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Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate

Here’s the entirety of Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate, a story in the Servicing Black Thugs series!

Roger had gotten a part-time job delivering vegetables for AZO Distribution for only one reason — one of the other drivers, Charlie, was a studly black man, exactly the type of swaggering thug he lusted after.

Not only did Roger have a fetish for macho black thugs, he had a seemingly foolproof ability to zero in on precisely those black thugs who were willing to swing that way. He was sure that Charlie would do it, but it was hard to engineer a time to meet him alone. The dispatch center was always crowded.

He was focused on creating a plan as he drove on Friday, finishing up his round of deliveries. He was so lost in thought that he was surprised to see he his own delivery van pulling into the local jail. That was the kind of thing he would normally notice as soon as he saw it on the schedule. But it was just called Brutewood C.J. on the invoice, and Roger hadn’t given it much consideration; now he knew what it stood for — county jail. Brutewood was a private prison company who operated the local correctional system.

He was a bit annoyed his boss hadn’t specifically warned him. What if he had worn expensive jewelry? Or packed a switchblade? He’d be in danger, and possibly violating a contraband law as soon as he drove in. It was only a local jail, but still, Roger didn’t want to get in trouble.

He followed the signs for deliveries and pulled into the rear of the jail. He met with a uniformed officer, who signed for the invoice, and introduced him to Dwight, an inmate who would help unload the van.

As soon as Roger saw Dwight, he forgot all about Charlie. Dwight was a tall smooth-bodied chestnut-skinned man with a thick mustache. His orange jailhouse pants were slung low, and he had a thuggish swagger, though it was immediately apparent from his bearing — and the reverence with which he displayed a small crucifix over his neck — that he was a devout Christian.

Roger knew that would be no barrier. Dwight was hot to trot, and he was sure Dwight knew it too from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Dwight immediately began undressing Roger with his eyes.

He had a rough, southern accent. “Lemme get that fo’ ya, suh,” he said, taking both of the heavy boxes of potatoes. Roger grabbed the much lighter sack of salad mixes, following him into the kitchen area. There were no other inmates that he could see, and the uniformed cop wandered off.

Dwight looked Roger up and down as he showed him to the pantry. “You ken put them salad bags down right tharr,” Dwight said. He hefted the potatoes onto a shelf. “God bless ya, man. You ain’t the usual guy. What happened to Wilson?”

That was why Roger was given the prison assignment, he realized, suddenly grateful that he was the rookie, and had therefore been given Wilson’s deliveries — Wilson was a coworker whose sister had just died in a car accident. Roger explained that to Dwight, who clicked his tongue against his teeth and prayed.

“That poor man, I’ll pray for him, he is a good man, yup, a good church-going man,” Dwight said. “You help yusself to a glass of water, sirruh, yessum, I’ll go get the dolly.” He hurried off, big body shaking as he strode towards the truck. He came back a few minutes later with the hand-cart full of the remaining boxes of produce.

Roger didn’t want any water, so he just waited in the pantry. It was a small kitchen, with only one door, and from the pantry, Roger had a good view of the whole area. This was pretty close to ideal, he thought.

Dwight came to the pantry with the last box of produce. “Them carrots is lookin’ good. We ain’t normally get baby carrots. They’s nice.”

Roger nodded. “They’re on sale right now. I still like big, thick carrots though.”

“I bet you do,” Dwight said. “You look good enough to eat, boi. Bet you taste better than a carrot.” Something about the gasping, aroused way he said boi turned Roger on; it was equal parts insulting, seductive and menacing all at once.

“Do we have privacy here?” Roger asked. He gingerly reached out and touched Dwight’s chest. His pecs bulged through the too-small prison uniform shirt he wore, which was so short it left the lower part of his belly bare. He didn’t have a six-pack, that much was obvious even through his clothes; he had a thick, strapping body, bulky muscles behind a thick layer of flesh.

“Yup,” he said. “You suck good, huh?” He reached out and touched Roger’s lips, squeezing them together to form a kissy face.

“I do alright,” Roger said. He opened his mouth as wide as he could to demonstrate.

“I ain’t queer or nothin’,” Dwight said. He cleared his throat, the seductive tone momentarily leaving his voice. “You should know… No offense or nothin’… You know it’s a sin, right?”

“I do,” Roger said as he sunk to his knees.

“I mean… You should seek repentance. Me too, of course, but I know I will repent. I’ll beg forgiveness after this, and God will forgive me. I am bathed in the blood of the lamb, boi. You gonna ask forgiveness?”

Roger shook his head.

“Well, that’s yo’ right,” Dwight said in a way that suggested he didn’t think Roger should have that right. He wrinkled his nose. “Now go on and suck me. Wait.” He leaned down and kissed Roger right on the lips. At first it was just a chaste peck; their lips barely came into contact. Dwight moaned a little as though he had scarcely had any human contact recently. “Don’t tell no one I kissed you.” Then he kissed Roger again, and this time plunged his tongue deep inside.

Roger was shocked. He wrapped his arms around Dwight’s broad shoulders, which were bare as he took off his shirt and dropped his prison pants. His cock was rock-hard, sticking out the fly of his boxers.

Their tongues interlocked. Dwight’s was strong and forceful, pushing its way into Roger’s mouth. Roger tried to do likewise, but Dwight’s tongue took up the whole space between their mouths.

When he finally pulled his face away from Roger’s, Dwight had his eyes closed. Roger made a high-pitched mewling sound, hoping it came across as feminine. It seemed to work, as Dwight moaned exquisitely when he heard it.

“Yeah, baby, you wanna taste my meat? You gonna suck it all the way down, yeah, you gonna taste every inch of that shit. You gonna beg me for it.”

“Please let me taste your meat,” Roger said. He stuck out his tongue and demonstrated how wide he could open his mouth.

He plunged down on Dwight’s rod, and Dwight moaned again. He leaned back against the wall for support, and threw his head back, keeping his eyes closed. His knees went weak for a moment.

“Shit… we ain’t got fags who suck dick like this… I mean… homosexuals who suck dick like this in this place. We got one f-… one homosexual. He don’t suck dick good,” Dwight said. Then he bit his lip and moaned.

Wanting to prove how good he was — Roger knew he was a good cocksucker, and he was proud to show it off — Roger deep-throated Dwight’s cock. Dwight was clearly astonished that someone managed to swallow his whole cock, and he was, for once, speechless. His mouth kept moving but he was too aroused to form actual words.

With one hand, Roger reached into his own pants and began stroking himself off, while using the other to play with Dwight’s pendulous balls. His sac was so sweaty the hair was plastered to his wrinkled scrotum-skin.

Dwight murmured under his breath as his dick pulsated precum into Roger’s mouth. It sounded like he was either talking trash to Roger or praying for forgiveness, or maybe a little of both, but Roger couldn’t hear his words.

“Hey, boi,” Dwight said, whispering even though there was no one around. He looked ashamed as he checked for witnesses out in the kitchen area. He turned back to Roger, whispering in a low, growly voice. “You shave yo’ ass? You that kind of queer?”

Roger nodded. He didn’t take Dwight’s cock out of his mouth, just looked into his deep eyes and nodded his head. He could lose himself in those incredible brown eyes — despite his kind personality, Dwight had the eyes of a hardcore, cruel thug, and Roger loved peering into them.

“Then drop those pants, boi,” Dwight said, cackling with glee. Then he stopped himself. “I mean… It’s a sin, boi. You shouldn’t be doin’ that. You should be acceptin’ Jesus Christ into yo’ heart. But if you gonna do it, shake that ass right now. I wanna see ya jiggle.”

Roger didn’t even think about declining. He turned around and undid his pants, glad he had shaved just a few nights ago. He bared his ass, and Dwight immediately began kneading the flesh as he groaned and grunted. It sounded like he was incredibly turned on by the sight of Roger’s bare ass. His rough fingers caressed Roger’s ass.

“Gonna open you up, boi, gonna get this pussy nice and loose, yeah,” Dwight said. “Make some sounds like I’m lickin’ yo cat, boi.” He rammed one finger in, and Roger yelped in pain. Dwight was being rough and crude, uncaring of Roger’s pleasure. That much wasn’t a surprise. The surprising part came a few seconds later when Dwight’s tongue plunged in.

Roger was so shocked to get a rimjob from a big straight stud like Dwight that he initially didn’t react at all. But then he realized that was why Dwight asked him to make sounds like a woman getting eaten out — he wanted to feel like he was licking pussy.

Roger yelped and moaned. He cooed in a womanly way, and opened his asshole up like he was sure women did. He murmured “Come on, baby, lick me,” in a feminine voice. Dwight growled, a deep rumbling sound that resonated in Roger’s ass. His mustache scratched at Roger’s crack.

His tongue enthusiastically lapped at Roger, his initial hesitation fading as he seemed able to convince himself it was just like eating pussy. He produced copious spit, making Roger’s smooth ass gleam with moisture.

By the time he pulled away, Roger’s ass was as loose as it could ever be. That was good because Dwight had an enormous cock, and he wedged it in, causing a shiver of pain to run up Roger’s spine. He let out a low moan that sounded obviously masculine, until he remembered to switch to a more feminine tone partway through.

“This is gonna hurt, boi,” Dwight said. “You into that, right? You like big dicks?”

“God yes, please! Fuck me,” Roger said.

“I was hoping you was gonna say that, I used to be a real thug, a gangbanger, nigga, I used to love making it hurt. Now I love makin’ love,” Dwight said. He took a deep breath as he squeezed more of his dick in. “Say you sorry, boi.”

“I’m sorry, Dwight.”

“Not me! Don’t ‘pologize to me, boi. I don’t care what you put in yo’ ass. Apologize to God.”

“I’m sorry, God,” Roger said.

“Good,” he said grinding his dick in even deeper. He wrapped both of his arms around Roger, holding him close to his powerful, hairy chest. Roger choked in pain and bucked, but submitted to Dwight’s position. Dwight whispered in his ears. “I’m real fuckin’ horny, boi. God told me that’s okay, that a man’s gotta do what he gotta do to get through tough times. You understand that? This is definitely a tough time,” He didn’t stop fucking as he talked, so Roger found himself unable to speak, the sensation of being fucked by Dwight’s foot-long cock too intense to overcome.

His own cock was rock-hard, demanding attention, but his hands were busy holding onto the pantry shelves for support. Dwight continued working his manhood in and out of Roger’s ass. The whole time, Dwight caressed Roger’s smooth chest, staying away from his nipples as though touching where he hoped to feel tits would be disappointing because Roger had none; it seemed Dwight wanted to pretend to himself he was fucking a woman.

“God want me to prove I’s doin’ this cuz I can’t resist the urges, boi. Not cuz I’m queer myself. So I’m gonna do something to show that I’m ‘ware of my sin.”

Roger had no idea what Dwight was trying to say. He was yelping and grunting as he took every inch of Dwight’s cock, which was too big for Roger to focus. He only realized Dwight’s point when the man’s thick, callused fingers reached around to Roger’s cock.

Oh fuck, Roger thought, I never dreamed someone like Dwight would give a reacharound!

An orgasm began building from the moment Dwight’s hands wrapped around Roger’s dickshaft. Dwight was hesitant, apparently undesirous of touching another man’s meat, and his rhythm was awkward. But somehow that made the handjob even sexier.

“Yo, boy!” boomed a male voice Roger didn’t recognize.

Someone was coming into the kitchen. Roger panicked, but Dwight shushed him and held him still. He then pushed Roger closer to the shelves, so somebody would have to be very close to see him. There were crates of supplies outside the pantry that concealed the fact that Dwight’s pants were around his ankles.

“G’afternoon, Officer Armstrong,” Dwight said.

“Go fuck yourself. Did that delivery come in?”


“Good. You know who stole the cocaine out of evidence?”

“Nossuh, don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout that,” Dwight said, as smooth as though he had rehearsed that exact line. It didn’t sound like Dwight was concealing something from Armstrong, more like he was confirming that he would keep it a secret that Armstrong was the one who stole cocaine out of evidence.

“You weren’t supposed to be there anyway, boy.”

As soon as Armstrong said boy, Dwight bristled. His cock jumped and pulsated in Roger’s ass. Roger squealed, biting his lip to avoid making noise. Luckily the walk-in refrigerator was nearby, and it produced a loud ambient noise, which covered up Roger’s panting.

“Yessuh, I real’ze that,” Dwight said. “I’m a Christian man, Officer Armstrong. I mind my own business. I don’t want any trouble.”

“I’m glad to hear that, boy. Don’t make trouble, and I won’t give you any.” Officer Armstrong was not far away. He must be just on the other side of those crates, Roger thought. If the crates weren’t there, he’d have seen Dwight fucking Roger’s ass plain as day.

“Yessuh. You’s in charge, suh, I assume you gots a reason for everything you do. And it’s prolly a good one,” Dwight said.

“That’s right. Don’t you forget that. I always have a reason, boy,” Officer Armstrong said. Then his feet clicked on the ground as he walked away.

At last he was gone. Dwight slammed his dick deeper into Roger’s ass, and growled. He obviously had some aggression to get out, Roger thought, and he was glad to take it.

His Christian demeanor vanished. Roger got the impression he was now seeing “the old Dwight”, a swaggering thug who muttered take it, bitch as he rammed his rod in and out of Dwight’s ass.

“I hate that fucking honky, man,” Dwight said. “If I thought I could, I would… be extremely unChristian toward that man.”

Roger tried to make sympathetic sounds, but all that came out was a strangled cry. He gasped and clutched at the wooden shelves. It seemed Dwight had forgotten about giving a reacharound

“I seen that fucking shithead doing some sleazy-ass shit, lemme tell you. I think he raped this Mexican boy who was in here-“ Dwight took a deep breath. He stopped moving for a moment. “Nevermind. I’m sorry. I am not behaving right. Am I hurtin’ you?”

“No, god, no, please, keep going,” Roger said breathlessly.

Dwight placed a box of kids cereal in front of Roger. “Nut in that,” he said. “That’s his. He eats that every morning.”

Then Dwight spat in the palm of his hand and resumed stroking off Roger. He was again clumsy and badly-timed, but Roger appreciated the effort and the feeling of his prison-toned biceps rubbing against Roger’s body. Dwight was so much bigger than he was that he felt like a monster behind him.

Roger was so close to cumming that he shot just moments after Dwight finally began getting into the rhythm of stroking him off. Roger’s whole body bucked, and squeezed around Dwight’s dick as he shot his load right into the cardboard cereal box. He gasped and rubbed his head against Dwight’s powerful pecs and erect nipples.

That was apparently enough to set Dwight off. He grunted as he wiped the cum off his fingers onto the side of the cereal box, and then he grabbed Roger by the hair. Pushing his head down to the ground, Dwight, uncaring of the cum still stick to his hands, began pounding his cock deep into Roger.

Pain split Roger’s sides, but his own orgasm was still continuing, the aftershocks making his whole body shake. Dwight’s cum filled his ass with hot, creamy goodness, and it dripped down his thighs onto the pantry floor.

“Thank you, fuck…” Roger said. “That was incredible. You always fuck like that.”

“I got a champion dick,” he said. He still hadn’t removed it. Its meaty thickness throbbed in Roger’s ass.

“You certainly do.”

“Shit…” Dwight said as he pulled his cock out. He wiped it off with a napkin. “You pretty good at deliveries too, boi. Can you take this route from Wilson permanently?”

“I can try,” Roger said. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Downlow Muscle at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Downlow Muscle at the City Barbershop, a new story by Calvin Freeman!


Sharif didn’t take his suit off. He just pulled his dick out through the fly and let Omar go to town. He said over and over that he was “fine” with letting Omar suck him off, but it was pretty clear that he didn’t want to do it. He only agreed because he wanted to seem as tough as a rapper.

His cock throbbed and leaked precum down Omar’s throat. Omar loved guzzling down every drop, made even tastier because of Sharif’s stiff nervousness. His muscles were rigid beneath the suit he wore uncomfortably because he didn’t really fit in it. Sharif grunted, trying to maintain his tough demeanor despite his anxiety.

The only reason Sharif was here at all was because of Craig, or Craig Jay, as he went by in the rap world — Omar still knew him as just plain Craig though, because they had grown up together. They had been friends for a long time, and then they grew apart — Craig became a thug and a dealer, while Omar came out of the closet and became a barber.

And then Craig did a guest spot on a single released by local legend (and Craig’s long-time boss) Waystation. The song became a surprise national hit, and Craig released an album of his own that made him the most unlikely rap star of the year. Craig had never been much of a gangsta, Omar thought, but he played himself off as plenty tough on record.

Sharif rapped too, but he wasn’t very good and that wasn’t why he was here. His hair was in tight, perfectly done cornrows, so he didn’t need a haircut. He came in wearing that fine suit. When Omar caught a glimpse of him while he cut someone else’s hair, he just saw a large body and thought it was some fat guy in a black coat.

Then he realized it was a suit, not a coat, and that Sharif wasn’t fat at all — he was a bodybuilder. He had competed in the Mr. Texas bodybuilding pageant and come in second place a few years ago. He stood nervously near the door until Craig was ready for another customer.

“Yo, man, Craig Jay wanna me to be…” Sharif grunted and bit his lip. “I mean… Yo, nigga, I got… I got a message.”

It had been a busy day, and Omar had other things to do. He sighed. “What? What are you talking about? Who are you?” He only then realized that Sharif mentioned Craig Jay, which was Craig’s performing name. “Oh, Craig? The Craig Jay?”

Sharif nodded. He nervously bit his lip. He looked around the barbershop, where Omar’s coworker James cut a little boy’s hair while his grandfather watched. Everyone was silent because Sharif had mentioned a celebrity and they wanted to hear.

“You work for Craig?”

Sharif shook his head. He sighed. “Yo, I mean…”

Omar paused. “If you have a message, aren’t you supposed to say it?”

Sharif had a bone-rattlingly deep voice, which contrasted with the nervous quaver in his throat. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. We, uh… We can’t… I can’t, uh, give this message… here.” He glanced at the little boy. “It ain’t, like… child-friendly.”

A long awkward pause filled the air. “Are you threatening me?” Omar didn’t really think he was simply because Sharif looked like he would have been comfortable delivering a threat, so his obvious discomfort implied that was not it. But Omar lived in a tough neighborhood and felt he needed to consider the possibility of violence.

Sharif’s massive shoulders flexed as he gasped. “Nah! No! No way, man, that ain’t… It ain’t a threat.”

Omar shrugged. “Okay, well, why don’t we go into my office?” He led Sharif into the backroom, where he had a small office. Sharif sat down across from Omar, who smiled at him. “So how’s Craig? Is fame treating him okay? I know he-“

“I dunno, nigga.” Sharif said. He leaned his head back. “Okay, look, man, you gotta suck me off.”

Omar was taken aback. This wasn’t too surprising — Omar worked at a City Barbershop, a chain that had a reputation as a place for straight black men to get blowjobs on the downlow. Omar was well-known for sucking off thugs precisely like Sharif. But they rarely wore suits or came in delivering a message from a celebrity, so Omar assumed there was more to this story. “Oh. Well-“

“I mean, you ain’t got to. I guess. I dunno. I mean, Craig ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout makin’ you do it. He say you was gonna want to,” Sharif said. He stood up and lifted up his button-down suit shirt for a second, revealing his flat belly and bulging pecs — he showed off his body for Omar’s benefit, but he was nervous enough that he didn’t give any thought to how to do that: he simply lifted his shirt up to display his muscles for a second, not doing it in a sexy or seductive way. “I’m s’posed to let you suck me off. Craig say he won’t hire me — I’m a bodyguard, that’s what I do — he say he won’t hire me unless he knows I’m a real nigga. He say he wanna know I can perform.”

“Ah….” Omar had to suppress a giggle. He had a feeling this was more of a joke than a real requirement. Craig was a stoner-slacker who would probably never even bother to call Omar to ask if this had happened. Sharif could simply lie. Craig would always take the path of least resistance, and he would definitely never retract a job offer to a muscle-bound thug without a very good reason.

“Keep the suit on,” Omar said. “I like sucking off men in a suit. It feels like I’m giving a blowjob to James Bond.”

He came around to the front of the desk and sunk to his knees in front of Sharif. He unzipped his slacks and pulled his dick out too quickly for Sharif to get nervous.

The Prison Wife Treatment

Here’s the beginning of The Prison Wife Treatment, a hardcore story of alpha male worship by Calvin Freeman!


“Alright, baby, go in there and make me somethin’ tasty,” Ruddy said. He kissed Sal on the cheek, making Sal flush with desire and arousal.

He was Ruddy’s prison wife. Not really, of course, since they weren’t in prison, but Sal had asked Ruddy to treat him like a prison wife (and paid him handsomely for it). That’s because Ruddy was the sexiest mandingo stud Sal had ever seen. He was a tall thug with short braids and a harsh glare to his mean eyes; he had broad, strapping muscles like a farmworked ox, marked with legions of prison tattoos. He had spent twenty of his forty years in prison, though it was mostly in short stays of a year or two at a time.

Sal hurried into the kitchen. He had assumed this would be mainly about sex, but the first thing Ruddy asked for was food. Sal cooked him a quesadilla because that was just about all Sal had — he didn’t cook much and the kitchen was mostly empty. He hadn’t thought about buying food just for Ruddy.

This all started because Sal had gathered up the courage to go to the local prison and make an offer. All he wanted to do was suck Ruddy’s dick — he was the sexiest non-skinhead to be released that day — but Ruddy said no. Ruddy said he wasn’t gay and wouldn’t fuck with any man under any circumstances.

But, Ruddy said, there was a loophole: when someone became a prison wife, he said, that person was effectively female. It didn’t count fucking a prison wife. I reckon I could use one too, whiteman, yessuh, I don’t think there gonna be lotta females who wanna give up the pussy, so I could use a prison wife on the outside.

So they had both agreed upon the terms of their relationship. Even though it was scary and strange and off-putting, Sal had agreed to it. He had agreed to pay Ruddy a bit of money every week, plus give him a free place to stay. That was how Ruddy strolled into Sal’s house just a few hours after getting out of prison.

He just took one look at Sal’s dumpy little house and scowled. “You best start cleanin’ up in here, baby. I don’t much like mess, and I hate clutter. I’s gonna start punishin’ you tomorrow e’ry time I see it like this.”

“Okay, yes. I will.” Sal caught a harsh glare from Ruddy’s dark eyes. He stumbled over his words. “I will… uh, sir.”

“I ain’t a cop, don’t call me sir. Call me papi, and say it as though I make you horny,” Ruddy said. He imitated a Spanish girl seducing her boyfriend. “Papi!”

“… Oh-“

“You hesitatin’?” Ruddy advanced on Sal as though going to hit him.

“No! I’ll call you whatever you want! Papi,” Sal said, struggling to make it sound sexy because he was scared of Ruddy. He had always known there was a chance that this would be dangerous, but now that he had Ruddy in his home, it seemed even riskier than Sal had ever guessed. Ruddy could do rob him, burn the house down, frame Sal for a crime or just fly into an uncontrollable rage.

As Ruddy moved into his room — he had very few things after this most recent stay in prison — Sal finished cooking the quesadilla. He served it on a plate with a few sprigs of cilantro, but Ruddy scowled as though he didn’t like that. He didn’t tell Sal not to do it though.

“Get on your knees while I eat.”

Sal did as he was told. Ruddy sat on the couch. He was shirtless now because he had been moving his things into the house, and now he was sweaty. His chest muscles gleamed. Sal kneeled in front of him.

“You don’t eat when I eat. You should be on your knees watching in case I want something,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I’m a good husband, baby. As long as you mind yaself and do as ya told, I’ll treat you right.”

“Yes, papi.”

“Start fingerin’ ya throat.”

Sal hesitated before he pushed his finger into his mouth. Ruddy didn’t respond, he just took another bite. Sal pushed his finger deeper in, until he gagged.

“Good. Keep doing that,” Ruddy said. “Work on your gag reflex.”

“I will, papi, I promise. I won’t gag on your cock. I-“

He smacked Sal. “No. I ain’t say that. Did I? Don’t you get ahead of yaself. You don’t know what to do, you stupid bitch, don’t try and pretend you smart.”

Sal blushed. “Oh. Sorry, papi.”

“You s’posed to gag. I like makin’ bitches gag,” he said. He paused and sniffled. “Sorry I got salty wit’cha, baby. I got a demon inside-a me, it comes out when I see pretty girls like you behavin’ improperly. Don’t speak outta turn, baby.” He snorted. “You s’posed to gag, I ain’t trainin’ you not to gag. E’ry time you gag on my meat, that’s how I know you love me.”

“Yes, papi.”

“You gotta work on gaggin’ more, and gaggin’ without spitting out my dick. I like gaggin’. Gaggin’ on my dick is how you show you care, girl,” he said. He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Did I hurt ya feelings? You can still make me leave. You still gotta pay me, but-“

“No. I want to be your prison wife. Treat me like that. I’ll learn,” Sal said. He blushed. “I’ll learn how to behave properly.”

“That’s right. You will. I am a good educator, baby. I am a firm and fair teacher.” He finished his quesadilla and wiped the grease off his fingers on Sal’s shirt.. He put the plate down on the coffee table. He spread his legs and pulled his cock out.

“Take your clothes off,” he said. He had a big black cock, which was already throbbing beneath his fingers even though it was still limp. He burped loudly, blowing the fetid air into Sal’s face. He thwacked his cock against the palm of his hand, accentuating how thick it was. Sal couldn’t wait to do anal (though they had already planned on that not happening just yet — Sal wanted to build up to it).

Sal felt skinny and weak next to Ruddy, who stood up. He peered at Sal’s naked body. He caressed each of his limbs and his chest and back — not in a sexual way, more like a farmer might inspect a horse — and grunted his approval. He grabbed Sal’s dick and snorted.

“You got a tiny dick,” he said. He flopped his own massive cock against Sal’s. He chuckled. “No wonder you act like a girl.”

Sal blushed. “Yeah. I guess so, papi.”

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.

Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven, a new Brutewood Medium Security story and part of the best-selling Twink on Top series!

Eddie strode into prison as confident as he could muster — he didn’t want to look like he was really a sniveling weakling precisely because he was about to act like one — but his ego quickly deflated. He was searched, poked and prodded by Officer Barnett. He felt like a prisoner, which was sexy but also humiliating. It both helped and exacerbated the problem that Officer Barnett was a sexy redneck guard himself; being poked by him would have no doubt satisfied many gay twinks fantasies.

But Eddie wasn’t here for Officer Barnett, who wasn’t really his type anyway. Eddie loved black thugs, the bigger and thuggier the better, ideally with an alpha attitude, a penchant for verbal sex, denigrating dirty talk and a willingness to let gay men service them. That was why he had arranged this opportunity of a lifetime. He didn’t even think there was any chance Barnett would agree to it, but he did, and Eddie could even afford the rather massive sum Barnett had charged him.

Most of that money would be going to the inmate that Eddie chose. He walked through Brutewood Prison increasingly nervous as they came to Cell Block Omega, which Barnett had said was not in use normally. Barnett had found the eight prisoners who met Eddie’s criteria and were willing to let Eddie’s tiny twink body service them, like the prison bitch Eddie wished he could be. Eddie had been daydreaming about setting this sort of encounter up since he was a teenager, and he never thought he’d go through with it until a few months ago, when he realized he needed to just bite the bullet and try. The worst that could happen (aside from being beaten to death by a homophobic prisoner and/or guard) was being refused.

He didn’t have a whole lot of time — Barnett only promised him ‘seven minutes in heaven’. But Eddie thought that would be enough time. Barnett assured him that these men would be horny and ready to take charge, so the brief duration wouldn’t be a detriment to some quality alpha service.

That was what Eddie wanted. He wanted to be held down and fucked hard, slapped, treated like a submissive prison bitch, because that’s what he was at heart. The sight of empty cells and the hollering of men in a far off block made him hard even before he had seen a single inmate.

The first one was tall and lean, with dreadlocks and hawkish features. He spoke with a faint island accent, but Eddie suspected that was an affectation. He flopped his dick between his fingers and showed off his perfect six-pack. “Yo, mon, you want me-uh treat you poorly? I will rape you senseless, whiteman. You will be crying when I am done wit’ you. I will fuck the batty-boy outta you, and then I gonna fuck it right back in.”

That wasn’t quite for him. Eddie preferred men with a little meat on their bones — as much as he wished he could get on his knees and suck the dreadlocked man off through the cell bars, Eddie thought there was someone better in one of the other cells.

Then he passed a burly black man with a beard, and a sour look on his face. He nodded at Eddie, ran his tongue under his upper lip and said, “Damn, whiteboi, you look good enough to eat.”

But Eddie moved on. He wasn’t quite right. The next one was bald-headed, with a Latin look to his skin and face. “You wanna be my puta?” he asked as Eddie walked past.

The fourth person was heavily tattooed, which Eddie didn’t find especially sexy. He didn’t say anything, he just nodded at Eddie and bucked forward as though he was going to attack Eddie through the cell bars. Eddie instinctively shrank back and blushed when the tattooed thug cackled at him.

As soon as Eddie came to the fifth cell, he knew he had found his man. “So, you the faggot who wanna be my bitch, huh?” Eddie blushed. He quickly hurried to the end of the corridor to see the others — that just seemed polite, after all — but he knew what he wanted. The fifth man was tall, broad-shouldered and built like a linebacker, dripping with muscle and meat. He didn’t have a six-pack, just a tiny belly, barely enough to grab on to, but that was the perfect size for Eddie. There was a crucifix tattooed over his sternum, and a gun on each bicep.

“Yo,” he said with a big wide, shit-eating grin when Eddie chose him. “I’m Dump Truck.” He undressed Eddie with his eyes, and his dick visibly shifted in his orange prison pants.

“Charles Everly,” Officer Barnett said. “Mister Everly here is an armed robber and an arms-trafficker-“

“I sold one gun, Barnett, don’t be fucking dramatic,” he said. He snorted and avoided looking at Eddie. “So you the one who wanna be a prison bitch, huh? Ain’t nevuh heard of no one who want that. But you kinda look like a bitch, so it ain’t hard to believe. It’s been awhile since I had a bitch who was faggy. Might be kinda nice. I enjoy holdin’ a nigga down and makin’ him cry uncle — not that I stop then, it’s just nice to hear him cry — but I might like fucking a faggot too.”

“Don’t hurt him, Mister Everly,” Barnett said. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Can we put the curtain up?” Dump Truck asked as Barnett unlocked the cell.

Officer Barnett looked to Eddie, who blushed again and nodded. “Please! Let’s do that. I wanna have the real prison bitch experience.” His heart felt like it might jump out of his chest.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what we gonna have,” Dump Truck said. He laughed, and the men in the other cells joined in. “I am gonna treat you bad, whiteboi, bad in all the right ways. Hope you wasn’t intendin’ to walk outta here.”

Destroy ‘im, Dump!

Eddie had never felt so weak and submissive. His dick was rock-hard, and it started leaking precum the moment he heard the lock slide into place. The door was shut.

“Gonna destroy you, faggot,” Dump Truck said with a sneer. He quickly hung up a sheet that blocked the cell from view. Eddie shivered as he anticipated what was going to come next. His ass already ached a little. Dump Truck towered over him by more than a foot, and he must have outweighed Eddie by a hundred and fifty pounds or more.

Make him squeal like a piggie, Dump!

“I will!” he called out. Once the sheet was hung up, however, his smile changed. He sunk down so he looked Eddie right in the eyes; it almost felt like he was going to kiss Eddie, though of course he didn’t. He whispered, “Yo, faggot. I ain’t queer, but… I got a proposition for ya. I been in this place fo’ a long time, and I done had a million prison bitches. I fucked ‘em up, and I wrecked ‘em and I moved on. I wanna do somethin’ different.”

“Oh… like what?”

“I want you to fuck me,” he said. He looked down and bit his lower lip. Then, for the benefit of everyone listening on the other side of the curtain, he called out, “You know what Brutewood lube is? It’s how we get a bitch to deep-throat. Lemme spit in yo’ throat, lube it up real good.” He spat on the ground and everyone cheered him on. Then he whispered again, “I wanna taste yo’ dick and feel you inside of me.”

“Are you serious?”

“This is a serious place, and I am a serious nigga,” he said. “Come on, honky. I know you came here to bottom, and I’ll fuck the shit outta you — literally — if that’s whatchoo want. But I wanna get fucked. It’s gotta be a girlie-looking twink like you, but I can’t let anyone in here know a gay white faggot fucked me. That’s ruin my rep. So this is my only option. I ain’t think I was ever gonna have the chance to bottom for a pretty little boy like you. Whatchoo think?”

“Are you serious? Hell yeah,” Eddie said, focusing hard to keep himself from being too loud. This was all happening so fast, it was hard to recalibrate his expectations. But he couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than fucking Dump Truck’s massive body.

“Alright,” he grinned. “Let’s hurry up, or we gonna run outta time. Seven minutes ain’t much.” He hesitated, then stooped over and kissed Eddie on the lips. He was halting and slow — it was obvious this was the first time he had kissed a man, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His tongue even pushed into Eddie’s mouth.

Though his passion was lacking at first, a few seconds in, Dump Truck let out a moan that resonated in Eddie’s mouth. His tongue suddenly moved, clobbering Eddie’s own tongue, and his thick fingers grasped Eddie’s shirt. He ripped it, buttons flying to the bunk and dingy toilet in the corner of his cell.

I ain’t hear him squeal yet, his mouth full?

Sounds moist in there, I can kinda hear it. He fucking that fairy in the face, I think.

Dump, how that batty-boi takin’ it, mon?

“You can’t hear him choke, nigga? Guess his faggot mouth is just too full to choke. He ain’t breathe in a minute, son,” Dump Truck said. “Got too much dick in there, and he lovin’ it, like a fuckin’ Big Mac and shit!” His big eyes twinkled as he pecked Eddie on the lips and then worked his way down Eddie’s pale, lithe body. He shuddered a little like he was surprised at the taste, and he stopped to play with Eddie’s nipples. Then he licked Eddie’s flat belly and stopped only when he reached Eddie’s pubic hair (which he kept trimmed very short).

Dump Truck was so much bigger than Eddie that even getting on his knees wasn’t enough, he was still too tall to suck Eddie’s dick. He had to get on all fours, with his plump ass high in the air, while Eddie stood on his toes in front of Dump Truck’s face.

But when he did get his head in position, Dump Truck wasted no time in swallowing Eddie’s dick to the root. He seemed surprised that Eddie’s cock wasn’t as proportionately small as his body was. He motioned for Eddie to make some noise.

Eddie blushed but spat and sputtered, hocking up a few loogies and even sticking a finger far enough down his throat to gag once. That made the other men laugh and cheer, banging on the bars of their cell.

That sounds right, nigga!

Choke him! Show him the Brutewood way!

In no time Eddie was rock-hard, and he started getting into it. Every time the men quieted down, he made it sound like he was getting throatfucked and loving it, and they’d laugh again. Even Officer Barnett chuckled quietly.

You got this, Dump!

Dump Truck had a broad, dark brown back, pocked with a few scars and marks, plus some dark blue prison tats that Eddie couldn’t quite make out (some kind of writing, he thought, possibly Hebrew, like an Old Testament verse). He stroked Dump Truck’s muscles, trying to reach his plump ass, but he was much too short. Instead he just grasped at his back and shoulder, sighing as pleasure moved through him; they both threw their heads back and moaned. Eddie’s moan was drowned out by Dump Truck’s, and Dump Truck made his sound exaggerated and comical so it wasn’t obvious to their audience why he was moaning.

He change his mind about being a prison bitch, Dump?

“No, he ain’t! He is lovin’ every second of it! He’s fucking serious. You should commit some crimes and shit, whiteboi. You could be the queen bitch in this place, man,” Dump Truck said. His voice was joyous and light-hearted, even as his face was serious, gasping, with Eddie’s dick throbbing against his face.

As he resumed sucking, Dump Truck moved his head more and more aggressively up and down. Eddie felt like he was being attacked by Dump Truck’s massive head, which made him giggle — he covered his mouth with a hand to muffle the sound. Dump Truck took Eddie’s hands in his and wrapped it over his head.

He wanted Eddie to facefuck him like a prison alpha might do. Eddie had been on the receiving end of a jailhouse-style facefuck on several occasions, but he had never topped for that kind of scenario — he had rarely topped at all.

But he wanted to give Dump Truck what he desired. He held onto the ragged short afro on Dump Truck’s head, gripping his hair, and he slammed his dick all the way in. Dump Truck let out a chortling gurgling sound with a moistness that made everyone else burst into cheers. To Eddie, it sounded much too deep to be his own voice — he was more high-pitched and feminine than that — but luckily it seemed the other inmates didn’t realize that. They had never heard Eddie before today so they had no basis for comparison.

Rape ‘im harder!

Dump Truck pulled off and laid on his back on the bare mattress on the bunk in the cell. He snorted and sniffled, wiping fluids off his face; he smiled silently at Eddie. He let his head hang over the foot of the bed. “This is the proper position for a prison bitch, alright, faggot? Get ready to get yo’self throatfucked.”

Yeah, fuck ‘is gullet, man, show him how we do it right in here!

Fuck ‘im the Brutewood way!

Eddie squealed loudly, blushing as the other inmates cheered him on. Dump Truck was in exactly the position Eddie liked to get facefucked in; Eddie had never in his life been on this side of it. He approached Dump Truck’s broad face and pushed his dick past those thick, juicy lips. His cock slammed into Dump Truck’s throat, making him wretch and writhe atop the filthy prison mattress.

He regrettin’ signin’ up fo’ this yet?

Incredible pleasure rocketed through Eddie’s spine. He had never felt like this, not even on those few occasions when he got to top someone. He shuddered and moaned quietly, every ounce of concentration he could muster going towards not being so loud that he alerted the others to the fact that he wasn’t bottoming as they thought.

Precum flowed down Dump Truck’s throat. From the reaction on his face, it seemed he had little experience with that. Did he like the taste or hate it? Eddie couldn’t tell, and in this position, he didn’t have to care. He really felt like he was overpowering Dump Truck, whose muscular limbs contorted as he accepted the throatfucking. His muscles flexed and bucked as though he was fighting back, and his movement made the bunk beneath him move. The sound of steel scraping against the prison cell floor caused a torrent of cheers from the other cells.

He pulled off once again, grabbed Eddie’s slick dick. He lowered his head farther, so he could suck Eddie’s balls. Then he called out, “He suckin’ the sweat off my balls now, what a nasty slut he is!” He swallowed both of Eddie’s balls, easily fitting them both in his big mouth. He suckled loudly, making a sputtering sound that provoked more cheers from the other cells.

Nasty faggot! Can’t believe he signin’ up for this voluntarily!

Then Dump Truck pulled away, stood up and turned around, in a hurry like he had just remembered they were on a time limit. Spit clung to his lips in tendrils, and his ruddy face was moist with tears from lack of oxygen and sweat dappling his forehead.

“Four minutes left, guys,” Officer Barnett said. “You better hurry up.”

His ass was much wider than Eddie’s body, not because he was fat, it was just big and broad and juicy. Each cheek was nearly twice the size of Eddie’s head. He lowered his ass onto Eddie’s dick, slowly. Eddie still stood at the foot of the bed, so Dump Truck crouched on all fours on the ground and backed up (rather like his eponymous vehicle) until his ass lined up with Eddie’s crotch. His crack was choked with sweaty hair, which ordinarily Eddie would have licked clean like a good submissive twink. He felt like he was losing his entire body in the choked masculine jungle of Dump Truck’s ass.

“Fuckin’ ‘im now, Barnett, cool yo’ jets,” Dump Truck said. “Don’t worry, he gettin’ e’ry inch of me that he entitled to. Don’t you worry yo’ sweet redneck head about that, Barnett.”

“You alright in there, sir?”

“Yeah…” Eddie said, too embarrassed to think of anything else to say. He wasn’t sure how to say it that wouldn’t give away what was really happening in here. “I… uh, he’s treating me right.”

That’s right he is! Showin’ you how it’s done!

You mean he treatin’ you wrong, but he doin’ it in the right way.

Eddie gulped as Dump Truck penetrated himself with Eddie’s dick. Eddie gingerly gripped his shoulders and held on while he began humping back, gradually losing his inhibitions. A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine from the moment his dick poked through that jungle of sweaty ass-hair and into his tight hole.

When Dump Truck grunted in pain, he covered it up with a louder roar, an aggressive bitch-fucking sound that made the other inmates roar and chant alongside him. Fuck that queer! Fuck that queer! Dump Truck threw his head back and wordlessly moaned, smiling at Eddie even as he grunted out threats and insults.

“Gonna fuck you so hard you wear a diaper, faggot…”

Eddie was not an actor. He tried to pant like a submissive man might — he should have been better at it, since that was the role he normally played, but everything happening here was outside his wheelhouse. He couldn’t remember what kind of sounds he might normally make in the reverse of this situation.

Make ‘im beg for mercy, nigga!

It was clear that Dump Truck wasn’t kidding about having never gotten fucked — not that Eddie ever doubted him. His asshole was so tight that Eddie had to really shove to get his dick in there. There was no time for a gentle approach either; Eddie pushed it in farther and farther, and when Dump Truck didn’t stop him, he began to ram it back and forth, uncaring of his resistance or the hairs that Eddie’s dick accidentally ripped from his crack.

Teach ‘im a lesson! Fuckin’ faggot, comin’ in here, tryin’-a get fucked and shit, like prison is a goddamn orgy! Fucking honky!

Each time he did, Dump Truck winced and blanched. The whole experience was so incredible that each time Eddie thrust past Dump Truck’s resistance in his ass, a surge of awkward pleasure hit him and Eddie moaned in a pained, struggling way. It genuinely did sound like a prison bitch getting fucked, which just egged the other inmates on.

Wreck him! Ruin him! Show him how we do it, nigga! No mercy!

No mercy!

Eddie did indeed fuck with no mercy. Of course it was Dump Truck who responded, “He takin’ it, nigga. Ain’t like a prison bitch, he been opened up a million times before. Kinda nice fuckin’ a bitch who ain’t too squirmy. Gonna fill him up wit’ some nut.”

“Two minutes left, guys. You still alright in there?”

“Yes! Yes, officer…” Eddie said, his excitement making everyone, including Barnett, laugh. “I’m, uh… I’m just finishing up.” He threw his head back and moaned as wave after wave of unimaginable bliss washed over him, so intense it was painful as he lost himself in the massive brown ass trembling before his tiny twink frame.

Dump Truck’s ass clenched when he approached his own orgasm. He had started jacking himself off; Eddie tried to give him a reacharound, but he could barely reach all the way around, so he just fumbled with Dump Truck’s body while slamming his dick in Dump Truck’s jiggling, tight ass.

“Aw, fuck…” Dump Truck grunted. “You take dick good, faggot!”

When Eddie’s orgasm finally came, it felt like it had been a lifetime, way more than seven minutes. Eddie yelped and scratched at Dump Truck’s back — he was so big and thick-skinned he didn’t seem to notice — while incredible pleasure suffused both men’s bodies, in sync with each other like no one Eddie had ever been with before.

Cum flowed into Dump Truck’s ass, a huge load that dripped out and down those giant trunk-like thighs. It splatted on the floor, but still Eddie came. Dump Truck roared as he shot his own load into his hand and all over his chest; he managed to make the roar sound like a manly cavemanesque grunt.

Eddie’s entire body went limp. He knew they were running out of time, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out, not yet. He kept it there, stimulating Dump Truck’s prostate while Dump Truck’s body writhed and flexed with both bliss and agony, pride and shame visible on his contorting face.

Dump Truck turned around, his massive chest gleaming, covered in his own cum. Eddie licked every inch of it, savoring the meaty feel of the man’s muscles. He deliberately made sure the cum soaked into his face, so when he moved upward and kissed Dump Truck on the lips, he tasted it. He had to climb the man’s mountainous torso to get there, gripping his throbbing muscles with Eddie’s delicate fingers.

They shared cum for another minute or so, stopping only when Officer Barnett began counting down the last thirty seconds. Eddie was bashful, and hurriedly cleaned himself up with a napkin and started putting his clothes back on. Dump Truck just stood there, covered in fluids, his cum mingling with his sweat so it wasn’t obvious what it was. His dick dangled between his legs.

“Damn, Dump Truck, put some clothes on,” Officer Barnett said when he pulled the curtain down after hitting zero.

Eddie was bright red, too scared he’d blurt out what happened to say anything at all. He quickly dressed and clasped the sweaty small of Dump Truck’s back.

“Bye, Dump Truck, that was amazing. You’re the best prison alpha-“

“Shut the fuck up, bitch, I ain’t tryin’-a please you,” Dump Truck said. “You come back here again and I’ll fist you to death, faggot.”

Eddie just nodded and followed Officer Barnett out. He pretended his ass hurt as he walked past the other inmates; he winced and blushed.

“Was that everything you thought it was gonna be?” Officer Barnett asked once they were out of Cell Block Alpha.

“No,” Eddie said. “It was completely different, and so much better.”

Servicing Thugs: The Pimp

Here’s a complete story called Servicing Thugs: The Pimp, which is part of a trilogy available now! It’s called the In Service of Alpha Thugs Series!

Eddie’s back ached. He hated moving, and it seemed like he did it all the time these days. He had moved four times in the past five years. Now this time, he felt confident, would be his last for awhile. It was a nice apartment, plenty big for him and in a nice neighborhood.

It was only on his last trip up the stairs with a trash bag full of towels and a few odds and ends that Eddie saw a black pimp sauntering into the building in front of him. He was a short, squat man with a powerful frame, wearing a brilliant chartreuse suit, tapping with a jeweled cane as he walked. He had a handsome face marred by a big scar slashing across his cheek and left eye.

“What’s crackin’, homeslice?” the pimp said, holding the door open for Eddie. “You the new guy, huh?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, my name’s Eddie, Eddie White.”

“Nice to meet ya, nice to greet ya!” he called out, his booming voice echoing in the lobby. Eddie followed him up the stairs. “My name’s Starling. No last name, just Starling.”

“Oh, okay-“

“Now I got a deal for ya, honky,” he said. “I give every motherfucker in this buildin’ the same — I know you prolly don’t like living with a pimp, but don’t you worry, I don’t bring my work home with me. My hos be in hotels, nigga. Nice ones too. I’s a classy nigga, see? So we cool, right?”

He held out a fist, which Eddie bumped awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, I guess-“

“So what kinda girl you like? That’s my deal. You get a one-time freebie. You like Asian girls, I bet. You look like the kinda white man who’s into Asian girls.”

“No…” Eddie hesitated.

“Go on, you can tell me,” Starling said. He smiled. “I got anything you want, man. ‘Cept for children, I don’t fuck wit’ that. I got fat chicks. I got this freaky old lady too, you like old bitches?”

“No, no… I’m gay,” Eddie said.

Starling hesitated. He leaned back and eyed Eddie suspiciously. “You ain’t look gay. Why you dress like that? Gays don’t dress sloppy.”

“I’m moving today, I didn’t want to wear anything nice,” Eddie said; he bristled a bit, both at the insinuation he dressed poorly and the stereotype that gay men should dress well. “It’s not a rule, gay men don’t have to be well-dressed.”

“False, motherfucker, it is a rule. But alright, I believe you, you got sass, honky,” he said. “You into freaky-deakies? I got two chicks with dicks, man, they lick ya asshole, honky.“

“Uh, no. No thanks,” Eddie said. “I’m into dudes who look like dudes.”

“Okay, then, you prolly wanna swing on my meat, huh? You-“

“Hell yeah!” Eddie blushed. He didn’t mean to sound so desperate. But he did love servicing straight thugs like Starling, and he couldn’t resist his own enthusiasm. He had often had good luck in seducing thugs too, it was a sort of superpower that Eddie had developed over the years.

Starling stopped and glared at him. “Motherfucker, do not interrupt me. I ain’t gonna slap you since you ain’t my bitch, and I don’t normally hit civilians. But do not interrupt me again, or I may have to reconsider that. Got it, motherfucker?”

“Uh, yeah, okay. Sorry, Starling,” Eddie said.

“I was gonna say that you can prolly get me drunk and take my dick out sooner or later, but I’m mostly sober now, and I can get a female over here anytime,” he said. He stopped in front of his apartment door, slapped hands with Eddie and then paused. “I let you kiss it. You wanna kiss it? Just a kiss.”

“Uh, okay,” Eddie said. He followed Starling into the sumptuously decorated apartment, decked out with gold lace. It looked exactly like Eddie would have guessed a pimp’s home looked, with ornate jeweled goblets and bottles of cognac scattered about, multicolored clothes draped over the furniture and floor. It smelled like cologne and sweat.

Starling took a massive cock out the fly of his slacks. He smiled at Eddie’s shocked expression. “Big as shit, huh? You like it?”

“Yeah, I do.” Eddie hefted Starling’s cock in one hand, kissed the tip as wetly and moistly as he could manage. He hoped to get Starling so aroused he agreed to a blowjob now, but after just a quick half-stroke of his hand, Starling pulled away.

He smacked his cock over Eddie’s face as hard as he could, and it was so thick and meaty it almost hurt a little, not that Eddie was complaining.

“You faggot as shit, huh?” Starling said as though a little surprised, like he had thought Eddie might prove himself to be straight after all. “You can beg me for it. I think about it. Maybe you change my mind.”

“Oh, please, Starling, let me suck your cock. Let this little whiteboi suck on it. I’ll deep-throat it the best I can-“

“I know that, motherfucker, I’d facefuck you. I will slam that shit down, honky. I don’t make love to faggots,” he said. Then he tucked his cock away. “Nah, I ain’t into that faggot shit. Go on, git,” Starling said. “Nice try though.”

Eddie stood, a little disappointed. He had thought this was going to work. He was pretty good at seducing alpha thugs like Starling, and he had suspected that Starling planned on saying yes all along, just needing to protect his self-image by pretending he had to be convinced. Eddie made sure to shake his ass though, as he walked out, and he felt sure that Starling watched.

But it wasn’t all bad — he really did want to get moved into his new place; he hated being in limbo, between homes. He hurried to his apartment just down the hall, trash bag of towels in tow, and set to work emptying his bags and boxes. By the time he went out to pick up dinner and came back, he had nearly forgotten about Starling.

The movers were coming with the mattress and a few other big things tomorrow, so Eddie set up the air mattress for tonight. He hooked up his monitor to his laptop, fired up an episode of Fawlty Towers he had torrented years ago and devoured his meal of fried rice and steamed dumplings. He was so tired he hadn’t really felt hungry until he started eating, but his muscles were exhausted from a day of carrying virtually everything he owned up the stairs to his new place, so once he did start, he ate ravenously. Then the food had made him sleepy, so he crawled to his air mattress and slipped into slumber.

There was a knock on the door. It was almost ten o’clock at night, so Eddie was nervous as he awoke suddenly. He tiptoed to the door so he could still pretend not to be home. He looked through the peephole and saw Starling standing there.

He opened the door. Starling burst in. He tottered a little as though he was slightly drunk, though his voice wasn’t badly slurred. He eyed Eddie suspiciously.

“Told you, faggot,” he said. “My bitches pissed me off tonight. They ain’t barely make any money, and then when I tells ‘em to lick my asshole, they complain like whiny fucking bitches. You lick asshole, right?”


“Good. Get on yo’ back on the ground,” he said. He slammed the door behind himself.

Eddie was shocked — this was all happening so suddenly — but he wasn’t about to say no. He laid on his back on the floor.

“Open yo’ mouth, and stick yo’ tongue out,” Starling said. He spat as though upset Eddie hadn’t read his mind and already done so.

Eddie’s heart thumped as he got in position. He loved eating ass, and he suspected Starling had a perfect one. Much to his surprise though, Starling just looked down at him. He put his jeweled cane on Eddie’s chest, as though he was going to use him for support, but didn’t actually put any weight on the cane.

“You want it, bitch?”

“Yes! Please god, let me lick your ass! And suck your cock! And-“

“Shut the hell up,” Starling said. “Don’t move.”

Eddie stayed right there with his mouth open, tongue sticking as far out as he could manage. Starling looked at him for what felt like a long time, then walked away. He took a tour of the apartment. He opened the refrigerator and groaned at the sight of its emptiness.

“You ain’t bought food yet?”

“No, sorry,” Eddie said.

“Get beer,” he said. “Malt liquor. I want you to keep a forty here all the time. If I’m gonna let you take my dick, you gotta have malt liquor for me. Got it? Also cognac. Get a bottle of cognac.”

“Yes, Starling,” Eddie said.

He took a deep breath. “I go get cognac from my apartment. You owe me though. Go get a bottle tomorrow to replace it,” he said. “You got a dildo here?”

“Uh… yeah…” Eddie said. “Over there.” He pointed to a box in the corner of the living room.

Starling nodded. “Go get it. Put it in yo’ ass, boy. Start loosenin’ yo’self up,” he said. “I be right back.”

Then he walked out the door, leaving it wide open so anyone who walked by would see Eddie hurry to the box and get out the dildo. It was a tiny one, a nondescript purple cylinder. Eddie wasn’t really into dildos, he had just bought it because his then-boyfriend was into them. He hadn’t used it since breaking up with him.

He got back in position on the floor, opened his mouth and slipped the dildo in his ass. It hurt for just a moment, then his ass loosened.

Starling walked back in with a bottle of cognac and one of those jeweled goblets from his apartment. He filled his cup, then put the bottle down. He got on his knees, lifted up Eddie’s legs and peered at the dildo in his ass. He pushed it in all the way, and smiled as Eddie spasmed in pain.

“You saw my dick, right? I got big nigga meat, you saw that,” Starling said. “This dildo ain’t big enough to get you ready for me.”

“Yeah, that’s the only one I got,” he said.

Starling shrugged. “Whatever, it’s yo’ problem. Gonna hurt like hell when I fuck you. I don’t fuck males nice, just so’s you know. It’s gonna hurt real bad.”

“Okay, Starling. I like it hard.”

“I bet you do,” he said with a sneer. He pulled his sweatpants down to his knees and let that slab of meat flop out. He kneeled over Eddie’s face, pointing his crotch down at Eddie’s open mouth.

He pushed his dick in Eddie’s throat. When Eddie gagged, he flexed his hips to push his cock in even harder. Eddie choked, but Starling grunted as he tried to force it farther. Eddie’s throat loosened and his nose nestled in Starling’s kinky black pubic hairs.

Starling smiled. “Ah, fuck, faggot, you suck dick good, damn! Why can’t females get they throat open like you. I gotta work on stretchin’ them out, but you all ready to go.”

Eddie gagged uncontrollably. He was laying on his back on the carpeted floor, while Starling humped him. Starling wrapped his arms around Eddie’s body, seemingly unaware that the position put Starling’s face right between Eddie’s legs. Eddie’s rock-hard cock pressed through his thin pants into Starling’s shoulderblade, but Starling didn’t seem to care.

“Keep yo’ throat open, boy. Make some mo’ spit. Make some mo’ spit,” he repeated himself a few more times, then slammed his dick down all the way. Eddie choked, but he stayed in position. “You ain’t listenin’, boi, do I got yo’ attention now? Slap my ass cheek one time if you understand me?” Eddie’s lungs cried out for air, and his hard cock demanded attention. Starling was so close to it. Eddie forced his flailing hand to smack Starling’s asscheeks once. “Good. I tol’ you to make mo’ spit. You wasn’t listenin’ so I had to get yo’ attention by chokin’ you. Always listen to me when you got my dick in yo’ mouth.”

Then he pulled out, and patiently waited while Eddie gasped hoarsely. Eddie heaved for breath, but Starling held his head in position just below Starling’s dick. His balls still rested on Eddie’s nose.

“Now make some spit, boi,” Starling said. Eddie loudly retched up saliva, and kept going until Starling nodded his approval. Eddie opened his mouth to show it off. Starling plunged his fat dick right in. “That’s how you make a nice sloppy blowjob. That’s usually what I want, whiteboi.”

Once he got a rhythm going, Starling was relentless. He picked his hips all the way up so his cock was right above Eddie’s face, thick tendrils of spit connecting it to Eddie’s mouth. Then he plunged back in all the way. Every thrust of his hips was equally powerful, and he demanded Eddie deep-throat it every single time.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t forget about that rimjob,” Starling said. “Beg me for it.”

Eddie waited for Starling to pull out of his mouth, but he didn’t. Starling planted his hips all the way down on Eddie’s face, so his pendulous balls rested on Eddie’s nose. He repeated his command. “Beg me for it.”

So Eddie said I wanna lick your ass the best he could with his mouth full. Of course all that came out was a muffled gagging sound, which made Starling laugh. He pulled out and used both hands to keep Eddie’s head on the ground, not allowing him to buck and retch. As a result, the torrent of spit and precum in Eddie’s mouth just spilled out his cheeks. Starling frowned in disgust.

Then he stood over Eddie, pulled down his thick sweatpants and revealed a big, wide brown ass. He squatted over Eddie’s face so that his asscheeks separated. Eddie could see and smell that beautiful musky hole just inches from his face.

Starling hesitated before dropping his hips the rest of the way. But at last he did so, and Eddie’s open mouth enveloped his hot ass. It turned out that he had hesitated because he pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

“Yo, bitch,” he said into the phone. A female’s tired voice came out of the speaker. Eddie couldn’t hear the words, but it was apparent he had woken up a ho. He said, “Don’t pretend you sleepin’, bitch. I know you probably fuckin’ wit’ some nigga, you goddamn slut. Don’t gimme that shit.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Eddie plunged his tongue deep into Starling’s ass, tickling his prostate as he felt Starling’s whole body shake. It felt like he really loved rimjobs.

Starling continued talking into the phone. “I got this female lickin’ my asshole, bitch. She loves it. Gonna make her my new bottom bitch, I think.” The woman on the other end responded with either fear or anger or both, Eddie couldn’t quite hear the details, but it was obvious she was upset. Starling chuckled quietly enough that she couldn’t hear. “You wanna listen? She makin’ noise.”

Eddie blushed. Starling put the phone up next to his ass, and Eddie licked as loudly as he could. He suckled on Starling’s rectum as though trying to get the last bit of milkshake out of a straw. He wiggled his tongue, blowing a raspberry that made a grim fluttering sound. Starling’s body shuddered with pleasure.

“So whatchoo think bitch?” Starling said, bringing the phone back to his ear. “I don’t wanna hear no ‘pology. You know where T-Boy lives, right?” He laughed as the woman made a disgusted sound. “Shut the fuck up! You wanna stay my bottom bitch, you go to T-Boy’s right now. Yeah, he still fat. He even fatter I think. Go’n and wake him up. Give him a rimjob. I don’t give a shit, he probably will fart on your face, bitch. You deserve it. You tell him to call me once you done. I ask him if you give a good rimjob. If he don’t give it at least a nine outta ten, I ain’t gonna keep you on as my bottom bitch. I’ll cut you loose, slut.”

Starling held the phone away from his ear. He laughed at the woman’s frenzied begging. He lifted himself off Eddie’s face, put a finger to his lips and then lowered himself over Eddie’s ass.

“Go on, bitch. Go to T-Boy. The longer you wait, the nastier his ass is gonna be. He don’t take showers at night,” Starling said. Then he hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket. “You into fat dudes, faggot?”

“Uh, no.”

“Good, that shit’s gross,” he said. “That fuckin’ bitch. She gonna try to kiss me tomorrow too, I know it. Gonna slap the teeth outta that bitch.”

Without a word of warning — and without having ever asked if it was okay, not that Eddie would complain — Starling pushed his dick right into Eddie’s ass. Eddie was still laying on his back on the floor, so Starling had to drop his crotch awkwardly on him. At first he kept his chest away as though he didn’t want to come into any more contact with Eddie’s body than he had to, but after the first inch or two disappeared into Eddie’s ass, he grimaced and lowered himself.

His whole body pinned Eddie down. Starling wrapped his arms around Eddie’s face. “You like it rough, faggot.”

“Yes, Starling.”

“That wasn’t a question,” he said. Then he slammed his cock all the way in. Eddie screamed out in pain. For a moment, he though he wouldn’t be able to take this. The agony was too intense.

But he almost always thought then when bottoming, especially with someone who had a big dick on top. As always, however, after a few pumps of his cock, Eddie’s ass loosened. His prostate came alive, and Eddie grunted loudly. He tried to jack his own dick off, but Starling slapped his hand away.

“Nah,” he said. “When I’m fuckin’ you, you should be focusin’ on nothing but that. This ain’t about you. No jacking off.”

Treating him like a ragdoll, Starling fucked harder than Eddie thought possible. Starling pushed Eddie into the ground as though trying to shove him into the apartment down below. He ground his cock in Eddie’s ass, and when Eddie shook with pain, Starling kept fucking in that direction to make sure it hurt.

“Anal should hurt the bitch who’s takin’ it,” Starling said over and over. “If’n it don’t hurt, you either doin’ it wrong or you fuckin’ a real loose slut.”

“Yes, Starling. It hurts,” Eddie said. “Can I please jack off?”

Starling gripped his neck from behind, squeezing just enough that Eddie had to focus to breathe. Starling didn’t actually answer, but it was clear what his answer was: no.

Starling had never taken his shirt off, so Eddie felt the man’s strapping muscles writhe through the fabric. Eddie’s own back was bare, squirming as pain and pleasure wracked his body. Starling pressed his chest down harder as he neared his own orgasm. He nibbled on Eddie’s earlobe.

“Normally, I’d make you take my load in yo’ mouth,” Starling said breathlessly. For the first time since this began, he actually sounded like he was fucking — he had that tight, pinched tone to his voice. “Real gangstas always get ass-to-mouth. But yo’ ass is just perfect, faggot. So I’m gonna cum inside you.”

“Yes, Starling.”

“When you feel me cumming, you shout out my name, okay?”

“Uh, what?”

Starling smacked his cheek lightly. His face was just inches from Eddie’s, and Eddie had the feeling that Starling would even kiss him if Eddie’s face weren’t covered in assjuice. Starling sneered.

“You havin’ trouble payin’ attention, boy,” Starling said. “I don’t like that. You pay attention to my words. When you feel me cumming inside yo’ little bitch-ass, you shout out my name. You don’t stop shouting until I’m done cumming. Got it?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes, Starling,” Eddie said. He didn’t yet know how thin these walls were, but he guessed he was about to find out.

Moments later Starling’s body shook. He stopped humping for just a second, then began again with renewed vigor. A fresh bout of pain shot through his body. Eddie screamed

He tried to say Starling as he screamed, but the bliss and the agony were too intense to form real words. It ended up being consonant-less cry. Ha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ah, ha-li-i-i-ing! Starling shot an incredibly huge load, which kept flowing and flowing, so Eddie had to concentrate to keep shouting the whole time.

At last it was over. Starling was laying on Eddie’s back, his entire weight pinning Eddie down. His hot cum congealed as it seeped into, and out of, Eddie’s body. His dick sat, rock-hard still, in Eddie’s asshole.

“How was that, faggot?”

“Oh god yes, please come back again,” Eddie said. Tears twinkled in his eyes. “I’ll get malt liquor and cognac. I promise. Any kind you want.”

“You can surprise me, just don’t buy cheap shit,” Starling said. He paused, then whispered in Eddie’s ear. “You been a good sport, faggot. You like my dick in yo’ ass, huh, whiteboy?”


“You like nigga dick?”


“Say it.”

“I like-“ Eddie hesitated, instinctually unsure whether he could say nigga. When Starling laughed at his hesitation, Eddie blurted it out. “I like nigga dick! I like your nigga dick!”

Starling smacked his cheek. “You callin’ me a nigger, whiteboy?”

“No, I-“

“Shut up,” Starling said. He sat up, but took Eddie with him, so his now-limpening cock remained deep in Eddie’s ass. He wrapped his powerful arms around Eddie’s bare chest. “Since you been good to me tonight, and you licked my ass like a champion, I’m-a let you jack off now, wit’ my nigga meat inside you. You don’t tell no one, yeah?”

“Okay, I promise. I won’t tell anyone,” Eddie said. He grabbed for his cock, which was stiff and straining, already near orgasm even though he hadn’t touched it.

Starling bristled uncomfortably as though Eddie’s ass had squeezed around his sensitive cock. It was enormously painful, and the pleasure of being fucked was now only a dull ache. Starling had such a huge cock that even soft it felt like he was being fisted.

But as soon as he touched his own dick, climactic energy sprayed throughout him. Eddie’s prostate burst into life, and leaned back into Starling’s muscular arms.

“Nasty faggot…”

Cum spurted from Eddie’s cock. It sprayed over the floor and Eddie’s fingers. Eddie felt his asshole squeeze around Starling’s rod, which made his muscles all shudder with post-orgasmic pleasure. Eddie writhed in Starling’s arms.

When it was at last all over, Starling wasted no time in dropping Eddie, who collapsed in a sweaty pile on his own load of cum. He laid there, looking behind himself as Starling stood up. He took ahold of the sheet Eddie had been using with his air mattress, then wiped the assjuice off his cock.

He put his dick back in his sweatpants, gathered his cane, then stepped right on Eddie’s back as he walked to the door. “Good job, bitch. You wanna take dick for money?” He stopped on Eddie’s back.

Straining to speak with so much weight on him, Eddie only shook his head.

“Pity,” Starling said. “If you ever decide to do it, lemme know. I could make bank off you. I’ll see you next time, neighbor.”

Servicing a Robber: The Black Thug

Here’s a sample from Servicing a Robber: The Black Thug, a hot str8core servicing tale from Marcus Greene! It’s about what happens when a home invasion turns sexy, starring a new alpha worshiper named Calvin!


“Where’s your cash?”

“I don’t have any, there’s like nine bucks in my pocket, I think,” Calvin said. “I don’t have any cash.”


“No, I swear! I just went on vacation, I spent all my cash. I’m broke right now,” Calvin said.

“They said you’s a writer,” he said with a sneer.


“So where’s the money, huh? You got Harry Potter money?”

“No! Only J.K. Rowling has Harry Potter money!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You think I’d live here if I had Harry Potter money? That’s not the kind of thing I write anyway. I write lesbian romance-“


“I’m a lesbian romance author.”

“You ain’t a lesbian.”

“No, the books are lesbian. The readers are lesbian.”

“You ain’t a lesbian.”

“Technically you don’t have to be a lesbian to write about lesbians. Technically speaking,” Calvin said.

“You sure?”

“Trust me, I’m a writer,” Calvin said.

“So you don’t make money at that?”

“I make enough to pay the bills,” Calvin said. “And once a year, I can afford to go to Hawaii. If you had robbed me like two weeks ago, I would have had some money. But I spent it all trying to seduce the bellhop at the hotel. God, Polynesian men are sexy, y’know-“

“No, I don’t know. What’s a fucking Polynesian?”

“Nevermind, man,” Calvin said. “Look, I don’t have any cash. You got my TV and my X-Box. What more do you want?”

“I want money, nigga.”

“Well, here’s my nine dollars,” Calvin said, pulling a few dollar bills out of his pocket. He handed it to the robber, who didn’t move to take it. Calvin slowly put the money in the man’s pocket.

With his hand momentarily close to the man’s crotch, Calvin suddenly wondered if there was a potential for sex here. He avoided eye contact as the man glared at him as though trying to decide if Calvin was lying. Calvin nervously caressed the man’s crotch through his pocket for just a second, then withdrew his hand.

He didn’t react, Calvin noticed, which made him feel optimistic. Calvin loved servicing straight men, especially thugs like him — if he could have made a living writing that, he would. But the market just wasn’t as big as lesbian romance, or maybe it was easier to write stuff he had no personal interest in because he was distracted less by his own desires.

“You little pissant!” the man grunted. He shook his head. “You a snitch?”


“You look like a snitch,” the man said.

“I’m not, I swear,” Calvin said. “I’m gay. I don’t like cops any more than you do.”

He paused. “Gays don’t like cops?”

“No, of course not! It wasn’t that long ago they were arresting us for excessive flamboyance,” Calvin said. That wasn’t strictly true, but he thought he could bullshit this man into leaving without hurting him.


“Just… let me pay you my own way,” Calvin said.

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Calvin reached out for the man’s crotch again. “You want a blowjob?”

He paused. “Oh, you real nasty, huh?”

Calvin nodded. “I guess so, yeah.” His heart pounded. He felt the man’s thick cock and bulging ballsack through his sagging jeans. He had hefty meat, Calvin thought, and he was getting hard just thinking about it.

“I ain’t givin’ you back yer shit,” the man said.

“Fine. I got insurance,” Calvin said. He didn’t mention that he had brought with him to Hawaii the only laptop computer he had that was worth anything — it was still out in his car with his suitcase and a few hundred dollars in cash, not to mention a beautiful pearl necklace that Calvin had bought for his mother. This robber seemed to have accepted Calvin’s claim that he had nothing valuable here.

He unzipped his fly. Calvin smiled and pulled his dick out through the fly with one hand. He whistled when he saw it.