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The Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t do that shit! I get girls!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut the fuck up, Reggie!”

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

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

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

Flop that string, nigga!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yo that was Naluke?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Reggie said. “He really did.”

Downlow Thugs at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from Downlow Thugs at the City Barbershop, a novelette about ebony black thugs on the downlow!

Being the only gay man at a City Barbershop location came with a few perks for Jackson. Firstly, it meant any time a guy needed a serious haircut for a serious occasion — prom, marriage, album cover photo shoot, etc — he went with the gay barber, and that meant high tips. The classiest pimps and dealers usually asked for the gay barber as well, and they were good tippers too.

Even more importantly for Jackson, however, he benefited from being the only gay man at this City Barbershop because it meant he was always the one niggas went to if they needed some action on the downlow. That gave Jackson right of first refusal to basically every hot straight thug’s dick in the neighborhood.

And sometimes, a different neighborhood entirely. Like Darren Harvey. Jackson didn’t know who he was at first — like most of the sauntering thugs with hardcore gleams in their eye, he sat down in Jackson’s chair. There was no wait, but Jackson got the feeling he would not have waited for his turn anyway.

As he explained what he wanted, in a pimpish leer that commanded respect and suggested that he expected to be treated as an authority figure, Jackson got started, wondering if he was going to ask for a blowjob later (he had that blowjobby-look in his eyes). Jackson overhead his fellow barbers and a few other patrons: just a few scattered words at first, including Darren Harvey.

It was only then that Jackson realized he was cutting the hair of one of the feared enforcers for the Nine Tats. He was a local legend around here, rumored to have killed a cop and nobody-even-knew how many dealers. Jackson pretended to drop his scissors so he could take a moment to catch his breath.

When he lifted his head, Darren was making eye contact with him. He nodded and sneered, eyes running up and down Jackson’s body. His hand moved underneath the apron, like he was playing with his dick through his sagging jeans.

The signal was unmistakeable. Jackson hurried through the rest of the haircut, took his money (and a forty-percent tip), then motioned towards the backroom. He normally tried to be discrete, but the entire shop had fallen silent. It was obvious what was happening. Regardless, Jackson thought, his boss, Tyrell Greene, wasn’t in the frontroom, so it didn’t matter how discrete he was at the moment.

The backroom was warm, humid and dingy. It smelled a bit of spiderwebs, Jackson thought, and like barbicide ever since an entire box of the stuff had been dropped a few months ago. It shattered on the floor and filled the building with its medicinal disinfectant scent.

Darren stood and walked slowly. Jackson made sure Tyrell was in his office with the door closed. Tyrell knew what happened here, and he allowed it, but he didn’t like it one bit. He would have gotten mad if he saw it happening, so Jackson led Darren to the storage closet, where the door could be shut — that way even if Tyrell did come out of his office, he wouldn’t see anything.

“You deep-throat, right, nigga?” Darren asked. He ran his tongue between his lower lip and his gum. His hand caressed Jackson’s chin, teasing his lips apart. Despite the questioning nature of his words, it didn’t sound like Darren was willing to take no for an answer. Luckily, this was exactly the part of his job that Jackson loved the most.

Jackson nodded. His heart thumped. He wasn’t really scared that Darren would hurt him — this would be far too obvious a location, and besides that, Darren was a businessman-thug. He killed people who got in his way, not just people who annoyed him.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt Jackson, not that Jackson had any desire to turn this down. He loved straight swaggery thugs like Darren, so he sunk to his knees. He closed the door behind himself and pulled Darren’s dick out through the fly of his jeans. It was girthy and juicy, with thick veins running along its length. It smelled of male underwear and cheap soap, which made Jackson’s own cock hard.

“Nah,” Darren said, stopping him from closing the door all the way. “Leave it open.”

Jackson wanted to ask why, but Darren looked at him in a way that suggested he wouldn’t entertain any questions. Jackson licked lips and swallowed the man’s thick brown dick, going as deep as he could.

Darren groaned as though he had been waiting a long time for this. He slammed his fist against the wall. He laughed and clapped his hands together. He seemed to be trying to make a lot of noise.

Sure enough, seconds later, Tyrell opened his office door. He was a burly middle-aged man with a hairy chest and a grizzled chin. He was sexy in a older-daddy kind of way, but he had never let Jackson touch his meat.

“Aw, fuckin’ Jackson, nigga, close the damn door!” he said. He straightened up and blanched when he saw that it was Darren who fed his cock down Jackson’s gullet.

“Nah, Tyrell,” Darren said. “Stay here for a second. I got somet’ing to say to you.” He closed his eyes and began humping Jackson’s face, his gold chains shimmering as he moved beneath the solitary lightbulb of the storage closet. His muscles flexed under the sagging jeans and fly shirt, and his jaw roiled with sexual energy.

“I don’t wanna watch this,” Tyrell said, but he didn’t move away.

“Tough. I got somethin’ you need to know,” Darren said. “Next month, I’m gonna be comin’ back to see you. I expect a blowjob from this nigga right here — or some other nigga equally good — and I expect a thousand dollars in cash.”

“You extortin’ me?”

“That’s right, nigga,” he said. “I bet you can guess what’ll happen if you don’t pay. But I’ll give you a hint — it ends with this place burnin’ to the ground with at least one nigga in it and plenty of evidence making it look like you done it.”

Jackson found it difficult to listen as his face was ground into Darren’s crotch. Since he had never even dropped his pants, that meant Jackson’s nose was nestled in his boxers, and his chin dragged against the fly of his jeans. The more menacing Darren became, the more his dick spasmed, as though Darren was turned on by the fear he generated in Tyrell and Jackson. He laughed at Jackson’s frenzied choking — which Jackson deliberately exaggerated because he knew Darren would fuck him more and more violently until it was authentically frenzied choking, so it was better to be pretend he was at his limits now.

“Don’t forget, nigga,” Darren said as he groaned. Then his balls crawled up in his sac, and he sprayed cum down Jackson’s throat.

The creamy flavor overwhelmed Jackson, who loved every moment of it, even as he sputtered and gagged some more. He was even turned on by the disgust he could feel radiating of Tyrell behind him. Darren moaned and pulled out mid-orgasm, so he could spray his cum over Jackson’s face. It looked like he angled his hips to aim for Tyrell, who dodged away easily. Darren laughed anyway. Warmth suffused Jackson’s body as he shot his own load in his pants at the same time. This was one of the sexiest work-blowjobs he had given in a long time, he thought to himself as he cleaned Darren’s dick off.

But Jackson also felt bad about the extortion. He wished there was something he could do to help, but all he could do was let those thick black balls drain their load down his throat. Darren seemed to enjoy that, so Jackson thought he might as well do his best.

Darren pulled off and pushed Jackson to the side. He glared at Tyrell and walked past him with his dick still out, taking great care to let it drag over Tyrell’s thigh.

“Remember, a blowjob and a grand. Next month,” Darren said. He kissed Tyrell on the cheek, his limp, moist cock resting against Tyrell’s pants. Tyrell winced, and Darren laughed before tucking his meat away and walking back to the frontroom. Conversation stopped out there when he opened the door. “Later, niggas,” was all he said.

Ebony Downlow

Here’s a sample chapter from Ebony Downlow, the latest story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series.

 

The next day, Quincy had to take care of a few errands, the least pleasant of which was driving his mother to the bus station. He was glad to have her be out of town so she would call his brother for favors instead of him for a change, so once she was gone, he felt like his mood had improved already. He was just wondering if he could find Dwayne and get another taste of that Marine meat when he saw him standing there at the bus station with a girl.

She was a dark-haired woman with beautiful light skin, the color of creamy caramel; she was dressed down, in plain sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. She looked like the kind of girl who wore makeup most of the time, but not at the moment. She hugged Dwayne close with tears in her eyes, then turned around and got onto the bus idling nearby.

Quincy hurried away so it wouldn’t look like he was stalking them. He positioned himself so it looked like he was on his cell phone while waiting for a bus, but arranged himself so he could watch Dwayne, who straightened his Marine Corps dress uniform. It perfectly outlined his muscles, and Quincy could smell the starched, pressed cotton from here.

He saw Dwayne stand there as the bus pulled away, and then Quincy resumed walking as though only just now seeing him. Dwayne looked inconsolable, shifting his weight on his feet while watching the bus disappear in the city traffic.

“Oh, hey, Dwayne, what are you doing here?”

Dwayne shrugged and wiped his face. Had he been crying? It looked like he was struggling not to, and his stiff upper lip made Quincy even hornier. There was something about watching a muscle-bound alpha male hold back tears that made Quincy hot. Dwayne sniffled and straightened his back. “I just saw my girlfriend off. I was gonna spend time with her — we was gonna spend this whole week fucking like bunnies. I was gonna destroy her-“ he said softly, and grabbed his cock and balls through his uniform slacks. His shaft was momentarily outlined by the fabric, which gave Quincy an enormous and uncomfortable erection. Dwayne didn’t seem to notice Quincy’s reaction; he just kept talking. “But then… her aunt just died. So, she’s gone, she gonna spend the next week with her parents in fucking Philadelphia.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Quincy said. “Did she at least get you off before she went?” Quincy already knew the answer to that question, but he had the feeling that he could get Dwayne to put out again if he played his cards right.

“No.” Dwayne made a guilty face. “She wasn’t in the mood anymore… I promised her I’d be true to her, man, and she said she’d take care of me. I just have to get my nuts off. I’m in a hurry though, can you… just gimme a handie?”

“I’d love to.” Quincy darted into the public bathroom, and into the handicapped stall. Dwayne looked around, vaguely disgusted, but he followed Quincy into the stall. It stank and there was graffiti everywhere; there was also the remnant of a glory hole in the stall wall, but it had been filled in with plaster some time ago.

Quincy stuck his hand down Dwayne’s sagging slacks. His dick was already rock-hard, uncomfortably imprisoned by his green Marine-issued boxers. That was why he was so desperate, Quincy thought, his girlfriend gave him a boner and then left. What a poor sport! Quincy wouldn’t have let a funeral get in the way of satisfying sexy men; he wouldn’t have attended the funeral of a person who didn’t want him to treat every moment as if it would be his last.

His dick throbbed, oozing precum from the moment Quincy touched it. He must have been very horny, Quincy thought, with all those pent-up boot camp urges. The more he thought about it, the more he wished he could go see what Dwayne’s time at boot camp had been like; it sounded like the sexiest thing Quincy had ever failed to watch. Dwayne sighed. His shaft was slick with sweat and creamy fluids, which Quincy smeared up and down as he began stroking.

A part of him wanted to take Dwayne’s cock out of his pants, but he thought this was even sexier somehow — there was something primal about it, as though Dwayne was so incredibly horny he couldn’t wait for the time it took his pants to fall down. The moist, sweaty interior of Dwayne’s pants was like a jungle that rained machismo instead of water, and Quincy felt like he could almost taste that salty, musty flavor through his fingers.

Dwayne’s thick, Marines Corp-sculpted body shook beneath his clothes. His muscles trembled and his knees buckled. He moaned so loudly Quincy wondered if people outside the bathroom could hear.

“Wait… Uh,” Dwayne said, hyperventilating. Quincy had never seen someone have such an intense reaction to a handjob, and he had to giggle at Dwayne’s contorting face and writhing body. Dwayne struggled to speak between jagged breaths. “Wait, don’t let me… uh… cum in… uniform pants,” he said.

Quincy laughed and undid the zipper on his tightly pressed slacks. Dwayne’s cock stuck straight out the fly, just seconds before the first wad of cum flew out. Quincy used one hand to stroke the shaft, and collecting the cum in the palm of his other hand.

He lifted the puddle of cum up to his mouth, inhaling of the sharp and acrid odor. He heard Dwayne open his eyes, then moan in disgust at the sight of Quincy savoring his cum.

“Ah, man, that is some faggy shit,” Dwayne said. Then he muttered an apology. “I mean, it don’t matter. I ain’t… homophobic no more.”

Quincy slurped down every drop, and licked his palm clean. Dwayne shuddered as though he could taste it, then tucked his limp dick back in his uniform slacks and walked out.