Tag Archives: interracial

The Pimp

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah-“

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

“Yeah-“

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

“Sure, sure-“

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

“Yeah-“

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

“Uh… yeah-“

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

“Okay.”

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

“Oh. So you’re…?”

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

“Cool…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Prison Wife Treatment

Here’s the beginning of The Prison Wife Treatment, a hardcore story of alpha male worship by Calvin Freeman!

 

“Alright, baby, go in there and make me somethin’ tasty,” Ruddy said. He kissed Sal on the cheek, making Sal flush with desire and arousal.

He was Ruddy’s prison wife. Not really, of course, since they weren’t in prison, but Sal had asked Ruddy to treat him like a prison wife (and paid him handsomely for it). That’s because Ruddy was the sexiest mandingo stud Sal had ever seen. He was a tall thug with short braids and a harsh glare to his mean eyes; he had broad, strapping muscles like a farmworked ox, marked with legions of prison tattoos. He had spent twenty of his forty years in prison, though it was mostly in short stays of a year or two at a time.

Sal hurried into the kitchen. He had assumed this would be mainly about sex, but the first thing Ruddy asked for was food. Sal cooked him a quesadilla because that was just about all Sal had — he didn’t cook much and the kitchen was mostly empty. He hadn’t thought about buying food just for Ruddy.

This all started because Sal had gathered up the courage to go to the local prison and make an offer. All he wanted to do was suck Ruddy’s dick — he was the sexiest non-skinhead to be released that day — but Ruddy said no. Ruddy said he wasn’t gay and wouldn’t fuck with any man under any circumstances.

But, Ruddy said, there was a loophole: when someone became a prison wife, he said, that person was effectively female. It didn’t count fucking a prison wife. I reckon I could use one too, whiteman, yessuh, I don’t think there gonna be lotta females who wanna give up the pussy, so I could use a prison wife on the outside.

So they had both agreed upon the terms of their relationship. Even though it was scary and strange and off-putting, Sal had agreed to it. He had agreed to pay Ruddy a bit of money every week, plus give him a free place to stay. That was how Ruddy strolled into Sal’s house just a few hours after getting out of prison.

He just took one look at Sal’s dumpy little house and scowled. “You best start cleanin’ up in here, baby. I don’t much like mess, and I hate clutter. I’s gonna start punishin’ you tomorrow e’ry time I see it like this.”

“Okay, yes. I will.” Sal caught a harsh glare from Ruddy’s dark eyes. He stumbled over his words. “I will… uh, sir.”

“I ain’t a cop, don’t call me sir. Call me papi, and say it as though I make you horny,” Ruddy said. He imitated a Spanish girl seducing her boyfriend. “Papi!”

“… Oh-“

“You hesitatin’?” Ruddy advanced on Sal as though going to hit him.

“No! I’ll call you whatever you want! Papi,” Sal said, struggling to make it sound sexy because he was scared of Ruddy. He had always known there was a chance that this would be dangerous, but now that he had Ruddy in his home, it seemed even riskier than Sal had ever guessed. Ruddy could do rob him, burn the house down, frame Sal for a crime or just fly into an uncontrollable rage.

As Ruddy moved into his room — he had very few things after this most recent stay in prison — Sal finished cooking the quesadilla. He served it on a plate with a few sprigs of cilantro, but Ruddy scowled as though he didn’t like that. He didn’t tell Sal not to do it though.

“Get on your knees while I eat.”

Sal did as he was told. Ruddy sat on the couch. He was shirtless now because he had been moving his things into the house, and now he was sweaty. His chest muscles gleamed. Sal kneeled in front of him.

“You don’t eat when I eat. You should be on your knees watching in case I want something,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I’m a good husband, baby. As long as you mind yaself and do as ya told, I’ll treat you right.”

“Yes, papi.”

“Start fingerin’ ya throat.”

Sal hesitated before he pushed his finger into his mouth. Ruddy didn’t respond, he just took another bite. Sal pushed his finger deeper in, until he gagged.

“Good. Keep doing that,” Ruddy said. “Work on your gag reflex.”

“I will, papi, I promise. I won’t gag on your cock. I-“

He smacked Sal. “No. I ain’t say that. Did I? Don’t you get ahead of yaself. You don’t know what to do, you stupid bitch, don’t try and pretend you smart.”

Sal blushed. “Oh. Sorry, papi.”

“You s’posed to gag. I like makin’ bitches gag,” he said. He paused and sniffled. “Sorry I got salty wit’cha, baby. I got a demon inside-a me, it comes out when I see pretty girls like you behavin’ improperly. Don’t speak outta turn, baby.” He snorted. “You s’posed to gag, I ain’t trainin’ you not to gag. E’ry time you gag on my meat, that’s how I know you love me.”

“Yes, papi.”

“You gotta work on gaggin’ more, and gaggin’ without spitting out my dick. I like gaggin’. Gaggin’ on my dick is how you show you care, girl,” he said. He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Did I hurt ya feelings? You can still make me leave. You still gotta pay me, but-“

“No. I want to be your prison wife. Treat me like that. I’ll learn,” Sal said. He blushed. “I’ll learn how to behave properly.”

“That’s right. You will. I am a good educator, baby. I am a firm and fair teacher.” He finished his quesadilla and wiped the grease off his fingers on Sal’s shirt.. He put the plate down on the coffee table. He spread his legs and pulled his cock out.

“Take your clothes off,” he said. He had a big black cock, which was already throbbing beneath his fingers even though it was still limp. He burped loudly, blowing the fetid air into Sal’s face. He thwacked his cock against the palm of his hand, accentuating how thick it was. Sal couldn’t wait to do anal (though they had already planned on that not happening just yet — Sal wanted to build up to it).

Sal felt skinny and weak next to Ruddy, who stood up. He peered at Sal’s naked body. He caressed each of his limbs and his chest and back — not in a sexual way, more like a farmer might inspect a horse — and grunted his approval. He grabbed Sal’s dick and snorted.

“You got a tiny dick,” he said. He flopped his own massive cock against Sal’s. He chuckled. “No wonder you act like a girl.”

Sal blushed. “Yeah. I guess so, papi.”

The Rugby Giant

Here’s the beginning of The Rugby Giant, a tale of yaoi MM lust about one lucky gay and the massive Polynesian jock who comes to love him!

 

Lyle sighed. He didn’t think it was going to be this difficult. He almost hadn’t come here today, and he shuddered to think what would have happened if he didn’t. Most likely Robby would have said it was good enough and they’d have unusable footage. It would have been a costly disaster.

On the other hand, Lyle thought, maybe that would have been better. He hadn’t gotten any usable footage of Tavita his way either. At least Robby wouldn’t have had to push the entire crew into overtime to get the useless coverage of Tavita mumbling his line.

Tavita Tohi was a prop on the Wichita Warriors professional rugby team. A prop is a position, usually the largest couple of players on a team, focused on hitting hard during scrums and rucks. He was seven feet tall and he was so big he had needed his rugby shirt to be custom-made. All of his clothes, in fact, were custom-made here in the States — back in his homeland, the Pacific island nation of Tonga, large clothes were more common, as were handmade clothes.

He was not just tall and big, with shoulders like patio furniture, he had a thick mop of curly black hair that was perpetually tangled and slick. His face was squarish, giving him an ogre-like quality, but he had a handsome noble jaw and big round eyes like a naive farmboy.

“Because it is r-r-r-rugby night in Wichita.”

“Because it is rugby night in. In… Wichita.”

“Because it’s… uh… it’s rugby night… in Wichita.”

Somehow Tavita sounded like a fake Hollywood Polynesian even though he was real. He was stiff and forced and awkward; he mumbled in all the wrong ways; he looked shy and scared rather than macho and confident. He said Wichita in a way that had made Lyle laugh the first few times he heard it. Weecheehta, spoken like the word was a costly heirloom that might break if Tavita said it out loud carelessly.

It was also funny — in a frustrating, non-humorous way — that Tavita couldn’t manage to say this one line. That’s because he was huge and scary, which was precisely the look Lyle wanted. This commercial was meant to appeal to tough guys (or men who wanted to see themselves as tough guys): the “shadowy swarthy exotic foreigner meanly barking out a vague slogan” was a perfect look, which was Tavita’s normal look. Tavita didn’t need to act, he just needed to say one line in an uninterrupted way that was totally normal for him.

Everybody else on the team had managed to give their line. Most athletes aren’t good performers, so a lot of it was rather wooden and forced, but Lyle had come to expect that. That was why they each only had a few words. Lyle could take the best take from each of them, and  splice them all together into a professional-looking commercial.

But Tavita was weird and off-putting, especially when there was a camera on him. That was one of the things that had gotten him famous — when he scored the winning goal in last years American Rugby Cup, ESPN asked him how he felt, and he thought for a long time before saying only “fine”.

“Tavita, do you miss Tonga? What do you think of America?”

“It is okay. I like Tonga. There is no sea in Wichita.”

“Tavita, what’s your workout regiment like?”

“I like to exercise,” he said. “I am very big.”

“Tavita, what do you think of the game this weekend? Seattle is a top-ranked team, do you think you can take them on?”

“Yes.”

“How? Can you elaborate on your strategy for this weekend’s game against Seattle?”

Another long pause as flashbulbs flared and journalists thronged the giant Tongan. “No.”

“Are you confident you can defeat the legendary Seattle offense?”

“Yes.”

“Tavita, what do you think of league commissioner Reginald Wartleby’s offensive comments about African Americans? What do you think of the rumored boycott of the League Awards on Saturday?”

“No.”

“Is that no…? Does that mean you disagree with him? Or that you won’t be joining in the boycott?”

“No.”

He’d developed an online fanbase who thought his terse non-answers were hilarious. One particularly memorable press conference featured Tavita saying “no” when asked about his strategy for a game, only for his agent to jump in and answer for him. That had become a constant pattern: Tavita said whatever he wanted to say, which was almost always yes or no, and then his agent would “interpret”: Tavita is looking forward to the game. Seattle has got some strong competitors, but Tavita is a world-class athlete who has been completely focused on preparing for this match.

So Lyle wasn’t surprised to learn he was a poor performer in front of a camera. Tavita had tried to get out of doing the commercial, but it was in his contract. All he had to do was say because it’s rugby night in Wichita in a macho way. Lyle spritzed more vegetable oil over his strapping chest.

“Okay, Tavita, you’re doing great, I’m glad you’re still with me. Can you say it again, this time we won’t run the cameras?” Lyle thought he’d try this. The camera was rolling, he had told the cameraman beforehand to keep filming no matter what. He thought Tavita might do better if he thought the camera was off. “No pressure, this is just a casual thing, I want to see how you would say it normally. No acting, no trying, just say it how you would say it, if I asked you what was going on tonight and you were going to a rugby night.”

He was quiet for a long time. “Rugby night is not a thing.”

“Yes, I know, Tavita, that’s okay. Pretend. I’ll invite you to a rugby night tonight, okay, how about that? You can come over, we’ll watch rugby games and, uh… talk rugby and… that kind of thing,” Lyle said — he was a marketing guy, he didn’t know or care about rugby. “So now we have real plans for tonight, right? We have a rugby night tonight.”

“Yes,” he said. He had a big beaming grin on his face.

Lyle nodded. “Good. Good. I’m looking forward to our rugby night,” Lyle said. “So if somebody asked you out tonight, you’d say no, because tonight is rugby night in Wichita.”

“Yes.” His bare pectoral muscles flexed all at once. Was he angry? Nervous? It was hard for Lyle to tell, especially since he was distracted by a flood of sexual desire — Lyle had spent all day spraying vegetable oil on bare rugby jocks’ chests, so he had been semi-aroused all day; this frustrating experience with Tavita had somehow made him forget that Tavita was mind-bogglingly sexy. Now Lyle blushed a little as vegetable oil dripped over Tavita’s mountainous pectorals.

Lyle backed out of the shot. “Okay, say it,” he said. He had stopped the whole thing where the guy with a clapboard marked the beginning of a scene, because that seemed to be making Tavita nervous. This was roughly take two hundred.

“Because tonight is… rugby night in Wichita.”

Lyle exchanged nervous glances with his director. That wasn’t technically the line, but it was close. Tavita glowered and fumed. Lyle wanted to say it looked like he was getting angry, but Lyle had no idea how to read Tavita’s emotions.

“Yeah, Tavita, perfect. That was great,” Lyle said, and he sighed. That was hardly great — it was stiff and weak and question-like, and there was a little pause in the middle. But it was close enough. He could get Robert Matheson to say the line as well — he was a charming, dimpled blond who had a hundred thousand followers to watch him steam fish and prepare healthy snacks on YouTube, and he was a pretty good rugby flanker too. Then Lyle could splice their lines together so that Tavita only said the word “Wichita”, and Robert said the rest. People liked the way Tavita said Wichita, even if the rest of the line sounded like Tavita was reading aloud his own death sentence.

Tavita even smiled for a moment before he left. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t say goodbye to his teammates. He didn’t even wash the vegetable oil off his body. He walked right out of the building and into the parking lot, still wearing nothing but his rugby shorts. He had forgotten his clothes and his cell phone there in the locker room where the shoot had finished up.

“Holy hell, that took forever…”

“Did he forget to put his clothes on?”

“I’m sure he didn’t forget.”

“He drove away. His wallet is in his pants. Look, he’s got a Donald Duck wallet with… literally nothing in it but his passport.“

“He had a piece of carrot on his shoulder when I did his makeup today. I asked him if he had carrots for breakfast, he said no. I asked if he had carrots for dinner, he said no. I asked when he last had carrots, he said he didn’t remember,” said Wendy, the makeup woman. She blushed and giggled with the other crew — it had been a long and stressful day, spent almost entirely trying to get Tavita to deliver his one line. “Who does that? How long has he had a carrot on his shoulder?”

“Okay, okay,” Lyle said, grabbing the wallet from Robby, the director. Robby looked chagrined. Lyle gathered up the cell phone and massive clothes. “Let’s chill out, I know Tavita is a bit of an oddball, but…-“

“He’s twenty-something years old, Lyle, and he’s got a Donald Duck wallet that my nephew would say was for babies. He’s a freak.”

“He looked at me like a steak he wanted to eat, and when I said hello, he looked at me like he was surprised a steak could talk.”

“Lyle, he never said that line right. You’re gonna have a hell of a time making it sound okay in editing.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll fix it in post-production,” Lyle said. “Let’s not be mean. Tavita tried really hard. It was… He’s not good at this performance stuff. He’s not familiar with American culture.” But Lyle’s defense sounded flat even to him. Everyone just rolled their eyes and walked away. “I’ll call his agent,” Lyle said.

It turned out that Tavita’s agent was not surprised he had left his things at the filming location. Tavita regularly forgot “everything everywhere he went”, his agent said. Lyle waited for him to come pick up the clothes and cell phone to drop it off at Tavita’s house.

Lyle had hoped to finish filming today and get everything ready for the editors. He wouldn’t be able to do it all, but he could at least get all of the film in the same place, write down some notes on the more difficult takes (not just Tavita, Gerald Harkness had been very stiff, and Eddie Watters had a cold, while Rashad Milk had a cut on his lip that looked like a herpes sore; there was going to be a lot of photoshop needed to make this into a commercial). But after spending hours listening to Tavita’s liltingly awkward accent mangle the words because it’s rugby night in Wichita, Lyle just wanted to go home.

It wasn’t until he got home that Lyle started to laugh. He just giggled a little as he reheated last night’s dinner for leftovers. He recalled Tavita and laughed, finally letting out all of the humor he had had to repress today, both because he didn’t want to insult Tavita and because he didn’t want to interrupt filming with bouts of hysteria. Tonga is an English-speaking country, for Christ’s sake! Lyle just laughed to himself over and over. It felt good to get all that out.

As he cooked, he queued up some YouTube videos of Tongans speaking, just because Lyle wondered if he was being intolerant of Tongan culture. Maybe they all had that terse, stony-faced manner of speaking.

No, they were actually quite florid and expressive, at least on YouTube. They spoke like anyone else, just with a Tongan accent. It was Tavita who was weird.

When Lyle finished eating, he felt a lot better. It was silly to get frustrated. Tavita’s eccentricity actually made him pretty famous and brought a lot of attention to the Warriors. One of his interviews had gone viral on reddit and tumblr a few months ago because Tavita said I hate Kansas, it is ugly here. That was the entirety of his response — which was actually articulate and thorough compared to how Tavita normally talked — to several in-depth questions about how he was handling America. For anyone else who played for a Kansas team, that would have been a disaster.

But no one thought Tavita was supposed to say polite things, and some local newspapers had looked like over-sensitive pricks when they said he should apologize. Then Tavita kept the story alive by apologizing, reading (poorly) a prepared statement with his agent by his side, causing a counter-backlash from various corners of the Internet who thought (correctly) that he had been forced into saying something he didn’t believe. It was all complicated and confusing, but it led to sales of Tavita’s jersey quadrupling, so Lyle was happy with it.

There was a knock at the door. Lyle assumed it was his elderly neighbor needing help with the wireless router again. He rolled his eyes and opened the door.

“Oh! Hi!”

It was Tavita, standing there, still shirtless and wearing those shorts. He appeared to have tried to wipe the vegetable oil off, but much of it still clung to him.

“Hello,” Tavita said.

“Uh…”

“I am here.”

“Yes, I, uh, it’s good to see you, Tavita,” Lyle said. He let him in, still unsure what was happening here. He might have realized what was going on sooner but Tavita’s bare chest gleaming made Lyle horny and distracted. Tavita had to lower his head to fit into the doorway.

“Your agent has your clothes and your cell phone-“

“He does not. He gave them to me.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay. Good,” Lyle said. He wanted to ask why Tavita hadn’t changed and cleaned off, but his huge glowering presence was intimidating. Lyle had trouble thinking of what to say.

“Am I late?”

Lyle raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I think I missed something. Why did you come here?”

“Because it is rugby night in Wichita.”

A long awkward silence filled the air — a common occurrence with Tavita. Finally Lyle managed to tear his eyes away from Tavita’s chest long enough to realize that Tavita had said the line at long last, that Tavita had meant it for real, not as a joke, and that Tavita had thought Lyle really expected him to come over tonight.

“Oh. Tavita… I’m sorry, that was just a line. It’s for a commercial,” Lyle said. He didn’t want to sound patronizing, but he didn’t know how much Tavita really understood.

“You said it was for real.”

“Well… Yeah, I actually said pretend it is for real,” Lyle said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you.”

“It is not rugby night in Wichita?”

“Well… No, not really,” Lyle said. “But you can, I mean… it’s okay. Do you want something to eat? We can watch some rugby games if you want. I have some on DVD.”

“I am hungry.”

Lyle just sighed again. Speaking to Tavita was a frustrating experience. He decided to stick to asking one yes-or-no question at a time. “Do you like grilled cheese?”

“Yes.” Since Tavita was so huge and he worked out so much, he was always hungry. That was the one thing he always showed enthusiasm over. Coach Michaels had had to stop providing orange slices during practice because Tavita would ignore everything until he had eaten every one. So now he handed out the orange slices to each individual, and waited for Tavita to finish because Tavita was unable to focus if he was eating.

Sure enough, Tavita waited wordlessly while Lyle grilled him a cheese; Tavita stared at Lyle without moving a muscle. Then when Lyle gave it to him, he devoured the whole thing before Lyle could even ask if he wanted hot sauce.

“Are you gay?” Tavita finally asked, bits of cheese grease dripping from his oversized lips.

Lyle was momentarily thrown for a loop. That was the first time he had ever heard Tavita ask a question beyond when is lunchtime? Tavita looked at Lyle with his head cocked to the side, though his face remained placid. Lyle felt small and weak.

“Yes,” Lyle said. He probably would have lied, just because Tavita was so big and strange, not to mention foreign — Tongans could have been homophobic, after all — but Lyle knew that they weren’t generally homophobic because he had been watching videos on YouTube just before Tavita arrived. One of those videos had been about gays in Tonga. It turned out that gays were pretty well-accepted there.

Tavita nodded. Lyle felt so awkward he might burst, but he tried not to let on. It was clear that this was a normal interaction for Tavita. His teammates had said he was always like this; they said they brought him to a strip club and he just giggled like a teenager whenever a stripper talked to him. Lyle tried to accept him the way he was. He put on a DVD of rugby games, which Lyle had bought when he was hired by the Wichita Warriors. He had sworn during the interview that he loved rugby, despite having never watched a game, so he had had to cram. It turned out rugby was very boring, but at least, Lyle thought, they wore those short shorts, which were pretty sexy.

Tavita wore those shorts now. His corded Tarzan-like thighs barely fit within them. He was still covered in oil, so before he sat down on the couch, Lyle offered to let him clean off.

“I did shower. It didn’t work,” Tavita said, as though that ended the issue and he had simply accepted that he would be forever covered in vegetable oil.

“You might need to use paper towels,” Lyle said. Tavita ignored him, leaning forward to watch the match begin. Lyle got up and got some paper towels, and stopped Tavita before he sat on the couch. “Here, use these.” Tavita just grabbed the towels and again tried to sit down. This time, Lyle physically stopped him — not really, of course, Tavita outweighed Lyle by more than two hundred pounds — but Lyle touched his side to get his attention as though preventing him from sitting down. “Sorry, you’ve got oil all over, I don’t want it on my couch.”

The Prison Wife

Here’s the first chapter of The Prison Wife, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!

Hawk stumbled as he entered the cell block. He heard hooting and clapping. Luckily some of the other prisoners were worse off than Hawk — there was a fat man who started sobbing even before they came onto the cell block. He attracted most of the attention from the other inmates.

Tubby crybaby wants his mommy!

But Hawk knew plenty of them were looking at him too. He could feel their eyes staring at him. Hawk took a deep breath to calm himself.

He had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a plan he would enjoy. There was no reason not to enjoy it. While Hawk didn’t want to be in prison, he had a good plan — Hawk was gay. He loved sucking cock and getting fucked, and he especially loved being fucked by huge alpha male thugs.

So spending time in prison gave him plenty of opportunities to do what he wanted to do anyway. He wished he could come and go as he pleased, getting fucked whenever he wanted and then going home to sleep in his own bed. But of course, that was not an option.

This place would be his home for the next two to five years.

Hawk tried to look tough. He was not in bad shape. He had been playing soccer and baseball for years, but he was short and he was wiry, not muscular. He had long straight black hair and dusky brown skin.

“Yo! Yo! Yo!”

An explosion of laughter and some angry shouts erupted. Hawk’s heart skipped a beat — was this a prison riot? Had he walked in on a prison riot?

“Yo, yo, yo!” There was a man coming towards the new inmates.

“Get back- Oh…” The guard escorting the new inmates chuckled dryly at the sight of the man coming towards Hawk and the others. The guard didn’t seem to care what he did. Hawk didn’t know if that meant he should be scared of this inmate — was the guard scared to stop him? — or if he should be calm — was the guard aware that this inmate was a paper tiger?

But Hawk thought the inmates would test one of the fat blubbering idiots first. So he just furrowed his brow. He made as tough a face as he could manage.

But then the inmate came to him. He was Thumper White, a middle-aged black man with cornrows tinged with gray. He was an ex-boxer and he still had the body of a fighter half his age. He moved like his muscles and his heft were in the way — he was much faster than a burly, barrel-chested man like him should be.

“Uh…” Hawk didn’t know if he should throw a punch or not. The entire cell block stared at him.

Thumper pushed inmates — new and old, weak and tough alike — out of the way as he barreled to Hawk. Then he stopped in front of him and smiled like a schoolboy.

“Yo, hey, what’s yo’ name?” Thumper asked. His grizzled, gray-tinged scruff shifted as he licked his lips. It sounded like he was trying to be casual, even though he had knocked several people over as he came here, and the entire cell block had fallen silent to watch him.

“Uh… Hawk.”

“Hawk? What kinda name is that?”

“It’s Indian. I’m an Indian. Native American Indian.”

Thumper’s eyes opened wide. “Ah, shit, nice. That’s why you got pretty long hair?”

“Well… I have pretty long hair because, uh… I like it.” Hawk’s mind raced too fast for him to speak coherently.

“You some kinda gay or bisexual?” Thumper asked.

“Um, yeah… I’m gay.”

Thumper let out a growl. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Boy, you serious?”

“Yeah.” Hawk squeaked like a mouse. Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that, he thought, since it looked like Thumper became hostile when he said it.

“I think I love you, boy,” Thumper said. He took Hawk’s wrist and kissed the back of his hand. That finally broke the silence of the other inmates. They howled peals of laughter. Someone clasped Hawk on the back, making Hawk stumble and cry out in surprise. Thumper kissed his hand copiously, and even sucked on his middle finger.

“Oh-“

Thumper stood up. He made a stern, angry face and addressed the crowd of jeering inmates. They all cheered as though they were glad for Thumper, though it was obvious from their tone and body language — and the harsh laughter filling the air — that they were teasing Thumper for forming a relationship with a man.

You in love, homo thug?!

You gonna suck that Indian boy’s dick, Thump?

Thumper held one hand up, palm out. The inmates all got quiet — the black ones first, since they were in Thumper’s gang — Thumper was in charge of the Nine Tats here at Brutewood; Hawk didn’t know that yet, but he would soon figure it out. The Nine Tats then forcibly hushed up the other gangs.

“All y’all shut yo’ mouths,” Thumper said. “This boy here is Hawk. He too pretty to be any kinda bitch, so don’t none of you try nothin’.” There was some scattered groans. Someone threw a chess piece that bounced off Thumper’s chest. Thumper bellowed, “Hey! Nah! Shut yo’ bitch-ass mouths!” Then he waited for silence again. “Ain’t none of y’all’s business, nosirree. Prison love is private, even if you can see it, niggas.”

Then Thumper turned around. He ignored a few whooping catcalls from the other inmates. He dropped to his knees in front of Hawk and grabbed his hand once again. He sucked on that middle finger just like before. Then he pulled it out and smiled up at Hawk.

“Boy, will you do me the honor of bein’ my prison wife? I will treat you so good, boy…” He let out a long, low growl. His kisses traveled up Hawk’s hand to his arm, then his neck.

Hawk shivered. He wanted to say yes, of course. Thumper was pretty much Hawk’s ideal man — right down to the flecks of gray in his chest hair and cornrows. Hawk loved men with a bit of maturity in their bones.

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk finally managed to croak out a response.

The cell block erupted in both cheers and jeers. Someone threw more chess pieces — aiming at Thumper, it seemed, but many of them hit Hawk instead. Thumper planted his lips right on Hawk’s, and his massive tongue pushed into Hawk’s mouth.

That was such a shock that Hawk resisted at first, purely out of instinct and surprise. He pushed on Thumper’s shoulders, but Thumper didn’t even seem to notice. He just barreled through ramming his tongue down Hawk’s throat as though invading his gullet, like his goal was to get as deep as possible.

Hawk was so surprised by everything that had happened that he barely even noticed when Thumper scooped him up in his arms. Hawk was dizzy and confused. Thumper carried him like a bride through the crowd of cheering black men — his own gangmates formed a line on either side, leading back to Thumper’s cell.

It was obvious to Hawk that these thugs clapped and cheered both because it was expected of them and because they teased Thumper. He was their boss, but he was much more comfortable with man-on-man sex than the rest of them — he was from an earlier generation. They thought proposing to a prison wife publicly was hilarious and shameful (for Thumper). They called him a groom and encouraged Hawk to throw a (nonexistent) bouquet of flowers to tease Thumper.

If Thumper realized that they were laughing at him, however, he gave no indication. He had a big smile on his face like a groom carrying his bride to their shared bedroom. His big muscles carried Hawk easily through the cell block.

The tiny cell was barely big enough for one person, and there was already a young man there. He was clearly gay and effeminate. He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow when he saw Thumper carrying Hawk into the cell.

“What’s up, Thumper? That a bitch or wha-?” His voice trailed off when he saw the men crowding the cell outside to watch as though they were witnessing history. Thumper’s current cellmate crossed his arms over his chest.

“Brian.” Thumper sounded like he had forgotten he had a cellmate. “Get yo’ shit and get out.”

“What?”

“You don’t live here no more. Go tell Armstrong you need a new cell assignment,” Thumper said. He looked at Hawk and kissed him.

“Oh. You’re dumping me?”

“I am in love, nigga. You know what love is? It’s the most powerful force in the universe. I ain’t nevuh loved you. You just a slut,” Thumper said without taking his eyes away from Hawk. “Go’n, get out.”

The man sniffled. “Fine. Later.” He gathered up his clothes and other belongings, most of which were already in a cardboard box.

“Hurry up, nigga. We got some connubial bliss to construct,” Thumper said. He snarled at the man, who darted out of the cell. He had to squeeze past the other inmates to get out.

Yo, Thumper, you gonna lick his butthole?! Huh? You want some syrup?!

“Ignore them niggas,” Thumper said with a growl. Once his former cellmate was out, he slapped their hands when they tried to reach in past the cell bars. “Get outta here, niggas! Get out! This ain’t none of yo’ business. This ain’t gang business. This ain’t no concern of yours. This is just love, that’s all. You don’t know jack-shit about love.” He reached his arms between the cell bars and grabbed one young man by the neck — it was a young black man, skinny, definitely not old enough to be anyone important, Hawk assumed — and whispered something Hawk couldn’t hear. The young man’s eyes opened wide, and he hushedly got the other inmates to be quiet and walk away. It took awhile though, so there were still hands reaching into the cell, sarcastic laughter and whooping filling the air.

Does his dick taste like curry?! Huh? Thumper, huh? You like curry?!

“That’s the wrong kinda Indian, nigga!” Thumper yelled out of the cell. It wasn’t clear that anyone could hear him because they hollered in his direction. Thumper smiled at Hawk was though he expected to be congratulated for knowing the different kinds of Indians.

“Oh, uh… So this is my cell, right? I, like… I’m not gonna get in trouble being here, right?”

Thumper smiled. “You got a pretty voice, boy. I like hearin’ you say words,” he said. He got up real close to Hawk like he was going to kiss him, but then he didn’t. “Yeah. This is yo’ cell. Officer Armstrong runs this place, Hawk, and I run Officer Armstrong.” He paused. “Hawk. That is the sexiest name for a gayboy I ever heard. Hawk. I just wanna keep sayin’ yo’ name over and over. Hawk. Hawk. Hawk.”

“Oh…”

“We are gonna make such sweet love in here, boy,” Thumper said. He leaned in again like he was going to kiss Hawk. But he just put his lips next to Hawk’s ear and whispered, “We are gonna brew a big pot of love in here. You like gettin’ fucked in the ass?”

“Yeah.”

“You need a pet name for me, boy,” he said. “Like daddy or papi or somethin’ like that.” His eyes lit up. “Or somethin’ Indian. What do pretty Indian girls call they man?”

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“You don’t speak Indian?”

“Uh… No.” Hawk wanted to explain that there were lots of American Indian languages, each, presumably, with their own pet names a girl might call her boyfriend. Hawk didn’t speak any of them though. But Hawk was too scared to think of any words to explain all that, and the end result would just be “no” anyway, so he simply said no. “Most Indians just speak English.” He croaked.

Thumper nodded. “Okay, okay,” he said. “You scared, huh? You scared of me?”

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk had never felt smaller.

“Don’t be scared, boy. I wouldn’t nevuh hurt you. You much too pretty for that. You ain’t gonna be my bitch. Or no one’s bitch. You mine. You my boy from now on. You my lover,” he said. Then, like he had only just noticed the men still laughing at him — the one thug he had whispered to had gotten many of them to leave, but there were still more. Hawk noticed that they were all black men. He didn’t know the gang politics of this prison yet, but in fact, they were all Thumper’s own gang — they could, more or less, get away with teasing Thumper while members of other gangs might have gotten stabbed even coming near Thumper’s cell.

You goin’ on a honeymoon, Thump?

C’mon, Thumper, I wanna watch you lick that boy’s asshole.

Snorting like an angry horse, Thumper stood up and went to the corner of the cell. Only two walls were bars through which people could see, and Thumper put up a sheet as a curtain. There were tacks already in the wall to make it easy, he just put the curtain back up where, it seemed, he put it every night.

“There, now we got some privacy. I wanna make you comfortable, boy,” Thumper said.

“Okay.”

Now that they couldn’t see, the gangbangers lost interest in teasing Thumper. They turned around and walked away, and at last, there was silence. Hawk hadn’t even realized how loud the men were being until they were gone.

Thumper faced him. Hawk’s heart raced. Thumper smiled. “Boy, you still scared.”

“Well… It’s scary.”

“Am I scary?”

“Yeah…” Hawk had to hold back his tears. He thought he would do alright on his first day, and really, today’s result hadn’t been bad. He’d wanted to get some sexy thug to promise to protect him, and that was exactly what he’d gotten. It was just so stressful — and Thumper’s stare and body and presence were so intimidating — that Hawk felt like sobbing.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Thumper said with a throaty growl. He wrapped one muscular arm around Hawk’s thin shoulder. He brought Hawk down to the lower bunk on the cell — that would be Hawk’s bunk now. “Relax, boy. Lemme make you a promise.” He took off his shirt and his pecs bounced, making a shiver of desire run through Hawk’s body. Thumper was really very sexy; he was just so scary that Hawk couldn’t think about anything besides his own fear. Thumper kissed Hawk on the lips again. “I won’t initiate nothin’ ‘bout sex. Okay? You decide when you ready to suck my dick or take it in the ass. Okay? That’s up to you.” He paused.

Thumper undid his shoes and pulled his orange prison pants off without getting out of the bunk. In no time he was naked. He had a huge brown cock, which was soft but looked to have just a touch of an erection.

He was so sexy it hurt. Hawk wanted more than anything to caress Thumper’s muscles. He knew Thumper wanted it too, but this situation was too tough for Hawk to respond at all. He just sat there on his bunk, fully clothed, sneaking glances at Thumper’s body every few seconds.

“You like my body?” Thumper asked.

Hawk nodded.

“I like yo’ body too. I ain’t nevuh seen it yet. But I like it already,” he said. “You know if anyone hurts you or even looks at you funny in this place, you tell me ‘bout it. I’ll kill ‘em. No questions asked.”

“Oh. Okay… That seems… harsh.”

“I’m a harsh nigga. None of those men was makin’ fun of you. They know better. They can call me a faggot cuz they know I ain’t one,” he said. He licked his lips. “They gonna treat you like a queen. I’m serious, nigga. If you want somethin’, you tell the nearest Nine Tat. If he don’t drop e’rything to give it to you, I’ll punish him, and if he got any brothers in this place, I punish them too. I do that. Brothers is responsible for each other.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You can’t fuck ‘em though. If you wanna fuck some nigga, you gotta ask me. I’ll decide if he gets fucked. You can ask ‘em for anything else, like food, or beatin’ up some other nigga.”

“Oh. Alright. I probably won’t, uh… want anything like that,” Hawk said. The idea of ordering some strange black thugs to do stuff seemed strange and off-putting. He was certain he wouldn’t do that.

“Okay. Whatchoo in for?”

Hawk cleared his throat. “Uh… Selling weed. I was caught with a lot of weed in my trunk.”

“You a pothead?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Cool. Me too,” Thumper said. “I got weed. We can’t smoke it today — it’s Monday, that means Warden Mitchell might be by later. He freak out if he smell weed. We save that for weekends.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. Then he grabbed Thumper’s pulsating pectoral muscles. He stroked his nipple and giggled, the anxiety of the situation finally giving way and turning to excitement. He was still scared and intimidated, but the easiest way to move forward, he thought, the path of least resistance, was to just do what both he and Thumper wanted him to do.

But Hawk wanted to know how truthful Thumper was being when he said that Hawk could decide when and how they fucked. So Hawk massaged Thumper’s muscles and then reached down to his dick, but he didn’t start sucking.

“I don’t wanna do anything else today,” Hawk said. “Let’s just start with a handjob, okay? I’ll get you off all day and all night, but just with my hand. We’ll build up to actual sex, alright?”

“Hell yeah, boy, I do that.” He beamed and licked his lips. “We got all the time in the world in this place. Let’s go slow.” His dick twitched as soon as Hawk touched it. It looked like Thumper wanted to kiss, but Hawk kissed him on the neck instead. Thumper growled, and Hawk could feel the rumbling in his throat.

His enormous cock was nearly a foot long once it firmed up in Hawk’s hand. Hawk stroked it and giggled again. Thumper had such a serious look on his face, like this handjob was a matter of life and death, that Hawk couldn’t help but laugh.

It was clear Thumper wanted to touch Hawk. He kept lifting his hands, then stopping himself because he had promised Hawk was in charge. Hawk smiled.

“Okay, Thumper, you can touch me,” he said.

Thumper jumped into action. He literally ripped Hawk’s prison uniform off his body. He let out a seductive growl and planted his lips on Hawk’s cheek. He pressed his weight onto Hawk’s body, pinning him on the grimy mattress.

“Stop!” Hawk screamed. His heart raced. Was Thumper about to tear him limb from limb? It rather felt like it.

Thumper pulled off him and frowned. “Sorry, boy. I came on strong, ain’t I?”

“Yeah…” Hawk said softly. Again he wanted to cry. “You, uh… You’re a big man. I’m little. You can’t just lay on top of me like that.”

“You turn me on, boy. You make me so horny,” he said. He kept his eyes downcast. His cock was still rock-hard. Hawk gently grabbed it once again and resumed stroking it. Thumper moaned and licked his lips. “Boy, you make me so fucking horny. I need you. I need you right now. Stroke that shit, damn…”

“Okay, Thumper, you can kiss me on the lips and-“

Thumper rammed into him. They kissed and once again Hawk was pinned against the wall. Thumper’s tongue invaded his mouth. Hawk pushed Thumper away once more — Thumper was much stronger than Hawk, of course, so Hawk only pushed him away because Thumper allowed it.

“Sorry, boy.”

“Thumper… Can you kiss me… normally? Like… not like a prison rapist? Just kiss me. How about… don’t move me? Like, when you kiss me and I’m sitting right here, you’re not allowed to kiss me so hard I have to change positions. You can kiss me while I’m sitting here,” Hawk said. “So you have to be gentle.”

“Okay, boy.” He moved his head in slowly, and kissed Hawk on the lips. This was almost too gentle, like kissing air. Despite his huge hulking size, Thumper could be very soft when he wanted to be, and when he could avoid his instincts.

Hawk was fine with it. It was a little like kissing an unconscious man, Hawk thought, since Thumper didn’t really move once he started, but Hawk wasn’t about to tell him to be more forceful. This would have to do for now.

His cock throbbed in Hawk’s hand. It felt like he was near orgasm for the first time, like he had been so horny all it took was a few kisses and strokes to get him off. For the first time, Hawk wondered if Thumper would reciprocate. Presumably not, he thought, so Hawk used his other hand to jack himself off.

“Yo, boy, you know I’m straight, I like girls. I like pussy. I like eatin’ pussy-“ He pantomimed sucking on an invisible pussy. “I like fuckin’ females in the ass. I like tits.”

“Okay.”

“I love you cuz I’m in this place, and I ain’t nevuh gonna fall in love wit’ no girl again. Only love I got is boylove,” he said. “Gayboys, I mean, not kiddies.” Precum flowed from his cock. It felt creamy and warm, and Hawk had to fight against his urge to start sucking.

“Uh-huh.”

“I wouldn’t nevuh wanna touch no boy’s meat.”

“Sure. I didn’t think you would.”

“On ‘ccount of my love for you, I’d demonstrate it, if you asked me to,” he said. “I’d show you my love by jackin’ yo’ dick. But you gotta tell me you want it.”

“Oh. I want it. Thumper, will you jack me off?”

“Call me a pet name.”

“What?”

“Call me somethin’. You know, like daddy or papi or whatevuh. Call me somethin’ special, somethin’ you ain’t nevuh call none of yo’ boyfriends,” he said. “Somethin’ just for me. That’ll demonstrate yo’ love for me.”

“Uh… how about papi? I like that. I’ve never called anyone that since I’m not Spanish, but I always thought it was hot,” Hawk said. “So, papi, will you please jack me off? You’re so sexy and so perfect… I need you, Thumper.” His words felt hollow and forced, even though he loved the idea of getting a handjob from Thumper.

Thumper bucked like he was near his own orgasm as he grabbed Hawk’s cock. He immediately stroked it, in sync with Hawk’s handjob — it was clear Thumper had done this before.

“Can we… touch dicks?” Hawk asked. He felt an overwhelming urge to joust with Thumper. He had never done it before, but he wanted to ask for something that Thumper hadn’t told him he could ask for, and he figured Thumper couldn’t say not to this if he was willing to use his hand.

“‘Course, boy. If’n it makes you happy, we can touch dicks e’ry day,” he said. He scooted forward and spread his legs. Hawk did the same until their crotches touched, cocks mingling. Thumper’s dick was much bigger than Hawk’s, though Hawk had a larger than average dick too — Hawk’s dick actually looked more impressive because Hawk’s body was so much smaller; Thumper’s dick looked appropriate for his body size, while Hawk looked like he had stolen the cock off someone bigger than himself.

But in the shadowy bunkspace, none of that mattered. It wasn’t even easy to see which dick was bigger (though it was obvious when Hawk stroked them both off at once). Even outside of the bunk, the cell was dark because of the curtain, beyond which shouting and laughter could be heard — everyone had moved on, it seemed, and they ignored Thumper’s cell. People walked by the cell close enough that Hawk could hear them breathe, but they didn’t know what was going on in here (or rather, it seemed they mostly had some idea, but they didn’t know exactly what was going on in here).

“Thumper… you can softly kiss me,” Hawk said.

Thumper opened his mouth and croaked like he was going to say something but was interrupted by a spasm of pleasure shooting up from his cock. He planted his lips on Hawk’s.

The kiss was a little forceful, but Hawk didn’t mind. They were both overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm in the same moment as Thumper’s tongue explored Hawk’s mouth. Hawk spasmed from head to toe.

Cum flew out of both dicks. It was impossible to tell how much came from which person because the flow combined. It jetted over Hawk’s hand and onto Hawk’s flat belly.

It kept flowing too. The smell of cottony cum filled the air, and Hawk imagined he could taste it even though none of it got into his mouth. Tendrils of potent pleasure exploded deep within Hawk’s body. He writhed with exquisite bliss wracking his muscles.

His orgasm seemed to last forever. Hawk knew it didn’t, only because it was almost time for dinner and he hadn’t heard the whistle yet. But time stopped as intense feelings assaulted Hawk’s senses, and Hawk contorted in Thumper’s muscles.

“Ah, god, boy, you got such a nice hand… You make me feel so good…”

Finally they were both done. Somehow they were lying down — Hawk hadn’t remembered doing that, but Thumper wouldn’t have done it since he had promised not to move Hawk when kissing him, so Hawk must have done it — and Thumper sucked on Hawk’s delicate neck.

“I love you, boy,” Thumper said with a growl. “You ain’t gotta say that back to me. I’d appreciate it mightily. I wouldn’t expect you to mean it neither. It won’t be like it is on the outside. I don’t expect no marriage or nothin’. All it means if you say it is that you got love in yo’ heart for me right now, in this moment. Ain’t no kinda commitment. Okay? So when I say I love you, you can decide whether you wanna make me the happiest nigga on Earth by sayin’ it back to me.” He paused and kissed Hawk on the lips. “I love you, boy.”

“I love you too, papi.”

BW/AM – The Yakuza

Here’s the entirety of BW/AM – The Yakuza, a hot new tale of interracial black woman and asian man action! It’s part of The Smoothest Fruit!

Shelly had never done anything this reckless. It was ridiculous, preposterous, really. She could die. There were hundreds of ways this could end badly for her, and only one way it could end well.

But she was determined to do it. She didn’t care how it ended. This idea had been dominating her mind for so long, she just wanted to do it and get it over with.

Yomazawa was a nondescript restaurant in Midtown East, in Manhattan. It was a strange place for a nondescript restaurant. All the other restaurants in the area were ritzy, fancy, blessed by celebrity chefs and Michelin stars.

But not Yomazawa. It was quiet and small. It rarely had more than a handful of customers.

That’s because it was a front for the yakuza. Shelly’s younger brother was a cop and had told her that it was an open secret. The yakuza didn’t even do anything illegal here — the police suspected they used the restaurant as a meeting place and to launder cash illegally obtained in Japan. The NYPD had no way to prove that and no way to do anything about it even if they did prove it. So the restaurant was more or less tolerated.

Shelly wasn’t concerned about the law. As she strode into the restaurant that day, she was glad to see that some important-looking men were gathered there. They sat at a long table, sipping quietly from bowls of soup. There were bodyguards too, muscley men with square jaws and scars and colorful tattoos peeking out from underneath their clothes.

Judging from the looks on their faces, no one expected to see a middle-aged black woman come storming into the restaurant. They looked at her as though they assumed she had made a mistake and would walk right back out to find her actual destination. But Shelly had walked by a hundred times, and she knew exactly where she was.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, heart beating through her chest. “My name is Shelly. It’s so nice to meet you all. Who speaks English? Raise your hands.”

A few of the men raised their hands. Neither of the bodyguards did, but Shelly was sure that at least one of them did — he was who she was after. She’d overheard him speak on the street in flawless English (all he said was yes, sir, but his accent was impeccable).

“Well, I know that all of you are members of the yakuza. You probably hate it when Americans say the yakuza are the Japanese mafia. I know, I know, it’s a different culture and all that. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. I’m not a cop.” You’re rambling, Shelly, be quiet.

“Miss…?” One of the men cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to say hello,” she said. “I know it’s a hassle to have someone like me come in here, interrupting you when you’re trying to eat your soap. What is that? Miso soup? Right? I love miso soup.”

“Ma’am, if you would like a bowl of soup, we are a restaurant. You can simply order one,” said one of the waiters. He gently tried to guide her towards a table.

“Oh, no, I’m not here for soup,” she said. “I’m sorry to make a scene. I didn’t really want to interrupt you. I just figured your bodyguard here wouldn’t be allowed to leave the table unless I gave you all a very good reason. So I wanted to explain-“

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

The bodyguard she had pointed to straightened his back. His eyes were opened wide. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a nervous stammer. He wore a Western-style suit badly, like he wasn’t used to it. He was a hefty man, muscles brimming beneath the suit. His biceps and pecs flexed nervously.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Kamitsu,” he said.

“Well, Kamitsu, I’d really like to have sex with you,” she said. She blushed. She had never been this forward with a man. “I want to take you into the bathroom so that you can rock my world six ways to Sunday. I’m sorry, that was two different idioms mixed up. You probably didn’t catch my meaning. I want you to fuck me, in a diversity of ways.”

A long silence filled the restaurant. The bodyguards, yakuza and waiters all stared at her like she was crazy.

“So if you want to kill me for interrupting your crime-talk or whatever, I guess go ahead. Just let Kamitsu fuck me first.”

One of the older men loudly slurped his soup as though nothing was happening. No one said anything.

Finally another one of the older men cleared his throat. “We were not discussing crime. We were discussing… regulatory issues. We will not kill you for interrupting a meeting. We are not animals like the Italian Mafia,” he said. He bowed his head to her. “We are not yakuza anyway, ma’am.”

“We import soybeans,” said another man.

“Yes,” said a third. “That is all. Who told you we are yakuza?”

“Oh, I guess I’ve just been watching too many movies,” she said with a giggle. “I guess if you’re not yakuza, then your friend here can simply decide to walk away and fuck me in the bathroom here. He’s just a friend, I suppose, so you have no control over him, right? Kamitsu?”

Kamitsu blushed. He shifted his weight between his feet. He was clearly not used to being the center of attention.

“We do not wish to…” the older man who had spoke first sighed. “Nevermind. You may… It is rude to discuss such matters at the table. You may take Kamitsu into the back and tell him what you wish. Be quick.”

She giggled and squealed. She hurried to Kamitsu and wrapped her hands around his big muscular body. “Oh my god! You’re not going to be mad at Kamitsu, are you? He didn’t know anything about this.”

“Ma’am, just go, please. We will not blame him. We have much to discuss, and we must return to matters of business..”

She led Kamitsu away from the table. Two waiters stood there by the door to the kitchen — it looked like those two waiters were the only employees — and watched her drag Kamitsu by the chest. Kamitsu didn’t actually resist, since he was obviously much stronger than her, but he did drag his feet a little.

“Well, Kamitsu,” she said as she pulled him into the women’s bathroom — with all men in the yakuza and only two employees, both of them male, the women’s bathroom looked like it had never been used. The soap and the toilet paper was still in a package, never opened. “I want you to fuck me. I want to suck your dick, and I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, yes!” he exclaimed as though he hadn’t realized he was supposed to say yes or no. “I mean… I guess… if you want. I have, uh… I have never been with a black woman.”

“Well, we do it the same as anyone else. We just do it more rhythmically,” she said. She laughed at her own joke, but Kamitsu just furrowed his brow. She smiled. “Nevermind,” she said. She hopped up onto his chest and mounted him. She kissed him on the lips.

Lowering herself to her knees in front of him, Shelly giggled again. She caught a whiff of his scent and was unbelievably aroused — he smelled musky, like a man but a little different than she was used to; he smelled both cleaner and dirtier than either white or black men: dirty like the forest floor but clean like crisp forest air. She inhaled deeply of his scent as she unzipped his fly.

His cock flopped out, and Shelly smiled at the sight of its substantial thickness. She hadn’t really been worried Kamitsu would end up having a tiny stereotypically-Asian dick, but it was still nice to see it was not just fine, but big enough to be a challenge.

She kissed the tip. Kamitsu’s whole body trembled like he was so nervous he wanted to fall to the ground. He groaned. His cock twitched beneath her lips.

“You taste good,” she said. She stroked his cock as she sucked on the tip, and soon enough it was as hard as Kamitsu’s muscles. She deep-throated it the best she could. Kamitsu grunted, his arms stiff and at his side like he had to fight against his urge to move around. “You can touch me,” she said. But he ignored her.

Shelly giggled once more. She had thought the yakuza were sexy for a long time, and this sort of stony-faced machismo was precisely why. She liked to make it a challenge for Kamitsu, so she flopped his cock against her face and laughed at the suppressed surprise she saw dancing in his eyes. She slathered spit along the shaft and gulped down every drop of precum he let trickle out.

Finally she was ready to move on. It felt like he was going to blow his load soon, and she wasn’t quite ready for him to be finished. So she stood up and kissed his chest through the suit he hadn’t yet taken off.

He moved his hands to touch her for the first time since they had begun. He caressed her tits through her clothes, gently at first, then more firmly when she didn’t complain. He leaned his head down to kiss her on the lips, and their tongues interlocked in her mouth.

She turned around. She leaned over the sink and stuck her ass in the air. There was an oddly floral scent here — the soap in the unopened package; it had Japanese writing on it, and it smelled like something she didn’t recognize. It must be some fruit we don’t have here (it smelled vagely cucumbery, but it wasn’t cucumber), she thought to herself.

He undid his suit very carefully and slowly. She rubbed her ass against his bare cock, then guided it between her legs so it rested on her pussy. He took off his tie and shirt and undershirt, folding all of them and placing them on the back of the toilet.

Shelly couldn’t help but lean her head back to kiss him on the chest. He had a broad, fat-free torso, like a professional wrestler, but his was tattooed with a Japanese flag, smiling geishas, circling koi, birds Shelly didn’t recognize and symbols she didn’t know (not kanji, she would have recognized that). Every inch of his body was tattooed except for the parts that would be visible in clothes — his hands, neck and face were clear and unmarked.

It was only when he gripped her shoulder and held on tight to guide his dick into her pussy that she noticed his fingers. His left pinkie finger had been sliced off, seemingly deliberately since the cut was smooth and perfect though the scar suggested that the wound had been stitched inexpertly.

“What happened to your finger?” she asked as he slid his cock in. He grunted and moaned, pangs of pleasure shooting up her body. But she was determined to know. She took his hand in hers and sucked on his middle finger, then his other fingers until the only finger left was the missing one. She kissed his stump and asked him again.

“It was… a mistake. On my part. I made a mistake.”

“Like an accident?”

“No. It was not accident. I made an error in judgement,” he said. “That is all I will say.” He grabbed her chin and brusquely made her face him, so he could kiss her. It was another passionate, heady kiss even though Shelly suspected he only did it to make her stop asking questions.

His cock slid deeply into her, and Shelly’s clitoris came alive. She moaned, biting her lip, clawing at the sink beneath her. His shaft touched every inch of her womanhood, stimulating it and sending wave after wave of increasing pleasure through her body.

Though his cock was big, he was gentle and kind. He took it slowly, working his dick inch by inch. When he felt resistance, he pulled out and started again, more and more slowly each time.

When he finally got his entire rod in there, Shelly couldn’t help but moan so loud the conversation in the restaurant stopped. Kamitsu grunted and placed one hand over her mouth.

“Be quiet,” he said. “They will not want to hear you.”

She giggled. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

He bristled. “No. They will be happy that I am man enough for women to throw themselves at me. They will be happy that I can please a woman. Do not return though. They will tease me if they think you have fallen in love. Call me if you want to meet again. I will answer if I am available.”

“And if you’re not…?”

“I will not answer.”

“But how will you know if you’re available when I want to meet?” she asked, her voice breaking as pre-orgasmic sensations erupted in her. She bit her lip. “I mean, if I call you on a Thursday, I might want to meet on Saturday. So if you don’t answer-“

“Do not do that. Call me when you are ready to meet.” He flared his nostrils.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. He fucked her with increasing power, despite the expression on his face remaining identical. He looked like nothing was happening; he just watched himself fuck as though it was a delicate hobby that he wanted to get right but had no particular urgency about. Even when he gasped and moaned with pleasure, he showed no emotion on his face — all those sounds happened inside his throat and only barely escaped at all.

Her orgasm built up slowly, increasing with each thrust of his hips. Shelly bit her lip. She made eye contact with Kamitsu through the mirror, which made him blush and look away — the first expression of emotion on his face since they had gotten into the bathroom.

Then the pleasure wracking her body became so intense that Shelly could do little more than grunt and moan. She had been expecting something exactly like this when she decided to hunt down a yakuza. She had imagined herself getting fucked by them so many times she thought the actual experience could never live up to her expectations, but that turned out to be exactly wrong.

She had hoped to have precisely this kind of uncontrollable orgasm. She slammed her hands against the counter and she yelled as bliss poured through her veins. He fucked so hard she could do little more than squirm and accept it.

Soon her pleasure was so intense she couldn’t handle it. Without even realizing it, she lifted her feet, and her entire body was supported by his body and the counter beneath her arms.

She submitted to his fuck like she imagined a geisha might — she hadn’t found any information on what yakuza men did for sex, so she was just guessing. Apparently, she thought, they fucked perfectly.

Compared to most Americans, he seemed passionless, but that somehow made Shelly even more passionate, as though Kamitsu had sacrificed his own pleasure to increase her own. Shelly crooned and wiggled in his arms, but he just held her up like a functional fuck-statue, like a dildo with a man attached to it.

Finally he grunted, and showed another burst of expression on his face as he filled her with his load. He shot a big wad of cum that felt even creamier than any man she had ever been with. Its heat sunk into her body and spread through her veins like the broth of a warming miso soup. She squirmed and gasped.

He held her tightly in position, while his cock sprayed jet after jet of hot cum. He filled her pussy up then kept on humping even when he was done, even as his cock turned limp. That resulted in his entire cumwad slipping out of her body, making a frothy mess that kept on stimulating her clitoris the entire time.

There was a puddle of fluids on the floor when he finally let his cock flop out of her body. She would have fallen to the floor again but he held her aloft, and her entire body went limp. He pulled her face up to his, so they could kiss.

Her tongue traveled down to his neck. She kissed him hard enough to leave a hickey. He didn’t seem to notice. Her kisses moved to his chest, and she sucked all the sweat off his broad, firm pecs — did Japanese men sweat differently? His tasted so much cleaner and less salty than any American man she had ever been with.

She moaned. She at last put some of her weight on her own feet. Her knees were weak, but she managed to support herself. He sighed and stepped away.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. He blushed. Now that the sex was over, his stony, expressionless face was abuzz with activity. He looked worried that he would get in trouble with his boss, worried that this would turn out to be some sort of trick, worried that he had not performed well enough, or that he would make a mistake yet that embarrassed him or caused him to lose honor. He bit his lip and looked at her. He scrawled down a phone number on a piece of paper he tore off the label of the unopened roll of toilet paper by the toilet. He handed it to her. “Call me when you are ready to meet up.”

“Okay… I will,” she said. “If you don’t answer, you’re not available.”

“Right.” He paused. “You will not be my girlfriend. I can not date a non-Japanese woman. Or even a Japanese woman. My women are given to me.”

“Oooh, that sounds…” she couldn’t think of a word to end it with, and it looked like Kamitsu wasn’t even paying attention anymore. He hurriedly put his suit back on. “Wait,” she said before he left the bathroom. She fixed his tie, which was crooked. “There,” she said. “Do you want me to help you buy a suit?”

“I have a suit.”

“I know, but… a better one?” she said. “I know a gay man who sells suits. He’ll make you look like a Japanese George Clooney.”

He smiled and bit his lip. “Okay. Yes. But I can not tell them.” He motioned towards the restaurant. He bowed. “Okay, yes, thank you, miss. You must go. Leave through the kitchen. Do not disturb the men in the restaurant.”

Then he was gone. The bathroom door swung shut. Shelly sighed and dressed herself. She was glad she had done it. She had never thought she’d arrange a future meeting (sort of); she assumed that, if the yakuza didn’t kill her, she’d get one encounter with Kamitsu who would probably be sent back to Japan so he was never tempted by a black woman again.

Judging from the sounds outside the bathroom, nobody said anything when Kamitsu returned. They continued speaking in Japanese. Nobody acknowledged that he was gone. Nobody acknowledged that he had returned.

She was going to wait there for awhile longer, but the door opened and one of the waiters smiled at her. He carried a large tub of miso soup. “Here,” he said. “We are glad to have you. But please do not return. Thank you so much.” He politely but firmly guided her towards the kitchen.

In seconds, she was out the door in the back. In most circumstances, Shelly would have been insulted to be pushed out the back like a bag of trash. But she didn’t mind at all.

She had gotten what she wanted, and then some. She couldn’t wait to call Kamitsu and see what she could do next.

This, she thought, might be the start of something great.

Street Trade: Stealing a John

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Twenty bucks to suck on ya titties?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, yeah,” Chazz said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bimbofication of Wing Mao

Here’s the entirety of The Bimbofication of Wing Mao, a new tale of hardcore interracial AW/WM bimbo action! It’s part of the Bimbofication of Woman series, and is available in The Bimbofication of Woman, Vol. 2!

Wing Mao was in the library, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t study. Normally she remembered everything she read, and she read plenty. She’d gotten through her first three years of college in only two years on that brain, all while playing cello in the university orchestra as well.

But today — and increasingly on recent days — Wing had trouble concentrating because she kept running into him. He was Delroy Hopkins, a blond god, rugby jock and broad-shouldered hunk who made Wing’s mouth water.

She had never had a real crush on a guy. She’d seen guys she thought were hot, but Wing was always too serious to have a heart-stopping, shrieking-hot, life-consuming crush even when all her friends did in middle school.

But lately every time she saw Delroy, Wing wanted to beg him to give her just one kiss. It was all she could think about when he was nearby. She was too scared to ever ask, or even to speak to him about any topic.

“Man, how much of this do I gotta learn?!” he said with a scowl aimed at the bespectacled nerd beside him — seemingly a tutor. Delroy sighed and leaned back. “It’s a nice day, I wanna go to the beach.”

“You have to learn all of it, the test is tomorrow,” said the squeaky-voiced tutor.

Delroy sighed again and looked up. For the first time ever, he made eye contact with Wing, who blushed but couldn’t turn her head away. Delroy smiled at her. There was a flash of recognition. Did he notice that they had seen each other around campus on many occasions? Or was he too oblivious? Guys as sexy as him probably just didn’t register sad-faced nerds like her, Wing thought as she pretended not to notice his eye contact.

He looked back down at the book. Wing was overwhelmed by every feeling in the book — lust, love, fear, loneliness, envy, rage, sadness — all at once. She closed her laptop, gathered her books and darted out of the library so quick it attracted attention.

She didn’t care. She couldn’t be near him anymore. Her face was bright red, and her pussy was wetter than it had ever been. She ran towards the beach, just a few blocks from the campus library. The GHU-San Diego campus went right up to the beach.

When she got there, she felt faint and ducked into the first nice-looking establishment she saw. It was a bar, but it was early so few people were there. It was not crowded and reasonably clean, and she felt safe there.

She took a deep breath. She took out her cell phone to make it look like she was trying to make a phone call, but she had no one to call. She was utterly alone.

There was a fortune-telling machine against the wall. It was just a ceramic Gypsy woman, and a box where you could put a quarter in. It said it would tell you your future.

A trio of sexy Asian college girls came in. Ohmigod, you are such a dumb whore! There were dressed like sluts, and they giggled like blondes, and they had makeup, tits, skirts that ended just below the labia. Where did those guys go? Aren’t they such idiots?! Wing was jealous, even if she felt bad about being jealous. They could have gotten Delroy in a heartbeat. They could have gotten any man.

They were looking for someone, someone who wasn’t there after all, so they left. Wing watched their bubble-butts walk out, and she listened to their hot-chick giggling while they discussed where to go next to look for their boyfriends, or whichever guys they were currently pursuing.

Wing had never in her life done something irrational. As soon as she realized that, she wanted more than anything to put money in that fortune-telling machine. She rarely had change on her, but tonight, she happened to have a quarter. It was only twenty-five cents.

She slid it into the box. The Gypsy woman whirred, and the mechanics within it clanged. There was a puff of smoke. A sound emerged, like a dying robot. She didn’t know if it was supposed to act like this or if it was broken.

But then a slip of paper was printed out the bottom. She took it and read it.

Congratulations, Wing Mao, you have won a wish! Choose wisely! You have five seconds or the wish will be gone forever!

Wing’s heart skipped a beat. The rational part of her mind wondered how the machine knew her name, and wondered why it gave her a wish instead of telling the future as the marketing indicated. But she had only paid the machine in the first place due to the irrational part of her mind, the same part that made her come in this bar in the even firster place because her crush on Delroy was so irrational it was nearly trumpian. So the rational part of her mind was not in control of anything at this moment, which Wing was strangely fine with — she didn’t want to use logic or reason. She didn’t want to make sense. She wanted Delroy. She wanted her wish.

Even as her intelligence debated what to do, that irrational part of her mind took much less than five seconds to make a wish.

I wish to be a bimbo, like those sluts, just for one day.

Angry with herself at wasting a quarter, she hurried onto the street. She didn’t want anyone to see that she had paid for a fortune from a machine. She threw the paper away, not noticing that the writing on it had disappeared after her five seconds were up.

She stumbled down the street and giggled at herself. She righted her legs. Am I… taller? She felt taller.

Why am I wearing heels? Why am I walking successfully in heels?

She didn’t even own heels. She didn’t own them because she couldn’t walk in them, but all of a sudden she wore stiletto heels and she wore them so well she could have danced a ballet in them. Her sweatshirt and jeans were gone too, replaced by a low-cut sapphire-blue dress that showed off her cleavage.

A passing storefront with a reflective window proved what had happened: the fortune-telling machine worked. She looked like a hot, slutty Asian chick, like one of those girls from the bar, like someone who would be popular, like someone Delroy Hopkins might screw.

Again, the rational part of her mind formulated a very sensible plan, but her bimbo mind ignored it. She knew what she wanted to do, and it wasn’t go back to the bar and investigate the machine. It wasn’t check to see whether the “magic” had simply changed her hair, makeup and clothes or if it had actually made her tits and ass bigger, her thighs and waist smaller and her cheekbones more pronounced. The rational part of her mind whirred with questions. What would happen if I paid another quarter? Could I have wished for a million wishes? Will this wish backfire?

But Wing didn’t want to listen to that rational part of her mind. She had something else in mind.

When she got to the library, Delroy was there, leaning back in his chair. No one wore stiletto heels and a skimpy dress to the library, so every single person there turned to stare, jaw agape.

She walked right to Delroy, whose wide-eyed stare was enough to make Wing giggle like a skank. It was obvious what he was going to say before she even asked her question.

“Hi. Do you want to come with me?” she asked.

Delroy jumped over himself to say yes, not even asking who she was or where she wanted to take him. He pushed his tutor out of the way and left his books behind as he hurried to her side. Wing giggled and took hold of his belt, which he had dangling between his legs like a cock. She pulled on it and guided him away, into the back of the library.

There was a room there she knew of. The library put books needing to be reshelved there. The shelving guys — they were mostly high schoolers doing community service — only worked during the day, so no one would be there now.

It was just a small closet with a table, crowded high with textbooks. She brought him in there, hopped up on the table and smiled. “Delroy, I want you to fuck me.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Magic,” she said. She kissed him on the lips. He hesitated like he wanted to ask for more information, but didn’t want to ruin the situation. She smiled and kissed him again. “Would you believe me if I said it was an ancient Chinese secret?”

He gulped. “Not really…” It didn’t seem like he cared too much though.

At first, he was surprised by how quickly this happened that his hands stayed limp, his mouth not reacting to her kiss. But then his instincts kicked in as her tits brushed over his chest. He moved his head, his tongue planted into hers, and his hands gripped her delicate shoulders.

He let out a little roar and shoved all those books off the table. He grinned, his deep-dimpled cheeks making Wing’s heart swoon. She wanted him so badly.

“You’re the sexiest chick on this campus,” he said. He bit his lip. “I really like you a lot-“

“Oh, Delroy, you barely know me,” Wing said with a blushing giggle.

“I know… But I can tell,” he said, and it really seemed like he meant it. “You’re so special to me, even if we don’t know each other yet. We will. I can sense the future, you know. I’m a bit of a fortune-teller myself. It’s not an ancient Chinese secret, but it’s… I think we might be together for a long time, miss… whoever you are.” His broad chest heaved nervously. That made Wing excited because she never thought tiny, delicate Wing Mao might make a huge stud like him so exhilarated he lost his breath just kissing her.

He took off his shirt, and Wing lost herself again, kissing his throbbing chest muscles. Her tongue traced a line up to his neck, which smelled like days-old cologne. Her fingers undid his belt, and his jeans plopped to the floor.

Somehow her dress came off. Wing hadn’t put it on, so she didn’t even know how to take it off, but it seemed Delroy figured it out. Wing was too overwhelmed by passion to even notice, not until her bare skin puckered in the chilly library air.

His kisses traveled down her body. He kissed her neck, her breasts, his lips roaming down her flat belly and round hips. She moaned, and for once, the sound that came out wasn’t an unappealing frog-like grunt but a low slow-burning moan of sheer pleasure that made Delroy moan in sync with her.

In the tiny library closet, their voices resonated and echoed, forming a coccoon of their own lust. She was surprised to see him lower his head, his tongue going to her womanhood without her prompting him to do it.

Her entire body tightened and crooned as his tongue hit her clitoris. A bolt of pleasure shot up her spine. She clutched his powerful shoulders and back muscles, and writhed as his tongue explored her body.

He plunged into her pussy, then back up to her sensitive clit, which raged and sang and pulsated beneath his ministrations. He lapped at her as though his life depended on it, his easygoing-jock attitude replaced by eager solicitude.

“Are you ready?” he asked breathlessly.

He didn’t need to specify what he was asking after. She nodded and leaned back. She spread her legs. He stood up, and she got her first look at his hefty thick cock.

He placed his dick right on the surface of her pussy and held it there with a smile on his face. “You want it in you, baby?”

“Yes!”

“You sure?!”

“Yes, please! Fuck me, Delroy! I’ve been watching you for so long, I need you!”

He grinned broadly and did it. His cock sunk into her body, and Wing moaned again. Her fingers dug into his meaty shoulders, as her blood turned to pure lust in her veins. The sounds they made together grew so loud Wing was sure people outside the room would be able to hear.

Wing could see it on his face when her words sunk in — she had accidentally implied she’d been watching him for a long time — he looked momentarily worried that she might be a stalker. But then he moaned as a pang of pleasure shot up his spine, and he ignored his confusion.

Instead he fucked her harder, ramming his dick in her pussy now that it was clear she could take it. Each motion of his powerful hips made Wing feel it throughout her body, every part of her tightening and relaxing in sync with his gyrations. His muscles tensed, and she threw her head back, unable to suppress a loud shout as pre-orgasmic bliss wracked her body.

He kissed her again. “Baby…” he said with a blush. “You, uh… you really like me, right?”

“Of course!” she said, so aroused she was almost ready to cry. It felt like her entire body was about to shatter, like she couldn’t take any more pleasure and one more good stroke from his dick would be enough to make her fall into a million little pieces of orgasmic bimbo-confetti filtering to the floor.

“You wanna really show how much you like me?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes!”

“Can I stick it in your ass?” he asked. Then before she could answer, he leaned in and moaned into her ear. “You’re so beautiful, baby, I need you. I need every part of you. I gotta have you, please say yes, I need to be inside you.”

“Yes! Oh fuck, hell yes!” she moaned, so aroused right now she didn’t even need to think about it. She wanted it so bad she could cry.

He grinned and kissed her. “Thank you, baby, you’re the best. You’re the sexiest chick in the world.”

She giggled. He pulled out of her pussy, and Wing felt a brief loneliness at the lack of stimulation. Her womanhood felt empty and unloved. But that lasted for only a moment.

Delroy pulled her ass right up to the edge of the table, and he even used a thin Accounting 101 workbook to prop her hips up a little bit. That bared her ass and forced her cheeks apart.

Wing had never had anal sex. She’d never even thought about actually doing it. But she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this right now.

Her legs in the air, toes curling as though she could grip his shoulders with them, Wing bit her lip. She felt an intense onrush of pressure in her ass. She held her breath.

“Oh, baby, your ass is so good,” he said. His eyes closed and he took deep breaths like this hurt for him more than her.

But the pain was actually very dim and distant. There was a twinge of pleasure as well, and even though that pain was objectively stronger, all Wing’s mind could focus on was the growing chorus of bliss welling up inside her. It was her ass, on fire, tight and soft, moist, full, empty, potent and weak, pounded away at and made tender love to all at once.

She tried to grab for his chest, to massage and knead those bulging muscles. But her arms were too short, his chest too far except when he was at his apogee, all the way inside her ass, and then her fingers could glancingly get ahold of his chest. She tweaked his nipples and felt his muscles roiling beneath her grasp.

Had she even taken his entire cock within her? She couldn’t tell. She wanted to feel it, to feel his manhood and see how much was left outside her ass.

But when she tried to move her hands, all she could do was flail uselessly. The sensations boiling over from inside her were too intense to focus on anything else. All she managed was to moan and grunt and spit and squirm like a wild animal.

And then she felt him slide the last of his dick into her. She didn’t need to use her hands, she could sense that that was it. They became like one beast, rutting wildly, writhing in each other’s arms.

Wing’s body moved uncontrollably while she reacted to the sensations around and within her. Every part of her body tingled and shook. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood, while his blond jock body turned ruddy as he reached his own orgasm.

It all ended at once, and the most intense sensations of her life overwhelmed her. Her thin, delicate bimbo body shook like a beat-up old car shedding parts as it barreled down the road. Her tits vibrated beneath his tongue, her sensitive nipples sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

She had no idea how long that orgasm lasted. She was only aware that it was done — sweat streaming down her body in rivulets, fingers tightened into claws that drew a few drops of blood from his chest — because someone knocked on the door. The sound snapped her out of her stupor.

Hey, uh… the librarian just called security, whoever’s in there. You should probably… Well… Just to let you know, security is coming. Whoever was there on the other side of the door chuckled. I mean… security is “traveling to this location”, not cumming.

Wing blushed. Her face was already red from sexual exertion, but now she blushed on top of that. The closet stank of sex. She would have gladly stayed there with Delroy forever.

But he pulled out of her. Tremendous relief flooded her ass, and she could feel juices trickling out of her body. She moaned again. She bit her lip and hopped off the table.

“Wow,” he said. “Thanks a lot for that. That was… crazy. Can I have your phone number?”

She giggled but didn’t answer. She bent over to display her ass to him as she grabbed her clothes. She shook her ass in his direction, and he stopped with his pants halfway up in the air. He growled at the sight of her jiggling asscheeks. He massaged her flesh, but then she giglged and pulled her ass away.

“Damn, you are amazing,” he said. “Please be my girlfriend?”

“Delroy… I don’t know if I’m that kind of girl,” she said. “I don’t always act like this.” She slipped her dress back on. He retightened his belt and put his shoes on. His bare, muscular chest was still shirtless, a few beads of sweat clinging to his flesh.

“I don’t care how you act usually,” he said. “Just be with me. Here.” He ripped out a page from a textbook and wrote his phone number on it. “You can call me too.” He paused, then added some more letters and numbers. “And here’s my email address and my screennames on Yahoo, Facebook and AOL instant messaging. And here’s my dad’s landline number, that’s where I’ll be on vacation from school. Oh, and here’s my street address and my frat’s address. They have a landline too but I don’t remember the number-“

“Delroy, relax, that’s fine. I have plenty of ways to contact you-“

“You can send me a postcard or something. Or call me collect, that’s fine. Is that still a thing? You can text me or… I don’t have snapchat, but I’ll get it-“

“Delroy, shut up.” She giggled. His lips slammed shut. She kissed him. “I’ll call you,” she said. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for another go.”

The door opened suddenly, and two dour security guards glared. They both looked a little upset at first, as though they had expected to see two fat library nerds making out. They were relieved to see two sexy people, who weren’t even naked. It must have stank like sex though, Wing thought with a giggle.

“What are you two doing in here? Why is your shirt off, young man?”

Wing laughed out loud. She grabbed that Accounting 101 workbook. “I was just looking for this book, for my class. I’m studying to be an accountant.” Delroy chuckled to himself as though it was impossible for hot chicks to become accountants. Wing smiled at the security guards. “Delroy here was just helping me find it. He’s so helpful.”

Delroy smiled too. He ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “That’s true. I am helpful. I took my shirt off because… Her dad’s a dermatologist, I wanted her to see this mole I had and send him a photo. Skin cancer is a serious problem.”

“That’s true. Don’t worry though, Delroy, my dad said it looks benign,” she said.

“Phew. Thanks, ma’am. I’m going to put my shirt on and do my homework now! I’m excited about responsible behavior!” Delroy said with a wide grin. He put his shirt on and pushed out past the two security guards, who glared at him. When Wing walked out, they moved out of the way to make room for her.

When she was out in the hallway, she moved towards the exit, while Delroy walked back into the library itself. The two security guards went into the closet to put the books back on the table Delroy had knocked them off of.

That meant she had a few more seconds to connect with him. He walked backwards, bumping into a book-cart and smiling at her, beaming like he was shocked about what had happened. He held up one hand to wave, while his other grabbed his crotch, cock outlined briefly by his clothes.

“Bye, baby!” he yelled so loud the other library patrons turned to look at him.

Wing blushed like she was still shy, but she wasn’t. She just pretended because she knew it was sexy to be demure. She waved back after him, then turned around and walked out the door into the chilled night air.

She didn’t know how long this bimbofication magic was going to last, but she intended to have as much fun as possible while it did.

Betsy Bright, Her Minotaur Man and His Labyrinthine Love

Here’s the first chapter of Betsy Bright, Her Minotaur Man and His Labyrinthine Love, a hot erom tale of romance, passion, lust and one incredible maze!

The only part of her job that didn’t bore Betsy Bright was looking at Mr. Tauren. He was a nearly seven foot tall stud who filled out his tailored Italian suits perfectly. He owned a mining services company, and he was one of those rare CEOs who had really worked his way up the ranks. He had begun slinging coal when he was just out of high school, and received an executive position in his early thirties.

He was impressive, not just because he was a self-made man, but also because he was black. There were very few black people anywhere in this part of Tennessee, and virtually none of them were in the coal industry. Betsy respected the hell out of Mr. Tauren.

And she lusted for him like a schoolgirl. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with a gruff, no-nonsense manner of speaking. When he got angry with someone, like he was today, he bristled in his suit, muscles remaining tense all day as though they might jump right off his body. He was also scrupulously nice to Betsy whenever he was mad at someone else, seemingly because he worried he would be accidentally mean to her and went out of his way to be nice to avoid that.

“Betsy, I wanted to thank you for your work these days,” Mr. Tauren said. “I know I am not always an easy man to deal with.” His voice was clipped and angry.

“Oh, Mr. Tauren you’re no bully! You’re so nice! You’re easy to deal with,” Betsy said. Then she blushed, not sure if she was obvious in her crush on him.

He smiled. “Well, thank you for all your attentiveness. You can send Walter in,” he said. He was interrupted by more sirens — they had been active for the last hour or so — blaring past outside. “I wonder what’s going on…”

He went into his office then, and Betsy gave him a minute or two to settle in at his desk before nodding for Walter to enter. Walter was a mid-level manager who fidgeted in his ill-fitting suit as he sat there in the waiting room. He took a deep breath and went into the office.

Betsy smiled at him as he went by. She knew he was in trouble. That must be why Mr. Tauren was in an angry mood. Walter was about to get yelled at.

But Mr. Tauren didn’t “yell” exactly, not when he was angry. His deep rumbling voice was loud enough to be audible to Betsy, but she couldn’t make out the words. All she heard was a stentorian mumble of syllables, and Walter’s occasional pleas.

Was Walter fired? It sure sounded like he was begging for his job.

Betsy was distracted by yet more sirens. She went to the window. The cop cars were on their way to South Memphis. That much wasn’t so surprising, since South Memphis was the ghetto. But that had to be just about every cop car in the county heading there all at once. What was going on?

There was nothing on the local newspaper’s website. She was intensely curious, but before she could investigate further, Walter came out of the office. He kept his head held high, but his eyes were reddish and his face was tense — he had definitely been fired.

When Betsy saw him out, he nodded politely and left. He didn’t say anything else. It was tense and nerve-wracking for Betsy, but she felt safe since Mr. Tauren was nearby. He was very protective of her — when Betsy had said she got catcalled by a miner on the way into the office once, Mr. Tauren had left and come back an hour later dragging a miner by the ear to apologize to her.

Mr. Tauren was in his office, working out. He did that when he was bothered by something. It was always obvious what he was doing because he took off his suit — he wore workout clothes underneath — and hung the jacket up outside his office. He believed that it would pick up his sweaty scent from the air if he kept it in there with him he exercised.

Betsy was aroused by the thought of him in that t-shirt-and-track-pants look, which she had only actually seen twice. But both times, it had left her panties tingling.

She idly refreshed the browser on her computer, and shock flooded her at the sight of the updated homepage — Riots in Memphis! She gasped and clicked, her lust for Mr. Tauren forgotten.

There wasn’t much in the way of details at the moment, but over the next few hours, the story became apparent. A black man named Albert White had been shot by police this afternoon, apparently because he was mistaken for a different black man. The most alarming part of the story, for Betsy anyway, was that the riot was not really in South Memphis — it was right here. It was around the corner, or it had started there.

The chaos was all over the city. Betsy wasn’t sure it would be safe to walk back to her car. And when she went to the window, she gasped again — the riot was right there.

Two black men in masks streamed past the window, carrying something burning and possibly a gun, she couldn’t quite see. Betsy squealed at the sight of an overturned car not that much farther away.

“Walter? Get outta here! I-“ Mr. Tauren poked his head out of the office, apparently assuming that it was Walter who had caused Betsy a fright. Mr. Tauren saw Betsy look anxiously out the window and he joined her. He saw the overturned car. “What’s that? A car accident?”

“No… Well, yes,” Betsy said. “But there’s a riot.”

“What?”

“A riot started a few hours ago. It’s something to do with a police shooting,” Betsy said.

“Those fuckin’ idiots… Pardon my French, ma’am.”

Betsy giggled. “I’ve got news for you, Mr. Tauren. That’s not technically French.”

He smiled. “Oh. Well, le riot est stupide. Is that better?”

“Sounds right.”

He sighed. “Well, you can’t leave.”

“What?”

“That’s where your car is parked, right? You can’t get to your car, and it wouldn’t be safe for you to drive anywhere anyway. Don’t you live on Martindale? That’s not a nice neighborhood.”

“Oh, I’ll be okay.”

“I insist. I don’t want you to be afraid,” he said. “You can stay here as late as you need to tonight. Don’t clock out, I’ll pay you until it’s safe for you to go home.” He paused. “Or until tomorrow morning. Sorry, I can’t pay you forever. You know how the Board of Directors has been riding-“

“I know, Mr. Tauren, that’s fine. I can’t imagine that the riot will still be going on in the morning,” she said. “But you can’t leave either, can you?”

He took a deep breath. “I guess that’s not really safe either.” He bit his lip. “You might think I’d be safe cuz I’m a big black guy.” He waited, but Betsy wasn’t sure she could say anything that wouldn’t sound racist. “But, uh… It ain’t like that.”

“Mr. Tauren, I never thought that.”

“I look like a cop, okay?”

“What?”

“They’ll say I look like a cop. I can’t take on every black guy in Memphis,” he said.

“I don’t-“

“It ain’t fair, but that’s how it is. I get accused of being a cop every time I go to South Memphis. They’ll see me and they’ll assume I’m a cop because I don’t sag my pants and I don’t have any neck tattoos, and I’m not a fat nerd or a hipster, so what else could I be but a cop?”

“A lot of things…”

“So I guess I’ll stay here too,” he said. “Just a couple hours.” He paused. “Let’s see what we have in the fridge. I’m getting hungry.”

Betsy wasn’t hungry yet. It wasn’t even technically quitting time — it was four-thirty, so it was awfully close. Betsy didn’t want to eat in front of Mr. Tauren because it would make her feel self-conscious. She wasn’t fat, but she was bigger than she wanted to be.

She had been so distracted by the riot that she barely noticed Mr. Tauren come out of his office wearing that sleeveless t-shirt. His bare arms were the size of her head. He was so tall she had to crane her neck to see his face. His body heat was palpable. He didn’t smell like sweat at all, though she did catch a whiff of his deodorant like it was working overtime.

She tried not to stare at his ass in that sheer track pants fabric as he put together some sandwiches from the small office refrigerator. Luckily Mr. Tauren was a big man who was very active, so he ate frequently and kept food there in the fridge. He had plenty of deli meat and condiments. There was no bread at all — Mr. Tauren didn’t eat carbs — but Betsy didn’t mind that so much. She ate a sandwich minus the bread, while Mr. Tauren finished his work in his office.

When five o’clock came, the riot had only gotten worse. It was starting to get national attention. There was a fire not that far away. Betsy didn’t even feel safe standing near the door anymore.

“I think these people are overreacting,” Betsy blurted out. “This isn’t going to solve police violence.” She blushed, thinking she had offended him. She looked away from him.

“I’m not offended. You’re right. It won’t solve anything in itself,” he said. “But doing nothing won’t solve anything either. The police won’t negotiate policy changes without a gun to their head. If you do put a gun to their head, they won’t negotiate with you, but they will negotiate with those more reasonable protesters they’d been ignoring until then.”

“You’re so smart, Mr. Tauren.”

“You should call me Paul.”

“Okay, Paul,” she said. She blushed. She had never called him his first name before. She shuddered as a bolt of desire ran through her.

“It looks like we’re going to have to sleep here,” Paul said. “Do you want the couch in the waiting room? That’s probably the most comfortable.”

She nodded. “Sure, that’s fine.”

He took a deep breath. “Betsy… I need to tell you something. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Of course. I signed the non-disclosure agreement to work here.”

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s not work-related,” he said. “I… I’m not actually human. Or rather, I am human, but I’m not a normal human. I’m a special kind of human.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re cursed. That’s what separates us from normal humans.”

“Mr. Tauren… Paul… what are you talking about?”

“I’m a minotaur.”

“A what?”

“A minotaur.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

“What? No, it’s not a metaphor,” he said. “It’s a literal description of what I am. My natural shape is a half-man, half-bull creature. I can look human, like you see me now, but only with effort. When I sleep, I will turn back to minotaur shape.”

“Mr. Tauren…”

“I will show you,” he said. “I am sorry, I will be naked.” He transformed then into a minotaur, brown muscles sprouting fur as he shot up to maybe twelve feet tall. Horns sprouted from his forehead, and his nostrils flared.

It all happened so quick that Betsy couldn’t process what was happening. She watched him change, still thinking about what he might mean — maybe the Minotaurs was the name of his favorite football team? Was it short for something? Some sort of hip hop crew? Was it a black thing?

But no, she realized, it was real. He was being literal.

A twelve foot tall minotaur stood before her. His dense fur was very real. His horns gleamed. He was naked, a massive bull-like cock dangling right in front of her — that sure looked real too. He let out a baritone roar that sent a shudder through Betsy’s body.

She wanted to go home, but she couldn’t. There was a riot out there, and she wouldn’t be able to find her way anyway. The rioters had probably changed the streets, turning them into an impassable maze. She didn’t live far away, but she could get lost, and that would be dangerous in a riot. She had to stay here with this monster.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was she really going to be here all night? Why not? Nothing had changed, had it? Of course, something had changed. But he was still Mr. Tauren. He was still the same overprotective, strong man he had always been. He was just… a minotaur.

“Here,” Paul said. He handed over a ball of string. “I want to give this to you. It will always find me. No matter where I am, the string will lead you to me.”

“Why give it to me?”

“Because if I go missing, you will likely be the first to know it,” he said. “I have no family. I have no friends.”

“Oh, Paul, that’s terrible…”

“I travel too much. This is why I travel,” he said, gesturing to his minotaur body. “Any place I stay in for too long will turn into a labyrinth.”

“What?”

“It is the burden of the minotaur. The first minotaur was cursed so that no one would ever be able to find him. The curse embodied itself in a force called labyrinthium, which minotaurs exude all the time. It causes geography, and reality itself, to alter. It turns any location into a maze. If I stayed here in Memphis long enough, the entire city would become a long, winding labyrinth, and the people here would be my guardians. That would take many years. It is a slow process. But it begins very quickly.”

“That’s terrible… You poor man…” She clutched his arm, shivering at the feel of his coarse bull fur.

They were both silent then for a moment as gunshots rang out somewhere. There were young black men running past the building, carrying what appeared to be one of their friends. A trio of police officers chased after them, guns drawn. A line of blood marked the trail they had followed.

“I am glad to be stuck here with a beautiful woman,” Paul said. His minotaur voice was even deeper than his normal voice. It boomed and resonated in the office. “I can think of no one I would rather spend the night here with.”

His words hung there for a brief second. Then Betsy giggled and blushed. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that, especially in his giant minotaur form. It felt strange

He transformed back to his human shape, and she was annoyed to see that his clothes shapechanged with him, so he wasn’t naked. She blushed even more intensely.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so forward. In minotaur form, I find it difficult to censor myself. Minotaurs are brutish by nature, after all.”

“So that’s how you really feel about me?”

He paused for a long time. “Yes. You are stunningly beautiful. If you weren’t my employee, I would have asked you out a long time ago.”

“Well, tonight we can’t go out, on account of the riot,” she said. “We have to stay in.” She made a kissy face, and he smiled at her. At first he didn’t kiss her, making Betsy wonder if she had done something to offend him.

But then he planted his lips on hers, and she kissed him back. She threw her hands around his broad, strapping shoulders. His muscles writhed beneath his suit.

Somehow they ended up naked. Betsy didn’t remember taking her clothes off, but it happened. All she noticed was Paul’s body above her own, his bull-like snorts and roars, his heavy breathing, his tender lips kissing every inch of her delicate frame.

When he entered her, Betsy was shocked at her own willingness to go all the way with him — she was not the kind of person to be sexually active with someone she didn’t really know well, especially not a coworker and, in this case, a boss. That was unthinkable to her, utterly unacceptable according to the rules she had set out for her own life.

But those rules were gone now. All she cared about was running her nails into the smooth skin of his back. She scratched at him as he sped up his motions, his manhood drilling deep into her with each thrust of his hips.

She rode him just as hard as he rode her. She wrapped her legs around his body and gripped his shoulders with his arms, until soon she was not even on the floor. She literally rode him as he stood up, supporting her in his powerful arms.

Betsy had never done anything like that. She had never had sex in an exotic position, but now she was on his body, humping with all her might as he passionately fucked. He easily supported her, while she continued to claw at his torso, feeling like she might fall no matter how tight a hold he kept on her.

At last her orgasm approached. Betsy could feel it gathering deep within her, reaching its crescendo bit by bit with each thrust of Paul inside her. She moaned. He grunted. His hands tightened around her, and she squealed like a calf in his arms.

Finally it was all over. Betsy let out a long, low sigh. She couldn’t believe this had happened. The sex was shocking enough, she thought, but this was with a minotaur. She didn’t know how to take that.

“Thank you, Betsy,” he said as he gently let her down to the ground.

She sighed and pulled away from him. She was dizzy at first, her knees weak. He steadied her, and they both collapsed onto the couch together.

“Oh, Paul…”

“I’m glad I told you what I am,” he said. “I… I need to have someone I can talk to about this.”

“You can talk to me about anything,” she said with a giggle. “After all, I’m your personal assistant. Let me assist you, personally.”

Cuckolded by a Redneck

Here’s an exciting new story called Cuckolded by a Redneck! It’s the latest by Ruby Redman, and it’s about a black woman getting down and dirty, redneck-style!

 

I felt very excited that day. Peter, my worthless, sissy husband had gone out grocery shopping and I knew he would be away for about thirty minutes. This was perfect because it gave me just enough time to get started on what I had planned, and then have him come in on me.

You see, I had been fantasizing about this redneck at work named Yoder. He had just started at the office, and was eager to prove himself. Therefore, when I had told him on Friday that I wanted him to come over during the weekend, he had said, “Yes, ma’am, I will be expecting your call. Just let me know.”

My juices began dripping when I was thinking about Yoder. His blue jeans, his ripped, sweaty upper body, his coy smile, his rugged, masculine face that was partly covered by his sexy cowboy hat. I could envision his musk, how he must taste, how he must feel inside of me.

Of course, Yoder had no reason to expect a booty call. He was probably just doing what his senior colleague had requested him to. When I had called him about an hour ago, he had told me that he would be on his way immediately.

“Who was that on the phone?” Peter had asked.

“Nobody,” I had said. “Now, go to the store.”

Peter, always obeying every little command, being the sissy he was, had taken off and now I was left waiting for my new, sexy redneck lover.

The doorbell rang and I opened the oak door. There he was.

He was quite the hunk, I had to admit. I had never been with a redneck before, and he, on the other hand, had probably never fornicated with a black woman. Would he enjoy filling up my tight vagina? Or pounding my firm, black ass? I wondered what his cock would taste like. I was sure it would be bigger than Peter’s. On the other hand, that wouldn’t take much. His dick was just too small, and couldn’t satisfy me. I needed a real man.

Now, with Yoder in front of me, I realized there was no going back. Up to this point, I could have let this all remain a fantasy, and I could even have called Yoder off on his way over. But now, as he stood there, seeing me in my revealing, sexy outfit, I knew that this was it. Yet, if he did understand my true motives, he made no notice of it. Instead, he greeted me politely, saying, “Howdy, ma’am, how’ya doin’? Here I am, hope I can be of service.”

Yes, you most certainly can, I thought to myself.

Str8 Till Dark: Shipmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Shipmates, a new story in the Str8 Till Dark series of hardcore gay erotica about what happens when str8 men turn out the lights! For an even better deal, the same story is in the massive Str8 Till Dark megabundle with 12 entries, plus more bonus content, for less than a dollar/story! It’s also in Kindle Unlimited

Benjamin’s shipmates got laid in the Rusty Knuckle, a rundown tavern in Norfolk. He knew it was going to happen, but he was still disappointed when they all ignored him to chat up the local girls. He hid his annoyance well as he hurried back to the ship.

He was alone among his fellow pirates in that he had no interest in cheap floozies — or even expensive floozies. Benjamin didn’t really like girls of any kind. They were difficult to handle, complained a lot and were too weak to do much work. Benjamin had other interests instead.

‘Oo got uh stummack for mandingo dick, ahuh?

That was the last thing he heard as he left the Rusty Knuckle. It was shouted by Rupert, the Jamaican escaped-slave and first mate aboard the ship, which was called the Oozing Cooze. Rupert was the only Negro aboard the ship, and in America — or at least Virginia — they didn’t much like free negros. None of the floozies had been willing to subject themselves to Rupert’s no-doubt cruel humpery — Benjamin had never actually seen Rupert have sex, but everything he did was cruel and he always promised to duhmoleish any woman he could get into bed with him. So the floozies were probably being rational in refusing him for any amount of money (imagine that, Rupert thought, a woman behaving rationally!).

It was already getting dark by the time he left the Rusty Knuckle, and it was nightfall when he finally made it back to the Oozing Cooze. He should have known better, he thought, than to join such a ship — Benjamin knew he preferred the company of men, but the name of the ship accurately communicated the interests of his shipmates. All they walked about were women, the looser and more whorish the better.

They liked women. White women, Negro women, Spanish women, Dutch women, African women, Hindi women — fat, skinny, tall, short, bespectacled, and if rumor were believed, even women who bled from their womanhood, the pirates of the Oozing Cooze didn’t care. It was disgusting, Benjamin thought.

He made it belowdeck to his bunk. The ship was eerily silent. He was getting used to that — the three times they had stopped at port for a little on-land recreation had ended much the same way as this. Benjamin thought being here in America might make him feel a little more welcome, but that didn’t happen. It was definitely a visit for the purpose of bedding women with loose morals, which was something Benjamin simply couldn’t muster any interest in.

So he just laid down. He wasn’t tired yet, but he had had a few drinks, so he thought he’d probably get sleepy soon.

But that didn’t happen. He laid there in his uncomfortable bed, wondering if he had made a terrible mistake in joining a pirate ship. At the time, it was the sort of all-male environment that he thought would be perfect for him. But it wasn’t as “all-male” as he had been led to believe. There were no women among the crew, but the crew stopped at every port they could in order to consort with women.

Footfalls on the deck above his head suggested one of his shipmates had come back. That happened last time too, it was just Captain Garibald having finished with his slut and returned to perform some business aboard the ship before turning in for the night. He had suggested he disliked sleeping anywhere else, that was why he always returned shipside before turning in for the night.

But the person coming belowdeck breathed heavily, almost snorting like a bull, in a way that suggested his accent — Jamaican, negro. It was Rupert, perhaps having been shut out by the floozies of Norfolk. Good call, floozies, Benjamin thought. He didn’t much like Rupert, even if he acknowledged that the man was a loamy muscular god. If he had disliked women as much as Benjamin, maybe they could have slept together instead.

“Where is mi little pansyboi, eh?” Rupert’s lilting island voice rang out in the shadowy bowels of the Oozing Cooze. He laughed as he came right to Benjamin’s door.

Benjamin decided to pretend to be asleep. He wasn’t sure what Rupert wanted, but Benjamin has a feeling he was going to ask for money — no doubt one of the floozies had said she’d sleep with him only if he paid extra.

“Wake up!” he barked. “I got a ting fa you.” He stood in the doorway, barely lit by the moon’s rays slipping in through the portholes.

Benjamin rolled over and looked at him. His pitch-black skin melted into the darkness of the ship. He sneered at Benjamin and grabbed for his dick beneath the tattered leather britches he wore. “Wh-What is it?” Benjamin asked, trying not to sound weak. “What is the thing-?”

“Whatchoo tink, boy?” Rupert asked. He threw his dreadlocks behind his head. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the ground. “Whiteman always want it. My masssa, before I dun run ‘way, he want it too, like you. Don’t lookit me.”

Benjamin looked away. Rupert’s voice was slurred with booze, but he didn’t seem all that drunk. He dropped his britches, revealing that massive brown cock that had scared off all the floozies. Benjamin’s heart skipped a beat. Rupert flopped his dick between his fingers and smiled at Benjamin.

Rupert slipped into his bunk, pushing Benjamin up against the hull of the ship. Benjamin didn’t fight back — all his dislike for Rupert as a person disappeared when Benjamin smelled his muscles and the hair of his armpits, the island scent of his dreadlocks, his hot, crude breath condensing on Benjamin’s cheek. Benjamin wanted to pleasure Rupert more than anything right now. He wanted to taste every inch of his hot Jamaican body.

“You are like uh girl, yuhs?

“Uh… no,” Benjamin said softly, bristling a bit. He knew that he was a girl, as far as Rupert was concerned.

“Den you want me to leave he’e?”

“Uh…” Benjamin’s voice just trailed off. He wasn’t sure whether he should say yes or no — or rather he knew he should say yes, but he didn’t want to. So instead he said nothing.

“De girl he’e do not like negruh…” Rupert said. He snorted again, exhaling right on Benjamin’s face. “You will be my girl.”

“Okay…” Benjamin said, his voice weak and wavering. He reached one of his hands behind himself and felt a surge of desire as he wrapped it around Rupert’s fat cock. He shuddered and shook with sexual energy.

It throbbed beneath his fingers, growing hard right away. Rupert groaned and leaned on his back as though slaking his overwhelming thirst. He kept his hands far away from Benjamin like touching him any more than absolutely necessary would be some terrible fate.

“Lick it, boy,” Rupert whispered. He cackled as Benjamin shuddered.

His fear and uncertainty didn’t slow Benjamin down at all. He rolled over and curled up in Rupert’s arms, his face colliding with the meat of his bicep and the hair of his armpit. Benjamin kissed the muscle there, then moved over to his shoulder.

Then Rupert grabbed him by the hair. “You are not mi wife, boi. Pansy dah not kiss. Suck.”

“Okay…” Benjamin said. He was humiliated but so aroused he thought his own dick might bust without anyone touching it. He lowered his head all the way to Rupert’s crotch, where his kinky black hairs had a distinctly musty scent. Benjamin inhaled deeply of it.

He opened his mouth, intending to lick the shaft. But Rupert held onto his hair as he rammed his dick right in. He cackled when Benjamin gagged on that thickness striking him in the back of the throat.

“You learn dat lesson, boy. Negro treat you bad, and good all at one time. Gag on it,” he said, his voice starting off light and lilting before degenerating into a cruel scowl as he demanded Benjamin gag.

Benjamin didn’t complain at all. He had never felt so free even as he had no control over what was happening — this was precisely what he had hoped would happen when he joined up with the Oozing Cooze. He hadn’t known how to put it in words, hadn’t even really accepted it for himself, but this what he wanted, big macho cockmeat sliding down his throat without regard for how it made him feel. He wished the entire crew had been unable to land any of the floozies.

His dick tasted like Rupert looked: smooth, nut-brown and salty with seaspray. The veins of his cockshaft throbbed in Rupert’s mouth, making the entire slab of meat feel like a juicy tube filled with the sour-sweet flavor of his precum.

“Suck mi dick good, boi…”

Benjamin gurgled merrily as Rupert pounded at his throat. His dreadlocks shook, and the more Benjamin didn’t fight back, the harder Rupert pounded. He slammed Benjamin’s head down on the shaft at the same time as he gyrated his hips upward, making Benjamin choke and sputter as that entire cock pushed into his throat. His face was bright red, gagging profusely, spit dripping from his lips.

A harsh slapping sound filled the air. Benjamin was so aroused and involved in cocksucking that it took him a moment for pain to register in his ass, then he realized Rupert had slapped a buttcheek. Benjamin’s ass twitched.

“I will rek dat ass now, pansyboi” Rupert said. He pulled out of Benjamin’s mouth, then lifted his head up to his face as though he wanted to kiss. He looked directly into Benjamin’s eyes then, but Benjamin looked away because he felt uncomfortable. Rupert’s orbs were dark, judgmental and harsh. He made a kissy face with his lips, but kept his face too far away for Benjamin to actually kiss him no matter how much he wanted to.

“You make for sexy guhl,” Rupert said, “except fo’ cock. You should get rid of it.” He cackled again.

Then he threw Benjamin onto his belly on the bunk. He pulled the pillow away from his head and threw it onto the floor. He mounted Benjamin from behind, leaving his thick rod throbbing between Benjamin’s asscheeks.

“Open up ass now, boi,” he said. He gritted his teeth, speaking directly into Benjamin’s ear from behind. He didn’t wait for a response before shoving his dick in.

Pain erupted in Benjamin’s ass, and he yelped as Rupert chuckled dryly. Behind the pain was a burning sense of pleasure, deep and dismal now, but it grew with every inch of Rupert’s cock sliding into him.

Despite the pain, Benjamin felt more pleasure than he ever had before. He wondered if this how women felt when they were penetrated. He tried to jack himself off but the pain and pressure in his ass so intense he couldn’t concentrate on anything but that. His dick throbbed, rock-hard and spasming, begging for attention but receiving none.

That dick was so huge Benjamin wasn’t sure he could take the whole thing — he hadn’t even been sure he could take the tip by itself. But Rupert didn’t seem to care about Benjamin’s body’s resistance. He pounded in as hard as he could.

“I say open up, pansyboy. Dis be what you want, eh?” his broad chest muscles rippled behind Benjamin’s back. When Benjamin bucked and his body clenched. Rupert just held on tighter and fucker harder.

Footfalls again emanated from abovedeck. That, Benjamin was now certain, was Captain Garibald. Rupert stopped moving, and seemed uncertain for the first time since Benjamin had known him. They were both still and silent. Benjamin wondered if he would get in trouble for this if the captain caught him.

Captain Garibald made his way down belowdeck. He tottered a bit as he walked as though having trouble keeping himself upright. He belched loudly in the hall.

“Sssh,” Rupert said softly.

Benjamin had to struggle to keep from crying out, as the pain in his ass grew with every moment Rupert was inside him, even now that he was almost entirely still — Rupert seemed unable to keep himself totally still, and he continued to grind his dick into Rupert’s ass despite Captain Garibald striding past their room.

Rupert breathed a sigh of relief, which melted into a beery burp. It tasted sour on Benjamin’s cheek. That must have been louder than Rupert intended, because he blanched as Captain Garibald backed up.

He opened the door and looked in. He sighed at the sight of Rupert humping Benjamin’s ass. Benjamin felt a surge of humiliation, and he considered pretending he was fighting back, that Rupert had had to hold him down to fuck him.

But he didn’t. He knew it wouldn’t work, most importantly. Captain Garibald knew well that Benjamin preferred the company of men. He shook his head.

“Rupert… what did I tell you about this?”

“You say I can not rape any crew,” Rupert said. “I do not-“

“I don’t care whether he wanted it…” Captain Garibald said, his voice trailing off as he sighed like he couldn’t muster up the energy to be upset. “Fine… Whatever…. Rupert, he better be able to walk tomorrow. If he can’t, you’re doing his work.

“Yessuh, Captain.”

“You must allow him to play with himself too,” Captain Garibald said.

“Aw… I do not like dat, I want pansyboy-“

“Shut up, I don’t care. I can still make you suck me off too,” Captain Garibald said. He paused, then undid his leather britches. He pulled out his own cock, paler but almost as big as Rupert’s. He approached as though he was going to make Rupert suck on it — which looked likely to be a fighting issue for Rupert — but then simply thwacked Benjamin across the face with it. “You wanna suck me off, boy?”

Benjamin didn’t say anything. He demonstrated his answer by opening his mouth and swallowing that entire dick. Rupert had loosened up his throat, so he could easily deep-throat Captain Garibald’s entire dick.

With both of his hands moving down to his own manhood, Benjamin was unable to direct either of the cocks entering him. He enjoyed having both his holes used. Captain Garibald’s thick older man’s dick ripped down his throat while Rupert relentlessly fucked him from behind.

His own orgasm came on first, which made Rupert hoot and Captain Garibald laugh — they clearly thought a real man should struggle to cum like this. But Benjamin enjoyed the sensation as his body bucked and squirmed beneath their grasp.

His load flew over his chest and soaked into the mattress. Some of it sprayed over Rupert’s ropy-muscled forearm where he gripped Benjamin’s body tightly, but that didn’t seem to bother Rupert, who just grunted as Benjamin’s orgasming body clenched down on Rupert’s dick.

As the heights of ecstasy consumed Benjamin, he threw his head back, burying it in Rupert’s muscles. He experienced pleasure from both his cum-shooting dick and the intense pressure from his ass, which tingled and sparkled as Rupert’s manhood slid in and out.

Then came Captain Garibald. Though he started later than Rupert, he finished first, and he spewed a huge load right down Benjamin’s throat. It tasted like pure, distilled manhood, and Benjamin knew right then and there that this was what he had been made for — he didn’t like girls because he liked men instead. These feelings were what his shipmates had always been pursuing when they went after loose women; this was how those women made them feel. Benjamin felt that way from men — a part of him had known that, but he never thought of it in quite such a simple, direct way.

Everyone had always spoken as though performing oral sex on a man was disgusting, and that swallowing semen was the height of repulsive grotesquerie. But Benjamin loved that thick texture and salty-sweet taste, and he groaned as he swallowed every drop he could find, clinging to Captain Garibald’s meaty cockshaft.

Rupert seemed to have been waiting for Captain Garibald to finish, because he had no sooner taken his cock out then Rupert grabbed Benjamin by the hair again. He slammed Benjamin’s face into the straw mattress, and laid his chest right on Benjamin’s back.

He used both of his powerful Jamaican arms to hold Benjamin in place as he pounded away. His dick was so big it seemed impossible to fit in his ass even as Benjamin knew that was exactly what was happening. He felt like he was being torn in two, and he loved every moment of it.

“Turn you into mi pussy now, pansyboi,” Rupert said softly as he nuzzled the back of Benjamin’s neck. His veiny dick throbbed delightfully inside Benjamin, who felt like it managed to hit every corner of his insides. He could feel it coating his body with Rupert’s masculine island juices. Rupert gulped and grunted, making this harsh lustmaking a loud affair, doubly so as it resonated and echoed in the tiny room.

Captain Garibald watched with his arms crossed over his powerful chest. He looked on as though disappointed but not angry, like he watched a dog dig a hole where it wasn’t supposed to. He shook his head and patted Rupert on the wiry muscles of his back. Rupert didn’t seem to notice.

His dick spasmed inside Benjamin, who writhed and yelped. He was unable to move much at all, however, because Rupert kept him in a tight hold. Rupert sighed into Benjamin’s ear. It was a long, low, rattling sigh with an almost oinking quality to it. He chuckled at Benjamin’s contortions in his arms.

Hot cum flowed into Benjamin’s ass. It was thick and plentiful, dripping into every corner of Benjamin’s insides. Rupert groaned as his muscles rippled above Benjamin’s back. He thrust his hips a few more times, now without the rhythmic pounding he’d had before; he pumped as though trying to get the last few drops of cum out of his balls.

Then he lay there, licking Benjamin’s neck and squeezing him tight. His dick throbbed inside Benjamin, the pain growing now that it wasn’t counteracted by his sexual desire.

“Okay, Rupert, pull out,” Captain Garibald said. He looked at Benjamin like he was a mistake.

“I’m sorry, Captain-“

“Don’t apologize, Benjamin. I’m glad we know this about you,” he said as he pulled his britches back up. “We won’t have to dock at port as much now that I know we can all just fuck you instead. Nothing wrong with that.”

Benjamin shivered with excitement as Rupert pulled his limp dick out of Benjamin’s ass. Benjamin rolled over and clutched Rupert’s muscles until Rupert pushed him away.

“Do not touch me like that-“

“Hush, Rupert, shut your mouth,” Captain Garibald said. “If we’re going to fuck him, we have to let him have a little fun too. You like touching Rupert’s muscles?”

“Yes, Captain Garibald.”

“Then Rupert, you sleep here from now-“

“Wha-!?”

“Shut that mouth. I can make you bend over for him, Rupert,” Captain Garibald said. “You let Benjamin touch you any time he wants, or you’ll answer to me. He won’t fuck you, just touching… unless you disobey me, Rupert.”

He didn’t wait for a response, he just walked out of the room. Rupert sighed and rolled over.

“Do not put anyting in mi ass, pansyboi,” Rupert said. “Or I will punish you.”

“Okay,” Benjamin said. “I think I prefer to be on bottom anyway.”

“Good,” Rupert said, wincing as Benjamin kissed his broad back and settled down to go to sleep.

They laid there, Benjamin increasingly calm and certain of his position aboard the Oozing Cooze, ignoring the tension in Rupert’s back as he slowly came to terms with his new position. Benjamin enjoyed the feel of Rupert’s muscles loosing and relaxing beneath his touch.

When Benjamin finally fell asleep, he felt at-home for the first time since he had left his home.