The Prison Wife

Here’s the first chapter of The Prison Wife, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!

Hawk stumbled as he entered the cell block. He heard hooting and clapping. Luckily some of the other prisoners were worse off than Hawk — there was a fat man who started sobbing even before they came onto the cell block. He attracted most of the attention from the other inmates.

Tubby crybaby wants his mommy!

But Hawk knew plenty of them were looking at him too. He could feel their eyes staring at him. Hawk took a deep breath to calm himself.

He had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a plan he would enjoy. There was no reason not to enjoy it. While Hawk didn’t want to be in prison, he had a good plan — Hawk was gay. He loved sucking cock and getting fucked, and he especially loved being fucked by huge alpha male thugs.

So spending time in prison gave him plenty of opportunities to do what he wanted to do anyway. He wished he could come and go as he pleased, getting fucked whenever he wanted and then going home to sleep in his own bed. But of course, that was not an option.

This place would be his home for the next two to five years.

Hawk tried to look tough. He was not in bad shape. He had been playing soccer and baseball for years, but he was short and he was wiry, not muscular. He had long straight black hair and dusky brown skin.

“Yo! Yo! Yo!”

An explosion of laughter and some angry shouts erupted. Hawk’s heart skipped a beat — was this a prison riot? Had he walked in on a prison riot?

“Yo, yo, yo!” There was a man coming towards the new inmates.

“Get back- Oh…” The guard escorting the new inmates chuckled dryly at the sight of the man coming towards Hawk and the others. The guard didn’t seem to care what he did. Hawk didn’t know if that meant he should be scared of this inmate — was the guard scared to stop him? — or if he should be calm — was the guard aware that this inmate was a paper tiger?

But Hawk thought the inmates would test one of the fat blubbering idiots first. So he just furrowed his brow. He made as tough a face as he could manage.

But then the inmate came to him. He was Thumper White, a middle-aged black man with cornrows tinged with gray. He was an ex-boxer and he still had the body of a fighter half his age. He moved like his muscles and his heft were in the way — he was much faster than a burly, barrel-chested man like him should be.

“Uh…” Hawk didn’t know if he should throw a punch or not. The entire cell block stared at him.

Thumper pushed inmates — new and old, weak and tough alike — out of the way as he barreled to Hawk. Then he stopped in front of him and smiled like a schoolboy.

“Yo, hey, what’s yo’ name?” Thumper asked. His grizzled, gray-tinged scruff shifted as he licked his lips. It sounded like he was trying to be casual, even though he had knocked several people over as he came here, and the entire cell block had fallen silent to watch him.

“Uh… Hawk.”

“Hawk? What kinda name is that?”

“It’s Indian. I’m an Indian. Native American Indian.”

Thumper’s eyes opened wide. “Ah, shit, nice. That’s why you got pretty long hair?”

“Well… I have pretty long hair because, uh… I like it.” Hawk’s mind raced too fast for him to speak coherently.

“You some kinda gay or bisexual?” Thumper asked.

“Um, yeah… I’m gay.”

Thumper let out a growl. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Boy, you serious?”

“Yeah.” Hawk squeaked like a mouse. Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that, he thought, since it looked like Thumper became hostile when he said it.

“I think I love you, boy,” Thumper said. He took Hawk’s wrist and kissed the back of his hand. That finally broke the silence of the other inmates. They howled peals of laughter. Someone clasped Hawk on the back, making Hawk stumble and cry out in surprise. Thumper kissed his hand copiously, and even sucked on his middle finger.

“Oh-“

Thumper stood up. He made a stern, angry face and addressed the crowd of jeering inmates. They all cheered as though they were glad for Thumper, though it was obvious from their tone and body language — and the harsh laughter filling the air — that they were teasing Thumper for forming a relationship with a man.

You in love, homo thug?!

You gonna suck that Indian boy’s dick, Thump?

Thumper held one hand up, palm out. The inmates all got quiet — the black ones first, since they were in Thumper’s gang — Thumper was in charge of the Nine Tats here at Brutewood; Hawk didn’t know that yet, but he would soon figure it out. The Nine Tats then forcibly hushed up the other gangs.

“All y’all shut yo’ mouths,” Thumper said. “This boy here is Hawk. He too pretty to be any kinda bitch, so don’t none of you try nothin’.” There was some scattered groans. Someone threw a chess piece that bounced off Thumper’s chest. Thumper bellowed, “Hey! Nah! Shut yo’ bitch-ass mouths!” Then he waited for silence again. “Ain’t none of y’all’s business, nosirree. Prison love is private, even if you can see it, niggas.”

Then Thumper turned around. He ignored a few whooping catcalls from the other inmates. He dropped to his knees in front of Hawk and grabbed his hand once again. He sucked on that middle finger just like before. Then he pulled it out and smiled up at Hawk.

“Boy, will you do me the honor of bein’ my prison wife? I will treat you so good, boy…” He let out a long, low growl. His kisses traveled up Hawk’s hand to his arm, then his neck.

Hawk shivered. He wanted to say yes, of course. Thumper was pretty much Hawk’s ideal man — right down to the flecks of gray in his chest hair and cornrows. Hawk loved men with a bit of maturity in their bones.

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk finally managed to croak out a response.

The cell block erupted in both cheers and jeers. Someone threw more chess pieces — aiming at Thumper, it seemed, but many of them hit Hawk instead. Thumper planted his lips right on Hawk’s, and his massive tongue pushed into Hawk’s mouth.

That was such a shock that Hawk resisted at first, purely out of instinct and surprise. He pushed on Thumper’s shoulders, but Thumper didn’t even seem to notice. He just barreled through ramming his tongue down Hawk’s throat as though invading his gullet, like his goal was to get as deep as possible.

Hawk was so surprised by everything that had happened that he barely even noticed when Thumper scooped him up in his arms. Hawk was dizzy and confused. Thumper carried him like a bride through the crowd of cheering black men — his own gangmates formed a line on either side, leading back to Thumper’s cell.

It was obvious to Hawk that these thugs clapped and cheered both because it was expected of them and because they teased Thumper. He was their boss, but he was much more comfortable with man-on-man sex than the rest of them — he was from an earlier generation. They thought proposing to a prison wife publicly was hilarious and shameful (for Thumper). They called him a groom and encouraged Hawk to throw a (nonexistent) bouquet of flowers to tease Thumper.

If Thumper realized that they were laughing at him, however, he gave no indication. He had a big smile on his face like a groom carrying his bride to their shared bedroom. His big muscles carried Hawk easily through the cell block.

The tiny cell was barely big enough for one person, and there was already a young man there. He was clearly gay and effeminate. He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow when he saw Thumper carrying Hawk into the cell.

“What’s up, Thumper? That a bitch or wha-?” His voice trailed off when he saw the men crowding the cell outside to watch as though they were witnessing history. Thumper’s current cellmate crossed his arms over his chest.

“Brian.” Thumper sounded like he had forgotten he had a cellmate. “Get yo’ shit and get out.”

“What?”

“You don’t live here no more. Go tell Armstrong you need a new cell assignment,” Thumper said. He looked at Hawk and kissed him.

“Oh. You’re dumping me?”

“I am in love, nigga. You know what love is? It’s the most powerful force in the universe. I ain’t nevuh loved you. You just a slut,” Thumper said without taking his eyes away from Hawk. “Go’n, get out.”

The man sniffled. “Fine. Later.” He gathered up his clothes and other belongings, most of which were already in a cardboard box.

“Hurry up, nigga. We got some connubial bliss to construct,” Thumper said. He snarled at the man, who darted out of the cell. He had to squeeze past the other inmates to get out.

Yo, Thumper, you gonna lick his butthole?! Huh? You want some syrup?!

“Ignore them niggas,” Thumper said with a growl. Once his former cellmate was out, he slapped their hands when they tried to reach in past the cell bars. “Get outta here, niggas! Get out! This ain’t none of yo’ business. This ain’t gang business. This ain’t no concern of yours. This is just love, that’s all. You don’t know jack-shit about love.” He reached his arms between the cell bars and grabbed one young man by the neck — it was a young black man, skinny, definitely not old enough to be anyone important, Hawk assumed — and whispered something Hawk couldn’t hear. The young man’s eyes opened wide, and he hushedly got the other inmates to be quiet and walk away. It took awhile though, so there were still hands reaching into the cell, sarcastic laughter and whooping filling the air.

Does his dick taste like curry?! Huh? Thumper, huh? You like curry?!

“That’s the wrong kinda Indian, nigga!” Thumper yelled out of the cell. It wasn’t clear that anyone could hear him because they hollered in his direction. Thumper smiled at Hawk was though he expected to be congratulated for knowing the different kinds of Indians.

“Oh, uh… So this is my cell, right? I, like… I’m not gonna get in trouble being here, right?”

Thumper smiled. “You got a pretty voice, boy. I like hearin’ you say words,” he said. He got up real close to Hawk like he was going to kiss him, but then he didn’t. “Yeah. This is yo’ cell. Officer Armstrong runs this place, Hawk, and I run Officer Armstrong.” He paused. “Hawk. That is the sexiest name for a gayboy I ever heard. Hawk. I just wanna keep sayin’ yo’ name over and over. Hawk. Hawk. Hawk.”

“Oh…”

“We are gonna make such sweet love in here, boy,” Thumper said. He leaned in again like he was going to kiss Hawk. But he just put his lips next to Hawk’s ear and whispered, “We are gonna brew a big pot of love in here. You like gettin’ fucked in the ass?”

“Yeah.”

“You need a pet name for me, boy,” he said. “Like daddy or papi or somethin’ like that.” His eyes lit up. “Or somethin’ Indian. What do pretty Indian girls call they man?”

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“You don’t speak Indian?”

“Uh… No.” Hawk wanted to explain that there were lots of American Indian languages, each, presumably, with their own pet names a girl might call her boyfriend. Hawk didn’t speak any of them though. But Hawk was too scared to think of any words to explain all that, and the end result would just be “no” anyway, so he simply said no. “Most Indians just speak English.” He croaked.

Thumper nodded. “Okay, okay,” he said. “You scared, huh? You scared of me?”

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk had never felt smaller.

“Don’t be scared, boy. I wouldn’t nevuh hurt you. You much too pretty for that. You ain’t gonna be my bitch. Or no one’s bitch. You mine. You my boy from now on. You my lover,” he said. Then, like he had only just noticed the men still laughing at him — the one thug he had whispered to had gotten many of them to leave, but there were still more. Hawk noticed that they were all black men. He didn’t know the gang politics of this prison yet, but in fact, they were all Thumper’s own gang — they could, more or less, get away with teasing Thumper while members of other gangs might have gotten stabbed even coming near Thumper’s cell.

You goin’ on a honeymoon, Thump?

C’mon, Thumper, I wanna watch you lick that boy’s asshole.

Snorting like an angry horse, Thumper stood up and went to the corner of the cell. Only two walls were bars through which people could see, and Thumper put up a sheet as a curtain. There were tacks already in the wall to make it easy, he just put the curtain back up where, it seemed, he put it every night.

“There, now we got some privacy. I wanna make you comfortable, boy,” Thumper said.

“Okay.”

Now that they couldn’t see, the gangbangers lost interest in teasing Thumper. They turned around and walked away, and at last, there was silence. Hawk hadn’t even realized how loud the men were being until they were gone.

Thumper faced him. Hawk’s heart raced. Thumper smiled. “Boy, you still scared.”

“Well… It’s scary.”

“Am I scary?”

“Yeah…” Hawk had to hold back his tears. He thought he would do alright on his first day, and really, today’s result hadn’t been bad. He’d wanted to get some sexy thug to promise to protect him, and that was exactly what he’d gotten. It was just so stressful — and Thumper’s stare and body and presence were so intimidating — that Hawk felt like sobbing.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Thumper said with a throaty growl. He wrapped one muscular arm around Hawk’s thin shoulder. He brought Hawk down to the lower bunk on the cell — that would be Hawk’s bunk now. “Relax, boy. Lemme make you a promise.” He took off his shirt and his pecs bounced, making a shiver of desire run through Hawk’s body. Thumper was really very sexy; he was just so scary that Hawk couldn’t think about anything besides his own fear. Thumper kissed Hawk on the lips again. “I won’t initiate nothin’ ‘bout sex. Okay? You decide when you ready to suck my dick or take it in the ass. Okay? That’s up to you.” He paused.

Thumper undid his shoes and pulled his orange prison pants off without getting out of the bunk. In no time he was naked. He had a huge brown cock, which was soft but looked to have just a touch of an erection.

He was so sexy it hurt. Hawk wanted more than anything to caress Thumper’s muscles. He knew Thumper wanted it too, but this situation was too tough for Hawk to respond at all. He just sat there on his bunk, fully clothed, sneaking glances at Thumper’s body every few seconds.

“You like my body?” Thumper asked.

Hawk nodded.

“I like yo’ body too. I ain’t nevuh seen it yet. But I like it already,” he said. “You know if anyone hurts you or even looks at you funny in this place, you tell me ‘bout it. I’ll kill ‘em. No questions asked.”

“Oh. Okay… That seems… harsh.”

“I’m a harsh nigga. None of those men was makin’ fun of you. They know better. They can call me a faggot cuz they know I ain’t one,” he said. He licked his lips. “They gonna treat you like a queen. I’m serious, nigga. If you want somethin’, you tell the nearest Nine Tat. If he don’t drop e’rything to give it to you, I’ll punish him, and if he got any brothers in this place, I punish them too. I do that. Brothers is responsible for each other.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You can’t fuck ‘em though. If you wanna fuck some nigga, you gotta ask me. I’ll decide if he gets fucked. You can ask ‘em for anything else, like food, or beatin’ up some other nigga.”

“Oh. Alright. I probably won’t, uh… want anything like that,” Hawk said. The idea of ordering some strange black thugs to do stuff seemed strange and off-putting. He was certain he wouldn’t do that.

“Okay. Whatchoo in for?”

Hawk cleared his throat. “Uh… Selling weed. I was caught with a lot of weed in my trunk.”

“You a pothead?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Cool. Me too,” Thumper said. “I got weed. We can’t smoke it today — it’s Monday, that means Warden Mitchell might be by later. He freak out if he smell weed. We save that for weekends.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. Then he grabbed Thumper’s pulsating pectoral muscles. He stroked his nipple and giggled, the anxiety of the situation finally giving way and turning to excitement. He was still scared and intimidated, but the easiest way to move forward, he thought, the path of least resistance, was to just do what both he and Thumper wanted him to do.

But Hawk wanted to know how truthful Thumper was being when he said that Hawk could decide when and how they fucked. So Hawk massaged Thumper’s muscles and then reached down to his dick, but he didn’t start sucking.

“I don’t wanna do anything else today,” Hawk said. “Let’s just start with a handjob, okay? I’ll get you off all day and all night, but just with my hand. We’ll build up to actual sex, alright?”

“Hell yeah, boy, I do that.” He beamed and licked his lips. “We got all the time in the world in this place. Let’s go slow.” His dick twitched as soon as Hawk touched it. It looked like Thumper wanted to kiss, but Hawk kissed him on the neck instead. Thumper growled, and Hawk could feel the rumbling in his throat.

His enormous cock was nearly a foot long once it firmed up in Hawk’s hand. Hawk stroked it and giggled again. Thumper had such a serious look on his face, like this handjob was a matter of life and death, that Hawk couldn’t help but laugh.

It was clear Thumper wanted to touch Hawk. He kept lifting his hands, then stopping himself because he had promised Hawk was in charge. Hawk smiled.

“Okay, Thumper, you can touch me,” he said.

Thumper jumped into action. He literally ripped Hawk’s prison uniform off his body. He let out a seductive growl and planted his lips on Hawk’s cheek. He pressed his weight onto Hawk’s body, pinning him on the grimy mattress.

“Stop!” Hawk screamed. His heart raced. Was Thumper about to tear him limb from limb? It rather felt like it.

Thumper pulled off him and frowned. “Sorry, boy. I came on strong, ain’t I?”

“Yeah…” Hawk said softly. Again he wanted to cry. “You, uh… You’re a big man. I’m little. You can’t just lay on top of me like that.”

“You turn me on, boy. You make me so horny,” he said. He kept his eyes downcast. His cock was still rock-hard. Hawk gently grabbed it once again and resumed stroking it. Thumper moaned and licked his lips. “Boy, you make me so fucking horny. I need you. I need you right now. Stroke that shit, damn…”

“Okay, Thumper, you can kiss me on the lips and-“

Thumper rammed into him. They kissed and once again Hawk was pinned against the wall. Thumper’s tongue invaded his mouth. Hawk pushed Thumper away once more — Thumper was much stronger than Hawk, of course, so Hawk only pushed him away because Thumper allowed it.

“Sorry, boy.”

“Thumper… Can you kiss me… normally? Like… not like a prison rapist? Just kiss me. How about… don’t move me? Like, when you kiss me and I’m sitting right here, you’re not allowed to kiss me so hard I have to change positions. You can kiss me while I’m sitting here,” Hawk said. “So you have to be gentle.”

“Okay, boy.” He moved his head in slowly, and kissed Hawk on the lips. This was almost too gentle, like kissing air. Despite his huge hulking size, Thumper could be very soft when he wanted to be, and when he could avoid his instincts.

Hawk was fine with it. It was a little like kissing an unconscious man, Hawk thought, since Thumper didn’t really move once he started, but Hawk wasn’t about to tell him to be more forceful. This would have to do for now.

His cock throbbed in Hawk’s hand. It felt like he was near orgasm for the first time, like he had been so horny all it took was a few kisses and strokes to get him off. For the first time, Hawk wondered if Thumper would reciprocate. Presumably not, he thought, so Hawk used his other hand to jack himself off.

“Yo, boy, you know I’m straight, I like girls. I like pussy. I like eatin’ pussy-“ He pantomimed sucking on an invisible pussy. “I like fuckin’ females in the ass. I like tits.”

“Okay.”

“I love you cuz I’m in this place, and I ain’t nevuh gonna fall in love wit’ no girl again. Only love I got is boylove,” he said. “Gayboys, I mean, not kiddies.” Precum flowed from his cock. It felt creamy and warm, and Hawk had to fight against his urge to start sucking.

“Uh-huh.”

“I wouldn’t nevuh wanna touch no boy’s meat.”

“Sure. I didn’t think you would.”

“On ‘ccount of my love for you, I’d demonstrate it, if you asked me to,” he said. “I’d show you my love by jackin’ yo’ dick. But you gotta tell me you want it.”

“Oh. I want it. Thumper, will you jack me off?”

“Call me a pet name.”

“What?”

“Call me somethin’. You know, like daddy or papi or whatevuh. Call me somethin’ special, somethin’ you ain’t nevuh call none of yo’ boyfriends,” he said. “Somethin’ just for me. That’ll demonstrate yo’ love for me.”

“Uh… how about papi? I like that. I’ve never called anyone that since I’m not Spanish, but I always thought it was hot,” Hawk said. “So, papi, will you please jack me off? You’re so sexy and so perfect… I need you, Thumper.” His words felt hollow and forced, even though he loved the idea of getting a handjob from Thumper.

Thumper bucked like he was near his own orgasm as he grabbed Hawk’s cock. He immediately stroked it, in sync with Hawk’s handjob — it was clear Thumper had done this before.

“Can we… touch dicks?” Hawk asked. He felt an overwhelming urge to joust with Thumper. He had never done it before, but he wanted to ask for something that Thumper hadn’t told him he could ask for, and he figured Thumper couldn’t say not to this if he was willing to use his hand.

“‘Course, boy. If’n it makes you happy, we can touch dicks e’ry day,” he said. He scooted forward and spread his legs. Hawk did the same until their crotches touched, cocks mingling. Thumper’s dick was much bigger than Hawk’s, though Hawk had a larger than average dick too — Hawk’s dick actually looked more impressive because Hawk’s body was so much smaller; Thumper’s dick looked appropriate for his body size, while Hawk looked like he had stolen the cock off someone bigger than himself.

But in the shadowy bunkspace, none of that mattered. It wasn’t even easy to see which dick was bigger (though it was obvious when Hawk stroked them both off at once). Even outside of the bunk, the cell was dark because of the curtain, beyond which shouting and laughter could be heard — everyone had moved on, it seemed, and they ignored Thumper’s cell. People walked by the cell close enough that Hawk could hear them breathe, but they didn’t know what was going on in here (or rather, it seemed they mostly had some idea, but they didn’t know exactly what was going on in here).

“Thumper… you can softly kiss me,” Hawk said.

Thumper opened his mouth and croaked like he was going to say something but was interrupted by a spasm of pleasure shooting up from his cock. He planted his lips on Hawk’s.

The kiss was a little forceful, but Hawk didn’t mind. They were both overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm in the same moment as Thumper’s tongue explored Hawk’s mouth. Hawk spasmed from head to toe.

Cum flew out of both dicks. It was impossible to tell how much came from which person because the flow combined. It jetted over Hawk’s hand and onto Hawk’s flat belly.

It kept flowing too. The smell of cottony cum filled the air, and Hawk imagined he could taste it even though none of it got into his mouth. Tendrils of potent pleasure exploded deep within Hawk’s body. He writhed with exquisite bliss wracking his muscles.

His orgasm seemed to last forever. Hawk knew it didn’t, only because it was almost time for dinner and he hadn’t heard the whistle yet. But time stopped as intense feelings assaulted Hawk’s senses, and Hawk contorted in Thumper’s muscles.

“Ah, god, boy, you got such a nice hand… You make me feel so good…”

Finally they were both done. Somehow they were lying down — Hawk hadn’t remembered doing that, but Thumper wouldn’t have done it since he had promised not to move Hawk when kissing him, so Hawk must have done it — and Thumper sucked on Hawk’s delicate neck.

“I love you, boy,” Thumper said with a growl. “You ain’t gotta say that back to me. I’d appreciate it mightily. I wouldn’t expect you to mean it neither. It won’t be like it is on the outside. I don’t expect no marriage or nothin’. All it means if you say it is that you got love in yo’ heart for me right now, in this moment. Ain’t no kinda commitment. Okay? So when I say I love you, you can decide whether you wanna make me the happiest nigga on Earth by sayin’ it back to me.” He paused and kissed Hawk on the lips. “I love you, boy.”

“I love you too, papi.”

Mandingo Meat: Plantation Lust

Here’s the entirety of Mandingo Meat: Plantation Lust, a new story in the Mandingo Meat series. You can read the complete series through the bundle as well!

David wandered around the plantation. It was late in the season, after harvest, so there wasn’t a ton of activity, especially since it wasn’t a very nice day. It was warm but it had been drizzling for hours. It was somehow both too cold and too warm for David.

This was his first time in South Carolina, so he didn’t know how normal the weather was. He finally found the man he was looking for late in the afternoon. David watched him work for a little while.

David was in South Carolina in the year 1784. David was, however, not from this time. He was from the modern era. He had built a time machine that would allow him to travel among the sexiest black mandingos and studs in history, and the machine had sent him here, to the Salford Plantation in coastal South Carolina.

The machine also set David up with clothes and other affectations necessary to pass as a local in this time. So when he approached the slave hauling brush away from a clearing, David looked like a free black man. He was dressed in a fine shirt and clean pants, and his hair was impeccable.

The other man was Walter, a field slave who was more than six and a half feet tall. He had a broad back and veiny biceps, with thick trunk-like thighs. He wore nothing but half-trousers right now, his shirt laying on the ground nearby. He grunted as he rolled a log away from the clearing — the Salfords wanted to build a new barn here, so Walter was clearing away brush and dead tree remnants in order to make room.

He stopped working when he saw David approach. He furrowed his brow. He probably hadn’t seen very many free black men.

“Howdy,” David said when he got near.

Walter nodded. He eyed him suspiciously. “Howdy, suh.”

“My name is David Turnbull.”

“Waltuh.”

“Nice to meet you, Walter,” David said. He smiled flirtatiously. He didn’t always act flamboyantly gay — he could be str8-acting when he needed to be — but he let his limp wrist fly now, so Walter would get an idea what was happening. Even back then, David had found that a limp wrist and a feminine laugh was enough to get most men to understand. David smiled. “I’m just coming by because I heard a rumor about you…”

“Rumor? What kinda rumor?” He smiled too, and his eyes traveled up and down David’s body as though checking that there was no chance he might be a woman after all.

“I heard that you got a massive cock, and that you enjoy using it,” David said. He came closer.

“Yup.” He smiled cockily. He grabbed his uncut cock beneath his britches. He did indeed have a huge mandingo manhood, which made David’s mouth water even though he hadn’t seen it yet.

“I also heard that your master will allow you to buy your own freedom,” David said. He jingled some coins in his pocket. “I’ve got enough here for you to free yourself and your wife, and to buy a house for your family.”

“You serious?”

“I’m as serious as a sermon,” he said. “All you gotta do is fuck me.”

“Hell yeah,” Walter said. He looked around and dragged Walter to the other side of the massive tree that had fallen over some time ago. It was big enough to provide plenty of privacy. “Masta Salford won’t let me do it, you know. He won’t take the money if he knows it be comin’ from… you know… this. He a Christian man.”

“Oh, well-“

“I mean, I’s a Christian too, reckon,” Walter said, blurting it out like he worried he had given David the wrong impression. “I just… I ain’t gonna let my child be born as a slave, not if I can help it.”

David smiled at him. Walter leaned against the decaying trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. He looked up at the sky. He reached into his britches and brought out a gigantic dick, easily a foot long, maybe longer. It made David’s mouth water just looking at it. He licked his lips.

He planted his tongue right on the tip, and Walter jumped like he had thought David wasn’t going to go through with it — he still faced upward, so he didn’t see it happen. He groaned and muttered to himself.

“There you go, suh, you gettin’ right into it…”

David slobbered saliva all over it, because he knew that would get Walter hard the quickest. Men with big cocks sometimes needed a little extra work to get hard, David knew that well since he spent most of his time tracking down mandingos to suck off. Walter’s dick was limp on David’s tongue, but it soon began to throb and tingle and twitch.

That was a delightful sensation, David always thought. He loved feeling a man’s cock perk up and stiffen in his mouth. He liked experiencing the transition from soft and sleepy to stiff and slick.

“Well, hot damn, suh, you got a nicer mouth than Abraham, fo’ sho’,” he said. He wiped sweat off his forehead. “Abraham is the girlie-boy slave we got ‘round here. He works in the house, but Mastuh Salford lets him come out and swing on my meat sometimes. Mastuh Salford says a nigguh wit’ a big meat like me, he say I need constant attention or my balls get infected. You know ‘bout that?”

David didn’t answer, and Walter didn’t seem to expect it. He pumped his hips to ease his manhood down a little farther. David focused on deep-throating the best he could, nuzzling his nose in Walter’s dense kinky pubic hair.

There was no way he could swallow that entire rod, but David loved to try. He rammed his own head down until he choked, and there were still several veiny, throbbing inches of delicious manmeat waiting for him to suck.

The taste was fresh and salty from the day’s sweat. Huge men like Walter always had a particular flavor, that was half the reason David loved them so much. There was something warm and sunshiney about it, with a thick, billowy cottony taste that he could savor for hours like a fine wine. He let Walter’s sweat trickle down his throat and leave a layer that would remain there for days, flavoring all of David’s food with the taste of Walter’s manhood.

Hey, Walter!

Walter snapped. He bit his lip, and his eyes narrowed. He pushed David down farther so he was hidden by the dead tree. Walter looked back towards the manor house.

“Howdy, Mistuh Salford!”

What are you doin’, you lazy bastard?!

“I’m doing what you say, suh! I’m clearin’ up the space-“

I can see you ain’t doin’ nothin’, you leanin’ there, restin’! You got work to do, boy!

“Yes, suh, Mistuh Salford.”

That better get done by nightfall, or I’ll tan your hide!

“Yes, suh, Mistuh Salford.” Walter snarled. He spat on the ground. He grabbed one of the larger branches that had snapped off the main trunk, and he carried it a few feet. Saliva dripped from his cock. When he saw that Mister Salford was gone, he dropped the branch where it lay.

“Sorry, I ain’t mean to get you in trouble,” David said.

He sucked on his teeth. “Don’t fret. It ain’t no thing. He will not do nuthin’. He give you permission to come here?”

“Uh…”

“You be arrested if you get caught, he don’t cotton to free men consortin’ wit’ his nigguhs. You get yaself sold into slavery if you caught, mistuh” Walter said. His nostrils flared like he was angry, but he sighed, resigned and annoyed. “You put yaself in a lotta risk, mistuh…”

“I know. Your cock is worth it,” David said.

“You crazy. You one crazy nigguh. When I buy my freedom, is I gonna go crazy too?”

“No. You’ll be fine,” David said with a smile. He bent backwards over a thick branch, which pressed uncomfortably against his upper back. He laid so that his head was draped upside-down over the edge of the branch — perfect throat-fucking position.

“I swear to God, I will kill that man — Nevuhmind,” he smiled at David when he realized what he was about to say. “Nevuhmind.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t even be around when it happens,” David said.

“I wouldn’t nevuh kill no man. I’s a Christian nigguh. I’s a church-goin’ nigguh,” he said. “I learnt how to behave propuh.” He chuckled as he approached Walter again, cock swaying between his thighs. “I don’t always choose to b’have propuh, but I know how to do it. Don’t you tell no one I threaten to kill a white man.”

“I won’t. You didn’t.”

He dropped to his knees at David’s face, which placed his still-hard dick right at cock-sucking height. He leaned over David’s body — if he had opened his mouth, he could have begun sixty-nining, but of course, he was too straight to even think of that. He just plowed his cock down David’s throat.

Walter groaned and smacked his lips. His cock invaded David’s throat once more, this time with the musty flavor of saliva and the spicy-salty scent of precum joining the mixture. David gurgled and sucked it down the best he could.

“Ah, there you go… Your throat feels like my wife’s pussy,” Walter said softly, then he cackled so loud it echoed in the woods. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

David’s throat was full, of course, but he said yes the best he could. He was dizzy now from lack of oxygen. Since Walter was in charge of the speed and timing of this blowjob, he seemed to have completely forgotten that David required oxygen. He slammed his cock in until it wouldn’t go any farther, then he ignored David’s choking and sputtering and swayed his hips, grinding, pushing, slamming until he finally got his entire cock in David’s throat.

It felt like his neck was going to explode. David loved it. He could feel and taste every inch of Walter’s body in this position — he always felt that way when a man’s cock was inside him; his cock was the window to his soul. Even though David couldn’t see anything but the heavy, hairy balls throbbing in front of his eyes, David could sense and even taste the musty sweat trickling down Walter’s asscrack, the crackened skin of his whip-scarred back and even the moistness of his mouth and tongue as though they kissed.

“Hot hell, nigguh, if you want me in ya ass, I better do it now before I blow,” he said with a long, low groan. “Ya mouth is nicer than a junebug in July.”

He didn’t wait for David to respond, which was good because David was deliriously dizzy from lack of oxygen. He gasped when Walter finally pulled out of his throat, and he heaved for air. That made Walter chuckle, his cock twitching where it rested against David’s face.

“Yo’ ass ain’t virgin, is it?” Walter asked with a frown. He dragged David up and bent him over the same branch again. David was too weak to choose his own position, so he allowed Walter to lift his ass up and push his head down.

“No.”

“Good. Virgins is nice but I gotta go slow. My wife just ‘bout started crying on our wedding night,” he said. He sniffled like that memory made him sad. “And when Mastuh Salford tell me to plow down on some white man a couple years ago, he had me ragin’ on ‘ccount of him saying ‘slow down’ and shit.” He snarled. “I don’t like slowin’ down once I get started, nigguh.”

“You can fuck me hard,” David said. He had already slipped some modern lube on his ass, back before he found Walter — he always brought his own lube. He giggled.

“I know I can, nigguh,” Walter said. He snorted like an angry horse. He slipped one finger into David’s ass, sending a jolt of pain up his spine. That was followed up by an explosion of pleasure, which made David sigh. Walter chuckled. “You sound like Abraham. Open dat ass up, suh. Lemme in there.”

“Please, stick it in me, Walter, I need you inside me,” David said. Then he let out a cringing moan as his ass stretched to accommodate Walter’s cock.

Just the tip slid in first, and that was enough to make David lift his head and grunt. His face turned bright red as he struggled to accept it all. Walter was oblivious — just like with the blowjob, he seemed uncomfortable with the idea of watching. He kept his face pointed up, both avoiding looking and keeping an eye out for Mr. Salford or anyone else who might disturb them.

The pain grew worse, yet more distant so David could easily ignore it. He focused on the spark of pleasure that erupted deep in his ass when Walter’s cock tickled his prostate. That spark grew stronger with each thrust of Walter’s hips into him.

David groaned as another few inches slid inside, and the pressure grew unbearable. David bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He flailed and clawed at the ground underneath himself.

“Ah, god damn…”

Walter stopped moving and snarled. He slapped David’s asscheek, and the back of his head. “Hey! I don’t like blaspheming, suh. You get ahold of yaself.” His dick twitched inside David’s ass, making David squirm.

“Yeah, sorry, sure,” David said, his voice tight and pinched. Some more of Walter’s cock rammed in, and he grunted. His voice was ruddy and dark, eyes bugging out.

“You wanna bite on my arm? The missus say that help,” he said. He sniffled and leaned forward so he could wrap his arm around David’s face. That placed his thickest forearm right in front of David’s mouth. “You can bite hard. Won’t bother me none.”

David just enjoyed the taste and the feel of his corded-muscle arm. He rubbed his face against it like a cat, giggling while Walter stood still. Finally David’s ass adjusted to his cock, and Walter resumed humping.

Once again, mind-numbing pressure erupted in David’s mind, and he screamed — this time there was an orgasmic note in his scream, making David writhe and Walter chuckle.

“Reckon that helped,” Walter said as David began to gnaw on his forearm. When the pressure in his ass got too great, David couldn’t avoid biting down hard as though trying to rip his flesh off. As promised, however, Walter didn’t even seem to notice. He kept a tight watch on his surroundings, waiting for Mr. Salford to show back up.

After that, Walter’s balls slapped against David’s thighs as he humped more and more powerfully. He was entirely in David now, his massive rod stretching and pulling at David’s asshole. David couldn’t bear to accept such a huge dick, but he couldn’t bear to stop Walter either.

He wasn’t even aware that he was jacking himself off. He was so intently focused on the sensations tearing his ass apart that his own orgasm caught him by surprise. He grunted and moaned, clenching down hard on Walter’s dick.

That was enough to send Walter over the edge as well. While pangs of pleasure exploded in David’s body, Walter’s cavernous chest flexed. David writhed. Walter gasped.

Walter’s heavy chest pressed down on David, and they both spasmed together. David couldn’t breathe, both from intense pleasure and the dense mat of muscle weighing down his smooth back.

“Gonna fill you up now, suh… You got nice ass…”

Finally a wave of hot cum sprayed into David, torrent after torrent of creamy juice coating his body. As always, Walter’s load transformed David’s biting, electric orgasm into a slow-melting candle-like climax. David howled, and Walter even joined him, his deep baritone voice harmonizing with David’s uncontrollable tenor.

It was both one of the most intense and the longest-lasting orgasm David had ever experienced. Walter kept on spraying more and more cum, breathing heavily on David’s back as he filled him up with seed. He shot so much it dripped in great clumps between David’s legs.

“Alrighty then,” Walter said with a gasp. His chest was covered in even more sweat than it had been before they started fucking. David craned his head to the side so he could sneak his tongue out and lick up beads of salty sweat from Walter’s muscle.

Walter’s whole body went limp. His giant muscles were dead weight, pressing down on David and suffocating him. That lasted only a moment, however, before Walter rolled over.

The most incredible sensation of relief ever flooded David — his ass emptied, sending a tinge of post-orgasmic bliss through his body; he took a deep breath now that he wasn’t weighed down by Walter’s massive corpus.

And then it was all over. David was exhausted and couldn’t even think about getting up. He just laid there on his belly, his face close enough that he could snake his tongue out for a taste of the sweat that stuck to Walter’s upper thigh. Walter didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were closed, and he rested against the dead tree he had been trying to demolish.

Walter!

Walter swore and stood up. This time he didn’t try to conceal himself. He let his foot-long mandingo meat dangle between his legs, which made Mr. Salford grunt his disapproval.

Why ain’t ya wearin’ clothes, boy?

“I’s just relievin’ myself, suh,” Walter said. He flopped his cock between his fingers. “You know how it is wit’ meat like this. Takes me a few minutes.”

There’s an outhouse for you to use, Walter! This is a civilized plantation! You’re not back in Africa!

“Yessuh, Mr. Salford, I know. I ‘pologize mightily,” Walter said. He placed one hand on his own belly and pretended to hold back tears. “I ain’t mean to dis’ppoint you, nosirree! You been taught me a Christian lifestyle, and I’s real grateful-“

Well goddamn it, Walter, shut up and get to work. You don’t need to say you’re grateful, you can show it by doing your work!

Walter cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… Mr. Salford, you did promise Minister Tarant that you wouldn’t blaspheme so much-“

Fine! I apologize, Walter. Don’t tell my wife.

“Yessuh. I just would greatly ‘ppreciate it if you ain’t tempt my pagan ears wit’ blasphemy,” Walter said. “Sir.”

Get to work!

“Yessuh,” Walter said, then he softly added, “for now.” He looked at David, making intimate eye contact with him for the first time. “You got money for me, right?”

David handed it over as Mr. Salford left. Walter did some more work, lazily moving a few branches into the woods. He kept his britches off. When Mr. Salford was gone, he counted the money. He beamed brightly.

“Don’t tell no one ‘bout this,” Walter said. “I’m gonna leave this place wit’ e’rything valuable I can get.”

“Sure thing, Walter,” David said dreamily. He sat up. “Since you’re about to be a free man, I guess I should address you as sir. Sir.”

The Blacksmith’s Apprentice

Here’s the first chapter of The Blacksmith’s Apprentice, a new  yaoi novelette by Lee Lane Lamplight!

The streets of Tamworth were alive, and Stuckey feared he would soon be dead. There were several threats on his life right now. He was tired and cold and hungry, just to name three examples. But the most important immediate threat was the man with a knife, demanding his shoes.

Stuckey did not want to give up his shoes. He would catch his death of cold for sure. He didn’t have any money or anything else he could give the mugger instead.

“C’mon, mate, hand ‘em over,” said the mugger.

Stuckey felt tears roll down his cheek. This was not how he thought it would end. When his parents died a few years ago, he thought he was free — his father had been a tyrant, and a heavy drinker, for a long time — and he felt like the world was his oyster. Stuckey could go anywhere or do anything.

He soon learned, however, that that wasn’t true. No one’s options were more limited than the man who had nothing. Stuckey was only fourteen when his parents died, and he was eighteen now, a man by Mercian standards. Finding a place to sleep and enough food and water to survive took all day, and sometimes all night. Stuckey had no time for adventures, or to improve himself by finding an apprenticeship, nor even to woo a woman (not that Stuckey had any interest in women; he had simply never developed that way, for reasons he didn’t understand).

“I… I can’t give you my shoes, sir, I am already so cold-“

“I don’t care, hand them over, mate, or I’m gonna stab your heart out,” the mugger said through slitted teeth. He advanced on Stuckey, knife drawn.

Stuckey screamed. People often said he screamed like a girl, but there was nothing he could do about that, especially now. He was too scared to act macho. He squealed and stepped away.

“Please! I don’t have anything! My shoes are threadbare!”

“Hand them over, and I will inspect them. Or maybe I shan’t stab you, maybe I shall cut your feet off. I can laugh as you stumble on bloody stumps,” the mugger said with a guffaw. He smiled sickly at Stuckey.

And then he collapsed onto the ground in a limp heap. His neck was broken. Standing behind him was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a sleeveless tunic — not a real sleeveless tunic, but a normal tunic whose sleeves had been ripped off over time. His tunic barely covered his strapping chest either, because it was torn and scorched. He glanced at Stuckey, grunted and took one step away, then came back and looked at him again.

“Hi,” Stuckey said. This man made him nervous because he was so big. At more than six feet tall and maybe seventeen stone, if not more, he was a massive hulking giant of a man. He had a few burn scars over his neck and shoulders, and even on the side of his face.

He nodded at Stuckey. He seemed to be torn, like he wanted to walk away, but at the same time, didn’t want to leave.

“Thanks,” Stuckey said. “He was… He was going to kill me, I think. Even if I gave him my shoes…” He blinked back tears. “I would have died anyway. It is cold tonight. I can not be without shoes.”

“You have your shoes.”

“Yes, yes, thank you. I have them because of you,” Stuckey said. He wished he wasn’t crying. He looked like such a weakling most of the time. He wasn’t really that weak, he just cried a lot when he was upset or scared or even angry. People often assumed he was feminine in nature. They weren’t wrong, but he still didn’t like the assumption.

“You are… How old are you?” the man asked. His voice was achingly deep, so low it made Stuckey’s bones rattle.

“I am eighteen. My name is Stuckey.”

He grunted. “John. Big John.” He frowned. “You… You are too old to be an apprentice.”

“Yes, I know-“

“Be quiet.” He furrowed his brow. “But I will allow you to be my apprentice. I like the way you look. You look like a girl, but you have arms like a man. That is good.”

“Oh. John, okay, I see… I, uh… What do you do?”

“I’m a blacksmith,” he said. “Come. Or do not.” He turned around and left without waiting for another response.

Stuckey hesitated. He had long hoped he could get some sort of apprenticeship, but everyone considered him too old — apprenticeships were supposed to begin at around thirteen years of age, not eighteen. By now, Stuckey was already expected to have begun his adult life and family. He should be striking out on his own, not only just now finding an apprenticeship.

And he had no aptitude for blacksmithing. Stuckey knew nothing about it. He didn’t think his arms were as impressive as Big John did, though he did recognize that his arms were more muscular than the rest of his body. That was because Stuckey’s late father had always demanded he exercise his body, and the exercises he focused on the most were always based on improving his arm strength, so he could swing a sword. Every time Stuckey felt cold and lonely, he exercised and remembered how glad he was to be rid of his father.

Of course there was no question. When Stuckey saw Big John walking away, he saw all of his options disappearing — or rather, his only option, walking away, leaving him behind to freeze to death.

So he followed. “Thanks, uh, Big John. I really… I’ve been living in the woods, and in the streets, uh… for a long time.” Stuckey’s voice trailed off because it wasn’t clear whether or not Big John was listening.

So Stuckey walked the rest of the way in silence. He was entranced by the sight of Big John’s hefty muscles shifting as he walked, as though he was too tired to carry his own body. He finally reached his smithy, a small hut on the outskirts of Tamworth, well away from other structures so it wouldn’t cause a conflagration if it caught flame.

It was a one-room hut, with one door, one forge, one hearth, one straw bed that looked barely big enough for Big John by himself. So, it seemed, Stuckey was going to be sleeping on the floor.

Oh well, I’ve slept in the rough before.

He quietly sat down, while Big John checked on his forge. He explained that he kept it warm all the time. Even when it wasn’t in use, it was easier to keep embers going then to restart the forge from scratch every time he needed to. Making it hot enough to forge iron required substantial time and energy. Starting from cold was very difficult.

“But we will do no work tonight. It is almost nightfall,” Big John said after explaining Stuckey’s responsibilities. It was already too dark to do anything significant. Stuckey wanted to seem useful, so he swept up the floor and picked up the strewing herbs that had been strewn  eons ago. They were now good for nothing but some extra fuel for the fire.

Soon Big John was stripped to his breeches, which were threadbare and filthy. They barely covered up his bulging manhood. Stuckey had trouble taking his eyes from it. He wanted a taste so bad he drooled a little.

But he didn’t think Big John would allow anything like that. Big macho men like him rarely tolerated men like Stuckey. Stuckey remained convinced that this was only a temporary arrangement — Big John would not allow a “lavender” man to work for him. Once he found out what Stuckey was, Stuckey would be back out on the streets.

“Can I… rub your shoulders, Big John?” Stuckey said. He didn’t wait for a response, knowing that large men like him would be reluctant to ask for succor. So Stuckey just planted his hands on Big John’s shoulders and rubbed them.

His muscles were bigger than anyone Stuckey had ever seen. Touching him was even more impressive than looking at him, because his shoulders were scorching hot like the forge, tingling, firm like iron after it was forged. His muscles bulged and pulsated beneath Stuckey’s fingertips.

“There are… other duties,” Big John said. He bit his lip and groaned, the first real expression of emotion he had made since Stuckey met him. Big John sighed. “There are other duties that are expected of an apprentice. Some masters force their apprentices to… do certain things. I do not require you to behave in that manner.”

“Oh…” Stuckey had a feeling he knew what “other duties” were, and they had nothing to do with blacksmithing. Stuckey wanted to do it more than anything, but now that the possibility was before him, Stuckey wanted to not do it just as bad.

He wanted to touch and lick and feel every inch of Big John’s muscles. But if he did it now, he would be seen as a man of loose morals. He would be the kind of man who does those things in exchange for a place to sleep. He would be little better than a prostitute. Even just waiting one day would prove that he didn’t need to do it, and Stuckey wanted very badly to not need it.

“Well then I will just rub your shoulders,” Stuckey said, “until you are ready for bed. I shall sleep on the floor.”

A long awkward silence filled the air, while Stuckey massaged the meat of Big John’s shoulder. Finally Big John snorted and grunted. “Fine. Yes. You will just rub my shoulders. I do not require anything else of my apprentice.” He stood and went to his bed. Since he didn’t wait for Stuckey to finish the massage, he knocked Stuckey over when he stood.

“Oh. I guess that’s it. Alright. Well, good night. Thanks again, for taking me in.”

“I do not require anything of you at night.” He paused. “I am not that kind of master. It is your choice.” It looked like wanted desperately for Stuckey to make a particular choice.

“Yes.” Stuckey smiled. “I am glad that it is my choice. I shall sleep on the floor.”

He bristled. “Fine.” He got down on his bunk and sprawled out the best he could in the tiny space he had available. His eyes closed.

Stuckey sat there watching him for a long time. Big John seemed to fall asleep almost right away. Stuckey was too scared to offend him to check if he was really asleep or not.

Eventually Stuckey drifted off into a fitless sleep by himself there on the floor. He didn’t have any blankets and he didn’t ask for any from Big John. He was close enough to the forge that it wasn’t very cold, though the floor of the smithy’s hut was quite chilly. It was still warmer than sleeping outside.

Stuckey woke up around dawn. There was a blanket over him, Big John must have placed it there in the night. Stuckey sat up. He always woke up at dawn. When you lived on the streets of Tamworth, it was always wise to be awake when the sun was up. Of course, it was wise to be awake when the sun was down too.

Big John’s giant chest rattled as he breathed deeply in his sleep. He had no blanket, but he was a big man, well-insulated, and he was up higher on his bed, so he was not as cold. He did look chilly though. He had draped his tunic over his body. His muscles quivered.

Stuckey sat on the edge of his bunk. He hadn’t decided to do anything yet, not until this moment. When his fingers touched Big John’s thick warm bicep, Stuckey knew what he wanted to do. He draped the warm woolen blanket over John’s body, then Stuckey climbed under it as well.

Big John stirred. The bunk was much too small for two people to be separate on it, but Stuckey didn’t want them to be separate. Big John’s flesh was chilled, and the air outside the blanket was cold. But beneath the blanket, the air was warm, and heating up fast.

Stuckey gently rubbed Big John’s chest with one hand, while his other hand roamed down to his belly.

His cock twitched as soon as Stuckey touched it. It throbbed in his hand, and Stuckey let out a little moan. He didn’t know what Big John wanted from him, so he kept it slow and gentle. He stroked Big John’s massive body, criss-crossed with scars, as though it was delicate and easily broken. He used light fingers and a soft touch, teasing and caressing his manhood.

Finally it was clear that Big John was awake, but his eyes were still closed like he wanted to pretend he was asleep. Stuckey moaned a little, quietly, his free hand massaging Big John’s chest muscles. They were tense like a statue at first, but they relaxed and smoothed as Stuckey massaged him.

Both men’s breathing grew ragged and irregular. Stuckey tasted a few beads of fresh sweat that collected on Big John’s arm. He was glad he had waited until this morning — it was better now, since both he and Big John knew it was happening because they both wanted it, not because Stuckey was told to do it. All of Big John’s muscles tensed into rigid, firm blocks of unyielding flesh.

At last a long, low rumbling moan escaped from Big John’s lips. Big John’s massive arm snaked up and grabbed Stuckey by the head. He didn’t force anything, but he did pull Stuckey up so they could kiss. Still, Big John’s eyes were closed. Their lips collided, tongues teasing each other in Big John’s cavernous mouth.

Hot juices flew from his cock and sprayed over his chest and belly. Stuckey’s mouth traveled down Big John’s face and chin, until he got to his chest. He licked every drop of Big John’s salty manhood off his quivering muscles, while Big John moaned and grunted beneath his touch.

When he was done, Big John again pretended to be sound asleep. Stuckey didn’t mind. He enjoyed nuzzling Big John’s muscles as he settled into the tiny bed. He clutched Big John’s body for support since he was right on the edge of the bed. He felt safe. For the first time since his parents died, Stuckey felt safe and secure.

And he slept. Again it was a first since his parent’s death, his first real calming sleep. He didn’t just doze, he slept and he rested and he recovered, and he awoke refreshed, basking in the clean sweat and warm glow of Big John’s body.

By then Big John was awake, but he hadn’t moved, not wanting to awaken Stuckey. So Stuckey had fallen asleep cuddling with Big John who pretended to be asleep, and he awoke to Big John laying quietly as though he was asleep.

“Good. You are awake. It is time for work to begin.”

Holiday Trade: Santa Is a Stripper!

Here’s the entirety of Holiday Trade: Santa Is a Stripper!, a hot new story from the Holiday Trade series.

Martin loved his nieces. They were beautiful little girls, and he wanted to spend as much time with them as possible.

But he did not want to attend their Christmas party. It sounded boring, and not only that, but since Martin was a cool, funny, outgoing gay uncle, his nieces would mob him, demanding he do silly voices and give them piggyback rides as soon as he got there.

It was, unfortunately, difficult to avoid because Martin lived above the garage at the same house as his sister, her husband and their two daughters. So he was invited and he heard the little girls running around excitedly with their friends (the idea of spending time with more than a dozen little girls sounded exhausting; just thinking about it made Martin want to take a nap).

That was, after all, the nice thing about not having kids — you didn’t have to spend time with them when you didn’t feel like it. Today was definitely a day when Martin didn’t feel like it.

But it would be rude not to go at all. It was the day before Christmas Eve after all. He needed to make an appearance. He decided to bring his Christmas presents for the girls. They were all wrapped and ready to go, so he could put them under the tree and his nieces would forget that he wasn’t at the party — the only thing they would remember was that Uncle Martin had brought them their presents.

He was just about to head down there when he saw a ramshackle Chevrolet pull up outside. A man in a Santa costume got out and headed for the door.

Martin put his presents down. He didn’t want to compete for attention with a Santa. He scoffed — when his sister first got pregnant, she said that she was not going to fritter away money on nonsense, and here she was throwing a child’s Christmas party (which isn’t even a tradition) and hire a Santa for it, when they could just go to the mall and do the same thing for nearly free. Sounds like money frittered away on nonsense to me. But then, Martin’s sister had also sworn that she wouldn’t buy her daughters “girls’ toys”, and that lasted until her eldest daughter was old enough to ask for specific toys. Martin’s sister had sworn she wouldn’t let them wear makeup until they were sixteen, and they started playing with makeup last year, when the youngest was only eight.

Not that Martin really cared about any of these things, he just thought it was funny that his big tough sister fell victim to marketing pretty much as soon as her ideals were tested.

Soon Martin stopped hearing the Santa’s ho-ho-ho — whoever it was, he had a great deep booming Santa-voice — and heard the now-familiar tune of the Frozen soundtrack.

He went downstairs and headed over to the main house. That must mean the Santa was done. Martin hadn’t seen him leave yet and his car was still out front, but the show seemed to be done. Martin could hang out with the adults until the movie was over, then make a big show of bringing the girls’ presents to the tree. It wouldn’t take very long and he’d look awesome in front of his nieces.

Martin’s sister and a few other moms were in the kitchen. He came through to say hello. The girls sang along to the movie in the other room. Santa was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, hi, Martin, merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Happy holidays!”

Groans emanated from some of the other moms. Martin wasn’t interested in quibbling over “holidays” vs “Christmas”, so he just smiled and nodded and small-talked with them until he thought he had done enough.

“What happened to Santa?”

“Oh, the girls got a little over-excited. There was some throw-up,” Martin’s sister said with a wry smile. “He’s taking a shower.”

“A merry, jolly North Pole shower?”

“No, a normal shower in our bathroom,” she said. The other moms giggled. “I think he might need some men’s clothes, something to wear under the Santa suit. Probably just a t-shirt or something. Do you have anything? You know… that might fit him?” She was a little awkward because her tremendously overweight husband was in the next room, watching football. He pretended he wasn’t sensitive about his weight, but he was.

“Your husband’s clothes…? I just thought… You know… Santa?” Martin pantomimed a large belly.

“Oh no, this Santa’s not fat. He’s got a fatsuit on,” said one of the other moms. “I think he might be hot. I didn’t see him without the fatsuit and the big beard, but I think under all that, Santa might be a hottie.” The women all giggled, the same sound their daughters were generating in the next room. Females, Martin thought, are so annoying.

He went upstairs. He didn’t think he would likely find Santa all that hot. Middle-aged housewives did not have good taste in men, Martin had discovered that on several occasions.

He knocked on the bathroom door. The shower was running, so he opened the door just a crack. “Hey, uh, I live next door, man, do you need some clothes?! I can give you some of mine if you need it!”

The shower turned off. “What?” A handsome man’s face appeared poking through the shower curtain.

“Oh, hi, I’m Martin…” His voice trailed off because this Santa was hotter than he had any right to be. He had a thick shock of black hair, a square jaw and deep, dark eyes. He looks like the hero on the cover of a fantasy novel, Martin thought to himself.

“Uh… Hi, Martin,” he said. “I’m Jeff.”

“Hi.” Martin blushed. “Uh… My sister said you got thrown up on? Did you need some clothes? They uh… They said you might fit in my clothes, but you definitely won’t. They don’t know men’s sizes I guess. What are you, like six and a half feet tall?”

“Almost.” He smiled, flashing deep dimples. “I’m six-four.”

“Cool. Cool.” Martin blushed even deeper. “Sorry, I, uh… Did you want to come look at my clothes? I might have something that fits you.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks, I really just need a t-shirt. That fat suit is uncomfortable without a shirt on underneath, and my shirt is vomity. I just need something I can get on, you know, it doesn’t have to fit right.”

“Okay, well, come on over to the garage then,” Martin said. “I’ll go see what the biggest shirt I have is.”

He felt giddy as he hurried out to the garage again. Martin loved straight guys — that Santa was clearly straight — and he often managed to suck them off. He was beginning to think that Santa was a potential conquest.

He knew exactly what his biggest t-shirt was, because a different rough trade conquest had left it here after a July 4 party — Martin loved holidays, and most of his best sexual experiences with straight men came during or after a holiday party. He had sucked off a fireworks man, a big tough redneck who had left his sweaty t-shirt here. Martin sniffed it and jacked off for a month or so, then accidentally washed it.

It was about four sizes too big for Martin. It would probably be a bit big for Jeff too, but not cavernously large like Martin’s brother-in-law’s shirts would be. Martin hid it at the bottom of his dresser drawer so he wouldn’t accidentally “find” it before he had a chance to work on Jeff.

There was a knock at the door. Martin let Jeff in, his jaw agape — Jeff wore dingy old basketball shorts, sneakers and little else, aside from a dog tag. There was a military-looking tattoo on his bicep as well, a bald eagle flying with a rifle in its talons.

“Oh, are you a soldier?”

“Not anymore. I got out of the Army last year,” he said.

“And now you bring presents to all the children at Christmas? That’s super,” Martin said with a giggle. He started to make a show of looking through his own shirts, all of which were way too small for Jeff’s broad shoulders and chest.

He smiled. “I’m actually… Don’t tell your sister this, some people don’t like the idea of children’s entertainers who are… well, I’m a stripper,” he said. “That’s what I was doing until Christmas. Still am, but Santa gigs pay better now, and anyway I can do kids parties during the day and still strip at night.”

“Oh, that is so cool! You’re so hot, you should be a stripper! I’d have suggested it if you didn’t say it!”

He grinned wanly. “Yeah, well… so if you have any, you know… parties, you know that, uh… I’m gay-friendly, just so you know.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“I mean, I do gay parties, if you want. I’m not gay. I don’t do anything gay. I just, you know… Well, I rub my dick on guys’ faces, that’s pretty gay. I guess I do some gay things. But I’m not gay. I don’t do any of, you know… the really gay… very gay stuff. I only do, you know… I dance. I’m a good dancer,” he said. He blushed. “That’s all. I’m a good dancer.”

Martin sat down in his computer chair. He withdrew a twenty-dollar bill and tucked it into the waistband of Jeff’s shorts. “Prove it.”

Jeff blushed a little deeper red. He looked around. Martin got the feeling he had never given a man a lapdance outside of a crowded party. But Jeff took a deep breath and snapped his hips to one side, making his massive cock shake and bulge in the shorts he wore. He clearly didn’t have on any underwear beneath that.

A pounding house music beat filled the air. That helped Jeff a lot, and he danced around the room for a few seconds to get into the rhythm of it. Martin watched his back muscles writhe.

“You ready?” Jeff asked, flashing his dimples. He backed up to Martin, who was still seated so Jeff’s ass was around his face level. Martin’s cock rocketed to attention. The fact that Jeff hadn’t prepared to strip today actually made him hotter — dirty basketball shorts were hotter than contrived stripper clothes; the faint layer of chest hair that hadn’t been shaved yet even extended just barely over his shoulder; his natural musk was only barely covered up by deodorant — he no doubt wore cologne when he stripped, but he assumed no one would notice through the fatsuit. All those things were hotter than any polished Hollywoodized stripper.

His asscheeks flexed, one after the other, in front of Martin’s face. Martin inhaled deeply of the sweaty scent and moaned loudly, giggling. That made Jeff laugh too — it was clearly forced; he was in agreeable-stripper-mode — and Martin even tried to tease those shorts down before Jeff batted his hands away.

“No touching the stripper,” Jeff said.

Martin was expecting that. He slipped a hundred dollar bill into Jeff’s hand.

“Oh, well… Thanks,” Jeff said. He blushed.

Martin dove his face between Jeff’s buttcheeks. He inhaled deeply and licked the fabric of those shorts. Jeff grunted and laughed with a nervous tremor to his voice.

“I bet you could use more money,” Martin said. He pulled down Jeff’s shorts, revealing perfectly plump, pink cheeks. He kissed each one, making Jeff yelp and laugh again. Martin smiled. “How about two thousand dollars?”

“What?”

“Fuck me,” Martin said. He patted Jeff on the left asscheek. Jeff turned around. He covered his bare crotch with both hands, shorts around his ankles. With his arms over the center of his body, his pecs were bunched together, making Martin so horny he wanted to burst.

“What?!”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me I’m the first gay guy to offer!”

He shrugged. “Well, uh… No, I guess you’re not. But you’re the first one to be serious! They, uh… I mean, at parties they make jokes, but…”

Martin giggled. “Oh, Jeff… What do they teach you in the Army? Gay guys are rarely serious, but I can assure you those gay guys were serious at that time. They made it like a joke because you were more comfortable that way. It meant you could say no and not get awkward, you could just shrug it off. If you said yes, they would pay you.”

“They would?”

“Well, I can’t vouch for all gay dudes. I’m sure some would trick you and not pay. You gotta use some discretion,” Martin said. “But I’ll definitely pay you.”

“Oh… Uh… Okay. Yeah, fine,” he said. He closed his eyes. “Whatever. Fine. Yeah. I’ll do it. You gotta hurry though, they’re gonna want me back there when Frozen is done.”

“Well, then get to dancing,” Martin said.

Jeff took a deep breath and resumed his strip show. He shook his ass in front of Martin’s face, then turned around — his shorts were already around his ankles, so there wasn’t much stripping in this strip show. He simply wasn’t wearing enough clothes to strip.

But he did dance. He had a nice hefty cock that flopped between his legs. Martin switched the house music to a techno-Christmas album, and Jeff danced to a dubstep version of Little Drummer Boy. He even air-drummed like a drummer boy, and the sight of his bulging biceps made Martin’s dick so hard it was about to burst.

He beckoned Jeff, who gulped and approached. Martin grabbed his cock. Jeff winced and closed his eyes. He stood there with his hands on his hips, as far away from Martin’s chair as he could be while still being close enough for Martin to grab his dick.

Martin pulled. Jeff came closer, and closed his eyes again when his dick disappeared down Martin’s throat.

“Ah… alright…” Jeff grunted. As soon as he began, he seemed to lose a lot of his inhibitions — many straight guys reacted that way, as though they thought a gay blowjob was going to be painful and were surprised when it felt more or less the same as a straight blowjob. Jeff’s face was bright red. “Wow, okay… You, uh… you suck dick pretty good.”

Martin already knew that, but he liked to hear it again. He rammed his nose all the way down deep in Martin’s crotch, nuzzling his pubic hair — which was mostly shaved. He inhaled deeply of that masculine musk.

In no time, Jeff’s cock was rock-hard and throbbing in Martin’s mouth. Jeff gasped and writhed. He moved like he hadn’t gotten a blowjob in a long time, and it took every ounce of concentration to keep himself from blowing a load embarrassingly quickly.

Wanting to be throat-fucked, Martin dragged Jeff’s hands up to his head. But Jeff just gripped his scalp and held on.

“You can fuck my throat,” Martin said, wiping up all that drool that dripped past his lips. He licked Jeff’s cockshaft, making his whole body shake as Jeff moaned.

“Oh… I, uh… I don’t know… I mean, I know what that is, but uh…” Jeff blushed. “I don’t know how…”

“What? Really? Don’t you and your fellow soldiers spend your leave banging whores? Don’t tell me you make sweet love to them and lick their pussies all night long?”

“Ew, no! No way! I don’t do that, man! No way! I don’t do prostitutes!” he looked genuinely shocked. “I mean, some guys in my unit… I’m not like that, man. You can be discharged for that. They’ll court-martial you in a heartbeat. I’m not into… I’m Christian, okay? I mean… things are different now. It was… I’m only doing this for the money. It’s not lust. That’s a sin.” He paused and bit his lip. “It’s not greed either, okay? It’s… It just makes fiscal sense. I can make more money this time of year if- Nevermind, I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“That’s right, quit talking and fuck my throat!”

A strangled choking moan escaped from Jeff’s lips as he drilled his dick down Martin’s throat. He gasped and gulped. Jeff’s throat was somehow louder than Martin’s, even as Martin gagged uncontrollably and allowed his throat to be drilled.

Jeff may have been too nice to ever throat-fuck anyone before, but he was tough enough and macho enough that it came easily to him. In no time, his balls swung against Martin’s chin, and Jeff grunted while precum flowed like a river down Martin’s throat.

The creamy, salty taste of his precum made Martin moan. This was already shaping up to be his best Christmas encounter ever, and Christmas hadn’t even come yet this year.

“Okay, I’m gonna bust in a minute…” Jeff said. He pulled away. His face was bright red. His hands flailed above his spasming cock as he struggled to avoid blowing his load just yet. Martin watched and giggled. Precum flowed thickly down his shaft, and Martin licked it off, making Jeff shake like he was in pain.

Then Martin turned around and lifted his ass in the air. The sight of a man’s ass seemed to make Jeff’s erection die just a little bit, enough to bring him back from the bring of orgasm anyway. He hyperventilated as he approached Martin’s ass. He grimaced and wedged his dick between Martin’s cheeks.

“Okay, I, uh… I’ve never done this,” he said. “So you gotta tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”

“Sure thing, baby,” Martin said. He paused. “Wait, does that mean you have gotten a blowjob from a man before?”

He chuckled. “It wasn’t my fault. She was dressed like a woman. I mean, he was dressed like a woman. The guys in my unit said they had all gotten blowjobs from her. But it was just a prank. I was drunk. It was a dark alley,” he said. “I didn’t notice she was, you know… a he.” He sounded defense. “He had tits. Real tits, or I mean… maybe not real, but they weren’t just tissues stuffed in a bra. Transgender, I guess. Pre-op.”

“Transgenders don’t count, just so you know,” Martin said. Then he backed his ass up. He rubbed his hole against Jeff’s cock.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never gotten a blowjob from a man. You got a blowjob from a transgender woman. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He reached behind himself to aim Jeff’s cock for the whole. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it either way. I’m just saying…”

“So my friends can’t call me a… can’t insult my sexuality?”

“You were going to say faggot, weren’t you?”

“I don’t call anyone that. I think that’s wrong. You can get court-martialed for that too. It’s hateful language, it’s against the UCMJ,” he said.

“Well, your friends should not call you a faggot. Or make fun of you for a blowjob you got. Or trick you into getting blowjobs from transgender people. Or get you to have sex when you’re drunk. They shouldn’t do anything of those things. It sounds like they just did everything wrong,” Martin said. “You said you wanted to hurry this up, right? Let’s not talk about your friends. Just fuck me.”

“Ah…” Jeff gasped at the sight of his cocktip already in Martin’s ass. He had been so focused on telling Martin about the transgender-blowjob that he didn’t even notice that Martin had already gotten him started. Jeff bucked his hips and smiled at the feel of Martin’s tight ass squeezing around his cock.

One of Martin’s hands wrapped around his own dick, while Martin lowered his head and raised his ass. The sound of little girls screaming filled the air outside — Frozen must be finished.

“We better hurry for real then,” Martin said. He slammed his ass back, grimacing as most of Jeff’s cock slipped in. Jeff gasped. He had a big enough cock that he wasn’t used to anyone taking his entire shaft so easily.

He was still so shocked and overwhelmed by all that was happening that Jeff did little more than stand there. His rock-hard dick filled Martin’s ass up, but all of the motion came from Martin sliding back and forth. Martin didn’t mind — he enjoyed being a power bottom, and it was funny to watch a big macho soldier like Jeff react with such intense anxiety. Jeff watched his cock disappear inside Martin with his eyes wide open, as though he was constantly surprised and elated that his manhood wasn’t chopped off inside Martin’s body.

It was only right before his orgasm hit him that Jeff finally relaxed. He grimaced and gripped Martin by the hip with one hand, and by the shoulder with the other. He held on tight and slammed his dick in one time. He grunted loudly.

“Oh fuck, don’t move, man, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he said over and over like he was panicking. Then he moved quickly, gyrating his hips and plowing Martin’s ass hard.

He groaned and grunted. His whole body twisted, muscles all flexing at once. He collapsed onto the ground atop Martin, his heavy Army muscles writhing above Martin’s head. He fucked a few more times, humping his dick deep in Martin’s ass in sync with the pounding bass beat of the stripper-music that still hadn’t ended.

Hot cum flowed into Martin’s ass, huge arcing jets of it that crept through Martin’s body. The warmth of his cum spread on his skin and through his veins, flowing throughout his body until Martin could feel and taste creamy cum over every inch of him.

Martin shot his own load as well, getting most of it on the floor. Jeff didn’t seem to notice. He kept on pumping his own wad deep into Martin’s ass, ending only when he got every last drop out. Jeff sighed.

“Wow,” he said. He was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by Martin’s cell phone dinging to say he had gotten a text message.

Overwhelmed by the pressure in his ass, Martin struggled to pick up the phone. Jeff didn’t move yet, just kept his limpening dick inside Martin’s tight ass. His hot breath condensed on the back of Martin’s neck.

U suck him off?! He is santa not yr playtoy bring him back girls want santa. Gross.

“My sister says you need to go back. The girls want Santa,” Martin said.

He nodded and pulled away. Potent relief flooded Martin, who sighed and sprawled out on the floor. He lazily wrote out a check for Jeff before typing a response to his sister.

Don’t be jealous sis. His cum tastes like peppermint so it is still holiday-appropriate. Deck yr own halls.

Jeff hurriedly got dressed again. He had put the fatsuit in the garage, so he walked out of Martin’s apartment above it wearing just those shorts again, putting on Martin’s t-shirt as he went. “Thanks!” he called out.

“No. Thank you,” Martin said. “Can you bring those presents there over?” he pointed to the pile in the corner. “They’re for my nieces. Tell them they’re early presents from the North Pole. Or whatever, make up your own story.”

“Yeah, sure, good idea.” He seemed relieved — that would explain where he was, it was a good excuse. He didn’t know Martin’s sister had already guessed what was happening.

“See you later, Jeff. Remember — those gay dudes are not joking. You can make money letting them suck you off.”

He blushed with the undersized t-shirt half-on his chest. He pulled it down and cleared his throat. “Sweet. Okay. Thanks,” he said. “Yeah, I guess… I should’ve figured that out. Thanks. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Santa!”

BW/AM – The Yakuza

Here’s the entirety of BW/AM – The Yakuza, a hot new tale of interracial black woman and asian man action! It’s part of The Smoothest Fruit!

Shelly had never done anything this reckless. It was ridiculous, preposterous, really. She could die. There were hundreds of ways this could end badly for her, and only one way it could end well.

But she was determined to do it. She didn’t care how it ended. This idea had been dominating her mind for so long, she just wanted to do it and get it over with.

Yomazawa was a nondescript restaurant in Midtown East, in Manhattan. It was a strange place for a nondescript restaurant. All the other restaurants in the area were ritzy, fancy, blessed by celebrity chefs and Michelin stars.

But not Yomazawa. It was quiet and small. It rarely had more than a handful of customers.

That’s because it was a front for the yakuza. Shelly’s younger brother was a cop and had told her that it was an open secret. The yakuza didn’t even do anything illegal here — the police suspected they used the restaurant as a meeting place and to launder cash illegally obtained in Japan. The NYPD had no way to prove that and no way to do anything about it even if they did prove it. So the restaurant was more or less tolerated.

Shelly wasn’t concerned about the law. As she strode into the restaurant that day, she was glad to see that some important-looking men were gathered there. They sat at a long table, sipping quietly from bowls of soup. There were bodyguards too, muscley men with square jaws and scars and colorful tattoos peeking out from underneath their clothes.

Judging from the looks on their faces, no one expected to see a middle-aged black woman come storming into the restaurant. They looked at her as though they assumed she had made a mistake and would walk right back out to find her actual destination. But Shelly had walked by a hundred times, and she knew exactly where she was.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, heart beating through her chest. “My name is Shelly. It’s so nice to meet you all. Who speaks English? Raise your hands.”

A few of the men raised their hands. Neither of the bodyguards did, but Shelly was sure that at least one of them did — he was who she was after. She’d overheard him speak on the street in flawless English (all he said was yes, sir, but his accent was impeccable).

“Well, I know that all of you are members of the yakuza. You probably hate it when Americans say the yakuza are the Japanese mafia. I know, I know, it’s a different culture and all that. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. I’m not a cop.” You’re rambling, Shelly, be quiet.

“Miss…?” One of the men cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to say hello,” she said. “I know it’s a hassle to have someone like me come in here, interrupting you when you’re trying to eat your soap. What is that? Miso soup? Right? I love miso soup.”

“Ma’am, if you would like a bowl of soup, we are a restaurant. You can simply order one,” said one of the waiters. He gently tried to guide her towards a table.

“Oh, no, I’m not here for soup,” she said. “I’m sorry to make a scene. I didn’t really want to interrupt you. I just figured your bodyguard here wouldn’t be allowed to leave the table unless I gave you all a very good reason. So I wanted to explain-“

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

The bodyguard she had pointed to straightened his back. His eyes were opened wide. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a nervous stammer. He wore a Western-style suit badly, like he wasn’t used to it. He was a hefty man, muscles brimming beneath the suit. His biceps and pecs flexed nervously.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Kamitsu,” he said.

“Well, Kamitsu, I’d really like to have sex with you,” she said. She blushed. She had never been this forward with a man. “I want to take you into the bathroom so that you can rock my world six ways to Sunday. I’m sorry, that was two different idioms mixed up. You probably didn’t catch my meaning. I want you to fuck me, in a diversity of ways.”

A long silence filled the restaurant. The bodyguards, yakuza and waiters all stared at her like she was crazy.

“So if you want to kill me for interrupting your crime-talk or whatever, I guess go ahead. Just let Kamitsu fuck me first.”

One of the older men loudly slurped his soup as though nothing was happening. No one said anything.

Finally another one of the older men cleared his throat. “We were not discussing crime. We were discussing… regulatory issues. We will not kill you for interrupting a meeting. We are not animals like the Italian Mafia,” he said. He bowed his head to her. “We are not yakuza anyway, ma’am.”

“We import soybeans,” said another man.

“Yes,” said a third. “That is all. Who told you we are yakuza?”

“Oh, I guess I’ve just been watching too many movies,” she said with a giggle. “I guess if you’re not yakuza, then your friend here can simply decide to walk away and fuck me in the bathroom here. He’s just a friend, I suppose, so you have no control over him, right? Kamitsu?”

Kamitsu blushed. He shifted his weight between his feet. He was clearly not used to being the center of attention.

“We do not wish to…” the older man who had spoke first sighed. “Nevermind. You may… It is rude to discuss such matters at the table. You may take Kamitsu into the back and tell him what you wish. Be quick.”

She giggled and squealed. She hurried to Kamitsu and wrapped her hands around his big muscular body. “Oh my god! You’re not going to be mad at Kamitsu, are you? He didn’t know anything about this.”

“Ma’am, just go, please. We will not blame him. We have much to discuss, and we must return to matters of business..”

She led Kamitsu away from the table. Two waiters stood there by the door to the kitchen — it looked like those two waiters were the only employees — and watched her drag Kamitsu by the chest. Kamitsu didn’t actually resist, since he was obviously much stronger than her, but he did drag his feet a little.

“Well, Kamitsu,” she said as she pulled him into the women’s bathroom — with all men in the yakuza and only two employees, both of them male, the women’s bathroom looked like it had never been used. The soap and the toilet paper was still in a package, never opened. “I want you to fuck me. I want to suck your dick, and I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, yes!” he exclaimed as though he hadn’t realized he was supposed to say yes or no. “I mean… I guess… if you want. I have, uh… I have never been with a black woman.”

“Well, we do it the same as anyone else. We just do it more rhythmically,” she said. She laughed at her own joke, but Kamitsu just furrowed his brow. She smiled. “Nevermind,” she said. She hopped up onto his chest and mounted him. She kissed him on the lips.

Lowering herself to her knees in front of him, Shelly giggled again. She caught a whiff of his scent and was unbelievably aroused — he smelled musky, like a man but a little different than she was used to; he smelled both cleaner and dirtier than either white or black men: dirty like the forest floor but clean like crisp forest air. She inhaled deeply of his scent as she unzipped his fly.

His cock flopped out, and Shelly smiled at the sight of its substantial thickness. She hadn’t really been worried Kamitsu would end up having a tiny stereotypically-Asian dick, but it was still nice to see it was not just fine, but big enough to be a challenge.

She kissed the tip. Kamitsu’s whole body trembled like he was so nervous he wanted to fall to the ground. He groaned. His cock twitched beneath her lips.

“You taste good,” she said. She stroked his cock as she sucked on the tip, and soon enough it was as hard as Kamitsu’s muscles. She deep-throated it the best she could. Kamitsu grunted, his arms stiff and at his side like he had to fight against his urge to move around. “You can touch me,” she said. But he ignored her.

Shelly giggled once more. She had thought the yakuza were sexy for a long time, and this sort of stony-faced machismo was precisely why. She liked to make it a challenge for Kamitsu, so she flopped his cock against her face and laughed at the suppressed surprise she saw dancing in his eyes. She slathered spit along the shaft and gulped down every drop of precum he let trickle out.

Finally she was ready to move on. It felt like he was going to blow his load soon, and she wasn’t quite ready for him to be finished. So she stood up and kissed his chest through the suit he hadn’t yet taken off.

He moved his hands to touch her for the first time since they had begun. He caressed her tits through her clothes, gently at first, then more firmly when she didn’t complain. He leaned his head down to kiss her on the lips, and their tongues interlocked in her mouth.

She turned around. She leaned over the sink and stuck her ass in the air. There was an oddly floral scent here — the soap in the unopened package; it had Japanese writing on it, and it smelled like something she didn’t recognize. It must be some fruit we don’t have here (it smelled vagely cucumbery, but it wasn’t cucumber), she thought to herself.

He undid his suit very carefully and slowly. She rubbed her ass against his bare cock, then guided it between her legs so it rested on her pussy. He took off his tie and shirt and undershirt, folding all of them and placing them on the back of the toilet.

Shelly couldn’t help but lean her head back to kiss him on the chest. He had a broad, fat-free torso, like a professional wrestler, but his was tattooed with a Japanese flag, smiling geishas, circling koi, birds Shelly didn’t recognize and symbols she didn’t know (not kanji, she would have recognized that). Every inch of his body was tattooed except for the parts that would be visible in clothes — his hands, neck and face were clear and unmarked.

It was only when he gripped her shoulder and held on tight to guide his dick into her pussy that she noticed his fingers. His left pinkie finger had been sliced off, seemingly deliberately since the cut was smooth and perfect though the scar suggested that the wound had been stitched inexpertly.

“What happened to your finger?” she asked as he slid his cock in. He grunted and moaned, pangs of pleasure shooting up her body. But she was determined to know. She took his hand in hers and sucked on his middle finger, then his other fingers until the only finger left was the missing one. She kissed his stump and asked him again.

“It was… a mistake. On my part. I made a mistake.”

“Like an accident?”

“No. It was not accident. I made an error in judgement,” he said. “That is all I will say.” He grabbed her chin and brusquely made her face him, so he could kiss her. It was another passionate, heady kiss even though Shelly suspected he only did it to make her stop asking questions.

His cock slid deeply into her, and Shelly’s clitoris came alive. She moaned, biting her lip, clawing at the sink beneath her. His shaft touched every inch of her womanhood, stimulating it and sending wave after wave of increasing pleasure through her body.

Though his cock was big, he was gentle and kind. He took it slowly, working his dick inch by inch. When he felt resistance, he pulled out and started again, more and more slowly each time.

When he finally got his entire rod in there, Shelly couldn’t help but moan so loud the conversation in the restaurant stopped. Kamitsu grunted and placed one hand over her mouth.

“Be quiet,” he said. “They will not want to hear you.”

She giggled. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

He bristled. “No. They will be happy that I am man enough for women to throw themselves at me. They will be happy that I can please a woman. Do not return though. They will tease me if they think you have fallen in love. Call me if you want to meet again. I will answer if I am available.”

“And if you’re not…?”

“I will not answer.”

“But how will you know if you’re available when I want to meet?” she asked, her voice breaking as pre-orgasmic sensations erupted in her. She bit her lip. “I mean, if I call you on a Thursday, I might want to meet on Saturday. So if you don’t answer-“

“Do not do that. Call me when you are ready to meet.” He flared his nostrils.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. He fucked her with increasing power, despite the expression on his face remaining identical. He looked like nothing was happening; he just watched himself fuck as though it was a delicate hobby that he wanted to get right but had no particular urgency about. Even when he gasped and moaned with pleasure, he showed no emotion on his face — all those sounds happened inside his throat and only barely escaped at all.

Her orgasm built up slowly, increasing with each thrust of his hips. Shelly bit her lip. She made eye contact with Kamitsu through the mirror, which made him blush and look away — the first expression of emotion on his face since they had gotten into the bathroom.

Then the pleasure wracking her body became so intense that Shelly could do little more than grunt and moan. She had been expecting something exactly like this when she decided to hunt down a yakuza. She had imagined herself getting fucked by them so many times she thought the actual experience could never live up to her expectations, but that turned out to be exactly wrong.

She had hoped to have precisely this kind of uncontrollable orgasm. She slammed her hands against the counter and she yelled as bliss poured through her veins. He fucked so hard she could do little more than squirm and accept it.

Soon her pleasure was so intense she couldn’t handle it. Without even realizing it, she lifted her feet, and her entire body was supported by his body and the counter beneath her arms.

She submitted to his fuck like she imagined a geisha might — she hadn’t found any information on what yakuza men did for sex, so she was just guessing. Apparently, she thought, they fucked perfectly.

Compared to most Americans, he seemed passionless, but that somehow made Shelly even more passionate, as though Kamitsu had sacrificed his own pleasure to increase her own. Shelly crooned and wiggled in his arms, but he just held her up like a functional fuck-statue, like a dildo with a man attached to it.

Finally he grunted, and showed another burst of expression on his face as he filled her with his load. He shot a big wad of cum that felt even creamier than any man she had ever been with. Its heat sunk into her body and spread through her veins like the broth of a warming miso soup. She squirmed and gasped.

He held her tightly in position, while his cock sprayed jet after jet of hot cum. He filled her pussy up then kept on humping even when he was done, even as his cock turned limp. That resulted in his entire cumwad slipping out of her body, making a frothy mess that kept on stimulating her clitoris the entire time.

There was a puddle of fluids on the floor when he finally let his cock flop out of her body. She would have fallen to the floor again but he held her aloft, and her entire body went limp. He pulled her face up to his, so they could kiss.

Her tongue traveled down to his neck. She kissed him hard enough to leave a hickey. He didn’t seem to notice. Her kisses moved to his chest, and she sucked all the sweat off his broad, firm pecs — did Japanese men sweat differently? His tasted so much cleaner and less salty than any American man she had ever been with.

She moaned. She at last put some of her weight on her own feet. Her knees were weak, but she managed to support herself. He sighed and stepped away.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. He blushed. Now that the sex was over, his stony, expressionless face was abuzz with activity. He looked worried that he would get in trouble with his boss, worried that this would turn out to be some sort of trick, worried that he had not performed well enough, or that he would make a mistake yet that embarrassed him or caused him to lose honor. He bit his lip and looked at her. He scrawled down a phone number on a piece of paper he tore off the label of the unopened roll of toilet paper by the toilet. He handed it to her. “Call me when you are ready to meet up.”

“Okay… I will,” she said. “If you don’t answer, you’re not available.”

“Right.” He paused. “You will not be my girlfriend. I can not date a non-Japanese woman. Or even a Japanese woman. My women are given to me.”

“Oooh, that sounds…” she couldn’t think of a word to end it with, and it looked like Kamitsu wasn’t even paying attention anymore. He hurriedly put his suit back on. “Wait,” she said before he left the bathroom. She fixed his tie, which was crooked. “There,” she said. “Do you want me to help you buy a suit?”

“I have a suit.”

“I know, but… a better one?” she said. “I know a gay man who sells suits. He’ll make you look like a Japanese George Clooney.”

He smiled and bit his lip. “Okay. Yes. But I can not tell them.” He motioned towards the restaurant. He bowed. “Okay, yes, thank you, miss. You must go. Leave through the kitchen. Do not disturb the men in the restaurant.”

Then he was gone. The bathroom door swung shut. Shelly sighed and dressed herself. She was glad she had done it. She had never thought she’d arrange a future meeting (sort of); she assumed that, if the yakuza didn’t kill her, she’d get one encounter with Kamitsu who would probably be sent back to Japan so he was never tempted by a black woman again.

Judging from the sounds outside the bathroom, nobody said anything when Kamitsu returned. They continued speaking in Japanese. Nobody acknowledged that he was gone. Nobody acknowledged that he had returned.

She was going to wait there for awhile longer, but the door opened and one of the waiters smiled at her. He carried a large tub of miso soup. “Here,” he said. “We are glad to have you. But please do not return. Thank you so much.” He politely but firmly guided her towards the kitchen.

In seconds, she was out the door in the back. In most circumstances, Shelly would have been insulted to be pushed out the back like a bag of trash. But she didn’t mind at all.

She had gotten what she wanted, and then some. She couldn’t wait to call Kamitsu and see what she could do next.

This, she thought, might be the start of something great.