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Masseur Seduction: The Finn and the Roughneck

Here’s the entirety of Masseur Seduction: The Finn and the Roughneck, and a hot new story of blue-collar lust and massage seduction! It’s part of the Masseur Seduction trilogy.

Dwayne is a rough-and-tumble redneck roughneck who didn’t especially want to get a massage, and he really didn’t want to get one from this massive muscle-bound Finnish masseur, Juha. But once it starts, Dwayne finds himself so turned on he loves every second of his masseur seduction! You won’t believe where Juha takes this outrageous short tale of one straight blue-collar’s first-time gay experience!

 

Dwayne went to the massage parlor kind of hoping it wouldn’t happen. He had never wanted to come here. It did not look like his kind of place. It was ornately decorated, sumptuous with dense carpets, incense burning and colorful tapestries. There was a statue of Buddha, fat and jolly and wise, made of gleaming brass with steel inlays.

He shifted nervously on his feet. Dwayne had never in his life gotten a massage, not even informally from a girlfriend or anything like that. He wondered if he was supposed to get naked. Was he too dirty? Was he supposed to take a shower first? No one told him that.

In Redfern, North Dakota, most people looked more like Dwayne than the fey Asian man at the desk inside. Dwayne was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in heavy workboots. He wore a knee brace atop his black jeans, and he walked with a limp.

That’s why he was here. His insurance company wanted him to get a massage before they paid for more expensive treatments. Dwayne did not like the idea of some stranger pawing over his body.

He didn’t visit prostitutes, but he would rather have gotten an awkward handjob from some skeezy lady than get a real massage from one of these clearly gay Asian men. (Will they enjoy feeling up my body?) But this was not a prostitution kind of massage parlor, he knew that. The masseur he was seeing was named Juha, and he was a certified medical professional. That was why Dwayne’s insurance company sent him here. He was the only qualified masseur in this section of North Dakota.

What kind of an Asian name was Juha anyway? It didn’t really sound Chinese or Japanese, he thought. Korean? Vietnamese? There were pictures of snow-capped mountains in the massage room he waited in, and pictures of a man skiing. There was a flag too. It wasn’t Japanese, but Dwayne couldn’t place it (Japan was the only Asian country whose flag he could picture off the top of his head).

The door opened, and Juha walked in. Dwayne’s heart sank.

Juha was not a slim gay Asian man at all. He was taller than Dwayne, and at least as muscular. He had long blond hair like a man from the cover of a romance novel. He glanced at Dwayne and smiled.

He spoke with an odd, singsong accent — Finnish — and introduced himself. He discussed Dwayne’s pain and had him take his clothes off. Dwayne hesitated, but did so. He left his underwear on.

He definitely felt dirty. There were smudges of grease on his legs. He had come straight from work. Juha was very clean, and he smelled like soap.

He lifted Dwayne’s leg up, which caused agonizing pain, but then he massaged the meat above and below Dwayne’s leg. Dwayne nearly stopped him the pain grew so bad.

“Oh, hey… Oh oh, shit, oooooh, shit, are you… is it…. Oooh shit…”

But Juha just ignored him and kept massaging. After a minute or two, the pain in Dwayne’s knee let up substantially. Juha moved down to his calf. Dwayne closed his eyes and tried to relax.

“You have much tension in you, yes,” Juha said. He sounded like the Swedish Chef, Dwayne thought, but with one of those very deep voices that rattled your bones. A lot of people said Dwayne had a voice like that, but his was softer, raspier, gentler — Juha was taller, so his voice was achingly baritone.

“Yeah.” Dwayne didn’t think he could relax while he was being pawed by this great big Finn. He gasped and sighed — was this almost over? He didn’t think he could take it.

And then a great sense of please overtook him. He relaxed almost instantly, and his knee felt so much better he had to look down to see if something was wrong. But no, the massage had just worked extremely well, at least for the moment.

“Wow, that feels… a lot better,” Dwayne said.

“That is good for certain, yes,” Juha said with a baritone grunt. “I must use oil now.” He grabbed a bottle of sweet-smelling massage oil and squirted it onto his hands. He worked it into Dwayne’s thighs.

Dwayne realized he had an erection only moments before Juha grabbed onto it with his lubed-up hand. Every fiber of Dwayne’s being told him to stop Juha, but it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just looked at it like a gory scene in a horror movie, one that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

“You will be better. You are tension too much,” Juha said with a grin. “It is okay. Do not have worry.”

“Uh-huh.” Dwayne’s teeth were gritted shut. He lifted his weight off his ass, jutting his hips upward.

His cock throbbed in Juha’s hand. Dwayne couldn’t believe how good it felt. The massage oil sent a wave of warmth and arousal through his body, and that feeling made him moan like a seduced girl. He blushed.

Then Dwayne’s dick disappeared into the burly Finn’s mouth. Dwayne threw his head back and bit a lip. He was humiliated and so turned-on he wanted to bust. His dick felt like it was going to explode.

This was the first time Dwayne had ever really been with a man. Once he and his roughneck buddies had been in Fargo for a weekend, and they all got a blowjob from a prostitute in an alley. That was the first time Dwayne had ever touched cocks with another man — one of his coworkers had insisted on jousting with him because Dwayne had a legendarily huge cock (that they had all seen in the showers). It was also the only time Dwayne had ever touched someone he thought was a man — afterwards, when it was all over, Dwayne had noticed an Adam’s apple and a distinctly masculine gait in the “woman” who had swallowed his nut. Dwayne chose to pretend he hadn’t seen it; he didn’t tell anyone, and he convinced himself that he should assume she was a woman until he saw solid proof refuting it.

But there was no doubting it this time. Juha’s broad, muscular back rippled in front of Dwayne’s face. Juha was built like a fieldhand. Dwayne hadn’t wanted to get sucked off by anyone, much less a man; if he had been forced into it, however, he would have preferred one of the fey Asian men. That would have been a lot like getting sucked off by a woman.

Juha sucked like a man, like he had a job to do and needed to do it the best he could. It wasn’t exactly erotic, though it did turn Dwayne on and make his dick spew precum. Juha sucked Dwayne deep, to the root, nose nestling in Dwayne’s unkempt pubic hair. He sucked like it was an attack, like he was violently annexing Dwayne’s cock to his throat.

“Oh, god, Juha!” Dwayne moaned. He writhed as though the pleasure emanating from his cock was actually pain. He touched Juha’s back, not deliberately, just as part of his flailing, and he shuddered at the sensation of his muscles writhing beneath Dwayne’s fingers.

But he didn’t move his hand away. His mind screamed at him to stop, to let go of Juha’s back — there was sweat there too, clinging to Dwayne’s skin where he touched it — yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. It was like clutching a barrel of rope. Dwayne was strong, but he was not muscular like that, he had never had a six-pack. He had always had a thin layer of pudge over his powerful body. He had never had muscle-upon-muscle just beneath his taut skin, with seemingly not a drop of fat anywhere on him. Dwayne was jealous (sort of — guys with bodies like that got made fun of on the oil rig; everyone loved teasing prettyboys and making them dirty).

He wasn’t used to being the small guy in the room. Dwayne had hit six feet tall in the tenth grade, and he had only gotten taller since then. He was a baritone-voiced beast in most communities — only in this roughneck town was Dwayne seen as normal or even small-sized in comparison to the average local.

A chill ran up Dwayne’s spine. He realized his hand on Juha’s back had roamed lower. He didn’t mean to, but somehow his hand rested on Juha’s ass.

He had never touched a male ass (aside from some male bonding on his baseball team in high school) until now. He gulped nervously. Still his mind wanted him to stop even as his body refused to comply.

Why am I doing this? Dwayne felt like sobbing. His finger slipped into Juha’s asscrack. Was Juha manipulating him deliberately? Was it possible he had been hypnotized? Dwayne knew that was ridiculous, but he couldn’t understand why his body failed the feel the same revulsion his mind did.

His finger slipped into Juha’s ass. Dwayne had never even done that with a woman. Dwayne had lied to his coworkers about that. They talked about giving girls “The Shocker” — a sex move where you put two fingers in a girl’s pussy and one in her asshole — during a late-night jaw session, and Dwayne had felt left out, so he pretended he had done it. He wasn’t even sure it was a real thing, not just a joke. But everyone else reacted as though sticking a finger in a girl’s ass was normal, and Dwayne had pretended the same thing.

In truth, Dwayne was not very experienced with women. He was bold and confident when it came to his muscles, to work, to sports and to violence — he had been a high school wrestler and briefly, an amateur boxer — but he was completely lacking in confidence with girls. He’d only had sex with three women in his lifetime (he told his fellow roughnecks seven), and he’d only screwed one of them more than one time. He’d gotten his dick in that girl’s ass once, but she said it was too big and it hurt too much, so he had barely gotten started before she called it off.

It had felt amazing though. For those first few seconds when he had the first inch or so of his dick inside her tight, virginal asshole, he had nearly cum right there. Now he couldn’t even wait to do that again.

His finger slipped into Juha’s tight asshole. He was presumably not a virgin like that girl had been, but Dwayne was still shocked at how tight his ass was. Dwayne’s pinkie finger struggled in. Dwayne gurgled and bucked at shock that he would do such a thing.

Juha grunted around the cock in his throat. He licked the shaft, slathering spit up and down it. Dwayne couldn’t tear his eyes away from his finger plugged into Juha’s bubble-butt. Copious saliva dripped down his oil-slicked thigh.

“Oh god,” Dwayne gasped as Juha finally pulled off his cock. Dwayne sat up, but Juha just pushed him onto his back again on the massage table. “Uh… So, uh…”

“Shush,” Juha said. “Do not talk. It is not needed. I will give you relaxation and take away the tension that is inside of you.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Yes, excellent, good, very good,” Juha said. He stroked Dwayne’s dick, the waves of pleasure his hand sent up Dwayne’s spine distracted him enough that all he could do was sputter and mumble.

“Hm, oh, I see. Okay then, well, I uh… Okay, I see… Ah-hah, ah… Okay, well, that is, oh…” Dwayne threw his head back. He couldn’t watch. He knew what was coming and he didn’t want to stop it — but even if he didn’t much like it, he definitely didn’t want to see it.

Juha’s huge body didn’t prevent him from being quick and graceful as he climbed up onto the massage table. He gripped the sides of it with his feet like a chimpanzee, barely fitting his hulking body atop the massage table, which didn’t seem strong enough to support two huge men.

But the massage table did hold, as much as Dwayne rather wished it would break. That would, at least, mean he didn’t have to go through with this.

“Oh god…” Dwayne turned his head to the side so he didn’t have to see.

Juha sank down on his cock. Dwayne sighed and Juha twitched as Dwayne’s cock slipped into his tight ass. Juha stopped moving with his plump butt atop Dwayne’s manhood. He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes. He groaned and ground his hips from side to side, moving his ass over Dwayne’s cock.

“You are good, yes, okay?” Juha said. He leaned forward and massaged the meat of Dwayne’s pecs. Dwayne wasn’t used to being manhandled by someone so strong; it felt almost violent and painful, the way Juha rubbed his skin, like he wanted to rub Dwayne’s pecs all the way off and get access to his innards that way. Dwayne bristled and lifted his head up.

Dwayne kept his hands up. He fleetingly touched Juha’s back, but it felt too real to touch his spasming muscles now. Dwayne wondered if he could feel his own cock through Juha’s body. Definitely not, he decided, since Juha was such a huge thickbody. A thin, delicate woman, maybe? Or one of those fey Asian men.

Oh how Dwayne wished one of those Asian men might have come on to him. He would have refused that. It was ironic because, if he had given in and fucked one of the gay Asian men, he would have felt more comfortable with it. But his more comfortable feelings also would have meant he just said no. He disliked flamboyant gays anyway; he routinely got annoyed at their antics. It would have been easy to say no to someone like that.

Juha, however, had surprised him. Now Dwayne could do little more than keep his hands above his head, watching his dick slide haltingly into Juha’s broad ass. Juha struggled and bit his lip as he lowered himself. He used his thighs to control his descent, making it slow and even, inch by inch. Dwayne watched his cock disappear like he was being led to his own execution, which felt good for some strange morbid reason.

He tried to close his eyes, thinking it would be easier if he didn’t have to watch himself fuck a man, but that was not easier. As soon as he closed his eyes, he panicked, feeling out of control. At least watching, he could watch Juha’s back writhing and he could see that his cock was safe.

“Your knee is feeling much better in your leg, yes, no?” Juha asked when his ass was all the way down on Dwayne’s cock. He acted like that hardly mattered, like he hadn’t struggled to take it all. He rocked back and forth on Dwayne’s cock as he leaned forward and rubbed Dwayne’s knee again. “Does it have healing?”

His accent was not too hard to understand, but it was hard enough that Dwayne had to stop and concentrate. He nodded and bit his lip. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock. “Uh-huh.”

“Good, that is for excellency. That is healing, I am certain,” he said. “Do you have sauna?”

“Uh-huh.” Dwayne didn’t really listen to the question. There was, of course, no sauna on his oil rig, but there was a small showering nook — technically it was the women’s shower, but there were no women, so it was mainly unused — that was sometimes adapted into a sauna. The vents were closed or blocked, and the showerheads were turned on, with all but one on the hottest possible setting. The men sat in there, naked in the dark since the fluorescent lightbulbs had never been replaced and no longer worked. The five hot showerheads and one cold one combined to fill the room with steam. Dwayne and his friends would sit there and drink beer (kept cold in a cooler just outside the shower). He enjoyed that, in large part because he got the comfort of nudity without having to see or be seen due to the darkness.

“You should have use for sauna. It is Finnish, and it is very good for Finns. It will do much benefits for your knee,” Juha said.

“Ah. Okay.” Dwayne sharply inhaled. He could not even think about his knee right now. His heart was about to pound out of his chest, and he wanted more than anything for Juha to move. But the giant Finn just stayed still with his ass full of Dwayne’s cock.

“The steam is doing much good, it is certain, for sure,” Juha said. “You can also do steam bath. That is a thing, yes, it is, right?”

“Uh-huh. Yep,” Dwayne said. He had no idea what a steam bath was.

“Excellent, it will do much to promote your healing, yes,” Juha said. “You will fuck me now.”

He took a deep breath and lifted his ass, at last moving it atop Dwayne’s cock. Dwayne gasped. Juha seemed practiced and proficient at fucking in this position, though it seemed very awkward for Dwayne. Juha gripped the edges of the massage table with his toes and used his feet for leverage. He lifted himself almost all the way up off Dwayne’s cock, so Dwayne saw his entire pulsating, veiny shaft, then Juha lowered himself all the way back down.

When he planted himself on Dwayne’s dick, it sent a wave of pleasure up Dwayne’s spine. It was uncontrollably intense, mind-melting, and it made Dwayne moan like no woman had ever caused — he was normally so shy and reserved during sex he barely made a peep.

But this was already so incredible and stressful that he could do nothing more than submit to it. He certainly couldn’t filter his reactions or feel shyness. He just submitted.

The orgasm that erupted within him was so powerful he thought his shaking would break the table. Dwayne fully expected to plummet to the floor with that giant Finn on top of him — would that shatter my pelvis? He tried not to rock the table too much, but the feelings flowing through him were too potent not to move and shake.

“Oh god, yes!” Dwayne screamed, the first time he had ever done anything more than grunt when he came.

An orgasm ripped through his body, as Juha did the same, spraying his wad onto the floor of his massage room. Dwayne spurted his cum into Juha’s tight ass, sending jet after jet of his juices up inside Juha. Some of it ran right back down Dwayne’s shaft, coating his manhood in it and soaking his pubic hair.

Juha sighed. Dwayne grunted and gasped, feeling a mixture of relief, fear and pleasure. His hands gripped Juha’s ass again, despite his misgivings, and his fingers tightened into claws that held onto him tightly. Dwayne gulped and bit his tongue as the last aftershocks of his orgasm wracked his body.

At last he was done. Dwayne’s limbs fell limp, arms dangling off the sides of the massage table. Juha slowly, awkwardly lifted himself off Dwayne’s cock. When his ass finally plopped off, both men sighed grandly. Intense relief flooded Dwayne; his dick was painfully sensitive at first, and the cold air made him gasp again.

“You are very good, you are nice man,” Juha said. He stretched his legs and his arms. He smiled broadly. He pulled his long blond hair back.

“Uh-huh.”

He grabbed some tissues from the box on his counter. He wiped off Dwayne’s cock and his own ass. Then he helped Dwayne up. “You are complete now. You can be going. I will massage you again in two weeks, yes?”

“Uh… Yeah,” Dwayne said. Once more, his mind told him to never return here again. His body wasn’t sure it could wait two whole weeks.

“Your insurance will cover two massages every time every month, every two weeks is appropriate, yes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Excellent, good. I will do suck on your dick too, if you want. Come back to see me,” he said. He frowned. “Insurance company will not pay for that. You must pay if you come before two weeks.”

“Oh, okay,” Dwayne said as he hurriedly put his clothes back on.

Juha placed one thick, meaty hand on Dwayne’s shoulder while Dwayne laced up his heavy workboots. Dwayne bristled but didn’t make him move. He just grabbed his shirt — it felt too confrontational to put it on while Juha caressed his bare back — and stood.

“Uh, thanks,” Dwayne said. He turned around and walked out, shirt in hand. He could feel Juha’s eyes watching his ass shake in his faded dirt-caked jeans.

It was only as he walked out into the bright light of a warm North Dakota summer day that Dwayne knew what his decision was: yes. He’d spend the next two weeks listing all the reasons he shouldn’t come back. He was so focused on that he didn’t even notice how good his knee felt.

But at the end of it all, at the end of that last, was the only factor that really mattered: Dwayne really wanted to fuck again. He couldn’t wait to come back. Just so long as he didn’t have to tell anyone about it.

Hairback Trade: Rim the Roughneck

Here’s the entirety of Hairback Trade: Rim the Roughneck, a new tale from the Str8 Trade universe! It’s the first in an ongoing series of gay erotica about sexy men with hairy backs!

When Shane arranged for the encounter at Site G9, an oil rig in a remote part of North Dakota, he was deliberately vague about what he wanted. Roughnecks were one of the easiest kind of straight guy to suck off — the only hard part was getting to them at their workplaces. When they were off, they fucked women, no matter how ugly or skanky. But when they were stuck on oil rigs far from civilization, Shane could have his pick. There was a tradition on oil rigs — it’s not gay if the nearest woman is a hundred miles away was how it was put to Shane. That was a tradition he could get behind (or more often, in front of).

The locker room stank to high heaven, which meant Shane was rock-hard from the moment he walked in. He loved the smell of sweat and toil, filth, grease and raunchy bodyjuice. The men were loud and boisterous. He had insisted he get his pick before anyone showered, so the scent was freshly rank.

Space was at a premium, and the locker room was crowded. About fifty hairy, unkempt men were crammed in, asses to elbows. When they saw Shane, everyone fell silent. He squeezed through the crowd as someone began to hoot.

“Who you gonna pick?”

“Pick Albert, he got a big ol’ schlong-“

“Fuck you, man, shut yer mouth.”

But Shane knew whom he wanted. He just wanted to take his time. He brushed past all of the men, most of whom were naked, or at least stripped to their boxers. He snaked his tongue into the nooks and crannies of their bodies, teasing bits of armpit sweat, biceps, and even a lick of one plump young hairy buttcheek.

“Albert’s over there-“

“He’s the one you want, I’m sure-“

“Shut the fuck up!”

Albert was indeed very hot. Shane went over to him — it was clear which one he was because he was blushing and insisting Shane not choose him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a jutting jaw, the kind of guy who seems more handsome than he really is, a bit too tall and scruffy for most women (though Shane suspected that, when he cleaned himself up and went out on the town, he was very successful with chicks). He had a deep voice, a hairy chest and a grizzled chin. Shane licked his pecs, prompting a torrent of laughter.

The other guys all suggested Albert because he was the most classically handsome, the one that gay guys had hit on the most in the past. Shane wouldn’t have turned him down.

But Shane had promised to pay for all of these men to have a wild weekend off, as long as he got his taste of whichever one he chose. He did not want Albert. Shane liked a particular kind of man. Albert was entirely too handsome.

He had known who his target was before he ever got to North Dakota. He wanted Joseph, the one they called Tex. He sucked on Albert’s nipple, his pec nervously throbbing and flexing in Shane’s mouth, while everyone else sighed with relief, thinking they had not been chosen. Albert groaned — he had probably suspected he’d be the one picked. He endured Shane’s tongue on his chest and belly like a man letting his doctor palpate him, just getting through it and rolling his eyes until it was done.

But then Shane pointed to Tex, who was shocked at the sudden reversal. Everyone laughed like it was a joke.

Tex was not classically handsome at all — he was craggy, rough, grizzled, with a big nasty scar running across his neck like he had been nearly decapitated once. He was also very hairy, especially on his back, a thick nest of kinky black hairs extending down to his ass. That was what Shane wanted.

He loved hairbacks, and Tex’s hefty body and hairy back were exactly what he had been searching for. Tex blushed — he was very tan, so it wasn’t real obvious at first, but when the other roughnecks realized that Shane wanted Tex instead of Albert, they clapped and hooted and slapped Tex’s ass until he barked at them to stop. Soon Tex was beet-red even through his tan skin.

“Hey, why you wanna service him? He’s a hairy motherfucker!”

“Yeah, I thought he’d be last on ya list, princess.”

“Gays like it dirty, man, don’t you know anything?”

“When did you become a gayologist?”

Shane smiled. He kissed Tex right on that scar on his neck. He bristled a bit but allowed it. His whole body was stiff like a robot. Shane rammed his hand down Tex’s paper-thin white boxers — were they prison-issue boxers? They looked like it, Shane thought — and grabbed his dick. It was throbbingly huge, and it perked up like he was very horny, or maybe he just liked attention.

“I like hairy backs,” Shane said. He turned Tex around and licked all the way up from the small of his back to his shoulders — as far as Shane could reach on his short legs. He snuffled down every drop of sweat he found. There was so much hair that Shane’s tongue got stuck there, and had to push through the fur. Tex bent his knees a bit, sticking his ass out and lowering his back enough that Shane could run his tongue all the way up to his neck.

The roughnecks cheered as Tex snorted and chuckled. He sort of dance a little on his feet, like an athlete warming up before practice. Shane kept a tight hold on his limp dick the whole time.

“Get down on all fours so I can lick your butthole,” Shane said, blushing. He had to whisper it to Tex, who cheered even though he looked mortified. He got down on all fours and covered his head, so his face was near the shower drain, just in front of the bank of lockers against one wall.

Shane planted his face right down there in the crack of Tex’s ass. It was so hairy that Shane’s tongue couldn’t even get to the hole. He encountered a thick tangle of greasy hair, and Shane began by teasing it clear with his tongue.

“Ah, fuck…” Tex moaned. He covered his face and howled into the floor like a sad wolf. The sound boomed and echoed in the metal-walled showering area.

“He’s lickin’ ya ass like a inside-out lollipop…”

“Damn, Tex, I ain’t nevuh realize how hairy you is. You like a sasquatch.”

“No wonder girls ain’t into ya, man, you gotta shave!”

“Fuck you!” Tex roared. He lifted his head up to reveal a bright red face. His scraggly beard hairs quivered. “Y’all wanna shave my back and my ass?”

“No way!”

“Fuck that shit, I ain’t goin’ near it!”

Tex frowned. “See? I can’t shave it myself,” he said. He groaned and looked behind himself at Shane’s face disappearing between his cheeks. He gagged at the sight. “Aw, fuck I feel it! I feel it, man! His tongue is in my ass, man, I feel it!”

He didn’t actually feel it — Shane didn’t say anything, but Tex was mistaken: Shane had made contact with his asshole, but hadn’t actually gotten his tongue in there yet. He just teased the rim and sucked up all the sweat and grime from his crack.

“He got his tongue in there, man! I ain’t know they put their tongues in there! I ain’t know they did that!” Tex said. He laughed nervously, a deep belly laugh that made his asshole flare and open wide.

Shane used the opportunity to plunge his tongue all the way in. He got a burst of stale, stinky musk on his tongue. It made him croon and moan. He had rarely gotten such a delicious asshole, and he was glad — this was already worth the thousand mile trip to this remote section of North Dakota.

“Aw, fuck! Aw, fuck!” Tex looked like he was about ready to cry. He gasped and moaned while his friends hooted and teased him. He stuck his face up in the air. His muscles were all tense, perfectly still except for his ass, which undulated uncontrollably. He rubbed his ass all over Shane’s tongue.

“Holy shit, Tex, you really into that. If you like stickin’ stuff up ya asshole, I got somethin’ you could try.”

“Texans are always into it. Texans love butt-stuff. That’s a fact.”

“Fuck you guys.” Tex’s voice was weak and distracted.

“Only thing in Texas is queers and steers, and I don’t see no horns on you,” someone said, prompting a chorus of laughter from the others. He got down real low and squeezed Tex’s cheeks like a doting grandmother. Tex swatted his hands away.

“Get off me, man.” Tex let out a long, slow growl. He probably intended for it to be menacing, but he was so aroused it just sounded like a seductive moan.

Now that Shane had been lapping at for a few minutes, Tex’s ass was wide open. Tex cringed and squirmed as Shane’s tongue filled him up. Shane could feel Tex’s spongy prostate, and he teased it, giggling into the man’s hairy asshole when it made Tex shake and gasp.

When Shane reached underneath Tex’s body, between his legs, to grab his dick, Tex chuckled. “Ah, damn, he’s jackin’ me off, man, he’s jackin’ me off… Ah shit, ah shit…”

“You lookin’ pretty nice bent over on all fours, Tex. He got ya asshole all loosened up with that tongue… You wanna fuck?”

“I will destroy you if you try anythin’, man,” Tex said with a grunt. He lifted his upper body off the ground, groaning as though it hurt to do so with Shane’s tongue in his ass. Tex reached for his friend to punch him, but he twitched and fell back onto his hands and knees as Shane’s tongue rammed into his prostate.

The other roughnecks burst into laughter. They teased the red-faced Tex mercilessly as Tex shuddered and shook. His cock leaked precum into Shane’s fingers, and his hairy ass clenched around Shane’s face.

“Gonna ride you like a cowboy, hoss!” said one redneck, a lean and lanky one with a colorful tattoo of a bald eagle on his lower back. He had a big, long dick swaying between his legs. He mounted Tex’s back, just in front of Shane’s face in his ass. He plopped himself on Tex, bare cock and balls landing on Tex’s writhing back muscles.

“Get off me!” Tex yelled. He squirmed and would have thrown the would-be cowboy off his back, but the man just stood. He hesitated there, waiting with his balls resting on Tex’s spine. He cackled until Shane moved his tongue from Tex to the other man’s ass, so quick nobody noticed until it was too late.

He just rammed his tongue in for a second, and the other man blushed a bright red. He danced away so fast he slipped on the wet floor and landed in a pile of roughnecks. Shane giggled, crawled over and threw himself on the same pile.

“Fuck you!”

“Get ya cock off me, bitch!”

This tiny showering area was seemingly made for maybe twenty men — there were fewer than two dozen showerheads. But there were fifty men in here, and they all had tried to stay as far away from the rimjob as possible. So all fifty men were crammed in a space so tight they rubbed up against each other. They didn’t seem to mind too much — that kind of situation happened a lot on oil rigs. But it did mean that, when the one guy darted away and into the crowd of men, he knocked just one or two people over. The whole space was so crowded that it caused a chain reaction, and soon most of the men were in a hairy, muscle-bound pile of flesh.

And that was where Shane went. He knew it wouldn’t last long, and it wouldn’t be as sexy in reality as it seemed in his mind — these kinds of things never really were. The men disentangled themselves pretty quickly, and Shane just stuck his tongue out to lick whatever he could get. That meant he got a lot of dusty elbows and glancing licks, a few brief touches of limp cockmeat, that was about it.

But Shane hardly minded. The sexiest thing about it was not so much that he got to touch lots of men, it was that they pulled away from him so forcefully that, when they stood, they were in an even smaller area. They were virtually dry-humping each other now. Shane saw fat redneck cocks disappearing into hairy assholes, muscles rubbing on muscles, hands tightened into fists that dangled stiffly at their sides.

“I’ll kick ya ass, man, I swear to God. You had best get ya dick off my ass.”

“Jerry’s hard!”

“No, I ain’t man, I just got a big dick.”

“Ah shit that hurt, you accidentally kicked me in the nuts when you knocked into me, man.”

“How do ya know it was an accident, fucker?”

They continued to trash-talk each other. They continued to demand that the others spread out some more, since there was a pretty big area in front of Tex, but no one wanted to get close to the action. The ones who were nearest complained about “splashback”, while the others complained about the smell of roughneck sweat filling up the shower. Tex still blushed a deep beet-red. He had plopped himself down on his ass on the floor. He looked at Shane with a big nervous grin on his face.

“So, uh, you wanna suck my dick now?”

“Hell yeah, but only if you promise to let me deep-throat you,” Shane said, prompting a nervous giggle from Tex — even his giggles were so loud and baritone they echoed — and laughing jeers from the others. Shane got down on the ground, laying on his belly.

He plopped Tex’s fat cock in his mouth. It was salty and hot, iron-hard already. It filled up Shane’s throat, prompting a torrent of choked gags as Shane took in as much as he could.

He was a very good deep-throater. Shane was a perfectionist though, so he was disappointed when Tex’s fat cock proved to be too thick to swallow all the way. Shane got just close enough he could feel Tex’s wiry pubic hair on his nose.

“Damn, Tex, he got you deep!”

Tex threw his head back and moaned so violently it sounded like a cry for help. He covered his eyes with one hand. His powerful torso trembled. His muscles all flexed at once.

An explosion of salty precum hit Shane’s tongue. He moaned and swallowed down every drop, gurgling moistly to make enough noise he could be heard over the catcalls and laughter. It was clear no one had ever deep-throated Tex, at least not anywhere’s near as deep as Shane got.

“He suck you off better than Mariah!”

“He got better tits than Mariah too! She got them saggy old titties!”

From their continued joking, Shane gathered that Mariah was a prostitute who charged them only five dollars for a behind-the-dumpster blowjob. Every time they had leave in town, they swore they’d get a different girl — a non-whore — and seduce her, and every time, the vast majority of them ended up getting a blowjob from Mariah, the possible-tranny behind a dumpster.

“I swear, I touched ‘em, they ain’t real-“

“No tranny would get saggy tits put in, man, that ain’t how they do sex-changes!”

“You don’t know jack-shit about trannies! Maybe she’s pre-op!”

A loud, powerful howl emanated from Tex’s throat. It made him wince and blush as his coworkers all fell silent, watching his muscles writhe and squirm beneath Shane’s mouth. His cock was on the verge of orgasm: Shane could feel that in the throbbing of his shaft and the juicy heaviness of his balls, just beginning to rise up in his sac.

Shane pulled off. Tex barked incomprehensibly, his whole body jerking in frustration. Shane licked a trail up his chest, sucking off every drop of sweat. Tex had been sweaty from the day’s work, and he hadn’t showered yet, so there was a layer of dusty, sun-drenched musk, clinging to his hairy flesh. Shane teased every kinky black hair with his tongue, cleaning all the sweat off his pecs, his flat but not six-packed abs, his bulging biceps and firm calves. He even sucked on Tex’s hairy toes.

But beneath the day’s sweat lay a more fresh musk, a rutting smell, like pure, bottled sex itself. That was the sweat generated right now, by Tex’s fucking. It had both a sourness and a sweetness that made Shane crave more. This, he thought, should be bottled and sold in gay nightclubs. It was intensely salty, with a metallic afternote that reminded Shane of licking the filthy steel floor and walls of the oil rig’s showering area.

Shane plopped his ass down on Tex’s cock. Tex’s eyes were closed, both forearms covering his face. Shane lowered himself on Tex’s cock, grunting when there was a burst of pain. Tex’s dick was thick enough to hurt even for Shane’s well-practiced ass.

“Fuck him, Tex! Fuck him! Hell yeah!”

“We ain’t gonna have to settle for Mariah this weekend! We gonna get that Asian chick!”

It sounded like they all agreed to fuck the Asian prostitute, like they had been planning on saving up to fuck her anyway. They clapped and hooted, cheering Tex on.

Shane timed his orgasm perfectly — he was an expert at doing that. He faced Tex and rode him in the cowgirl position, so when Tex reached his own climax and Shane allowed himself to do so at the same time, Shane sprayed his wad all over Tex’s hairy chest.

Tex gasped and boomed, his callused fingers gripping Shane’s ass and holding him down deep on his cock. Hot cum spurted into Shane, each drop teasing his prostate into releasing more orgasm in Shane’s veins. It flowed through him. He moaned loud enough to be heard over the cheering and jeering of the other rednecks.

“Aaaaaaaaah!” Tex moaned as pleasure wafted through his body. His muscles tensed. A symphony of emotions played out on his face — pleasure from the orgasm, of course, but also disgust at the sight of another man’s cum plastering his chest hair to his skin, humiliation at the realization that his friends were going to tease him for getting cum on his body, pride that his own fuckery and big cock was going to get a nice weekend off for all of his buddies, and a bit of fear like he thought it might hurt to have cum on his chest.

Finally it was all over. Tex gasped and his whole body jerked. His cock twitched within Shane, who threw his head back and howled as his own orgasm continued. The dick in his ass sent wave after wave of white-hot pleasure up his spine. His toes curled, and his fingers tightened into claws that dug at Tex’s meaty chest.

“Alright, gayboy, you got what you paid for,” Tex said, his voice weak and breathless. “You can get off me now.”

“Okay, okay,” Shane said. He sighed. He didn’t want to get off just yet. Luckily both he and Tex were sweaty enough to be slippery. When Shane leaned on Tex’s sweat-and-cum-coated chest to support himself, his hands slipped right off. Shane landed with a grunt on Tex’s chest, his cock still in Shane’s ass. Shane moaned as a post-orgasmic burst of bliss hit him, while Tex grunted and shook like a wet dog — it wasn’t clear if he enjoyed his limp dick in Shane’s ass or if his sense of disgust outweighed it, especially now that Shane leaned forward, balls dragging on Tex’s belly, smearing his cumwad all over his hairy torso.

Finally Shane rolled off. They both breathed an intense sigh of relief. The ruddiness drained away from Tex’s face, and he watched with a bemused, faintly disgusted look on his face as Shane licked all the sweat off Tex’s hairy chest.

“Alright, you got it all, man,” Tex said after humoring him for a few minutes. “You’s actin’ like a dog tryin’-a get all the peanut butter off the floor, man. It got all stuck in my chest hair and shit. You ain’t gonna get every drop.”

“Okay,” Shane said, but he didn’t stop licking until Tex physically removed his face from his strapping muscles.

Tex stood up and shook. He smiled wanly at his friends. “Damn… I gotta get a shower, man, all y’all best get out the way. I’m gettin’ a showerhead to myself too, you best believe that.”

“Man… I think we should get blowjobs from Mariah early, man. Barely costs a thing. We’ll be ready to go later on when we get laid-“

“You ain’t nevuh gonna seduce no girl, man.”

“Fuck you, I get plenty of girls. Remember that chunky female wit’ the lips-?”

As though they had forgotten what just happened moments ago, they all ignored Shane. They went straight to their shower. Shane stood there and watched. He stretched his sore legs as he signed the checks written out to each of them — that took a long time even though he had filled out the checks beforehand. He just needed to sign them.

But Shane dragged it out to take as long as possible so he could watch them crowd into the showers. Tex quietly showered by himself, but the others were at two or three to a showerhead — these were not ordinary showerheads, they sprayed in a wide arc, so it was just barely enough space for several men. Shane lazily jacked his limp dick as he watched them bump into each other, show off their muscles and argue about who was going to fuck which prostitute in what order this weekend.

Eventually he was ready to go. Shane loved hairy-backed men, and Tex had been a perfect specimen. But there were more. There were thousands of studly hairbacks in this world, and Shane couldn’t wait to track down every single one of them.

Holiday Trade: Thickest Thanksgiving

Here’s the entirety of Holiday Trade: Thickest Thanksgiving, a new story about rough trade on turkey day when one roughneck in need of money endures his first man-on-man experience! It’s part of the Holiday Trade series, which is, in turn, part of the Str8 Trade series!

Martin was glad to have the house to himself on Thanksgiving. He lived with his sister, her husband and her two daughters, but they were all away at Martin’s brother-in-law’s parents’ house. Martin was invited but begged it off. He rarely got the whole house to himself and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Besides that, he didn’t like his brother-in-law’s family, and he didn’t get the impression they liked him much either. So he was alone for the holiday weekend. He couldn’t really complain though, he had a whole apartment above the garage, so he didn’t have to see his nieces at all if he didn’t want to (and there were times he definitely did not want to see the screaming terrors).

But he did love holidays, so he was a bit disappointed that he didn’t have anyone to celebrate it with. Tomorrow, he and a few friends would be having a Friendsgiving after a day of shopping, but that wasn’t really the same thing.

There was a knock on the garage door. Martin was in the main house right now, since he could have it to himself, but he heard someone banging hesitantly on the garage door.

A deep raspy voice called out, “Hello?!”

Martin peered through the window. There was a man standing there. The first thing Martin noticed was that he was underdressed for the weather, in just a wifebeater and camo pants. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, and it was very cold for northern California. He shivered. The second thing Martin noticed was that he was extremely sexy.

He had a shaved head, though a stubble had grown recently, and he had a scruffy beard too. He had a husky build, with muscles bulging out of his wifebeater. He was very tall. He carried himself like a blue-collar worker, Martin thought, maybe a carpenter or plumber.

Martin opened the front door of the house. “Hey,” he said.

“Oh, hi, you must be Martin.” He came to the front door and shivered. He looked like he expected to be let in. “I’m Tommy. I’m Greg Thicke’s grandson.” He gestured to one of the houses across the way. That made Martin giggle — Mr. Thicke was an elderly redneck who was hilarious in his own little way; Martin could only imagine what Mr. Thicke had told him. Tommy smiled nervously. “Can I come in?”

“Uh… Do you… have a reason?” Martin asked. “Sorry, I mean, I don’t know you or anything-“

“No, yeah, I, uh, I guess… I should have expected that. It’s just really cold,” he said. He bit his lip.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“Uh… My granddad said you’d be, uh… that you’d get me inside quicker than a… Well, I guess he ain’t mean it literally, I should’ve… I, uh…” He shivered again and laughed. “It’s never this cold at Thanksgiving, man, I ain’t even bring no long-sleeves back with me. Uh…”

“Yeah, weird weather this year.”

“Look… My granddad… You’re gay, right? Course you are. My granddad — I mean, no offense man, you got like, a lisp and a limp wrist and, uh-“

“Yeah, I know what gays look like, man, you got me. It’s okay,” Martin said. He smiled and threw his hands up. He suspected where Tommy was going with this, but he wanted to make him struggle to get there.

“Yeah.” He blushed. “So my granddad said… Look, I’m gonna be honest wit’ you, I got some money problems right now. Okay? It ain’t like… It ain’t, you know, drugs or nothin’ like that. But, uh… my granddad says you… You like, sometimes pay dudes to like… suck their dick, or whatever.” His cheeks turned bright red, and he gestured increasingly wildly. “No offense, man, I love gays. I mean, I don’t love gays like, physically. I mean, I ain’t gay. I ain’t, you know, into dudes. That’s, uh, but I am, like… I am okay, with the whole… thing.”

Martin chuckled. “So your granddad said I’d fall head over heels in love with you and pay you, so you should come over here to make some money? And I’d just open the door for you right away?”

“Well… He ain’t exactly phrase it like a suggestion. He kinda meant it, like… you know, a bad thing, like somethin’… Like he said basically if I was a deadbeat, you know… He ain’t okay with the gay thing. He said he’s not giving me money and if I should just come over here if I’m… Well, he’s old-fashioned.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Martin sighed and opened the door. “Your granddad is totally right, by the way. I’ll give you five hundred dollars to fuck me.”

“Oh hell yeah, okay, finally,” Tommy said. He came in and immediately took his wifebeater off. He tossed it on the couch and begun to unlace his heavy workboots.

“Finally?”

“I work at an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, right? And we get leave off in this crapdunk little town called Masquerez, ain’t jack-shit there to do. All the chicks is Mexican and fat. Not a single one is fuckable. I mean, I still fuck ‘em, but I ain’t proud,” he said with a chuckle. His deep voice boomed; he spoke loudly, like he was used to being on an oil rig where engines constantly whirred. “And uh… me and my buddies Leif and Rock and Bolabutunde — he’s from Ghana — and we all heard this rumor ‘bout this gay dude who pay money for it. And we spent all fucking night chasing this dude, never found him, man. We found one gay Mexican who ain’t speak no English and he got even less money than me, so we ain’t fuck him.” He leaned back and wiggled his toes. He propped his feet up on the coffee table. He grabbed the remote control. “You got porn on here. Like straight porn?”

“Prolly not. This is my sister’s place. I doubt her husband dares to keep porn in here,” Martin said. “And I bet he’s into something gross like diapers.”

“Ew, nasty,” Tommy said with a chuckle. He burped. “Sorry if that weren’t romantic.” He flicked through the channels and eventually found some hip hop music video channel that was nearly softcore porn. “So, uh… I dunno how gays do it. I mean, I know… like the gist of it. But I dunno what to do.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” Martin said. He sunk between his knees in front of Tommy.

“Oh, I should shower first, man,” Tommy said. He chuckled. He sniffed his armpit and wrinkled his nose. “I smell rank, sorry. I know gays is all about clean, man.“

“What? No. You are way off. You got an F on that gayology quiz. Shoulda studied more,” Martin said. “Gays love dirty guys.”

“Ew, why?”

“Uh… I dunno, I just do,” Martin said. He dove his face into Tommy’s armpit, the same one he had sniffed and found wanting. It was disgusting, he was right about that. It was slick with sweat — Tommy’s grandparents kept their house at a sweltering temperature, which was why he had been wearing just a wifebeater and shorts until he put on pants to come over here. So Tommy had been sweating since he got to the house late last night.

His armpit was so wet it was like he had just taken a shower, though the smell proved he hadn’t. Martin also tasted a bit of snow because a few flakes still came down outside.

Martin kissed up Tommy’s arm from his pit. He had tattoos there, a silhouette of a naked woman, an iron cross, a network of barbed wire, and Martin licked an outline of each one. Tommy watched him with a wry smile like he might watch a child explore something mundane.

Then Martin kissed his shoulder, and the lower side of his neck, where a climbing ivy tattoo extended up to his ear. As soon as Martin’s tongue and lips touched Tommy’s scruffy neck, Tommy’s whole body tensed. Martin knew he had made a mistake.

“Ugh…”

Martin’s heart skipped a beat. Tommy was huge and bulky and possibly violent. He was a roughneck. Martin wasn’t sure how’d respond. He should not have tried to kiss his neck.

But Tommy just placed one heavy hand on Martin’s head. He gently but firmly pushed him down. He chuckled nervously and pointed to a spot about a third of the way up his neck — he was very muscular, so he didn’t really have much of a neck; he pointed to just above his shoulders. “You can kiss me up to here, man. No higher than that. We ain’t makin’ out. No hickeys neither. I can’t explain that to my mama.”

“Okay,” Martin said. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief like he thought his rule might have ended this.

Martin didn’t mind. He just liked pushing straight men to their limits. He took off his own clothes as he sucked on Tommy’s bare chest and shoulders, below the limit. Tommy was hairy and dusty, and tense wherever he kissed; Tommy’s skin puckered underneath Martin’s lips.

“Ah… Damn,” Tommy said. He blushed a bright red. “Man, this shit is crazy. I ain’t know it was gonna be like this.” He shifted his weight on the couch. “I mean… they said that gay dude in Texas, man, he was… It was like a gloryhole thing. Supposedly. You ain’t gotta look at him or nothing. He ain’t lickin’ ya nipples. Shit’s crazy.”

“You like blowjobs, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“You want me to just go straight to sucking your cock?”

He snorted and chuckled. He whipped his cock out the fly of his tattered brown boxers. He thwacked its limp shaft around, battering Martin’s shoulder with it.

“Hell yeah, man, fuck,” Tommy said. He bit his lip. “You deepthroat? Ain’t no girls deepthroat no more.”

Martin giggled. He stuck his finger down his throat to demonstrate. He got it way down there before gagging. Tommy lowered his eyes and breathed deeply. His cock twitched.

“Ah yeah, man, like that,” Tommy said, his voice rumbling like he had to force himself not to attack Martin’s throat right now.

“I’ll let you facefuck me,” Martin said. “If you let me get you hard with a little jousting.” Martin giggled.

Tommy laughed a deep barrel laugh. He covered his face with his hands. “Okay, but I’m puttin’ a time limit. One minute, man. If I don’t get hard in one minute, you put it in your mouth. Ain’t no way I’m gonna get hard touchin’ a queer’s dick. No offense.”

“None taken.” Martin knew that Tommy was probably right. Martin didn’t care. The point wasn’t to actually get him hard. Martin would just enjoy trying.

Martin thwacked his own hefty cock against Tommy’s, and when he did, Tommy’s whole body jerked. Tommy’s eyes were closed, one hand covering his face. He groaned and giggled like a boy. He covered his eyes with both arms.

“Ah, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he said. His voice was muffled by his arms.

“You ever touch cocks with another man?”

He laughed again, the anxiety evident in the wavery tone. His face was covered by his forearms, but even through the gaps in the flesh, Martin could see his dingy face turning red like a cranberry. He giggled so uncontrollably he squealed like a mouse, a very deep-voiced, raspy-throated mouse.

“You okay, Tommy?”

“Yeah.” Tommy had to take a deep breath to regain control of himself. He peered through his fingers, but when he saw his cock touching Martin’s, he squirmed and re-covered his eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure. “Nah, I never touch no dick.” He paused and bit his lip. “Alright, yeah. One time. Bolabutunde — that’s that African dude — he was… he had this game. He said it was Ghanaian but some other dude googled it and said he saw nothin’ ‘bout it in Ghana or anywhere else.” He paused and laughed. “I only did it one time. But, uh… He like come up at ya wit’ his big floppy dick, and you… you know, you hit each other’s dicks and shit. Like joustin’ for real, you know? And uh… if you back out cuz his dick hurt ya — and Bolabutunde knows how to do that too, he got a massive rod and he uses it like a fucking club, man, he really gets ya with it. He hits ya in the balls with it. Anyway if it hurts and ya gotta back out, you lose, and if you get hard, you gotta suck his dick.” Martin chuckled. “It’s how Bolabutunde always wanna settle things.”

“You did that?”

“Just one time. That motherfucker was trying to take my towel, man. He said he just forgot his, he wanna share. I was like, I do a lot of things for my friends, but I ain’t gonna let you wipe ya ass off with my towel and then I’m gonna use it. I’m gonna wipe my face off wit’ ya ass all over my towel? No way, no I ain’t.”

“You won?”

He shrugged. “Kinda. We was still goin’ when my boss came in the shower. He ain’t tolerate faggotry, so he made us stop.” He paused. “Okay, man, start suckin’.” He breathed a sigh of relief when Martin pulled away from his cock. Then Tommy gasped. “Oh, sorry, man! I ain’t anti-fag. I mean, anti-gay. I ain’t anti-gay. I know faggot is a bad word-“

“It’s okay, Tommy, relax.”

“Okay. I don’t use it, you know. On the rig, we got a lotta Africans and shit, Arabs, that kind of thing. They ain’t nice about gays. I’m the tolerant one there,” he said like he expected a medal. “I tell ‘em not to talk shit about faggots. Ain’t right.”

“Well, thanks for… standing up for us, or whatever.” Martin swallowed Tommy’s cock, which was still limp and ropy. Tommy’s proud smile disappeared.

His cock remained limp at first, as an awkward silence filled the room. Martin wondered if Tommy would even be able to get hard — not all straight guys could do it, no matter how much money they were offered.

But then finally, Tommy’s dick perked up. It twitched in Martin’s mouth, then got firmer and firmer. Tommy watched like he had never seen this happen before. His eyes were open wide.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, like that,” Tommy said. He moaned like Martin was scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach for a long time. He leaned back on the couch. He grabbed his pants and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Can I smoke in here?”

“No, sorry. It’s my sister’s house. She would literally shit a brick,” Martin said.

He smiled. “I’d like to see that.” But he did put the cigarettes away. He shrugged. “I’m trying to quit anyway.”

Martin rammed his head all the way down on Tommy’s cock. He gagged but he kept his mouth in position. He choked up spit, while Tommy groaned and grunted.

He was a very loud lover. Tommy kept on making sounds, whirring and hooting at himself, chuckling at jokes only he heard, shifting his weight on the couch. Martin couldn’t tell if he always fucked like this or if he just did it because he was nervous.

“You ready to fuck me?”

Tommy blushed again. “Yeah, course,” he said. He said it like a macho man, but it was obvious that he was nervous. When Martin bent over his lap with his ass in the air, Tommy sighed with relief. “Damn, thank god, I was worried you’d be hairy. You shave your ass, right? I’m glad girls don’t get hair in their asses.”

“Girls absolutely get hairy asses,” Martin said as he backed his ass towards Tommy’s lap. “They shave.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way, I swear. Or a lot of them do, anyway. Not all. Not the Asians.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose. “Well… I don’t much like that, they shouldn’t get hair in their asses, man, that’s gross.”

Martin giggled. “I will be sure to inform the Committee to Regulate Female Asses,” he said. Then he shuddered in both pain and pleasure when Tommy’s dick pushed into his asshole.

Tommy gasped. “Aw, fuck, aw, fuck, man, aw, fuck, I don’t even… Aw, fuck…”

“You like that?” Martin asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Tommy groaned and his whole body rattled. He held his breath, watching Martin squirm backwards deeper and deeper onto his cock. “Yo, man, yo… I gotta… Yo, man, you, uh… what kinda positions you like?”

Martin found it difficult to concentrate while his ass loosened and adjusted to Tommy’s cock. So he just said, “Any, really. What do you want to try?”

“No big deal, just… no girls ever wanna do this,” he said. “They say it hurts too bad. Man, girls complain a lot. Why don’t you complain?”

“Cuz I like getting fucked by dirty guys with big monster dicks,” Martin snapped. “Girls don’t.”

He sniffled. “Fuckin’ bitches…” he said. There was a faint note of pride there, like he enjoyed hearing talk about his “monster dick”. He wrapped his arms around Martin’s chest. He rotated so that he laid out on the couch — he was a little too tall, so his feet had to be angled off the edge. Martin struggled to remain atop his cock, but all the extra motion made him horny enough to burst.

Tommy hugged Martin to keep him close. Martin held his breath, trying to endure the awe-striking pressure in his ass. Tommy’s entire cock was in him, throbbing, and since he was mounted on Tommy’s sweat-slippened body, Martin could do little more than slide around on his muscles.

But Tommy wrapped his arms over Martin’s chest, and even hooked his legs around Martin’s ankles. That pinned Martin on his back on Tommy’s chest and cock. The smell of his unwashed roughneck body was overpowering, like Martin was bathing in his funk.

“This alright, man?” Tommy asked.

“Hell yeah.” Martin’s voice was weak and thready. “Girls are never going to like this position, Tommy. It hurts. I like it because… well, for my own reasons. Don’t bother asking girls to do this.”

He sighed. “I know.” He took a deep breath and started fucking, ramming his dick upwards into Martin’s ass. He was quick like it was a race, like he was trying to shatter Martin’s insides. Martin yelped and screamed, in pain at first but then with pleasure flowing through his veins.

Tommy’s cell phone rang. He cursed and answered it, only slowing down a little bit. “It’s my sister,” he said like he didn’t want to talk to her. He answered it anyway though. “Hey. I’m around. None of your business. No. No. No! No! No! You better not!” His cock trembled in Martin’s ass. “I am not! I don’t even know the neighbors here. Grandpa is a fuckin’ homophobe, I don’t think he was right about that. I’m… at the store! I wanted to pick up…”

“Bottle of wine.”

“A bottle of wine, Shelly! I wanted to get some wine for the dinner tonight! Yes, I know what wine is! We’re not that barbaric on the oil rig, you know! Oh, you think you know everything? I ain’t a rentboy, shut up!” He hung up the phone. His cock twitched angrily in Martin’s ass. “Fucking bitch. She knows where I am, by the way. If she ever asks, I didn’t come over here. I’ll tell her I dropped the wine and broke it on the way back.”

“I have wine,” Martin said. “You can take a bottle.” His voice was tense, breathless, clipped. He sounded like he was near tears, though he was merely near orgasm instead. “You can leave out the back. You can come out down the street, it’ll look like you’re coming back from the store.”

“Shit, alright, thanks,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I wanna do somethin’ nice for you, but I can’t think of nothin’. Don’t ask for a reacharound, I don’t do that.”

“Take a video of that African guy. Record yourself thwacking dicks with him. I wanna watch,” he said.

Tommy gagged and winced. “Ah…” He smiled. “Oh, okay, yeah, I’ll just tell him it’s for a girl, alright? I’ll say I know a girl who wanna see it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Martin yelped like a puppy. He at last reached orgasm as Tommy finally began fucking again, triggering Martin’s whole body to tense and send pleasure pounding up his spine. Tommy didn’t notice right away because he was focused on his own cock, which spasmed as his balls drew up in his sac.

Then Tommy moaned in disgust when he saw Martin spray cum over his belly and chest. Tommy closed his eyes and muttered a complaint about the cummy smell. “Nasty…”

But it didn’t slow him down any. He groaned right into Martin’s ear. He jackrabbited his cock into Martin’s ass again, so hard and so violently that Martin screamed in both pain and pleasure. His fucking accentuated the orgasmic aftershocks that wracked Martin’s body.

“I’m gonna nut, man, gonna nut, gonna fill you up, aw shit, man aw shit, aw shit!” His voice gradually rose to a plaintive yell.

Hot cum spurted into Martin’s ass. It was a thick, creamy load, even denser and stickier than most. It coated Martin’s ass in warmth, and it kept on going. Martin took a deep breath and savored the feel of looping jets of cum covering his prostate and dripping throughout his body.

Tommy sighed grandly. When Martin moved, Tommy gasped and held Martin’s hips in place. His cock twitched, which made Martin hold back a howl of pain. The movement kept his post-orgasm going, however, and Martin shuddered uncontrollably.

At last Tommy was done. Thick gobs of cum dripped down his shaft and into his pubic hair. He shuddered too, and then he fell limp.

Even when Martin lifted off him, Tommy just sprawled out on the couch. He groaned. He burped again. Martin stretched his legs and grabbed some napkins. He cleaned off Tommy’s cock, which rapidly limpened in Martin’s fingers.

“Damn,” Tommy said. He sighed. “Do I gotta go back to my family? Can I stay here all day?”

“Fine with me.”

He frowned. “I know. But I can’t. My mama would kill me,” he said. “You’ll still be here tonight?”

“Yes,” Martin said. He went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. He handed it to Tommy.

“Good. I gotta wait till my sister goes to sleep, or she’ll be a total bitch,” he said. He smiled. “Will you pay me again tonight?”

Martin giggled. “Not five hundred dollars.” He wrote out the check to Thomas Thicke and handed it over. In the memo field, he had written meat, but Tommy didn’t even look at it yet.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry though. We can have fun, and I bet you can make some money one way or another. Maybe not five hundred bucks…” Martin said. Tommy nodded and agreed. He put his clothes back on, then left through the back door. Martin watched him sneak down the street, then shiveringly walk in his wifebeater back to his grandfather’s house, carrying the bottle of wine.

Martin couldn’t wait for him to be back. He loved servicing straight studs, and they always seemed to come out around the holidays.

Thanksgiving, he thought, was the best. That’s when all the hottest str8s came out to play. Martin wondered how many other straight studs were visiting family on this street right now. He couldn’t wait to taste them all.

Rough Trade: The Plumber, Plenty of Poundage and One Pulsating Pole

Here’s the entirety of Rough Trade: The Plumber, Plenty of Poundage and One Pulsating Pole, a hardcore tale of blue-collar action! It’s available for a great low price with five more stories — plus bonus material — in Gay Blue-Collar Erotica, Vol. 1!

Rob had never seen a sexy plumber — they were always fat and gross in his experience — so when Dino showed up, his knees went weak. Rob stood there at the front door, quaking like a child.

That’s because Dino was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with swarthy skin betraying his Greek origin, though his accent was almost undetectable. He had a dense mop of curly black hair that extended in an unruly mess all the way to his shoulders. He wore a tight wifebeater, and a thick layer of curly black hair extruded from beneath it.

He had a surly look about him. A lot of people would have seen him as rude — quite accurately — but Rob didn’t care. He was so hot Rob was too nervous to stand there and watch as he fixed the sink.

It was a simple job, and it only took a few hours. Rob went away to surf the web, forcing himself not to watch porn even though he kept getting hard thinking about Dino there under the sink.

“What?” Dino’s angry voice spat out. It was deep and resonant.

Rob was flush with fear. Had he angered Dino? He wasn’t even in the same room. He cautiously crept into the kitchen.

“I told you about that.” Dino said. His fingers gripped the cell phone tight as he held it to his ear. His nostrils flared. His shoulder muscles rippled beneath the wifebeater that was now sweaty and marked with grease. “I told you- Baby, look, I said I’d pay for it, right? So- so just fuckin’ wait for it! Don’t tell me not to curse at you, you’ve been cursing at me since the moment I answered the phone! Well fuck you, I told you about that and you dumped me so it’s none of your business you fat stupid cow!”

He hung up the phone and nearly slammed it on the counter, but stopped himself at the last minute. He roared and shadowboxed the air, his face ruddy and his hands tightened into fists.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “That was my bitch ex-wife. She’s such a fucking whore. You know she’s makin’ me pay for my daughter’s makeup? I don’t even think she should be wearing makeup yet, she’s only thirteen. I said no. I threw it all away into the garbage. But I don’t get a say, I just have to pay for it.” His face was red and he paced in Rob’s tiny kitchen. He stopped and looked at Rob. “Sorry. She’s just… She’s being a bitch. Wants me to cough up two hundred bucks out of the blue. Like I’m fuckin’ made of money.”

“I know how you can make two hundred bucks,” Rob said with a flirtatious grin, which he hoped looked nonchalant. “And if you do it the way I tell you, I’ll give you five hundred.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Rob said. He blushed and grabbed for the loose waistband of Dino’s jeans. He tickled the rim of his boxers, and Dino’s eyes opened wide. His muscles all tensed. “It’s long, I’m pretty sure, and thick, and it’s probably a light brown, and I’ll make it feel very good-“

“You, uh…” Dino paused, unsure if he should take a guess at what Rob was trying to say. If Dino guessed wrong and Rob complained, he would get in a lot of trouble. But Dino couldn’t think of anything Rob might be referring to other than sex. “So you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. Exactly. I want you to fuck me, and I want you to fuck me raw, and I want you to fuck me hard. I’ll make you forget that bitch ex-wife,” Rob said. “I just want you to help me embarrass my own embarrassing former family. My dad. He’s disowned me, I like to call him sometimes and let some guy he’d hate make it clear he’s made me his bitch.”

Dino blushed and laughed nervously. He covered his mouth with his face. He grabbed his crotch with his other hand. “Let’s, uh, be clear,” he said. His eyes flashed menacingly. “I ain’t gonna touch your dick. You don’t get up in my ass or nothing. I will rip yo’ face off if you even think about it.”

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ll suck your dick. You fuck me in the ass. You make a lotta noise when I call my dad,” Rob said. “That’s all. I’m a bottom, I’ve got no interest in fucking you.”

Dino paused. He caressed his own chest, his muscles rippling as he looked away from Rob — he found eye contact very intense and uncomfortable right now. He sighed like he was going to say yes, but then he stopped and reconsidered. He opened his mouth. He laughed again. “Aw, fuck, it’s for my daughter…”

“A noble cause,” Rob said. He gently touched Dino’s meaty but flat belly, through his wifebeater. Then he pushed one of his fingers beneath the fabric, tracing a trail through the sweaty hair there.

“You, uh, want me to take a shower first?” He asked. He raised one arm and sniffed at the pit. “I stink-“

“No!” Rob blushed and rammed his head into Dino’s hairy armpit. He suckled on the coarse, sweat-slickened hairs there, which made Dino chuckle. Normally Dino was ticklish there, but he was too shocked to react that way. He was used to people treating his sweaty, hairy body as gross — as impressive, given his muscles, but still foul-smelling and unpleasant no matter how much he washed. Dino was used to it by now, so he found it weird and off-putting to have someone actually worshiping every inch of his raunchy flesh.

“Damn, you are one nasty dude,” Dino said.

Rob sucked on the flesh of Dino’s chest. He licked over Dino’s hairy pecs, lapping at the kinky hairs and sucking up all the sweat. Dino’s muscles rippled as he tensed up. He had never had a girl who was really, genuinely into his muscles and hairy body — they occasionally thought he was hot, but they would have preferred he was smaller and smoother.

But Dino couldn’t do anything about that. He had been beat up too much as a kid to be willing to slim down, and anyway he was just a big boy by nature. He put on muscle-weight easily, so he worked out a lot. At first he had only worked out because he wanted to look good for when he picked up chicks. He had simply overshot his goal, and he refused to change his trajectory, so he just kept getting bigger and bigger, and less and less appealing to women.

As Rob sunk to the ground, Dino groaned. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. Am I a prostitute? No, he thought, this doesn’t count. It would count if I sought out a gay man to fuck for money. This is just… making a little cash on the side. From sex. Can I call myself a gigolo? Could I pretend this guy was a girl and tell everyone I had a female pay me for money?

He felt self-conscious and vulnerable when Rob undid his belt and dropped them. His cock and balls dangled. His dick had never been so limp, and he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get hard. Finally he had the bright idea to bring up some porn on his cell phone.

Rob saw Dino take out his phone and mumble to himself as he looked up some more porn. Rob didn’t mind. He inhaled deeply of Dino’s musk, then swallowed his dick to the root. It was limp and soft, but as soon as it touched Rob’s tongue, it twitched.

It pulsated in Rob’s mouth. He could tell when Dino found a video he was really into because his dick jumped and hardened. It went from soft to hard in seconds, and Dino groaned overhead.

As the sour taste of precum overwhelmed Rob, he gurgled merrily. Dino tasted salty and sweet, and a little like seawater — his precum tasted like Rob imagined seawater did on a remote Greek island; it tasted sunny and warm and savory, and it made Rob’s mouth water. He licked and lapped at that throbbing cock, while giggling at how it made Dino twist and writhe as though it hurt.

Really though Dino just contorted because it felt so good. His knees were weak. His body was overcome by pleasure wafting over him in waves. He wanted to grab ahold of Rob’s head and facefuck him like a slut. Dino rarely got the chance to orally copulate with someone like that — mostly girls thought his body hair was gross enough that any kind of contact was a favor. His ex-wife had made him lick her pussy without ever sucking his dick, and then when he complained, she called him a misogynist.

He was watching porn, so when a call came, it bounced him off the website and those beautiful blonde lesbians disappeared. He was angered, especially when he saw that it was his ex-wife again.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he murmured to himself. He answered the phone. “What?”

You are such an asshole, Dino! You never told me about that slutty bitch at the club. It’s just like Tampa all over again-

“It is not, you stupid cunt!” Dino screamed. “I did tell you about her, and I ain’t fuck her, and we ain’t together so it wouldn’t be any of yo’ business if I did! I don’t gotta tell you ‘bout this shit!”

If you ever want to see your daughter, I have to be convinced you have a healthy living environment, Dino. You can’t be getting drunk with sluts.

“I don’t do that when I have Lisa! You are one miserable bitch of a cock-sucking whore! How’s that accountant’s dick taste, huh?”

Dino! I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. I oughta send my brother over there-

“Go ahead, I’ll kick his ass again,” Dino said. “I’m kinda busy right now, I got a girl over.”

You’re not at work?

“She was one of my clients. She came over to suck my dick,” Dino said.

Yeah, right. You’re a pussy, Dino. And you’re a hairy fuck.

Dino whispered, “make some sounds like a girl.” Then he put the phone next to Rob’s mouth. Rob blushed but did as he was told. As he sucked, he made loud gurgling sounds, taking care to ensure his voice was as feminine as could be.

Ew, god, Dino, did you just put the phone near your cock? That sounded disgusting. You’re disgusting. She sounds like a total slut. And she sounds fat.

“You’re disgusting, you stupid bitch,” Dino said. “I gotta go. I got my dick in a girl who’s worth a damn.” He hung up, glad he had gotten the final word for once. That rarely happened.

His dick throbbed in Rob’s mouth. Now that Dino had gotten more comfortable with it, he went ahead and facefucked him. He wrapped his meaty palms around the back of Rob’s head. Rob paused to situate himself at the perfect angle to deep-throat Dino, who began grinding his dick into Rob’s gullet.

Dino groaned and threw his head back as he felt the earliest tingling of his orgasm. He went slow, not wanting to blow his load so soon. He ground his dick into Rob’s throat, which spasmed and struggled to accept every inch of his load.

Dino had been raised Greek Orthodox, so he was overcome with guilt as he fucked — not enough to stop, but enough that he promised himself he’d see his priest as soon as he could. He really ought to start going to church, not just for this, but also because his ex could try to get him in legal trouble, and a history of going to church would look good in court.

But mainly, he wanted assurance that he wasn’t in trouble with God for doing this. Now that he had gotten started, it really didn’t feel like prostitution. It didn’t seem like it should be sinful. He was just sticking his dick down a welcome, warm, wet hole — what could be sinful about that?

Besides, he had been fucking females outside of wedlock. That wasn’t any worse, was it? Not technically speaking, he thought. But there was still a twinge of guilt in his chest. Nothing that felt this good could possibly be allowed by the Bible, he decided.

When Rob gave him his phone, Dino was nervous. He didn’t know what to say to Rob’s father, and he was so overwhelmed by the pleasure snaking through his body that he didn’t know if he could come up with anything to say. But Rob was insistent.

“Yo. Hey, Mr. Winthrop?”

Yes. Who, may I ask, is calling?

“Yo, uh, this is Dino. I just wanted to say thanks, for makin’ your son. He got a nice tight throat and my dick fits perfectly down it.”

A loud sigh came from the phone. Am I on speaker-phone? Robert, this is truly immature behavior.

“His mouth is full, sir, full of my dick. He looks good wit’ dick in his throat,” Dino said. “You wanna listen as I stick ‘im? I’m gonna fuck him in the ass now.”

He grabbed Rob by the hips, and pulled him off. His dick was cold and alone, begging for attention — Rob tried to stroke it a little as he got in position, but Dino kept moving, making it impossible to jack him off as they arranged themselves for hardcore fucking.

Rob dropped his pants and bent over on all fours. He put the phone on the ground in front of his face, so his father could hear everything that happened.

“Hey, Dad! I’m just using my inheritance,” Rob said. “I paid Dino five hundred dollars to fuck me.”

Robert… You shame me.

“I know, but you deserve it,” Rob said. He threw his head back and moaned as Dino slipped into him. There was an intense, uncontrollable pressure. He moaned again, as loud as he could, a powerful, cringing sound that resonated in the kitchen. Rob’s father groaned in disgust.

You don’t need to call me for this.

“I absolutely do!” Rob said. His voice broke as a twinge of pleasure erupted in his prostate. He pushed his ass back, squeezing every inch of Dino’s dick into him.

Now that he had started fucking, Dino was less nervous. He was surprised by how easy this really was — Rob’s ass felt exactly like a girl’s ass. It helped that Rob was such a feminine man, with a bubble-butt that was smooth, clean and unblemished, not to mention tight. It was easily the best ass he had ever fucked, though when Dino told his friends about this later, he said that Rob’s ass was “sloppy and weak”.

“Yo’ son is a slut, Mr. Winthrop!” Dino called out. He cackled. “That’s my dick in his ass!”

Really, son, you are disgusting. I’m hanging up now. And then he did so.

Rob was disappointed, but he wasn’t surprised. Dad always hung up once the noise started getting really passionate; Rob liked to imagine that he sobbed once he hung up the phone, but he didn’t know if that was true or not. Rob reached behind himself to spread his asscheeks, giving Dino more access to his asshole.

With a loud roar, Dino slapped Rob’s asscheek. He held onto it tightly as he humped. When he had gotten started, Dino didn’t want to touch any more of Rob than he absolutely had to. He was worried he’d feel some body hair and remember he was fucking a man. He’d be humiliated if his dick went soft mid-fuck.

But now that he was into it, he wasn’t worried about that all. Rob’s ass felt exactly like a girl’s, and he was so smooth he put most girls to shame. Dino gripped his ass and slammed his dick all the way in.

“Take it, slut, god-damn!”

Once he was more comfortable with it, he knew what position he wanted — no girl ever let him do it for more than a few seconds because they said he was too heavy and hairy. But Dino had long wanted to do it laying on his partner’s back.

So that was what he did. He rammed his dick until it was all the way in, and he wrapped one forearm in front of Rob’s mouth. He sighed and moaned directly into the back of Rob’s head. His sweaty, hairy chest plopped down on Rob’s back.

Rob was entirely pinned. He couldn’t even squirm with Dino’s heavy body pressing down on his back. He couldn’t breathe either, both because of the mass of Greek muscle atop his back and because he was too overcome by passion to take a breath.

“Hell, yeah, slut…”

Dino rotated his hips, moving his dick in a wide circle within Rob’s ass. He hit every corner of Rob’s insides, his cock aiming into every part of Rob’s guts. He could even tell — as disgusting as it was — when his dick touched Rob’s prostate because it made Rob writhe beneath his body. He couldn’t move much, but Dino could feel his body struggle to squirm.

Finally Dino felt his orgasm coming on strong. Rob had stopped breathing, the pressure in his ass so intense he couldn’t even gasp. Dino snorted like a hog, the sound of his rutting filling the air and echoing in Rob’s ears.

“Here I go, baby, gonna fill you up, I love you so much, sweetheart-“ Dino stopped and blushed because he remembered he wasn’t talking to a female. Luckily Rob either didn’t hear his words or didn’t take them seriously.

A wad of hot cum sprayed into Rob’s ass. Dino groaned loudly, his deep voice resonant and rough like sandpaper. His cum was hot and creamy, and it seeped into Rob’s flesh. Rob moaned as he shot his own load onto the floor and into his hand. Dino wrinkled his nose in disgust — he hadn’t known Rob was pleasuring himself — but he didn’t stop Rob even if it seemed disrespectful; Dino had been raised to believe a real man commanded respect, especially through his fucking, and he didn’t let his bitch distract him.

But this was too potent an orgasm to do anything while it still coursed through his veins. Dino’s hands curled into claws, then tightened into fists. He smacked Rob, not outright punching him of course, but hitting him in an affectionate way — or at least he saw it as affectionate; Rob saw it as bullying, but he was so aroused by it so he didn’t complain — harder than he would have ever hit a girl. It was nice, Dino thought, to fuck a man because he knew Rob would never complain that he was too rough. Girls act like they’re made of glass and could shatter if you handle them harshly, Dino thought as he drained his balls into Rob’s asshole.

He burped and laughed. Any girl would have kicked him out of bed for burping in their face, but Rob inhaled deeply of it and moaned. Dino screwed his nose up in disgust. His cock slowly limpened, but he remained in position, deep in Rob’s ass, his heavy body pressing down on Rob’s back.

“You ain’t gonna stiff me, is you?” Dino asked. It hadn’t occurred to him before now that Rob could just refuse to pay him, and Dino would have no recourse.

“No. I won’t. I’ve got cash in my wallet,” Rob said, his voice strained and clipped.

Dino nodded and moved to get up. When he did, his dick swam through the sea of cum that gurgled within Rob’s ass. He could feel the sticky fluid clinging to his soft cockflesh.

“Wait,” Rob said. “Can you stay there for a moment? I like feeling you inside me.”

“Fine,” Dino said with a grunt. It now felt pretty gross — this was more what he had imagined it would feel like before he started. He was intimately aware with every passing moment that he was inside a man’s ass; there was no way to pretend he was with a woman, not now. He reached out and grabbed Rob’s pants. “In here?”

“Yeah.” Rob’s voice was weak and wavery.

Dino pulled out the wallet. He briefly considered stealing Rob’s credit cards, but he figured someone as wealthy as Rob probably had excellent security on the cards, and Dino didn’t want to get in any legal trouble or he might lose the right to see his daughter at all.

He pulled out the cash — there was six hundred dollars in there. He took it all, though he had only been promised five hundred dollars. Was this stealing? He didn’t want to be a thief.

“I’m taking six hundred dollars. The extra hundred bucks is for the performance I put on for your daddy,” Dino said. “And you still gotta pay for the sink too.”

The Blasian Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of The Blasian Barbershop, a new story from the City Barbershop! It’s full of hot black-on-Asian action, with a sexy twink and a bevy of swaggerous thugs on the downlow!

 

Kwan knew he wouldn’t be made to feel totally comfortable at his new job. That much was a given. But he had been working in a black barbershop in Boston for years, and he was good at black hair. He’d had to prove himself there, so he was confident he could prove himself here in Providence, Rhode Island.

Yo, Kwan, yo’ chair is as empty as Bradley’s head!

They laughed both with and at Kwan, who pretended to play along. He was used to the relatively calm, caring environment of an urban beauty parlor, not a barbershop. That was where he grew up. That was why he felt comfortable among black people — his mother had been hired to do nails in a black beauty parlor, and Kwan spent his evenings there. He had always known more black people than Asian people.

Spending all his time with a bunch of black women might have been awkward if he had been straight. But it was obvious at an early age what he was. He put on shows, dancing and singing for the girls in the beauty parlor, and they cheered him on like he was one of their own. He learned everything about hair before he even went to cosmetology school, and there was never any real doubt about his career path.

I seen that nigga over there talkin’ to the fattest, skankiest bitch you ever seen up on Gilmore! She had nasty leakin’ out her nose and shit.

But now he was working in a men’s barbershop. It was a City Barbershop, which Kwan was glad about — the City Barbershop was a notorious chain around the country, notorious for one perk that attracted young gay men like Kwan to work there. It was known as a place where straight black men could get serviced on the downlow.

Of course, it was also known as a place where straight black men could go to get away from the white-dominated world. The workforce was almost entirely black. Kwan, though not white, would never fit in there, no matter how he had grown up.

Ya Chinese motherfucker, you got the only chair and I’m in a hurry. If I come outta here lookin’ like Jet Li or some shit, I am suin’ yer yellow ass…

On Kwan’s first day, not a single person had sat in his chair. He knew that was to be expected. Trapper said that was normal — he didn’t mention that is normal even for a black barber but that was the subtext of his claim.

It helped that Kwan was outgoing and friendly. He liked to crack jokes. He knew that black people would feel uncomfortable with him if he tried to force fitting in, pretending he was black and that he was understood everything going on around him. They would trust him more if he acted like himself. So he pretended to have a minor accent; he asked what yungin meant, he claimed not to know what a blunt was.

On his second day, he had his first customer. It was a young boy whose two brothers sat in Bradley’s and Latrell’s chairs. He had wanted to wait for a black barber, but his mom said they were in a hurry.

Kwan had never been more nervous, not even at his cosmetology exam. After all, at an exam, you could always take it again. If he had messed up the boy’s hair, the entire neighborhood would know in about ten minutes. Kwan would never get a customer here. He wouldn’t even be able to put it on his resume, because if anyone called to verify his work experience, they’d find out he’s a Chinese guy who can’t cut black hair.

“I’m gonna beat yo’ ass down if you mess my hair up-“

“Rayshawn, shut yo’ mouth, he’ll do fine. Yo’ head was shaved till a few months ago. If he fucks up, we’ll just shave it again.”

“Moms-“

“Shut up and quit squirming, or he is gonna fuck up!”

But all went fine. The kid just needed a trim, and Kwan performed adequately. The boy looked at him like a disgusting species of bug, either because he was flamboyantly gay, blatantly Chinese or a bit of both. In the end, he and his brothers and his mother left satisfied.

After that, the customers warmed up to Kwan. It wasn’t easy, and he was still usually their last choice, but at least they didn’t sit and wait if he was the only barber available. Aside from Kwan, there were usually only two barbers working, sometimes a third if the owner came down when the shop was extra-busy, but that was rare.

When I was locked up they try and put me on that white-barber trip, they say there ain’t no nigga available. We just about rioted till they find one.

Damn right. Lettin’ a Chinese queer on my hair is one thing, that’s bad enough — nothin’ personal, Kwan — but no honky is evuh gonna cut my hair.

The owner was Trapper. He was a businessman who always wore fine suits, and he had a thick mustache. He used to work as a barber and he kept up a valid license, but he mainly only filled in on people’s days off. He was sexy in an older-daddy kind of way, but he wasn’t as hot as Latrell.

Latrell and Bradley were the two other barbers. Latrell was, objectively speaking, the hottest. He was handsome, smooth, charming, and he always had a girl on each arm. He played basketball, which was pretty much all he talked about. He still seemed to think he might join the NBA — Kwan didn’t know much about sports, but he was under the impression the NBA mainly hired from college, and Latrell was not a student. He was twenty-four, which seemed too old to begin a career as an athlete. But Kwan didn’t say any of that; he was certainly not in a position to make any enemies. He just smiled and nodded when Latrell talked about which pro teams he would never join for any amount of money.

The last barber was Bradley — which Kwan eventually found out was his last name, his real first name was Arthur — and that was who Kwan thought was hot. He was taller than Latrell, bigger but not as cut; he didn’t have a six-pack, that much was obvious even through his baggy clothes. He looked like he probably did have a six-pack when he was younger though. He had a bushy, unkempt beard and a crucifix around his chest, which he kissed every time Kwan looked at him.

He was a convict. He had earned his cosmetology license in prison, and Trapper had hired him because he got a nice tax break for it. He had a square, jutting jaw and dark eyes, with a thick body that Kwan would have loved to lick from head to toe. He was not “handsome” like Latrell but he was bursting with swagger and sex appeal, and Kwan thought he had to have him.

Luckily, Kwan worked at the City Barbershop, where an awful lot of straight men agreed to receive a blowjob from a gay man, even if they normally wouldn’t. The ordinary rules of heterosexuality just didn’t apply in this female-free zone. But that was a touchy, awkward subject that neither Trapper now Kwan had brought up yet. Kwan wondered if this City Barbershop was different — maybe Trapper didn’t allow downlow action.

“Damn, if I had a girl like that, I wouldn’t nevuh leave the house,” Bradley said to a rousing chorus of laughs. “I’d just lick that pussy all day and all night, damn! I love lickin’ fine pussy.” He demonstrated his pussy-licking technique between his fingers, which was so hot Kwan’s dick stiffened in his pants. Latrell’s latest girlfriend had just hung up on him, after some sort of hushed argument. Latrell stalked back to his chair and sat down, looking at his smartphone. He sighed and shook his head at Bradley’s comment.

“A girl like that would nevuh hook up wit’ yo’ wrinkled old ass, Bradley,” Latrell muttered.

Bradley nodded. “Prolly true. But if she did hook up wit’ me, I’d lick her pussy clean off. She’d nevuh dump me, not wit’ a tongue like this.” He again licked the air, showing off his massive tongue, which matched his big body. His tongue poked out from his grizzled beard.

Kwan saw his chance to let it be known he was down for whatever. He jumped in, blushing even before he spoke. “When I dress up like a slut, Bradley, I’m about forty percent as hot as she is. That’s a respectable figure for someone who ain’t even got tits or a pussy to lick, so…” He didn’t need to add a punchline, which was good because he couldn’t think of any — the barbershop erupted in a torrent of laughter. One of the customers squeezed his arm and clapped him on the back.

And so that was how Kwan let it be known that he was aware of the City Barbershop’s reputation, and that he was willing to do his part. No customer asked him for a blowjob that day, but word soon spread that the ‘Chinaman barber’ was hot to trot.

Later that afternoon, near closing time, Kwan went into the backroom to make a phone call. When he was done, he squealed in shock. Bradley stood there in front of him; he had snuck in while Kwan was on the phone, then waited for him to finish.

“Yo.”

Kwan giggled. “Hi,” he said. He was nervous. He had really wanted to suck Bradley’s dick, and now, it seemed, he was going to have that opportunity. Ex-cons like Bradley were always the most receptive to his advances, because they had usually fucked a man behind bars; of course, they often fucked like they were still locked up with their bitch. Kwan liked being treated badly by the rough-and-tumble type. Bradley’s menacing stare filled him with desire, and made Kwan shudder with anticipation.

“You wasn’t kiddin’ ‘bout being pretty. I bet you look real nice in a dress, China White,” he said. His voice was low and rumbling, like a caged animal might growl when it knew it couldn’t strike.

“I do,” Kwan said. “I look fantastic.” A part of him wanted to blurt out an invitation to come to Kwan’s home and see him in a dress, but he still didn’t know if Bradley was safe to invite home. He was a reformed gangbanger, so he was probably safe enough — he had been working at the shop for more than two years, after all — but still, Kwan hesitated.

“I don’t fuck wit’ men. Not even girlie men. Not even chicks wit’ dicks,” Bradley said, emphatically, as though he was weirdly strict by not fucking with transgenders.

“Oh,” Kwan said. He had never felt so disappointed. In his mind, Bradley had asked for a blowjob simply by coming into the backroom. He felt like a child whose Christmas presents had been taken away from him.

“Lemme see yo’ hand,” he said softly. He didn’t wait for Kwan to agree. His callused fingers gripped Kwan’s palm, which he brought to his face. He inhaled deeply, and sucked on Kwan’s pinkie finger. “Smells like hair.”

“Well… Yeah, I guess… That makes sense. I have perfume-“

“No. Don’t bother,” he said. He leaned against the wall, angling his hips outward as though he was going to ask for a blowjob. “You can jack me off.”

“Oh… uh… really? Okay,” Kwan said. He was still disappointed, but handjobs were fun. Besides, if Bradley were willing to get a handjob now, he might be willing to go even farther later. Kwan rammed his hand down Bradley’s loose-slung jeans before Bradley could think again.

His dick was hot and thick, exactly what Kwan was hoping for. He gave it a squeeze, and Bradley let out a long, bone-rattling moan, as though he had been waiting this for a long time.

Kwan knew this was his chance to convince Bradley to go a little farther. He was already reacting so intensely that Kwan hoped he might change his mind right now — he wouldn’t be the first straight thug who told Kwan he’d never let a man swing on his dick but then allowed Kwan to easily seduce him time and time again. Sometimes a man just wanted to be talked into something, so he could feel like he didn’t want to do it.

Bradley’s chest rippled beneath his t-shirt, which was too small for his strapping body. Kwan let his free hand tease the root of Bradley’s cock, then gradually roam upwards until he was under Bradley’s shirt, tweaking his nipples. He had rock-hard pecs that twitched at Kwan’s touch. There was a scar there, either from a knife (maybe a shiv) or a bullet, Kwan couldn’t tell which from the feel.

“Ah, damn,” Bradley said. He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the wall. “Why can’t you be a girl, China White? Huh? I love Asian girls.”

“I can dress like a geisha if you want,” Kwan said with a giggle. “I bet your dick tastes nice-“

“It do, and you’d love it, but nah,” Bradley said. “I’m a Christian nigga. I’m reformed and shit. Twenty years ago I’d have wrapped my hands around yo’ neck and fucked you till yo’ eyes is buggin’ outta yo’ head. I’d have wrecked you fo’ other men. I’d fuck you then punch you to punish you fo’ having a seductive ass. I ain’t like that no more. I believe in the Bible now.” He sighed, his hot breath condensing on Kwan’s cheek. His dick throbbed in Kwan’s hand.

The first drops of creamy precum snuck out of his dick, sliding down onto Kwan’s fingers. Bradley’s chest heaved beneath Kwan’s other hand, muscles rippling like he was uncomfortable with being touched but didn’t want to tell Kwan to stop.

This was unlike any handjob Kwan had ever given because Bradley reacted physically and intensely, moreso than some men did with outright sex. Bradley’s whole body rippled and groaned loudly, his rumbling voice echoing in Kwan’s ear.

“I miss those days sometimes,” he said. His eyes closed. “But I don’t miss jeopardizin’ my eternal soul.”

“That’s too bad. I think I’d have enjoyed meeting you twenty years ago,” Kwan said. He shrugged. “I mean… I’m not trying to talk you out of being Christian, or whatever. That’s your call.” Kwan blushed. It didn’t seem like Bradley actually listened to his words.

Bradley grabbed Kwan’s hand out from under his shirt. He pulled it up to his mouth. At first it looked like he was going to bite off Kwan’s fingers. But then he just spat a big wad of saliva onto Kwan’s palm. “Use both hands, China White.” The sight of him spitting made Kwan’s knees weak. His lips spat slowly, like it was a holy sacrament that Kwan should savor.

Kwan shuddered. His own dick was hard and throbbing in his pants, but he was determined to focus entirely on Bradley’s pleasure for now. He stuck his second hand into Bradley’s pants, which were loose and low-slung enough he could easily fit both wrists down there.

His dick was so long Kwan could have added a third hand if he’d had one. It was like a forearm, he thought, and it even throbbed firmly like a muscular arm in his hands, all veiny and now moistened with precum.

Bradley undid his belt and his pants dropped. He pulled his shorts down to his knees, so his dick poked out from his body. His small t-shirt ended just above his waist, clinging to the slight layer of padding over his belly. Kwan stroked faster and faster as Bradley squeezed his eyes shut. His chest beaded with sweat, making the shirt stick to his skin. His nipples were hard beneath the fabric.

“The Bible say don’t spill yo’ seed,” Bradley murmured. “But it’s a sin to put yo’ dick in any kinda man. I try not to sin. So if you wanna catch my seed, China White, that’s fine wit’ me. Just don’t be puttin’ my dick in yo’ mouth. No pen’tration.”

Kwan dropped to his knees so his face was right in front of Bradley’s dick. He smeared the tip of his cheeks and lip, getting a taste of salty cum. He hoped this might mean Bradley was softening his stance, but that didn’t happen. Bradley glared at him before looking away and groaning. Kwan thwacked his club-like cock against his face. Bradley grunted like he was going to give in, like every fiber of his being told him to ram his dick down Kwan’s throat until he choked.

But he resisted those urges, much to Kwan’s disappointment. Kwan felt the man’s dick pulsating as his balls crawled up in his sac. Kwan stuck his tongue out and, slowly to see if Bradley stopped him, he licked the tip of his dick like a lollipop. It was slick with precum, salty and sweet and sour all at once.

As soon as his tongue touched Bradley’s dark cocktip, Bradley’s muscles shook and flexed all at once. “Nigga, damn, damn, fuckin’ Christ- Goddamn, China White, yo’ tongue is… fuckin’ magic…” Cum sprayed onto Kwan’s tongue, a huge load that coated the inside of his mouth. It tasted hot and sweet and so delicious Kwan had to fight urges to swallow Bradley’s dick despite his warning.

But since Bradley hadn’t complained about licking, Kwan rubbed his tongue up and down the shaft as cum poured out and coated his face. It seemed like a silly rule, “no-penetration”, what kind of religion would allow such an arbitrary distinction? But Kwan had never been raised Christian, so he assumed it was a real rule. The veins of Bradley’s cockshaft pulsated beneath his tongue’s touch, like his dick itself begged for Kwan to suck it.

Bradley took a deep breath, then swiped his dick away before Kwan could even finish cleaning it off. He tucked it back in his shorts and pulled up his scuffed jeans. His upper lip sneered. “Alright, China White. You done.”

“Anytime you want-“

“Shut up yo’ mouth, man,” he said. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I ain’t no kinda gaybasher or nothin’. Just… Yo’ voice, man, it’s like a fuckin’ fairy. Ya gotta repent, Kwan. Go to church or some shit, whatever the Chinese equivalent is.” He redid his belt and fly, then walked away while Kwan wiped the cum off his chin. Kwan wasn’t sure what to say so he just watched his swaggerous lean as he left.

“Bye,” Kwan said softly. He took a deep breath. He hadn’t really noticed how intimidating Bradley was until he had walked away, and Kwan felt a surge of relief.

That handjob, he thought to himself as he cleaned up, was the sexiest thing he had ever experienced.

Teabag Hazing Downlow

Here’s the first chapter from Teabag Hazing Downlow, a new story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series!

Todd gulped nervously. He had planned on skipping the fraternities. He didn’t think it was worth the hazing and the risk, but once he got to GHU of Georgia, he found that, without a frat, he’d have no social life. So there was no choice. The only fraternity he thought was likely to take him — since he was neither rich nor handsome nor popular nor athletic — was Kappa Gamma Pi.

“Three times, pledges, let’s see hear the oath three times!”

I pledge my eternal loyalty to this fraternal organization, and to these men who support me in my endeavors and my growth as a man. I promise to uphold the laws and traditions of Kappa Gamma Pi, and I promise not to tolerate those who fail at living up to this organization’s strict standards of honor, decency and respect. I promise to be obedient to those who are above me in this organization’s hierarchy, and to follow their orders without question.

He had learned the oath just earlier today, but had already recited it so many times he had it memorized. He repeated it again, twice more. There was no way the upperclassmen heard him say it three times, but Todd did it anyway, not wanting to get in trouble like the others who stumbled over the words or failed to remember them.

But once they finished it, Willie Mitchum — Todd’s personal upperclass sponsor and the pledgemaster for the whole organization — just told them to do it all over again. Three more recitals, freshies! He had the attitude of a Southern drill sergeant, and if it weren’t vital for Todd’s social life to join this frat, Todd would have pointed out that he wasn’t one. But Willie would have called that “freshie gettin’ lippy”, which he did not tolerate.

“Alright, freshies, we’ll see how well you have this memorized. Keep on repeating it,” said Willie, who was a senior and a hardcore redneck — so Southern he literally had perpetually-sunburnt shoulders — as he pointed to the floor. He had a sick smile on his face. “Get on the ground, on your backs. Don’t stop pledging, pledges.”

To the floor, bitches!

The other upperclassmen were huddled together, drinking, laughing. They loved how extreme Willie took the hazing, though it was clear many of them didn’t think that was quite necessary. Nobody stopped Willie.

Kick their asses, Willie!

Todd sunk to the ground, squeezing into the small floorspace in the center of the den. The floor was cold hardwood, badly scuffed and stained. It smelled of feet. Todd had heard rumors about Kappa’s hazing, so his mind raced with all the terrible things they might ask him to do. They might even make him take off all his clothes and run through campus, or make him go out on a date with a drag queen, both rumors that Todd had heard were required in years past.

“I pledge my eternal loyalty to this fraternal -“ Todd began reciting the pledge with the other recruits. He could see Willie whispering with the other seniors, but not hear what they were saying. It looked like the others did not believe Willie would follow through on whatever he was planning on doing.

Willie was tall and athletic, though he didn’t play any sports as far as Todd knew. He didn’t quite have a six-pack either, he drank too much beer for that, but he came close. He wore, as always, a dingy brown baseball cap, and his tattooed arms extended from a sleeveless muscle shirt. His camo pants were loose and baggy.

He walked over to the pledges and stopped with his bare feet right next to Todd. “Keep on pledging, freshies. Let’s hear it, come on…”

Todd paused when he saw one of the other seniors, Brian, a beefy football player, dropping his pants. He had a huge dick so he always found an excuse to show it off, but once he was naked, he lowered his hips, squatting on the face of another freshman. He aimed his balls right for the freshman’s mouth, shouting, “Teabag time!” and laughing like a caveman.

A sense of horror erupted within Todd — was it possible that Willie was going to take this even farther? Maybe the rumors had understated how difficult Kappa Gamma Pi’s hazing was. Brian’s big linebacker body bristled as he tried to get his sac in the other freshman’s mouth.

Get that freshie, Brian! Teabag the fuck out of him!

Earl Grey that bitch! They all cackled as though it was hilarious — they had been joking about putting their balls in and on each other, so Todd wondered if that was what was hip right now: ball-sucking. It seemed gross and pointless to him.

The other freshman, George, rolled away from Brian’s balls. He stood and cursed the seniors. “I’m out,” he said. “That’s fucking gross you guys.” He grabbed his jacket and walked out the door to the catcalls of the other seniors. They called him a wuss and a loser, and said he’d never get invited to a party on-campus again.

Todd knew what was about to happen to him, obviously, so he had to consider whether to leave or not. But ultimately it was no tough decision for him — he needed to have a social life this year, and Kappa Gamma Pi was his ticket in.

Willie dropped his shorts and leered at Todd. “Didya stop saying the pledge, freshie?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the other seniors baring their own sweaty ballsacs. Willie’s redneck body was especially disgusting to Todd, however, who wished that he had any of the other seniors instead of Willie.

Todd had no sooner begun the pledge again when Willie pulled off his boxers as well, revealing his low-hanging balls and thick cock. Todd struggled to focus, but managed to speak the pledge once more with Willie’s dick swaying in front of his face. He caught a whiff of that redneck crotch, which made Todd wrinkle his nose as he struggled to recall the words of the pledge.

“I pledge my eternal loyalty to this fraternal organization-“

Then he plopped those balls right on Todd’s face, and Todd choked on the scent. Direct hit on the freshie! The slickness of sweat and the smell of taint assaulted Todd’s senses; he gagged and sputtered. Willie’s crotch smelled like stale sweat, and the coarse pubic hairs of his scrotum got stuck between Todd’s teeth.

Tea bag! Tea bag! Tea bag!

Sweat dripped down Todd’s throat. He could feel it running in rivulets, and the scent made his eyes water. He blushed intensely as he saw Willie looking him in the eyes, with that stern Southern drill sergeant look on his face.

“Keep on reciting, freshie! Don’t stop or I’ll make you suck on the other end next!”

Even as Todd’s throat heaved and he wasn’t sure he could keep going, he did. He got a few more syllables out before he gagged, nearly vomiting over the ballsac in his throat. All around him was gagging freshman, who watched in shock as Willie dipped his balls in and out of Todd’s spasming throat.

Damn, Willie’s goin’ all the way with his freshman! He’s hardcore as hell! He gettin’ a handjob!

That is too fuckin’ gay! You ain’t gonna try to jack me off, is you freshie?

Willie took hold of Todd’s hand in his and lifted it slowly up as the other fraternity brothers shouted and chanted. None of them could believe Willie was taking it this far, and not even Todd could really believe it. His face blushed a bright red as pubic hair tickled the back of his throat.

Jack that redneck off, freshie!

“Who you callin’ a redneck, ya yankee bastard?!”

When his hand wrapped around Willie’s cock, Todd thought he should really back out. He could just walk out the door. The worst that could happen to him for quitting was that he’d get called names, maybe not invited to a party or two (and not even the big, major parties, since they were always open to everyone). But he had already come this far, and Todd desperately wanted to be in a frat this year.

“Stroke it, freshie, don’t just play with it.”

Willie’s dick was clammy and limp at first, but it quickly hardened beneath Todd’s grasp. It was thick and greasy, and it made Todd want to vomit. At least, he thought, he wasn’t actually sucking dick.

But it didn’t feel all that different, he decided as precum dripped down that shaft and into his throat. He might as well be sucking on it. His hands were sticky with fluids, his face covered in ball-sweat. Each time he saw a droplet of moisture roll down that throbbing, veiny shaft, Todd thought he wouldn’t really taste it, his mouth was already overwhelmed by salty bitterness. However each time a drop actually rolled past his lips, Todd gagged on the explosion of sour flavor in his mouth all over again.

Then when the end finally came, Todd ended up sucking dick anyway. Without giving it a second thought, he kept his mouth open when Willie suddenly pulled his balls out and pushed his spasming cockhead in.

Hot damn, Willie is fuckin’ hardcore!

Fuck that freshie’s mouth, ya nasty hillbilly!

Hot cum spurted into Todd’s mouth. He gagged furiously and sputtered some more, but that succeeded only in spreading cum all over his face and chin. Willie’s ropy-muscled redneck body writhed as he orgasm and his face screwed up with pleasure.

It seemed like a preposterously huge load, like he was really pissing right down Todd’s throat. But the thick creaminess and salty flavor made it clear he simply had a big wad brewing in those balls, which now dripped with Todd’s spit as they bounced against his chin.

“Swallow that nut, freshie!” Willie cheered himself on as he moaned and flexed his big redneck pecs. He pumped his biceps too, and slammed his cummy dick so far into Todd’s throat he gagged all over again.

At last Willie pulled out and rested his fat cock on Todd’s face. He leered down at him and said, “That was some good respect, freshie. I’ll make a man out of you yet, my brother…”

Twink on Top: The Drill Sergeant and the Marine Corps Cadet

Here’s another new one in the Twink on Top series, this time it’s Twink on Top: The Drill Sergeant and the Marine Corps Cadet!

 

The Megillah was even more difficult to get right this year. Every year, Tim found that he struggled a bit more to get the pronunciation right, and the rhythm of it — he didn’t speak Hebrew that well, much to his shame, and now that he no longer lived in Israel, he was losing his memory of the language. But every year during Purim, his family had him read the Megillah (which, dear gentile reader, is the same thing as the Book of Esther, part of the Tanakh — and your Old Testament — whose recitation during the holy season of Purim is required for observant Jews; Purim is a March holiday that commemorated the Jews’ deliverance from certain genocide in the ancient Persian Empire). It was a sort of family tradition.

If Tim had gotten married and had a child or two, his family would have had his kid begin reading the Megillah, or at least a few brief segments of it as he learned Hebrew. But Tim was openly gay, and he had no desire for a child. So it remained his increasingly-awkward duty to recite the Megillah every year.

There was a knock on the door. Tim sighed and went to see who it was — if it was his NRA-loving, conservative neighbor with another Huckabee pamphlet, he was going to file a harassment complaint. He had promised himself that before as well, but he didn’t like to make waves, and it was always simpler just to take him at his word that he wouldn’t be back.

But it wasn’t that neighbor at all, it was the neighbor from the house on the other side, Sergeant Jeffers. He was from Camp Pendleton, the Marine Corps training facility here in San Diego. While Sergeant Jeffers was not exactly “nice”, he was always polite; Tim rather liked him.

It helped, of course, that Sergeant Jeffers was a big burly bear of a man, with muscles and a square jaw and so much swagger that Tim nearly came in his pants the first time he had spied Jeffers lifting weights shirtless in his backyard. Today he was here, bright and early in the morning, with a younger man in tow.

The younger man was just as sexy as Jeffers, and arguably even more sexy in a classic sense — he had a Hollywood-handsome dimpled face, kind eyes and it was apparent he sported a six-pack under his t-shirt. Sergeant Jeffers was a bit older, with a few tinges of gray in his crewcut, and while he still had the body of a Marine, it showed notable wear and tear. The younger cadet was smooth, pert and taut, with dark hair and skin, an olive complexion and deep, dark eyes.

As Tim opened the door, he realized the younger man looked like a cadet — he wore a crew-cut, and a faded green t-shirt with short shorts, both of which appeared to be Marine Corps-issued. They were wrinkled as though he had been roused from bed early in the morning to come here.

“Shalom, Mr. Cohen,” Sergeant Jeffers said. “This is Cadet Pucci. He has a favor to ask you. May we come in?”

“Uh… I suppose,” Tim said. He led them into his living room, where they both sat down. The situation was tense — Sergeant Jeffers appeared angry, enough so that Tim wondered if he had done something wrong. Cadet Pucci, however, looked upset and a bit guilty, as though it was he who had done something wrong. Tim felt small and girlish in comparison to these two hulking brutes; that wasn’t surprising, since Tim was, in fact, a small and girlish twink. He had resigned himself to that some time ago. No matter how much Tim thought bears were sexier, he was never going to be big and bulky like these two. He cleared his throat. “A favor? I’m sorry, do I know you, Cadet… Pucci?”

Pucci shook his head. His face was worried, his dimples deep. He licked his lips. “I was askin’ Sarge here, man, I was-“ He stopped talking and winced as Sergeant Jeffers cleared his throat. Cadet Pucci started again, his voice stilted and awkward. “Good morning, sir. I was hoping I could get your assistance this morning. I am a cadet at Camp Pendleton and I need a day off-“

“The fuck you do!” Sergeant Jeffers barked.

Cadet Pucci again blanched and looked down at his feet. “I don’t need a day off. I want one. I’m a lazy guido bastard,” he said, looking to Jeffers as though expecting him to confirm it — he nodded his assent to Pucci’s words. Then Pucci continued. “I already had some leave, two weeks ago. And I met this girl. She was beautiful, you wouldn’t even believe it, she-“ Pucci stopped himself as though he just realized that Tim was gay. He cleared his throat. “Well, she was hot. And she’s moving to Georgia, so tonight is the last time I might see her. And I asked my sergeant if I could move a day of leave up. I wouldn’t even have to miss any training, I could leave at night-“

“Tell him why I said no,” Sergeant Jeffers said gruffly. He placed one hand on Cadet Pucci’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I… I have not always been followin’ the rules,” Cadet Pucci said. “I snuck out before. That was just to get laid though. I didn’t love that girl.”

“You don’t love any girl,” Sergeant Jeffers said.

“I do!” Cadet Pucci said with a blush. He looked to Tim. “And anyway, Sergeant Jeffers said I had to prove I loved her and I wasn’t just after sex.”

“I may be a hardass, but I ain’t gonna stand in the way of true love,” Sergeant Jeffers said, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye. “Cadet Pucci skipped over a few details. He tried to sneak out for trim four times — that I know of. I caught him each time, so he been skatin’ on very thin ice for some time. He has been one mouthy fuck since the day his Italian ass got here.”

“So… uh,” Cadet Pucci said. “If you want… you don’t have to, Mr. Cohen. But, uh, if you want… we could, y’know, fuck.”

“What?” Tim was shocked — he had thought Cadet Pucci was going to ask for a ride, or for help finding the local girl, something like that. He had no idea sex was in the cards.

“He’ll do anything you want, Mr. Cohen,” Sergeant Jeffers said. “I want to see how devoted he is to this girl. Plus as long as he gets his rocks off now, I’ll now he ain’t motivated by overflowing balls neither.” He looked at Pucci and nodded. “Go on, tell him.”

Black Guys Downlow

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Black Guys Downlow, a new tale of gay black college sex!

Franklin bristled as Lamar finished his story about banging three girls at once; he disliked how much attention Lamar was getting. As soon as Lamar had been pledged into Kappa Gamma Pi fraternity, Franklin’s frat brothers started saying he was the “new Franklin”. It was just a joke at first, but Franklin found it less and less funny as time went on.

They were the only black guys in the frat. Lamar was a freshman; Franklin a junior, so Franklin should have been in charge. He was an upperclassman while Lamar had only just finished pledging a few weeks ago. Franklin thought he should have gotten more respect from the others.

But while Franklin was an engineering major from a small town in Indiana full of middle-class white folks, Lamar was a tall, athletic jock and former drug dealer from Baltimore. Lamar was smooth-talking and charming; he had spent time in prison; he had a story for every topic, and he always had an audience.

“There’s nothing wrong with you as a guy in general, or as a frat brother,” Todd, one of the frat’s seniors and the president of Kappa Gamma Pi’s local chapter, said to Franklin one morning, “But damn, Lamar is a better black guy. That’s for sure.”

Maybe being a good “guy in general” should have been enough for Franklin. He never especially wanted to be “the black guy”. He didn’t attempt to come across as a gritty thug, and while he wished he was better with girls, he had no intention of being the sleep-around playa that Lamar was. He didn’t want to seduce a different girl every night. Franklin wanted a real relationship with a nice girl, but he usually struck out. Lamar almost never spent the night alone.

One Friday night, however, Lamar did strike out. The whole frat had gone to a party at the Omega Omicron Tau house, which usually meant that Lamar and the other handsome charmers wouldn’t be coming home. They’d have found some girl to spend the night with.

But Lamar had requested a threesome late in the night, and he had misjudged the girl he was with — he had bragged she would do anything he wanted, so he felt compelled to try and push the envelope. She slapped him and kicked him out of her room, stark naked, his thick dick swaying between his legs as he ran downstairs, clothes in hand. She threw bottles of makeup at him, calling him names as he smiled broadly. He made no effort to cover up his huge cock and said, “Uh, we gotta go, guys,” to Franklin and the other frat brothers who were without a female companion for the night.

So he had actually come back to the Kappa house with Franklin and a few other girl-less nerds; for the first time since coming to GHU, Lamar was unable to get a girl. Lamar wanted to continue the party when they were back at the house, and he poured himself a glass of cognac. Franklin hated cognac and didn’t want to drink anymore tonight, so he said no.

“You a real nigga or what? Cuz I ain’t nevuh heard of no kinda nigga who turn down Hennessy…” Lamar said.

Franklin blushed and took the drink. He hated Hennessy most of all, and he hated himself for giving in so easily. He had never claimed to be a “real nigga”, and didn’t need to prove anything to Lamar — who was just a freshman, after all, a just-pledged freshman who was technically supposed to do anything upperclassmen like Franklin told him to. But Franklin felt insecure right now, about his race, his masculinity, his status as an upperclassmen and fraternity officer; he just wanted to feel like he belonged, like he did before Lamar joined.

Despite Lamar’s best efforts, there was no more party to be had. Most of the Kappa brothers went right to bed, and the ones who stayed up were both drunk and sleepy, so nothing much happened. With sexy hip hop videos on the TV, Lamar settled in, Black & Mild in hand. It’s sickly floral scent filled the house. He grabbed at his dick through the sagging jeans he wore, marveling at the big brown asses on the screen.

“Damn, I would demolish that bitch right there…” Lamar said. His hardon was evident in his pants.

“You’re not allowed to smoke in here,” Franklin said. He took the Black & Mild right out of Lamar’s mouth, and dropped it, cherry-first, in his half-full glass of Hennessy.

His heart pounded. Lamar glared at him, staring him down as though about ready to prison-rape him. Franklin would never have done something so confrontational, but he had been drinking, and he was annoyed that Lamar acted as though he was better than Franklin, even though Lamar was the freshman. He looked older, acted more mature and was seemingly superior in every way (except in math skills), but Franklin was the upperclassman, an officer in the fraternity. He was supposed to be in charge.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“There’s no smoking in this house. It’s against university rules, and against Kappa Gamma Pi rules too. A lot of people don’t like it-“

“Talk to me about rules one more time, motherfucker.”

“I’m an upperclassman, Lamar. You have to do what I say.”

“You think I give a shit about that? I’m a motherfuckin’ nigga, boi, I ain’t no freshman-“

“That’s exactly what you are.”

“I ain’t yo’ freshman punk, nigga,” he said. “I pledged cuz I wanted to. I don’t do jackshit I don’t wanna do, that’s cuz I’m a real nigga, not some fake oreo bitch.”

“That’s me, huh, I’m the oreo? Real clever, Lamar. I never claimed to be a real nigga, y’know,” he said. “I’m not interested in a dick-measuring contest.” As soon as he said that, he knew it was a mistake — Lamar loved bragging about his huge cock, and he brought it out every time he could. This was no exception.

He flopped his dick out the fly of his jeans, and let it lay there. It looked just a bit hard, maybe from the excitement of the situation or from the sexy girls dancing on the TV screen.

“I win that contest, nigga,” he said.

“I’m not your nigga.”

“I ain’t say you was my nigga. I said you’s a nigga, but maybe that was a mistake,” he said. “You don’t act like a nigga.”

“Maybe. I ain’t no one’s nigga,” Franklin said, letting a black accent shine through (it always felt forced to him though, and this time was no exception).

“Don’t try to talk like one then. You talk like a nerd,” Lamar said.

“You talk like a retard.”

“Fuck you, motherfucker! I ain’t no retard,” Lamar said.

“I’m not a nerd!”

“Do somethin’ black then. Do somethin’ a nerd wouldn’t do,” Lamar said. He stood up, his big black cock now hanging right in front of Franklin’s face.

“No. I ain’t a drug dealer, or a playa-“

“That ain’t what I mean. I ain’t askin’ you to do nothin’ like that. Just do something only a nigga would do.”

“Fine,” Franklin said. He stood up and loosened his belt so his jeans sagged. “There. I guess I’m a nigga now.”

“Nah. That don’t count.

“Well, what then? You want me to fail a test? Not do homework and try to get out of it by calling the professor racist?”

“Nah,” he said. He glanced at the sexy girls on the TV again, and gave his dick a stroke. Franklin looked away, disgusted — he wasn’t really comfortable with male nudity, even if it happened all the time in Kappa Gamma Pi. Lamar saw his discomfort and smiled. “Swing downlow wit’ me.”

“What?”

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he said. “Niggas do that if there ain’t no girls around. Y’know, except for the niggas who scared they got small dicks.”

“Fine,” Franklin said. He didn’t have a small dick, and he knew Lamar was just goading him into proving it, but he didn’t want Lamar to go to bed thinking Franklin was insecure. Besides, in his mind, Franklin was just going to show his dick and then leave. He knew Lamar intended to go farther than that, but Franklin hadn’t thought that far ahead. He followed Lamar upstairs and into Franklin’s bedroom — since Lamar shared his with another freshman, Franklin’s was the only place they could get any privacy.

“C’mon, we sixty-nine,” Lamar said. He hopped on the bed on his back.

His desire to compare cock size seemed to disappear, and his hostility had dwindled — it almost seemed like Lamar only got confrontational in order to get Franklin to agree to go downlow, and now that he had succeeded, he didn’t care about anything else. Franklin took off his own clothes, trying not to look nervous. He was skinny compared to Lamar’s toned body, and he didn’t want it to be obvious how much weaker he was than Lamar. But he felt small and thin.

He took off his clothes, and swung his dick between his fingers. Lamar murmured — Franklin suspected that he wanted to tease Franklin for having a small cock, but then saw that it wasn’t small, so he kept his mouth shut. Franklin bristled with pride.

Much to Franklin’s surprise, Lamar took his dick in hand and stroked it. He guided it to his own cock, and he rubbed them both together until both shafts were rock-hard.

Franklin had never “jousted” before. He knew Lamar had — he had set up a blowbang with Todd and a few seniors, and they all said that Lamar enjoyed jousting to a weird degree. He had insisted on touching dicks with every man there. Now Franklin awkwardly submitted as Lamar stroked both shafts at once.

Then he let go. “Alright, come on, nigga, let’s do this,” he said. He licked his lips. “I’m lettin’ you be on top cuz you the upperclassman, man,” he said. “So don’t say I never shown you respect.”

Franklin nodded, too nervous to have a response. He couldn’t believe he was really “on the downlow” now; it felt like something that only happened in the movies. He swung his body around so his crotch was above Lamar’s face, and he lowered his rapidly-limpening dick until it hit Lamar’s tongue.

He instantly rocketed back to full erection as his shaft melted into Lamar’s warm mouth. He groaned, and opened his own mouth long enough for Lamar to shove his dick in.

Franklin gagged at first, then realized the taste wasn’t really bad — he had expected it to taste worse than it did. It really tasted a lot like pussy, he thought. There was a certain bitterness, and a fruit-like scent from Lamar’s soap, all mixed with the chemical rubber of the condom he had put on before the girl kicked him out, and an afterscent of cocoa butter.

“Fuck yeah, nigga, fuck yeah…” Lamar said over and over. The words were clear because of Franklin’s dick in his mouth — it sounded more like ook uhh ihha, oooah — but Franklin could tell exactly what he was saying. The veins of his cockshaft throbbed in Franklin’s mouth.

The flavor of precum rocketed to the forefront of his mind. It was salty and sweet and sour all at once, and the taste was so powerful that Franklin couldn’t think of anything else. He even forgot that his own dick was sliding in and out of Lamar’s mouth and leaking its own precum.

Then Lamar slapped him on the asscheek, which reminded Franklin he was doing something gay. He blushed and gagged all over again as Lamar’s dick hit the back of his throat. Despite his discomfort, his own manhood was brimming with orgasmic energy — this was perhaps the best orgasm of his life.

Franklin realized he was going to cum only seconds before he did. He instinctively slammed his hips down, shoving his dick all the way into Lamar’s mouth.

Then he grunted and moaned as cum flowed from his dick. It felt like an especially big load, and it coated Lamar’s tongue. Lamar choked and sputtered, but he didn’t stop cumming.

His body wracked with pleasure, Franklin moaned. He could feel Lamar’s throat tightened and squeezing his dick, which made Franklin’s orgasm continue until it was nothing more than a series of painfully exquisite aftershocks rocking his spine.

At last, Lamar forced Franklin’s dick out of his mouth. He coughed and gagged. “Damn, nigga, ain’t you been on the downlow befo’? You ain’t s’posed to nut in a nigga’s mouth.”

“Oh, sorry,” Franklin said, breathlessly.

“You best believe you gonna take my nut too then,” Lamar said. He slammed his dick into Franklin’s throat, uncaring of how Franklin struggled to swallow it all. He rammed it in and out, and laughed when Franklin’s body tensed, his limp, spit-covered dick dragging over Lamar’s powerful chest. “Yeah, swallow that shit, nigga.”

Franklin gagged as Lamar facefucked him, but he submitted as best he could; Lamar held onto the back of Franklin’s head to be sure he didn’t pull out. His small body flailed atop Lamar’s writhing chest muscles, and Franklin felt every bolt of climax coursing through Lamar’s veins. He grunted as an orgasm overtook him.

“Yeah, nigga, take that shit, fuck yeah!” Lamar said, his voice clear and resonant now. “Hell yeah, we shoulda been on the downlow since September, nigga…”

Creamy hot cum flowed down Franklin’s throat. Lamar held his head in place so he swallowed every drop, even as Franklin’s stomach roiled and he blushed with embarrassment. The taste wasn’t even very strong because Lamar’s dick shot his load deep in Franklin’s throat, past his tongue, so he only tasted it when he choked it back up as Lamar withdrew.

Franklin spat up most of the cum, which covered Lamar’s dick. Lamar didn’t seem to notice — probably because Franklin’s body rested atop his own, blocking his view, but he stroked his limp meat and wiped it on Franklin’s face just the same.

“Damn, nigga,” Lamar said. He took a deep breath as Franklin climbed off him. He waited for Lamar to get off his bed, but he just laid there, his big body spread-eagled so he took up the entire mattress. “That was good downlow shit. Fuck yeah… I guess you is a real black guy after all.”

Twink on Top: The Paralegal and the Pimp

Here’s a sample from the beginning of the latest “Twink on Top” book, Twink on Top: The Paralegal and the Pimp, which is the hardcore tale of an Asian twink and a macho black pimp!

 

Lee sighed as he got home. He was glad to be finished with another day at work, and he had done well today — his boss congratulated him on a major success in front of the entire office. But that had been more stressful than enjoyable. Lee had always been shy and withdrawn; he didn’t like being the center of attention, even for a good reason.

He made a bowl of oatmeal. It wasn’t much of a dinner, but it was filling, cheap and had fewer than three hundred calories. Not that Lee was fat, he just watched his weight by habit. He was lean and lanky, a part of his Chinese heritage; he had long since accepted that he wasn’t going to look like one of those bulky bears he idolized so much.

As he ate and watched the news, he heard someone pull into the driveway. Presumably, he thought, it was some skanky sorority girl here to fuck the trio of frat bros who shared the lower duplex. Lee didn’t much like them or their antics — they were loud, annoying and mean to him, as though he were some stupid freshman who desired their approval.

Then there was a knock at the door. Lee had a visitor, not the frat boys. That was rare. He was ashamed to even think about how long it had been since he hosted a visitor in his home. Lee peered through the peephole. Through the dim light of the setting sun, he saw a man, a tall, black man in a dijon-yellow suit, flanked by three women. Lee was surprised to recognize that it was Smoothness.

That was the success he had had today — Lee was a paralegal, whose firm had taken on Smoothness as a client after he was charged with seventy-eight counts of pandering. He could have gone away for a long time, but Lee found a procedural error in the warrant, making all of the evidence found in Smoothness’ home inadmissible in court. Smoothness — or Jeremiah Hartley, as he was known to the law — got off with nothing more than a minor pot possession charge because of a roach found on his person when he was arrested.

“Uh, hello, Mr. Hartley,” Lee said when he opened the door.

Smoothness smiled at him. He was tall, handsome, with a thick scar over his left cheek. He was draped in jewelry and fine clothing, and he carried a silver cane in his left hand.

“You’re Mr. Chin, yes?” he said with a tilt to his head. “I understand you’re the one I can thank for lettin’ me walk outta court today.”

“Uh, well… Sergeant Bradford is the one who forgot to get the warrant signed. It’s really him-“

“I don’t think he’ll accept my thanks,” Smoothness said. “Besides, I don’t do nice for cops, not even the ones who did right by me.” He raised his eyebrows as though waiting to be invited in. Lee nervously allowed him in, and Smoothness entered, followed by his three beautiful — though slutty — hos. One was black, one was white and the third was Latina. Smoothness snapped his fingers and said, “Ho. Drink.”

“Mr. Chin,” said the thick-bodied black girl; she smiled politely at him. “Can I make a drink?” She scurried into the kitchen without waiting for a response.

“Uh, yeah, I guess, I only have water though, I don’t keep juice or soda or anything like that in the house.”

“I’m not a child, Mr. Chin,” Smoothness said. “Do you have liquor?”

“Oh, well, yeah, there’s brandy in the cabinet-“

“Found it!” the black girl called out. “He don’t got no mixers, papi.”

Lee blushed. “I don’t keep carbs around, or I’ll drink them.”

Smoothness said, “Just warm up the brandy, dear, that will be fine. Put it in a mug in the microwave for twenty seconds.” Smoothness cleared his throat and looked Lee up and down. “You like what you see?” He gestured towards the two hos who stood near him.

“Uh…” Lee blushed. “They’re very pretty, yes.”

“Which one you like? I’m gonna give you a freebie. I don’t do that often. Hos, how often do I give freebies?”

“Never,” said the white girl.

“You’re the first,” said the Latina. “He even refused-“

“Hush, ho.” Smoothness glared at her. He turned back to Lee. He smiled, revealing those dimpled cheeks. His square jaw shifted up and down as he chewed on his lip “Well? You like black girls or what? Or Asians? You want a Asian? I don’t got no Asian ho, but I can arrange it. I know this pimp who got a Korean broad; she lick ya asshole. Whatever you want, I’ll make sure you get it tonight. That’s a Smoothness guarantee.”

“Uh, no, thank you-“

“A tranny? Chick wit’ a dick? Fat girl? Whatchoo want? Diapers and whips?”

“Well…” Lee was so intimidated he had trouble forming words. He couldn’t think of how to admit he was gay; he was so used to hiding it from these kind of hardcore thugs (who were a large part of his firm’s clientele) that he struggled to come out now.

In the end, he didn’t need to. The white ho giggled and said, “I don’t think he wants any of the above, papi.”

Lee blushed. Smoothness stepped closer, and looked Lee up and down. He was so close his breath condensed on Lee’s face. He flexed his muscles under that dark yellow suit.

“You queerbait?”

Lee nodded.

Smoothness frowned. “I ain’t got no queers,” he said. “You don’t want a chick with a dick?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Lee said. “I… like dudes with dicks.”

Gang Life Downlow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess so.”

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

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

Samson nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

“So whatchoo think?”

“I, uh… I guess I’ll do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” he said. “Now go to bed.”