The Smoke of a Thug

"What the fuck do you want, white boy?" he asked as I opened the door. Then he smiled at me and I let him in. "You want me to thug on your ass again?"

I remembered how his powerful black muscles gripped me like steel bands and the pain he inflicted on my body the last time he was here.

"I have something else in mind," I said. Please come in!

I closed the door behind him. He took off his motorcycle helmet and laid it on the coffee table. Then he sat down on the couch and offered me a Newport. I took it and we lit up.

"You doin' alright?" he asked.

Not much to complain about," I replied, trying to make small talk.

Having a cigarette gave me the perfect opportunity to watch him. Seeing a black guy blow thick streams of smoke gets me horny faster than anything—especially if he looks like a thug. That's how we met. I saw him smoking at work and asked him to give me a ride home. I wanted to talk to him but discovered that he was into jiu-jitsu. I asked him to show me some holds instead. I never got around to what I really wanted. Now he was back again, blowing thick smoke, and I was staring at him in awe. I couldn't help it.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at, white boy?"

"Can I ask you something, James?" I ventured.

"Yeah," he said, and took a deep drag on his Newport.

"What would you do if a guy asked you to blow smoke in his face?"

He exhaled the smoke in a thick stream, slowly and deliberately. "I'd do it," he answered definitely.

"It wouldn't bother you?" I asked.

"I have to blow my smoke out anyway. I don't give a fuck where it goes! If a guy wants it in his face, I don't care."

James watched me with interest as he took another drag.

"Have you ever blown smoke in a guy's face to bully him?" I asked.

He gave a chuckle, spurting little puffs of smoke as he laughed. "I do that shit to my brother all the time."

"Why?"

"Cause he hates smoke. The little fucker is always on my ass about smoking, so I blow it in his fuckin' face."

"Have you thought about pinning him down and torturing him with your smoke?" I asked. "You know—blow the whole cigarette in his face—make him breathe it?"

"I do that too," he laughed. "It really pisses him off."

"So you use your smoke as a weapon," I suggested.

"I never thought about it that way, but yeah! That's exactly what I do."

"Would you do it to me?" I asked nervously.

James had taken another deep drag and was blowing it out when I asked the question. Watching his thick smoke gave me a rush of adrenaline as I imagined him filling my face with it.

"You want me to blow my smoke in your face?" he asked, making sure he understood my request.

"Yes," I answered honestly.

"But you're a smoker," he said.

"It's not the smoke I like—it's the attitude," I explained. "I do like breathing another guy's smoke. But what I really want is for him to blow it in my face as if I didn't like it—especially if he's black. That's why I asked you to bring me home the first time we met. Do you mind?"

"That you want me to blow my smoke in your face? Fuck no!" he exclaimed. "I just be doin' my thing."

"And just what is your thing?" I inquired.

James looked at me as if I should know that already. "Kickin' a white boy's ass," he sneered.

"You don't like white people very much, do you?" I observed.

"Not true," he snapped. "I got lots of white friends. It's just that some white dudes like black guys because they're afraid of them. So I play it up, that's all."

"You become the bad ass black muthafucka they want you to be," I added.

"It makes them happy and I like doing it," he replied honestly. "I wouldn't really hurt a guy—not unless he wanted me to."

James took a very long drag, filling his lungs to capacity. Then he exhaled a stream of smoke that was so thick it hung in the air like a solid object. He looked at me and I could feel his eyes going through me. I forced myself to endure his gaze as long as I could, but the longer he stared and said nothing, the more frightening and dangerous he appeared. My heart began to pound violently. The excitement was building inside me. I had to say what I felt, right now!

"I want a mean, bad-ass, black muthafucka to bully me with his thick, choking Newport smoke," I said, throwing everything I had into it and deliberately trying to be melodramatic. Hearing my own words excited me even more. James looked down and saw my hard-on.

"You really like that shit, eh, white boy?"

"Totally," I replied.

He took the last drag on his cigarette and blew his smoke straight at me. "Fuck yeah! I'll blow as much fuckin' smoke in your fuckin' face as you fuckin' want, white boy! What do you do while a bad-ass thug nigga is smokin' your ass up?"

"I usually whack off," I said.

"Ain't nothin' but a thing, white boy," he replied, and put out the cigarette he just finished.

I was so excited by now I could hardly breathe. I just sat there and watched in awe as he pulled another Newport out of the box and stashed it behind his right ear. Then he pulled a second Newport from the box and took it between his thick, protruding lips.

"Are you ready for this shit, white boy?" he asked as he reached for his lighter.

"Wait!" I stopped him. "Let me get some lube first."

I rushed into the bedroom and retrieved a tube of KY jelly. When I returned he was standing on his knees on the floor with an ashtray beside him. He had removed his black mesh tank top and thrown it on the chair next to the sofa. His skin was as black as the shirt, so black in fact that it had a bluish tint to it like some guys from Africa. The intense blackness of his complexion made every muscle on his body stand out in sharp relief. I felt breathless just looking at him.

"Take off your clothes and get your fuckin' ass on the floor!" he demanded.

"Take off my clothes?" I said surprised.

"You got a problem with that, white boy?" he threatened, and I saw the muscles all over his powerful body tighten.

"No," I replied and began to undress.

I lay down on the floor on my back. He straddled my body, standing on his knees. He picked up his lighter and stared straight into my eyes as he lit his cigarette. He blew a thick stream of smoke in the face then stared at me a few seconds, studying my expression. He leaned forward and put his left hand on the floor for support. His face was only a foot away from mine. He took a second long, deep drag and blew it in my face again. I could feel the force of his smoke on my skin. It was thick and strong. He took another drag and blew it in my face just like before. Watching his thick smoke coming at me excited me.

"Feel my smoke on your fuckin' face? I'm gonna smoke you up, white boy?" he threatened.

I looked into his eyes as he took another drag. He buried my face in a thick, white cloud of smoke that made me cough.

"Choke on my smoke, muthafucka!" he demanded. "Yeah, you like that shit, don't you white boy?"

"Yes!" I moaned.

My dick was rock hard now and I wanted to whack off. But I was enjoying his domination too much to break the spell.

He took another drag, leaned even closer to me, and let the smoke drift out of his open mouth like a thick fog. My entire head was buried in his smoke. There was nothing else to breathe.

"Inhale it, white boy!" he demanded. "How does it feel to breathe the smoke from a black man's lungs?"

I took a long slow breath, filling my lungs with his smoke. I didn't have to say anything. He saw it was turning me on.

"Yeah!" he acknowledged in a low growling voice. "You like that shit, I can tell. You want some more thick, choking smoke, white boy?" he taunted me.

He took a huge hit on his cig and completely covered my face with a thick cloud of smoke I couldn't see through. I choked as my eyes tried to find his through the white cloud.

""Breathe it, muthafucka!" he demanded.

As the smoke cleared, I saw his face moving closer and closer to mine. He turned his head to the side, took a drag, and faced me again. He leaned closer to me and forced his mouth over mine. His tongue parted my lips and found my tongue. I sucked the smoke directly from the lungs of this nineteen year old black thug boy deep into my own and blew it out through my nose. Our tongues lay flat against each other in a soft caress. Twice more I sucked the Newport smoke he had inhaled from his ebony black body into my own. Each time our tongues mingled in a soft caress. He was down to the last drag on his cigarette. I was starting to think he was going to be affectionate. I was wrong! Right before he blew that last drag in my face, his left hand grabbed me around the throat. I was taken by surprise and struggled against those powerful black fingers that were beginning to choke off my air.

"Don't try to get away, muthafucka!" he warned. "I'll fuck you up! You understand me, white boy? It ain't over yet!"

I watched as he took the cigarette from behind his ear and put it between his lips.

"I'm gonna thug on your fuckin' ass with smoke, white boy, and there's nothin' you can do about it," he bragged as he lit his cigarette.

He took a long drag and blew it in my face with so much force that the smoke bounced off my skin. He did it again. I was ready and needed to whack off.

"I need to get to my dick," I said breathlessly.

He got off me and knelt by my side so he could get his face close to mine. He picked up the tube of KY and squeezed some into the palm of my hand. I applied it to my dick and started to stroke it.

James leaned over and put his thick lips right next to my ear. He whispered in a low, dangerous voice.

"I'm gonna make you choke on my smoke, white boy!"

My whole body was writhing with pleasure as I stroked my dick faster and faster.

"Do it!" I moaned, "Do it right now!"

He took a drag and filled my face again with his smoke. I was breathing hard and took it in without trying. I was getting close to the edge.

"You like my smoke, don't you, white boy?"

I nodded my head, panting. He blew smoke in my face again, but this time he didn't inhale. It was strong and made me gag.

"Choke on it, muthafucka!" he demanded, and did it again, and again.

I was right on the edge of an orgasm and he knew it. He took another deep drag and blew it in my face."

"I know what you want, white boy! You want me to bully you with my smoke. You want to feel my black body all over your ass. You want me to inflict pain on your body. You want me to put your ass to sleep. I know what you want, white boy! You want me to kick your fuckin' ass, don't you?"

I came so hard it hit me in the head. James took another drag and blew it in my face again as I squeezed the last drop of cum out of my throbbing dick. Then I lay back and relaxed, trying to catch my breath.

"Was that good, white boy?" he asked. There was concern in his voice.

"Yes," I said. "But it doesn't seem quite fair to you."

"Fair?" he wondered.

"Because you didn't get off," I explained.

"What makes you think I didn't get off?" he asked, looking down at his crotch.

"Oh!" I replied, embarrassed.

"I'll clean up when I get home," he acknowledged.

"Did you really mean what you said?" I asked curious.

"Yeah," he returned. "Any time you want to play around with just give me a call."

"You don't mind helping out an old white guy like me?" I said.

"I just be doin' my thing, white boy!" he responded.

"Would you do one last favor for me before you go?" I requested.

"Sure!" he agreed. "What is it?"

"Put me to sleep again."

"Go get cleaned up," he demanded. "I'll wait."

I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself hastily. When I got back to the living room, James already had his motorcycle helmet on and his face shield was down. For a moment I was afraid he was going to ditch me.

"Sit down on the floor between my legs," he ordered.

We both got down on the floor and I did as he said. He wrapped those powerful black legs around my body and locked the sleeper hold around my neck. I felt even more helpless than the last time. He didn't say a word. He just held me there for what must have been a minute. Then he spoke.

"You ready to be put to sleep, white boy?" he asked.

"Go for it!" I answered.

His powerfully muscular black arms crushed the sides of my neck like a vice. I felt tingling all over my body and a sense of panic that I didn't feel on the last occasion. The pressure continued to build steadily. Then I was out. When I came around I was laying by myself on the living room floor. I heard his motorcycle start and, after a few loud revs of the engine, depart down the street. I took a few deep breaths, reveling in the smell of his smoke that still hung in the air. I wondered to myself if he ever smoked black 'n' milds?