My captors stroked their cocks back into full erections before they moved in closer.
“Are you guys…?” I started, and both men nodded as they neared me.
“We wouldn’t want anyone to expose you.” Daniel spread my legs wider. “Or blow your cover.”
“You can blow me,” I said, as I pulled harder on my restraints.
“Oh, I plan on it,” Daniel said, as he lowered his head, before his mouth was full.
2 Cute
Roscoe Hudson
The truth is my sister Brenda wouldn’t have been dating Kirk if he wasn’t driving a Corvette. It was a flaming red two-seater that resembled an angry insect, and he drove it as if he was careening around a NASCAR track and not the sleepy thoroughfares of a Kansas City suburb. His love for speed and all things automotive was as large as his crotch. Day after day Brenda complained that Kirk spent more time washing, waxing and repairing his 1980 Stingray than making out with her. When he wasn’t tending to his car he was preening in the mirror, picking his Afro and checking his face for zits. She claimed he even plucked his eyebrows. I thought Brenda had no right to complain. Slabs of rock-hard muscle stretched out Kirk’s T-shirts, and the bulge in his Jordache jeans was substantial enough to make every girl who met him gawk and salivate. One night last summer when I was walking home from my statistics course at the local college, Kirk’s Corvette was parked in front of our house. He was sitting in the driver’s seat with his head tossed back, his eyes closed, his nipples pointy and hard beneath a white T-shirt. When I passed the car I saw Brenda’s head bobbing up and down in his lap; her mouth was full of Kirk’s cock. His balls, which looked like two avocados, rested at her chin. Kirk looked up, saw me and winked. That was around the time he got his personalized license plates—2 CUTE.
It didn’t take long before I was jerking off to that memory nearly every day and night. As freaky as it was to see my big sister sucking cock, the sight of her mouth—or anyone’s mouth for that matter—enveloping Kirk’s long, fat rod sent vibrations from the tip my eight-inch prick back to my clenching asshole. Each night before bed and each morning when I awoke, I glazed my stomach with hot cum jacking off to Kirk’s love hammer, imaging him stuffing my mouth and guts with it, gagging my throat and stretching out my hole until I quivered and cried. I imagined sliding my tongue up and down his stiff cock in his Corvette while he zoomed down the freeway at one hundred miles an hour. As soon as he came he’d slam on the brakes. It was always at that moment that I came, spurting streams of thick white cum over my belly and trying my best not to moan too loudly so Brenda, and my parents, who slept in the next room, wouldn’t hear me.
I envied my sister. She got to feel Kirk’s monster cock slam into her pussy all the time and all she could do was gripe about him. Their romance had lasted a year before Brenda busted into my bedroom one September night when I was studying and dropped a cardboard box on my desk beside my physics textbook. Her cheeks and eyes were red and she stood beside me with her arms folded. “I need you to give all of this back to Kirk.”
I looked in the box and saw all the presents Kirk had ever given her: records by the Commodores, Kool and the Gang, Parliament and the Isley Brothers, a gold chain, a few smutty paperback books, a sweater, a silver bracelet and a ring with a diamond the size of a pebble. Brenda put her hand on her hip. “Just walk it over to his house before you go to class tomorrow afternoon.”
“What for?” I drummed my pencil on my physics book, happy that Kirk wouldn’t be fucking my sister anymore but sad that I might not see him again. “You and Kirk have been down this road before. He’s gonna check out other girls, Brenda. All guys do.”
“Don’t give me scientific explanations, okay Steve? You see these?” Brenda snatched my pencil and used it to lift a pair of panties out of the box. They were pink with tiny white hearts and white lace trim.
“Lovely.”
“They’re not mine!” Brenda yelled. “2 CUTE my ass. Take all this crap back to him.” She dropped the panties back into the box, flounced on her heel and left my bedroom. “And don’t let him sweet-talk you,” she yelled from the hallway. “He’s good at that too.”
I peered down at the panties in the box and chuckled. Kirk was a lady’s man, no doubt, and Brenda knew about his reputation long before he strolled into the McDonald’s where she worked and hit her up for her number. I sometimes fantasized about driving 2 CUTE and being as studly with guys as he was with women. I picked up the panties and noticed dried cum spots on them. Whoever the chick was, without a doubt Kirk had fucked her.
The next day between classes I walked to Kirk’s house. My backpack was crammed with textbooks, which made the long walk between the university and Kirk’s house seem even longer. When I finally reached Kirk’s house the garage door was open and his Corvette, blood red and shiny, was parked inside. Earth, Wind and Fire were singing “Dancing in September” on a small radio on a shelf by the door leading into the main house. Kirk, bent over as he tinkered with something under the hood, was whistling along to the song. For a moment I stood at the end of the driveway checking out his ample butt in the gray coveralls he was wearing. My dick was rock hard and I tried thinking of binomial equations, string theory, quantum mechanics, anything to make it soft again so he wouldn’t see.
Eventually, Kirk looked up from beneath the hood and saw me standing in the driveway. “Looks like you got a big package for me, Steve.”
“Say what? Oh… Yeah, Brenda told me to bring you this stuff.”
Kirk told me to come in and set the box down on a workbench attached to a wall opposite the car. Odors of oil, gasoline and wax filled my nose and combined to make a fetid yet subtly sweet industrial cologne that enticed rather than repelled me. Kirk’s garage was a mechanic’s wet dream. Just about every tool needed to repair a vehicle hung on a large Peg-Board that surrounded the entire garage. A six-foot-tall shelf by the door leading into the house held a variety of cleaners, concoctions, lubricants, oils and polishes. A stack of neatly folded blue rags took up space on the bottom shelf and a bucket of Brillo pads rested by the shelf beneath a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. Kirk was prepared to service his car in every conceivable way.
“Sorry your sister got you twisted up in all this, man.” Kirk wiped grease off a wrench. His coveralls nestled his grapefruit-sized crotch and, half zipped, exposed a thatch of black chest hair. He could have passed for Lionel Ritchie’s little brother. “These foxes always trippin’.” He took a sip from a tall can of beer resting on a shelf.
I tugged on a strap of my backpack. I needed to meet my calculus study group at the library in thirty minutes, but all I wanted to do was watch Kirk work.
“Brenda’s got some crazy ways.” I felt like a traitor the moment the words passed my lips.
Kirk took another sip of his beer and smirked. “How them classes going, Mr. Scientist?”
I hooked a thumb into my jeans pocket. They were a few years old. I couldn’t afford Jordaches. “School’s fine. Nothing new. Just a lot of equations and stuff.”
“You really like that stuff, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “I’ve always been good at it.”
“I should have you check out my ride. Hell, you could probably fix it in no time.”
He walked over to the box and looked inside. He picked up the panties and chuckled to himself before he took them out of the box and sniffed them. Then he held them out to me.
“Go on, man. Smell ’em.”
I looked down at my shoes. “That’s okay, Kirk.”
“Naw, dude. Smell ’em. Seriously.”
I bent just low enough to inhale the scent: fruity and salty.
“I got dozens of these, man. No joke.” He tugged at his nuts then balled up the panties in his fist and pointed at his car. “You got to get a ride, man. Once you get a sweet ride the honeys come running dripping wet. Me and your sister talked. I know you ain’t had no pussy yet. Way to get around that is to get a ride, man. A ride
equals pussy. The sweeter your ride the sweeter the pussy you get. It’s like an algebra equation, see?”
I nodded.
“Gotta get back to school?” Kirk asked.
I told him about my study group. As it was I was going to be at least ten minutes late, but I didn’t mind.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Kirk said as he closed the hood on his Corvette, “but I gotta run by my uncle Otis’s lot first. Gotta drop some stuff off.”
“Cool,” I said.
“Oh. Since we returning shit, give this back to your sister for me.” He took an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to me. “But don’t open it. You hear, Steve? Let her open it.”
“Okay.”
He looked me straight in the eye, daring me to defy him. “We cool on that, right?”
“We’re cool. I won’t open it.”
Kirk smacked me on the back and told me to get into the car. He got into the driver’s seat and zoomed out of the garage and down the block at eighty miles an hour with Michael Jackson singing “Human Nature” as the houses whizzed by.
Kirk’s uncle Otis was a self-proclaimed king of the ghetto. He drove a lime-green 1972 Coupe de Ville with custom chrome hubcaps, played songs by Al Green, Donny Hathaway and the Isley Brothers as loud as he could on eight track and kept a .357 under the driver’s seat. Kirk confided to me that his parents tried to distance themselves from Otis as much as they could, which made Otis resent them; he often referred to Kirk and his parents as siddity Uncle Toms who’d forgotten where they came from. Regardless, when Otis needed someone to help out around the car lot Kirk jumped at the chance. Though he would never admit it, I knew this was Kirk’s way of rebelling against his upper-middle-class upbringing and trying to be more ghetto. Otis gave him the chance to make a few car sales, and when Kirk showed a true knack for it Otis asked him to stay on. Kirk agreed.
I met Otis a couple of times at Kirk’s parents’ house on holiday gatherings with Brenda. He was the only person in my life I had ever taken an immediate dislike to. Loud and boisterous, he had the biggest appetite and dirtiest mouth of anyone I’d met. He never showed up with the same woman twice and never missed an opportunity to comment on how much money Kirk’s parents had. “Sure must be nice being rich niggas,” he’d say, making Kirk’s mother roll her eyes and vanish into the kitchen. After dinner he and his girlfriend smoked blunts and drank Colt 45 on the patio. Inevitably, before he left he pulled Kirk’s dad aside and asked for a loan. Kirk’s father, embarrassed for both of them, slipped a wad of crisp bills into his palm. Otis’s face would beam and he’d strut to his Coupe de Ville with his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder. Being around him was the only time I ever felt like a snob.
I sat in the waiting area of Otis’s used-car lot checking my watch and flipping through a back issue of Jet when Otis stepped out of his office wearing heavily starched jeans, a red polo and a pair of fake-leather yellow shoes that buckled on the side. He had the arms and legs of a seasoned football player, and his ass retained its high roundness. With ebony skin, a bushy goatee and a shiny bald head, in truth, Otis was not a bad-looking man. The only real strike against him was his small beer belly.
He stood in front of his office door about a yard away from where I sat and jangled keys in his pocket. Inside the office I could see an open bottle of Hennessy beside a stack of papers on his desk. Pictures of his three children stood in gold-plated frames at the edge of the desk, and the Serenity Prayer, carved into a wood plaque, hung on the wall over a tall gray file cabinet.
Otis had a raspy baritone voice people either liked or hated. I didn’t mind it. “What’s up, college boy?”
I picked up another issue of Jet. “Just waiting for Kirk.” I kept my eyes down, focusing all of my attention on the magazine.
Otis strutted over and sat beside me. I glanced out of the window. Kirk was nowhere to be found.
“I heard you got a big scholarship, college boy. Congrats.”
I thanked him and tossed the magazine aside. Only Kirk could save me now and he was off somewhere else on the lot. I had given up trying to make it to my study session at the library. It was nearly dark outside.
Otis spread his legs and scratched his balls. “Girls would be linin’ up to slob your knob with a ride like my nephew’s Stingray, know what I’m sayin’?”
I offered him a half smile.
“Ain’t you got a girlfriend?”
“Not right now.”
“Why? You gay?”
“What if I am?”
He made a noise like a tire slashed with a knife and checked outside to see what Kirk was doing.
“Shit,” Otis said, “that’s cool. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. I did a bid once. I know how bruthas be when there ain’t no bitches around.” He started rubbing his balls. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that at all, long as you keep that shit quiet. Cuz ain’t nobody kickin’ it like that, know what I mean?”
He looked right at me with bulging, bloodshot eyes. His bulldog nostrils flared. His biceps looked like black bricks attached to his arms. He leaned in close to speak and a blast of his whiskey breath hit me in the face.
“My nephew say you a virgin,” he said in a hushed voice. “You gon’ let me hit that?”
Before I had a chance to respond, Otis unzipped his pants and took out his dick. It was as long as a cucumber and just as thick, black as midnight and curving upward. The head touched his belly and precum glistened at the tip.
He started jerking off and said, “Don’t act like you don’t want none of this.” His tongue parted his plump black lips, and he looked my body up and down.
Otis’s dick filled my mouth before I could talk myself out of blowing him. I slurped on the head while he kept his arms at his side.
“Yeah,” he said, “get on that dick. Get that shit wet.”
I sucked faster and farther until the head of his cock touched my tonsils. I gagged and coughed up more spit.
Otis said, “Yeah, that’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ ’bout. Deep-throat my motherfuckin’ dick. Got a motherfuckin’ college boy up in here.”
He lowered his jeans to his ankles. His balls tumbled out of his pants and smacked my chin.
Otis was getting more and more worked up, periodically going Mmmm and Ahhh while I swallowed his cock and licked his massive balls. I squeezed the head of his cock and a stream of precum leaked out. I placed the very tip of my tongue in his piss-slit. Otis forced his dick back into my mouth; the head stretched my cheek, making me look like I had the mumps.
“Yeah, you suckin’ on some ghetto dick now. Gettin’ back to your motherfuckin’ roots, son… With yo pretty ass.”
I tried not to make sense of what I was doing. The only thing worthwhile about Otis, as far as I was concerned, was his stiff, smooth black cock. I could have sucked his baby maker for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
He took his dick out of my mouth and stood. “Let’s go in there.” He pointed to his office, and I walked in. He followed and closed the door. Once he locked the door Otis looked me up and down, sizing me up like livestock.
“You got a little muscle on you. Take off your shirt, man.”
I lifted my shirt over my head and tossed it to the ground. Otis’s head nodded slightly. He shucked on his cock with one hand and squeezed my pectorals with the other. He caressed my entire torso with his calloused hand, pinching my nipples, gripping my hard round shoulders, smacking my abs. Working out at the gym on campus was the only recreation I had, and I knew my body was in excellent shape.
“Motherfuckin’ bodybuilder. That shit is nice.” He balled his hand into a fist and gave my chest two punches. They didn’t hurt. “That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ bout.”
I dropped to my knees and began sucking him again. He put a hand on the back of my head and pumped his cock in and out of my mouth.
“Take out your dick, man,” he said. “What you got?”
I undid my jeans and pulled them down to my
knees. My hard cock swung out and I took it in hand, hocking a wad of spit into my palm before I started jerking off.
“Knew your dick was big,” Otis said. “Big motherfuckin’ brown dick. Damn that shit look good.”
The trick to sucking Otis’s dick was to open my mouth wide enough to accommodate the large helmet head. Once the head was in my mouth I tightened my lips around his shaft, mindful of my teeth, and slid my lips as far down as I could. When I opened my throat I could take almost all of his ten inches in my mouth without gagging.
Otis’s breathing intensified as he continued drilling my mouth. I held on to his granite ass with one hand and continued jerking off with the other hand, all the time imagining I was pleasing Kirk the way I ached to each and every day.
“Hold on,” Otis said as he took his long prick out of my mouth. He reached for the bottle of Hennessy, brought it to his lips and guzzled. Then he poured a little bit of the whiskey on his hard dick. My tongue slid up and down the top part of his smooth black dick, savoring the taste before I sucked him off some more.
“Now you got it,” he said with a grin of accomplishment. “Now you gettin’ ghetto wit’ it.”
His long tongue flopped out of his mouth and hung over his bottom lip. He had the grin of a mischievous child and a dark face that glowed from being drunk. He began breathing through his mouth heavily. I took his nuts in my hand and rubbed them. The skin on them was tighter now. I knew he was getting close.
I could feel myself reaching orgasm. I took my hand off Otis’s balls and used it to hold my dick; I twisted the slick palm of my other hand over the tip of it. Otis’s midnight flesh was the only thing I could see. I closed my eyes and, with my tongue still in my mouth, slid it from side to side beneath Otis’s smooth black snake.
Otis pushed my head farther and farther down on his dick.
Homeboys Page 9