitched as he made eye contact with Dandy, and he smiled broadly. One of his hands nervously clutched his muscular chest, which he had shaved smooth today. Dandy deeply liked him and his easygoing smile, even if he often overestimated Dandy’s willingness to go on adventures.

“What do you want, Gerwazy?” Dandy asked. He stood in the entrance to his tent as though he might be able to exclude Gerwazy from entering.

“You had better take a nice tone with me, Dandy Littlepants, I’m about to give you a present you’ll deeply enjoy.”

“Oh, what’s that? Do I have to go somewhere?” Dandy asked. He was much too tired to walk even to the other side of the circus encampment with Gerwazy, who had such long legs that Dandy had to sprint to keep up with him. To Gerwazy, that was hilarious. Dandy took a dim view of it.

“No, we’re doing it right here,” Gerwazy said. “I… I know you don’t believe in God. But-”

“I really don’t feel like having a theological discussion, Gerwazy,” he said, but Gerwazy wasn’t listening. Dandy had to talk very loud for Gerwazy to hear him, so these misunderstandings were common. Gerwazy pushed right in, oblivious to the fact that Dandy hadn’t invited him in. Dandy sighed. Gerwazy sat in the only chair in the tent, which was too small for him, so he had to wedge his ass into the seat. Dandy stood in front of him with a hand on his petite hips, looking up at him.

“God is very important to me, and my salvation. I went to the church in town, St. Joseph’s. And I went to confession, Dandy. You know what that is?”

“Yes, Gerwazy, I know what confession is,” Dandy said with a sigh. As usual, Gerwazy was oblivious to his social cues.

“I… confessed some sins of a sexual nature, Dandy. The priest ordered me to say the hail mary nine times and- Well, the point is he told me to do a few things. One of them was to make a moral inventory of my life, to see what my sins are and how they have affected the victims of my deviance.”

“Deviance? Gerwazy… are you talking about the women? God’s not going to throw you in hell for-“

“You don’t even believe in God, little man,” he said. “And I’m worried about it. I think I need to punish myself by making myself feel what those women feel when I plunder them. I know… that’s your speciality. And you’re a little guy, it couldn’t hurt that bad with you. I’m hoping I’ll learn-“

“What?!”

“Do you need me to be more specific?” he said with a blush. “I… I don’t really know what you people do.”

“I get that part, Gerwazy, I understand the anatomy of it,” he said. “But are you serious? You want me to… let’s dispense with the euphemisms for now, considering what you’re asking me for… you want me to fuck you to teach you that fucking is wrong? A lesson that I don’t even believe?”

He paused and gulped, the sound of which was impossibly loud to Dandy. Gerwazy nodded. His hand clutched his smooth white pectoral muscle, which twitched; its gigantic size attracted Dandy’s attention as it rippled, his anxiety apparent in its tension. Gerwazy scratched at his bare chest.

“You make it sound stupid.”

“If that was a part of Catholicism, which it isn’t, it would be stupid. Your priest told you to do this? Are you sure he wasn’t trying to fuck you? Cuz they do that. You can’t trust priests.”

“Not in so many words, he didn’t say that exactly. He said I needed to confront what the victims of my sin experienced. This is what I came up with,” he said.

“There’s a big difference between a woman being penetrated by a man she likes, because she wants to, and a man being penetrated by me-“ Dandy stopped himself. “Why am I talking you out of this? It’s idiotic, but you’ve always been a dumbass, Gerwazy.”

“Get bigger, shitwit,” he said.

“If you want me to fuck you to save your soul or whatever, I am down all around!” Dandy said. “Don’t come asking for a refund when this doesn’t work.” He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt. Gerwazy sighed as though a part of him had hoped Dandy would say no (but what kind of dandy would say no?).

Of course, Dandy realized as Gerwazy took off his pants that their size difference was going to make for some rather awkward positioning. Gerwazy sighed, his chest rattling. It seemed that he was having second thoughts.

“You really wanna do this? I won’t… tell God if you back out,” Dandy said. He couldn’t help but laugh. He had always thought religion was silly — would an omnipresent God make a midget like Dandy? Someone whose body was definitely never meant to be this size? He could feel God’s nonexistence every day in his weak knees and his pained spine, in the doctors who were perennially surprised that Dandy was still alive.

Gerwazy shot him an annoyed look. “You don’t need to laugh. I believe in God-“

“I know, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Then quit laughing at me about it,” he said. He flared his nostrils. He dropped his underwear, and his massive, uncut cock flopped out. That was why he needed forgiveness — his big dick and bulging muscles attracted women, many of whom were married and some of whom even paid him for sex. That was at least a handful of separate sins. He rolled his eyes. “Okay… what do dandies do? How do we do this?”

Dandy was still trying to figure out the mechanics of it himself, but he decided to just get started. Instinct would take over, he thought. He motioned for Gerwazy to sit down on the ground. Even sitting on his ass, Gerwazy towered over Dandy, who climbed up to stand on his thighs. The thick muscle of his hairy legs was like a rock beneath his feet.

His pecs and their hard nipples were right there in front of Dandy’s face. The left breast was tattooed with the red and white flag of Gerwazy’s native Poland (he had moved here when he was an infant, so he didn’t remember it, but he did speak a little Polish that he learned from his parents). Dandy blushed as he kissed each pec in turn.

Gerwazy giggled like a schoolboy, his booming laughter audible through his chest. It rattled around in Dandy’s tiny skull. He felt a little awkward  at Gerwazy’s tense submission to his kissing, but the more Dandy felt those gigantic slabs of Polish muscle, the more aroused he was. He dropped his own shorts and let his rapidly hardening dick free.

Then he jumped up to Gerwazy’s neck. Gerwazy oomphed as Dandy gripped his neck and lifted himself up. He didn’t mean to choke Gerwazy — he just wanted to kiss him on the lips — but that was exactly what happened.

Gerwazy sputtered and dropped Dandy onto his feet on the ground. He shook his head. “What the hell-?”

“Sorry, I was trying to kiss you! Come down here,” Dandy said. Gerwazy shook his head but did so. He lowered his neck, then had to get down on his belly on the ground. Only then could he get his head low enough to easily kiss Dandy on the lips. He puckered like he was sucking on a lemon as he did so.

After all the fuss, the kiss was rather crude and passionless. Once again, however, what Dandy missed in enthusiasm was more than made up for by the thrill of touching the man’s huge muscles. Dandy stroked his broad shoulders, each blade of which was as big as Dandy’s entire body. He plunged his tongue into Gerwazy’s mouth. Gerwazy was still, his tongue laying limp like a dead fish at first, but after a few moments, he moved around some. Their tongues interlocked as Gerwazy’s bristly mustache — which seemed impossibly huge, thicker than Dandy’s own forearm even though it never looked that big from a distance — scratched at Dandy’s face.

The muscular lines on Gerwazy’s back beckoned. Dandy had always loved staring at Gerwazy’s back muscles; he didn’t know why, but something was appealing about those perfectly smooth, looping curves. He kissed Gerwazy’s smooth chin, then around to the back of his neck. He lowered his head, kissing the dimpled skin atop his spine, as Dandy’s fingers gripped his flesh.

Gerwazy lowered himself until he lay flat on his belly on the ground of Dandy’s tent. Outside Mariella — the bearded lady — cleared her throat as she began warming up her voice. She practiced singing every night, still hoping a professional opera company would look past her beard and hire her. It made Dandy giggle, because her fancy opera was going to be a strange score for his and Gerwazy’s copulation.

Dandy’s mouth reached the small of Gerwazy’s back. Dandy stopped there for a moment and kneaded the copious flesh of Gerwazy’s plump asscheeks. Then Dandy dived between them.

Gerwazy gasped — it sounded like he had no idea dandies liked to pleasure each other’s asses. Dandy loved it, even now as his head disappeared between those massive cheeks. They were hairy and musty and dripping with sweat from the day’s workout. Dandy licked up every drop as his tongue explored the nooks and crannies of Gerwazy’s ass. The taste was sour and sweet, with a flavor that Dandy could only describe as pure, unadulterated manhood.

Then his tongue entered the grimy rim, and an explosion of masculine flavor overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned with desire, which made Gerwazy giggle nervously as he arched his back. Gerwazy’s ass separated and his hole loosened to allow Dandy’s tongue better entrance.

This was one area where Dandy didn’t feel his size made a difference. Gerwazy’s asshole was as tight as a small man’s, and Dandy’s tongue struggled to push inside just the same as it did with any other person’s. For a moment, Dandy could nearly forget his disability.

It felt so intensely pleasurable to Gerwazy that he slowly arched his back, lifting his ass. He groaned and grunted as he submitted to Dandy’s tongue-bath. He even bit his lip like he was trying to avoid making too obvious how much he liked the experience. It wasn’t very long before his ass was much too high for Dandy to lick it.

That was okay with him. He was ready to move on. As Gerwazy lifted his ass up, his heavy cock and balls dangled. Dandy scooted beneath him, his tongue tracing a trail from his ass to those hairy ballsacks.

He tried to get the entire hairy sac and both balls in his mouth, but Gerwazy was too big. One ball took up all of Dandy’s mouth, and the folds of hairy, sweat-dripping flesh enveloped Dandy’s face. He didn’t mind; it felt like Gerwazy’s body was all-encompassing, his heavy-hanging sac spreading to every aspect of Dandy’s perception. His little tongue snaked out and caressed the sensitive flesh of Gerwazy’s scrotum.

Gerwazy yelped and squirmed. His dick was rock-hard now, and Dandy wanted nothing more than to suck him dry. He could feel all the tasty cum brewing up in those balls, which pulsated in and on his mouth.

But Dandy knew he wouldn’t have many opportunities to do more than suck some dick. There were a lot of muscular guys who would let a dandy suck them off. There weren’t many who would let Dandy be on top. He needed to do what he could while the option was open to him.

So Dandy just licked up the veiny shaft of Gerwazy’s dick, then continued licking the best he could up Gerwazy’s chest. Gerwazy was on all fours, with Dandy standing beneath his chest and the floor, as though Gerwazy’s body was Dandy’s new tent-within-a-tent.

He crawled up to the chair that Gerwazy had sat in. With Gerwazy on all fours, his head was right around the chair’s height. That meant he could suck dick when Dandy sat there on the edge of the seat.

People were often impressed by Dandy’s dick size, he showed it off to strangers sometimes who insinuated he couldn’t measure up to taller men’s manhood. It was big, at nearly seven inches, but Dandy knew that wasn’t really remarkably big — it seemed that way because Dandy was so short. His dick was nearly a quarter of his body’s height, and it stretched to his knees.

Gerwazy was clearly surprised by its heft now that it was in front of his face. He screwed up his eyes, looked away and opened his mouth. Dandy was already rock-hard when he pushed his dick down Gerwazy’s throat.

Dandy moaned. Most men had trouble deep-throating his dick, but Gerwazy was such a big man that his throat was wide. He swallowed the whole thing easily even as his body gagged and rejected it. His muscles all flexed at once, undulating with each sputtering choke.

The sensation for Dandy was incredible. It felt like his dick was massaged by all of those strapping muscles, which writhed before his eyes. He gripped Gerwazy’s shoulders, then grabbed his thick mop of black hair. Using his tiny fingers and delicate hands, Dandy guided Gerwazy up and down on his dick.

The sound of Gerwazy’s moist sputtering filled the tent, and the smell of precum followed it. Dandy wondered if Mariella — whose clumsy Italian phrasing emanated from outside — could smell it. Probably not, he thought, as she bathed in perfume every day. Dandy leaned his head back and groaned as pleasure wrapped over his body.

His hands seemed impossibly tiny next to Garwazy’s head, which he gripped and led up and down. Dandy was used to being short, so it wasn’t often that he noticed these disparities in size anymore, but Garwazy was so massively huge that Dandy couldn’t help but see. He loved the feeling of power he got, however, from his weak little lavender arms pushing Garwazy’s massive Pollack head up and down.

Gerwazy licked Dandy’s cockshaft, his giant head moving along with his tongue up and down. Dandy’s dick jerked and spasmed, and Dandy yelped as sexual arousal overcame him. He had to force himself to pull away to avoid shooting his load right then.

Wanting to move on before he blew his load early, Dandy pulled out. Gerwazy gasped and said something breathlessly in Polish — it sounded like he was expressing his dislike for the taste of Dandy’s cock, but Dandy didn’t bother asking him to say it in English.

“Turn around,” Dandy said. “Lemme at your ass.” He smiled as Gerwazy sighed, wincing and blanching. He turned around, remaining on all fours, backing his wide ass up to the chair where Dandy still sat.

His ass was right at chair-height, but Dandy couldn’t lean off the chair and support himself that way. He hesitated before just jumping off the chair and landing right on Gerwazy’s bottom. He held on like a drowning man clinging to a liferaft.

Gerwazy lowered his head, while Dandy lined his crotch up with Gerwazy’s ass. He didn’t have much leverage in this position, since he had to stand on Gerwazy’s thighs as he pushed his dick between those perfectly juicy cheeks.

A part of Dandy wanted to get down and suck on his ass again — that would be more comfortable for him, more like what he was used to. But because he was so small, men always assumed he was only interested in servicing bigger, stronger studs. There was certainly an element of truth to that — Dandy did love sucking men off and getting fucked by them — but he wanted to prove he could be on top too.

He shuddered as his dick slid inside. Gerwazy’s ass was loosened and moistened by Dandy’s oral ministrations earlier, so now Dandy could get the first few inches of his meat inside easily. A wave of pleasure suffused Dandy’s body.

Then Gerwazy’s muscles all tensed at once and stayed that way; his asshole clenched and he bit down hard on his upper lip. He growled and muttered something, which Dandy couldn’t hear because of Mariella’s blasted opera singing from the tent next door.

“Relax, Gerwazy, relax your ass. You’re doing fine,” Dandy said. He lightly stroked Gerwazy’s back.

Gerwazy breathed heavily through gritted teeth. He snorted and shook his head, and his ass bloomed into laxity again, just long enough for Dandy to put another few inches in.

“Damn, Dandy… I thought you’d have a small dick,” he said. He chuckled as his face turned red. “Did you kill a big man and take his dick?”

“Yes,” Dandy said. He laughed at Gerwazy’s pained reaction. “You still don’t have to do this, you know. The whole idea is idiotic. It’s sexy. But it’s idiotic. God won’t love you more because of this.”

“Just finish up, little man,” he said. His voice was weak and pinched by pain.

Dandy grunted as he nodded and pumped his hips. He forced the last few inches of his dick inside, sighing when he actually felt his dick disappear into Gerwazy. Gerwazy had such a thick ass that a substantial part of Dandy’s dick didn’t actually enter the hole — Dandy simply couldn’t separate those asscheeks enough for his little body to get in there, especially with his feet not even being on the floor, so he still had no leverage.

It was all he could do to hump like a dog. He flexed his hips, slamming his entire little body down with every thrust on Gerwazy’s ass, the cheeks of which flapped and jiggled each time he descended. His fingers formed tight little balls and his nails dug into the flesh of Gerwazy’s back.

“Normally,” Dandy said. “I’d give you a reacharound. I know that’s dandy-slang, but you can probably guess what it means. My arms are way too short.” To demonstrate that, Dandy reached around Gerwazy, but his hands barely made it past his hips. He couldn’t even grip Gerwazy’s thick pubic hair much less touch his dick.

“You’re short? I never noticed,” Gerwazy said, his joking tone hidden by the agony evident in his voice. “I just always figured there was more of you that you kept locked safely away.”

“Why don’t you jack yourself off?”

Gerwazy laughed, making a strained and pained sound. “I can’t, little man. Are you crazy? I’m not a dandy. I don’t enjoy this.”

“You sure about that?” From his vantage point, Dandy couldn’t see Gerwazy’s dick, but he had a strong suspicion about it. He knew there was a spot in every man’s ass that, when touched, triggered intense physical arousal. He was certain he had been hitting that spot. Due to the pain, Gerwazy hadn’t really noticed. But when he shifted from all-fours to just-threes, leaning to the side so one of his hands could grab his dick, he yelped in surprise to find it was hard and throbbing.

“Well… I didn’t see that coming.”

“Macho men never do,” Dandy said. He spoke through gritted teeth now too because Gerwazy had shifted to using just three limbs to support himself, and in turn Dandy. That meant his body was not flat anymore, and Dandy had to clutch desperately at his flesh to avoid falling to the floor.

Somehow, despite the awkwardness of the positioning — or maybe because of it — Dandy felt his orgasm coming on. He humped wildly at Gerwazy’s ass, which was now loose enough that he could go for it with abandon. His balls slapped against the man’s flesh, the sound becoming impossibly loud.

As his climax erupted, Dandy could feel Gerwazy shooting his own load at the same time. The most intense orgasm of his life overwhelmed Dandy. He moaned, making a sound that was, to him, a loud shout. It was buried in the meat of Gerwazy’s lower back, however, as a minimal grunt from Gerwazy exploded and reverberated in the tiny tent.

Cum flowed into Gerwazy like water from a hose. Dandy shot more cum than he ever had before, and he could tell that Gerwazy’s load was similarly impressive, even if he couldn’t see it. Dandy shuddered, and every motion he made caused a wave of sensitive pleasure and exquisite blushed to flow up Gerwazy’s spine.

Dandy didn’t know how long he lay there, clutching Gerwazy’s flesh for support as he clung on like a puppy holding onto its mother’s scruff. His post-orgasmic daze only ended when Mariella finished her song, and the sound was replaced by Marcus, the head clown, barking orders at the other clowns — they were practicing their new act.

Letting out a sigh of relief as he slid down, Dandy’s cock left a trail of assjuice and cum clinging to Gerwazy’s thick thighs. Dandy’s knees were weak with the power of his orgasm. As soon as his ass was empty, Gerwazy collapsed to the ground in an exhausted heap of sweaty flesh.

Dandy sat next to him, using his back for support. He lay across Gerwazy’s shoulder and kissed his muscles there. “Do you feel forgiveness, Gerwazy?”

“I’m not sure it worked. I… I thought it might remove my desires for female flesh,” he said softly, or as softly as he could manage with that booming bass voice. “But I fear it has only added a desire for another kind of flesh.” He chuckled.

“Maybe we’ll have to try again to find out,” Dandy said with a laugh.

Gerwazy nodded gravely. “That’s an area of theological philosophy I’d like to consider more, Dandy, and I’m glad to have you around to help me through it.”