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Downlow Rappers at the City Barbershop

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

 

The impromptu concert was a success. It got more than ten million views on YouTube, and Omar felt like a hero even if very few people knew the role he played in it. The best part of it for Omar, however, was that he got to play with Grizz all day.

Grizz was not entirely into it. He had volunteered for this job, so he wasn’t unwilling, but he was straight and he did not mess around on the downlow. He showed up at the Barbershop very early in the morning, looking dourly on at Omar in a gauzy feminine robe.

“So Craig say we gotta get this place set up,” Grizz said. He chewed on his lip.

Omar nodded and yawned. He didn’t intend to actually do any work beyond waking up and opening the Barbershop. He hadn’t expected Craig to send a sexy big man like Grizz though. That, he decided, changed his plans for the day.

Grizz was tall and broad-shouldered and his muscles barely fit in the dark suit he wore. He was dark-skinned, with a rather squat face — no one would ever call him handsome, but Omar thought he was ungodly sexy. He walked with swagger like his dick was too big for his body. Omar wondered if he would be able to swing on that no-doubt massive dick.

He settled in at his desk while Grizz set up. There needed to be changing areas for the backup dancers (both male and female changing areas were required due to union regulations). The lights needed to be unpacked and set up. The alley out back needed the dumpster moved so as to allow for the stage to be built — the carpenters were standing by.

All this for Craig. Omar had shut down his shop for the day. He was a manager for the City Barbershop of Dallas, a local institutions in the black community here. He had built the shop into something special, with a reputation as a place where a straight man could go to get a little action on the downlow (and a haircut). Omar loved being able to service those straight men.

Craig was one of his conquests. Actually Omar had known Craig since they were children, but he didn’t get to swing on Craig’s dick until they were well into their twenties. Sometime after that, the genial, perpetually-befuddled stoner Craig had become the world’s most unlikely pop star.

And so now he was putting on a special, unannounced concert here in his old neighborhood. Omar had closed his shop for the day so he could set up. Grizz was Craig’s bodyguard, sent ahead of time to make things ready.

As Grizz unloaded heavy boxes of amplifiers and mysterious audio equipment Omar couldn’t identity, Omar tried to avoid gawking at him. He was pretty sure he could get to swing on Craig’s dick later — though Craig had girls hanging off him now, he usually let Omar have a taste for old time’s sake.

But Grizz was ungodly sexy. Omar wondered if he was aware of the City Barbershop’s reputation. Probably, he thought, since Craig had rapped about it (rather famously) and Grizz worked for him. But Grizz eyed Omar as though he had only just now guessed Omar was gay and was not a fan of it.

Finally around eleven o’clock, Grizz declared it done. “All we gotta do now is wait for the tech guys to show up,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and nudged his feet together. “Okay, so, uh, look… Craig say… Craig say I gotta let you swing on my dick. You ain’t allowed-“

“Really? Okay!” Omar blushed at how over-excited he was.

“You ain’t allowed to touch my butt, and we ain’t kissin’,” Grizz said with a snarl. He looked up at the ceiling and crossed his arms over his chest.

Omar dropped to his knees in front of him. Craig had said he would give him a gift as partial payment for use of the shop, but Omar had assumed it was a taste of Craig’s dick. This, he thought, was just as good, maybe even better since it was new. Omar always enjoyed breaking in a fresh new cock.

The T-Girl in the Alley

Here’s the beginning of The T-Girl in the Alley, a new story of urban transgender erotica!

 

Tina very rarely slept with anyone, so when she awoke feeling the warmth that emanated from Hardneck’s body, she was momentarily surprised. She had plenty of sex, of course, she just very rarely allowed any men to actually sleep with her.

Hardneck was a special case — he was so sexy it hurt to look at him. He was a scruffy thickbody, with light skin that Tina’s grandmother would have called high yellow. Tina was pretty light-skinned too, but not pale enough to qualify as high yellow. Hardneck would have looked white if it weren’t for his tightly kinked black hair, squat nose and thick, full lips. His massive chest rose and fell as he breathed.

The sun was coming up. Tina knew Hardneck would want to get up soon, so she decided to wake him up in her own special way. She slowly moved her head under the covers, where the smell of his unwashed body filled the air.

She moaned and let her delicate fingers roam over his body. He didn’t react, still sound asleep. She made sure to angle her body so her own penis was nowhere’s near Hardneck — he was fine with sleeping with a transgender woman as long as he didn’t see or feel her penis.

His cock had flopped out the fly of his boxers, which made Tina giggle; it looked like a large snake trying to escape from his crotch. She licked his dick from tip to root. That at last made Hardneck shift and twitch, but he still didn’t wake up. Tina licked as gently and quietly as she could, hoping to get him hard and on the verge of orgasm before he awoke.

Hardneck’s harsh features were soft because he was asleep. He had looked cruel and vituperative when Tina first met him — that was his default look, always scowling, perpetually scolding when he spoke. Yo, bitch, hurry up, I’s tryin’-a sleep! That was what he had first said to her, one night when Tina drunkenly fumbled with her keys coming back home through the alley.

He lived in that alley at the time. He was homeless, or as he put it, between females right now. He said he’d get some beautiful white girl to hook up with him and then live with her for awhile. That was his plan, but it didn’t seem to be working.

Instead, he was living with Tina, who was not white and though she was a girl in her own way, Hardneck didn’t see her as a true girl. That hadn’t stopped him from treating her like one so long as he didn’t see her penis.

Yo, baby, you look good enough to eat. If you had a pussy, I would lick it clean, I’d be like a kitten with catnip, I be all over you, baby. I make you feel so good you melt in a little puddle of pussyjuice. You like dick, huh? I bet you do.

He had flopped his massive tan cock out right there in the alley, not even bothering to move behind the dumpster so he couldn’t be seen from the street. He waggled his dick back and forth and let Tina stroke it.

She hadn’t intended to give him a handjob there in the alley. She thought it was just harmless flirting. But he had moaned passionately, as though he had never felt anything as good as her hand on his dick.

Girl, move ya hand a bit, just a bit, okay? Move it up and down… I want you so bad, I need you…

He whispered in her ear, and Tina was seduced. She stroked him to full completion right there, and he shot his load in two minutes — Tina was very good at handjobs when she wanted to be.

Now, in bed, she didn’t want to be too good at handjobs. She stroked his dick gently, licking the tip with her tongue, until he was fully hard.

At last he gasped and murmured, “damn, girl, you gettin’ a headstart.”

It sounded like he meant to say something else too, but he bucked and a spasm of pleasure ran through him. His spine twisted, as though he had been on the verge of orgasm when he was asleep, and his mind caught up all at once now that he was awake.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Tina said from under the covers. She giggled as Hardneck’s whole body shook, and the salty taste of precum exploded in her mouth.

“Aaaaaaaah… Girl… Girl, you know how to treat a nigga right… Yeah, suck it deep, girl, make a mess.”

She obliged, choking up as much spit as she could, until it coated his spasming dickshaft and soaked into his pubic hair. A lot of saliva spilled down onto the bed too. She didn’t mind, she would wash her sheets today so her man would have a clean place to come home to.

“Alright, baby, you so special, you amazin’, girl, you treat me so right,” he said softly, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m-a treat you rough now. Don’t mean I love you any less.”

His firm hand wrapped around the back of her head, while the other grabbed her chin. He pistoned his dick all the way down her throat. It was a facefucking, but not in a violent or aggressive way. He made sweet love to her face, clucking his tongue when she gagged but inexorably forcing his dick all the way into her throat.

Downlow Thugs on City Streets

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Downlow Thugs on City Streets, a new story by Calvin Freeman, about the sexy man-on-man shenanigans that go on in urban Baltimore!

 

Chad didn’t try to act tough, and he made it very clear he was gay. He had been living in rough urban ghettos for most of his life, so he knew that was the best way to go — if he tried to be tough, people would challenge him. If he acted like a sexy flamboyant gay man, the thugs, addicts and drug dealers who lived around here would treat him more or less like a woman they weren’t attracted to: they’d ignore him.

That was what Chad wanted. So he didn’t worry about the eyes following him whenever he came into the courtyard of the Baltimore housing projects he lived in. He knew he looked good — slim, pale skin, blond hair, lithe and leanly muscled body visible beneath the bare midriff t-shirt and short shorts he wore. He heard snickering from the black men and women who filled the courtyard, but Chad didn’t care.

“Crack! Crack!”

“Want some rock, Pinkberry?”

There were two young black men sitting on a couch in the middle of the courtyard. They were there all the time. They offered Chad crack every time he walked past. It seemed they didn’t know of any other reason a gay white man might be here in the projects. They had to have figured out that Chad lived here by now, he thought, but they still acted like he was just hanging around looking for drugs.

“I can sell you whatchoo want, boy,” said the younger one, Brodie.

“You want tina? I can get you tina too,” said the older one, Marcus.

That impressed Chad enough to make him giggle as he passed them by. “Tina? Somebody’s been doing research.”

“You smoke meth?”

“No,” Chad said. “But I appreciate you looking up gay lingo online.”

“We aim to please, whiteboy.” Brodie said. He was younger, with a harsh, arrogant face — he looked like he was supposed to be a jock and bully, but had gotten sucked into a life of crime instead, so his jutting face was lined with premature wrinkles even though he wasn’t even old enough to drink. He had deep dimples and dark, flashing eyes. Chad had thought he was sexy since the moment he first saw him (Marcus was sort of hot too, in his way, but he was portly and scruffy; Brodie could have been a model, Chad thought). Brodie tried his best at a charming smile. “Cuz you look like you need a pipe in ya mouth, boy. Yo’ mouth is needin’ something to fill it, that’s for sure.”

They both guffawed and slapped hands with each other. Chad stood there and smiled, jutting his ass out so they could see how plump and round it was. They both glanced at it, then fell quiet and avoided looking at each other.

Finally Brodie added, “So wuzzup, you want that rock or not? Or meth?”

“I said no.”

“You ain’t actually say no about crack. You said no about meth.”

Chad made a big dramatic show of pondering the issue. He tapped on his forehead with one finger. “Well, Brodie, I’ll give you a simple yes or no answer, if you pull your cock out and let me take a look.”

Brodie sniffled and his eyes bugged out, but he affected a look of a nigga who ain’t care. He shrugged, flashing an annoyed look at Marcus — who seemed to think that was hilarious. Marcus screamed laughter, clapped his hands and ran in a little circle around the couch they were both sitting on.

“So…” Brodie winced and looked at Marcus. Brodie rolled his eyes. “Uh…” It was hard to say anything over the sound of Marcus screaming peals of laughter.

“Do it, nigga, c’mon. Don’t Stringer say do what you gotta do to make the sale?”

“He ain’t say he gonna buy somethin’, he just gonna tell me whether he into it,” Brodie said. “And we already know he ain’t cuz we asked him before.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Chad smiled and crossed his arms over his much more delicate chest. His skin rippled, visible because of that bare midriff his t-shirt exposed. “So you asked me before and you remember my answer? You already know whether or not I smoke crack?”

Brodie nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I know you don’t.”

“So why did you ask me again?”

“Cuz you might’ve started, man!” Brodie threw his hands in the air. “I don’t gotta do it.” He looked at Marcus, who was quieting down. “I ain’t gonna do it, nigga. It ain’t about a sale. He just wanna look at my dick.”

Chad nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. It’s kind of chilly today anyway, your dick is probably small right now. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Man…”

“I’m sure no one will ever find out I was considering buying some crack and only didn’t cuz you were too scared to show my your dick.”

“You ain’t considerin’!”

“You don’t know that. Every crackhead has a first time, Brodie,” Chad said.

“I ain’t scared. My dick ain’t small,” Brodie said.

“Well, then, ugly or whatever, I don’t know. Obviously there’s a reason you don’t feel safe whipping it out. That’s understandable. Gay men are catty bitches. If your dick doesn’t pass muster, I will critique it thoroughly,” Chad said, making Marcus erupt in laughter again.

“Man, fuck you, whiteboy,” Brodie said. He sucked on his teeth and glared at Marcus. He did that several times, like he kept deciding to do it, then changing his mind before talking himself into it again. “Man! Fine! Whatever, nigga! Marcus, shut ya face! Man, Marcus! Marcus!” He shook his head because Marcus ignored him. “Marcus, don’t act like a fuckin’ fool! Hey!”

“I’m waiting,” Chad said with an exaggerated yawn.

Brodie snarled. He unzipped his fly and reached in. He let a suitably massive cock flop out, making Chad blush a little and gasp. Brodie looked around, but no one was looking in his direction — Marcus danced around the courtyard laughing and attracting attention — so he swung his hips, making his cock bounce around.

Chad reached for it, wrapped one hand around it and squeezed. Brodie gasped. For just a moment, it felt like Brodie was going to allow this, and Chad would be able to give him a handjob. But then Brodie tucked his dick away and pushed Chad.

“Alright, you got ya peek, whiteboy,” Brodie said. “So go ahead and say yes or no.”

“He did it! He did it!” Marcus screamed, his face exuberant as though he had been waiting for this. “He whipped it out, nigga!”

“Marcus, shut up!”

Chad smiled. “Are you the kind of dealer who makes his customers suck him off sometimes?”

“No. I got females, nigga. Can’t use a crackhead’s blowjob to buy food for my mama, can I?”

Marcus scoffed. “You don’t buy food for ya mama-“

“It’s just an example, Marcus.”

Chad shrugged. “A pity. Well, my answer, Brodie, is no. I do not want to buy crack, but thanks for giving me a peek at your cock. It’s very nice. A little smooth for my taste, but I bet it gets veinier when it’s hard.”

“Yeah.”

Chad turned around. “I’m not going to give you permission to watch me walk away.” He shook his ass. “But I know you will.”

The Pimp

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah-“

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

“Yeah-“

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

“Sure, sure-“

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

“Yeah-“

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

“Uh… yeah-“

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

“Okay.”

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

“Oh. So you’re…?”

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

“Cool…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court

Here’s the first chapter of Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court, a new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s an incredible tale of rough trade, urban lust and mandingo meat!

“Blowjob.” Jake spoke quietly, hanging out near the basketball hoop. He didn’t want to attract a lot of attention, not from the crowd — he did want to attract attention from the two guys playing.

Jake was gay, and he was hanging out at the Wilson Street basketball court, like he used to do when he had just come out of the closet. Since then he had gone to college, started a career, had a long-term relationship with a jerk named Adam, dumped Adam, got really into homemade sushi, nearly made the disastrous decision to open his own sushi house, briefly hooked back up with Adam before dumping him again, and now he was back here at the Wilson Street basketball court once more.

“Blowjob.” Jake felt a little silly, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t planned on doing this until he drove by and saw his old haunt.

There were two young black men playing one-on-one basketball. They were both shirtless, their bare brown chests gleaming with sweat. One of them was very tall and lanky; the other was shorter and more muscular.

“Blowjob.”

“What?” said one of them, the taller one. He was named Hardesty, and he stopped moving near the basket after having scored.

“I’ll suck you off, man,” Jake said. He smiled flirtatiously at Hardesty, stepped forward and placed one finger on his chest. Hardesty furrowed his brow and looked down at the finger. Jake scooped up sweat from his pectoral muscle, then sucked it off his finger.

Hardesty chuckled. “You crazy, man.”

Jake nodded. “Maybe. But I suck dick good.”

“Hey, whatchoo doin’, come on,” said the shorter player, jogging over to Hardesty. “We got a game goin’ on.”

“Sweetlips over here gonna suck off the winner,” Hardesty said. He and the shorter guy were both out of breath but trying to hide it so they didn’t look weak to each other.

“He gonna suck me off?” the shorter man said with a grin. “I ain’t agree to that, but… well, okay-“

“Nah, the winner,” Hardesty said. “He gonna suck off the winner. Me.”

“Winner? You gotta score some points, nigga. You light-years behind right now.”

“I’s only behind cuz you off on some travel, nigga, you been travelin’ all over this court-“

“Oh, come on, there ain’t no ref to work, boy, you just gotta play-“

They continued bickering as they resumed play. Jake was disappointed. He hadn’t gotten any firm answer. But they didn’t say no either.

The game was over soon after. Maybe Hardesty really wanted the blowjob and it made him play harder, because he scored three times in quick succession, giving him the lead. When the game was over, Hardesty pounded on his chest and flexed his biceps towards the folks hanging out on the sidelines. Most of them didn’t pay any attention. The only person who cheered was Jake.

Hardesty smiled awkwardly at him, as the shorter player laughed and patted Hardesty’s bare belly. Hardesty bit his lip and made eye contact with Jake.

“You got that, boy,” the shorter player said as he walked away, shirt in hand. He cackled. “You nasty, Hardesty. He ain’t even dressed like a girl.”

“Don’t be hatin’ just cuz I got meat that needs attention, nigga! Real thugs like me gotta get they shit handled!” Hardesty called out loud enough to attract attention from the others, who giggled at him. Hardesty grabbed his dick through his shorts and smiled at the girls. “Hey, how you doin’?”

They didn’t give him the time of day. Hardesty scoffed and walked away, basketball in hand. He nodded at Jake, who quietly and surreptitiously followed him into the public bathroom. It was almost never used, so it wasn’t dirty, but it was almost never cleaned, so it wasn’t clean either. It was just dusty and grimy. Jake knew it well.

He immediately sunk to his knees, even before the door had swung shut. Hardesty blocked the door with the heavy trash can so they’d have some privacy.

“Ain’t seen you… uh… Damn, boy, you in a rush?” Hardesty grimaced at Jake’s eagerness. Jake pulled his shorts and boxers down, then kissed his dick right on the tip.

“I don’t see any reason to slow down,” Jake said with a grin. He put the tip of Hardesty’s cock in his mouth and hocked up spit right onto it. Hardesty groaned and leaned against the wall of the bathroom.

“Goddamn,” Hardesty said. He closed his eyes. “Shit… Boy, you are one crazy gay.”

Jake smiled. He slathered spit all over Hardesty’s rod, which made Hardesty gasp and bite his lip like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good. Hardesty shifted and wiggled.

As his cock stiffened up in Jake’s mouth, Hardesty lifted his shirt up. He didn’t take it off, but he raised it over his head and the back of his neck. He had ropy muscles, which Jake reached up to caress, his bulging biceps, flat belly — though he didn’t quite have a six-pack — and his mountainous pecs. His muscles all twitched as though he didn’t entirely want Jake to feel him up but thought it would be rude to say that.

Jake didn’t mind. When he used to suck basketball players off, a lot of them thought it seemed too gay to let Jake do anything besides suck cock. They sometimes got angry if he even massaged their asscheeks or played with their balls.

Luckily, Hardesty didn’t seem too bothered by it, even if he did dumbfoundedly watch Jake’s fingers explore his body. A few drops of sweat ran down his skin and onto Jake’s hand.

“Shit… This is some nasty thug shit. Why don’t girls ever suck like this, man?” Hardesty asked as he leaned back and sighed. His whole body wriggled and he bit his lip.

“Girls don’t have the right equipment,” Jake said. He flopped Hardesty’s dick over his face. “They don’t know how it feels. Besides, girls like relationships and stuff. They don’t just suck off hot guys. They’re so stupid. If I was a girl, I’d be the biggest slut in the world, oh my god. I’d suck off all the thugs.” Jake giggled as salty precum flowed over his tongue and his lips.

“I bet you would.” He paused. “Hey, you smoke weed?”

Jake nodded. “You got some? Light it up, baby-“

“Nah, nah, I’s sellin’. You wanna buy?”

“Oh… no thanks,” Jake said. “I’ve already got a guy.”

“Who? What’s his name? Tell me,” Hardesty said with a big grin. He moved his hips, swaying his cock back and forth over Jake’s face. Jake chased it with his tongue.

“Greg. You don’t know him.”

“He gay?”

Jake nodded.

“Why you buy weed from a gay? They ain’t thugs. They don’t know nothin’-“

“He’s really convenient, sorry,” Jake said. He grabbed Hardesty’s dick and licked it all up and down, hoping that would punctuate how final Jake’s decision was.

“You shouldn’t buy weed from whiteboys.”

“I didn’t say he was white. I said he was gay.”

“He a nigga?”

Jake nodded. “They can be both.”

Hardesty bristled a little and shifted his weight between his feet. “Guess that’s okay then. If he evuh run out or somethin’, you gimme a call, I can hook you up.” He paused. “You gonna swallow my nut, right?”

“Of course.” Jake resumed deep-throating while Hardesty beamed like he was getting away with something. Hardesty’s hands wrapped over Jake’s head and he held on tight.

Hardesty moved his hips as though he was going to facefuck Jake, but Jake didn’t cooperate — he kept on moving his head and sucking, sputtering up mountains of spit which he then suckled right off Hardesty’s dick. Hardesty groaned and moaned, twisting, squirming, wincing when he saw that his boxers were soaked with spit.

“Ah shit, whoah…” Hardesty yelped. He stood on his toes, then his knees buckled and he almost collapsed onto the floor. He leaned against the wall. “Alright, yeah… I can take it, boi, go ‘head, keep on suckin’.”

Jake smiled to himself. He had Hardesty right where he wanted him. He rammed his mouth all the way down and forced Hardesty’s dick deep into his gullet. The sweet, musky flavor of his manmeat assaulted Jake’s senses and made his eyes water.

A sound came from Hardesty’s mouth, a mixture between a bark and a grunt, with a long, low sputtering quality. A few drops of drool even slipped out past Hardesty’s lips as his cock sprayed cum right into Jake’s throat.

Jake was well-practiced at this part — he loved swallowing cum. He stayed on his knees, holding onto Hardesty’s body with his nose nestled in Hardesty’s sweat-musky crotch. His bristly pubic hair scratched Jake’s face.

“Ah! Oh! Oh shit! Ah! Ah, damn, ah damn, don’t move, boy, damn, ah, ah, ah, ah…”

Hot and creamy cum coated Jake’s throat, while Hardesty squirmed and gasped. The flavor of salty, sour juices flooded Jake’s senses, making him think of nothing but servicing Hardesty’s hot body. Even as Jake felt himself growing dizzy from lack of oxygen, he stayed right there, swallowing every drop of cum.

Then he pulled off, with a loud lip-smacking moan. He had sprayed his own wad onto the linoleum floor of the public bathroom.

Hardesty had his eyes closed. He was a little pale, and he looked like he might cry. His whole body shook. “Holy shit, goddamn…” He sunk to the ground.

“Was that your first time?”

Hardesty chuckled dryly. “Yeah, man. I was gonna lie, I was gonna pretend I did this before. But… I ain’t got the energy to lie, man. I ain’t nevuh get a blowjob like that before. You my first male and… damn, you suck like you got somethin’ to prove.”

“You have a nice dick.”

“I think you ruined it man,” he said with a sigh. He was on the ground, his pants and boxers around his ankles. “Damn, you got me on the ground in this place. It’s nasty.”

“You want help up?” Jake asked as he stood and stretched his sore knees.

“Nah, man. Lemme just… I gotta recover, man. You got a cigarette? I don’t smoke, but…” He took a cigarette from Jake, who even lit it first for him. He took a deep drag off it. Despite his words, it looked like he did smoke — he inhaled like he knew what he was doing, and he didn’t cough.

Jake moved the trash can that blocked the door. Then he wrote down his phone number and gave it to Hardesty. “Anytime you want me to rock your world again, gimme a call.”

He walked out before the bleary-eyed Hardesty could come up with an answer.

The Homo Thug

Here’s the first chapter from The Homo Thug, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!

 

Jason poured drinks for the Nine Tats, but he tried not to listen to what they had to say. He pretended to be like a robot, barely able to understand words spoken directly at it. He always pretended to have trouble hearing the men when they asked for another drink or some food, that way they wouldn’t ever worry that he had overheard anything he wasn’t supposed to hear.

On the night he met Ratty, however, Jason had trouble looking away because Ratty was so sexy. Ratty was a rather short man, old for a thug — nearly forty, his cornrows streaked with gray, scruffy beard covering his chin and neck — with a deep, gravelly voice. He had been in prison since he was sixteen and had just been released a few weeks ago.

“Yo, sweetheart, I say gimme some chips,” Ratty said emphatically, like he had said it before.

Jason had truly not noticed. For once he didn’t have to pretend that he didn’t hear. Ratty scoffed like Jason should have heard, and Jason nodded. He flashed a limp wrist and a lilting grin in Ratty’s direction. “Sure thing, sugar, I’ve got tortilla chips and-“

“I ain’t Mexican, sweetheart, get me potato chips. Damn…” Ratty scoffed.

The others snickered at him. Jason hurried back to the bar, where there was luckily a bag of potato chips. Last time he was here, he had clipped the bag shut, but that was a week ago and he wasn’t sure if the chips were stale or not. He poured some out into a bowl and brought a bottle of beer for Malik, who was pounding them back tonight. Ratty wasn’t drinking because he was on parole, and his ankle monitor would go off if he had any alcohol.

Everyone laughed at Ratty. He smiled at Jason when he took the bowl of potato chips. He licked his lips, and Jason blushed, scurrying away. Ratty cackled and stuffed potato chips into his mouth.

He had just been released from prison earlier today, so he was hungry and craved snack-food like chips. If they were stale, he didn’t seem to notice. He and the other Nine Tats discussed their plans — Jason refused to listen to what the plan was, but he had gathered it involved taking on the Graybloods of 99th Street. He hoped he didn’t hear any more details beyond that.

“My lips is gettin’ dry, sweetheart,” Ratty said pointedly, pulling Jason out of his reverie. Jason must have again not heard him several times — it was genuinely hard to hear Ratty, who spoke with a low prison growl.

Jason hurried to him with a glass of apple juice. That’s what Ratty was drinking instead of alcohol. Ratty looked at him like he wanted to fuck Jason, but Jason dismissed that as his imagination.

Surely, Ratty wasn’t about to fuck him? He was straight, wasn’t he? He certainly acted just as straight as any other Nine Tat. Jason knew that a lot of straight men changed their ways behind bars, but Ratty was out now, and he was part of a gang that had hundreds of prostitutes working all over the city — Ratty could get women any time he wanted. And he probably wouldn’t even need whores because he was, despite being a bit dirty and scary, very sexy.

So why was everyone looking at Jason as though there something he didn’t know?

“Shake yo’ ass a little as you walk away from me, boy,” Ratty said when Jason left the table.

Jason blushed and grinned. He shook his ass, and the men burst into laughter. Ratty was the only one who remained quiet.

Did he know that Jason was gay? Maybe not, maybe that was why he acted like this, Jason thought, maybe Ratty assumed he was teasing and scaring Jason because he assumed Jason was straight while the others thought it was funny because they knew Jason was gay. Was it possible Ratty didn’t realize Jason was gay? That seemed unlikely. Ratty had to have figured it out — Jason was slim, flamboyant, delicate. No one had ever thought he was straight before. Besides that, it was traditional for the Nine Tats to have a gay man serve drinks when they got together to plan schemes, count money or weigh drugs. Women were distracting, and straight men were a likely threat, so they always hired some local gay man like Jason. And they sometimes fucked him on the downlow before the night was through, which was why Jason agreed to do it. So Ratty should have guessed Jason was gay even before he met him.

Ratty lookin’ at Pinkbutt ovuh there like he a starvin’ man lookin’ at a buffet. You gonna eat his butt wit’ a spoon, Ratty?

Man, make Ratty quit it wit’ that homo thug shit. Fuckin’ nasty.

Jason’s curiosity was piqued. A homo thug, dear reader, is a black thug who was can hold his own in a gang like the Nine Tats even though he openly has sex with men — homo thugs almost never identify as gay; it is, instead, it’s own orientation. But they do openly engage in sex with men, usually exclusively.

Was Ratty a real homo thug? Jason had no idea. He wasn’t even certain it was a real phenomenon. It would certainly explain why Ratty looked at him like he wanted to fuck. Actually, Jason thought, Ratty looked at him like he wanted to wait until the lights went out and then fuck him silly.

He was watching Jason clean up the bar. He licked his lips and let out a low rumbling growl. The others rolled their eyes when they noticed, but they didn’t say anything. Ratty was perceived as old and out-of-touch, but he had been loyal to the gang in his decades on the inside; he had given up his adulthood for the Nine Tats. No one made fun of him for it; they just ignored him and made plans around his undressing of Jason with his eyes.

Soon it was clear that the planning stage was done. They still spoke about their plans, but about half of them were very drunk or stoned. Ratty was the only sober thug there. Jason was sober too, he never drank while serving drinks to the Nine Tats because he didn’t trust himself to behave and avoid getting himself in trouble.

Yo, Ratty, nigga, if you wanna fuck the prettyboy, just go fuck him, man. Quit lookin’ at him like you gonna bake him in a pie and eat ‘im up. It’s distractin’.

“Shut up, nigga.” Ratty said softly. The others snickered at him. Jason listened but kept his eyes averted. He kept wiping down the counter as though it wasn’t already clean.

When Jason couldn’t resist the urge any longer, he glanced up. He made eye contact with Ratty’s dark eyes, and a shiver of both fear and desire ran up Jason’s spine. Ratty must have made some kind of sound because everyone laughed — Jason didn’t hear it, whatever it was — and looked at Jason with a mixture of disgust and pity.

“Yo, sweetheart,” Ratty said as he stood. He had a blatant erection in his low-slung pants, which looked like they were about to fall down. The other thugs burst into hysterical laughter; about half of them looked like they genuinely thought it was funny, the other half were horrified but covering it up with nervous laughter.

Get that hard-on away from my face, nigga.

Old nigga got hisself a date! Gonna fall in love, yessir!

Yo, Jason, bend over, grab yo’ ankles and make a sound like a fat whiteboy cryin’. That’s what ol’ nigga likes!

Jason was so shocked he couldn’t move even if he had wanted to. He had that bar-rag in his hand, bent over the counter, as Ratty came behind the bar to meet him. He walked quietly but quickly, like he wanted to sneak up on Jason and trap him behind the bar.

He leaned in real close, breath condensing on Jason’s cheek. “Yo, sweetheart, I am gonna fuck. I wanna fuck you. If you still standin’ here in a few seconds, I am gonna start. If you don’t want me to fuck you, you best run outta here right now. I won’t stop you. Maybe I might pick one of them comedian niggas over there to replace ya.”

They all stopped laughing when they heard that — Ratty said it loud enough they could hear. They exchanged nervous glances. The basement was deathly silent.

“You still here, sweetheart. That cuz you scared or cuz-?”

“No. I wanna fuck,” Jason said softly and breathlessly.

“Good. You like it hard, right?”

“Yes-“

“Dirty?”

“Yes-“

“You gonna take it real nasty, right?”

“Yes, papi,” Jason said with a giggle. He touched Ratty’s chest, prompting Ratty to growl seductively and wrinkle his nose.

“Oh, boy, you tryin’-a make me lose control, ain’t ya? Shake that ass again.”

Yo, where you two gonna take this little show?

Jason looked up at the other thugs as though surprised they were still there. He lifted his ass and shook it in front of Ratty, backing himself up until his asscheeks hit Ratty’s crotch. He could feel that massive erection, and Jason rubbed his ass against it. He moaned and giggled again.

“Ain’t no show, nigga, ‘nless you stay and watch it.”

I’m out.

Later, niggas. I can’t watch this.

Yeah, I need a note from my mama to see this, and she ain’t gonna approve.

They all laughed and stood. No one wanted to seem so squeamish that they had to run out of there, so none of them hurried. But it was obvious they were in a rush to leave.

This is my basement. I should make them leave.

Go ahead and try, nigga. Gonna have to get a hose, I ‘xpect.

Shit, a hose? A hose just gonna give ‘em ideas.

That made them laugh again as they filtered out, leaving half-drunk beers and even cell phones sitting there on the table. Jason leaned over the counter, with Ratty behind him, very close, his body heat palpable. He took a deep breath and exhaled right on Jason’s cheek.

“We alone now, sweetheart. We can do amazin’ things alone,” Ratty said softly. One of his hands wrapped over Jason’s neck — not squeezing, just holding on tightly — and his other bent Jason over the counter. “You is one pretty boy, I swear. When I saw yo’ ass bouncin’ and jumpin’ up and down, I just ‘bout lost control, sweetheart. I bet you get big niggas runnin’ up to you on the street to bend you over and fuck ya. I bet no one can resist yo’ ass, boy.”

“Well…” Jason giggled. “It’s not as common as you might think.”

“You gonna cry when I fuck you?”

“No…”

“Good,” Ratty said. “You wanna suck my dick now?”

“Yeah…” Jason’s voice was weak and strained.

“Do it then, nigga. Ain’t no time like the present,” he said. He was leaning forward, virtually on top of Jason. So when Jason tried to sink to his knees, he had to rub himself against the entire front of Ratty’s body. He dropped to his knees, crammed into the tiny space between Ratty and the counter behind the bar.

Ratty smelled a little funky. It was, Jason assumed, the smell of prison — though he knew Ratty had showered, he had told the others how much he enjoyed his first shower as a free man — clinging to his skin. He undid the fly of Ratty’s jeans and his giant veiny cock popped out.

Jason intended to tease him a little bit. He stuck his tongue out and got a few tastes of its salty savoriness, but he didn’t actually lick it yet. He thwacked it over his face and giggled at Ratty letting out a moan.

But Ratty didn’t let Jason delay it for long. He leaned against the bar-counter and jammed his cocktip right into Jason’s mouth. He grunted and took off his shirt.

“Yeah, boy, suck it deep, you got such pretty lips… Lemme see them lips.” He pulled his dick out and smiled down at Jason as he smacked his lips. He rubbed his dick over Jason’s lips. Then he fed his dick back down Jason’s throat, slowly but firmly. “Look me in the eye when you suck my dick, boy.”

His cock twitched, making Jason sputter, but Ratty cooed and patted his cheek. He squeezed Jason’s face just a bit, enough to get Jason’s attention. He repeated his command to look him in the eye.

Jason managed to make eye contact with intense focus. He couldn’t breathe, and the flavor of Ratty’s cock assaulted his senses, but Jason loved forcing himself to look up while Ratty slowly drilled his dick in deeper. Ratty had deep, dark eyes. Though the rest of his face was stony and menacing, Jason could sense a deep caring kindness in his eyes.

“Open that throat up, sweetheart,” he said. “When I pull my dick out to give you a breath in a minute-“ He spoke softly and evenly without breaking the rhythm of his penetration. “-I’ll give you five seconds. That alright? You want more time?”

Jason just nodded. He didn’t entirely understand what Ratty was asking because he was too focused on sucking cock, but he trusted Ratty to make the decision. Ratty nodded back at him.

He pulled his dick out, and held Jason’s head firmly in place with Ratty’s cock right in front of the mouth. Jason gasped hoarsely for air. Ratty silently counted using his fingers. He held up all five fingers on his left hand right in front of Jason’s face, then counted down until all his fingers were down and there was just a fist hovering in front of Jason’s face.

Then he rammed his dick right back in. Jason moaned as the flavor of Ratty’s unwashed musk hit him all over again. This time, his dick was slick with precum, its salty taste coating Jason’s tongue and making him gurgle for more.

“Good boy, good boy…” Ratty leaned his head back, both of his hands on Jason’s scalp to keep him in place. “There you go, you got my balls on yo’ chin. Ain’t a proper blowjob if you don’t got balls on yo’ chin.” He lifted himself up and down with his ankles, rubbing his balls against Jason’s chin.

Ratty repeated that cycle a few times. He told Jason what to do every step of the way. He pointed to specific spots on his cockshaft he wanted Jason to lick — he especially liked it when Jason’s tongue traced the outline of the veins that ran up and down his dick. When he fucked Jason’s throat for a minute or so, he gave him five seconds to breathe, counting down with his fingers; he didn’t do that in a harsh or threatening way, more like he was very concerned with efficiency and didn’t want to waste any time on breathing that wasn’t necessary.

Eventually, however, he switched to rubbing his entire crotch over Jason’s face — Jason just kept his mouth open and his tongue out, and Ratty made sure he licked every part of his cock and balls.

“You ready for me to destroy that hole, sweetheart?” Ratty said with a low rumbling growl.

“Yes, papi, please-“

“Oh shit, sweetheart, don’t call me papi in that girl-voice, it makes me so hot I can’t stop myself. You might never walk straight again if I keep hearin’ that,” Ratty said. He bristled, shifting his weight back and forth as Jason very slowly stood. Jason licked a trail up Ratty’s bare chest muscles. Then he dramatically hesitated as he undid his belt. Ratty licked his lips and flared his nostrils, watching like it was the climax of a movie he had been waiting years to see.

When Jason’s ass was finally bare, Ratty gripped both cheeks with callused fingers. Jason twitched and moaned as soon as Ratty’s dick touched his asshole. Jason had a tube of lube behind the bar, which he gave to Ratty — Ratty seemed to be intending on using nothing but his own spit as lubricant, which Jason assumed was normal in prison but wasn’t going to fly here. Ratty had a huge horse-cock that Jason wasn’t about to take without lube.

“Open that ass, sweetheart, lemme in.” Ratty growled again.

Even with lube, there was a twinge of pain when Jason first accepted it. Though Ratty carried himself like he was going to ram it in as agonizingly as possible, he was actually very gentle. The first inch or so of his cock slid in and Jason twitched. He grunted and Ratty stopped moving.

“You tell me when you ready, sweetheart. I just stand here waitin’,” he said. He stood with his legs a little bit apart, arms at his sides like a soldier at attention. His cocktip throbbed in Jason’s ass.

Soon, Jason felt himself relaxing, and he slid himself back farther. Ratty kept his arms at his side as long as he could, then when he moaned and shuddered with pleasure, Ratty’s hands flailed above Jason’s back. Finally Ratty crossed his arms over his chest.

“Back up on it, sweetheart, back up on it,” Ratty said with a snort. He watched Jason back all the way up on his massive dick, moaning and groaning with every inch slipping into his tight hole.

Finally Jason felt Ratty’s pubic hair rub against his ass. Jason moaned, scarcely able to believe that he had taken an entire foot of cock in his ass without much pain. The pressure was intense, but it was all pleasure, throbbing, tingling deep within him.

“Alright, boy, now you gonna get fucked,” Ratty said. He kissed Jason on the cheek. “Yo’ whole body gonna-“

If there’s a mess, Malik, use yo’ tongue to clean it up!

What’s it smell like?

An outpouring of laughter filled the air. Jason had trouble paying attention, but he saw Malik sneaking into the basement from the side door — the other thugs had collected near the door and catcalled at him; it looked like Malik had intended to sneak in and get his cell phone off the table without seeing or being seen by Jason and Ratty. But his friends now yelled and thought it was hilarious when Ratty roared at them.

“Yo, nigga, come here and lick this boy’s ass off my dick! Huh? Where you goin’?! I got goopy boy-butt all over my dick, Malik, I need you to clean it off!” Ratty yelled. He made a fist and flexed his biceps in Malik’s direction.

But Malik just grabbed all the cell phones that had been left on the table and ran out the door. His friends tried to push him back in, and there was an explosion of shouting. Eventually Malik made it back out, however, and the door slammed shut.

“Sorry ‘bout the interruption, boy,” Ratty said. “They don’t know nothin’ ‘bout romance. They’s a bunch of young pups. You want me to beat ‘em up?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Jason said, his voice softly feminine because the surprise of the encounter with Malik had caused a surge in his hormones. His heart skipped a beat, and Jason was on the verge of orgasm.

“You gonna blow yo’ nut?”

“Yes, papi…”

“Good… Cum in yo’ hand, okay?” He spoke directly, growlingly, into Jason’s ear. That was enough to send Jason over the edge as Ratty’s cock slammed into his prostate one more time.

Jason bucked and grunted, all of his ladylike grace vanishing as an orgasm ripped through him. Ratty groaned too and shot his load at the same time. He filled Jason’s ass with his creamy seed, his powerful muscles flexing above Jason’s back. He held Jason’s head and back tightly to keep him in position.

The most potent orgasm of Jason’s life wracked his mind and his body. Jason’s muscles twisted and flexed beneath Ratty’s pounding, and he writhed passionately as he clutched at Ratty’s muscles.

It took all of his mid-orgasm concentration, but Jason managed to shoot his wad into his cupped palm. He trembled and spilled some, however, as he accepted Ratty’s massive load deep in his ass.

“Good boy, sweetheart, you know how to do it right…” Ratty moaned softly, his breath condensing on Jason’s neck.

He was limp and spent, exhausted, using all of his strength to keep his hand full of cum elevated so he didn’t spill. Ratty spewed an incredible stream, endless like he had built it up over his years in lockup, the heat and creamy texture seeping into Jason’s body and warming up his flesh.

“Open up, lemme watch you swallow that nut, sweetheart…” Ratty said as the last few drops of cum spilled into Jason’s ass. He guided Jason’s hand to his mouth, and he watched Jason open up. Ratty tilted Jason’s palm so his entire gob of cum landed in Jason’s mouth.

Then Ratty forced Jason’s mouth shut. He watched closely, dick twitching and falling limp. Then he kissed Jason on the lips. His tongue plunged into Jason’s mouth.

That kiss lasted forever. Jason fell limp, but he was kept aloft by Ratty’s powerful arms. They both ended up on the floor there. Ratty didn’t pull out for what seemed like a long time — though Jason had no sense of time anymore, so he wasn’t sure how long it had actually been — he just laid there on the floor with Jason in a bear hug, his dick gradually limpening inside Jason’s ass.

Then he finally pulled out. By then, Jason was mostly asleep. Ratty kissed him on the back of the neck. “I won’t be here when you wake up, boy,” he said softly, “but I’ll stay here till then so you can sleep in my arms.”

Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Black Cop Stepman

Here’s the entirety of Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Black Cop Stepman, a hot story by Otto Van Raunchenhausen! It’s part of the Taboo Night-Time Affair series, all of which is in Kindle Unlimited!

Ian woke up just as the fight was getting really bad. He heard his mother scream, “Don’t you talk to me like that, asshole!”, and it was her voiceless shout of anger that actually woke Ian. Then there was a loud bang as though she had thrown something at Daddy Travis and hit the wall. Whatever it was shattered.

“I tol’ you I’d be late!”

“You promised you wouldn’t work this late anymore! You promised!”

“I know, but-“

“No buts! When you promise me something, I expect you to follow through! You bastard! You can sleep on the couch!”

“It’s too small…” his voice trailed off as she slammed the door shut. He sighed loudly and walked away.

Ian felt a guilty sense of relief. He had come to like Daddy Travis in the years since he married Ian’s mother, but it was difficult to overcome first impressions. He had hated his stepfather for so long he still enjoyed it when Daddy Travis got in trouble. He got a vicarious sense of satisfaction out of hearing Mama yell at him because Ian had wanted to yell at him for a long time.

The floorboards creaked as Daddy Travis went out to the living room. The police radio he always wore crackled into life, but the dispatcher wasn’t speaking to him. Ian heard him wait motionless in the living room. He must have considered sleeping on the couch, then decided against it — that wasn’t surprising, since he was much taller than the couch was long. He’d probably sleep on the floor, which was something he had done before.

But much to Ian’s surprise, that isn’t what he did. Daddy Travis slid the door open to Ian’s bedroom. He stood there in the dark as though waiting to see if Ian was awake.

Ian lifted his head. “Travis?”

He came in and nodded. He began unbuttoning his uniform shirt. “Is it okay if I sleep in here wit’ you? Yo’ mama and me… we’s havin’ a fight.” He had light brown skin that was smooth, marked with only a few tattoos, most prominently the symbol of his police department on his neck. The lean muscles of his toned body writhed in the moonlight as he came over to the bed and took off his boots. “I don’t wanna sleep on the floor, Ian, it hurts my back somethin’ fierce.”

Ian nodded and said yes. It seemed Daddy Travis had assumed the answer was yes anyway; he didn’t wait for Ian to agree. He sighed loudly as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Though he had unbuttoned his uniform shirt, he didn’t take it off. He just sighed and dropped onto his back on the bed. He laid there for a moment, motionless and quiet except for his loud breathing, on the covers and next to Ian. The smell of beer was heavy on his breath, and he burped loudly.

“You’re drunk?”

“Niggas don’t get drunk, Ian,” he said. He didn’t elaborate on that. His voice sounded slurred though — he was drunk, at least a little bit.

“You shouldn’t break your promises to Mom,” Ian said.

“Don’t you start on me too,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t you get it? I keep this town safe-“

“You’re not the only cop.”

“I know, but I’m the best,” he said. Ian could hear the smile in his voice. “I feel like this town might fall apart if I don’t do everything I can to fix it.”

“You’re not gonna wipe out crime, Travis. You can’t fix everything,” Ian said..

“You don’t understand, nigga, I came from the ghetto. I can’t just abandon-“ he paused and laughed. “Did I just call you my nigga?”

Ian giggled and nodded. “You do that when you’re drunk,” he said. He scooted closer to Daddy Travis, so close he could smell the sweat clinging to the shirt he had taken off but still lay on top of. As soon as he moved closer, Daddy Travis stopped laughing, and Ian blushed, wondering if he had embarrassed himself.

“You knew Robert Winchell?”

“Robbie? Yeah. We went to high school together.”

“Oh. I arrested him tonight. He’s a meth dealer,” Daddy Travis said.

“Oh. Wow. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Ian said. Robbie had always been a trashy white thug, so if he had had to pick one person he went to high school with who started selling meth, that’s who it’d be.

“You hang out with him?”

“No! We ended up at the same parties sometimes, but we didn’t hang out. He was always smoking weed with the potheads out back,” Ian said. He didn’t mention that he was usually smoking weed there too.

“Good. Don’t mess around with that stuff, Ian.”

“I don’t! I don’t do meth, I barely even drink,” Ian said. He found that his body had scooted closer to Daddy Travis’. It wasn’t really deliberate, it was just the weight of his stepfather’s body on the mattress weighed it down, pushing Ian closer to him. Ian didn’t mind. He loved his stepfather’s musky, coconut butter smell. His hand was touching Travis’ thigh through his jeans, which sent a shiver of sexual anticipation up Ian’s spine.

After a long, awkward silence, Travis cleared his throat and said, “I know you… Uh… Look…. You can tell me anything, you know. And yo’ mama is gonna love you no matter what.”

“I know.” Ian’s voice trembled, unsure what his stepfather was trying to say.

“She don’t care that you’re gay,” he said.

Another long pause filled the room. Ian wasn’t out of the closet. He had just started visiting gay bars and had briefly had a sort-of boyfriend. He had never had sex before. But as far as his mother was concerned, he was straight.

“It’s okay, neither do I,” he said. “My partner saw you at the Dirty Dancer.”

“Oh. I thought I ducked out in time,” Ian said quietly, avoiding Travis’ intense stare. Last time he had been at the Dirty Dancer, the cops showed up when a fight broke out. Ian had managed to escape out the back door, worried that Daddy Travis or one of his coworkers would recognize Ian. Apparently he hadn’t been sneaky enough.

“You can tell yo’ mama whenever you’s ready,” Travis said. He leaned over and wrapped an arm around Ian’s prone body, his warm muscles and inviting chest sending a thrill of arousal through Ian’s sleepy mind. He stirred and again scooted closer to his stepfather, the edges of his police badge pressing into Ian’s shoulder. “You a virgin?”

Ian hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

His voice soft and weak as though nearly asleep, Daddy Travis murmured, “You wanna me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” he said without giving it a moment’s thought. He gulped. He had never really acknowledged how much Daddy Travis turned him on, though he always had, from the moment Mama introduced him. Ian had masturbated dreaming of this exact scenario on many occasions. He loved the way Daddy Travis’ muscular chest barely fit in his uniform shirt, biceps bulging against the seams, broad shoulders straining within the fabric. When he was off, he walked around the house in his boxers, slung low so his ass was slightly visible, the big bulge in his crotch attracting Ian’s attention and making it hard to concentrate. He wore a jockstrap with a cup most days because perps had kicked him in the balls on many occasions, so even in his uniform slacks, his mouth-watering bulge was apparent. That was what he still wore now, and since he lay on his back, the bulge was even more prominent than usual. Ian’s arms felt weak with anxiety and self-consciousness, since he was so skinny, bulgeless and twig-limbed compared to Daddy Travis’ gym-toned muscles.

“Whatchoo wanna do?” Daddy Travis said, reclining on his back as though to suggest his body was open for Ian. “You can go to town, boy… Y’ain’t gonna tell yo’ mama, right?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said. “We gonna fuck on the downlow.” His body twitched as Ian awkwardly placed one hand on his chest, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt. His pecs were softball-sized rocks beneath Ian’s fingers; he had never felt muscle like this before, except on the few occasions Daddy Travis hugged him. His fingers crept to Travis’ nipples. Travis groaned. “You know what downlow means?”

“Kinda,” Ian said. His hand moved lower and lower until it slipped under Daddy Travis’ uniform slacks. His belt was loose so Ian’s fingers crept in easily, to the moist and warm hairy nest of his crotch. Ian had an idea of what downlow meant, but only because he had heard the black kids talk about it in the locker room, laughing and accusing each other of being on the downlow. Ian had no idea what it meant then, he just knew it turned him on, and he gathered the gist of it the longer he stayed there sneaking glances at their naked bodies.

“It means what happens in the dark, stays in the dark,” Daddy Travis said. “I’m a little drunk anyway. It don’t count in the dark. It don’t count if you’s drunk. It don’t count if you’s family. It don’t count in jail neither, but that one don’t apply here. Ya understand? Girls never get that. Sex is always an emotional thing for them. It always counts, as far as they’re concerned.” He scoffed. “Bitches!”

“Yeah…” Ian said, his mind too distant to pay attention. His fingers touched Travis’ dick, which was hot and veiny, throbbing as it grew hard beneath his grasp. Ian had touched cocks before, but it was never as sexy as this; he had never touched a black man either, and he wondered if the slick, vascular smoothness of the shaft was characteristic of black men. The handful of gay white men he had shared handjobs with were more clammy and spongy even when hard, but Daddy Travis felt sexier and harder even before he was erect.

He unzipped Travis’ slacks and pulled his dick out of his pants. He gave it a stroke and moved his head lower and lower. He hesitated, then let his mouth encircle the tip.

Having never tasted cock before but having fantasized about it many times a day since he was a middle-schooler, Ian was turned on instantly by the flavor. He moaned exquisitely and moved his head lower.

Soon his nose was ensconced in the kinky pubic hair of Daddy Travis’ crotch, which smelled of soap and black man’s musk. Ian inhaled deeply of the scent, his dick spasming inside the boxers he slept in. His hands roamed over Travis’ trunk-like thighs and the smooth muscles of his chest.

Daddy Travis took his shirt the rest of the way off and guided his head up and down. His dick turned hard in Travis’ mouth. The flavor of his masculine meat was so spicy and so pungent it brought tears to Ian’s eyes as his veiny shaft pulsated between Travis’ lips.

Much to Ian’s surprise, Daddy Travis didn’t act like what he assumed a straight man would in this scenario. He didn’t just lean back and let his dick leak precum down Ian’s throat. Instead, his hands roamed from Ian’s smooth back down to his ass and even into his crotch. He stroked Ian’s dick to full erection.

Ian wondered how common this was for him — was Daddy Travis on the downlow all the time? His friend and partner, the only other black cop in town, was named Winston, and he was a burly, hairy sheriff; the thought of them awkwardly fumbling with each other in the dark made Ian shudder with desire. He wanted to watch that more than anything.

They both jumped, startled, when the radio flickered into life. It was still attached to Travis’ pants on the ground.

Dispatch to Unit Eighteen.

Travis groaned. “He’ll remember I’m off-duty now, in a second.” He and Ian remained still and silent as though if they made a sound, the dispatcher would know where Travis was and make him come back to work.

Dispatch to Unit Eighteen. Where you at, Travis?

He dropped his arm to the ground and fished around for the radio. He pulled the entire pair of pants up along with it and spoke into the receiver. Ian kept his mouth on Daddy Travis’ dick the whole time, even as he spoke into the radio.

“This is Unit Eighteen, Dispatch. I’m off now. I’m at home. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

Oh. An emergency caller is requesting you.

“Is it Sheila Brandon?”

Yes it is.

“She’s crazy, Jim. She thinks black folk can’t be replaced by reptilian doppelgängers, that’s why she wants me,” Travis said. He closed his eyes and leaned back, his cock pulsating deep in Ian’s throat.

Well, she was throwing bottles at Scotty.

“She don’t like white people. Send Rizzer over. He’s dark-skinned. Tell him to pretend he’s a real light-skinned ni… African American,” he said, censoring himself since he was speaking on a public band. “She’ll believe that. She’s kinda stupid too. Stupid and crazy, the Alabama double-whammy.”

She said she’ll only talk to you. She said she’ll keep throwing stuff at anyone who comes to her door, until she talks to you again.

“Then she’ll have to wait until five o’clock tomorrow, Jim. Leave me alone. I’m going to sleep,” Travis said. “Or whatever, have Scotty tase her or ask her out on a date or hire a lady-boxer to take her down or he could just wear a helmet. I don’t care, as long as you don’t get me involved. I’m off now. I’m trying to spend some quality time with my wife, and you are not invited, Jim.” He held on to Ian’s head as he fed his dick down deeper. It got even harder as he talked, as though either frustration or subterfuge made him horny. He groaned, cockmeat spasming in Travis’ mouth.

Fine. Ten-four. Love you, Travvie-Wavvie.

“I hate that fucker,” Travis said to Ian as he dropped the radio to the ground. “Goddamn honky. Your family is cool, Ian. Jim at dispatch is a fuckin’ honky.”

Ian giggled around Travis cock. He licked down the shaft, tracing the track of a bulging vein as he went. The flavor of Travis’ manhood grew more intense the lower he went, the more his scent moved from clean soap to masculine musk.

Moving on pure instinct now, not worrying about whether he was doing this right, Ian moved to mount his stepfather. He placed his legs on either side of Daddy Travis’ hips and put their cocks together. Travis’ meat was hot as fire, and as solid as steel. Ian felt cold and insubstantial in comparison, and his skinny body jerked in stark contrast to Daddy Travis’ bulky frame, which flexed sinuously as pleasure overwhelmed them both.

Travis jerked and spasmed like he was uncomfortable with their cock-on-cock contact, then sighed as their precums mixed, running down their shared shafts and Ian’s hands. The sensation of creamy fluid lubricating their meatsticks made Ian shudder with desire.

The rock-hard feel of Travis’ throbbing cock next to his made Travis tingle with anticipation. He knew what was coming next, and he could see it in Daddy Travis’ eyes. The thought of being penetrated made Ian nervous, but he wanted to do it more than anything.

“You wanna sit on it, boi?”

“Yes,” Ian said without giving it a second thought. He scooted forward and lifted himself up, moaning as he did — he had never thought he’d lose his virginity like this, to his stepfather. It was already the most exciting thing he had ever done.

A biting pain hit him as he lowered himself onto Travis’ cock. Travis bit his lip as well, and Ian held his breath. The pain was excruciating, and he almost backed out.

But then pleasure washed over him as well. Like a switch had been flipped, the pain was still there but the pleasure overwhelmed it. He grunted, and Daddy Travis did likewise.

He didn’t stop stroking Ian off; he just closed his eyes and let Ian lift himself up and down, gradually working every inch of Travis’ big black meat inside him.

Ian was so aroused he shot his load almost immediately. He grunted and choked. He spasmed, sending fresh waves of bliss and agony up his spine.

His cum sprayed out over Daddy Travis’ chest, some of it even soaking into the uniform shirt he had only shrugged off, so it still lay on the bed behind him. Ian kneaded the sweat-dappled flesh of Travis’ muscles as wave after wave of orgasm ran over his body. Travis didn’t even mind when cum hit his lips and chin, he just licked it up and grimaced at the flavor.

Gripping his stepfather’s shoulders for support, Ian rode his cock the best he could. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this right, but Daddy Travis looked like he couldn’t believe the pleasure he felt; his face was scrunched up, eyes closed tight. His hands caressed Ian’s smooth, pale torso, and he moaned as pleasure overtook him. He even stroked Ian’s limp, cum-moistened cock, squeezing out every drop of juice.

It didn’t take very long for Daddy Travis to finish as well. Ian could feel it coming a few seconds before it arrived; he felt it in the spasming of Travis’ muscles and his cock pulsating deep within Ian.

Hot cum sprayed inside him coating his innards. The creamy warmth spread throughout his body, seeping into his very soul. He knew then that all his doubts about being gay were gone — this was what sex was supposed to be, for him.

He didn’t want to pull off. He stayed there, letting Daddy Travis’ dick go soft inside him. Then he kissed each of Travis’ pecs and laid down next to him.

Daddy Travis let out a snort, then rolled over onto his side, wrapping his powerful arms around Ian’s body. He buried his grizzled face and chin in the back of Ian’s neck, and he kissed the smooth skin there.

“What time is your alarm set for?”

“Seven.”

“Good. Make sure I get up, okay? I don’t want yer mama to find us like this,” he said. “You ain’t gonna tell her, right?”

“I won’t, Daddy Travis. We’re on the downlow.”

“That’s right. Love you, boy.”

“Love you too, daddy.”

Twink on Top: The Houngan

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: The Houngan, a hardcore noncon tale from the Twink on Top series! It’s about a sexy Haitian villain forced to submit! It’s only $0.99 with the coupon code XA27L!

Jonal waited until the stars and the moon were just right to maximize his power over the loa. It shouldn’t have been necessary to do that, but he wanted to have the greatest chance of success. He didn’t just want to control Vernand — he wanted to utterly dominate him.

Vin jwenn mwen…

He didn’t really know it worked, but in his heart, he knew it did work. He could feel it even before he sat down to pray to his loa, and then saw what was happening, with his mind’s eye. His spiritual vision was hazy, but it was enough to know that his spell was a success.

On the other side of Port-au-Prince, in a shanty-town, there was a circle of men sitting around a raging fire. One of them was playing drums, and the others were playing cards. One of the card-players was a tall, broad-shouldered man in dreadlocks. He had dark skin marked with scars and a faded tattoo from his old military batayon.

He was the biggest man in the shanty-town, with muscles bulging from his sturdy frame. He was menacing too. The others were frightened of him. They allowed him to win at cards — Jonal could tell that because the loa could read their minds. Even though Jonal aimed the spirits at the man, Vernand, he could get some superficial information from the minds of the other homeless men as well.

That man stood up, dropping his cards, leaving behind the money that had been resting in his lap. He walked, propelled by the loa that Jonal commanded from afar. He screamed, begging someone to stop him, but there was nothing anyone could do.

Ou yo ale nan mouri nan labou a, sa ki mal nonm…

Not that anyone tried to help. Nobody liked the man, whose name was Vernand. Nobody there in the shantytown knew who he was, but Jonal knew. He had just been released from prison; no one behind bars knew who Vernand really was either. But Jonal had known even then, even before Vernand had been released.

He had been waiting for a long time. He was glad that Vernand had not been killed in prison, though that would have been a fitting end. Jonal had been looking forward to getting his revenge ever since his sister was raped and murdered.

Vernand had done it. He was a soldier then, in the Haitian army, and he had raped her in the street, just because he could. Because he knew that no one would stop him.

Jonal had not had the power to stop him then, and by the time he did, Vernand was in prison. Now he was out, and he walked against his will through the streets of Port-au-Prince. Jonal was glad he had resisted his soul’s demand for revenge while Vernand was still imprisoned — Jonal could have easily made sure he was tortured, raped and kill in there. But Jonal didn’t want that to happen.

Because Jonal wanted to do that himself. He wasn’t going to let Vernand be tortured by someone else.

“Yon moun ede m ‘, tanpri, yon majisyen pran kò mwen an!” Vernand screamed. Jonal allowed him to do that. Vernand had control over his mouth for the moment, but nothing else. People looked at him strangely as he walked through Port-au-Prince, but no one stopped to help him. Vernand had no friends, and anyway, no one wanted to get involved. They all knew how much power magicians like Jonal had, and they weren’t going to risk their own safety by getting involved. Even the handful of good Samaritans who looked like they considered it changed their mind when they saw Vernand’s military tattoos — they knew what that meant: Vernand had been part of the villainous soldiers who raped and murdered with abandon during the Duvalier regime. No one was going to lift a finger to help someone who had been part of that hellish era.

Jonal waited in his home. He had a large house with a manicured lawn around it. Not many people in Haiti could claim that, but Jonal was a business success. Since his sister’s rape and murder, Jonal had made himself into a tycoon — he knew he needed more power to punish Vernand, and he had spent years building up a business empire to make it possible.

The wait was difficult. It took Vernand hours to walk all the way over here. Jonal couldn’t make him walk faster, since Vernand fought him every step of the way.

Finally, however, he had arrived. Jonal warned the two security men at his gate, so they let Vernand in, ignoring his plaintive cries for help. Vernand was tall and broad-chested, and he could only speak through gritted teeth — Jonal didn’t allow him to open his mouth all the way. The security guards didn’t even hear Vernand’s words exactly, so they didn’t know he had no control over his body.

Eventually Vernand stood in the hallway of Jonal’s house. There was a picture there of Jonal’s sister, but it did not look like Vernand recognized her. Why would he? He had probably raped and murdered a hundred girls just like her.

He ripped his shirt off his chest, then pulled his pants down. Jonal was in the other room, controlling him through the loa. In his mind, he could feel Vernand’s muscles writhing as he struggled against the vodou power compelling his movements. Jonal had always been a thin, weak man — that was why he became a hougan in the first place. He knew he could never succeed based on physical prowess, and in the midst of civil strife and war, Jonal’s intellect was of little value. He could only work on his spiritual power.

Now Jonal commanded an army of loa. He had built a business empire with the spirits he had made deals with. He could have done anything he wanted to Vernand. But there was only one thing he wanted to do.

At least, one thing for now.

Vernand’s muscles were shiny in the well-lit hallway, because he had sweated profusely as he fought against his body the entire way over here. His muscles remained tense. He was stark naked, his massive cock dangling between his legs. It must have hurt to be raped by that huge manhood, Jonal thought. He approached Vernand and gave him enough freedom to speak.

“Who are you?” Vernand spat out his words like he had to fight against his own throat to speak.

“Your worst nightmare. I am your punishment embodied,” Jonal said. He lightly tickled Vernand’s muscles, which twitched beneath his touch.

Vernand wept like he had been expecting this for some time. He wanted to fall to his knees, to collapse to the ground, but Jonal didn’t let him at first. Vernand’s chest heaved as he tried to sob. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Then Jonal allowed it. Vernand fell to the ground, on all fours. He wept and begged for mercy, but Jonal just listened and caressed his long, coarse dreadlocks.

“Lift up your head,” Jonal said. He allowed Vernand just a bit of control over his body, enough that Vernand could choose to follow Jonal’s command or not — when he chose not, the loa forced Vernand to do it anyway, but more painfully.

Vernand’s dark hair and bearded face looked up into Jonal’s eyes. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.

Jonal cackled as thunder clapped outside. It began raining hard, the sound of water pounding on the roof becoming deafening. Jonal had to raise his voice to be heard. “Prepare to be no longer a man, Vernand. You will be nothing but submission. You will be filth. You will never be clean again.”

He pushed the tip of his limp cock onto Vernand’s tongue, and he allowed Vernand to gag furiously. Vernand tried with all his might to bite down, but Jonal didn’t let that happen. He pushed his moist cocktip in deeper into Vernand’s mouth.

All he could do was retch and choke as Jonal slowly fed his dick down Vernand’s throat. A loud throaty sound escaped from Vernand’s mouth, and Jonal had to suppress a laugh at his frenzied reaction — Jonal didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by laughing. Luckily he could smile and giggle a bit, since Vernand couldn’t see from his position or hear over the sound of the thunderstorm outside.

Letting his fingers grip Vernand’s scalp through his dreadlocks, Jonal began to slam his hips in. He fucked Vernand’s face, making his balls slap against Vernand’s chin with every thrust of his cock down his tight throat.

If it weren’t for the loa controlling his body, Vernand could not have deep-throated Jonal’s dick, that much was obvious. His neck instinctively fought back, trying hard not to accept the taste of dick. In Haitian culture, the fact that Vernand took dick, even against his will, made him an accursed figure, less of a man. Now that one man had fucked him, others would too — he would be seen as a prostitute and a slut, whom no man need respect.

Ou pa janm yo pral yon nonm ankò!

Jonal was relentless. He enjoyed the loud retching sound of Vernand’s throat as he leaked precum down his gullet. Jonal savored the spiritual struggle as well — it was easy for Jonal, who was much stronger in the ways of the loa. It felt like Jonal was physically holding him down, even though Vernand outweighed Jonal by more than a hundred pounds of solid muscle. Jonal very rarely outmuscled anyone, so it was a delightful, arousing feeling. He savored the utter submission Vernand felt every time Jonal let go of his control, just in part and just for a second, long enough to give Vernand a feeling like he could fight back.

Then Jonal made Vernand’s asshole twinkle and clench, forced his jaw to open so wide it ached and nearly snapped — Jonal had utter control and could have shattered the man’s jaw as he fucked his throat, but he didn’t. He knew it was more humiliating to make it feel like Vernand’s body was cooperating, allowing himself to be treated like a loose woman.

Jonal fingered Vernand’s ass, just hugging the rim with one finger while it twitched and clenched. That made Vernand know what was happening next, and he wept. Tears ran in rivulets down his dusty cheeks.

“Now we move on to the real punishment,” Jonal said. “Do you know what this is for?”

As he spoke, he pulled his cock out of Vernand’s mouth. He used one hand to wipe up all the excess spit that clung to his shaft, and he smeared it all over Vernand’s tense face. Vernand spat and sputtered. He yelled curses as he heaved for air, but Jonal had protections in place — no loa heard Vernand’s curses or pleas for help.

“Huh? Say it, girl-man. What are the loa punishing you for now?”

“For… my sins!”

“That is too vague,” Jonal said. He kneeled behind Vernand, who was so tall that even bending over wasn’t enough — Jonal still couldn’t reach his cock into Vernand’s ass. So he made Vernand kneel on his knees, with Jonal kneeling as well behind him. That placed Jonal’s smooth face right in the narrow groove in the center of Vernand’s muscled shoulders.

“I have… murdered.”

“Yes, but tell me more.”

“I have raped,” Vernand said. He hung his head in shame, then bit his lip as Jonal shoved the tip of his cock in. Vernand writhed and struggled against the loa who kept him in place. Jonal didn’t need to use his powers to sense the agony in Vernand’s body — he could feel it in the tension in his back muscles and in the way he sucked in his breath.

“Who did you rape?!”

“I do not know their names,” Vernand said through his tears. His dreadlocks shook as he cried.

Jonal grabbed one of his dreadlocks with each hand, using them like a yoke around a mule. He ground his hips, pushing a bit more cockmeat into Vernand’s ass. He pulled on those dreadlocks until Vernand lifted his head up. Jonal aimed his eyes right at the photo of Jonal’s sister.

“Do you recognize her?”

“No!”

“You raped her. In 1959, you raped her in the street like a dog. You held her down and raped her mouth, her womanhood, her ass like a dirty prostitute, but worse because you did not pay her. You just slit her throat and let her die there in the dirt,” Jonal said. That reminded him why he was doing this, not for fun, but for justice. He thought he shouldn’t be enjoying this too much or the loa might punish him for it later.

As he spoke, Jonal worked more and more of his cock in. Finally every bit of it was inside Vernand’s tight ass, which clenched and tore. A few drops of blood even smeared over Jonal’s crotch. Vernand would have been screaming at the top of his lungs if Jonal allowed him to, but Jonal wanted to be sure Vernand heard everything Jonal said. Besides that, if he was too loud, he might attract attention from the security guards outside — Jonal had protections in place to be sure he wouldn’t be surprised, but he preferred to keep Vernand quiet enough not to get their attention in the first place.

“Say you’re sorry,” Jonal said.

“I’m sorry!”

“Are you? Are you really?” Jonal asked. “Say you’re sorry again. Beg me to forgive you.” This time, he didn’t force Vernand’s mouth to say anything.

“Fuck you!” Vernand shouted.

“I was hoping you would say that,” Jonal said. “Because it means I get to keep punishing you.” He slammed his hips down, shoving his cock all the way in. He groaned as his balls slapped against Vernand’s muscled thighs.

Vernand writhed and squirmed. Jonal allowed him a little more control over his body. He made sure only that Vernand couldn’t fight him off or push away from him. Instead Vernand heaved and yelled into the floor, on which he contorted wildly.

It was difficult to remain mounted on his body because he moved so much, but Jonal enjoyed the struggle. He gripped Vernand’s body tightly and pulled on his dreadlocks. The more Vernand moved and tried to expel Jonal’s cock from his ass, the tighter it was and the more pleasure flowed through Jonal’s body.

“What are you going to do from now on?”

“What?!” Vernand screamed. His eyes were blurry with tears, his mind dizzy and confused.

Jonal pulled on his dreadlocks so hard a few drops of blood appeared on his scalp. Vernand’s wild eyes bugged out of his sockets. He slammed his massive fists onto the ground and bucked his back, which Jonal allowed because it sent a wave of pleasure up his body while causing a tortuous twinge in Vernand’s ass.

“I asked you what you’re going to do from now on,” Jonal asked. “Huh? You’re not in the army anymore. So what?”

“I don’t know!”

“You’ve been robbing people, right? Tourists when you can, or whoever else is available. Right?”

“Yes, yes…” Vernand said. He bucked his hips again and wept into his muscled forearm.

“Well, no longer. You work for me now. You’re my slave. You’ll make up for the loss of my sister. You’ll never be able to make up for it, but I’ll enjoy making you try,” Jonal said.

“Yes, master,” Vernand said. His formerly arrogant voice was now weak and trembling.

“You’re going to be a prostitute,” Jonal said. That made Vernand buck and sob harder. Jonal ground his dick in deeper, moving it in little circles to be sure it caused plenty of pain. “Men will pay money to fuck you in the ass and in the mouth. They will turn you into a human pussy.

“No!”

“Yes,” Jonal said. “You’re my slave now. I own you.”

“Yes, master,” Vernand said.

Jonal wanted to drag this out longer, but he felt an orgasm coming over him. He decided that he could keep playing later, but he wanted to finish this off and humiliate Vernand as much as possible. He had a whole lifetime to experiment with punishments, and if his spells had worked, Jonal would have the entire afterlife to continue it.

He gasped as the orgasm finally overcame him. He bucked and bit down hard on Vernand’s shoulder. Cum filled Vernand’s ass, a great big load of creamy hot cum that sloshed and spilled out of his ass. Vernand gagged because Jonal made sure he could taste it — he used magic to transfer Vernand’s tongue momentarily into his ass, so Vernand tasted every drop of cum mixing with his own filth and degradation. Vernand gagged violently.

The heat of Jonal’s seeped into Vernand’s body, spreading to every corner of his insides. Jonal sighed as Vernand screamed when Jonal returned his tongue to his mouth. His hips flexed like he was trying to push Jonal off, but the loa didn’t allow him to do much more than squirm.

That only made the orgasm even more intense. Jonal groaned, emitting a spine-tingling sound. Vernand cried into the wooden floor of Jonal’s mansion.

Finally he was done. Jonal pulled his limp dick out and slapped Vernand’s asscheeks. That sent another spasming wave of agony through his sensitive ass. Vernand barked like a dying dog.

Ramming his thumb into Vernand’s ass, Jonal pulled out wad after wad of cum. He made a big frothy mess in Vernand’s asscrack, letting the cum coat his deep black skin.

Then he wiped all that cum off on Vernand’s face. His untrimmed beard was white with semen, which he sucked off Jonal’s fingers. He gagged profusely as ass-slime hit his tongue, and he swallowed all of that anal filth off Jonal’s fingers.

“Now you lay here in your own mess and think about your sin,” Jonal said. “I’m going to think up new things to do with your body.”

“Yes, master,” Vernand said. His spirit was broken, which made Jonal smile — he hadn’t forced Vernand to say yes. Vernand had done that on his own because he had submitted. His soul was dead now, and Jonal knew he wouldn’t need to do much to keep Vernand under control.

But he wasn’t going to let go. Jonal had been working up to this for years. He had no intention of stopping, at least not until Vernand was used up and desiccated. This revenge was going to be even more fun than Jonal had thought.

Jonal smiled as he left Vernand there on the floor, so Jonal could clean himself up and decide what the next step would be. He was so excited he was already hard again. This, he thought, was going to make all of his study and struggle over the years worthwhile.

He’d finally have his revenge.

The Male Stripper at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of The Male Stripper at the City Barbershop, a new story about an alpha ebony stud who will do anything for the right price

Sam was annoyed that he had to cut hair today. He owned a City Barbershop in Richmond, Virginia, and he spent most of his time managing the store, taxes and paperwork. That was more than a full-time job in itself.

But he had only one backup barber, so when that backup left for a family funeral, and then a full-time barber, Calvin, called out sick, there was no one else to take over a chair for the day. Sam still had his cosmetology license — he was required to keep it active in order to maintain his business license — so he had no other options besides stepping in and cutting hair himself.

Yo, boss-man workin’ upfront today!

Once he got into the swing of things, however, Sam had a good time. He enjoyed cutting hair, and he enjoyed meeting new people. He was still treated like a minor celebrity because he was referred to in a song by Tallboy. The song had been a major hit, and it was what helped rescue his business when it was failing.

The reason there was a song about Sam was that the City Barbershop had a peculiar reputation — everyone knew it as a place where a straight nigga could go to swing downlow. Whatever happened there, stayed there, and there was always a gay man, like Sam, ready to service any hot alpha thugs who came through.

He still did that from time to time. But after a major rapper releases an entire song about how legendary your blowjobs are, you get an awful lot of men who want to find out about it for themselves. Sam had withdrawn from the City Barbershop because that made him uncomfortable, and because an awful lot of those men were desperate for blowjobs because they were old, fat, weak, stupid, obnoxious, dirty or gross, or more than one of those. It was easier just to stay in the office rather than keep telling people no.

But he thought while he was out front today, he might as well find someone he could have a little fun with. The song had been off the charts for more than a year now, so the torrent of nasty niggas had died down to an irregular trickle. Sam’s first few customers weren’t appealing to him though, and none asked for a blowjob anyway.

It wasn’t until just before lunch when Talaab walked in. He was tall, broad-shouldered and square-jawed, with a smooth chin, easygoing smile and deep dimples. He looked like a soap opera star, Sam thought, so handsome that Sam wanted to suck his dick, punch him in the face and watch him fuck a girl, all at the same time.

Sam considered his options as he began cutting Talaab’s hair. The sexiest men didn’t usually swing downlow because they had plenty of girls on their meat. Sam decided to bring up the song and his reputation as a legendary cocksucker, as that would be the best way to convince Talaab it was worth it to let a gay man suck on his cock.

“You must be new to Richmond,” Sam said. “Cuz I ain’t seen you around.”

“Yeah, I’m new,” Talaab said. He smiled, flashing those brilliant dimples. He had deep, light-brown eyes that made Sam swoon.

“Well, welcome to the city. Where you from originally?”

“I was born in Alabama,” Talaab said. “But I grew up all over the place. Most recently I lived in New Jersey.”

“Aah, cool. They got City Barbershops in Jersey?”

Talaab nodded.

“Good, good. So you know about their reputation? About my reputation?”

“Your reputation?”

“Yeah. Ain’t a big deal or nothin’,” Sam said. “I just thought maybe that was why you came here. That rapper Tallboy, he got that song, ‘Gettin’ Dome at the City Barbershop’, you know that one?”

“Yeah.”

“That was about me. About this shop,” Sam said.

“No shit?” It sounded like Talaab genuinely did not believe it, but Chuckie — the other barber working today — confirmed it, as did the guy whose hair Chuckie was cutting. Talaab raised his eyebrows in shock. “Damn, you like a celebrity and shit.”

“Oh, it’s not that cool. Everyone just knows I suck cock like a champion,” Sam said. He was disappointed. Talaab was charming and friendly, but he gave no indication he wanted a blowjob. “I can deep-throat anyone.”

“Cool.”

Then there was a long pause. Talaab smiled but didn’t say anything. He gave no hint that he recognized what Sam wanted from him. Sam decided he needed to take a different tack. “What do you do, Talaab?”

“I’m a stripper.”

Another long pause ensued. Sam stopped cutting for a moment. Talaab chuckled. Sam smiled. That must be why he was so resistant, he was used to being propositioned, and he probably had chicks hanging off him, demanding meat. This could be difficult, Sam thought.

“Oh. Wow, okay,” Sam said. “That’s cool. You like that?”

“It’s alright.”

Sam sighed. “Ah. Well, then I guess you won’t be wantin’ a blowjob from me. You must have to fight off the girls with a stick.”

“Kinda.”

“You prolly get all them deep-throatin’ girls, any one of ‘em so good you-“

“You can stop it,” Talaab said. He narrowed his eyes to slits. “I know what you’re doing. You wanna suck my cock? Pay me.”

“Pay you?”

Talaab nodded. “I don’t give a shit. You can suck my cock e’rytime I come in here if I get a free haircut. I don’t wanna pay for haircuts. You pay the tip too. Ya dig?”

Sam hesitated. He was used to men begging him for a blowjob, not him paying them. But the cost to Sam would be minimal — he didn’t pay out to barbers for each haircut, so all he would lose was the tip. He’d be basically paying a few dollars to give a blowjob to the hottest guy in Richmond. Talaab was probably charismatic and outgoing, so he might give good word-of-mouth too, Sam thought.

“Fine,” Sam said. He blushed as Chuckie laughed. Then he straightened his back and got out the mirror to show Talaab the back of his head. The haircut was over.

Talaab nodded his satisfaction and stood. He grabbed his cock through his low-hanging jeans. It was briefly outlined by the fabric. It was big and thick, and it made Sam’s mouth water. Talaab rolled his eyes. “Where do we do this at?”

“Back here,” Sam said. He led Talaab into the back room. His heart raced. He was really surprised that Talaab had agreed to this, but he was also excited. He giggled nervously.

As Sam dropped to his knees, he stroked Talaab’s cock through his jeans. It was still limp but even then it was long and thick, and Sam could tell it was juicy. He pulled it out the fly of Talaab’s jeans.

It was even more beautiful than Sam had hoped. It was thick and veiny, and it smelled like clean cocoa butter. Sam inhaled deeply of Talaab’s scent.

“Yeah, baby, you got it figured out,” Talaab said, “You got technique.” He smiled. Sam couldn’t tell if he was really glad he had agreed to this or if Talaab was just used to acting seductive and pretending to be aroused by people. Sam suspected it was the latter.

He put the tip in his mouth and suckled. It perked up quickly now that his tongue was on it, and Talaab leaned back, putting his hands on his hips.

But Sam liked it a little more aggressive than that. He guided Talaab’s hands from his waist to the back of his head. He flickered the tip of his tongue in Talaab’s pisshole, causing Talaab to groan with desire.

“Ah…” Talaab said. “You like it like that, huh? You like facefuckin’, huh? You want my balls slappin’ against yo’ chin like this?” He slammed his dick in violently enough that Sam gagged and Talaab’s balls thwacked against his chin. Talaab laughed. Sam nodded the best he could around the cock in his spasming throat.

“Well, I will try to oblige,” Talaab said with mock sincerity. He started grinding his hips, moving his cock around in Sam’s throat as though he needed to hump every inch.

Sam gripped his jeans and held on tight. A part of him wanted to pull down Talaab’s pants so he could get a good feel of his ass, but Sam had always thought there was something dirty about sucking a man off without removing his pants first. Plus Sam had discovered that straight men loved it — perhaps it didn’t seem as gay to them? Or maybe it was easier to pretend for Talaab that he was overcome by horniness and not responsible for doing something gay?

Regardless, Sam knew Talaab liked it. A part of his mind knew that Talaab could just be pretending — as a male stripper, he no doubt knew how to tease gay men along, but Sam didn’t think that was what was happening. Talaab moaned and grunted like he was required to make as much noise as possible; he hissed, sucked on his teeth and chuckled every time Sam gagged and choked. He rolled his hips, flexing his muscles beneath the perfectly ironed clothes he wore.

“Yeah, nigga, alright, I can see why Tallboy done rapped about ya, this is worth a verse or two,” Talaab said. He tweaked his own nipples under his tight wifebeater.

Finally Sam could tell Talaab was about to blow his load. Sam felt it in the spasming of his veiny cockshaft and the rise of his balls in his heavy sac. Sam sucked the precum off the tip as he felt Talaab’s orgasm in his mouth.

“Here I go, you ready for the money shot? Move yo’ tongue around as I cover it up, nigga…”

Then thick and creamy cum landed in jets on his tongue. Sam moaned and deep-throated until his nose nestled in the trimmed pubic hair of Talaab’s crotch. Talaab moaned loudly, gripping Sam’s head tight to keep it in place as he bucked his hips.

The taste of sour and sweet cum overwhelmed Sam, who could think of nothing else as Talaab’s balls drained down Sam’s throat. He shot a huge load, as Sam supposed a stripper was required to, and it just kept on going, flowing in great wads into Sam’s belly.

At last it was over. Talaab leaned back a little like he didn’t want to touch Sam any more than absolutely necessary. The last few drops of salty cum slipped down Sam’s gullet.

Talaab sighed. He pulled away and slapped his limp dick over Sam’s face. He laughed cruelly. “You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a few weeks for another haircut and a blowjob,” he said as he tucked his cock away. “Be ready for me.”

Downlow Thugs at the Irontop Gym

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh… yeah,” Kyle said.

“You distracted cuz you wanna suck my dick?”

“Uh…”

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

“Well, uh, I…-“

“Shut up. Say yes or no.”

“Uh, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kyle nodded and sunk to his knees.

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kyle nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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