Tag Archives: prisoner sex

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.

Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate

Here’s the entirety of Servicing Black Thugs: The Inmate, which is the best-selling entry in the Servicing Black Thugs series! You can read the whole series with the Servicing Black Thugs big bundle!

Roger had gotten a part-time job delivering vegetables for AZO Distribution for only one reason — one of the other drivers, Charlie, was a studly black man, exactly the type of swaggering thug he lusted after.

Not only did Roger have a fetish for macho black thugs, he had a seemingly foolproof ability to zero in on precisely those black thugs who were willing to swing that way. He was sure that Charlie would do it, but it was hard to engineer a time to meet him alone. The dispatch center was always crowded.

He was focused on creating a plan as he drove on Friday, finishing up his round of deliveries. He was so lost in thought that he was surprised to see he his own delivery van pulling into the local jail. That was the kind of thing he would normally notice as soon as he saw it on the schedule. But it was just called Brutewood C.J. on the invoice, and Roger hadn’t given it much consideration; now he knew what it stood for — county jail. Brutewood was a private prison company who operated the local correctional system.

He was a bit annoyed his boss hadn’t specifically warned him. What if he had worn expensive jewelry? Or packed a switchblade? He’d be in danger, and possibly violating a contraband law as soon as he drove in. It was only a local jail, but still, Roger didn’t want to get in trouble.

He followed the signs for deliveries and pulled into the rear of the jail. He met with a uniformed officer, who signed for the invoice, and introduced him to Dwight, an inmate who would help unload the van.

As soon as Roger saw Dwight, he forgot all about Charlie. Dwight was a tall smooth-bodied chestnut-skinned man with a thick mustache. His orange jailhouse pants were slung low, and he had a thuggish swagger, though it was immediately apparent from his bearing — and the reverence with which he displayed a small crucifix over his neck — that he was a devout Christian.

Roger knew that would be no barrier. Dwight was hot to trot, and he was sure Dwight knew it too from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Dwight immediately began undressing Roger with his eyes.

He had a rough, southern accent. “Lemme get that fo’ ya, suh,” he said, taking both of the heavy boxes of potatoes. Roger grabbed the much lighter sack of salad mixes, following him into the kitchen area. There were no other inmates that he could see, and the uniformed cop wandered off.

Dwight looked Roger up and down as he showed him to the pantry. “You ken put them salad bags down right tharr,” Dwight said. He hefted the potatoes onto a shelf. “God bless ya, man. You ain’t the usual guy. What happened to Wilson?”

That was why Roger was given the prison assignment, he realized, suddenly grateful that he was the rookie, and had therefore been given Wilson’s deliveries — Wilson was a coworker whose sister had just died in a car accident. Roger explained that to Dwight, who clicked his tongue against his teeth and prayed.

“That poor man, I’ll pray for him, he is a good man, yup, a good church-going man,” Dwight said. “You help yusself to a glass of water, sirruh, yessum, I’ll go get the dolly.” He hurried off, big body shaking as he strode towards the truck. He came back a few minutes later with the hand-cart full of the remaining boxes of produce.

Roger didn’t want any water, so he just waited in the pantry. It was a small kitchen, with only one door, and from the pantry, Roger had a good view of the whole area. This was pretty close to ideal, he thought.

Dwight came to the pantry with the last box of produce. “Them carrots is lookin’ good. We ain’t normally get baby carrots. They’s nice.”

Roger nodded. “They’re on sale right now. I still like big, thick carrots though.”

“I bet you do,” Dwight said. “You look good enough to eat, boi. Bet you taste better than a carrot.” Something about the gasping, aroused way he said boi turned Roger on; it was equal parts insulting, seductive and menacing all at once.

“Do we have privacy here?” Roger asked. He gingerly reached out and touched Dwight’s chest. His pecs bulged through the too-small prison uniform shirt he wore, which was so short it left the lower part of his belly bare. He didn’t have a six-pack, that much was obvious even through his clothes; he had a thick, strapping body, bulky muscles behind a thick layer of flesh.

“Yup,” he said. “You suck good, huh?” He reached out and touched Roger’s lips, squeezing them together to form a kissy face.

“I do alright,” Roger said. He opened his mouth as wide as he could to demonstrate.

“I ain’t queer or nothin’,” Dwight said. He cleared his throat, the seductive tone momentarily leaving his voice. “You should know… No offense or nothin’… You know it’s a sin, right?”

“I do,” Roger said as he sunk to his knees.

“I mean… You should seek repentance. Me too, of course, but I know I will repent. I’ll beg forgiveness after this, and God will forgive me. I am bathed in the blood of the lamb, boi. You gonna ask forgiveness?”

Roger shook his head.

“Well, that’s yo’ right,” Dwight said in a way that suggested he didn’t think Roger should have that right. He wrinkled his nose. “Now go on and suck me. Wait.” He leaned down and kissed Roger right on the lips. At first it was just a chaste peck; their lips barely came into contact. Dwight moaned a little as though he had scarcely had any human contact recently. “Don’t tell no one I kissed you.” Then he kissed Roger again, and this time plunged his tongue deep inside.

Roger was shocked. He wrapped his arms around Dwight’s broad shoulders, which were bare as he took off his shirt and dropped his prison pants. His cock was rock-hard, sticking out the fly of his boxers.

Their tongues interlocked. Dwight’s was strong and forceful, pushing its way into Roger’s mouth. Roger tried to do likewise, but Dwight’s tongue took up the whole space between their mouths.

When he finally pulled his face away from Roger’s, Dwight had his eyes closed. Roger made a high-pitched mewling sound, hoping it came across as feminine. It seemed to work, as Dwight moaned exquisitely when he heard it.

“Yeah, baby, you wanna taste my meat? You gonna suck it all the way down, yeah, you gonna taste every inch of that shit. You gonna beg me for it.”

“Please let me taste your meat,” Roger said. He stuck out his tongue and demonstrated how wide he could open his mouth.

He plunged down on Dwight’s rod, and Dwight moaned again. He leaned back against the wall for support, and threw his head back, keeping his eyes closed. His knees went weak for a moment.

“Shit… we ain’t got fags who suck dick like this… I mean… homosexuals who suck dick like this in this place. We got one f-… one homosexual. He don’t suck dick good,” Dwight said. Then he bit his lip and moaned.

Wanting to prove how good he was — Roger knew he was a good cocksucker, and he was proud to show it off — Roger deep-throated Dwight’s cock. Dwight was clearly astonished that someone managed to swallow his whole cock, and he was, for once, speechless. His mouth kept moving but he was too aroused to form actual words.

With one hand, Roger reached into his own pants and began stroking himself off, while using the other to play with Dwight’s pendulous balls. His sac was so sweaty the hair was plastered to his wrinkled scrotum-skin.

Dwight murmured under his breath as his dick pulsated precum into Roger’s mouth. It sounded like he was either talking trash to Roger or praying for forgiveness, or maybe a little of both, but Roger couldn’t hear his words.

“Hey, boi,” Dwight said, whispering even though there was no one around. He looked ashamed as he checked for witnesses out in the kitchen area. He turned back to Roger, whispering in a low, growly voice. “You shave yo’ ass? You that kind of queer?”

Roger nodded. He didn’t take Dwight’s cock out of his mouth, just looked into his deep eyes and nodded his head. He could lose himself in those incredible brown eyes — despite his kind personality, Dwight had the eyes of a hardcore, cruel thug, and Roger loved peering into them.

“Then drop those pants, boi,” Dwight said, cackling with glee. Then he stopped himself. “I mean… It’s a sin, boi. You shouldn’t be doin’ that. You should be acceptin’ Jesus Christ into yo’ heart. But if you gonna do it, shake that ass right now. I wanna see ya jiggle.”

Roger didn’t even think about declining. He turned around and undid his pants, glad he had shaved just a few nights ago. He bared his ass, and Dwight immediately began kneading the flesh as he groaned and grunted. It sounded like he was incredibly turned on by the sight of Roger’s bare ass. His rough fingers caressed Roger’s ass.

“Gonna open you up, boi, gonna get this pussy nice and loose, yeah,” Dwight said. “Make some sounds like I’m lickin’ yo cat, boi.” He rammed one finger in, and Roger yelped in pain. Dwight was being rough and crude, uncaring of Roger’s pleasure. That much wasn’t a surprise. The surprising part came a few seconds later when Dwight’s tongue plunged in.

Roger was so shocked to get a rimjob from a big straight stud like Dwight that he initially didn’t react at all. But then he realized that was why Dwight asked him to make sounds like a woman getting eaten out — he wanted to feel like he was licking pussy.

Roger yelped and moaned. He cooed in a womanly way, and opened his asshole up like he was sure women did. He murmured “Come on, baby, lick me,” in a feminine voice. Dwight growled, a deep rumbling sound that resonated in Roger’s ass. His mustache scratched at Roger’s crack.

His tongue enthusiastically lapped at Roger, his initial hesitation fading as he seemed able to convince himself it was just like eating pussy. He produced copious spit, making Roger’s smooth ass gleam with moisture.

By the time he pulled away, Roger’s ass was as loose as it could ever be. That was good because Dwight had an enormous cock, and he wedged it in, causing a shiver of pain to run up Roger’s spine. He let out a low moan that sounded obviously masculine, until he remembered to switch to a more feminine tone partway through.

“This is gonna hurt, boi,” Dwight said. “You into that, right? You like big dicks?”

“God yes, please! Fuck me,” Roger said.

“I was hoping you was gonna say that, I used to be a real thug, a gangbanger, nigga, I used to love making it hurt. Now I love makin’ love,” Dwight said. He took a deep breath as he squeezed more of his dick in. “Say you sorry, boi.”

“I’m sorry, Dwight.”

“Not me! Don’t ‘pologize to me, boi. I don’t care what you put in yo’ ass. Apologize to God.”

“I’m sorry, God,” Roger said.

“Good,” he said grinding his dick in even deeper. He wrapped both of his arms around Roger, holding him close to his powerful, hairy chest. Roger choked in pain and bucked, but submitted to Dwight’s position. Dwight whispered in his ears. “I’m real fuckin’ horny, boi. God told me that’s okay, that a man’s gotta do what he gotta do to get through tough times. You understand that? This is definitely a tough time,” He didn’t stop fucking as he talked, so Roger found himself unable to speak, the sensation of being fucked by Dwight’s foot-long cock too intense to overcome.

His own cock was rock-hard, demanding attention, but his hands were busy holding onto the pantry shelves for support. Dwight continued working his manhood in and out of Roger’s ass. The whole time, Dwight caressed Roger’s smooth chest, staying away from his nipples as though touching where he hoped to feel tits would be disappointing because Roger had none; it seemed Dwight wanted to pretend to himself he was fucking a woman.

“God want me to prove I’s doin’ this cuz I can’t resist the urges, boi. Not cuz I’m queer myself. So I’m gonna do something to show that I’m ‘ware of my sin.”

Roger had no idea what Dwight was trying to say. He was yelping and grunting as he took every inch of Dwight’s cock, which was too big for Roger to focus. He only realized Dwight’s point when the man’s thick, callused fingers reached around to Roger’s cock.

Oh fuck, Roger thought, I never dreamed someone like Dwight would give a reacharound!

An orgasm began building from the moment Dwight’s hands wrapped around Roger’s dickshaft. Dwight was hesitant, apparently undesirous of touching another man’s meat, and his rhythm was awkward. But somehow that made the handjob even sexier.

“Yo, boy!” boomed a male voice Roger didn’t recognize.

Someone was coming into the kitchen. Roger panicked, but Dwight shushed him and held him still. He then pushed Roger closer to the shelves, so somebody would have to be very close to see him. There were crates of supplies outside the pantry that concealed the fact that Dwight’s pants were around his ankles.

“G’afternoon, Officer Armstrong,” Dwight said.

“Go fuck yourself. Did that delivery come in?”


“Good. You know who stole the cocaine out of evidence?”

“Nossuh, don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout that,” Dwight said, as smooth as though he had rehearsed that exact line. It didn’t sound like Dwight was concealing something from Armstrong, more like he was confirming that he would keep it a secret that Armstrong was the one who stole cocaine out of evidence.

“You weren’t supposed to be there anyway, boy.”

As soon as Armstrong said boy, Dwight bristled. His cock jumped and pulsated in Roger’s ass. Roger squealed, biting his lip to avoid making noise. Luckily the walk-in refrigerator was nearby, and it produced a loud ambient noise, which covered up Roger’s panting.

“Yessuh, I real’ze that,” Dwight said. “I’m a Christian man, Officer Armstrong. I mind my own business. I don’t want any trouble.”

“I’m glad to hear that, boy. Don’t make trouble, and I won’t give you any.” Officer Armstrong was not far away. He must be just on the other side of those crates, Roger thought. If the crates weren’t there, he’d have seen Dwight fucking Roger’s ass plain as day.

“Yessuh. You’s in charge, suh, I assume you gots a reason for everything you do. And it’s prolly a good one,” Dwight said.

“That’s right. Don’t you forget that. I always have a reason, boy,” Officer Armstrong said. Then his feet clicked on the ground as he walked away.

At last he was gone. Dwight slammed his dick deeper into Roger’s ass, and growled. He obviously had some aggression to get out, Roger thought, and he was glad to take it.

His Christian demeanor vanished. Roger got the impression he was now seeing “the old Dwight”, a swaggering thug who muttered take it, bitch as he rammed his rod in and out of Dwight’s ass.

“I hate that fucking honky, man,” Dwight said. “If I thought I could, I would… be extremely unChristian toward that man.”

Roger tried to make sympathetic sounds, but all that came out was a strangled cry. He gasped and clutched at the wooden shelves. It seemed Dwight had forgotten about giving a reacharound

“I seen that fucking shithead doing some sleazy-ass shit, lemme tell you. I think he raped this Mexican boy who was in here-“ Dwight took a deep breath. He stopped moving for a moment. “Nevermind. I’m sorry. I am not behaving right. Am I hurtin’ you?”

“No, god, no, please, keep going,” Roger said breathlessly.

Dwight placed a box of kids cereal in front of Roger. “Nut in that,” he said. “That’s his. He eats that every morning.”

Then Dwight spat in the palm of his hand and resumed stroking off Roger. He was again clumsy and badly-timed, but Roger appreciated the effort and the feeling of his prison-toned biceps rubbing against Roger’s body. Dwight was so much bigger than he was that he felt like a monster behind him.

Roger was so close to cumming that he shot just moments after Dwight finally began getting into the rhythm of stroking him off. Roger’s whole body bucked, and squeezed around Dwight’s dick as he shot his load right into the cardboard cereal box. He gasped and rubbed his head against Dwight’s powerful pecs and erect nipples.

That was apparently enough to set Dwight off. He grunted as he wiped the cum off his fingers onto the side of the cereal box, and then he grabbed Roger by the hair. Pushing his head down to the ground, Dwight, uncaring of the cum still stick to his hands, began pounding his cock deep into Roger.

Pain split Roger’s sides, but his own orgasm was still continuing, the aftershocks making his whole body shake. Dwight’s cum filled his ass with hot, creamy goodness, and it dripped down his thighs onto the pantry floor.

“Thank you, fuck…” Roger said. “That was incredible. You always fuck like that.”

“I got a champion dick,” he said. He still hadn’t removed it. Its meaty thickness throbbed in Roger’s ass.

“You certainly do.”

“Shit…” Dwight said as he pulled his cock out. He wiped it off with a napkin. “You pretty good at deliveries too, boi. Can you take this route from Wilson permanently?”

“I can try,” Roger said. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Mississippi Prison Sex

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Mississippi Prison Sex, a new story of gay prison erotica from Brutewood Medium Security Penitentiary!


Robbie was beginning to feel comfortable in prison. Or not “comfortable”, exactly, but he wasn’t terrified anymore. He had been at the fearsome Brutewood Correctional Facility for a month and so far, things hadn’t really been too bad.

The main reason he wasn’t suffering was that Robbie had not squealed. He could have avoided any prison time at all if he had simply told the prosecutors what happened, but he declined. It had felt like a noble choice right up until he made it, when he realized it meant he’d be spending the next ten years nobly behind bars.

“Two pair,” Robbie said as he put his cards down. That brought him out of his reverie — he had won the hand, he was fairly certain of it, and that made him feel good. This was only his third time playing poker since coming to Cell Block Love, but it was the first time he really played his best. On the previous two occasions he had allowed himself to lose just a little money, so he didn’t upset anyone by winning too much. “Queen high.”

He smiled, thinking his victory was imminent. He still didn’t even really want to win any money overall, he just didn’t want to lose this hand because he had put all of his cash in the pot. The only other person still in this round was Forrest, a burly redneck like Robbie, with neck tats and bulging biceps. Robbie was confident he was bluffing. Forrest had been a bit scary when Robbie first came to this cell, but Forrest had proven substantially stupid, so Robbie was sure he could win in a contest of wits like poker.

“That’s a nice pair you got… But I gots two of mah own,” Forrest said with a grin, his deep Mississippi drawl resonating in the tiny prison cell. He paused for effect, then flipped over his hand. “King high.”

The cell burst into laughter, and they all clasped Robbie on the back. He blushed, astonished that he had lost — Forrest was a better bluffer than Robbie had suspected.

“Take off that shirt, boi!” Forrest said, his voice booming in Robbie’s ear. He was a tall farmboy turned marijuana-farmer, with a deep ruddy chest and just enough of a beer gut to cover up his six-pack. He had been joking about turning this game into strip poker — the Warden took away conjugal visits last month, so Forrest, and several other inmates, had gotten increasingly desperate for sex.

But so far, there had not been any rape in this prison, which made Robbie feel good. Possibly in the black or Latino cell blocks, he knew there was rape there — or maybe Forrest and the other older guys just liked using those cell blocks as a threat when they needed to.  They certainly made it seem like a rape-factory.

But Forrest had been joking about strip poker since Robbie got here. So far, nobody had taken off any clothes.

Just as he was about to hand over the four dollars he had lost, Robbie heard the cell door click. He had to make a quick decision: put the money back in his pocket? Try to hide it? Hand it over to Forrest now?

In the end, he didn’t make a decision in time. Money wasn’t allowed in the cells, it was required to be in your Commissary account, and as soon as the uniformed guard walked in, Robbie knew he was caught. Everyone else had money tucked into the their slippers or the waistband of their shorts. Only Robbie had been too slow. His heart started pounding as his cellmates scattered back to their bunks.

He looked up into the stern face of Officer Barnett, who opened his mouth to speak then saw the cash in Robbie’s hand. He stopped for a moment, chewed on his lip and said, “Inmate O’Doyle? What is that in your hand?”


“Hand it over.”

“Sir, I… I just found it, and, uh-“

“So it isn’t yours?”

Robbie hesitated. This was the last of his cash. He had a little money in his Commissary, but he wouldn’t be able to get that out in cash. Oh well, he thought, I can just stop playing poker. And I’ll pay Forrest in honey buns, he’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.

Robbie handed the cash over. He felt like he should admit he had been lying, so Officer Barnett would put it in his Commissary — Barnett could be a rules-obsessed dickhole sometimes, but he was a stickler for fairness, so Robbie was certain he would deposit the money appropriately. However Robbie had an instinctual urge not to admit he was lying, even when the consequences were minimal, so he just bit his lip.

“I’ll put this money in the Christmas party fund then,” Barnett said, “Since it isn’t yours, Inmate O’Doyle — unless anyone else wants to claim it? I didn’t think so. I came here to tell y’all that we’s on skeleton crew tonight, so don’t expect to get up early tomorrow.” He paused, then nodded and shut the cell door. “Have a good night, gentlemen.”

Forrest smiled — he liked a skeleton crew of guards, because, he said, it meant he could stick his dick in whoever he wanted, and no one could stop him — despite his frequent boasts to that effect, Forrest hadn’t had sex with any men since Robbie got here. He just liked to make sure everyone knew he had a big dick and big enough muscles he could shove it in whomever he wanted.

The other cellmates groaned. With a skeleton crew, lights-out would come early and they’d be in their cells until late in the morning, so aside from Forrest, no one liked it. Barnett just smiled and shut the cell door.

Man! I was gonna write a lettuh to mah daughter tonight, fuck!

Everyone knows you can’t read or write, fuckhead.

Robbie sighed as his cellmates began complaining and bickering. The poker game seemed to be over, which he was fine with — he had no cash anyway. He stood up and stretched his legs.

“Hey. Hey! Hey!” Forrest’s deep, gravely voice filled the cell. He growled until everyone fell silent. “Shut the fuck up. All o’ you bastards is too fuckin’ loud. I was gonna get my magazines out, but ‘parently I can’t, cuz we got a gottamn skeleton crew again. So don’t blame me for what you’s ‘bout to see.”

There was a mixture of groans and cheers at that. Forrest blushed as someone grabbed for his cock through his white prison shorts. It wasn’t gay, just a prank — Forrest had a bevy of pornographic magazines, and he thought it was hilarious to bring them out and jack off openly in front of his cellmates. Officer Barnett no longer allowed him to keep the magazines in the cell due to complaints.

Robbie just sat on his bunk. He didn’t want to attract any attention to himself, especially not since he owed money to Forrest. He just laid back with his book.

“I’s a real man, nigguh, I can’t jest go to bed without a nut,” Forrest said as he pulled his shorts down, revealing a huge cock. That was, Robbie suspected, the real reason Forrest liked to jack off in front of everyone: it reminded them that he had the biggest dick on the cell block, if not the whole prison. That might have also been why he called them all nigguh even though everyone in this cell was white. Forrest liked being compared to a mandingo, and besides, he knew no one would stop him from using whatever words he wanted to.

He caught a whiff of Forrest’s sweaty balls then, as Forrest climbed on Robbie’s bunk to his own bed above that — Robbie was on the bottom of a three-bunk column, and Forrest was on top. So for a few seconds, Forrest’s hairy balls and trunk-like thighs were in Robbie’s bunkspace.

Oh fuckin’ Forrest…

“I ain’t fuckin’. That’s what’s going on right now, dumbass,” Forrest said. His bunk creaked above Robbie’s. Robbie could hear the moist meaty sound of Forrest jacking himself off.

Thought you was playin’ strip poker anyway, man, remembuh?

“Fuck yeah!” Forrest shouted. He jumped to his feet and nearly fell off the bunk above Robbie, who tried to tune it out. He didn’t want to get involved, but had a sinking suspicion he was about to be.

Forrest jumped onto the floor. His dick was half-hard, sticking straight out from his hairy crotch — he had a huge pubic bush, which covered up just how huge his cock actually was. He lowered his head to look into Robbie’s bunkspace, then smiled.

“Howdy,” he said.

Robbie’s heart sank. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. He had been here more than a month without any sex happening, consensual or otherwise, but it sounded like his luck was about to run out.

Oh damn, that fuckin’ hillbilly is doin’ it!

This is gross…

You gonna fight back, Robbie?

“Hey!” Forrest barked. He was fiddling with something on his bunk and the middle bunk, which was currently unclaimed. Robbie blushed but stayed quiet even as his other cellmates peered at him with guilty, ashamed smiles, like they were watching a porn movie they didn’t like but couldn’t look away from. “I ain’t rapin’ no one. Y’all know I just kid around about that shit, I’s a Christian man.”

He had sheets in his hand. Forrest had taken the sheets off his own bunk and off the empty middle-bunk. He smiled at Robbie, barked for silence and said, “Howdy…” again. This time, when he said it there was a certain nervous energy, like he was a teenager asking a girl to prom.

There was some tittering laughter as Forrest pinned the sheets around Robbie’s bunk, forming a primitive wall. Robbie stammered over his words as he tried to think of a way out of this.

“Uh, so Forrest, you know… I, uh, I got two hundred dollars in my Commissary-“

“How much you got on you?” He poked his big, scruffy head through the corner of the sheets.

“Well… None.”

He smiled. “That’s okay, nigguh. I ain’t worried ‘bout it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You can suck mah dick, that’s all.”

“But, uh…”

“I mean, you ain’t gotta,” Forrest said. “I can sell yer debt.”

Robbie knew that was true. It would get him out of the sex, but it wouldn’t solve the problem. Forrest could sell his debt to the Italians, who were always eager to buy off a debt because they were ruthless about charging interest and getting their money back one way or another. It would be much simpler to simply suck dick.

How ‘bout it, newbie? You wanna owe the wops?

“No, no,” Robbie said. The Italians were both kinder and crueler about debt — they were too Catholic to demand sex, but they’d end up taking Robbie’s income from his prison job, and they’d humiliate him by sending folks on the outside to collect from his parents and brother. His four dollar-debt would double instantly, and they’d end up tacking on fees like a payday loan joint.

“Well you owe me tonight,” Forrest said. He finished pinning the sheet up, and Robbie couldn’t see anything but the dingy off-white of the prison linen. Forrest must have made some gesture because the other inmates in the cell all laughed.

Then he crawled into the bunk. Robbie curled his feet up, blushing. Forrest was blushing too, as though he didn’t really want to do this. But he grinned as well. His dick wasn’t hard anymore, and it hung like a limp greasy link of sausage between his legs.

“Uh, Forrest…”

Forrest whispered. “You ain’t gotta do this. It’s only four bucks.” Je smiled.

A part of Robbie wanted to say no, to finagle over it. He could have paid off the Italians pretty quick, but they would no doubt charge a few dollars right off the bat.

How’s dat taste, Robbie?

But was that worth it? He’d end up paying this off for some time, and he’d still be humiliated — the other prisoners would basically treat him as though he had sucked cock anyway. So, Robbie thought, he might as well do it. He nodded despite waves of humiliation washing through him.

Prison Guard Lust

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Prison Guard Lust, a new story from Brutewood Minimum Security! Yes, there’s a Brutewood Minimum Security!


Every Sunday morning, Winthrop worked early — he was the only guard there in the mornings on Sunday — and every single time, he said either things sure are quiet today or the cell block’s restless today, as though those were only two small-talk starters he was allowed. Gerald smiled each time as though he had never heard it before.

“Yeah, it’s been quiet all night,” Gerald said. Winthrop was about to walk away, and Gerald’s mind raced as he tried to think of a way to get Winthrop to stay. He didn’t want to sit in his cell with nothing to do all day. “Uh… how was Anna’s reading?”

Officer Winthrop stopped and sighed. His wife was a poetess, and she had had a reading of one of her poems at the community college last night. Winthrop had shared that with Gerald a few days before. To Gerald, that fact was like a lifeline — he hadn’t really connected with anyone since coming to prison, so gaining a friendly relationship with someone gave him a sense of vitality and purpose.

“I don’t know,” he said. He sounded disappointed.

“Oh? You didn’t go? Did you have to work? Boy, Warden Armstrong is a prick. I’ve got a theory about white men, you know-“

“He is a prick, but I can’t blame this one on him,” Winthrop said. “She dumped me.” He spoke directly into the little window into Gerald’s cell, and as he said that, his voice broke. He looked away.

“Oh. Wow, I’m sorry, my nigga,” he said. Gerald ordinarily never called anyone nigga, but he had gotten into the habit of it now that he was surrounded mainly by black people. He thought it came across as forced, but Officer Winthrop didn’t seem to think so. Gerald wanted Winthrop to know how much Gerald liked him, and saw him as a friend.

Winthrop shrugged. “Whatever. I never thought we would be serious.”

“She was your wife…”

“I know, I mean… When we first got together, I thought we didn’t have a chance. It wouldn’t work out. She was a white girl, a poet — a frickin’ published poet, who the hell actually makes a living as a poet? She was half my age. Less than that. She was only nineteen when I met her.”

Doing a little math in his head, Gerald whistled. “You’re in your forties? I had no idea. You look great-“

“But somehow it all worked out, or it seemed to,” he said. Winthrop hadn’t noticed Gerald’s compliment. He wasn’t really listening. “We got along just fine. We used to laugh so hard they’d ask us to leave the restaurant. And now I’m alone. We ain’t laughed together in a year, at least. I met her like a week after my girlfriend broke up with me We been together for like eight years at that point, so I ain’t really been single since I was like twenty-six years old.”


“I’m just so fucking horny,” he said. “I mean, I’m lonely too, but I forgot what it was like to be single, to have to pound yo’self off at night. A man shouldn’t live like that.”

Gerald’s heart started pounding as he realized this was his opportunity. He wanted to get Officer Winthrop on his side — and he wanted to get laid — so what better circumstance could he wait for? It was still early enough on Sunday that not many people were up, and Winthrop could spend a little extra time in Gerald’s cell, if he wanted to. Gerald’s eyes fluttered and he pursed his lips.

“You’re right, y’know. A man shouldn’t live like that. You want some help with that? I can help.”

“What? You know a girl you can hook me up with? I dunno about that, I was thinking about staying away from women for awhile,” he said. “I’m old enough I ain’t gotta be chasing after pussy all the damn time. I might just-”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I’m gay, I don’t know many girls, and most of the ones I do know are lesbians,” he said. “But you don’t have to meet any girls to get your rocks off.”

“Wha-?” Officer Winthrop cut himself off when he looked Gerald in the eyes and realized what he was offering. “Oh. That’s against the rules, Gerry.”

Gerald hated being called Gerry, he always had. But Officer Winthrop had been calling him that since day one, and for some reason when Winthrop’s gruff voice said it, Gerald enjoyed it. It sounded sexy, instead of old-fashioned. Despite Winthrop’s words saying no, he didn’t walk away, and he didn’t sound like he was really refusing, so much as explaining why he couldn’t say yes so easily.

Hairback Appreciation Society: Convict Worship

Here’s a sample chapter from a new series, the Hairback Appreciation Society. This one is called Convict Worship, and it’s the incredible story of Rufus, a hairback lover who worships a convict alpha male fresh out of prison. It’s also part of the Brutewood Correctional Facility.


Rufus’ heart started pounding from the moment he saw men file past the prison gates. This is really happening, he realized, I am about to find the sexiest hairback around! He didn’t see the one he was looking for at first, but when he did, Rufus almost fainted.

He was Wendell “Thumper” White, a former pro-boxer who was finally leaving prison. He was not extremely tall, but he was thick and wide-bodied, not sculpted like he used to be yet still retaining all the power of his pro-athlete days. Rufus had arranged to pick him up and take care of him, but hadn’t given Thumper any information on who he was or why. Thumper, for his part, gave little indication that he cared. He seemed to just assume that Rufus was from some sort of halfway home.

Rufus waved to him and approached to shake his hand. Thumper just shrugged, shook and hopped in the passenger seat of Rufus’ car.

“Hello, Mr. White,” Rufus said. “I-“


“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Thumper. Not Mr. White,” he said.

“Oh, okay, sure. Thumper it is.”

“Whatchoo want from me?”

“Well… I’ve heard that you were in need of a place to stay. I-“

“What’s in it fo’ you? You a cop? I won’t snitch, man.”

“No, I’m not a cop. I just want to service you. I want to lick every inch of your body. I want to suck your dick and your ass and your balls-“ Rufus wasn’t usually this blunt, but he got the impression Thumper liked being direct.

“I ain’t queer,” Thumper said, in a way that suggested he was fine with Rufus’ plan, he just wanted to be sure Rufus knew it would be one-sided. In truth, Rufus only liked bottoming, he wouldn’t want to be with Thumper if Thumper was versatile.

“I know,” Rufus said. “I heard you were flexible behind bars, that you like fucking slim, hairless twinks. That’s me.”

“I don’t take dick.”

“Oh, I know. I wouldn’t want you to. I’m a bottom,” Rufus said. He didn’t live far away from the prison, so they were already pulling into his driveway. His heart nearly pounded out of his chest — there were so many ways an arrangement like this could go wrong, he thought, and so few it could go right.

“You like prison cock?”

Rufus nodded. “I love it.”

“You like black cock?”

“Love that too.”

Thumper smiled. “Alright, but if I’m gonna let some queer paw all over me, we doin’ things my way. Gimme money too.”

Rufus frowned. “Well, I don’t have any cash…”

“You can go get some later,” Thumper said. He got out of the car and walked with Rufus to the front door. Thumper leaned over and whispered in Rufus’ ear, “You gonna worship me?”


Thumper sneered in disgust. He looked around for neighbors as Rufus unlocked the front door, then Thumper grabbed Rufus by the head. He pulled on his hair until Rufus’ whole body tensed up. Thumper sneered at him. “If you gonna be my bitch, you gonna act like a bitch, a female dog. A bitch decide what kinda man she like by sniffin’ his ass. So get on yer knees and smell my ass, bitch.”

Rufus blushed but did as he was told. Thumper wore lime-green basketball shorts which sagged low to reveal a bare asscrack covered in thick, kinky black hair. Rufus inserted his nose into the sweaty crack and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, smell yo’ daddy real good, bitch.”

The smell was overpowering, musky and it made his eyes water. Rufus inhaled again as Thumper scoffed, then strutted inside. Rufus had to scamper behind him to keep his nose ensconced in Thumper’s hairy crack. Thumper grinned. “When you’s about to leave, they don’t let you stay in yo’ cell. They make you be in solitary for a couple days,” he said. “So I ain’t had a bitch in a bit.”

“You must be horny as hell, you poor baby… You want me to put on some straight porn?” Rufus asked.

“Hell yeah. Put on something wit’ a white bitch gettin’ double-teamed,” Thumper said. “I’ll take a shower.”

Rufus stood up, then blurted out, “No!” He hesitated as Thumper bristled at being given an order. “I mean… I want to lick the prison off you.”

“Oh, you one of them nasty kind of faggot?”

Rufus nodded. “The nastier the better.” He bent over his computer and hurried to a free porn site he knew of — he didn’t have any straight porn, so it took him a few minutes to find one.

Thumper started grabbing at his ass in a decidedly prison-rough way — he was crude and forceful, and he growled as though having trouble not raping Rufus right then and there. Stripping his shirt off, Thumper shoved one hand down the back of Rufus’ pants and jabbed a finger into his asshole.

“You my bitch?”

“Yes,” Rufus clicked play. He wasn’t sure this was a long enough video, but he was suddenly too horny to focus. It would have to do. It didn’t seem Thumper was paying much attention anyway.

“Who owns yo’ ass?”

“You do.”

“Say my name.”

“Thumper owns my ass,” Rufus said.

“That’s right,” Thumper said.

Rufus turned around and kissed his bare bicep. He tasted of dust and sweet and stainless steel, the flavor of prison, Rufus thought, distilled into one musky flavor that Rufus couldn’t get enough of. Thumper flexed his arm and chuckled at Rufus’ aroused reaction.

Diving into one armpit, Rufus inhaled deeply. The overpowering sweat hit his nostrils like an acrid train, and Rufus moaned with pleasure. He suckled each hair in Thumper’s armpit, marveling at how thick the hairs were, how kinky and curled, and how much of his own manhood had been trapped there over the years. It was strong enough to make Rufus’ eyes water.

He licked around to Thumper’s back, tasting each hair as he went. He licked the man’s back from shoulder to the top of his asscrack, going back up and down, kneeling to get as low as he could then standing on his toes to get up on top of his shoulder.

Thumper shuddered; he was a little ticklish, it seemed. He chuckled dryly. “You really is nasty. I made one of my bitches do this a couple years ago. Cried the whole fucking time.”

“He’s an idiot.”

Thumper nodded. “Yep, that he is. You don’t mind that my back’s hairy?”

“Mind? I love it. That was one of the things that drew me to you,” he said.

“All the young cats in my cell say I gotta get my bitch to shave my back,” he said. “They said you can’t leave prison with a hairy back. It’ll look bad to everyone outside the gang. You’ll never get a chick.”

“Not everyone gets it,” Rufus said. “Specially women.” He normally didn’t lick anyone’s back this long, but the more Thumper made a big deal out of it, the more he didn’t want to stop. He did move to the small of Thumper’s back and worked on slathering every inch of that with his spit.

“You know what to do,” Thumper murmured softly as he dropped his pants. He had hairy trunk-like thighs, and Rufus gave them each a quick lick. But it was obvious that Thumper wanted a rimjob. He bent over the couch and stuck his round, hairy ass in the air right in front of Rufus’ face.

He dove right in and licked the sweat out of Thumper’s asscrack. His tongue left a trail right through the center of his ass, while Rufus used both hands to separate the cheeks. Thumper’s dark asshole beckoned like a tasty treat.

He plunged in, and tasted a direct feed of Thumper’s essence. It was like chugging a beer made of musk, he thought, and the grimy, hairiness of Thumper’s ass made it even hotter.

Thumper growled and grunted and his muscular body writhed as though Rufus’ tongue was painful. He howled and bit his lip. He pounded his meaty fists on the ground to emphasize how good this felt, and he even lifted one foot off the ground. He shook his dangling foot as sexual tension roiled his middle-aged body.

His was dirty and grimy and hairy, exactly as Rufus liked it. As he lapped at the ebony hole, his hands delicately massaged Thumper’s hairy lower back, which writhed above Rufus’ head as Thumper responded to the rimjob. Rufus suspected he hadn’t had a rimjob from someone who wanted to give one in a long time, and he was surprised about how intense the pleasure was shooting up his intestines.

“Ah, fuck yeah nigga, you oughtta go to the prison and give some fucking lessons,” he said softly. His hips were undulating and pushing back now, as though his rectum was trying to fuck Rufus’ mouth. He used his ass and hips to pin Rufus against the wall, rubbing his hairy cheeks and hole on every inch of Rufus’ face.

Without a word of warning, Thumper turned around and slammed his dick down Rufus’ throat. He was just in time for the first wad of cum to land deep in Rufus’ gullet, making him gag just a little before guzzling the rest of the load down.

Thumper lightly smacked him on the cheek with one hand, using the other to caress his neck like an owner making sure his dog swallowed a pill. “Go on, swallow it, bitch. Swallow daddy’s seed.”

His semen was copious and creamy, but it had a certain wateriness that Rufus suspected was due to the prison diet. It was sour and snotty, and it stuck to Rufus’ tongue and mouth as he swallowed it down.

“Show me yo’ mouf, boi.”

Finally he was done and Rufus showed off his empty mouth. Thumper sneered and nodded. “Disgusting, faggot. Go clean my sweat off yo’ stupid queer face. Then go to the ATM and get me cash.”

Love and Lust Between Men Behind Bars

This is a sample chapter from Love and Lust Between Men Behind Bars, a story in the Brutewood Minimum Security Penitentiary series.

We knew we weren’t the coolest frat on campus. Judging by the pictures left scattered around Kappa House, at one point, we were the pinnacle of awesomeness at Goldendale. But that had ended in the late 1980s, and now we were the laughingstock of the Greek system.

The low point of the semester, for me at least, was when we threw a pre-Spring Break party and not a single woman showed up. It was just the fourteen of us and a few other male nerds, eating chips and playing video games, pretending not to be disappointed. I knew none of the other frats were having a party, so the problem wasn’t even that there was too much competition that night; the problem could only have been that nobody wanted to spend time with us. Spending the weekend alone was preferable to a Kappa Gamma Pi party.

There was a knock at the door as the “party” neared its wind down. Someone opened it, and in walked an unfamiliar face. He was a handsome young black man, muscular and tattooed on his bare biceps. He had a wide grin on his face, revealing a chipped front tooth, and he brought with him a beautiful blonde woman, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, breasts nearly falling out of a tight blouse.

“Yo, yo, yo, Kappa Gamma Pi!” he shouted.

We were all startled to see him there, and to see such an incredible woman in our house. We all fell silent while he beamed at us, and she looked away awkwardly.

Wilson Andrews, one of our most active brothers, stepped forward from behind the black man. “Hey guys,” Wilson said, “This is Kelvin. I met him yesterday. He isn’t technically a student here, but he’s going to make us popular. We, uh… we made a deal.”

“How?” I murmured to Pete, my best friend. The other guys seemed just as dubious as me. “This sounds like another one of Wilson’s idiotic plans.”

“He’s got more money than sense,” Pete said. But since Wilson funded everything the frat did, nobody ever contradicted him.

“First, I need to get know you guys. This is a party. Why ain’t you drinking?” Kelvin asked.

“We got some beer,” I said, “But we were waiting for the party to start.”

“Never wait for the party to start,” he said. “If you have to wait for it, it’s never gonna happen. You start partying before the party begins, and people will show up.”

The entire frat gathered in front of Kelvin, trying to pay attention to him despite the presence of the pretty blonde woman, who clutched his shoulders as though he was the only liferaft on the Nerdtanic. I ran into the kitchen to bring back a couple six-packs, which I handed out to Kelvin and the others.

Kelvin settled down on the couch and said, “Okay, I need to get to know you guys. This is my friend, Lizzie. Do you boys like her?”

Nobody answered. We were all awkward and shy. Obviously, we liked her. She could have been one tenth as hot and we would have liked her.

“Go on,” Kelvin said. “If you wanna get laid, you gotta tell girls you like them. You guys ain’t queer, right?”

We shook our heads. Finally Dashell said, quietly, almost embarrassed, “You’re smoking hot, Lizzie.”

“No, no, like this,” Kelvin said, beckoning her to him. “Don’t be embarrassed by it. Tell her like her as though she’s gonna remember those words for the rest of her life.”

Lizzie walked slowly with burning eyes to Kelvin’s side. He had a cocky grin on his face, and he murmured something into her ear. She closed her eyes and started undoing the buttons of Kelvin’s shirt, slowly lowering herself to the ground. Her shorts were slung low on his hips, and as she descended to the ground, we all watched the top strap of her tight thong underwear reveal itself in the small of her back.

“We don’t look like you, Kelvin. We can’t just get laid like that,” Wilson said. Kelvin shrugged off his shirt, revealing his powerful ebony body. His muscles glistened like churned chocolate in the well-lit living room.

“Not yet, you mean,” Kelvin said. Lizzie undid the button on his fly, sucking on his cock’s outline through his jeans. She had a petite mouth and bright red lips that left color behind on the denim.


“Hush, whiteboy,” Kelvin said, “A black man’s getting a blowjob over here. Y’all wanna get better at getting laid? Watch a master at work.”

Lizzie reached up to massage Kelvin’s perfectly taut, V-shaped chest. He flexed a bicep and grinned at us. Pete and I gradually moved forward, genuinely interested in watching him get his dick sucked.

He moaned with pleasure, his hips thrusting, his lips pursing, eyes rolling back in his head. Lizzie deep-throated his long cock, swallowing it almost down to the root.

She undid her own t-shirt with the GHU logo on it and took it off, then her bra. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of her perky tits hanging like perfect pale gourds from her chest. She played with her own nipples, which grew slowly erect.

“See? Guys?” Kelvin said, gesturing to the blowjob that the Kappa Gamma Pis watched awkwardly. “Act like whatever you doing is so intense you gonna die. Use every last muscle in yo’ body.” Kelvin did precisely that, his whole body contorting as she sucked.

“But don’t cum in the mouth of any chick you really like,” he said. He gently pulled her to her feet and turned her around, ready to fuck her doggystyle. “She can suck your dicks too, right Lizzie?” he asked and she nodded while he worked his dick into her pussy. “See if you can do it like I just did.”

The closest person to her was Pete, whose pale face went even paler, like a corpse. She grabbed for his crotch through his jeans. He watched in disbelief, awkward and worried, hands laying limply at his side.

“Relax, man,” Kelvin said, “You makin’ her feel like she givin’ you a bad blowjob. Don’t make her feel like that.”

Pete relaxed a little, but I knew he wasn’t comfortable with so many people seeing him naked. He had confided in me that he hated public nudity. But it looked like he wanted a blowjob more than he wanted to stay clothed, and he calmed once he got hard and focused on the sex.

His muscles twitched, the backward baseball cap he wore in a desperate attempt to look like a frat boy almost fell off his head. He was lean and lithe, with nipples that noticeably perked up the longer the sloppy blowjob went on.

“Hey,” Kelvin said, “You gotta be louder. Let her know she’s done it right.”

But before Pete could form any words with his gaping mouth, I saw his orgasm coming, his body contorting with energy. He let out a quiet exhalation and pulled his dick out at the last second, shooting his load into the palm of his hand.

Lizzie pivoted to face me, and my heart jumped up in my chest. She swallowed my dick down, and in seconds I was so absorbed by the blowjob I could barely stand. My whole body flopped around as though I was a total virgin. The part of me that realized what was happening and how silly I looked was trying to stop, but my mind was telling me to keep going, take her as far as I could.

Pleasure shot through my spine. My knees buckled. My toes curled inside my shoes, and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me.

Her warm mouth swallowed my cock, lovingly massaging it until cum spurted out and into her mouth. She sighed around my limp dick, and opened her mouth to show my the giant wad of cum sitting square in the middle of the tongue.

She closed her mouth and swallowed it, showing me her empty tongue. Kelvin clapped me on the back said, “You came in her mouth, man, I said not to do that. That’s okay though. You a natural, man. I can see it in you. You just need to practice. Fuck as often as you can, every day, every chance you get. Fat chicks, ugly chicks, whatever, if it’s legal and it’s not diseased, go for it. You need the practice, so sex don’t feel like a suit tailored for someone else.”