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Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate

Here’s the entirety of Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate, a story in the Servicing Black Thugs series!

Roger had gotten a part-time job delivering vegetables for AZO Distribution for only one reason — one of the other drivers, Charlie, was a studly black man, exactly the type of swaggering thug he lusted after.

Not only did Roger have a fetish for macho black thugs, he had a seemingly foolproof ability to zero in on precisely those black thugs who were willing to swing that way. He was sure that Charlie would do it, but it was hard to engineer a time to meet him alone. The dispatch center was always crowded.

He was focused on creating a plan as he drove on Friday, finishing up his round of deliveries. He was so lost in thought that he was surprised to see he his own delivery van pulling into the local jail. That was the kind of thing he would normally notice as soon as he saw it on the schedule. But it was just called Brutewood C.J. on the invoice, and Roger hadn’t given it much consideration; now he knew what it stood for — county jail. Brutewood was a private prison company who operated the local correctional system.

He was a bit annoyed his boss hadn’t specifically warned him. What if he had worn expensive jewelry? Or packed a switchblade? He’d be in danger, and possibly violating a contraband law as soon as he drove in. It was only a local jail, but still, Roger didn’t want to get in trouble.

He followed the signs for deliveries and pulled into the rear of the jail. He met with a uniformed officer, who signed for the invoice, and introduced him to Dwight, an inmate who would help unload the van.

As soon as Roger saw Dwight, he forgot all about Charlie. Dwight was a tall smooth-bodied chestnut-skinned man with a thick mustache. His orange jailhouse pants were slung low, and he had a thuggish swagger, though it was immediately apparent from his bearing — and the reverence with which he displayed a small crucifix over his neck — that he was a devout Christian.

Roger knew that would be no barrier. Dwight was hot to trot, and he was sure Dwight knew it too from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Dwight immediately began undressing Roger with his eyes.

He had a rough, southern accent. “Lemme get that fo’ ya, suh,” he said, taking both of the heavy boxes of potatoes. Roger grabbed the much lighter sack of salad mixes, following him into the kitchen area. There were no other inmates that he could see, and the uniformed cop wandered off.

Dwight looked Roger up and down as he showed him to the pantry. “You ken put them salad bags down right tharr,” Dwight said. He hefted the potatoes onto a shelf. “God bless ya, man. You ain’t the usual guy. What happened to Wilson?”

That was why Roger was given the prison assignment, he realized, suddenly grateful that he was the rookie, and had therefore been given Wilson’s deliveries — Wilson was a coworker whose sister had just died in a car accident. Roger explained that to Dwight, who clicked his tongue against his teeth and prayed.

“That poor man, I’ll pray for him, he is a good man, yup, a good church-going man,” Dwight said. “You help yusself to a glass of water, sirruh, yessum, I’ll go get the dolly.” He hurried off, big body shaking as he strode towards the truck. He came back a few minutes later with the hand-cart full of the remaining boxes of produce.

Roger didn’t want any water, so he just waited in the pantry. It was a small kitchen, with only one door, and from the pantry, Roger had a good view of the whole area. This was pretty close to ideal, he thought.

Dwight came to the pantry with the last box of produce. “Them carrots is lookin’ good. We ain’t normally get baby carrots. They’s nice.”

Roger nodded. “They’re on sale right now. I still like big, thick carrots though.”

“I bet you do,” Dwight said. “You look good enough to eat, boi. Bet you taste better than a carrot.” Something about the gasping, aroused way he said boi turned Roger on; it was equal parts insulting, seductive and menacing all at once.

“Do we have privacy here?” Roger asked. He gingerly reached out and touched Dwight’s chest. His pecs bulged through the too-small prison uniform shirt he wore, which was so short it left the lower part of his belly bare. He didn’t have a six-pack, that much was obvious even through his clothes; he had a thick, strapping body, bulky muscles behind a thick layer of flesh.

“Yup,” he said. “You suck good, huh?” He reached out and touched Roger’s lips, squeezing them together to form a kissy face.

“I do alright,” Roger said. He opened his mouth as wide as he could to demonstrate.

“I ain’t queer or nothin’,” Dwight said. He cleared his throat, the seductive tone momentarily leaving his voice. “You should know… No offense or nothin’… You know it’s a sin, right?”

“I do,” Roger said as he sunk to his knees.

“I mean… You should seek repentance. Me too, of course, but I know I will repent. I’ll beg forgiveness after this, and God will forgive me. I am bathed in the blood of the lamb, boi. You gonna ask forgiveness?”

Roger shook his head.

“Well, that’s yo’ right,” Dwight said in a way that suggested he didn’t think Roger should have that right. He wrinkled his nose. “Now go on and suck me. Wait.” He leaned down and kissed Roger right on the lips. At first it was just a chaste peck; their lips barely came into contact. Dwight moaned a little as though he had scarcely had any human contact recently. “Don’t tell no one I kissed you.” Then he kissed Roger again, and this time plunged his tongue deep inside.

Roger was shocked. He wrapped his arms around Dwight’s broad shoulders, which were bare as he took off his shirt and dropped his prison pants. His cock was rock-hard, sticking out the fly of his boxers.

Their tongues interlocked. Dwight’s was strong and forceful, pushing its way into Roger’s mouth. Roger tried to do likewise, but Dwight’s tongue took up the whole space between their mouths.

When he finally pulled his face away from Roger’s, Dwight had his eyes closed. Roger made a high-pitched mewling sound, hoping it came across as feminine. It seemed to work, as Dwight moaned exquisitely when he heard it.

“Yeah, baby, you wanna taste my meat? You gonna suck it all the way down, yeah, you gonna taste every inch of that shit. You gonna beg me for it.”

“Please let me taste your meat,” Roger said. He stuck out his tongue and demonstrated how wide he could open his mouth.

He plunged down on Dwight’s rod, and Dwight moaned again. He leaned back against the wall for support, and threw his head back, keeping his eyes closed. His knees went weak for a moment.

“Shit… we ain’t got fags who suck dick like this… I mean… homosexuals who suck dick like this in this place. We got one f-… one homosexual. He don’t suck dick good,” Dwight said. Then he bit his lip and moaned.

Wanting to prove how good he was — Roger knew he was a good cocksucker, and he was proud to show it off — Roger deep-throated Dwight’s cock. Dwight was clearly astonished that someone managed to swallow his whole cock, and he was, for once, speechless. His mouth kept moving but he was too aroused to form actual words.

With one hand, Roger reached into his own pants and began stroking himself off, while using the other to play with Dwight’s pendulous balls. His sac was so sweaty the hair was plastered to his wrinkled scrotum-skin.

Dwight murmured under his breath as his dick pulsated precum into Roger’s mouth. It sounded like he was either talking trash to Roger or praying for forgiveness, or maybe a little of both, but Roger couldn’t hear his words.

“Hey, boi,” Dwight said, whispering even though there was no one around. He looked ashamed as he checked for witnesses out in the kitchen area. He turned back to Roger, whispering in a low, growly voice. “You shave yo’ ass? You that kind of queer?”

Roger nodded. He didn’t take Dwight’s cock out of his mouth, just looked into his deep eyes and nodded his head. He could lose himself in those incredible brown eyes — despite his kind personality, Dwight had the eyes of a hardcore, cruel thug, and Roger loved peering into them.

“Then drop those pants, boi,” Dwight said, cackling with glee. Then he stopped himself. “I mean… It’s a sin, boi. You shouldn’t be doin’ that. You should be acceptin’ Jesus Christ into yo’ heart. But if you gonna do it, shake that ass right now. I wanna see ya jiggle.”

Roger didn’t even think about declining. He turned around and undid his pants, glad he had shaved just a few nights ago. He bared his ass, and Dwight immediately began kneading the flesh as he groaned and grunted. It sounded like he was incredibly turned on by the sight of Roger’s bare ass. His rough fingers caressed Roger’s ass.

“Gonna open you up, boi, gonna get this pussy nice and loose, yeah,” Dwight said. “Make some sounds like I’m lickin’ yo cat, boi.” He rammed one finger in, and Roger yelped in pain. Dwight was being rough and crude, uncaring of Roger’s pleasure. That much wasn’t a surprise. The surprising part came a few seconds later when Dwight’s tongue plunged in.

Roger was so shocked to get a rimjob from a big straight stud like Dwight that he initially didn’t react at all. But then he realized that was why Dwight asked him to make sounds like a woman getting eaten out — he wanted to feel like he was licking pussy.

Roger yelped and moaned. He cooed in a womanly way, and opened his asshole up like he was sure women did. He murmured “Come on, baby, lick me,” in a feminine voice. Dwight growled, a deep rumbling sound that resonated in Roger’s ass. His mustache scratched at Roger’s crack.

His tongue enthusiastically lapped at Roger, his initial hesitation fading as he seemed able to convince himself it was just like eating pussy. He produced copious spit, making Roger’s smooth ass gleam with moisture.

By the time he pulled away, Roger’s ass was as loose as it could ever be. That was good because Dwight had an enormous cock, and he wedged it in, causing a shiver of pain to run up Roger’s spine. He let out a low moan that sounded obviously masculine, until he remembered to switch to a more feminine tone partway through.

“This is gonna hurt, boi,” Dwight said. “You into that, right? You like big dicks?”

“God yes, please! Fuck me,” Roger said.

“I was hoping you was gonna say that, I used to be a real thug, a gangbanger, nigga, I used to love making it hurt. Now I love makin’ love,” Dwight said. He took a deep breath as he squeezed more of his dick in. “Say you sorry, boi.”

“I’m sorry, Dwight.”

“Not me! Don’t ‘pologize to me, boi. I don’t care what you put in yo’ ass. Apologize to God.”

“I’m sorry, God,” Roger said.

“Good,” he said grinding his dick in even deeper. He wrapped both of his arms around Roger, holding him close to his powerful, hairy chest. Roger choked in pain and bucked, but submitted to Dwight’s position. Dwight whispered in his ears. “I’m real fuckin’ horny, boi. God told me that’s okay, that a man’s gotta do what he gotta do to get through tough times. You understand that? This is definitely a tough time,” He didn’t stop fucking as he talked, so Roger found himself unable to speak, the sensation of being fucked by Dwight’s foot-long cock too intense to overcome.

His own cock was rock-hard, demanding attention, but his hands were busy holding onto the pantry shelves for support. Dwight continued working his manhood in and out of Roger’s ass. The whole time, Dwight caressed Roger’s smooth chest, staying away from his nipples as though touching where he hoped to feel tits would be disappointing because Roger had none; it seemed Dwight wanted to pretend to himself he was fucking a woman.

“God want me to prove I’s doin’ this cuz I can’t resist the urges, boi. Not cuz I’m queer myself. So I’m gonna do something to show that I’m ‘ware of my sin.”

Roger had no idea what Dwight was trying to say. He was yelping and grunting as he took every inch of Dwight’s cock, which was too big for Roger to focus. He only realized Dwight’s point when the man’s thick, callused fingers reached around to Roger’s cock.

Oh fuck, Roger thought, I never dreamed someone like Dwight would give a reacharound!

An orgasm began building from the moment Dwight’s hands wrapped around Roger’s dickshaft. Dwight was hesitant, apparently undesirous of touching another man’s meat, and his rhythm was awkward. But somehow that made the handjob even sexier.

“Yo, boy!” boomed a male voice Roger didn’t recognize.

Someone was coming into the kitchen. Roger panicked, but Dwight shushed him and held him still. He then pushed Roger closer to the shelves, so somebody would have to be very close to see him. There were crates of supplies outside the pantry that concealed the fact that Dwight’s pants were around his ankles.

“G’afternoon, Officer Armstrong,” Dwight said.

“Go fuck yourself. Did that delivery come in?”

“Yessuh.”

“Good. You know who stole the cocaine out of evidence?”

“Nossuh, don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout that,” Dwight said, as smooth as though he had rehearsed that exact line. It didn’t sound like Dwight was concealing something from Armstrong, more like he was confirming that he would keep it a secret that Armstrong was the one who stole cocaine out of evidence.

“You weren’t supposed to be there anyway, boy.”

As soon as Armstrong said boy, Dwight bristled. His cock jumped and pulsated in Roger’s ass. Roger squealed, biting his lip to avoid making noise. Luckily the walk-in refrigerator was nearby, and it produced a loud ambient noise, which covered up Roger’s panting.

“Yessuh, I real’ze that,” Dwight said. “I’m a Christian man, Officer Armstrong. I mind my own business. I don’t want any trouble.”

“I’m glad to hear that, boy. Don’t make trouble, and I won’t give you any.” Officer Armstrong was not far away. He must be just on the other side of those crates, Roger thought. If the crates weren’t there, he’d have seen Dwight fucking Roger’s ass plain as day.

“Yessuh. You’s in charge, suh, I assume you gots a reason for everything you do. And it’s prolly a good one,” Dwight said.

“That’s right. Don’t you forget that. I always have a reason, boy,” Officer Armstrong said. Then his feet clicked on the ground as he walked away.

At last he was gone. Dwight slammed his dick deeper into Roger’s ass, and growled. He obviously had some aggression to get out, Roger thought, and he was glad to take it.

His Christian demeanor vanished. Roger got the impression he was now seeing “the old Dwight”, a swaggering thug who muttered take it, bitch as he rammed his rod in and out of Dwight’s ass.

“I hate that fucking honky, man,” Dwight said. “If I thought I could, I would… be extremely unChristian toward that man.”

Roger tried to make sympathetic sounds, but all that came out was a strangled cry. He gasped and clutched at the wooden shelves. It seemed Dwight had forgotten about giving a reacharound

“I seen that fucking shithead doing some sleazy-ass shit, lemme tell you. I think he raped this Mexican boy who was in here-“ Dwight took a deep breath. He stopped moving for a moment. “Nevermind. I’m sorry. I am not behaving right. Am I hurtin’ you?”

“No, god, no, please, keep going,” Roger said breathlessly.

Dwight placed a box of kids cereal in front of Roger. “Nut in that,” he said. “That’s his. He eats that every morning.”

Then Dwight spat in the palm of his hand and resumed stroking off Roger. He was again clumsy and badly-timed, but Roger appreciated the effort and the feeling of his prison-toned biceps rubbing against Roger’s body. Dwight was so much bigger than he was that he felt like a monster behind him.

Roger was so close to cumming that he shot just moments after Dwight finally began getting into the rhythm of stroking him off. Roger’s whole body bucked, and squeezed around Dwight’s dick as he shot his load right into the cardboard cereal box. He gasped and rubbed his head against Dwight’s powerful pecs and erect nipples.

That was apparently enough to set Dwight off. He grunted as he wiped the cum off his fingers onto the side of the cereal box, and then he grabbed Roger by the hair. Pushing his head down to the ground, Dwight, uncaring of the cum still stick to his hands, began pounding his cock deep into Roger.

Pain split Roger’s sides, but his own orgasm was still continuing, the aftershocks making his whole body shake. Dwight’s cum filled his ass with hot, creamy goodness, and it dripped down his thighs onto the pantry floor.

“Thank you, fuck…” Roger said. “That was incredible. You always fuck like that.”

“I got a champion dick,” he said. He still hadn’t removed it. Its meaty thickness throbbed in Roger’s ass.

“You certainly do.”

“Shit…” Dwight said as he pulled his cock out. He wiped it off with a napkin. “You pretty good at deliveries too, boi. Can you take this route from Wilson permanently?”

“I can try,” Roger said. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

First-Time Jocks at the Massage Parlor – Alpha Males Get a Happy Ending

Here’s the debut novelette by a new MM erotica author, Happiest Ending! It’s called First-Time Jocks at the Massage Parlor: Alpha Males Get a Happy Ending and its title pretty much gives it all away!

When the jock’s cock twitched beneath the towel, Chase knew what was going to happen. He didn’t react right away though. That, he thought, wouldn’t be very professional. He continued the massage.

The jock was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a wavy shock of blond hair and brilliantly flashing eyes, when they weren’t scrunched up closed tightly. His muscles rippled beneath Chase’s fingers, which kneaded the meaty flesh of the young man’s thighs. His toes stretched and he grunted.

The jock was named Irwin. He was a rugby player from the university right around the block. He had come in to the Happy Ending Massage Parlor at the insistence of his coach, who had said his sore calf needed a real massage. Coach Gathers knew Chase well, and knew that he was a licensed masseur who could fix the calf muscle — which did indeed have a knot in it. Chase could get that out easily enough.

But that erection… Chase wondered if Irwin was even aware of it. He had been so nervous he giggled like a schoolboy when he undressed in the massage room. His hefty muscle-bound body trembled. It was obvious he thought he was going to get a female masseuse, not Chase, but Chase pretended he didn’t notice that.

“How does your leg feel?”

“O- Okay.” He bit his lip. It didn’t sound like he was thinking much about the leg. He let out a breathy sigh like he was either aroused or scared or embarrassed, or maybe all three at once.

“Good. I can feel a lot of stress in your body,” Chase said. “What’s been bothering you?”

“Uh, well, nothing really,” he said. Chase knew something else was coming, so he just waited. His hands moved up Irwin’s body from his thigh to his chest — Chase could feel him desiring a handjob, but Irwin didn’t say that and Chase wanted to tease him still — and his muscles tensed beneath Chase’s hands. Then they slowly relaxed, bit by bit, as Chase massaged his flesh. Irwin grunted. “My ex banged this Samoan dude on my team, it really pissed me off.” He blushed like he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Chase said. He clucked his tongue against his teeth.

“She did it just to piss me off. Him too, I think. He did it in the locker room so I would see it,” Irwin said. He snorted. “Whatever, fuck him. She wasn’t even that hot.” He seemed to realize then that he had a boner. He looked down at his cock and smiled nervously. “Oh, uh…”

“It’s okay, relax.” Chase moved up to massage his chest with one hand. He arranged himself so Irwin couldn’t see his own crotch because Chase was in the way. Chase’s other hand roamed down to Irwin’s cock and gripped it.

Mandingo Meat: Plantation Lust

Here’s the entirety of Mandingo Meat: Plantation Lust, a new story in the Mandingo Meat series. You can read the complete series through the bundle as well!

David wandered around the plantation. It was late in the season, after harvest, so there wasn’t a ton of activity, especially since it wasn’t a very nice day. It was warm but it had been drizzling for hours. It was somehow both too cold and too warm for David.

This was his first time in South Carolina, so he didn’t know how normal the weather was. He finally found the man he was looking for late in the afternoon. David watched him work for a little while.

David was in South Carolina in the year 1784. David was, however, not from this time. He was from the modern era. He had built a time machine that would allow him to travel among the sexiest black mandingos and studs in history, and the machine had sent him here, to the Salford Plantation in coastal South Carolina.

The machine also set David up with clothes and other affectations necessary to pass as a local in this time. So when he approached the slave hauling brush away from a clearing, David looked like a free black man. He was dressed in a fine shirt and clean pants, and his hair was impeccable.

The other man was Walter, a field slave who was more than six and a half feet tall. He had a broad back and veiny biceps, with thick trunk-like thighs. He wore nothing but half-trousers right now, his shirt laying on the ground nearby. He grunted as he rolled a log away from the clearing — the Salfords wanted to build a new barn here, so Walter was clearing away brush and dead tree remnants in order to make room.

He stopped working when he saw David approach. He furrowed his brow. He probably hadn’t seen very many free black men.

“Howdy,” David said when he got near.

Walter nodded. He eyed him suspiciously. “Howdy, suh.”

“My name is David Turnbull.”

“Waltuh.”

“Nice to meet you, Walter,” David said. He smiled flirtatiously. He didn’t always act flamboyantly gay — he could be str8-acting when he needed to be — but he let his limp wrist fly now, so Walter would get an idea what was happening. Even back then, David had found that a limp wrist and a feminine laugh was enough to get most men to understand. David smiled. “I’m just coming by because I heard a rumor about you…”

“Rumor? What kinda rumor?” He smiled too, and his eyes traveled up and down David’s body as though checking that there was no chance he might be a woman after all.

“I heard that you got a massive cock, and that you enjoy using it,” David said. He came closer.

“Yup.” He smiled cockily. He grabbed his uncut cock beneath his britches. He did indeed have a huge mandingo manhood, which made David’s mouth water even though he hadn’t seen it yet.

“I also heard that your master will allow you to buy your own freedom,” David said. He jingled some coins in his pocket. “I’ve got enough here for you to free yourself and your wife, and to buy a house for your family.”

“You serious?”

“I’m as serious as a sermon,” he said. “All you gotta do is fuck me.”

“Hell yeah,” Walter said. He looked around and dragged Walter to the other side of the massive tree that had fallen over some time ago. It was big enough to provide plenty of privacy. “Masta Salford won’t let me do it, you know. He won’t take the money if he knows it be comin’ from… you know… this. He a Christian man.”

“Oh, well-“

“I mean, I’s a Christian too, reckon,” Walter said, blurting it out like he worried he had given David the wrong impression. “I just… I ain’t gonna let my child be born as a slave, not if I can help it.”

David smiled at him. Walter leaned against the decaying trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. He looked up at the sky. He reached into his britches and brought out a gigantic dick, easily a foot long, maybe longer. It made David’s mouth water just looking at it. He licked his lips.

He planted his tongue right on the tip, and Walter jumped like he had thought David wasn’t going to go through with it — he still faced upward, so he didn’t see it happen. He groaned and muttered to himself.

“There you go, suh, you gettin’ right into it…”

David slobbered saliva all over it, because he knew that would get Walter hard the quickest. Men with big cocks sometimes needed a little extra work to get hard, David knew that well since he spent most of his time tracking down mandingos to suck off. Walter’s dick was limp on David’s tongue, but it soon began to throb and tingle and twitch.

That was a delightful sensation, David always thought. He loved feeling a man’s cock perk up and stiffen in his mouth. He liked experiencing the transition from soft and sleepy to stiff and slick.

“Well, hot damn, suh, you got a nicer mouth than Abraham, fo’ sho’,” he said. He wiped sweat off his forehead. “Abraham is the girlie-boy slave we got ‘round here. He works in the house, but Mastuh Salford lets him come out and swing on my meat sometimes. Mastuh Salford says a nigguh wit’ a big meat like me, he say I need constant attention or my balls get infected. You know ‘bout that?”

David didn’t answer, and Walter didn’t seem to expect it. He pumped his hips to ease his manhood down a little farther. David focused on deep-throating the best he could, nuzzling his nose in Walter’s dense kinky pubic hair.

There was no way he could swallow that entire rod, but David loved to try. He rammed his own head down until he choked, and there were still several veiny, throbbing inches of delicious manmeat waiting for him to suck.

The taste was fresh and salty from the day’s sweat. Huge men like Walter always had a particular flavor, that was half the reason David loved them so much. There was something warm and sunshiney about it, with a thick, billowy cottony taste that he could savor for hours like a fine wine. He let Walter’s sweat trickle down his throat and leave a layer that would remain there for days, flavoring all of David’s food with the taste of Walter’s manhood.

Hey, Walter!

Walter snapped. He bit his lip, and his eyes narrowed. He pushed David down farther so he was hidden by the dead tree. Walter looked back towards the manor house.

“Howdy, Mistuh Salford!”

What are you doin’, you lazy bastard?!

“I’m doing what you say, suh! I’m clearin’ up the space-“

I can see you ain’t doin’ nothin’, you leanin’ there, restin’! You got work to do, boy!

“Yes, suh, Mistuh Salford.”

That better get done by nightfall, or I’ll tan your hide!

“Yes, suh, Mistuh Salford.” Walter snarled. He spat on the ground. He grabbed one of the larger branches that had snapped off the main trunk, and he carried it a few feet. Saliva dripped from his cock. When he saw that Mister Salford was gone, he dropped the branch where it lay.

“Sorry, I ain’t mean to get you in trouble,” David said.

He sucked on his teeth. “Don’t fret. It ain’t no thing. He will not do nuthin’. He give you permission to come here?”

“Uh…”

“You be arrested if you get caught, he don’t cotton to free men consortin’ wit’ his nigguhs. You get yaself sold into slavery if you caught, mistuh” Walter said. His nostrils flared like he was angry, but he sighed, resigned and annoyed. “You put yaself in a lotta risk, mistuh…”

“I know. Your cock is worth it,” David said.

“You crazy. You one crazy nigguh. When I buy my freedom, is I gonna go crazy too?”

“No. You’ll be fine,” David said with a smile. He bent backwards over a thick branch, which pressed uncomfortably against his upper back. He laid so that his head was draped upside-down over the edge of the branch — perfect throat-fucking position.

“I swear to God, I will kill that man — Nevuhmind,” he smiled at David when he realized what he was about to say. “Nevuhmind.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t even be around when it happens,” David said.

“I wouldn’t nevuh kill no man. I’s a Christian nigguh. I’s a church-goin’ nigguh,” he said. “I learnt how to behave propuh.” He chuckled as he approached Walter again, cock swaying between his thighs. “I don’t always choose to b’have propuh, but I know how to do it. Don’t you tell no one I threaten to kill a white man.”

“I won’t. You didn’t.”

He dropped to his knees at David’s face, which placed his still-hard dick right at cock-sucking height. He leaned over David’s body — if he had opened his mouth, he could have begun sixty-nining, but of course, he was too straight to even think of that. He just plowed his cock down David’s throat.

Walter groaned and smacked his lips. His cock invaded David’s throat once more, this time with the musty flavor of saliva and the spicy-salty scent of precum joining the mixture. David gurgled and sucked it down the best he could.

“Ah, there you go… Your throat feels like my wife’s pussy,” Walter said softly, then he cackled so loud it echoed in the woods. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

David’s throat was full, of course, but he said yes the best he could. He was dizzy now from lack of oxygen. Since Walter was in charge of the speed and timing of this blowjob, he seemed to have completely forgotten that David required oxygen. He slammed his cock in until it wouldn’t go any farther, then he ignored David’s choking and sputtering and swayed his hips, grinding, pushing, slamming until he finally got his entire cock in David’s throat.

It felt like his neck was going to explode. David loved it. He could feel and taste every inch of Walter’s body in this position — he always felt that way when a man’s cock was inside him; his cock was the window to his soul. Even though David couldn’t see anything but the heavy, hairy balls throbbing in front of his eyes, David could sense and even taste the musty sweat trickling down Walter’s asscrack, the crackened skin of his whip-scarred back and even the moistness of his mouth and tongue as though they kissed.

“Hot hell, nigguh, if you want me in ya ass, I better do it now before I blow,” he said with a long, low groan. “Ya mouth is nicer than a junebug in July.”

He didn’t wait for David to respond, which was good because David was deliriously dizzy from lack of oxygen. He gasped when Walter finally pulled out of his throat, and he heaved for air. That made Walter chuckle, his cock twitching where it rested against David’s face.

“Yo’ ass ain’t virgin, is it?” Walter asked with a frown. He dragged David up and bent him over the same branch again. David was too weak to choose his own position, so he allowed Walter to lift his ass up and push his head down.

“No.”

“Good. Virgins is nice but I gotta go slow. My wife just ‘bout started crying on our wedding night,” he said. He sniffled like that memory made him sad. “And when Mastuh Salford tell me to plow down on some white man a couple years ago, he had me ragin’ on ‘ccount of him saying ‘slow down’ and shit.” He snarled. “I don’t like slowin’ down once I get started, nigguh.”

“You can fuck me hard,” David said. He had already slipped some modern lube on his ass, back before he found Walter — he always brought his own lube. He giggled.

“I know I can, nigguh,” Walter said. He snorted like an angry horse. He slipped one finger into David’s ass, sending a jolt of pain up his spine. That was followed up by an explosion of pleasure, which made David sigh. Walter chuckled. “You sound like Abraham. Open dat ass up, suh. Lemme in there.”

“Please, stick it in me, Walter, I need you inside me,” David said. Then he let out a cringing moan as his ass stretched to accommodate Walter’s cock.

Just the tip slid in first, and that was enough to make David lift his head and grunt. His face turned bright red as he struggled to accept it all. Walter was oblivious — just like with the blowjob, he seemed uncomfortable with the idea of watching. He kept his face pointed up, both avoiding looking and keeping an eye out for Mr. Salford or anyone else who might disturb them.

The pain grew worse, yet more distant so David could easily ignore it. He focused on the spark of pleasure that erupted deep in his ass when Walter’s cock tickled his prostate. That spark grew stronger with each thrust of Walter’s hips into him.

David groaned as another few inches slid inside, and the pressure grew unbearable. David bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He flailed and clawed at the ground underneath himself.

“Ah, god damn…”

Walter stopped moving and snarled. He slapped David’s asscheek, and the back of his head. “Hey! I don’t like blaspheming, suh. You get ahold of yaself.” His dick twitched inside David’s ass, making David squirm.

“Yeah, sorry, sure,” David said, his voice tight and pinched. Some more of Walter’s cock rammed in, and he grunted. His voice was ruddy and dark, eyes bugging out.

“You wanna bite on my arm? The missus say that help,” he said. He sniffled and leaned forward so he could wrap his arm around David’s face. That placed his thickest forearm right in front of David’s mouth. “You can bite hard. Won’t bother me none.”

David just enjoyed the taste and the feel of his corded-muscle arm. He rubbed his face against it like a cat, giggling while Walter stood still. Finally David’s ass adjusted to his cock, and Walter resumed humping.

Once again, mind-numbing pressure erupted in David’s mind, and he screamed — this time there was an orgasmic note in his scream, making David writhe and Walter chuckle.

“Reckon that helped,” Walter said as David began to gnaw on his forearm. When the pressure in his ass got too great, David couldn’t avoid biting down hard as though trying to rip his flesh off. As promised, however, Walter didn’t even seem to notice. He kept a tight watch on his surroundings, waiting for Mr. Salford to show back up.

After that, Walter’s balls slapped against David’s thighs as he humped more and more powerfully. He was entirely in David now, his massive rod stretching and pulling at David’s asshole. David couldn’t bear to accept such a huge dick, but he couldn’t bear to stop Walter either.

He wasn’t even aware that he was jacking himself off. He was so intently focused on the sensations tearing his ass apart that his own orgasm caught him by surprise. He grunted and moaned, clenching down hard on Walter’s dick.

That was enough to send Walter over the edge as well. While pangs of pleasure exploded in David’s body, Walter’s cavernous chest flexed. David writhed. Walter gasped.

Walter’s heavy chest pressed down on David, and they both spasmed together. David couldn’t breathe, both from intense pleasure and the dense mat of muscle weighing down his smooth back.

“Gonna fill you up now, suh… You got nice ass…”

Finally a wave of hot cum sprayed into David, torrent after torrent of creamy juice coating his body. As always, Walter’s load transformed David’s biting, electric orgasm into a slow-melting candle-like climax. David howled, and Walter even joined him, his deep baritone voice harmonizing with David’s uncontrollable tenor.

It was both one of the most intense and the longest-lasting orgasm David had ever experienced. Walter kept on spraying more and more cum, breathing heavily on David’s back as he filled him up with seed. He shot so much it dripped in great clumps between David’s legs.

“Alrighty then,” Walter said with a gasp. His chest was covered in even more sweat than it had been before they started fucking. David craned his head to the side so he could sneak his tongue out and lick up beads of salty sweat from Walter’s muscle.

Walter’s whole body went limp. His giant muscles were dead weight, pressing down on David and suffocating him. That lasted only a moment, however, before Walter rolled over.

The most incredible sensation of relief ever flooded David — his ass emptied, sending a tinge of post-orgasmic bliss through his body; he took a deep breath now that he wasn’t weighed down by Walter’s massive corpus.

And then it was all over. David was exhausted and couldn’t even think about getting up. He just laid there on his belly, his face close enough that he could snake his tongue out for a taste of the sweat that stuck to Walter’s upper thigh. Walter didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were closed, and he rested against the dead tree he had been trying to demolish.

Walter!

Walter swore and stood up. This time he didn’t try to conceal himself. He let his foot-long mandingo meat dangle between his legs, which made Mr. Salford grunt his disapproval.

Why ain’t ya wearin’ clothes, boy?

“I’s just relievin’ myself, suh,” Walter said. He flopped his cock between his fingers. “You know how it is wit’ meat like this. Takes me a few minutes.”

There’s an outhouse for you to use, Walter! This is a civilized plantation! You’re not back in Africa!

“Yessuh, Mr. Salford, I know. I ‘pologize mightily,” Walter said. He placed one hand on his own belly and pretended to hold back tears. “I ain’t mean to dis’ppoint you, nosirree! You been taught me a Christian lifestyle, and I’s real grateful-“

Well goddamn it, Walter, shut up and get to work. You don’t need to say you’re grateful, you can show it by doing your work!

Walter cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… Mr. Salford, you did promise Minister Tarant that you wouldn’t blaspheme so much-“

Fine! I apologize, Walter. Don’t tell my wife.

“Yessuh. I just would greatly ‘ppreciate it if you ain’t tempt my pagan ears wit’ blasphemy,” Walter said. “Sir.”

Get to work!

“Yessuh,” Walter said, then he softly added, “for now.” He looked at David, making intimate eye contact with him for the first time. “You got money for me, right?”

David handed it over as Mr. Salford left. Walter did some more work, lazily moving a few branches into the woods. He kept his britches off. When Mr. Salford was gone, he counted the money. He beamed brightly.

“Don’t tell no one ‘bout this,” Walter said. “I’m gonna leave this place wit’ e’rything valuable I can get.”

“Sure thing, Walter,” David said dreamily. He sat up. “Since you’re about to be a free man, I guess I should address you as sir. Sir.”

Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop, a brand-new story of hot gay ebony urban fiction! It’s also part of the Gridiron Yards series of hardcore gay erotica about football jocks!

Willie could tell that the beefy young man waiting for a haircut wanted something more than a haircut. He had a feeling he knew what it was. But there was something alluring about a straight guy who was nervous about sex, so Willie didn’t hurry.

When another one of the barbers — Jameson — finished and offered his chair to the beefy young man, he shook his head and pointed to Willie as though it was a secret that he was waiting for him. Willie stuck his ass in the air and waved it around as he finished with the hair of the elderly man in his chair now.

The beefy young man tapped his feet. He was trying to look nonchalant, bobbing his head to the beat of the song on the radio. He pretended to be participating in the conversation Jameson was having with the third barber, Hardy.

But it was obvious he was bursting at the seams with anticipation. When Willie finally finished taking the money from the old man, the young buck leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat in a way that he surely hoped was not attention-grabbing but ended up making everyone else in the room look at him.

“Hey, uh… hi.”

“Hi! What’ll it be?” Willie smiled and giggled. He was the only gay man in the barbershop, so he was used to being the center of attention — he was the feminine element. This young beefy guy was clearly here hoping to get Willie to suck him off. That was not rare. But Willie liked to make his straight bait work for it.

“Uh… A special. A special haircut.” He spoke softly, which again drew much more attention than he had intended.

“Yo, Willie, just do it, man, quit torturin’ him,” Jameson said with a snicker.

“Do what, Jameson?” Willie asked with mock insouciance. He paused to take a long sip from the bottle of water on his counter.

Jameson rolled his eyes. He turned to the young man. “What’s yo’ name, nigga?”

“Lake.”

“Okay, Lake, this is Willie. Willie, this is Lake. Willie, it is obvious to everyone that Lake wants you to suck his dick but is too shy to ask. Lake, it is obvious to everyone but you that Willie wants to suck your dick and likes to tease you-“

“Shut up, Jameson, come on, I don’t go out to the nightclubs and tell fat chicks you don’t eat pussy worth a damn,” Willie said. He pushed Jameson away. Everyone else in the barbershop erupted in howls of laughter. Jameson just rolled his eyes, while the beefy college-age kid, Lake, looked so nervous he was going to faint.

“I never had no complaints!” Jameson said as he walked away. He continued to discuss eating pussy loudly with the other straight men, all of whom boasted so loud that Willie and Lake had to raise their voices to be heard.

“So… Lake… that’s a cute name,” Willie said.

“Oh. Thanks. My mom came up with it.”

“Were you conceived at a lake?”

Lake’s eyes opened wide. “I-I-I don’t… I don’t know.”

Willie giggled. “Haven’t you ever asked why she named you that?”

He shook his head. “I think she just likes it.”

“So do you really want a blowjob?”

“Uh…” He had a very serious look on his face. He raised his voice to be heard but tried to whisper at the same time. “I don’t know if that’s… I was told I should ‘fuck you’.” He made little scare quotes. “But uh… Khalad ain’t elaborate, that’s all he said. I dunno if a blowjob is all that, y’know… They need.”

“Who? What?”

“Uh…” He sighed and glanced over at Jameson and them, who were laughing uproariously.

“Let’s go in the back,” Willie said. He took hold of Lake’s belt and held onto that. Lake leaned back as he walked, like he didn’t want to get any closer to Willie than he had to. Willie guided him by the belt to the backroom.

The others started making rude porno noises. Someone moaned oh, give it to me, Willie, stick it in me! Thanks for making me bottom! Lake bristled a bit as though he wanted to assert his dominance, but he was too nervous in this situation.

Once they were safely in the backroom, Lake breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know how to do this. I know how to hit on girls, you know, not-”

“You can treat me like that.”

He stepped forward and for a moment it looked like he was going to sweep Willie into his arms and kiss him. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that. Man… What if I can’t?”

“What is going on?”

“I’m on the football team at GHU, and the seniors said everyone on the team has to fuck a gay guy. It proves your masculinity or something. You were on the list.”

“I’m flattered,” Willie said. He made it seem like he didn’t know about the list, but in fact, he had asked to be on it.

“But all Khalad said was ‘fuck a gay guy’, or something, I don’t know, they ain’t say if it’s gotta be anal or not-“

“Relax, Lake, it’s okay, quit whining. You know you don’t have to do it, right?”

“They said the freshmen have to do it, no matter what.”

“How are they going to check? I’m not going to give them a list of the guys I sucked off, Lake. I promise I’ll tell them you did it, okay?” Willie paused. “But yeah, if it said you have to fuck, that implies anal.”

“Man…”

“Do you want to do it?”

“Kinda…” He bit his lip and looked down. “I’m not into guys.”

“You’re just horny?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s harder to get laid at college than I thought.”

He leaned back in Pete’s office chair. Pete would have hated that, which made Willie giggle — the owner, Pete, hated it when people sat in his chair. Willie got on his knees and fished Lake’s cock out of his pants.

Lake stiffened up and grunted. He closed his eyes when Willie’s tongue hit his cocktip, which stiffened up in Willie’s mouth. Lake was a healthy young athlete so his cock perked right up into a full erection almost right away. Willie liked that — sometimes the straight guys he serviced treated his blowjobs like a chore they had to struggle to complete, even when they initiated it.

Willie let his fingers roam up Lake’s body. Lake hadn’t taken off his jersey, so Willie had to sneak underneath it to touch his muscles, which were firm and stiff. Lake was tense. Willie could feel his anxiety roiling beneath his flesh, his worry that he was going to become gay or look gay or be perceived as gay or even just feel gay later. It made Willie giggle again.

“Have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?” Willie asked as he thwacked Lake’s cock all over his face.

“I’m not a virgin,” Lake said. “But no, I never got a girl to give up the booty — man, don’t tell no one. If they ask you about it, tell them I was an expert, that I fucked a lot of girls in the ass, okay? I don’t know how to do it.” He sniffled a little. Was he about to cry from tension? It almost looked like it.

“Lake, Lake, relax, nigga, chill out. I don’t like to tell people about everything I do, okay? I’m not gonna spread stuff about you. I promise they’re not even gonna ask, okay? They don’t care. They’re just teasing you.”

“What?”

“They always tell freshmen weird shit like that because they wanna see what you’ll do,” Willie said. He turned and backed his ass up towards Lake’s cock. Lake kept his eyes closed, even as he listened attentively to Willie’s words. “Last year the seniors told the basketball freshmen they all had to cum on my face at the same time or they’d never make a three-pointer all season. That wasn’t a real superstition, they just wanted to make them do it and make fun of them for it when they finally did it after a bunch of tries-“

“You let them do it?”

“Is that a joke? Of course I let the basketball team bukkake me. I made it as tough as possible so they’d have to keep trying to cum simultaneously, over and over again” Willie said. He grimaced as he backed his ass onto Lake’s cock. There was a twinge of pain, but Willie was well-lubed and ready to go. He held his breath as that massive cock slid into his ass.

“I can guess why you never talked a girl into givin’ up the ass. You got some hefty meat, nigga,” Willie said with a laugh. The laughter made his back shake, which in turn caused a bolt of pain.

“Oh, sorry, does that hurt?”

“Yes, and don’t apologize,” Willie said. He leaned back and stroked Lake’s muscles beneath his football jersey. Struggling with the intense feelings in his ass, Willie lifted the football jersey off Lake’s body. That gave him easy access to nuzzle Lake’s barrel chest.

“Is that… I mean… do straight guys normally let you suck their chest? That’s weird,” Lake said.

“You can tell me to stop,” Willie said softly. “But most guys don’t mind. You have a great chest. Girls must love you.”

He shrugged. “I got a girl,” he said. He groaned and exhaled sharply. His cock twitched in Willie’s ass.

“You have a girl?”

He nodded. He opened his mouth to say something — probably her name — but then he just moaned and grunted. Willie kissed him on the neck, stretching to reach it because Willie was so much shorter than Lake.

“She doesn’t do anal?”

Lake chuckled. “Nah. She say she don’t do that. She say only sluts do that.”

“You poor baby… Does she suck your dick at least?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I know what that means,” Willie said. “Well anytime she leaves you hanging, you can come see me, big guy. I’ll take care of you.” Willie bit his lip. “Are you going to tell her about this?”

“Hell no,” he said. It sounded like he was having trouble talking now, unable to concentrate as he approached his orgasm. He even very briefly kissed Willie’s earlobe before shuddered at the realization was sort-of making out with a gay man. A tortured cry escaped from his throat.

And then cum flew into Willie’s ass, coating his prostate in creamy warmth. Willie moaned as well, and the pressure inside his ass was enough to send him over the edge too. He shot a big wad that sprayed over his chest and belly, filling the air in Pete’s office with the cottony scent of cum.

“Ah, damn…” Lake said. He shuddered. When Willie started to pull off his dick, Lake grunted and spasmed, his whole body shaking.

Then his dick at last plopped out. Lake looked down at it, his muscles utterly relaxed — he had gone from tense and firm as a statue to a limp pile of brown muscles in just a few minutes. Willie licked some of the sweat off Lake’s chest and biceps.

“What the fuck?! Willie! Willie, you piece of shit!” Pete’s voice rang out. He barged into his own office. “You! Whoever you are, nigga, get your bare ass outta my chair! I oughtta kick your ass!”

Lake was scared of getting in trouble, even though Pete had no authority over him. All Pete could do was kick Lake out of the barbershop. He could, in theory, have fired Willie.

But Willie knew that wouldn’t happen. Every City Barbershop had a gay guy; it was virtually in the corporate handbook. Willie’s blowjobs kept the sexy straight studs coming in, and they made the place popular enough and hip enough to bring in everyone else. Pete wouldn’t fire Willie to replace him with a different gay guy (who would almost certainly continue sucking guys off in Pete’s chair anyway).

So Willie teased him, rubbing and caressing Lake’s muscles as Lake hurried to put his clothes back on and Pete screamed at him to hurry up. Willie dove his face between Lake’s big quarterback asscheeks while Lake tried to pull his pants up. Willie giggled as Pete roared in frustration and dragged Lake out the best he could — it was tough because Lake’s pants were around his ankles and because Lake was a huge athlete twice Pete’s middle-aged size.

Eventually, however, that left Willie there alone to giggle and wait for Pete to return to his office.

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, nigga.”

“You don’t gotta talk,” Willie said. “You want a blowjob?”

“Just go cut someone’s hair!”

Gang Life Downlow

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Gang Life Downlow, a hardcore tale of black thugs having gay sex on the DL; it’s full of dubcon domination and hardcore action. You can read it for free through KU for the next three months!

Calvin walked into the City Barbershop of Clay Street. He was nervous and stressed, carrying with him virtually all of his belongings in a trash bag. He tried not to think of himself as homeless, even though he knew that’s precisely what he was.

He had money. Not quite enough to rent a nice place, but he might have been able to get a cheap room somewhere. The downside to that was that he wouldn’t be able to afford to save up somewhere nicer. His stepdad kicking him out without warning had really put a damper on things.

Calvin had had a rough couple of months. After losing two ounces of heroin, he was in trouble with his boss, Samson. Then his girlfriend dumped him, and now his stepfather had kicked him out as punishment for selling drugs. Everything was going wrong in Calvin’s life.

He had a feeling the customers and barbers at the Barbershop knew why he was carrying a trash bag into the back. He also knew that Samson didn’t tell them, but they looked at him with a mixture of pity and scorn. They knew he was homeless.

Of course no one said anything. Everyone was aware that Samson laundered money through the City Barbershop, but no one acknowledged that they knew it. They pretended to think Samson was taking in a roommate half his age.

He came into Samson’s apartment. Samson was in his mid-forties, which was ancient as far as Calvin was concerned. He sat in his living room with a few other gangbangers. Samson kept a clipboard in front of him, and he scrawled notes as they talked. He nodded to Calvin, who nodded back and put his bag of stuff in the corner of the room.

There was no spare bedroom, so Calvin was sleeping on the couch. He was fine with that because he hoped it would spur him into finding a new place.

“Yo, Calvin, come here and rap at us,” Samson said. His voice was deep and tough, commanding respect. “We talkin’ ‘bout what to do regardin’ the Sweet Hill boys. Whatchoo think?”

“Well, I think we gotta beat them niggas down,” Calvin said, more because he wanted to seem tough than because he had any particular knowledge of the situation. He was only vaguely aware that the Sweet Hill gang had begun selling crack on territory Samson considered to be his own.

“Alright, that’s a plan,” Samson said. He smiled at Calvin. “You get yo’ niggas together and do it this week, okay?”

Calvin hadn’t thought he’d be put in charge of it, but he could hardly say no when Samson was letting him stay here rent-free. He nodded as though it wasn’t going to be difficult. Some of the other thugs looked at Calvin pitiably, and Calvin tried not to notice.

Samson clapped his hands together, and the other gangbangers stood up to go. Calvin’s mind raced as he tried to think of a way out of this. Once the door shut, Calvin was alone with Samson for the first time ever — it hadn’t occurred to Calvin until this moment that he had never been alone with Samson.

“You ever fuck around on the downlow, Calvin?” Samson asked after a long, awkward silence fell between them.

“Uh, yeah. Once,” Calvin said. He instantly regretted saying that. It was true, but he had heard Samson was often on the downlow with his close niggas — only for Samson, “downlow” meant you serviced him, not any kind of reciprocal behavior.

He looked at Calvin and raised his eyebrows. “Just once, huh? You do it with a nigga you respec’?”

“I guess so.”

“Huh,” Samson said with a knowing nod. He raised his eyebrows. Calvin sighed. It was apparent Samson wanted a blowjob, but Calvin couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Samson crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating the softball-sized pecs beneath his tight t-shirt. He ran his tongue over his teeth and clucked. “Huh,” he said again.

“Samson, I… Uh, thanks a lot fo’ lettin’ me stay here,” Calvin said.

Samson nodded.

Calvin sighed again. This wouldn’t be that bad, he thought, he’d done it before, and he knew Samson was discrete; he could be confident Samson wouldn’t tease him or spread rumors. He sunk to his knees, in front of Samson, who grunted his satisfaction. Calvin waited for a moment, thinking Samson would take his own dick out, but he didn’t. He just towered over Calvin and watched. Calvin winced at the realization that Samson wanted Calvin to take it out.

Reaching up for Samson’s dick, Calvin shuddered. Then, much to his surprise, Samson batted his hand away.

“You should ask a nigga fo’ permission befo’ you start sucking his dick,” Samson said. “If that’s what you wanna do.”

Calvin spoke quietly, blushing so hard his cheeks burned. “Samson… do you want, uh…? I mean… is it okay, uh, if I suck your cock?”

“That’s a real nice offer, boi. That’s a good gesture,” he said, as though it was the first time he had said that word. Before Calvin could undo his belt, Samson clucked his disapproval. “Play wit’ it through my pants first, nigga. Be romantic and shit.”

Calvin blanched and winced. He gently stroked the bulge in Samson’s dick, and for some reason just feeling that spongy flesh through his jeans made Calvin gag. Samson’s manhood stirred beneath the denim. He groaned in a way that made Calvin shiver with disgust.

“Now, don’t take my pants off,” Samson said. “Just undo the fly and take it out. Look me in the eye when you suck my dick. That’s a mark of respec’, nigga.”

His hands trembled. Calvin wasn’t sure if he could do that — sucking cock was humiliating enough, but looking Samson in the eye while he did it would make it even worse. The zipper seemed impossibly loud, and when it was open, Calvin got a burst of stale crotch sweat in his nostrils. He gagged again, and Samson clucked with disapproval once more.

“You may take it out now, Calvin,” Samson said. Something in the way he said Calvin made Calvin shudder all over again.

Calvin had to reach in to pull out Samson’s dick, which was half-hard and veiny, dark-brown, slick with sweat. He wanted to wipe it off, but Calvin was sure Samson would say that was disrespectful.

He opened his mouth, gagging profusely as the spongy tip pushed into his mouth. There was already a slight cummy taste, either precum from Calvin’s masturbating it through Samson’s pants or maybe left over from whenever he had sex before. Calvin tried not to touch it with his hands, and Samson kept his arms over his chest, so Calvin had to chase his cock with his mouth.

But he couldn’t quite bring himself to go any deeper than the tip. Even that felt impossibly thick, and Calvin wasn’t sure he could go any farther.

“When you suck the dick of a nigga you respec’, Calvin, you should deep-throat it,” Samson said. “You know what that means? You evuh get head from a girl?”

“Yes!” Calvin said, annoyed at Samson’s patronizing tone.

“Don’t you talk to me like that, nigga,” Samson said, his voice growly and threatening. Calvin shuddered. Samson forced his eyes open — Calvin hadn’t even noticed he closed them — and sneered down at Calvin. “Real niggas got backup plans, Calvin, you know that? They ready to get kicked outta they place. They got cash.”

Calvin wanted to defend himself, but when he tried to pull off Samson’s dick, Samson’s hands gripped his head and held it in place. Samson growled again, and pushed Calvin’s head deeper onto his shaft. Calvin gagged all over again as that cock pushed into his throat.

“Take my balls out wit’ one hand, and play wit’ em. Gentle-like,” Samson said. He groaned as Calvin did so, gingerly playing with his sweaty sac. The feel of that slick flesh made Calvin’s stomach churn. “Yeah, that’s nice, boi. That’s respec’.”

The sour flavor of precum assaulted Calvin’s senses, and brought tears to his eyes. He was glad it was dark enough in this room that Samson couldn’t see — it wasn’t really crying anyway, he thought, it was tears from suffocation and stress, not being a pansy. He didn’t think Samson would acknowledge a difference though.

The tasty of sweaty black cock grew more and more tolerable, though Calvin thought that was mainly because he sucked off all the sweat and grime, replacing it with plain spit. The veiny shaft invaded his throat with each powerful thrust of Samson’s cock.

The moist grunting of Samson’s voice was offputting to Calvin. He sounded like a rutting animal, and it reminded Calvin that his mouth was just being used now, that this wasn’t part of a relationship or anything. Samson was going to continue to use his mouth and body — though hopefully not his ass — until Calvin moved out. That seemed like a reasonable tradeoff to Calvin, even if it was humiliating and foul-tasting.

“Whatchoo plan wit’ my nut?” Samson asked as he groaned.

Calvin didn’t understand the question. He just looked up at Samson, and tried to ignore that massive shaft drilling into his throat.

“Huh? I’m gonna blow my load,” Samson said. “Whatchoo gonna do wit’ it? You want me to shoot it on yo’ face or what? In yo’ hand?”

Calvin was glad to hear that he had a choice. He pulled off Samson’s dick, intending to say in my hand, which was the least objectionable option. But then he saw Samson’s scrunched-up face, and Calvin knew this was a test. He wasn’t sure exactly what the answer was, but in my hand wasn’t it.

“Think long and hard, Calvin. You got a lotta factors to consider. Yo’ respec’ fo’ me, if you got any,” Samson said. He sniffled.

“I’ll… uh, swallow it,” Calvin said, wincing as Samson flopped his cock on Calvin’s head, smearing spit and precum all over it.

“Yeah,” Samson said. “You will. But befo’ that, I wanna see it. I like seeing it. Playin’ wit’ it a bit.”

“Oh.”

“So whatchoo think?”

“I, uh… I guess I’ll do that.”

“So where you want me to nut? In yo’ mouth?”

It was obvious he wanted Calvin to say yes, so he did so. Then Samson pushed his cock back in Calvin’s mouth. He grunted as he wrapped his hands behind Calvin’s head.

He thrust his hips so powerfully his cockshaft rammed down Calvin’s throat until his nose was nestled in Samson’s pubic hair. Calvin couldn’t even gag because his throat was so choked; all he could do was sit there on his knees and let it happen.

“That’s a good idea, Calvin. I’ll shoot my load in yo’ mouth, just like you askin’ me to. That’s very respec’ful, nigga. Don’t swallow nothin’ till I tell you too, okay? We gonna play a bit first.”

Calvin nodded, but even as he did, Samson was blowing his wad. He shot it right in the back of Calvin’s throat. Some of it dripped into his gullet, but Calvin instinctively avoided swallowing it. He would have accidentally spilled it all but Samson kept a tight grip on his head. Samson grunted, rutting like a pig as his fat cock spasmed inside Calvin.

At last it was over. Salty cum filled his mouth. It seemed like a huge amount, but Calvin wasn’t sure. His stomach churned with disgust, begging him to spit it out.

“Open up,” Samson said. He kneeled down and looked in. “Come on,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. “It’s dark in here. I wanna see yo’ pretty-boy mouth.”

Gagging the whole way and holding onto his stomach, Calvin made it into the kitchen without spilling any. Samson looked into his mouth as though trying to find something. He smiled with satisfaction, then spat right into it. The bitterness of his saliva made Calvin choke. He nearly spilled but Samson held him by the neck.

“That’s a big one,” Samson said. He stuck one finger in, all the way back until Calvin gagged. Then Samson held the palm of his hand out until Calvin spat the entire wad into it. Calvin was glad to be rid of it, though he could still feel that snotty texture on his tongue. There was a pubic hair stuck in the back of his throat too, but he couldn’t get at it right now.

Samson raised his eyebrows as Calvin got ahold of his stomach and his gagging. He kept that cum-filled palm right in front of Calvin’s face, where the scent assaulted his nostrils, making it hard for Calvin to regain his composure. Samson cleared his throat. “I’ll ignore your gagging, Calvin. That seems rude, but I understand…” It was obvious he wanted Calvin to suck the cum back up, and he raised his eyebrows as though to say You better do it now, it’ll get worse when it’s cold. Calvin opened his mouth, but Samson cleared his throat and shook his head.

Calvin blushed. “Uh… Samson, can I eat your nut?”

“Yes, you may. Thank you for askin’, boi.”

Calvin gagged and nearly vomited as he sucked it off Samson’s callused palm. He choked it down and waited there, blushing intensely as Samson looked him in the eye. Then Samson’s fingers forced his mouth open, and he checked that Calvin had swallowed the whole thing.

“Good,” he said. “Now go to bed.”

No Homo: Soldiers

Here’s a sample from No Homo: Soldiers, an entry in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica that’s too hot for gay sex! The most recent entry is No Homo: Jocks, and if you’re interested, please let me know (either in a comment here or email at eroticatorium@gmail.com) what theme you want to see next — I’m currently deciding between Workers and Thugs…

 

Warning: This sample is full of outrageous dry-humping (that’s actually quite moist) and teabagging!

Hawthorn knew he was going to get a boner when he did the rescue swim. He always had during practice but managed to hide it. They were only short swims anyway. It wasn’t a gay thing, he told himself over and over. It was just the close contact, pressing his dick against someone else’s body and rubbing it back and forth as they swam.

But the day had come when he was going to have to take someone — the muscled beefcake Tony — on a four lap rescue swim of the pool. His form had to be perfect, and that meant his dick would be nestled in Tony’s tight Italian asscrack.

Tony looked like a model, Hawthorn thought, or like what Hollywood would consider a perfectly handsome leading man. He was just slightly grizzled, perfectly built with a V-shaped torso and a square jaw, a deep voice and sultry dark eyes. Hawthorn was a little jealous — he knew he was a country bumpkin in the eyes of these city folks. He was big and a little plump, dumb and naive. In truth, he didn’t know what was going on a lot of the time, he really didn’t understand the slang the others used, just pretended he did, and felt overwhelmed by the pace of modern life. He wanted to be back on the farm he had grown up on, where things made sense and he always knew what he was supposed to do next.

He wrapped his arms around Tony’s muscles, thick black hairs scratching his skin. The Italian stud’s tight six pack rippled as he lay as still as possible. He was trying to make it easy. Hawthorn’s dick was wedged between his asscheeks. He got into the correct rescue swim position easily and began his laps.

The two moved through the body effortlessly, Tony’s heavy body easily carted along by Hawthorn’s heft. They were the two biggest men in the squad, that was why they had been assigned together. Tony had already done his rescue swim and did fine, with no boner at all that Hawthorn could tell. Tony’s rippling back muscles and tight ass squeezed on Hawthorn’s body, making his dick grow harder and harder with every motion through the water.

Hawthorn remembered the punishment in the shower a few weeks before. He had felt dirty then, Ransom’s big black cock shooting a load over his back, and he realized he was going to do the same thing. His dick was wedged between Tony’s asscheek just like Ransom’s had been before, and he was getting hard only a few strokes into the rescue swim.

He tried to shift his weight to hide it, but Railton called out for Tony to begin struggling — this was supposed to be a mock rescue, after all, and actual drowning victims fight back against their rescuers. Hawthorn knew that would be it: if Tony started moving, Hawthorn had no hope of reducing his erection.

When Tony’s body began twisting and fighting against him, Hawthorn had to hold him right in position, which meant every time Tony moved, Hawthorn humped him. The movement caused further friction, making his hard cock leak precum into the water. He didn’t think Tony could tell, but it was hard to say. Between the cheering and catcalling from the surface, the splashing of water and the sounds of cars driving not far away, Hawthorn couldn’t hear anything Tony was saying.

He had a good grip on Tony, immobilizing him with his head above water. Tony’s muscles contorted beneath him, and he squeezed his asscheeks together. Hawthorn felt the tightness around his dick and knew there was no stopping his orgasm. He hoped the water was warm enough Tony wouldn’t notice.

Almost done, Hawthorn paused, tired, and Tony took the opportunity to renew his struggle, apparently trying to give Hawthorn a real test. Aside from the embarrassment over his imminent orgasm, Hawthorn enjoyed the rescue swim test — it was like a combination of wrestling and swimming, two of his favorite activities.

Then his climax came. He stifled a grunt, and timed his swim strokes to the thrusts of his hip, hoping to mask the feel so Tony wouldn’t notice. But as he did it, and the hot cum bloomed above Hawthorn’s crotch, he knew there was no chance of that. It was obvious, the water was cloudy, and he could even taste it. Tony may have been able to taste it as well.

But maybe Tony will be too embarrassed to bring it up, Hawthorn hoped. He was a proud, straight macho who wouldn’t want to admit something like that, or so Hawthorn hoped. Tony had seemed prone to embarrassment so far, like most city boys Hawthorn had met.

Railton liked to tease the recruits as they tested, and when Hawthorn and Tony got near the ladder out of the water, having finished the rescue swim, Railton only nodded at them to continue. Hawthorn’s heart pounded as he realized he wasn’t done yet, and Tony struggled against him.

“Come on, Sarge, he’s done!” Tony called out.

“One more lap, I wanna see better form, Hawthorn. I know you know how to do it better than this,” Railton said.

Hawthorn moved his arm, remembering his lessons in rescue swims. He was touching Tony’s nipples now, which grew hard in the cold water. But Tony had given up on fighting back, no doubt wanting the whole experience to be over.

Unfortunately for Hawthorn, he was a randy young buck who had always gotten erections easily, so by the time they were done, he was hard again. His exhausted muscles were almost ready to give out, he thought, but he managed to get through the last lap.

Tony crawled up out of the pool, followed by Hawthorn, whose Army-issue swimming trunks were tented by his hard cock. Hawthorn blushed when he saw his fellow squadmates giggling at him.

“That bastard had a boner. I think he nutted on me!” Tony screamed. He clawed at the small of his back as though he might still get the cum off him.

Hawthorn wanted to defend himself from his snickering squadmates, but his massive cock strained uncomfortably against the fabric of his shorts.

“Get over here, Private Kyle!” Drill Sergeant Railton said. He narrowed his eyebrows at the sight of Hawthorn’s huge cock. He pulled Hawthorn’s shorts down and Hawthorn’s half-hard, dwindling cock popped out. He wasn’t sure if it was obvious that Tony had been right, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to Tony’s continued complaints. Drill Sergeant Railton’s interest in Hawthorn’s dick was more important, it seemed, much to Hawthorn’s delight.

Somebody else whistled. “No wonder he can suck it himself.”

Railton openly stared at his thick manhood, and Hawthorn, for the first time in his life, felt embarrassed about it. “That rod might be bigger than regulation, son,” Railton said to scattered, nervous laughter. “We might have to chop a bit off.”

Hawthorn was glad to see Railton being jovial for once, and not obviously mad that he had nutted on Tony. No one seemed to care about that except Tony, who was washing himself off in the pool.

“Can you really suck your own cock?” Railton said. “Let’s see it.”

Hawthorn pulled his shorts the rest of the way down. His dick was already hard and cummy, but he sucked the tip down. He had only ever done it once before, just licked it a few times because he discovered that he could. He didn’t like the taste, and it felt faggy too him even if it was his own cock.

“Suck it, suck it!” Ransom shouted. “Deepthroat it, bitch.” He and Malik laughed but stopped when Railton glared at them.

“If I ever hear you two talking to a real woman that way,” Railton said. “I’ll have you court-martialed before you can blink.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Malik and Ransom said in unison.

An awkward silence fell over the squad, and Hawthorn wondered if he wouldn’t be able to finish. He didn’t want the guys to start ragging on him for being slow, because if he got more nervous, he might lose his erection. He had just cum on Tony’s back, so he was glad he was still a young buck, who hadn’t had any pussy lately, so he was pretty sure he’d be able to bust a nut.

“Come on, son,” Railton said. “We ain’t got all day. You ain’t datin’ it, just a booty call.”

There was more scattered laughter from the recruits, and Hawthorn sucked with renewed vigor. He got almost a third of the way down the shaft, straining his neck and beck to do it. Precum slid down his throat.

“Lemme help,” Railton said, placing one of his hands on Hawthorn’s head. He gently pushed, and though it strained Hawthorn’s neck, he got another inch or so in his mouth.

Finally he felt his nuts draw up in his sac and cum flowed into his mouth, down his throat. The familiar, but gross, flavor of sour-salty cum flooded his senses. Hawthorn gagged and spat it out, rolling onto the ground before jumping to his feet to scattered applause.

“Alright,” Sergeant Railton said. “We had our fun. Let’s get cleaned up for mess.” He looked to both Hawthorn and Tony. “You two hit the showers.”

Tony was obviously pissed. Hawthorn wasn’t surprised, but he was annoyed — everything rolled off Hawthorn’s shoulders, and this wasn’t the first time he had done something that he saw as a minor faux pas but those around him saw an egregious offense. Hawthorn didn’t let anything bother him in the long run. What good was it being upset over things that already happened?

But obviously Tony didn’t take that route. He glowered, with his hands across his chest. He looked like he was considering whether he could get away with strangling Hawthorn right there.

“Man…” Hawthorn said, putting on his biggest, most easygoing grin. “That was fucked up. I can’t believe I did that in front of Railton, and he was sort of fucking my face with my own dick. Did you see that?”

“I was in the water. Trying to get clean”

“Oh yeah,” Hawthorn said. “Sorry about all that. It was… I didn’t try to do it. It just sort-of happened.”

“You virtually raped me!”

“I didn’t stick it in!”

“You came pretty damn close.”

“Don’t tell me you never had an accidental boner,” Hawthorn said. “Did you say you was a wrestler in high school?”

“That is not the point. I never came on somebody’s back,” Tony said.

“Well, Ransom already came on me, remember that?”

“That wasn’t my fault. You wanna hump him, you be my guest,” Tony said.

Hawthorn sighed. “You ain’t being very cool about this.”

“You did hump me. That’s not very cool either.”

“But it was an accident!”

“So? You want me to have a little accident too?” Tony asked. He pantomimed humping Hawthorn’s thigh thigh.

“You don’t even wanna do anything like that,” Hawthorn said. But he saw Tony raise his eyebrows and realized that wasn’t true — he wished he hadn’t said that, as it implied he would allow Tony to do so if he did want to. Which, it seemed, he did.

“I don’t want to,” Tony said. “But I will.”

Hawthorn sighed again. It would hardly be the worst thing that had ever happened to him — for country boys like Hawthorn, campouts and hunting trips often led to much more compromising sexual adventures than a little dry humping. But he still didn’t want to go through with it.

Tony pulled his own shorts down, followed by Hawthorn’s. His fat limp cock was wedged between Hawthorn’s cheeks.

“Hey, this is more than you did to me. You’re almost fucking me!” Hawthorn said.

“You was pretty damn close to fucking me,” Tony said. He began grinding his dick in between Hawthorn’s sweat-lubed asscheeks.

“We wasn’t naked though,” Hawthorn said. He always tried to act confident, even when he wasn’t, but bending over so Tony could hump his asscheeks was making it hard to feel confident. He thought it would be almost easier to actually be raped than this weird pseudo-sex. But he certainly didn’t want to admit that.

“Well, consider that your punishment for doing it without permission,” Tony said. His dick was getting hard and leaking precum, which lubed him up. The stickiness was spreading up to the small of Hawthorn’s back and down to his taint.

“This is fucking gross,” Hawthorn said.

“I agree, that’s why I was disgusted you started it. You better tell people, if anyone ever brings it up or makes fun of me, you tell people that I humped you back.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hawthorn grunted in shame. “I’ll make sure everyone knows about this. I’ll put it on my fucking resume.”

“Ah shit, here it comes, get ready,” Tony said with a laugh. He stopped humping with his cockhead just poking out above Hawthorn’s hips, so his load shot across Hawthorn’s back. He had a huge wad of cum, warm and sticky on Hawthorn’s flesh all the way up to his neck.

The semen sat there, so hot it felt near burning on Hawthorn’s skin. He tried to wipe it off with a hand but had trouble reaching behind himself, so he had to use his own bath towel. He still felt filthy as he straightened his back, avoiding eye contact with Tony.

“Alright,” Tony said. “Now we’re even.”

The Black Boxer, Ball-Sweat and One Sexy Sauna

Here’s a sample from The Black Boxer, Ball-Sweat and One Sexy Sauna, a new story of hardcore alpha male black service and raunchy gym sauna sweat worship! It’s now available through Kindle Unlimited, and if you don’t have that, it’s also in the great-value bundle The Sweetest Musk, Vol. 6!

 

When Tom transferred to the Irontop Gym of Queens, he assumed it would be like the gym he had long worked at. After being purchased by Irontop Gyms Enterprises, nothing much had changed aside from the signage. He took well to the Irontop corporate structure. Tom felt like moving to a big city, and he happened to see an opening in Queens. Irontop Gyms Enterprises had a policy of preferring internal advancement, so he thought he might as well apply. Moving to New York City sounded like fun, so he sent in his application on a lark.

At the time, he thought he might not even go if he got a job offer. It was just a spur of the moment decision to apply. But when he actually was offered the job, he took it. He didn’t even really know why, he just thought it was time to make a change.

Besides, he was tired of being one of very few openly gay men in his tiny corner of Wisconsin. He had already dated the eligible gays, and found them all wanting. He knew that Irontop Gyms weren’t normally meeting places for gays — they only had that reputation in Wisconsin. So he wasn’t surprised that the Irontop of Queens was different than the Irontop of Elkington.

But what did surprise him was that it wasn’t even a normal gym at all. It had all the normal equipment, and it was men-only just like all Irontop Gyms, but it was mainly a gym for boxers. There was a large boxing ring in the center, and the equipment was scattered around nearby. Punching bags and old-fashioned medicine balls abounded.

Another thing he found surprising was that it was almost entirely black. There was another Irontop Gym down the street, which Tom thought was strange until he realized the unofficial demarcation between the two — this one was for black men, and a smattering of Latinos; the other one was for white men.

As the only white guy on staff, Tom felt a bit out-of-place. He even considered transferring to the other one, but they didn’t have an opening and besides, it would seem blatantly rude, maybe even racist, to switch right away. So he stuck it out.

He tried to avoid staring. Tom knew he couldn’t pass for straight if he had wanted to, so he didn’t try that. He just didn’t want to look like a leering pervert, especially when he noticed one boxer, Jaequon Darling, who had a handsome face and a sexy heavyweight body. Tom’s dick stirred in his pants from the moment he saw Jaequon. He felt flush and giddy like a schoolboy having his first crush, and he blushed the one time he felt Jaequon’s eyes on him.

He managed to avoid making a scene though. His first day was easy enough, and he was glad to have avoided making a fool of himself. He was just about to walk out the front door when a middle-aged black man stopped him.

“Hey, fancy-boy,” said the man. “You off now right?” He looked like he used to be a boxer, with a powerful frame, flat ears and a crooked nose. His scruffy beard was tinged with gray, but he was still vibrant and sexy in his own way — Tom had always liked the daddy-types.

Tom nodded, not sure if he should be insulted by the term fancy-boy or not. And had he intended it as an insult or did he figure out that Tom was gay? He probably had figured it out, but Tom wasn’t sure.

“C’mon wit’ me,” he said, and walked towards the back without waiting to see if Tom agreed, or even understood. He had such an authoritarian vibe, however, that Tom followed without giving it a second thought. The man stopped outside the door to the sauna. He sneered at it as though he was disgusted by saunas. He looked at Tom. “My boy Jaequon is in there. He wanna see you.”

“He wanna see me? What for?”

“Don’t ask,” said the man. “Just do it.” He opened the door. Tom hesitated before stripping off his shirt and shoes, then walking in. It was a nice summer day, so he had worn his jogging shorts to go back to his apartment. The sauna was thick with fog, and at first, Tom didn’t see Jaequon at all. His shorts fabric clung to his skin with moisture.

“Yo, Pops, when can I come out?” Jaequon asked when the door was open.

The man slammed the door shut without answering, then yelled from outside. “Later, nigga. You got a pound and a half to sweat off. Or whatever, shoot off.” His words made Tom shudder with anticipation — was he really going to get to service Jaequon?

Alpha Convict Worship

Here’s the first chapter of Alpha Convict Worship, a new story by Marcus Greene! It’s chock-full of… well, alpha convict worship — Samson is a just-released ex-con with a need for release, and his gay neighbor Edward is all too happy to help out! It’s now available in the best-value bundle Gay Black Thugs, Vol. 2, which is in the Kindle Store and in Kindle Unlimited!

Edward was annoyed to find out he lived next to a halfway home. He would never have rented the house if he had known, but he found out later that his landlord had had to sign a non-disclosure agreement to protect the privacy of the residents. So he didn’t have a choice in not telling Edward about it.

But still, Edward was uncomfortable with his neighbors. He had moved away from the ghetto; he had always refused gang life; he was a young black man but that world had no attraction for him. And he was gay, which he knew would lead to him being teased, maybe even attacked, by the thugs, cholos and rednecks who lived next door. He acted as straight as he could whenever he was outside. The fact that the bevy of straight machos next door were almost all sexy both made the situation worse — because Edward had trouble ignoring them — and better, because at least he got some hot, usually-shirtless bodies to look at.

He was in his backyard, smoking a cigarette — one of his rare guilty pleasures — when he was first tested in his ability to pass as a straight man in front of them. His heart pounded when he heard one ex-con in particular approach the fence between the yards. It was nearly midnight, so the only light came from the bare bulb above Edward’s porch.

“Yo, man, you queer, right?” Came a hushed voice from the other yard. The man was smoking a cigarette there, Edward could smell the cheap menthol floating into his yard.

Was it that sexy cornrowed-daddy type? He had been lifting weights shirtless the other day, and Edward had been unable to look away from his sweat-dappled brown chest, covered in a layer of thick fur. Edward thought it might be that same man’s voice, but the high fence was in the way. He peered through the slats. It was definitely him, and Edward’s heart leapt up in his chest.

“You queer?” The man asked again. His silver-tinged cornrows moved as though he was chewing on his lip, though Edward couldn’t see the man’s mouth.

“Uh… no.”

Edward squealed when the man darted to the fence and looked at him through the slats. His dark eyes drilled into Edward’s soul. Edward bit his lip, embarrassed — that squeal had been decidedly gay, and the man chuckled knowingly.

“Sure, you ain’t,” he said. He snorted. “You want my meat?” He grabbed his cock through the paper-thin prison boxers he wore. The darkness of his rod was visible through the fabric. “Bit of the fence missin’ over there.”

Before Edward even said anything, the man sauntered to the edge of the fence, where two slats had been busted. That left an opening right about at the man’s crotch height.

“My name’s Samson,” he said. “Come on.” He sounded annoyed that Edward hadn’t already started sucking, even though Edward had denied being gay. He was embarrassed at how completely unable he was to act straight.

A part of Edward was offended that this man just assumed he would want to suck this stranger’s cock. He wasn’t wrong, but Edward would have liked to be asked seriously first. His humiliation didn’t stop him, however, from sinking to his knees next to that corner of the fence.

First came the acrid odor of treated wood from the fence, and then  Edward’s nostrils were overwhelmed by the mustiness of prison boxers.  They smelled like a hundred men, he thought as he inhaled deeply of the scent.

“C’mon, nigga, suck it,” Samson muttered. He was gripping the fence slats tight, and Edward suspected he really wanted to grab Edward’s head and fuck his throat, but couldn’t because the fence was in the way.

Edward used his mouth to reach into the fly of Samson’s prison boxers, pulling out a thick, rubbery cock. It was limp and greasy, and it smelled like the unwashed boxers he wore. Edward licked the tip and smiled as Samson groaned.

“I ain’t had someone suck my dick who actually wanted to in five years. It’s nice to have a little enthusiasm,” Samson said. “Suck it good, nigga.”

Opening his mouth wide, Edward swallowed it the best he could, wanting to give Samson a reason to come back another time. He sucked on that thick shaft and loosened his throat to deep-throat most of it.

“Ah, shit, bitch,” Samson said, sounding surprised at how good this felt.

It stiffened up in his throat right away, pulsating there thickly. It barged past his gag reflex and was unyielding even as Edward gagged on it. Edward moaned as soon as he felt it get hard, the spongy clamminess giving way to rock-hard heat.

Almost immediately after that precum flowed into his mouth. Samson must be incredibly horny, Edward thought to himself as he sucked. Samson was very vocal overhead, though he didn’t actually say much — he murmured low syllables and muttered to himself, sucked on his teeth and clicked his tongue as he gyrated his hips the best he could.

“You gonna swallow right, bitch?”

Edward didn’t answer. Of course he was going to swallow — he loved cum, and he could already taste Samson’s creaminess on his tongue. He wasn’t going to give that up.

Then Samson began grounding his hips onto Edward’s face. At first he had seemed to want to prove his masculinity. He had daggered his dick as deep as he could, but now that he could tell Edward wasn’t fighting back, he moved slow and sensuously. He swayed his hips as though trying to fuck every bit of Edward’s insides.

Within moments, Samson began cumming. He groaned and grunted. He bucked his hips against the fence, which rattled. His cock stuck in Edward’s throat, spasming there energetically.

“Take it, bitch, don’t spill none.”

Edward shot his own load into his hands and the grass, while he tasted wad after wad of hot cum running down his throat. He held on tight even as his lungs cried out for oxygen, he didn’t want to miss a single drop of sour cum.

Samson grunted and held on until Edward pulled out. Edward suspected that Samson would have made him suck until Edward was on the verge of passing out, if it weren’t for the fence blocking Samson’s hand.

“Thanks a lot, queer,” Samson said. He tucked his cock back away in his shorts. “I be around, nigga. Keep yo’ mouth ready fo’ me.”

African Americans Downlow

This is a sample chapter from African Americans Downlow, a new story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series!

The tour was both more and less fun than he had imagined. Jerome — or Big Hopper, as everyone called him nowadays — loved the actual performing. He enjoyed large audiences; he loved the give-and-take he had with his fans; he loved seeing strangers show up in hordes to hear him sing songs they had already listened to a hundred times. But the tour was also stressful; the food was bad; the hotels were cheap; the endlessly thronging agents and managers were annoying.

He was especially excited to be touring with the T-Funk Collective, a group of psychedelic funk musicians who had been playing together off and on, in various incarnations, since the late 1960s. It was 1981 now, and Big Hopper was on tour with the bands he had grown up listening to.

One thing that started off nice but had become dull with repetition was the endless questioning over his status on the tour. Big Hopper was the first rapper to go on a national tour; he had released only the third commercially recorded hip hop LP ever. He was a lot of firsts already, and he was proud for having secured a position for himself in the history books, even if it was likely to be a small position.

“How does it feel to be a musical trailblazer?”

What kind of a question was that? How was Big Hopper supposed to answer something like that? He felt like responding with an equally gibberish answer, something like It feels a lot like touching blue. But his manager, Rick, told him to just give a standard vague response.

“I’m proud of my work and my wonderful fans’ reaction to it.”

That didn’t even really mean anything either. The first time he said it, Big Hopper felt like an idiot. He was sure the journalists would laugh and demand a real answer.

When he wasn’t dealing with the bullshit of fame, Big Hopper thought he could have a good time. He spent most of his free moments with the T-Funk guys, who were legendary party animals with a taste for debauchery and hedonism. That was the kind of lifestyle he felt he had been born to live. Big Hopper was excited to get the tour started.

But he ended up having little time with them. They were such a huge group that their line-up changed in every city; whenever Big Hopper thought he had made a friend from the band, that person went back to his day job and was replaced by a stranger.

At least they were black. Big Hopper had never been the type to be anxious around white people — that was how they wanted blacks to act, he thought, so he was determined not to give it to them. But now that he was performing black music for black audiences, he was annoyed to find that everyone involved in the recording, from his agent to his producers and engineers and session musicians and everyone else, were all white. They treated him like an exotic specimen that needed to be toured so everyone could see it before it went extinct.

It was nice to spend time with a few fellow niggas. He felt at home when he walked into their hotel room and saw their dark faces, so he was glad to be invited one night in Cedar Rapids, Iowa — Big Hopper guessed that their arrival had doubled the black population of Cedar Rapids, so he didn’t even consider looking for a hip hop bar. If T-Funk hadn’t invited him to hang out, he would have ended up watching TV alone in his dingy motel room.

The funk flowed, and the party was in full swing, even spilling out into the hotel hallway. Big Hopper’s arrival was barely noted, but he was fine with that; it was nice not to be the center of attention for awhile. The dimly lit hotel room throbbed with dancing people.

A pretty light-skinned girl made eye contact with Big Hopper, and he went over to her. She bopped her head along with the beat; they had a brief conversation in which neither person heard a single word the other said — the music was very loud, and odd: it was some type of African funk that the T-Funk Collective were very excited by right now. Big Hopper found it annoying, but he wouldn’t tell anyone that.

He finally loosened up as the party continued and he had a few drinks. The pretty light-skinned girl ran away with one of her girlfriends. A lot of the females left in that group, so the party slowed down a bit after that. Big Hopper was annoyed; he had only just started getting into it, and now the party was winding down.

Soon there was only one girl left. She was attractive at first, but the more Big Hopper looked at her, the more she looked like a trashy whore.

Was she a trashy whore? She was certainly acting like it, he thought, as she sunk to her knees in front of a couple of the T-Funk niggas. They were dressed in colorful clothes, mismatched and accentuated with a hundred baubles dangling from their neck, both wrists and each finger. They also had multicolored threads woven into their dreadlocks.

Big Hopper had never been into gangbangs, but he wanted to be accepted by the T-Funk guys, so he decided to join in. When in Cedar Rapids, he thought, do as the Cedar Rapidsites do. He squeezed his way towards the front of the line, where Georgie Smalls, lead singer and guitarist, was just nutting in the woman’s mouth.

His dick throbbed and spasmed, shooting cum onto the woman’s tongue — she kept her mouth open so Georgie could watch his semen collect on her tongue, and she sucked every drop off his shaft. Georgie pumped his biceps and his multi-colored hair shook in sync with the pounding African funk beat coming from the speakers.

The smell of cum filled the air. Big Hopper did not like the smell, nor the awkward position he was in, so close he could almost taste the fucksweat that had condensed on Georgie Small’s broad shoulders.

Semen dripped down her chin. The band cheered, and the next man in line, drummer Tozzy Jackson, stepped in place. He didn’t seem to care about getting another man’s cum on his dick, as he jammed it right into the woman’s mouth.

Oh shit, Big Hopper thought, that’s not a woman! He hadn’t noticed at first because he felt so awkward and out-of-place. But now that his dick was in his hand, he was calm enough to take a look at her face — that was definitely a man in makeup and a wig.

“Yo, that’s a chick, man,” Big Hopper blurted out. Only a few of the closest guys heard because Tozzy chose that moment to shout fuck yeah to the adoring cheers of his friends.

“Relax, she’s a woman in spirit, man,” said Georgie Small, who had finished with the woman (or “woman”, as Big Hopper still thought of her) but just leaned back against the wall. His limp cock dangled between his legs, tantalizingly close to Big Hopper’s thigh. Georgie Small was jammed so close to the action that Tozzy’s bare sweaty ass brushed up against his legs and even his pubic hair. “You wanna hang with us, you gotta be sexually free, man.”

“Oh, yeah… Okay, I was just… I didn’t know…”

Georgie grinned. “Sure, sure. Besides, don’t tell me you never fucked around…? Nevermind, go on, nigga.” He pushed Big Hopper forward.

The woman took hold of his dick. Before Big Hopper even realized what was happening, she had started sucking on both his dick and Tozzy’s. Tozzy seemed excited about it, pumping his biceps and wrapping one muscular arm around Big Hopper’s shoulders so the woman could squeeze them even closer together.

As drummer, Tozzy had incredible biceps, almost as thick as Big Hopper’s thighs. As much as Big Hopper tried to focus on his hard dick in the transvestite’s mouth, all he could feel was the warm, sweaty biceps flexing as Tozzy squeezed Big Hopper close. The scent of his armpit was overpowering, and Big Hopper was surprised he didn’t lose his erection.

He had never let his dick touch another man’s cock before. When he and his friends used to gangbang sluts — Big Hopper tried to get out of it but sometimes let himself be peer-pressured into joining in — touching dicks was the one major faux-pas that everyone respected. Touching dicks was what made you gay, he thought, but it seemed Tozzy didn’t adhere to that rule.

Tozzy shot a torrent of jizz, and no matter how much he tried to, Big Hopper just couldn’t quite look away. He felt rivulets of semen run down his shaft, and he had to admit it felt good. It lubricated his dick as he shoved it deeper into the transvestite’s throat.

Much to his dismay, Tozzy didn’t pull away then. He stubbornly waited with his limp cock pressed against Big Hopper’s, smiling as he ignored his buddies trying to get him to step back. They wanted their turn for a blowjob, but Tozzy just grinned and said he wanted to wait for Big Hopper to finish. That put even more pressure on Big Hopper, who closed his eyes to concentrate.

Finally he came, his whole body shaking as he filled her gullet with his own seed. He could almost forget she was a man for those few seconds when orgasmic bliss overtook him, and the feeling was so intense his knees buckled. That made the T-Funk guys chuckle at him.

As the pleasure subsided, Big Hopper grunted, glad that the sound of funk had overwhelmed his moaning so no one heard. He didn’t want it to look like he had enjoyed that too much. Big Hopper backed out, relieved to be done without having embarrassed himself.

“Good job, man, you fit in well. You ever play funk?” Georgie asked. He hugged Big Hopper close, seemingly unaware of both men’s wet, cum-soaked cocks pressing against each other.

Redneck Screw Society Downlow

This is a sample chapter from Redneck Screw Society Downlow, a new story in the Redneck Screw Society and Str8 Studs Downlow series!

 

Willie tried to pretend he wasn’t nervous as he and Yoder arrived at the Dixie Arms Trailer Park. Neither one had ever been to an orgy before, but they both pretended it was no big deal, as though they were experienced swingers. In truth, Willie had less sexual experience than he let on, so he was hoping he didn’t embarrass himself today.

It looked just like an ordinary party though. For now at least, there were no signs of an orgy. The grassy field behind the Dixie Arms was crawling with young men, shirtless and red-necked with dingy hair and dirty skin, crude tattoos. Willie felt more comfortable right away.

It was Yoder’s idea to join the Redneck Screw Society. Willie never even thought it was real; it was his long-time best friend Yoder who had finagled an invitation. Willie had agreed to come without giving it much thought; he had only realized how stressful it would be a few days ago.

As he relaxed and grabbed a beer, Willie said hello to a few guys he knew. He was soon struck with the realization that there were no girls here, not a single one that he could see. That would not make for a very good orgy, he thought.

“There’s never really enough girls,” Yoder said when Willie pointed it out. He shrugged. “That’s what I was told. They’re all sluts though. They only bring girls who’re gonna put out.”

“So we gonna have to… share?” Willie said. He did not like the idea of sharing a few girls with a lot of guys. “I don’t see any girls. Not a single one.”

“They’re probably in the trailers fucking,” Yoder said. “Come on, let’s see if we can get on a three-wheeler.” Yoder had always loved any kind of off-roading vehicle, so that was just as much of a draw for Yoder as the girls.

After that, Willie could almost forget he was technically at an orgy; he often got together with friends to ride three-wheelers. It turned out that there were a few women there, three to be precise. They were all fat, greasy and unattractive, and Willie was glad that they had each come with a boyfriend and did not venture far from him. They did let a couple of their boyfriends’ pals in on the action, but Willie and Yoder were not included.

They did get a ride each on someone else’s three-wheeler. Willie hadn’t driven something like that since high school, so he was excited to feel the wind on his nearly-bare scalp once again. That made this party worth it even if he didn’t get laid; frankly, he’d be happier without the stress of worrying about sex.

By the time sun went down, somebody had started a bonfire, which quickly grew when everyone took a break from three-wheeling to go gather firewood. The beer flowed plentifully, and Willie was nicely sloshed even before the first joint was passed around.

“Hey let’s christen the fire,” somebody said. Willie didn’t know what that meant, but it sparked a torrent of conversation. Some people were against it; some were for it. Willie just didn’t get involved, even when the ayes carried the day and everyone lined up in a circle around the campfire.

They took their pants off. Willie blushed when he realized that, by entering the circle, he had agreed to participate in a circlejerk. A couple guys had walked away, so that was an option, but now that he had begun, it would look weird to quit. It would look like he couldn’t get it up. The others were already making fun of the few guys who had declined to join.

(Guess we know who’s embarrassed ‘bout how big they’s cock is…)

He made sure to stay next to his friend Yoder, the only person here he knew. He soon began to regret that decision, however, as he realized that he was going to have to stroke off Yoder. Maybe it’d be better to be surrounded by strangers.

They all spit almost at once, as though choreographed. They spat into their hands as lube. Willie was one of the few who didn’t do it along with the others, and he blushed as he did so a few seconds later.

(Saddle up, boy, you jackin’ off a donkey dick today)

(Ahh, why does yer dick feel like stale spongecake, man?)

Even more awkward than him wrapping his hand around his best friend’s dick was some burly tattooed hick in a wifebeater to Willie’s left grabbed his own cock. Willie yelped and his muscles all tightened at once, but the hick in a wifebeater didn’t seem to notice.

(Somebody’s balls stinks like a skunk’s asshole.)

Yoder’s dick throbbed and got hard right away. Willie wasn’t surprised about that. Yoder had always complained of getting a boner at inappropriate times, so he got erect easily. Willie nervously looked down at his own slack member as though it had betrayed him.

A chorus of greetings erupted from the circle. Willie looked up to see a beautiful woman walking out of one of the trailers. He was not surprised to see that she was accompanied by a man, a handsome and well-dressed man who was definitely still a redneck but didn’t fit in to this trailer park.

(Hey, baby, come on over here!)

(You like nut?)

They called out to her, but she only waved and walked back to the parking lot, where her companion showed her to his car. Willie saw another girl leave as well, just a few minutes later — he sighed; he should have expected that this orgy was really just an excuse for the attractive and well-off people to have sex with each other. Normal schmucks like him and Yoder were, as usual, left behind.

The dirty slobs in the circlejerk watched the women leave. The silence only ended when the first man shot his load, a thick, creamy nut that coated the ground. He blushed as a few guys stopped jacking each other off to laugh at him.

(Yee-haw, first one outta the gate!)

Willie had barely even noticed himself getting hard. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he had seen two beautiful women, and that helped a lot. But now that he was more aware of the tattooed hick to his left, he felt his confidence drain away again.

Then he realized Yoder was about to cum, and Willie panicked. He stopped moving his hand at all. He knew he was about to feel semen and no doubt smell it intensely so close to his own body; his hand would probably smell like cum for weeks.

“Damn it, Willie!” Yoder shouted. Everyone looked at him. Yoder narrowed his eyes to slits and instinctively grabbed his own dick. “Don’t fuckin’ blue balls me, man. I was about to nut and you just stopped…”

“Oh, sorry,” Willie said. He blushed and kept stroking, while the others watched them closely.

“Careful…” said another burly tattooed redneck from the other side of the circle, “Used to be that if’n you stopped jacking like that, you have to suck the load down instead.”

Everyone oohed and aahed, looking at Willie, who just blushed. He had no intention of sucking cock no matter what. Before he could say anything else, Yoder moaned and spurted cum. His ropy muscles relaxed all at once, and he blushed when the redneck circle hooted and hollered at him.

It coated Willie’s fingers. His nauseated stomach churned at the sticky sensation, but there was nothing he could do. He knew he’d get in trouble for real if he stopped stroking now, despite the hot and creamy semen seeping between his fingers.

(Yer jizz smells like a raccoon’s pussy, man. That normal for a Texan?)

(Look out, here it comes.)

People were shooting loads off like firecrackers. The cottony smell of semen filled the air, making Willie’s stomach revolt at the odor. He tried to ignore the hick in a wifebeater to his left bleating and beating on his chest as he shot a wad all the way across the circle — he laughed as a couple guys had to dodge away to avoid getting hit.

(Ah, you got some on me, man, fuck you!)

(I said ‘look out’.)

Willie nervously focused on his dick. He didn’t want to be last, and now that Yoder was done, there was nothing for Willie to do but cum. He wished he could just jack himself off.

“Need some help, princess?” asked the hick in a wifebeater. He had a filthy face — he had been riding three-wheelers before this, so he was covered in mud — and a deep, mean smile. He got behind Willie, laughing at Willie’s obvious lack of comfort with this position. Willie shuddered at the feel of the man’s sweat-stained wifebeater on his back.

The hick then used both hands on Willie’s dick, which he had to admit felt better than it had with just one hand. The circle was down to such few people that they were attracting attention, and everyone thought it was hilarious how the hick in a filthy wifebeater was whispering sweet nothings in Willie’s ear.

The most nerve-wracking part for Willie was the man’s cock wedged between his ass. The man was limp, but covered in his own cum, and he was still hot and moist. His breath condensed on Willie’s ear and shoulder.

Willie was so intent on paying attention to his ass that his own orgasm came as a surprise. He moaned as he shot a load onto the ground, and his knees went weak; the man behind him actually supported him as he used both hands to tease out every drop of cum from Willie’s balls.

Laughter and applause filled the air as Willie realized he was indeed last. Only by a few seconds, but still, he was last, and they were all, even Yoder, laughing at him.

(Damn near makin’ love like a bunch of prison faggots…)

Willie blushed. “I just ain’t used to getting jacked off by a hairy-ass dude,” he said, pointing to the hick who had stroked him off. He was so hairy it poked out from behind his wifebeater, and there was no clear demarcation between his chest and pubic hair. But he just grinned and pumped a hairy bicep, then flopped his own thick, hoggish cock for the crowd, who had begun to disperse. No one even really listened to Willie’s excuses, so he just blushed harder and walked away with Yoder.

“Don’t worry, next time, there’ll be girls.”