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Alpha Cellmate: The Mafioso

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

“No you can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, yes-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aww… yeah… “

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

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

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

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

“You promised-“

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

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

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

Rappers Downlow

Here’s a new story from the City Barbershop; it’s called Rappers Downlow and it’s an incredible tale of celebrity rappers getting freaky! It’s part of the Str8 Studs Downlow series.


(yes they’re fictional rappers, but you can picture whomever you like)

He didn’t know when he started thinking of himself as Freak-E. It was a slow process. It was just a nickname at first, back in junior high, one that his niggas only used every once in awhile. Then it was a silly name he used when he joined in on a friend’s album — that was the only “recording-type” name he had, so he naturally chose that; Freak-E just sang backup on one song. It was neat to see his name in print in the credits — Jason “Freak-E” Harkness. But it wasn’t a big deal. It was still just a nickname.

A year after graduating high school, he released a single of his own; his cousin had rented some studio time and then died suddenly. Freak-E was in a position to use the time up at his uncle’s insistence, so he did. He wrote the song on a whim, the morning before recording, when all he could think about was his dead cousin.

“Stiff As a Rod” was an “irreverent look at death and loss”, according to Spin magazine. The single went gold. Then it went platinum. Then it went double-platinum. Then the album, The Life and Death of a Black Man, went double-platinum as well.

Sometime along the way, everyone switched from calling him Jason most of the time and Freak-E occasionally to calling him Freak-E all the time and Jason only rarely. His old friend Rashad had been the one who came up with the name Freak-E back when they were in junior high school together, and he was the one who kept it alive. If Rashad hadn’t been around, the nickname would have died back in ninth grade.

But in a twist of irony, Rashad was the last person in Freak-E’s life to call him that exclusively. He kept on calling him Jason even when everyone else — including Jason’s mother — started calling him Freak-E, or at least just Freak. Rashad reminded Freak-E of their old friendship every single time he called him Jason, just like back in high school.

So Freak-E didn’t mind helping Rashad out. He gave Rashad a job, as his bodyguard — Freak-E didn’t really need one, except when he was on tour (when he needed an entire security company protecting him, not just one person, no matter how tough he was). He even paid for Rashad to record a single of his own. Freak-E guested on it, and it did pretty well for a first recording. Freak-E made it the first non-Freak-E record released through his new label.

So now they were both rappers. That made Freak-E feel a little less weird about employing his friend; he had never wanted to be Rashad’s boss, and now it felt more like they were coworkers.

“Hey, Freak!” he called out from the other side of the house. “Come on, nigga! I got anotha one of those strawberry blunts all wrapped up and ready to go.”

Freak-E felt like he was living in a museum. His house was full of nice things, but they were all unfamiliar to him — this house was so large it had wings like a museum, and it was full of expensive but useless stuff, also like a museum. He had to walk across four rooms just to get to Rashad.

All the fancy glass bongs in the world didn’t compare to the same old strawberry blunts he used to smoke. Freak-E could spend any amount of money on bowls and bongs and fancy cigars to use for blunts, but after experimenting with every possible means of smoking weed, he decided he still loved nothing better than cheap strawberry cigars.

Rashad had always been the best blunt-roller in their posse. He had little nimble fingers that were adept at keeping a smooth, consistently filled blunt. Freak-E could roll a serviceable blunt, but he took forever and often needed to start over, so that was one skill he kept Rashad around for.

“Yo, nigga, where’s Sharon?” Rashad asked.

Sharon was a backup dancer who had been hanging out with Freak-E and Rashad for some time. She was a cool, laidback white chick who loved sucking nigga dick while a blunt got passed around.

“She went back home,” Freak-E said. “Remember? Her motherfucking dog has cancer or some shit.”

“Oh yeah,” Rashad chuckled. “White people are crazy about they pets.”

Freak-E shrugged. He had had a dog in junior high, and when it died, Freak-E cried for weeks. He stayed home from school. He told his mom he’d never make a friend again. So Freak-E knew how Sharon was feeling; he just didn’t want to admit it to Rashad, who would never feel that way about an animal (or maybe even a person).

Rashad took a deep hit off the blunt, and then laid it down on the ashtray. He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Well, nigga, it’s been awhile. But let’s do this.”

Freak-E thought he had an idea what Rashad was suggesting, but he wasn’t sure. He thought that, as a celebrity, he shouldn’t lower himself to that level. “Rashad…”

Rashad looked at him. He was shirtless, his lean, ropy-muscled body flexing as he moved to drop his pants. “Yo? What?”

“I dunno, man… I should be able to get some chicks.”

Rashad gestured around the empty house. “Where they at, nigga?”

“I mean…” Freak-E didn’t want to get any chicks right now. That would end up taking all afternoon. They’d be excited to meet a celebrity. They’d probably want him to rap, and whether he agreed or not, it would be stressful and time-consuming, and they probably wouldn’t even suck dick very well.

“So come on, nigga. You too good to fuck around on the downlow?”

Freak-E didn’t like to think of himself as too good for anything, so he sighed. He nodded. It might be nice to get back to his roots, he thought as he stripped off his clothes.

Soon Rashad was on the ground on his back, and Freak-E got into position overtop him. He sighed. A part of him missed hanging out with Rashad and trading blowjobs every night they didn’t find any chicks to bang — things had seemed so simple then.

He straddled Rashad’s head and angled his dick down. He was glad to be on top — they used to argue about the positioning, but now Freak-E was in a position of power. There was no doubt about who would be on top.

He sighed as he felt a familiar moisture encircling his cock. He got hard right away, and he wondered if he could get away with not reciprocating.

But then he’d feel very bad about taking advantage of his old friend — indeed, his only friend. So he leaned in and swallowed Rashad’s cock.

The familiar sweaty flavor of cockmeat hit his nostrils. Rashad moaned as his dick got hard, and soon both black men where undulating as they fed their dick down each other’s throat.

It was somehow a more fulfilling blowjob than the one Sharon had given yesterday. Even though every thing about this blowjob was worse — it was being given by a man; Freak-E was in an uncomfortable position; he wasn’t very stoned — it managed to be better than Sharon’s.

Once the initial awkwardness passed, Freak-E found himself forgetting what he was doing; he could almost pretend he was sixty-nining with a girl. He was able to focus on the feeling of soft heat suffusing into his body through his cock, from Rashad’s gentle oral caress.

Freak-E instinctively wrapped his hands around Rashad’s asscheeks, savoring their plump thickness before remembering they were a man. He drew his hand away, hoping Rashad hadn’t noticed.

The smell of precum filled the room, and the taste covered Freak-E’s tongue. Rashad’s dark brown skin was dappled with sweat, his corded muscles writhing as he approached orgasm.

Both men wore several gold chains, so they splayed out, covering much of the space between them. Freak-E contorted and moaned around the cock in his mouth.

A part of Freak-E’s mind — the rational part — wanted him to pull out. Niggas didn’t usually cum in each other’s mouths when they were on the downlow, Freak-E thought, but he wanted more than anything right now to cum in Rashad’s velvety mouth. It would even be worth it, he decided, to taste his friend’s cum as well. It didn’t look like Rashad was planning on pulling out anyway.

Just like when Freak-E had touched Rashad’s ass instinctively without noticing it, he didn’t notice when Rashad did the same thing. Rashad’s hands first caressed Freak’s round cheeks, then moved up his muscular, tattooed chest until he got to the pecs. There he withdrew as though he noticed the lack of tits, which is when Freak-E noticed. He didn’t say anything.

Rashad blew his load first, but Freak-E got his out just a few seconds later. That was good because he would have probably lost his erection if he had tasted the cumload in his mouth first.

Semen spread over both men’s mouths, coating their tongues in creamy goodness. It was warm and thick, and it seeped down Freak-E’s throat. He had only swallowed cum twice before, but this was more pleasant than any of those other occasions. He almost groaned over the salty-sweet flavor before he cut himself off to avoid sounding gay.

“Thanks, nigga,” Rashad said as they pulled away from each other. “Glad to see fame ain’t changed ya, you can still fuck around on the downlow like a champ.” He flipped on the hotel TV. “Now we gonna sit up, smoke that blunt and watch videos on BET all night.”

For the first time in a long time, Freak-E was able to totally relax the rest of the evening.