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A Prison Bitch Rimjob Raunch Tale

Here’s the first chapter of A Prison Bitch Rimjob Raunch Tale, a hardcore tale that features nonconsenting situations! Do not read this! It contains rape, and the novelette only gets more extreme from there!

Eddie walked into the cell block stark naked, carrying his prison uniform in a box. He knew the guards did that to make him look vulnerable to the other inmates. It was a power game. He resolved not to play it.

He thought he could hold his own in this place. He wasn’t very big, but he wasn’t a weakling either. He was sure there would be weaker men than he.

As he saw his new cellmates, he was no longer so sure. He was by far the smallest. All twelve men in this cell were black — including Eddie — but Eddie was shorter than any of them and skinnier by far. His heart thudded as they all looked at him.

He nodded and muttered a hello, but he didn’t talk to anyone. He sauntered straight to the unused bunk. No one stopped him so he sat down. He slowly got dressed, not wanting to look like he was afraid.

“Hey nigga,” said one of the other inmates. He was tall, a little older than the rest, but built like an athlete. He had broad shoulders and a thick beard, biceps as thick as melons. He had a big nasty scar over his face. “Hey nigga. Hey.”

“Hey. My name is Eddie.”

“Oh, that’s nice, that’s real nice,” said the man. He had the flamboyant cadence of a pimp, and he tapped his feet on the floor as he talked. “I ain’t ask you yo’ name though. I won’t punish you yet cuz I ain’t explain the rules — I’m a fair owner, ya see.” He paused and got down on his knees like he was going to propose to Eddie. “I was noticin’ you walk in here — my name is Copper, by the way — like the metal, not like the police officer, that was more obvious on the outside cuz I wore copper jewelry, ya feel me?”

“Yeah-“

He slapped Eddie over the face. “I gotta stop you cuz you talkin’ again and I ain’t given you no kinda permission for that. Now I’m sorry to hit you, but you makin’ me do it. I’m down here on my knee, comin’ to you like a man. I saw that ass you brought in here, and you look like you got nice big cock-suckin’ lips — I’m bettin’ you a faggot. That true?”

“No. I ain’t-“

He slapped him again, harder. Eddie winced, his cheek exploding in pain. Copper frowned. “I asked you a yes or no question, nigga. All you gotta say is yes or no. Quit makin’ me hit you. I am yo’ owner now, I’s in charge of those lips and that tongue.” He paused like he was waiting for Eddie to interrupt him. “Good. You don’t talk no more ‘cept with my permission, and from now on, when someone ask you if you a faggot, you say yes. Got it?”

“I ain’t a faggot-“

He punched him in the belly. “You got that question wrong, bitch. Answer it again. If someone ask you if you a faggot, you say yes. Got it?”

“Yes-“

“Good.”

Another black man, a big fat one stepped in then. He cocked his head to the side in a mockery of a quizzical expression. “Yo, nigga… Eddie, right? You a faggot?”

“Uh… I mean-“

Copper grabbed Eddie by the neck and squeezed. “Nigga, I ain’t got much patience. Do not test me.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m a faggot!”

“Good,” Copper said. He let go of Eddie’s neck. “We gonna keep workin’ on that. Do you have any questions for me so far?”

“Uh… Yeah.” Eddie gasped for air. “Uh… Please, stop, I, uh… I can take care of myself. I ain’t gonna be yo’ bitch.”

Copper laughed a little. “Oh. Okay. That ain’t technically a question, but I didn’t say statements wasn’t allowed, so that’s okay.” He motioned for Eddie to sit down in his bunk, then Copper followed him. The other cellmates were all staring. Eddie felt very self-conscious and he couldn’t think about anything other than doing exactly what Copper told him to do. “Put that curtain up, nigga. We need some privacy.”

“Man-“

Copper slapped Eddie. “Don’t make me hit you, bitch. I wanna love you, I really do. A lotta pimps treat they bitches like trash, but not me. I care about my bitches, and I do not wanna hurt ‘em. You believe me?”

“Well-“

He slapped him. “Say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad you believe me, bitch.” The curtain was up — just a sheet tacked up around the bunk to provide a small amount of privacy. Eddie could still see men peering in through the edges. Copper was so big he took up almost all the space in here. “So don’t make me hurt you, bitch. Cuz when I hurt you, that hurts me too. It hurts me deep in my soul. I don’t wanna feel pain like that. I don’t wanna make you feel pain like that neither. I wanna make you feel good, bitch. That’s why I turned you into a faggot back then. You gonna love gettin’ fucked. Right?”

“Uh-“

He slapped him. “Bitch, say yes or no.” He paused. “Do not say no.”

“Yes.” A sob rose up in Eddie’s throat. He tried to bite it back but was unsuccessful.

“Oh, bitch, you gonna cry? I ain’t have you pegged as a crier,” he said. He leaned forward and licked Eddie’s tears. “I’ll lick yo’ cryin’ up like milk in a saucer, bitch. I love bitch tears. They don’t work on me. You just tryin’ to seduce me, that’s what I think of tears.” He paused. “Quit cryin’, bitch.” When that didn’t work right away, he grabbed Eddie by the throat again. “Quit cryin’, bitch.”

Unable to breathe, Eddie couldn’t cry if he wanted to. Gradually Copper let go.

“You breakin’ my heart, boy. Whatchoo wanna do now? Huh? Say somethin’.” He didn’t give Eddie a chance to answer. He barked at him, increasingly belligerent. “Huh? What’s up now? You gonna do somethin’?”

“No, please-“

He slapped Eddie. “What’re you gonna do, bitch?”

“What? I don’t know!” Eddie choked back a sob.

“You said you loved me, you said you was gonna love gettin’ fucked by me! I’s askin’ how you gonna show yo’ love?”

“Oh… Uh… I dunno-“ This was all happening so fast Eddie couldn’t think. Had he actually said he loved Copper? He didn’t think so.

He slapped Eddie again. “Bitch, don’t you say you dunno. You do know, or you gonna figure it out real quick. It ain’t the kinda question any motherfucker can answer for you.”

“Uh… I’ll do whatever you say.” Eddie’s voice quavered.

“Oh that’s good,” he said, blinking back faux tears of love. “That’s real love. I feel that in my heart, bitch. I’m glad to hear it. I love you too. I won’t nevuh hurt you. I love you too much.” He took his dick out and flopped it over Eddie’s face. Eddie erupted in gags — his cock was sweaty, clammy, and the flavor was disgusting. Copper clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Oh, bitch, I love gaggin’. That is the sexiest thing a bitch can do, man.”

He left the tip of his dick on Eddie’s tongue and laughed at the sight of his gagging. He was so big he took up most of the bunkspace in here, and Eddie was pinned by his massive legs. Eddie sobbed until Copper smacked him again.

“You know what would be real sexy? It’d make me the happiest nigga on earth to hear you say, Copper, I love the taste of yo’ cock and I want you to throatfuck me wit’out mercy. I love to hear ya say that, sweetheart.” He smacked Eddie over the cheek and removed his dick so Eddie could speak.

Eddie blushed. He could hear snickering from outside this bunk, beyond the curtains. Someone even let a big black cock dangle in past the curtain until Copper barked at him to stop. Eddie had to suppress a sob.

“Say it, bitch.” Copper grabbed him by the neck. “You feel that resistance in ya, bitch? That’s yo’ remainin’ shreds of dignity, self-respect and joy. I’s takin’ those things, I’m grindin’ ‘em down, and I’m gonna swallow e’ry last bit of it, that way I can build you back up again in my image, bitch. I’m gonna be yo’ god. So yeah, I know it hurts to say it. That’s cuz you used to be a man. Now you a bitch. Change is difficult.” He punched Eddie hard in the belly and Eddie cried out. “Say it. Copper, I love the taste of yo’ cock and I want you to throatfuck me wit’out mercy. Say it in a sexy lady’s voice.”

“Copper… I love… the taste of yo’ cock… and I want you to throatfuck me wit’out mercy.”

“Good bitch. I will do as you wish,” Copper said and drilled his dick down Eddie’s throat. He didn’t give him any time to adjust, he just grabbed his nostrils, squeezed and rammed his cock in. That sour sweaty flavor assaulted Eddie’s senses again. He gagged as Copper’s massive shaft pushed into him.

Copper found the positioning awkward because this bunkspace was so tiny, so he had one of his fellow cellmates reach in — without looking — to pinch Eddie’s nostrils shut. That gave Copper free use of his hands.

A painful retch erupted in Eddie’s belly, but Copper didn’t slow down. He pivoted his hips, slamming his cock in and over and over, despite Eddie’s gagging. His dick filled Eddie’s throat so completely he couldn’t have bit down if he wanted to, which he didn’t — Copper seemed to be totally invulnerable and Eddie knew he’d be punished for  biting.

“Open that mouth, bitch. I ain’t playin’, I am not playin’, you best open wide right now.” He punched Eddie in the belly hard enough to make him nearly pass out.

Copper’s facefucking was so violent he shook the entire three-bunk bed, and the rest of the cell had gathered to snicker outside. Eddie was painfully jammed up against the edge of the bunk. Someone poked at his asshole with a finger and he didn’t have the wherewithal to fight back.

The curtain fell down and no one put it back up, so everyone could see Eddie now. Copper pulled his dick out but Eddie didn’t get a breath in before Copper grabbed him by the throat.

“Oh loverboy, that was some good gagfuckin’, I like that. That was real good for a first-timer. But you gonna get better. Did you love it?”

“No!”

He squeezed harder. “You sure? You wanna reconsider that?”

“…” Eddie wanted to say no more than anything, but could he? He hated the idea of giving in to Copper. “Fine, yes!”

“Take deep breath, sweetheart, you doin’ real good, real good,” Copper said sweetly. “I love you so much. You breakin’ down just right, in all the right ways.”

Then before Eddie knew it — he barely got one halting deep breath in, hoarsely gasping for air — he was bent over the bunk backwards. That gave Copper the perfect angle to throatfuck him. He again relentlessly drilled his spit-soaked cock down Eddie’s throat, and this time he managed to get every inch in.

He daggered his hips, fucking Eddie’s face so hard Eddie thought something in his neck was broken. Copper’s balls stank horribly, hanging low and thick and hairy on Eddie’s nose.

His mind focused so relentlessly on his suffocation by cock that Eddie didn’t really notice the other cellmates at first. They kneeled down to peer into Eddie’s eyes, since his head was draped backwards over the edge of the bunk. Copper couldn’t see them and didn’t know what they were doing because they didn’t make any noise (or possibly, Eddie thought, they did make noise but Eddie’s mind didn’t process it because he was more focused on his relentless gagging).

Anyway, they first just took turns looking Eddie in the eye, so close Copper’s balls touched their face. It made them laugh and shove each other around.

“Don’t you start fightin’ me, bitch, I will fuck you up!”

Then the other cellmates began poking Eddie with their own cocks. They silently — to avoid Copper’s attention — aimed their dicks right for his eyes. First, it was just one at a time, then they seemed to think it was funny to get as many on Eddie’s face as they could. They got four, maybe five to sort of touch Eddie’s skin before accidentally touching Copper’s balls.

“What’re you niggas doin’?”

“Nothin’, we just playin’ wit’ ya bitch, Copper. He lookin’ seductive like he wanted some more dick.”

Copper chuckled. “Yeah, he got that cock-loving slut look.” After a moment, he narrowed his eyebrows as he let Eddie take a breath. “You niggas get ya dicks away, unless you payin’. He ain’t yo’ property, he mine.”

They backed away. Eddie got just enough air to avoid passing out before Copper rammed his dick right back in. He gagged again and again. Copper held Eddie’s nostrils shut and glared at him.

“Alright, bitch, you gonna taste my nut in a minute. Look me in the eye. You mine. You gonna be mine forevuh. If there’s an afterlife, bitch, you be mine there too. You ain’t nothin’ but a nutrag.”

Suck that nut! Suck that nut! Suck that nut!

The other cellmates chanted and pounded on the cell-bars. They stood by the door to block the view, so when a guard came by to tell them to shut up, he couldn’t see in — he could hear though.

“What’re you folks doin’ in there?”

“Nothin’, suh, we just rehabilitatin’ ourself.” They snickered and jumped over each other to agree that that was what they were doing.

“Why’re your dicks out?”

“Uh…”

“That’s, uh… See, officer…”

“That’s just the part we rehabilitatin’ today,” someone said. They laughed and the guard even joined in. Eddie squealed and snorted as he got dizzy. Copper had his dick all the way in Eddie’s throat. His face turned red and he slapped Copper’s ass as loud as he could to get the guard’s attention. Eddie felt cum flowing into his stomach, draining into him as Copper’s dick throbbed against his nose, but his cock was so deep Eddie didn’t taste it. All he could taste was ball-sweat.

“If I gotta take that new boy to the infirmary, I’ll shove my nightstick up your ass,” the guard said as he walked away.

Eddie was delirious. Water and spit covered his eyes, so he couldn’t see anything. He thought he was about to pass out when Copper finally withdrew his dick.

That was what it took for him to taste cum for the first time; it was sour and salty and astringent and it made Eddie’s stomach churn. Copper smacked him in the face as Eddie hoarsely cried out for oxygen. Someone else kicked him in the side.

Copper was shouting at him but Eddie couldn’t quite focus enough to hear what he said. The other inmates cackled and thwacked their cocks over the cummy mess on Eddie’s face. But eventually Copper realized that Eddie genuinely couldn’t hear him, so he shooed the others away.

“Go’n, niggas, he ain’t for sale just yet. I gotta break him in,” Copper said. “Back off for now.” He smacked Eddie’s face very softly, holding onto his hair, which was too short to easily grab on to. “You grow yo’ hair out, bitch, so’s I got something to hold onto.” He waited for Eddie to stop crying and choking. “You ain’t a good cocksucker yet, bitch. That’s why I had to treat you salty. You gonna get better?” He smacked Eddie. “Say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Elaborate.” He pulled on Eddie’s hair. “I said elaborate, bitch. Tell me how you gonna get better.”

“Uh… I’ll… uh…-“

He smacked Eddie. “You say uh too much, like some slack ho. My bitches ain’t slack, so ac’ right. Speak in words. Say somethin’.”

“I’ll suck your dick better!”

“More details, bitch.” He smacked Eddie over and over. “More details. How? Better how?”

“I’ll-!” Eddie couldn’t speak with Copper smacking him. He couldn’t quite catch his breath either. “Stop!” He cried. “Deeper!”

Copper stopped. “What?”

“I’ll suck your dick deeper,” Eddie said, his voice hoarse. He looked down at the ground, but Copper pulled his hair to make eye contact with him. “I’ll do it deeper. So you don’t have to throatfuck me-“

“Bitch, I will throatfuck you. But that’s good. That’s real good. I got some other ideas too, but we gonna work on that. Now stay kneelin’, bitch,” he said. He pointed to a spot near the toilet. “Right there. Kneel and practice deep-throatin’ wit’ yo’ finger. Work on yo’ throat. You do that for one hour, then I give you some free time. Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Good.”

Eddie painfully crawled to the spot and kneeled. His knees already ached, but he didn’t dare ask if he could sit down. He tried to look at the ground but Copper made him face the other end of the cell, where he and the others began working out with improvised weights.

Eddie managed to sob quietly enough that Copper didn’t yell at him.

The Prison Bitch

Here’s the first chapter of The Prison Bitch, a hot new hardcore and extreme story from Brutewood Maximum Security Penitentiary.

Charlie had gotten through his first day in Brutewood Prison and, so far, everything had gone very well. People more or less ignored him. He was processed along with several weaker men, included one disgraced cop and a pedophile, so they were the target of most of the ire from the other inmates.

When he returned to his cell after dinner, he saw his cellmate — an elderly Latino man — being led out on a stretcher. He was alive, but he looked sick. He had looked sickly since Charlie met him, but now he looked much sicker.

Charlie was nervous. What did that mean for him? Was he going to get a new cellmate? Maybe it’d be someone else new, he thought. Was this a good thing or a bad thing for Charlie? He had no idea.

Soon after dinner, his cell door opened, and a middle-aged black man entered. He was Jackson; he was wiry and ropy-muscled, not huge or bulky but powerful. He had a shaved head and a wide, flat nose that looked like it had been broken several times. He was covered in gang tats, including the underlined words NINE TATS on his belly — Charlie knew that meant he was one of the head generals of the Nine Tats street gang.

Jackson stopped in the center of the cell, holding onto a box containing all of his belongings. The cell was open, since this was free time; anyone could just walk in or out. Jackson checked Charlie out from head to toe.

“Yo, you faggot, whiteboy?” Jackson asked.

“I-“

“Wait just a sec, boy, befo’ you answer, I got somethin’ to explain,” he said. He spoke quickly but with great intent, like there was meant to be hidden subtext to everything he said. He had a very faint lisp like a pimp — it wasn’t very noticeable, but Charlie heard it. Charlie still hadn’t really decided if he would tell people he was gay. Some had said he should, some had said he shouldn’t. He had planned on playing it by ear.

When Jackson checked that no guards were around, he sat next to Charlie on the bunk. “Yo, lemme rap at you. But first, my name’s Jackson, howdayoudo?” He smiled broadly and shook Charlie’s head.

“I’m Charlie.”

“Charlie. That’s a pretty name. That’s very good. I like that, boy,” Jackson said. “Welcome to my cell. You should know this is my cell, alright? I be settin’ all the rules in here. You got any kinda problem wit’ that? Huh? You tell me now.”

He leaned forward until his eyes were right in front of Charlie’s, his lips so close he was virtually kissing him. “Yeah. You a faggot. I can tell. I can smell it on ya lips, yes, I bet you is. I can’t wait to hear yo’ answer. But don’t say yet. I ain’t finish askin’ the question.”

“Okay-“

“Shut yo’ mouth. That’s rule one. You don’t speak unless I allow it, boy.” He paused as though giving Charlie a chance to disobey him. Charlie’s heart raced. Jackson smiled. He remained so close to Charlie their lips almost touched. “Good. Now when I ask if you a faggot, you gotta understand I’s askin’ cuz you gotta have a role. You gotta get somethin’ to do around here, somethin’ that contributes to the organization.” He pointed to his Nine Tats tattoo. That entailed leaning back so Charlie could see it, which meant he finally pulled his face away from Charlie’s. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Jackson smiled at him. “Oh, that’s the Nine Tats. They’s my organization. See, if you say you ain’t no kinda faggot, then when I rape you a little later, you gonna be my bitch. You gonna be prostituted out for a cigarette or two, ya dig? I’m gonna sell yo’ ass. If I can find a way to sell yo’ organs, that’s what I’m gonna do. Okay? So that’s option one. You can tell me you straight, and I turn ya body into cash any way that I can. You like option one?”

“No-“

“I ain’t think so. It ain’t popular. I think it’s got a branding problem, you know? Like maybe if we call it the Doritos Extreme Prison Bitch Experience or some shit, you know, then people would give it a try,” he said. “But option two might be better. Since I think you might really be a faggot, that’s the one that might suit ya needs the best. See, in option two, you tell me you a faggot. Then I tell you that you my wife now. I will treat you right-“ He held one hand up as though to forestall any objections. “Now I may still treat you wrong from time to time, cuz I am an imperfect man. We all just faded and disto’ted copies of God’s glorious visage, ain’t we?”

“Uh-“

“No talkin’ just yet, boy, but I like yo’ enthusiasm,” he said. He gave Charlie a quick peck on the cheek. “If you my wife, I still rape you. I still gonna hit you when I gotta correct yo’ behavior, and maybe a little fo’ fun — but I always make that up to you, baby, I always say I’m sorry and give you some sugar to make up for misbehavin’.” He paused and smiled. “See? I normally give this little speech to straight boys who gonna pretend to be gay. I make love to they squirmin’ virgin ass till they bore me and I sells ‘em off. But you really a faggot, right?”

“Yeah-“

“See, now that’s nice. You ain’t gotta pretend. I might not get bored of you. I love fuckin’ faggots. Once you fuck a straight boy hard enough, he stop fightin’ back, then it’s like fuckin’ a dead fish. But a faggot, boy, I can make a faggot squirm for days,” he said. He licked his lips. “Suck on my finger.” He held up his middle finger, and Charlie sucked it down. It was callused and salty, and tasted a little of tonight’s dinner — hot dog and ketchup. Jackson licked his lips. “If you was straight and pretendin’ to be gay, you’d be gaggin’ right now, and I’d be saying that I fuck you so good you turn into a faggot fo’ real. I tell ‘em I know how to make ‘em cum from the prostate — you know about the prostate, right? Course you do, you a faggot — I tell ‘em that and make ‘em tell me they like it. I make ‘em jack off when I fuck ‘em. Ain’t nothin’ better than a straight boy cumming when you fuck ‘im.”

“Can I suck your dick now?” Charlie asked. He thought getting on Jackson’s good side would be helpful. Jackson was very sexy and in any other environment, Charlie would have genuinely wanted to suck his dick. But this was too frightening for him. He couldn’t even think about any actual desire for sex. All his mind focused on was Jackson’s intense words ringing in his ears.

“No you may not, but thank you for askin’,” he said. “I gotta work out. You watch me and study my body, so you can worship it later.” He paused. “Straight boys get this real cute look in they face when I say that.”

“I bet,” Charlie said. He smiled. “You are really hot, you know.”

“I know. Thank you fo’ sayin’ it, sweetheart.” He smiled. He got down on the ground and started doing push-ups. He counted off, and Charlie watched him the whole time. Then he did a series of other workouts using a pillowcase filled with odds and ends as a weight, and he almost totally ignored Charlie the entire time.

Eventually Charlie lost interest in watching him. He studied the marks carved into the stone wall of the cell, trying to decipher their meaning.

“Alright, you can suck my dick now,” Jackson said suddenly, startling Charlie, who suspected that Jackson had been waiting for Charlie to get distracted. He seemed like he enjoyed those sorts of mindgames — he wouldn’t want Charlie to suck his dick because Charlie desired it, so he waited for Charlie to get involved in something else. He didn’t wait for Charlie to react either, he just grabbed him by the neck and made him lean over the edge of the bunk. In seconds, Jackson had his limp dick ramming into Charlie’s throat, while his hand squeezed his neck and his balls swayed in front of Charlie’s eyes. If Charlie had been straight, he thought, that would have been terrifying. “Open up that throat, boy.”

Jackson coughed like he was surprised at how good Charlie was at deep-throating, especially so suddenly. He whistled his appreciation as his balls slapped against Charlie’s nose. There was nearly a foot of black throbbing cockmeat in Charlie’s throat.

“Fuck, you oughta give lessons to the prison bitches around here. A lot of ‘em can’t suck worth a damn, man.” He groaned and started grinding his hips to get his dick in even deeper.

Charlie’s throat did gag and clench, but he was used to that. He was able to fight against his instincts, allowing every last inch of Jackson’s dick to fill up his gullet. His head swam. He was dizzy, tears leaking down his cheeks.

“Hey, boy, hey boy, look up here. Focus,” Jackson said, snapping his fingers to get Charlie’s attention. He swayed his hips, making Charlie gag as his balls dragged over his chin. “Look me in the eye when you suck my dick. Touch me right here if you understand.” He pointed to his left pectoral muscle.

Charlie had to reach up to touch him there. Jackson nodded like he was satisfied. Then he pulled out. As soon as he did, Charlie hoarsely gasped for air. Jackson grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head up so Jackson could watch.

“Yo, it takes three seconds to take a breath.” He held up three fingers, quickly counted down, then pushed Charlie back to the ground. Charlie had barely gotten a breath in before Jackson’s cock slammed back into his mouth.

Jackson was relentless and had his cock deep in Charlie’s throat again in moments. Once more he swayed his balls over Charlie’s chin and laughed when he choked. Spit spilled out of Charlie’s mouth, sliding down his cheeks and making a little puddle on the floor of the cell.

“You got three seconds to breathe. That’s what it takes. Any more than that is you on vacation, and I don’t allow my boys to take no time off,” he said. “You is doin’ a good job. I’s proud of you, sweetheart.” He spoke rather flatly, like he had read somewhere that he should give positive reinforcement but didn’t understand why.

He repeated that cycle several times. He held his cock in Charlie’s throat, fucking him back and forth, reminding him to keep his eyes aimed up at Jackson’s face, then gave him three seconds to breathe before resuming the cycle all over again. Charlie was so dizzy and discombobulated that he had no idea how long that lasted, and it was a complete shock when Jackson came — if he gave signs beforehand, Charlie didn’t notice them.

All of a sudden, just as Jackson slammed his dick in once again, a load of salty cum hit Charlie’s tongue. This time Jackson didn’t move, he rammed his dick down Charlie’s gullet and held it there, his load flowing directly into Charlie’s stomach. It was hot and creamy, salty, sour and delicious on Charlie’s tongue.

“Good boy, swallow it all, swallow it all. Don’t gag, no, I don’t like gaggin’ at this stage — you can gag when I fuck ya throat, that’s yo’ body reactin’ instinctively, but don’t you never gag on my cum, boy. That’s disrespectful. I might have to punish you if you do that. You look so pretty wit’ my cum dripping down yo’ chin. Look me in the eye. Who do you love?”

“Uh, you-“

He slapped Charlie, not as hard as he could, but hard enough. “Don’t say uh, don’t hesitate. If you in love, you ain’t gotta hesitate. If you know that shit in yo’ heart, you don’t gotta think about it.” He paused. “Who do you love?”

“You.”

“Good boy.” He bristled and sniffled. “Sorry I hit ya. I don’t like hearin’ my boys hesitate, that’s all. Who do you love?”

“You.”

“Good. Good, good. Who fucks you the best you ever been fucked?”

“You.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Finally it was all over. Jackson made him sit there with remnants of cum on his face. Charlie stayed motionless, basking in the glow of his own orgasm. He was glad to be settling in, he thought, and he was glad Jackson was his prison husband.

At last, Jackson allowed him to clean up and go to bed. Charlie was genuinely grateful, and he already couldn’t wait to be fucked again. As soon as lights out came, Charlie had an idea.

“Jackson, can I masturbate tonight thinking of you kissing me? I just think you’re so hot-“

“Yes, sweetheart, you may, as long as you eat all yo’ own cum. Thank you for asking.”

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!”

“What?”

“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.”

“Okay.”

“Sssh… whisper,” Samson said.

“Okay, look-“

“Sssh. You wanna sleep wit’ me?”

“What?”

“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.”

“Oh.”

“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.

“Oh-“

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.”

“What?”

“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.”

“Oh…”

“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?”

“Yeah.”

“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.

“Okay.”

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.”

“Okay.”

“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.

“Uh-huh.”

“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.”

“What?”

“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.

“Nope.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Okay-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir. I can’t wait.”

Alpha Cellmate: The Redneck

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You heard wrong,” Piggie said.

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

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

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

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

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

“You wanna be my bitch?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Dewayne said.

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

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

“Yes!”

“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.

“Yeah.”

“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.”

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?”

“No!”

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

“No!”

“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?”

“No.”

“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-“

“No.”

“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?

“No!”

“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.”

Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven

Here’s the entirety of Twink on Top: Seven Minutes in Prison Cell Heaven, a new Brutewood Medium Security story and part of the best-selling Twink on Top series!

Eddie strode into prison as confident as he could muster — he didn’t want to look like he was really a sniveling weakling precisely because he was about to act like one — but his ego quickly deflated. He was searched, poked and prodded by Officer Barnett. He felt like a prisoner, which was sexy but also humiliating. It both helped and exacerbated the problem that Officer Barnett was a sexy redneck guard himself; being poked by him would have no doubt satisfied many gay twinks fantasies.

But Eddie wasn’t here for Officer Barnett, who wasn’t really his type anyway. Eddie loved black thugs, the bigger and thuggier the better, ideally with an alpha attitude, a penchant for verbal sex, denigrating dirty talk and a willingness to let gay men service them. That was why he had arranged this opportunity of a lifetime. He didn’t even think there was any chance Barnett would agree to it, but he did, and Eddie could even afford the rather massive sum Barnett had charged him.

Most of that money would be going to the inmate that Eddie chose. He walked through Brutewood Prison increasingly nervous as they came to Cell Block Omega, which Barnett had said was not in use normally. Barnett had found the eight prisoners who met Eddie’s criteria and were willing to let Eddie’s tiny twink body service them, like the prison bitch Eddie wished he could be. Eddie had been daydreaming about setting this sort of encounter up since he was a teenager, and he never thought he’d go through with it until a few months ago, when he realized he needed to just bite the bullet and try. The worst that could happen (aside from being beaten to death by a homophobic prisoner and/or guard) was being refused.

He didn’t have a whole lot of time — Barnett only promised him ‘seven minutes in heaven’. But Eddie thought that would be enough time. Barnett assured him that these men would be horny and ready to take charge, so the brief duration wouldn’t be a detriment to some quality alpha service.

That was what Eddie wanted. He wanted to be held down and fucked hard, slapped, treated like a submissive prison bitch, because that’s what he was at heart. The sight of empty cells and the hollering of men in a far off block made him hard even before he had seen a single inmate.

The first one was tall and lean, with dreadlocks and hawkish features. He spoke with a faint island accent, but Eddie suspected that was an affectation. He flopped his dick between his fingers and showed off his perfect six-pack. “Yo, mon, you want me-uh treat you poorly? I will rape you senseless, whiteman. You will be crying when I am done wit’ you. I will fuck the batty-boy outta you, and then I gonna fuck it right back in.”

That wasn’t quite for him. Eddie preferred men with a little meat on their bones — as much as he wished he could get on his knees and suck the dreadlocked man off through the cell bars, Eddie thought there was someone better in one of the other cells.

Then he passed a burly black man with a beard, and a sour look on his face. He nodded at Eddie, ran his tongue under his upper lip and said, “Damn, whiteboi, you look good enough to eat.”

But Eddie moved on. He wasn’t quite right. The next one was bald-headed, with a Latin look to his skin and face. “You wanna be my puta?” he asked as Eddie walked past.

The fourth person was heavily tattooed, which Eddie didn’t find especially sexy. He didn’t say anything, he just nodded at Eddie and bucked forward as though he was going to attack Eddie through the cell bars. Eddie instinctively shrank back and blushed when the tattooed thug cackled at him.

As soon as Eddie came to the fifth cell, he knew he had found his man. “So, you the faggot who wanna be my bitch, huh?” Eddie blushed. He quickly hurried to the end of the corridor to see the others — that just seemed polite, after all — but he knew what he wanted. The fifth man was tall, broad-shouldered and built like a linebacker, dripping with muscle and meat. He didn’t have a six-pack, just a tiny belly, barely enough to grab on to, but that was the perfect size for Eddie. There was a crucifix tattooed over his sternum, and a gun on each bicep.

“Yo,” he said with a big wide, shit-eating grin when Eddie chose him. “I’m Dump Truck.” He undressed Eddie with his eyes, and his dick visibly shifted in his orange prison pants.

“Charles Everly,” Officer Barnett said. “Mister Everly here is an armed robber and an arms-trafficker-“

“I sold one gun, Barnett, don’t be fucking dramatic,” he said. He snorted and avoided looking at Eddie. “So you the one who wanna be a prison bitch, huh? Ain’t nevuh heard of no one who want that. But you kinda look like a bitch, so it ain’t hard to believe. It’s been awhile since I had a bitch who was faggy. Might be kinda nice. I enjoy holdin’ a nigga down and makin’ him cry uncle — not that I stop then, it’s just nice to hear him cry — but I might like fucking a faggot too.”

“Don’t hurt him, Mister Everly,” Barnett said. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Can we put the curtain up?” Dump Truck asked as Barnett unlocked the cell.

Officer Barnett looked to Eddie, who blushed again and nodded. “Please! Let’s do that. I wanna have the real prison bitch experience.” His heart felt like it might jump out of his chest.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what we gonna have,” Dump Truck said. He laughed, and the men in the other cells joined in. “I am gonna treat you bad, whiteboi, bad in all the right ways. Hope you wasn’t intendin’ to walk outta here.”

Destroy ‘im, Dump!

Eddie had never felt so weak and submissive. His dick was rock-hard, and it started leaking precum the moment he heard the lock slide into place. The door was shut.

“Gonna destroy you, faggot,” Dump Truck said with a sneer. He quickly hung up a sheet that blocked the cell from view. Eddie shivered as he anticipated what was going to come next. His ass already ached a little. Dump Truck towered over him by more than a foot, and he must have outweighed Eddie by a hundred and fifty pounds or more.

Make him squeal like a piggie, Dump!

“I will!” he called out. Once the sheet was hung up, however, his smile changed. He sunk down so he looked Eddie right in the eyes; it almost felt like he was going to kiss Eddie, though of course he didn’t. He whispered, “Yo, faggot. I ain’t queer, but… I got a proposition for ya. I been in this place fo’ a long time, and I done had a million prison bitches. I fucked ‘em up, and I wrecked ‘em and I moved on. I wanna do somethin’ different.”

“Oh… like what?”

“I want you to fuck me,” he said. He looked down and bit his lower lip. Then, for the benefit of everyone listening on the other side of the curtain, he called out, “You know what Brutewood lube is? It’s how we get a bitch to deep-throat. Lemme spit in yo’ throat, lube it up real good.” He spat on the ground and everyone cheered him on. Then he whispered again, “I wanna taste yo’ dick and feel you inside of me.”

“Are you serious?”

“This is a serious place, and I am a serious nigga,” he said. “Come on, honky. I know you came here to bottom, and I’ll fuck the shit outta you — literally — if that’s whatchoo want. But I wanna get fucked. It’s gotta be a girlie-looking twink like you, but I can’t let anyone in here know a gay white faggot fucked me. That’s ruin my rep. So this is my only option. I ain’t think I was ever gonna have the chance to bottom for a pretty little boy like you. Whatchoo think?”

“Are you serious? Hell yeah,” Eddie said, focusing hard to keep himself from being too loud. This was all happening so fast, it was hard to recalibrate his expectations. But he couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than fucking Dump Truck’s massive body.

“Alright,” he grinned. “Let’s hurry up, or we gonna run outta time. Seven minutes ain’t much.” He hesitated, then stooped over and kissed Eddie on the lips. He was halting and slow — it was obvious this was the first time he had kissed a man, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His tongue even pushed into Eddie’s mouth.

Though his passion was lacking at first, a few seconds in, Dump Truck let out a moan that resonated in Eddie’s mouth. His tongue suddenly moved, clobbering Eddie’s own tongue, and his thick fingers grasped Eddie’s shirt. He ripped it, buttons flying to the bunk and dingy toilet in the corner of his cell.

I ain’t hear him squeal yet, his mouth full?

Sounds moist in there, I can kinda hear it. He fucking that fairy in the face, I think.

Dump, how that batty-boi takin’ it, mon?

“You can’t hear him choke, nigga? Guess his faggot mouth is just too full to choke. He ain’t breathe in a minute, son,” Dump Truck said. “Got too much dick in there, and he lovin’ it, like a fuckin’ Big Mac and shit!” His big eyes twinkled as he pecked Eddie on the lips and then worked his way down Eddie’s pale, lithe body. He shuddered a little like he was surprised at the taste, and he stopped to play with Eddie’s nipples. Then he licked Eddie’s flat belly and stopped only when he reached Eddie’s pubic hair (which he kept trimmed very short).

Dump Truck was so much bigger than Eddie that even getting on his knees wasn’t enough, he was still too tall to suck Eddie’s dick. He had to get on all fours, with his plump ass high in the air, while Eddie stood on his toes in front of Dump Truck’s face.

But when he did get his head in position, Dump Truck wasted no time in swallowing Eddie’s dick to the root. He seemed surprised that Eddie’s cock wasn’t as proportionately small as his body was. He motioned for Eddie to make some noise.

Eddie blushed but spat and sputtered, hocking up a few loogies and even sticking a finger far enough down his throat to gag once. That made the other men laugh and cheer, banging on the bars of their cell.

That sounds right, nigga!

Choke him! Show him the Brutewood way!

In no time Eddie was rock-hard, and he started getting into it. Every time the men quieted down, he made it sound like he was getting throatfucked and loving it, and they’d laugh again. Even Officer Barnett chuckled quietly.

You got this, Dump!

Dump Truck had a broad, dark brown back, pocked with a few scars and marks, plus some dark blue prison tats that Eddie couldn’t quite make out (some kind of writing, he thought, possibly Hebrew, like an Old Testament verse). He stroked Dump Truck’s muscles, trying to reach his plump ass, but he was much too short. Instead he just grasped at his back and shoulder, sighing as pleasure moved through him; they both threw their heads back and moaned. Eddie’s moan was drowned out by Dump Truck’s, and Dump Truck made his sound exaggerated and comical so it wasn’t obvious to their audience why he was moaning.

He change his mind about being a prison bitch, Dump?

“No, he ain’t! He is lovin’ every second of it! He’s fucking serious. You should commit some crimes and shit, whiteboi. You could be the queen bitch in this place, man,” Dump Truck said. His voice was joyous and light-hearted, even as his face was serious, gasping, with Eddie’s dick throbbing against his face.

As he resumed sucking, Dump Truck moved his head more and more aggressively up and down. Eddie felt like he was being attacked by Dump Truck’s massive head, which made him giggle — he covered his mouth with a hand to muffle the sound. Dump Truck took Eddie’s hands in his and wrapped it over his head.

He wanted Eddie to facefuck him like a prison alpha might do. Eddie had been on the receiving end of a jailhouse-style facefuck on several occasions, but he had never topped for that kind of scenario — he had rarely topped at all.

But he wanted to give Dump Truck what he desired. He held onto the ragged short afro on Dump Truck’s head, gripping his hair, and he slammed his dick all the way in. Dump Truck let out a chortling gurgling sound with a moistness that made everyone else burst into cheers. To Eddie, it sounded much too deep to be his own voice — he was more high-pitched and feminine than that — but luckily it seemed the other inmates didn’t realize that. They had never heard Eddie before today so they had no basis for comparison.

Rape ‘im harder!

Dump Truck pulled off and laid on his back on the bare mattress on the bunk in the cell. He snorted and sniffled, wiping fluids off his face; he smiled silently at Eddie. He let his head hang over the foot of the bed. “This is the proper position for a prison bitch, alright, faggot? Get ready to get yo’self throatfucked.”

Yeah, fuck ‘is gullet, man, show him how we do it right in here!

Fuck ‘im the Brutewood way!

Eddie squealed loudly, blushing as the other inmates cheered him on. Dump Truck was in exactly the position Eddie liked to get facefucked in; Eddie had never in his life been on this side of it. He approached Dump Truck’s broad face and pushed his dick past those thick, juicy lips. His cock slammed into Dump Truck’s throat, making him wretch and writhe atop the filthy prison mattress.

He regrettin’ signin’ up fo’ this yet?

Incredible pleasure rocketed through Eddie’s spine. He had never felt like this, not even on those few occasions when he got to top someone. He shuddered and moaned quietly, every ounce of concentration he could muster going towards not being so loud that he alerted the others to the fact that he wasn’t bottoming as they thought.

Precum flowed down Dump Truck’s throat. From the reaction on his face, it seemed he had little experience with that. Did he like the taste or hate it? Eddie couldn’t tell, and in this position, he didn’t have to care. He really felt like he was overpowering Dump Truck, whose muscular limbs contorted as he accepted the throatfucking. His muscles flexed and bucked as though he was fighting back, and his movement made the bunk beneath him move. The sound of steel scraping against the prison cell floor caused a torrent of cheers from the other cells.

He pulled off once again, grabbed Eddie’s slick dick. He lowered his head farther, so he could suck Eddie’s balls. Then he called out, “He suckin’ the sweat off my balls now, what a nasty slut he is!” He swallowed both of Eddie’s balls, easily fitting them both in his big mouth. He suckled loudly, making a sputtering sound that provoked more cheers from the other cells.

Nasty faggot! Can’t believe he signin’ up for this voluntarily!

Then Dump Truck pulled away, stood up and turned around, in a hurry like he had just remembered they were on a time limit. Spit clung to his lips in tendrils, and his ruddy face was moist with tears from lack of oxygen and sweat dappling his forehead.

“Four minutes left, guys,” Officer Barnett said. “You better hurry up.”

His ass was much wider than Eddie’s body, not because he was fat, it was just big and broad and juicy. Each cheek was nearly twice the size of Eddie’s head. He lowered his ass onto Eddie’s dick, slowly. Eddie still stood at the foot of the bed, so Dump Truck crouched on all fours on the ground and backed up (rather like his eponymous vehicle) until his ass lined up with Eddie’s crotch. His crack was choked with sweaty hair, which ordinarily Eddie would have licked clean like a good submissive twink. He felt like he was losing his entire body in the choked masculine jungle of Dump Truck’s ass.

“Fuckin’ ‘im now, Barnett, cool yo’ jets,” Dump Truck said. “Don’t worry, he gettin’ e’ry inch of me that he entitled to. Don’t you worry yo’ sweet redneck head about that, Barnett.”

“You alright in there, sir?”

“Yeah…” Eddie said, too embarrassed to think of anything else to say. He wasn’t sure how to say it that wouldn’t give away what was really happening in here. “I… uh, he’s treating me right.”

That’s right he is! Showin’ you how it’s done!

You mean he treatin’ you wrong, but he doin’ it in the right way.

Eddie gulped as Dump Truck penetrated himself with Eddie’s dick. Eddie gingerly gripped his shoulders and held on while he began humping back, gradually losing his inhibitions. A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine from the moment his dick poked through that jungle of sweaty ass-hair and into his tight hole.

When Dump Truck grunted in pain, he covered it up with a louder roar, an aggressive bitch-fucking sound that made the other inmates roar and chant alongside him. Fuck that queer! Fuck that queer! Dump Truck threw his head back and wordlessly moaned, smiling at Eddie even as he grunted out threats and insults.

“Gonna fuck you so hard you wear a diaper, faggot…”

Eddie was not an actor. He tried to pant like a submissive man might — he should have been better at it, since that was the role he normally played, but everything happening here was outside his wheelhouse. He couldn’t remember what kind of sounds he might normally make in the reverse of this situation.

Make ‘im beg for mercy, nigga!

It was clear that Dump Truck wasn’t kidding about having never gotten fucked — not that Eddie ever doubted him. His asshole was so tight that Eddie had to really shove to get his dick in there. There was no time for a gentle approach either; Eddie pushed it in farther and farther, and when Dump Truck didn’t stop him, he began to ram it back and forth, uncaring of his resistance or the hairs that Eddie’s dick accidentally ripped from his crack.

Teach ‘im a lesson! Fuckin’ faggot, comin’ in here, tryin’-a get fucked and shit, like prison is a goddamn orgy! Fucking honky!

Each time he did, Dump Truck winced and blanched. The whole experience was so incredible that each time Eddie thrust past Dump Truck’s resistance in his ass, a surge of awkward pleasure hit him and Eddie moaned in a pained, struggling way. It genuinely did sound like a prison bitch getting fucked, which just egged the other inmates on.

Wreck him! Ruin him! Show him how we do it, nigga! No mercy!

No mercy!

Eddie did indeed fuck with no mercy. Of course it was Dump Truck who responded, “He takin’ it, nigga. Ain’t like a prison bitch, he been opened up a million times before. Kinda nice fuckin’ a bitch who ain’t too squirmy. Gonna fill him up wit’ some nut.”

“Two minutes left, guys. You still alright in there?”

“Yes! Yes, officer…” Eddie said, his excitement making everyone, including Barnett, laugh. “I’m, uh… I’m just finishing up.” He threw his head back and moaned as wave after wave of unimaginable bliss washed over him, so intense it was painful as he lost himself in the massive brown ass trembling before his tiny twink frame.

Dump Truck’s ass clenched when he approached his own orgasm. He had started jacking himself off; Eddie tried to give him a reacharound, but he could barely reach all the way around, so he just fumbled with Dump Truck’s body while slamming his dick in Dump Truck’s jiggling, tight ass.

“Aw, fuck…” Dump Truck grunted. “You take dick good, faggot!”

When Eddie’s orgasm finally came, it felt like it had been a lifetime, way more than seven minutes. Eddie yelped and scratched at Dump Truck’s back — he was so big and thick-skinned he didn’t seem to notice — while incredible pleasure suffused both men’s bodies, in sync with each other like no one Eddie had ever been with before.

Cum flowed into Dump Truck’s ass, a huge load that dripped out and down those giant trunk-like thighs. It splatted on the floor, but still Eddie came. Dump Truck roared as he shot his own load into his hand and all over his chest; he managed to make the roar sound like a manly cavemanesque grunt.

Eddie’s entire body went limp. He knew they were running out of time, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out, not yet. He kept it there, stimulating Dump Truck’s prostate while Dump Truck’s body writhed and flexed with both bliss and agony, pride and shame visible on his contorting face.

Dump Truck turned around, his massive chest gleaming, covered in his own cum. Eddie licked every inch of it, savoring the meaty feel of the man’s muscles. He deliberately made sure the cum soaked into his face, so when he moved upward and kissed Dump Truck on the lips, he tasted it. He had to climb the man’s mountainous torso to get there, gripping his throbbing muscles with Eddie’s delicate fingers.

They shared cum for another minute or so, stopping only when Officer Barnett began counting down the last thirty seconds. Eddie was bashful, and hurriedly cleaned himself up with a napkin and started putting his clothes back on. Dump Truck just stood there, covered in fluids, his cum mingling with his sweat so it wasn’t obvious what it was. His dick dangled between his legs.

“Damn, Dump Truck, put some clothes on,” Officer Barnett said when he pulled the curtain down after hitting zero.

Eddie was bright red, too scared he’d blurt out what happened to say anything at all. He quickly dressed and clasped the sweaty small of Dump Truck’s back.

“Bye, Dump Truck, that was amazing. You’re the best prison alpha-“

“Shut the fuck up, bitch, I ain’t tryin’-a please you,” Dump Truck said. “You come back here again and I’ll fist you to death, faggot.”

Eddie just nodded and followed Officer Barnett out. He pretended his ass hurt as he walked past the other inmates; he winced and blushed.

“Was that everything you thought it was gonna be?” Officer Barnett asked once they were out of Cell Block Alpha.

“No,” Eddie said. “It was completely different, and so much better.”