Tag Archives: convict sex

Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates, which is now permanently free in the Kindle Store and on Smashwords! It’s part of the amazing Str8 Till Dark series of gay erotica about men whose straightness bends when the lights go out!

As Brian curled up on the floor to get some sleep, he tried to decide whether this had gone better or worse than he had expected. It was hard to tell. He had predicted a catastrophically bad entrance to prison life — that was just the way his mind worked, constantly coming up with disastrous possibilities. But it wasn’t really as bad as it could be. The worst part was simply that Brian had no protection. Nothing good had happened to him, which was bad, but nothing too bad had happened to him either, and that was good.

Brian had covered up his anxiety when he strode into Brutewood prison. He was a handsome young white man with long hair he kept pulled back into a ponytail. Given everything that he knew about prison life, he fully expected to have gay sex.

He was fine with that, more or less. Brian was straight, but he loved being anally penetrated by dildos or fingers. He had never actually taken a cock in his ass, and he was willing to try it — giving it up in exchange for protection behind bars was not his ideal scenario for experimenting with getting fucked, but he wasn’t too upset about it either.

Officer Armstrong shoved him into the prison cell and shut the door. It was much larger than Brian had thought it would be, but there were already twelve people there. There were also only twelve bunks, while Brian was the thirteenth person.

“Turn around and stick your hands out,” Officer Armstrong said. He sounded bored.

Brian was not bored. His heart felt like it might pound through his chest. He stuck his cuffed hands through the opening in the doorway. Officer Armstrong unlocked the cuffs.

“There’s not enough bunks,” Brian said. He shook his head to unlodge his hair where it stuck to the back of his neck.

“Then kill yourself,” Officer Armstrong said as he walked away. He laughed, the deep, baritone sound resonating in the steel-lined prison corridor.

Brian turned around. Twelve dour black man stared back at him. No one said anything. Brian had always been an outgoing and friendly young man, so his mind raced as he tried to think of something to say.

“So, uh… guys… I guess we’re prisonmates, huh?”

Someone chuckled dryly, but no one responded. Six of the men were playing poker, and they resumed the game without looking at Brian. Three others were taking turns working out, doing improvised pull-ups on a bar they had set up in the middle of the cell. The bar was also for hanging laundry, but they had taken all the clothes off before exercising. Their corded muscles gleamed, and Brian felt small and vulnerable.

He supposed he was meant to sleep on the floor. There was plenty of room in one corner, and he had been given a sheet, a blanket and a pillow, which smelled like piss though it looked clean. Brian wanted to cry.

He took a deep breath. He had been told what to do, and he had rehearsed it. He thought for sure he could pull it off.

He went to the biggest thug in the room. He was a tall, middle-aged black man with a burly body brimming with muscle and bravado. He was not exactly dressed like a thug — not like the others, he had a trimmed mustache, well-fitting pants, just a few tattoos, but he still talked like a pimp as he encouraged the others in their workout.

“C’mon, nigga, yeah! Push it!” He barked, slapping a younger black man  on his ass as he lifted himself up and down doing pull-ups.

“Hey, uh, excuse me, uh,” Brian said, trying to get the man’s attention. He blushed. “My name is, uh, Brian-“

“Nice to meetcha, Brian,” said the large man. Despite his relatively polite words, he spoke with a crude sneer on his face and a harsh look in his eyes. “Whatchoo want, whiteboi?”

“Uh… I’m just, I was told… uh… I know this can be a dangerous place-“

“Hurry the fuck up and say it.”

“I want your protection!”

“What?”

“Please protect me,” Brian said. He blushed again. “I… I’ll let you fuck me. I promise. I’ll… You can fuck me. I’m not gay, but, uh-“

The man cocked his head to the side. “My name is Samson, Brian. I ‘ppreciate yo’ offer. But I gotta decline.”

“Yeah, whiteboi, we ain’t like that no mo’.”

“We don’t rape whitebois.”

“That’s against the rules nowadays.”

“No one here gonna fuck wit’ you, whiteboi.”

“Ha! Queerbait!” That was Officer Armstrong, who was walking past the doorway. Brian blushed. He hadn’t meant to offer in front of a guard.

And so that was that. They dismissed Brian, who blushed and stumbled back to the corner of the cell he had decided to use as his bed. They ignored him after that. He wasn’t sure how to take that. Had they only said no because Officer Armstrong was there? He didn’t know. They hadn’t promised he’d be safe outside of the cell, and he didn’t trust them in the slightest.

But there was nothing to do. He couldn’t force them to promise he’d be safe everywhere in prison. He’d just have to come up with a different plan. Maybe, he thought, movies overdramatized prison life. Maybe it won’t be that bad.

The lights turned out. The evening had gone by faster than he thought. His prisonmates stayed up talking for a long time, but Brian didn’t complain. He zoned out and pretended he was asleep.

And so that was why he laid fitlessly on the floor, wondering how this was going to turn out. Maybe, he thought, he shouldn’t have asked to get fucked. That might have been bad advice.

Once the prison was quiet, however, a few whispered voices filled the air. Brian couldn’t tell if they spoke thinking he was asleep and couldn’t hear, or if they wanted him to hear it.

“You gonna fuck that whiteboi?!”

“Hell nah. I ain’t down wit’ dat.”

“I betcha big-nigga do it.”

“Fuck you, asshole. I ain’t down wit’ dat gaybones shit. You know who gonna do it? That whiteboi got it right when he offer Samson-“

“Hey!” Samson’s deep voice boomed. “Shut yo’ stupid nigga faces.” Samson was the biggest and oldest and, it seemed, he was in charge. No one talked for a few minutes. Then someone chuckled, which caused someone else to laugh. Soon the cell was full of deep-voiced thugs laughing, at what Brian couldn’t tell.

“Samson gonna get gay as shit, we all know it.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Samson got up and stalked around the cell like he wanted to figure out who had spoken. “None of you say jack-shit, motherfuckers. I ain’t no kinda queer.”

Brian was still nervous. The more they insisted that they weren’t going to fuck him, the more sure he was that they were. He really wouldn’t mind trying it. He just wanted the option to change his mind partway through, and of course he wanted to be assured he’d be protected while he was locked up.

Samson went back to his bunk, while the rest of the cellmates gradually fell asleep. Brian was wide awake. He soon gave up hope that he’d be able to sleep at all tonight. It was going to be a fitless night without rest.

Soon the cell was silent aside from the noisy breathing and occasional stirring of his prisonmates. Officer Armstrong walked by every half-hour or so but he didn’t look in the cells. Far away, Brian heard an inmate snore, but it wasn’t loud enough to keep him awake.

He yelped when someone touched him. A heavy hand pressed down on his mouth. Callused, rough skin rubbed against his face.

“Sssh…” Samson’s gravelly voice filled Brian’s ear. Brian squirmed, but Samson held him down. “Don’t worry. Ain’t gonna hurtcha. Relax. Chill out, whiteboi. Sssh…” Brian tried to stop moving, but he was instinctively frightened with that hand muffling his mouth. The knowledge that he couldn’t cry out if he wanted to made this terrifying.

Finally Samson calmed Brian down by removing his hand and planting his lips on Brian’s. Brian had never kissed a man before, and he had never thought a straight thug like Samson would kiss him, especially out of nowhere like this. It was so unnerving that Brian did stop fighting back, exactly as Samson intended.

“Good. Relax, whiteboi,” Samson said. He kissed Brian again on the neck. “I ain’t gonna hurtcha.”

“Okay.”

“Sssh… whisper,” Samson said.

“Okay, look-“

“Sssh. You wanna sleep wit’ me?”

“What?”

“We can share a bunk if you want. You can suck my dick like you want, and I’ll fuck you. I ain’t gonna promise you protection though.”

“Oh.”

“Cuz you don’t need it. I always take care of my family, and if you in this cell wit’ me, you my family. You my prisonmate, whiteboi,” Samson said. “If you wanna get fucked cuz you love gettin’ fucked, just come sleep in my bed. You gotta get up and out on the floor real early, so no one sees you. I got a rep to protect. The guards don’t allow us to make love.”

“Oh, well…” Brian felt like kind of a prick. He was glad to have protection, and he didn’t care about doing anything for or with Samson if he didn’t need to. Was it wrong to accept Samson’s protection without giving him anything in return.

But on the other hand, Brian did say that he had wanted to try this. He wanted to see what it was like to get fucked, and he could think of no one better to introduce him to the world of sodomy than the sexy massive prison-thug Samson.

“Okay-“ Brian said. Before he could say anything else, Samson had scooped him up in his arms and brought Brian to his bunk.

It was not a large mattress. Samson was a huge man, well over six-feet tall and built like a brick fuckhouse, as Brian’s grandmother would have said. Samson barely fit in the bunk by himself. When Brian crawled in with him, he was forced to cuddle with Samson’s iron-like muscles.

Samson smacked his lips. He kissed Brian on the ear, and he slowly pushed Brian’s hand to Samson’s crotch. Brian gulped and stuck his fingers through the fly of Samson’s prison-issued shorts.

“There you go, whiteboi, you doin’ nice, keep at it,” Samson said with a low, rumbling groan. He whispered but his voice was so deep it rumbled and echoed in Brian’s ear. “You gay?”

“No,” Brian said. “I, uh… I-“ He gulped. “I like to, uh… I use dildos. Like, on myself.”

“Oh? You like anal?”

“Yeah-“ Brian grunted as Samson rammed one of his fingers in Brian’s asshole. It was his pinkie finger, but he was a big man so it was hefty, and it was callused and rough. Brian squirmed and yelped again.

“You like dat, whiteboi?”

“Uh, no-oooooo!” Brian’s voice broke because his pain turned into pleasure all of a sudden as Samson’s finger hit his prostate. Brian tightened his ass around his finger. “I mean…”

“Ah, yeah, I see dat, you like it. Good boy,” Samson said. “I teach all these niggas in here how to love it when I fuck ‘em. That’s a lesson e’ryone learn sooner or later. I’m glad you learnin’ it sooner. It’s a good lesson, ain’t it?”

“Uh… yeah,” Brian said, his mind too focused on his asshole to think about what Samson was saying. He didn’t even stroke Samson’s dick as he endured the finger-fucking; he just laid there, pinned between Samson and the wall, with his hand gripping Samson’s half-hard dick but not stroking it.

“You wanna suck on it? I’d mighty ‘ppreciate it,” Samson said. He guided Brian’s head. He didn’t force it, but he did give Brian a push.

Brian did want to try it. Samson was ungodly sexy, and the more Brian endured his finger in his ass, the more Brian wanted to experience it all. He didn’t even mind if his other prisonmates found out.

So he allowed Samson to push his head into Samson’s crotch. Brian opened up and swallowed the tip of Samson’s cock.

The taste was powerful and sudden, an explosion of salty meat in his mouth. Brian gagged but that just opened his mouth a little wider, and Samson pushed his dick in farther. Samson groaned and started to move his pinkie finger in and out.

Samson began to writhe as though the blowjob felt so good he couldn’t control himself. His dick stiffened all the way up in Brian’s mouth. He loved the musky, unwashed flavor, and he loved the way he could feel Samson’s heartbeat in the throbbing of his dick. Samson’s muscles tensed when Brian’s hand caressed his chest.

“Told you, nigga,” someone said, and someone else giggled knowingly.

“Samson, we knew you was gonna do it.”

“Samson fuckin’ dat whiteboi! Least surprisin’ thing evuh.”

“Hey! Shut up!” Samson barked. “You gonna get Off’cer Armstrong lookin’ in here.”

They all settled down a little, but it didn’t last long. Now that he knew everyone else was awake, Brian was very self-conscious. His mouth made loud, moist suckling sounds as Samson worked his dick deeper and deeper, and every few seconds Brian choked despite his best efforts. Samson’s finger in his ass made noise too. Brian couldn’t tell how loud it was to everyone else, but to him, it was deafening.

“You doin’ okay, whiteboi, not bad ’t all,” Samson said. He caressed Brian’s head and kissed the air. Then Brian gagged very loudly and Samson clucked his tongue caringly. He grabbed Brian by the ponytail and dragged his head off Samson’s cock. It was such a crude, barbaric action that Brian was surprised when Samson kissed him on the lips. His tongue plunged into Brian’s mouth, but just for a moment.

He returned Brian to sucking his cock. Samson sighed. “You like dat? I don’t kiss boys a lot, okay? I don’t like it much, but I wanna show my ‘ppreciation for you suckin’ my dick nice.”

There were more moist sounds filling the air. At first Brian thought maybe his other prisonmates were having sex. That would be nice, he thought, because it would make him feel less self-conscious.

But then he realized that wasn’t true — they weren’t fucking each other, they were masturbating. They watched Samson’s finger disappear in Brian’s ass in the dim light as though it was an exciting movie, and all eleven of them stroked themselves off. They were each standing or at least sitting up on their cot and watching, cock in hand.

Brian had never been more aroused. He had also never been more embarrassed, but right now the arousal was more prominent in his mind. His own cock was rock-hard, and he tried to jack himself off the best he could crammed into the tiny bunk with Samson.

“Alright, whiteboi, we gonna see how much fun you really is,” Samson said. “Is it okay if I fuck you?”

“Yes, oh god, please, do it,” Brian said. He blushed, not that anyone could see in the darkened cell. His mouth was empty then, and Samson moved with catlike grace despite his huge size and bulky body.

Samson kneeled against the wall, crouched awkwardly so he fit beneath the bunk above his head. His cock stuck straight out. He wrapped his arms around Brian and had him kneel right in front of Samson’s crotch.

His dick rammed right in. Brian’s ass was already open and loose from the fingering, but Samson soon added some lube anyway — it was hog fat, or lard, that he had stolen from the prison kitchen — and his massive dick slid right in.

“Yeah, whiteboi, take it, take e’ry inch of that nigga meat,” he said with a laugh. The others all joined in chuckling, but then shushed each other.

“Yo, guards gonna hear, man, shush.”

“Be quiet!”

Brian squirmed as he endured the ass-fucking. It started off painful, then felt so good he had to suppress a moan again, and then it hurt again before it became a low, slow, melting pleasure that made him wiggle like a worm.

His body was limp and submissive. Brian felt like he was falling because he kneeled on the bunk in front of Samson, who was also kneeling, but the bunk wasn’t really wide enough for both of them to sit up in front of each other like that. So Brian was suspended over the air, held aloft only by Samson’s arms keeping him in a bear hold. If Samson let go, Brian would plummet face-first onto the floor.

The pressure and pleasure in his ass was so intense Brian couldn’t even moan. He kept his mouth open but the only sound that came out was a strangled moan.

One of Samson’s hands remained in place, wrapped around Brian’s chest and holding him in place, while his other hand roamed south. Brian had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to say anything about it as Samson’s hand wrapped around his dick. Brian spasmed and gasped. The other prisonmates laughed quietly at Brian’s frenzied reaction, but they didn’t know Samson gave Brian a reacharound as he fucked.

“Hey,” Samson whispered into Brian’s ear, his chest muscles writhing and flexing against Brian’s back. “You wanna be the coolest whiteboi evuh?”

“Huh, yeah?”

“Whatchoo think, whiteboi?”

Brian’s mind struggled to focus on Samson’s words. He gasped and squirmed in Samson’s muscles. What had seemed awkward and strange at first was now deeply arousing. Brian loved the feel of potent, hairy, masculine power flexing against his flesh, and Samson’s throbbing fuckstick demolishing Brian’s ass. It was better than his girlfriend’s purple strap-on, which had been Brian’s go-to orgasm device for a long time.

His prostate tingled with such intensity that Brian could barely speak. He managed to say, “yeah”, not caring what the plan was — he would do anything his ebony sex-god of a cellmate wanted.

“Open yo’ mouth, whiteboi,” Samson said. He pried Brian’s mouth apart. “Yo’ prisonmates gonna nut in yo’ throat. This is like all of us sayin’ hello, okay? We gonna be good friends aftuh this. You gonna taste our nuts, nice and creamy goin’ down yo’ throat, okay?”

“Oh god yes,” Brian said. He opened his mouth.

Instantly two cocks pushed in at once. There were some deep grunting noises, and someone pushed someone else.

“Get outta my way.”

“I’m first, nigga, move!” In the end, both men shot their loads just seconds after Brian got the first taste of cockmeat. They had both been on the verge of orgasm already. Creamy, salty cum invaded Brian’s mouth. The flavor was not exactly tasty, but it was savory and Brian wanted more.

A loud clanging sound erupted, and everyone jumped “Hey!” Officer Armstrong stood outside the cell. He had slammed his nightstick on the door. “I’m gonna turn on the light in about five seconds, shitweasels. Ya hear me? If I see somethin’ in there that I gotta intervene about, you had best believe I am gonna shove this entire prison up your stupid shitweasel assholes!”

A moment of silence filled the air, and then Officer Armstrong began counting. “Five!” He banged on the door once more. Everyone in the cell burst into a frenzy of activity. Brian was annoyed to slide off Samson’s cock and crawl, still shuddering from the aftershocks of his interrupted orgasm. “Four! Three! Two! One!”

He turned the cell light on. Brian groaned as bright light assaulted his eyes. Everyone was in their bunks, sheets and blankets covering their hardons.

All in all, it must have been blatantly obvious what had been happening in here. But Officer Armstrong just flared his nostrils as he looked over the thirteen men pretending to be asleep. He spat a big loogie onto the floor of the cell, then shut the door again.

“Go to sleep, shitweasels. If you’re gonna fuck, finish in the next couple minutes so I don’t have to hear it when I come back around,” he said as he walked away.

Everyone — except the two who had already cum — was eager to finish up, having nearly been blue-balled by Officer Armstrong. Before Brian could even get up, Samson was behind him again, ramming his dick back into Brian’s ass.

Brian grunted and Samson growled seductively. He wrapped all of his arms and legs around Brian’s limbs, bringing him to the ground. Samson laid on his back, while Brian submitted, resting on Samson’s chest with his ass on Samson’s massive cock.

The pain was intense once again, but only for a moment before that mind-numbing pleasure hit him once more. As Brian tasted that ebony prison-cock and drooled over its meaty goodness, he smiled. He was going to love his time in prison, he thought.

“Yeah, whiteboi, swallow my nut,” someone said as he shot a hot load of salty cum all over Brian’s face. “Let’s bukkake him. Let’s make him real messy.”

The others all agreed, but most of them were barely listening — they were already about to bukkake him regardless. Their dicks sprayed heavy loads all over Brian’s face. He couldn’t even tell how many. He knew logically it should have been eleven, or no more than eleven, but it surely felt like more. Had someone jacked off more than once? It was impossible to tell.

But his mouth and face were covered in dripping cum, which coated his skin and seeped into his flesh. It leaked down the sides and onto Samson’s body, but Samson didn’t care — in prison, these kinds of sanitary, privacy issues stopped being so relevant. A few drops of cum even found their way into Samson’s mouth, but he barely noticed that either.

The sensation of getting fucked and the taste of a torrent of cum flooding his mouth was so overwhelming that Brian didn’t noticed his own orgasm until happened. It was the most intense experience of his life. It felt like it lasted the entire nine to twelve years he was to spend behind bars — his prostate sang and danced within him, sending waves of pleasure to every corner of his body. He squeezed around Samson’s dick.

“Swallow it while I nut inside you, whiteboi,” Samson said with a moan. He rammed his dick all the way in, making Brian scream, unable to muffle the sound at all. As he spewed hot wad after wad of cum inside Brian’s guts, Samson’s callused fingers pushed semen into Brian’s mouth. He smeared every drop of that bukkake mess down into Brian’s waiting throat.

He didn’t mind touching his niggas’ cum, and Samson groaned as the taste made Brian’s body clench around him. Samson knew how to make a prison bitch’s body react the way he wanted, so he filled Brian’s mouth up with eleven loads, plus Brian’s own cum that Samson scooped up from his chest.

“Yeah, whiteboi, nice…” Samson moaned as he shot the last few drops of his own cum into Brian’s ass. He laid there, dick throbbing while it limpened inside that tight hole. He had rarely felt such a wonderful ass.

“Comin’ back soon, boys!” Officer Armstrong called out. “Finish up!”

The other prisonmates slowly made their way back to their bunks. They stopped to wipe off their dicks first with toilet paper, since most of them had done a little jousting and gotten each other’s cum on their shafts. They quietly shuffled into their beds, giggling nervously about what had happened.

But Samson remained right where he was, resting on his back on the floor, dick limpening inside Brian while Samson flopped Brian’s soft cock between his fingers.

“You wanna come sleep in my bunk?” Samson asked. “Remember, when the sun comes up, you gotta move back to the floor so the guards don’t see.”

“Okay,” Brian said breathlessly. He breathed a sigh of relief when Samson finally took his dick out of Brian’s ass.

Brian was so exhausted he fell right to sleep. He curled up in the tiny space Samson left for him, and he buried his nose in Samson’s warm bicep. He kept one hand on Samson’s belly, just low enough where he could feel the beginning of Samson’s pubic hair. He inhaled deeply of the musky scent of Samson’s sweat-dappled body.

“I love you, Samson,” Brian whispered.

“Shush, whiteboi,” Samson said. “I know you love me. E’ryone falls in love when I fuck ‘em. Don’t worry. I ain’t nevuh gonna stop fuckin’ you, Brian. So we gonna be in love forevuh.”

Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate

Here’s the entirety of Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate, which is the best-selling entry in the Servicing Black Thugs series! You can read the whole series with the Servicing Black Thugs big bundle!

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?”

“Yessuh.”

“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.”

Hairback Appreciation Society: Convict Worship

Here’s a sample chapter from a new series, the Hairback Appreciation Society. This one is called Convict Worship, and it’s the incredible story of Rufus, a hairback lover who worships a convict alpha male fresh out of prison. It’s also part of the Brutewood Correctional Facility.

 

Rufus’ heart started pounding from the moment he saw men file past the prison gates. This is really happening, he realized, I am about to find the sexiest hairback around! He didn’t see the one he was looking for at first, but when he did, Rufus almost fainted.

He was Wendell “Thumper” White, a former pro-boxer who was finally leaving prison. He was not extremely tall, but he was thick and wide-bodied, not sculpted like he used to be yet still retaining all the power of his pro-athlete days. Rufus had arranged to pick him up and take care of him, but hadn’t given Thumper any information on who he was or why. Thumper, for his part, gave little indication that he cared. He seemed to just assume that Rufus was from some sort of halfway home.

Rufus waved to him and approached to shake his hand. Thumper just shrugged, shook and hopped in the passenger seat of Rufus’ car.

“Hello, Mr. White,” Rufus said. “I-“

“Thumper.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Thumper. Not Mr. White,” he said.

“Oh, okay, sure. Thumper it is.”

“Whatchoo want from me?”

“Well… I’ve heard that you were in need of a place to stay. I-“

“What’s in it fo’ you? You a cop? I won’t snitch, man.”

“No, I’m not a cop. I just want to service you. I want to lick every inch of your body. I want to suck your dick and your ass and your balls-“ Rufus wasn’t usually this blunt, but he got the impression Thumper liked being direct.

“I ain’t queer,” Thumper said, in a way that suggested he was fine with Rufus’ plan, he just wanted to be sure Rufus knew it would be one-sided. In truth, Rufus only liked bottoming, he wouldn’t want to be with Thumper if Thumper was versatile.

“I know,” Rufus said. “I heard you were flexible behind bars, that you like fucking slim, hairless twinks. That’s me.”

“I don’t take dick.”

“Oh, I know. I wouldn’t want you to. I’m a bottom,” Rufus said. He didn’t live far away from the prison, so they were already pulling into his driveway. His heart nearly pounded out of his chest — there were so many ways an arrangement like this could go wrong, he thought, and so few it could go right.

“You like prison cock?”

Rufus nodded. “I love it.”

“You like black cock?”

“Love that too.”

Thumper smiled. “Alright, but if I’m gonna let some queer paw all over me, we doin’ things my way. Gimme money too.”

Rufus frowned. “Well, I don’t have any cash…”

“You can go get some later,” Thumper said. He got out of the car and walked with Rufus to the front door. Thumper leaned over and whispered in Rufus’ ear, “You gonna worship me?”

“Yes.”

Thumper sneered in disgust. He looked around for neighbors as Rufus unlocked the front door, then Thumper grabbed Rufus by the head. He pulled on his hair until Rufus’ whole body tensed up. Thumper sneered at him. “If you gonna be my bitch, you gonna act like a bitch, a female dog. A bitch decide what kinda man she like by sniffin’ his ass. So get on yer knees and smell my ass, bitch.”

Rufus blushed but did as he was told. Thumper wore lime-green basketball shorts which sagged low to reveal a bare asscrack covered in thick, kinky black hair. Rufus inserted his nose into the sweaty crack and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, smell yo’ daddy real good, bitch.”

The smell was overpowering, musky and it made his eyes water. Rufus inhaled again as Thumper scoffed, then strutted inside. Rufus had to scamper behind him to keep his nose ensconced in Thumper’s hairy crack. Thumper grinned. “When you’s about to leave, they don’t let you stay in yo’ cell. They make you be in solitary for a couple days,” he said. “So I ain’t had a bitch in a bit.”

“You must be horny as hell, you poor baby… You want me to put on some straight porn?” Rufus asked.

“Hell yeah. Put on something wit’ a white bitch gettin’ double-teamed,” Thumper said. “I’ll take a shower.”

Rufus stood up, then blurted out, “No!” He hesitated as Thumper bristled at being given an order. “I mean… I want to lick the prison off you.”

“Oh, you one of them nasty kind of faggot?”

Rufus nodded. “The nastier the better.” He bent over his computer and hurried to a free porn site he knew of — he didn’t have any straight porn, so it took him a few minutes to find one.

Thumper started grabbing at his ass in a decidedly prison-rough way — he was crude and forceful, and he growled as though having trouble not raping Rufus right then and there. Stripping his shirt off, Thumper shoved one hand down the back of Rufus’ pants and jabbed a finger into his asshole.

“You my bitch?”

“Yes,” Rufus clicked play. He wasn’t sure this was a long enough video, but he was suddenly too horny to focus. It would have to do. It didn’t seem Thumper was paying much attention anyway.

“Who owns yo’ ass?”

“You do.”

“Say my name.”

“Thumper owns my ass,” Rufus said.

“That’s right,” Thumper said.

Rufus turned around and kissed his bare bicep. He tasted of dust and sweet and stainless steel, the flavor of prison, Rufus thought, distilled into one musky flavor that Rufus couldn’t get enough of. Thumper flexed his arm and chuckled at Rufus’ aroused reaction.

Diving into one armpit, Rufus inhaled deeply. The overpowering sweat hit his nostrils like an acrid train, and Rufus moaned with pleasure. He suckled each hair in Thumper’s armpit, marveling at how thick the hairs were, how kinky and curled, and how much of his own manhood had been trapped there over the years. It was strong enough to make Rufus’ eyes water.

He licked around to Thumper’s back, tasting each hair as he went. He licked the man’s back from shoulder to the top of his asscrack, going back up and down, kneeling to get as low as he could then standing on his toes to get up on top of his shoulder.

Thumper shuddered; he was a little ticklish, it seemed. He chuckled dryly. “You really is nasty. I made one of my bitches do this a couple years ago. Cried the whole fucking time.”

“He’s an idiot.”

Thumper nodded. “Yep, that he is. You don’t mind that my back’s hairy?”

“Mind? I love it. That was one of the things that drew me to you,” he said.

“All the young cats in my cell say I gotta get my bitch to shave my back,” he said. “They said you can’t leave prison with a hairy back. It’ll look bad to everyone outside the gang. You’ll never get a chick.”

“Not everyone gets it,” Rufus said. “Specially women.” He normally didn’t lick anyone’s back this long, but the more Thumper made a big deal out of it, the more he didn’t want to stop. He did move to the small of Thumper’s back and worked on slathering every inch of that with his spit.

“You know what to do,” Thumper murmured softly as he dropped his pants. He had hairy trunk-like thighs, and Rufus gave them each a quick lick. But it was obvious that Thumper wanted a rimjob. He bent over the couch and stuck his round, hairy ass in the air right in front of Rufus’ face.

He dove right in and licked the sweat out of Thumper’s asscrack. His tongue left a trail right through the center of his ass, while Rufus used both hands to separate the cheeks. Thumper’s dark asshole beckoned like a tasty treat.

He plunged in, and tasted a direct feed of Thumper’s essence. It was like chugging a beer made of musk, he thought, and the grimy, hairiness of Thumper’s ass made it even hotter.

Thumper growled and grunted and his muscular body writhed as though Rufus’ tongue was painful. He howled and bit his lip. He pounded his meaty fists on the ground to emphasize how good this felt, and he even lifted one foot off the ground. He shook his dangling foot as sexual tension roiled his middle-aged body.

His was dirty and grimy and hairy, exactly as Rufus liked it. As he lapped at the ebony hole, his hands delicately massaged Thumper’s hairy lower back, which writhed above Rufus’ head as Thumper responded to the rimjob. Rufus suspected he hadn’t had a rimjob from someone who wanted to give one in a long time, and he was surprised about how intense the pleasure was shooting up his intestines.

“Ah, fuck yeah nigga, you oughtta go to the prison and give some fucking lessons,” he said softly. His hips were undulating and pushing back now, as though his rectum was trying to fuck Rufus’ mouth. He used his ass and hips to pin Rufus against the wall, rubbing his hairy cheeks and hole on every inch of Rufus’ face.

Without a word of warning, Thumper turned around and slammed his dick down Rufus’ throat. He was just in time for the first wad of cum to land deep in Rufus’ gullet, making him gag just a little before guzzling the rest of the load down.

Thumper lightly smacked him on the cheek with one hand, using the other to caress his neck like an owner making sure his dog swallowed a pill. “Go on, swallow it, bitch. Swallow daddy’s seed.”

His semen was copious and creamy, but it had a certain wateriness that Rufus suspected was due to the prison diet. It was sour and snotty, and it stuck to Rufus’ tongue and mouth as he swallowed it down.

“Show me yo’ mouf, boi.”

Finally he was done and Rufus showed off his empty mouth. Thumper sneered and nodded. “Disgusting, faggot. Go clean my sweat off yo’ stupid queer face. Then go to the ATM and get me cash.”

Love and Lust Between Men Behind Bars

This is a sample chapter from Love and Lust Between Men Behind Bars, a story in the Brutewood Minimum Security Penitentiary series.

We knew we weren’t the coolest frat on campus. Judging by the pictures left scattered around Kappa House, at one point, we were the pinnacle of awesomeness at Goldendale. But that had ended in the late 1980s, and now we were the laughingstock of the Greek system.

The low point of the semester, for me at least, was when we threw a pre-Spring Break party and not a single woman showed up. It was just the fourteen of us and a few other male nerds, eating chips and playing video games, pretending not to be disappointed. I knew none of the other frats were having a party, so the problem wasn’t even that there was too much competition that night; the problem could only have been that nobody wanted to spend time with us. Spending the weekend alone was preferable to a Kappa Gamma Pi party.

There was a knock at the door as the “party” neared its wind down. Someone opened it, and in walked an unfamiliar face. He was a handsome young black man, muscular and tattooed on his bare biceps. He had a wide grin on his face, revealing a chipped front tooth, and he brought with him a beautiful blonde woman, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, breasts nearly falling out of a tight blouse.

“Yo, yo, yo, Kappa Gamma Pi!” he shouted.

We were all startled to see him there, and to see such an incredible woman in our house. We all fell silent while he beamed at us, and she looked away awkwardly.

Wilson Andrews, one of our most active brothers, stepped forward from behind the black man. “Hey guys,” Wilson said, “This is Kelvin. I met him yesterday. He isn’t technically a student here, but he’s going to make us popular. We, uh… we made a deal.”

“How?” I murmured to Pete, my best friend. The other guys seemed just as dubious as me. “This sounds like another one of Wilson’s idiotic plans.”

“He’s got more money than sense,” Pete said. But since Wilson funded everything the frat did, nobody ever contradicted him.

“First, I need to get know you guys. This is a party. Why ain’t you drinking?” Kelvin asked.

“We got some beer,” I said, “But we were waiting for the party to start.”

“Never wait for the party to start,” he said. “If you have to wait for it, it’s never gonna happen. You start partying before the party begins, and people will show up.”

The entire frat gathered in front of Kelvin, trying to pay attention to him despite the presence of the pretty blonde woman, who clutched his shoulders as though he was the only liferaft on the Nerdtanic. I ran into the kitchen to bring back a couple six-packs, which I handed out to Kelvin and the others.

Kelvin settled down on the couch and said, “Okay, I need to get to know you guys. This is my friend, Lizzie. Do you boys like her?”

Nobody answered. We were all awkward and shy. Obviously, we liked her. She could have been one tenth as hot and we would have liked her.

“Go on,” Kelvin said. “If you wanna get laid, you gotta tell girls you like them. You guys ain’t queer, right?”

We shook our heads. Finally Dashell said, quietly, almost embarrassed, “You’re smoking hot, Lizzie.”

“No, no, like this,” Kelvin said, beckoning her to him. “Don’t be embarrassed by it. Tell her like her as though she’s gonna remember those words for the rest of her life.”

Lizzie walked slowly with burning eyes to Kelvin’s side. He had a cocky grin on his face, and he murmured something into her ear. She closed her eyes and started undoing the buttons of Kelvin’s shirt, slowly lowering herself to the ground. Her shorts were slung low on his hips, and as she descended to the ground, we all watched the top strap of her tight thong underwear reveal itself in the small of her back.

“We don’t look like you, Kelvin. We can’t just get laid like that,” Wilson said. Kelvin shrugged off his shirt, revealing his powerful ebony body. His muscles glistened like churned chocolate in the well-lit living room.

“Not yet, you mean,” Kelvin said. Lizzie undid the button on his fly, sucking on his cock’s outline through his jeans. She had a petite mouth and bright red lips that left color behind on the denim.

“How-“

“Hush, whiteboy,” Kelvin said, “A black man’s getting a blowjob over here. Y’all wanna get better at getting laid? Watch a master at work.”

Lizzie reached up to massage Kelvin’s perfectly taut, V-shaped chest. He flexed a bicep and grinned at us. Pete and I gradually moved forward, genuinely interested in watching him get his dick sucked.

He moaned with pleasure, his hips thrusting, his lips pursing, eyes rolling back in his head. Lizzie deep-throated his long cock, swallowing it almost down to the root.

She undid her own t-shirt with the GHU logo on it and took it off, then her bra. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of her perky tits hanging like perfect pale gourds from her chest. She played with her own nipples, which grew slowly erect.

“See? Guys?” Kelvin said, gesturing to the blowjob that the Kappa Gamma Pis watched awkwardly. “Act like whatever you doing is so intense you gonna die. Use every last muscle in yo’ body.” Kelvin did precisely that, his whole body contorting as she sucked.

“But don’t cum in the mouth of any chick you really like,” he said. He gently pulled her to her feet and turned her around, ready to fuck her doggystyle. “She can suck your dicks too, right Lizzie?” he asked and she nodded while he worked his dick into her pussy. “See if you can do it like I just did.”

The closest person to her was Pete, whose pale face went even paler, like a corpse. She grabbed for his crotch through his jeans. He watched in disbelief, awkward and worried, hands laying limply at his side.

“Relax, man,” Kelvin said, “You makin’ her feel like she givin’ you a bad blowjob. Don’t make her feel like that.”

Pete relaxed a little, but I knew he wasn’t comfortable with so many people seeing him naked. He had confided in me that he hated public nudity. But it looked like he wanted a blowjob more than he wanted to stay clothed, and he calmed once he got hard and focused on the sex.

His muscles twitched, the backward baseball cap he wore in a desperate attempt to look like a frat boy almost fell off his head. He was lean and lithe, with nipples that noticeably perked up the longer the sloppy blowjob went on.

“Hey,” Kelvin said, “You gotta be louder. Let her know she’s done it right.”

But before Pete could form any words with his gaping mouth, I saw his orgasm coming, his body contorting with energy. He let out a quiet exhalation and pulled his dick out at the last second, shooting his load into the palm of his hand.

Lizzie pivoted to face me, and my heart jumped up in my chest. She swallowed my dick down, and in seconds I was so absorbed by the blowjob I could barely stand. My whole body flopped around as though I was a total virgin. The part of me that realized what was happening and how silly I looked was trying to stop, but my mind was telling me to keep going, take her as far as I could.

Pleasure shot through my spine. My knees buckled. My toes curled inside my shoes, and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me.

Her warm mouth swallowed my cock, lovingly massaging it until cum spurted out and into her mouth. She sighed around my limp dick, and opened her mouth to show my the giant wad of cum sitting square in the middle of the tongue.

She closed her mouth and swallowed it, showing me her empty tongue. Kelvin clapped me on the back said, “You came in her mouth, man, I said not to do that. That’s okay though. You a natural, man. I can see it in you. You just need to practice. Fuck as often as you can, every day, every chance you get. Fat chicks, ugly chicks, whatever, if it’s legal and it’s not diseased, go for it. You need the practice, so sex don’t feel like a suit tailored for someone else.”