Tag Archives: bodyguard sex

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.

Twink on Top: The Cartel Bodyguard

Here’s a sample from Twink on Top: The Cartel Bodyguard, which is about… a cartel bodyguard with a twink on top of him!

Rico wasn’t told about things that didn’t concern him or his life. That was almost everything that happened. As the youngest of seven brothers, Rico was used to being the small, weak one, especially since his family ran the Cartel Noveno here in northeastern Mexico. His brothers and father had built the cartel out of nothing, and had created a multibillion dollar empire with operations in seven countries.

Even though Rico had never had the machismo or the knowhow to get involved, he still lived on the cartel’s compound. Nothing else was safe. He admitted that even if he hated it. He wanted more than anything to have a normal life.

The fact that he was gay made him even more removed from cartel culture. The men who worked for his family were all straight. There was no official rule against hiring gays, but it didn’t happen, at least not here at the compound. The men here were tough, muscular cholos who never smiled or danced or wore colorful clothes. Rico was allowed to go out, as long as he went to safe places (not nightclubs) and he brought his bodyguards with him.

Rico did not like having bodyguards or limitations on his travel. He had to admit it was justified though. The one time he ditched his bodyguards for a night of fun had ended up being disastrous — he was kidnapped and had to be rescued after being tortured for hours. There really were rivals waiting at any moment to pounce on him.

So he left the compound increasingly rarely. He was getting frustrated and angry, and he frequently shouted at his brothers for minor complaints. They treated him like a yapping dog they weren’t allowed to punish.

“You need to get laid, hermano,” was the sum total of their response to his outbursts. They seemed to think all problems could be solved by pussy, and they didn’t entirely accept that he was gay — they still sent him female prostitutes every couple of months, just to see if he had changed his mind. Then they’d send him some trashy twink with tired eyes and platinum hair, whom Rico would fuck more out of boredom than genuine desire.

Since the compound was safe, Rico’s bodyguards were not always right near him when he was home. They hung around and followed when he left the compound. So when he got a new bodyguard, he didn’t always know it right away; he just noticed a new large man hanging around and refusing to go away.

Octavio was one such bodyguard. He was tall, burly, broad-shouldered, hairy, more of a rough and ugly-type than most of the charming thugs who made it onto the compound — Rico’s brothers were smooth, smiling types, and they insisted their workers be the same. The one exception they made was for bodyguards, for whom big and brutish were the ideal traits. Octavio was ideal by those criteria, with plenty of swagger, a barrel-shaped chest and hair covering his body. Rico had rarely been so aroused. He wasn’t even normally into bears, or at least not such extreme bears, but Octavio was incredibly sexy.

Rico changed into his bathrobe in his bedroom, then sat down to pretend to read. Octavio was the only bodyguard in the room right now. Rico checked him out from behind — Octavio was facing the window that looked out into the cartel’s courtyard and the Mexican desert beyond. His ass filled out his low-hanging tan pants, and made Rico’s mouth water.

“Octavio, did you fuck Morales?”

Octavio winced at the question. He turned around and made eye contact with Rico, but he didn’t answer. His muscles roiled as anxiety shot through him, and he frowned. He came closer. Morales was a cartel smuggler who had gotten fucked by a bunch of cholos after messing up a major operation — that was how Cartel Noveno punished those whose incompetence harmed the entire organization. Rico wished his brothers had told him about it beforehand so he could watch, but even though they always promised to do so, they never did. Octavio nodded.

“What did you do to him? Did you fuck him in the ass or the mouth?” Rico asked. He made his voice as feminine as possible — that was easy, he knew he had a girlish voice. But he wanted to make Octavio as comfortable as possible.

“Both,” Octavio said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He grabbed at his crotch, then blushed like he hadn’t meant to turn Rico on. His cock was briefly outlined by the fabric.

Rico unzipped Octavio’s pants, giggling at his growl, which was equal parts displeased and horny. It sounded like he was glad to get a blowjob, and he just wanted to pretend he had to be pushed into it — not that Rico planned on stopping there. Octavio’s hips flexed just slightly as though he fought off an instinctual urge to hump. He pulled out Octavio’s big uncut cock, which had a rooster tattooed on the shaft.

“Cockle-doodle-doo,” Rico said with a laugh.