Davion leaned back in the worn leather armchair, the dim basement light casting long shadows across the cluttered space. Empty bottles, ashtrays overflowing with blunt roaches, and a thick haze of weed smoke hung heavy in the air. His boys were sprawled across the couches and folding chairs, loud and rowdy as always, passing around a fresh bottle of Hennessy while the speaker blasted low trap beats in the background. Davion nursed his own drink slowly, eyes half-lidded, the unofficial leader who kept his cool even when the crew got wild. He didn't say much tonight. Just listened.
"Yo, remember that thick-ass femboy prostitute from last week?" Rico laughed, voice slurred as he took a long pull from the bottle before passing it. "Man was down bad, needed gas money for his little beat-up Honda. We pulled up on him in the parking lot behind the old strip mall, told him twenty bucks ain't enough for all that cake he carrying. Bro started negotiating like he had options. I told him straight up—either you bend over in the backseat and let the whole crew run it, or you walking home with no gas and a dry tank. He was moaning the whole time, ass clapping loud as hell while we took turns. Fucked him so good he gave us his cash app too. Said thank you after we nutted all over his face. Crazy part? He texted me the next day asking if we needed another 'session.' Greedy little slut."
The crew erupted in laughter. Marcus slapped his knee, grinning wide. "That's nothing. Y'all remember that stuck-up college kid we caught slipping last month? Pretty boy with the designer backpack, thought he was tough walking through our block at night. We surrounded his ass, told him empty the pockets or get jumped. Kid started crying, saying he ain't have nothing valuable. So I made him a deal—strip butt booty naked right there on the sidewalk and twerk for us. Full performance, cheeks clapping, hands on the ground, the whole show. Bro was shaking, trying to cover his little nub while he bounced that fat ass. We made him twerk for a solid ten minutes while we recorded it. He was crying the whole time but that cake was clapping louder than his tears. We let him keep his wallet after he begged pretty enough. Still got the video saved, shit goes hard at parties."
Davion just shook his head slightly, sipping his drink. He didn't laugh along, but he didn't stop them either. These were his boys. Loyal. Loud. But he kept them in check when it mattered.
Jamal leaned forward, eyes glassy from the weed, voice dropping like he was telling the wildest story yet. "Nah, the craziest was that homeless femboy we found tweaking behind the gas station two weeks ago. Dude was out his mind on whatever cheap shit he could find, shaking, sweating, begging for a fix of that good molly. Kept saying he'd do anything. So we told him—ain't no free rides. We ran a full train on his ass right there in the alley. Five of us, back to back. Bro was so desperate he was arching his back and spreading his cheeks himself, moaning 'please, more, I need it' while we passed him around like a blunt. Ass was already loose and sloppy by the third round but he kept pushing back, eyes rolled back, drooling everywhere. We nutted in him, on him, all over his face. After we finished he was still twitching on the ground asking if we had any more molly. Left him there leaking and happy. Fucked up but he asked for it."
The laughter got louder, more crude jokes flying back and forth about who had the best stroke game that night, how the femboy's moans sounded, how many loads he took before he tapped out. Davion stayed quiet, scrolling on his phone occasionally, only chiming in with a low "Y'all wild" when the stories got too outlandish.
Then Trey pulled out his phone, smirking. "Speaking of wild, check this shit that's blowing up the group chat. Magnus got caught in the school bathroom. Look at this video—some big dick nigga got him on his knees deepthroating like a pro."
He turned the screen toward the group. The video played: clear footage of Magnus on his knees in a bathroom stall, throat bulging as a thick dark cock fucked his face mercilessly, black lipstick smeared, tears streaming, gagging loudly while the mystery top gripped his hair.
The room went dead silent for half a second.
Davion's eyes narrowed. He snatched the phone out of Trey's hand so fast the younger gangster almost dropped it. He watched the full clip, jaw tightening with every wet gluck and desperate moan from his little brother. Magnus—his youngest brother, the one he'd told a hundred times to keep his ass in check and stay on top.
"What the fuck…" Davion growled, voice low and dangerous. The energy in the room shifted instantly. "Everybody get the fuck out. Now. I'll talk to y'all later."
The boys didn't argue. They grabbed their shit and filed out quickly, the door slamming behind the last one. Davion sat there for another second, chest rising and falling, then stood up and hurled the phone across the room. He punched the glass coffee table hard. The surface shattered instantly, shards exploding everywhere as the wood frame cracked beneath his fist. Blood trickled from his knuckles but he didn't feel it.
He stormed upstairs, his own thick ass swaying heavily with every angry step despite all the gym hours he put in trying to keep some kind of edge. The muscle only made the post-Vanishing curves more pronounced, but right now he didn't give a fuck. He reached Magnus's door and kicked it hard. The wood splintered and flew open with a loud bang.
Magnus jumped up from his bed, eyes wide. "D-Davion? What the hell, bro—"
"You didn't listen to a single fucking thing I told you, did you?" Davion roared, stepping inside and slamming what was left of the door behind him. "I said stay out of that weak shit at school. Keep your head down, top the little boys if you want, but don't ever let yourself get turned into some bitch for the whole school to see!"
Magnus tried to play dumb, backing up with his hands raised. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
Davion crossed the room in two strides and slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked loud. "Don't play stupid with me! What the fuck did I tell you about fucking at school? Huh?"
Magnus held his stinging cheek, eyes watering. "I… I was just—"
"You got a 2.2 inch cock, Magnus! I told you that makes you a top in this world! You supposed to be the one getting your dick sucked and fucking these boys, not on your knees gagging on some random nigga's monster like a desperate slut! Now the whole fucking school seen my little brother getting his throat used. You made the whole family look like a bunch of sissies!"
He grabbed Magnus by the shirt and shoved him against the wall, not full force but enough to make a point. Another slap landed, then a couple of hard pushes. "I work my ass off keeping respect on our name and you out here embarrassing us? For what? Some big dick hype?"
Magnus sniffled, voice small. "It wasn't like that… he's different—"
"Who the fuck is he?" Davion demanded, breathing heavy. "The one in the video. Who is that nigga?"
Magnus hesitated, then muttered, "His name's Kota. Some flat-ass dude, I think his family from Egypt or some shit. But he's got a dick way over six inches. Like actually huge, bro. Soft it's already four. Everybody losing their minds over him."
Davion let go, stepping back with a disgusted snort. "I don't give a fuck about his dick size. Where does this Kota live?"
Magnus shrugged weakly, still rubbing his face. "I don't know, man. He rides with his dad sometimes. Works construction or something. I swear I don't—"
Davion cut him off with a glare that could kill. He turned and stormed toward the door, muttering under his breath the whole way. "I'm gonna teach that motherfucker a lesson for touching my blood. Nobody disrespects this family and gets away with it. Flat ass or not, big dick or not… Kota's about to learn."
He slammed the broken door frame on his way out, the sound echoing down the hallway as he disappeared downstairs, knuckles still bleeding, mind already racing with plans.