Tag Archives: gay prison

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.”

The Prison Wife

Here’s the first chapter of The Prison Wife, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!

Hawk stumbled as he entered the cell block. He heard hooting and clapping. Luckily some of the other prisoners were worse off than Hawk — there was a fat man who started sobbing even before they came onto the cell block. He attracted most of the attention from the other inmates.

Tubby crybaby wants his mommy!

But Hawk knew plenty of them were looking at him too. He could feel their eyes staring at him. Hawk took a deep breath to calm himself.

He had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a plan he would enjoy. There was no reason not to enjoy it. While Hawk didn’t want to be in prison, he had a good plan — Hawk was gay. He loved sucking cock and getting fucked, and he especially loved being fucked by huge alpha male thugs.

So spending time in prison gave him plenty of opportunities to do what he wanted to do anyway. He wished he could come and go as he pleased, getting fucked whenever he wanted and then going home to sleep in his own bed. But of course, that was not an option.

This place would be his home for the next two to five years.

Hawk tried to look tough. He was not in bad shape. He had been playing soccer and baseball for years, but he was short and he was wiry, not muscular. He had long straight black hair and dusky brown skin.

“Yo! Yo! Yo!”

An explosion of laughter and some angry shouts erupted. Hawk’s heart skipped a beat — was this a prison riot? Had he walked in on a prison riot?

“Yo, yo, yo!” There was a man coming towards the new inmates.

“Get back- Oh…” The guard escorting the new inmates chuckled dryly at the sight of the man coming towards Hawk and the others. The guard didn’t seem to care what he did. Hawk didn’t know if that meant he should be scared of this inmate — was the guard scared to stop him? — or if he should be calm — was the guard aware that this inmate was a paper tiger?

But Hawk thought the inmates would test one of the fat blubbering idiots first. So he just furrowed his brow. He made as tough a face as he could manage.

But then the inmate came to him. He was Thumper White, a middle-aged black man with cornrows tinged with gray. He was an ex-boxer and he still had the body of a fighter half his age. He moved like his muscles and his heft were in the way — he was much faster than a burly, barrel-chested man like him should be.

“Uh…” Hawk didn’t know if he should throw a punch or not. The entire cell block stared at him.

Thumper pushed inmates — new and old, weak and tough alike — out of the way as he barreled to Hawk. Then he stopped in front of him and smiled like a schoolboy.

“Yo, hey, what’s yo’ name?” Thumper asked. His grizzled, gray-tinged scruff shifted as he licked his lips. It sounded like he was trying to be casual, even though he had knocked several people over as he came here, and the entire cell block had fallen silent to watch him.

“Uh… Hawk.”

“Hawk? What kinda name is that?”

“It’s Indian. I’m an Indian. Native American Indian.”

Thumper’s eyes opened wide. “Ah, shit, nice. That’s why you got pretty long hair?”

“Well… I have pretty long hair because, uh… I like it.” Hawk’s mind raced too fast for him to speak coherently.

“You some kinda gay or bisexual?” Thumper asked.

“Um, yeah… I’m gay.”

Thumper let out a growl. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Boy, you serious?”

“Yeah.” Hawk squeaked like a mouse. Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that, he thought, since it looked like Thumper became hostile when he said it.

“I think I love you, boy,” Thumper said. He took Hawk’s wrist and kissed the back of his hand. That finally broke the silence of the other inmates. They howled peals of laughter. Someone clasped Hawk on the back, making Hawk stumble and cry out in surprise. Thumper kissed his hand copiously, and even sucked on his middle finger.


Thumper stood up. He made a stern, angry face and addressed the crowd of jeering inmates. They all cheered as though they were glad for Thumper, though it was obvious from their tone and body language — and the harsh laughter filling the air — that they were teasing Thumper for forming a relationship with a man.

You in love, homo thug?!

You gonna suck that Indian boy’s dick, Thump?

Thumper held one hand up, palm out. The inmates all got quiet — the black ones first, since they were in Thumper’s gang — Thumper was in charge of the Nine Tats here at Brutewood; Hawk didn’t know that yet, but he would soon figure it out. The Nine Tats then forcibly hushed up the other gangs.

“All y’all shut yo’ mouths,” Thumper said. “This boy here is Hawk. He too pretty to be any kinda bitch, so don’t none of you try nothin’.” There was some scattered groans. Someone threw a chess piece that bounced off Thumper’s chest. Thumper bellowed, “Hey! Nah! Shut yo’ bitch-ass mouths!” Then he waited for silence again. “Ain’t none of y’all’s business, nosirree. Prison love is private, even if you can see it, niggas.”

Then Thumper turned around. He ignored a few whooping catcalls from the other inmates. He dropped to his knees in front of Hawk and grabbed his hand once again. He sucked on that middle finger just like before. Then he pulled it out and smiled up at Hawk.

“Boy, will you do me the honor of bein’ my prison wife? I will treat you so good, boy…” He let out a long, low growl. His kisses traveled up Hawk’s hand to his arm, then his neck.

Hawk shivered. He wanted to say yes, of course. Thumper was pretty much Hawk’s ideal man — right down to the flecks of gray in his chest hair and cornrows. Hawk loved men with a bit of maturity in their bones.

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk finally managed to croak out a response.

The cell block erupted in both cheers and jeers. Someone threw more chess pieces — aiming at Thumper, it seemed, but many of them hit Hawk instead. Thumper planted his lips right on Hawk’s, and his massive tongue pushed into Hawk’s mouth.

That was such a shock that Hawk resisted at first, purely out of instinct and surprise. He pushed on Thumper’s shoulders, but Thumper didn’t even seem to notice. He just barreled through ramming his tongue down Hawk’s throat as though invading his gullet, like his goal was to get as deep as possible.

Hawk was so surprised by everything that had happened that he barely even noticed when Thumper scooped him up in his arms. Hawk was dizzy and confused. Thumper carried him like a bride through the crowd of cheering black men — his own gangmates formed a line on either side, leading back to Thumper’s cell.

It was obvious to Hawk that these thugs clapped and cheered both because it was expected of them and because they teased Thumper. He was their boss, but he was much more comfortable with man-on-man sex than the rest of them — he was from an earlier generation. They thought proposing to a prison wife publicly was hilarious and shameful (for Thumper). They called him a groom and encouraged Hawk to throw a (nonexistent) bouquet of flowers to tease Thumper.

If Thumper realized that they were laughing at him, however, he gave no indication. He had a big smile on his face like a groom carrying his bride to their shared bedroom. His big muscles carried Hawk easily through the cell block.

The tiny cell was barely big enough for one person, and there was already a young man there. He was clearly gay and effeminate. He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow when he saw Thumper carrying Hawk into the cell.

“What’s up, Thumper? That a bitch or wha-?” His voice trailed off when he saw the men crowding the cell outside to watch as though they were witnessing history. Thumper’s current cellmate crossed his arms over his chest.

“Brian.” Thumper sounded like he had forgotten he had a cellmate. “Get yo’ shit and get out.”


“You don’t live here no more. Go tell Armstrong you need a new cell assignment,” Thumper said. He looked at Hawk and kissed him.

“Oh. You’re dumping me?”

“I am in love, nigga. You know what love is? It’s the most powerful force in the universe. I ain’t nevuh loved you. You just a slut,” Thumper said without taking his eyes away from Hawk. “Go’n, get out.”

The man sniffled. “Fine. Later.” He gathered up his clothes and other belongings, most of which were already in a cardboard box.

“Hurry up, nigga. We got some connubial bliss to construct,” Thumper said. He snarled at the man, who darted out of the cell. He had to squeeze past the other inmates to get out.

Yo, Thumper, you gonna lick his butthole?! Huh? You want some syrup?!

“Ignore them niggas,” Thumper said with a growl. Once his former cellmate was out, he slapped their hands when they tried to reach in past the cell bars. “Get outta here, niggas! Get out! This ain’t none of yo’ business. This ain’t gang business. This ain’t no concern of yours. This is just love, that’s all. You don’t know jack-shit about love.” He reached his arms between the cell bars and grabbed one young man by the neck — it was a young black man, skinny, definitely not old enough to be anyone important, Hawk assumed — and whispered something Hawk couldn’t hear. The young man’s eyes opened wide, and he hushedly got the other inmates to be quiet and walk away. It took awhile though, so there were still hands reaching into the cell, sarcastic laughter and whooping filling the air.

Does his dick taste like curry?! Huh? Thumper, huh? You like curry?!

“That’s the wrong kinda Indian, nigga!” Thumper yelled out of the cell. It wasn’t clear that anyone could hear him because they hollered in his direction. Thumper smiled at Hawk was though he expected to be congratulated for knowing the different kinds of Indians.

“Oh, uh… So this is my cell, right? I, like… I’m not gonna get in trouble being here, right?”

Thumper smiled. “You got a pretty voice, boy. I like hearin’ you say words,” he said. He got up real close to Hawk like he was going to kiss him, but then he didn’t. “Yeah. This is yo’ cell. Officer Armstrong runs this place, Hawk, and I run Officer Armstrong.” He paused. “Hawk. That is the sexiest name for a gayboy I ever heard. Hawk. I just wanna keep sayin’ yo’ name over and over. Hawk. Hawk. Hawk.”


“We are gonna make such sweet love in here, boy,” Thumper said. He leaned in again like he was going to kiss Hawk. But he just put his lips next to Hawk’s ear and whispered, “We are gonna brew a big pot of love in here. You like gettin’ fucked in the ass?”


“You need a pet name for me, boy,” he said. “Like daddy or papi or somethin’ like that.” His eyes lit up. “Or somethin’ Indian. What do pretty Indian girls call they man?”

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“You don’t speak Indian?”

“Uh… No.” Hawk wanted to explain that there were lots of American Indian languages, each, presumably, with their own pet names a girl might call her boyfriend. Hawk didn’t speak any of them though. But Hawk was too scared to think of any words to explain all that, and the end result would just be “no” anyway, so he simply said no. “Most Indians just speak English.” He croaked.

Thumper nodded. “Okay, okay,” he said. “You scared, huh? You scared of me?”

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk had never felt smaller.

“Don’t be scared, boy. I wouldn’t nevuh hurt you. You much too pretty for that. You ain’t gonna be my bitch. Or no one’s bitch. You mine. You my boy from now on. You my lover,” he said. Then, like he had only just noticed the men still laughing at him — the one thug he had whispered to had gotten many of them to leave, but there were still more. Hawk noticed that they were all black men. He didn’t know the gang politics of this prison yet, but in fact, they were all Thumper’s own gang — they could, more or less, get away with teasing Thumper while members of other gangs might have gotten stabbed even coming near Thumper’s cell.

You goin’ on a honeymoon, Thump?

C’mon, Thumper, I wanna watch you lick that boy’s asshole.

Snorting like an angry horse, Thumper stood up and went to the corner of the cell. Only two walls were bars through which people could see, and Thumper put up a sheet as a curtain. There were tacks already in the wall to make it easy, he just put the curtain back up where, it seemed, he put it every night.

“There, now we got some privacy. I wanna make you comfortable, boy,” Thumper said.


Now that they couldn’t see, the gangbangers lost interest in teasing Thumper. They turned around and walked away, and at last, there was silence. Hawk hadn’t even realized how loud the men were being until they were gone.

Thumper faced him. Hawk’s heart raced. Thumper smiled. “Boy, you still scared.”

“Well… It’s scary.”

“Am I scary?”

“Yeah…” Hawk had to hold back his tears. He thought he would do alright on his first day, and really, today’s result hadn’t been bad. He’d wanted to get some sexy thug to promise to protect him, and that was exactly what he’d gotten. It was just so stressful — and Thumper’s stare and body and presence were so intimidating — that Hawk felt like sobbing.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Thumper said with a throaty growl. He wrapped one muscular arm around Hawk’s thin shoulder. He brought Hawk down to the lower bunk on the cell — that would be Hawk’s bunk now. “Relax, boy. Lemme make you a promise.” He took off his shirt and his pecs bounced, making a shiver of desire run through Hawk’s body. Thumper was really very sexy; he was just so scary that Hawk couldn’t think about anything besides his own fear. Thumper kissed Hawk on the lips again. “I won’t initiate nothin’ ‘bout sex. Okay? You decide when you ready to suck my dick or take it in the ass. Okay? That’s up to you.” He paused.

Thumper undid his shoes and pulled his orange prison pants off without getting out of the bunk. In no time he was naked. He had a huge brown cock, which was soft but looked to have just a touch of an erection.

He was so sexy it hurt. Hawk wanted more than anything to caress Thumper’s muscles. He knew Thumper wanted it too, but this situation was too tough for Hawk to respond at all. He just sat there on his bunk, fully clothed, sneaking glances at Thumper’s body every few seconds.

“You like my body?” Thumper asked.

Hawk nodded.

“I like yo’ body too. I ain’t nevuh seen it yet. But I like it already,” he said. “You know if anyone hurts you or even looks at you funny in this place, you tell me ‘bout it. I’ll kill ‘em. No questions asked.”

“Oh. Okay… That seems… harsh.”

“I’m a harsh nigga. None of those men was makin’ fun of you. They know better. They can call me a faggot cuz they know I ain’t one,” he said. He licked his lips. “They gonna treat you like a queen. I’m serious, nigga. If you want somethin’, you tell the nearest Nine Tat. If he don’t drop e’rything to give it to you, I’ll punish him, and if he got any brothers in this place, I punish them too. I do that. Brothers is responsible for each other.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You can’t fuck ‘em though. If you wanna fuck some nigga, you gotta ask me. I’ll decide if he gets fucked. You can ask ‘em for anything else, like food, or beatin’ up some other nigga.”

“Oh. Alright. I probably won’t, uh… want anything like that,” Hawk said. The idea of ordering some strange black thugs to do stuff seemed strange and off-putting. He was certain he wouldn’t do that.

“Okay. Whatchoo in for?”

Hawk cleared his throat. “Uh… Selling weed. I was caught with a lot of weed in my trunk.”

“You a pothead?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Cool. Me too,” Thumper said. “I got weed. We can’t smoke it today — it’s Monday, that means Warden Mitchell might be by later. He freak out if he smell weed. We save that for weekends.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. Then he grabbed Thumper’s pulsating pectoral muscles. He stroked his nipple and giggled, the anxiety of the situation finally giving way and turning to excitement. He was still scared and intimidated, but the easiest way to move forward, he thought, the path of least resistance, was to just do what both he and Thumper wanted him to do.

But Hawk wanted to know how truthful Thumper was being when he said that Hawk could decide when and how they fucked. So Hawk massaged Thumper’s muscles and then reached down to his dick, but he didn’t start sucking.

“I don’t wanna do anything else today,” Hawk said. “Let’s just start with a handjob, okay? I’ll get you off all day and all night, but just with my hand. We’ll build up to actual sex, alright?”

“Hell yeah, boy, I do that.” He beamed and licked his lips. “We got all the time in the world in this place. Let’s go slow.” His dick twitched as soon as Hawk touched it. It looked like Thumper wanted to kiss, but Hawk kissed him on the neck instead. Thumper growled, and Hawk could feel the rumbling in his throat.

His enormous cock was nearly a foot long once it firmed up in Hawk’s hand. Hawk stroked it and giggled again. Thumper had such a serious look on his face, like this handjob was a matter of life and death, that Hawk couldn’t help but laugh.

It was clear Thumper wanted to touch Hawk. He kept lifting his hands, then stopping himself because he had promised Hawk was in charge. Hawk smiled.

“Okay, Thumper, you can touch me,” he said.

Thumper jumped into action. He literally ripped Hawk’s prison uniform off his body. He let out a seductive growl and planted his lips on Hawk’s cheek. He pressed his weight onto Hawk’s body, pinning him on the grimy mattress.

“Stop!” Hawk screamed. His heart raced. Was Thumper about to tear him limb from limb? It rather felt like it.

Thumper pulled off him and frowned. “Sorry, boy. I came on strong, ain’t I?”

“Yeah…” Hawk said softly. Again he wanted to cry. “You, uh… You’re a big man. I’m little. You can’t just lay on top of me like that.”

“You turn me on, boy. You make me so horny,” he said. He kept his eyes downcast. His cock was still rock-hard. Hawk gently grabbed it once again and resumed stroking it. Thumper moaned and licked his lips. “Boy, you make me so fucking horny. I need you. I need you right now. Stroke that shit, damn…”

“Okay, Thumper, you can kiss me on the lips and-“

Thumper rammed into him. They kissed and once again Hawk was pinned against the wall. Thumper’s tongue invaded his mouth. Hawk pushed Thumper away once more — Thumper was much stronger than Hawk, of course, so Hawk only pushed him away because Thumper allowed it.

“Sorry, boy.”

“Thumper… Can you kiss me… normally? Like… not like a prison rapist? Just kiss me. How about… don’t move me? Like, when you kiss me and I’m sitting right here, you’re not allowed to kiss me so hard I have to change positions. You can kiss me while I’m sitting here,” Hawk said. “So you have to be gentle.”

“Okay, boy.” He moved his head in slowly, and kissed Hawk on the lips. This was almost too gentle, like kissing air. Despite his huge hulking size, Thumper could be very soft when he wanted to be, and when he could avoid his instincts.

Hawk was fine with it. It was a little like kissing an unconscious man, Hawk thought, since Thumper didn’t really move once he started, but Hawk wasn’t about to tell him to be more forceful. This would have to do for now.

His cock throbbed in Hawk’s hand. It felt like he was near orgasm for the first time, like he had been so horny all it took was a few kisses and strokes to get him off. For the first time, Hawk wondered if Thumper would reciprocate. Presumably not, he thought, so Hawk used his other hand to jack himself off.

“Yo, boy, you know I’m straight, I like girls. I like pussy. I like eatin’ pussy-“ He pantomimed sucking on an invisible pussy. “I like fuckin’ females in the ass. I like tits.”


“I love you cuz I’m in this place, and I ain’t nevuh gonna fall in love wit’ no girl again. Only love I got is boylove,” he said. “Gayboys, I mean, not kiddies.” Precum flowed from his cock. It felt creamy and warm, and Hawk had to fight against his urge to start sucking.


“I wouldn’t nevuh wanna touch no boy’s meat.”

“Sure. I didn’t think you would.”

“On ‘ccount of my love for you, I’d demonstrate it, if you asked me to,” he said. “I’d show you my love by jackin’ yo’ dick. But you gotta tell me you want it.”

“Oh. I want it. Thumper, will you jack me off?”

“Call me a pet name.”


“Call me somethin’. You know, like daddy or papi or whatevuh. Call me somethin’ special, somethin’ you ain’t nevuh call none of yo’ boyfriends,” he said. “Somethin’ just for me. That’ll demonstrate yo’ love for me.”

“Uh… how about papi? I like that. I’ve never called anyone that since I’m not Spanish, but I always thought it was hot,” Hawk said. “So, papi, will you please jack me off? You’re so sexy and so perfect… I need you, Thumper.” His words felt hollow and forced, even though he loved the idea of getting a handjob from Thumper.

Thumper bucked like he was near his own orgasm as he grabbed Hawk’s cock. He immediately stroked it, in sync with Hawk’s handjob — it was clear Thumper had done this before.

“Can we… touch dicks?” Hawk asked. He felt an overwhelming urge to joust with Thumper. He had never done it before, but he wanted to ask for something that Thumper hadn’t told him he could ask for, and he figured Thumper couldn’t say not to this if he was willing to use his hand.

“‘Course, boy. If’n it makes you happy, we can touch dicks e’ry day,” he said. He scooted forward and spread his legs. Hawk did the same until their crotches touched, cocks mingling. Thumper’s dick was much bigger than Hawk’s, though Hawk had a larger than average dick too — Hawk’s dick actually looked more impressive because Hawk’s body was so much smaller; Thumper’s dick looked appropriate for his body size, while Hawk looked like he had stolen the cock off someone bigger than himself.

But in the shadowy bunkspace, none of that mattered. It wasn’t even easy to see which dick was bigger (though it was obvious when Hawk stroked them both off at once). Even outside of the bunk, the cell was dark because of the curtain, beyond which shouting and laughter could be heard — everyone had moved on, it seemed, and they ignored Thumper’s cell. People walked by the cell close enough that Hawk could hear them breathe, but they didn’t know what was going on in here (or rather, it seemed they mostly had some idea, but they didn’t know exactly what was going on in here).

“Thumper… you can softly kiss me,” Hawk said.

Thumper opened his mouth and croaked like he was going to say something but was interrupted by a spasm of pleasure shooting up from his cock. He planted his lips on Hawk’s.

The kiss was a little forceful, but Hawk didn’t mind. They were both overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm in the same moment as Thumper’s tongue explored Hawk’s mouth. Hawk spasmed from head to toe.

Cum flew out of both dicks. It was impossible to tell how much came from which person because the flow combined. It jetted over Hawk’s hand and onto Hawk’s flat belly.

It kept flowing too. The smell of cottony cum filled the air, and Hawk imagined he could taste it even though none of it got into his mouth. Tendrils of potent pleasure exploded deep within Hawk’s body. He writhed with exquisite bliss wracking his muscles.

His orgasm seemed to last forever. Hawk knew it didn’t, only because it was almost time for dinner and he hadn’t heard the whistle yet. But time stopped as intense feelings assaulted Hawk’s senses, and Hawk contorted in Thumper’s muscles.

“Ah, god, boy, you got such a nice hand… You make me feel so good…”

Finally they were both done. Somehow they were lying down — Hawk hadn’t remembered doing that, but Thumper wouldn’t have done it since he had promised not to move Hawk when kissing him, so Hawk must have done it — and Thumper sucked on Hawk’s delicate neck.

“I love you, boy,” Thumper said with a growl. “You ain’t gotta say that back to me. I’d appreciate it mightily. I wouldn’t expect you to mean it neither. It won’t be like it is on the outside. I don’t expect no marriage or nothin’. All it means if you say it is that you got love in yo’ heart for me right now, in this moment. Ain’t no kinda commitment. Okay? So when I say I love you, you can decide whether you wanna make me the happiest nigga on Earth by sayin’ it back to me.” He paused and kissed Hawk on the lips. “I love you, boy.”

“I love you too, papi.”

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.”

Twinks Top Too: The Prison Bottom

Here’s the first chapter of Twinks Top Too: The Prison Bottom, the first story in a brand-new series as well as part of Brutewood Minimum Security Penitentiary!

Lao only had two weeks left on his prison sentence, and he had never wanted to leave more badly. He was finally in protective custody, which turned out to be very boring. He had no cellmate, and he was rarely allowed out of his cell.

Not that he was complaining. When he was in general population, and the other inmates had found out he was gay — which happened right away, because Lao was a lithe, limp-wristed twink — he was the victim of a series of cruel attacks. That had been more than a year ago. It felt like much longer than that. He couldn’t believe he had only been in prison for fourteen months.

When his cell door opened up, Lao was shocked even before he saw who it was. Everything at Brutewood prison was regular and predictable, so it wasn’t often that someone came to his cell without it being planned ahead of time.

But this was someone Lao didn’t know, as far as he could remember; it was a black man in a shirt and tie, his clothes awkward and ill-fitting like he didn’t often dress so nicely. He had a smooth chin and cornrows in his hair, which was incongruous, Lao thought, with the more formal clothing. He smiled broadly. “My name is Marcus Greggs,” he said. “I’m a police officer, I work for this prison. I investigate crimes among the inmate population.”

“Oh… You look familiar, do we know each other?” Lao asked. He was excited, glad to be interacting with someone who didn’t want a blowjob. That didn’t happen often.

Lao loved sucking cock. He was a bottom by heart and by nature. He especially loved sucking off big buff black thugs, so when he came to prison, he thought he’d use his cock-sucking to protect himself. He knew he’d be a prison bottom anyway, so he decided to volunteer for it rather than wait for the decision to be made for him. He thought he could get on some important men’s good sides by sucking them off.

That worked for a little while. But they expected him to suck off the whole gang, and Lao hadn’t wanted to do that, at least not every single day. So he had requested protective custody, and as a result, the entire Nine Tats gang had declared Lao persona non grata.

“You might remember me from a few months ago. I carried myself differently then, I didn’t look the same as I do now,” Officer Greggs said. He sighed like he didn’t want to have this conversation. “And I didn’t wear a suit then. I was naked. I was…-“

“You were in the shower!” Lao shouted. He suddenly recalled where he knew Officer Greggs from. He was the thug — Tirade had been his fake name — who had threatened to stab Lao for fun, just to “watch his blood pour down the shower drain”.

Lao recalled the incident well, because it was so scary he had asked for protective custody. He had wanted to suck off Tirade even despite the threat, but it had become apparent that he wasn’t able to suck off just one thug, but not the dozens of men (most of them fat or old or gross or all three) who filled the shower at the same time. That was the final straw, that was when Lao realized he couldn’t handle the mess he had created for himself by volunteering to be a prison bottom.

“That’s right. I went by Tirade then,” he said. “I wanted you to know…” he cleared his throat nervously. “I would never have let them rape you. I knew the guards were coming, they wouldn’t let anything happen-“

“I did get my ass kicked before going to protective custody,” Lao said, crossing his arms over his chest. He had been told that Tirade sent the three thugs who beat Lao within an inch of his life. Now it turned out Tirade was an undercover cop the entire time?

“I know. That’s why I’m here to apologize. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t tell them to do that,” he said. “They thought I wanted to… I played God with your life, Mr. Zhang, and I should not have. I was trying to pass as a gang boss, so I couldn’t show any mercy at the time; I couldn’t let anyone know that I wanted to protect you. I can’t sleep at night because of what I caused to happen to you.” He wiped a tear away.

“Ah, Officer Greggs… Don’t beat yourself up over it-“

“I won’t,” he said. “You can.” He sniffed back his tears and forced a wan smile onto his face.

“What? You want me to beat you up?”

“Uh… Well, not exactly. If that’s what you want to do, that’s fine too. But I came here to apologize to you, in, uh… well, the Brutewood way, I guess you could call it,” he said. He took a deep breath and got on his knees like he was going to beg for forgiveness. “I’ll suck your dick, Mr. Zhang. I know that won’t undo what you went through, but I hope it might make up for it just a little bit.”

Was this really happening? Lao’s heart skipped a beat. He was a thin, weak twink in prison, so he had been sucking a lot of cock and taking more than a few in the ass, but he hadn’t topped anyone since well before coming to Brutewood. Lao was a bottom by nature, so that hadn’t really been a problem, but now that he realized he was going to receive a blowjob, Lao wanted it more than anything.

Officer Greggs sunk to the ground. He opened his mouth even before he pulled Lao’s orange prison pants down, as though he was eager to get started (more likely eager to finish, Lao thought). His muscles rippled beneath his button-down shirt.

“Wait, sweetie, if we’re gonna do it, let’s do it right,” Lao said. He leaned down, intending to kiss Officer Greggs on the forehead. But then it looked like he wouldn’t fight it if Lao kissed him on the lips, so he did that instead.

Officer Greggs had full, plump lips that quivered as he kissed Lao back. Lao pushed his tongue in, but Officer Greggs’ tongue remained limp and only moved around at all after a few minutes of one-sidedly passionate kissing.

Yo, nigga, whatchoo doin’ in there? You fuckin’ that Chinaboi, Greggs? I ain’t think you was that kinda cop.

Undercover piggie! Undercover piggie!

The other inmates on the cell block heard enough to know something was happening, but not enough to figure out what it was — and it would probably never occur to them that Greggs might start sucking Lao’s dick instead of the other way around. It seemed they all hated Greggs, and they all already knew that he had been undercover; Lao, as usual, was the last to find out.

Lao’s pants were around his ankle, his ample cockmeat already rock-hard even as neither he nor Greggs had touched it. Lao pulled his lips away from Officer Greggs’ mouth, and aimed his cock in that direction. Still nervous that this might be a trap, Lao waited for Officer Greggs to open up again and swallow it down.

Bite it off, Lao!

His lips trembling with anxiety, Officer Greggs did force himself to suck down Lao’s dick, after taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He gagged when it hit the back of his throat, but then his whole body relaxed as though it didn’t turn out to be as gross as he had thought it would.

After a few moments of awkward stillness, Officer Greggs moved his head up and down. The motion sent waves of pleasure up Lao’s body as he felt the tight moistness of Greggs’ mouth caress his shaft.

Lao gasped, surprised that Greggs had really gone through with it. He threw his head back and suppressed a moan because he was worried about making it obvious who was on bottom and who was on top. The other inmates would never respect Officer Greggs if they found out he had submitted to an inmate — willingly! — and sucked cock.

But the pleasure that rocked his body now was so intense that Lao struggled to keep quiet. Every fiber of his being wanted to scream and shout, to grab that sexy cornrowed head and ride Griggs like a prison bitch.

“Damn, Officer Greggs, you suck dick like a fuckin’ champion,” Lao said, whispering softly. Greggs looked up at him but didn’t respond. He lips were tightly enclosed around Lao’s throbbing cock.

Soon precum leaked down Greggs’ throat and coated his gullet. He gurgled, again like he hated it though he didn’t fight it or slow down in the slightest. Lao got more and more excited that this was really happening, and his inhibitions diminished.

He grabbed ahold of Officer Greggs’ scalp — after all, this was Brutewood Prison and violent facefucking was the norm here; Lao had rather enjoyed being a prison bottom for that kind of aggressive throat-based copulation, so it made sense to top Greggs in the same way now. Lao moaned as he pistoned his hips and jammed his dick all the way down Greggs’ throat.

He produced copious spit, which dripped onto his button-down shirt until he took it off. Lao loved the sight of his rippling chest, which grew sweaty in the overheated cell as he sucked harder and harder.

Finally Officer Greggs couldn’t take it. He tapped Lao on the asscheeks to signal he needed a break, and Lao pulled off. Greggs gagged and choked, producing a puddle of spit on the floor of the cell. He frowned at himself and looked up to Lao.

He fuckin’ you good, Lao! Report that bastard! You can snitch on a snitch, that’s a rule!

You can’t snitch on a snitch, nigga, that’s still snitchin’. You can stab a snitch. You can shoot a snitch. You can slit a snitch’s throat like he a old sick horse. But no snitchin’, not even here in the snitch’s ward.

“Damn, you taste better than I expected,” he said, breathless and hoarse. “But I wasn’t expecting it to be like that. Your dick didn’t seem that big in the shower.”

Lao blushed. “I mean… I was just doing it like I thought I was supposed to. What were your asking for if not a prison facefucking the Brutewood way.”

He nodded and flared his nostrils. “I did a lot when I was undercover, a lot of things that I feel bad about now. This is how God wishes to punish me,” he said. “So you should do it… however you wish.”

You guys taking a break from yo’ lovemakin’ in there, huh? You bite it off, Lao?

Are you sure that was Lao? His voice sounded too deep to be that prancing Chinaman. Maybe he brought someone else in during the night.

Yo, Greggs, who you fuckin’ right now!?

A part of Lao was insulted by Greggs’ attitude — hadn’t the gay community come far enough that gay sex couldn’t be seen as divine punishment? But prison life was a parade of insults and unfair punishment, so he didn’t think he should say anything. Besides that, he certainly wasn’t going to talk Officer Greggs out of continuing the blowjob.

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, Officer Greggs opened his saliva-and-precum-clogged mouth, which made him gag again. Lao dropped his silky-haired balls in there, and giggled when Officer Greggs trembled. Lao’s ballflesh tingled in his mouth as his day-long layer of sweat dripped down Greggs’ throat. Lao was ticklish, so he couldn’t help but laugh even as pre-orgasmic pleasure ran up his spine from his sensitive scrotum-skin.

“Sorry, sweetie, I just needed a little ball-sucking,” Lao whispered. He put the tip of his dick back in, and Greggs loudly sucked on it. He made a sour face at the taste of precum. Lao closed his eyes and shuddered as potent feelings overcame him, washing over him like a bolt of pain shot through him.

Instincts took over again, and Lao resumed his facefucking. It was an awkward position, with Lao on his toes to reach Officer Greggs’ mouth with his crotch, while Greggs himself had to stoop down unnaturally low. Lao had never felt shorter than he did before coming to Brutewood, where most of the men were giant hulking brutes, but now he felt especially short, like some sort of dwarf trying to make his way in the world of man.

As his orgasm approached, Lao tried to slow himself down. He didn’t want to rush through this, and it felt so good he would have let it last forever if he could. But Officer Greggs sucked like he knew what he was doing, and he slathered spit all up and down the shaft of Lao’s spasming dick. Lao wanted to cum so bad he could explode.

“God damn, Greggs…” Lao blushed and grunted. He had never been this excited during sex before, not even when he lost his virginity. He wasn’t even facefucking Greggs anymore; he just stood there on weak knees while Greggs deep-throated him with every noisy, moist-suckling thrust of his head all the way down on Lao’s spasming cockmeat.

At last, Lao felt his orgasm approach. He wished he could prolong it, but he knew that wasn’t reasonable — this felt entirely too good for him to slow himself down. He could feel the climax slamming into him like a speeding train.

“Here I cum,” Lao said, his voice tense, reedy and pinched because it took all of his concentration to keep his voice down. Even with that, he could tell the inmates in the other cells questioned what was happening; they still didn’t believe that Greggs was on bottom and Lao was on top, but they seemed to accept that whatever was going on was not typical. They hooted and hollered; Lao blushed as he was overwhelmed by orgasm.

He was about to ask Officer Greggs if he was willing to swallow or not — at Brutewood, it was always assumed a prison bitch would swallow but Lao didn’t want to make that assumption — then Lao’s climax surprised him. Lao’s knees buckled and he dug his fingertips into Greggs’ cornrowed head.

A torrent of hot cum sprayed down Greggs’ throat. He gagged and sputtered on it, but he didn’t try to pull away, he just accepted it like a real prison bitch. He let every drop drain down his spasming gullet, and the hot, creamy cum pooled in his belly.

Damn, Lao, he fucked you good!

Greggs, you sound like a faggot when you get a blowjob. You get girls soundin’ like that?

Lao was spent. He couldn’t even think about what to do next. It took all of his focus not to collapse on a sweaty heap on the floor in the center of his cell. He couldn’t even crawl back to his bunk right now. The only thing keeping him upright was the aftershocks of orgasm running through him as his dick slowly softened in the tight warm mouth of Officer Greggs.

Eventually though, Greggs had enough. He removed Lao’s dick and spat what cum remained onto the ground. His light brown skin blushed a deep reddish color as he listened to the other inmates tease whoever had just sucked cock — which they assumed was Lao, but was actually Greggs. Greggs glared at Lao as though this had been Lao’s idea.

“Alright, Mister Zhang,” he said, pulling pubic hairs out of his lips as Lao’s fat cock plopped against Officer Greggs’ rough-hewn face. “That’s enough. I’m sorry I was unable to protect you when I was undercover. My investigation wasn’t worth getting you hurt. But we’re even now; I’m not coming back here again.”

“Okay…” Lao’s voice trailed off as he plopped onto his bunk, stark naked and dazed. He barely even noticed as Officer Greggs fixed his shirt, then took a deep breath and walked out with his head held high.

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.”

Twink on Top: Penal Party

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Penal Party, the hottest story yet in the Twink on Top series! It’s a Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary story, and it’s in the 50 Twinks Top 50 Tops megabundle for a great value.

It was the most enjoyable party Ted Halloway had ever been to. He knew perfectly well that it was only this fun because he had been in prison for a year and a half before it happened. It was the first enjoyable event in his entire time behind bars. So it felt like an evening in heaven.

It helped that there were no women. That meant the biggest alphas and thugs danced with gay girlish twinks like Ted as though he was a girl — Ted didn’t like cross-dressing, so he wasn’t as popular as certain other inmates, but still, he got closer to some sexy men than he had in quite awhile. He even got to kiss an incredibly hot redneck named Bubba, whom Ted had been drooling over for months.

The guards watched like it pained them to see inmates having a good time. Supposedly — Ted wasn’t privy to this because he was a pitiful twinky queer — all of the gangs were told that they’d be punished if anyone got in a fight during the party. That was why it went off without a hitch.

There was no alcohol, but the guards did allow a little weed in for the night. That was probably a wise decision, Ted thought; alcohol would make men fight, but the weed just made them giggle. Without any women among the inmate population, the feminine gays like Ted were treated much like women. He was feted as a queen by the entire prison.

But all good things come to an end, and this penal party was no exception. Ted was disappointed to hear the music come to stop. The guards bellowed at the inmates to head back to their cells Everyone slowly lined up, dragging their feet, grumbling and claiming they weren’t going to stop partying even as they did stop. But a part of Ted was at least happy that the party had gone off without a hitch — there was no fight, no smuggled-in booze, no one got hurt. That meant there was a chance the guards would allow another party in the near-future.

“Halloway, hey, Halloway… Ted!” boomed a male voice. It was one of the guards, Officer Armstrong, who grinned and grabbed Ted off the line. “Come on,” he said.

“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Armstrong said. “You’re gonna have a second little party.”

“Do I have a choice?” Ted wasn’t sure what this was and he was nervous. He didn’t trust Officer Armstrong, whose voice was always menacing. It sounded like a threat even when all he said was it’s going to rain today.

“Well… yeah, I guess,” Armstrong said. “But come see what it is first. You won’t say no. If you refused this, I would be… more shocked than I have ever been in my life.”

It was hard to argue with that, and Ted was intrigued, so he followed Armstrong into an old disused showering area — he didn’t trust Armstrong in general, but he did trust him not to be a murderous psychopath or anything like that; he might strike back extra-judicially against an inmate who had wronged him, not someone easygoing and rule-abiding like Ted. Inside the dingy old shower were a handful more guards, all brimming with nervous smiles, and seated on the ground in the center of the shower, was Chowder.

Chowder was the leader of a gang called the Nineliner Mob. He was white, heavily tattooed, nearly inch of his body covered in Gothic letter, naked ladies, wild animals and an outline of Massachusetts over his left pec. He had a handsome jawline with deep dimples. His broad chest was hairy, and he had developed a six-pack since coming to Brutewood. He was also the tallest inmate in the facility; at nearly seven feet tall, he struggled to fit through doorways and down corridors.

He winced but smiled at Ted. His friendly grin wasn’t unusual — he was outgoing and charming, but he didn’t let that get in the way of business. He was one of the few big alpha males in Brutewood whom Ted had never sucked off. That was because he had a bitch named Sammi, whom Ted hated. Chowder fucked Sammi publicly, hard and often; Ted was jealous because he loved to get fucked hard by alpha thugs like Chowder. Ted normally preferred black thugs, but Chowder was insanely hot and his Boston accent aroused Ted every time he spoke.

“So, uh… Ted,” Chowder said. “I was, uh… I put togethah that pahty. I was… y’know… Uh, I had to arrange it all.” He laughed nervously into his hand.

“Chowder… come on, we ain’t got all day,” Officer Armstrong said. “Don’t drag this out.”

“They said we could have the pahty if I did somethin’ aftah it, to prove I’s really serious about makin’ sure the party was good. I had to show I was gonna make sure it went off without no fightin’ or nothin’,” Chowder said, sucking his teeth every other word. His thick Boston accent made it sound like his mouth was full of cotton balls. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Ted… will you… please fuck me.” The guards all whooped and hollered. Ted blushed even harder than Chowder, who bit his lip. He took Ted’s hand in his like he was gonna propose. “Will you let me suck yo’ dick and take it in the ass and lick yo’ ass but only fo’ five seconds? And no kissing, and no tellin’ nobody aftahwahds.” That sounded like something that had been carefully negotiated with Armstrong.

“Oh wow,” Ted was so excited his knees were weak. He looked to Officer Armstrong, who had a gleeful smile on his face — Chowder was often in trouble for fighting with the guards, so they were understandably glad to watch him get fucked.

Everyone looked at Ted, who didn’t know what he was expected to do. He looked down at his feet, too scared to say anything.

“You gotta say yes,” Armstrong said with a chuckle. “If you wanna do it.”


They all laughed at Ted’s excitement and Chowder sighed again, like he had hoped Ted might say no. He took off the plain blue baseball cap he wore — the only non-religious hat anyone at Brutewood Prison was allowed to wear — and ran his fingers through his clipper-short hair. He sucked his teeth and spat on the ground. He looked at Ted sternly. “No tellin’ nobody. ‘Specially not Sammi. I can’t let her find out I cheated on her.”

“Sure! Okay. I promise, nobody will find out,” Ted said. “I hate Sammi. I never talk to him. I-“

“Call Sammi a her.” Chowder said. He narrowed his eyes to slits, making it clear that was a threat.

Ted gulped. He knew Chowder, like most Brutewood alphas, referred to their bitches as a woman; Ted had simply forgotten because he was so excited. “Okay. Yeah, I won’t tell her. Or anyone else. I swear.”

Chowder stood there, his confidence gone as he very slowly dropped his orange prison jumpsuit. The guards laughed and clapped, hooting like he was a stripper. They demanded he dance as he undressed. “That weren’t paht of the deal,” Chowder said grimly. The guards seemed to accept that, but they had fun cheering him on, pretending he was stripping like a dancer even if he wasn’t.

The sight of his bare chest made Ted’s heart skip a beat. Chowder had been a violent thug, but one of those rather fat swaggalicious men whom Ted thought were hot even if they had a belly. In his time in prison, however, all of that fat had melted away, leaving behind a mass of muscle that bulged from his skin as though begging him to get fat again. Ted had seen him naked in the shower, of course, so this was hardly the first time, but this was closer and more exciting. Ted literally felt drool escaping from his lips as he caught whiff of Chowder’s post-party musk.

“If I evah catch you lookin’ at me in the showah like you lookin’ at me now, I will rip yo’ goddamn ahm off and smack yo’ face off with it,” Chowder said.

“Uh, Chowder-“ Officer Armstrong cleared his throat. “That’s not okay. You can’t control how people look at you.”

“What I can’t control is my reaction when some queehboy look at me like he wanna eat me up,” Chowder said through gritted teeth. “You may not fuck me in yo’ imagination, okay, not aftah today.”


“Fine. I’m sorry, queehboy. Or Ted or whatevah. I ain’t tryin’-a police yo’ mind.” He rolled his eyes at Armstrong’s stern face.

Ted still didn’t quite trust him, but he had already discovered that making it obvious whom he thought was hot was a bad way to stay safe in here. Chowder wasn’t the first prison alpha to forbid anyone from having gay fantasies about him.

“It’s okay. I won’t, Chowder, I promise. My dream man is Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson, and I’m sorry, you’re not hotter than him,” Ted said. That was accurate, at least. Ted blushed as the guards and Chowder all laughed together.

Chowder dropped his dingy prison-issued boxer, which had faded bloodstains ominously covering the crotch area. Ted wondered where that blood had come from. Was it Chowder’s? Probably not, he thought.

“Well, you the queeh, right? How do we proceed?” Chowder scowled.

“Uh… I guess… You should suck my dick,” Ted said. His voice had never sounded so weak and so flamboyantly gay, at least in his mind.

“Hope this party was worth it,” Officer Armstrong said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Get on your knees, Chowder. I mean… Chowdah.”

Chowder glared at him but sunk to his knees. He was nearly seven feet tall, so even on his knees, his face was even with Ted’s shoulders and neck. He was nowhere’s near close enough to suck Ted’s cock.

As Ted dropped his own pants, Chowder slunk lower and lower. In the end he laid on his back, propping himself up with his arms. Ted felt weak and cold, but he was glad no one was looking at his own body, which was skinny, pale and trembling with anxiety. He strained to spread his legs wide enough to straddle Chowder’s chest. He wanted to touch him, but Ted was still nervous about this — if there was one ironclad rule of prison life that nobody ever broke, it was that slim gay weaklings like Ted did not top massive alpha thugs like Chowder.

Yeah, suck it, Chowdah!

Fuck his face, Ted!

“Just foh’ the recahd, I’m doin’ this cuz I want to,” Chowder said. He spat on Ted’s dick. “I could say no. These mothahfuckahs ain’t got proof I agreed to nothin’. And I done it before. Not in prison of couhse, but back in the day, me and my boys shared some blowies on the downlow. Ain’t no shame in that-“

Less gabbin’, more suckin’!

Chowder glared at the guards, but he sighed, and seemed to decide that just going for it was the best way to get started. The longer he drew it out, the more they were going to tease him. He opened his mouth, took a deep breath and closed his lips around the tip of Ted’s dick.

He gagged even before his tongue touched it. He closed his eyes and his entire muscular chest roiled with disgust, but he didn’t slow down even a bit. He let the rest of Ted’s dick slide deeper even as his eyes frantically darted around as though looking for a way to escape.

Almost immediately Ted felt a surge of pride and confidence; he felt better than he ever had since coming to Brutewood, and even before that. He pushed his dick in even deeper, ignoring the angry look in Chowder’s eyes.

“Come on, make more spit,” Ted said, making the guards laugh. “You’ve gotten blowjobs before. You know how to do it.”

Chowder did as he was told, even as his nostrils flared and his eyes filled with hostility. He choked up a mountain of saliva — since he was such a huge man, he produced a truly copious torrent of spit — that dripped down his chin and into his bare crotch.

A shudder of desire ran through Ted’s body as he gripped Chowder’s broad shoulders. His inhibitions melted away. Chowder was crisscrossed with scars and tattoos, including a handful of bullet wounds on his back. Ted reached down to caress his body, savoring the feel of his rippling muscles.

That made precum leak from the tip of his dick, which reawakened a torrent of sputtered gagging from Chowder. The guards laughed and clapped, again hooting and hollering like they were watching a strip show.

Suck that dick/Suck it like I ain’t rich/Suck it like a bitch/Suck it till you sick/Like you ain’t nevuh turn a trick/Yeah, suck that dick

One of the guards was rapping; Ted wasn’t hip enough to know for sure whether he was freestyling or repeating a popular song. It sounded rehearsed though.

Chowder pretended it didn’t bother him, but Ted could feel him bristling at the teasing. It was funny how Ted could sense Chowder’s reactions through his muscles’ twitching and the way his throat clenched around Ted’s spasming cock, like Ted could read Chowder’s mind through his body. Chowder arched his back as he nestled his nose deep in Ted’s crotch, easily deep-throating every inch of Ted’s cock. His new position meant his ass rose in the air.

Ted lusted after it. He couldn’t believe he was going to get to fuck Chowder in that ass, and he wondered if Chowder had ever done it before. He tried to reach but Chowder was too tall for Ted to reach his ass with his dick in Chowder’s mouth.

“Okay, you said you will lick my ass, right?” Ted asked, remembering that suddenly.

Chowder pulled off his dick. Thin tendrils of spit connected his greenish face to Ted’s cockshaft. Chowder grumbled. “Fo’ five seconds, that’s all I agreed to.”

Officer Armstrong laughed. “That’s just a minimum, Chowder. You can lick his ass as long as you want. We got all night.”

“No!” Chowder said.

Ted turned around and bent over as though he was going to get fucked, as that was the only position that raised his ass high enough for Chowder to lick it. Chowder looked away, breathed deeply through his mouth and closed his eyes.

He dove between those cheeks and slammed his tongue in. He was so forceful — and his tongue was so big — that it almost hurt. Chowder rimmed him more aggressively than anyone had ever rimmed him before, and Ted got the impression that Chowder had never done it before, not even on a girl. Chowder definitely enjoyed receiving rimjobs from his bitch and he always demanded more tongue-in-ass action, but since Chowder was so much bigger than Sammi, he needed as much tongue-penetration as possible, as deep and as hard as possible. Now Chowder’s cock-sized tongue shoved into Ted’s ass and explored there, hesitatingly as Ted’s ass-juices smeared over Chowder’s square-jawed face.

Five! Four!

But Ted then felt a ripple of pleasure emanating up his back as Chowder’s tongue explored his prostate. Chowder moaned into his ass and gagged without slowing down. Ted’s eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure walloped his petite frame. Chowder’s tongue suckled every drop of grime out of his ass, even as Chowder himself sputtered and choked on it.

Three! Two! …

The guards conspicuously stopped counting, but Chowder pulled away from Ted’s ass anyway. He spat on the linoleum shower floor. He wiped his face off with one hand, and his chin waggled but he kept it together. He sniffed, pointedly ignoring the guards as they cheered. He glanced over and saw one of the guards had bared his hairy ass — extremely hairy, nearly gorilla-like — and winked his asshole in Chowder’s direction.

If you enjoyed that, give Officer Torelli a try! He got all the ass-hair you could eat, boi! He be a ass-buffet for ya!

Chowder grimaced and looked away. He sighed as he stroked Ted’s dick with one meaty callused hand. It was the worst handjob of Ted’s life, but it was also somehow the greatest, its lack of rhythm and rough texture sending shockwaves of bliss through Ted’s body while slowing down his arousal enough that he was no longer nearly ready to blow his load.

Time for the ass, Chowder!

Give up the booty!

Chowder snarled at the guards. He turned around and bent over. His initial position was laughably impossible — he simply put his hands on the floor, sticking his ass in the air so high Ted’s short little body couldn’t even reach it. Ted had to stand on his toes to touch Chowder’s asscheeks and tap them, signaling him to lower himself.

Best get down lower, or we gonna need a winch and a pulley to do this right.

Chowder dropped to all fours. He had a nice plump ass, just enough padding for Ted’s taste — a remnant of when Chowder was fat-bodied in his pre-prison life. There was a tattoo on his left asscheek, an arrow pointing to his asshole and the words Cop Kissing Zone.

Ted separated those thick blubbering cheeks; at first it was difficult because Chowder instinctively flexed his cheeks, keeping them tight, but he forced himself to relax. His crack was lined with sweat-matted hair. Each of Chowder’s asscheeks was bigger than Ted’s head, making Ted feel truly tiny by comparison. He took a deep breath and pushed his dick in.

Chowder bit his lip so hard it drew blood. He breathed through his nose and snorted like a rampaging bull. His face turned bright red from both pain and humiliation. The muscles of his back tensed, lines flexing and curving, distorting the tattoos as he stretched.

Lookit him take it! Like a bitch!

Damn I wish we could fuckin’ tape this. Put it on the Internet, make a goddamn fortune.

“You bettah not!” Chowder said, but for once his voice was not bristling with confidence and machismo. It sounded like a whine, not a threat. He hung his head.

Ted hadn’t topped anyone since before he came to prison, so this was a refreshing experience for him. He pushed his dick in deeper and deeper, using copious lube (which was provided by Officer Armstrong — that seemed sweet, Ted thought, he didn’t need to do that; prisoners usually used hog fat from the prison kitchen, so Armstrong was being nice by providing actual lube). Chowder’s ass was clearly virgin, so tight that Ted struggled to shove every inch in his hole.

Chowder was on all fours, so the more powerfully Ted slammed into his ass, the more Chowder was forced to lower himself. He winced and dropped his hips, making it easier for Ted to fuck him harder. To his credit, Chowder managed to take every inch even though it was obviously difficult for him.

That hairy Italian guard had his dick out now, wagging it in front of Chowder’s face. Ted couldn’t hear his words because he was overwhelmed by pleasure and the boisterous laughter of the other guards drowned out the hairy guard, but it was clear he politely offered Chowder to suck his dick. Chowder just blushed and kept his eyes pointed away, even as the guard followed his face with his massive, uncut Italian cock.

Eventually Ted was just on top of Chowder, his feet no longer on the floor at all. Chowder’s broad muscles rippled beneath Ted’s face, and he licked the salty sweat that beaded on his skin. Chowder writhed beneath him.

Ted didn’t know how normal this was — he had only ever topped with thin gay twinks like him. He felt like a weird circus novelty, like a midget fucking a strongman to a shocked crowd. Chowder panted like a dog beneath him.

“God-damn, man,” Chowder said, his fingers and toes curling as though trying to dig into the linoleum floor of the prison shower.

Yeah! Get ‘im good, Teddy!

Lookit his little body on top of Chowder. Looks like a kid whose big bro is lettin’ him beat him up.

Ted blushed at the guards’ closeness. They were peering into Chowder’s ass as though they had never seen anal sex before and weren’t sure what was actually happening. Ted was a private person by nature — the public nudity, showering and toilet use of prison life had been difficult for him to adjust to — so having an audience like this was nerve-wracking for him.

His orgasm came on too soon. Ted was disappointed, but not surprised. As he felt it arising deep within him, Ted wasn’t even sure how long it had been — it felt like just a few minutes, but at the same time, it felt like hours. Surely Chowder would have complained if it had taken that long though, he thought.

The most powerful orgasm of his life ran through him. Ted’s entire body shook and trembled, and he moaned so loud he blushed as the guards erupted in a mixture of embarrassed grunts and excited shouts.

Cum sprayed within Chowder’ ass, a thick and copious loud that filled up every inch of his insides. Chowder moaned too, matching Ted’s voice, and he buried his face in his forearm. Then he grabbed the blue baseball cap he had thrown on the ground, and he buried his face in that instead.

One of the guards pulled the cap away and looked Chowder in the eye. Chowder’s red face was tense and a few tears of pain and embarrassment drifted down his cheek.

“Who’s the pussy-faced bitch now?” the guard asked. “Hope the party was worth it.” Chowder snarled and grabbed his hat back as his ass clenched again around Ted’s dick.

Exhausted, Ted fell back. His ass plopped out of Chowder’s ass, and Chowder breathed a sigh of relief. He stood and blushed as the guards laughed at the river of cum dripping down his trunk-like, tattooed thighs.

“Hey!” Chowder barked. “We said no bringin’ it up again after it’s done.”

“Ain’t done yet,” Officer Armstrong said. “It ain’t done until you both get your clothes on. Whatchoo think, Chowder? Was the party worth it?”

Chowder hurriedly threw his underwear on, wincing when he accidentally touched his ass and reawakened a torrent of sensitive pain. He put his jumpsuit on and then hurriedly slipped into his shoes when the guards made it clear they counted that as well. “Yeah,” Chowder said. “The party was totally worth it.”

Ted slow-walked it, both because he didn’t mind the guards teasing Chowder and because he was too overwhelmed to really focus on anything but the aftershocks of orgasmic pleasure wracking his body. But when Chowder was done and he saw Ted wasn’t, he shot him a few dirty looks until Ted jumped in action.

Soon they were both dressed. Ted still felt weak-limbed from the power of his climax, and he could still taste Chowder’s back-sweat in his mouth.

True to their word, the guards stopped teasing as soon as both inmates were dressed again. There was still some scattered laughter, especially when Chowder winced and skipped a step while he walked towards the door behind Officer Armstrong.

“Hey, if you want — and you don’t think Sammi will mind — you can fuck me later. As hard as you want,” Ted said. “If that, y’know, makes you feel better.”

“I know I can.” Chowder’s voice dripped with menace. “I will.”

Ted smiled. That promised to be almost as good as what had just happened. He couldn’t wait. The next couple days promised to be exciting.

The Reacharound Game: At Brutewood Prison

Here’s the first chapter from The Reacharound Game: At Brutewood Prison, a new novelette from Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary. It’s the hot tale of a pair of cellmates who play a uncontrollably sexy game!

Jake was expecting to be afraid when he was shoved into the prison cell that was to be his home for seven years, but he was not expecting how pervasive the terror was in him. He panicked like he had never panicked before. He wasn’t sure how obvious it was to his new cellmate either; he tried to maintain a tough façade.

The cell was a tiny rectangle with a toilet and two bunks. Pictures of naked black women with plump asses plastered the walls and ceiling. It smelled strongly of sweat, and faintly of cum. Jake’s cellmate sat on the top bunk.

He was a towering figure, Harmey was his name. He had a big shaved head and a squat nose, dark brown skin and bulging muscles. Jake had been assured that he’d be given a cell with a fellow Nine Tat, which meant he’d be safe, yet he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Harmey glared at Jake as though he already hated him.

“Yo,” Jake said. He nodded at Harmey, who nodded back.

That was the extent of their interaction for the next two hours. Jake lay on the bottom bunk. He hadn’t “unpacked” the tiny number of items he was allowed yet. He didn’t want to do it at first because he was too nervous, his hands would have been shaking, and then he thought he could save it so he’d have something to do when the boredom began to get to him.

A moist smacking sound began above him. Jake had no idea what it was at first, then realized it could only be his cellmate masturbating. He gulped and blushed. He should have known something like this would happen, but he had been predicting much worse things than masturbation — he supposed all cellmates must go through this eventually. It was really a pretty minor indiscretion, even if it seemed like the most disgusting thing he had ever experienced right now. He wondered if he should say something.

“So, whatchoo in for?” Harmey asked.

Jake felt too awkward to answer. Was Harmey really trying to have a conversation while he masturbated?

When Jake didn’t answer, Harmey spoke louder. “Huh? Nigga? Whatchoo doin’ down there? You jackin’ off? You wanna have a circlejerk?”

“Uh… no,” Jake said. “I’m… I’m in for possession. Cocaine, and a gun.”

“Uh-huh. You a Nine Tat, right?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Are you beatin’ yo’ meat up there?”

“Yeah. You wanna suck it?”


“Cuz I let you suck it anytime, boi. No problem. You ain’t even got to ask, you can just start doin’ it.”


“A’ight,” he said with a chuckle. “Yo’ loss.”

“Do you have to do that, uh, now?”

“Ain’t got to, no. Is there a better time for you, nigga? You want me to schedule it with yo’ secretary?”

“Why are you talking to me while you jack off?”

“Just gettin’ two things done at once, nigga,” he said. “I ain’t gonna rape you. You ain’t gotta worry about that. I ain’t a rapist.”

“Good to know.”

“I do play the Reacharound Game. Anyone told you ‘bout that?” He asked. Then he paused and moaned. Jake’s skin crawled as he realized Harmey was orgasming. His big body shifted its weight on the bunk above Jake, who closed his eyes. The sour, acrid smell of cum filled the room, and Jake felt like he was inhaling Harmey’s semen. Harmey grunted like an angry hog. “Huh? You know what the Reacharound Game is?”


“It ain’t really a game, that’s just what we call it,” Harmey said. “If you join in, then you can fuck me in the ass at night. But you gotta give a reacharound, and you gotta let me get yo’ booty too, next time. I’ll give you a reacharound too. We switch off, so one night you gimme a reacharound, next night I do-“


“You ain’t wanna play? Nobody’ll judge you for it. That’s a rule around here. You don’t lose no respect if you get fucked at night, wit’ a reacharound. Ain’t nobody s’posed to know, that’s a rule too, but there ain’t no privacy. So they gonna know-“

“No. I don’t wanna play.”

“You don’t wanna fuck?


“You will. You can change your mind, nigga. You just lemme know. You can fuck me whenever you need to, I’ll let you be on top first,” he said. “I hope you do join in. You look like you got a nice ass.” He jumped down from his bunk.

The sheen of cum on his chest and belly was bright, attention-grabbing, and the smell grew strong now that he was near Jake’s bed. That made Jake gag and look away. “Damn, nigga…”

“You squeamish, huh? You one of dem squeamish niggas?” Harmey asked. He laughed and jutted his cum covered-chest forward, towards Jake in his bunk. One drop of pearly cum landed on the edge of his bunk, and Jake watched it dry there with unabashed horror. Harmey wiped his chest off with a wad of toilet paper.

“You one of dem nasty niggas.” Jake said. He shook his head, but smiled too, along with Harmey. He was beginning to feel better about Harmey, who, despite his size and tough mien, seemed like a jolly sort of man.

After that, Harmey started talking about his wife. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a year, but he said he knew she was keeping herself ready for him. He said he’d fuck the shit out of her when he got out, even if that didn’t happen until he was old and gray. Jake was glad he was friendly, even if he was also gross and seemed to talk a lot about his dick.

Then came lunch and an afternoon in the rec yard, followed by dinner. They ate at five o’clock and the morning meal wasn’t until seven the next morning, so it would be fourteen hours before he ate again. Jake knew he would be very hungry by then, so he forced himself to eat every bite of the rancid-tasting dinner.

By the time night arrived and the lights turned out, Jake felt more at home and less nervous. He was beginning to think he’d be alright. But one problem that had been more serious than he thought was his horniness. He had assumed he wouldn’t feel horny at all, at least not until he had been away from females for a few months.

The naked women all over the walls made it tough to concentrate. Jake was constantly just a bit aroused, daydreaming about any of those models sucking him off, bending over in front of him and showing off their tits. He wanted to fuck more than anything.

On the outside, he regularly went a few days, even weeks, without sex. But now, in here, he was feeling horny even though it had only been a few weeks since he got locked up in jail before his trial. He wanted to ask if he could pull the pictures down, but he knew Harmey would say no, would call him gay and that nobody else would back him up. Who didn’t want to look at naked women?

He decided to just play the Reacharound Game. It couldn’t be that bad, he thought. He’d had sex with a male friend once when they both very drunk and horny — that was just shared blowjobs, but still, he thought he’d be able to handle it. It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

He stood up. Was Harmey asleep? He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t sure how to begin.

“I know what you want,” Harmey said with a chuckle, his deep voice resonant in the tiny cell. It sounded like he had been awake all along, like he had assumed Jake would change his mind tonight. He sat up and grinned. “Go’n and put the curtain up.”

Jake sighed and did so. There was a spare sheet, which he taped up to conceal them from prying eyes outside the cell. Jake’s hands shook. He wondered if anyone outside the cell knew why he was doing hanging a curtain.

He shouldn’t be too nervous, he thought. This wasn’t the first time he’d had sex with a man. He’d never given a reacharound though. He couldn’t help but feel like if he didn’t do this perfectly, Harmey would tell the others that Jake wasn’t a real man. The possibility that he’d be too nervous to even get a hardon occurred to Jake; he was horny, but what if that wasn’t enough?

By the time the curtain was up, Harmey was out of his bunk and on all fours on the ground. He was stark naked, his giant brown body stretching as he spread his legs. Jake was quite a bit shorter and skinnier than Harmey, so getting behind him was awkward. He had to stand on his toes.

“Don’t forget, you gotta give a reacharound,” Harmey muttered.

“I will…” Jake’s voice sounded weak in his own mind. He hoped no one else heard him. He used his left hand to guide his dick in, while his right roamed around to the front of Harmey’s body. Touching him like this felt very intimate, and reminded Jake of how much bigger Harmey was than himself.

When his cock finally entered, Harmey grunted and Jake shuddered. It felt nothing like a woman’s ass, he thought, all those gay men were lying about that. Harmey’s crack was choked with hair, the cheeks cold and plump, but the inside was hot and tight just like any woman’s. If he could just ignore the ass itself and focus on Harmey’s hole, this might be easy, Jake thought.

Harmey’s dick throbbed, thick and fat in Jake’s fingers. Jake shuddered. He had circlejerked once with his old basketball team, so this wasn’t the first time he touched another man’s cock. But he had never touched a big old horse-dick like this, and he had never felt so intimate with a man.

Harmey’s muscles felt even bigger than they looked, especially in this position, with Jake’s arms wrapped around his body. Harmey had hair on his chest, coarse and kinky, and there were even a few stray hairs extending over his shoulder. Jake’s face mashed into the man’s meaty back as he pounded away at his ass.

“Damn, nigga, you fuck like a champion,” Harmey said, grunting in a combination of pleasure and pain. Something slick covered Jake’s fingers, and it took him a moment to realize it was Harmey’s precum. A part of his mind thought that was disgusting, but his body didn’t quite react that way — he focused more on the pleasure accruing in his dick, which throbbed in Harmey’s tight ass. Jake thought he could learn to enjoy this before he was released.

The more he got into it, the more he was able to forget about the hair and the meaty muscles beneath his arms. Then it was more like fucking a woman, a giant woman with a powerful ass.

His pleasure was intense enough that Jake could forget the dick in his hand as well. Harmey’s cock was huge and thick; Jake couldn’t even get his hand all the way around the shaft. But it was enough to get Harmey hard, it seemed, and he even moaned in a combination of both pleasure and pain.

An orgasm ripped through Jake’s body. He groaned, resting his face on Harmey’s rippling back so he could muffle the sound. Hot cum flew into Harmey, who grunted as well, his body writhing beneath Jake. Semen dripped out and down his powerful thighs.

Jake wanted to ask if he was supposed to pull out and focus entirely on jacking Harmey off, or if Harmey just wanted to finish himself off. But before he opened his mouth, he felt Harmey’s entire body throb. Harmey’s muscles flexed all at once, and he let out a long, low groan.

Jake shuddered when he realized Harmey was orgasming right now, with Jake’s dick growing limp in his ass. He kept stroking by habit and instinct, as he felt Harmey’s balls crawl up in his sac. His shaft pulsated with cum flowing through it. It was almost like a second orgasm, one he experienced vicariously through the undulations of Harmey’s body on Jake’s dick and in his arms.

Then his semen sprayed over Jake’s hand and onto the floor. The smell of cum was thick and cloying, and it made Jake dizzy. He wanted to stop but he had a feeling that would anger Harmey, so he kept on stroking. Harmey’s floppy horse-cock rapidly limpened in Jake’s fingers.

At last it was all over. Jake tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal that his hand was covered in cum. He wiped it off with toilet paper, while Harmey chuckled and stood there in the center of the cell. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers.

“Thanks,” Jake said.

“Nah, thank you,” Harmey said. He winced in pain as he rubbed his sore ass. “I’m gonna love turnin’ this around and fuckin’ you, boy. That’ll be nice. I’m gonna fill you up till it comes out yo’ ears.”

Str8 Till Dark: Cellmates

Here’s a story called Str8 Till Dark: Cellmates, one of the tales in the new, best-selling Str8 Till Dark series! This one is about macho rednecks getting freaky behind bars…

Tim had fallen asleep quickly for the first night since he got to Brutewood Prison — or really, for the first time since he was arrested. That was because he had finally completed his initiation into the Ivory Way. His head was freshly shaved, his skin prickling sensitively in the chilly air of the prison cell.

He wasn’t really racist and he didn’t feel good about the things he had said to fit in, but he had always known he would have to join a gang to survive here. Given that he was a slim white man with no ties to the Italians or any other gang, he had no choice but to join up with the Ivories.

His cellmate, who slept above him, was a tall, wiry hillbilly-turned-prison-thug named Stumbler. Tim got the impression he didn’t really buy into the Aryan ideology of the Ivory Way either, but he was a loyal lieutenant. He was, in a sense, Tim’s boss, and also his chief protector; he had assured Tim that he’d be safe as long as he was loyal to the Ivory Way.

So when Tim awoke to the sound of Stumbler climbing down from his bunk, he assumed the man was going to the toilet. Instead, he lifted the blanket off Tim’s body and climbed into the bunk next to him, carrying the sheet and blanket from his own bed with him.

“Hey, I’m cold, my brother,” Stumbler said. He sounded sleepy, and a bit bashful. “Lemme in here.”

Tim’s heart pounded. Was Stumbler about to hurt him? He had seemed friendly all along, and the Ivory Way steadfastly forbade all manner of homosexuality, including rape, no exceptions. That was the one part Tim basically agreed with.

“Relax, everyone does this here, it’s cold. We gotta share heat, not a big deal,” he said. He added his blankets on top of their bodies. “We got twice as many blankets if we double up, hoss. No homo.”

It was cold, Tim thought, he had been shivering as well. He nodded, blushing but glad that Stumbler couldn’t see it. Tim made sure to face Stumbler, so that they wouldn’t be ass-to-crotch. He had been assured no one raped the Ivories, but still, he wanted to be certain he wasn’t making it easy, just in case Stumbler wanted to make an exception.

Of course, once he was in that position, he wasn’t sure it was what he really wanted — it felt rather like making out. Tim’s face was just inches from Stumbler’s scruffy tanned cheeks. He could smell the man’s deodorant and feel his chest hair rubbing against Tim’s flesh.

“You see that new guard today? The blonde?” Stumbler asked once he settled in, blankets covering both men, their body heat mingling in the stony cell. “Damn, I wanted to fuck that bitch, hoss. I would fuck her hard! Any hole she want.”

“Yeah, she was pretty hot,” Tim said, too nervous to really think about what Stumbler was saying. He didn’t remember seeing any blonde guard.

“You happy about joinin’ the Ivory Way?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Stumbler smiled. It was too dark for Tim to see his face, but he could sense Stumbler’s grizzled face move. They were so close that Tim could feel the man’s smile in the pattern his breath made when it condensed on his cheek. Stumbler said, “I know that ain’t true. You ain’t really racist, is you, hoss?”

“Well… I meant what I said. I swore loyalty to the organization.”

“You did what you needed to do,” Stumbler said. He reached up and rubbed Tim’s freshly-shaved head. He chuckled when Tim winced and moved his head. “You look good with a shaved head. I bet you’s cold though. You wanna put yer head under the covers?”

He did, very much so, but Tim shook his head. He could live with a cold head. He wasn’t sure what Stumbler would do to him under the covers. Stumbler’s head had been shaved, but not that recently; he at least had a little insulation on his head, not to mention a thicker build overall.

“Does everyone really share a bunk when it’s cold?” Tim asked.

“Yeah. Ain’t no one really admit it, but they all do it,” Stumbler said. “Now come on, relax. I ain’t gonna rape ya, okay. The Ivory Way don’t allow that one bit.”

“Yeah. I’m glad.”

“If you decide to fuck around, y’know, that’s different-“


“Relax, Tim. It’s your choice,” he said, then laughed as he placed one hand on Tim’s asscheek and squeezed. Tim yelped instinctively moved away from his hand, which meant he scooted closer to Stumbler’s body.

Tim’s dick, in his sweatpants, touched Stumbler’s, in his pants. Tim’s chest bumped up against Stumbler’s, and he felt twinges of inadequacy. Stumbler had a big, powerful chest and a thick, long cock. Tim was lean and, while he had a substantial cock, it was nowhere’s near as big as Stumbler’s.

“Relax, Timmy, relax,” Stumbler said. “Keep it quiet… Don’t attract attention from the guards. I ain’t gonna rape ya, I’m just playin’.” But he kept his hand on Tim’s ass, and even caressed it as he whispered in Tim’s ear. “We ain’t gonna tell no one what happens in the cell when the lights go out. Nobody need to know we share a bunk.”

“Are you really racist?” Tim asked, hoping to change the subject from rape to anything more comfortable. Stumbler had a Confederate flag tattoo on his bicep, but no swastikas or anything like that. He was not as scary as the other skinheads; he seemed more like a lovable muscle-bound redneck. He said he drank a lot on the outside, but Tim thought he was probably one of those overly gregarious drunks.

“Nah, I don’t believe in any kinda white power nonsense,” Stumbler said. “If you tell anyone that, I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t.”

“We both had to join up for protection, hoss,” Stumbler said. “In this place, you gotta do whatever you gotta do to survive, to protect yer body, and yer mind. You understand that, son?”

“Yeah. I get that. You gotta do what you gotta do,” Tim said.

“That’s right,” Stumbler said, his voice low and slow. Then he added, “Hoss.”

Tim realized as a silence overtook the cell that Stumbler was stroking his own dick. Tim gulped and tried to move away, but he was at the very edge of the bunk. Stumbler’s hand, resting on Tim’s ass, pulled him closer. Stumbler’s dick was out of his sweatpants now, and it jabbed into Tim’s crotch.

“Sssh,” Stumbler said. “I need to get my nut off, or I’ll go crazy. You wanna play with it?”


“Sssh… Before you answer, lemme remind you of a couple things. First, you gonna get so horny here yer balls are gonna burst, if you don’t start stroking yerself off. Second, you gonna go crazy if you only jack off and never get to show any affection with anyone. Third, I ain’t gonna rape ya, son,” he said. He slipped one of his big callused mitts down Tim’s pants and grabbed his dick. He whistled in an obviously patronizing way. “You got some meat there, boi.”

“Uh, Stumbler, uh…”

“You can tell me to stop,” Stumbler said, “any time you want.” But he didn’t stop, and Tim couldn’t bring himself to say it. Stumbler’s hand stroked Tim’s meat until it was hard.

Tim held his breath, too nervous to think, the Stumbler’s sweat assaulting his senses when he did force himself to inhale. A part of him wanted to say no, but he knew Stumbler was right — he’d need to do something to get his rocks off, and this was about as good as anything. Tim had circlejerked with his friends a few times, so it wasn’t like he had never touched a cock before in his life. And a part of him was afraid that if he said no, Stumbler would just decide to rape him; maybe it would be easier, he thought, to give in. He could draw a line at handjobs, he decided. Stumbler probably didn’t intend to go any farther than anyway, he hoped.

As if Stumbler knew what he was thinking, he grabbed Tim’s hand, gently but firmly. He pulled it to Stumbler’s warm crotch, and wrapped his fingers around his cock.

“Sssh, relax, it’s okay… No homo, Timmy…”

Stumbler’s cock was thick and greasy and hoggish, and Tim wanted to let go. But pleasure pulsated up his body from Stumbler’s hand on his dick; Tim didn’t want that feeling to stop, so he kept stroking.

Stumbler groaned. The low, mind-melting sound made Tim’s remaining hairs stand on end. It sounded like Stumbler was making love, he thought, and it became even grosser moments later when Stumbler’s hairy body began humping. His hips flexed and his dick spasmed in Tim’s hand.

“Feels good, don’t it?”

Tim blushed and mumbled his agreement. A few drops of sticky precum lubricated his fingers.

“Everyone thinks getting a handjob from a man is pointless. You might as well stroke yourself off, right? But that ain’t right, at least, not in this place. You need some affection, Timmy,” he said. “Or you go loco.” Then he leaned in and kissed Tim on the lips, his scratchy beard rubbing against Tim’s cheeks.

It was a quick, chaste kiss. Then Stumbler pulled away. His hand sped up his stroking. He smiled and looked deeply into Tim’s eyes, as though trying to seduce him. Tim held his breath, waiting for Stumbler to say something else.

But it seemed he was waiting for Tim to complain, and when he didn’t, Stumbler kissed him again. This time, he used his tongue.

It was a long, slow, passionate kiss now, and his muscular tongue pushed into Tim’s mouth. His hand dropped Tim’s dick as Stumbler swooned and pushed Tim onto his back. Stumbler mounted his body as though going to have sex with a woman, so both crotches lined up.

“Put yer hands on my ass,” he said breathlessly.

Tim couldn’t think of anything but the precummy mess in his crotch. Both dicks rubbed against each other, leaking their fluids onto his skin. Stumbler’s seemed impossibly hard and thick, like a weapon clubbing Tim’s dick into submission. Unable to think of a way to say no, Tim put both hands on Stumbler’s plump, hairy cheeks.

Stumbler crooned right in Tim’s ear, which made Tim shudder. He found his hands moving of their own accord, caressing Stumbler’s ass. Stumbler kissed him again and again, and that was all Tim could think about. Stumbler reached behind himself and moved Tim’s hand from his cheek to his crack.

“You can put your pinkie in if you want,” Stumbler said.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to, but before Tim even decided not to, his finger did. His pinkie plunged into Stumbler’s ass, and Stumbler bucked. His dick spasmed and leaked even more copious precum into Tim’s crotch.

“You ain’t gonna tell no one about fingerfucking me, right?”

“No way. What happens in the cell, stays in the cell,” Tim said nervously.

“Good,” Stumbler said. His kisses moved to Tim’s smooth neck, and he licked a trail down to Tim’s nipples.

Then Stumbler’s ass squeezed around Tim’s fingers as though not going to let him go. That distracted Tim from what was happening — Stumbler simply picked him up in those big redneck arms and flipped him over. His finger was out of Stumbler’s ass, his own ass bare and right under Stumbler’s throbbing cock.

Before Tim could say anything, Stumbler had angled his dick in and pushed just the first millimeter or so inside Tim’s ass. Then he paused. Tim yelped and squealed, squirming beneath Stumbler’s hairy body.

“Sssh, sssh, Timmy,” Stumbler said like a father reassuring his son during a thunderstorm. “I ain’t gonna rape ya, okay? I promise. I said that. Can you say it too?”

“What?” Tim’s voice sounded weak. The pain in his ass was negligible at this point, it was only the tip of Stumbler’s cock inside him. But he felt burning humiliation, and he was so terrified of what might happen next that he didn’t know what to say. “I know this isn’t-“

“Say Stumbler won’t rape me.”

“Stumbler won’t rape me.” Tim said. “I know that. Can you-?”

“Sssh, ssh, let’s talk,” Stumbler said. “You know I’ll give you a reacharound anytime we fuck.”


“Sssh. And you can always say no,” he said. “But we need this, Timmy. You’re so pretty and smooth, and in the dark you kinda feel like a girl.”


Stumbler reached for something up on his bunk, or on the shelf next to it. Then his fingers slathered something cold on Tim’s ass. Tim writhed again in discomfort.

“Sssh, this’ll warm up soon, and then it’ll feel good. It’s hog fat, from the kitchen. It melts from body temperature, Timmy, and we’re both so hot here, snug as bedbugs together, ain’t we?”


“Sssh. It ain’t gonna hurt bad, son,” Stumbler said, his mouth hovering just above Tim’s ear, his warm breath condensing there. “I’m just gonna make love to ya. We ain’t nevuh gonna talk about this outside of the cell, okay?”

“Okay, but go easy on me…“ Tim really didn’t mind the idea of it — he was no homophobe — and he trusted Stumbler to keep it a secret, so he reasoned it wasn’t a boundary he had sworn to never cross. As long as he wasn’t actually treated like a prison punk, he’d be okay, he thought to himself over and over as he submitted.

Then Tim bit his lip as another surge of pain hit him. The hog fat did help, but Stumbler began pumping his dick in deeper and deeper. While it wasn’t pure agony, the pressure was intense and Tim could do little more than bite the pillow.

“You know what downlow means?”


“The colored gangs say it. When two guys fuck on the downlow, it means it don’t count. The bottom ain’t a bitch,” Stumbler said. “They just need to get their nuts off, so they fuck. That’s what we’re doin’. We’s making love on the downlow, Timmy. You’re so pretty and delicate. I’d never hurt you. You believe me?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim said. He grunted, trying to clear his mind so he could decide what to do. His whole body spasmed then as Stumbler grabbed his dick and gave it a stroke. A bolt of pleasure shivered up Tim’s spine, even as pain radiated from his ass.

“See, a reacharound? We’s gonna be moister than a Louisiana croc farm, son, this is nice, ain’t it?”

“It kinda hurts…”

“It always hurts the first time. You’ll get looser.”

Tim opened his mouth to respond — he wanted to point out that Stumbler had promised not to hurt him just seconds ago, and that he didn’t want to get looser — but the pressure and the pleasure grew more intense, and all he could do was bite his pillow. He grunted and gasped, embarrassed that his own cock was still leaking precum even as he was fucked.

“Don’t make a lotta noise,” Stumbler said. “We can’t let no one know what’s happenin’ here. I won’t tell no one if you won’t. We each got somethin’ to lose, right? You put a finger in me too, remembuh?”

That didn’t quite seem like equal dirt, but Tim didn’t have the wherewithal to speak. He writhed beneath Stumbler’s rapidly strengthening fucking.

The feel of the bigger man’s rippling muscles and coarse mat of chest hair made Tim’s stomach churn, especially combined with the smell of the man’s sweat as he smeared it over Tim’s body. He grunted and heaved his breath onto Tim’s face with every thrust. From where Tim was, it was impossibly loud; Stumbler sounded like a rutting pig.

He licked Tim’s face too, as he drilled his dick deep within Tim’s intestines. He moaned exquisite but indecipherable syllables in Tim’s ear and licked his face until spit dripped in rivulets onto Tim’s pillow.

“Here it comes, sweetheart, kiss me,” Stumbler said, then kissed Tim on the lips. There was something about the way he said sweetheart that made Tim want to gag. His tongue explored the depths of Tim’s throat. Stumbler stopped moving just as the orgasm roiled through him, and he let out low, loose sigh right into Tim’s ear.

Seconds later, cum erupted deep within him. Tim had never experienced anything like that. It felt like some alien device was malfunctioning in his body, spewing grease everywhere. Its warm creaminess spread to every corner of Tim’s body; he could have sworn he felt it flowing to his arms, his feet, and everywhere else.

But the most disturbing part of it, Tim thought, was the way he felt the orgasm in Stumbler’s body. He felt Stumbler’s pecs tighten, his breathing stop momentarily. His toes curled around Tim’s feet, and his hands dropped Tim’s body to clench the mattress beneath him.

Then it was over, but Stumbler didn’t stop humping, even as his dick got limp inside Tim. Instead, he focused on stroking Tim off even more enthusiastically. He used both hands, one on Tim’s root and one stroking the shaft.

“Now it’s yer turn, Timmy…”

Despite the pain and the embarrassment, Tim felt his orgasm coming on quickly. He felt pleasure deep in his ass, not that he would ever admit it, and when the climax finally came, it was more potent than he ever thought it would be.

It was also more painful than he ever thought it would be. Tim grunted as his body moved, causing fresh spasms of pain to shoot up his spine from his tender asshole.

Hot cum sprayed up his chest and into Stumbler’s hand. Stumbler kept going like a professional, even as Tim’s orgasmic bliss turned to overly sensitive writhing.

Then at last Stumbler pulled out. His limp, greasy cock wedged between Tim’s cheeks. He held his cum-coated hand in front of Tim’s mouth as though going to make him eat it, but then he didn’t.

“Timmy, I’m gonna do something serious to show you how serious I am ‘bout what happened here tonight,” Stumbler said, his voice low and grim. Then as Tim watched, he stuck each of his cummy fingers in his mouth, one after the other. A few drops got stuck in his scruffy chin hair.

He gagged profusely, from the moment he tasted Tim’s cum. He also growled in a seductive way, but his whole body twisted as his stomach churned. Tim thought he might even vomit, but Stumbler held it together.

At last his hand was clean, and he wrapped his arms around Tim’s shoulders. That forced Tim to use the man’s biceps as a pillow, and he could taste Stumbler’s sweat-matted chest hair in his mouth.

“You got any questions, Timmy?”

“Questions? … No, that was okay, really. You really won’t tell no one?”

“On my mama’s grave, son,” Stumbler said. “We’s all done. We ain’t gonna talk about this again. Tomorrow night, when I fuck you, I’m gonna ask if you’s a virgin. You say yes, okay?”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

“Good. You always say yes, Timmy.”