Tag Archives: alpha male

Masseurs Most Macho: The Handsy Coach

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Most Macho: The Handsy Coach, a new story by Happiest Ending!

“Oh shit, lemme tell Jeremy my dick got hard- Hang on.” Donald got up and poked his head out the door. He yelled, “Hey, Jeremy, you were wrong! Hey! You are a fucking idiot, man, I told you I can get hard for anything.”

Jeremy shouted something back. Ethan couldn’t hear what it was, but it made Donald guffaw, his thick body shaking as he did. Donald was a little ruddy right now, his rock-hard dick jutting out between his legs. He smiled at Ethan.

“Sorry, sorry, that’s my friend Jeremy. He’s a prickhole.” Donald knew that Ethan already knew Jeremy, he was just explaining because he forgot that fact. It was Jeremy who had urged Donald to come get a massage because Jeremy frequently did so.

“Sure, that’s fine. Just lay down, Donald. You have to stay still,” Ethan said.

Donald sheepishly laid back down on his belly on the table. He had such a perfectly thick ass that Ethan had to resist the urge to suck all the sweat off him. Donald was a rugby player for GHU, and Ethan was a masseur for the athletic department. He kneaded the flesh of Donald’s muscles. Donald closed his eyes, but he didn’t look particularly relaxed — he looked bored, like he was only doing this because someone had told him he should.

“Hey, do you massage girls too?”

“Yes,” Ethan said.

“Do you ever massage Katie Marleywine?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about other clients. What team is she on?”

“Oh, she doesn’t play any sports.”

Ethan sighed. “I work for the athletic department, Donald. If she’s not on a team, I can’t massage her.”

“But she’s like, superhot. If you were at a party, you’d offer to massage her. She’s so hot. She’s got tits that are like… amazing.” He thought for a long time but struggled to come up with any words to describe how awesome her tits were.

Ethan was shocked that Donald didn’t know he was gay. Ethan was slim, flamboyant, feminine. He normally never bothered to come out of the closet because it was obvious to everyone that he was gay.

In actuality, Ethan should have been even more shocked — Donald knew very well that Ethan was gay, he had simply forgotten. Donald’s friend Jeremy had urged him to come get a massage because it would lead to a happy ending, and Jeremy thought it would be hilarious if Donald got a handjob from a man. His teammates frequently dared each other to come let Ethan give them rimjobs (they had no reason to think Ethan would do so, they just thought the idea was funny). Donald had discussed Ethan being gay on several occasions, so there was no way he didn’t know.

But at the moment, Donald was thinking about girls. He had Katie Marleywine on the mind, and so it didn’t occur to him that Ethan was gay. How could anyone, he thought, not think Katie Marleywine was the most beautiful girl ever?

That was why his cock get hard. The more he thought about her, the harder his dick got, until it was sticking straight up and throbbing. Donald blushed.

“Donald, it’s okay-“

Donald sat up and looked at his dick. He smiled — he had no embarrassment. “Sorry, I get hard sometimes.” He got up again. “I’m-a go slap Jeremy in the face with it. I’ll be right back.”


He went out into the locker room, cock jutting right out from his crotch. A torrent of shouts and baritone laughter filled the air. Someone screamed, and there was a loud bang like something heavy had fallen to the ground.

“Shit, get your dick off me, Donald!” Whoever it was, it wasn’t Jeremy. Ethan got the impression Donald had fallen on top of someone. He hadn’t slapped anyone in the face with his dick.

Donald came back, grinning. “He got away from me.”

“Donald, I don’t have time for you to put the massage on hold,” Ethan said. “Lay down-“

“Are you gonna jack me off?” Donald asked. He sat on the table and looked at his dick. He gave it one stroke and smiled at Ethan. “You can. Jeremy said it isn’t gay. He said it doesn’t count during a massage.”

“Oh. Is Jeremy in charge of that?”

“Yeah,” Donald said. He sounded totally serious, like Ethan should have known that already.

“Well… Yeah, okay,” Ethan said. Normally he said no to any athlete that asked for a handjob — Ethan did it if he thought they deserved it, but he said no when asked.

Until now. He sighed and grabbed Donald’s dick, which was thick and veiny. Donald closed his eyes and sighed as soon as he did, and his cock throbbed in Ethan’s grip.

“Hey do gay guys jack off?” Donald asked.

Ethan was focused on stroking Donald’s dick, so his question didn’t quite sink in at first. Then he assumed he misunderstood. He kept stroking, and Donald’s dick throbbed as though he enjoyed it, though Donald kept talking as though he didn’t notice.

“I mean do they jack themselves off? You? Do you jack yourself off?”

“What? Donald… I’m not-…” Ethan sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been known to masturbate from time to time.”

Donald blushed. “Really? It seems like, you could just jack each other off. Like other gay guys.”


“Whoever, I mean-“

“So just go out and meet some gay guys so we can jack each other off?”


“That just sounds like dating, but with more jacking off.”

Donald thought for a long time, then he nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. I just think, y’know, if you like dick, why touch your own?”

“Yeah… That’s… Sure, okay, Donald.”

“Or maybe it would make more sense to never touch anyone else’s dick. After all, if you can fuck yourself, you’d never need to go out. If girls could fuck themselves, they’d never go out on dates.”



“Girls have dildos,” Ethan said. He sighed because Donald looked like he didn’t understand. Ethan rolled his eyes. “Girls use dildos, Donald. They can fuck themselves with dildos. How am I the one educating you about vaginas?”

“Yeah, but dildos are cold.”


“If I were a girl, I wouldn’t use dildos because they’re cold. That must feel bad, I wouldn’t want to put something cold in my pussy,” he said, giggling and blushing. He stretched his muscles like he was on the verge of falling asleep.

“I don’t think… They’re not…” Ethan had to admit that sounded reasonable. Women didn’t warm dildos up, did they? They’re usually stored under the bed, Ethan thought, that’s not cold. It sounded ridiculous but Ethan couldn’t think of a reason why. “Look, Donald, if you want me to jack you off, you have to stop talking about vaginas.”

“Oh. Sorry. What am I supposed to talk about?”

Ethan had to laugh. “Donald, I’m jacking you off — stop talking. You’re not supposed to talk.” He stopped masturbating Donald’s dick, thinking Donald wouldn’t even notice because he wasn’t paying attention. But then Donald did notice, and he frowned. Ethan said, “Do you really wanna make small-talk while I jack you off?”

Donald shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Ethan felt a little bad. Donald had such an expressive face that, when he looked wounded, Ethan felt like he had kicked a puppy.

Too Thick for Girls: The Linebacker Lean

Here’s the beginning of Too Thick for Girls: The Linebacker Lean, the debut story by Trent Chaplain!

Gravy Mitchell tried not to feel self-conscious. He hung around on the bus. No one seemed to notice that he was alone. His teammates filed off, meeting up with the girls out in the parking lot. Even the bus driver had disappeared somewhere.

The GHU Wildcats were on their way to Jacksonville for a big game. The cheerleading squad was on their way too, and their van had stopped in the same motel parking lot where Gravy and his fellow Wildcats were staying.

And then they paired up. That happened sometimes. The cheerleaders brought their female friends, and they all picked a football player as they got off the bus. The cheerleaders giggled and laughed as they found a man, and they went into the rooms the school had rented for the players.

Gravy sat there on the bus alone. He didn’t bother to go out there. He couldn’t be humiliated like that again.

At one point, he had gotten big deliberately. Girls liked muscles, right? They liked athletes. They were into that, he was sure that had been true at one point. But it seemed there was a point of no return, and that point was either six and a half feet tall or three hundred pounds, give or take a bit.

Gravy wasn’t fat by any means. He was in good shape. He didn’t have a six-pack, no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get those kind of perfectly etched curves like the quarterback Sammy. He had a big barrel shaped chest, and he was approaching seven feet tall and four hundred and fifty pounds. At least he was pretty sure he had stopped growing. He hoped so.

He was already too big for girls.

As the parking lot emptied and Gravy could go to his room without being seen, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror at the front of the bus and he blanched. He really did look like an ogre, he thought.

He worked out constantly. That was his plan, while his teammates were fucking beautiful cheerleaders, probably double-teaming them, filling their tight holes with creamy seed, Gravy would just go work out. He was hungry — he was always hungry, eating more than eight thousand calories a day, and burning them all off — and he needed to work out or he would get antsy.

Last month, the cheerleaders had come into the locker room for a “blowjob-party”, which they said was a tradition. They each picked a guy, or sometimes more than one, and sucked him off.

Ew, not Gravy! Sorry! I can’t even reach his dick on my knees!

He’s too hairy! He’s got backhair… Gross…

He smells like my dad’s armpits, ohmygod…

They had giggled and whispered to each other. No one actually told Gravy that he had been rejected, he had to overhear and surmise it from the fact that no one started sucking him off. He was the only one who didn’t get a blowjob, even the weirdo German-Turkish kicker Abu landed the tubby cheerleader.

The last time Gravy did get laid, it was some fat chick who had made him stop partway through. His dick was too big and he “ain’t usin’ it right”. She said she’d give him a handjob, but then she just mashed it for a bit and passed out.

That was it.

Everyone assumed football players got laid a lot. The nerd who tutored Gravy in math made comments suggesting it, and Gravy was too embarrassed to correct him. Gravy might have considered lying, pretending he had a girl when he didn’t; he could have tried to save face that way. But in the most humiliating aspect of this whole problem, he didn’t need to lie. His teammates were so used to being golden gods who got girls every night that they never even really asked. They occasionally noticed that he had no girl hanging off him, but they always assumed there were girls right around the corner. It never occurred to them that Gravy didn’t get laid. The one time they heard about a girl turning him down for being too massive and having a painfully huge cock, they thought it was awesome; they assumed Gravy got other girls on other occasions; they congratulated him as though being turned down for sex was a sign of getting a lot of sex.

He walked along the side of the building. He could see one of his teammates through a window, taking off his clothes before pouncing on the beautiful cheerleader sprawled naked over the bed. All of them kept their windows at least partially open, seemingly an accident though Gravy suspected they wanted to make the hotel staff knock on the door. They wanted to brag that they fucked so good the hotel made them take a break. They’d never stop bragging if Coach Bagworth had to come tell them to keep it down.

Lowering his head to make it in the doorway, Gravy walked into his own room. It was plain, but fine. He dropped his duffel bag and scarfed down the chocolate on the pillow.

He didn’t want to go eat, then workout, because that was what he always did. The hotel staff would know that he was the only one not getting laid. His dick stirred because he had been thinking about sex, and his jockstrap was uncomfortably tight.

But that is what he did. He didn’t have anything else to do, so he went to the breakfast buffet (which was open until noon). He piled his plate high with pancakes and bacon. Then he sat down. He tried to make a face like a man who had just gotten laid, hoping maybe folks would think he was just powering up for the next phase.

Crumbs and pancake syrup dripped into his lap. He didn’t really fit in the narrow chair, his plump asscheeks spilling over the side. This wasn’t even a nice hotel and Gravy still felt out of place, like a hobo who had stumbled into a mansion. His hand was sticky, and when he ran his fingers through his tangled black hair, his hair got even greasier and nastier. He didn’t mean to do that. He sighed. He didn’t understand how his teammates managed to look more or less respectable. Jack Miller (a tight end) didn’t style his hair at all and somehow he always looked like Prince Charming. Deondre Wilson had a shaved head and a squat face like a pig that ran into a wall, Gravy never understood why girls thought he was handsome; he spent no time on his appearance either. It was different, he thought, for black guys. And Deondre had a six-pack.

Gravy belched, then blanched. That sounded louder than he thought. He hadn’t intended to be some gross ogreish jock belching like a monster, scaring away the civilians who vacationed here like the villain’s lackey in a college comedy movie. But every sound that came out of his giant throat was loud and attention-grabbing. Gravy couldn’t whisper; his voice was bone-rattlingly deep.

“Hi, sweetheart,” came a feminine voice from behind him.

Gravy turned around. For a moment, he thought it was a cheerleader willing to give him sloppy seconds. He could have tolerated that.

But it was a man. He worked here at the hotel, and his nametag said Trent. He sounded feminine because he was flamboyantly gay. He was tiny, at barely more than five feet tall, though he looked athletic and sinuous. He giggled as he looked up at Gravy’s face — even though Gravy sat and Trent stood, Trent had to look upwards to see his face.

“Hi.” Gravy grunted.

“You look like you need something. Would you like some more bacon, sir?”

Gravy nodded. Trent went and got him a big plate full of bacon. Gravy stuffed it in his mouth, eyeing Trent suspiciously. This, he thought, was not the kind of hotel where staff would bring him food from a buffet. Avoiding that staff expense was rather the whole point of a buffet.

“You’re here with that football team, right?”

Gravy nodded.

He smiled. “Normally, when a team bus pulls up, they all come running to the buffet right away. Where’s the rest of your team?”

Gravy shrugged.

“Not a big talker, huh?”

“Not really,” Gravy said, keeping his voice as low as possible. Of course he wasn’t able to avoid attracting attention. Folks at other tables glanced up, as though Gravy’s baritone made their glasses vibrate. Gravy blanched. In addition to having a freakishly, painfully deep voice, Gravy thought he simply sounded stupid — he sounded like a dumbie; people always assumed he was stupid because of his size anyway, and the dull chasm of his voice seemed to confirm it. Even when he said true things in class, people laughed as though he had embarrassed himself.

“That’s okay, you don’t need to talk. A big sexy guy like you…”

Gravy grunted.

Trent smiled. “What?”

Gravy just shook his head. “I’m too big to be sexy. I’m too thick for girls.”

Trent sighed dramatically. “Girls are such idiots. There’s no such thing as too thick.” He threw his hands in the air. “C’mon, let me show you.”

The Yakuza’s Tutor

Here’s the beginning of “The Yakuza’s Tutor“, a yaoi interracial tale by Lee Lane Lamplight!


Frank felt like an idiot when he finally realized who he worked for. In retrospect, there were lots of clues. But he was an American who had only just moved to Japan to teach English. He had chalked all that stuff up to cultural differences.

He only became totally sure when he went to a noodle restaurant with a man. The Japanese gay scene was hard for foreigners to break into; many gay men simply weren’t interested in Americans. But he finally got a date with a hot man, and they went to this legendary noodle joint that had been recommended by the men he taught English to. They ate there often. He had seen the takeout containers. He had eaten the noodles takeout himself, he had just never been there before.

Midway through the meal, Frank’s date leaned over to whisper, in broken, nervous, trembling English, “I didn’t know you were… yakuza. I’m sorry, I’m just shocked. I know I should pretend I do not know, but… well, you’re not Japanese anyway-“

“Wait, what?”

And so that was how Frank figured it out. He never went on a second date with that guy, who was too terrified to answer the phone when Frank called. The noodle restaurant was yakuza-connected. The waiters had been speaking in hushed tones that Frank’s date overheard as they ate — the only reason they had allowed Frank in was because their delivery boy vouched for him working for Samforo.

Samforo was, it turned out, a front company. Frank went to work without acknowledging what he had learned. Now it was obvious. This was a telecommunications company that didn’t advertise or run cable anywhere. The “executives” to whom Frank taught English were mostly muscle-bound goons, several of whom were missing a finger. There were no women around at all. Even the cleaning staff had grim faces and nice suits.

So there were signs that something was amiss. Frank was terrified and considered quitting. He could just flee back to America. But that might even be more dangerous. He wondered if the yakuza thought he was an idiot for not figuring it out.

He decided to play along. He pretended he still had no idea. He asked how the telecommunications business was doing, and the charming “Vice-President” who signed Frank’s paychecks — Mr. Matsumagi — smilingly explained that they were doing well, expanding into new areas. Frank said great and went home.

After that, things settled into a groove. The men were very respectful to him. He had thought that was general Japanese politeness and respect for educators, but now he realized that wasn’t the case — they were deferent to him, either because he was seen as a boss of sorts or because they thought they needed in order to maintain the illusion that they were a real company. They were strictly obedient, falling silent in their chairs at nine o’clock every morning and listening attentively until they finished at noon.

That was the beginner’s class. In the afternoon, Frank taught English one-on-one to the more advanced learners. That was another aspect that seemed obvious in retrospect — the “beginners” were bodyguards and goons; the “advanced learners” were the actual leaders, extortionists and others who needed to do real business in English-speaking countries. The beginners were all big and strong and not especially smart; the advanced learners were smaller and handsomer, with obvious intellect, honeyed words and big grins. The beginners had, in some cases, worked here for years but were still treated like lackeys (because they were).

So it was weeks before Frank felt comfortable again. It finally clicked to him one day — Frank was in a position of power. The leaders didn’t care what happened so long as everybody learned English, and they certainly didn’t care about ordinary rules or laws. They respected only obedience to proper authority, and during classes, that authority was Frank.

The men in his beginners didn’t care too much what Frank did either — they didn’t freak out when he did something they saw as rude by Japanese standards; they didn’t care that he was white or openly gay; they didn’t expect him to behave in the same stoic, obedient way they expected each other to behave. They even seemed to enjoy it when Frank cracked inappropriate jokes or behaved like a blustery American cowboy. The “goons” — that was how Frank came to think of his morning beginner’s class, since they were all bodyguards and enforcers — thought it was hilarious when Frank threw a limp wrist and a sassy comment in their direction. They didn’t even usually understand the sass, but they enjoyed it. They said he was “funny like a white Upa”. Frank had to ask several Japanese friends what “Upa” was before he realized they were comparing him to RuPaul.

Soon the classes became rowdy affairs, at least by Japanese standards. The goons laughed and occasionally called out comments in broken English. They brought in videos downloaded from YouTube and asked Frank to explain why they were funny. Occasionally they argued with each other, or challenged each other to contests of strength, all of which were conducted in Japanese much too rapid for Frank to follow.

It was after one of those contests that Frank first realized what he could get away with. The winner was Itsuki, who was new to the class. He was one of those goons whom Frank was a bit scared of, despite his deference and respect for Frank’s authority — Itsuki was tall for a Japanese man, brimming with muscles and missing one finger in its entirety and another finger past the first knuckle.

When Itsuki won his contest — Frank had no idea what sparked it, the class was simply interrupted by an argument in very swift Japanese, so Frank went with the ride and clapped with the others while Itsuki and Akio did push-ups.

When he won, Itsuki stood, chest heaving and dappled with sweat. He was heavily tattooed, with koi fish and kabuki dancers covering his badly scarred chest and neck — he looked like he had survived a fire at some point — and he roared, pounding on his chest like Tarzan. It lasted only a moment, and Itsuki blushed like he hadn’t meant to; that was an intense display of emotion for a Japanese man, especially a yakuza in a classroom like this. Everyone fell silent and stared at him.

Frank broke the tension by placing one hand on Itsuki’s bicep. He intended to raise his arm like an umpire congratulating a winning boxer, but he felt a surge of desire and arousal from the touch of Itsuki’s corded muscles and the musky scent of his armpit. He just held onto Itsuki’s arm and rubbed his face against it like a cat, giggling and blushing.

The expression on Frank’s face must have alerted the yakuza to Frank’s feelings, because they all burst into laughter. Frank thought he had angered them or humiliated himself, but they thought it was funny. Whatever they said to Itsuki made him frown at Frank — Frank caught a few words in Japanese, it sounded like they were telling Itsuki he was too ugly to meet any girls and he should hook up with Frank instead.

Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Bimbofication in Bangkok

Here’s the first chapter of Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Bimbofication in Bangkok, a black-billionaire-turns-blonde-bimbo tale that’s the latest release in the Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour series!

Gracelyn was not expecting how colorful Bangkok would be. It looked like Tokyo as interpreted by Disney, but then with a couple decades of wear, tear and repainting. It was cartoonish, vibrant, loud, bustling, dingy in spots, ramshackle. She sometimes got the impression the entire city was held together with duct tape.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to do anything here anyway. Gracelyn was flanked by security as she went to the World Passion Vacations office in downtown Bangkok, so she didn’t feel too safe. The security guys were surprisingly sexy though. She almost wished she’d get to spend the week with them instead of with whomever World Passion arranged for.

Gracelyn was a billionaire on vacation. She had arranged for World Passion Vacations to set up one of their legendary sex tours. She wanted to explore the sexual fruits that the Asian continent had to offer. After a few interesting — and strange — encounters in Japan, Hong Kong, South Korea and Mongolia, Gracelyn was here in Thailand for something new.

This was technologically mind-blowing. When she was told on the plane ride here what was in store for her, Gracelyn didn’t believe it. She said it must be a trick: some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion seemed possible.

But they were totally serious. The security guys were serious too. Gracelyn was shocked at the intimidating swagger of the guards surrounding her — previously on this trip, World Passion had set her up with local off-duty cops. They were sometimes macho and swaggery, but never like this.

The security guards here were buff like athletes, wearing Western-style suits that they clearly didn’t know how to wear correctly — ill-fitting, crooked, wrinkled. Gracelyn found out the reason only much later: these were not professional security guards. They worked for the Chao Pho, which was a sort of Thai mafia. They were not private security; they were goons, thieves, extortionists, strongarm men. That’s why they had a menacing look to them even though they acted submissive and obedient.

They avoided looking at her, as though they had been told to maintain a distance. Gracelyn had noticed that was a pattern, either for Asia or for World Passion Vacations, she couldn’t tell which made the decision: the people treated her like an empress, like she’d behead them for making eye contact. When she tried to chat casually with her driver at the Bangkok airport, he reacted like his family would be murdered if he said the wrong thing. She was unable to make him relax.

“So, uh… is this place for real?” Gracelyn asked one of the guards as they led her through the lab.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He was short, even for a Thai man, but he was built like a muscle-bound rectangle, with no neck, bulging arms and a craggy face. He wasn’t exactly handsome — certainly not in a Hollywood-protagonist sense, or even in a Hollywood-villain way — but he had an awkward sexiness that Gracelyn found alluring. She had a feeling that World Passion Vacations was going to set her up with some Thai boytoy, but she would have preferred this security man.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Chati,” he said. It sounded rather like the word chatty, which made Gracelyn giggle because Chati was the least chatty person she’d met in all of Asia. He hadn’t yet managed any multi-word answers to her questions.


“Miss Brown, we’re ready for you,” said a pretty Thai woman. She stood in a doorway. She had no trace of a Thai accent.

Gracelyn followed her in. She had already been filled in on the details, but now it was up to her to decide whether or not to go through with it. She had initially thought no, then yes, then no again. And now she just couldn’t decide.

Gracelyn was a proud black woman. She was curvy and thick, and there were very few occasions when she thought about changing herself. She was constantly trying to lose weight, but she didn’t want to lose a lot. She didn’t want to be some skinny little thing. She had fantasized about being white, of course, wondering what it would be like — her conclusion: not as much fun as it might seem — but she never seriously wanted to change anything about her appearance.

Until the option presented itself.

World Passion Vacations had invented a machine they called the Bimboficator. It could take any woman and turn her, for a limited time, into a blonde bombshell with a thin waist, huge tits and a dim mind. No part of Gracelyn wanted those things. She couldn’t even imagine why a man would want a woman like that.

But as she walked out of the bimbofication room, giggling, throwing her newly blonde hair back behind her head, Gracelyn had never been more sure she made the right decision.

I’ve done it. I’m a bimbo. I’m blonde. I’m white. I’m a bimbo. She giggled to herself.

The security guards escorted her out. This time, their brusque crudeness and mean looks weren’t just alluring; they were arousing. Gracelyn had never wanted to get laid more than she wanted it right then.

“Chati?” she said. “My thin little feet are weak. I’m not used to these matchstick legs.“

“”Yes, miss.”

“Will you carry me? Can I ride on your back?”

He smiled, and if Gracelyn hadn’t been a bimbo, she would have seen the hostility in his grin, the menace and intimidation. If Gracelyn weren’t blonde, she would have noticed it, but of course, if she weren’t blonde, it wouldn’t have happened. So she had no idea she was in danger. Her stupid-bimbo mind simply assumed that Chati was as kind and friendly as everyone who worked for the escort agency.

“Yes, miss,” he said. He got down on his knees in front of her. He smiled like it was a foreign expression for him, like he had rarely ever done so, like it was just as ill-fitting on his face as his suit was on his muscled body.

Gracelyn hopped up onto his back. She liked being small enough to easily fit on his back. The old Gracelyn sometimes liked the idea of riding muscular men on their backs — there was something so sexy about it — but she was always scared that she’d be too heavy. It’d be humiliating if her man were unable to support her. So she had never done it until now.

But she was small and light, and Chati was plenty strong. The rippling of his muscled shoulders beneath her body stimulated her pussy, and making Gracelyn giggle like a slut. She blushed intensely.

Chati’s muscles writhed beneath his suit. The other guards chuckled, and they exchanged words in Thai. Gracelyn got the impression that Chati bragged she liked him the best.

“To your hotel, miss?” Chati asked when they were back out on the street.

As a blonde, people stared at Gracelyn. There weren’t many blondes in Bangkok. Of course, there were even fewer large black female billionaires, but blondes were the ones plastering the billboards, magazines, movies and American TV that was advertised everywhere she looked in Bangkok. So the locals had looked at her as a black woman like an oddity; they looked at her as a blonde woman like a movie star.

“Yes, thank you, Chati,” she said. She giggled. She didn’t know why, but she did. She giggled as she climbed off Chati’s body, so shocked her knees went weak when she felt his iron-like arm. She had touched strong men, of course, but Chati was so short and small that his muscles had an oddly compact, tight power to them, which was a shock. He felt different than big beefy muscular guys had been. She had never touched a man like that as a bimbo, and it made her pussy get a little wetter, her lips quiver, her mouth water. As a bimbo, she loved tough alpha males like Chati. She wanted him more than anything, and the possibility that it would be dangerous to be with him seemed like a very minor, distant irrelevancy.

The driver took her to the hotel. Chati was right next to her in the back of the limo. Every few seconds his deep gravelly voice barked out a few Thai syllables. She didn’t know what any of it meant, but she got the impression that Chati was arguing with the other security folks.

It was a nice hotel, but when the limo pulled to a stop, it looked so tedious. There were men there to help her out of the limo, men to help her up to her room, clerks and bellhops everywhere. She didn’t want to go through all this, trying to decide who to tip, who to smile to, wondering who would know that she was the same woman as the large black lady from earlier. It all seemed so time-consuming.

“Chati,” she said after they got out of the car. “Do you have a car?”

He shook his head. “I have a scooter, miss.”

“Do you live alone?”

He shook his head. “I live… with other men. In a home.”

“Will they be there right now?”

“No, miss. They are away.”

“Will you take me there? I don’t want to be here.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her waist. He smelled so good. He smelled very faintly like cologne, but that wasn’t why he smelled good — he smelled like he had worn cologne with this suit months ago and hadn’t washed it since then. He had a certain innate muskiness that Gracelyn had noticed only dimly to begin with, and it was that scent that mixed with the lingering cologne to make her horny. Now that she was a bimbo, however, his spine-tingling musk was all she could think of.

That smell grew even more intense as she climbed onto his scooter behind him. She again wrapped her arms around his broad, strapping chest. His muscles rippled beneath her, and his scent assaulted her nostrils. Gracelyn was glad she fit easily on the scooter, not struggling to balance her hefty body.

The scooter sped off. Gracelyn didn’t know if the rest of the security team knew she was gone or not. She didn’t even think to tell them until much later — she was a bimbo, and bimbos didn’t worry about stuff like that.

Air flowed through her long, wavy blonde hair. It was delightful to Gracelyn. Even when her hair was at its straightest, the wind didn’t flow through it quite like that. It sort of tickled her scalp. Was that normal for all white people? She guessed maybe, but it was hard to tell. The sun also seemed to shine extra hotly on her skin. Was that a white thing? Maybe she should buy some sunblock? That was not an issue Gracelyn had ever dealt with before. She was excited at the prospect of getting a sunburn.

But she didn’t say anything. She just took in the sights and sounds of Bangkok, the bustling streets, the hustling men selling wares, the women hawking their bodies, bowls of soup and more. The air smelled slightly astringent, a bit fruity, a bit sooty, a bit sour.

Chati lived in a very nice neighborhood. Gracelyn was surprised. It took her stupid bimbo mind a long time to realize why — Chati was security for the Chao Pho, a high-class mafia organization; this neighborhood was inhabited exclusively by gangsters, and Chati was their security.

He and the other Chao Pho goons lived together in a small house. It used to be the servants’ quarters for the colonial estate that had been here. It was now modernized and adapted, but it was still a small home with barely enough room for three men rather than the fourteen who lived there.

But Gracelyn didn’t know any of that just yet. Chati bristled and sighed as he opened the door.

It was a bachelor pad, that was for sure. It was minimally furnished, aside from the cots everywhere. It smelled like men. There was a pile of free weights near a bench press. There were no chairs, no beds — just cots — nor a computer. There weren’t even any closets used as closets; they had converted the closets into sleeping quarters.

“I am sorry, miss,” Chati said. “It is not suitable. I did not know you would want to come here. My boss told me only that we were to escort you-“

“Where did your boss think I was going to go?”

“There is a resort nearby. It is called World Passion Sands Bangkok,” he said.

Gracelyn giggled. “Well, they don’t know me at all. They just want to sell me overpriced daiquiris. Or whatever the Thai equivalent of a daiquiri is.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. It didn’t sound like he knew what a daiquiri was.

“Can I kiss you?”

He hesitated. Then his deep voice rumbled. “Yes, miss.”

She kissed him right on the lips. Chati grunted a little in surprise, but he kissed her back. He was awkward at first, like he had never done it before. After a few moments, however, he kissed with renewed passion. His arms wrapped around her back.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “I love blonde women. I have never touched one before.”

She giggled. Gracelyn was glad she had done this. She didn’t even remember what her objections had been. She had never felt more aroused. All of her skin felt new, like when she just shaved her legs, that same tingling sensitivity to Chati’s touch sent a frisson up her spine.

Though he had been slow at first, Chati took charge more and more. It was clear he did not see it as possible to have sex with a woman without him being utterly dominant. Gracelyn was fine with that. He guided her head down to his cock, and she licked a trail over his belly.

“Lick my penis, miss,” he said. He sounded like that was the most explicit, sexy thing he could say in English. He gasped a little when she did as he told her to, and his manhood throbbed against her lips.

Her mouth planted itself on his cock. He said something in Thai. Gracelyn didn’t know what it meant, of course, but the gist of it was: suck my dick, you slut. He gently pushed her face into position.

Gracelyn had sucked her fair share of cocks in her life, and she had sucked several Asian cocks just in the past few weeks. But there was something especially savory and sweet about Chati’s manhood. She didn’t know if that was because he was Thai — maybe something about the diet, all the pineapple that was in everything could be it — or if it just innate to him. But she loved it, lusted for it and wanted more.

She hocked up copious spit and let it run down his uncut shaft. It twitched in her mouth, salty precum flowing over her tongue. She slathered her saliva all up and down it, from root to tip, and giggled when it made Chati moan.

“Yes, baby, you are sex… sexy, I…” His voice trailed off. It sounded like he was so aroused he had trouble remembering English. He said something in Thai, but again, Gracelyn didn’t know what it was.

“Will you fuck me now, Chati?”

“Yes,” he blurted out. He blushed. His muscles rippled. “I will fuck you very good, miss.”

She was about to tell him to call her Gracelyn, but she rather liked hearing him address her as miss. It was so old-fashioned it was sexy. His tattooed chest flexed beneath her fingertips, and she licked at it, her head getting in the way as he tried to fuck her.

He pushed her face away, which made her giggle some more. She leaned back and spread her legs. He moaned, kissed her on the lips and slid into her.

A shiver of pleasure and desire coursed through her body, and Gracelyn bit her lip. She felt so light and small, battered by Chati’s power. He was relentless, gentle but firm, pounding and caressing all at once.

Gracelyn moaned. She lost track of time. Chati was an accomplished lover, and from the moment he entered her, Gracelyn couldn’t think about anything but her desire for more. She didn’t know if that was because of Chati’s effectiveness or something about being a bimbo that made it better, but Gracelyn was overcome by passion that hit her like a punch.

She let out a scream of joy and dug her nails into Chati’s back. He snorted and sniffled like a horse, murmuring in Thai as he slathered her face and neck in kisses. His cock filled her up, seemingly expanding to tickle every spot of her body.

“Oh god, fuck me, Chati!”

“Yes, miss,” he said with a rumbling groan. There was a menacing look in his eye, which reminded Gracelyn that he was a thug — that was how he came to be hired as security — and sent a chill of excitement up her spine.

Her clitoris melted as an orgasm overwhelmed her. She screamed again, a hair-raising tone to it this time. She threw her head back and bit her lip. She hyperventilated, then held her breath as spasms of bliss flowed up her body.

He grunted and howled as he came inside her, and his hot juices sprayed within Gracelyn’s quivering body. He barked out something in Thai — it sounded like profanity — and his muscles undulated. Gracelyn moaned again and licked his chest, tasting his salt and the fresh musk of his orgasm.

At last it was done. He fell limp. He snorted and collapsed atop her for a moment, his heavy body pressing down on hers. Then he rolled over, and Gracelyn sighed with relief.

She intended to say something, to tell Chati thanks for helping her, to ask if he was going to get in trouble for leaving the hotel. But she was too overwhelmed, and it looked like Chati felt the same.

So she just drifted off to sleep there in his arms.

Holiday Trade: Thickest Thanksgiving

Here’s the entirety of Holiday Trade: Thickest Thanksgiving, a new story about rough trade on turkey day when one roughneck in need of money endures his first man-on-man experience! It’s part of the Holiday Trade series, which is, in turn, part of the Str8 Trade series!

Martin was glad to have the house to himself on Thanksgiving. He lived with his sister, her husband and her two daughters, but they were all away at Martin’s brother-in-law’s parents’ house. Martin was invited but begged it off. He rarely got the whole house to himself and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Besides that, he didn’t like his brother-in-law’s family, and he didn’t get the impression they liked him much either. So he was alone for the holiday weekend. He couldn’t really complain though, he had a whole apartment above the garage, so he didn’t have to see his nieces at all if he didn’t want to (and there were times he definitely did not want to see the screaming terrors).

But he did love holidays, so he was a bit disappointed that he didn’t have anyone to celebrate it with. Tomorrow, he and a few friends would be having a Friendsgiving after a day of shopping, but that wasn’t really the same thing.

There was a knock on the garage door. Martin was in the main house right now, since he could have it to himself, but he heard someone banging hesitantly on the garage door.

A deep raspy voice called out, “Hello?!”

Martin peered through the window. There was a man standing there. The first thing Martin noticed was that he was underdressed for the weather, in just a wifebeater and camo pants. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, and it was very cold for northern California. He shivered. The second thing Martin noticed was that he was extremely sexy.

He had a shaved head, though a stubble had grown recently, and he had a scruffy beard too. He had a husky build, with muscles bulging out of his wifebeater. He was very tall. He carried himself like a blue-collar worker, Martin thought, maybe a carpenter or plumber.

Martin opened the front door of the house. “Hey,” he said.

“Oh, hi, you must be Martin.” He came to the front door and shivered. He looked like he expected to be let in. “I’m Tommy. I’m Greg Thicke’s grandson.” He gestured to one of the houses across the way. That made Martin giggle — Mr. Thicke was an elderly redneck who was hilarious in his own little way; Martin could only imagine what Mr. Thicke had told him. Tommy smiled nervously. “Can I come in?”

“Uh… Do you… have a reason?” Martin asked. “Sorry, I mean, I don’t know you or anything-“

“No, yeah, I, uh, I guess… I should have expected that. It’s just really cold,” he said. He bit his lip.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“Uh… My granddad said you’d be, uh… that you’d get me inside quicker than a… Well, I guess he ain’t mean it literally, I should’ve… I, uh…” He shivered again and laughed. “It’s never this cold at Thanksgiving, man, I ain’t even bring no long-sleeves back with me. Uh…”

“Yeah, weird weather this year.”

“Look… My granddad… You’re gay, right? Course you are. My granddad — I mean, no offense man, you got like, a lisp and a limp wrist and, uh-“

“Yeah, I know what gays look like, man, you got me. It’s okay,” Martin said. He smiled and threw his hands up. He suspected where Tommy was going with this, but he wanted to make him struggle to get there.

“Yeah.” He blushed. “So my granddad said… Look, I’m gonna be honest wit’ you, I got some money problems right now. Okay? It ain’t like… It ain’t, you know, drugs or nothin’ like that. But, uh… my granddad says you… You like, sometimes pay dudes to like… suck their dick, or whatever.” His cheeks turned bright red, and he gestured increasingly wildly. “No offense, man, I love gays. I mean, I don’t love gays like, physically. I mean, I ain’t gay. I ain’t, you know, into dudes. That’s, uh, but I am, like… I am okay, with the whole… thing.”

Martin chuckled. “So your granddad said I’d fall head over heels in love with you and pay you, so you should come over here to make some money? And I’d just open the door for you right away?”

“Well… He ain’t exactly phrase it like a suggestion. He kinda meant it, like… you know, a bad thing, like somethin’… Like he said basically if I was a deadbeat, you know… He ain’t okay with the gay thing. He said he’s not giving me money and if I should just come over here if I’m… Well, he’s old-fashioned.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Martin sighed and opened the door. “Your granddad is totally right, by the way. I’ll give you five hundred dollars to fuck me.”

“Oh hell yeah, okay, finally,” Tommy said. He came in and immediately took his wifebeater off. He tossed it on the couch and begun to unlace his heavy workboots.


“I work at an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, right? And we get leave off in this crapdunk little town called Masquerez, ain’t jack-shit there to do. All the chicks is Mexican and fat. Not a single one is fuckable. I mean, I still fuck ‘em, but I ain’t proud,” he said with a chuckle. His deep voice boomed; he spoke loudly, like he was used to being on an oil rig where engines constantly whirred. “And uh… me and my buddies Leif and Rock and Bolabutunde — he’s from Ghana — and we all heard this rumor ‘bout this gay dude who pay money for it. And we spent all fucking night chasing this dude, never found him, man. We found one gay Mexican who ain’t speak no English and he got even less money than me, so we ain’t fuck him.” He leaned back and wiggled his toes. He propped his feet up on the coffee table. He grabbed the remote control. “You got porn on here. Like straight porn?”

“Prolly not. This is my sister’s place. I doubt her husband dares to keep porn in here,” Martin said. “And I bet he’s into something gross like diapers.”

“Ew, nasty,” Tommy said with a chuckle. He burped. “Sorry if that weren’t romantic.” He flicked through the channels and eventually found some hip hop music video channel that was nearly softcore porn. “So, uh… I dunno how gays do it. I mean, I know… like the gist of it. But I dunno what to do.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” Martin said. He sunk between his knees in front of Tommy.

“Oh, I should shower first, man,” Tommy said. He chuckled. He sniffed his armpit and wrinkled his nose. “I smell rank, sorry. I know gays is all about clean, man.“

“What? No. You are way off. You got an F on that gayology quiz. Shoulda studied more,” Martin said. “Gays love dirty guys.”

“Ew, why?”

“Uh… I dunno, I just do,” Martin said. He dove his face into Tommy’s armpit, the same one he had sniffed and found wanting. It was disgusting, he was right about that. It was slick with sweat — Tommy’s grandparents kept their house at a sweltering temperature, which was why he had been wearing just a wifebeater and shorts until he put on pants to come over here. So Tommy had been sweating since he got to the house late last night.

His armpit was so wet it was like he had just taken a shower, though the smell proved he hadn’t. Martin also tasted a bit of snow because a few flakes still came down outside.

Martin kissed up Tommy’s arm from his pit. He had tattoos there, a silhouette of a naked woman, an iron cross, a network of barbed wire, and Martin licked an outline of each one. Tommy watched him with a wry smile like he might watch a child explore something mundane.

Then Martin kissed his shoulder, and the lower side of his neck, where a climbing ivy tattoo extended up to his ear. As soon as Martin’s tongue and lips touched Tommy’s scruffy neck, Tommy’s whole body tensed. Martin knew he had made a mistake.


Martin’s heart skipped a beat. Tommy was huge and bulky and possibly violent. He was a roughneck. Martin wasn’t sure how’d respond. He should not have tried to kiss his neck.

But Tommy just placed one heavy hand on Martin’s head. He gently but firmly pushed him down. He chuckled nervously and pointed to a spot about a third of the way up his neck — he was very muscular, so he didn’t really have much of a neck; he pointed to just above his shoulders. “You can kiss me up to here, man. No higher than that. We ain’t makin’ out. No hickeys neither. I can’t explain that to my mama.”

“Okay,” Martin said. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief like he thought his rule might have ended this.

Martin didn’t mind. He just liked pushing straight men to their limits. He took off his own clothes as he sucked on Tommy’s bare chest and shoulders, below the limit. Tommy was hairy and dusty, and tense wherever he kissed; Tommy’s skin puckered underneath Martin’s lips.

“Ah… Damn,” Tommy said. He blushed a bright red. “Man, this shit is crazy. I ain’t know it was gonna be like this.” He shifted his weight on the couch. “I mean… they said that gay dude in Texas, man, he was… It was like a gloryhole thing. Supposedly. You ain’t gotta look at him or nothing. He ain’t lickin’ ya nipples. Shit’s crazy.”

“You like blowjobs, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“You want me to just go straight to sucking your cock?”

He snorted and chuckled. He whipped his cock out the fly of his tattered brown boxers. He thwacked its limp shaft around, battering Martin’s shoulder with it.

“Hell yeah, man, fuck,” Tommy said. He bit his lip. “You deepthroat? Ain’t no girls deepthroat no more.”

Martin giggled. He stuck his finger down his throat to demonstrate. He got it way down there before gagging. Tommy lowered his eyes and breathed deeply. His cock twitched.

“Ah yeah, man, like that,” Tommy said, his voice rumbling like he had to force himself not to attack Martin’s throat right now.

“I’ll let you facefuck me,” Martin said. “If you let me get you hard with a little jousting.” Martin giggled.

Tommy laughed a deep barrel laugh. He covered his face with his hands. “Okay, but I’m puttin’ a time limit. One minute, man. If I don’t get hard in one minute, you put it in your mouth. Ain’t no way I’m gonna get hard touchin’ a queer’s dick. No offense.”

“None taken.” Martin knew that Tommy was probably right. Martin didn’t care. The point wasn’t to actually get him hard. Martin would just enjoy trying.

Martin thwacked his own hefty cock against Tommy’s, and when he did, Tommy’s whole body jerked. Tommy’s eyes were closed, one hand covering his face. He groaned and giggled like a boy. He covered his eyes with both arms.

“Ah, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he said. His voice was muffled by his arms.

“You ever touch cocks with another man?”

He laughed again, the anxiety evident in the wavery tone. His face was covered by his forearms, but even through the gaps in the flesh, Martin could see his dingy face turning red like a cranberry. He giggled so uncontrollably he squealed like a mouse, a very deep-voiced, raspy-throated mouse.

“You okay, Tommy?”

“Yeah.” Tommy had to take a deep breath to regain control of himself. He peered through his fingers, but when he saw his cock touching Martin’s, he squirmed and re-covered his eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure. “Nah, I never touch no dick.” He paused and bit his lip. “Alright, yeah. One time. Bolabutunde — that’s that African dude — he was… he had this game. He said it was Ghanaian but some other dude googled it and said he saw nothin’ ‘bout it in Ghana or anywhere else.” He paused and laughed. “I only did it one time. But, uh… He like come up at ya wit’ his big floppy dick, and you… you know, you hit each other’s dicks and shit. Like joustin’ for real, you know? And uh… if you back out cuz his dick hurt ya — and Bolabutunde knows how to do that too, he got a massive rod and he uses it like a fucking club, man, he really gets ya with it. He hits ya in the balls with it. Anyway if it hurts and ya gotta back out, you lose, and if you get hard, you gotta suck his dick.” Martin chuckled. “It’s how Bolabutunde always wanna settle things.”

“You did that?”

“Just one time. That motherfucker was trying to take my towel, man. He said he just forgot his, he wanna share. I was like, I do a lot of things for my friends, but I ain’t gonna let you wipe ya ass off with my towel and then I’m gonna use it. I’m gonna wipe my face off wit’ ya ass all over my towel? No way, no I ain’t.”

“You won?”

He shrugged. “Kinda. We was still goin’ when my boss came in the shower. He ain’t tolerate faggotry, so he made us stop.” He paused. “Okay, man, start suckin’.” He breathed a sigh of relief when Martin pulled away from his cock. Then Tommy gasped. “Oh, sorry, man! I ain’t anti-fag. I mean, anti-gay. I ain’t anti-gay. I know faggot is a bad word-“

“It’s okay, Tommy, relax.”

“Okay. I don’t use it, you know. On the rig, we got a lotta Africans and shit, Arabs, that kind of thing. They ain’t nice about gays. I’m the tolerant one there,” he said like he expected a medal. “I tell ‘em not to talk shit about faggots. Ain’t right.”

“Well, thanks for… standing up for us, or whatever.” Martin swallowed Tommy’s cock, which was still limp and ropy. Tommy’s proud smile disappeared.

His cock remained limp at first, as an awkward silence filled the room. Martin wondered if Tommy would even be able to get hard — not all straight guys could do it, no matter how much money they were offered.

But then finally, Tommy’s dick perked up. It twitched in Martin’s mouth, then got firmer and firmer. Tommy watched like he had never seen this happen before. His eyes were open wide.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, like that,” Tommy said. He moaned like Martin was scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach for a long time. He leaned back on the couch. He grabbed his pants and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Can I smoke in here?”

“No, sorry. It’s my sister’s house. She would literally shit a brick,” Martin said.

He smiled. “I’d like to see that.” But he did put the cigarettes away. He shrugged. “I’m trying to quit anyway.”

Martin rammed his head all the way down on Tommy’s cock. He gagged but he kept his mouth in position. He choked up spit, while Tommy groaned and grunted.

He was a very loud lover. Tommy kept on making sounds, whirring and hooting at himself, chuckling at jokes only he heard, shifting his weight on the couch. Martin couldn’t tell if he always fucked like this or if he just did it because he was nervous.

“You ready to fuck me?”

Tommy blushed again. “Yeah, course,” he said. He said it like a macho man, but it was obvious that he was nervous. When Martin bent over his lap with his ass in the air, Tommy sighed with relief. “Damn, thank god, I was worried you’d be hairy. You shave your ass, right? I’m glad girls don’t get hair in their asses.”

“Girls absolutely get hairy asses,” Martin said as he backed his ass towards Tommy’s lap. “They shave.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way, I swear. Or a lot of them do, anyway. Not all. Not the Asians.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose. “Well… I don’t much like that, they shouldn’t get hair in their asses, man, that’s gross.”

Martin giggled. “I will be sure to inform the Committee to Regulate Female Asses,” he said. Then he shuddered in both pain and pleasure when Tommy’s dick pushed into his asshole.

Tommy gasped. “Aw, fuck, aw, fuck, man, aw, fuck, I don’t even… Aw, fuck…”

“You like that?” Martin asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Tommy groaned and his whole body rattled. He held his breath, watching Martin squirm backwards deeper and deeper onto his cock. “Yo, man, yo… I gotta… Yo, man, you, uh… what kinda positions you like?”

Martin found it difficult to concentrate while his ass loosened and adjusted to Tommy’s cock. So he just said, “Any, really. What do you want to try?”

“No big deal, just… no girls ever wanna do this,” he said. “They say it hurts too bad. Man, girls complain a lot. Why don’t you complain?”

“Cuz I like getting fucked by dirty guys with big monster dicks,” Martin snapped. “Girls don’t.”

He sniffled. “Fuckin’ bitches…” he said. There was a faint note of pride there, like he enjoyed hearing talk about his “monster dick”. He wrapped his arms around Martin’s chest. He rotated so that he laid out on the couch — he was a little too tall, so his feet had to be angled off the edge. Martin struggled to remain atop his cock, but all the extra motion made him horny enough to burst.

Tommy hugged Martin to keep him close. Martin held his breath, trying to endure the awe-striking pressure in his ass. Tommy’s entire cock was in him, throbbing, and since he was mounted on Tommy’s sweat-slippened body, Martin could do little more than slide around on his muscles.

But Tommy wrapped his arms over Martin’s chest, and even hooked his legs around Martin’s ankles. That pinned Martin on his back on Tommy’s chest and cock. The smell of his unwashed roughneck body was overpowering, like Martin was bathing in his funk.

“This alright, man?” Tommy asked.

“Hell yeah.” Martin’s voice was weak and thready. “Girls are never going to like this position, Tommy. It hurts. I like it because… well, for my own reasons. Don’t bother asking girls to do this.”

He sighed. “I know.” He took a deep breath and started fucking, ramming his dick upwards into Martin’s ass. He was quick like it was a race, like he was trying to shatter Martin’s insides. Martin yelped and screamed, in pain at first but then with pleasure flowing through his veins.

Tommy’s cell phone rang. He cursed and answered it, only slowing down a little bit. “It’s my sister,” he said like he didn’t want to talk to her. He answered it anyway though. “Hey. I’m around. None of your business. No. No. No! No! No! You better not!” His cock trembled in Martin’s ass. “I am not! I don’t even know the neighbors here. Grandpa is a fuckin’ homophobe, I don’t think he was right about that. I’m… at the store! I wanted to pick up…”

“Bottle of wine.”

“A bottle of wine, Shelly! I wanted to get some wine for the dinner tonight! Yes, I know what wine is! We’re not that barbaric on the oil rig, you know! Oh, you think you know everything? I ain’t a rentboy, shut up!” He hung up the phone. His cock twitched angrily in Martin’s ass. “Fucking bitch. She knows where I am, by the way. If she ever asks, I didn’t come over here. I’ll tell her I dropped the wine and broke it on the way back.”

“I have wine,” Martin said. “You can take a bottle.” His voice was tense, breathless, clipped. He sounded like he was near tears, though he was merely near orgasm instead. “You can leave out the back. You can come out down the street, it’ll look like you’re coming back from the store.”

“Shit, alright, thanks,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I wanna do somethin’ nice for you, but I can’t think of nothin’. Don’t ask for a reacharound, I don’t do that.”

“Take a video of that African guy. Record yourself thwacking dicks with him. I wanna watch,” he said.

Tommy gagged and winced. “Ah…” He smiled. “Oh, okay, yeah, I’ll just tell him it’s for a girl, alright? I’ll say I know a girl who wanna see it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Martin yelped like a puppy. He at last reached orgasm as Tommy finally began fucking again, triggering Martin’s whole body to tense and send pleasure pounding up his spine. Tommy didn’t notice right away because he was focused on his own cock, which spasmed as his balls drew up in his sac.

Then Tommy moaned in disgust when he saw Martin spray cum over his belly and chest. Tommy closed his eyes and muttered a complaint about the cummy smell. “Nasty…”

But it didn’t slow him down any. He groaned right into Martin’s ear. He jackrabbited his cock into Martin’s ass again, so hard and so violently that Martin screamed in both pain and pleasure. His fucking accentuated the orgasmic aftershocks that wracked Martin’s body.

“I’m gonna nut, man, gonna nut, gonna fill you up, aw shit, man aw shit, aw shit!” His voice gradually rose to a plaintive yell.

Hot cum spurted into Martin’s ass. It was a thick, creamy load, even denser and stickier than most. It coated Martin’s ass in warmth, and it kept on going. Martin took a deep breath and savored the feel of looping jets of cum covering his prostate and dripping throughout his body.

Tommy sighed grandly. When Martin moved, Tommy gasped and held Martin’s hips in place. His cock twitched, which made Martin hold back a howl of pain. The movement kept his post-orgasm going, however, and Martin shuddered uncontrollably.

At last Tommy was done. Thick gobs of cum dripped down his shaft and into his pubic hair. He shuddered too, and then he fell limp.

Even when Martin lifted off him, Tommy just sprawled out on the couch. He groaned. He burped again. Martin stretched his legs and grabbed some napkins. He cleaned off Tommy’s cock, which rapidly limpened in Martin’s fingers.

“Damn,” Tommy said. He sighed. “Do I gotta go back to my family? Can I stay here all day?”

“Fine with me.”

He frowned. “I know. But I can’t. My mama would kill me,” he said. “You’ll still be here tonight?”

“Yes,” Martin said. He went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. He handed it to Tommy.

“Good. I gotta wait till my sister goes to sleep, or she’ll be a total bitch,” he said. He smiled. “Will you pay me again tonight?”

Martin giggled. “Not five hundred dollars.” He wrote out the check to Thomas Thicke and handed it over. In the memo field, he had written meat, but Tommy didn’t even look at it yet.


“Don’t worry though. We can have fun, and I bet you can make some money one way or another. Maybe not five hundred bucks…” Martin said. Tommy nodded and agreed. He put his clothes back on, then left through the back door. Martin watched him sneak down the street, then shiveringly walk in his wifebeater back to his grandfather’s house, carrying the bottle of wine.

Martin couldn’t wait for him to be back. He loved servicing straight studs, and they always seemed to come out around the holidays.

Thanksgiving, he thought, was the best. That’s when all the hottest str8s came out to play. Martin wondered how many other straight studs were visiting family on this street right now. He couldn’t wait to taste them all.

The Bimbofication of Wing Mao

Here’s the entirety of The Bimbofication of Wing Mao, a new tale of hardcore interracial AW/WM bimbo action! It’s part of the Bimbofication of Woman series, and is available in The Bimbofication of Woman, Vol. 2!

Wing Mao was in the library, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t study. Normally she remembered everything she read, and she read plenty. She’d gotten through her first three years of college in only two years on that brain, all while playing cello in the university orchestra as well.

But today — and increasingly on recent days — Wing had trouble concentrating because she kept running into him. He was Delroy Hopkins, a blond god, rugby jock and broad-shouldered hunk who made Wing’s mouth water.

She had never had a real crush on a guy. She’d seen guys she thought were hot, but Wing was always too serious to have a heart-stopping, shrieking-hot, life-consuming crush even when all her friends did in middle school.

But lately every time she saw Delroy, Wing wanted to beg him to give her just one kiss. It was all she could think about when he was nearby. She was too scared to ever ask, or even to speak to him about any topic.

“Man, how much of this do I gotta learn?!” he said with a scowl aimed at the bespectacled nerd beside him — seemingly a tutor. Delroy sighed and leaned back. “It’s a nice day, I wanna go to the beach.”

“You have to learn all of it, the test is tomorrow,” said the squeaky-voiced tutor.

Delroy sighed again and looked up. For the first time ever, he made eye contact with Wing, who blushed but couldn’t turn her head away. Delroy smiled at her. There was a flash of recognition. Did he notice that they had seen each other around campus on many occasions? Or was he too oblivious? Guys as sexy as him probably just didn’t register sad-faced nerds like her, Wing thought as she pretended not to notice his eye contact.

He looked back down at the book. Wing was overwhelmed by every feeling in the book — lust, love, fear, loneliness, envy, rage, sadness — all at once. She closed her laptop, gathered her books and darted out of the library so quick it attracted attention.

She didn’t care. She couldn’t be near him anymore. Her face was bright red, and her pussy was wetter than it had ever been. She ran towards the beach, just a few blocks from the campus library. The GHU-San Diego campus went right up to the beach.

When she got there, she felt faint and ducked into the first nice-looking establishment she saw. It was a bar, but it was early so few people were there. It was not crowded and reasonably clean, and she felt safe there.

She took a deep breath. She took out her cell phone to make it look like she was trying to make a phone call, but she had no one to call. She was utterly alone.

There was a fortune-telling machine against the wall. It was just a ceramic Gypsy woman, and a box where you could put a quarter in. It said it would tell you your future.

A trio of sexy Asian college girls came in. Ohmigod, you are such a dumb whore! There were dressed like sluts, and they giggled like blondes, and they had makeup, tits, skirts that ended just below the labia. Where did those guys go? Aren’t they such idiots?! Wing was jealous, even if she felt bad about being jealous. They could have gotten Delroy in a heartbeat. They could have gotten any man.

They were looking for someone, someone who wasn’t there after all, so they left. Wing watched their bubble-butts walk out, and she listened to their hot-chick giggling while they discussed where to go next to look for their boyfriends, or whichever guys they were currently pursuing.

Wing had never in her life done something irrational. As soon as she realized that, she wanted more than anything to put money in that fortune-telling machine. She rarely had change on her, but tonight, she happened to have a quarter. It was only twenty-five cents.

She slid it into the box. The Gypsy woman whirred, and the mechanics within it clanged. There was a puff of smoke. A sound emerged, like a dying robot. She didn’t know if it was supposed to act like this or if it was broken.

But then a slip of paper was printed out the bottom. She took it and read it.

Congratulations, Wing Mao, you have won a wish! Choose wisely! You have five seconds or the wish will be gone forever!

Wing’s heart skipped a beat. The rational part of her mind wondered how the machine knew her name, and wondered why it gave her a wish instead of telling the future as the marketing indicated. But she had only paid the machine in the first place due to the irrational part of her mind, the same part that made her come in this bar in the even firster place because her crush on Delroy was so irrational it was nearly trumpian. So the rational part of her mind was not in control of anything at this moment, which Wing was strangely fine with — she didn’t want to use logic or reason. She didn’t want to make sense. She wanted Delroy. She wanted her wish.

Even as her intelligence debated what to do, that irrational part of her mind took much less than five seconds to make a wish.

I wish to be a bimbo, like those sluts, just for one day.

Angry with herself at wasting a quarter, she hurried onto the street. She didn’t want anyone to see that she had paid for a fortune from a machine. She threw the paper away, not noticing that the writing on it had disappeared after her five seconds were up.

She stumbled down the street and giggled at herself. She righted her legs. Am I… taller? She felt taller.

Why am I wearing heels? Why am I walking successfully in heels?

She didn’t even own heels. She didn’t own them because she couldn’t walk in them, but all of a sudden she wore stiletto heels and she wore them so well she could have danced a ballet in them. Her sweatshirt and jeans were gone too, replaced by a low-cut sapphire-blue dress that showed off her cleavage.

A passing storefront with a reflective window proved what had happened: the fortune-telling machine worked. She looked like a hot, slutty Asian chick, like one of those girls from the bar, like someone who would be popular, like someone Delroy Hopkins might screw.

Again, the rational part of her mind formulated a very sensible plan, but her bimbo mind ignored it. She knew what she wanted to do, and it wasn’t go back to the bar and investigate the machine. It wasn’t check to see whether the “magic” had simply changed her hair, makeup and clothes or if it had actually made her tits and ass bigger, her thighs and waist smaller and her cheekbones more pronounced. The rational part of her mind whirred with questions. What would happen if I paid another quarter? Could I have wished for a million wishes? Will this wish backfire?

But Wing didn’t want to listen to that rational part of her mind. She had something else in mind.

When she got to the library, Delroy was there, leaning back in his chair. No one wore stiletto heels and a skimpy dress to the library, so every single person there turned to stare, jaw agape.

She walked right to Delroy, whose wide-eyed stare was enough to make Wing giggle like a skank. It was obvious what he was going to say before she even asked her question.

“Hi. Do you want to come with me?” she asked.

Delroy jumped over himself to say yes, not even asking who she was or where she wanted to take him. He pushed his tutor out of the way and left his books behind as he hurried to her side. Wing giggled and took hold of his belt, which he had dangling between his legs like a cock. She pulled on it and guided him away, into the back of the library.

There was a room there she knew of. The library put books needing to be reshelved there. The shelving guys — they were mostly high schoolers doing community service — only worked during the day, so no one would be there now.

It was just a small closet with a table, crowded high with textbooks. She brought him in there, hopped up on the table and smiled. “Delroy, I want you to fuck me.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Magic,” she said. She kissed him on the lips. He hesitated like he wanted to ask for more information, but didn’t want to ruin the situation. She smiled and kissed him again. “Would you believe me if I said it was an ancient Chinese secret?”

He gulped. “Not really…” It didn’t seem like he cared too much though.

At first, he was surprised by how quickly this happened that his hands stayed limp, his mouth not reacting to her kiss. But then his instincts kicked in as her tits brushed over his chest. He moved his head, his tongue planted into hers, and his hands gripped her delicate shoulders.

He let out a little roar and shoved all those books off the table. He grinned, his deep-dimpled cheeks making Wing’s heart swoon. She wanted him so badly.

“You’re the sexiest chick on this campus,” he said. He bit his lip. “I really like you a lot-“

“Oh, Delroy, you barely know me,” Wing said with a blushing giggle.

“I know… But I can tell,” he said, and it really seemed like he meant it. “You’re so special to me, even if we don’t know each other yet. We will. I can sense the future, you know. I’m a bit of a fortune-teller myself. It’s not an ancient Chinese secret, but it’s… I think we might be together for a long time, miss… whoever you are.” His broad chest heaved nervously. That made Wing excited because she never thought tiny, delicate Wing Mao might make a huge stud like him so exhilarated he lost his breath just kissing her.

He took off his shirt, and Wing lost herself again, kissing his throbbing chest muscles. Her tongue traced a line up to his neck, which smelled like days-old cologne. Her fingers undid his belt, and his jeans plopped to the floor.

Somehow her dress came off. Wing hadn’t put it on, so she didn’t even know how to take it off, but it seemed Delroy figured it out. Wing was too overwhelmed by passion to even notice, not until her bare skin puckered in the chilly library air.

His kisses traveled down her body. He kissed her neck, her breasts, his lips roaming down her flat belly and round hips. She moaned, and for once, the sound that came out wasn’t an unappealing frog-like grunt but a low slow-burning moan of sheer pleasure that made Delroy moan in sync with her.

In the tiny library closet, their voices resonated and echoed, forming a coccoon of their own lust. She was surprised to see him lower his head, his tongue going to her womanhood without her prompting him to do it.

Her entire body tightened and crooned as his tongue hit her clitoris. A bolt of pleasure shot up her spine. She clutched his powerful shoulders and back muscles, and writhed as his tongue explored her body.

He plunged into her pussy, then back up to her sensitive clit, which raged and sang and pulsated beneath his ministrations. He lapped at her as though his life depended on it, his easygoing-jock attitude replaced by eager solicitude.

“Are you ready?” he asked breathlessly.

He didn’t need to specify what he was asking after. She nodded and leaned back. She spread her legs. He stood up, and she got her first look at his hefty thick cock.

He placed his dick right on the surface of her pussy and held it there with a smile on his face. “You want it in you, baby?”


“You sure?!”

“Yes, please! Fuck me, Delroy! I’ve been watching you for so long, I need you!”

He grinned broadly and did it. His cock sunk into her body, and Wing moaned again. Her fingers dug into his meaty shoulders, as her blood turned to pure lust in her veins. The sounds they made together grew so loud Wing was sure people outside the room would be able to hear.

Wing could see it on his face when her words sunk in — she had accidentally implied she’d been watching him for a long time — he looked momentarily worried that she might be a stalker. But then he moaned as a pang of pleasure shot up his spine, and he ignored his confusion.

Instead he fucked her harder, ramming his dick in her pussy now that it was clear she could take it. Each motion of his powerful hips made Wing feel it throughout her body, every part of her tightening and relaxing in sync with his gyrations. His muscles tensed, and she threw her head back, unable to suppress a loud shout as pre-orgasmic bliss wracked her body.

He kissed her again. “Baby…” he said with a blush. “You, uh… you really like me, right?”

“Of course!” she said, so aroused she was almost ready to cry. It felt like her entire body was about to shatter, like she couldn’t take any more pleasure and one more good stroke from his dick would be enough to make her fall into a million little pieces of orgasmic bimbo-confetti filtering to the floor.

“You wanna really show how much you like me?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes!”

“Can I stick it in your ass?” he asked. Then before she could answer, he leaned in and moaned into her ear. “You’re so beautiful, baby, I need you. I need every part of you. I gotta have you, please say yes, I need to be inside you.”

“Yes! Oh fuck, hell yes!” she moaned, so aroused right now she didn’t even need to think about it. She wanted it so bad she could cry.

He grinned and kissed her. “Thank you, baby, you’re the best. You’re the sexiest chick in the world.”

She giggled. He pulled out of her pussy, and Wing felt a brief loneliness at the lack of stimulation. Her womanhood felt empty and unloved. But that lasted for only a moment.

Delroy pulled her ass right up to the edge of the table, and he even used a thin Accounting 101 workbook to prop her hips up a little bit. That bared her ass and forced her cheeks apart.

Wing had never had anal sex. She’d never even thought about actually doing it. But she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this right now.

Her legs in the air, toes curling as though she could grip his shoulders with them, Wing bit her lip. She felt an intense onrush of pressure in her ass. She held her breath.

“Oh, baby, your ass is so good,” he said. His eyes closed and he took deep breaths like this hurt for him more than her.

But the pain was actually very dim and distant. There was a twinge of pleasure as well, and even though that pain was objectively stronger, all Wing’s mind could focus on was the growing chorus of bliss welling up inside her. It was her ass, on fire, tight and soft, moist, full, empty, potent and weak, pounded away at and made tender love to all at once.

She tried to grab for his chest, to massage and knead those bulging muscles. But her arms were too short, his chest too far except when he was at his apogee, all the way inside her ass, and then her fingers could glancingly get ahold of his chest. She tweaked his nipples and felt his muscles roiling beneath her grasp.

Had she even taken his entire cock within her? She couldn’t tell. She wanted to feel it, to feel his manhood and see how much was left outside her ass.

But when she tried to move her hands, all she could do was flail uselessly. The sensations boiling over from inside her were too intense to focus on anything else. All she managed was to moan and grunt and spit and squirm like a wild animal.

And then she felt him slide the last of his dick into her. She didn’t need to use her hands, she could sense that that was it. They became like one beast, rutting wildly, writhing in each other’s arms.

Wing’s body moved uncontrollably while she reacted to the sensations around and within her. Every part of her body tingled and shook. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood, while his blond jock body turned ruddy as he reached his own orgasm.

It all ended at once, and the most intense sensations of her life overwhelmed her. Her thin, delicate bimbo body shook like a beat-up old car shedding parts as it barreled down the road. Her tits vibrated beneath his tongue, her sensitive nipples sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

She had no idea how long that orgasm lasted. She was only aware that it was done — sweat streaming down her body in rivulets, fingers tightened into claws that drew a few drops of blood from his chest — because someone knocked on the door. The sound snapped her out of her stupor.

Hey, uh… the librarian just called security, whoever’s in there. You should probably… Well… Just to let you know, security is coming. Whoever was there on the other side of the door chuckled. I mean… security is “traveling to this location”, not cumming.

Wing blushed. Her face was already red from sexual exertion, but now she blushed on top of that. The closet stank of sex. She would have gladly stayed there with Delroy forever.

But he pulled out of her. Tremendous relief flooded her ass, and she could feel juices trickling out of her body. She moaned again. She bit her lip and hopped off the table.

“Wow,” he said. “Thanks a lot for that. That was… crazy. Can I have your phone number?”

She giggled but didn’t answer. She bent over to display her ass to him as she grabbed her clothes. She shook her ass in his direction, and he stopped with his pants halfway up in the air. He growled at the sight of her jiggling asscheeks. He massaged her flesh, but then she giglged and pulled her ass away.

“Damn, you are amazing,” he said. “Please be my girlfriend?”

“Delroy… I don’t know if I’m that kind of girl,” she said. “I don’t always act like this.” She slipped her dress back on. He retightened his belt and put his shoes on. His bare, muscular chest was still shirtless, a few beads of sweat clinging to his flesh.

“I don’t care how you act usually,” he said. “Just be with me. Here.” He ripped out a page from a textbook and wrote his phone number on it. “You can call me too.” He paused, then added some more letters and numbers. “And here’s my email address and my screennames on Yahoo, Facebook and AOL instant messaging. And here’s my dad’s landline number, that’s where I’ll be on vacation from school. Oh, and here’s my street address and my frat’s address. They have a landline too but I don’t remember the number-“

“Delroy, relax, that’s fine. I have plenty of ways to contact you-“

“You can send me a postcard or something. Or call me collect, that’s fine. Is that still a thing? You can text me or… I don’t have snapchat, but I’ll get it-“

“Delroy, shut up.” She giggled. His lips slammed shut. She kissed him. “I’ll call you,” she said. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for another go.”

The door opened suddenly, and two dour security guards glared. They both looked a little upset at first, as though they had expected to see two fat library nerds making out. They were relieved to see two sexy people, who weren’t even naked. It must have stank like sex though, Wing thought with a giggle.

“What are you two doing in here? Why is your shirt off, young man?”

Wing laughed out loud. She grabbed that Accounting 101 workbook. “I was just looking for this book, for my class. I’m studying to be an accountant.” Delroy chuckled to himself as though it was impossible for hot chicks to become accountants. Wing smiled at the security guards. “Delroy here was just helping me find it. He’s so helpful.”

Delroy smiled too. He ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “That’s true. I am helpful. I took my shirt off because… Her dad’s a dermatologist, I wanted her to see this mole I had and send him a photo. Skin cancer is a serious problem.”

“That’s true. Don’t worry though, Delroy, my dad said it looks benign,” she said.

“Phew. Thanks, ma’am. I’m going to put my shirt on and do my homework now! I’m excited about responsible behavior!” Delroy said with a wide grin. He put his shirt on and pushed out past the two security guards, who glared at him. When Wing walked out, they moved out of the way to make room for her.

When she was out in the hallway, she moved towards the exit, while Delroy walked back into the library itself. The two security guards went into the closet to put the books back on the table Delroy had knocked them off of.

That meant she had a few more seconds to connect with him. He walked backwards, bumping into a book-cart and smiling at her, beaming like he was shocked about what had happened. He held up one hand to wave, while his other grabbed his crotch, cock outlined briefly by his clothes.

“Bye, baby!” he yelled so loud the other library patrons turned to look at him.

Wing blushed like she was still shy, but she wasn’t. She just pretended because she knew it was sexy to be demure. She waved back after him, then turned around and walked out the door into the chilled night air.

She didn’t know how long this bimbofication magic was going to last, but she intended to have as much fun as possible while it did.

First-Time Ganging the Whole Frat

Here’s a sample from the beginning of First-Time Ganging the Whole Frat! That’s a hot new tale of interracial f/m/m/m action at the sexiest frat party you’ll ever read about!


It was my first day at grad school and I was rather excited about all of the fun I would have. My degree was in psychology and I knew what these boys wanted to. They had been eyeing me for years and years. I had always been a good girl and never gave it up. I was definitely a virgin still. But that didn’t stop me from having all of these dirty thoughts. These dirty thoughts would always creep into my mind and consume my every thought once I lied into bed.


As I sat there in my dorm all alone. I pulled out my vibrator and I started to go to town and myself. Just because I was a virgin didn’t mean I wasn’t sexually active with myself. I knew every ounce of my body. I knew every square inch of it, and I knew how to please myself so well. I did so with great ease tonight thinking about the party that I was supposed to attend tomorrow.


I was invited to this party from an african american guy who worked at a sandwich shop. When I was getting a sandwich he was giving me the eye, and I followed up by getting his number. He told me about this fraternity party that he had tomorrow night and that was just the place that I needed to go. It was just the thing that I wanted to do the start of this new school year, and I always had a thing for black guys since I was a petite white women.


All of this anticipation I had regarding this party tomorrow night was building me up to quite a climax. My vibrator was quick to bring me to the first orgasm. I then reached my hand down and tasted my juices. My juice tonight tasted rather good, a little sweet actually.

Fireman Fantasy

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


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

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

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

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

“Hello there Miss” he said, smiling at me

“Hi there” I said weakly.

“I see you like the veggie delight.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you know, the usual… Nothing…”

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

“The fire station?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not at work?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yo. Hey, Mr. Winthrop?”

Yes. Who, may I ask, is calling?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robert… You shame me.

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

You don’t need to call me for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it, slut, god-damn!”

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

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

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

“Hell, yeah, slut…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Yakuza Submission

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… Slave? You mean… servant? Or…”


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

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

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

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

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

“You know her?!” His eyes were wide.

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

“Oh, well she is favorite American celebrity.”

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

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

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

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

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

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


He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay, Timubachi?”

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

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

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

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

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

It was the international language of lust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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