Tag Archives: alpha worship

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.”

“Wait-“

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.”

“Who?”

“Whoever, I mean-“

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

“Yeah.”

“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.”

“Dildos.”

“What?”

“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.”

“What?”

“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.

The Pimp

Here’s the beginning of The Pimp, a new yaoi MM novelette by Lee Lane Lamplight!

 

Carl was glad to be single again, but he was beginning to regret his living arrangement. After divorcing his husband, Carl had moved into an apartment in Bloomington, Illinois. He couldn’t afford a really nice place, but he didn’t want to live in the ghetto. He found an apartment in a safe-looking building; it wasn’t exactly in a nice neighborhood, but the building was fine and the front door was locked all the time. Carl thought he’d simply stay in most nights, avoid the streets when it was dark out and keep his head down. He didn’t intend to live here long-term anyway, it was just a short-term way to get through this stressful period in his life.

He didn’t have much stuff. It was all Brandon’s. Carl felt both like he had discarded a useless appendage but still kind of missed it and like he was a useless appendage that had been discarded but, he hoped, was still kind of missed. Carl was glad to be rid of Brandon regardless. Brandon had become toxic, a destructive part of Carl’s life. Brandon wasn’t even into gay guys, not really — Brandon only liked sex if it was rough trade. He sucked off straight guys, the rougher and dirtier the better. Carl wasn’t into that.

There was a knock on his door. Carl peered through the peephole, where he saw a tall black man with broad shoulders and a big nasty scar on his neck. He wore a vibrantly colored purple suit with a matching hat and a brilliant yellow tie.

“Uh, hello?” Carl hesitantly opened the door. He kept it on the chain, but as he did so, the chain pulled right off — it wasn’t attached to the door. The door swung wide open.

“Howdy, suh, it’s right nice to meet’cha, yessuh,” said the black man with a charming smile. “My name is Lance, I live right down the hall from ya. I just wanted to say how-do-yo-do and make sure you settlin’ in alright.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah. Cool. It’s cool. I’’m, uh… cool. You’re… cool. It’s okay. Thanks. Thank you,” Carl said. Then he added, “I’m Carl.”

“Well alright, Carl. If you need anythin’, suh, you come see me, reckon? I run this buildin’ more than Mr. Sazo. I got you covered,” he said. “Ya feel me?”

“Yeah-“

“Also, I think it’s important to keep the lines of communication flowin’ between neighbors. Don’t you?”

“Yeah-“

“Good, good, I think open and honest communication is what matters. That’s what makes this buildin’ a community,” he said.

“Sure, sure-“

“So I promise — I swear to God, on my Mama’s grave, on the American flag I hold so dear-“ He took the purple hat off his head. “-I swear, if I got some kinda problem wit’ you, suh, I will come right to you. I will have the respec’ to come to you like a man. Ya feel me?”

“Yeah-“

“And we can talk about it then. We can work together to find a solution,” Lance said. He paused for a long time. He peered directly into Carl’s eyes. He stank of cologne, and his strapping muscles rippled beneath that purple suit, making Carl’s dick stiffen in his pants. Lance snorted. “You feel the same way?”

“Uh… yeah-“

“Good. So if you start dislikin’ the way I act, or if you see somethin’ that makes you uncomfortable, you come right to me. Don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars, don’t call the cops, don’t sit at home and stew like a passive-aggressive loser, don’t call the cops, and most importantly-“ He touched Carl’s lips with one callused finger. “Don’t nevuh call the cops.”

“Okay.”

“Good. I’m glad we on the same page, Carl. Lemme give you a welcome present,” Lance said. “What kinda girls you like? I don’t allow my girls to come in this buildin’ — that’s just a rule I got, no exceptions — so you gonna have to take her to a motel. I pay for it. This is my gift to you, Carl.”

“Oh. So you’re…?”

“A pussy-rancher, yeah,” he said. He chuckled dryly and grabbed his cock through his violet slacks. “A girl-farmer. If you evuh need to find me out on the street, I’m Mr. Fantastic.”

“Cool…”

“Yeah. It is cool, man,” he said. He smiled, showing off huge dimples. “You alright, whiteman. Most people who move in here get all scared of me, actin’ like I’s some kinda nigga who gonna steal they car, but I ain’t down with that. I don’t allow crime, nosuh, when you live in my building, you be safe, you be protected, you get all of ya needs fulfilled, boy, for real. Come on, what kinda girls you like? You want a fat Asian girl to lick your butthole? I got two Chinese, but one of ‘em is Malaysian, you know what Malaysian is? Malaysians is exotic, whiteman.”

“No. No, thanks, no fat, uh, Asian rimjobs,” Carl said. He blushed, heart thumping and sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m, uh, not really into girls.”

Lance scoffed and leaned back. He furrowed his brow, sizing Carl up. He lowered his head and inhaled Carl’s face. He nodded.

“Yeah. I see that,” he said. “Alright, yeah. I believe ya.” He pushed past Carl into his apartment. “Where’s ya stuff? This place is empty.”

“I don’t really have a lot of stuff. I need to buy some furniture,” Carl said. He wanted to tell Lance to leave, but he didn’t want to start off his relationship with his neighbor on poor footing. Besides that, Lance’s muscle-bound body was so sexy Carl couldn’t help but daydream about him even through that purple suit.

Is this a home invasion? It feels polite, but I didn’t invite him in.

“Mr. Fantastic got ya covered, boy, swear to God.” He snapped his fingers in front of Carl’s face. “Lookit me, sweetheart.” When Carl’s eyes were trained on his, Lance unzipped his slacks and pulled out a massive, veiny black shaft. “There ya go. Give it a suck.”

European Trade: The Frenchman

Here’s the entirety of European Trade: The Frenchman, a hot new story by Gavin Rockhard! Beware: this tale of gay erotica contains a baguette!

Kyle didn’t discover that the men were lumberjacks and that they were on strike until much later. When he happened upon them, they appeared to be a couple dozen of the most muscular men he had ever seen, lounging around, drinking coffee and looking nonchalant when pretty girls walked by. It was a very sedate strike.

Kyle was here in France — visiting from his native Canada — in order to taste the masculine fruit of the country. And there was no sweeter fruit than these lumberjacks. Their muscles bulged against the black and white-striped shirts they wore, with low v-necks that showed off their strapping chest muscles.

One, in particular, attracted Kyle’s gaze. He was tall, broad-shouldered, mustached and grizzle-chinned, with a tattoo of a French flag visible on his chest and one of Marianne on his left bicep, which was bare beneath a sleeveless shirt.

“Bonjour,” Kyle said. He knew his French was good, if Quebecois-accented. “Je m’appelle Kyle.”

The man grunted. He screwed up his nose when Kyle sat next to him at the little cafe table. He looked like he was about to say something, but then a pretty middle-aged woman walked by, gabbing on her cell phone. The man watched her with intent interest.

“I would like to pay you money,” Kyle said. He blushed, momentarily at a loss for words as the man glared at him.

“I am on strike,” he said.

“No, no, I’m not going to pay you for your job, I have something special in mind,” Kyle said. “I want you to come back to my hotel room. I’ll pay you five hundred euros.”

“Quoi?”

“Five hundred euros. You just come back to my hotel room, and… y’know, let me do some stuff.”

“Quoi?”

“You know…”

“You show me,” he said as though he had a good guess and simply wanted confirmation. He frowned. “Under table.”

Kyle looked among the other lumberjacks, who smoked cigarettes and lazed like they were taking the day off instead of striking. One of them looked at the man as though he wanted to know what was happening, but he did not ask.

Shivering with fear and anticipation, Kyle dove underneath the cafe table. Tourists walked by, sneaking glances at him. The man wore blue pants made of some thick fabric; back in Canada, Kyle would have guessed they were Dickies but he wasn’t sure if that was a thing in France. He didn’t what he was expected to do, but he stuck his head between the man’s legs and kissed his cock.

“Tu es sale.”

The man wore no underwear. His massive, limp dick was palpable beneath the fabric of his pants. He laughed a deep, baritone boom when Kyle kissed his dick. When he laughed, his dick twitched.

The man stood up, and Kyle crawled out from underneath the table. The man stood there. He lit a cigarette. When Kyle stood near him, the man pointed to the ground. He ashed right on Kyle’s head.

“Crawl,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer. He just turned around and walked away, and Kyle got down on all fours. He followed after him, keeping his head up and as close as he could get, so he could smell the man’s thick asscheeks.

He didn’t leave the cafe. He walked to the counter, and Kyle blushed intensely. The pretty girl clerk looked at him with a curious expression as she sold the man a baguette. She smiled flirtatiously at him, and she called him Hugo.

Hugo smiled at her. “Tu es très jolie,” he said. He kissed her on the lips, and she swooned into his arms.

For a moment, Kyle thought he was forgotten, that Hugo was going to take this girl into the men’s room and fuck her. But the girl pushed him away. She squealed and slapped him lightly, though she laughed and blushed as though she was happy to have kissed him despite the slap.

Hugo left her with a shrug, like he didn’t care that she had rejected him. He returned to his table, grabbed the beret he had left there, finished his coffee and walked off. He didn’t glance behind him at Kyle, who scampered after him.

“I thought we’d go to my hotel room. I’ll suck your dick and lick your asshole and you can fuck me,” Kyle said. “I’ll do anything you want. Five hundred euros.”

“Oui.”

“Okay. Thanks, Hugo,” Kyle said. “My hotel is-“

“Non,” he said. He stopped walking. They were in the cafe’s backyard. It didn’t appear to be used very often, but it was maintained. It was a small grassy plot that faced a cobblestoned alley. There was a row of shrubs that prevented anyone from seeing fully in, but the yard was not concealed — no one could see anything roughly below Hugo’s waist. Of course, people in the cafe’s kitchen could see through a window, but it seemed Hugo didn’t much care about that.

Hugo took off a hunk of the baguette with his teeth. He loudly munched on it, while Kyle settled on his knees in front of Hugo’s body. His face was just inches from Hugo’s crotch.

“Is it… do you want me to just…?”

“Suck,” Hugo said, his mouth full of bread. Crumbs landed on Kyle’s face. “Sucer.”

Kyle unzipped Hugo fly and pulled his pants down. He wasn’t wearing underwear, so his thick cockshaft popped right out. It hit Kyle in the face, making Hugo laugh.

“You have a big dick.”

“Oui,” Hugo said. His face was flat and expressionless. He puffed on the cigarette in one hand, then took another bite of the baguette. His burgundy beret almost fell off his head.

Kyle kissed his cocktip again. It twitched just like before, but now Kyle could taste the musty smell of his sweat. His uncut cock tasted something like a vineyard, Kyle thought, not the wine part, but the unused mash, the waste left over after making wine — he had gone on a tour of a real French vineyard before he found Hugo. It was musty and sweet and strong, and it made Kyle’s dick hard.

“Colette,” Hugo said. His voice was as grim and flat as his face. Kyle didn’t know what he meant at first, but then Hugo repeated it. “Colette.” He took a few steps closer to the window that faced the cafe’s kitchen. Kyle had to scramble after him to stay in front of his still-limp cock. That placed Kyle up against the ancient brick wall of the cafe, while Hugo’s big body filled the open window into the kitchen. “Colette.”

That pretty waitress from inside walked in there from the cafe. She scoffed at Hugo. “Eh, Hugo, go away, I am busy.”

From her position in the kitchen, she couldn’t see that Hugo’s dick was out, and she couldn’t see that Kyle was letting that entire shaft drop into his mouth. He suckled on it, as passionately as he could without making much noise. He wasn’t sure if Hugo was deliberately hiding the blowjob from Colette, but he didn’t want to make more attention than he had to — he didn’t even really want this to be public, that wasn’t something Kyle liked. He would have rather taken Hugo into a hotel room and had his way with him.

“I have written a poem,” Hugo said. His dick was beginning to get hard now that Colette was paying attention to him.

She blushed and laughed again. She waved him off, but she also moved closer, washing dishes near enough to the window that she could hear him.

“Let me see your breasts,” he said. His cock throbbed in Kyle’s mouth. “Or just one. They are so beautiful, they are like poems of the flesh. My words can never be as inspired as they are.”

She undid her blouse, and let one of her tits fly free. She made it look rather casual, as though it was an accident, though she had clearly done so deliberately. Hugo lowered his head and tried to suck on her nipple, as his dick fully perked up to full erection in Kyle’s mouth.

“Hush, Hugo, I am married,” she said. She took her breast away and covered it up. “Let me hear your poem.”

He straightened his back. His dick twitched in Kyle’s mouth, and he lit another cigarette. He exhaled the smoke away from the cafe. He put the baguette down on a table that sat out back — it had a wobbly leg, so it tottered when he put the baguette on it. His heavy, hairy balls rested on Kyle’s chin, dripping sweat onto him while the first few drops of salty precum hit his tongue.

You are pretty like Paris

When it lights up at night

You are an oasis of illumination

In a desert of night-time

You are where the camel drinks at last

Before it dies

Under the fierce Algerian sun

You are my canteen

The final drink

The last one I need

To die on sand, satisfied

And thirst, quenched

Vous êtes jolie comme Paris

Quand il allume la nuit

Vous êtes une oasis d’illumination

Dans un désert de nuit

Vous êtes là où le chameau boit enfin,

Avant qu’il ne meurt

Sous le soleil algérien féroce

Vous êtes ma cantine

La boisson finale

La dernière que je dois

Pour mourir sur le sable, satisfait

Et la soif, trempé

She blushed and smiled. “That is very pretty, Hugo,” she said. She patted him on the muscular belly beneath his lumberjack’s shirt. His skin puckered at her touch, and his dick twitched. She bared her tit again for him, making him growl with desire. She covered it back up with a giggle. “But you did tell the same poem to Maria last week. She has told me about it.”

Hugo’s mouth opened but no words came out. His deep voice rumbled. He had obviously not meant to get caught at this. She laughed at his reaction, then turned around and walked away.

“Damn it!” Hugo snorted when she was gone. “Merde!” The kitchen was empty.

He pistoned his hips before Kyle could react. That pushed his entire cock down Kyle’s throat. Kyle choked and spasmed, and his own dick leaked precum into his fingers. His head banged painfully into the wall behind him.

He slathered spit all along the shaft, coughing up so much saliva it dripped in clumps. Hugo’s muscles bulged beneath his black-and-white striped shirt, which had a few dark spots now where he sweated through it.

Kyle’s hands stretched up to Hugo’s chest, slipping under that shirt to massage his hairy muscles. He had a thick nest of fur there on his torso, which Kyle loved. He wished he could get up and lick his chest clean, but he had a feeling Hugo would not allow that.

As Kyle groped Hugo, Hugo groped as well — his hands slipped into the window, where he felt around until he found a cheese plate. He pulled it out. The smell of funky cheese filled the air, overpowering even the precum and sweat scent of Hugo’s cock.

As he pumped his hips, fucking Kyle’s face, Hugo ignored his choking and his frenzied sucking. He just grabbed the baguette he had half-eaten, and he made himself a cheese sandwich, just by ripping off hunks of bread and cheese. He ate it vociferously, crumbs landing all over Kyle and even on Hugo’s dick so Kyle could taste the bread and the sour cheese.

All of a sudden, Hugo pulled off Kyle’s face. He jammed the baguette into Kyle’s face as though trying to make him deepthroat that as well. He laughed cruelly when the baguette just left crumbs all over Kyle’s cheeks.

“Lick my ass. Lécher mon cul.”

Then he turned around. His asscheeks were big and plump and tanned brown. They were hairy, but not extremely so, they were just hairy enough for Kyle. He dove his face between those cheeks.

Hugo grunted like he was surprised. Kyle loved licking ass though, so he enthusiastically lapped at the sweat that trickled between Hugo’s cheeks. His body was big and plump, so his ass was juicy. Kyle’s entire face fit between those delicious cheeks. He sucked every inch of Hugo’s funky hole.

His eyes and his nose were covered by sexy manmeat, but Kyle could hear that something was happening. Hugo shifted his weight a little, like he faced a different direction now. Hugo said something and laughed — was that aimed at Kyle? He couldn’t tell.

Eventually Kyle had to come up for air. He was still pinned between the wall and Hugo’s big ass, but he could see just barely that there was a white-faced mime in the alley. He must have been walking by and seen Hugo getting his ass licked.

Now the mime was bent over, leaning against the fence with his ass in the air. He wiggled his ass like a dog trying to scratch an itch. That made Hugo laugh, and Kyle joined in — the mime was making fun of them. He was in the same position as Hugo, moving his ass as though an invisible man licked it.

Kyle licked all the way from the top of Hugo’s ass, right at the small of his back, down his asscrack, over his hole and through the funky hair of his taint. Kyle’s head appeared on the other side of his body, where Kyle swallowed his heavy ballsac.

Hugo grunted. He lifted his balls up, then plopped them back in Kyle’s mouth a few times.

Sensing that Hugo was ready to move on, Kyle stood up, very slowly, keeping his tongue out so he licked Hugo’s cockshaft then all the way up his chest and over that black-and-white striped shirt he still wore.

He nearly managed to lick all the way up to Hugo’s face so he could kiss him on the lips — Kyle thought some straight European men would be willing to tolerate that — but Hugo roughly pushed his face away. Probably because his tongue had been inside Hugo’s ass just seconds ago, Kyle thought.

Oh well, that was okay with him. He knew what he wanted to do next. He dropped his own pants to bare his ass, while Hugo watched. He reached into the kitchen again, this time pulling out a bottle of red wine and a glass. He poured himself a drink. He laughed at the mime who mimicked everything Hugo did.

The mime finished his invisible wine and smashed the invisible glass on the road. Then he grabbed an invisible ass and pretended to fuck it, making Hugo laugh some more. The mime was really very good, Kyle thought.

As Hugo actually bent Kyle over for real, the mime beckoned for someone. Kyle blushed as he realized he was about to have an audience.

He bit his lip and threw his head back as Hugo rammed his dick in without a word of warning. He didn’t use any lube at first, but he started to spit on his cockshaft once he felt resistance. The pain in Kyle’s ass was extraordinary, and he moaned in both desire and agony.

It turned out the mime beckoned a musician, an accordionist who laughed when he saw Hugo fucking Kyle. The accordionist began playing musette music, which made the entire experience seem almost romantic to Kyle. The crooning accordion filled the air, covering up the sound of Kyle’s gasping as he accepted more and more of Hugo’s meat.

“Ooh la la,” Kyle said through his moans. His prostate came alive and sent tingles through his body. His pleasure grew in waves with every touch of Hugo’s cock inside him.

Hugo’s sausage-like fingers grabbed ahold of Kyle’s back and held on. His dick was all the way in Kyle’s ass now, his balls slapping against Kyle’s thighs. Kyle squirmed. Hugo grunted.

The tune coming from the accordion changed to a new song. Kyle recognized it but he couldn’t place it at first. He was too overwhelmed by sensations from deep within him to think about it.

It was only when Hugo began singing that Kyle recognized the words and placed it to the tune — it was “La Marseillaise”, the national anthem of France. It was a bloody, martial song and, despite the romance of the accordion, that atmosphere shone through because Hugo sang it with his deep, baritone voice, crackling, booming, pumping his biceps and his pecs on the accented words. He sounded like a soldier marching off to war, Kyle thought, covering up his own moans so he didn’t overpower the sound of Hugo singing.

At last an orgasm ran through Kyle’s body. He loved cumming with a straight man’s cock in his ass because it always made the straight man react — Hugo stopped singing for a moment. He grumbled, then groaned in surprise as Kyle’s asshole clenched around his cock.

When Hugo began to gyrate his hips again, the pain was worse than ever on account of Kyle’s orgasm-tightened ass. That didn’t last long, however, as the smell of cum filled the air, crowding out the bleu cheese and wine that still lingered, and the passion of Hugo’s fucking made Kyle relax

Now he shuddered, aftershocks of his orgasm wracking his body. He was fully limp though, barely able to remain on all fours in front of Hugo, with his ass in the air and his head on the ground.

Since Kyle no longer jacked himself off, Hugo could — and did — treat him like a ragdoll. He held onto Kyle’s asscheeks tightly, riding him, grinding his dick inside Kyle’s body as though he needed to fuck every inch of Kyle’s innards. He grunted out a few indecipherable French syllables.

Once he finished his wine, he smashed the delicate glass on Kyle’s back. A few shards of glass sprayed onto the ground at Kyle’s feet, and the slight twinge of pain made Kyle writhe. The smell of wine was strong now. Kyle squirmed but Hugo kept a tight grip on his body.

“I will drown your ass now,” Hugo said with a broken moan. “Je vais noyer ton cul maintenant…”He slapped Kyle’s cheeks and watched them ripple. His own muscles flexed and rippled as well, as an orgasm washed over his body.

His lit cigarette fell out of his mouth and landed on Kyle’s back, scorching him briefly before it rolled off him and fell onto the ground. He yelped a little, as the pain reawakened the exquisite sensations in his asshole.

Hugo fucked relentlessly, still breaking into the words of “La Marseillaise” every few seconds as the accordionist continued the song (or maybe started it over, Kyle couldn’t tell). Hugo grunted and roared as he fucked, and cum spurted out of his uncut cock.

It filled up Kyle’s ass, dripping into every corner of his body. He shot so much that some of it slipped out his ass, coating his butt and his inner thighs in creamy goodness. It was hot and thick, and it made Kyle moan when he felt wad after wad of semen land on his prostate.

He squirmed. He moved his ass back and forth, fucking himself with Hugo’s dick. Hugo stood perfectly still. He lit yet another cigarette as he still moaned with the power of his own orgasm.

“Ooh la la…” Hugo murmured with a dry, throaty chuckle.

Then his dick was perfectly limp. Kyle pulled off him and sighed. The most incredible relief of his life flooded his body now that his ass was empty. He turned around and dove his face between Hugo’s lumberjack arm and his body. As Hugo breathed heavily, and the mime and accordionist walked away, Kyle licked all the sweat that had collected there in Hugo’s damp armpit.

At last it was over. Hugo flopped his limp dick between his fingers, and he wiped his shaft off with the last little bit of baguette. He rammed the crusty, ass-and-cum-soaked bread into Kyle’s mouth, laughing when it made Kyle cough and choke.

He pulled his pants up, took a drag off his cigarette, then glanced towards the street. There was a pretty girl walking past, and Hugo’s eyes lit up.

“Money,” Hugo said. “Argent, maintenant.”

Kyle had forgotten he hadn’t actually paid yet. He pulled out his wallet, carefully counted out five hundred euros and handed it over. Hugo took it, nodded, then took the rest of the cash out of Kyle’s wallet. He pushed Kyle away and walked out to the main street, calling after the pretty girl.

“Antoinette! Antoinette! Attends-moi!”

Finally left alone, Kyle sighed. He pulled his own pants up and leaned against the fence. Inside the cafe’s kitchen, Colette had returned with a plate of dirty dishes. He wrinkled her nose at Kyle as though she either thought he was homeless or knew he was a tourist and didn’t like them.

But she didn’t tell him to leave the yard, so Kyle just stayed there, smelling the wine, bleu cheese and cum, the combined scent of which would forever make him think of France and the sexiest French stud he had ever met.

He smiled. This European tour, he thought, was going to be even better than he had hoped.

Downlow Thugs at the Irontop Gym

Here’s the first chapter of Downlow Thugs at the Irontop Gym, a fantastic new tale about muscular black alphas and the lusty twink who services them!

Kyle loved his job at the Irontop Gym of Compton. He had initially thought he would feel out-of-place — he was a flamboyant twink, and the regulars here were burly macho thugs. The Irontop Gym appealed mainly to men, and in Compton, it was strictly Nine Tats gang territory. That was where all the top gangbangers in the city worked out. But it also had a reputation that helped make it an ideal workplace for Kyle.

That’s because everyone knew the Irontop Gym was a place straight men could swing downlow… very low on the downlow. He loved the muscular sweaty bodies all around, demanding service and release. What happened here, stayed here, so a lot of men got their nut off and then went home to their wives, bitches or hos, pretending nothing had happened. And the pay wasn’t bad either — Kyle was a licensed physical trainer, so he did alright.

Most of his clients were not very sexy though. The handsome studs and thugs who filled the gym, and who occasionally asked for a blowjob, were mostly too poor to pay for a trainer. Even if they did want to hire one, they’d feel self-conscious hiring a slim gay man. That wasn’t very gangsta.

But Kyle did okay on an hourly wage and the extra money he got from the older gentlemen who actually needed a physical trainer — he got paid from their insurance companies (or Medicaid, though Medicaid paid so little that Kyle barely even thought of it as a portion of his income). Whenever he didn’t have a client, he kept his eyes open for someone who might give him a taste of their cock.

When he saw Samson, Kyle knew he’d be tasting that meat sooner or later — he just moved like a straight nigga who let gay men suck him off. He had that horse-cocked swagger that made Kyle’s knees weak. Samson was middle-aged, at forty-one years old, though you’d never know it from looking at him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a dense mustache and a square jaw. He wore low-hanging gray shorts and a white wifebeater that revealed the layer of salt-and-pepper hair covering his broad chest.

“Yo, you my trainer?” he asked. He had a deep, gravelly voice that made Kyle’s knees weak.

Kyle nodded. He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. For a moment he thought he wouldn’t be able to do this, that he’d react like a lovestruck teenager and there was nothing he could do about it.

But at last his professionalism took over. “Yes, sir. My name is Kyle,” he said. “Let’s talk about your goals. I got the medical sheet from your insurance company, but what are your personal goals? What do you hope to gain from our meetings?”

Kyle took a deep breath. Samson had taken a bullet to the thigh a few months ago. He lifted up his shorts to show Kyle the scar. Kyle touched his trunk-like thighs, and his hands shook he was so aroused. He caught a peek of the dingy white pouch of Samson’s jockstrap peeking out from the leg of his gray shorts.

The din of the gym filled Kyle’s ears, drowning out Samson’s voice. All Kyle could think about was that delicious-looking bulge in Samson’s shorts. He inhaled deeply of the musty scent that wafted off Samson, who had a permanent scowl on his face.

“Yo… Kyle,” Samson said. It took him a moment to remember Kyle’s name. He rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. Was he angry? He came across as angry, Kyle thought, his heart pounding, but Kyle felt sure he always looked like that. Samson was an intimidating man. His pause hung in the air like a stormcloud waiting to burst. He glared at Kyle. “You gay, right?”

“Uh… yeah,” Kyle said.

“You distracted cuz you wanna suck my dick?”

“Uh…”

“I ain’t mad atcha,” he said. “You got somewhere quiet? You can suck me, Kyle. Then we do our work togethuh. Got it?”

“Well, uh, I…-“

“Shut up. Say yes or no.”

“Uh, yes.”

“Good,” Samson said. He stood up and turned around, so that his big plump asscheeks were right in front of Kyle’s face. Kyle drooled. He had to force himself to stand. He gestured towards the back of the gym.

“Uh, there’s a storage closet back there.”

“Let’s go, nigga,” he said. “I’m glad you ain’t white. I don’t like letting white queers suck my dick. Feels like a surrender.”

“Uh-huh,” Kyle murmured. He was too distracted by his own erection and the rippling of Samson’s muscles beneath his shorts and his wifebeater.

The closet was mostly empty, just a few exercise machines that weren’t in use. There was a bench press in the center of the closet, and it was there that Samson sat. He continued scowling in Kyle’s direction.

“Don’t mess around, nigga,” Samson said. “I ain’t come here for a blowjob, I still got shit to do. We ain’t makin’ love or whatevuh. Be quick. Just drain my nut so we can move on. Got it?”

Kyle nodded and sunk to his knees.

“Nah,” Samson said. He caught Kyle’s chest and lifted him back up to his feet. “Use yo’ words, nigga. Tell me you understand me.”

Kyle blushed. “Uh… I’ll be quick. I’ll suck you off as quick as I can. I won’t mess around.”

“Good.”

Samson spread his legs so the edge of the bench was beneath his crotch. That gave Kyle perfect access to his dick. Kyle stroked it through his gray shorts, but then Samson snorted liked he thought Kyle was being slow. Kyle blushed and pulled those shorts down.

He had a massive cock, which made Kyle grin. He had rarely seen anything so huge. It was long and thick and dense and fleshy, and Kyle could feel it throbbing even though it was still limp. He flopped it against his face. He kissed the tip and let his tongue tickle the piss-slit. Normally Kyle liked to tease straight men like that, but it seemed Samson didn’t want to take the time. So Kyle put the entire tip in his mouth and started sucking.

“Yeah, good boy, keep suckin’ just like that,” Samson said. He groaned as his dick stiffened up, and all that flesh turned from soft and clammy to hard and moist, throbbing in Kyle’s throat.

Fuck you, nigga! Come here and say that to my face! There was an argument out in the main gym. It sounded like a crowd formed and cheered the combatants on. All Kyle could hear was cheering and hollering.

The cock in his mouth was so thick he could barely fit in at all, but the more he sucked, the more he could swallow. It tasted like pure, unadulterated manhood, and the flavor reminded Kyle of all the imagined sex he had here — whenever he was bored at work, all he had to do was glance around to see overstuffed basketball shorts, pubic hair peeking out above the waistband, gruff voices echoing and cocky swagger everywhere he looked. Normally when he finally found a nigga willing to get his nut off in Kyle’s mouth, Kyle ended up disappointed — the reality didn’t live up to his imagination. But Samson was exactly what he had hoped, and it reminded Kyle of all those other men whose cocks he had only sucked in his dreams.

Come at me then! That fight sounded like it was getting more serious.

He considered going up there to stop it, but he knew that was silly, not just because he didn’t want to stop sucking Samson’s cock. Kyle was a weak gay twink — he was in good shape, but he was skinny and small. There was no way he could break up a fight, and anyway the bodybuilder Alain worked today as well. He would be able to stop the fight. Before Kyle even thought of that, he thought he could hear Alain’s Senegalese accent resonating in from the hallway.

“Ignore them niggas,” Samson said, flaring his nostrils. “You wanna suck my dick, you focus on my dick. I ain’t lettin’ you suck it on a fuckin’ lark or whatevuh, nigga. We ain’t stoppin just cuz some niggas is throwin’ punches up front.”

Kyle nodded to show his understanding. He certainly didn’t want to stop, and it did sound like Alain had broken up the fight before it got too serious. Wanting to be sure Samson appreciated the blowjob, Kyle looked up at him — straight thugs loved it when cocksuckers made eye contact — and grabbed his big meaty hands. He guided them to the back of Kyle’s head.

“Oh? You want me to facefuck ya, huh?”

Kyle nodded.

“You into that nasty shit, nigga?” Samson said. He started grinding his hips, shoving his dick in as Kyle struggled to open his throat. Samson muttered to himself. “Get that shit in there, nigga. You wantin’ this, don’t try and fight back now.”

Kyle wasn’t trying to fight back, but Samson’s dick was simply too big to deep-throat. It was all he could do to get half of it in his mouth, which felt like it was going to make his neck explode. He enjoyed the sight of Samson’s massive body swaying, rubbing, humping his face. Samson periodically glared into Kyle’s eyes, his harsh thuggish glare sending a wave of submission, fear and arousal through Kyle’s body.

“Keep on lookin’ me in the eye. When you suck a superior nigga, you look ‘im in the eye. That shows respect,” Samson said. Whenever Kyle accidentally closed his eyes, Samson gently pried them open again. He sneered at Kyle as he spat in his hand and lubed up his cock with it. His arrogant look made Kyle shiver with terror.

But Kyle loved every moment of it. He always enjoyed massive dicks sticking in his throat, leaking precum into his belly, and the swinging of heavy balls against his chin. His favorite activity was submitting to big thugs like Samson, allowing them to use his throat to satisfy their own carnal desires.

A brief spurt of pain erupted in Kyle’s nose — Samson had found a clothespin, which he used to shut Kyle’s nostrils. That forced Kyle’s throat to open even wider a few seconds later, and the last of Samson’s cock squeezed down his throat.

“Yeah, bitch, you a fuckin’ legend, nigga, hell yeah…” Samson said. He sounded surprised that he was enjoying this at all. His gravelly voice resonated in the tiny closet. He lightly tapped Kyle on the back of the head whenever he tried to pull away to take a breath, and he used both hands to hold Kyle in place. “Don’t quit now, nigga. You got me started, and I ain’t gonna stop ‘less you force me to.”

Kyle had no idea how long that lasted. He was dizzy from lack of oxygen, and all he could think about was his strained throat sputtering and choking. His face was a deep burgundy shade as his lungs cried out for air.

“Yo nigga, you ready fo’ nut? Huh? You better be, cuz it’s comin’.”

At last it was over. Samson stopped moving with his dick all the way down Kyle’s gullet, so Kyle could feel his balls crawl up in his sac where it rested against Kyle’s chin. Kyle’s hands gripped Samson’s plump brown asscheeks the best he could with Samson sitting down on the bench — he was leaned forward enough that Kyle could stroke the sweaty crack with both hands.

Samson grunted and groaned, lips moving like he was talking though no words came out. He closed his eyes as the first drops of cum spilled down Kyle’s throat. Kyle felt it pouring down his throat like he was chugging sour beer, and he loved the feel of Samson’s balls draining down his throat while they throbbed against his chin.

“Fuck yeah, nigga, swallow that shit… don’t spill none…”

Since Samson’s dick was so deep inside Kyle, his cum sprayed right into his gullet. Kyle didn’t taste it at first, he just felt the creamy heat seeping into his stomach and spreading to every corner of his body.

But when Samson finally pulled out, his dickshaft brought so much cum up with it that it coated Kyle’s tongue. He sighed as the flavor of semen finally overwhelmed his senses.

“Damn, nigga…” Samson chuckled. “You sure you wanna be a trainer? If you was my ho, I’d treat you right. Just consider it, nigga. You sign up wit’ me, and I’ll make sure you get fucked silly e’ry day.”

A blossom of desire exploded within Kyle, and if he weren’t out of breath, Kyle would have screamed “yes!” without a second thought. But by the time he recovered, it was clear that Samson was kidding, and even if he weren’t, Kyle didn’t want to be a ho. He was sure Samson’s idea of treating a ho “right” was not going to be as much fun as Kyle wanted.

Samson tucked his dick back in his jockstrap. He frowned at Kyle. “You feel better now, nigga? Can you concentrate on my leg instead of my cock?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle said. He blushed, but Samson was entirely right to do this — now that he had tasted Samson’s cock, Kyle could focus. “Let’s get your leg stretched out. Stretching is very important to the healing process, that’s actually more important than the exercise.”

Seven Minutes in Heaven at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter from Seven Minutes in Heaven at the City Barbershop, a new story from the City Barbershop series!

Paul wasn’t really serious when he made the promise that changed his life, but everyone took it seriously and he felt compelled to follow through. He was finishing with one young nigga’s hair while listening to the banter behind him.

This afternoon most of the banter came from one thug in particular, who went by Commodore. He was loud, boisterous and domineering, and he was just powerful enough in the Nine Tats gang that no one wanted to tell him to shut up. So every time he was at the City Barbershop of Compton, he was the only one who talked, and his voice boomed and echoed like church bells.

“Yo, nigga, that new Shadyside joint is tight. You listen to that? Put it on, nigga, that’s my jam. I know you ain’t nevuh heard nothin’ that tight.”

Paul was annoyed by him, but he forgave him because he was sexy. His swaggerous bravado made Paul’s dick hard in his pants. Paul hoped he might ask for a blowjob before he left.

The City Barbershop of Compton had a well-known reputation for being a place where straight black men could go to get their nuts drained on the downlow. What happened there, stayed there, so a lot of men swung Paul’s way when they were at the shop and nowhere else.

He hoped Commodore would be one such thug. His attempts at making eye contact were fruitless, however, and Commodore seemed more worried about bragging on how many chicks he had nailed.

“Damn, I fucked this bitch raw last night, you shoulda seen it, nigga. You’d have loved it-“

“Commodore… I would never watch you fuck some sloppy slut, that ain’t somethin’ I wanna spend my time doing.”

The barbershop erupted in laughter, and Paul laughed along with the others as he finished the haircut he was giving. The entirely black clientele of the City Barbershop howled at Commodore’s embarrassed expression.

While Paul took his customer’s money and prepared his chair for the next person, his ears pricked up at the sound of his own name.

“The fat-ass bitches you fuck wit’, Commodore, ain’t the kind that impress me. I’d be mo’ impressed if you fucked Paul here. But I know you too squeamish-“

“What? I ain’t into that downlow shit. I got girls on tap, nigga, I don’t need some gayboy swinging on my meat-“

Paul didn’t really plan on responding, he just dived in and spoke on impulse. “I ain’t a last resort anyway, Commodore, I fuck wit’ niggas who want it. That’s all of ‘em.” He turned around and shook his ass in Commodore’s direction as the other men in the City Barbershop whooped and hollered. Paul blushed at all the attention, but he also enjoyed it. He had been shy when he first started here, but the longer he worked in this place, the more comfortable he felt being the center of attention from the thugs, gangstas and barbers who choked the shop’s frontroom. Even those men who were anti-gay normally set aside their feelings while they were in the City Barbershop, which helped Paul feel comfortable there.

“Well you ain’t fo’ me, nigga.”

“I am absolutely fo’ you, mah nigga,” Paul said. “I’d make you feel so good you forget yo’ mama’s name. But I know you scared, you worried you ain’t gonna be able to slurp down a bowl of what I dish out.”

The shop erupted in cheers and claps. Paul beamed, embarrassed but proud of having held his own against Commodore. There were three or four guys in the shop right now giving him looks like they wanted to feel so good they forget their mama’s name. Paul, however, had eyes only for Commodore. There was no one else sexier in the shop right now, so Paul had his eyes set on Commodore’s meaty frame and sexy swagger.

“Yeah, right, nigga, you ain’t gonna outperform the bitches I got beggin’ for my meat,” Commodore said.

“I bet I will. I give you seven minutes in heaven, nigga, just seven minutes and yo’ dick just might retire,” Paul said with a chuckle. He had to speak up to be heard over the din and roar of the City Barbershop’s patrons.

Finally, there was a brief silence. Then Commodore cleared his throat and said, “Fine. Seven minutes. Let’s see what you can do, nigga.” He sounded annoyed with himself for accepting, like he hadn’t wanted to but he wanted to back down even less. He rolled his eyes.

Paul held out a hand as though he was a prince proposing to a refined lady. Commodore held it with his massive hand, and followed Paul into the backroom to the cheers and yelps of the men who filled the frontroom.

Once they were in the back, Paul closed the door. It was obvious everyone in there listened at the door — niggas had to be discrete about what happened here, but they only had to show discretion about it when they weren’t here. In the City Barbershop, anything went.

“How you gonna make me feel that good?” Commodore asked once they were in the darkened backroom. He sauntered among the shelves of cleaning supplies and products, and leaned up against the wall. “You got one less hole than a bitch, Paul. I don’t see how you gonna outdo a female.”

“Shut up, nigga,” Paul said. He put his hands on his hips. He had just been bragging and playing along with Commodore and the crowd; he hadn’t really intended to prove he could impress Commodore that much. But now his mouth had written a check that his body was going to enjoy cashing. “Get ready to lose yo’ mind.”

Commodore started to undo his belt, but Paul stopped him. He smiled up at him and sunk to his knees. He let out a fruity growl like he was hungry for Commodore’s dickmeat, and the sound made Commodore smile.

“You hungry, nigga?”

“I’m starving,” Paul said as he clicked the timer app on his cell phone. It was set to go off in seven minutes.

Yo, yo’ dick retirin’ yet, Commodore?!

Paul knew well how to impress a straight man with his cock-sucking abilities. It was rather like a con, he thought, not that it was all fraudulent, it just had more to do with confidence than any objective measure of blowjob quality.

He pulled Commodore’s dick out through the fly of his jeans. It was thick and veiny, and it looked delicious. He sucked on just the tip at first, loudly guzzling it down as though trying to suck it right off Commodore’s shaft. Commodore sharply inhaled like he was surprised by Paul’s boldness. His toes curled.

“Damn, nigga…”

Blowjobs were, objectively speaking, better with the pants off. If Commodore had dropped his jeans, Paul could have deep-throated him easier, and the whole situation would have been simpler.

But that wasn’t what he did — he sucked through the fly of Commodore’s jeans. That made it feel to Commodore like this was a passionate, torrid affair, that Paul was overcome by lust too powerful to wait for him to take Commodore’s pants off, and by extension, that Commodore should feel the same way.

Another trick that Paul had worked out over the years was to suck as loudly and as messily as possible. That excited more of Commodore’s senses while again making it seem like the blowjob was the most intense experience of his life. Spit dripped in gobs onto Commodore’s jeans, making a big stain — Commodore was going to have to justify that to his niggas by saying that it felt so good he didn’t care about his pants getting messy.

How much time you got left, nigga? Shoot yo’ load!

Commodore’s hands drifted down and held on to Paul’s head, and Paul submitted to his dick. He allowed Commodore to hold onto his head and piston his hips, fucking Paul’s face like an alpha macho thug. Paul even gagged up a ball of spit that soaked Commodore’s sagging jeans.

Paul loved the feeling of submission he got when he serviced thugs like Commodore. He had bragged about how good he was at sucking dick, but the truth of the matter was that he was simply good at opening his throat wide. He was willing and able to submit to throat-fucking more intense than most gay men, and that was enough to convince straight niggas like Commodore that Paul was genuinely good at sucking cock.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, nigga,” Commodore murmured. He bucked his hips, moving his dick in a little circle in Paul’s throat. “You got some skills, I can’t deny that. Gonna have to write a song ‘bout this, make sure everyone know all about it.”

Paul blushed, though no one could see it. Commodore’s eyes were closed as he slammed his dick into Paul’s throat. Paul used one hand to gently tease his balls while his other caressed Commodore’s smooth asscheeks.

One minute left!

It all happened so fast. Paul saw that the timer on his phone was nearly done — he actually had less than a minute left — so he hurried himself up. He used both hands to play with Commodore’s balls just as he felt them rise up in their hairy sac.

“Yeah, nigga, taste that shit, fuck…” Commodore belted out as he nutted right onto Paul’s tongue.

Then cum flew into Paul’s mouth. It was a thick and creamy load that tasted like cocoa butter and dirty jeans, along with the familiar sour-salty flavor of jizz. He moaned as the taste overwhelmed him. Commodore’s cockmeat spasmed and throbbed in his mouth.

His nose nuzzled deep in Commodore’s crotch, Paul kept on draining every drop he could. His tongue flicked up and down the shaft as he gathered semen in his mouth, teasing Commodore’s sensitive cock.

Above his head, Commodore writhed like his blowjob was painful. He smacked his hands against the walls so loud it made the men in the front room clap and cheer. He snorted and snarled like an angry bull, like his orgasm pissed him off as he filled Paul’s throat with his seed.

That sounds like heaven to me!

Lemme in next, nigga!

Paul kept sucking, just as hard as when he started, and didn’t stop until Commodore made him stop. Even when Commodore signaled he was done, Paul slathered spit on his shaft and gurgled on his veiny thickness. He pushed himself to deep-throat Commodore’s limp dick.

That made Commodore visibly uncomfortable. He gasped and contorted, his broad muscles rippling beneath the stylish thuggery he wore. His fists pounded at the wall behind him.

Finally Commodore physically removed Paul’s head.

“Damn, nigga…” Commodore said. He shook his head.

“That was seven minutes in heaven,” Paul said after swallowing that massive load. The thick and cummy flavor clung to his tongue, and he savored the taste as his body buzzed with sexual desire. He wanted to sit here in front of Commodore and lick his cock all day. He did precisely that until Commodore pulled his sensitive flesh away. Paul was disappointed and he didn’t hide it. He grabbed for Commodore’s dick. “What’d you think?”

Commodore just sighed and tucked his dick away. “That was… Shit, nigga… I don’t even know how to respond to that. That was definitely seven minutes in somewhere — if it was heaven, I just might have to start goin’ to church, nigga.”

He walked away then. Paul was satisfied to see him go. He had acquitted himself well, he thought, and he hoped Commodore would spread the word to other high-class thugs like him. Paul hoped the City Barbershop was going to crawl with sexy studs from now on.

Alpha Cellmate: The Redneck

Here’s a sample from Alpha Cellmate: The Redneck, a new story from Brutewood Medium Security! It’s the outrageous tale of a gay man getting a bit too much of what he wanted behind bars…

Dewayne settled into his prison cell and ignored his cellmate, Piggie, who in turn ignored him. For the first three hours, neither spoke. Dewayne had been waiting in his local jail for weeks, so he was used to being incarcerated. He knew what was going to happen, and he was fine with that — he intended to initiate it — but he wanted to let it happen on his terms.

So he waited. He unpacked the few things he was allowed to bring and placed them on the empty shelf behind his bed, the bottom bunk in the tiny cell. He brushed his teeth and took a piss in the toilet, all while ignoring his cellmate, who had been introduced to him simply as Piggie.

Despite the name, Piggie was not fat — he later explained that he had been chubby as a boy, which was when he got the nickname — he was a tall, broad-shouldered redneck, covered in tattoos and a fine sheen of hair over his chest. He had a tangled mop of dirty blond hair. He watched Dewayne dourly whenever Dewayne wasn’t looking.

Finally, Dewayne sensed the time was right. It was almost time for dinner, and he wanted to have a firm place in the prison hierarchy when he got to the mess hall.

“Hey,” Dewayne said. He was gay but he was not ordinarily very flamboyant. He tried to accentuate that now, to make certain Piggie knew that Dewayne was gay. Piggie raised his eyebrows and listened to Dewayne’s words. Dewayne stammered. “I, uh… I heard you run some shit around here.”

“You heard wrong,” Piggie said.

“Oh, really? They said you were a powerful motherfucker-“

“That much is true.” Piggie chewed on his lower lip as he looked Dewayne up and down.

“Good, good,” Dewayne said. He took a deep breath. “I, uh… Did you…? Are you comfortable with fucking? I mean… with me?”

Piggie sat up. He snorted as though the answer was obvious, but it wasn’t clear if it was “obvious” because he thought Dewayne should know that Piggie was a prison top who fucked queers, or because he thought Dewayne should know that Piggie hated queers. Dewayne momentarily wondered if he should try pretending to be a straight tough guy, but he knew he couldn’t pull that off.

“I, uh… I’d like to suck you off, or whatever. If you want, and if you will protect me-“

“You wanna be my bitch?”

“Well… I think you’re hot and I’m gay and I need-“

“You wanna be my bitch?” He flared his nostrils.

“Well… yeah, kinda,” Dewayne said. He normally loved redneck alpha males like Piggie — Dewayne was more than a bit rednecky himself, so he had a natural attraction to men like Piggie. If he wasn’t in prison and could have gone home anytime, Dewayne would have jumped at the chance to be Piggie’s bitch. Ever since getting out of the Army, Dewayne had been getting into riskier and riskier sex. It was a way to feel the adrenaline rush he had gotten used to in Iraq. This was more frightening than he was accustomed to, because he wasn’t role-playing the role of prison bitch, he was living it.

“You queer?” Piggie asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” Dewayne said.

Piggie jumped down from his bunk. He patted Dewayne down, a mix between a utilitarian frisk and a sexy grope. His rough-skinned fingers roamed over every inch of Dewayne’s body. Then he separated Dewayne’s jaws and looked in his mouth as though checking how big it was. He rammed his finger in until Dewayne gagged on it.

“If you gonna be my bitch, you gotta be obedient. You gotta serve me right. You gotta suck dick. You wanna suck dick?”

“Yes!”

“You wanna take it in the ass? You want me to butt-fuck you like a bitch? I don’t fuck easy. You okay wit’ that?”

“Yes,” Dewayne said. He gulped. “I… I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

Piggie smiled. He leaned in as though he was going to kiss Dewayne right on the lips, but then he turned Dewayne around and slammed him into the wall, face-first, hard enough to hurt but not break anything. Dewayne tasted the grime and dust clinging to the rock wall of their shared cell.

“I am gonna hurt you.”

Dewayne’s heart sank. He had assumed this would work. “Oh. I-“

“Shut up. You can be my bitch. I just wanna prepare you. I am gonna hurt you at some point. I’m gonna fuck you hard and I’m gonna smack you when I’m in a bad mood, when it ain’t even yer fault. I’m gonna treat you bad. That’s cuz I’m a bad man. You feel me?”

“Uh, yeah-“

“The promise I’m gonna make to you right now is not that I ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m gonna promise to make it up to you later. I ain’t gonna let no one else hurt you, not without my permission, but I am gonna hurt you myself.”

“Oh… Okay,” Dewayne said. His mouth was pressed against the rock wall, so all he could do was mumble. Piggie’s breath condensed on his cheeks. Again, he thought if this had happened in a biker bar instead of a prison cell, he’d be salivating at the chance to service Piggie. It was just disturbing to know he had no choice to go home later. It was either service Piggie, find a different man or take a chance on taking care of himself. Servicing Piggie was both the sexiest and most dangerous route.

“You queer, huh?” Piggie asked. He rammed his hand into Dewayne’s pants and caressed both cheeks. He gave them a pinch, hard, which made Dewayne yelp and squirm against the wall.

“Yeah.”

“So you ain’t a virgin?”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s too bad. I love making straight boys cry when I fuck ‘em,” he said. He sniffed Dewayne’s head and snorted. It sounded like he swallowed a mouthful of phlegm. He fingered the rim of Dewayne’s asshole but didn’t stick his finger in. “I love breakin’ ‘em down.”

“Oh, well, sorry, I ain’t-“

“I can handle queers too. I ain’t gonna mind that one bit,” he said. “Long as you’s okay wit’ me treating you poorly.”

“I guess so, I just hope-“

“Get on yer knees, queerboy,” he said. “If you can suck me good enough, I’ll take you in as my bitch. If not… then you’s on yer own.”

Dewayne did drop to his knees. He sighed and opened his mouth, drooling at the sight of Piggie’s fat cock dangling between his legs. Piggie didn’t take his orange prison pants off, he just pulled them down.

Dewayne kissed the tip, then licked the shaft. The taste of unwashed masculine musk flooded Dewayne’s senses. The flavor reminded Dewayne of a horse-barn; it was both unpleasant and arousing, and it made Dewayne hungry to taste Piggie’s load. He moaned and blushed because Piggie laughed at how enthusiastic he was.

“Is that fun, little bitch? You really wanna be my bitch? You that kinda queerboy?”

“Yes, I am,” Dewayne said. He wrapped his lips around Piggie’s shaft and moved his mouth up and down it. He knew straight men loved that technique, and he smiled as it made Piggie shudder. His dick straightened and stiffened.

Then Piggie grabbed Dewayne by the head and forced him to remain in place. Dewayne opened his mouth wide, sighing as Piggie’s cock pushed down his throat. Piggie drilled it in slowly and laughed as Dewayne struggled to swallow it.

Dewayne gagged, but only because he knew Piggie would want him to. Dewayne could deep-throat nearly anything without gagging if he wanted to. But he wanted to puff up Piggie’s ego by pretending it was difficult to suck his dick.

He let Piggie facefuck him, Dewayne focusing on little more than keeping his throat wide open. He loved the flavor of Piggie’s redneck dick; his precum tasted like fertile soil, a forest thunderstorm, engine oil and stainless steel, and its savory flavor made Dewayne wish he could suck it forever.

Piggie’s balls slapped against Dewayne’s chin as he fucked Dewayne’s face. He made loud rutting sounds, like the piggie he was named after. Every time Dewayne choked and sputtered, men in the other cells all laughed and jeered.

Damn, Piggie got a new bitch!

Piggie’s gonna make him squeal!

New guy’s a bitch already!

Dewayne gurgled happily, though he hid it out of fear that Piggie would interpret his enjoyment as license to facefuck him harder and harder until he no longer enjoyed. Instead Dewayne just sat there, allowing Piggie to drill his shift in and out of Dewayne’s throat.

Precum slid down his gullet, the sour-salty flavor overwhelming Dewayne’s palate. Piggie moaned and for a moment, his alpha machismo dwindled — he hadn’t expected it to feel this good.

Dewayne was proud of himself. He liked servicing big thugs and rednecks like Piggie, and he knew making his blowjobs indispensable was the best way to ensure Piggie kept him safe. He choked up a mountain of spit and let it drip down into Piggie’s hairy crotch.

Soon Dewayne could tell that Piggie was almost ready to cum. Dewayne slowed his rhythm down, which sent such powerful spasms of pleasure up Piggie’s thick body that Piggie’s knees buckled. He almost fell on top of Dewayne, but he used him for support.

Dewayne deep-throated all the way, ignoring his body’s cry for oxygen. His nose nestled in the wiry pubic hair of Piggie’s crotch as he felt veins throb inside his mouth. The cum flowed up Piggie’s massive shaft.

Finally Piggie reached orgasm. Dewayne could feel it in the pulsating of his balls and the throbbing of his cockshaft in Dewayne’s mouth. Piggie closed his eyes and groaned.

“Here I come bitch, get ready to taste it.”

Salty cum flew into Dewayne’s mouth, coating his tongue. Dewayne sighed and squirmed as he tasted a massive load of creamy juice. It sprayed right down his gullet and collected in a warm puddle deep in his belly.

Piggie stood there with his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes as his cum flowed, a huge load that just kept collecting. Its thick texture coated Dewayne’s tongue with the salty flavor.

“I’m gonna take my dick out now,” Piggie said softly. He shuddered as aftershocks of his orgasm roiled his hairy chest muscles. He peered directly into Dewayne’s eyes. “You keep your mouth open. I like watchin’ my cum dry on yer tongue, boy.” Then he pulled his dick out without moving his eyes.

The entire cell fell silent. Every fiber of Dewayne’s being told him to clean his face off, close his mouth, attack Piggie or run away, but he didn’t do any of those things.

Piggie closely inspected his tongue. He even stuck a finger in Dewayne’s mouth, all the way back until Dewayne gagged again, and Piggie pulled his finger out dripping with cum. He wiped it off on Dewayne’s nose, sending the acrid bite of sour semen smell assaulting Dewayne’s senses.

Finally Piggie nodded. “Go clean yerself off, bitch. We’re done now.”

Alpha Worship: Pimpnasty and the Pink Tie

Here’s the beginning of Alpha Worship: Pimpnasty and the Pink Tie, an outrageous short novelette about a gay transvestite with a taste for macho black thugs and pimps!

Randy adjusted his dress before stepping out of his car and heading back to his apartment. His building superintendent was hot — in a burly, raunchy macho-Pollack way — and Randy thought he might be able to suck him off. Randy wore a cheap dress that showed off his girlish figure, though he made no effort to actually pass as a woman.

He had been dressing in women’s clothes since he was a child. He wasn’t transgender, which was an assumption people often made; he had no inclinations towards being a woman, and indeed, disliked women in pretty much every way. He would have hated to be one. He simply liked dressing in women’s clothes, mainly because he liked the way they hung off his body.

In addition, he had found that dressing in women’s clothes made it easier to seduce the kind of men he liked. Randy had always loved being humiliated by straight macho types on the downlow. Back in Detroit, Randy used to have a sign on his door: if you’re straight and have a working door, come on in for a blowjob. What had initially started as a fun exercise in sluttiness soon turned into an orgy of looting, greasy fucks and an occasional gaybashing. Randy liked being punished, but still, he wanted to start over someplace where he had no reputation.

Randy intended to show a lot more discretion here in New York. He had set his eyes on the superintendent because he was hot and seemed relatively safe.

Of course safety was highly relative. Randy knew he should live somewhere safer. Last year the startup he worked for went public. His stock options were worth a fortune, and he wasn’t stupid enough to stay all in — he cashed out as soon as he could, even at a significant penalty. He cleared a few million. His coworkers said he was a fool.

And then a month later, the company’s stock plummeted. The CEO was arrested for overstating earnings. Everyone who said he was a fool had been wiped out, while Randy was one of only a handful of people to actually get rich off it. Even the CEO himself had to move back in with his parents.

So he could live somewhere nicer, and he knew there was a risk involved in living in the ghetto. But he loved dirty straight trade, and that simply didn’t happen in rich neighborhoods (at least not without complications). Here, he could pretend to be as poor and trashy as everyone else.

Before he could get into his building, however, there was a gauntlet of whores. They dressed in slutty clothes and looked at him like he he was a retard because he was not made up like a transgender person. He had a little stubble on his face and broad shoulders sticking out from his sleeveless dress.

“Yo, you wanna join my stable, baby? You got sum ass, yeah!” Came a deep, guttural voice from the alley next to the building.

It was a pimp. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscles rippling beneath the tight white suit he wore with a bright pink tie. He also had a pink hat and belt. When Randy turned around to face him, he was taken aback.

“Oh, sorry… uh… Miss… I don’t take freaky-deakies as a ho,” the pimp said. He doffed his cap in an exaggerated display of respect. “You live here now?”

“Yes, sugar, I just moved in,” Randy said. He didn’t like women, but he thought he could be seductive like one. This pimp was definitely not a potential conquest though — black guys often fucked around on the downlow, but only with other black guys in Randy’s experience, and in any case, this guy was a pimp with literally a stable of women he could fuck anytime. He had no reason to be with a man.

“Well, my name is Pimpnasty, sweetheart. I normally offer a free ride on one of my bitches as a move-in bonus,” he said. “But I guess you ain’t down with pussy, huh?”

“No, I’m not a fan of pussy,” Randy said. He giggled and turned to the hos. “I’m sure you all have wonderful vaginas. Just please keep them to yourselves.”

He headed into the building, breathing a sigh of relief when he got inside and the door slammed shut. He wasn’t really worried about the pimp or his hos — they had a business of their own, and wouldn’t likely attack a random stranger — but he still felt better when he had gotten away from them.

The superintendent was not in the hall outside his apartment as he often was. The light was off. Randy was disappointed, but he went to the elevator. As he did, he heard Pimpnasty outside, Got the finest pussy this side of Hollywood, baby! Come on ovuh and lemme see what’ll fit you! Yeah, I give you a good rate, whiteboi. Destiny here is gonna rock yo’ world to its very core! You gonna forget yo’ mama!

Randy was already annoyed by the time he made it to his apartment. Pimpnasty was so loud he could be heard through the walls, and Randy wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep.

So he went out to the balcony. Pimpnasty was still out there, still yelling about his hos. Randy hemmed and hawed for a moment — did he really care so much? Not exactly, but he thought he might be able to get Pimpnasty to at least flash him some cock. That’d be a nice little present before he went to bed.

“Hey! Pimpnasty! Can you keep it down? I gotta get my beauty sleep!” Randy yelled down to him. He couldn’t make his voice sound feminine when yelling, it just didn’t work for him. So he knew he sounded like a construction worker rather than the womanly beauty he hoped to present as.

Pimpnasty looked up at Randy as though he had never been told to be quiet before and didn’t understand the request. Randy felt a surge of fear that he was going to hurt him, so he hurried into his apartment before Pimpnasty could respond.

Much to Randy’s surprise, there was a knock on his door about five minutes later. His heart skipped a beat. He peered through the peephole and saw Pimpnasty there in his white suit and pink tie.

“Yo, queerbait, let me in,” he grunted.

Randy knew he should have said no; this was dangerous. But macho alpha men like this were precisely who Randy loved, and he got a hardon at just the thought of Pimpnasty beating him up. It was precisely these kinds of thoughts that had gotten him in trouble back in Detroit.

As he opened the door, Randy said, “Okay, but if you’re gonna beat me up, please take your shirt off first.”

“What? You into gettin’ beat up?” He raised one eyebrow as he looked down at her.

“No… I just think you’re hot. No matter what you do, I’d rather watch you do it shirtless.”

“You my kind of bitch,” Pimpnasty said. “You one of them transgender-?”

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I’m a gay man. I’m not transgender. I just like wearing women’s clothes and seducing straight men,” Randy said. He grabbed for Pimpnasty’s dick through his white slacks — a lot of sexy straight men would say no every time you offer to suck them off but if you just start, they’ll enthusiastically fuck your face. Randy paused, waiting to get punched, but Pimpnasty just looked down at him like a disgusting wart who had just appeared on his cock.

“Well, whatever you is, I can’t have you yellin’ at me,” Pimpnasty said. “Ain’t good for business. I gots a arrangement wit’ this building. I keep my stable here, and I keep you’s safe and shit. I don’t let no one fuck wit’ the folks here.”

“That’s very nice of you, Pimpnasty. Let’s talk more about that freebie you usually give to new residents. Are your hos the only ones eligible for that?” Randy said. He stroked Pimpnasty’s dick through his pants. It was long and thick and it spasmed beneath his touch.

“You wanna suck me off, huh?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I’m gonna hafta charge you. I don’t give freebies to men,” he said. “I’ll take whatever cash you got in your wallet right now. See, that’s a risk, I dunno how much you got in there. Could be nothin’. Could be a fortune.” He grabbed the purse Randy had thrown near the door when he came home. Pimpnasty rifled through it and found the eighty dollars that was in there, then looked closer until he found the emergency fifty that Randy kept in the bottom of the purse. “Hundred and thirty bucks. Reckon that’s a goodish amount. I won’t kick your ass then. I am gonna fuck yo’ throat like a ho. That okay wit’ you?”

“Yes, I love-“

Before Randy could say anything else, Pimpnasty grabbed him by the throat. “Good.” He spat on Randy’s face. “Get on your knees.”

Randy blushed and fell to the ground. He was already panting, desperate to be dominated by Pimpnasty; he could already taste ball-sweat on his tongue. He kissed Pimpnasty’s dick through the white slacks he still wore. “I love your cock already, Pimpnasty…”

“You gonna worship it, bitch?”

“Yes!” Randy pulled it out through the fly of his slacks. “Your dick is so beautiful, I wanna make love to it forever!” It was thick and black, veiny, already half-hard and throbbing in his fingers. Randy kissed it on the tip, but Pimpnasty grabbed his head and forced his jaw open. Randy fought back, just to keep Pimpnasty working for it.

“We ain’t makin’ love, bitch, don’t tease it. If you wanna suck it, you best suck it. If you ain’t gaggin’, you ain’t doin’ it right. I’m gonna mollywop you now.”

He had a massive slab of meat, and he chuckled as he walloped Randy across the face with it. He made some sound effects as he did, like a kid playing with his action figures. Thwam! Thwam! Thwam! He laughed while Randy chased his dick with his mouth, trying to get a taste. Pimpnasty withheld it while stroking himself to full erection.

Then he rammed his dick down Randy’s throat without a word of warning. He chuckled when Randy gagged, and Pimpnasty spat on his face again.

“That’s right, suck on it, choke a bit. If you gonna worship this nigga meat, that means chokin’. Chokin’ is how you pray to this particular god, bitch,” he said.

His dick throbbed in Randy’s throat, precum leaking down his gullet. Pimpnasty still wore his white suit and pink tie, he just pulled his cock and balls out through the fly. His muscles flexed beneath his suit. Normally Randy would have preferred to see him naked, or at least shirtless, but somehow this was even sexier than he thought that would have been. He felt like Pimpnasty used every muscle in his body to fuck Randy’s throat.

He rammed his cock in and out, pausing only briefly to light a blunt. He inhaled deeply of it and let the smoke drift out of his nose as he watched Randy suck.

“Open yo’ mouth,” he said. Then he ashed the blunt right onto Randy’s tongue. Randy jumped a little as his tongue was scorched, but Pimpnasty held him down on his knees. “Stay there. Keep the ash on yo’ tongue. Makes the blowjob nicer cuz it adds a little friction.”

The ash smeared over Pimpnasty’s dickshaft as he worked it in and out. Randy produced copious spit, which dripped onto the floor at his feet. The ash tasted gritty, like a campfire on his tongue, and gave the saliva that coated Pimpnasty’s shaft a mud-like quality. Randy found it repulsive, but that, in turn made him horny. He wanted to jack himself off but he knew Pimpnasty wouldn’t allow that.

Finally he felt Pimpnasty’s balls crawl up in his sac, and Randy deep-throated it all the way, until his nose nestled in Pimpnasty’s pubic hair. He wanted to be sure he tasted that load rather than feel it all over his face — thugs like Pimpnasty usually liked facials, so Randy made sure his blowjob felt so good Pimpnasty wouldn’t want to pull away.

“Damn, bitch, you almost suckin’ the brown off my dick, fuck… you’d goddamn clean-up behind bars, you know that? You’d be a fuckin’ queen, tranny or not.”

Cum flowed down his throat. It was salty and sweet, and even better than Randy had hoped, with a faint marijuana-like flavor (which might have actually just been the smoke filling the air in his apartment or the ash that remained on his tongue). Randy guzzled down every drop.

Pimpnasty used his hands on Randy’s head to keep Randy in place as he spewed his load. Even when he was done, he held on, eyes closed and writhing as his potent orgasm wracked his body. Finally he allowed his dick to flop out, and Randy gagged while Pimpnasty rubbed his dick over the saliva-and-precum mess on Randy’s face.

“Alright, bitch,” he said. “You can clean yo’self off once I’m done. Till then, stay there and let yo’self marinate in my juices. Think about how you gonna worship me even better if I let you do this again.” He spat on Randy’s face one more time, then walked away. He cleaned his dick off in the sink, tucked it away and zipped up his white slacks, then he washed his hands and took another deep hit off his blunt. He swallowed the lit roach.

He didn’t say a word until he was at the door. Then he said, “Ten seconds after I close the door, you may get up and clean yo’self off.” Without waiting for a response, he walked out and slammed the door shut.

Randy was too exhilarated, so he stayed there, letting the mask of cum and saliva dry on his face, for ten minutes.

The Blasian Barbershop

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Moms-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anytime you want-“

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

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

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

Servicing Black Thugs: The Pimp

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yo bitch, you suckin’ like I said to?

Yes, papi, I swear, I’m doing it-

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

No, papi.

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

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

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

I love the taste of yo’ nut, papi.

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

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

Good. Ain’t no one doing it?

Not really.

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

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

“Whatchoo gigglin’ at, gurl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roger nodded. “I’m an expert.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roger nodded.

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

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

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

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

“Well, let’s see it,” Emerald said.

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

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

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

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

“Whatchoo doin’ in there, faggot?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. First, gargle.”

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

“Say I love Slickback’s load.”

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

“Okay, now you can swallow,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t do that shit! I get girls!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut the fuck up, Reggie!”

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

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

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

Flop that string, nigga!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yo that was Naluke?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Reggie said. “He really did.”