top to bottom – Page 2 – Bracken's Corner

Jack walked up the aisle of the airplane, and finally found his seat–in the aisle like he preferred–at his height, having the extra room to stretch his legs was a necessity. The plane ended up being lightly packed–he did have someone sitting in the row with him, an older gentleman in a suit and vest, who slipped past him and sat down at the window. It was only after they’d taken off that Jack noticed the older man looking at him.

“Could you not stare at me please? You’re creeping me out.”

“Oh!” the man said, blushing a bit, “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized…I was just wondering how long you’ve been growing your hair out–it’s quite long.”

Jack rolled his eyes. Great, a faggot, probably. “A while.”

“Yes, it must have been a while. And goodness, you are a big man aren’t you? Why, I suppose the reason I was staring is because you look like a real life Samson! Sorry, I know that’s a bit rude. My name is Bart, by the way.”

“Look, that’s fine, but can you just, not look at me please?”

“You see,” Bart continued, as though Jack hadn’t said anything, “I’ve been doing some research lately on the Samson myth–did you know, that in many cultures, the length of one’s hair could determine everything from caste to social rank? Simply fascinating! Why, there’s evidence from Mesopotamia that…”

It was too late–apparently the man wasn’t a faggot at all. Worse–an intellectual. Still, Jack found his voice easy enough to ignore, and he laid the seat back, closed his eyes, and soon enough he was falling asleep.

***

A jungle. He was searching for someone, a princess? Yeah, a princess. Some hot princess who’d been captured, and he was going to save her and fuck her brains out, yeah. And he was a prince, a warrior…no, he was more than all of those things, he was someone…someone in particular, he was…Samson. Yeah, Samson the strong, the great. He paused and looked down at his bronzed body, naked aside from a loin cloth, his nine inch cock hanging down below the front flap, letting everyone who he’d encounter know that he was meant to be in charge. To be an alpha–a leader. He could feel his braided hair, longer than he could remember, running down against his muscular back, his beard knotted and reaching down nearly to his navel, both of them testaments to his power, his virility and strength as a man. No, it was more than that, they were the source of his power. It was the hair itself that granted him authority, that made him an alpha, that made him a man.

He was moving through the jungle, climbing up now, his body sweating in the humid heat. The trees began to thin out, and he arrived at a plateau, covered with grassland–there, in the center, was where he would find the princess. She had been taken by a man…no, by a wizard. Yes, a cruel, evil, weak wizard. He would defeat the wizard, he would win the princess for himself. He pressed onward, and soon he came to a small camp. By the fire, a cage with the princess inside, and between him and the cage, the wizard.

He was much smaller than Samson–but then Samson was larger than everyone. No one could challenge Samson–he would be king. And the wizard was old and frail and feeble. Why was he confronting him? Didn’t he know to be afraid? And yet, there was something wrong, something very wrong. He was frozen–the wizard had done something to him, and he couldn’t move. He could hear the wizard saying something, hear him speaking, mumbling and Samson could feel his hands moving against his will. He drew his knife, the knife meant to kill the wizard, the knife that could cut anything, even the strongest steel, and with his other hand, Samson grasped his braid. He begged, he fought his own hand, and yet his knife, with a single slice, cut the hair from his head, the braid falling to the ground, and unable to believe what he’d just done, he cut the beard from his face.

Defeated–he had been defeated. He was no longer free–somehow the princess had disappeared, and now he was in the cage, now he was the captive. Weak, powerless, without a will of his own. Helpless to obey, a slave, a foggot–worse than a woman. Yes, a faggot now. He could feel the lust rising in his throat, the wizard approaching the bars of the cage, revealing his cock–no, not his cock–he had some how stolen Samson’s nine inch beast–feeling between his legs, he felt his own shrivelled cock, unable to get hard or even feel pleasure. And old man’s cock now, a faggot’s cock. The wizard–he had a cock that was worthy of worship. The head slipped between the bars, and Samson suckled at it, the cum slaking his faggot thirst. More men were surrounding the cage now, more men than he could service in a thousand lifetimes, but he had to serve. That was his purpose, his only desire. To serve. To serve. To serve. To serve…

***

He was in the bathroom of the airplane, a battery powered razor in his hand. He watched his body shave the hair from his head and face–he threw it into the trash, and returned to his seat, weak–a faggot.

“How is my Samson?” Bart asked when he returned and sat down.

“I’m no longer a Samson any more sir, I’m now a faggot, meant to serve.”

“I see. Well faggot, you’d best get busy then,” Bart said, pulling his cock out. Licking his lips, Jack leaned over and sucked down his old cock.

***

His plane had landed earlier that day, and he’d parted ways with Bart after one last fuck in the airport bathroom stall. Now, Jack had found the place Bart had told him of, a haven for faggots like him, who were destined to serve. He went inside–the owner was expecting him, and told him to strip down–he wouldn’t be needing his clothing anymore. All he would wear is a pair of old boots, to guard against the filthy floor, and the owner led him to his new home, a small three foot by three foot cubicle, with several holes. Cocks would be shoved through. He would serve them. The cage of his servitude, a multitude of men he’d never be able to fully satisfy. But it was no longer his fear–it was his fantasy. His true dream.

“Look, this is ridiculous, even if…I mean.”

“All it costs is one blowjob, and I’ve seen you staring at my crotch all night. Boys like you, only one reason they come here. The rest of it…well, I can tell just by looking at you. I’ve seen you two around town, seen how you look at him. This could help.” The older man turned the cigar over in his hands, “but, if you just want to follow him around, be the best man at his wedding to some fat skank, suck him off once, and only when he’s drunk as hell, then that’s your choice.”

The older man was hardly a looker. Probably from somewhere out in the sticks, missing teeth, big gut, stinking of cheap beer and stale smoke, grey beard to his chest. Still, he was kind of Ben’s type–though he wasn’t really a fan of sucking…This was probably how the guy always got laid though. Magic cigars? Control anyone who you smoke around? Still, for a bunch of closeted queers, lusting after their straight friends…it was tempting. Ben bargained him up, the man promising him a blow job too, and he followed him out to the man’s truck, where they blew each other in the parking lot, and then Ben left, cigar in his pocket, still feeling like he’d been a bit cheated.

Chet was his one weakness. Friends since they were babes, Ben had been lusting after his friend for so long, but he was as straight as could be, and was a big fan of bashing queers. Chet was also an alpha through and through, and as much as Ben chafed at submitting to anyone, he’d learned to let Chet get his way to keep the friendship going. But now…well, now nothing was going to change, but at least it was a nice cigar. He usually stuck to cigarettes, while Chet preferred chewing, but he’d bought a cigar now and then for fun. An opportunity to light up didn’t come for a few days, when he and Chet were hanging out at his little trailer, watching B movies. Heart beating fast, he lit up the cigar, blowing it off in Chet’s direction, watching as he inhaled the first couple whiffs. He sneezed, and rubbed his nose, eyes a bit bleary. “Dang man! That cigar’s strong as fuck. Where the fuck’d you get it?”

“Strong? Nah, this…this is pretty smooth. In fact…” did he dare? “In fact, I don’t think the smoke really bothers you at all. I think you like how it smells.”

“No way, I mean…sure, it’s not botherin’ me as much…” Chet said, fidgeting. He always fidgeted when he lied.

Had it actually worked? How in the hell could he really know? Then again, the man had said it gave him complete control, body and mind. He muttered something under his breath, quietly so Chet couldn’t hear, and a few seconds later, a thick beard sprouted across Chet’s stubbly face. He just gawked for a moment, and Chet reached up to feel it, and yanked his hand away. “What the fuck!”

“Hang on Chet! Calm down…”

Chet grabbed the side of the chair, and his breath slowed down.

“Fuck, it actually works…”

“What fucking works? What…what’s going on?”

He’d never heard Chet scared before. He liked how that sounded, actually. His cock was getting a bit hard, in fact. “Looks good on you, but you know? I just think you’re a bit too young to pull it off. Now, how about we age you up a bit? Say…fifty? Yeah, make you a sexy, submissive, chubby, daddy bear.”

Chet stood up calmly, but the changes were already starting. He watched his smooth stomach balloon outward into a gut, hair filling in across his arms and under his shirt, speckled with grey. “How in the fuck!” he wheeled towards Ben, and blinked. Fuck…fuck, his friend was one…sexy cub. He licked his lips, feeling his tongue brush through his new beard. Ben undid the fly of his pants and let out his cock. “See something you like, Chet?”

“Fuck…fuck you. Fuckin’ faggot. You did…something to me.”

“You’re right Chet…you’re right, I am a faggot. Been one as long as I can remember. And you know what? I’m fuckin’ sick of ya bashin’ us, and I’m fuckin’ sick a yer fuckin’ jokes. Now get the fuck down here and use that nasty mouth of yours for something useful, bitch!”

Chet tried to resist, but all he could do was get down, suck his faggot friend’s cock, and listen to Ben describe their new life together. Ben, the master, and Chet the useless, small cocked, bear slave. Incredibly turned on by pain and humiliation, he started leaking when Ben ground the toe of his boot into his tiny balls. The cigar burnt out, and exhausted, Ben led the collared and harnessed Chet to his cage for the night, and filled his slave bowl with his piss. Chet thanked his master and lapped it up obediently.

wesleybracken:

Sketch #9 – Mark and Jerry

Mark furrowed his brow, not entirely sure what to make of the email he’d just received from his boss down the hall. Part of it he could understand, but about halfway through it all just sort of…became a bunch of gibberish. Looking it over again, he didn’t want to have talk to him about it. Jerry had been acting strange all day, and he’d seemed a bit meaner than usual lately, and Jerry already hated Mark—he’d rather hire someone younger to replace him for half the wage, but Mark was too good and Jerry knew it. Any sign of weakness could become an excuse.

Still, he did need to know what in the hell Jerry was talking about. He got up, and brought up the email on his phone as he walked down to Jerry’s office, knocked on the door and stepped in before he could hear Jerry warn him not to. He gaped at the sight of his boss, naked aside from a pair of filthy looking, oversized underwear, tattoos coating his body that Mark had never seen, and was he jacking off?

“Get out! Get out, you fucker!”

Mark got out. He got out and he left work and he headed home before the shit could hit the fan, but something wasn’t right, a smell he couldn’t get out of his head, a buzzing at the base of his skull. He arrived home and immediately lit up a cigar—it was an old habit, but one that kept his nerves under control all the same—but this wasn’t the usual brand he smoked, was it? It was sharper and foul and…and…

Mark groaned and started rubbing his cock in his pants, his suit was changing, morphing around him into a pair of overalls that started out clean, but quickly became grubbier and full of holes, his beard whitening and growing long and tangled, his head balding aside from a thin horseshoe, but all he could think of was Jerry, that brief glance he’d gotten at the office, he couldn’t even remember what his face had looked like, but he wanted that filthy cock. He fumbled with his phone, snapped a pic of his dirty old cock and sent it to his boss.

horny wanna cum over

It was a few anxious minutes that he waited, until he got a reply.

still at office, cum fuck me daddy

Mark grabbed a couple extra cigars and climbed in his old, beatup truck. He had a boy to pick up, and they were going to have a wild night together.

He stepped out of the elevator and found a bear fucking a young, chubby cub on the carpet right in front of them.

“Fuck dad, you’re cock is so fucking big, I hope my cock is as big as yours when I grow up.”

“Well, if you want to get bigger, yer gonna have tah eat a whole lotta protein son,” the bear panted, biting and licking at the boy’s neck. “Good thing daddy’s got plenty tah feed ya.”

Mark was really fucking turned on watching them, but he had another date with Jerry. All through the office he could hear the hoots and hollers of rednecks fucking each other’s brains out, and in his boss’ office he found Jerry still in his chair, and he was even filthier than Mark remembered. Tattooed from head to toe, he reeked from across the small room, it was humid with his sweat and musk. He wasn’t alone–some overly buff brute with a shaved head and vacant eyes had his nose suffed in Jerry’s armpit, snorting and licking, jacking his cock wildly, his hairless muscles covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Fuck boy, yer even hotter ‘n I remember,” Mark said.

“Shut up ‘n fuck my filthy hole,” Jerry groaned, putting his legs up on the armrests of the chair.

Mark already had his cock hanging out of his crotchless overalls, and he worked it into the hole. It felt loose and sticky–he wasn’t the first in, but he didn’t care.

“I always hated you most of all, Mark,” Jerry said, and Mark immediately felt his balls tense up and shoot a huge load into Jerry’s ass. He couldn’t stop fucking though, he had lost all control of himself suddenly. "Fuckin’ hated you so much.“ Another massive orgasm, it nearly crippled him but he had to fuck, had to fill the hole up, had to keep going. Jerry was in his head now, he could feel him there, and he came a third time, his balls shooting dry now, blue with pain, he couldn’t think straight, and finally Jerry let him pull out. But his cock was small now, and his balls had shriveled up.

"Bet you’re hungry Mark. Come on piggy, I got some food for you right here,” Jerry said, and let loose a wet fart, cum leaking out of his hole. Mark just stared at it, knees collapsing, crawling forward, lapping up the sweaty, shitty crack, eating his cum out of his boss’ hole, eating all of the cum out of his hole.

“Gonna be my cumpig Mark, fuckin’ hate you, always fuckin’ hated you. Hey, Devon,” he added looking at the muscle brute beside him who had been the office intern, “You hate Mark too now. Fuck Mark’s nasty pighole, fuck it rough, and make him scream, big boy.”

I was his big brother! What, was I supposed to say no? I’d been collecting second hand weight room equipment for a while, and I was getting pretty big, and my brother wanted to lift weights with me. It seemed easy enough, except he was better at it than me. Fuck, what the hell–I was supposed to be the big brother here, and before I know it, he’s posting selfies to every fuckin’ girl in school, flexing in the mirror in his fucking waders. Look, it would have been ok I think if he’d just left it at that, but then he fucked Amanda, and I mean, we’d been off ‘n on forever! No brother fucks his brother’s girl, and then brags about it. So yeah, I wasn’t happy.

So yeah, it wasn’t nice, still, the spell fucking worked, didn’t it? Guy can’t pry himself away from the fridge long enough to work out…or do anything much at all. Should have seen him beg me those first few days, listen to him tell me he’d make it all better, he’d never do anything like that again, and I, well, I had a change of heart, I admit it. Unfortunately, the gypsy who’d put the spell on him had a definite no refund policy, and when I got in her face, she fucking cursed me too.

She made me his fucking feeder! I can’t stop cookin’ all day long for him, watching him eat. That gut he’s growing is so damn sexy though, fuck, I love climbing up on his lap, grinding my cock into his belly button while he eats, and of course, whenever he finishes a meal I give him a blow job or fuck his fat, piggy ass to keep him happy. Everything was good too, until I finally let slip what I’d done.

To say that he was pissed, well, that was a fuckin’ understatement, and before I could stop him, he’d gotten into my truck and driven off to meet with the gypsy himself. Man, I don’t know what the hell she did, but as soon as he got back, I looked at him in a whole new way. I mean, he’d always been sexy, but now he was like a fucking god. He walked in the room, and I fell to my knees in front of him, face buried in his gut, begging him to make me his slave.

Thankfully he said yes–I don’t know what he would have done otherwise. So everything worked out well in the end, right? I get to worship and wait on my obese brother all day long, feeding that huge belly of his, and he gets to fuck both my holes whenever he wants. He’s my little brother right? What else would a guy have done?

Peter was a good looking guy in his sixties, sure. More importantly, he could still get the ladies, although to be honest, Peter’s interests ran considerably younger than he was, preferably girls in their 20’s fresh from the two college campuses in the city. They all had daddy issues in the end after all, they just needed a proper older cock to sort them all out, whether they knew it or not. He was feeling particularly on tonight, and he decided to snap a quick selfie in the bar room mirror, but he didn’t know that the mirror sprites had been following his conquests, and decided to turn the tables on the cradle robber.

Peter checked the photo on his phone and looked down at it, puzzled. It looked nothing like him! It was some chubby kid standing in what looked like a bedroom, no hair at all, wearing a pair of briefs. Confused, Peter looked up at the mirror and only grew more confused. He wasn’t in the bar anymore, he was in the bedroom, and the reflection he was staring at was the boy in the picture on his smartphone, and his jaw dropped, unable to believe his eyes. Tentatively, he ran his hands along his heavy gut, amazed at just how smooth his skin was, as opposed to the hurry chest and abs he’d had moments before…right?

Things were starting to get fuzzy, and in his head he was clambering at the old life unraveling away in the mirror–the mirror! He walked up to it and pounded on it. It had to have something to do with that, but all he could hear was a distant chatter of laughter, before a heavy knock came on his bedroom door. “Petey? Are you up?” a deep, rough voice asked, and Peter felt his stomach turn…and his cock start to get hard at the sound of his father’s voice, “It’s late–shouldn’t you be in bed? You have school in the morning.”

“Y–yeah dad, I’m just getting into my PJs,” Peter said, and a second later his dad opened the door, and he barely managed to contain a gasp at the sight of the thick, burly man who came into his room, puffing on a cigar, wearing only a pair of briefs that might have been white the year before but which looked quite a bit more yellow and sour now. The cigar smoke, something he’d always hated in his past life, now felt somehow…comforting. It reminded him of his dad, of being close to him, his cock starting to tent in his briefs, his dad smiling down at him.

“You want me to tuck you in, Petey?” his dad asked, and Peter found himself nodding, walking over to his bed and climbing on it, his dad massaging his fat ass through his briefs. “Can’t believe you’re a senior in high school already. Still, you’ll always be my little boy, right Petey?”

“Yeah daddy…of course,” Peter said, biting his lip as his dad pulled down the back of his briefs and started rubbing the stiff fabric of his filthy briefs against his crack, feeling his dad’s hard cock catch on his hungry asshole, and he started grinding back gently, letting his dad know how much he needed him inside of him. His dad slid his cock in raw, but Peter knew how to take it, knew how to stay quiet, and his dad reached around, rubbing Peter’s short, fat cock until his son exploded in his briefs, and he came soon after, filling up his son’s ass. He stripped off Peter’s briefs and held the cum soaked front up to his nose and inhaled the smell of his son’s fresh cum, and sighed. “Gonna miss you if you head off to college next year son.”

“I…I’d miss you too daddy,” Petey said, “But I can always come visit…you know.”

“Heh, and I bet we can find you some substitute daddies to fuck you while you’re away, eh?” Petey had never been fucked by anyone other than his dad before, but the idea made him…hornier than he might have expected, and after a long kiss with his dad, he slid under the covers and his dad left the room, still holding his son’s soiled briefs in his hand. “Heh, boys and their daddy issues,” he said, and went to his own bedroom for the night.

“What, just because I’m young and can’t grow a beard, I’m not allowed in the bar?” Louie said, when the bear grabbed his coat and told him he wasn’t welcome.

“Fuck no–we don’t need any fuckin’ pussyboys like you around here, unless you want to wrap your mouth around my cock and suck me clean, bitch,” Bill said

Louie rolled his eyes. He could smell the booze on the guy, he’d obviously had one too many. Should he go light on him? Nah, probably not. “What, so rough, big guys like you can’t be raging bottoms, eh? Well, let’s see how good that works out for you tomorrow morning. Now get out of here, go home, and go to sleep.”

Unsure of what had just happened, and only barely able to detect the magic wrapping its way around him, the bear let go of Louie’s coat, turned around and left the bar, returning home and climbing into his bed, where he fell asleep almost instantly.

Bill woke up the next morning to quite a surprise–he was huge. He jumped out of his bed, discovering he’d grown to a few inches over six feet, and packed on pounds of muscle–his gut having disappeared overnight, and he flexed in the mirror, admiring his new, hot look. Funny, he couldn’t remember what had happened at all, and by the time he’d jacked off a couple of times, he’d managed to forget that things had ever been different, aside from a distant memory.

Still, he needed to get to work, so he threw on a suit and left his apartment, where he saw a young, chubby twerp coming towards him down the hall, and he fell to his knees in front of him, and said, “Please sir, please fuck my muscle butt sir, I need a cock in my hole so bad sir, I’m such a nasty bottom bitch, please!”

The chub, who was straight, was more than happy to switch teams for a few minutes, to force him back into his apartment and rape his ass, humiliating and degrading him the whole time, before filling his hole with cum, and leaving without ceremony. Bill never did get to work that day–he sucked off another chubby guy in the elevator, and then ended up getting gangbanged by a posse of nerds in the back of a comic book shop. Forced to turn into a submissive bottom for everyone who he saw as weaker than him, Bill was going to have a long life of service ahead of him.

“What the fuck? What is this? Where am I?”

“Finally, you’re awake–we’ve been waiting forever. I didn’t think it would take you this long to wake up.”

“Who the hell are you, you fucking leather freak?”

“Oh trust me Brent, you know me–you just don’t recognize me. I’m Phil, you know, Phat Phil? The guy you and all of your frat buddies used to terrorize? I look good, right? I don’t blame you for not recognizing me, really–I’ve lost a lot of weight, and it’s all thanks to this wonderful contraption I’m about to stuff you into. I’ve been working on it for months now, and you’re my first test subject for stage two.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Well, it’s a two stage process, you see. Stage one removes fat from someone’s body and stores it–stage two takes that fat and forces it into someone else–that is, you, soon enough. Come on out, guys.”

Brent looked around and saw three other slim men walk out, also clad in leather, and now that he was paying attention, he recognized all of their slimmed down faces as various fat men he’d ridiculed and teased.

“We’ve been storing quite a bit–at last count, we tucked away over six hundred pounds of flab–and you want to know where it’s going?”

Brent heard the machine around him groan to life, a conveyor lifting his roped body into the machine as he struggled.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention a quirk about the machine–apparently, and I have no idea why–it makes everyone who uses it gay–not something I was expecting–and the thinner it makes you, the more domineering. Now, this is just a hypothesis, but I think the four of us will have one fat pig slut to abuse by the time it’s finished with you!”

Brent gave one final scream as the doors shut him inside, and the machine entered stage two–the four leather men gathering around, eager to see the results.

Kevin McGrath, a modern day bandit, has somehow managed to escape arrest over thirty times, and even worse, no one is entirely sure how he manages to do it. He makes things easy enough–robbing banks without even a mask, getting away with the cash on the same motorcycle each time, but the officers who pursue him…well, when they inevitably catch up to him at the seedy motel he holes up in, well, strange things start to happen.

He never resists arrest, but as soon as the men approach him, the find themselves impossibly attracted to the outlaw, and the longer they remain near him, the more thy change. Those who get away after a few minutes tend to quit the force, becoming rough leather cop masters at local gay bars, but on the few occasions that they end up spending the night with McGrath…

Well, it’s a bit different each time. One officer was found in the hotel room, wearing only a leather harness, bound up, his asshole so loose he couldn’t close it, begging the men who found him to fist him like the pig he was. In another case, the officer was found stuffing himself with food, after gaining three hundred pounds over night. McGrath hasn’t struck a bank in the last few months, so he’s probably planning his next heist, and who knows what might happen to the men who pursue him this time.

Source: lc600

Carlos had heard about the new leather club for weeks–apparently it was full of bottoms desperate for masters to fuck them, which would be a nice change from the usual situation. It seemed like every bar these days was just full of wanna-be tops, and not nearly enough bottoms to go around. It would be nice to go to a place and have a bunch of desperate bitches begging for his meat. He got dressed up in his nicest leathers and headed to the bar, but the bouncer stopped him before he could enter.

“Top or bottom?” the man asked.

“Top.”

“Sorry, we’re all full up–gotta get here early man.”

Carlos could see past the man that the bar had plenty of room–and was definitely full of energy. Damn, there were plenty of boys there he’d love to fuck, but the club’s secret to it’s sexy ratio was obvious–they kept out most of the tops who came by.

“Well, what if I said bottom instead?” Carlos asked with a grin.

“Suit yourself,” the bouncer said, “If that’s what you want…” and stepped to the side, and stamped Carlos hand as he passed by.

As soon as Carlos was in, he scanned the room, looking for some hot master who might want to ream his hole–wait, what? He shook his head and looked down at the stamp on his hand–“Bottom” was all it said, and he realized he might have made a mistake. He turned to get out of there, but was stopped by the hunkiest muscle bear he’d ever seen, and he sighed as the man slipped the chain around his neck, and dragged him into the back room for a good long fuck.

Aaron had asked the tattoo artist to write “Muscle God” on his back in Chinese–however, maybe he should have been more polite when he had. To say that Aaron was proud of his physique was an understatement and he was arrogant as hell. The tattoo artist had figured a bit of humility would do the bodybuilder good.

It started slow–with Aaron noticing the large cocks of the black men in the gym, catching himself licking his lips before blushing and pushing the thoughts away, but they always came back stronger. He felt so much better when he gave in and begged one of them to let him suck his cock. It had taken some groveling but the man had given in eventually–now Aaron was out of control.

He’d fallen in with a gang of black youth, satisfying all of their twisted sexual desires and finding himself warping more and more in response. He couldn’t get hard without a long black cock in his ass and throat–he longed for black men to order his around. Still, what else would you expect from a man with “Slave for Black Cock” tattooed on his back?

Source: tombianchi.com