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Masseurs Gone Wild: The Wrestling Champions

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Gone Wild: The Wrestling Champions, a brand-new tale by Happiest Ending and the conclusion to the Masseurs Gone Wild series!


When Mansur dragged Ethan’s hand to his cock, he growled and snorted like he didn’t like it, even though he was the one who did it. He closed his eyes. Ethan wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to jack Mansur off. That seemed right, except that Mansur had a face like he didn’t want it.
He had also implied he wouldn’t allow that, back when he first showed up for his massage. Ethan was the only male masseur at the Tophaul Massage Parlor, so he sometimes got clients who were annoyed they didn’t have a woman. Mansur was such a client.
He scowled when he came in, and looked back out in the hall.

“Where is the Chinese woman?” he asked with a crude, British-inflected voice.
“She’s with another client,” Ethan said. He motioned for him to get up on the table.
Mansur was a thick-bodied, barrel-chested Turkish man. He had a hairy torso and a dense beard, and he wore a fez above a Turkish men’s suit. He didn’t look like he was used to dressing in nice clothes. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in them as he came into the room. People didn’t usually dress so formally at a massage parlor.
“I do not want to do anything gay,” Mansur said with a sneer.
“Oh. Okay.”
“I am here for the tournament,” he said. “My coach has warned me of America. There is too much gay here.”
“I see,” Ethan said. He had already guessed that Mansur was here for the tournament. This city was home to the International Wrestling Tournament right now, so the streets were crawling with hot muscle-bound foreigners. Ethan was excited to think he was starting to get them in his massage parlor.
He was disappointed, however, that Mansur did not want a happy ending. He awkwardly stood there and waited while Mansur took off his clothes. He quietly removed everything — most men needed encouragement to take off their clothes in front of Ethan, but Mansur didn’t seem to care. He folded his jacket, shirt, pants, and even his tie and socks. His folding was awkward though, like he had little experience with it but knew he was supposed to do it.
When he dropped his briefs (hairy men in tight briefs were so sexy Ethan thought, trying not to be obvious as he checked out Mansur’s package), Mansur hopped up onto the massage table. He had a massive, uncut cock that flopped against his thigh.
Again, that was unusual. The vast majority of American men were reluctant to get naked and then when they did, covered their crotches. When they got up on the table, they laid on their belly to cover up their cock and balls, and because it was generally assumed that massages would be focused on the back and shoulders.
But Mansur apparently expected Ethan to work on his chest. Ethan used warming, scented oil, and Mansur groaned as Ethan began to knead his flesh.

Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court

Here’s the first chapter of Downlow Thugs at the Basketball Court, a new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s an incredible tale of rough trade, urban lust and mandingo meat!

“Blowjob.” Jake spoke quietly, hanging out near the basketball hoop. He didn’t want to attract a lot of attention, not from the crowd — he did want to attract attention from the two guys playing.

Jake was gay, and he was hanging out at the Wilson Street basketball court, like he used to do when he had just come out of the closet. Since then he had gone to college, started a career, had a long-term relationship with a jerk named Adam, dumped Adam, got really into homemade sushi, nearly made the disastrous decision to open his own sushi house, briefly hooked back up with Adam before dumping him again, and now he was back here at the Wilson Street basketball court once more.

“Blowjob.” Jake felt a little silly, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t planned on doing this until he drove by and saw his old haunt.

There were two young black men playing one-on-one basketball. They were both shirtless, their bare brown chests gleaming with sweat. One of them was very tall and lanky; the other was shorter and more muscular.


“What?” said one of them, the taller one. He was named Hardesty, and he stopped moving near the basket after having scored.

“I’ll suck you off, man,” Jake said. He smiled flirtatiously at Hardesty, stepped forward and placed one finger on his chest. Hardesty furrowed his brow and looked down at the finger. Jake scooped up sweat from his pectoral muscle, then sucked it off his finger.

Hardesty chuckled. “You crazy, man.”

Jake nodded. “Maybe. But I suck dick good.”

“Hey, whatchoo doin’, come on,” said the shorter player, jogging over to Hardesty. “We got a game goin’ on.”

“Sweetlips over here gonna suck off the winner,” Hardesty said. He and the shorter guy were both out of breath but trying to hide it so they didn’t look weak to each other.

“He gonna suck me off?” the shorter man said with a grin. “I ain’t agree to that, but… well, okay-“

“Nah, the winner,” Hardesty said. “He gonna suck off the winner. Me.”

“Winner? You gotta score some points, nigga. You light-years behind right now.”

“I’s only behind cuz you off on some travel, nigga, you been travelin’ all over this court-“

“Oh, come on, there ain’t no ref to work, boy, you just gotta play-“

They continued bickering as they resumed play. Jake was disappointed. He hadn’t gotten any firm answer. But they didn’t say no either.

The game was over soon after. Maybe Hardesty really wanted the blowjob and it made him play harder, because he scored three times in quick succession, giving him the lead. When the game was over, Hardesty pounded on his chest and flexed his biceps towards the folks hanging out on the sidelines. Most of them didn’t pay any attention. The only person who cheered was Jake.

Hardesty smiled awkwardly at him, as the shorter player laughed and patted Hardesty’s bare belly. Hardesty bit his lip and made eye contact with Jake.

“You got that, boy,” the shorter player said as he walked away, shirt in hand. He cackled. “You nasty, Hardesty. He ain’t even dressed like a girl.”

“Don’t be hatin’ just cuz I got meat that needs attention, nigga! Real thugs like me gotta get they shit handled!” Hardesty called out loud enough to attract attention from the others, who giggled at him. Hardesty grabbed his dick through his shorts and smiled at the girls. “Hey, how you doin’?”

They didn’t give him the time of day. Hardesty scoffed and walked away, basketball in hand. He nodded at Jake, who quietly and surreptitiously followed him into the public bathroom. It was almost never used, so it wasn’t dirty, but it was almost never cleaned, so it wasn’t clean either. It was just dusty and grimy. Jake knew it well.

He immediately sunk to his knees, even before the door had swung shut. Hardesty blocked the door with the heavy trash can so they’d have some privacy.

“Ain’t seen you… uh… Damn, boy, you in a rush?” Hardesty grimaced at Jake’s eagerness. Jake pulled his shorts and boxers down, then kissed his dick right on the tip.

“I don’t see any reason to slow down,” Jake said with a grin. He put the tip of Hardesty’s cock in his mouth and hocked up spit right onto it. Hardesty groaned and leaned against the wall of the bathroom.

“Goddamn,” Hardesty said. He closed his eyes. “Shit… Boy, you are one crazy gay.”

Jake smiled. He slathered spit all over Hardesty’s rod, which made Hardesty gasp and bite his lip like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good. Hardesty shifted and wiggled.

As his cock stiffened up in Jake’s mouth, Hardesty lifted his shirt up. He didn’t take it off, but he raised it over his head and the back of his neck. He had ropy muscles, which Jake reached up to caress, his bulging biceps, flat belly — though he didn’t quite have a six-pack — and his mountainous pecs. His muscles all twitched as though he didn’t entirely want Jake to feel him up but thought it would be rude to say that.

Jake didn’t mind. When he used to suck basketball players off, a lot of them thought it seemed too gay to let Jake do anything besides suck cock. They sometimes got angry if he even massaged their asscheeks or played with their balls.

Luckily, Hardesty didn’t seem too bothered by it, even if he did dumbfoundedly watch Jake’s fingers explore his body. A few drops of sweat ran down his skin and onto Jake’s hand.

“Shit… This is some nasty thug shit. Why don’t girls ever suck like this, man?” Hardesty asked as he leaned back and sighed. His whole body wriggled and he bit his lip.

“Girls don’t have the right equipment,” Jake said. He flopped Hardesty’s dick over his face. “They don’t know how it feels. Besides, girls like relationships and stuff. They don’t just suck off hot guys. They’re so stupid. If I was a girl, I’d be the biggest slut in the world, oh my god. I’d suck off all the thugs.” Jake giggled as salty precum flowed over his tongue and his lips.

“I bet you would.” He paused. “Hey, you smoke weed?”

Jake nodded. “You got some? Light it up, baby-“

“Nah, nah, I’s sellin’. You wanna buy?”

“Oh… no thanks,” Jake said. “I’ve already got a guy.”

“Who? What’s his name? Tell me,” Hardesty said with a big grin. He moved his hips, swaying his cock back and forth over Jake’s face. Jake chased it with his tongue.

“Greg. You don’t know him.”

“He gay?”

Jake nodded.

“Why you buy weed from a gay? They ain’t thugs. They don’t know nothin’-“

“He’s really convenient, sorry,” Jake said. He grabbed Hardesty’s dick and licked it all up and down, hoping that would punctuate how final Jake’s decision was.

“You shouldn’t buy weed from whiteboys.”

“I didn’t say he was white. I said he was gay.”

“He a nigga?”

Jake nodded. “They can be both.”

Hardesty bristled a little and shifted his weight between his feet. “Guess that’s okay then. If he evuh run out or somethin’, you gimme a call, I can hook you up.” He paused. “You gonna swallow my nut, right?”

“Of course.” Jake resumed deep-throating while Hardesty beamed like he was getting away with something. Hardesty’s hands wrapped over Jake’s head and he held on tight.

Hardesty moved his hips as though he was going to facefuck Jake, but Jake didn’t cooperate — he kept on moving his head and sucking, sputtering up mountains of spit which he then suckled right off Hardesty’s dick. Hardesty groaned and moaned, twisting, squirming, wincing when he saw that his boxers were soaked with spit.

“Ah shit, whoah…” Hardesty yelped. He stood on his toes, then his knees buckled and he almost collapsed onto the floor. He leaned against the wall. “Alright, yeah… I can take it, boi, go ‘head, keep on suckin’.”

Jake smiled to himself. He had Hardesty right where he wanted him. He rammed his mouth all the way down and forced Hardesty’s dick deep into his gullet. The sweet, musky flavor of his manmeat assaulted Jake’s senses and made his eyes water.

A sound came from Hardesty’s mouth, a mixture between a bark and a grunt, with a long, low sputtering quality. A few drops of drool even slipped out past Hardesty’s lips as his cock sprayed cum right into Jake’s throat.

Jake was well-practiced at this part — he loved swallowing cum. He stayed on his knees, holding onto Hardesty’s body with his nose nestled in Hardesty’s sweat-musky crotch. His bristly pubic hair scratched Jake’s face.

“Ah! Oh! Oh shit! Ah! Ah, damn, ah damn, don’t move, boy, damn, ah, ah, ah, ah…”

Hot and creamy cum coated Jake’s throat, while Hardesty squirmed and gasped. The flavor of salty, sour juices flooded Jake’s senses, making him think of nothing but servicing Hardesty’s hot body. Even as Jake felt himself growing dizzy from lack of oxygen, he stayed right there, swallowing every drop of cum.

Then he pulled off, with a loud lip-smacking moan. He had sprayed his own wad onto the linoleum floor of the public bathroom.

Hardesty had his eyes closed. He was a little pale, and he looked like he might cry. His whole body shook. “Holy shit, goddamn…” He sunk to the ground.

“Was that your first time?”

Hardesty chuckled dryly. “Yeah, man. I was gonna lie, I was gonna pretend I did this before. But… I ain’t got the energy to lie, man. I ain’t nevuh get a blowjob like that before. You my first male and… damn, you suck like you got somethin’ to prove.”

“You have a nice dick.”

“I think you ruined it man,” he said with a sigh. He was on the ground, his pants and boxers around his ankles. “Damn, you got me on the ground in this place. It’s nasty.”

“You want help up?” Jake asked as he stood and stretched his sore knees.

“Nah, man. Lemme just… I gotta recover, man. You got a cigarette? I don’t smoke, but…” He took a cigarette from Jake, who even lit it first for him. He took a deep drag off it. Despite his words, it looked like he did smoke — he inhaled like he knew what he was doing, and he didn’t cough.

Jake moved the trash can that blocked the door. Then he wrote down his phone number and gave it to Hardesty. “Anytime you want me to rock your world again, gimme a call.”

He walked out before the bleary-eyed Hardesty could come up with an answer.

The 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?”


“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.

Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Hillbilly Heaven

Here’s a sample from Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Hillbilly Heaven, a brand-new story of twink-topping turpitude!


Lyle didn’t want to go to the party, but it was being thrown in his honor, so he couldn’t really refuse. The Dixie Arms Gang had lit a big bonfire by the time he got there, and they were all shotgunning beers — they hadn’t been allowed to drink while they were on house arrest, so now they were making up for lost time.

To Lyle, it was bittersweet. He was a lawyer who was proud of his success in getting all of the charges dropped. On the other hand, he knew they were guilty. They had beat a man so badly he spent ten months in the hospital. On the other hand, the state of Oklahoma had been unable to prove it, so he didn’t regret getting them off. That was his job, after all, and he was good at it.

Congratulations, man!

My girl’s pussy thanks ya!

Someone handed him a beer, and Lyle sipped it. He refused to chug beers, even as they chanted otherwise. He blushed as they all clapped him on the back. These men were big, strong rednecks — at best, they were rednecks, Lyle thought, they were the kind of men his mother would have uncharitably called hicks.

“Come on, man, drink it!” Hawthorn yelled, and the others echoed him. Hawthorn was the youngest, only nineteen, so he was technically still not allowed to drink even now that they were off house arrest. Despite that, he tossed an empty beer can on the empty pile and grabbed two more. He gave one to Lyle and kept the other for himself.

Chug it! Chug it!

“Hey, so… uh…” Yoder sidled up to Lyle, shooing his friends away and telling them to stop pestering him. Yoder was the leader of the Dixie Arms guys, but he was also the quietest and softest-spoken of the gang of rednecks. He had trouble being loud enough to ask his question over the hooting of the men, who were now taking turns on a three-wheeler. The engine was impossibly loud. Finally Yoder leaned in so close his handsome face was right next to Lyle’s ear. “So, uh… How gay is you?”

Lyle was just drunk enough to giggle at that question. “Very,” he said. Then without thinking about it, he kissed Yoder on the lips. Yoder shrank back amid the laughter and shocked gasps from the other rednecks. For a moment, Lyle thought someone was going to hit him, but Yoder smiled — it hadn’t been much of a kiss, after all, just a dry peck on the lips.

Yoder pointed to the only three girls at the party. They were hot, in a slutty redneck way, and they lounged in one corner as though waiting. They wore skimpy outfits that showed off their tits and ass, and they each had trashy tattoos on their lower back.

“You wanna fuck one of them? Or all three?”

Lyle shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “Not interested. Too gay for that.”

“I told you guys!” Yoder called out to the others. Most of them had moved on and were trying to get the three-wheeler unstuck from a muddy ditch it couldn’t extricate itself from, so the bonfire was suddenly quiet enough for an ordinary conversation.

A burst of chatter hit the guys around the bonfire. Lyle didn’t hear what they were saying because everyone spoke at once, but he realized they had argued over whether he was gay or bisexual, and whether he would be interested in the girls. It sounded like a few of the guys had refused to believe that he might be so gay as to refuse sex with hot chicks.

“My cousin’s gay,” Yoder said. “I could call him cuz you’d probably like fuckin’ him, he’s a cute little twink like you. But I don’t think he’s in town.”

“I don’t, uh… I mean, I don’t need sex right now,” Lyle said. “It’s not a big deal. You don’t owe me anything. You already paid me for my services.”

“I ain’t tryin’-a pay you,” Yoder said. “I’m trying-a congratulate you.” He sneered as though Lyle should have known the difference.

“Let ‘im fuck you, Yoder!” said someone else, laughing as though it was a huge joke. “You’s the one who had the most to lose.”

That was true — Yoder had faced some extra charges because he was in charge of the beatdown, and the bloody bat had been found in his trailer here in the Dixie Arms Trailer Park. But Yoder looked horrified at the thought.

“He don’t wanna fuck me,” Yoder said. “Queers don’t like rednecks. Right?”

“Uh…?” Lyle was too drunk to treat it as a reasonable question. He laughed so hard his face turned red. “No, Yoder. You’re wrong about that. I think every one of you is sexy.”

“Really? We was gonna let you swing on some dick if you wanted, but we thought you’d want some willowy queer,” Yoder said.

“You thought that, Yoder.”

Yoder shrugged. “Well, fine, pick someone to suck off,” he said. “Ain’t no one here gonna take no dick, but a mouth is a mouth, right guys?”

Lyle was astonished. He would have never thought these rednecks would agree to something like that — they had made it clear they were opposed to homosexuality. They had gotten permission to attend a anti-gay marriage rally while on house arrest; Lyle had had to argue to the judge that it was protected political activity.

Hawthorn, that young fresh-faced hillbilly, giggled and blushed. “Seven Minutes in Heaven! We should play Seven Minutes in Heaven with him!” he blurted out a few times until the others heard. He was a husky baby-faced redneck, with a literal red neck and scruffy chin like he only just gained enough facial hair to shave and was growing a beard because he finally could. “Seven Minutes in Heaven!”

What are we, middle-schoolers?

Shut the fuck up, Hawthorn.

“What’s Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Lyle had never heard of it, but it seemed that he was the only one.

Despite most of the rednecks saying no and telling Hawthorn it was a stupid game for teenagers, they all apparently accepted his idea. Lyle had no idea what he was talking about, as the rednecks all formed a tight circle near the bonfire.

Yoder explained, “So this is a game, we normally play it with just the girls, or we used to play it in high school,” he said. “It’s stupid, a kid’s game. We don’t do it no more.” But despite his words, they got ready to play, Yoder included. The girls joined the circle as well. “It’s basically Spin-the-Bottle but rather than just kiss, you have to go in the fuck-trailer-“ he pointed to an uninhabited trailer next to the bonfire, “for seven minutes.”

“And we… have sex?”

“Or whatever,” Yoder said. “You don’t have to. It ain’t a rape trailer. But if someone refuses, I’ll call him a pussy and I won’t let him fuck my females anymore.” The other guys hooted and moaned as though that punishment was beyond the pale.

Even you, Yoder?

Yoder nodded grimly. “Even me, man. It’s just a blowjob, or whatever. Nobody’s gotta bottom for the queer. Just let ‘im taste yer nut. Ain’t a big deal. We all spent a night in lockup-” He stopped because the other guys clapped and coughed over him as though they had all promised not to speak of whatever had happened there.

Someone put the bottle in Lyle’s hand. If he weren’t tipsy, he would have declined — Lyle wasn’t into anonymous sex, and he could get in trouble with the Bar Association for having sex with a client, even a former client. But he spun the bottle anyway.

Not me! Not me!

Hey, after the queer, let’s keep going, we got three girls, that’s nine holes to fill!

It almost landed on one of the girls, but just barely managed to rotate to the next person in the circle. Hawthorn. Lyle’s heart started pounding — if he had thought rationally about it, Hawthorn would be exactly whom he would have picked. But this was all happening so fast that Lyle didn’t even think about his ideal first choice before it was all done.

“Makes sense, it was your idea,” Yoder said over the hooting laughter. The others laughed and catcalled at Hawthorn, who blushed beet-red. Somebody smacked him on the ass as he walked towards the trailer. He had a nice phat ass, and his cheeks rippled as his friends tapped him on the ass. He bristled like he was uncomfortable with it, but didn’t complain.

“I don’t even care, I’ll let some queer swing on my dick,” Hawthorn said. He grabbed his overflowing crotch-bulge as he stood in the threshold of the trailer, then entered. His confidence disappeared entirely once he was in the trailer. He made eye contact with Lyle and winced as though it was painful.

Hawthorn was a tall, beefy young man, with broad shoulders and a barrel-shaped body. He had been a linebacker on his high school football team. He had peachfuzz on his cheek and his chest — visible under the wifebeater he wore — and a thick mop of blond hair on his head. He had a powerful body beneath his layer of padding, which was just thick enough. He had the physique of an athlete who had never watched what he ate, so his perfect frame was concealed by a layer of sexy plumpness. He smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant, a scent that made Lyle’s dick get hard in his pants.

My Gigolo Is a Tongan Prince!

Here’s a sample chapter from My Gigolo Is a Tongan Prince!, a new story by Josephine Stentorian!


Sally’s twenty-fifth birthday was anticlimactic. She hadn’t been expecting anything, of course, she didn’t throw herself a party or even remind anyone her birthday was coming up. She didn’t have any surviving family except one shitty brother whom she never expected to do anything except maybe send her a gift certificate in the mail, which as it turned out, he didn’t do.

The only really important thing to happen that day was that Sally’s trust fund was unlocked. She had been allowed to access it only for certain approved needs before her twenty-fifth birthday — if she had gotten an MBA, she could have had it earlier, but Sally was stubborn and insisted on the art history degree she had always wanted.

And now all that money was hers. It was more than a hundred million dollars last time she calculated the cash equivalent (of course it was mostly tied up in long-term financial instruments, so there was no clear way to count an exact figure, since that depended on when and how the money was turned into cash — Sally had always been financially illiterate). She was determined not to let it change her. That was why she refused to change her major no matter how much her father pleaded. He had always said he didn’t want his money to change her life; that meant she should go for what would make her happy, not him. He never quite saw it that way.

Being a museum curator would make her happy. She had never found a job at a museum, of course — they mostly required many years of internship, which she hadn’t been able to stomach. It had occurred to her, of course, that she would never have been free enough and confident enough to pursue this course of study if it weren’t for the guaranteed windfall when she was twenty-five. If she didn’t have that money waiting for her, she’d have had to find a better-paying career option.

But that wasn’t an issue now, and she was glad for it. She had the money and didn’t even intend to use it for anything substantial. Her first big expense, just two days after the money was unlocked, was not even for her at all.

That seemed like a good way to start, she thought, spending the money on someone else. It wasn’t exactly a charity, but it was nice and it wouldn’t mainly benefit her: a stripper. Sally paid for the stripper for her friend Alyssa’s bachelorette party. Sally didn’t even care if there was a stripper, but she didn’t mind shelling out a few hundred dollars for her friend’s once-in-a-lifetime party.

She was upstairs smoking weed with her gay friend Rick when the doorbell rang. Her spine shuddered at the realization she was about to see a sexy man and would certainly get at least one lapdance from him. She might even touch his cock. This wasn’t news, of course, but all of her thinking on the matter had been about that money and how good it was that she wasn’t spending it on herself. She hadn’t really pictured herself seeing, and presumably touching, him until she heard the doorbell chime.

Only now, Sally thought, maybe she was spending it on herself after all. She couldn’t deny that a part of her had been looking forward to the stripper. She hurriedly told Rick she was stoned enough, and scurried downstairs. He agreed and followed — he was looking forward to the stripper as well.

Alyssa had always had a thing for Latin guys. She was denying it strenuously since she had gotten engaged to a white man, but Sally and Alyssa had been best friends for years, and Sally knew perfectly well what she found sexy.

And so she had hired a Latin male stripper. By the time she got downstairs, he was already dancing and had taken off a shirt, revealing a powerful brown chest.

Was he Latin? Sally had assumed as much because he looked Latino in the thumbnail on the website, and his stripper name was Big Brown. But his skin looked a bit browner than Hispanic skin, and his hair was curly in an almost Jewish or Arab manner; his face was broad, slightly slant-eyed. Was he Filipino? Mixed-race? He didn’t look un-Latino, she thought, but he didn’t exactly look Latino either.

Probably mixed race, she thought. In any case, it would be impolite to ask at this point, and it didn’t matter, Alyssa was enjoying the first lapdance of the evening.

The party droned on. Once the initial excitement wore off, Sally wasn’t having as good of a time as she had hoped, but Alyssa was, and that was what mattered. Unfortunately, for Alyssa, having a good time meant getting drunk; so she was passing out and falling over before nine o’clock in the evening. Sally didn’t know most of Alyssa’s other friends, and she sat alone most of the evening.

It seemed at first as though that might ruin the party. Once the bachelorette was put to bed, was there any point to a bachelorette party? Sally wasn’t sure, but it seemed Big Brown had some thoughts on the matter.

He kept on dancing, giving lap-dances and running out to his car to get a different costume he could strip off (an American Indian leather skirt and headdress, which just made his racial background more confusing).  The other girls were into it, and Sally pretended to be as well.

Finally it was her turn for a lapdance. Sally blushed and submitted, awkwardly at first. He was ungodly sexy, with a foppish head of untamed hair, a wide body brimming with muscles, and a kind smile that made Sally want to dance with him all night long.

It was against the rules to touch strippers; Sally knew that, but some of the other women had done it, and Big Brown hadn’t complained. She didn’t think about it, she just wrapped her hands around his big, firm asscheeks as they bounced up and down in front of her. Her heart thumped. The drone of the party faded away and blood pumped through her veins like she had just done a line of coke.

She squealed in delight as she realized she liked it — she had never been into male asses, no matter what they looked like. Sure some guys had notably ugly butts, but no one had a sexy ass, not really, she thought, until she laid her hands on Big Brown’s shaking ass.

One of her hands had crept around to his front. Did she really do that? Or did he guide her hands? She didn’t remember doing it herself, but she squealed again just the same as her hand wrapped around his erect cockshaft.

The other girls howled with laughter and mocking. They had been daring each other to stroke his dick all night, but most had barely touched it at all.

The song ended, and it wasn’t immediately replaced — Sally heard something dim, like the next song began with a very quiet intro that couldn’t be heard with the current volume settings. A grim silence fell over the room, as everyone watched Sally jacking Big Brown off.

“You ready to squeeze one out?” he asked.

Did she? Was she going to give some strange guy a handjob in front of a crowd of mostly strangers? That sure didn’t seem like her, Sally thought, but she wanted more than anything not to take her hand away.

His whole body writhed as though it took every muscle to respond to her hand on his dick. He shook and moaned, and in the silence of the music, his deep voice echoed.

He did have an accent, a lilting yet masculine tone — she could even hear it in his moan now that their was no music to cover it up. It wasn’t Latino, nor Middle-Eastern. Greek? Filipino was still possible, she thought. He had ornate tribal tattoos running up and down his trunk-like thicks, and she was mesmerized as his dick spasmed between her fingers. He grunted.

His muscles writhed as he moaned and reached orgasm; she didn’t stop, even as his creamy cum dripped over her fingers and down her wrist. Again his entire body shook, and his knees went weak. His toes curled. The crowd of women burst into cheers.

“Oh, god, that was so hot,” she said, blushing intensely. Her fingers massaged up his toned six-pack and bulging chest, smearing his semen over him. Without thinking about it, Sally added, “You’re such a sexy little papi.”

A new song started up. It was a catchy dance tune, and in no time the drunk girls had forgotten about the handjob, and were dancing with each other.

He smiled. “How did such a bunch of sexy ladies become friends? That never happens, where’s the ugly girls you always hang around with?” He flashed a big toothy grin. . He kissed her on the cheek and said, “Damn, mamacita, you gotta let me clean up. I still got a couple hours left to work.”

“Mamacita…” she repeated as she stood up, and he wiped himself off with a towel. He hadn’t said that as though it was a word he really knew. “Are you actually Latino?”

He shook his head. “I just play one. I am Tongan.”

Sally thought that sounded familiar, but couldn’t place what it meant. Was it an African country? He was dark-skinned, but he certainly didn’t look African. Her ignorance must have been obvious on her face.

“Tonga, it is a small kingdom in the Pacific,” he said. He smiled. “I am Polynesian.”

Filthy Alpha Male Worship: The Turkish Muslim Boxer

This is a sample chapter from Filthy Alpha Male Worship: The Turkish Muslim Boxer!

When Mark applied for the job, he had no idea what it entailed. As far as he knew, it would just be another massage gig, probably some low-rent day spa for women with delusions of class.

But then the interview was in a nondescript office, and the hiring officer simply said he wasn’t at liberty to discuss the details until a candidate was chosen. It all seemed needlessly mysterious for a masseur gig. When the interview was over, Mark was positive he didn’t get the job.

He was told to go to the Irontop Gym in Brighton Beach, and that made him a little nervous. He had never been there, but it was in a rough neighborhood dominated by Russians and Muslim Asians. As an openly gay man, he knew better than to hang around anti-gay communities like them.

But he needed the job, and he figured he could act straight enough for now, to see what it would really be like. He might not have to go that gym every day, maybe it was sort of a roving masseur kind-of thing. So he took the subway to Coney Island and followed the directions to the Irontop Gym.

The gym was indeed dominated by Russians, with a few black men, whites and Turks scattered about, in small groups mostly clustered with their own race. The smell of sweat and testosterone made it hard for Mark to hide his flamboyance, and he saw a few hostile stares that made him uneasy. Most of the men were either shirtless or wore sleeveless tank tops that showed off their muscles and the body hair peaking through the clothes. Despite his anxiety, Mark was intensely aroused. He hoped he’d have some time recompose himself before he had to give anyone a massage.

He was told to see the officer manager, who gruffly said hello and introduced himself as Turkmen Hakam. He spoke English well, with a faint British accent. “I am manager for a boxer you may have heard of,” he said. He smiling at Mark approvingly. “His name is Kemal Kudret. He is Turkish.”

“I don’t really follow boxing,” Mark said, then realizing it could only help him keep the job, added, “But I know I’ve heard of him. He’s pretty famous, right?”

“Indeed. He is pretty famous,” Mr. Hakam said. “He works very hard, every day, and he is not as young as he used to be. He is often in need of massage. He has… sore limbs.”

“I’d be glad to help out.”

“I will want you to attend primarily to him, but I must hire you from this Gym; he can not afford to hire you personally. I will be hiring you for the Gym. You will work here full-time, and if Kemal does not need you, you may ‘service’ any member here.”

The way he said that made Mark wonder exactly what he meant — Mr. Hakam had stressed the word service as though he was expecting something more than a massage. He liked the pay, and he liked massaging some hot men for a change, rather than middle-aged divorcées. He hoped that Kemal wouldn’t be homophobic.

After that, he got a quick tour of the facilities and was shown to the massage room, where he would be working. Mr. Hakam told him that Kemal would be finished training soon, and would need a massage then.

Mark sat down and took a deep breath. He had been so desperate for a job he barely gave it any consideration before accepting — not that he had known anything about it before it was offered. Now he was pleasantly optimistic that he would enjoy the job, even if he would not doubt not make any real friends here. He had the feeling all of the boxers out there training knew he was gay.

Kemal came in to the room silently, almost cat-like in his quiet. He looked deep into Mark’s eyes as though trying to peer into his soul, then hopped up on the massage table.

“Hi, my name is Mark-“

He scoffed. His thick bear-like chest was covered in sweat, the smell of his body odor filling the room. Kemal’s scent was musty and earthy, and it was made Mark even more horny.

He massaged deeply into Kemal’s shoulders, calling to mind his training as he looked for trouble spots. He tried to remain professional, or close to it — Kemal was a real client in need of genuine, medical massage.

Kemal pulled his shorts down, revealing a jockstrap bursting with pubic hair and cockflesh. Mark licked his lips. The man was extraordinarily hairy, which ordinarily Mark would consider a turn-off — he liked mild to moderate body hair, but that was it. Kemal’s burly body, however, managed to pull it off.

“I have been in prison,” Kemal said in a thick Turkish accent. It sounded like he needed to think very long and hard about every English word before he said it.

“Okay,” Mark said, not sure if that was intended as a threat or something else.

“I am okay with faggots,” Kemal said.


Kemal pulled his cock out of his jockstrap and gave it a few strokes. “You massage me?”

Mark moved down to his cock without a moment’s hesitation. He wrapped one hand around it. Did he want a blowjob? He had asked for a massage, and Mark didn’t want to do something to make him uncomfortable. He might both get fired and not be allowed to ever touch this cock again, and Mark didn’t want to risk that.

He wrapped his hand around Kemal’s cock and stroked it. Kemal moaned as though he had never been touched before. His whole body jerked.

“My coach does not let me cum before a match,” Kemal said. “I have not cum in a week.”

“Poor baby,” Mark said. His dick got hard between Mark’s fingers. Mark lowered his head and licked Kemal’s nipple, sweat dripping down his threat. Kemal winced at the touch of Mark’s tongue, but he didn’t respond or move away; his pecs flexed once, then relaxed. Mark shuddered, using one hand to stroke himself off as well.

Did Kemal want a blowjob? He looked like he was only asking for a handjob, but Mark wanted to push the envelope. Still, Kemal was a dangerous, Muslim, straight ex-con. Mark decided to pursue a safe course of action by not going any farther than Kemal initiated.

Kemal’s nipples got hard in his mouth, and he lifted his arms, revealing a thick waft of body odor. Mark moaned at the smell and moved his face down into Kemal’s armpits. The sweat dripped in rivulets down Mark’s throat, making him gurgle.

He unexpectedly shot his own load into his shorts — Mark had been so focused on the handjob he was giving Kemal that he barely noticed his own hand on his own shaft. Kemal was entirely self-centered and didn’t seem to notice; he put his hairy Turkish hands behind his head, so the scent from both of his armpits wafted into Mark’s nostrils.

Kemal bucked, his whole body tensing and relaxing all at once. Mark thought he was going to cum right then, but Kemal seemed to be trying to delay it. Mark didn’t mind, he loved the feel of Kemal’s cockskin sliding up and down the shaft with his hand.

A load flew from Kemal’s cock, spraying semen across his own belly. Mark got some of it on his face and licked every drop he could, then licked the rest off Kemal’s hairy torso. His barrel chest heaved as he regathered his breath.

“Thank you, faggot,” Kemal said. He gently but firmly pushed Mark away, then stood and stretched both his legs. He turned back around to Mark and said, “You should not be a faggot. It is great sin.” Then he shrugged and walked away.

The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel

This is a sample chapter from The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel, a new All-Strong League story by Randall Eisenhorn.

Late night shifts at the Whiteland Hotel were slow and boring. Adrian didn’t mind it, because he could watch TV and goof off on the Internet, which is realistically what he would have been doing at home. But still, the interminable quiet was dreadful, alleviated only by the occasional pandemonium of a drunken group of hotel guests coming back to their room. It was not usually an exciting job, but it had some perks.

“Hey hombre, you speak English?” asked a man’s deep voice. Adrian was startled to see an almost-naked man there. He was a barrel-chested semi-pro football player who had checked in a couple hours before, in advance of a game tomorrow. He stood there in plain white boxers from which a few tantalizing pubic hairs poked through, and he swayed on drunken legs.

Adrian was only half-Latino, but he looked Hispanic enough that he was used to being asked if he spoke English — a lot of the Whiteland Hotel’s staff were Spanish-only, after all. “Yes, sir. I checked you in when you got here, Mr. Walters.”

He leaned in close and peered at Adrian as though checking to see if he was lying. The man, Lloyd Walters was his name, scratched his balls through his boxers. For a moment his thick cock was outlined by the dingy fabric of his shorts, and Adrian’s heart raced as he pictured this brutish jock naked. Lloyd’s rancid breath was beer-soaked and hot. He produced a twenty dollar bill and gave it to Adrian.

“Go get me a hamburger. Can you do that? Or is there one that delivers?”

“I can arrange for a delivery,” Adrian said, glad that his connection at the scuzzy twenty-four hour hamburger joint across town finally came in handy.

“Good. Get me the biggest hamburger they got and everything they put on it,” Lloyd said carefully, as though describing brain surgery, “But not any kind of mushrooms. And make it rare.”


“No, wait… Is this a nice place?”

“Well… It’s the only place that’s open this late, sir.”

“Then medium-rare. I can’t be shitting all over the place at the game tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.”

Lloyd sauntered back into his room then, and after a few minutes, two cheap floozies crept out the door. Their just-fucked hair made it obvious what had happened; they giggled quietly, whispering, no doubt bragging about how they had just fucked a football pro (or semipro, close enough, Adrian thought).

Adrian’s friend arrived soon after that, with a bag containing the greasy hamburger. Adrian gave him a tip and then brought the food to Lloyd’s room. He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder.

“Come in!”

Adrian walked in to see a stark naked Lloyd, sitting on the bed. He was sweaty and relaxed, sprawled out on the bare mattress. His limp cock was still moist, plastered to his thigh and gleaming in the dim light. The sheets and blankets were in a ball on the floor.

The smell of the hamburger aroused Lloyd from his soporific, drunken daze, and he took the bag from Adrian. He nodded to the sheets and blankets. “Can I get some clean sheets brought in?”

Adrian nodded. “Sure.”

“You might wanna… get rid of those,” Lloyd said. “Both those girls was anal virgins, if you get my drift.”

Adrian saw the moist sheets dotted with blood, and he nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walters. I’ll send the cleaning staff right in.”

“They’s prolly women, right? I should put some drawers on.”

Adrian hesitated. “They would probably prefer it, sir.”

“Ain’t you polite?” Lloyd grinned. “Cleaning staff hot?”

“Eh… They are all older Mexican women, sir. The youngest is still a grandmother. They have a… steely handsomeness, but I’m not sure they would appeal to you,” Adrian said. “Didn’t you just…?” he nodded towards the door.

“We finished like an hour ago, so I’m ‘bout ready for another go-‘round” Lloyd said. “And they barely sucked my dick at all. Silly little college brats can’t suck cock worth a damn.”

“I see. Well, I do not think the cleaning staff will be interested,” Adrian said.

“You look like you got nice cock-sucking lips there,” Lloyd said.

Adrian was so shocked he didn’t have a response. He had been propositioned by straight bucks here at the Whiteland Hotel before, that part wasn’t new, but a semipro football jock like Lloyd? That was a first, especially since he had just fucked — normally straight guys were only interested when they were so horny they didn’t care where they stuck their cock. But no matter how virile he was, Lloyd couldn’t be that horny again just an hour after sex. “Yep,” Adrian said, finally forming a word then blushing at how stupid he sounded.

“You got something to do with those lips?”

Adrian dropped to his knees and kneeled in front of the bed. Lloyd leaned back on some pillows he had propped up, and then grabbed for the hamburger bag. He took it out and the cloyingly greasy smell filled the room.

Lloyd opened his bathrobe, his heavy cock dangling between his legs. It smelled delicious — especially with the odor of beef on top, Adrian thought, giving it a tantalizing meatiness. He opened his mouth and sucked it down to the root, determined to give Lloyd a blowjob he’d remember for a long time. The flavor of his stale sweat and the remnants of his heterosexual fucking overwhelmed Adrian’s senses as he slathered his tongue up and down the shaft.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Lloyd said. He groaned deeply then turned the TV on to Cinemax, where softcore lesbian porn was playing. He belched loudly. “Damn, I should take you with me to away games. Call you my personal ball boy.”

Adrian’s tongue slathered up and down his shaft as he wished Lloyd was serious, but knew he wasn’t. Straight guys said that kind of thing a lot when their cock was in Adrian’s mouth, but they always changed their mind once their balls were drained. Lloyd took a big bite from his hamburger, as Adrian moved down to his balls.

He knew girls always hated sucking balls, but he loved them, especially when they were swollen like Lloyd’s, and dripping with the remains of his wild rutting earlier. Adrian could taste layers of sweat and feminine lotion still trapped in the hairs of his scrotum.

Moving back to the shaft, Adrian deep-throated his cock. Lloyd gripped Adrian’s ears tight, putting his hamburger down so he could use both grease-slickened hands. He pushed his dick all the way down Adrian’s throat and held it there as he groaned.

Cum came pouring out of his cock with such an uninterrupted stream it was as though he was pissing down Adrian’s gullet. Lloyd’s whole body bucked as his chest and neck turned reddish. Adrian managed to swallow almost every drop of the pearly sweet cum. Lloyd grunted, sounding like a bodybuilder working hard on his biceps, and his balls slapped against Adrian’s chin.

“Oh fuck yeah, you got a comment card or some shit?” Lloyd said. “I’m gonna tell the manager you’re good at your job.”

“You’ll be given an evaluation form when you check out sir,” Adrian said breathlessly as he wiped cum from his lips. He didn’t want to waste any. “I’m glad I could make your stay at the Whiteland Hotel more pleasing. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

Spiritstrong Dojo Downlow

This is a sample chapter from Spiritstrong Dojo Downlow, the new story by Rick Mann!
Ray did not like the Spiritstrong Dojo’s pre-match tradition. He could have said no, like some did, but he wanted to fit in. He knew he’d be perceived as eccentric and unsociable if he refused. Maybe they were even right that it helped promote teamwork and brotherhood, though he doubted it. He didn’t even especially want to feel a sense of brotherhood — this wasn’t medieval Japan, he didn’t need to be blood brothers with the men he trained with. He planned on moving out of Baltimore in a year or two anyway. But still, he didn’t want to make waves, so he agreed to participate in the traditional pre-match circlejerk.

Before his match, he showed up early. The other older, experienced warriors were already there in the training room, stretching and doing some light warmup exercises. He quickly jumped in right alongside them, wanting to be perceived as their equal, so he worked out with them without a moment’s hesitation.

“You ready to warm up?” asked Dim-Lao, a handsome Chinese man whom Ray had always hated. He had a cocky grin and broad shoulders, with the toned torso of a private school lacrosse player, which was exactly what he had been. Dim-Lao was the one who insisted most strongly on the Spiritstrong pre-match tradition; he had seen its effects firsthand back in China, where he said he and his dojo-brothers had fought against the Communists before fleeing to America. Ray didn’t know if that was just bluster or not, but he had a feeling there was an inkling of truth to it. In any case, Dim-Lao definitely saw brotherhood as an integral goal of the Spiritstrong Dojo’s training program.

Ray sighed. “Yeah, fine. I really don’t see this helping though, Dim-Lao. It doesn’t sound like a real tradition either. It just sounds gay.”

“It’s not gay, shut up,” Dim-Lao said. “It promotes brotherhood and teamwork.”

“Does telling me to shut up promote teamwork too?”

“Obedience is an important part as well.,” Dim-Lao said as he walked into the locker room and Ray followed. “You should do as your elders and betters tell you, for we are… elder and better. You are young and foolish.”

There were twelve guys in the locker room, arranged in a circle. Dim-Lao and Ray joined the others, and Ray’s heart started pounding. He didn’t even think this was normal — he looked it up online and found no references to circlejerking in China — none! Not in any context — so why didn’t he refuse? At least part of the reason was that Ray had a big dick he liked to show off, and he knew if he refused, he’d be laughed at forever. They’d accuse him of refusing because his dick didn’t work. Dim-Lao wouldn’t, of course, but it would be obvious he was thinking it; the others, the Americans like Todd and Jim, would surely never let him live it down.

Ray was glad to be standing next to Dim-Lao, meaning that someone he knew well would be touching his cock. He opened up his robes and dropped his boxers just as everyone else did. They all nervously laughed at the sight of fourteen limp cocks. For two of them, this was possibly brand new; they were new to the Spiritstrong Dojo, and Ray assumed, circlejerks in general. But both of the new guys, Paul and Tom, seemed to be eager to join in.

The man to Ray’s right was Tim, a tall and muscle-bound Chinese immigrant (whose real name, Ray recalled, was Ming, but went by Tim in America). Everyone else had already started stroking, and Ray realized he was looking conspicuous for not having begun yet. He nervously wrapped his hand around Tim’s thick shaft.

Tim’s cock was fleshy and clammy, and it jerked to half-hard attention the moment Ray moved his hand up and down. He had been in a few circlejerks before — ever since he began coming to the Spiritstrong Dojo regularly — but it never got less uncomfortable or disgusting for him, no matter how often he did it.

This wasn’t sexy, and Ray really wished he could just jack himself off. But as he wondered why they were doing this while looking over the uncomfortable, awkward faces of his fellow martial artists, he realized that he did feel closer to them; they were all going through something difficult together, and even if he didn’t know all of their names, he felt like he knew each one intimately.

Ray was hard in Dim-Lao’s hand, and once he got in the swing of stroking, Ray began leaking precum. He was surprised that Dim-Lao didn’t seem to notice, and continued to expertly jack Ray’s rod. The room soon quieted down and filled with the scent of semen.

The first man finished, a young Taiwanese-American who nervously blushed at how quickly he came. He murmured something about how he hadn’t nutted in awhile just before shooting a thick load in the center of the room. That acrid cotton smell grew even stronger in Ray’s nostrils. The Taiwanese guy was followed by another, then another.

As always, Ray prayed that he wouldn’t be last. He didn’t want to look like a pussy. Dim-Lao came, stopping his stroking for a few seconds while he shot a wad of creamy load onto the floor in the center of the locker room. He closed his eyes and flexed his tight muscles as he ejaculated, and he looked so proud and noble there that Ray almost felt an urge to kiss him.

Before he knew it, they were down to just Ray and Tim, standing next to each other and jacking each other off. Ray felt his own orgasm coming soon, and he was glad that meant he wasn’t going to be last.

But then Tim shot a load without warning. He moaned out a few incomprehensible Chinese syllables, then spewed wad after wad of semen over Ray’s fingers. Sticky cum spread over his hand, and his dick went limp in disgust.

Tim’s ropy muscles heaved as he recovered from his orgasm. Since the circle now consisted of only one person, Ray, there was no one else to take Tim’s place, and he had to continue jacking Ray off. Again, Ray wished he could just jack himself off, but it was too late for that.

Everyone watched him intently. Ray thought for sure it wouldn’t happen, but somehow Tim’s hand managed to get him hard again. Despite his anxiety, he managed to grow to full erection soon enough.

Thinking of women in his mind, Ray felt an orgasm imminently. He bucked his hips, and heard snorting laughter from the other guys watching him. Relief flooded over him as did bliss, and he shuddered at the potency of his orgasm.

His cum landed on the soggy towel someone had placed in the center of the room, where it sat in a cummy puddle. For a moment, Ray thought they were going to make him lick the towel, as that seemed like something they might do if they thought of it, but luckily the most respected fighters in the circle had already walked away,

Everyone who remained applauded sarcastically as he finished his orgasm, and Ray blushed. He felt awkward, but he had to admit, he also felt a lot closer to the other guys.