Fireman Fantasy

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Fireman Fantasy, a hot new story of hetero alpha firefighter action by Ellen J. Gantos! It’s also available as part of the great value bundle Hetero Alpha Male Erotica, Vol. 1!


There I was sitting alone again and wondering what I was doing as they came into the bar, every Thursday at 5 o’clock and it was time for me to pay attention.  There were five of them.  All very muscled men and they were also firefighters.  They worked the local fire station, and I would always obsess over them as I drank my drinks alone at the bar, tonight was no different.  They came in, laughing, perfect smiles on their face, wearing their fire station T-shirts showing off their muscles.  I would sit there sipping beer, watching them hoping that they would notice me hoping that they would come over and say just one word to me.

As usual, they didn’t notice me.  They were all the way across the bar sitting together, laughing and joking I would get so turned on when one of them hands another a beer with his muscles flexing

I went home a few beers later all alone, layed in my bed.  I pulled out my vibe and fire fireghtor magazine and began to masturbate.  I rubbed myself hard until I reached the first climax.  I did it again thinking about the guys at the bar and about how I wished that one of them would take notice of me.  After I finished masturbating I went to sleep semi-fulfilled.

The next morning I woke up and I brushed my teeth, did my make up, went to work. On our lunch break I went down to the local grocery store and bought some Subway sandwich inside the store while in line I noticed behind me a man.  I didn’t look back is a very shy woman, but when the server came over and gentleman what he would like on sale which I recognized his voice.  He was one of the guys from the bar.  He was one of the firefighters so much as well.  I smiled back.  Huge smile smile like you’ve never seen before that give him up and down with my eyes visualizing naked.  I fantasized about what I would do to him could see me biting my lip.  He knew what was going on

“Hello there Miss” he said, smiling at me

“Hi there” I said weakly.

“I see you like the veggie delight.”

“Yes I try to stay healthy and the other veggies in my diet.  However, sometimes I go for a sausage.”

“A sausage?  You are an awfully tiny woman to enjoy sausage,” he said flirtatiously.

“Yes I do like a good sausage every once in a while things spicy”

“Well, I happen to get the spicy sausage sub today.  Anyways, what are the you up to later tonight. ”

“Oh, you know, the usual… Nothing…”

“Well if you aren’t doing anything.  I love to take you and give you a tour of the fire station.”

“The fire station?”

“Yes, the fire station.  It’s where I work.”

Rough Trade: The Plumber, Plenty of Poundage and One Pulsating Pole

Here’s the entirety of Rough Trade: The Plumber, Plenty of Poundage and One Pulsating Pole, a hardcore tale of blue-collar action! It’s available for a great low price with five more stories — plus bonus material — in Gay Blue-Collar Erotica, Vol. 1!

Rob had never seen a sexy plumber — they were always fat and gross in his experience — so when Dino showed up, his knees went weak. Rob stood there at the front door, quaking like a child.

That’s because Dino was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with swarthy skin betraying his Greek origin, though his accent was almost undetectable. He had a dense mop of curly black hair that extended in an unruly mess all the way to his shoulders. He wore a tight wifebeater, and a thick layer of curly black hair extruded from beneath it.

He had a surly look about him. A lot of people would have seen him as rude — quite accurately — but Rob didn’t care. He was so hot Rob was too nervous to stand there and watch as he fixed the sink.

It was a simple job, and it only took a few hours. Rob went away to surf the web, forcing himself not to watch porn even though he kept getting hard thinking about Dino there under the sink.

“What?” Dino’s angry voice spat out. It was deep and resonant.

Rob was flush with fear. Had he angered Dino? He wasn’t even in the same room. He cautiously crept into the kitchen.

“I told you about that.” Dino said. His fingers gripped the cell phone tight as he held it to his ear. His nostrils flared. His shoulder muscles rippled beneath the wifebeater that was now sweaty and marked with grease. “I told you- Baby, look, I said I’d pay for it, right? So- so just fuckin’ wait for it! Don’t tell me not to curse at you, you’ve been cursing at me since the moment I answered the phone! Well fuck you, I told you about that and you dumped me so it’s none of your business you fat stupid cow!”

He hung up the phone and nearly slammed it on the counter, but stopped himself at the last minute. He roared and shadowboxed the air, his face ruddy and his hands tightened into fists.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “That was my bitch ex-wife. She’s such a fucking whore. You know she’s makin’ me pay for my daughter’s makeup? I don’t even think she should be wearing makeup yet, she’s only thirteen. I said no. I threw it all away into the garbage. But I don’t get a say, I just have to pay for it.” His face was red and he paced in Rob’s tiny kitchen. He stopped and looked at Rob. “Sorry. She’s just… She’s being a bitch. Wants me to cough up two hundred bucks out of the blue. Like I’m fuckin’ made of money.”

“I know how you can make two hundred bucks,” Rob said with a flirtatious grin, which he hoped looked nonchalant. “And if you do it the way I tell you, I’ll give you five hundred.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Rob said. He blushed and grabbed for the loose waistband of Dino’s jeans. He tickled the rim of his boxers, and Dino’s eyes opened wide. His muscles all tensed. “It’s long, I’m pretty sure, and thick, and it’s probably a light brown, and I’ll make it feel very good-“

“You, uh…” Dino paused, unsure if he should take a guess at what Rob was trying to say. If Dino guessed wrong and Rob complained, he would get in a lot of trouble. But Dino couldn’t think of anything Rob might be referring to other than sex. “So you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. Exactly. I want you to fuck me, and I want you to fuck me raw, and I want you to fuck me hard. I’ll make you forget that bitch ex-wife,” Rob said. “I just want you to help me embarrass my own embarrassing former family. My dad. He’s disowned me, I like to call him sometimes and let some guy he’d hate make it clear he’s made me his bitch.”

Dino blushed and laughed nervously. He covered his mouth with his face. He grabbed his crotch with his other hand. “Let’s, uh, be clear,” he said. His eyes flashed menacingly. “I ain’t gonna touch your dick. You don’t get up in my ass or nothing. I will rip yo’ face off if you even think about it.”

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ll suck your dick. You fuck me in the ass. You make a lotta noise when I call my dad,” Rob said. “That’s all. I’m a bottom, I’ve got no interest in fucking you.”

Dino paused. He caressed his own chest, his muscles rippling as he looked away from Rob — he found eye contact very intense and uncomfortable right now. He sighed like he was going to say yes, but then he stopped and reconsidered. He opened his mouth. He laughed again. “Aw, fuck, it’s for my daughter…”

“A noble cause,” Rob said. He gently touched Dino’s meaty but flat belly, through his wifebeater. Then he pushed one of his fingers beneath the fabric, tracing a trail through the sweaty hair there.

“You, uh, want me to take a shower first?” He asked. He raised one arm and sniffed at the pit. “I stink-“

“No!” Rob blushed and rammed his head into Dino’s hairy armpit. He suckled on the coarse, sweat-slickened hairs there, which made Dino chuckle. Normally Dino was ticklish there, but he was too shocked to react that way. He was used to people treating his sweaty, hairy body as gross — as impressive, given his muscles, but still foul-smelling and unpleasant no matter how much he washed. Dino was used to it by now, so he found it weird and off-putting to have someone actually worshiping every inch of his raunchy flesh.

“Damn, you are one nasty dude,” Dino said.

Rob sucked on the flesh of Dino’s chest. He licked over Dino’s hairy pecs, lapping at the kinky hairs and sucking up all the sweat. Dino’s muscles rippled as he tensed up. He had never had a girl who was really, genuinely into his muscles and hairy body — they occasionally thought he was hot, but they would have preferred he was smaller and smoother.

But Dino couldn’t do anything about that. He had been beat up too much as a kid to be willing to slim down, and anyway he was just a big boy by nature. He put on muscle-weight easily, so he worked out a lot. At first he had only worked out because he wanted to look good for when he picked up chicks. He had simply overshot his goal, and he refused to change his trajectory, so he just kept getting bigger and bigger, and less and less appealing to women.

As Rob sunk to the ground, Dino groaned. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. Am I a prostitute? No, he thought, this doesn’t count. It would count if I sought out a gay man to fuck for money. This is just… making a little cash on the side. From sex. Can I call myself a gigolo? Could I pretend this guy was a girl and tell everyone I had a female pay me for money?

He felt self-conscious and vulnerable when Rob undid his belt and dropped them. His cock and balls dangled. His dick had never been so limp, and he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get hard. Finally he had the bright idea to bring up some porn on his cell phone.

Rob saw Dino take out his phone and mumble to himself as he looked up some more porn. Rob didn’t mind. He inhaled deeply of Dino’s musk, then swallowed his dick to the root. It was limp and soft, but as soon as it touched Rob’s tongue, it twitched.

It pulsated in Rob’s mouth. He could tell when Dino found a video he was really into because his dick jumped and hardened. It went from soft to hard in seconds, and Dino groaned overhead.

As the sour taste of precum overwhelmed Rob, he gurgled merrily. Dino tasted salty and sweet, and a little like seawater — his precum tasted like Rob imagined seawater did on a remote Greek island; it tasted sunny and warm and savory, and it made Rob’s mouth water. He licked and lapped at that throbbing cock, while giggling at how it made Dino twist and writhe as though it hurt.

Really though Dino just contorted because it felt so good. His knees were weak. His body was overcome by pleasure wafting over him in waves. He wanted to grab ahold of Rob’s head and facefuck him like a slut. Dino rarely got the chance to orally copulate with someone like that — mostly girls thought his body hair was gross enough that any kind of contact was a favor. His ex-wife had made him lick her pussy without ever sucking his dick, and then when he complained, she called him a misogynist.

He was watching porn, so when a call came, it bounced him off the website and those beautiful blonde lesbians disappeared. He was angered, especially when he saw that it was his ex-wife again.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he murmured to himself. He answered the phone. “What?”

You are such an asshole, Dino! You never told me about that slutty bitch at the club. It’s just like Tampa all over again-

“It is not, you stupid cunt!” Dino screamed. “I did tell you about her, and I ain’t fuck her, and we ain’t together so it wouldn’t be any of yo’ business if I did! I don’t gotta tell you ‘bout this shit!”

If you ever want to see your daughter, I have to be convinced you have a healthy living environment, Dino. You can’t be getting drunk with sluts.

“I don’t do that when I have Lisa! You are one miserable bitch of a cock-sucking whore! How’s that accountant’s dick taste, huh?”

Dino! I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. I oughta send my brother over there-

“Go ahead, I’ll kick his ass again,” Dino said. “I’m kinda busy right now, I got a girl over.”

You’re not at work?

“She was one of my clients. She came over to suck my dick,” Dino said.

Yeah, right. You’re a pussy, Dino. And you’re a hairy fuck.

Dino whispered, “make some sounds like a girl.” Then he put the phone next to Rob’s mouth. Rob blushed but did as he was told. As he sucked, he made loud gurgling sounds, taking care to ensure his voice was as feminine as could be.

Ew, god, Dino, did you just put the phone near your cock? That sounded disgusting. You’re disgusting. She sounds like a total slut. And she sounds fat.

“You’re disgusting, you stupid bitch,” Dino said. “I gotta go. I got my dick in a girl who’s worth a damn.” He hung up, glad he had gotten the final word for once. That rarely happened.

His dick throbbed in Rob’s mouth. Now that Dino had gotten more comfortable with it, he went ahead and facefucked him. He wrapped his meaty palms around the back of Rob’s head. Rob paused to situate himself at the perfect angle to deep-throat Dino, who began grinding his dick into Rob’s gullet.

Dino groaned and threw his head back as he felt the earliest tingling of his orgasm. He went slow, not wanting to blow his load so soon. He ground his dick into Rob’s throat, which spasmed and struggled to accept every inch of his load.

Dino had been raised Greek Orthodox, so he was overcome with guilt as he fucked — not enough to stop, but enough that he promised himself he’d see his priest as soon as he could. He really ought to start going to church, not just for this, but also because his ex could try to get him in legal trouble, and a history of going to church would look good in court.

But mainly, he wanted assurance that he wasn’t in trouble with God for doing this. Now that he had gotten started, it really didn’t feel like prostitution. It didn’t seem like it should be sinful. He was just sticking his dick down a welcome, warm, wet hole — what could be sinful about that?

Besides, he had been fucking females outside of wedlock. That wasn’t any worse, was it? Not technically speaking, he thought. But there was still a twinge of guilt in his chest. Nothing that felt this good could possibly be allowed by the Bible, he decided.

When Rob gave him his phone, Dino was nervous. He didn’t know what to say to Rob’s father, and he was so overwhelmed by the pleasure snaking through his body that he didn’t know if he could come up with anything to say. But Rob was insistent.

“Yo. Hey, Mr. Winthrop?”

Yes. Who, may I ask, is calling?

“Yo, uh, this is Dino. I just wanted to say thanks, for makin’ your son. He got a nice tight throat and my dick fits perfectly down it.”

A loud sigh came from the phone. Am I on speaker-phone? Robert, this is truly immature behavior.

“His mouth is full, sir, full of my dick. He looks good wit’ dick in his throat,” Dino said. “You wanna listen as I stick ‘im? I’m gonna fuck him in the ass now.”

He grabbed Rob by the hips, and pulled him off. His dick was cold and alone, begging for attention — Rob tried to stroke it a little as he got in position, but Dino kept moving, making it impossible to jack him off as they arranged themselves for hardcore fucking.

Rob dropped his pants and bent over on all fours. He put the phone on the ground in front of his face, so his father could hear everything that happened.

“Hey, Dad! I’m just using my inheritance,” Rob said. “I paid Dino five hundred dollars to fuck me.”

Robert… You shame me.

“I know, but you deserve it,” Rob said. He threw his head back and moaned as Dino slipped into him. There was an intense, uncontrollable pressure. He moaned again, as loud as he could, a powerful, cringing sound that resonated in the kitchen. Rob’s father groaned in disgust.

You don’t need to call me for this.

“I absolutely do!” Rob said. His voice broke as a twinge of pleasure erupted in his prostate. He pushed his ass back, squeezing every inch of Dino’s dick into him.

Now that he had started fucking, Dino was less nervous. He was surprised by how easy this really was — Rob’s ass felt exactly like a girl’s ass. It helped that Rob was such a feminine man, with a bubble-butt that was smooth, clean and unblemished, not to mention tight. It was easily the best ass he had ever fucked, though when Dino told his friends about this later, he said that Rob’s ass was “sloppy and weak”.

“Yo’ son is a slut, Mr. Winthrop!” Dino called out. He cackled. “That’s my dick in his ass!”

Really, son, you are disgusting. I’m hanging up now. And then he did so.

Rob was disappointed, but he wasn’t surprised. Dad always hung up once the noise started getting really passionate; Rob liked to imagine that he sobbed once he hung up the phone, but he didn’t know if that was true or not. Rob reached behind himself to spread his asscheeks, giving Dino more access to his asshole.

With a loud roar, Dino slapped Rob’s asscheek. He held onto it tightly as he humped. When he had gotten started, Dino didn’t want to touch any more of Rob than he absolutely had to. He was worried he’d feel some body hair and remember he was fucking a man. He’d be humiliated if his dick went soft mid-fuck.

But now that he was into it, he wasn’t worried about that all. Rob’s ass felt exactly like a girl’s, and he was so smooth he put most girls to shame. Dino gripped his ass and slammed his dick all the way in.

“Take it, slut, god-damn!”

Once he was more comfortable with it, he knew what position he wanted — no girl ever let him do it for more than a few seconds because they said he was too heavy and hairy. But Dino had long wanted to do it laying on his partner’s back.

So that was what he did. He rammed his dick until it was all the way in, and he wrapped one forearm in front of Rob’s mouth. He sighed and moaned directly into the back of Rob’s head. His sweaty, hairy chest plopped down on Rob’s back.

Rob was entirely pinned. He couldn’t even squirm with Dino’s heavy body pressing down on his back. He couldn’t breathe either, both because of the mass of Greek muscle atop his back and because he was too overcome by passion to take a breath.

“Hell, yeah, slut…”

Dino rotated his hips, moving his dick in a wide circle within Rob’s ass. He hit every corner of Rob’s insides, his cock aiming into every part of Rob’s guts. He could even tell — as disgusting as it was — when his dick touched Rob’s prostate because it made Rob writhe beneath his body. He couldn’t move much, but Dino could feel his body struggle to squirm.

Finally Dino felt his orgasm coming on strong. Rob had stopped breathing, the pressure in his ass so intense he couldn’t even gasp. Dino snorted like a hog, the sound of his rutting filling the air and echoing in Rob’s ears.

“Here I go, baby, gonna fill you up, I love you so much, sweetheart-“ Dino stopped and blushed because he remembered he wasn’t talking to a female. Luckily Rob either didn’t hear his words or didn’t take them seriously.

A wad of hot cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Dino groaned loudly, his deep voice resonant and rough like sandpaper. His cum was hot and creamy, and it seeped into Rob’s flesh. Rob moaned as he shot his own load onto the floor and into his hand. Dino wrinkled his nose in disgust — he hadn’t known Rob was pleasuring himself — but he didn’t stop Rob even if it seemed disrespectful; Dino had been raised to believe a real man commanded respect, especially through his fucking, and he didn’t let his bitch distract him.

But this was too potent an orgasm to do anything while it still coursed through his veins. Dino’s hands curled into claws, then tightened into fists. He smacked Rob, not outright punching him of course, but hitting him in an affectionate way — or at least he saw it as affectionate; Rob saw it as bullying, but he was so aroused by it so he didn’t complain — harder than he would have ever hit a girl. It was nice, Dino thought, to fuck a man because he knew Rob would never complain that he was too rough. Girls act like they’re made of glass and could shatter if you handle them harshly, Dino thought as he drained his balls into Rob’s asshole.

He burped and laughed. Any girl would have kicked him out of bed for burping in their face, but Rob inhaled deeply of it and moaned. Dino screwed his nose up in disgust. His cock slowly limpened, but he remained in position, deep in Rob’s ass, his heavy body pressing down on Rob’s back.

“You ain’t gonna stiff me, is you?” Dino asked. It hadn’t occurred to him before now that Rob could just refuse to pay him, and Dino would have no recourse.

“No. I won’t. I’ve got cash in my wallet,” Rob said, his voice strained and clipped.

Dino nodded and moved to get up. When he did, his dick swam through the sea of cum that gurgled within Rob’s ass. He could feel the sticky fluid clinging to his soft cockflesh.

“Wait,” Rob said. “Can you stay there for a moment? I like feeling you inside me.”

“Fine,” Dino said with a grunt. It now felt pretty gross — this was more what he had imagined it would feel like before he started. He was intimately aware with every passing moment that he was inside a man’s ass; there was no way to pretend he was with a woman, not now. He reached out and grabbed Rob’s pants. “In here?”

“Yeah.” Rob’s voice was weak and wavery.

Dino pulled out the wallet. He briefly considered stealing Rob’s credit cards, but he figured someone as wealthy as Rob probably had excellent security on the cards, and Dino didn’t want to get in any legal trouble or he might lose the right to see his daughter at all.

He pulled out the cash — there was six hundred dollars in there. He took it all, though he had only been promised five hundred dollars. Was this stealing? He didn’t want to be a thief.

“I’m taking six hundred dollars. The extra hundred bucks is for the performance I put on for your daddy,” Dino said. “And you still gotta pay for the sink too.”

Shower Trade: The Green Barn

Here’s the entirety of Shower Trade: The Green Barn, a new story by Bubba Marshall! If you like gay erotica about rednecks, you’ll like the bundle Gay Redneck Erotica, Vol. 2 , which features this story and five more like it!

Roger felt like his body was falling apart. He had gotten a job as a farmworker in the summer of 1951, just to make a little money before he headed off to college at Goldendale Hills University. Luckily he came from a rural part of eastern Mississippi were the soil was poor, which meant there was not enough demand for farmwork to attract very many of the braceros who did most of that labor outside of Mississippi. That was the only reason he and his friends had managed to get a job picking strawberries at all.

It sounded like dainty women’s work. A part of Roger knew that it wasn’t, that just because little girls loved strawberries didn’t mean little girls were capable of picking them. A part of him wanted it to be a difficult job — he had always been pudgy, and he thought a summer of hard work might help him lose the weight. He had a wrestling scholarship to Goldendale Hills University, so he needed to get in shape. He thought a summer job working hard in the fields would be a great way to get himself ready for training in the fall.

But he had no idea how arduous it would be. By the end of his first day, he was dripping with sweat. The hot Mississippi sun pounded on him like a fist, like he could really feel its rays smacking into him. It was windy, but that didn’t help, it just blew more waves of buffeting heat and humid air all over him. His shirt and his pants were caked onto his skin, like he might not ever be able to undress. His socks were soaked in sweat, which also dripped off his brow in rivulets.

He stumbled at the end of the day, unable to even walk normally. He staggered through the fields with the other workers, who talked and laughed like they did this every day — of course, they did do this every day. They were just as sweaty as Roger, but they were better able to tolerate it.

“Yee-haw! I’m going out to the bar once the old lady passes out, who’s with me?! I am gonna get sinful with whichever bar wench looks at me first!”

“It’ll be Suzie-“

“Any bar wench except Suzie!” They all laughed as though this was a hilarious joke, but Roger had the feeling they made this same joke every day. A couple of the men grabbed their crotches, outlining their cocks in the denim of their jeans, and spat on the ground — Roger didn’t know if they were expressing scorn towards Suzie or suggesting that they would, in fact, fornicate with her despite her being unappealing. He suspected it was both. He blushed. His father had always taught him that speaking ill of women, grabbing one’s lower regions, carrying-on and spitting in public were all markers of poor character. But Roger was too shy to say anything to the other workers; he wanted to be accepted just like the others, so he just nodded and went along with it. He was too tired to tell them they were committing serious sins anyway.

There were two barns that the workers split up to go to after their shift was done. There was a red barn at the north edge of the farm, in which the vast majority of the workers went to shower. Roger suspected there would be a line there. There couldn’t possibly be enough showerheads for everyone at once, and Roger didn’t want to wait.

So he decided to go to the green barn, which was a little further away, along the northeastern edge of the farm, away from the road and away from the main farmhouse. That, he thought, must be why the workers had mostly gone to the red barn, because it was closer and larger and newer. The green barn was distant, small, old-fashioned, ramshackle and it smelled permanently of goats.

It was just a small barn that had been rigged with running water for a big group shower. It wasn’t even an actual shower — the red barn had real showerheads in individual stalls, but not the green barn — it was just a powerful hose suspended over the barn floor and possessing many small holes aimed in every direction. It sprayed lukewarm water. There was a little changing area with some slabs of wood to use as benches, and next to it was a shelf lined with ratty thin towels and bars of white, unscented soap.

The green barn was primitive, but it was exactly what Roger wanted in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want hot water — he would have been happy with ice-cold water if that was an option. He didn’t want to choose a spot to shower in or wait for his preferred stall, which is what he would be doing back at the red barn. He’d have to sit there crowded by naked, hairy men older than he was, their bodies brushing against him and everyone having plenty of opportunity to see Roger’s dick. He would feel vulnerable there, not that he really felt safe and comfortable here either.

“New guy’s horny, huh?” someone shouted when they realized Roger was here. The other workers laughed.

Roger smiled. What did that mean? He wasn’t especially horny. He was too tired right now. He didn’t like ribald talk. His father taught him not to act that way. But he knew most of the men here had been in the Army until very recently, fighting in the Pacific and in Europe — they had learned rudeness and crudity there, or so Roger’s father sermonized over and over. Roger respected their service and was intimidated by their machismo; he was just a bit too young to have ever served, and he was raised as a pacifist anyway. He just hoped none of these men ever found out how easily-intimidated he was.

“Green barn! The green barn!” They were shouting, at each other and at Roger, who had no idea what was happening or why they were so excited. Obviously there was some special significance to the green barn, something Roger didn’t know. He pretended to be just like the others, and he nodded along as though he knew why the green barn was important.

He felt small and weak in comparison to the other workers. He was the youngest by far — most of the other young men went to the red barn, it seemed. The men here were rough and tumble types, would-be cowboys and brawny bikers, men who looked like they struggled to come in to work sober every day. Now that they were getting naked, Roger could see their muscles and the military tattoos they had, reminding him yet again that he was youthful, pitiful and frightened. Some of them even had naval-type tattoos. Roger’s father said that tattoos were a sin, and that sailors were not trustworthy. Roger felt a twinge of fear as he steeled his nerves.

“Why did everybody else go to the red barn?” Roger asked Brad Hixton.

Brad was the nicest person in the green barn, at least out of the folks Roger had met so far. He was tall, broad-shouldered, easy-grinned, with a confederate flag tattoo over his heart. He had a thick mop of blond hair that was soaked with sweat even before he got under the spray of the water. Brad guffawed at Roger’s question, attracting attention from the other workers.

“Hey, this guy ain’t know about the green barn!” Brad called out. The others laughed along with him.


Brad placed one hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can still go to the red barn. Normally we don’t make it easy to change your mind, but we know you’re new. I’ll make sure the others let you go, if you can’t handle the green barn,” he said. “You see… The green barn is for men who want to… Well, it’s for men of loose morals.”

“… What?”

Brad laughed again, and the other workers who were within earshot laughed too. Roger blushed. He was down to his underwear, but most of the others were naked now, including Brad, whose massive cock put Roger to shame. It swung between his legs like a pendulum. Roger found it very distracting, which made it hard to focus on understanding Brad’s words.

“We trade sex,” Brad said with a wide grin. “Sodomy. We trade, uh… womanly acts.” He raised his hand to get attention from the other workers, who filed their hairy, sweaty, tattooed bodies into the shower. Brad addressed them. “Hey, the new guy didn’t know about the barns, guys. Let him leave, okay?”

“Uh…” Roger’s heart skipped a beat. Was this barn really meant for homosexual activity? He couldn’t believe that. Mr. Walsingham — he was the farmer who owned this land, and both barns — was a good, Christian man. He went to church where Roger’s father preached; that was how Roger got this job. Mr. Walsingham wouldn’t tolerate any kind of sodomy, would he?

“So, if you aren’t manly enough to handle this, go ahead back to the red barn. That’s a great place for small, weak men who don’t want anyone to see their manhood,” Brad said. He glanced down at Roger’s cock, which was small. It wasn’t always tiny, it got a lot bigger when it was hard, but Roger blushed just the same. “It’s okay. Only really horny horse-cocked men have a need to drain their balls like this. Don’t be embarrassed. If you don’t need to, you’re a better, more civilized man than us.” He and the other workers cheered on their own barbarism. They pounded on their own chests and smacked each other’s hairy asses, laughing at their horseplay.

But of course, Roger was embarrassed. He didn’t want to seem like half a man. So he cleared his throat and said, “No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay. I’ll… do whatever.” He looked down at his feet as Brad clapped his hands.

“Really? Wow, you did not look like the type,” Brad said. He shrugged and headed into the shower water. He closed his eyes as it ran through his thick blond hair and washed over his flesh. His muscles rippled, attracting Roger’s attention though he tried to look away. He didn’t want to look like what his father called a lavender lad.

Roger went into the water too. It did feel good. Now that he had sat down for a few minutes, he was no longer quite so exhausted as he had been. He had caught his breath But his legs still felt like jelly; they might have even felt worse now that they rested for a bit.

“Now get down on your knees,” Brad said. He wagged his dick in Roger’s direction. It was thick and soapy, fleshy, almost inviting for some reason. Roger really did want to taste it, even if the others were already teasing him for it and he hadn’t even begun.

Suck it down, rookie!

Some of the other men were already touching dicks. They laughed nervously when they did, like they were regretting choosing the green barn. Some of them grabbed each other’s cocks, others touched themselves as they watched.

Roger sunk to his knees. He was shocked at himself for agreeing to this, but he wanted desperately to fit in. Besides, he thought, he might be able to distract anyone from noticing he had a small cock — and if he got hard, they might not even see it until it had gotten bigger.

Brad had a cocky grin on his face. He slapped his cock over Roger’s face and laughed when he winced. The dickmeat was slick and sour. It still tasted like sweat even though it had been washed off by the shower spray; it still tasted of salt and body hair and sunlight and loamy soil, and it still made Roger hungry despite his distaste for it.

Then Roger choked a little as Brad fed his dick into Roger’s throat. The taste of cock filled his senses. Brad’s dick stiffened and hardened so quickly Roger could watch it swell until it was hard as rock.

“Open your mouth wider,” Brad said with a chuckle.

Make him suck it! Make him suck it, Brad!

Precum leaked down Roger’s throat. It tasted sour and salty-sweet, and it made Roger’s eyes water. He was surprised not just by how quickly Brad was getting hard but also by how hard he got — Roger was never that hard. Brad’s cock was like a crowbar in his throat, a hot rod of steel.

He was also surprised because he really didn’t mind the taste of cock or of precum. It wasn’t exactly delicious, but there was something savory and craveable about it. Roger wouldn’t have minded doing this again.

Not that he planned on doing it again, mind you. He fully intended to shower in the red barn from now on. He didn’t want to admit he had made a mistake, so he would just tell the other workers that he was no longer horny, that he had showered in the green barn today because he wanted to have sex, and after today, he will have chosen to shower in the red barn because he didn’t want to have sex. No mistake. No perversion. No sodomy.

But before he could enact that plan, he had to get through today. He was so focused on sucking cock that he didn’t hear the other workers chant.

Stick it in his ass, Brad!

Make him a whore!

Brad looked a little nervous, like he didn’t expect it to go this far. No one else was having anal sex. There was only one other pair of workers sharing oral sex — most of them just circlejerked. Normally they all circlejerked in a big circle, but today half of them watched Roger suck dick. Roger had no idea that it wasn’t commonplace to suck cock here in the green barn, but he was beginning to get suspicious because no one else had begun doing so.

“Okay, now it’s your turn to bend over,” Brad said. He drew in a deep, satisfied sigh.


“Don’t worry, it’s real easy. Just get down on all fours,” Brad said. He didn’t wait for Roger to get ready, he pushed him into position on his hands and knees. Lukewarm shower water sprayed over Roger’s back, and someone swiped slick soap on Roger’s ass to lube him up.

Then a powerful, mounting pain hit him in the backside. Roger moaned, in pain first and then pleasure as the most incredible sensation of his life hit him. There was intense pressure that he couldn’t quite handle, and he screamed.

The other men clapped and hooted. They were shooting their own loads now as they watched, circlejerking onto the floor of the green barn just a few feet from where Roger crouched.

“Hey, get off!” Brad shouted, yelping as he pushed Lawrence away — Lawrence was a greasy cowboy-type farmworker who had rammed his finger in Brad’s ass because he thought it was funny. While Brad worked his dick into Roger’s butthole, Lawrence got the other workers to watch while he slipped his pinkie finger into Brad. They all guffawed together as Brad shoved Lawrence away.

Brad grabbed ahold of Roger’s hair, and he pulled just tight enough to keep him from squirming. That placed Brad’s strapping chest muscles right against Roger’s bare back, so Roger could feel the strength and the power radiating off him. It made Roger feel weak, but he didn’t mind anymore. He was glad to be weak in front of Brad. He wanted to feel Brad’s dominance on top of him, inside him and throughout every inch of Roger’s body.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you,” Brad said as he reached around to Roger’s cock. It was hard, so it had grown considerably, but Brad still snickered. “Damn, that is one tiny cock.”

“It’s not that small!”

But arguing about it just made Roger seem defensive and drew attention to it. Soon the other workers were kneeling in front of him to see, and they all laughed, gibbering about how tiny it was.

It’s like a fingernail!

Are we sure he ain’t a female?

Cum popped off all over the place. The shower did not feel very clean, and Roger realized he now felt dirtier than he had when he first came in. If it was like this all the time, he thought, then the floor here must be covered in cum. That made him feel grimy and gross because he was on the floor now. How many stale old loads was he rubbing himself into right now?

But he couldn’t concentrate on that. His body writhed in both pain and pleasure, precum leaking down Brad’s fingers as he stroked Roger off. Roger knew it was embarrassing to get hard with a cock in his ass, but he couldn’t help it.

Oh, wow, Li’l-Dick Rookie is into it! He loves it!

With a cock like that, I knew he was a girl!

His prostate sang and screamed as Roger reached orgasm. He grunted. He gasped. He heaved for air, writhing beneath Brad’s farm-toned muscles. Cum sprayed over the floor and Brad’s fingers.

Roger sighed. His entire body went limp and he collapsed belly-first onto the pile of steaming-hot cum he had just sprayed. Brad cheered.

“Hell yeah, I made you blow first! That makes me a champion!”

Every else clapped and laughed. About half the workers were proud of Brad and jeered at Roger, while the other half thought that Brad should be more ashamed of his sinfulness. Brad pumped his biceps and wiped his cum-dripping hands off on Roger’s back. The shower water washed away all of Roger’s load from his back, but his stomach — which had become covered in cum when he laid in his own load on the floor — was not facing the water, so most of his semen stuck to his skin there.

Then he withdrew his cock all the way from Roger’s ass. He called for silence and everyone watched as Brad very slowly pushed his entire manhood back in.

“Gonna finish now, fill you up on the inside…” Brad groaned right into Roger’s ears.

Roger squealed and yelped. He couldn’t even pretend to be in pain anymore — there was a little pain, but it was overshadowed by the mind-blowing pleasure of his prostate being stimulated. Roger moaned. His fingers tightened into claws that ripped at the loose, splintery boards of the green barn floor.

He sensed Brad’s orgasm a few seconds before it began. Brad’s chortling laughter turned into a low, grumbly groan of bliss, a cringing sound so intense it made the hair on the back of Roger’s neck stand on end.

Cum sprayed into his ass, a big, creamy load that soaked into his flesh. It dripped into the folds of his guts as he took wad after wad of hot cum. Its heat seeped into his body, and Roger could feel it in his arms and his legs, his fingers, his toes and even in his face.

Finally it was all over. Roger was limp, on the floor on his belly, both sides of him covered in cum, both his own and the other workers — they had circlejerked onto the floor, but in the confusion and cramped quarters, Roger ended up with more than a little bit all of him as well. He couldn’t tell if he should cry, fight or beg for more. He wanted to do all three.

But more than that, he wanted to lay there and bask in the aftershocks of his orgasm. They cracked through his body like earthquakes, so intense he couldn’t think about anything except the mind-blowing experience he had just had. He didn’t know how long he rested there on the floor. It felt like eons.

Eventually, however, he was done. He crawled to his feet, and sheepishly exchanged glances with the other workers who were still here. Brad had gone, as had most of the others — once they blew their wads and finished their showers, there was no reason to stick around.

One person was left, standing there naked and watching him with pity in his eyes. He was Gerry, the oldest of the farmworkers, well into his forties though with a well-muscled body that could keep up with the younger workers.

“You okay?” Gerry asked. He put one hand on Roger’s shoulders as Roger finally rinsed off all that cum. He felt clean for the first time since he had started work this morning.

Roger nodded.

Gerry smiled. He led Roger back to the changing area, where they both slowly put some clothes on. Roger was dazed and groggy.

“Next time,” Gerry said, “you should hold back. One of the rules of the green barn is that whatever you give, you gotta take too. So if you didn’t cum first, you could have made Brad bend over and take it in the ass.”


Gerry nodded. “Next time. If you’re ready, I’d be glad to fuck you next time.”

“And then I get to fuck you?”

“Well… I’m going to give you a reacharound just like Brad did,” Gerry said with a grin. He headed towards the door to the outside, and Roger followed. “If you blow your load in my hand, then you don’t get to fuck me. So enjoy it, but don’t enjoy it too much.”

“Oh, okay. I, uh, I can do that,” Roger said. He wasn’t very confident in that though. He had enjoyed himself so much he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to hold off on cumming the entire time he was fucked. If it always felt like it did today, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to delay it at all. If it was always like that, he’d never want to slow down.

He decided right then and there that he was going to shower in the green barn every day.

Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Black Cop Stepman

Here’s the entirety of Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Black Cop Stepman, a hot story by Otto Van Raunchenhausen! It’s part of the Taboo Night-Time Affair series, all of which is in Kindle Unlimited!

Ian woke up just as the fight was getting really bad. He heard his mother scream, “Don’t you talk to me like that, asshole!”, and it was her voiceless shout of anger that actually woke Ian. Then there was a loud bang as though she had thrown something at Daddy Travis and hit the wall. Whatever it was shattered.

“I tol’ you I’d be late!”

“You promised you wouldn’t work this late anymore! You promised!”

“I know, but-“

“No buts! When you promise me something, I expect you to follow through! You bastard! You can sleep on the couch!”

“It’s too small…” his voice trailed off as she slammed the door shut. He sighed loudly and walked away.

Ian felt a guilty sense of relief. He had come to like Daddy Travis in the years since he married Ian’s mother, but it was difficult to overcome first impressions. He had hated his stepfather for so long he still enjoyed it when Daddy Travis got in trouble. He got a vicarious sense of satisfaction out of hearing Mama yell at him because Ian had wanted to yell at him for a long time.

The floorboards creaked as Daddy Travis went out to the living room. The police radio he always wore crackled into life, but the dispatcher wasn’t speaking to him. Ian heard him wait motionless in the living room. He must have considered sleeping on the couch, then decided against it — that wasn’t surprising, since he was much taller than the couch was long. He’d probably sleep on the floor, which was something he had done before.

But much to Ian’s surprise, that isn’t what he did. Daddy Travis slid the door open to Ian’s bedroom. He stood there in the dark as though waiting to see if Ian was awake.

Ian lifted his head. “Travis?”

He came in and nodded. He began unbuttoning his uniform shirt. “Is it okay if I sleep in here wit’ you? Yo’ mama and me… we’s havin’ a fight.” He had light brown skin that was smooth, marked with only a few tattoos, most prominently the symbol of his police department on his neck. The lean muscles of his toned body writhed in the moonlight as he came over to the bed and took off his boots. “I don’t wanna sleep on the floor, Ian, it hurts my back somethin’ fierce.”

Ian nodded and said yes. It seemed Daddy Travis had assumed the answer was yes anyway; he didn’t wait for Ian to agree. He sighed loudly as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Though he had unbuttoned his uniform shirt, he didn’t take it off. He just sighed and dropped onto his back on the bed. He laid there for a moment, motionless and quiet except for his loud breathing, on the covers and next to Ian. The smell of beer was heavy on his breath, and he burped loudly.

“You’re drunk?”

“Niggas don’t get drunk, Ian,” he said. He didn’t elaborate on that. His voice sounded slurred though — he was drunk, at least a little bit.

“You shouldn’t break your promises to Mom,” Ian said.

“Don’t you start on me too,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t you get it? I keep this town safe-“

“You’re not the only cop.”

“I know, but I’m the best,” he said. Ian could hear the smile in his voice. “I feel like this town might fall apart if I don’t do everything I can to fix it.”

“You’re not gonna wipe out crime, Travis. You can’t fix everything,” Ian said..

“You don’t understand, nigga, I came from the ghetto. I can’t just abandon-“ he paused and laughed. “Did I just call you my nigga?”

Ian giggled and nodded. “You do that when you’re drunk,” he said. He scooted closer to Daddy Travis, so close he could smell the sweat clinging to the shirt he had taken off but still lay on top of. As soon as he moved closer, Daddy Travis stopped laughing, and Ian blushed, wondering if he had embarrassed himself.

“You knew Robert Winchell?”

“Robbie? Yeah. We went to high school together.”

“Oh. I arrested him tonight. He’s a meth dealer,” Daddy Travis said.

“Oh. Wow. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Ian said. Robbie had always been a trashy white thug, so if he had had to pick one person he went to high school with who started selling meth, that’s who it’d be.

“You hang out with him?”

“No! We ended up at the same parties sometimes, but we didn’t hang out. He was always smoking weed with the potheads out back,” Ian said. He didn’t mention that he was usually smoking weed there too.

“Good. Don’t mess around with that stuff, Ian.”

“I don’t! I don’t do meth, I barely even drink,” Ian said. He found that his body had scooted closer to Daddy Travis’. It wasn’t really deliberate, it was just the weight of his stepfather’s body on the mattress weighed it down, pushing Ian closer to him. Ian didn’t mind. He loved his stepfather’s musky, coconut butter smell. His hand was touching Travis’ thigh through his jeans, which sent a shiver of sexual anticipation up Ian’s spine.

After a long, awkward silence, Travis cleared his throat and said, “I know you… Uh… Look…. You can tell me anything, you know. And yo’ mama is gonna love you no matter what.”

“I know.” Ian’s voice trembled, unsure what his stepfather was trying to say.

“She don’t care that you’re gay,” he said.

Another long pause filled the room. Ian wasn’t out of the closet. He had just started visiting gay bars and had briefly had a sort-of boyfriend. He had never had sex before. But as far as his mother was concerned, he was straight.

“It’s okay, neither do I,” he said. “My partner saw you at the Dirty Dancer.”

“Oh. I thought I ducked out in time,” Ian said quietly, avoiding Travis’ intense stare. Last time he had been at the Dirty Dancer, the cops showed up when a fight broke out. Ian had managed to escape out the back door, worried that Daddy Travis or one of his coworkers would recognize Ian. Apparently he hadn’t been sneaky enough.

“You can tell yo’ mama whenever you’s ready,” Travis said. He leaned over and wrapped an arm around Ian’s prone body, his warm muscles and inviting chest sending a thrill of arousal through Ian’s sleepy mind. He stirred and again scooted closer to his stepfather, the edges of his police badge pressing into Ian’s shoulder. “You a virgin?”

Ian hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

His voice soft and weak as though nearly asleep, Daddy Travis murmured, “You wanna me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” he said without giving it a moment’s thought. He gulped. He had never really acknowledged how much Daddy Travis turned him on, though he always had, from the moment Mama introduced him. Ian had masturbated dreaming of this exact scenario on many occasions. He loved the way Daddy Travis’ muscular chest barely fit in his uniform shirt, biceps bulging against the seams, broad shoulders straining within the fabric. When he was off, he walked around the house in his boxers, slung low so his ass was slightly visible, the big bulge in his crotch attracting Ian’s attention and making it hard to concentrate. He wore a jockstrap with a cup most days because perps had kicked him in the balls on many occasions, so even in his uniform slacks, his mouth-watering bulge was apparent. That was what he still wore now, and since he lay on his back, the bulge was even more prominent than usual. Ian’s arms felt weak with anxiety and self-consciousness, since he was so skinny, bulgeless and twig-limbed compared to Daddy Travis’ gym-toned muscles.

“Whatchoo wanna do?” Daddy Travis said, reclining on his back as though to suggest his body was open for Ian. “You can go to town, boy… Y’ain’t gonna tell yo’ mama, right?”


“Good,” he said. “We gonna fuck on the downlow.” His body twitched as Ian awkwardly placed one hand on his chest, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt. His pecs were softball-sized rocks beneath Ian’s fingers; he had never felt muscle like this before, except on the few occasions Daddy Travis hugged him. His fingers crept to Travis’ nipples. Travis groaned. “You know what downlow means?”

“Kinda,” Ian said. His hand moved lower and lower until it slipped under Daddy Travis’ uniform slacks. His belt was loose so Ian’s fingers crept in easily, to the moist and warm hairy nest of his crotch. Ian had an idea of what downlow meant, but only because he had heard the black kids talk about it in the locker room, laughing and accusing each other of being on the downlow. Ian had no idea what it meant then, he just knew it turned him on, and he gathered the gist of it the longer he stayed there sneaking glances at their naked bodies.

“It means what happens in the dark, stays in the dark,” Daddy Travis said. “I’m a little drunk anyway. It don’t count in the dark. It don’t count if you’s drunk. It don’t count if you’s family. It don’t count in jail neither, but that one don’t apply here. Ya understand? Girls never get that. Sex is always an emotional thing for them. It always counts, as far as they’re concerned.” He scoffed. “Bitches!”

“Yeah…” Ian said, his mind too distant to pay attention. His fingers touched Travis’ dick, which was hot and veiny, throbbing as it grew hard beneath his grasp. Ian had touched cocks before, but it was never as sexy as this; he had never touched a black man either, and he wondered if the slick, vascular smoothness of the shaft was characteristic of black men. The handful of gay white men he had shared handjobs with were more clammy and spongy even when hard, but Daddy Travis felt sexier and harder even before he was erect.

He unzipped Travis’ slacks and pulled his dick out of his pants. He gave it a stroke and moved his head lower and lower. He hesitated, then let his mouth encircle the tip.

Having never tasted cock before but having fantasized about it many times a day since he was a middle-schooler, Ian was turned on instantly by the flavor. He moaned exquisitely and moved his head lower.

Soon his nose was ensconced in the kinky pubic hair of Daddy Travis’ crotch, which smelled of soap and black man’s musk. Ian inhaled deeply of the scent, his dick spasming inside the boxers he slept in. His hands roamed over Travis’ trunk-like thighs and the smooth muscles of his chest.

Daddy Travis took his shirt the rest of the way off and guided his head up and down. His dick turned hard in Travis’ mouth. The flavor of his masculine meat was so spicy and so pungent it brought tears to Ian’s eyes as his veiny shaft pulsated between Travis’ lips.

Much to Ian’s surprise, Daddy Travis didn’t act like what he assumed a straight man would in this scenario. He didn’t just lean back and let his dick leak precum down Ian’s throat. Instead, his hands roamed from Ian’s smooth back down to his ass and even into his crotch. He stroked Ian’s dick to full erection.

Ian wondered how common this was for him — was Daddy Travis on the downlow all the time? His friend and partner, the only other black cop in town, was named Winston, and he was a burly, hairy sheriff; the thought of them awkwardly fumbling with each other in the dark made Ian shudder with desire. He wanted to watch that more than anything.

They both jumped, startled, when the radio flickered into life. It was still attached to Travis’ pants on the ground.

Dispatch to Unit Eighteen.

Travis groaned. “He’ll remember I’m off-duty now, in a second.” He and Ian remained still and silent as though if they made a sound, the dispatcher would know where Travis was and make him come back to work.

Dispatch to Unit Eighteen. Where you at, Travis?

He dropped his arm to the ground and fished around for the radio. He pulled the entire pair of pants up along with it and spoke into the receiver. Ian kept his mouth on Daddy Travis’ dick the whole time, even as he spoke into the radio.

“This is Unit Eighteen, Dispatch. I’m off now. I’m at home. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

Oh. An emergency caller is requesting you.

“Is it Sheila Brandon?”

Yes it is.

“She’s crazy, Jim. She thinks black folk can’t be replaced by reptilian doppelgängers, that’s why she wants me,” Travis said. He closed his eyes and leaned back, his cock pulsating deep in Ian’s throat.

Well, she was throwing bottles at Scotty.

“She don’t like white people. Send Rizzer over. He’s dark-skinned. Tell him to pretend he’s a real light-skinned ni… African American,” he said, censoring himself since he was speaking on a public band. “She’ll believe that. She’s kinda stupid too. Stupid and crazy, the Alabama double-whammy.”

She said she’ll only talk to you. She said she’ll keep throwing stuff at anyone who comes to her door, until she talks to you again.

“Then she’ll have to wait until five o’clock tomorrow, Jim. Leave me alone. I’m going to sleep,” Travis said. “Or whatever, have Scotty tase her or ask her out on a date or hire a lady-boxer to take her down or he could just wear a helmet. I don’t care, as long as you don’t get me involved. I’m off now. I’m trying to spend some quality time with my wife, and you are not invited, Jim.” He held on to Ian’s head as he fed his dick down deeper. It got even harder as he talked, as though either frustration or subterfuge made him horny. He groaned, cockmeat spasming in Travis’ mouth.

Fine. Ten-four. Love you, Travvie-Wavvie.

“I hate that fucker,” Travis said to Ian as he dropped the radio to the ground. “Goddamn honky. Your family is cool, Ian. Jim at dispatch is a fuckin’ honky.”

Ian giggled around Travis cock. He licked down the shaft, tracing the track of a bulging vein as he went. The flavor of Travis’ manhood grew more intense the lower he went, the more his scent moved from clean soap to masculine musk.

Moving on pure instinct now, not worrying about whether he was doing this right, Ian moved to mount his stepfather. He placed his legs on either side of Daddy Travis’ hips and put their cocks together. Travis’ meat was hot as fire, and as solid as steel. Ian felt cold and insubstantial in comparison, and his skinny body jerked in stark contrast to Daddy Travis’ bulky frame, which flexed sinuously as pleasure overwhelmed them both.

Travis jerked and spasmed like he was uncomfortable with their cock-on-cock contact, then sighed as their precums mixed, running down their shared shafts and Ian’s hands. The sensation of creamy fluid lubricating their meatsticks made Ian shudder with desire.

The rock-hard feel of Travis’ throbbing cock next to his made Travis tingle with anticipation. He knew what was coming next, and he could see it in Daddy Travis’ eyes. The thought of being penetrated made Ian nervous, but he wanted to do it more than anything.

“You wanna sit on it, boi?”

“Yes,” Ian said without giving it a second thought. He scooted forward and lifted himself up, moaning as he did — he had never thought he’d lose his virginity like this, to his stepfather. It was already the most exciting thing he had ever done.

A biting pain hit him as he lowered himself onto Travis’ cock. Travis bit his lip as well, and Ian held his breath. The pain was excruciating, and he almost backed out.

But then pleasure washed over him as well. Like a switch had been flipped, the pain was still there but the pleasure overwhelmed it. He grunted, and Daddy Travis did likewise.

He didn’t stop stroking Ian off; he just closed his eyes and let Ian lift himself up and down, gradually working every inch of Travis’ big black meat inside him.

Ian was so aroused he shot his load almost immediately. He grunted and choked. He spasmed, sending fresh waves of bliss and agony up his spine.

His cum sprayed out over Daddy Travis’ chest, some of it even soaking into the uniform shirt he had only shrugged off, so it still lay on the bed behind him. Ian kneaded the sweat-dappled flesh of Travis’ muscles as wave after wave of orgasm ran over his body. Travis didn’t even mind when cum hit his lips and chin, he just licked it up and grimaced at the flavor.

Gripping his stepfather’s shoulders for support, Ian rode his cock the best he could. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this right, but Daddy Travis looked like he couldn’t believe the pleasure he felt; his face was scrunched up, eyes closed tight. His hands caressed Ian’s smooth, pale torso, and he moaned as pleasure overtook him. He even stroked Ian’s limp, cum-moistened cock, squeezing out every drop of juice.

It didn’t take very long for Daddy Travis to finish as well. Ian could feel it coming a few seconds before it arrived; he felt it in the spasming of Travis’ muscles and his cock pulsating deep within Ian.

Hot cum sprayed inside him coating his innards. The creamy warmth spread throughout his body, seeping into his very soul. He knew then that all his doubts about being gay were gone — this was what sex was supposed to be, for him.

He didn’t want to pull off. He stayed there, letting Daddy Travis’ dick go soft inside him. Then he kissed each of Travis’ pecs and laid down next to him.

Daddy Travis let out a snort, then rolled over onto his side, wrapping his powerful arms around Ian’s body. He buried his grizzled face and chin in the back of Ian’s neck, and he kissed the smooth skin there.

“What time is your alarm set for?”


“Good. Make sure I get up, okay? I don’t want yer mama to find us like this,” he said. “You ain’t gonna tell her, right?”

“I won’t, Daddy Travis. We’re on the downlow.”

“That’s right. Love you, boy.”

“Love you too, daddy.”

Thug Hazing at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of Thug Hazing at the City Barbershop, a new story from the City Barbershop! It’s full of hardcore gay action on the downlow, str8 trade and alpha worship!

When the Indianapolis PD released its new policy on undercover officers, Chris didn’t think much of it. He thought it sounded silly — lying to women to get them in the sack wasn’t illegal, even if it was immoral.

But it turned out that there was an upside for Chris. The police department had been sued because an officer was undercover and impregnated a woman who thought she was dating a gangbanger. The city was on the hook for damages, and the police union even got the city to agree to pay for child support for the remainder of the child’s life.

So the police were no longer allowed to have sex when they were undercover. That meant that having sex was soon a part of initiation into every street gang in Indianapolis — since that was the only thing a cop couldn’t do, it was the only thing a thug could do to prove he wasn’t a cop.

And that’s where it became important to Chris. He was a barber at the City Barbershop, a chain of establishments where black men could go for haircuts, brotherhood and — when Chris was feeling up-to-it, which was almost always — a blowjob on the downlow. What happened there, stayed there, so everyone felt comfortable getting their needs serviced by sexy little twinks like Chris.

He was working there when the local Nine Tats brought in their newest initiate — Tummer. Tummer was a tall, broad-shouldered thug with cornrows and a handsome face. He was mixed-race, half-black and half-Puerto Rican.

Tummer was visibly nervous, but the other thugs who escorted him there were jibbering excitedly, each of them talking so fast over each other that Chris had no idea what was going on.

“Yo, we brought this nigga-“

“Here it is-“

-Can’t be a cop, they ain’t allowed-“

“Suck him off-“

Chris held up one hand for silence, and they all fell quiet. He enjoyed the power he had here in the City Barbershop. Out there, in the ghettos and streets of Indianapolis, he was just a shy, weak little black queer. In here, he was king. He was the best barber, the one the high-class dealers and pimps went to. He brought in the most foot traffic and he was the unofficial mascot for the shop, so when he held up his hand for silence, the other barbers shushed everyone who didn’t quiet down right away.

“Okay, you can’t all talk at once,” Chris said. He pointed to Tummer. “You tell me. What is this?”

Tummer cleared his throat and sighed. “Aw, man, do I gotta say it? Okay, well, uh… these niggas is, uh… they tellin’ me I gotta do this. I gots females, just so you know. I got these three girls I fuck wit’ right now, and one of ‘em is-“

“Hey, do I look like I wanna hear about girls?” Chris said. “Get to the part that concerns me.”

“I’m, uh… Well, I can’t say ‘bout the main part. But you know how them po-po ain’t allowed to, y’know, fuck when they undercover no more. On account of that one cop made that girl pregnant?”


“Well… So, I wanna join, or, uh… I gotta prove to these niggas I ain’t a cop,” Tummer said.

“Isn’t it obvious? They don’t let retards become cops,” Chris said with a laugh. The other thugs laughed along with him, and Tummer frowned.

“Uh.. So… I want a blowjob,” Tummer said. “I mean… I don’t really want one, but… y’know.”

Chris made an overly exaggerated thoughtful face, as though there was a real chance he would say no — Tummer was ungodly sexy, so Chris was already picturing his cock in his throat. “Lemme see your chest.”

Tummer exchanged nervous glances with the other thugs, then took off his shirt. He had a powerful, light brown chest with a flat belly, a few tattoos covering his arm and his ribcage on the left side. He sneered at Chris as though he didn’t like having a gay man check him out.


Tummer sighed and pumped his biceps. Chris kissed each one, and the other thugs oohed and aahed as though Tummer should be embarrassed by that. He makin’ out wit’ yo’ arm now, Tummer! Chris’ tongue traced the bulge of his upper arm. It tasted salty and clean and it made Chris’ dick get hard in his pants.

“Pull your cock out. Is it big?”

Tummer forced on a cocky grin, but Chris could see that he was horrified at the thought of pulling his meat out in front of all his niggas. Tummer stuck his hand in his pants first, to give himself a stroke, no doubt making sure his manhood wasn’t in a shrunken mood — it was rather cold in the barbershop right now, after all.

Then he pulled it out. It was plenty big, thick and juicy. Chris’ mouth watered at the sight, but he played it off like it was merely satisfactory. He hefted it in one hand as though he needed to examine its dimensions.

He nodded. “That’s acceptable. Go into the backroom. Keep your shirt off,” Chris said as Tummer started to put it back on. He scowled but did as he was told. Once the door to the backroom shut, Chris smiled at the other thugs. “I just wanna make him wait a couple minutes.”

They laughed, and Chris waited there by his barber’s chair for a full five minutes. He could tell that Tummer was annoyed and impatient in the back when Chris opened the door and strode back there.

He was nonchalantly standing next to some shelves, his chest still bare and his fat, limp cock dangling between his legs. He scowled at Chris.

“Do you swallow?”

Chris nodded. “I insist on it,” he said as he dropped to his knees.

Chris had always liked rough trade, so he attacked Tummer’s cock with abandon. He licked the shaft from tip to root, and smiled as Tummer grunted like he was surprised at how easy this was to endure, as though he thought it was going to hurt.

His dick remained limp at first, and Chris wondered if he would be unable to get hard. Chris had never before met a straight man who didn’t get hard when his cock was in Chris’ mouth, but there was always a first time for everything.

After a minute or two of sucking on that limp shaft, it finally perked up. Chris suckled moistly on the tip, letting his saliva coat the entire cock, and it grew harder and harder.

Soon Chris was using both hands to stroke that massive cock. He was glad he had done this — Tummer’s dick had seemed fine when it was limp, and he was nervous out in the front room, but now he had shown what a huge cock he really had. It was thick and veiny it tasted so sweet Chris slathered spit all over it. He sucked on it like a lollipop, and grinned at Tummer’s shocked reaction.

“Damn, nigga, you suck good,” Tummer said with a chuckle. “I’m-a cum now.”

He grabbed Chris by the ears and held on tight. He started to grind his hips against Chris’ face, shoving his dick down deep as it throbbed and pulsated in Chris’ throat.

He groaned and grunted, and spewed cum right in Chris’ mouth and on his tongue. It was a thick, dense load, creamy and milky. It tasted as sweet as his cock did, and Chris greedily guzzled it all down.

He smacked his lips and showed off his empty mouth. Tummer was shocked, like he hadn’t expected that to actually feel good. He leaned against the shelves behind himself.

Chris giggled at the look on Tummer’s face, and he withdrew a wetnap. He wiped his face off, then Tummer’s cock. The cold of the wetnap snapped Tummer out of his daze.

He frowned at Chris. “That was fine,” he said. “Good. Okay.”

“You can admit you enjoyed it.”

“I like females, gayboy,” he said. He paused as he tucked his dick away. “But yeah. Sorry. I did like that, uh… you suck dick good.” He sauntered towards the door, awkwardly ignoring Chris.

“Thanks, love you too!” Chris called out while the door to the frontroom was open. Tummer’s niggas all laughed and Tummer sighed, trying to explain that he hadn’t told Chris he loved him. Chris just stayed in the back and savored the flavor of semen until all those thugs went away.

Then he returned to his barber’s chair and resumed his day. If the Nine Tats continue to send him new thugs, he thought, he was going to enjoy this new police policy very much indeed.

Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Yakuza Submission

Here’s the first chapter of Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Yakuza Submission, a new story of femdom bw/am action and (hopefully) the first entry in a long-running series!

Gracelyn Brown breathed a sigh of relief as she got through customs in Tokyo International Airport. She had never in her life done something as exciting as this.

The airport was alive, teeming with people. Most of them were Japanese, of course, but there were swarms of white people mixed in, and even one black man — an African businessman, by the looks of him — getting onto a plane while Gracelyn walked by. As a black woman herself, Gracelyn was somewhat nervous about being in Japan. She’d heard the Japanese were not always so welcoming to outsiders.

The tour company, World Passion Vacations, had said not to worry about that. Her agent told her it wasn’t a big deal for tourists, even black tourists; the Japanese love tourism but are standoffish at best about immigrants. But Gracelyn remained just a bit worried anyway.

She was on a sex tour of Asia. World Passion Vacations had set this up, a months-long voyage — which could be extended indefinitely for the right price — taking her to all the sexiest men in Asia. After a string of disastrous relationships back in America, Gracelyn was ready to see what sort of masculine delights Asia had to offer. She had built her company into a multi-billion dollar enterprise and had taken her payout when she sold it, so now Gracelyn wanted to take her reward. She had eschewed personal fulfillment for years in order to focus on her business, and now it was time to reverse that decision.

The man she was supposed to meet was supposedly a representative of the yakuza. Gracelyn had assumed that he was simply an actor, but when she asked around online, it appeared that the company was telling the truth. The yakuza operated semi-openly in Japan, and the man she was going to meet was genuinely a gangster. World Passion Vacations spared no expense in making their sex tours the most exhilarating experience of anyone’s life.

When she saw him standing there in a scruffy, ill-fitting suit, Gracelyn’s jaw dropped. He held a placard with her name on it — not  a piece of cardboard with her name written in marker either, it was a printed sign like something that could have been plopped down in a parking lot to reserve a space for her.

He nodded when he saw her — as a plus-sized black woman in Japan, Gracelyn stood out in the crowd of lithe-limbed ladies and narrow men. He was drop-dead gorgeous, with sensitive brooding eyes and a sexy, growlish face. He looked exactly like how Gracelyn might expect a yakuza to look.

He was not especially tall, but he was squat, muscles bulging from that suit that hung awkwardly off his thick, squarish body. His tie was crooked and badly tied. His square jaw jutted forward, giving him a certain brutish quality that Gracelyn had never before seen in a Japanese man. He had genuine swagger, and Gracelyn immediately felt a surge of arousal. Was she going to have sex with this man? The company hadn’t specifically said he was here for sex — they just said he’d meet her at the airport and take her to her first hotel — but why would they pay for a sexy man on a sex tour if not to have sex with him?

“Hello, miss. I am Timubachi,” he said. He nodded and bowed deeply at her. His face was grim and flat. “I am your slave for this day.”

“Oh… Slave? You mean… servant? Or…”


“Okay. Uh…” Gracelyn’s mind reeled. She knew these sex tours included BDSM and other kinky elements, but she hadn’t expected it to start that way about six minutes after she got off the plane. “Well, I guess that’s… You’re really a slave?”

He shook his head. “I am bodyguard for a business man. He has tell me to come here,” he said. He stammered like he thought he was in trouble, that he was saying the wrong things. “He… say that I am… be doing sex things with you, big American black woman. That is you? You do not have to do sex things. He said it is not rule, it is just-“

“Timubachi, relax. I understand. It was just… weird to blurt out that you’re a slave to a black woman. It was off-putting. It’s just role-playing, I understand,” she said with a smile. “You like big American black women?”

He beamed. “I do. Like Quinn Latty Fah.” He had a momentary dream-like look.

Gracelyn was confused at first, then when he repeated it, she giggled. “Oh, Queen Latifah? Yeah, Timubachi, she’s hot-“

“You know her?!” His eyes were wide.

“No, no, we’ve never met,” Gracelyn said — that wasn’t strictly true, since Queen Latifah had done a photo shoot for Gracelyn’s company, and they had shook hands and smiled at each other for about two seconds; Gracelyn suspected that, if she told Timubachi that, he’d be obsessed with finding out everything that had happened, so Gracelyn kept it to herself. Was Timubachi a celebrity worshiper? He looked at her as though he wanted to list all the famous Americans he wanted to know more about.

“Oh, well she is favorite American celebrity.”

After all the stress of flying across the Pacific, she needed a humorous experience like this to relax her. She laughed. At first she was guarded, not wanting to make Timubachi think she was a slut, then she remembered she was going to fuck him anyway — she was going to fuck anyone she wanted on this trip — so she clutched his body as she laughed. His muscles were tense and tight, like he couldn’t tell if she was laughing at him or not, like he was trying to decide whether to be offended.

Feeling his muscles and seeing his sheepish, confused look reminded Gracelyn that he was (allegedly) a yakuza, so the idea that he had an obsessive celebrity-crush on Queen Latifah made her laugh even harder. She wiped a few tears away from her eyes.

She felt an instinctual urge to stop laughing, to avoid embarrassment. People were already watching her, and Timubachi looked like he was again worried he was in trouble. But Gracelyn decided to allow herself this moment of levity — it was a vacation, after all, and she had paid good money to have people like Timubachi ensure she could do whatever she wanted. Right now, she wanted to laugh.

Besides, people were giving Timubachi a wide berth, like they knew he was yakuza. Possibly, she thought, because of the brilliantly colored tattoos that snaked up his neck, just barely visible above the collar of his suit. There was a pair of vibrant koi-fish circling each other on his neck, and some kanji that peeked out from under his sleeve over his wrist.

When she stopped laughing and took a deep breath, Timubachi dropped to his knees. His face looked so serious Gracelyn had to gulp to avoid laughing again.

“I am your slave, miss beauty. Bigness. Please… I have always wanted for woman like you to use my body. I have been hired to have provide all of the Japanese things that you want to be given while you are location in Japan,” he said, struggling to think of the English words.


He nodded.

“You’re really not a slave, right? You can quit?”

He nodded again. “I am have been volunteering to be your slave for your visit to Japan, because my boss, he does know that I am in love with big black American womens. I will want them to be dominating on me,” he said. He blushed and looked down at his feet.

“You want me to be dominating on you, huh?” she asked with a giggle, and he nodded. “Well… can I ride your back to the luggage counter? You look like a big strong man.”

He nodded. “I can do carry you, Miss Beauty. But I can not mess up my suit, or much trouble will be had,” he said. “I will take off the suit from my back.” He blushed again as he looked around at the crowds. But he neatly removed his suit jacket, tie and shirt, neatly folding them all — very neatly, like he was going to put them on display in a store — then added them to the mostly empty briefcase he had brought along. He took Gracelyn’s carry-on bag in his hand as well.

Gracelyn’s heart fluttered at the sight of him in a sleeveless t-shirt, not quite a “wifebeater” like in the American style, but similar, with straps over the shoulders instead of an extension of the shirt fabric. His muscles bulged beneath the tight fabric, and his colorful yakuza tattoos were very apparent. There were several pairs of koi-fish in different colors — yellow, blue, red — dancing up and down his neck, torso and bicep. Gracelyn got the strong impression that those koi-fish were the important tattoos, that they signified something about his membership in his yakuza clan. But she knew better than to ask. She had known gangstas before.

She just hopped onto his back. Now everyone stared at them. Gracelyn was a large woman, but she didn’t weight a whole lot — she was short, for a black American woman (still tall for Japan), so she didn’t have to have a lot of chunk to be plus-sized. Timubachi supported her easily on his back, tottering just a bit as he got his balance, picked up his briefcase and her duffel bag, and set off through the crowded airport.

“Are you okay, Timubachi?”

“I am perfect okay!” he shouted loud enough to draw attention from passersby. He looked excited, but trying to hide it. He bit his lip as he hefted her onto his back and took a few steps forward. Once he started moving, he got momentum, and he tottered only briefly when he struggled to remain balanced.

His face was grim and serious even as Gracelyn laughed like a schoolgirl. She normally hated it when men fetishized big black women — she had slapped a white man once for approaching her on the street and begging to worship her “fat ass”.

But there was something appealing about the way Timubachi did it. He was so earnest, so strange — he was a tough Japanese macho with a love for soft-bodied black women? He lusted for Queen Latifah of all people? When he wasn’t extorting cash from small business — or whatever the yakuza did — he was watching hip hop videos from the early nineties? The image of him drooling over U.N.I.T.Y.-era Queen Latifah made Gracelyn laugh so hard she cried as she clutched his head and raced atop his strapping shoulders into the airport parking garage.

He stopped her at a surprisingly large car — Gracelyn had been worried it’d be some tiny thing she’d have to cram into. But it was a four-door car, a little smaller than Gracelyn wanted but larger than she had expected to see in Japan. He held the door open for her.

Gracelyn looked around. There were few other cars in the parking lot. They could do something right here. She looked him in the eye, and he raised his eyebrows.

It was the international language of lust.

“Are you really going to be my slave today?”

“Yes, miss, madam, Miss America,” he said. “Or Mrs, or-“

“Miss is fine, Timubachi. Lay down on your back. No, leave the suit on,” she said when he started to remove his tie. “It’s sexy, and I’ve always wanted to get eaten out by a man in a suit.”

He looked confused as he laid on his back in the backseat. She opened the other door to give him room for his feet to dangle out the other end. Gracelyn dropped the pantsuit she had worn, and pulled down her panties.

She never thought she’d do anything like this, and she giggled as she planted her pussy on his eager face. It helped that the parking lot was indescribably clean, with not a single empty soda can or cigarette butt within sight. The concrete looked like it had been scrubbed recently. Not even brand-new parking garages in America were this clean.

His tongue plunged into her, and she writhed atop his face. Her hands clutched at his muscles beneath the suit.

“You are better than Queen Latty Fah!” Timubachi said as he explored her depths. His face was red. He was such a macho stud, Gracelyn wondered if he had ever been the submissive partner in a relationship. She giggled listening to him compare her to Queen Latifah, and she ground her body atop his face.

The suit clung to his body, which filled it out plentifully. She held his hand to bare his wrist, looking at the kanji and circling yellow koi-fish there. A shudder of powerful pleasure hit her then, and as she licked and sucked on his tattooed forearm muscle, she moaned exquisitely over his face.

His suit was wrinkled and disheveled now. She wondered if he would get in trouble for it. She made a mental note to buy him a nice suit and a tailor to perfect it for his body before she left Japan. But she was too aroused in this moment to think about that. Her pussy throbbed and tingled above his face, as his tongue lapped at her body.

He was intense and sexy, and his tongue made Gracelyn so wet it felt like she was liquifying into melted butter that drained down his throat. But despite all that, Timubachi was not “good” at licking her pussy — he was sexy; he was dedicated; he was earnest and enthusiastic and enjoyable, but he was not experienced. She got the impression he rarely submitted to any woman in any sense.

But she didn’t find that disappointing in the slightest. It was nice that he was unpolished and inexpert. She had been worried that this sex tour would be a lot of sightseeing intermixed with clinical sex with handsome, clean-cut Asian men who looked like Disney princes and who had taken lessons in Stimulating the American Orgasm or whatever World Passion Vacations taught.

Timubachi was different. His amateur approach to oral sex was endearing. Gracelyn enjoyed telling him what to do, pointing to spots he needed to lick. “Move your tongue in a circle, Timubachi,” she said, and he did. There was something satisfying about his mouth, something that she would have never gotten if he had been some handsome young deep-dimpled Japanese gigolo. What he lacked in talent he made up for in passion, which was enough for Gracelyn.

As her orgasm approached like a gathering storm, she reached for his dick. It was already hard, confined in his underwear in his suit. She pulled it out through the fly and gave it a stroke.

She was glad to see that it was not small — Gracelyn was no size queen, but she had wondered what this sex tour would prove in the cock-size department. World Passion Vacations had asked what her preference was as far as penis size and shape went, and Gracelyn had said simply not extremely small or extremely large, anything else was fine. Timubachi’s cock was just right, big enough to be a bit of a challenge if she were going to fuck him, but not so big as to be outright difficult.

She and Timubachi both reached orgasm at once. Her legs clenched around his face, as he sprayed cum over her fingers and onto his own shirt and tie. She threw her head back and moaned. Waves of pleasure flowed over her like a tsunami, and her frenzied sounds echoed in the cement parking garage.

It seemed very loud. Gracelyn wondered if it was actually that loud — if so she was appropriately worried about being caught — or if it just seemed that way because she was in the throes of passion. She grunted and bucked, grinding her body atop his face.

Moisture streamed down Timubachi’s cheeks as he writhed beneath her. He heaved for air and she gasped, his tongue continuing to send little sparks of desire up her spine. She trembled. He shook. They both fell limp.

Then she leaned backward onto her own feet. Her knees buckled as aftershocks of orgasm rolled through her body. Timubachi looked dazed as he sat up. He tried to wipe the cum off his tie and the ladyjuices off his face. He had a slight smile on his face, which looked to be more emotion than he was used to expressing.

“Quick, someone’s coming,” Gracelyn said. There was a car coming this way. Was it security? It looked to be marked, but she didn’t know what private security cars usually looked like in Tokyo.

She dived into the passenger seat so fast she nearly closed the backseat door on Timubachi’s head. He scampered out to pull his slacks up and jumped into the driver’s seat.

It was a security van after all, but the guards were just a few seconds too late to see Timubachi’s naked ass. His suit was crumpled and messed up, but that wasn’t obvious from a distance in the shadowy parking garage.

He said something in Japanese, but the meaning was universal: Goddamn, woman, where did you learn to taste so good?