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MM Thugs Downlow

There’s a freebie giveaway going on for a book called MM Thugs Downlow over at Instafreebie! This is the same story as Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit, so don’t download it if you’ve read that one (you almost certainly haven’t, I goofed that book’s rollout a long time ago, almost no one has ever read it).

Walter was nervous about starting his new job for two reasons. First of all, he was beginning work as a barber, having just earned his cosmetology license. The second reason was that he was a gay man working at the City Barbershop, a chain that had an unofficial reputation as a spot where straight men could get some no-questions action from a gay man. Traditionally speaking, what happened there didn’t count, and no one was allowed to talk about it outside of the shop.

Since Walter was gay, it would undoubtedly be assumed that he was going to service these straight men. He absolutely wasn’t opposed to it — he loved str8 cock, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. He was excited. But it was still a nerve-wracking experience. He didn’t know how the other barbers would react to him, how violent the neighborhood was, or even how many guys might expect his services in a given day (either haircutting or cocksucking services, he didn’t know).

His first couple clients, however, were children — his first day was the last day of summer break, so there were a lot of children getting gussied up for school. It wasn’t until near closing-time that the first even remotely plausible conquest showed up.

His name was Dwayne. It seemed everyone in the shop knew him. (Yo, wuz crackin’, Dwayne?) He was tall and lanky, though not exactly skinny — he had long limbs and ropy muscles, inked with tattoos. He had a wild and untamed fro when before his haircut.

“You new, huh?” he asked with a nod once Walter got started. Walter nodded. He lowered his voice. “You queer, right?” Walter nodded to that too. Dwayne frowned and looked down.

(Yuh, nigga…)

Did he just grab his dick? Walter wasn’t sure. It looked like he might have, beneath the barber’s chair apron. Walter didn’t want to make an unwelcome pass at someone, especially a mean-looking thug like Dwayne. He glowered at Walter as though mad the haircut wasn’t already complete.

“So what’s back there, huh?” He nodded towards the door to the backroom. “Bathrooms and shit?”

“Uh, yeah… Yeah, bathrooms… Or one bathroom, I mean.” Walter said. He smiled as he brought the mirror up so Dwayne could see the back of his head. His afro was now very short, but at least it was even. He nodded with satisfaction.

“That it?”

“Uh… I mean, there’s storage back there, I think.”

Dwayne chuckled. There was some scattered laughter from elsewhere in the shop. “Damn, nigga, you need to pick up on some goddamn hints,” Dwayne said, loud enough that everyone could hear. They all laughed. Dwayne stood up and took his apron off. Then he spoke as though making a grand announcement, “I would like you to suck my cock now, in the back room. Damn… I try to be discrete and shit, fuck!” He stalked off towards the backroom before even waiting for Walter to agree.

Laughter filled the shop. Walter blushed, but followed Dwayne, entranced by the swaggerous lean to his step. Dwayne shook his head — it seemed he would have preferred to not make a scene about this, but now everyone was watching him go back there.

As soon as he shut the door behind himself, Dwayne frowned at Walter. “You gonna eat my nut, right? I don’t like it when bitches spit it out. That’s disrespec’ful.”

“I would never spit it out,” Walter said. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue over his lips, which made Dwayne shudder in anticipation.

“Good. Git on your knees, bitch,” he said with a leer. “Get busy.”

Walter did so. He could hear laughter out in the main part of the shop — it sounded like they were teasing Dwayne, presumably thinking their words would carry. But all Walter heard was a jumble of laughter and murmuring.

As Walter had suspected would happen, Dwayne didn’t drop his pants. He just let his cock flop out the fly of his sagging jeans. A lot of gangstas didn’t take their clothes off for a man (and not even for most women) so that they could still run away if they needed to — or so they said, Walter had long suspected a lot of them were embarrassed of their chicken legs, since they only ever worked out their glamour muscles.

The tip of Dwayne’s cock pulsated in Walter’s mouth. Walter knew exactly how to get Dwayne to fuck the way Walter wanted to fuck, and he started by just sucking on the tip — frustrating him by not deep-throating would get Dwayne excited about fucking Walter’s throat. He gripped Dwayne’s thighs through his jeans.

Gradually, Dwayne began flexing his hips to hump Walter’s mouth. “Come on, nigga, suck on it, don’t just play wit’ it,” Dwayne said over and over. At last he got the hint that he would need to fuck Walter’s throat — exactly what Walter wanted all along.

That was what it took for his cock to stiffen up the rest of the way, until it was an iron rod jamming right down his throat. Walter choked up a mountain of spit that dripped down Dwayne’s shaft — he knew from personal experience that thugs like Dwayne enjoyed lots of spit and gagging. They liked to know that sucking their cock was difficult.

And it was difficult — it was also sexy and delicious and Walter loved every bit of it, but it did have a sour, sweaty flavor, and it made him gag every time Dwayne daggered himself into Walter’s throat.

His phone rang. Dwayne wrinkled his nose, annoyed, and he almost didn’t answer it. After a few rings, however, he did. “Yo, what?” He sounded angry at being interrupted.

Walter heard laughter again from the main part of the shop, braying guffaws of embarrassment being covered up with cockiness. Someone from the shop was calling Dwayne, he realized, though he couldn’t hear the voice.

“Yeah, nigga. You know what I’m doin’. Shut the fuck up. I know you done it too, nigga. Don’t you lie to me! Last Christmas, motherfucker, at yo’ momma’s party. That Latin gayboy took you in- Don’t gimme that shit, you ain’t just smoke a bowl wit’ him. You ain’t in the habit of smokin’ bowls with strange queers, nigga, and you told me right afterward he sucked yo’ balls dry.”

Everyone in the barbershop cheered. Walter was distracted by the powerful flavor of precum coating his tongue, but he got the impression the phone in the shop was on speaker, so everyone heard what Dwayne said. The person who dialed must have been embarrassed. Whoever it was — maybe Roc, Walter guessed from the voice — then said something else, something more serious.

“Don’t you be talkin’ ‘bout that shit on speakerphone, nigga,” Dwayne said. “If you want somethin’, you know what corner to holla at.” Then he hung up the phone without waiting for another reply. He scoffed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Fuckin’ foolish-ass niggas…”

He moaned then, and grabbed Walter’s head so he could hump it more effectively. His whole body spasmed as he reached orgasm, his balls pulsating where they rested against Walter’s chin.

Oh damn, I hear that shit, nigga be done now! You tastin’ that nut, huh?

A burst of creamy cum wrapped around Walter’s tongue, as he savored every drop of juice dripping down his gullet. Dwayne’s muscles flexed all at once, and he grunted loud enough that the men in the other room cheered.

“Ah, damn,” Dwayne muttered. He pulled his pants up, speaking loud to be heard over the cheers. “You suck like a fuckin’ champion, nigga.” Then he eyed Walter suspiciously. “Sorry, I gonna tell them you ain’t that good. I gonna say you pretty good for a faggot.” He looked genuinely apologetic for a moment.

“That’s okay,” Walter said as Dwayne walked towards the door. He wiped cum off his chin, his eyes drawn to Dwayne’s plump ass in his sagging jeans and revealed boxers. Walter made a kissy-face at Dwayne before he walked out the door. “I plan on proving myself to every single nigga in that room.”

Downlow Thugs at the City Barbershop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You extortin’ me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Servicing a Robber: The Black Thug

Here’s a sample from Servicing a Robber: The Black Thug, a hot str8core servicing tale from Marcus Greene! It’s about what happens when a home invasion turns sexy, starring a new alpha worshiper named Calvin!

 

“Where’s your cash?”

“I don’t have any, there’s like nine bucks in my pocket, I think,” Calvin said. “I don’t have any cash.”

“Liar!”

“No, I swear! I just went on vacation, I spent all my cash. I’m broke right now,” Calvin said.

“They said you’s a writer,” he said with a sneer.

“Yeah!”

“So where’s the money, huh? You got Harry Potter money?”

“No! Only J.K. Rowling has Harry Potter money!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You think I’d live here if I had Harry Potter money? That’s not the kind of thing I write anyway. I write lesbian romance-“

“What?”

“I’m a lesbian romance author.”

“You ain’t a lesbian.”

“No, the books are lesbian. The readers are lesbian.”

“You ain’t a lesbian.”

“Technically you don’t have to be a lesbian to write about lesbians. Technically speaking,” Calvin said.

“You sure?”

“Trust me, I’m a writer,” Calvin said.

“So you don’t make money at that?”

“I make enough to pay the bills,” Calvin said. “And once a year, I can afford to go to Hawaii. If you had robbed me like two weeks ago, I would have had some money. But I spent it all trying to seduce the bellhop at the hotel. God, Polynesian men are sexy, y’know-“

“No, I don’t know. What’s a fucking Polynesian?”

“Nevermind, man,” Calvin said. “Look, I don’t have any cash. You got my TV and my X-Box. What more do you want?”

“I want money, nigga.”

“Well, here’s my nine dollars,” Calvin said, pulling a few dollar bills out of his pocket. He handed it to the robber, who didn’t move to take it. Calvin slowly put the money in the man’s pocket.

With his hand momentarily close to the man’s crotch, Calvin suddenly wondered if there was a potential for sex here. He avoided eye contact as the man glared at him as though trying to decide if Calvin was lying. Calvin nervously caressed the man’s crotch through his pocket for just a second, then withdrew his hand.

He didn’t react, Calvin noticed, which made him feel optimistic. Calvin loved servicing straight men, especially thugs like him — if he could have made a living writing that, he would. But the market just wasn’t as big as lesbian romance, or maybe it was easier to write stuff he had no personal interest in because he was distracted less by his own desires.

“You little pissant!” the man grunted. He shook his head. “You a snitch?”

“No!”

“You look like a snitch,” the man said.

“I’m not, I swear,” Calvin said. “I’m gay. I don’t like cops any more than you do.”

He paused. “Gays don’t like cops?”

“No, of course not! It wasn’t that long ago they were arresting us for excessive flamboyance,” Calvin said. That wasn’t strictly true, but he thought he could bullshit this man into leaving without hurting him.

“What?”

“Just… let me pay you my own way,” Calvin said.

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Calvin reached out for the man’s crotch again. “You want a blowjob?”

He paused. “Oh, you real nasty, huh?”

Calvin nodded. “I guess so, yeah.” His heart pounded. He felt the man’s thick cock and bulging ballsack through his sagging jeans. He had hefty meat, Calvin thought, and he was getting hard just thinking about it.

“I ain’t givin’ you back yer shit,” the man said.

“Fine. I got insurance,” Calvin said. He didn’t mention that he had brought with him to Hawaii the only laptop computer he had that was worth anything — it was still out in his car with his suitcase and a few hundred dollars in cash, not to mention a beautiful pearl necklace that Calvin had bought for his mother. This robber seemed to have accepted Calvin’s claim that he had nothing valuable here.

He unzipped his fly. Calvin smiled and pulled his dick out through the fly with one hand. He whistled when he saw it.