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Mafia Muscle, the Masseur and the Happy Ending

Here’s the beginning of Mafia Muscle, the Masseur and the Happy Ending, a new story of yaoi MM erotica by Lee Lane Lamplight!

John giggled as he wrapped one hand around Alfie’s cock. He tried to keep a straight face, or at least avoid making too much noise, because he thought it would make Alfie uncomfortable. Alfie had a thick slab of uncut meat. John didn’t often get to mess around with uncircumcised men, so he enjoyed playing with Alfie’s foreskin.

Soon his cock had firmed up, and it throbbed beneath John’s hand. Alfie’s broad chest muscles rippled as a wave of pleasure rolled over him. Alfie bit his lip and grunted. His swarthy face turned ruddy from both arousal and embarrassment.

“Ah, shit yeah, man, I love how ya hand feel on my meat, but don’t tell no one…”

John had thought Alfie was hot from the moment he first laid eyes on him. He had been coming in and out of the building with his head down since he opened his massage parlor there. He felt it was necessary to keep a low profile because he had come to learn the restaurant on the ground floor — right beneath the massage parlor he had saved years to open — was Mafia-connected.

It seemed like a joke when a friend first told him about the rumors. He had initially dismissed it as silly gossip. It was an Italian restaurant, he thought, they probably tried give the place a Mafia reputation to spur sales.

He had to admit that, when he walked through the foyer to get to the stairs leading up to the second floor, it sure looked like a Mafia restaurant. There were never very many customers there, even on a weekend night. There were a lot more men than women, and nearly everyone looked Italian — he once saw a scared-looking Chinese couple in there, eating quickly and looking like they had already come to regret their choice of dining establishments.

The first time he saw Alfie, John had come through the foyer just as a small group was leaving. Alfie stood behind a table of older Italian gentlemen. He was a bodyguard, or so it looked. He was much younger than the others, with a big shock of curly black hair that ran down to his broad shoulders. He looked at John as though he might stop him from going to the stairs. The old men at the table didn’t seem to notice John.

That had been the kicker — that was when John realized the rumors were true. He had never in his life see anyone at a restaurant with a bodyguard. That could only be a Mafia event, he thought.

What should he do about it? He didn’t have any ideas. He certainly wasn’t going to call the police. He resolved to never ask anyone from the restaurant for a favor, for fear of being asked to repay it.

That had been the end until Alfie came upstairs, nervously, head down, chest muscles quivering beneath his button-down shirt. John had heard laughter down in the restaurant when he opened the door. He didn’t know this massage was going to lead right into the sexiest happy ending John had ever given out.

“Oh god, man… Oh god…” Alfie sat up and opened his eyes. He looked down his broad, expansive chest at his cock in John’s hand. Alfie picked up the crucifix that dangled between his pecs and kissed it. He wanted to make the sign of the cross, but he worried it would be sacrilegious to do it while he got a handjob from a man.

He covered his eyes with his forearm. He prayed that he was doing the right thing by agreeing to this. It didn’t exactly feel like the right thing.

Alfie — or Alfredo, but no one called him that — was raised mainly by his mother. He was aware of his father, in prison, but he only met him a few times. His uncle had long talked, in his dense New Jersey dialect, about men who were bardassas: bottoms. As far the men of Alfie’s family were concerned, a real man penetrated, sticking his cock in whichever tight hole he could fit it in, consequences be damned. It was only the bottom who was properly ashamed of being treated in that way. A bardassa was a bottom, whether willing or not.

But the Mafia in America didn’t act that way anymore. They had women available. Alfie’s employer was Clan Novelli, who owned numerous brothels throughout New York. Alfie was able to go see the girls anytime he wanted — he was too nervous to actually do so, because his mother raised him to stay away from prostitutes, but he had made it seem to his fellow mafioso that he had done it. He wanted them to think he was a macho man’s man.

They had found out he was lying. They asked at the brothel he had claimed to visit most recently, and they said he was never there. Alfie had been humiliated. They had asked if he was a virgin. He wasn’t, but they didn’t believe it.

“Go upstairs, Alfie, to the massage parlor. Ask for a happy ending, and you will be a man at last,” said Don Novelli, a portly older man who had patted Alfie’s muscled back beneath his ill-fitting suit. Alfie nodded. He wasn’t allowed to question the Don.

“Yes, Don,” he said. “I… I ain’t no virgin. I can… I can fuck that masseuse broad, no problem.” He added a cocky chuckle.

“Alfie! You forget yourself,” Don Novelli said. Alfie knew he’d be scolded for speaking so rudely in front of the Don. It was worth it to look like a real man.

“Yes, Don. I apologize. I am often, uh, overwhelmed by my urges.” He grabbed at his cock through his slacks and sniffled. He hoped he looked suitably macho.

“Yes. Yes, I am sure,” Don Novelli said with a wry smile.

And so Alfie had gone upstairs. He heard snickering from Don Novelli and the other made men down there as he went up the stairs, but he thought they were just laughing at how big Alfie was. They often called him names like ox or horse because he was well over six and a half feet tall and built like a professional wrestler. He hoped the girl was not going to be tiny — he had come to accept that he was too big for any thin, pretty girl; he needed hefty, thick girls who could handle Alfie’s size and his rough-hewn body.

And that was when he knocked on the door the Happy Endings Massage Parlor. As the door opened, Alfie realized he had never seen any girls here, just that one seemingly gay man who came in and out frequently.

He groaned. It all came together. There was no girl. That was why Don Novelli and the others laughed. They knew Alfie was going to have to fuck a man.

He would have done it too. Alfie’s uncle had assured him it would make him a man. He said that real men knew how to take some sniveling weakling and turn him into a bardassa.

The Las Vegas Impersonator

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


Kyle shivered a little when the elevator door opened. Elvis stood there in front of him. He was young, glorious Elvis, radiantly macho as he stood there with a big grin on his smooth face. His hefty body barely fit in his white shirt beneath a black jacket. That little tendril of hair that hung over his forehead was like a beckoning finger, demanding Kyle enter the elevator and suck his body clean.

It wasn’t really Elvis, of course. Elvis would be elderly if he were still alive. This was a man named Rank Teravalo. He worked here at the Count Castle Casino in northern Las Vegas. Kyle worked here too, though he was nothing more than a blackjack dealer. Rank was an Elvis impersonator, and he performed a retro-rockabilly show five nights a week.

“Howdy,” Rank said. He still had that Southern accent. It clung to him and it required active thought to switch himself back to his ordinary dialect (he was an Italian-American from Queens).

“You sound tired,” Kyle said. He didn’t want to embarrass Rank, so he just got in the elevator and stood there awkwardly. He was sure he hadn’t hidden how much Rank turned him on. Rank was sexy, handsome and deep-dimpled. He was a bodybuilder too; some of the casino patrons referred to him as Muscle-Elvis because he was substantially more muscular than the real Elvis had ever been. Kyle had had a huge crush on him from the moment he first saw Rank with his chest bursting from the up-collared shirt he wore over jeans that hugged his plump ass. Kyle had stood there drooling at him from the audience.

“Yeah, you seen them old broads?” Rank asked. His accent was cute, Kyle thought, because, when he dropped character, he still spoke like a Kentucky country singer but with the diction of his New York City home. “There’s a big party of ‘em ‘round he’e, uh-huh. They all over the place. They’s a fuckin’ bachelorette party, swear to God. What kinda old lady got a bachelorette party in Vegas? The bride’s like sixty.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Kyle said. “Old ladies need loving too, Rank. You shouldn’t hide your sexiness from them.”

Rank smiled. “I don’t need some lady older than my mom pinchin’ my ass. One of ‘em I think was tryin’-a get her finger in my asshole, man. I swear, she was tryin’ to finger me, like she thought I might have a treasure hidden in there.”

Kyle giggled. “Oh you’re just playing, I know you love it when women fawn all over-“

The elevator rocked and trembled. A loud beeping sound filled the air, then it slowly trailed off like some piece of electronics somewhere in the machinery was dying. Kyle and Rank exchanged nervous glances as the elevator came to a screeching halt.

“Oh shit.”

“Is this broken?” Kyle went straight to the elevator door. He managed to force it open with Rank’s help, but behind the door was just stone wall.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…” Rank went to the emergency phone, but it rang before he could even touch it. A security guy was on the other end of the line. “Uh, hello? Error signal? Yeah, the elevator’s stuck. We’re in here. Two people, just me and Kyle. Rank Teravalo and Kyle…”


“Kyle Martin.” He laughed. “Shut up, Jamaal, I ain’t like that. When’re we gettin’ out of here? Well call him up, asshole! I don’t care!” He chuckled. “Yeah, there’s a patron in here too. She’s an old lady who got a lawyer on retainer. She say she gonna sue yo’ ass, boy.” His Kentucky accent gradually dwindled now that he was stressed and out of that Elvis-mindset. He angrily slammed the phone down. “Fuckin’ Jamaal, he’s an asshat. Fuck that guy.”

“What’d he say?”

“He’s calling maintenance, he said it was lesser priority cuz there weren’t no patrons in here. And he thinks…” Rank glanced at Kyle and bit his lip. For a moment he really looked like Elvis, and Kyle blushed.



“Did he say something about me?”

Rank blushed and winced. “No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It wasn’t… Man, just… I said it, it wasn’t no thing, man. I was just kiddin’-“

“What? What did you say?”

Rank sighed. “Man… It ain’t a big deal, alright? But a couple days ago, I told Jamaal you was, y’know… I know you want me, alright? I seen you lookin’ at me, and shit… And Jamaal was sayin’ I should let you take a swing on my meat.” He grabbed his cock through his tight bell-bottom pants. “He said since we stuck in here anyway…”

“Oh.” Kyle blushed. He hadn’t realized how obvious he was checking Rank out. In his defense, it was almost impossible not to — he was simply stacked all over, and he was dressed like an attention-grabbing idol, so he was hard to ignore.

A very tense air filled the elevator. Kyle forgot his annoyance and fear at being stuck in the elevator. All he could think about was Rank’s body and that handsome face. He giggled to relieve the tension in his mind.

Alpha Cellmate: The Mafioso

Here’s the first chapter of Alpha Cellmate: The Mafioso, a new story from Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary! It’s a hot tale of interracial action behind bars!

Rashad was terrified as he walked naked through the corridors of Brutewood Penitentiary, but he hid it with a well-timed sashay of his hips whenever he passed a group of inmates. He was gay and he had no intention of hiding it. He knew that, if he played it right, being gay was a good thing behind bars.

Luckily, Rashad loved servicing alpha male thugs like the mainly black and Latino men who filled Brutewood’s cells. So he hoped that’s who his cell-mate would be. He was certain he could get any nigga like himself — but bigger, stronger and tougher — to agree to protect him in exchange for sexual favors, which Rashad was excited to perform anyway.

A part of him had always hoped he’d get to spend a little time in prison. He knew he’d hate the isolation, the boredom, the deprivation, but he had always loved macho alpha male thugs. They didn’t even have to have perfect prison-toned bodies as far as he was concerned. Rashad thought the swagger was sexier than the details of a man’s body size and shape.

He was both disappointed and elated to see the scowling man who sat on the upper bunk of the tiny cell. Rashad was disappointed because he was neither black nor Latino — he was white — but he was elated because he was sexy.

Rashad’s new cellmate was Sonny Migaccio, and he was a square-jawed Italian with a dense mop of black hair, broad shoulders and a hairy chest. Rashad wanted to pounce on his cock even before the guard shut the cell door.

“Hi,” Rashad said, managing to restrain himself long enough to get it out. He smiled coquettishly. He didn’t know how comfortable Sonny was with man-on-man sex, so Rashad tried to play up his feminine flamboyance. He sighed dramatically, opening his mouth wide to show how much he could fit in there. “My name’s Rashad.”

Sonny just nodded at him. He snorted and looked Rashad up and down. Rashad could pinpoint the exact moment when Sonny realized Rashad was gay. His nostrils flared and he rolled his eyes.

Rashad’s gaze was drawn to the massive bulge in his prison pants. He looked to have a big cock, probably uncut. Rashad was drooling already. He didn’t normally like white men very much, but Sonny was plenty sexy — Rashad smiled, recalling what his brother told him once: Italians are the white equivalent of niggas, Rashad. Don’t nevuh fuck wit’ dem. Rashad had never followed his brother’s advice.

“You like what you see?” Rashad asked as he put his clothes down on the bottom bunk. He turned around to display his bare, plump brown ass for Sonny.

“I am one-hundred percent hetero, queerboy. If you ain’t got tits, I ain’t interested,” Sonny said. He sounded bored, his Italian-New Jersey accent resonant in the tiny cell. He sneered in Rashad’s direction but didn’t look at him directly.

“Are you sure? I could sure use a strong man to protect me. This is a rough place. A big boy like you could treat me as bad as he wanted to,” Rashad said. He stepped closer and licked the air near Sonny. “I’d love every second of it.”

Sonny pushed Rashad’s face away from the bunk. “Not interested, queermeat. There’s some black pimps in Block H, they’ll take you in. Hope you like gettin’ fucked.” He said that last part as though he didn’t believe anyone enjoyed getting fucked.

“I do. But I’m not interested in being pimped out,” Rashad said. “I want one man. One perfect man I can worship like the god that he is.” Rashad’s heart pounded. If this didn’t work, he wasn’t sure what he would do. There were a lot of advantages to having your cellmate be your protector, Rashad thought. He didn’t want to give up on this, especially Sonny was so hot.


“I can blow your mind, Sonny. I can make you feel so good you forget about girls,” Rashad said.

“No you can’t.”

“How about we make a deal? I suck your dick right now, and if it ain’t the best blowjob you ever got, I’ll leave you alone. If it is, you protect me from now on,” Rashad said.

Sonny just snorted and looked away. From that, Rashad sensed that the answer was fine, but I’m not going to participate and there’s no way I’m admitting you’re that good, even if you are. Rashad was fine with that. He knew exactly how to play this.

He stood on the edge of his bunk and reached for Sonny’s dick. Sonny still lay on his own bunk, flipping through a nudie magazine he brought out from the shelf next to his bed. He wore orange prison pants, which Rashad had to lower to his ankles. Sonny lifted his hips to let him at his pants, but he sighed like it was a huge imposition. He covered his face with the nudie magazine.

His dick was long and thick, dark brown — if Rashad hadn’t known he was Italian, he would have assumed that was a black man’s cock. It was limp and soft right now, but big enough that it already looked tasty to Rashad. It had that meaty feeling that only very thick dicks had. Rashad moaned at the thought of feeling it in his ass, but he knew Sonny wasn’t ready for that, not yet. He planted a kiss right on the shaft.

It tasted of garlic and olive oil, Rashad thought when he licked the shaft from root to tip, exactly what he sort of hoped Italian cock tasted like. He made a big noisy show of licking to get Sonny’s attention, though his face was covered by his nudie magazine so Rashad couldn’t actually see his reaction. He could tell Sonny liked it though, because his dick jerked and his body tensed. He grunted from behind the magazine.

“Damn… You know you ain’t s’posed to be my bitch,” Sonny said. “Black men need a black owner-“

“I’m not looking for an owner, baby,” Rashad said. He cooed affectively and kissed Sonny’s hairy, low-hanging balls. “I’m looking for a man I can worship and lust-“

“Shut up. You want me to protect you, right? That means you want me to own you,” Sonny said. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and glared at Rashad, who suckled on the tip of Sonny’s dick in between responses. Each time he did Sonny’s eyes opened a little wider, and he ran his tongue between his teeth and his upper lip.

“Fine, yes-“

“But you is black, man. You don’t get it, that don’t work in this place,” he said. He bit his lip and threw his head back as Rashad sucked his dick all the way down. Rashad had always been good at deep-throating, so he managed to get that entire shaft down his gullet as Sonny talked. He sputtered and played with Sonny’s hairy balls, and he let spit run down Sonny’s dick into his bushy crotch. “Damn…” Sonny murmured. His hands briefly touched Rashad’s head, then backed up like he was scared to touch him. “You… fuck… You know how to do this right, man. Why don’t Italian bitches suck like this?”

Rashad nodded and shrugged without taking his cock out of his mouth. Sonny was hard now, his dick pulsating as it rammed into Rashad’s throat. Rashad loved being throat-fucked by alphas like Sonny, and the fact that Sonny didn’t do the throat-fucking — he just laid there and submitted — made it even hotter because Rashad could handle the speed and rhythm of it.

He wanted to show Sonny how Sonny could treat Rashad, if only he agreed to the protection arrangement. As far as Rashad was concerned, he was ready to be used and abused, and he wanted Sonny to know that wasn’t just an act. His eyes watered from lack of oxygen, his chest heaving. He had to use all of his attention to ignore his crying lungs, so that slab of olive man-meat stayed deep in his throat.

Rashad grabbed Sonny’s callused fingers and dragged his hand to Rashad’s throat. He knew straight men loved to feel their dick through Rashad’s neck, and Sonny shuddered in a combination of arousal and disgust when he felt it.

“Ah, shit…” Sonny said, then added something in Italian. It was roughly accented, and though Rashad didn’t understand a word of it, he could tell Sonny didn’t really speak Italian. Then he kissed the crucifix dangling around his neck. “You was made to be a prison bitch, you know that?”

Letting out a hoarse gasp, Rashad let go. Tendrils of spit connected his lips to Sonny’s cock. Rashad loudly heaved for breath and gagged as his throat recovered. Sonny’s dick spasmed, precum dripping onto his hairy bell.

Rashad licked the precum up and nodded into Sonny’s eyes. “Yes, sir,” Rashad said. “I was a prison bitch even before I ever came to prison. I wasn’t just made to be a prison bitch, I was made to be your prison bitch. I’ve always loved Italian men. You have better dicks than niggas, you know that?” None of what he said was true, but Rashad liked puffing up his men’s egos, and of course, the prouder Sonny was of his cock, the more inclined he’d be to use it.

Sonny smiled weakly, then replaced it with his stoic mafioso face. He just nodded his comprehension, then aimed his wet dick back into Rashad’s mouth.

Now the shaft tasted like spit, ball-sweat and a little bit of stomach bile. Rashad was familiar with that flavor — it was the taste of face-fucking, of alpha males distilled into their purest essence. Rashad loved it. Rashad’s eyes watered from lack of oxygen, so much so that he couldn’t see anything but a hazy mess of pubic hair in front of his face.

Sonny grabbed at the ceiling, which he easily reached from his position on the upper bunk, as though trying to dig his way out. He still kept his hands away from Rashad’s head, but it was clear he struggled to do. His arms flailed and he grunted over and over, biting his lip and rolling to and fro on his bunk.

“Fuckin’ hell, slut, here it goes…” He bucked his hips to slam his cock back down Rashad’s throat. He daggered up and down a few times.

When Rashad felt Sonny’s balls rise up in his sac, Rashad lowered his head all the way to the root. His throat clenched and spasmed, but he had always loved this feeling. He enjoyed the sensation of Sonny’s thick shaft pulsating within Rashad’s strained neck.

Finally the end came, and Sonny’s muscles all tensed at once. He lifted his hips and gripped Rashad’s ears — touching him with his hands for the first time — to grind his dick deeper into Rashad’s throat.

His load sprayed all the way down Rashad’s gullet, and the creamy, salty taste exploded on his tongue. Sonny shot a huge load; it just kept on coming, filling Rashad with its thick texture. Some of it dripped down Sonny’s cockshaft.

Sonny’s orgasm seemed to last forever. Rashad’s lungs begged for oxygen, but Rashad forced himself to remain in position, and Sonny held his head in place with both hands anyway. The cum flowed in wads, then in drips and drabs down Rashad’s throat.

“Aww… yeah… “

Then it was all over. Rashad wanted to show how desirous he was, so he didn’t stop sucking. He loudly and sloppily choked up spit and cum, letting it make a mess in Sonny’s hairy crotch. Sonny submitted at first, even as he writhed in uncontrollable pleasure.

At last Sonny had had enough. He pulled Rashad off his cock. Rashad made an effort to fight it, then when he finally came off, he gasped for air.

“Goddamn,” he said. “I love Italians.”

Sonny smiled, then it turned into a frown. “You shouldn’t. Go find a nigger to own you. I won’t protect you, bitch.” He paused. “I mean bitch as a general insult. You are a bitch, but you are not my bitch.”

“You promised-“

“That was not the best blowjob of my life.”

“I don’t believe you,” Rashad said. He put his hands on his hips and jutted his hips out. He had expected Sonny to say that, but it wasn’t a disaster. Rashad thought he could still get Sonny to protect him, it was just going to take a few extra steps. And if he needed to, Rashad thought, he could probably find a black non-pimp to protect him. It was just better to be protected by your cellmate than anyone else, since Sonny was almost always going to be nearby.

“Well, believe it, bitch. I’ve had better.”

Twink on Top: Evil Eye

Here’s the entirety of a story called Twink on Top: Evil Eye! It’s part of the series, which is full of hardcore dubious-consent or non-consent gay erotica in which the twinks climb on top! You can read all of the stories for $0.99 (each) with the coupon codes! That includes Roidrage, The Drunkard at the Saloon, Prison Policy, Cuckold’s Revenge and more!

Emanuele was about to start putting makeup on for his show tonight when the sound of a brouhaha outside drew his attention. He didn’t want to be bothered by whatever it was — almost certainly a girl having lost her virginity, which was what the local townsfolk had been most concerned about for a long time.

That concern did not extend to Emanuele. He did not like girls, not in that sense, though he did play one on stage. At the moment, he dressed in nothing more than plain white (or off-white, now) britches, but before the show started, he’d wear one of his stunning diaphanous dresses to look like the graceful and elegant woman he had always wished he were. His slender upper body glistened with the cream he had just finished rubbing into it.

He hurried to the front of his home to see what was happening. When he flung open the door, he saw a man and a woman standing there. They were about to knock on the door when he opened it.

The man was naked, awkwardly bent over so the woman could grip the thick mop of black hair on his head. She held on tight and he flailed, trying to use his hands to cover his bare crotch. Emanuele felt a surge of desire — that was Bruno, the sexiest man in the village. He had had an irrepressible crush on Bruno ever since spying him swimming in the river with his friends, all of them naked. He had hidden in a tree and watched their dicks flop, muscles flexing as they roughhoused in the water.

But that had been from a distance, not right up front. Now he was here in front of Emanuele’s door — stark naked — and he was about a million times sexier. Emanuele’s knees went weak just looking at him.

He had a perfectly flat belly with a beefy chest, all of it covered in fine black hairs. He was young, just barely eighteen, so his skin was smooth and the chest hair wasn’t quite a dense tangle of coarse fur yet; it was still silken and it ended at his shoulders. His dick was slightly visible through the gaps between his fingers, which made Emanuele’s mouth drool. Bruno had a square jaw with a few day’s grizzle on it, and a broad nose, with deep dimples that were apparent now, while he winced in pain while the old woman pulled on his hair.

“Tell him!” the old woman barked. Emanuele recognized her now — Anita Riullo, Bruno’s aunt. She was a perpetually angry spinster who was active in the church and led the women’s group there. She was a fierce defender of female chastity, presumably, Emanuele suspected, because she was too bitter, old, wrinkled and nasty to get any kind of man. Her purity was unravageable.

“Hi, uh… Emanuele,” Bruno said; his voice was pinched and tense. He winced as the woman pulled on his hair. In order to let her grip his hair, he had to stoop down low. His muscles were flexed, like he really wanted to just push her away, but of course, he couldn’t push a woman, especially an old woman who was related to him. He cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… I, I gotta ask-“

“Oh, this is taking forever,” Anita snapped. She pushed him into the house past Emanuele, letting go of his hair. He tripped and landed on the floor. “My good for nothing nephew has put another fine feminine soul at risk, Emanuele!”

“Signorina, you are upset, I can see that. Let me make you a cup of coffee-“

“I do not want any coffee. If it were only him, I could ignore it. Su vergüenza sería únicamente su propia!,” she put her hands on her hips. “But he has brought shame upon this entire family. He has been consorting with… Well, I shouldn’t say her name. I will not bring shame upon her family as well. Di lei nome deve essere un segreto…”


“Hush,” she said. “This girl is from a good family, Emanuele. She has been plundered, ruined, by him! That alone would be bad enough. Jeopardizing souls like it meant nothing to him! He goes to church every week and then spends his days, and his nights, with loose female flesh, the donne troia.”

“Zia Anita, come on…” He stood now, right behind Emanuele, so close that Emanuele could feel his body heat and could sense his limp, low-hanging dick just centimeters from Emanuele’s own back. He had to resist the urge to start sucking on it right now in front of his dear Zia Anita.

“But that is not all. He threatens to ruin our family in this life as well as the next,” she said. Then she made the sign of the cross over her ample bosom. Gesticulating wildly, she continued, “He has plundered a girl whose grandmother knows well the olden ways! She has cursed the entire family with her evil eye! She has worst malocchio in the village, this I know well…” Tears escaped down her chin. “You cannot escape her curse!”

At first, Emanuele assumed something else was coming. Villagers here were always talking about the evil eye (malocchio), but no one took it very seriously, did they? Of course, some people did, and Emanuele knew the elderly church-folk like Anita were precisely the type who cared. Anita looked like she was about to faint.

“Signorina, I am very sorry to hear that. But I do not know about witchcraft,” Emanuele said. “I would not know how to undo the evil eye.”

“You do not need to know how. So come. I have consulted with Padre Ricardi, and I have consulted with my grandmother’s notes. I spoke with the matriarch who placed the malocchio in the first place,” she said. She shook her head and bit her lip. “I can not speak it. You must lay with the boy, as though… with a girl, as though he were a girl. You must plunder him, make him feel the shame and filthiness that that poor girl must be feeling.”

Bruno burst in with a nervous smile. “I don’t think that’s how she feels, Aunt Anita. We’re in love. I was going to propose matrimonio to her-“

“She will never marry you! She is a high-class woman! She will not marry a man with broad shoulders, callused fingers and sporco sotto le unghie!” Anita said, throwing her hands in the air. She glared at Emanuele. “Will you do this? You are the only man in the village who would enjoy undoing this particular curse.”

Emanuele stammered over himself. Logically, he wanted to say no; he was a bit offended that she assumed he’d want to, but on the other hand, Bruno was the sexiest man in the village, maybe in the whole country. Emanuele did want to do it, even if he thought the reason for it was nonsensical. “Signorina, I… I will do it.”

“Oh, wonderful! You may make it hurt,” she said with a cruel glint in her eye. She glared at her nephew. “Egli deve soffrire molto…”

“Wait, Zia Anita, what are you talking about?” He put his hands on his hips. “He can’t treat me like a girl. I don’t have una micio-“ His eyes went wide and he gasped, like he only just figured out what his aunt intended. He again covered his crotch with both hands. “Zia Anita! I can’t submit to that!”

“The curse upon you is great, mio nipote! It can only be undone this way,” she said. It sounded like she was near tears, like she was consigning her nephew to certain death.

It sounded like Bruno was in a similar place, and he also sniffed back tears. He trembled and shook as Emanuele closed the door — it was obvious they could keep wailing like this all afternoon, so he just needed to shut the door and move things along. Emanuele was excited to get started.

“Please… isn’t there any other way?” he asked, partially aiming the question at Emanuele and partially aimed out the door.

“Your curse has already harmed this family! Tua cugina Valentina was stricken today with consumption!”

“Really? Dio mio!” Bruno turned to face Emanuele before the door finally slammed shut. Tears welled up in his eyes as he ran his fingers through his thick black hair, which now was a messy tangle since his aunt had dragged him here using his hair as a handle. He blushed and stepped away from Emanuele, hands still covering his crotch.

That seemed doubtful to Emanuele, but Anita confirmed it through the door. It took time for consumption to appear and for it to be confirmed to be that and not a similar illness. It was entirely too early in the day for Aunt Anita to have heard confirmation that it was consumption, assuming the illness began after Bruno was caught with the girl. But Emanuele didn’t want to point this out, and besides that, he had long ago learned that the superstitious mind would always find a way to rationalize it — Bruno had presumably intended to bed the girl before it actually happened, for example, so perhaps the curse reached backwards in time to cause punishment when the sin was planned but not yet executed. Perhaps Valentina would have quickly recovered if Bruno had decided not to take the girl’s virginity.

Bruno was pale now. He kept his hands over his crotch and his muscles rippled as anxiety flowed through him. He had been to see Emanuele’s show at least once, and he had reacted like any other male — aroused but ashamed of it because he knew that Emanuele was a man dressed like a woman. Now though, Emanuele was dressed as a man; there was no way to pretend he was a real girl.

“Get on your knees, Bruno,” Emanuele said. His voice was flat and firm. “Your soul is going to learn a very difficult lesson today.”

Bruno sunk to his knees as Emanuele dropped his britches. He pulled his dick out and gave it a few strokes. It was already half-hard, so it quickly swelled to full erection in front of Bruno’s trembling, tear-streaked face.

“Open your mouth,” Emanuele said. When Bruno hesitated, Emanuele used both hands to force his lips apart. He enjoyed touching Bruno’s handsome face, which was even still beautiful still, despite being streaked with tears, his confident charm replaced by choked terror.

He pushed his dick in and Bruno gagged loudly. He sputtered and choked with just the tip of Emanuele’s dick on his tongue. But he didn’t pull away or try to leave, he just submitted even as his body rejected Emanuele’s shaft.

“Good! Make him choke! Everyone come listen to my nephew’s shame!”

Emanuele blushed almost as red as Bruno — Emanuele normally liked to keep a low profile. The men of this village did not much enjoy girlie-men like Emanuele, so the more attention he attracted, the more danger he was in. Emanuele could never forgive himself if he didn’t take full advantage of the situation he was in though, so he didn’t slow down. If he was exiled as a result, he thought, he could find a new town that needed a feminine dancer. He could even move to Rome if he needed to.

Bruno choked up so much spit it made Emanuele giggle. He had never seen someone produce so much saliva while sucking dick — it seemed he tried not to swallow any of the moisture in his mouth, like it was contaminated with cock, so he wanted to spit it out. But Emanuele didn’t remove his dick, so Bruno couldn’t close his mouth, which meant he couldn’t actually spit; he could only drool and drip saliva from his lips.

There were more people around now. Emanuele could hear them gather at the front of his house. Women muttered among themselves, variously either laughing at Bruno’s superstition or silently praying to protect themselves from the malocchio as well. Men jeered and laughed, muttering insults as they scattered around the house looking for open windows (which they wouldn’t find because Emanuele had always kept his curtains closed). No matter how much the men didn’t want to watch a girlie-man like Emanuele go at it, they all wanted to see Bruno’s humiliation, no doubt in part because Bruno was so handsome he was the object of affection for every woman in the village.

The pleasure in his cock was intense, and made it hard for Emanuele to focus on being serious. He giggled at Bruno’s frenzied sputtering, and the puddle of saliva that formed on the floor. His dick throbbed in Bruno’s throat, swelling to fit in and forcing the big Italian macho to gasp for air when Emanuele backed out just enough to allow it.

Emanuele eventually pulled away, not wanting to finish in Bruno’s mouth. He had bigger plans. Bruno sputtered and gagged profusely, spitting over and over onto the floor as though trying to get every drop out. Emanuele moved behind Bruno and rammed a finger in his ass even before Bruno realized what was going on.

“Oh, dio mio!” he shouted. “Che fa male come l’inferno!” A torrent of laughter arose from outside, and Bruno blushed. He bit his lip. His ass clenched hard on Emanuele’s finger.

Emanuele giggled. Every time he moved his finger even a bit, it sent waves of agony through Bruno’s muscles. Bruno hung his head as he settled on all fours — the only position that made this fingerfucking easy for him, since he was massively taller than Emanuele — and arched his back. The muscles of his back rippled, and he gripped the ground as though trying to rip the floorboards up.

Hooking his finger to one side or the other made Bruno grunt. He hyperventilated, his entire body stiff and tense as he focused on relaxing the only muscle that counted. Emanuele rammed his finger in and out, enjoying the spongy feel of the man’s body.

“Go over to the window,” Emanuele said.

Bruno hesitated but did as he was told when Emanuele used his finger in Bruno’s ass to point the way. Bruno crawled with difficulty across the floor. It took what seemed like a long time to get there, but Emanuele wasn’t sure — time always seemed to pass slower during sex. Bruno gasped and twisted his head as he suppressed the agony in his trembling ass.

“Poke your head out the window,” Emanuele said. Bruno hesitated again, and Emanuele repeated himself. “Put your head out the window. You are supposed to experience all the shame and humiliation that poor girl felt. That means people must see what happens to you. If not, the malocchio will surely haunt your family for generations to come.”

He gritted his teeth and pushed his head out past the curtain. Outside, his face was on the side of the building, so no one noticed right away. Emanuele’s house was built on a hill, which meant Bruno’s face was high in the air compared to the folks on the ground outside.

The people out front didn’t notice his head until Emanuele lined his dick up with Bruno’s ass. It had just a bit of hair, the perfect amount, Emanuele thought, for a man’s ass. It was enough to be clear that it was a man’s ass and not a woman’s, but it didn’t have the dense thicket of smelly hair that Emanuele mostly associated with sailors, soldiers and Greeks.

To put his face out the window, Bruno had to crouch rather than remain on all fours. That put his ass much too high for Emanuele to effectively penetrate. He got a short stool and stood on that, which made it much easier.

When he slammed his dick in, Bruno let out a screeching yelp. That was what attracted the attention of the crowd. Bruno’s legs straightened and his back arched, but Emanuele tapped his back until he got the message — he had to crouch in order for Emanuele to reach him.

“Che è troppo grande per un uomo femminile!” Bruno grunted and groaned, turning bright-red as the crowd moved to the side of the building. They were throwing rotten fruit at him now, and every time they got a direct hit on Bruno’s face, they all cheered and clapped.

Ignoring the resistance he felt, Emanuele fucked hard and slow. He enjoyed the long grinding motions as he pushed into Bruno’s ass, and he sighed with satisfaction every time he let his dick lower almost all the way out of it.

The pleasure was unbelievably intense for Emanuele, who had never felt anything quite like it. He had penetrated only a few men, all of them feminine girlie-men like him. Those occasions had been nothing compared to the fleshy, meaty feel of Bruno’s muscles tightening underneath him, the masculine hair of his ass or the macho grunting as he tried to pretend he wasn’t in agonizing pain. Emanuele laid atop him, grinding his dick in, making certain to hit every corner of Bruno’s sensitive insides.

“Feliciana!” Bruno shouted.

The front door opened, and a pretty black-haired girl marched in, pushing past Anita. She slammed the door shut behind herself. That must be Feliciana, and, Emanuele assumed, it must be the girl whose honor Bruno had to make up for plundering. She was pretty, but with an arrogant, upper-class look to her face.

She squealed in shock at the sight. Bruno brought his fruit-dripping head back in the building and exclaimed back at her, grunting too hard to form words as his movement reawakened the agony in his backside. He nearly collapsed to the ground at her feet. The sensation was too intense for Emanuele to stop now, so he continued humping Bruno’s ass as he writhed in pain and humiliation at his girlfriend’s feet.

“Bruno!” she shouted. “You are… what are you doing?! Che è disgustoso!”

“I’m doing this for you, my cara Feliciana,” he said.

“I never asked you to do this!”

“Your grandmother… She put a curse on me. Malocchio,” he said. Tears twinkled in his eyes. Emanuele groaned. He allowed Bruno to angle his body to face the girl, but Emanuele was relentless on his ass. He didn’t even slow down as Bruno’s body tightened with the shame overcoming him.

“So, you do this for a curse?” she asked.

He nodded. “I must do it. But we can still be together afterwards! Possiamo sposarci…”

Feliciana thought for a long time. She cocked her head to the side and chuckled. “No… Bruno… You were very sweet to me, and you have such a handsome face… But you are from a poor family,” she said. “And now… you are not a real man. Si hanno meno di un uomo…”


“You have been sodomizzato…” she said with a giggle. She smiled at Emanuele. “You are letting a small man inside you. That is… I can not respect you after this. I must marry a man who acts like a real man.”


“Close your mouth. A real man would rather submit to a curse than that,” she said. She shook her head in disappointment, then walked out the door. When the front door was briefly open, Anita’s voice filtered in, her braying laughter filling the house for a moment before the door slammed shut again. Bruno sobbed into the floor.

Anita’s voice was audible from outside. “You do not much like him anymore, do you? Good. Tell no one about this, girl.”

It seemed that the crowd was focused on chanting on the side of the house where Bruno’s face had been seen through the window, so none of them realized why Feliciana had gone inside. Her virtue, it seemed, was intact in the eyes of the villagefolk.

Bruno had straightened his back partially when talking to Feliciana, so Emanuele was clutching his muscles, trying to hang on — when they both stood plainly, Emanuele’s face was even with Bruno’s upper back, which mean that the straighter Bruno stood, the less Emanuele could easily penetrate his ass.

But he refused to take his dick out, even as Bruno’s massive body quaked and trembled with the power of his sobbing. Emanuele had to claw at the man’s skin for support, and he used his feet to grip Bruno’s hairy thighs.

Finally Bruno seemed to realize that he had to change his positioning if this was going to ever end. He dropped to all fours, and Emanuele at last had some leverage again. He pounded away at Bruno’s ass.

Since he had been fucking him for awhile, Bruno’s hole was loosened and opened now. Emanuele could easily drill his dick in and out. A loud thwacking sound came with every thrust of Emanuele’s hips.

When Bruno wiped tears off his face, Emanuele felt a twinge of pity. He reached around to Bruno’s dick and gave it a stroke. It was already hard, but it must have been close to finishing despite his despair, because Emanuele could already feel the orgasmic energy collecting and roiling in the shaft.

As though he hadn’t been aware of the intensely pleasurable feelings in his dick until Emanuele touched it, Bruno’s weeping turned into a momentary moan of bliss. Precum leaked profusely from his cockshaft and coated Emanuele’s fingers.

“You can come see me anytime, Bruno,” Emanuele said softly. He repeated it, but Bruno didn’t acknowledge it, whether because he didn’t want to admit he might allow this to happen again or because he genuinely didn’t hear it, Emanuele didn’t know which.

Then at last Emanuele felt his own orgasm overwhelm him. He grunted and nibbled on Bruno’s smooth back as it happened, and pleasure rolled up and down his spine. Bruno gasped at the sensation even before the first drops of cum filled him up; his back muscles rippled beneath Emanuele’s lolling tongue.

Cum sprayed inside Bruno, a torrent of male juices that coated the inside of Bruno’s body. It felt like an incredible amount of cum, more than Emanuele had ever shot before. Bruno gulped and moaned, making an ear-shattering sound.

Anita must have been listening at the door, because she called out when Bruno made a noise. “Good! Is that it! That’s how you made that poor innocent girl feel, Bruno! Not so proudful anymore, are you!?”

Emanuele had to suppress a giggle at Bruno, who wept again at that reminder. The crowd cheered and shouted. But Bruno’s sadness was short-lived — he reached his own orgasm moments later in Emanuele’s hand.

It was a painful orgasm, Emanuele could tell that from the way Bruno sucked on his teeth and bit his lip, asshole clenching on Emanuele’s limp dick. But there was also an intense pleasure behind it, which Emanuele sensed in the rippling of his back muscles and the exhausted tenor of his grunting.

Emanuele had to strain to reach all the way around Bruno’s body to jack him off, but he did that now with his second hand as well. He scooped up all of the cum as it sprayed from Bruno’s uncut cock.

A part of Emanuele wanted nothing more than to eat the cum off his own palm, but he could do that with nearly any of the men who came to see him. Today, Emanuele wanted to do something different.

“Give me your mouth,” Emanuele said, and Bruno did as he was told. He winced painfully as he turned his head with Emanuele’s limp dick still throbbing in his ass. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes.

It was apparent that Bruno thought Emanuele wanted to kiss him again, but instead Emanuele tipped his hand full of cum right into Bruno’s mouth.

Bruno gagged and choked on the snotty texture and sour-sweet flavor. His asshole clenched down again as though trying to rip Emanuele’s dick off. That sent a second wave of orgasmic pleasure up Emanuele’s body. He gasped as Bruno moaned in pain.

While he smeared the remnants of cum from his hand onto Bruno’s face, Emanuele let his dick flop out slowly. It made a moist popping sound when it finally came out. Bruno collapsed into a sweaty heap on the floor, sniffling and holding back tears.

Emanuele sat down next to him and clucked his tongue. He massaged the thick black hair of Bruno’s head. “There, there,” he said. “It’s over now. The curse is lifted. Malocchio è andato…”

Bruno sniffled. “She was right, I am less than a man. No girl will ever marry me now.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Emanuele said. “Besides, even if it is, you can always go to America, or to England or France, or just Rome. No one there will know.”

“I will know.”

“Or you can stay here. You can come visit me whenever you need a girl… I normally don’t do any of this, y’know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can… treat me like a girl. That is more normal. When you don’t have a curse to remove, that is what I would expect. You can come here and hump my ass, my face — every part of my body is yours.”


“Really. It feels like a girl, or so everyone tells me,” Emanuele said. He patted Bruno on the ass and giggled when Bruno winced in pain. “Now come on. Hold your head high. You did what you needed to do for your family. The reason those men out there are teasing you is because they are jealous. Their wives would give anything to be your wife instead of theirs.”

He smiled behind his tears and crawled to his feet. The agony was evident, but he shook it out and took a few tentative steps before wincing in pain again. “Can I wait in here for a few minutes?”

Emanuele motioned for him to sit down on the couch, which he did, and Emanuele curled up next to his muscular arms. When Bruno found that sitting on his ass was too painful, he slid down to laying on his side. Emanuele sat there in the crook of his chest, massaging his muscles.

“Of course, baby,” Emanuele said. “You can wait here as long as you need. I’ll take care of you.”

Twink on Top: The Drill Sergeant and the Marine Corps Cadet

Here’s another new one in the Twink on Top series, this time it’s Twink on Top: The Drill Sergeant and the Marine Corps Cadet!


The Megillah was even more difficult to get right this year. Every year, Tim found that he struggled a bit more to get the pronunciation right, and the rhythm of it — he didn’t speak Hebrew that well, much to his shame, and now that he no longer lived in Israel, he was losing his memory of the language. But every year during Purim, his family had him read the Megillah (which, dear gentile reader, is the same thing as the Book of Esther, part of the Tanakh — and your Old Testament — whose recitation during the holy season of Purim is required for observant Jews; Purim is a March holiday that commemorated the Jews’ deliverance from certain genocide in the ancient Persian Empire). It was a sort of family tradition.

If Tim had gotten married and had a child or two, his family would have had his kid begin reading the Megillah, or at least a few brief segments of it as he learned Hebrew. But Tim was openly gay, and he had no desire for a child. So it remained his increasingly-awkward duty to recite the Megillah every year.

There was a knock on the door. Tim sighed and went to see who it was — if it was his NRA-loving, conservative neighbor with another Huckabee pamphlet, he was going to file a harassment complaint. He had promised himself that before as well, but he didn’t like to make waves, and it was always simpler just to take him at his word that he wouldn’t be back.

But it wasn’t that neighbor at all, it was the neighbor from the house on the other side, Sergeant Jeffers. He was from Camp Pendleton, the Marine Corps training facility here in San Diego. While Sergeant Jeffers was not exactly “nice”, he was always polite; Tim rather liked him.

It helped, of course, that Sergeant Jeffers was a big burly bear of a man, with muscles and a square jaw and so much swagger that Tim nearly came in his pants the first time he had spied Jeffers lifting weights shirtless in his backyard. Today he was here, bright and early in the morning, with a younger man in tow.

The younger man was just as sexy as Jeffers, and arguably even more sexy in a classic sense — he had a Hollywood-handsome dimpled face, kind eyes and it was apparent he sported a six-pack under his t-shirt. Sergeant Jeffers was a bit older, with a few tinges of gray in his crewcut, and while he still had the body of a Marine, it showed notable wear and tear. The younger cadet was smooth, pert and taut, with dark hair and skin, an olive complexion and deep, dark eyes.

As Tim opened the door, he realized the younger man looked like a cadet — he wore a crew-cut, and a faded green t-shirt with short shorts, both of which appeared to be Marine Corps-issued. They were wrinkled as though he had been roused from bed early in the morning to come here.

“Shalom, Mr. Cohen,” Sergeant Jeffers said. “This is Cadet Pucci. He has a favor to ask you. May we come in?”

“Uh… I suppose,” Tim said. He led them into his living room, where they both sat down. The situation was tense — Sergeant Jeffers appeared angry, enough so that Tim wondered if he had done something wrong. Cadet Pucci, however, looked upset and a bit guilty, as though it was he who had done something wrong. Tim felt small and girlish in comparison to these two hulking brutes; that wasn’t surprising, since Tim was, in fact, a small and girlish twink. He had resigned himself to that some time ago. No matter how much Tim thought bears were sexier, he was never going to be big and bulky like these two. He cleared his throat. “A favor? I’m sorry, do I know you, Cadet… Pucci?”

Pucci shook his head. His face was worried, his dimples deep. He licked his lips. “I was askin’ Sarge here, man, I was-“ He stopped talking and winced as Sergeant Jeffers cleared his throat. Cadet Pucci started again, his voice stilted and awkward. “Good morning, sir. I was hoping I could get your assistance this morning. I am a cadet at Camp Pendleton and I need a day off-“

“The fuck you do!” Sergeant Jeffers barked.

Cadet Pucci again blanched and looked down at his feet. “I don’t need a day off. I want one. I’m a lazy guido bastard,” he said, looking to Jeffers as though expecting him to confirm it — he nodded his assent to Pucci’s words. Then Pucci continued. “I already had some leave, two weeks ago. And I met this girl. She was beautiful, you wouldn’t even believe it, she-“ Pucci stopped himself as though he just realized that Tim was gay. He cleared his throat. “Well, she was hot. And she’s moving to Georgia, so tonight is the last time I might see her. And I asked my sergeant if I could move a day of leave up. I wouldn’t even have to miss any training, I could leave at night-“

“Tell him why I said no,” Sergeant Jeffers said gruffly. He placed one hand on Cadet Pucci’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I… I have not always been followin’ the rules,” Cadet Pucci said. “I snuck out before. That was just to get laid though. I didn’t love that girl.”

“You don’t love any girl,” Sergeant Jeffers said.

“I do!” Cadet Pucci said with a blush. He looked to Tim. “And anyway, Sergeant Jeffers said I had to prove I loved her and I wasn’t just after sex.”

“I may be a hardass, but I ain’t gonna stand in the way of true love,” Sergeant Jeffers said, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye. “Cadet Pucci skipped over a few details. He tried to sneak out for trim four times — that I know of. I caught him each time, so he been skatin’ on very thin ice for some time. He has been one mouthy fuck since the day his Italian ass got here.”

“So… uh,” Cadet Pucci said. “If you want… you don’t have to, Mr. Cohen. But, uh, if you want… we could, y’know, fuck.”

“What?” Tim was shocked — he had thought Cadet Pucci was going to ask for a ride, or for help finding the local girl, something like that. He had no idea sex was in the cards.

“He’ll do anything you want, Mr. Cohen,” Sergeant Jeffers said. “I want to see how devoted he is to this girl. Plus as long as he gets his rocks off now, I’ll now he ain’t motivated by overflowing balls neither.” He looked at Pucci and nodded. “Go on, tell him.”