Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court

Here’s the first chapter of Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court, a new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s an incredible tale of rough trade, urban lust and mandingo meat!

“Blowjob.” Jake spoke quietly, hanging out near the basketball hoop. He didn’t want to attract a lot of attention, not from the crowd — he did want to attract attention from the two guys playing.

Jake was gay, and he was hanging out at the Wilson Street basketball court, like he used to do when he had just come out of the closet. Since then he had gone to college, started a career, had a long-term relationship with a jerk named Adam, dumped Adam, got really into homemade sushi, nearly made the disastrous decision to open his own sushi house, briefly hooked back up with Adam before dumping him again, and now he was back here at the Wilson Street basketball court once more.

“Blowjob.” Jake felt a little silly, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t planned on doing this until he drove by and saw his old haunt.

There were two young black men playing one-on-one basketball. They were both shirtless, their bare brown chests gleaming with sweat. One of them was very tall and lanky; the other was shorter and more muscular.


“What?” said one of them, the taller one. He was named Hardesty, and he stopped moving near the basket after having scored.

“I’ll suck you off, man,” Jake said. He smiled flirtatiously at Hardesty, stepped forward and placed one finger on his chest. Hardesty furrowed his brow and looked down at the finger. Jake scooped up sweat from his pectoral muscle, then sucked it off his finger.

Hardesty chuckled. “You crazy, man.”

Jake nodded. “Maybe. But I suck dick good.”

“Hey, whatchoo doin’, come on,” said the shorter player, jogging over to Hardesty. “We got a game goin’ on.”

“Sweetlips over here gonna suck off the winner,” Hardesty said. He and the shorter guy were both out of breath but trying to hide it so they didn’t look weak to each other.

“He gonna suck me off?” the shorter man said with a grin. “I ain’t agree to that, but… well, okay-“

“Nah, the winner,” Hardesty said. “He gonna suck off the winner. Me.”

“Winner? You gotta score some points, nigga. You light-years behind right now.”

“I’s only behind cuz you off on some travel, nigga, you been travelin’ all over this court-“

“Oh, come on, there ain’t no ref to work, boy, you just gotta play-“

They continued bickering as they resumed play. Jake was disappointed. He hadn’t gotten any firm answer. But they didn’t say no either.

The game was over soon after. Maybe Hardesty really wanted the blowjob and it made him play harder, because he scored three times in quick succession, giving him the lead. When the game was over, Hardesty pounded on his chest and flexed his biceps towards the folks hanging out on the sidelines. Most of them didn’t pay any attention. The only person who cheered was Jake.

Hardesty smiled awkwardly at him, as the shorter player laughed and patted Hardesty’s bare belly. Hardesty bit his lip and made eye contact with Jake.

“You got that, boy,” the shorter player said as he walked away, shirt in hand. He cackled. “You nasty, Hardesty. He ain’t even dressed like a girl.”

“Don’t be hatin’ just cuz I got meat that needs attention, nigga! Real thugs like me gotta get they shit handled!” Hardesty called out loud enough to attract attention from the others, who giggled at him. Hardesty grabbed his dick through his shorts and smiled at the girls. “Hey, how you doin’?”

They didn’t give him the time of day. Hardesty scoffed and walked away, basketball in hand. He nodded at Jake, who quietly and surreptitiously followed him into the public bathroom. It was almost never used, so it wasn’t dirty, but it was almost never cleaned, so it wasn’t clean either. It was just dusty and grimy. Jake knew it well.

He immediately sunk to his knees, even before the door had swung shut. Hardesty blocked the door with the heavy trash can so they’d have some privacy.

“Ain’t seen you… uh… Damn, boy, you in a rush?” Hardesty grimaced at Jake’s eagerness. Jake pulled his shorts and boxers down, then kissed his dick right on the tip.

“I don’t see any reason to slow down,” Jake said with a grin. He put the tip of Hardesty’s cock in his mouth and hocked up spit right onto it. Hardesty groaned and leaned against the wall of the bathroom.

“Goddamn,” Hardesty said. He closed his eyes. “Shit… Boy, you are one crazy gay.”

Jake smiled. He slathered spit all over Hardesty’s rod, which made Hardesty gasp and bite his lip like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good. Hardesty shifted and wiggled.

As his cock stiffened up in Jake’s mouth, Hardesty lifted his shirt up. He didn’t take it off, but he raised it over his head and the back of his neck. He had ropy muscles, which Jake reached up to caress, his bulging biceps, flat belly — though he didn’t quite have a six-pack — and his mountainous pecs. His muscles all twitched as though he didn’t entirely want Jake to feel him up but thought it would be rude to say that.

Jake didn’t mind. When he used to suck basketball players off, a lot of them thought it seemed too gay to let Jake do anything besides suck cock. They sometimes got angry if he even massaged their asscheeks or played with their balls.

Luckily, Hardesty didn’t seem too bothered by it, even if he did dumbfoundedly watch Jake’s fingers explore his body. A few drops of sweat ran down his skin and onto Jake’s hand.

“Shit… This is some nasty thug shit. Why don’t girls ever suck like this, man?” Hardesty asked as he leaned back and sighed. His whole body wriggled and he bit his lip.

“Girls don’t have the right equipment,” Jake said. He flopped Hardesty’s dick over his face. “They don’t know how it feels. Besides, girls like relationships and stuff. They don’t just suck off hot guys. They’re so stupid. If I was a girl, I’d be the biggest slut in the world, oh my god. I’d suck off all the thugs.” Jake giggled as salty precum flowed over his tongue and his lips.

“I bet you would.” He paused. “Hey, you smoke weed?”

Jake nodded. “You got some? Light it up, baby-“

“Nah, nah, I’s sellin’. You wanna buy?”

“Oh… no thanks,” Jake said. “I’ve already got a guy.”

“Who? What’s his name? Tell me,” Hardesty said with a big grin. He moved his hips, swaying his cock back and forth over Jake’s face. Jake chased it with his tongue.

“Greg. You don’t know him.”

“He gay?”

Jake nodded.

“Why you buy weed from a gay? They ain’t thugs. They don’t know nothin’-“

“He’s really convenient, sorry,” Jake said. He grabbed Hardesty’s dick and licked it all up and down, hoping that would punctuate how final Jake’s decision was.

“You shouldn’t buy weed from whiteboys.”

“I didn’t say he was white. I said he was gay.”

“He a nigga?”

Jake nodded. “They can be both.”

Hardesty bristled a little and shifted his weight between his feet. “Guess that’s okay then. If he evuh run out or somethin’, you gimme a call, I can hook you up.” He paused. “You gonna swallow my nut, right?”

“Of course.” Jake resumed deep-throating while Hardesty beamed like he was getting away with something. Hardesty’s hands wrapped over Jake’s head and he held on tight.

Hardesty moved his hips as though he was going to facefuck Jake, but Jake didn’t cooperate — he kept on moving his head and sucking, sputtering up mountains of spit which he then suckled right off Hardesty’s dick. Hardesty groaned and moaned, twisting, squirming, wincing when he saw that his boxers were soaked with spit.

“Ah shit, whoah…” Hardesty yelped. He stood on his toes, then his knees buckled and he almost collapsed onto the floor. He leaned against the wall. “Alright, yeah… I can take it, boi, go ‘head, keep on suckin’.”

Jake smiled to himself. He had Hardesty right where he wanted him. He rammed his mouth all the way down and forced Hardesty’s dick deep into his gullet. The sweet, musky flavor of his manmeat assaulted Jake’s senses and made his eyes water.

A sound came from Hardesty’s mouth, a mixture between a bark and a grunt, with a long, low sputtering quality. A few drops of drool even slipped out past Hardesty’s lips as his cock sprayed cum right into Jake’s throat.

Jake was well-practiced at this part — he loved swallowing cum. He stayed on his knees, holding onto Hardesty’s body with his nose nestled in Hardesty’s sweat-musky crotch. His bristly pubic hair scratched Jake’s face.

“Ah! Oh! Oh shit! Ah! Ah, damn, ah damn, don’t move, boy, damn, ah, ah, ah, ah…”

Hot and creamy cum coated Jake’s throat, while Hardesty squirmed and gasped. The flavor of salty, sour juices flooded Jake’s senses, making him think of nothing but servicing Hardesty’s hot body. Even as Jake felt himself growing dizzy from lack of oxygen, he stayed right there, swallowing every drop of cum.

Then he pulled off, with a loud lip-smacking moan. He had sprayed his own wad onto the linoleum floor of the public bathroom.

Hardesty had his eyes closed. He was a little pale, and he looked like he might cry. His whole body shook. “Holy shit, goddamn…” He sunk to the ground.

“Was that your first time?”

Hardesty chuckled dryly. “Yeah, man. I was gonna lie, I was gonna pretend I did this before. But… I ain’t got the energy to lie, man. I ain’t nevuh get a blowjob like that before. You my first male and… damn, you suck like you got somethin’ to prove.”

“You have a nice dick.”

“I think you ruined it man,” he said with a sigh. He was on the ground, his pants and boxers around his ankles. “Damn, you got me on the ground in this place. It’s nasty.”

“You want help up?” Jake asked as he stood and stretched his sore knees.

“Nah, man. Lemme just… I gotta recover, man. You got a cigarette? I don’t smoke, but…” He took a cigarette from Jake, who even lit it first for him. He took a deep drag off it. Despite his words, it looked like he did smoke — he inhaled like he knew what he was doing, and he didn’t cough.

Jake moved the trash can that blocked the door. Then he wrote down his phone number and gave it to Hardesty. “Anytime you want me to rock your world again, gimme a call.”

He walked out before the bleary-eyed Hardesty could come up with an answer.

The Homo Thug

Here’s the first chapter from The Homo Thug, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!


Jason poured drinks for the Nine Tats, but he tried not to listen to what they had to say. He pretended to be like a robot, barely able to understand words spoken directly at it. He always pretended to have trouble hearing the men when they asked for another drink or some food, that way they wouldn’t ever worry that he had overheard anything he wasn’t supposed to hear.

On the night he met Ratty, however, Jason had trouble looking away because Ratty was so sexy. Ratty was a rather short man, old for a thug — nearly forty, his cornrows streaked with gray, scruffy beard covering his chin and neck — with a deep, gravelly voice. He had been in prison since he was sixteen and had just been released a few weeks ago.

“Yo, sweetheart, I say gimme some chips,” Ratty said emphatically, like he had said it before.

Jason had truly not noticed. For once he didn’t have to pretend that he didn’t hear. Ratty scoffed like Jason should have heard, and Jason nodded. He flashed a limp wrist and a lilting grin in Ratty’s direction. “Sure thing, sugar, I’ve got tortilla chips and-“

“I ain’t Mexican, sweetheart, get me potato chips. Damn…” Ratty scoffed.

The others snickered at him. Jason hurried back to the bar, where there was luckily a bag of potato chips. Last time he was here, he had clipped the bag shut, but that was a week ago and he wasn’t sure if the chips were stale or not. He poured some out into a bowl and brought a bottle of beer for Malik, who was pounding them back tonight. Ratty wasn’t drinking because he was on parole, and his ankle monitor would go off if he had any alcohol.

Everyone laughed at Ratty. He smiled at Jason when he took the bowl of potato chips. He licked his lips, and Jason blushed, scurrying away. Ratty cackled and stuffed potato chips into his mouth.

He had just been released from prison earlier today, so he was hungry and craved snack-food like chips. If they were stale, he didn’t seem to notice. He and the other Nine Tats discussed their plans — Jason refused to listen to what the plan was, but he had gathered it involved taking on the Graybloods of 99th Street. He hoped he didn’t hear any more details beyond that.

“My lips is gettin’ dry, sweetheart,” Ratty said pointedly, pulling Jason out of his reverie. Jason must have again not heard him several times — it was genuinely hard to hear Ratty, who spoke with a low prison growl.

Jason hurried to him with a glass of apple juice. That’s what Ratty was drinking instead of alcohol. Ratty looked at him like he wanted to fuck Jason, but Jason dismissed that as his imagination.

Surely, Ratty wasn’t about to fuck him? He was straight, wasn’t he? He certainly acted just as straight as any other Nine Tat. Jason knew that a lot of straight men changed their ways behind bars, but Ratty was out now, and he was part of a gang that had hundreds of prostitutes working all over the city — Ratty could get women any time he wanted. And he probably wouldn’t even need whores because he was, despite being a bit dirty and scary, very sexy.

So why was everyone looking at Jason as though there something he didn’t know?

“Shake yo’ ass a little as you walk away from me, boy,” Ratty said when Jason left the table.

Jason blushed and grinned. He shook his ass, and the men burst into laughter. Ratty was the only one who remained quiet.

Did he know that Jason was gay? Maybe not, maybe that was why he acted like this, Jason thought, maybe Ratty assumed he was teasing and scaring Jason because he assumed Jason was straight while the others thought it was funny because they knew Jason was gay. Was it possible Ratty didn’t realize Jason was gay? That seemed unlikely. Ratty had to have figured it out — Jason was slim, flamboyant, delicate. No one had ever thought he was straight before. Besides that, it was traditional for the Nine Tats to have a gay man serve drinks when they got together to plan schemes, count money or weigh drugs. Women were distracting, and straight men were a likely threat, so they always hired some local gay man like Jason. And they sometimes fucked him on the downlow before the night was through, which was why Jason agreed to do it. So Ratty should have guessed Jason was gay even before he met him.

Ratty lookin’ at Pinkbutt ovuh there like he a starvin’ man lookin’ at a buffet. You gonna eat his butt wit’ a spoon, Ratty?

Man, make Ratty quit it wit’ that homo thug shit. Fuckin’ nasty.

Jason’s curiosity was piqued. A homo thug, dear reader, is a black thug who was can hold his own in a gang like the Nine Tats even though he openly has sex with men — homo thugs almost never identify as gay; it is, instead, it’s own orientation. But they do openly engage in sex with men, usually exclusively.

Was Ratty a real homo thug? Jason had no idea. He wasn’t even certain it was a real phenomenon. It would certainly explain why Ratty looked at him like he wanted to fuck. Actually, Jason thought, Ratty looked at him like he wanted to wait until the lights went out and then fuck him silly.

He was watching Jason clean up the bar. He licked his lips and let out a low rumbling growl. The others rolled their eyes when they noticed, but they didn’t say anything. Ratty was perceived as old and out-of-touch, but he had been loyal to the gang in his decades on the inside; he had given up his adulthood for the Nine Tats. No one made fun of him for it; they just ignored him and made plans around his undressing of Jason with his eyes.

Soon it was clear that the planning stage was done. They still spoke about their plans, but about half of them were very drunk or stoned. Ratty was the only sober thug there. Jason was sober too, he never drank while serving drinks to the Nine Tats because he didn’t trust himself to behave and avoid getting himself in trouble.

Yo, Ratty, nigga, if you wanna fuck the prettyboy, just go fuck him, man. Quit lookin’ at him like you gonna bake him in a pie and eat ‘im up. It’s distractin’.

“Shut up, nigga.” Ratty said softly. The others snickered at him. Jason listened but kept his eyes averted. He kept wiping down the counter as though it wasn’t already clean.

When Jason couldn’t resist the urge any longer, he glanced up. He made eye contact with Ratty’s dark eyes, and a shiver of both fear and desire ran up Jason’s spine. Ratty must have made some kind of sound because everyone laughed — Jason didn’t hear it, whatever it was — and looked at Jason with a mixture of disgust and pity.

“Yo, sweetheart,” Ratty said as he stood. He had a blatant erection in his low-slung pants, which looked like they were about to fall down. The other thugs burst into hysterical laughter; about half of them looked like they genuinely thought it was funny, the other half were horrified but covering it up with nervous laughter.

Get that hard-on away from my face, nigga.

Old nigga got hisself a date! Gonna fall in love, yessir!

Yo, Jason, bend over, grab yo’ ankles and make a sound like a fat whiteboy cryin’. That’s what ol’ nigga likes!

Jason was so shocked he couldn’t move even if he had wanted to. He had that bar-rag in his hand, bent over the counter, as Ratty came behind the bar to meet him. He walked quietly but quickly, like he wanted to sneak up on Jason and trap him behind the bar.

He leaned in real close, breath condensing on Jason’s cheek. “Yo, sweetheart, I am gonna fuck. I wanna fuck you. If you still standin’ here in a few seconds, I am gonna start. If you don’t want me to fuck you, you best run outta here right now. I won’t stop you. Maybe I might pick one of them comedian niggas over there to replace ya.”

They all stopped laughing when they heard that — Ratty said it loud enough they could hear. They exchanged nervous glances. The basement was deathly silent.

“You still here, sweetheart. That cuz you scared or cuz-?”

“No. I wanna fuck,” Jason said softly and breathlessly.

“Good. You like it hard, right?”




“You gonna take it real nasty, right?”

“Yes, papi,” Jason said with a giggle. He touched Ratty’s chest, prompting Ratty to growl seductively and wrinkle his nose.

“Oh, boy, you tryin’-a make me lose control, ain’t ya? Shake that ass again.”

Yo, where you two gonna take this little show?

Jason looked up at the other thugs as though surprised they were still there. He lifted his ass and shook it in front of Ratty, backing himself up until his asscheeks hit Ratty’s crotch. He could feel that massive erection, and Jason rubbed his ass against it. He moaned and giggled again.

“Ain’t no show, nigga, ‘nless you stay and watch it.”

I’m out.

Later, niggas. I can’t watch this.

Yeah, I need a note from my mama to see this, and she ain’t gonna approve.

They all laughed and stood. No one wanted to seem so squeamish that they had to run out of there, so none of them hurried. But it was obvious they were in a rush to leave.

This is my basement. I should make them leave.

Go ahead and try, nigga. Gonna have to get a hose, I ‘xpect.

Shit, a hose? A hose just gonna give ‘em ideas.

That made them laugh again as they filtered out, leaving half-drunk beers and even cell phones sitting there on the table. Jason leaned over the counter, with Ratty behind him, very close, his body heat palpable. He took a deep breath and exhaled right on Jason’s cheek.

“We alone now, sweetheart. We can do amazin’ things alone,” Ratty said softly. One of his hands wrapped over Jason’s neck — not squeezing, just holding on tightly — and his other bent Jason over the counter. “You is one pretty boy, I swear. When I saw yo’ ass bouncin’ and jumpin’ up and down, I just ‘bout lost control, sweetheart. I bet you get big niggas runnin’ up to you on the street to bend you over and fuck ya. I bet no one can resist yo’ ass, boy.”

“Well…” Jason giggled. “It’s not as common as you might think.”

“You gonna cry when I fuck you?”


“Good,” Ratty said. “You wanna suck my dick now?”

“Yeah…” Jason’s voice was weak and strained.

“Do it then, nigga. Ain’t no time like the present,” he said. He was leaning forward, virtually on top of Jason. So when Jason tried to sink to his knees, he had to rub himself against the entire front of Ratty’s body. He dropped to his knees, crammed into the tiny space between Ratty and the counter behind the bar.

Ratty smelled a little funky. It was, Jason assumed, the smell of prison — though he knew Ratty had showered, he had told the others how much he enjoyed his first shower as a free man — clinging to his skin. He undid the fly of Ratty’s jeans and his giant veiny cock popped out.

Jason intended to tease him a little bit. He stuck his tongue out and got a few tastes of its salty savoriness, but he didn’t actually lick it yet. He thwacked it over his face and giggled at Ratty letting out a moan.

But Ratty didn’t let Jason delay it for long. He leaned against the bar-counter and jammed his cocktip right into Jason’s mouth. He grunted and took off his shirt.

“Yeah, boy, suck it deep, you got such pretty lips… Lemme see them lips.” He pulled his dick out and smiled down at Jason as he smacked his lips. He rubbed his dick over Jason’s lips. Then he fed his dick back down Jason’s throat, slowly but firmly. “Look me in the eye when you suck my dick, boy.”

His cock twitched, making Jason sputter, but Ratty cooed and patted his cheek. He squeezed Jason’s face just a bit, enough to get Jason’s attention. He repeated his command to look him in the eye.

Jason managed to make eye contact with intense focus. He couldn’t breathe, and the flavor of Ratty’s cock assaulted his senses, but Jason loved forcing himself to look up while Ratty slowly drilled his dick in deeper. Ratty had deep, dark eyes. Though the rest of his face was stony and menacing, Jason could sense a deep caring kindness in his eyes.

“Open that throat up, sweetheart,” he said. “When I pull my dick out to give you a breath in a minute-“ He spoke softly and evenly without breaking the rhythm of his penetration. “-I’ll give you five seconds. That alright? You want more time?”

Jason just nodded. He didn’t entirely understand what Ratty was asking because he was too focused on sucking cock, but he trusted Ratty to make the decision. Ratty nodded back at him.

He pulled his dick out, and held Jason’s head firmly in place with Ratty’s cock right in front of the mouth. Jason gasped hoarsely for air. Ratty silently counted using his fingers. He held up all five fingers on his left hand right in front of Jason’s face, then counted down until all his fingers were down and there was just a fist hovering in front of Jason’s face.

Then he rammed his dick right back in. Jason moaned as the flavor of Ratty’s unwashed musk hit him all over again. This time, his dick was slick with precum, its salty taste coating Jason’s tongue and making him gurgle for more.

“Good boy, good boy…” Ratty leaned his head back, both of his hands on Jason’s scalp to keep him in place. “There you go, you got my balls on yo’ chin. Ain’t a proper blowjob if you don’t got balls on yo’ chin.” He lifted himself up and down with his ankles, rubbing his balls against Jason’s chin.

Ratty repeated that cycle a few times. He told Jason what to do every step of the way. He pointed to specific spots on his cockshaft he wanted Jason to lick — he especially liked it when Jason’s tongue traced the outline of the veins that ran up and down his dick. When he fucked Jason’s throat for a minute or so, he gave him five seconds to breathe, counting down with his fingers; he didn’t do that in a harsh or threatening way, more like he was very concerned with efficiency and didn’t want to waste any time on breathing that wasn’t necessary.

Eventually, however, he switched to rubbing his entire crotch over Jason’s face — Jason just kept his mouth open and his tongue out, and Ratty made sure he licked every part of his cock and balls.

“You ready for me to destroy that hole, sweetheart?” Ratty said with a low rumbling growl.

“Yes, papi, please-“

“Oh shit, sweetheart, don’t call me papi in that girl-voice, it makes me so hot I can’t stop myself. You might never walk straight again if I keep hearin’ that,” Ratty said. He bristled, shifting his weight back and forth as Jason very slowly stood. Jason licked a trail up Ratty’s bare chest muscles. Then he dramatically hesitated as he undid his belt. Ratty licked his lips and flared his nostrils, watching like it was the climax of a movie he had been waiting years to see.

When Jason’s ass was finally bare, Ratty gripped both cheeks with callused fingers. Jason twitched and moaned as soon as Ratty’s dick touched his asshole. Jason had a tube of lube behind the bar, which he gave to Ratty — Ratty seemed to be intending on using nothing but his own spit as lubricant, which Jason assumed was normal in prison but wasn’t going to fly here. Ratty had a huge horse-cock that Jason wasn’t about to take without lube.

“Open that ass, sweetheart, lemme in.” Ratty growled again.

Even with lube, there was a twinge of pain when Jason first accepted it. Though Ratty carried himself like he was going to ram it in as agonizingly as possible, he was actually very gentle. The first inch or so of his cock slid in and Jason twitched. He grunted and Ratty stopped moving.

“You tell me when you ready, sweetheart. I just stand here waitin’,” he said. He stood with his legs a little bit apart, arms at his sides like a soldier at attention. His cocktip throbbed in Jason’s ass.

Soon, Jason felt himself relaxing, and he slid himself back farther. Ratty kept his arms at his side as long as he could, then when he moaned and shuddered with pleasure, Ratty’s hands flailed above Jason’s back. Finally Ratty crossed his arms over his chest.

“Back up on it, sweetheart, back up on it,” Ratty said with a snort. He watched Jason back all the way up on his massive dick, moaning and groaning with every inch slipping into his tight hole.

Finally Jason felt Ratty’s pubic hair rub against his ass. Jason moaned, scarcely able to believe that he had taken an entire foot of cock in his ass without much pain. The pressure was intense, but it was all pleasure, throbbing, tingling deep within him.

“Alright, boy, now you gonna get fucked,” Ratty said. He kissed Jason on the cheek. “Yo’ whole body gonna-“

If there’s a mess, Malik, use yo’ tongue to clean it up!

What’s it smell like?

An outpouring of laughter filled the air. Jason had trouble paying attention, but he saw Malik sneaking into the basement from the side door — the other thugs had collected near the door and catcalled at him; it looked like Malik had intended to sneak in and get his cell phone off the table without seeing or being seen by Jason and Ratty. But his friends now yelled and thought it was hilarious when Ratty roared at them.

“Yo, nigga, come here and lick this boy’s ass off my dick! Huh? Where you goin’?! I got goopy boy-butt all over my dick, Malik, I need you to clean it off!” Ratty yelled. He made a fist and flexed his biceps in Malik’s direction.

But Malik just grabbed all the cell phones that had been left on the table and ran out the door. His friends tried to push him back in, and there was an explosion of shouting. Eventually Malik made it back out, however, and the door slammed shut.

“Sorry ‘bout the interruption, boy,” Ratty said. “They don’t know nothin’ ‘bout romance. They’s a bunch of young pups. You want me to beat ‘em up?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Jason said, his voice softly feminine because the surprise of the encounter with Malik had caused a surge in his hormones. His heart skipped a beat, and Jason was on the verge of orgasm.

“You gonna blow yo’ nut?”

“Yes, papi…”

“Good… Cum in yo’ hand, okay?” He spoke directly, growlingly, into Jason’s ear. That was enough to send Jason over the edge as Ratty’s cock slammed into his prostate one more time.

Jason bucked and grunted, all of his ladylike grace vanishing as an orgasm ripped through him. Ratty groaned too and shot his load at the same time. He filled Jason’s ass with his creamy seed, his powerful muscles flexing above Jason’s back. He held Jason’s head and back tightly to keep him in position.

The most potent orgasm of Jason’s life wracked his mind and his body. Jason’s muscles twisted and flexed beneath Ratty’s pounding, and he writhed passionately as he clutched at Ratty’s muscles.

It took all of his mid-orgasm concentration, but Jason managed to shoot his wad into his cupped palm. He trembled and spilled some, however, as he accepted Ratty’s massive load deep in his ass.

“Good boy, sweetheart, you know how to do it right…” Ratty moaned softly, his breath condensing on Jason’s neck.

He was limp and spent, exhausted, using all of his strength to keep his hand full of cum elevated so he didn’t spill. Ratty spewed an incredible stream, endless like he had built it up over his years in lockup, the heat and creamy texture seeping into Jason’s body and warming up his flesh.

“Open up, lemme watch you swallow that nut, sweetheart…” Ratty said as the last few drops of cum spilled into Jason’s ass. He guided Jason’s hand to his mouth, and he watched Jason open up. Ratty tilted Jason’s palm so his entire gob of cum landed in Jason’s mouth.

Then Ratty forced Jason’s mouth shut. He watched closely, dick twitching and falling limp. Then he kissed Jason on the lips. His tongue plunged into Jason’s mouth.

That kiss lasted forever. Jason fell limp, but he was kept aloft by Ratty’s powerful arms. They both ended up on the floor there. Ratty didn’t pull out for what seemed like a long time — though Jason had no sense of time anymore, so he wasn’t sure how long it had actually been — he just laid there on the floor with Jason in a bear hug, his dick gradually limpening inside Jason’s ass.

Then he finally pulled out. By then, Jason was mostly asleep. Ratty kissed him on the back of the neck. “I won’t be here when you wake up, boy,” he said softly, “but I’ll stay here till then so you can sleep in my arms.”

Bulging Biceps at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the first chapter of Bulging Biceps at the City Barbershop, a hot tale of black male thug M/M action on the downlow, and part of the City Barbershop of Indianapolis series!

Chris Harwood finished cutting an old man’s hair. There was a customer waiting for him next, so Chris hurried. He wanted to finish quickly enough that he would have the next empty chair, that way he’d get that customer instead of one of the other barbers.

But he failed. The old man was slow, and when Chris got out the mirror to show him the back of his head, he had to put on his glasses and peer carefully into the mirror. By then, one of the other barbers had finished, and was ready for the next customer. He motioned for the waiting man to sit down.


The guy waiting refused a haircut. Chris caught his eye and knew what this was after all — the waiting man was here for a blowjob, not a haircut, that’s why he had declined the other barber.

That’s because Chris was the only gay barber at the City Barbershop of Indianapolis. The City Barbershop was a nationwide chain with a well-known reputation as a place where black men could go to get away from the world… and get a blowjob on the downlow. What happened here stayed here, so gay men like Chris could get their fill of rough trade meat.

The guy waiting for Chris was Darren. He was a tall, ropy-muscled black man with very dark skin. He glowered a little. He looked nervous and maybe a bit bitter about being here.

Chris suspected he knew why. The local gang — the Nine Tats, who controlled most of the illegal activity in Indianapolis — made a lot of their new recruits have sex with a man because undercover cops weren’t allowed to do it. Besides that, there was a certain macho element to it — a real gangbanger, Chris had been told on many occasions, should have a massive cock and know how to use it.

Darren sucked on his teeth. When it was his turn to get a haircut, he made eye contact with Chris and motioned towards the door to the backroom.

As always, Chris teased him. For most of the straight thugs who came to see him, being told to do it and deciding to do it were stressful and difficult; they didn’t think beyond that. Nobody ever told them that Chris might refuse. In this case, he was definitely not going to refuse — Darren was hot — but he fully intended to make Darren work for it.

“You gotta sit down, nigga,” Chris said, “or I can’t cut your hair.”

Darren scowled. A few of the other barbers chuckled dryly. They knew perfectly well that Chris liked to tease straight men, especially someone like Darren who came across as arrogant and mean even though he hadn’t spoken yet.

“I, ain’t… I ain’t here for a haircut.”

“Oh. Are you here to apply for a job?”

“Nah, nigga,” he said with a scoff like that was a ridiculous idea. “I got… I got somethin’ to, you know… talk to you about. I came here… to talk… for the purpose of… talkin’… to you.”

“And here we are talking! What a grand success your mission has been!” Chris threw his hands in the air. Everyone except Darren laughed. Chris playfully squeezed Darren’s biceps, which were thick and throbbing. Chris giggled. “Ooh, you’re strong.”

“Yeah.” He bit his lip. “Uh… So, uh… Yo, nigga… Can I…? I mean…” He blushed and sputtered. Everyone laughed at him. He scowled at the other barbers. His hands formed fists. He looked like he had been a thug long enough no one ever really teased him, so he was uncomfortable with this situation. But in the City Barbershop, Chris had all the power. Darren licked his lips. “Quit laughin’. Yo, quit laughin’! Quit playin’, niggas! Come on…”

Chris didn’t stop caressing Darren’s biceps. They were stiff because Darren was tense, so it was like massaging a warm slab of rock. Darren wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t make Chris stop.

“Can I see your biceps?” Chris asked.

“Man!” He shouted like that was beyond the pale. “Go in the back, nigga!”

“It’s just biceps,” Chris said with a giggle. He made his own biceps. He was a delicate-bodied twink, so his arms were not impressive. They were maybe one tenth the size of Darren’s upper arms. “Are you scared my arms will be bigger than yours?” The rest of the barbers laughed so hard they stopped cutting hair. The other customers laughed too, and Darren scowled, shouting for silence.

“Man! All y’all shut up!” Darren let out an angry roar. “Fine! Fuck you!” He pumped both biceps, which were indeed huge and bulging. Chris loved men with very well-defined biceps, with a large hump like a cartoon character.

Chris tried to grab ahold of his right arm to kiss it, but Darren was too tall — and he held his arms high enough that Chris couldn’t easily reach it. Darren said something that was lost in the din of the hooting and laughter from everyone else in the shop.

So Chris jumped. He was more than a foot shorter than Darren. He leapt and grabbed ahold of his right bicep, held on and tried to do a pull-up to kiss and lick the muscle.

Darren dropped him. “Come on! You know what I want!”

“I do. I know what you want,” Chris said. He put his hands on his hips. “I’m not required to give it to you. You have to convince me you deserve it. I don’t just suck off everyone I meet.”

Darren flared his nostrils. “Please?! Just… I said please, nigga?”

Chris thought for a long time. Darren really did have excellent bulging biceps. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll suck you off right now, but do you know any other gay men?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sorta. My baby mama’s brother. He’s… gay.” It sounded like Darren didn’t often use the word gay to describe gay men; he was being polite for Chris’ benefit. “He’s like thirty. He don’t live around here, and I doubt he’d suck me off. He hates me.”

“Okay, but you gotta let him kiss your biceps anytime he wants.”


“That’s my condition. From now on, whenever you see him at family gatherings, you have to tell him that he can feel up your muscles, or at least your biceps,” Chris said.

He bristled and shifted his weight on his feet. “Nigga… I can’t do that. He don’t like me. He, you know… I got a rep to protect.”

“Oh, well, you better get outta here and go protect it then. This is a dangerous city,” Chris said. He leaned in to whisper dramatically. “There’s gangbangers here.”

The shop erupted in laughter again. Darren stamped his foot on the ground. His hands were stuck in fists, and he shadowboxed the air a few times. His tattooed biceps gleamed with nervous sweat.

“Fuck you!” He stormed out of the shop. The door tinkled as it slammed shut. Outside he took a deep breath, then turned around and came back in. “Fine! Yes! Yes! Okay? Fine! I’ll let Robert make love to my fucking biceps!” He sneered Robert’s name like he really hated him a lot.

“Awesome,” Chris said, though no one could hear it over the roaring laughter of everyone else in the shop. He didn’t wait for anyone to quiet down. He hopped into Darren’s arms. Darren sighed and rolled his eyes, his face stony and placid as he refused to showcase his embarrassment. The others all clapped and hollered like they were the receiving line at a wedding. Darren carried Chris through the threshold into the backroom of the barbershop, while Chris kissed and sucked on the veiny muscles of his arm. He made it nice and sloppy, so his saliva dripped down Darren’s side.

As soon as they were in the back, Darren deposited Chris on the floor. In the quiet of the backroom, Darren’s hostility was a lot more uncomfortable. He glared at Chris as though Chris had had a responsibility to suck him off without preconditions. His biceps gleamed now with sweat and spit. He sneered as he pulled his cock out of the fly of his sagging jeans.

Chris had planned on teasing Darren some more, but he hadn’t come up with anything fun to do. Once he saw Darren’s cock, he didn’t think about anything else — it was so big and meaty and delicious-looking that he couldn’t resist. He licked his lips and opened up.

“You play too much, nigga. You act a fool,” Darren said. He sniffled and looked away from Chris like he was offended.

Chris slapped his face with Darren’s cock, which quickly stiffened. He slathered spit up and down the shaft, making Darren shake and moan.

“You’re serious too much,” Chris said. He giggled. “You know if a guy who looks like you just comes in says can I have a blowjob please? I’d just say yes. It happens all the time.”

“Shut up and suck it.”

“When you come in here and act like an entitled prick who will get a blowjob on ‘ccount of bein’ super-fly and sellin’ lots of rock, it makes me not wanna do it. Makes me wanna get somethin’ else out of it-“

“Whatever, man…” Darren said. He looked chagrined despite his lack of a reaction. “I ain’t gonna do this again, so don’t bother givin’ me tips. I’m just doin’ it to get my spot in the Nine Tats.”

Chris dropped his cock and backed away “Oh, well, I don’t wanna push you into nothin’ you don’t wanna do. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Man, I’s gangsta as shit, boy, shut yo’ mouth. I ain’t say I don’t wanna do it,” he said. He sniffled. “I just… I got females who’ll do it, y’know.” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m sorry. Please suck my dick, nigga. I… I want you to do it.”

“So I’m doing you a favor, right? You’re not doing me a favor?”


“Good. Act like it,” Chris said. He resumed sucking. He pulled Darren’s pants and shorts down — Darren clearly felt it was more gangsta to get a blowjob through the fly of his boxers, but he didn’t argue about it. He just closed his eyes, leaned against the wall and moaned as Chris sucked him down.

It was obvious he felt intense pleasure. Chris could see it rippling through the muscles of his chest, which Chris felt up as he sucked. But Darren subdued his reaction, biting his lip and writhing when he lost control. His cock was rock-hard and throbbing in Chris’ throat.

“Yeah, bitch…” Darren muttered. “Suck it, man. Suck it. Oh god yes, you suck better than any female…”

When Chris deep-throated and gagged, he tasted a burst of precum. That triggered Darren to get really into this, and he grabbed Chris’ head. He held on tight and rammed his dick down Chris’ throat.

The salty flavor of precum exploded in Chris’ consciousness. He moaned around the cock throbbing in his mouth and throat, and he guzzled down every drop of manjuice he could get.

“Damn, boy, you suck pretty good. I can forgive you fo’ actin’ like a bitch,” Darren said. He scoffed. He leaned his head back and grunted as he slammed his cock all the way in and held on.

Chris gagged and his throat instinctually resisted, but Darren was powerful and refused to let go. Chris clasped Darren’s plump asscheeks and held on to signal that Darren should keep facefucking — Chris loved a violent oral copulation. His dick filled up Chris’ gullet, spraying wad after wad of creamy hot cum right into Chris’ throat.

The salty-sweet taste of cum was strong and it brought tears to Chris’ eyes. Darren kept his dick deep in Chris’ throat until he was done spraying his wad, then he sighed and pulled out.

“Damn, that was not bad at all,” he said with a frown. He wiped his limp dick over Chris, who heaved and gasped for air. “I ain’t upset about that at all. That was worth lettin’ you lick all ovuh my bicep.”

“You have great biceps. Very sexy.”

“Shut up.”

Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates, which is now permanently free in the Kindle Store and on Smashwords! It’s part of the amazing Str8 Till Dark series of gay erotica about men whose straightness bends when the lights go out!

As Brian curled up on the floor to get some sleep, he tried to decide whether this had gone better or worse than he had expected. It was hard to tell. He had predicted a catastrophically bad entrance to prison life — that was just the way his mind worked, constantly coming up with disastrous possibilities. But it wasn’t really as bad as it could be. The worst part was simply that Brian had no protection. Nothing good had happened to him, which was bad, but nothing too bad had happened to him either, and that was good.

Brian had covered up his anxiety when he strode into Brutewood prison. He was a handsome young white man with long hair he kept pulled back into a ponytail. Given everything that he knew about prison life, he fully expected to have gay sex.

He was fine with that, more or less. Brian was straight, but he loved being anally penetrated by dildos or fingers. He had never actually taken a cock in his ass, and he was willing to try it — giving it up in exchange for protection behind bars was not his ideal scenario for experimenting with getting fucked, but he wasn’t too upset about it either.

Officer Armstrong shoved him into the prison cell and shut the door. It was much larger than Brian had thought it would be, but there were already twelve people there. There were also only twelve bunks, while Brian was the thirteenth person.

“Turn around and stick your hands out,” Officer Armstrong said. He sounded bored.

Brian was not bored. His heart felt like it might pound through his chest. He stuck his cuffed hands through the opening in the doorway. Officer Armstrong unlocked the cuffs.

“There’s not enough bunks,” Brian said. He shook his head to unlodge his hair where it stuck to the back of his neck.

“Then kill yourself,” Officer Armstrong said as he walked away. He laughed, the deep, baritone sound resonating in the steel-lined prison corridor.

Brian turned around. Twelve dour black man stared back at him. No one said anything. Brian had always been an outgoing and friendly young man, so his mind raced as he tried to think of something to say.

“So, uh… guys… I guess we’re prisonmates, huh?”

Someone chuckled dryly, but no one responded. Six of the men were playing poker, and they resumed the game without looking at Brian. Three others were taking turns working out, doing improvised pull-ups on a bar they had set up in the middle of the cell. The bar was also for hanging laundry, but they had taken all the clothes off before exercising. Their corded muscles gleamed, and Brian felt small and vulnerable.

He supposed he was meant to sleep on the floor. There was plenty of room in one corner, and he had been given a sheet, a blanket and a pillow, which smelled like piss though it looked clean. Brian wanted to cry.

He took a deep breath. He had been told what to do, and he had rehearsed it. He thought for sure he could pull it off.

He went to the biggest thug in the room. He was a tall, middle-aged black man with a burly body brimming with muscle and bravado. He was not exactly dressed like a thug — not like the others, he had a trimmed mustache, well-fitting pants, just a few tattoos, but he still talked like a pimp as he encouraged the others in their workout.

“C’mon, nigga, yeah! Push it!” He barked, slapping a younger black man  on his ass as he lifted himself up and down doing pull-ups.

“Hey, uh, excuse me, uh,” Brian said, trying to get the man’s attention. He blushed. “My name is, uh, Brian-“

“Nice to meetcha, Brian,” said the large man. Despite his relatively polite words, he spoke with a crude sneer on his face and a harsh look in his eyes. “Whatchoo want, whiteboi?”

“Uh… I’m just, I was told… uh… I know this can be a dangerous place-“

“Hurry the fuck up and say it.”

“I want your protection!”


“Please protect me,” Brian said. He blushed again. “I… I’ll let you fuck me. I promise. I’ll… You can fuck me. I’m not gay, but, uh-“

The man cocked his head to the side. “My name is Samson, Brian. I ‘ppreciate yo’ offer. But I gotta decline.”

“Yeah, whiteboi, we ain’t like that no mo’.”

“We don’t rape whitebois.”

“That’s against the rules nowadays.”

“No one here gonna fuck wit’ you, whiteboi.”

“Ha! Queerbait!” That was Officer Armstrong, who was walking past the doorway. Brian blushed. He hadn’t meant to offer in front of a guard.

And so that was that. They dismissed Brian, who blushed and stumbled back to the corner of the cell he had decided to use as his bed. They ignored him after that. He wasn’t sure how to take that. Had they only said no because Officer Armstrong was there? He didn’t know. They hadn’t promised he’d be safe outside of the cell, and he didn’t trust them in the slightest.

But there was nothing to do. He couldn’t force them to promise he’d be safe everywhere in prison. He’d just have to come up with a different plan. Maybe, he thought, movies overdramatized prison life. Maybe it won’t be that bad.

The lights turned out. The evening had gone by faster than he thought. His prisonmates stayed up talking for a long time, but Brian didn’t complain. He zoned out and pretended he was asleep.

And so that was why he laid fitlessly on the floor, wondering how this was going to turn out. Maybe, he thought, he shouldn’t have asked to get fucked. That might have been bad advice.

Once the prison was quiet, however, a few whispered voices filled the air. Brian couldn’t tell if they spoke thinking he was asleep and couldn’t hear, or if they wanted him to hear it.

“You gonna fuck that whiteboi?!”

“Hell nah. I ain’t down wit’ dat.”

“I betcha big-nigga do it.”

“Fuck you, asshole. I ain’t down wit’ dat gaybones shit. You know who gonna do it? That whiteboi got it right when he offer Samson-“

“Hey!” Samson’s deep voice boomed. “Shut yo’ stupid nigga faces.” Samson was the biggest and oldest and, it seemed, he was in charge. No one talked for a few minutes. Then someone chuckled, which caused someone else to laugh. Soon the cell was full of deep-voiced thugs laughing, at what Brian couldn’t tell.

“Samson gonna get gay as shit, we all know it.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Samson got up and stalked around the cell like he wanted to figure out who had spoken. “None of you say jack-shit, motherfuckers. I ain’t no kinda queer.”

Brian was still nervous. The more they insisted that they weren’t going to fuck him, the more sure he was that they were. He really wouldn’t mind trying it. He just wanted the option to change his mind partway through, and of course he wanted to be assured he’d be protected while he was locked up.

Samson went back to his bunk, while the rest of the cellmates gradually fell asleep. Brian was wide awake. He soon gave up hope that he’d be able to sleep at all tonight. It was going to be a fitless night without rest.

Soon the cell was silent aside from the noisy breathing and occasional stirring of his prisonmates. Officer Armstrong walked by every half-hour or so but he didn’t look in the cells. Far away, Brian heard an inmate snore, but it wasn’t loud enough to keep him awake.

He yelped when someone touched him. A heavy hand pressed down on his mouth. Callused, rough skin rubbed against his face.

“Sssh…” Samson’s gravelly voice filled Brian’s ear. Brian squirmed, but Samson held him down. “Don’t worry. Ain’t gonna hurtcha. Relax. Chill out, whiteboi. Sssh…” Brian tried to stop moving, but he was instinctively frightened with that hand muffling his mouth. The knowledge that he couldn’t cry out if he wanted to made this terrifying.

Finally Samson calmed Brian down by removing his hand and planting his lips on Brian’s. Brian had never kissed a man before, and he had never thought a straight thug like Samson would kiss him, especially out of nowhere like this. It was so unnerving that Brian did stop fighting back, exactly as Samson intended.

“Good. Relax, whiteboi,” Samson said. He kissed Brian again on the neck. “I ain’t gonna hurtcha.”


“Sssh… whisper,” Samson said.

“Okay, look-“

“Sssh. You wanna sleep wit’ me?”


“We can share a bunk if you want. You can suck my dick like you want, and I’ll fuck you. I ain’t gonna promise you protection though.”


“Cuz you don’t need it. I always take care of my family, and if you in this cell wit’ me, you my family. You my prisonmate, whiteboi,” Samson said. “If you wanna get fucked cuz you love gettin’ fucked, just come sleep in my bed. You gotta get up and out on the floor real early, so no one sees you. I got a rep to protect. The guards don’t allow us to make love.”

“Oh, well…” Brian felt like kind of a prick. He was glad to have protection, and he didn’t care about doing anything for or with Samson if he didn’t need to. Was it wrong to accept Samson’s protection without giving him anything in return.

But on the other hand, Brian did say that he had wanted to try this. He wanted to see what it was like to get fucked, and he could think of no one better to introduce him to the world of sodomy than the sexy massive prison-thug Samson.

“Okay-“ Brian said. Before he could say anything else, Samson had scooped him up in his arms and brought Brian to his bunk.

It was not a large mattress. Samson was a huge man, well over six-feet tall and built like a brick fuckhouse, as Brian’s grandmother would have said. Samson barely fit in the bunk by himself. When Brian crawled in with him, he was forced to cuddle with Samson’s iron-like muscles.

Samson smacked his lips. He kissed Brian on the ear, and he slowly pushed Brian’s hand to Samson’s crotch. Brian gulped and stuck his fingers through the fly of Samson’s prison-issued shorts.

“There you go, whiteboi, you doin’ nice, keep at it,” Samson said with a low, rumbling groan. He whispered but his voice was so deep it rumbled and echoed in Brian’s ear. “You gay?”

“No,” Brian said. “I, uh… I-“ He gulped. “I like to, uh… I use dildos. Like, on myself.”

“Oh? You like anal?”

“Yeah-“ Brian grunted as Samson rammed one of his fingers in Brian’s asshole. It was his pinkie finger, but he was a big man so it was hefty, and it was callused and rough. Brian squirmed and yelped again.

“You like dat, whiteboi?”

“Uh, no-oooooo!” Brian’s voice broke because his pain turned into pleasure all of a sudden as Samson’s finger hit his prostate. Brian tightened his ass around his finger. “I mean…”

“Ah, yeah, I see dat, you like it. Good boy,” Samson said. “I teach all these niggas in here how to love it when I fuck ‘em. That’s a lesson e’ryone learn sooner or later. I’m glad you learnin’ it sooner. It’s a good lesson, ain’t it?”

“Uh… yeah,” Brian said, his mind too focused on his asshole to think about what Samson was saying. He didn’t even stroke Samson’s dick as he endured the finger-fucking; he just laid there, pinned between Samson and the wall, with his hand gripping Samson’s half-hard dick but not stroking it.

“You wanna suck on it? I’d mighty ‘ppreciate it,” Samson said. He guided Brian’s head. He didn’t force it, but he did give Brian a push.

Brian did want to try it. Samson was ungodly sexy, and the more Brian endured his finger in his ass, the more Brian wanted to experience it all. He didn’t even mind if his other prisonmates found out.

So he allowed Samson to push his head into Samson’s crotch. Brian opened up and swallowed the tip of Samson’s cock.

The taste was powerful and sudden, an explosion of salty meat in his mouth. Brian gagged but that just opened his mouth a little wider, and Samson pushed his dick in farther. Samson groaned and started to move his pinkie finger in and out.

Samson began to writhe as though the blowjob felt so good he couldn’t control himself. His dick stiffened all the way up in Brian’s mouth. He loved the musky, unwashed flavor, and he loved the way he could feel Samson’s heartbeat in the throbbing of his dick. Samson’s muscles tensed when Brian’s hand caressed his chest.

“Told you, nigga,” someone said, and someone else giggled knowingly.

“Samson, we knew you was gonna do it.”

“Samson fuckin’ dat whiteboi! Least surprisin’ thing evuh.”

“Hey! Shut up!” Samson barked. “You gonna get Off’cer Armstrong lookin’ in here.”

They all settled down a little, but it didn’t last long. Now that he knew everyone else was awake, Brian was very self-conscious. His mouth made loud, moist suckling sounds as Samson worked his dick deeper and deeper, and every few seconds Brian choked despite his best efforts. Samson’s finger in his ass made noise too. Brian couldn’t tell how loud it was to everyone else, but to him, it was deafening.

“You doin’ okay, whiteboi, not bad ’t all,” Samson said. He caressed Brian’s head and kissed the air. Then Brian gagged very loudly and Samson clucked his tongue caringly. He grabbed Brian by the ponytail and dragged his head off Samson’s cock. It was such a crude, barbaric action that Brian was surprised when Samson kissed him on the lips. His tongue plunged into Brian’s mouth, but just for a moment.

He returned Brian to sucking his cock. Samson sighed. “You like dat? I don’t kiss boys a lot, okay? I don’t like it much, but I wanna show my ‘ppreciation for you suckin’ my dick nice.”

There were more moist sounds filling the air. At first Brian thought maybe his other prisonmates were having sex. That would be nice, he thought, because it would make him feel less self-conscious.

But then he realized that wasn’t true — they weren’t fucking each other, they were masturbating. They watched Samson’s finger disappear in Brian’s ass in the dim light as though it was an exciting movie, and all eleven of them stroked themselves off. They were each standing or at least sitting up on their cot and watching, cock in hand.

Brian had never been more aroused. He had also never been more embarrassed, but right now the arousal was more prominent in his mind. His own cock was rock-hard, and he tried to jack himself off the best he could crammed into the tiny bunk with Samson.

“Alright, whiteboi, we gonna see how much fun you really is,” Samson said. “Is it okay if I fuck you?”

“Yes, oh god, please, do it,” Brian said. He blushed, not that anyone could see in the darkened cell. His mouth was empty then, and Samson moved with catlike grace despite his huge size and bulky body.

Samson kneeled against the wall, crouched awkwardly so he fit beneath the bunk above his head. His cock stuck straight out. He wrapped his arms around Brian and had him kneel right in front of Samson’s crotch.

His dick rammed right in. Brian’s ass was already open and loose from the fingering, but Samson soon added some lube anyway — it was hog fat, or lard, that he had stolen from the prison kitchen — and his massive dick slid right in.

“Yeah, whiteboi, take it, take e’ry inch of that nigga meat,” he said with a laugh. The others all joined in chuckling, but then shushed each other.

“Yo, guards gonna hear, man, shush.”

“Be quiet!”

Brian squirmed as he endured the ass-fucking. It started off painful, then felt so good he had to suppress a moan again, and then it hurt again before it became a low, slow, melting pleasure that made him wiggle like a worm.

His body was limp and submissive. Brian felt like he was falling because he kneeled on the bunk in front of Samson, who was also kneeling, but the bunk wasn’t really wide enough for both of them to sit up in front of each other like that. So Brian was suspended over the air, held aloft only by Samson’s arms keeping him in a bear hold. If Samson let go, Brian would plummet face-first onto the floor.

The pressure and pleasure in his ass was so intense Brian couldn’t even moan. He kept his mouth open but the only sound that came out was a strangled moan.

One of Samson’s hands remained in place, wrapped around Brian’s chest and holding him in place, while his other hand roamed south. Brian had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to say anything about it as Samson’s hand wrapped around his dick. Brian spasmed and gasped. The other prisonmates laughed quietly at Brian’s frenzied reaction, but they didn’t know Samson gave Brian a reacharound as he fucked.

“Hey,” Samson whispered into Brian’s ear, his chest muscles writhing and flexing against Brian’s back. “You wanna be the coolest whiteboi evuh?”

“Huh, yeah?”

“Whatchoo think, whiteboi?”

Brian’s mind struggled to focus on Samson’s words. He gasped and squirmed in Samson’s muscles. What had seemed awkward and strange at first was now deeply arousing. Brian loved the feel of potent, hairy, masculine power flexing against his flesh, and Samson’s throbbing fuckstick demolishing Brian’s ass. It was better than his girlfriend’s purple strap-on, which had been Brian’s go-to orgasm device for a long time.

His prostate tingled with such intensity that Brian could barely speak. He managed to say, “yeah”, not caring what the plan was — he would do anything his ebony sex-god of a cellmate wanted.

“Open yo’ mouth, whiteboi,” Samson said. He pried Brian’s mouth apart. “Yo’ prisonmates gonna nut in yo’ throat. This is like all of us sayin’ hello, okay? We gonna be good friends aftuh this. You gonna taste our nuts, nice and creamy goin’ down yo’ throat, okay?”

“Oh god yes,” Brian said. He opened his mouth.

Instantly two cocks pushed in at once. There were some deep grunting noises, and someone pushed someone else.

“Get outta my way.”

“I’m first, nigga, move!” In the end, both men shot their loads just seconds after Brian got the first taste of cockmeat. They had both been on the verge of orgasm already. Creamy, salty cum invaded Brian’s mouth. The flavor was not exactly tasty, but it was savory and Brian wanted more.

A loud clanging sound erupted, and everyone jumped “Hey!” Officer Armstrong stood outside the cell. He had slammed his nightstick on the door. “I’m gonna turn on the light in about five seconds, shitweasels. Ya hear me? If I see somethin’ in there that I gotta intervene about, you had best believe I am gonna shove this entire prison up your stupid shitweasel assholes!”

A moment of silence filled the air, and then Officer Armstrong began counting. “Five!” He banged on the door once more. Everyone in the cell burst into a frenzy of activity. Brian was annoyed to slide off Samson’s cock and crawl, still shuddering from the aftershocks of his interrupted orgasm. “Four! Three! Two! One!”

He turned the cell light on. Brian groaned as bright light assaulted his eyes. Everyone was in their bunks, sheets and blankets covering their hardons.

All in all, it must have been blatantly obvious what had been happening in here. But Officer Armstrong just flared his nostrils as he looked over the thirteen men pretending to be asleep. He spat a big loogie onto the floor of the cell, then shut the door again.

“Go to sleep, shitweasels. If you’re gonna fuck, finish in the next couple minutes so I don’t have to hear it when I come back around,” he said as he walked away.

Everyone — except the two who had already cum — was eager to finish up, having nearly been blue-balled by Officer Armstrong. Before Brian could even get up, Samson was behind him again, ramming his dick back into Brian’s ass.

Brian grunted and Samson growled seductively. He wrapped all of his arms and legs around Brian’s limbs, bringing him to the ground. Samson laid on his back, while Brian submitted, resting on Samson’s chest with his ass on Samson’s massive cock.

The pain was intense once again, but only for a moment before that mind-numbing pleasure hit him once more. As Brian tasted that ebony prison-cock and drooled over its meaty goodness, he smiled. He was going to love his time in prison, he thought.

“Yeah, whiteboi, swallow my nut,” someone said as he shot a hot load of salty cum all over Brian’s face. “Let’s bukkake him. Let’s make him real messy.”

The others all agreed, but most of them were barely listening — they were already about to bukkake him regardless. Their dicks sprayed heavy loads all over Brian’s face. He couldn’t even tell how many. He knew logically it should have been eleven, or no more than eleven, but it surely felt like more. Had someone jacked off more than once? It was impossible to tell.

But his mouth and face were covered in dripping cum, which coated his skin and seeped into his flesh. It leaked down the sides and onto Samson’s body, but Samson didn’t care — in prison, these kinds of sanitary, privacy issues stopped being so relevant. A few drops of cum even found their way into Samson’s mouth, but he barely noticed that either.

The sensation of getting fucked and the taste of a torrent of cum flooding his mouth was so overwhelming that Brian didn’t noticed his own orgasm until happened. It was the most intense experience of his life. It felt like it lasted the entire nine to twelve years he was to spend behind bars — his prostate sang and danced within him, sending waves of pleasure to every corner of his body. He squeezed around Samson’s dick.

“Swallow it while I nut inside you, whiteboi,” Samson said with a moan. He rammed his dick all the way in, making Brian scream, unable to muffle the sound at all. As he spewed hot wad after wad of cum inside Brian’s guts, Samson’s callused fingers pushed semen into Brian’s mouth. He smeared every drop of that bukkake mess down into Brian’s waiting throat.

He didn’t mind touching his niggas’ cum, and Samson groaned as the taste made Brian’s body clench around him. Samson knew how to make a prison bitch’s body react the way he wanted, so he filled Brian’s mouth up with eleven loads, plus Brian’s own cum that Samson scooped up from his chest.

“Yeah, whiteboi, nice…” Samson moaned as he shot the last few drops of his own cum into Brian’s ass. He laid there, dick throbbing while it limpened inside that tight hole. He had rarely felt such a wonderful ass.

“Comin’ back soon, boys!” Officer Armstrong called out. “Finish up!”

The other prisonmates slowly made their way back to their bunks. They stopped to wipe off their dicks first with toilet paper, since most of them had done a little jousting and gotten each other’s cum on their shafts. They quietly shuffled into their beds, giggling nervously about what had happened.

But Samson remained right where he was, resting on his back on the floor, dick limpening inside Brian while Samson flopped Brian’s soft cock between his fingers.

“You wanna come sleep in my bunk?” Samson asked. “Remember, when the sun comes up, you gotta move back to the floor so the guards don’t see.”

“Okay,” Brian said breathlessly. He breathed a sigh of relief when Samson finally took his dick out of Brian’s ass.

Brian was so exhausted he fell right to sleep. He curled up in the tiny space Samson left for him, and he buried his nose in Samson’s warm bicep. He kept one hand on Samson’s belly, just low enough where he could feel the beginning of Samson’s pubic hair. He inhaled deeply of the musky scent of Samson’s sweat-dappled body.

“I love you, Samson,” Brian whispered.

“Shush, whiteboi,” Samson said. “I know you love me. E’ryone falls in love when I fuck ‘em. Don’t worry. I ain’t nevuh gonna stop fuckin’ you, Brian. So we gonna be in love forevuh.”