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Alpha Cellmate: The Mafioso

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

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

“No you can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, yes-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aww… yeah… “

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

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

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

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

“You promised-“

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

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

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

The Perfect Specimen of Pimp Came Through the Honky Hotel

This is a sample chapter from The Perfect Specimen of Pimp Came Through the Honky Hotel, a story by Forrest Manacre.

Adrian was nervous about the pimp outside the hotel. He worked at the Whiteland Hotel and was alone on the front desk. The Whiteland was known as a place for whores to ply their trade, but usually they had the good sense and courtesy to find clients farther away. If the pimp and his whores got busted outside the hotel, it would kill business for a couple days at least.

So Adrian had to ponder whether he should call the police. He didn’t want to attract attention or get himself in trouble for snitching, so he thought perhaps he should go out there and talk to the pimp. But he was working alone, aside from two maintenance guys who were nowhere to be seen.

How dangerous was the pimp? Adrian could see him clearly on a security camera. He was white, and dusky-skinned — maybe Italian or Greek, Adrian thought — and he had dark hair slicked back. He wore a brilliant red and gold suit, carried a gold cane and had a ring on each finger. He smiled a lot and seemed friendly to his potential customers, Adrian thought, but how kindly would he take to being told to move away?

Adrian’s heart pounded as the man walked into the front lobby. Had he seen Adrian staring at him? He wasn’t sure, but he hoped not.

“Yo,” said the pimp, “You ain’t callin’ the cops on me, right?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Adrian said. He didn’t want to sound too eager to deny it. It wouldn’t be plausible to pretend he hadn’t even thought of it. Dial it back, Adrian, he told himself over and over. “The Whiteland Hotel exercises great discretion, sir. I should warn you that my boss prefers the entire parking lot-”

The pimp held his hand up, and Adrian stopped. He had a big hand, and his corded arm muscles were apparent even through the colored suit. “I don’t wanna hear it. I’m only gonna be around at night anyway. So long as you and me is cool, I ain’t gotta worry, right?”

“Yeah, we’re cool. We’re cool,” Adrian said.

“Lemme give you a freebie,” he said. He pointed to the whores outside. “Which one you like best?”

“Oh, uh… I’m…”

The man frowned. “You queer?”

Adrian nodded.

Darkie shrugged. “Your loss. I got good bitches.”

“I’m sure.”

He grabbed at his crotch. “You wanna suck me off?”

Adrian stammered. He didn’t quite answer, but Darkie apparently took that to mean yes. He nodded towards the backroom behind Adrian, then strode confidently past the check-in counter. Adrian caught a whiff of his body spray, which smelled cheap and musky, and it got Adrian’s blood pumping. He was so excited he had to suppress the urge to dance a little jig as he followed Darkie.

The backroom wasn’t totally safe, Adrian thought, since any employee could come in any time. They all had keys. But only the two maintenance workers were on duty, and they never had any reason to come into the office — they only had a key because they had a key to every door in the building.

The door slammed shut behind Adrian, who was crammed into the tiny space with Darkie. He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest as though he was stubbornly refusing to do anything else. Adrian hesitated, and Darkie flashed impatiently glaring eyes at him.

“Come on, I got business to take care of. If you wanna taste of my meat, get to tastin’, queerboy.”

He sunk to his knees and undid Darkie’s belt, letting his sagging jeans fall to the floor. He wore basketball shorts and then boxers under those, and a long, tasty-looking cock swung down. It was thick and girthful, lined with throbbing veins that were practically begging for Adrian to suck it.

He licked it first, from tip to root, and it burst into life. At nearly full erection, his cock swung back and forth as Darkie rotated his hips to slap Adrian in the face with it. He chuckled at every smack of his shaft onto Adrian’s cheek, leaving smears of sweaty musk behind.

Adrian wasn’t really a size queen, but he did love the meaty thickness of it. He swallowed Darkie’s cock and tried to do as good as he could, hoping maybe Darkie would allow him to do this again. He managed to suck off a few straight guys in his time with the Whiteland Hotel, and he knew he could be better than any woman.

“You wanna fuck my face?”

“Oh shit, you like that?” He sneered down, both disgust and excitement apparent on his face. He looked like he normally only ever facefucked someone as a punishment, and was confused by Adrian’s desire for it.

Adrian nodded.

Darkie rummaged around in the desk he leaned against, then pulled out a binder clip. He snapped it onto Adrian’s nose, and he yelped in pain. But Darkie just put one hand on Adrian’s chin and one on the top of his head.

“Take a deep breath. We gonna do this the right way, boi.”

Adrian did so.

Darkie rammed his dick all the way in, and chuckled when Adrian gagged up a thick clod of spit. It smeared down the shaft of Darkie’s cock and nestled in his pubic hair.

Clutching Darkie’s powerful legs, Adrian relaxed his throat the best he could. His nose was still in pain from the clip, but it didn’t seem to inhibit his sense of smell. He was overwhelmed by the musty sourness of precum and the sweaty musk of Darkie’s swinging ballsac.

“Alright now, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Darkie said. He didn’t stop fucking Adrian’s throat, he just kept talking at an even pace, as though nothing was happening and the air wasn’t filled with Adrian’s choking. “I’m gonna nut in a minute. I don’t like it when bitches spill my seed, so I wanna see you swallow it. I know this is a favor and all, but still… the Bible says it, and I try to follow that the best I can.”

He stopped moving then, holding his dick at maximum penetration in Adrian’s throat.

He grunted in a bestial, animalistic way and shuddered as an orgasm washed over him. Cum spurted down his gullet, wave after wave of creamy semen coating his insides. Darkie’s cock was so deep in his throat that Adrian sputtered most of it back up into his mouth, where the flavor of acrid sourness overwhelmed his senses.

Adrian choked but managed to swallow the cumload back down. He loved the taste and the hot thickness of it, sitting like a lump of burning coal in his gut.

Darkie wiped his slowly limpening cock off on Adrian’s face. He took a deep breath.

“Thanks, queerboy,” he said. “You should give blowjob lessons to my bitches.”