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The Honky in the City Barbershop

Here’s the latest urban MM fiction from Calvin Freeman! It’s called The Honky in the City Barbershop and it completes the all-interracial urban hot trilogy The City Barbershop of Providence, Rhode Island!

 

Ryan knew working at a City Barbershop would be difficult. He didn’t fit in here. The City Barbershop was for black men to get their hair cut. It was an unspoken rule as rigid as any law. There was a different barbershop right down the street, a well-lit place where the barbers were Italian. That was where white people went.

But they weren’t hiring, and Ryan needed a job now. He had applied thinking it wouldn’t go anywhere, but now here he was, starting his first day at a City Barbershop.

He thought this particular location would be a pretty good one for a white guy to work at. That’s because there were, until recently, two non-white barbers here — one of them was Asian, the other Native American. They were both gone now.

So Ryan was the only non-black person there. He was also the only gay man in the barbershop. That wasn’t normal either. City Barbershops had a reputation as a place where black men could go to swing downlow. Whatever happened here, stayed here. Ryan found that part of his new job pretty exciting.

But not a single person wanted a blowjob on his first day. He was almost totally ignored, except for the suspicious glances. He only cut two people’s hair that first day. He barely made a dime in tips.

It wasn’t until his second day, near the end of the day, before he had a real conversation with anyone there. Ryan sat in his chair playing on his cell phone. He had resigned himself to not getting any more clients today, since it was only a few minutes before closing time. He had deliberately made his workstation messy because he thought it would be embarrassing if he was ready to go literally the moment the clock ticked over.

Four minutes before close, a thug named Deon sauntered in. He was a grizzled, deep-dimpled drug dealer who came in with a dour expression on his face. Ryan stood up and smiled at him.

“Hello, I can take you in my chair if you-?”

Deon scoffed. “What?”

“Uh-“

“You a barber here?”

Ryan nodded.

Deon scoffed again. “What? They hire white guys now?” He laughed a little to himself. “Nah, whiteman. I do not want a haircut. I don’t let white folk touch my hair. I ain’t here for a haircut anyway.” He made eye contact with one of the other barbers, Wilson, who nodded at him. They went into the backroom,

At first Ryan wondered if he was being upstaged — were they having sex? It was normal for gay men to take straight clients like Deon into the back to suck them off. But Wilson wasn’t gay, was he? He certainly hadn’t come across as gay.

They came back upfront after only two minutes, which was quicker than Ryan thought plausible. It was only when Wilson walked past Ryan’s chair and he got a fruity whiff of marijuana that Ryan realized what this was — it wasn’t sex, it was a drug deal.

“Thanks, nigga,” Wilson said.

Deon snorted. “I-“ He stopped because the front door opened and the owner, Mr. Wiltshire, strode in. Deon stopped short. Mr. Wiltshire glared at him.

“Deon.” Mr. Wiltshire grunted. He was stern, strict, no-nonsense. It was clear he disliked Deon and seemed to be aware of why he had come here. Deon had cornrows, so he couldn’t pretend he had come in for a haircut. Mr. Wiltshire stared him down. “I know you didn’t come in here to sling drugs, Deon.”

“No, I ain’t.”

Mr. Wiltshire looked from barber to barber. They all avoided eye contact with him. Wilson cleaned up his station, looking away from Mr. Wiltshire.

“So why did you come in here?”

Deon smiled and touched his hair on his scalp. “Oh, you know…” He sniffled. “I was just…”

“He wanted to try out the new boy’s mouth,” Wilson said with a mischievous grin, aimed at Deon. Deon shot him an annoyed look.

“Oh? Is that true, Deon?”

Deon nodded. “Yep. I just…” He rolled his eyes like he didn’t want to say anything else, but then he added, “y’know… I like fuckin’, y’know… I like gettin’ head from gays.”

Mr. Wiltshire looked dubious. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well…?”

“Fine.” Deon snarled. He grabbed Ryan by the wrist and virtually dragged him into the backroom. Ryan stumbled after him. This had all happened so fast, and Ryan didn’t know the people very well, that he only realized what was going on when he got to the back room. Once the door slammed shut behind him, Deon feinted as though he was going to knock the door down and attack Mr. Wiltshire on the other side. “He’s such a cock, man. You wanna suck my dick for real?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ryan said. He was confused, but he couldn’t lie about his desire to give him a blowjob — Deon was plenty sexy and dripping with swagger. Ryan wanted him very badly. He sunk to his knees.

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.

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 T-Girl in the ‘Hood

Here’s the beginning of The T-Girl in the ‘Hood, a new story by Calvin Freeman about a transgender woman living in the hood, getting propositioned by all the sexiest straight bucks the ghetto can provide!

 

Tina looked out her window. Her apartment was freshly cleaned, so she felt good — she loved a clean apartment. From her vantage point, she could see the park next-door. It wasn’t a nice park; Tina lived in the ghetto; it did have one redeeming factor though.

The shirtless men who played basketball every day. Tina watched them bump sweaty chests and clasp each other on the well-muscled back, stroking her cock until she shot all over her floor. Tina did the same thing nearly every day.

Today, however, she was distracted almost as soon as she wrapped one hand around her cock. Walter was back. She shivered with delight and anticipation.

Walter was her neighbor, or to be more precise, he was her neighbor’s husband. He was a middle-aged black man; there was no objective reason he should be so hot, Tina thought — he didn’t have a perfect body like some of those basketballers; he had a nice face but he was hardly some Hollywood heartthrob in that department; he was scruffy, ever-dirty because he was semi-homeless with a serious gambling problem and semi-serious drug problem (according to Tina’s neighbor, whom she didn’t entirely trust). He was ungodly sexy though, with swagger dripping off him and a hefty frame that made Tina drool every time she saw him.

“I said I’d do it, baby, damn!” Walter’s raspy deep voice rang out. He was one of those people who didn’t really have a quiet voice, so Tina could always hear when he was back in his wife’s life. “Don’t start this shit again!”

One of the sexiest things about him was that he had checked out Tina’s ass, and then when his wife told him Tina was transgender, his eyes opened wide as though he thought that made her hotter. Tina didn’t often see that look on men’s faces. But he had gone then, after an argument, before spending a few months in prison on an ancient child support beef, then living on some “white lady’s couch”. He had come back one other occasion, but only for a few days before he got kicked out again. Tina hadn’t had any opportunity to be alone with him.

Until now.

She hurried into the back alley when she saw him grumbling as he left the building. Tina’s apartment was right there adjoining the alley, so she was the only person that had her own side-entrance and -exit. That was the door she used now.

“Hey, Walter,” she said. He had a bag of trash in his hand. It was heavy enough that it made his biceps flex holding onto it. He wore only a wifebeater and a pair of shorts. He tossed the bag into the dumpster.

“Hey,” he said with a casual nod. He grabbed his cock through his shorts and smiled at her. “What’s ya’ deal?”

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.”

Street Trade: Stealing a John

Here’s the entirety of Street Trade: Stealing a John, a new story from the Str8 Trade series! It’s about Chazz’s ongoing quest to explore the exciting world of Street Trade!

There you are, Johnny-boy, I see you comin’ my way! Why don’t you break me off a piece of that sugar?

That was it, that was him. Chazz stepped out from behind the dumpster and stopped in front of John. He was a short black man, muscular but not large, firm and tight-bodied beneath an ill-fitting suit. It wasn’t quite colorful enough or nice enough to be a pimp suit — it was faded and frayed, loose threads and old stains abounding. Chazz knew who John was because he had been living in a flophouse nearby and watching.

John came down here to Canal Street every weekend. He always paid for a blowjob from one of the hookers. He always asked for anal, but he never had the money for it. He begged them to let him in the back-door for free, promising that he’d lick their pussy when he was done — Chazz suspected he would have an excuse to leave if that ever happened: no straight man ate prostitutes’ pussies, he thought.

Chazz thought John was sexy, and he thought John was willing to try a different route to that backdoor. He had been working on this plan for weeks.

“I’m comin’ fo’ you, girl!” John said to the prostitutes. He walked slowly, with a barely perceptible limp.

“Hey,” Chazz said. He startled John, who glared at him. “You wanna make some money? I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to do to me whatever you were gonna do to her, and more. You can fuck me six ways to Sunday.”

John had been bopping his head to an unheard beat as he came down the alley. He kept bouncing on his feet, even as his eyes bugged out. Then finally he stopped and chuckled.

“Yo,” he said, flat and simple. “What?”

Chazz repeated himself. He blushed a little. This was always the awkward part, and he was suddenly a lot less confident that John would say yes. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars. All you gotta do is fuck me.”

“Yo, I, uh, I ain’t homosexual, right, and I don’t fuck ‘round on the downlow.”

“This wouldn’t be on the downlow, this would be here in public.”

“That ain’t a sellin’ point, man,” he said with a snarl. He pushed Chazz out of the way. “Go’n, boi, get outta here b’fore I swipe ya head off. I ain’t no boytoy for no gay, no way, no way, I ain’t gonna lay no fay limp-wrist doin’ sashay always the gay.” He had barely even stopped walking for a moment before continuing on, doing his little rap to that same beat he had been tapping as he came in. He shook his head and headed towards the girls.

C’mon, baby, you look tasty tonight! You wear that suit like a stud!

You get all dressed up like that for me, sweetie? Ain’t you the handomest?!

Chazz was disappointed. He was usually a good read on men. John had seemed like he’d do it for some money, but the way he phrased that and the way he moved on right away made it seem like he would not do it for any amount of money.

“Yo, sweetheart, you lookin’ fine in that purple. Whatcha think ‘bout-“ John stopped talking and turned around. He jogged back to Chazz and smiled, showing off deep dimples. “Yo, I forgot, I do it. Two hundred and some pee.” Then, he gasped, “I mean, in a cup, man. Pee in a cup. Not, you know, like a sex thing. Pee in a cup. I need it tomorruh for a pee test.”

Chazz was taken aback. “Oh. You forgot? You forgot you do swing downlow?”

“I just… I remembered this little business I got, man, it’s real impo’tant and it ain’t not a bit of yo’ business ’t all,” he said. He snorted. “But yeah, I gots a plan fo’ that money, hell yeah. And that’ll be the first time I evuh got clean pee for my PO.” He peered at Chazz. “Do gays smoke weed? You smoke weed?” He screwed up his eyebrows like he had never pondered the possibility that gays might smoke weed.

“No. Well, yes, but I haven’t smoked in months,” Chazz said.

He nodded. “Okay, good.” He produced a specimen cup — an actual one, from a lab — and handed it over.

Chazz went behind the dumpster to pee. “You carry this around with you?”

“I was goin’ somewhere wit’ it,” he said, snarling like he didn’t like Chazz inquiring about it. He came up behind Chazz by the dumpster. He swiped the cup from him as soon as Chazz had replaced the lid. He didn’t seem to care that a few drops of pee got on the sleeve of his ratty old suit. “Get on yo’ knees. You ain’t a girl, so don’t even think I’m gonna seduce you or call you sweetheart or kiss you. I don’t nevuh did love no male man, no way. Nope.”

“No problem,” Chazz said as he dropped to his knees.

Where’d Johnny-boy go? He was just here.

John chuckled dryly. He had a nice, raspy throat that made Chazz hard. Chazz undid the fly of his nattered suitpants. He pulled out a juicy, fat cock. Since John was short and not especially large, his cock looked even bigger, extending almost all the way to his knees and as plump in diameter as his forearm.

“Just put the tip in yo’ mouth, boy,” John said. Then he clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Sorry, I don’t like sayin’ that. I gonna call you girl. Okay, girl?”

“Uh-huh,” Chazz spoke around the cock throbbing in his throat. It was limp still, but it was gathering steam. He could feel it twitching and twinkling as John got used to the situation.

“Alright, girl, put the tip in yo’ mouth.” He paused and pulled out a cigarette. He patted his pants pockets. “Damn, girl, you got a lighter?”

Chazz shook his head. He put the tip of John’s dick in his mouth and suckled loudly, moistly. He got a taste of clean cock — it was clear John had showered right beforehand. He must have wanted to be at his cleanest for the prostitute he had planned on hiring.

John snorted. A trashy-looking white redneck walked past the dumpster, heading towards the girls. He didn’t notice John getting a blowjob in the shadows. “Yo, hey, man,” John called out to him. “You got a light, man?”

The redneck nodded. He fished a lighter out and gave it to John, who lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. The redneck realized then that John was getting a blowjob from a man, and he backed away. “Uh, keep the lighter,” he said. He turned around and darted towards the safety of the prostitutes.

John cackled. “Whiteboys don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this kinda shit. They squeamish as all hell, man.” He took another drag. “Free lighter, alright, alright, alright.” He sighed. “Alright, now get ya tongue out a bit, girl. Move it around some.”

Chazz did what he said. He kept sucking on the tip and licking the shaft at the same time, his tongue flickering out to tease every inch of his manhood. John leaned against the brick wall facing the dumpster. He closed his eyes and groaned.

“Yo, lick right here, baby,” he said. He pointed to a spot, and when Chazz licked that enthusiastically, John groaned again. He smiled. “Yeah, you pretty good. I’m gonna keep tellin’ you how to do it, girl. Hope that’s okay. I’m sure you got ‘xperience, but I like it done in just the right way. Lick here now, girl, get that tongue out… Yeah…” He spoke in a low, slow-melting voice.

Is that you, Johnny? I see you there. Whatchoo doin’ behind the dumpsters? Ain’t you gonna come see me?

John laughed and covered his face. He poked his head out from behind the dumpster. “Hey, sweetheart! I might take a break this week.” He snorted and smiled. “Wait! Nah! You come on ovuh here, Sharlene! I got somethin’ for ya! It’s gonna be real special!” His voice was smooth and kind, but then he glared down at Chazz and spoke more brusquely. “Alright, you can deep-throat me now, girl.”

Chazz was excited to show his capabilities. He slammed his face all the way down on John’s dick, until his nose mashed into the fabric of his slacks. His wiry pubic hair scratched at Chazz’s lips and his balls swayed past his chin.

“Okay, nice, alright then, alright, alright,” John said, like he hadn’t expected Chazz to suck so well. He smiled as Sharlene approached. She was a big black girl with a wide ass. She wore a bright green dress that showed off her assets. She smiled at John, then frowned when she saw that he was receiving a blowjob from a man.

“Hello,” she said. She glared at Chazz and barked out, “what’s this? You stealin’ my customers? My daddy ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout that.”

Chazz grinned, but he didn’t pull off John’s cock, which throbbed in his throat. John gasped like he was shocked that John could deep-throat him all the way to the root.

“Don’t be salty, baby,” John said. He leaned over and kissed Sharlene on the cheek. “He payin’ me, I’m just savin’ some money. You still my one and only. Maybe I can pay you fo’ some anal action next week, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” She put her hands on her hips. “You leavin’ me high and dry.”

“I don’t want you dry, girl, no way. Lemme give you ten,” he said. He pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “I finger ya real good, baby.” He smiled and held up two fingers like he was negotiating. “I put two fingers in ya pussy and one in the ass. You like that? Huh? Or you want two in the ass and one in ya pussy?”

She took the ten-dollar bill. She frowned down at Chazz. “You best hurry up, gayboy. If my daddy come by and you still here, he go’n kick at least three people’s asses. Ten dollars ain’t enough to make him happy.”

John kissed her on the lips. His tongue plunged into her mouth. His head was turned to the side to reach her face, while his crotch was forward for perfect access for Chazz.

As always, when Chazz got into the swing of his latest piece of street trade, he felt a real sense of intimacy with his man. He always thought the best way to get to know a straight man was to suck him off. All of his inner feelings and dreams were palpable when you had him at his most vulnerable, allowing a man to swing on his meat.

And John was no exception. Chazz swallowed his cock to the root as John kissed the prostitute and fingered her pussy and ass. She submited boredly, but John acted like she was just as passionate as she was. Maybe his heterosexuality blinded him, Chazz thought, while Chazz was gay enough that he could see when a woman was just pretending.

John wore this suit to impress her. Chazz had been going back and forth whether he wore it for her or because he just thought he looked good or maybe he was going to go club-hopping later, maybe he just wanted to get his rocks off before hitting on pretty girls so he wouldn’t be too horny. Or maybe he just always wore a suit, or he was hoping to become a pimp one day. There were a million reasons he might be wearing the cheap, ill-fitting burgundy suit.

But the more he sucked, the more Chazz knew the answer — John wanted to look his best for Sharlene, or whichever prostitute looked best to him when he got here. He felt like a trashy loser when he dressed in his ordinary t-shirt and jeans to get a blowjob from a whore, so he wore his only suit instead. He talked like he was seducing her, like she was his girlfriend, like he really loved her, because he wished he was the kind of man who felt that way about a girl.

Now that John was knuckle-deep in the plump prostitute, his dick throbbed and jerked around within Chazz’s throat. It spewed precum in copious quantities.

“I love you, baby, I love you so much,” John murmured to her. He completely ignored Chazz, focusing instead on kissing the prostitute on her neck. “Am I the only nigga you want?”

“Baby, you really are,” she said with a canned moan. She kissed him back on the neck.

He chuckled. “Damn, I like this. Only cost me ten bucks, and I’s gettin’ paid by the fairy. I’s makin’ a profit tonight, damn-howdy!”

The prostitute took a step back. She shook her head. “Nah. My daddy gonna be very mad ‘bout that, Johnnyboy.”

“What?” He had a big smile on his face like a mischievous little boy who had just gotten in trouble.

“Only his girls is allowed to work this alley,” she said. “He go’n cut you. Or just demand all the money the fairy is paying you. Or both.”

John chuckled. “Baby, don’t tell him, okay? You still gettin’ paid-“

“He’s my daddy, I gotta tell him! He get salty if’n I don’t.”

“If you don’t tell him, he won’t know nothin’, baby,” John said. He slipped a second finger into her pussy and groaned. She kissed him on the neck. John groaned. “Tell him the fairy ain’t pay. Tell him I let him have suck me as a freebie.”

“He won’t like that much either, nigga,” she said.

John sighed. “Then tell him to suck my dick or whatevuh, I don’t care. Quit talkin’ ‘bout yo’ pimp.”

He didn’t need to add talk about me instead, but that was what Chazz gleaned he wanted. The prostitute realized that too, and immediately started rubbing his chest through his shirt and talking about how much she wanted a taste of his cock. John just smiled and fingered her pussy. He brought his fingers up to his nose to sniff them.

“Suck ‘em off, baby, lemme see it,” John said. He tried to put his fingers in her mouth, but she kept her lips closed.

“Another ten bucks, sweetheart,” she said softly.

“You charge money to suck on my finger? It just got ya pussyjuice on it, baby? I love you-“

“I love you too, Johnnyboy, but I gotta pay my daddy,” she said. “Ten bucks and I’ll suck on any finger you put in front of my mouth.”

He chuckled and handed over another ten-dollar bill. He shook his head and bit his lip. He put his fingers back in her pussy, then removed his other finger, the one that had been in her ass.

“Hmm,” she moaned like she had been waiting for that. She swallowed his callused finger, making him shudder and lean back again.

Chazz stopped sucking his cock. John watched his finger slide in and out of her mouth like he was hypnotized, like he hadn’t even noticed the blowjob was finished. Chazz pulled his pants down and bared his ass.

Without a word from John, Chazz backed up. He squeezed John’s cock into his asshole. John just kept sticking his fingers in the prostitute’s holes; he switched his fingers around like it was a game, smilingly sickly as he watched her suck her pussy and ass juices off his finger.

Finally he looked down to see his cock slide into Chazz’s ass. He wrinkled his nose a bit, then went back to kissing the prostitute. His whole body trembled beneath the suit.

“Damn, baby, I love anal,” he said. He said it to her even though the only person whose ass he was in was Chazz. His hands roamed over her tits and tweaked her nipples through her green dress. “Can I suck on ya titties, baby? I love you so much. I’m gonna be wit’ you forevuh.”

“Uh-huh,” she crooned. “Twenty bucks.”

“Twenty bucks to suck on ya titties?!”

She smiled. “If you gimme another twenty bucks, I’ll have made fifty bucks off ya. That’s enough I can give my daddy, he ain’t gotta be mad,” she said.

“Alrighty, then, alrighty, but only cuz I love ya and I don’t want him beatin’ on ya, baby. That ain’t a good value, twenty bucks fo’ some titties, nah,” he said with a laugh. But he paid the twenty dollars anyway, and dove for her chest. He lowered her dress to bare the tits and began licking. He groaned. His cock spasmed in Chazz’s ass.

Chazz savored the exquisite feeling of John’s meat throbbing inside him. He moaned. He had to grip the side of the dumpster for support. It took all of his coordination to keep moving his ass back and forth on John’s cock, because John didn’t move his hips at all; Chazz was responsible for the entirety of the fucking. John ignored Chazz completely, kissing and pawing over the prostitute instead.

His sweat soaked his suit, which he had bought in Goodwill for a job interview years ago. John got the job, delivering flowers for a small florist shop. He hated his boss, a mean Armenian man who ran a flower shop even though he was allergic to pollen, disliked romance and thought any man who bought flowers for a woman besides his mother was not a real man. The only part of his job that John liked was that he was not usually in the shop, so he got to walk the streets, smoke joints when he wanted to, and he sometimes got married white housewives to suck his dick (okay, once he got one to suck his dick, but he got handjobs fairly often).

John had never told anyone, but Chazz was not the first man he fucked. When John was in prison for two years, he had a thin, delicate gay black man as a cellmate. Initially, John had beaten him up and taken his fruit cup in the mess hall. He arrived at prison wanting to show off and make a name for himself, and he was glad to have a small, weak cellmate he could pound on.

But over the next nineteen months, John went him hating his lilting, gay-faced cellmate to feeling sorry for him to being grateful for his attention to enjoying fucking him to even giving an enthusiastic reacharound after a few gulps of toilet wine (when there was a sheet up over the cell bars so no one knew John had touched a gay man’s cock). When John was released, he had sworn to himself he was going to make changes in his life, and one of those changes was that he was going to keep visiting his former cellmate. He wasn’t going to be embarrassed about it; he’d do it because he liked the support and adoration and the gay’s unqualified, relentless lust for his body. He liked to feel wanted. He had sworn on his good name that he’d keep coming back.

But once he was free, and he saw girls all over the place, and he got some good-natured ribbing about what he might have done with other males in prison, John wasn’t comfortable with it. In his cell, he could put up a sheet for privacy. If he went to prison as a visitor, he couldn’t hide anything.

So in the end, he had never once visited the man he almost fell in love with. He regretted it often, but John never looked him up again. He counted down the days to the man’s scheduled release date, and then he counted up the days since he had been released.

When he fucked Chazz there in the alley, that was what he thought about, even as he fingered Sharlene. He kissed her while imagining he was kissing a man who didn’t need to be paid to care for him. He bristled with pride at the thought that he had turned someone on enough to pay him for sex. He was a gigolo now, right? Or maybe not technically, but close enough he could claim he was and swear on his mama’s grave he wasn’t lying.

“Kiss me, baby,” he moaned. He grabbed her body and held her close. He kissed her tight on the lips, his tongue exploring her mouth. He was short and she was a little taller than him, but she was much thicker, so he looked even smaller in comparison, like she could have swallowed him up whole if she wanted.

His cock spasmed as he groaned into her mouth. His muscles tensed beneath the suit, which was now plastered to his chest with sweat. His balls drew up in his sac, and for the first time since this had begun, he gripped Chazz’s bare asscheeks. He loudly orgasmed, gasping and heaving in the shadowy alley.

John held Chazz in place and swayed his hips from side to side, fucking every inch of his insides. Cum sprayed over his prostate, triggering Chazz’s own orgasm at last. He sprayed his wad onto the garbagey alley ground, while John’s load coated his body.

John kept on fucking, sucking on the prostitute’s tongue and tweaking her nipples with both hands. His cock rammed in and out of Chazz’s cum-dripping ass. The more he fucked, the more of a mess he made — John had developed this game with his cellmate, making his load frothy, spilling out, bubbling forth in a big drippy wad that made him gag and laugh.

“Damn, boy, you take it — I mean, damn, girl, you got real nasty there, that was nice,” John said. He whistled. He pointed to the messy ass. “You see that, Sharlene? Lookit that. That is some nasty anal. That is right. That’s how you do it.”

“I do that, sugar,” Sharlene said like she was offended at the insinuation that she didn’t know how. “You know my price. You know I don’t give no discounts on anal, not no how.”

He smiled. He kissed Sharlene on the lips. “Yo’ daddy lettin’ you go out sometime, baby? I take you out to dinner-“

“No, sugar, that ain’t allowed,” she said. She pulled her dress back up over her tits.

He shrugged like he was expecting that answer, which he was: he asked her that every time she sucked him off. She said no every time he hired her, which was most weeks — basically unless she was with a different john when he arrived. He didn’t like waiting for her because it gave him plenty of time to wonder what kind of guy she was with, and then she’d inevitably taste like another man when he did get to kiss her. He knew that she was with a lot of men regardless; it was just easier to forget that when he didn’t have to wait for her to be finished with them.

“Hey, girl,” he said to Chazz as he smacked Chazz’s asscheeks. “Will you suck my nut out ya asshole? I want that. That’s hot, man. I love that. Ain’t no kinda girls ever do that. I never seen a female do that, and it turns me on so much-” He paused, then lied as he realized he had sort of admitted he did this with a man before “I mean, some girls do it, some do. That’s how I know how hot it is. But a lot of ‘em won’t do it.” The only person he had ever seen suck cum out of his own ass was his cellmate, but John wasn’t about to admit that.

“Okay, yeah,” Chazz said.

John smiled. He let go of the prostitute and slowly withdrew his limp dick. He gagged at the sight of juices dripping from it. He laughed so loud it echoed against the walls of the dumpster. “Ugh, this is so nasty, girl, I love it. I’m gonna love you too if you do this. I swear to God, I will marry you any day if you promise to suck on ass-to-mouth. So fuckin’ nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. I love it.”

He stroked his cock with one hand. It was so sensitive he yelped and his body undulated beneath the suit. He loosened the tie with his other hand. He rammed two fingers into Chazz’s ass. He gagged again, laughing nervously at his own reaction. He clawed inside Chazz’s body, causing a torrent of pain and exquisite post-orgasmic pleasure. He pulled his fingers out and watched with wide-eyed amazement as Chazz sucked them clean.

His fingers and hand were soaked in cum and assjuice. Chazz loved it. If he had thought John would ever agree to finger his asshole, he would have asked — he would have paid more if he knew it was an option, so he was glad John had initiated it for free instead. John’s fingers were callused and scarred, and they tasted like stale sweat beneath the assjuice and cum.

“That was so disgusting, girl, I love it,” he said to Chazz. “I swear to God, I will marry you, baby.” He paused. “I ain’t serious, I know you ain’t no girl. I won’t marry you. No how. You ain’t my boyfriend.”

“I know,” Chazz said. He pulled his own pants up. He felt grimy and dirty, but he loved that feeling. He watched John tuck away his own cock and zip his slacks back up.

Daddy’s here, where’s my money, babies?!

A big black man in a fine blue suit — this one was perfectly tailored, vibrantly colored and clean as a whistle; this man was clearly a pimp — walked into the alley. He bellowed, and the prostitutes at the other end of the alley all spoke at once. There was a chorus of feminine voices.

The pimp didn’t notice Sharlene there, so she stepped out from behind him. She smiled and giggled to get his attention.

“Oh, hello, baby, whatchoo doin’ back there?” He saw John. “G’evenin’, sir. You got ya usual?”

John laughed. “Not the usual, exactly. But I got what I need, nigga, no pro’lem.” He walked away, dapping his head as he walked, dancing to an unheard beat just like he was when he entered the alley.

Chazz hid there in the shadows for a moment, while the prostitute handed her money over and explained what had happened. When her pimp glowered a little like the money she had earned was not enough, Chazz wondered if he was going to get in trouble after all.

So he fled into the night. He was thin and quick, and the pimp didn’t know he was there, so he just darted right past him and ran out of the alley.

Chazz was ready to move on. The city streets were alive with hot straight men, and Chazz couldn’t wait to service every last one of them.

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.”

Str8 Thugs at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of Str8 Thugs at the City Barbershop, a new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s about one sexy twink who loves to service the black gangstas and gangbangers of the City Barbershop!

Harvey was just about done for the night when there was a loud knock on the door. The City Barbershop of Wilmington, Delaware was closed, so he didn’t want to answer it. He had closed the shop tonight, so he had stayed late to count the register, clean up and get the shop ready for tomorrow morning. Unlike virtually all of the other barbers here, Harvey actually did everything he was supposed to when he closed. He didn’t just leave it for the next day’s crew to do in the morning.

He also locked the door strictly at ten o’clock. If there were still customers in the shop — there weren’t today — he’d finish their haircuts, but he didn’t let anyone in after ten.

Now he was in the backroom, having just finished counting the register when he heard that insistent pounding on the front door. He hurriedly shoved the money into the safe just in case, then peered into the frontroom. He didn’t want whoever it was outside to know he was here, so he could still pretend the shop was empty.

Yo! Hey! Theo! Franklin! You two in there?!

There was loud, raucous laughter, a group of niggas. They sounded like thugs, which made Harvey nervous. Was he about to be robbed? He was a thin gay twink, one of several who worked here at the City Barbershop. This shop was known for a special tradition — straight black men could come here for a quick blowjob on the downlow, no questions asked. Harvey was still new so he had only sucked off a few swaggering sexy thugs, but he was well familiar with the tradition. It was half the reason he wanted to work here.

Theo and Franklin were the other two gay guys here. They had gone home hours ago. They were engaged to be married, but they both still sucked off straight guys — it wasn’t cheating, it seemed, if it happened at the City Barbershop.

A part of Harvey was disappointed that the laughing men weren’t asking for him. He knew it was just because he was new. If they were really here for a blowjob — which is what their nervous bravado and laughter suggested — they wouldn’t care too much who did the sucking. They just mentioned Theo and Franklin because they had worked here for a long time, while Harvey was still new.

Hey! I see you, nigga!

It’s that new nigga. What’s ‘is name?

Harvey! Hey Harvey, let us in! You wanna swing on this dick?

Harvey shivered. He went out into the front and pretended like he had only just now heard the men. There were five of them. One was Reggie — he was the one who had knocked — and the other four gripped a shirtless thug whom Harvey didn’t know. The shirtless thug writhed and smiled like he didn’t really want to be here but didn’t want to fight back either.

He opened the door, and they all pushed in. It was chilly out, cold enough that it was strange for the one thug to be shirtless. That was when Harvey noticed the tattoo on his belly. The shirtless man had the word NINE tattooed in an arc on the top left side of his belly, like the left half of the classic THUG LIFE tattoo. The skin around the E was reddish and flaky — that was a new tattoo.

“Yo nigga, this here is Varshawn. You like him?” Reggie asked. Everyone except Varshawn chuckled. Varshawn sighed and rolled his eyes. The muscles of his bare chest writhed. Reggie patted his belly, and Varshawn writhed, grimacing because of the sensitive tattoo flesh. “Huh? You think he’s hot?”

“Uh… Yeah, I guess so,” Harvey said. He blushed and put his hands on his hips.

He ain’t nevuh gotten a blowjob from a nigga.

He say he can’t get hard that way.

“I can’t,” Varshawn said. He alone sounded weak and confident. “I’m a Christian nigga. We don’t do that in Richmond.”

I know that is bullshit.

“You gonna blow a big ol’ nut, Varshawn,” Reggie said. He grinned. “Varshawn here was just gettin’ a tattoo and he sayin’ he can’t get hard wit’ a nigga on his dick. We said we could prove that ain’t true. You suck dick, right? You suck good. I was gonna ask for Theo, I know he can suck the foreskin off a Jamaican, nigga.”

These men were all Nine Tats. That was a widespread street gang all of whom got the same tattoo, the words NINE TATS tattooed in an arc on their upper belly, with an underline beneath it. Only they didn’t get the entire tattoo at once — every time they committed some act to prove their devotion to the gang, they got a new letter tattooed on. Only the toughest and highest-ranking thugs ever got all eight letters and the underline, which was the final step. None of the men here had the underline, or even all eight letters. Reggie had NINE TA, and he was the most powerful gangbanger in Wilmington that Harvey knew of.

Someone undid Varshawn’s belt and his loose-sagging jeans fell to the ground Varshawn smiled nervously. His friends held onto his elbows like they were forcing him into it, though neither actually gripped him, so Varshawn could have walked away if he wanted to. They led him into the shop, the bell on the door tinkling as it swung shut.

Harvey was so surprised and aroused that he didn’t even think about shutting the curtains of the shop before he sunk to his knees. He was about to suck dick in full view of everyone walking or driving by, on one of the busiest streets in Wilmington. Luckily Reggie thought of that before Harvey got too far. He closed the curtain and made sure the door was locked. Harvey pulled down Varshawn’s boxers to reveal a thick, plump brown cock, dangling between his legs. It was as limp as could be.

“Ah, man, ah… You really gonna make a nigga do this?” Varshawn asked. He had a big nervous grin on his face, and he couldn’t stop laughing. He covered his face with one hand. His eyes kept darting between Reggie and his other niggas, who all chuckled along with him.

Harvey stuck his tongue out and licked Varshawn’s meat from tip to root. That sent a shudder of pleasure up Varshawn’s spine, and he stopped laughing for just a moment, like he was surprised that it didn’t hurt.

“Damn…”

Then Harvey put the tip in his mouth, just the first inch or so, and he loudly suckled as though he was trying to suck the end of Varshawn’s cock right off. The other niggas had all suggested Harvey might not be as good of a cocksucker as Theo, so Harvey wanted to prove they were wrong. Whatever happened here was going to be the subject of rumors and gossip for months to come, so it was likely to cement his reputation. Varshawn writhed, and his dick jerked.

There it goes, nigga!

You gettin’ hard.

Tol’ you it’d happen, nigga!

Harvey deep-throated it, letting that entire cock slide down his throat. He got almost the whole thing in there before gagging forced him to stop, and the shaft began to straighten and stiffen up. Varshawn watched with wide, horrified eyes like a mad scientist seeing his creation run amok. He kept his arms firmly away from Harvey, unwilling to touch him though that had the result of forcing Varshawn’s hands to grip his niggas, who still held him in place. So to avoid touching a gay man, Harvey, Varshawn groped the well-muscled, tattooed bodies of his fellow gangbangers. He didn’t seem to notice the irony.

The cock pulsating in his mouth tasted of fine coffee and cocoa butter, a taste that Harvey adored. He forced himself to keep that entire cock in his throat for as long as he could manage, despite his choking and sputtering, because he wanted to shock Varshawn with how good his blowjob was.

You likin’ it now, nigga!

That plan apparently succeeded. Varshawn’s giggling turned into surprised murmuring, and Varshawn writhed like he was epileptic. His niggas’ held him just tightly enough that he would have to pull hard to get away, but he remained free to go anytime.

He just didn’t want to go, that much was clear. His nervous smile turned more and more aroused, like he was forgetting his initial reluctance. His dick throbbed in Harvey’s mouth, his sour-sweet precum flowing down Harvey’s throat.

Reggie sidled up closer to Varshawn, who didn’t notice because his eyes were closed. The other niggas hushed their own giggling like schoolchildren. Reggie waited until he was so close he nearly kissed Varshawn, then he said, “Whatchoo think, nigga?”

Varshawn’s eyes popped open and he yelped. He blushed as they all laughed. Varshawn was obviously a lot less comfortable with man-on-man contact than the others, and he avoided looking at Reggie. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes again.

“Huh? You scared of gays, nigga? Huh? You wanna be a thug, right? You wanna join us? You gonna end up doin’ a lot worse than gettin’ sum head from a nigga. Can you handle it? Huh? Say somethin’, nigga.”

Varshawn gulped. “Uh… Yeah… I can handle it. I’m doin’ it, ain’t I?”

“Open yo’ eyes, nigga.”

Varshawn did so. Reggie was still right there, so close his breath condensed on Varshawn’s cheeks. Reggie placed one hand lightly on Varshawn’s belly, which made Varshawn’s entire body ripple like he was ticklish.

Despite Varshawn’s obvious embarrassment, his dick just got harder and harder. Precum dripped in great gobs down Harvey’s throat. He loved the flavor of precum, especially in fresh cocks that hadn’t bust any time recently. He could tell that was half the reason Varshawn had gotten hard so quickly — he was horny.

“You gonna nut, nigga?” Reggie asked, laughing when his voice made Varshawn writhe.

Varshawn didn’t answer. He just wrinkled his nose and flexed his hips to shove his dick down Harvey’s throat. His hands still flailed at his side, instinctively gripping Reggie’s broad shoulders and rippling chest muscles. Varshawn didn’t even seem to notice what his hands were doing.

Fill that nigga up!

Yeah, suck that shit, suck it, damn…

Finally Harvey felt Varshawn’s dick pulsating with the power of his orgasm. He gasped and clawed at his niggas’ bodies all around him, while Harvey gulped down wad after wad of creamy cum.

There he goes!

His climax looked almost painful. He contorted, ripping himself away from the niggas who had been holding onto his arms and shoulders. He grunted. He bit his lip, sending an impossibly copious load of cum into Harvey’s stomach.

Harvey was focused on the taste and feel of cum inside his belly, so he didn’t see Reggie kiss Varshawn. It was just a quick, chaste peck on the lips, clearly an awkward attempt to freak Varshawn out. As soon as it happened, they all burst into cheers and laughter as Varshawn barked, squirmed and pulled his head away. Harvey kept on draining the last of his cum while Varshawn tried to pretend he wasn’t upset by the kiss.

“You squeamish as shit, nigga,” Reggie said. “You gonna have to work on that.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded as Varshawn looked away. He even wiped his lips off like Reggie might have contaminated him.

Eventually it was all done. Varshawn was limp and sweaty, sitting in a barber’s chair. Harvey kept sucking until Varshawn pushed him away — Harvey liked doing that because he loved the feel of a rubbery cum-drained cock limply throbbing in his throat.

“Damn, nigga, you like a vacuum cleaner and shit…” Varshawn said with a laugh. He exchanged awkward glances with the other niggas. He gingerly cleaned his dick off with a tissue, and avoided looking at Harvey.

Told you he’d make you hard. Make you cum real good.

Ain’t nobody can resist a blowjob at the City Barbershop.

Everyone laughed at Varshawn so much Harvey felt a little sorry for him. But that didn’t stop him from diving back in and licking his cock again — it was limp and clammy, dry until Harvey slathered spit all along it. Varshawn groaned like he was annoyed, then shuddered as his dick jerked beneath Harvey’s tongue.

“Sorry, I just needed another taste,” Harvey said. Varshawn eyed him suspiciously, sighed and rolled his eyes. He grabbed another tissue to reclean his dick off.

This time, when he was done, Harvey tried to lick him yet again but Varshawn was waiting. He pushed Harvey away. “Nah, nigga, you done. You had yo’ fill,” he said through gritted teeth. He looked angry, but Harvey wasn’t worried — Reggie and the other niggas laughed so hard at Varshawn’s reaction that they were doubled over, wiping tears from their eyes.

“Quit laughin’, niggas, damn,” Varshawn said. He blushed and bit his lip. He took a deep breath as he pulled his jeans back up. “I ain’t know this town was into the gay shit like that.”

“Nah, nigga, we ain’t into that gay shit,” Reggie said with a cruel grin. “You is. That’s what I heard. I heard you let niggas suck you off and shit.”

Harvey giggled. “I heard a rumor you let some nigga kiss you. I’m an authority on gays, and nigga, that makes you gay.”

“All y’all shut up!” Varshawn screamed. “I know this ain’t part of it. I got my tattoo. I did what I gotta do. Fuck you all!” He walked straight towards the door, ignoring the laughter and jeers from Harvey, Reggie and the other niggas.

“Okay, sweetie, I’ll see you at home,” Harvey said, making Reggie and the others laugh so hard they cried. Harvey whistled at Varshawn’s swaying ass as he walked out the door.