Tag Archives: cellmate sex

Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates

Here’s the entirety of Str8 Till Dark: Prisonmates, which is now permanently free in the Kindle Store and on Smashwords! It’s part of the amazing Str8 Till Dark series of gay erotica about men whose straightness bends when the lights go out!

As Brian curled up on the floor to get some sleep, he tried to decide whether this had gone better or worse than he had expected. It was hard to tell. He had predicted a catastrophically bad entrance to prison life — that was just the way his mind worked, constantly coming up with disastrous possibilities. But it wasn’t really as bad as it could be. The worst part was simply that Brian had no protection. Nothing good had happened to him, which was bad, but nothing too bad had happened to him either, and that was good.

Brian had covered up his anxiety when he strode into Brutewood prison. He was a handsome young white man with long hair he kept pulled back into a ponytail. Given everything that he knew about prison life, he fully expected to have gay sex.

He was fine with that, more or less. Brian was straight, but he loved being anally penetrated by dildos or fingers. He had never actually taken a cock in his ass, and he was willing to try it — giving it up in exchange for protection behind bars was not his ideal scenario for experimenting with getting fucked, but he wasn’t too upset about it either.

Officer Armstrong shoved him into the prison cell and shut the door. It was much larger than Brian had thought it would be, but there were already twelve people there. There were also only twelve bunks, while Brian was the thirteenth person.

“Turn around and stick your hands out,” Officer Armstrong said. He sounded bored.

Brian was not bored. His heart felt like it might pound through his chest. He stuck his cuffed hands through the opening in the doorway. Officer Armstrong unlocked the cuffs.

“There’s not enough bunks,” Brian said. He shook his head to unlodge his hair where it stuck to the back of his neck.

“Then kill yourself,” Officer Armstrong said as he walked away. He laughed, the deep, baritone sound resonating in the steel-lined prison corridor.

Brian turned around. Twelve dour black man stared back at him. No one said anything. Brian had always been an outgoing and friendly young man, so his mind raced as he tried to think of something to say.

“So, uh… guys… I guess we’re prisonmates, huh?”

Someone chuckled dryly, but no one responded. Six of the men were playing poker, and they resumed the game without looking at Brian. Three others were taking turns working out, doing improvised pull-ups on a bar they had set up in the middle of the cell. The bar was also for hanging laundry, but they had taken all the clothes off before exercising. Their corded muscles gleamed, and Brian felt small and vulnerable.

He supposed he was meant to sleep on the floor. There was plenty of room in one corner, and he had been given a sheet, a blanket and a pillow, which smelled like piss though it looked clean. Brian wanted to cry.

He took a deep breath. He had been told what to do, and he had rehearsed it. He thought for sure he could pull it off.

He went to the biggest thug in the room. He was a tall, middle-aged black man with a burly body brimming with muscle and bravado. He was not exactly dressed like a thug — not like the others, he had a trimmed mustache, well-fitting pants, just a few tattoos, but he still talked like a pimp as he encouraged the others in their workout.

“C’mon, nigga, yeah! Push it!” He barked, slapping a younger black man  on his ass as he lifted himself up and down doing pull-ups.

“Hey, uh, excuse me, uh,” Brian said, trying to get the man’s attention. He blushed. “My name is, uh, Brian-“

“Nice to meetcha, Brian,” said the large man. Despite his relatively polite words, he spoke with a crude sneer on his face and a harsh look in his eyes. “Whatchoo want, whiteboi?”

“Uh… I’m just, I was told… uh… I know this can be a dangerous place-“

“Hurry the fuck up and say it.”

“I want your protection!”


“Please protect me,” Brian said. He blushed again. “I… I’ll let you fuck me. I promise. I’ll… You can fuck me. I’m not gay, but, uh-“

The man cocked his head to the side. “My name is Samson, Brian. I ‘ppreciate yo’ offer. But I gotta decline.”

“Yeah, whiteboi, we ain’t like that no mo’.”

“We don’t rape whitebois.”

“That’s against the rules nowadays.”

“No one here gonna fuck wit’ you, whiteboi.”

“Ha! Queerbait!” That was Officer Armstrong, who was walking past the doorway. Brian blushed. He hadn’t meant to offer in front of a guard.

And so that was that. They dismissed Brian, who blushed and stumbled back to the corner of the cell he had decided to use as his bed. They ignored him after that. He wasn’t sure how to take that. Had they only said no because Officer Armstrong was there? He didn’t know. They hadn’t promised he’d be safe outside of the cell, and he didn’t trust them in the slightest.

But there was nothing to do. He couldn’t force them to promise he’d be safe everywhere in prison. He’d just have to come up with a different plan. Maybe, he thought, movies overdramatized prison life. Maybe it won’t be that bad.

The lights turned out. The evening had gone by faster than he thought. His prisonmates stayed up talking for a long time, but Brian didn’t complain. He zoned out and pretended he was asleep.

And so that was why he laid fitlessly on the floor, wondering how this was going to turn out. Maybe, he thought, he shouldn’t have asked to get fucked. That might have been bad advice.

Once the prison was quiet, however, a few whispered voices filled the air. Brian couldn’t tell if they spoke thinking he was asleep and couldn’t hear, or if they wanted him to hear it.

“You gonna fuck that whiteboi?!”

“Hell nah. I ain’t down wit’ dat.”

“I betcha big-nigga do it.”

“Fuck you, asshole. I ain’t down wit’ dat gaybones shit. You know who gonna do it? That whiteboi got it right when he offer Samson-“

“Hey!” Samson’s deep voice boomed. “Shut yo’ stupid nigga faces.” Samson was the biggest and oldest and, it seemed, he was in charge. No one talked for a few minutes. Then someone chuckled, which caused someone else to laugh. Soon the cell was full of deep-voiced thugs laughing, at what Brian couldn’t tell.

“Samson gonna get gay as shit, we all know it.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Samson got up and stalked around the cell like he wanted to figure out who had spoken. “None of you say jack-shit, motherfuckers. I ain’t no kinda queer.”

Brian was still nervous. The more they insisted that they weren’t going to fuck him, the more sure he was that they were. He really wouldn’t mind trying it. He just wanted the option to change his mind partway through, and of course he wanted to be assured he’d be protected while he was locked up.

Samson went back to his bunk, while the rest of the cellmates gradually fell asleep. Brian was wide awake. He soon gave up hope that he’d be able to sleep at all tonight. It was going to be a fitless night without rest.

Soon the cell was silent aside from the noisy breathing and occasional stirring of his prisonmates. Officer Armstrong walked by every half-hour or so but he didn’t look in the cells. Far away, Brian heard an inmate snore, but it wasn’t loud enough to keep him awake.

He yelped when someone touched him. A heavy hand pressed down on his mouth. Callused, rough skin rubbed against his face.

“Sssh…” Samson’s gravelly voice filled Brian’s ear. Brian squirmed, but Samson held him down. “Don’t worry. Ain’t gonna hurtcha. Relax. Chill out, whiteboi. Sssh…” Brian tried to stop moving, but he was instinctively frightened with that hand muffling his mouth. The knowledge that he couldn’t cry out if he wanted to made this terrifying.

Finally Samson calmed Brian down by removing his hand and planting his lips on Brian’s. Brian had never kissed a man before, and he had never thought a straight thug like Samson would kiss him, especially out of nowhere like this. It was so unnerving that Brian did stop fighting back, exactly as Samson intended.

“Good. Relax, whiteboi,” Samson said. He kissed Brian again on the neck. “I ain’t gonna hurtcha.”


“Sssh… whisper,” Samson said.

“Okay, look-“

“Sssh. You wanna sleep wit’ me?”


“We can share a bunk if you want. You can suck my dick like you want, and I’ll fuck you. I ain’t gonna promise you protection though.”


“Cuz you don’t need it. I always take care of my family, and if you in this cell wit’ me, you my family. You my prisonmate, whiteboi,” Samson said. “If you wanna get fucked cuz you love gettin’ fucked, just come sleep in my bed. You gotta get up and out on the floor real early, so no one sees you. I got a rep to protect. The guards don’t allow us to make love.”

“Oh, well…” Brian felt like kind of a prick. He was glad to have protection, and he didn’t care about doing anything for or with Samson if he didn’t need to. Was it wrong to accept Samson’s protection without giving him anything in return.

But on the other hand, Brian did say that he had wanted to try this. He wanted to see what it was like to get fucked, and he could think of no one better to introduce him to the world of sodomy than the sexy massive prison-thug Samson.

“Okay-“ Brian said. Before he could say anything else, Samson had scooped him up in his arms and brought Brian to his bunk.

It was not a large mattress. Samson was a huge man, well over six-feet tall and built like a brick fuckhouse, as Brian’s grandmother would have said. Samson barely fit in the bunk by himself. When Brian crawled in with him, he was forced to cuddle with Samson’s iron-like muscles.

Samson smacked his lips. He kissed Brian on the ear, and he slowly pushed Brian’s hand to Samson’s crotch. Brian gulped and stuck his fingers through the fly of Samson’s prison-issued shorts.

“There you go, whiteboi, you doin’ nice, keep at it,” Samson said with a low, rumbling groan. He whispered but his voice was so deep it rumbled and echoed in Brian’s ear. “You gay?”

“No,” Brian said. “I, uh… I-“ He gulped. “I like to, uh… I use dildos. Like, on myself.”

“Oh? You like anal?”

“Yeah-“ Brian grunted as Samson rammed one of his fingers in Brian’s asshole. It was his pinkie finger, but he was a big man so it was hefty, and it was callused and rough. Brian squirmed and yelped again.

“You like dat, whiteboi?”

“Uh, no-oooooo!” Brian’s voice broke because his pain turned into pleasure all of a sudden as Samson’s finger hit his prostate. Brian tightened his ass around his finger. “I mean…”

“Ah, yeah, I see dat, you like it. Good boy,” Samson said. “I teach all these niggas in here how to love it when I fuck ‘em. That’s a lesson e’ryone learn sooner or later. I’m glad you learnin’ it sooner. It’s a good lesson, ain’t it?”

“Uh… yeah,” Brian said, his mind too focused on his asshole to think about what Samson was saying. He didn’t even stroke Samson’s dick as he endured the finger-fucking; he just laid there, pinned between Samson and the wall, with his hand gripping Samson’s half-hard dick but not stroking it.

“You wanna suck on it? I’d mighty ‘ppreciate it,” Samson said. He guided Brian’s head. He didn’t force it, but he did give Brian a push.

Brian did want to try it. Samson was ungodly sexy, and the more Brian endured his finger in his ass, the more Brian wanted to experience it all. He didn’t even mind if his other prisonmates found out.

So he allowed Samson to push his head into Samson’s crotch. Brian opened up and swallowed the tip of Samson’s cock.

The taste was powerful and sudden, an explosion of salty meat in his mouth. Brian gagged but that just opened his mouth a little wider, and Samson pushed his dick in farther. Samson groaned and started to move his pinkie finger in and out.

Samson began to writhe as though the blowjob felt so good he couldn’t control himself. His dick stiffened all the way up in Brian’s mouth. He loved the musky, unwashed flavor, and he loved the way he could feel Samson’s heartbeat in the throbbing of his dick. Samson’s muscles tensed when Brian’s hand caressed his chest.

“Told you, nigga,” someone said, and someone else giggled knowingly.

“Samson, we knew you was gonna do it.”

“Samson fuckin’ dat whiteboi! Least surprisin’ thing evuh.”

“Hey! Shut up!” Samson barked. “You gonna get Off’cer Armstrong lookin’ in here.”

They all settled down a little, but it didn’t last long. Now that he knew everyone else was awake, Brian was very self-conscious. His mouth made loud, moist suckling sounds as Samson worked his dick deeper and deeper, and every few seconds Brian choked despite his best efforts. Samson’s finger in his ass made noise too. Brian couldn’t tell how loud it was to everyone else, but to him, it was deafening.

“You doin’ okay, whiteboi, not bad ’t all,” Samson said. He caressed Brian’s head and kissed the air. Then Brian gagged very loudly and Samson clucked his tongue caringly. He grabbed Brian by the ponytail and dragged his head off Samson’s cock. It was such a crude, barbaric action that Brian was surprised when Samson kissed him on the lips. His tongue plunged into Brian’s mouth, but just for a moment.

He returned Brian to sucking his cock. Samson sighed. “You like dat? I don’t kiss boys a lot, okay? I don’t like it much, but I wanna show my ‘ppreciation for you suckin’ my dick nice.”

There were more moist sounds filling the air. At first Brian thought maybe his other prisonmates were having sex. That would be nice, he thought, because it would make him feel less self-conscious.

But then he realized that wasn’t true — they weren’t fucking each other, they were masturbating. They watched Samson’s finger disappear in Brian’s ass in the dim light as though it was an exciting movie, and all eleven of them stroked themselves off. They were each standing or at least sitting up on their cot and watching, cock in hand.

Brian had never been more aroused. He had also never been more embarrassed, but right now the arousal was more prominent in his mind. His own cock was rock-hard, and he tried to jack himself off the best he could crammed into the tiny bunk with Samson.

“Alright, whiteboi, we gonna see how much fun you really is,” Samson said. “Is it okay if I fuck you?”

“Yes, oh god, please, do it,” Brian said. He blushed, not that anyone could see in the darkened cell. His mouth was empty then, and Samson moved with catlike grace despite his huge size and bulky body.

Samson kneeled against the wall, crouched awkwardly so he fit beneath the bunk above his head. His cock stuck straight out. He wrapped his arms around Brian and had him kneel right in front of Samson’s crotch.

His dick rammed right in. Brian’s ass was already open and loose from the fingering, but Samson soon added some lube anyway — it was hog fat, or lard, that he had stolen from the prison kitchen — and his massive dick slid right in.

“Yeah, whiteboi, take it, take e’ry inch of that nigga meat,” he said with a laugh. The others all joined in chuckling, but then shushed each other.

“Yo, guards gonna hear, man, shush.”

“Be quiet!”

Brian squirmed as he endured the ass-fucking. It started off painful, then felt so good he had to suppress a moan again, and then it hurt again before it became a low, slow, melting pleasure that made him wiggle like a worm.

His body was limp and submissive. Brian felt like he was falling because he kneeled on the bunk in front of Samson, who was also kneeling, but the bunk wasn’t really wide enough for both of them to sit up in front of each other like that. So Brian was suspended over the air, held aloft only by Samson’s arms keeping him in a bear hold. If Samson let go, Brian would plummet face-first onto the floor.

The pressure and pleasure in his ass was so intense Brian couldn’t even moan. He kept his mouth open but the only sound that came out was a strangled moan.

One of Samson’s hands remained in place, wrapped around Brian’s chest and holding him in place, while his other hand roamed south. Brian had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to say anything about it as Samson’s hand wrapped around his dick. Brian spasmed and gasped. The other prisonmates laughed quietly at Brian’s frenzied reaction, but they didn’t know Samson gave Brian a reacharound as he fucked.

“Hey,” Samson whispered into Brian’s ear, his chest muscles writhing and flexing against Brian’s back. “You wanna be the coolest whiteboi evuh?”

“Huh, yeah?”

“Whatchoo think, whiteboi?”

Brian’s mind struggled to focus on Samson’s words. He gasped and squirmed in Samson’s muscles. What had seemed awkward and strange at first was now deeply arousing. Brian loved the feel of potent, hairy, masculine power flexing against his flesh, and Samson’s throbbing fuckstick demolishing Brian’s ass. It was better than his girlfriend’s purple strap-on, which had been Brian’s go-to orgasm device for a long time.

His prostate tingled with such intensity that Brian could barely speak. He managed to say, “yeah”, not caring what the plan was — he would do anything his ebony sex-god of a cellmate wanted.

“Open yo’ mouth, whiteboi,” Samson said. He pried Brian’s mouth apart. “Yo’ prisonmates gonna nut in yo’ throat. This is like all of us sayin’ hello, okay? We gonna be good friends aftuh this. You gonna taste our nuts, nice and creamy goin’ down yo’ throat, okay?”

“Oh god yes,” Brian said. He opened his mouth.

Instantly two cocks pushed in at once. There were some deep grunting noises, and someone pushed someone else.

“Get outta my way.”

“I’m first, nigga, move!” In the end, both men shot their loads just seconds after Brian got the first taste of cockmeat. They had both been on the verge of orgasm already. Creamy, salty cum invaded Brian’s mouth. The flavor was not exactly tasty, but it was savory and Brian wanted more.

A loud clanging sound erupted, and everyone jumped “Hey!” Officer Armstrong stood outside the cell. He had slammed his nightstick on the door. “I’m gonna turn on the light in about five seconds, shitweasels. Ya hear me? If I see somethin’ in there that I gotta intervene about, you had best believe I am gonna shove this entire prison up your stupid shitweasel assholes!”

A moment of silence filled the air, and then Officer Armstrong began counting. “Five!” He banged on the door once more. Everyone in the cell burst into a frenzy of activity. Brian was annoyed to slide off Samson’s cock and crawl, still shuddering from the aftershocks of his interrupted orgasm. “Four! Three! Two! One!”

He turned the cell light on. Brian groaned as bright light assaulted his eyes. Everyone was in their bunks, sheets and blankets covering their hardons.

All in all, it must have been blatantly obvious what had been happening in here. But Officer Armstrong just flared his nostrils as he looked over the thirteen men pretending to be asleep. He spat a big loogie onto the floor of the cell, then shut the door again.

“Go to sleep, shitweasels. If you’re gonna fuck, finish in the next couple minutes so I don’t have to hear it when I come back around,” he said as he walked away.

Everyone — except the two who had already cum — was eager to finish up, having nearly been blue-balled by Officer Armstrong. Before Brian could even get up, Samson was behind him again, ramming his dick back into Brian’s ass.

Brian grunted and Samson growled seductively. He wrapped all of his arms and legs around Brian’s limbs, bringing him to the ground. Samson laid on his back, while Brian submitted, resting on Samson’s chest with his ass on Samson’s massive cock.

The pain was intense once again, but only for a moment before that mind-numbing pleasure hit him once more. As Brian tasted that ebony prison-cock and drooled over its meaty goodness, he smiled. He was going to love his time in prison, he thought.

“Yeah, whiteboi, swallow my nut,” someone said as he shot a hot load of salty cum all over Brian’s face. “Let’s bukkake him. Let’s make him real messy.”

The others all agreed, but most of them were barely listening — they were already about to bukkake him regardless. Their dicks sprayed heavy loads all over Brian’s face. He couldn’t even tell how many. He knew logically it should have been eleven, or no more than eleven, but it surely felt like more. Had someone jacked off more than once? It was impossible to tell.

But his mouth and face were covered in dripping cum, which coated his skin and seeped into his flesh. It leaked down the sides and onto Samson’s body, but Samson didn’t care — in prison, these kinds of sanitary, privacy issues stopped being so relevant. A few drops of cum even found their way into Samson’s mouth, but he barely noticed that either.

The sensation of getting fucked and the taste of a torrent of cum flooding his mouth was so overwhelming that Brian didn’t noticed his own orgasm until happened. It was the most intense experience of his life. It felt like it lasted the entire nine to twelve years he was to spend behind bars — his prostate sang and danced within him, sending waves of pleasure to every corner of his body. He squeezed around Samson’s dick.

“Swallow it while I nut inside you, whiteboi,” Samson said with a moan. He rammed his dick all the way in, making Brian scream, unable to muffle the sound at all. As he spewed hot wad after wad of cum inside Brian’s guts, Samson’s callused fingers pushed semen into Brian’s mouth. He smeared every drop of that bukkake mess down into Brian’s waiting throat.

He didn’t mind touching his niggas’ cum, and Samson groaned as the taste made Brian’s body clench around him. Samson knew how to make a prison bitch’s body react the way he wanted, so he filled Brian’s mouth up with eleven loads, plus Brian’s own cum that Samson scooped up from his chest.

“Yeah, whiteboi, nice…” Samson moaned as he shot the last few drops of his own cum into Brian’s ass. He laid there, dick throbbing while it limpened inside that tight hole. He had rarely felt such a wonderful ass.

“Comin’ back soon, boys!” Officer Armstrong called out. “Finish up!”

The other prisonmates slowly made their way back to their bunks. They stopped to wipe off their dicks first with toilet paper, since most of them had done a little jousting and gotten each other’s cum on their shafts. They quietly shuffled into their beds, giggling nervously about what had happened.

But Samson remained right where he was, resting on his back on the floor, dick limpening inside Brian while Samson flopped Brian’s soft cock between his fingers.

“You wanna come sleep in my bunk?” Samson asked. “Remember, when the sun comes up, you gotta move back to the floor so the guards don’t see.”

“Okay,” Brian said breathlessly. He breathed a sigh of relief when Samson finally took his dick out of Brian’s ass.

Brian was so exhausted he fell right to sleep. He curled up in the tiny space Samson left for him, and he buried his nose in Samson’s warm bicep. He kept one hand on Samson’s belly, just low enough where he could feel the beginning of Samson’s pubic hair. He inhaled deeply of the musky scent of Samson’s sweat-dappled body.

“I love you, Samson,” Brian whispered.

“Shush, whiteboi,” Samson said. “I know you love me. E’ryone falls in love when I fuck ‘em. Don’t worry. I ain’t nevuh gonna stop fuckin’ you, Brian. So we gonna be in love forevuh.”

Cellblock 5: An 18-Year Old Meets The Prison Sharks

Here’s the beginning of a great new tale, Cellblock 5: An 18-Year Old Meets The Prison Sharks, from Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary!

Greg leaned back against the sharp, wire fence enclosing the yard and pulled a cigarette from the left pocket of his bright orange jumpsuit. His spirit took a downward spiral when he fiddled around for a light and realized he had none. He knew where he could get some matches; cell block #5. A tall, sandy-haired man with a dimpled chin and blue eyes took blowjobs for payment. Greg just wasn’t sure he was ready to get on his knees . . . yet. The thought of a mouth full of cock turned him on, but he had never truly been with a man and he was nervous about the other prisoners making fun of him. After all, this was his first week in the pen and at the age of 18, he felt like a wounded dolphin surrounded by hordes of hungry sharks. Many of these men were seasoned, and knew the ins and outs of the system. Not Greg. His relatively shy and aloof nature was not helping him out, either.

He hadn’t even noticed that time in the yard was up until a husky prison guard with a chin full of short stubble pushed him along the edges of the fence, corralling the prisoners back into their pens. The door to his cell creaked open, and Greg caught a glimpse of his cellmate, Mason, lounging on the bottom bunk waiting for him. He couldn’t help but notice the bulge in Mason’s jumpsuit. Mason was lying flat on his back, but his obvious erection lifted the lower half of his orange jumpsuit, elevating it in this air. Mason sat up when he saw Greg, quickly covering his crotch with a hand and slightly tugging at it. He walked over to the open toilet in the cell and whipped out his large, veiny manhood and began pissing into the can somewhat awkwardly. Greg grinned. “I hate trying to pee with a boner,” he joked. Mason smiled. “I was going to try to rub one out before everyone got back to their cells, but I see they cut yard time early today.”

Greg felt his own flaccid penis stiffen a bit at the thought of Mason alone in his cell masturbating to no end. He often noticed bulges in Mason’s jumpsuit, and knew his cell partner was horny quite often. Greg often tried to ignore them, but when he caught a glimpse of Mason from the side, his swollen soldier was obviously at attention, sometimes half-cocked, other times in full salute.

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.


“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.”

Alpha Cellmate: The Gangsta

Here’s the first chapter from the beginning of Alpha Cellmate: The Gangsta, a hot new tale by Curtis Kingsmith! It’s part of the Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary series!

Barry knew that his best option in prison was to lean into it. He was a thin, flamboyant twink with a girlish figure and long, flowing blond hair. People had been making jokes about how “poorly” he’d do in prison since he was a little boy and it had become obvious he was gay. You better not drop the soap, Barry! Unless you’re into that… Even before Barry knew what it meant, he knew he was very much into that. He was going to have to use his feminine grace and beauty to survive prison.

But Barry wasn’t worried. He was excited.

He used to participate in gay prison sex role-playing. His ex-boyfriend had once paid two thousand dollars for him to be “raped” by a cellmate in a nightclub in Miami. That had been the sexiest experience of Barry’s life.

But he hoped real prison life would set a new record for sexy experiences. As he strode naked through Brutewood Prison, his orange jumpsuit in his hands, Barry shook his ass and beamed for the prisoners, who filled the cell block with hollering.

Fresh fish!

Damn, that is one sexy fish!

He’s mine! I called it!

I saw him first!

None of that meant Barry was glad to be in prison. He had been convicted of fraud due to a minor misunderstanding, and since he had a gun with him at the time, the fraud charge turned into a major felony. He was sentenced to five years, which was a lot less sexy that five years of hardcore prison role-playing. He wanted more than anything to be free.

But he couldn’t be released for at least two years even with good behavior, or so his lawyer had said. Barry felt confident he could do two years. He just needed to find a sufficiently big, tough and sexy prison alpha he could worship in exchange for protection. That was exactly what he wanted to do on the outside, and in here, it would have practical benefits as well.

Officer Armstrong gestured to one small cell near the stairs in a corner of the cell block. “That’s your cell,” he said.

Barry took a step towards the doorway only to be interrupted by a flurry of movement behind him.

It was a middle-aged black man, with tinges of silver in his cornrows and a body that made Barry drool — his name was Thumper White. He was an ex-boxer who was behind bars for murder, having accidentally killed another fighter in an unlicensed match, and he retained all the finessing power of his athlete days. He no longer had a six-pack, but that was fine with Barry, who liked a little meat on his men.

“Give him to me, Armstrong,” Thumper said. “I need a cellmate.” He ignored the tittering laughter that erupted.

There was an elderly man in the cell in front of Barry. He was Barry’s would-be cellmate, and he looked at Barry now like he felt sorry for him. Barry shivered in anticipation.

Officer Armstrong sighed and held up a hand for silence — the other thugs all began hooting at Thumper’s words. Armstrong barked at them until they fell silent. Then Armstrong cleared his throat. “Uh… Thumper, you know I have to move him into the cell he was assigned. He can always request a transfer but-“

“Shut the fuck up, Armstrong. You owe me a favor. Here it is,” Thumper said. “This is what I want.” He looked at Barry and whistled. He licked his lips. His eyes roved up and down Barry’s body, stopping to check out his plump ass.

The other thugs who watched all laughed, seemingly were embarrassed for Thumper, like he was an uncle who said inappropriate things at holiday get-togethers. Somebody slapped Thumper’s ass too, but Thumper ignored them. He kept his eyes trained on Barry’s ass.

“Fine,” Armstrong said. He looked to Barry. “You queer?”

Barry nodded. He blushed as the rest of the inmates clapped and cheered like they had never found a gay man before. Barry’s heart raced. Virtually every man here was so sexy he’d have gladly worshiped every inch of their bodies. Even the ones who were a bit fat or nerdy-looking were plenty sexy, with tattooed bodies bursting with muscles, harsh glaring eyes and square jaws. Barry was so excited his dick was already getting hard.

“Okay,” Armstrong said with a shrug. “He’s yours, Thumper. Don’t break him. I ain’t gonna replace him if you break him.”

Thumper clapped his hands and smiled broadly. He dropped to his knees in front of Barry, whose eyes opened wide. Armstrong walked away, and the other inmates formed a circle around Thumper and Barry.

“What’s yo’ name, blondie?”


“Barry…” He said it with a shudder, like the name itself was arousing. “My name is Thumper.” He took Barry’s hand as though going to propose, but then he extended Barry’s ring finger and sucked it. He licked the entirety of the finger and slathered so much spit that it dripped onto the prison floor. “I love you, Barry. I am gonna fuck you so hard and so good yo’ asshole gonna fall off.”

“Okay!” Barry was so excited he was giddy like a newlywed. He had hoped something rather like this would happen, but he didn’t think it would be so soon, or that he would have a chocolate god like Thumper to worship. His heart leapt up in his chest. “Yes!” Barry squealed. “I accept!”

“That wasn’t no question,” Thumper said. “But I’m glad you’re onboard.” He swept Barry up into his arms and carried him through the crowd.

Barry curled his face up so he didn’t have to look at the multitude of jeering faces, and so he could bury his nose in Thumper’s bicep. The other inmates actually seemed to be teasing Thumper more than Barry — it turned out Thumper was unique in that he had no shame in his prison sexuality. A lot of these man had bitches they fucked at night, behind closed curtains, and then tried to keep it a secret the next day, but only Thumper would openly declare his intentions in front of everyone.

You fuckin’ that fresh fish yet, Thump?!

Thumper had a corner cell. That meant it was a bit bigger than most anyone else’s — Thumper had had to pull some strings to get assigned this cell. He was a gangsta like that, Barry eventually learned, and he always found a way to get what he wanted in here. There were two bunks in the cell, but Thumper used the bottom one as a shelf for his clothes.

“You don’t get that bunk,” Thumper said when he walked into the cell. A gaggle of thugs had followed, mostly young gangstas who probably had never had sex with a man, all of them watching like they were seeing a trainwreck as it happened. Thumper deposited Barry on his feet in the cell.

“Oh. Okay-“

“We gonna share the top bunk. Gonna be snug,” Thumper said. “But I like it snug. I like a challenge, y’know, a bit of a struggle fittin’ everything in.”


“You ain’t gotta tell me you agree wit’ me,” Thumper said. He smiled. “I’m in charge here. I make the decisions. All you gotta do is look pretty and follow directions. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” Barry said. His dick was harder than it had ever been.

Thumper let out a low, rumbling growl, like he was turning into a werewolf. His eyes narrowed to slits. His dick visibly jerked to attention in his orange prison pants.

Why ain’t that whiteboi cryin’ yet, Thump? You slippin’ in yo’ old age.

“Boy… Keep callin’ me sir. If you is tryin’-a make my nuts explode, you doin’ an excellent job,” he said.

“Thumper… I love worshiping big black thugs like you. I’m going to worship every inch of your body. I’ll obey your every command,” Barry said. He sunk to his knees as the inmates outside the cell cheered. Barry knelt over and kissed Thumper’s toes where they stuck out from his dirty prison-issued slippers. “If you can fuck me so hard your dick explodes, I’d just suck your asshole instead. Sir.”

Another growl escaped from Thumper’s lips. He licked his lips. Then he got behind Barry, grabbing him by the neck and pushing his face up against the cell bars.

The thugs outside the cell all took a step back as pain erupted in Barry’s sides where he collided with the bars. One of the thugs, a dreadlocked Jamaican with a cruel sneer on his face, pinched Barry’s nose and tugged on his ear as though he wasn’t sure Barry was real.

Thumper spoke directly into Barry’s ear, loud enough that everyone could hear. “Boy… Don’t you say things you can’t back up. Cuz I ain’t gonna stop. I will destroy that ass.” He smacked Barry’s cheeks. “I do it nasty, and I do it hard. I don’t need yo’ permission, but I’m glad to have it. I will eat that permission up.” He made slobbery gobbling sounds, which everyone else laughed at. Barry was so aroused and excited he couldn’t do anything more than twitch beneath Thumper’s tight grasp. Thumper’s hand slipped between Barry’s bare cheeks and massaged the surface of his asshole. He didn’t stick it in yet, just hugged the rim. “Damn, boy. For a faggot, you got a nice, tight ass.”

“Thank you sir.”

Once again, calling him sir made Thumper groan with excitement. He stepped away and hurried to tack up a sheet over the cell bars, preventing anyone from seeing inside. It was a thin, gauzy sheet though, so it didn’t exactly provide a lot of privacy.

Let us watch, Thumper! I let you watch me train my bitch last month!

“You keep callin’ me sir, boy, and I just might treat you right,” Thumper said like it was a threat. Before Barry could respond, Thumper barked at the men outside the cell, who tried to pull the sheet down as Thumper put it up. “No, niggas! Get the fuck away! There’s still room to stew another nigga up in this pot, and yo’ ass looks like it’ll taste real nice!”

Barry bent over before Thumper turned around. He wanted to be as subservient as possible, so he stuck his ass high in the air. He spread his asscheeks when Thumper saw him, and twinkled his asshole. That made Thumper growl so loud the men outside the cell all cheered.

The crowd began to disperse though, now that they couldn’t see anything but a silhouette of Thumper looking down at Barry’s bare ass. Thumper rubbed the cheeks with one hand, while his other caressed his own nipples. Barry was glad he had shaved his ass smooth right before coming to Brutewood.

“I see you winkin’ yo’ boipussy at me. I am pickin’ up what you is puttin’ down, bitch, and I like it. I might write a letter of appreciation to yo’ mama, boy. Tell her she made you up right,” Thumper said. “But I ain’t gonna fuck yo’ ass yet. I got time, boy. I ain’t gonna rush into fuckin’ that sweet booty you got. Gonna build up some of dat anticipation. That way when I finally get up in yo’ guts, I gonna cum for days. Whatchoo think ‘bout dat?”

“I’m disappointed,” Barry said. “But I’m excited too. I like anticipation-“

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get on yo’ knees and open your mouth.”

“Yes, sir,” Barry said. He sunk to the ground. “Please facefuck me as hard as you can. I love it when big alphas abuse my throat-“

Thumper playfully slapped his cheek. It wasn’t hard, just enough to make a loud smacking noise. “Don’t you tell me how to fuck you. I am gonna abuse yo’ throat, boy, but not cuz you want it that way.”

“Yes, sir.” Barry opened his mouth wide. He looked upward so Thumper could see his open throat, and he wiggled his tongue like he gave an imaginary rimjob to the air.

Thumper sneered and snarled. His chest was flush and his dick was hard even before he got it out of his dingy brown boxer shorts. Barry was glad to see that Thumper’s dick did not disappoint — it was thick and long and hoggish and veiny, exactly how Barry liked it.

He didn’t wait for Thumper. Barry wanted to impress him so he dove right down on Thumper’s manhood, deep-throating it in one fluid motion. Thumper tasted unwashed, like Barry was licking clean every one of the prison thugs who remained outside the cell, trying to see what was going on through the sheet-curtain.

Wuzzup in there? You break dat whiteboi yet, Thump?

He ain’t gonna break him, he gonna fall in love wit’ him.

Thumper? He gonna both break him and fall in love wit’ him. Not in that order.

“Shut the fuck up,” Thumper said to the other watching inmates. “Ain’t you got somethin’ better to do than sneak peeks at my cock? That ain’t gangsta, niggas. Go on and do some push-ups or some shit.” Despite Thumper’s words, only a few men moved away.

That was fine with Barry, who loved the humiliation of the entire prison knowing that he was being treated like a bitch in here. They’d treat him like a lowly dog for the rest of his prison stay, and Barry was alright with that.

When Barry removed his head to take a breath, Thumper grabbed his scalp and held on. He clucked his tongue. “Nah,” he said. He groaned loudly. “You don’t pull off my dick, okay? You can move yo’ head up to the tip, like here-“ He stopped with just the tip of his cock in Barry’s mouth. “But you don’t let it come out. You can take a breath through yo’ nose. I am gonna punish you if you let it fall outta yo’ mouth, bitch. Got it? Say yes, sir without taking my dick out.”

“Esh-shir,” Barry said, the words making a puddle of spit spill from his mouth around Thumper’s cock. He breathed around the meat in his mouth and through his nostrils, then deep-throated Thumper again.

Generating as much saliva as he could, Barry gurgled and sputtered as moisture soaked into Thumper’s crotch. Both men’s faces turned red — Barry’s from lack of oxygen, and Thumper’s from sexual fulfillment. Barry liked making this blowjob loud and burbly because it made the cell block gangstas on the other side of the bars nervously mutter and giggle like schoolchildren watching their first porno movie.

He loved making Thumper feel so good his body shook and vibrated, and Barry even managed to impress him by sneaking the tip of his tongue out between Thumper’s dick and Barry’s jaw. He flickered his tongue onto the root of Thumper’s cock. It was a small gesture, but Thumper appreciated it.

“Damn, bitch, you been trained good. You got a nigga on the outside turnin’ you out? Nevuhmind, don’t answer that. Yo’ mouth is full. Whatever nigga trained you, write his name down so I can send him a thank-you letter,” Thumper said. His gravelly voice was tense, pinched, trying to hold back on his enthusiasm because it wasn’t very gangsta for an inmate to be this excited about a blowjob from a man.

He sensed that Thumper’s orgasm was imminent, and Barry wanted to prolong this, but at the same time, he didn’t want Thumper to get salty with him. In any case, Thumper had forbidden him from taking a break, so there wasn’t a lot that Barry could do to slow down Thumper’s climax.

“Damn, nigga, yeah! Gonna fill that bitch-mouth up wit’ my nigga-nut. Use bot’ yo’ hands,” Thumper said, his voice low and reedy like he wasn’t sure he could survive this orgasm. He dragged both of Barry’s hands to Thumper’s cockshaft. “Don’t swallow yet.”

The veins of Thumper’s dick spasmed and pulsated as he nutted. His dick throbbed, and the salty-sour flavor of his cum filled Barry’s mouth. Thumper kept just the tip of his dick in Barry’s mouth, that way most of it stayed right there instead of spilling out or flowing down his gullet.

Thumper groaned so loud it made everyone cheer, even the inmates who had wandered away. They were chanting, but they weren’t all chanting the same thing, so Barry heard only a confused melange of words about fresh fish, niggas and cum. Thumper’s brown boxer muscles all tensed at once, and he slapped Barry’s cheek just hard enough to make a sharp smacking noise that echoed in the cell.

Cum drained into Barry’s mouth, sticking to his skin. It was hot and thick, dense, creamy, exactly how Barry loved. It tasted like candy and sweat and the flavor of Thumper’s toes when Barry had licked them just a few minutes ago.

“Now show those niggas yo’ mouth. I wanna make ‘em look at my nut,” Thumper said. He opened the sheet curtain.

Barry blushed beet-red as he saw that the gaggle of inmates had only grown since Thumper had blasted his nut — they must have known this was coming. A few of the men near the front had their massive limp cocks out, and they banged them against the cell bars as everyone cheered. Barry wanted to start sucking on them all, but he suspected Thumper would be angry about that.

“Tell them you love my cock,” Thumper said. He stood behind the sheet so no one could see him. He smiled at Barry, who gagged even before he managed to speak.

Cum ran down his cheeks in rivulets. Finally he managed to choke out I love Thumper’s cock, but the only sound he made was a moist choking that no one could hear because they cheered so loud. It seemed they understood what was happening though. One of them even stuck his finger in Barry’s mouth, spreading cum over his face until Thumper closed the curtain.

“Okay, bitch. You can swallow,” Thumper said. He got down on his knees and watched.

Barry had never been more aroused, and he had never wanted to swallow cum more. It tasted deliciously sweet, and it was still warm and creamy when he swallowed it. It coated his throat and his stomach, and he could feel its warmth spreading to every corner of his insides.

“Good,” Thumper said. “We are gonna have a lotta fun together, bitch.”

“Yes, sir. I can’t wait.”

Alpha Cellmate: The Redneck

Here’s a sample from Alpha Cellmate: The Redneck, a new story from Brutewood Medium Security! It’s the outrageous tale of a gay man getting a bit too much of what he wanted behind bars…

Dewayne settled into his prison cell and ignored his cellmate, Piggie, who in turn ignored him. For the first three hours, neither spoke. Dewayne had been waiting in his local jail for weeks, so he was used to being incarcerated. He knew what was going to happen, and he was fine with that — he intended to initiate it — but he wanted to let it happen on his terms.

So he waited. He unpacked the few things he was allowed to bring and placed them on the empty shelf behind his bed, the bottom bunk in the tiny cell. He brushed his teeth and took a piss in the toilet, all while ignoring his cellmate, who had been introduced to him simply as Piggie.

Despite the name, Piggie was not fat — he later explained that he had been chubby as a boy, which was when he got the nickname — he was a tall, broad-shouldered redneck, covered in tattoos and a fine sheen of hair over his chest. He had a tangled mop of dirty blond hair. He watched Dewayne dourly whenever Dewayne wasn’t looking.

Finally, Dewayne sensed the time was right. It was almost time for dinner, and he wanted to have a firm place in the prison hierarchy when he got to the mess hall.

“Hey,” Dewayne said. He was gay but he was not ordinarily very flamboyant. He tried to accentuate that now, to make certain Piggie knew that Dewayne was gay. Piggie raised his eyebrows and listened to Dewayne’s words. Dewayne stammered. “I, uh… I heard you run some shit around here.”

“You heard wrong,” Piggie said.

“Oh, really? They said you were a powerful motherfucker-“

“That much is true.” Piggie chewed on his lower lip as he looked Dewayne up and down.

“Good, good,” Dewayne said. He took a deep breath. “I, uh… Did you…? Are you comfortable with fucking? I mean… with me?”

Piggie sat up. He snorted as though the answer was obvious, but it wasn’t clear if it was “obvious” because he thought Dewayne should know that Piggie was a prison top who fucked queers, or because he thought Dewayne should know that Piggie hated queers. Dewayne momentarily wondered if he should try pretending to be a straight tough guy, but he knew he couldn’t pull that off.

“I, uh… I’d like to suck you off, or whatever. If you want, and if you will protect me-“

“You wanna be my bitch?”

“Well… I think you’re hot and I’m gay and I need-“

“You wanna be my bitch?” He flared his nostrils.

“Well… yeah, kinda,” Dewayne said. He normally loved redneck alpha males like Piggie — Dewayne was more than a bit rednecky himself, so he had a natural attraction to men like Piggie. If he wasn’t in prison and could have gone home anytime, Dewayne would have jumped at the chance to be Piggie’s bitch. Ever since getting out of the Army, Dewayne had been getting into riskier and riskier sex. It was a way to feel the adrenaline rush he had gotten used to in Iraq. This was more frightening than he was accustomed to, because he wasn’t role-playing the role of prison bitch, he was living it.

“You queer?” Piggie asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” Dewayne said.

Piggie jumped down from his bunk. He patted Dewayne down, a mix between a utilitarian frisk and a sexy grope. His rough-skinned fingers roamed over every inch of Dewayne’s body. Then he separated Dewayne’s jaws and looked in his mouth as though checking how big it was. He rammed his finger in until Dewayne gagged on it.

“If you gonna be my bitch, you gotta be obedient. You gotta serve me right. You gotta suck dick. You wanna suck dick?”


“You wanna take it in the ass? You want me to butt-fuck you like a bitch? I don’t fuck easy. You okay wit’ that?”

“Yes,” Dewayne said. He gulped. “I… I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

Piggie smiled. He leaned in as though he was going to kiss Dewayne right on the lips, but then he turned Dewayne around and slammed him into the wall, face-first, hard enough to hurt but not break anything. Dewayne tasted the grime and dust clinging to the rock wall of their shared cell.

“I am gonna hurt you.”

Dewayne’s heart sank. He had assumed this would work. “Oh. I-“

“Shut up. You can be my bitch. I just wanna prepare you. I am gonna hurt you at some point. I’m gonna fuck you hard and I’m gonna smack you when I’m in a bad mood, when it ain’t even yer fault. I’m gonna treat you bad. That’s cuz I’m a bad man. You feel me?”

“Uh, yeah-“

“The promise I’m gonna make to you right now is not that I ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m gonna promise to make it up to you later. I ain’t gonna let no one else hurt you, not without my permission, but I am gonna hurt you myself.”

“Oh… Okay,” Dewayne said. His mouth was pressed against the rock wall, so all he could do was mumble. Piggie’s breath condensed on his cheeks. Again, he thought if this had happened in a biker bar instead of a prison cell, he’d be salivating at the chance to service Piggie. It was just disturbing to know he had no choice to go home later. It was either service Piggie, find a different man or take a chance on taking care of himself. Servicing Piggie was both the sexiest and most dangerous route.

“You queer, huh?” Piggie asked. He rammed his hand into Dewayne’s pants and caressed both cheeks. He gave them a pinch, hard, which made Dewayne yelp and squirm against the wall.


“So you ain’t a virgin?”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s too bad. I love making straight boys cry when I fuck ‘em,” he said. He sniffed Dewayne’s head and snorted. It sounded like he swallowed a mouthful of phlegm. He fingered the rim of Dewayne’s asshole but didn’t stick his finger in. “I love breakin’ ‘em down.”

“Oh, well, sorry, I ain’t-“

“I can handle queers too. I ain’t gonna mind that one bit,” he said. “Long as you’s okay wit’ me treating you poorly.”

“I guess so, I just hope-“

“Get on yer knees, queerboy,” he said. “If you can suck me good enough, I’ll take you in as my bitch. If not… then you’s on yer own.”

Dewayne did drop to his knees. He sighed and opened his mouth, drooling at the sight of Piggie’s fat cock dangling between his legs. Piggie didn’t take his orange prison pants off, he just pulled them down.

Dewayne kissed the tip, then licked the shaft. The taste of unwashed masculine musk flooded Dewayne’s senses. The flavor reminded Dewayne of a horse-barn; it was both unpleasant and arousing, and it made Dewayne hungry to taste Piggie’s load. He moaned and blushed because Piggie laughed at how enthusiastic he was.

“Is that fun, little bitch? You really wanna be my bitch? You that kinda queerboy?”

“Yes, I am,” Dewayne said. He wrapped his lips around Piggie’s shaft and moved his mouth up and down it. He knew straight men loved that technique, and he smiled as it made Piggie shudder. His dick straightened and stiffened.

Then Piggie grabbed Dewayne by the head and forced him to remain in place. Dewayne opened his mouth wide, sighing as Piggie’s cock pushed down his throat. Piggie drilled it in slowly and laughed as Dewayne struggled to swallow it.

Dewayne gagged, but only because he knew Piggie would want him to. Dewayne could deep-throat nearly anything without gagging if he wanted to. But he wanted to puff up Piggie’s ego by pretending it was difficult to suck his dick.

He let Piggie facefuck him, Dewayne focusing on little more than keeping his throat wide open. He loved the flavor of Piggie’s redneck dick; his precum tasted like fertile soil, a forest thunderstorm, engine oil and stainless steel, and its savory flavor made Dewayne wish he could suck it forever.

Piggie’s balls slapped against Dewayne’s chin as he fucked Dewayne’s face. He made loud rutting sounds, like the piggie he was named after. Every time Dewayne choked and sputtered, men in the other cells all laughed and jeered.

Damn, Piggie got a new bitch!

Piggie’s gonna make him squeal!

New guy’s a bitch already!

Dewayne gurgled happily, though he hid it out of fear that Piggie would interpret his enjoyment as license to facefuck him harder and harder until he no longer enjoyed. Instead Dewayne just sat there, allowing Piggie to drill his shift in and out of Dewayne’s throat.

Precum slid down his gullet, the sour-salty flavor overwhelming Dewayne’s palate. Piggie moaned and for a moment, his alpha machismo dwindled — he hadn’t expected it to feel this good.

Dewayne was proud of himself. He liked servicing big thugs and rednecks like Piggie, and he knew making his blowjobs indispensable was the best way to ensure Piggie kept him safe. He choked up a mountain of spit and let it drip down into Piggie’s hairy crotch.

Soon Dewayne could tell that Piggie was almost ready to cum. Dewayne slowed his rhythm down, which sent such powerful spasms of pleasure up Piggie’s thick body that Piggie’s knees buckled. He almost fell on top of Dewayne, but he used him for support.

Dewayne deep-throated all the way, ignoring his body’s cry for oxygen. His nose nestled in the wiry pubic hair of Piggie’s crotch as he felt veins throb inside his mouth. The cum flowed up Piggie’s massive shaft.

Finally Piggie reached orgasm. Dewayne could feel it in the pulsating of his balls and the throbbing of his cockshaft in Dewayne’s mouth. Piggie closed his eyes and groaned.

“Here I come bitch, get ready to taste it.”

Salty cum flew into Dewayne’s mouth, coating his tongue. Dewayne sighed and squirmed as he tasted a massive load of creamy juice. It sprayed right down his gullet and collected in a warm puddle deep in his belly.

Piggie stood there with his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes as his cum flowed, a huge load that just kept collecting. Its thick texture coated Dewayne’s tongue with the salty flavor.

“I’m gonna take my dick out now,” Piggie said softly. He shuddered as aftershocks of his orgasm roiled his hairy chest muscles. He peered directly into Dewayne’s eyes. “You keep your mouth open. I like watchin’ my cum dry on yer tongue, boy.” Then he pulled his dick out without moving his eyes.

The entire cell fell silent. Every fiber of Dewayne’s being told him to clean his face off, close his mouth, attack Piggie or run away, but he didn’t do any of those things.

Piggie closely inspected his tongue. He even stuck a finger in Dewayne’s mouth, all the way back until Dewayne gagged again, and Piggie pulled his finger out dripping with cum. He wiped it off on Dewayne’s nose, sending the acrid bite of sour semen smell assaulting Dewayne’s senses.

Finally Piggie nodded. “Go clean yerself off, bitch. We’re done now.”

Cellmate Lust

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Cellmate Lust, a new story from Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary!


Coming to prison didn’t end up changing everything about Loquan’s life. Of course, a lot of things did change. But he hadn’t been eating well even before his arrest, and the food didn’t end up being a big change. His home had been a room rented from a shitty flophouse, so the prison cell was only a bit smaller. And his job went from selling crack to crackheads to selling heroin to smackheads.

That was because Loquan was a Nine Tat, a loyal footsoldier in the game. He kept quiet when he was arrested; he refused to roll over on his gang even though the police offered him a compelling deal to snitch. But Loquan never even considered it. He could do three years standing on his head; he wasn’t about to ruin his reputation to get out of it.

“Yo, you gots whatchoo need?!” That wasn’t how he usually asked around for customers; on the outside, he just hung out on street corners, and crackheads knew how to find dealers like him. In prison, they all dressed in orange jumpsuits; they all were in the same places at the same times, doing more or less the same things, so Loquan had to get the attention of the addicts. “Yo, you gots whatchoo need?!” was what the other dealers said, so that’s what Loquan said too, to get the attention of the prison’s users.

He hated them. On the outside, addicts were treated like shit. Loquan’s crew sold crack to them but didn’t associate with anyone who used; when one of their number had been caught smoking a rock, they beat him down and kicked him out. That had been that.

But here in Brutewood Prison, it didn’t work like that. There were too many addicts, and they lived in the same place as the dealers. Loquan had no choice but to interact with them.

“Yo, come on, lemme hit you back later.”

“My moms is puttin’ money in my commissary, nigga. I get you next week.”

“No!” Loquan said. On the outside, he and his crew delivered a beatdown to any crackhead who asked for a freebie. If you didn’t react like that, they’d keep asking until you said yes.

There was nothing Loquan could do here — even the guards didn’t really care about drugs. If they saw it, they’d confiscate it and charge whoever they could with possession, but they didn’t make an effort to find it. They wouldn’t have cared about people asking for drugs, and of course Loquan didn’t want to snitch, even on addicts.

There was a guard waiting there in front of his cell, when Loquan walked away from the rec area and the gaggle of addicts there begging him for heroin. Since he was knew, they were all testing him. Loquan knew that, and he knew that now was the time to keep himself tough. Once a newer dealer showed up, the addicts would all swarm him instead of Loquan.

But what was the guard doing? Loquan considered leaving, not going back to his cell as he had planned, but that was silly — Brutewood would find him sooner or later. If he was in trouble, he might as well face it now.

“Loquan Miles?” The guard asked. He was a stern-faced redneck named Officer Barnett, with a small, lean body that belied his powerful frame. He kept his face stony and still. “You’ve been transferred. Get your belongings together.”

Loquan was shocked. He had only been here for a week, and he was comfortable with his cellmate, an elderly white man and former bank robber. Loquan didn’t love living with someone he had such little in common with, but at least he felt safe there. He didn’t want to move.

“Where am I being transferred to?”

Officer Barnett didn’t answer. He just nodded into the cell. “Get yer shit together. You’ll see where you’re being transferred to. Hurry the fuck up.”

Loquan glared at him and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He quickly put his things together, and tried to avoid the sympathetic glare of his elderly cellmate. He hoped he wasn’t in trouble, but his cellmate’s gaze made him think there was something he didn’t know.

That reminded Loquan of another off-putting stare he had endured. As he followed Officer Barnett, he recalled how uncomfortable he had felt at his first all-hands meeting of the Nine Tats because of one thug in particular: Thumper.

Wendell “Thumper” White was a burly middle-aged man, nearly fifty but with a burly athlete’s body. He had been a professional boxer before being locked up thirtysome years ago, and in that time, his body had gained a bit of padding, a multitude of faded amateur tats and a litany of crisscrossing scars. He spoke only a little during the meeting; he stared at Loquan most of the time. Loquan had pretended not to notice so he wouldn’t feel compelled to start a fight — Thumper was a powerful figure in the Nine Tats, and Loquan was too young and too new to challenge anyone like that.

His heart dropped when he saw Thumper standing outside a cell, watching. That was where Officer Barnett took him. It was a corner cell, which meant it was a bit bigger than most of the others, but it also meant that two of the walls were bars rather than only one. It felt very open and exposed to Loquan.

Men of the Mexican Federal Prison

Here’s a sample chapter from Men of the Mexican Federal Prison, a new story from Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary! It’s the sexy tale of an American seeking someone to protect him in a Mexican prison.


Rick had to hold back tears as he was led to his cell. He was already a gay Anglo in prison in Mexico; he didn’t need to also be the guy who sobbed on his way in. He tried to remind himself that the American embassy had promised to help the best they could, but a part of Rick also knew that was an empty promise — there were Americans serving a lifetime sentence in Thailand for insulting the king, so obviously embassies couldn’t do much even for blatantly tyrannical laws. Rick had been convicted of assaulting a police officer; he was innocent, but the trial had been swift and conclusive. There was no room for appeals.

“Guess you’ll have to learn how to respect Mexican authority figures, gringo,” said the guard who led him to his cell. He was carrying a sac which he opened for Rick to see. Inside were a dozen or so police batons, all of them black, shiny and identical. The guard grinned as the prisoners in the cells nearby crowded close to watch. They seemed to have some idea what was about to happen. The guard motioned for Rick to take a baton. “Pick one.”

That was when Rick noticed the batons bolted to the wall above each cell door. There were scrawled words in marker beneath each one; he was too far away to read them, but he had the strong impression they were names. Did they name police batons?”

“Uh… I’m sorry?”

“Pick one. It will be your baton,” the guard said with a mischievous grin, like a child playing a prank. “If you need to be beaten, we will use your baton, if possible. If you need… punishment with a baton through any other way, we will use your baton.” He made a sodomy motion with the baton.

Rick shuddered with fear. The English-speaking guard chuckled, and he caressed Rick’s ass with one hand. He smily approvingly.

“Just pick one,” the guard said.

Rick grabbed one at random, hoping to get this over with as quickly as he could. He held it out for the guard, who grabbed it and pointed the tip towards Rick’s face. He swung it and Rick winced, but the guard stopped with the baton just a millimeter from Rick’s chin.

“Suck on it, puta.”

A few scattered laughs filled the nearest cell, which Rick only just now realized was his cell. These were his cellmates. He got the impression they were laughing because they enjoyed seeing an American being taken down a notch or two, though the other batons above the cell door must have been theirs, so they were hardly on the guard’s side. They had probably deep-throated a baton just the same as him.

His thick Mexican mustache quivered as he repeated himself. He grabbed at his crotch with his free hand. “Suck on it, or you will suck on something else instead.”

Not wanting to start off his prison sentence by being turned into some guard’s bitch — that was a sure way to both lose respect and ensure that no inmate was willing to protect him — Rick grabbed for the baton with one hand so he could lift it to his mouth. The guard smacked his hand away.

“Suck on it. Not handjob.”

Rick blushed and opened his mouth. He let the guard push the tip of the baton past his lips, and the cold steel hit his tongue. He pushed it back until Rick gagged, then laughed and moved it back and forth a few times. Rick gagged again each time it the back of his throat.

Then the guard took it out, inspected the moist tip of the baton and marked the furthest limit of spit with a tube of white-out he had in his pocket. He smiled and pointed to that mark. “You are not good at being deep-throater. We will see if you are better in some months.”

Without another word, he opened the cell and tossed Rick in. By the time Rick turned around, the guard had attached the baton to an empty spot above the cell door, and whistled as he walked away.

The cell was overcrowded, and Rick realized with a sense of dread that there were only some ten bunks for about forty men. Most of the floorspace was sleeping quarters as well, with just one open area near the toilets at the back.

They all stared at him. Rick hesitated there. He felt frozen to the spot as the cell door slid shut. Everyone on the entire cell block had fallen silent, and he could hear every cough and every puff on a cigarette. Somewhere, someone grunted machoistically as they worked out — it sounded like push-ups, Rick thought. Most of the men he could see were muscular, tattooed cholos, who looked like they had been exercising until Rick’s arrival interrupted them. Now they stood, shirtless and sweaty, standing so close together that their sweat mingled and dripped in rivulets between them.

If it weren’t so terrifying, it would have been sexy. Rick had even had a conversation once about which country’s prisons would be the sexiest to be imprisoned in, safetiness and other factors notwithstanding, and he had said Mexico because Latino guys have always been hot to Rick. Now that he was here, he was too scared to be aroused, even though a part of him did notice how sexy most of the other inmates were. It wasn’t like an American prison where three-quarters of the inmates were either elderly or fat; these were sexy, toned thugs with desperately horny looks in their eyes.

He sat down in the clear area at the back, near the toilets. Everyone still stared at him, and Rick was so nervous he thought he might piss himself. He placed the box of his stuff on the ground near him.

Was someone going to pick a fight? He had a feeling they were using nonverbal communication to decide who. Eyes fluttered back and forth from Rick to each other and back to Rick again, sizing him up. A part of Rick wanted to pick a fight himself — surely it was better for him to choose who to fight rather than for someone else to choose him.

But before he could make a decision, someone picked up Rick’s box of belongings and rifled through it. Rick stood, his heart pounding — he knew he needed to establish that he was not to be messed with. But the man who had his things was a burly tattooed cholo who was at least a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Rick. There was no point in trying to fight him.

He didn’t seem to want anything in there anyway — it was mostly clothes, none of which would fit the man. He turned to Rick and flared his nostrils. He spoke in rapid Spanish, then switched to English when Rick didn’t respond.

“You do not know Spanish?”

Rick shook his head. He actually knew a little bit, but had decided it was best to pretend to not know a word. He took the box back out of the man’s hands. He had taken a bottle of body wash, but left everything else. Rick decided to leave that alone, and he pretended not to notice.

“My name is El Oso,” he said. He was burly, his thick chest covered in amateur tattoos, Gothic letters that spelled out Spanish words Rick couldn’t focus on well enough to read because his eyes were inexorably drawn to El Oso’s bulging prison boxers. “You are scared.”

“Uh… yeah,” Rick said. He thought about lying and trying to sound tough, but he decided that was pointless — it was obvious he was scared, and he’d sound even weaker by lying about it.

“You are right to be scared,” El Oso said. “But I will not hurt you.”

“Okay.” Rick’s mind raced as he tried to remember what el oso meant — he was pretty sure it was an animal of some kind. The Bull? The Bear? The Badger? Why could he only think of b-animals?

“I will not rape you.”


“Someone else will. The guards will,” he said. He shrugged as the other inmates in the cell laughed and hooted.

“Oh.” Rick’s heart pounded.

“I can stop them,” El Oso said. He raised his eyebrows and examined Rick closely. “You are faggotry, yes?”


“I can see you are,” El Oso leaned in and inhaled deeply of Rick’s scent. He grabbed at Rick’s ass through his paper-thin orange jumpsuit. “You are the gay. It is okay. It is good. You will be my prison wife, yes?”