Tag Archives: mandingo

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.”

Mandingo Meat: Plantation Lust

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Howdy,” David said when he got near.

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

“My name is David Turnbull.”


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

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

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

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

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

“You serious?”

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

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

“Oh, well-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, Walter!

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

“Howdy, Mistuh Salford!”

What are you doin’, you lazy bastard?!

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

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

“Yes, suh, Mistuh Salford.”

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t. You didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, god damn…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Why ain’t ya wearin’ clothes, boy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get to work!

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

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

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

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

Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, uh… hi.”

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

“Oh. Thanks. My mom came up with it.”

“Were you conceived at a lake?”

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

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

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

“So do you really want a blowjob?”

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

“Who? What?”

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

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

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

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

“You can treat me like that.”

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

“What is going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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


“Do you want to do it?”

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

“You’re just horny?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

“You let them do it?”

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

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

“Oh, sorry, does that hurt?”

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

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

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

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

“You have a girl?”

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

“She doesn’t do anal?”

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

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

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, nigga.”

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

“Just go cut someone’s hair!”

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.

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.”


“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.”


“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?”


“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.”


“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.”

Str8 Thugs at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of Str8 Thugs at the City Barbershop, a new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s about one sexy twink who loves to service the black gangstas and gangbangers of the City Barbershop!

Harvey was just about done for the night when there was a loud knock on the door. The City Barbershop of Wilmington, Delaware was closed, so he didn’t want to answer it. He had closed the shop tonight, so he had stayed late to count the register, clean up and get the shop ready for tomorrow morning. Unlike virtually all of the other barbers here, Harvey actually did everything he was supposed to when he closed. He didn’t just leave it for the next day’s crew to do in the morning.

He also locked the door strictly at ten o’clock. If there were still customers in the shop — there weren’t today — he’d finish their haircuts, but he didn’t let anyone in after ten.

Now he was in the backroom, having just finished counting the register when he heard that insistent pounding on the front door. He hurriedly shoved the money into the safe just in case, then peered into the frontroom. He didn’t want whoever it was outside to know he was here, so he could still pretend the shop was empty.

Yo! Hey! Theo! Franklin! You two in there?!

There was loud, raucous laughter, a group of niggas. They sounded like thugs, which made Harvey nervous. Was he about to be robbed? He was a thin gay twink, one of several who worked here at the City Barbershop. This shop was known for a special tradition — straight black men could come here for a quick blowjob on the downlow, no questions asked. Harvey was still new so he had only sucked off a few swaggering sexy thugs, but he was well familiar with the tradition. It was half the reason he wanted to work here.

Theo and Franklin were the other two gay guys here. They had gone home hours ago. They were engaged to be married, but they both still sucked off straight guys — it wasn’t cheating, it seemed, if it happened at the City Barbershop.

A part of Harvey was disappointed that the laughing men weren’t asking for him. He knew it was just because he was new. If they were really here for a blowjob — which is what their nervous bravado and laughter suggested — they wouldn’t care too much who did the sucking. They just mentioned Theo and Franklin because they had worked here for a long time, while Harvey was still new.

Hey! I see you, nigga!

It’s that new nigga. What’s ‘is name?

Harvey! Hey Harvey, let us in! You wanna swing on this dick?

Harvey shivered. He went out into the front and pretended like he had only just now heard the men. There were five of them. One was Reggie — he was the one who had knocked — and the other four gripped a shirtless thug whom Harvey didn’t know. The shirtless thug writhed and smiled like he didn’t really want to be here but didn’t want to fight back either.

He opened the door, and they all pushed in. It was chilly out, cold enough that it was strange for the one thug to be shirtless. That was when Harvey noticed the tattoo on his belly. The shirtless man had the word NINE tattooed in an arc on the top left side of his belly, like the left half of the classic THUG LIFE tattoo. The skin around the E was reddish and flaky — that was a new tattoo.

“Yo nigga, this here is Varshawn. You like him?” Reggie asked. Everyone except Varshawn chuckled. Varshawn sighed and rolled his eyes. The muscles of his bare chest writhed. Reggie patted his belly, and Varshawn writhed, grimacing because of the sensitive tattoo flesh. “Huh? You think he’s hot?”

“Uh… Yeah, I guess so,” Harvey said. He blushed and put his hands on his hips.

He ain’t nevuh gotten a blowjob from a nigga.

He say he can’t get hard that way.

“I can’t,” Varshawn said. He alone sounded weak and confident. “I’m a Christian nigga. We don’t do that in Richmond.”

I know that is bullshit.

“You gonna blow a big ol’ nut, Varshawn,” Reggie said. He grinned. “Varshawn here was just gettin’ a tattoo and he sayin’ he can’t get hard wit’ a nigga on his dick. We said we could prove that ain’t true. You suck dick, right? You suck good. I was gonna ask for Theo, I know he can suck the foreskin off a Jamaican, nigga.”

These men were all Nine Tats. That was a widespread street gang all of whom got the same tattoo, the words NINE TATS tattooed in an arc on their upper belly, with an underline beneath it. Only they didn’t get the entire tattoo at once — every time they committed some act to prove their devotion to the gang, they got a new letter tattooed on. Only the toughest and highest-ranking thugs ever got all eight letters and the underline, which was the final step. None of the men here had the underline, or even all eight letters. Reggie had NINE TA, and he was the most powerful gangbanger in Wilmington that Harvey knew of.

Someone undid Varshawn’s belt and his loose-sagging jeans fell to the ground Varshawn smiled nervously. His friends held onto his elbows like they were forcing him into it, though neither actually gripped him, so Varshawn could have walked away if he wanted to. They led him into the shop, the bell on the door tinkling as it swung shut.

Harvey was so surprised and aroused that he didn’t even think about shutting the curtains of the shop before he sunk to his knees. He was about to suck dick in full view of everyone walking or driving by, on one of the busiest streets in Wilmington. Luckily Reggie thought of that before Harvey got too far. He closed the curtain and made sure the door was locked. Harvey pulled down Varshawn’s boxers to reveal a thick, plump brown cock, dangling between his legs. It was as limp as could be.

“Ah, man, ah… You really gonna make a nigga do this?” Varshawn asked. He had a big nervous grin on his face, and he couldn’t stop laughing. He covered his face with one hand. His eyes kept darting between Reggie and his other niggas, who all chuckled along with him.

Harvey stuck his tongue out and licked Varshawn’s meat from tip to root. That sent a shudder of pleasure up Varshawn’s spine, and he stopped laughing for just a moment, like he was surprised that it didn’t hurt.


Then Harvey put the tip in his mouth, just the first inch or so, and he loudly suckled as though he was trying to suck the end of Varshawn’s cock right off. The other niggas had all suggested Harvey might not be as good of a cocksucker as Theo, so Harvey wanted to prove they were wrong. Whatever happened here was going to be the subject of rumors and gossip for months to come, so it was likely to cement his reputation. Varshawn writhed, and his dick jerked.

There it goes, nigga!

You gettin’ hard.

Tol’ you it’d happen, nigga!

Harvey deep-throated it, letting that entire cock slide down his throat. He got almost the whole thing in there before gagging forced him to stop, and the shaft began to straighten and stiffen up. Varshawn watched with wide, horrified eyes like a mad scientist seeing his creation run amok. He kept his arms firmly away from Harvey, unwilling to touch him though that had the result of forcing Varshawn’s hands to grip his niggas, who still held him in place. So to avoid touching a gay man, Harvey, Varshawn groped the well-muscled, tattooed bodies of his fellow gangbangers. He didn’t seem to notice the irony.

The cock pulsating in his mouth tasted of fine coffee and cocoa butter, a taste that Harvey adored. He forced himself to keep that entire cock in his throat for as long as he could manage, despite his choking and sputtering, because he wanted to shock Varshawn with how good his blowjob was.

You likin’ it now, nigga!

That plan apparently succeeded. Varshawn’s giggling turned into surprised murmuring, and Varshawn writhed like he was epileptic. His niggas’ held him just tightly enough that he would have to pull hard to get away, but he remained free to go anytime.

He just didn’t want to go, that much was clear. His nervous smile turned more and more aroused, like he was forgetting his initial reluctance. His dick throbbed in Harvey’s mouth, his sour-sweet precum flowing down Harvey’s throat.

Reggie sidled up closer to Varshawn, who didn’t notice because his eyes were closed. The other niggas hushed their own giggling like schoolchildren. Reggie waited until he was so close he nearly kissed Varshawn, then he said, “Whatchoo think, nigga?”

Varshawn’s eyes popped open and he yelped. He blushed as they all laughed. Varshawn was obviously a lot less comfortable with man-on-man contact than the others, and he avoided looking at Reggie. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes again.

“Huh? You scared of gays, nigga? Huh? You wanna be a thug, right? You wanna join us? You gonna end up doin’ a lot worse than gettin’ sum head from a nigga. Can you handle it? Huh? Say somethin’, nigga.”

Varshawn gulped. “Uh… Yeah… I can handle it. I’m doin’ it, ain’t I?”

“Open yo’ eyes, nigga.”

Varshawn did so. Reggie was still right there, so close his breath condensed on Varshawn’s cheeks. Reggie placed one hand lightly on Varshawn’s belly, which made Varshawn’s entire body ripple like he was ticklish.

Despite Varshawn’s obvious embarrassment, his dick just got harder and harder. Precum dripped in great gobs down Harvey’s throat. He loved the flavor of precum, especially in fresh cocks that hadn’t bust any time recently. He could tell that was half the reason Varshawn had gotten hard so quickly — he was horny.

“You gonna nut, nigga?” Reggie asked, laughing when his voice made Varshawn writhe.

Varshawn didn’t answer. He just wrinkled his nose and flexed his hips to shove his dick down Harvey’s throat. His hands still flailed at his side, instinctively gripping Reggie’s broad shoulders and rippling chest muscles. Varshawn didn’t even seem to notice what his hands were doing.

Fill that nigga up!

Yeah, suck that shit, suck it, damn…

Finally Harvey felt Varshawn’s dick pulsating with the power of his orgasm. He gasped and clawed at his niggas’ bodies all around him, while Harvey gulped down wad after wad of creamy cum.

There he goes!

His climax looked almost painful. He contorted, ripping himself away from the niggas who had been holding onto his arms and shoulders. He grunted. He bit his lip, sending an impossibly copious load of cum into Harvey’s stomach.

Harvey was focused on the taste and feel of cum inside his belly, so he didn’t see Reggie kiss Varshawn. It was just a quick, chaste peck on the lips, clearly an awkward attempt to freak Varshawn out. As soon as it happened, they all burst into cheers and laughter as Varshawn barked, squirmed and pulled his head away. Harvey kept on draining the last of his cum while Varshawn tried to pretend he wasn’t upset by the kiss.

“You squeamish as shit, nigga,” Reggie said. “You gonna have to work on that.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded as Varshawn looked away. He even wiped his lips off like Reggie might have contaminated him.

Eventually it was all done. Varshawn was limp and sweaty, sitting in a barber’s chair. Harvey kept sucking until Varshawn pushed him away — Harvey liked doing that because he loved the feel of a rubbery cum-drained cock limply throbbing in his throat.

“Damn, nigga, you like a vacuum cleaner and shit…” Varshawn said with a laugh. He exchanged awkward glances with the other niggas. He gingerly cleaned his dick off with a tissue, and avoided looking at Harvey.

Told you he’d make you hard. Make you cum real good.

Ain’t nobody can resist a blowjob at the City Barbershop.

Everyone laughed at Varshawn so much Harvey felt a little sorry for him. But that didn’t stop him from diving back in and licking his cock again — it was limp and clammy, dry until Harvey slathered spit all along it. Varshawn groaned like he was annoyed, then shuddered as his dick jerked beneath Harvey’s tongue.

“Sorry, I just needed another taste,” Harvey said. Varshawn eyed him suspiciously, sighed and rolled his eyes. He grabbed another tissue to reclean his dick off.

This time, when he was done, Harvey tried to lick him yet again but Varshawn was waiting. He pushed Harvey away. “Nah, nigga, you done. You had yo’ fill,” he said through gritted teeth. He looked angry, but Harvey wasn’t worried — Reggie and the other niggas laughed so hard at Varshawn’s reaction that they were doubled over, wiping tears from their eyes.

“Quit laughin’, niggas, damn,” Varshawn said. He blushed and bit his lip. He took a deep breath as he pulled his jeans back up. “I ain’t know this town was into the gay shit like that.”

“Nah, nigga, we ain’t into that gay shit,” Reggie said with a cruel grin. “You is. That’s what I heard. I heard you let niggas suck you off and shit.”

Harvey giggled. “I heard a rumor you let some nigga kiss you. I’m an authority on gays, and nigga, that makes you gay.”

“All y’all shut up!” Varshawn screamed. “I know this ain’t part of it. I got my tattoo. I did what I gotta do. Fuck you all!” He walked straight towards the door, ignoring the laughter and jeers from Harvey, Reggie and the other niggas.

“Okay, sweetie, I’ll see you at home,” Harvey said, making Reggie and the others laugh so hard they cried. Harvey whistled at Varshawn’s swaying ass as he walked out the door.

The Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit

Here’s a chapter from a novelette, The Men of the City Barbershop of Detroit! It’s a sexy tale of a gay man who gets to provide oodles of alpha thugs with sexual services they’ll never forget! This story’s got a pimp, a dozen colllege football players, one studly daddy-bear and more!

“Nah, nigga, girls ain’t into muscles like that,” said Reggie, sounded like he was too cool to give a shit even if he was sharing his opinion.

Naluke burst out into cocky laughter. He sneered at Reggie, his stepfather, and scoffed. “You don’t know whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, old man.”

Reggie looked at Walter, who was cutting Naluke’s hair. Walter was about to take Reggie’s side — that’s who was paying, after all, and giving a tip, or so Walter assumed (hoped). Before Walter could say it though, Naluke interrupted him.

“That queer? He don’t know shit about girls, pops.”

Everyone in the shop oohed as though a fight was going to break out. They began loudly debating how attracted girls were to muscular men.

“I betcha he know mo’ than you,” Reggie said, laughing at his stepson. “Most queers know a lot about girls. How many pussies you ever touch, gayboy?”

Walter blushed. “Uh… Well, like… eleven, maybe twelve.”

Reggie laughed even harder, and Naluke flared his nostrils; he avoided his stepfather’s gaze. Naluke wasn’t ugly, but he was hardly handsome either. Walter wasn’t surprised he had trouble getting girls. He didn’t have enough charm to make up for his rather rough face either. Walter thought he was sexy, not least because he dripped with machismo and had a burly body no eighteen-year-old should have; Walter didn’t mind that hawkish, overly angular face — he looked like he was supposed to have a chiseled, Hollywood-handsome jaw, but the chiseler had been drunk. He was a football star, about to go back to college.

“You shoulda heard this nigga talkin’ befo’ he went to college, man,” Reggie said, addressing the whole shop as Naluke tried to stop him. “He be sayin’, ‘oh, Pops, the girls around here is sloppy, and they’s uptight and shit. You just wait till I get to college. Them white girls gonna fall all over my shit.’ And-“

“I ain’t say that!” Naluke said, but he sounded defensive, as though he had said something very similar. The whole shop was laughing at him now.

“Yo, you ever fuck a girl in the ass? You still a virgin as far as I’m concerned, if you ain’t nevuh tap any ass. Pussy’s nice, but you ain’t a man unless you got a girl givin’ up that ass.”

“That ain’t right,” Naluke said, still sounding defensive — it was obvious the answer was no, he had never fucked a girl in the ass. “You ain’t gotta fuck some ass-“

“Betcha can’t do it, nigga,” Reggie said. He wrapped one wiry arm around Walter and said, “Lemme see you fuck this gayboy. Huh? You ever fuck around on the downlow, boy?”

“I don’t do that shit! I get girls!”

“You ain’t got shit for girls. You ain’t got game, nigga,” Reggie said. He got up and went towards the back before either Walter or Naluke had agreed; it seemed he simply assumed they would both go along with his plan.

The haircut was over by then, and Walter was excited to follow Reggie to the backroom. Naluke didn’t follow at first, but after the others all taunted him for a few more moments, he got up and sauntered in as though he had always meant to do so. (Yeah, nigga, you gonna see what ass is like, yuh!) It sounded rather like the other barbers were trying to make Naluke as uncomfortable and tense as possible, so that he wouldn’t be able to get hard and they could all make fun of him for it.

Walter rather liked the older daddy-types, like Reggie, so he was excited to see his lean body — he pulled his t-shirt over his head as he leaned against one of the storeroom walls. He smiled cockily at his stepson and pulled his dick out of the fly of his jeans.

“Let’s see ya meat, Naluke,” Reggie said as though he knew it wasn’t going to be that big.

Naluke winced. He was a big boy — not fat by any means, but he had a bit of pudge and plenty of mass. He unceremoniously dropped his pants to his ankles, revealing a fat prick, not outrageously small but substantially shorter than Reggie’s slab of meat.

“Bring it in, nigga. This is called a spitroast,” Reggie said with a smirk. Walter sunk to all fours in front of Reggie, sticking his ass in the air for Naluke — he hadn’t taken his pants off yet, as he wanted to make Naluke work a little for it.

Yo, you fuck that nigga yet, Naluke? Huh? I ain’t hear him beggin’ fo’ mo’ yet.

That’s cuz he ain’t a white college girl, man, you just don’t know.

Reggie was already getting hard even before his cock pushed into Walter’s mouth. He must have been horny, Walter thought, as he tasted the man’s distinctive funk. He moaned as the exquisite taste dripped down his throat. Reggie kept his focus on his stepson, however, as though he barely noticed his own blowjob.

The sound of Walter moaning made Reggie chuckle like a cocky prick. “See, Naluke? When you’s a real nigga, faggots get off on the taste of yo’ meat. You ain’t nevuh gonna get that good, cuz you ain’t got game.”

“Shut the fuck up, Reggie!”

Despite his bravado, it was apparent that Naluke had no experience with anal sex. (He in there yet, Reggie?) He nervously pulled down Walter’s pants and underwear to reveal his bare ass, but then sucked in his teeth as though he was expecting to see a vagina. He nervously wedged his limp dick between Walter’s cheeks.

“Get hard, nigga, what’s wrong wit’ you?” Then Reggie called out to the front of the shop, “Nah, he ain’t in yet. He playin’ around some first. Flopping rope and shit… Mo’ like floppin’ string though.”

Naluke muttered to himself. He was plainly embarrassed, by both his stepfather and the torrent of laughter from the shop. Walter was worried he might decide to give up. He could save face by claiming he couldn’t get hard with a man and the smell of his stepfather’s precum filling up the backroom. Walter squeezed his asscheeks around Naluke’s shaft, then reached behind himself and gave it a few strokes. It perked up in his hands.

Flop that string, nigga!

His coordination ended then as Reggie began fucking his throat more violently — showing off, Walter guessed, to his stepson, who watched with horror as though he had no idea blowjobs could be so violent. Walter gagged and choked on Reggie’s cock, opening his mouth as wide as he could. His hands flailed around behind himself, but it seemed Naluke no longer needed help. He breathed a sigh of relief as he got his dick hard enough to plunge deep into Walter’s ass.

“Oh damn, he in there now! He did it! I admit, I wuz wrong,” Reggie said, cackling as he slapped hands with Naluke. “He got his meat goin’ and he tappin’ that ass now.”

It took only a few thrusts of his hips for Naluke to get the hang of it. He laughed cockily as though he had never struggled to get hard, and grabbed ahold of Walter’s hair. He held on, pulling Walter’s head back even as Reggie kept a tight grip on it, forcing him to stay still. Walter didn’t mind at all, being pulled in two directions made this session even hotter for him.

The pain grew stronger as Naluke fucked with greater and greater intensity. He slammed his dick in with increasing confidence, and even bragged about it when Walter winced with agony. This queerboy gonna start cryin’ and shit! That was a major exaggeration — Walter was nowhere’s near crying, but he liked hearing Naluke’s bravado so he emphasized his pain the best he could.

I’s surprised he still got juice left in those nuts, what with all them white girls beggin’ fo’ it.

Yo, my brother went to campus and said Naluke been banned from every sorority on account of actin’ like a cockhead to all the girls. He ain’t allowed in any party where the girls show up.

“That ain’t true!” Naluke shouted vociferously. “It was two sororities, and they both full of stuck-up bitches. It don’t hardly matter.” But none of them were really listening; they laughed at each other — Walter suspected one of them was doing an imitation of Naluke’s heavy-bodied walk and his clearly forced pimp-lean.

It was Naluke who came first, even though he got started quite a bit later. He roared and pumped his biceps as his balls crawled up in his sac. Walter could feel it in his ass just moments before the first wad of cum hit his inside.

That was followed by a flood of hot semen invading Reggie’s ass. He moaned and writhed around Reggie’s cock, which still pulsated in Walter’s throat. Naluke grunted so loud the men in the front room applauded again.

“What’d that take you, like a minute? No wonder no girls want you, nigga,” Reggie scoffed. He didn’t wait for Naluke to be done before pulling out of Walter’s mouth and moving behind him.

Yo that was Naluke?

Took like three minutes, nigga. You sure you ain’t gay? Should be a little tough to nut in a male, nigga.

Much to Walter’s shock, Reggie didn’t get Naluke to pull out first either. Naluke stood still, ignoring the taunting as he drained the last of his nut into Walter’s ass. Reggie chuckled as he mounted Naluke from behind.

At first Walter thought Reggie was going to shove his cock in Naluke’s plump ass, which would have been utterly shocking. Instead he — in an apparent bid to make Naluke uncomfortable — attempted to double-penetrate Walter’s ass. There was no way Walter would open up enough to even let him get started, but Reggie only really wanted to get behind Naluke and make it feel like he was about get fucked.

Naluke yelped and startled, but didn’t move away — with Reggie right behind him, there was nothing he could do but submit. Reggie slapped Naluke’s asscheeks and yee-hawed at their jiggling.

“Naluke be about ready to take mah shit,” Reggie called out, causing another torrent of laughter.

But at last Naluke was done, despite Reggie’s distractions, and he did pull out. Reggie caressed his bare asscheeks, laughing when Naluke finally realized what was happening and darted away. He had to climb over Walter’s body, meaning his sweaty balls dragged over Walter’s back as he went.

Reggie wasted no time in plunging his cock in. There was a splashing sound, as Naluke’s cum dripped down between Walter’s legs.

“Yo, that nigga tell he don’t gangbang girls cuz he ain’t into sloppy seconds,” Reggie said. “You think he right? Or is that just an excuse, gayboy? Cuz I seen a lotta niggas say they ain’t want sloppy seconds, no how, no way, but when they got a hardon and the only hole around is dripping wit’ nut, I ain’t seen a one say no.”

Walter was too entranced by his own orgasm, as he shot cum through his fingers and onto the ground, to answer Reggie’s question. It didn’t seem that Reggie was really expecting an answer anyway, and Walter certainly didn’t have any way of knowing how straight gangbangs typically went.

Reggie must have been close, because he shot his nut after barely getting started on Walter’s guts. He rammed his long dick all the way in and sighed deeply. He held it there, shooting his load so far and so hard that Walter imagined he could taste it.

Then they were done. Reggie pulled out. He walked right past his stepson, who winced with embarrassment at the sight of his stepfather’s cock. Reggie grabbed a napkin and, standing just inches from Naluke, wiped his dick off, smiling at Naluke’s pained expression.

“Alright, say thank you to the queer, Naluke. That’s only polite.”

“Uh, thanks,” Naluke said as Reggie finally put his clothes back on. “I needed that.”

“Yeah,” Reggie said. “He really did.”

Straight Trade at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of Straight Trade at the City Barbershop, a hot new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s the sequel to City Barbershop Downlow, but it’s a standalone story, no need to have read that one. It’s about the City Barbershop, a company with a special tradition — what happens between men there stays between men there!

This story is now available for a great low price as part of the bundle Gay Ebony Erotica, Vol. 1, which has three novelettes, three shorts and bonus content


Quincy had worked for the City Barbershop of Brooklyn for more than five years, so it wasn’t easy to leave. On the other hand, he had been considering moving on for some time. It was a comfortable position. Quincy was a good barber. The perks were exciting.

But it had become boring to Quincy regardless. So when his brother was arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, Quincy decided to move to Baltimore to be near him. He had enough saved to rent an apartment, which he could even share with his brother, who was out on bail in the run-up to the trial.

Even more importantly, he got a job before he arrived in Baltimore. He was hired by the local City Barbershop franchise, which gladly accepted his transfer from the establishment in Brooklyn. Quincy was happy to be in a new city while having the security of the same job he had had back in Brooklyn.

The aspect of this job that he liked best — aside from the flexible schedule so he could support his brother — was the sex. The City Barbershop was a notorious chain of black-owned barbershops with a peculiar reputation as a place for sex on the downlow. Black men who needed a little action on the side went there, and barbers like Quincy serviced them. Quincy loved swinging on straight black meat, so it was an ideal situation for him.

When he showed up on his first morning, he met Reggie, the man who had hired him over the phone. He owned the City Barbershop of Baltimore. He was a tall, lean-muscled man in his early forties, with a square jaw and old-fashioned jheri-curl hair.

“Sup, smoothness,” Reggie said with a low roar, bopping on his feet as he danced to unheard music in the empty barbershop. No one else was here yet. He wore a fine purple suit, like a pimp, and when he shook Quincy’s hand, he used both of his hands, then leaned in and hugged him expansively. “You must be Quincy, yeah? Paul told me all about ya.”

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you,” Quincy said. He upped his flamboyance as far as it would go, both to be sure Reggie realized it and because he thought Reggie was sexy. He was a throwback to the 1980s, but he was a sexy throwback.

Reggie ran his fingers through his hair. He smiled and dipped and dapped as he showed Quincy to the chair he’d be using. Quincy had a bag with some of his own equipment, which he set up while Reggie told him about the store’s policies. This place operated much the same as Quincy’s old one, so he felt sure he’d be comfortable here.

“Now… I need to be headin’ upstairs in a few minutes,” Reggie said. “I gots a staff meeting coming up real soon. I gotta be ready for that.”

“Oh? A staff meeting? I’ll meet-”

“Nah, not a barbershop staff meeting,” Reggie said. His voice lost its ebullience, and he lowered his eyes. “I got other business interests.” From his knowing tone, Quincy gathered that his other business was illegal, presumably some sort of drug dealing. That was another aspect of most City Barbershops, one that Quincy would have gladly done without.

“Oh,” Quincy said. “Okay. I guess I’ll wait down here. It’s almost nine o’clock anyway.”

Reggie paused. He bit his lip and smiled awkwardly. He resumed shifting his feet in tune to a beat only he heard. Quincy could tell what he was going to say before he opened his mouth, but he let him continue. Quincy liked watching nervous straight men proposition him. Reggie’s jheri-curl shook as he stumbled over his words.

“I was, uh… Paul told me that you was… uh… y’know, a real good nigga, a model employee,” he said. “He… said you provide a high level of service.”

“That’s right,” Quincy said. He smiled bashfully. “I always treat customers with the utmost respect.” He made sure to end with a kissy face, which appeared to make Reggie horny. He swayed his hips too, shaking his ass for Reggie’s benefit.

Reggie clutched at his crotch through his black slacks. His thick dick was momentarily outlined. Quincy licked his lips but didn’t do anything explicit — he wanted to make Reggie work for it.

“So, uh… you… wanna come in the backroom wit’ me?”

“What’s back there?” Quincy asked. He put one hand on his hips and jutted out his ass.

Reggie murmured through gritted teeth. “Something you gonna enjoy, boy. You gonna enjoy it real nice.” Then he moved closer, so close he almost kissed Quincy. “I’m-a fuck you Quincy. I’m-a fuck you in any way you want it.”

“Any way I want it?”

“Any way, nigga. You got a ass I need, and you got nice dick-suckin’ lips. I fuck you in whichever hole you want. You want me in both? I’ll grow a second dick for ya, boy, right here and now.”

Quincy blushed. “Well, I’d like to see that. But why don’t we start with just one hole at a time?” he said. He held out his hand, which Reggie took gallantly. He kissed the back of Quincy’s hand like he was seducing him, then led him into the backroom.

The backroom was a lot like the one in Brooklyn, Quincy thought. He giggled at the sight of a stack of porn mags in one corner of the closet. Reggie sneered and pushed them away.

“Some of dem niggas can’t do it wit’out some trim to look at,” Reggie thought. He unzipped his fly and pulled out a massive cock and low-handing pair of balls. “Back in my day, that weren’t the way it was. A nigga wasn’t never ashamed of getting hard. Now they gotta pretend they don’t really like getting head from a nigga.” He leaned in and kissed Quincy on the lips. It was a quick, chaste kiss, but it sent a thrill of desire up Quincy’s spine.

Then Quincy sunk to his knees. “No one can pretend they don’t like my head,” Quincy said. That made Reggie chuckle, until his voice broke and he gasped as his dick disappeared down Quincy’s throat.

Since he wanted to make a good first impression, Quincy moved slow and deep. He produced copious spit and let it drip all over Reggie’s pants. He lovingly traced the veins that lined Reggie’s dick.

“Hey, I gotta make a phone call,” Reggie said with a grin that vanished as he dialed. He had an old-fashioned fliphone. His smile was replaced by an angry scowl. “Yo, nigga. Is you suckin’ my dick right now? Huh? I say, is you suckin’ my dick right now? Oh? Cuz I know I tol’ you to come in here at eight forty-five from now on, and the only person here besides me is that new nigga. He got a pretty face and he suckin’ my dick right now. Is that you? No? That’s funny, Opie. I could’ve sworn I nearly fired you and you promised you’d never be late again. You swore you’d be here early from now on. Did that happen? It did, huh? I dunno, Opie. Maybe. I have to think about it. If you don’t get here by nine, I am gonna make you suck my dick and I will fire you. I ain’t even gonna want a blowjob cuz I’m getting an expert one now, but I will shove my limp dick down your throat, boy.” Then there was a long pause. Reggie sighed into the phone, and Opie laughed loudly on the other end. “Yeah, he queer. You think I’m just rapin’ the new guy or some shit? I’m saving my rape for you, nigga. I’m savin’ up a big nice barrel full of rape for yo’ late ass. Yeah, I better see you then.” He hung up and shook his head. “I oughta prison-rape the joy outta that nigga’s life.”

There was some movement out in the main barbershop now. It sounded like a few people had arrived and were getting ready. Presumably Opie was not among them. Conversation murmured though Quincy didn’t hear any of the words.

He focused instead on the silken texture and sweet flavor of Reggie’s massive meat. He smiled as he deep-throated it, and Reggie crooned. This was nice, Quincy had to admit, Reggie was right that a lot of niggas at the City Barbershop had to prove how straight they were by being mean when Quincy serviced them. Quincy did enjoy that — he had always had a wild hair for humiliation and throatfucking. But it was nice to be treated like a joyous present once in a while as well.

Then conversation out in the barbershop died suddenly. Something had happened, Quincy thought, something that sent a chill in the air.

The door to the backroom opened, and someone walked in. From his vantage point inside the back closet, Quincy couldn’t see who it was.

The newcomer hesitated. Reggie let out a low moan, which made the person in the backroom chuckle nervously.

“Whatchoo doin’ back there, Reggie? You fuckin’ another fat bitch?” The door swung open, and that deep, gruff, young man’s voice burst into nervous laughter. “Oh, damn, nigga. You doin’ that, huh?”

“Yeah… Lil Blue, this is Quincy. Quincy, this is Lil Blue. He works for me. He ain’t a barber. He got… other duties. He here for that staff meeting I was tellin’ you about.”

Quincy turned around to say hi, but he hesitated when he saw how ungodly handsome Lil Blue was. He must have gotten the name from his sapphire-colored eyes, which contrasted with his high-yellow skin. He had a nervous, deep-dimpled grin as he watched Reggie luxuriously hump Quincy’s mouth. “Nice to meetcha, Lil Blue.”

Lil Blue just nodded gruffly. He didn’t seem to much like gay people.

“Nah,” Reggie said. “You say hello like a nice nigga, Lil Blue.”

Lil Blue sighed as though he had argued about this with Reggie before. He rolled his eyes. “Nice to meet you too, Quincy. I don’t fuck around on the downlow, just so you know. I got bitches. Females. Female bitches.”

The door opened then, just as Quincy returned to Reggie’s dick. Two more young black men came in, talking about some argument that had occurred recently. They were Terrence and Pumper, and they laughed like Lil Blue had when they saw what as going on. “Damn, Reggie, that shit’s nasty. Can’t you be ashamed of it like a normal nigga?”

“Yeah, hide that shit… Ain’t supposed to let no one know you fuck around in the City Barbershop. That’s a rule and shit. You gotta at least shut the door.”

“Shut the the fuck up,” Reggie said absent-mindedly. He focused on grinding his moist dick deep down Quincy’s throat.

Lil Blue, Terrence and Pumper moved to go upstairs, but Reggie stopped them. “All three of you niggas is too squeamish,” he said. “You wait right here and watch.”

“Man, nigga-“

“Fuck that!”

“No way!”

But despite their words, none of them moved to disobey Reggie. They averted their eyes and shifted their weight on their feet as Quincy sucked. Reggie moaned and grunted. He was putting on a show, Quincy thought, making the others as uncomfortable as possible.

His dick pulsated against Quincy’s tongue, and just like Reggie made this as exaggerated and extreme as he could manage, so did Quincy guzzle and sputter like a champion. Spit dribbled past his lips and down Reggie’s shaft, while the younger straight bucks watching tittered nervously.

“Ugh, I can smell yo’ old nigga-nut, Reggie,” Pumper said with a frown. The others laughed along with him.

Reggie mumbled something that was maybe an insult or maybe a threat, or maybe a little of both. He didn’t really articulate any words though, just a general sound that communicated his disdain for Pumper. Quincy didn’t listen anyway; he focused on slathering spit moistly all along Reggie’s dick, and sucking up every drop of precum that hit his lips.

Since Reggie was such an animated fucker, it was apparent that his orgasm was imminent for a minute or two before it arrived. He tweaked his own nipples and grunted, his old-fashioned jive disappearing momentarily as he was overcome by pleasure. His knees buckled and he bit his lip.

Cum flowed down Quincy’s throat. That familiar sour-sweet flavor overwhelmed his senses, and Quincy grunted as he swallowed it all. It tasted of masculine musk and sweat, which made Quincy so aroused he would have kept sucking forever, but Reggie removed his dick. He wiped the spit off on Quincy’s face.

“Damn, nigga, that was a hell of a blowjob… You is gonna be a valuable part of this organization,” Reggie said so forcefully it made his audience laugh. He tucked his dick away in his pants.

When Reggie was done, Quincy turned around and blushed — someone knew had entered. Another older man, around Reggie’s age, but without the 1980s-look. This was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shit and tie, a bristly mustache and a serious, no-nonsense look on his face. He looked like a businessman, but Quincy got the feeling he was a gangsta just like Lil Blue and the rest — he was simply the respectable face of the business.

“Quincy, that there is Winslow,” Reggie said. “He’s my business partner.”

Winslow nodded at Quincy, who wiped the cum off his lips. He blushed; Winslow was very hot, and he checked out Quincy’s ass, so Quincy knew he was achievable. Reggie wiped his dick off and stuffed it back in his pants. He sighed, rubbing Quincy’s cheek, then looked to Winslow and the others.

“You ready fo’ this meeting?” Winslow asked like he was annoyed he had to wait. Reggie nodded, and they all went up the stairs that connected to the corner of the backroom. Quincy wiped his face off, pounded himself off real quick, and then headed back to the front to meet his new coworkers. He was already greatly enjoying his new job.

Str8core Pimp Submission

This is the beginning of Str8core Pimp Submission, a hot new story of… well, str8core pimp submission. It’s about a white prison bitch who’s been released but feels he needs to have a big black cock to order him around. When he hooks up with an alpha pimp named Starling, all hell breaks loose! This is a sequel to Cuckolded by Gangbangers, and it follows Robert’s life after that stories incredible bisexual action!

For a better value, consider reading this story in the Ultimate Str8core Submission Trilogy, which also includes Str8core Sheriff Submission and Str8core Sheikh Submission! Note: There is a fourth one, Str8core Addict Submission, which is so hot it made Amazon’s servers explode, so it is only available through Smashwords (use the coupon code: SY65E for a 67% discount).


Robert followed Starling through the streets of Atlanta. His heart pounded, and he felt eyes following him. He had never been in this part of the city. It was the worst ghetto in Atlanta, full of boarded-up storefronts and grizzled homeless men stumbling past. One lean, rat-faced thug called out offers to sell crack, uncaring of who heard. Robert shuddered. Aside from being so open, it reminded him of prison.

(Only thing you good for is suckin’ nigga dick. You know you want it too, every honky is beggin’ to have big black cock shoved inside ‘em. That’s what honkies like you always want. Ain’t it, bitch? It’s only in a prison cell that you can’t hide how you feel no mo’.)

They stopped at a nasty motel, where Starling went straight to one of the rooms. Inside it was dark, and it smelled of blunts and sex. Robert shivered with anticipation. This was it. He was finally going to have a purpose in life again.

As soon as Robert was inside, Starling slammed the door shut. He straightened the white tie on his mustard-yellow suit. His tongue pushed against his lower lip as he looked over Robert’s body.

“I don’t normally sell male hos,” he said. He sneered. “But I ain’t nevuh say no to a new bitch neither. Even if you can only make a few dollars, it was a few dollars I ain’t gonna have any other way.”


He slapped Robert across the face. Then he barked, “I ain’t ask you for an answer, bitch. You wanna be my bitch? You shut yo’ mouth till I tell you to open it.”

Robert was a slim young man who had always been straight. Everything changed just two years ago. His wife cheated on him with a group of black thugs — an event documented in Cuckolded by Gangbangers — and pushed him to suck their big black balls as they fucked her. That led to a string of events that culminated in Robert being sent to Brutewood Prison. There he had been raped repeatedly by a different black man, who had told him when he left that he needed to find a pimp.

(You’s a bitch now. You might not be my bitch no mo’, but you still a bitch. So when you get out this joint, you find yo’self a new daddy who can pimp you out. Don’t you even think about goin’ straight, bitch. Ain’t nothin’ there fo’ you.)

Robert didn’t have to do what his owner said, now that he wasn’t in prison anymore. He knew there was nothing forcing him to submit to any pimp. His former prison master was behind bars for life, and hadn’t even claimed he could punish Robert from inside. It was really entirely up to Robert

But he had been submitting to niggas for what felt like forever. He didn’t have a wife to go home to anymore, and he had a criminal record, so he didn’t think he could get a real job anyway. Now he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel right again unless he had a big black cock inside him, and a mandingo daddy to treat him like shit. He needed a real man like Starling to tell him what to do.

(Tell that nigga ovuh there you suck his dick for ten dollah. If he say no, you offer to suck his dick fo’ five dollah. If he say no to that, you offer one dollah. If he say no to that, come back he’e so’s I can punch yo’ teeth in.)

After a long silence, Starling spat in Robert’s face. His spit was thick and stinky. Robert gagged and tears came up in his eyes. He tried to wipe his face off, but Starling pushed his hand down.

“Bitch,” Starling said. It wasn’t an accusation or a question, just a word, angrily sputtered so that it hung there in the air like a nasty fart. Robert winced.

“Yes, I need you to take me in as a-“

“You already told me that. Don’t evuh tell me what you need again,” he said. He smacked Robert in the face. “You’s an ugly bitch. I ain’t gonna be able to sell you off as some high-class ho.”

(Make that nice prison-bitch cock-sucking face again, the one with the tears on yo’ cheek- There it is, you so pretty when you cry, bitch. I like how yo’ ass shake in that cocktail dress too.)

Robert blushed. He had been handsome back in college, and not a lot had changed, but his hair had thinned and his face was gaunt now, lined with wrinkles of anxiety that came from his time in prison.

“Please let me be a ho…” Robert said. Tears twinkled in his eyes. He felt naked in the skimpy cocktail dress he had worn. He was given that to wear in prison. It had been humiliating at the time, but now he felt he needed it. It showed off his feminine legs and wide ass.

Str8 Till Dark: Bunkmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Bunkmates, a new story from Brutewood Correctional. It’s part of the Str8 Till Dark series of hardcore str8-trade erotica!


Henderson tried hard to remain cool. It wasn’t easy. He knew there was a good chance he’d be beaten to death before his trial, and even if he made it, there was no telling what would happen. He had been charged with resisting arrest, and the police had said they could add narcotics distribution and the attempted murder of a police officer.

He was innocent of most of those charges — he sold marihuana, sure, but he hadn’t resisted arrest so much as walked away from an officer, and he had struggled when handcuffed, but hadn’t tried to kill anyone. It wasn’t fair.

Still, he had been preparing for this night for a long time. Most of his childhood, Henderson had listened to his uncle talk about his numerous stints behind bars. “No nigga is nevah gonna skip it, boi,” he said over and over, “You listen up. You gonna need to know this sooner or later. Prolly sooner.” He had given all kinds of terrible advice, about fashioning a knife from a toothbrush, trading handjobs to get through the loneliness and avoiding getting fucked in the ass at all costs.

At the time, Henderson had refused to accept it even as a possibility. He said that America was changing, that the war had changed it all — a generation of white men had served in an integrated Army with colored soldiers. Congress was perpetually on the verge of passing civil rights legislation.

But it seemed Henderson had fallen through the cracks on the wrong side of that verge. He had no illusions about the white justice system here in New York — he’d be lucky if he ever spent a day as a free man again.

The other inmates were catcalling to him. The white men were calling him a nigger. The black men were calling him a nigga. He didn’t much like either one.

His cellmate was a Negro named Fletcher, who had unstraightened hair, like most of the inmates here. Fletcher’s head had a big afro, which he picked at constantly as he watched Henderson move in. It seemed like Fletcher was waiting for something. He was a wide-shouldered, gruff-jawed man, with deep-set eyes and biceps like corded rope.

Henderson tried to make conversation, but Fletcher only grunted. Eventually Henderson decided to just do push-ups — that should keep him occupied, while making it easier for him to ignore Fletcher watching him. His uncle had advised him to it anyway; of course, the reason he advised it was because it could be intimidating, but Henderson was half Fletcher’s size. He’d have to do an infinite number of push-ups to intimidate someone so much bigger than he was.

He could feel Fletcher watching him as his body moved up and down. Henderson wondered if he had listened to the wrong advice. Was he just turning Fletcher on by working out right in front of him.

His uncle had warned Henderson about what happened in prison. Henderson thought he could defend himself, but he knew there was always a chance he’d be murdered for no reason. He didn’t much like the way Fletcher looked at him either, like he was a cut of meat that needed to be cooked and eaten right away or it was going to go bad, like he was just waiting for the oven to warm up.

His shoulders ached. Henderson was glad. He wanted to be pumped up, to look as big and tough as he could. Fletcher was much larger, but he was older and presumably slower. Henderson had been a wrestler in school, and he was good at using speed to his advantage.

Henderson stood up. He had to suppress a yelp as he saw Fletcher had taken his manhood out of his pants. Fletcher stared at him from the top bunk, his cock in hand. He licked his lips.

“I been locked up a long time, nigga,” Fletcher said.

(Looks like Fletcher is gonna seduce his new cellmate!)

(Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Henderson got fresh fish!)

“How long?” Henderson hoped small talk would diffuse the tension. He fidgeted nervously. He didn’t like the sound of all the other inmate screaming and pounding on the cell bars. They yelled insults at each other, come-ons, racial sluts. It was deafening, but somehow felt like all that happened in a different world. In the only world that mattered to Henderson, he stood here in front of his much bigger man and his huge slab of cockmeat.

“Twenty-two years,” Fletcher said. “You wanna suck my dick?”

Henderson gulped. “No.”

Fletcher shook his head. “That’s too bad.” Then there was a long, pregnant pause. Fletcher moaned and shot his load all over his belly. Henderson was disgusted but found he couldn’t bear to look away. Fletcher moaned and pulled up his shirt to play with his nipples. He bit his lip. “It would be better if you did.”

(Nasty, Fletcher!)

Fletcher looked away as he wiped up the cum on his hairy belly. The tension was gone. It now seemed apparent that Henderson was safe, for the moment at least.

After that Henderson moved himself into the cell and got situated. Soon enough it was time for dinner, and then back to the cell for the evening. Fletcher ignored Henderson completely the entire time. Henderson, for his part, remained focused; he tried to figure out who was in charge among the inmates, who controlled the various gangs and clans. But it was hard to tell, everyone was full of machismo and bravado; they all claimed to be the head nigga in charge, Henderson thought, so it was hard to tell who wasn’t bullshitting.

At least Henderson fell into a restless, shallow sleep. The guards walked by every few minutes, speaking loudly as though trying to disturb everyone. They laughed when Henderson cursed at them.

He awoke very gradually, at first with no awareness of why. He soon realized that Fletcher had come down from the top bunk, pulled Henderson’s blanket off and taken his cock out the fly of his prison boxers. Fletcher was stark nude himself, and rock hard, holding both his own and Henderson’s cock in both hands. He stood next to Henderson’s bunk.

“Sssh, you wanna fuck, nigga?” Fletcher asked, whispering, with strong emphasis on fuck. His hand rested on Henderson’s belly, and roamed up his flat torso to his pecs. He played with each nipples.

“Uh… No, not really.”

“Well, let me know when you get horny. I don’t rape niggas. Y’ain’t gotta worry about that. You want me to stop this handjob?” His hand wasn’t yet on Henderson’s dick, but it moved slowly in that direction.

“Uh…” every fiber of Henderson’s being told him to say no, but he had to admit it felt good. He worried that if he said no, it would be obvious he really wanted it. It seemed Fletcher got the hint. Henderson gulped as Fletcher’s hand wrapped over his dick.

Then something warm and wet dripped over Henderson’s dick, sending waves of sexual desire up his body. He grunted and bit his lip to avoid making too much sound. At first he thought the sensation was Fletcher sucking his dick, then realized that couldn’t be right: he still felt Fletcher’s hand clutching his rod. Fletcher must have poured something oozy over it.

(Ooh la la, Fletcher, you makin’ sweet love over there?)

“Feels good, don’t it? Brutewood lube, that’s why.” Fletcher chuckled and snorted. “Just hog fat, really. Lard. Nature’s lube.”

Henderson gasped. He had been so asleep he didn’t notice how hard he was getting until now, when he felt precum spilling out of his dick. It slicked up Fletcher’s hand. They both moaned as a few men who were still awake tittered with laughter.

A flashlight shined into the cell. Henderson averted his eyes, ashamed. He heard a white man chuckle. “Er… you two… fuck, nevermind. Have I gotta intervene?”

“Nossir,” Fletcher said.

A long pause followed. The guard cleared his throat. “You… new guy. I gotta hear it. I know it’s embarrassing, but… you into this? You can say no. I’ll put you in protective custody with the other queerbait- Sorry. I mean, victims. Or whatever.” His face was shrouded in darkness, but it was obvious he was blushing.

“Yes, it’s fine,” Henderson hissed. “Just go away.”

The guard turned and left, but within moments the other inmates nearby began chanting and laughing. Fletcher and… new guy… Ooh la la, you two in love or what? Fletcher got a new boyfriend already? Henderson would have been humiliated but he was near orgasming and barely paid attention to their teasing.

“Ignore them,” Fletcher said. “You like the way my hand feels on yo’ dick?”

“Yeah, but… I, just…” Henderson couldn’t think of what to say. His mind focused on the overwhelming pleasure emanating from his dick.

Do it, Fletcher!

Henderson wondered if this was it — was he going to have to fight or fuck like his uncle had warned him? He knew he couldn’t possibly take Fletcher in a fight. He might have to suck some dick to avoid taking it in the ass.

But then, much to Henderson’s surprise, that wasn’t what happened. Fletcher pulled Henderson’s legs out from the bunk, so his feet were on the floor and his dick stood straight up. Henderson was about to start fighting and kicking when Fletcher turned around.

“What’re you doin’?” Henderson’s voice dropped as Fletcher backed his ass up into Henderson’s crotch.

It was so shocking that Henderson didn’t respond at all. He just looked down at his own crotch as his dick disappeared in Fletcher’s giant ass. He could barely see it in the dim light of Brutewood Prison at night.

(Yo, Fletcher, you givin’ it or takin’ it?)

(What do you think, nigga? Fletcher love takin’ it, by the foot!)

There was so much laughter a few men woke up, and soon loud, disorganized chanting had broken out. Henderson gulped at the realization that everyone was watching from the other cells.

Then that guard banged on cell bars and started barking out threats. He threatened to cancel rec time tomorrow, which got everyone quiet again. Soon it was so silent that Henderson was sure the other inmates could all hear that moist, squishing sound as his dick slid into Fletcher’s ass.

Without thinking about it, Henderson’s hands moved to Fletcher’s broad back. It was etched with muscles and scars from being beaten by the guards — Henderson didn’t know it yet, but the screws who managed the workfarm still used whips and chains to keep the inmates in line. Fletcher’s burly body showed the scars of that method of discipline.

Wanting to get a better angle, Henderson stood. Passion overtook him as he got more and more into it. His uncle had never warned him about something like this, he thought, and he wondered if he would end up regretting it. His uncle had said niggas shouldn’t do anal with each other, that they should just trade handjobs. But Henderson had been so lonely and scared since he being arrested, he just wanted to feel a little warmth.

“Kiss me, nigga,” Fletcher said. He turned his face around so Henderson had access to it. Fletcher was so much bigger than Henderson that they would have to strain to reach, but it was definitely possible. Henderson almost went through with it without giving it a second thought, then realized that was a step too far. He stopped.

“I dunno, man,” Henderson said. “I ain’t nevuh kissed a man before.”

“It’s in the dark, nigga. It don’t matter. Nothing matters in the dark,” Fletcher said.


“Kiss me.” Fletcher’s voice was breathless and desperate. He was trying to be quiet, but he was too impassioned to really pull it off. Henderson blushed as he heard men in the other cells giggling as silently as they could muster, to avoid attracting attention from the guards. “Come on, nigga. No one is gonna bring this up during the day.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of a rule here. We’ll all keep it a secret. At night we fuck around a bit, you got to, in a place like this.“

(What happens in the dark, stays in the dark, nigga. Now come on, give us a nice little show. No one takes meat as good as Fletcher does.)

Fletcher made a kissy face at Henderson. “We can fuck all we want now. But tomorrow we’s all real men again.”

(Except Walter. He’s a genuine poofter! But he makes you pay if you want a blowjob.)

(It’s totally worth it.)

(Shut up, Walter. But yeah, it is worth it. He could suck the black off a nigga, man, he can suck the sun out the sky.)

“Hey, I said shut the fuck up!” A guard screamed. “I ain’t gotta let you boys fuck each other all night! That’s against the rules, technically!”

Henderson stopped moving, his dick deep in Fletcher. He hadn’t even noticed himself leaning forward, but now he was just inches from Fletcher’s face. He wanted to stop himself. Despite that, his face collided with Fletcher’s, which was tense as he grunted and accepted Henderson’s meat.

Their tongues touched in Fletcher’s mouth. It felt a lot like kissing a girl, Henderson thought, aside from the grizzled beard hair on his chin. That was hard to avoid thinking about though. They kissed passionately for what felt like hours.

“Damn, can’t you two put a privacy sheet up or somethin’?” asked a guard as he walked past. It was that same guard who had asked before if Henderson wanted to leave, and a part of him wanted to say he had changed his mind.

“Just walk away, Williams,” Fletcher grunted through gritted teeth. But the guard didn’t walk away. He stood there watching, rubbing his dick through his dirty pants. Soon he unzipped it and let his dick flop out.

Fletcher took one step towards the front of the cell, where Officer Williams stood with a raging erection. Henderson instinctually followed. Much to his surprise, Fletcher dropped to all fours and opened his mouth. He took Officer Williams’ dick in his mouth, making Williams moan and shudder. His dick grew hard right away.

Soon the smell of precum filled the air. It was more intense than it had been when it was just Fletcher and Henderson. That made Henderson wonder if it was a quality of white men that their precum was so smelly.

Then Fletcher reached behind himself and took Henderson’s hand. in his. Fletcher’s fingers were padded and callused. He dragged Henderson to the front of his body, which Henderson had to strain to reach on account of Fletcher’s massive, hulking size.

A murmuring sound came from Fletcher’s mouth. He was saying something around the dick in his throat, but all that came out was an indecipherable gagging sound that churned Henderson’s stomach.

Despite his disgust and confusion, Henderson gathered what Fletcher wanted. His uncle had told him about this — a reacharound. It was what men did behind bars if they didn’t intend to make you into a bitch. He said it was the second-best thing to not getting fucked at all. Henderson had never thought he might be on top of a reacharound. He was going to have to tell his uncle that things had changed since he was locked up.

With his dick pulsating in Fletcher’s ass, Henderson felt his orgasm rising. Every time he thought he was about to blow his load, however, he remembered where he was, or he caught a whiff of Officer Williams’ cocksmell, and that made his dick a little more slack.

“You wanna suck my dick too, boy?” Officer Williams asked. His voice was low and slow, even, like he expected the answer was no but felt he needed to ask anyway.

“Uh… No thanks,” Henderson said. He wondered if Williams was going to accept no for an answer. His uncle had said guards never did — it didn’t count if you took dick from a guard, he said, because everyone did. But he had also said that prison guards have tiny cocks, that that was why they became prison guards in the first place: it was the only way to gain any power over a real man. That definitely wasn’t true of Officer Williams, who was hung like a nigga.

In the end, it was Officer Williams who shot his load first. He groaned and grunted, and stuck his hands through the cell bars to grip Fletcher’s head. He held on tight as his whole body shook. He threw his head back.

The smell of cum made Henderson want to run away, but of course there was nowhere to go. It was a thick and cottony scent, so intense that Henderson thought he could taste it. In the dark he didn’t see the cum flow into Fletcher’s mouth, but he could hear it spurt; he heard Fletcher’s sputtering as he swallowed it, and he could see a few drops drip onto the cement floor beneath him.

Then Officer Williams backed off. He cleared his throat and shot an angry glance at the inmates in the next cell, who giggled and whispered jokes to each other. They fell silent. Williams tucked his dick back in his pants.

“You two need to finish up,” Williams said. “If you’re still going at it when I come through here again, I’m gonna punish you both.”

“Yessuh,” Fletcher said. His voice was moist as though his mouth was still full of cum.

Officer Williams had no sooner walked away when Henderson felt his own climax finally approach. He grunted, trying to hide how intense it felt — he didn’t want to seem like the kind of lavender pervert who might be into this, after all.

But the pleasure was mind-bogglingly intense. Henderson had only been with a few women, and this experience beat anything he had felt with them. Fletcher’s ass clenched around Henderson’s dick as though trying to hold onto it.

As he finished, and the cum flowed into Fletcher’s guts, Henderson sighed. He was glad he had finished that without embarrassing himself. He left his dick in, limpening inside Fletcher for a moment, then let it flop out.

He resumed jacking Fletcher off, but he barely paid attention anymore. He sunk to his knees as his muscles relaxed. He only jolted back into awareness because his head collided with the meaty cheek of Fletcher’s ass.

Then Fletcher turned around. He didn’t ask, and Henderson didn’t need to be told — he knew what was coming, and he welcomed it.

He opened his mouth as Fletcher’s fat cock pushed into his throat. It was sour and cummy already, and it pulsated in Henderson’s mouth. It tasted like salty lemon-snot, Henderson thought. He gagged but submitted to Fletcher pounding his dick deep into Henderson’s throat.

Fletcher was already so close to orgasm that it began pretty much the moment Henderson tasted it. Cum flooded Henderson’s tongue and flowed down his throat like water from a hose.

Fletcher groaned and grunted. He felt up his own nipples, and his big body jiggled as he sprayed down Henderson’s throat. Henderson was surprised at how not-unpleasant it was. Though he hardly enjoyed the taste, it wasn’t humiliating and it didn’t make him want to throw up; it actually tasted a lot like a girl’s pussy, he thought.

Then it was over. Fletcher pulled out of his mouth, leaned down and kissed him. He laid down in Henderson’s bunk, on his side, and left enough room for Henderson to join him.

“C’mon, bunkmate,” Fletcher said. “Remember, it don’t count in the dark. Let’s just sleep together, and in the morning, I’ll get up and move to my own bunk. That way it won’t count when we wake up tomorrow.”

Henderson nodded, too drained to argue, but he did hesitate before laying down. He was tired now, and his bunk looked so inviting, even with Fletcher’s hairy body and bare cock laying there. Henderson shuddered but laid down, and allowed Fletcher to wrap one thick arm around him.

“You can’t go through your entire sentence wit’out a little human affection,” Fletcher said. “And since there ain’t no girls, it’s you and me, Henderson. We gonna be snug as a hug, nigga, like bunkmates in love. But only after dark.”