Category: Teddy West

Knuckle fat-lipped in the doorway, speaking only when he gotta. Knuckle liked working the door. It was liminal, and he hovered neither inside nor out but in the middle like a child hiding in scattered shadows. The sky drizzled lightly tonight, and his right shoulder got wet, but his left shoulder remained dry. He done confiscated a greaser’s switchblade. But the crowd lusted quietly tonight. He knew his scarred face scared men into submission and prevented brouhahas. As far as he was concerned, that was a good thing. Mr. Gregarian said it was a double-edged sword — no rowdiness, so no fighting, but no rowdiness, so no overdoing it on overpriced drinks either. Knuckle ain’t know if Mr. Gregarian told him that because he expected him to fix it or not, but Knuckle ain’t savvy changing how he got perceived, so he never did nothing about it. The switchblade still sat hotly in Knuckle’s pocket.
“Hey, scarface, is Caitlyn Smiles working tonight?”
“-got a pussy on his neck.”
“Sssssh, ssh, ssh, he’ll hear.”
The men all fell silent as sand before they shuffled up to the doorway where Knuckle stood, basking in the luscious leather napkin of the West Virginia night while being buffeted by the overwhelming warmth and wafts of cigarette smoke pluming out from the club’s insides. He checked IDs and sent them in. No cover charges on Sunday, only Friday and Saturday nights and some holidays, Mr. Gregarian said, because otherwise the place got too crowded and the men focused on tipping dancers instead of ordering drinks from Teddy.
Teddy has very soft fingers.
Ever since that night when Teddy jacked him off in the weight room, Knuckle thought about those fingers and returned to the weight room to see if Teddy might meet him there again and touch him with those fingers that were soft like a kitten’s tail. Those fingers had danced and teased his skin, caressing, affectionate, warm, inviting like a hot stove heaping out heat.
And that mouth was soft and warm too, and Knuckle craved it. Lips. Tongue.
Teddy said nice words. Knuckle ain’t recall them, but he remembered the tone and timbre, which resonated in his ears and remained there like resounding church bells and made his toes tingle every time he thought about them. He snuck drinks from his flask as he worked tonight. The vodka in the flask was thinly redolent of sun-baked plastic. It probably came in a plastic bottle, but he ain’t remember the bottle.
Just before midnight, Knuckle had to go in and lay hands on a black fellah who was getting garish and jagged in the mouth, cuz he done grabbed Caitlyn Smiles’s tits, and she looked at Knuckle with a ruddy face and a puckering pair of eyes and a torn bra, and she said, “You better wreck that bastard, Knuckle!”, and so Knuckle grabbed the man by the neck and dragged him into the back alley like a outside dog, and he punched him and kicked him behind the dumpster and left him there sputtering and bathing bloodwise in moonlight because tonight a full moon splashed effulgence through the clouds, and Knuckle liked that he could see so clearly, even in the alley where there ain’t no streetlight.
The black man had a gold crucifix with a ruby at the base. Knuckle took it. He gave it to Caitlyn Smiles later, and he wanted to tell her so many things that were true both inside the club and out, that the necklace was pretty like her, that Jesus would protect her, that Knuckle would protect her, that no man had the right to treat her like that or to paw her like a possessive puppy. In his mind, Knuckle thought all those things, but out loud, he croaked in a bumpy baritone, “Here. I’s givin’ this to you.” She took it and popped a tit out of her dress as though the necklace was a tip and she needed to earn it, but Knuckle ain’t even look at the naked breast. She stood there for a second with her tit out, realized Knuckle had no intention of groping it, then she screwed up her pretty face and scuttered away like she done see a ghost. She blushed. Caitlin Smiles never blushed except deliberately to seduce a man, but Knuckle made her blush by not looking at her bare tit.
Later, Knuckle saw her whispering about it to Teddy with the soft fingers and the lime-slicing knife in one hand. She said “he’s such a freak!” with a giggled-up laugh, and Teddy nodded grimly. They both took a shot of cinammon liqueur and scrupulously avoided looking in Knuckle’s direction.
But Knuckle ain’t let on that he heard. He stood in the doorway. Nobody thought he was where they were when he was in the doorway — Teddy was inside and treated Knuckle like he was outside, so Teddy and Caitlyn could share snickers about him in private, while the men approaching the door outside nervously talked about how to get past the scary-looking bouncer as though he was a statue who couldn’t hear what they said from a few feet away.
That was why Knuckle liked liminal spaces.
“Hey, Knuckle, is the shower in the back nice? Plenty of hot water?” Teddy asked a few minutes after close that night. The last of the men done skedaddle before Knuckle could tell them to leave. The dancers left in a big group because nobody wanted Knuckle to escort them one-on-one through the parking lot.
Knuckle plopped down at the bar. Teddy slid him a cheap drink, while he finished closing down and locking up the bar. Knuckle downed it in one gulp. “No,” he said.
Teddy looked at him like that hadn’t answered his question. He shrugged. “Oh. Okay. Well, I don’t wanna use all your hot water.”
“I do not shower a lot,” Knuckle said.
“Uhhhh…” Teddy stammered and blushed. “Yeah, the dancers complain about that, and… Nevermind. Knuckle, I, uh…” He thought for a long time, then broke eye contact with Knuckle. “Nevermind,” he said again. “I’m having trouble with the shower at my place. There’s this bum who keeps squatting there.” Teddy lived in a ratty old apartment building down the street, and it came with a group shower. Teddy said, “It’s fine. He’s usually passed out cold this late. It just makes the shower seem dirty, and I thought I could shower here before I leave for the night. But I know you’ve been staying here, so-“
“Let’s go,” Knuckle said. He stood up as though to leave, while Teddy was still closing down the bar.
Teddy paused. “What?”
“I will slit his throat if he does not leave,” Knuckle said. He walked to the door.
Teddy had to race after him. “Who? The hobo! Wait, Knuckle! That’s… a little extreme. Wait!” Knuckle stopped by the door and stood motionless. It took Teddy a few seconds to realize that was Knuckle waiting — he just stopped in the middle of Lipsweet like a robot whose off-switch had gotten flicked. “Wait, uh… don’t kill him. You don’t gotta kill him.”
After a pause, Knuckle said, “yes.”
“Okay, just… Talk to him sternly, maybe. Thanks for helping. Don’t kill anybody,” Teddy said. “Lemme just get the bar shut down.” He paused and said again, “Don’t kill anyone.” He raced to finish closing Lipsweet, then he and Knuckle piled into Teddy’s four-door to head to his building.
It was a square building with cardboard replacing most of the windows on the first floor. Teddy lived on the third floor though, which was the top floor. Knuckle saw a row of windows with blinds and curtains and flickering TV screens visible through them. One of those windows was Teddy’s place, the thought of which made Knuckle’s heart tumble over its beat.
Teddy followed Knuckle up the stairs to the third floor. The stairwell was a cold concrete column with spraypainted graffiti scrawled on every surface. The dancers would be shocked and exhilarated to learn Teddy had invited Knuckle to his home — it was an accident, but still, Teddy was going with Knuckle to a second location. The dancers wouldn’t even go with Knuckle into the next room.
Knuckle done took off his shirt and his wifebeater because it was a warm and humid night. His chest cooled, and the nasty burn scar on his shoulder heaved up and down with every breath. Teddy kept sneaking glances at his broad, powerful muscles. Those scars were stark in the dimly lit arteries of Teddy’s building.
Twenty apartments lined the central corridor of the third floor, and they all shared one group shower with just two showerheads. Teddy showed Knuckle to his apartment and pointed out the shower, but Knuckle went straight there, not into Teddy’s place. Teddy followed him, key in hand, into the shower.
The hobo, Bax, sprawled on his back, bugging out in a nest of rotting old clothes and scraps of cardboard. He lay in the middle of the shower area, so he ain’t gonna get wet even if both showerheads was running. That was rare though, as usually men showered alone here.
He ain’t move until Knuckle picked him up by the throat, smacked him in the face and growled. “You don’t live here! You-“
“Aaaagchk!” Bax’s eyes opened wide — he had been awake for days, on a meth binge, but he was unaware of Knuckle until he started hitting him. Knuckle slapped him again. Bax barked, “Git off me!”

When Bax peeped Knuckle’s scarred face and murderous mein, he squealed and squirmed. He clawed at Knuckle’s chest. His feet kicked the cold floor, but Knuckle brought him outta the showers and ignored his blows and cries.
Knuckle dragged him down the stairs and out into the West Virginia night. “If you come back, I will slit your throat,” Knuckle said. He tossed Bax like a sac of seed towards the road.

Then he turned around and came back inside with Teddy, who crouched by the door with wide eyes. Knuckle stood there as though waiting for another assignment.
“Thanks,” Teddy said, blushing. Bax stumbled off into the night, blood trickling from his nose. “You wanna come into my apartment? We could have a drink.”
Knuckle nodded.
They went into Teddy’s apartment. Knuckle stood there like a gravestone, while Teddy fixed them both a quick drink. Then Teddy saw him standing blankly and motioned to the couch. Knuckle sat down. He gulped his drink down in one motion. Teddy sat on the back of the couch, spreading his legs so he could rub Knuckle’s shoulders.
“Tell me about Emma,” Teddy said when he saw that tattoo again on the nape of Knuckle’s neck. His fingers hesitated before touching the burn scar on Knuckle’s neck, but Knuckle’s whole body relaxed at his touch, so he gathered Knuckle liked it or at least tolerated it. He wondered what kind of a woman would love Knuckle. Had Knuckle said she loved him? He definitely said he loved her, but had it gone the other direction? Teddy couldn’t remember.
Knuckle nodded. He waited for Teddy to pour him another drink, then he described the traveling carnival he had joined when he was a mere teenage runaway. He traveled all over the country with that carnival.
She was a glittering blonde beauty when Knuckle first saw her, swathed in bulb light from the carnival. She glid like a galleon through the crowd. She was accompanied by a boyfriend, Tom, but Knuckle ain’t clock him. The world parted like clouds around the sun, so nobody else existed, just her, serene and curving to forever, making Knuckle’s knees go weak.
The Sammy Smack-It Strength Meter dinged and belled behind him, but Knuckle couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
“Mister! Mister! You s’posed to gimme them tickets!” said the old man who had just scored nearly top marks on the Strength Meter. Thirty tickets had been dispensed from the machine behind Knuckle, so he tore them off the roll and gave them to the wiry old man.
When Knuckle looked again for her, she was gone, lost in the crowd of Indiana appleseeds.
They were in Peoria. It took Knuckle a few minutes to remember that — all these towns looked the same to him, the same people in the same clothes, speaking the same words as they lifted the same hammer and brought it down on the same strength machine.
The one thing different here was her.
Knuckle’s eyes opened wide when he caught a glimpse of her again later. This time she was swathed in swimming darkness, just outside the well-lit carnival grounds. Children streamed past in front of Knuckle, running outta the carnival with caramel apples and sacs of Candy Annie’s home-made sweets. Knuckle pushed past them to get close enough to hear the pretty blonde lady, whose face was pursed tight, her lips bloodless, glowing when she passed under a streetlight, where she stopped to snap something harsh to that man she was with.
“You are such a asshole!” she said to him.
It was only when she said that that Knuckle finally saw she was with a man. A boyfriend. Of course a woman like her wouldn’t be single. She probably had a line of suitors trying to meet her, Knuckle thought.
He went back to the strength meter. That was it. She was gone. He might see her again before the carnival left whatever dipshit town this was, but probably not. He could have talked to her.
But he didn’t, and that was that.
The carnival shut down at ten-thirty, but Knuckle was already done by then. Nobody came by the strength meter that late. He went to the tent he lived in and sat in the lawnchair he done place out front. The sky was dappled with stars overhead, and the night was cool and calm like that woman’s eyes. But inside, Knuckle was afrenzied, with desire and with rage, and he soon got overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through him.
He stood, as the other carnies came in for the night, and he spat curse words. He formed a fist with one hand and punched his other hand in palm hard enough to hurt. He kept doing it, stalking and pacing afront his trailer.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Pavel when he walked past. He was the horse-tamer and expert for the carnival, and he set up people — mainly little girls — with horseback rides. He always smelled like a barnyard. “There’s women here, Knuckle, don’t make ’em uncomfortable.”
Knuckle nodded. His face was grim and ruddy. He stood motionless, unsure what he could say or do that Pavel wouldn’t think made the lady carnies uncomfortable. There weren’t even any women around, most likely. The handful of female carnies were probably in their own tent by now.
“Let’s go for a bath,” Pavel said. That was where he was headed when he saw Knuckle. He always bathed first because he smelled so much like a horse. He ain’t like laying in bed in a cloud of horsehair and straw.
As he led Knuckle into the bath tent, Pavel listened to him talk about the girl he done saw. Pavel was older than Knuckle, and wiser, so he just smiled and patted Knuckle on the back.
“You’re getting this worked up over a girl you ain’t even talk to yet?” Pavel asked.
Knuckle nodded. “I guess it is kinda silly.” He blushed. His face ain’t riddled with scars then. He had a strong, straight jaw with a masculine jawline and a shaggy mane of jet hair.
Pavel filled up two wooden tubs with hot water, then he hurried to rip off his stableboy clothes. He was lean and ripped, powerfully built on his own merits, though he looked skinny next to Knuckle’s barrel-shaped body. Knuckle was slow, his eyes still dreamy and far away. By the time Knuckle was done, Pavel was already sighing and sinking into the warm water.
He leaned back in the tub and sighed. “C’mon into the water, Knuckle. Don’t get’cha hopes up about pretty nice girls. Set your sights on a carnie, most likely. Caroline Nazzir likes you.” She was a carnie, a mermaid in the Hall of Wonders, as well as a pickpocket. She done made it very clear she would sleep with any man, more or less.
But Knuckle never liked her.
His hardon jutted against his briefs when Knuckle dropped his pants. He ain’t even realize that until he took his underwear off and saw it. He covered it up with both hands, not because it would be scandalous for Pavel to see him sporting a stiffy but simply because Pavel would make of him being smitten when he did see it.
And Knuckle had to admit, he was smitten. He couldn’t stop thinking about that girl, Emma, as he climbed into the tub and sat across from Pavel. Their legs were intertwined. Since Knuckle was bigger, his legs were on the outside, pressed against the sides of the wooden tub.
“I see that, you horny dog, you sportin’ wood,” Pavel said with a baritone laugh. “You still thinkin’ about her, ain’cha?”
Knuckle nodded. He got an awkward grin on his face. “She was so pretty, Pavel…”
One of Pavel’s big knobbly feet gripped Knuckle’s dick under the water. He rubbed it up and down and laughed at the look on Knuckle’s face — Knuckle’s eyes lit up with surprise, then disgust, then a long slow melting bliss as his half-hardon turned into a full-on.
Pavel grimaced and laughed at the same time, and he put his other foot on it too. Knuckle’s dick throbbed under Pavel’s callused feet, softened by the water. Knuckle twitched.
Pavel was jacking Knuckle off with his feet for two reasons. The first was that it was funny. The second was that it would mean Knuckle ain’t gonna make Pavel use his mouth or even butt later. That was an option because Pavel owed a lot of money to this carnival, and he had to pay it by giving up the butt to any carnie who needed it. That mattered because a horny carnie was liable to start trouble in the small towns they visited.
But his plan backfired — Knuckle stood up, and, in one smooth motion, bathwater still dripping from his cock, Knuckle slipped his dick into Pavel’s mouth. Knuckle bent his knees, his eyes still upcast and dreamy, like he was moving on autopilot.
Pavel made a sourpuss puckering face, but he ain’t refuse. He been taking dick for years in this carnival, and it was better than starving to death in Poland. At least here, the food was plentiful. He slurped spit up and down Knuckle’s shaft.
A baritone grunt came from Knuckle’s mouth, and he pistoned his hips. His dick rammed into Pavel’s throat. Pavel was a tall man, so he managed to swallow almost the whole thing, until his nose was nestled in Knuckle’s pubic bush.
“Ooooohhhhmmmmm…” Knuckle moaned. He thought getting hard and blowing a nut would make him forget about that blonde woman, but it didn’t. He kept thinking about her anyway. She was too pretty to imagine himself fucking her, so he pictured her talking to him and touching his arm and giggling when he spoke — giggling with her eyes too, not just her mouth.
Sour, salty precum coated Pavel’s tongue. A moist gurgling sound came from Pavel, who patted Knuckle’s big asscheeks to signal he needed a break. Pavel spat a mouthful of prenut and wiped pubic hair off his lips.
“Gimme a sec,” Pavel said. He clutched his belly with one hand, his face tense and queasy. He held back a gag and pursed his lips shut tightly.
But Knuckle kept humping, his hips gyrating, his cock jabbing back and forth, without Knuckle paying any attention. Knuckle’s mind was fixated on her. He ain’t even notice at first that his dick moved through the air, not Pavel’s mouth. It poked Pavel in the nose when he was trying not to gag, and that caused him to retch violently.
“Uaaaaggghhhhk…!” Pavel held his stomach again and spat outta the bathtub. He intended to keep spitting until the eye-wateringly salty taste of precum vanished, but Knuckle’s dick kept poking him in the face like it was trying to find his mouth. “Gimme a sec, Knuckle-“
But his mouth opened to speak, and Knuckle — his eyes still closed — aimed his rod right for it. Pavel’s whole body buckled as Knuckle’s knob invaded his mouth, instantly filling it again with precum.
Pavel ain’t try to spit it out, though his wiry chest muscles all flexed as he held back a gag. Knuckle’s pecker pulsated like an alien beast in his mouth, and Pavel’s tongue slathered spit up and down the shaft.
Cum flowed into Pavel’s throat. Knuckle grunted again, and he pounded on his chest. Pavel winced, scrunching his eyes shut. The taste was intensely salty and powerful. He held back a gag.
Finally, Knuckle let go, and Pavel pulled off. He simultaneously gasped for air and spat jizz onto the ground outside the wooden tub. He paused for a moment. “Ecchk, your jizz tastes awful, Knuckle.” He spat again, as Knuckle sighed and wiped his dicktip off on Pavel’s cheek.
“Thanks, Pavel,” Knuckle said. His nostrils flared, and he sat back down in the spermy water of the wooden bathtub. “But I still can’t stop thinking about her.”

The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter Three

At first, Teddy thought the flat voice on the phone was a recording. It didn’t quite sound like a real person. He gradually realized it could only be Knuckle.
“Teddy. Come get me. I need a ride,” said Knuckle.
Teddy crossed his arms over his chest and wondered who was on the phone. Then the distinctive voice of Knuckle flooded his memory. He stammered over a hello, flustered, unsure what Knuckle was asking or if he should agree.
“Hello, hey, hi, Knuckle, I, uh… Hey.”
“936 Motter Street.” A man’s heavy panting, like he was hurt, could be heard near the phone. Then Knuckle hung up.
The whole conversation took maybe three seconds. Teddy stood there, needing to think — about how Knuckle got his phone number, who was that panting in pain, was Motter Street in Martinsburg, what was what number? 936? Teddy hadn’t been expecting a message, so he wasn’t sure he remembered.
It turned out that the reason Knuckle didn’t give him an explanation or wait for a yes was that he was on a mission for Mr. Gregarian. Mr. Gregarian had told him to call Teddy for a ride and to tell him he could get paid for his time as though at work. Knuckle hadn’t need a ride to his location because he could walk, but he was now blood-splattered and would attract attention if he walked home. So he needed a ride.

Knuckle didn’t tell Teddy any of that, Teddy figured it out later when Mr. Gregarian gave him the money.

He found 936 Motter Street near the city college campus. This was a party-zone most of the year, choked with fraternities, sororities, teams of young men marching through with jockstraps on their faces (Teddy had seen that once). 936 was a frat house.
But it wasn’t the frat that owed money, or even any of the fraternity brothers. Greg Hardinger’s father owed money, but he had been playing hard-to-find with Mr. Gregarian, who cottoned to that like a cat on fire. He didn’t mess around — if Mr. Hardinger was gonna hide from his debt, Mr. Gregarian would either get the money or send a message or both through the young Greg Hardinger.
It was a hockey frat — not by rule, but most of the hockey players on campus were in Kappa Gamma Phi, and the frat brothers who lived in the house were all on the team.
And they were tied up in the kitchen.
Teddy knocked on the door, having no idea of any of this — Knuckle hadn’t told him a thing — and his eyes opened wide at the sight of Greg Hardinger’s handsome face a bloody mess. He was crawling around on the frat house floor. Knuckle came out with blood splattered on his scarred cheeks. He held a small wad of cash — Greg’s emergency stash.
It was only a small payment towards the debt, but it would satisfy Mr. Gregarian for now. And Greg had promised to deliver the message to his father: debt must be repaid.
Greg wasn’t that badly hurt. Knuckle went easy on him.
That feller ain’t gone easy on you… The words now hung in Knuckle’s mind like a trapeze artist. He ain’t thought about those times — the carnival days, with Emma and them — in a long time. But Teddy been steady asking about it. Nobody ever asked Knuckle nothing about his past usually. They assumed he was sensitive about it.
Which was true.
When Knuckle saw Emma for that first time, he ain’t get a chance to talk to her. The next morning though, he saw her on the street. She was like a golden angel, and Knuckle said hello to her, and she said hello back like she ain’t know who he was, and then she recognized him from the carnival last night, so she must have looked at him at some point, even though Knuckle ain’t seen her do it, and that thought made Knuckle’s heart race. He smiled at her. She smiled back. Then her dickhead boyfriend Tom yelled for her to come to him, as he was coming out of a store, struggling with a buncha bags, and Emma looked away from Knuckle to Tom, but she winced like she ain’t wanna do it even as she padded softly over there. Tom shot Knuckle a mean look.
Knuckle ain’t give that mean look much regard. Tom was a middle-class mudclot, and Knuckle ain’t got a lick of worry for him.
But Knuckle done misjudge Tom. He musta learned from Emma that Knuckle was a carnie, because later that evening, when Knuckle left the carnival grounds to find a hardware store, he was beset upon by Tom and a gaggle of his coiffed polo-prep prickless pals, who broed around him like agreeable jackdaws.
“That’s for talking to Emma!” Tom said when he kicked the bloody and broken Knuckle in the side. “She’s got better things waiting for her in this life than some carnie!” He kicked him again. He and his buddies chortled off into the night. “C’mon, guys, let’s get back to my place.”
He musta told Emma what he did, because she came and found Knuckle a few minutes later. He done prop himself up and leaned against the brick wall of a brush factory, hidden from the street by a dumpster that smelled of rotten Chinese food and insulated him from the rumbling engines of the cars putt-putting along on the other side. He cradled his badly bruised ribs. He ain’t think none of his ribs was broken, but it hurt to breathe, and pain bloomed all over like endless marigolds.
“Oh, you got hurt! That’s so awful, oh no…” Emma said when she came upon him. She clucked her tongue like a nurse. “Oh, you poor dear… C’mon, can you stand?”
“I’m okay, miss,” Knuckle said, blushing, eyes opening wide when she looked at him so nicely. When she got down beside him, he kissed her, and though he tasted only blood and sweat, his heart swelled with rising roses, while his heart rapidly raced and shudders wracked his frame. His meaty hands swept over her shoulders.
She pulled away with a pause, lips trembling and hovering above his own. “C’mon, you have to go to the hospital.”
He shook his head, which flung a few drops of blood onto the ground beside the dumpster. “The carnies will take care of me. I’m fine.” He struggled to his feet. His legs wobbled.
“You’re not fine!” she said. But she didn’t insist on it. She wrapped one arm around his waist, as though she could provide any support to his towering frame. He didn’t need it though. He could still walk, despite his bloody and broken face. He lumbered like a lovelorn frankenstein.
They made it onto the street and headed north, towards the carnie encampment. Knuckle limped, but his gait straightened and smoothed once he walked a block or two, and Emma talked but Knuckle’s mind whirred too fast to hear a word she said, so he listened only to her mellifluous tinkling tones, which hung in his head like a heavenly harp.
A siren whooped, and a cop car pulled up behind them. Emma stopped. Knuckle kept going at first, but he stopped when Emma ain’t continue alongside. He turned around.
“You okay, missus?” asked the cop, a stout middle-aged black man with a shaved head and a dense mustache like a push broom, which wriggled when he wrinkled his nose at the sight of Knuckle’s beat-up, swollen and bloody body. But he went right to Emma, who got a little of Knuckle’s blood on her face and flecking her sundress. “He hittin’ on you? You one of dem carnies, fellah?”
“I’m fine,” Emma said. “I wasn’t hurt. He was. He’s hurt.”
“I do’n need-uh go to the hospu’al,” Knuckle said. His broken nose made it hard to talk.
The cop, whose badge ided him as Officer Castle, sighed. “You drunk?” Knuckle shook his head. Officer Castle pointed to the chain-link fence beside the road, sectioning off the university parking lot from the road. “Hands on that fence, carnie.”
Knuckle did as he was told, while Officer Castle listened to what Emma told him. She patiently explained that her boyfriend had beaten Knuckle up for no good reason. She spoke in a dulcet timbre that calmed Knuckle’s agonized nerves. Castle was sympathetic throughout, then put her in the front seat of the squad car, while Knuckle got in the back.
“I’ll drop you off at home, missus,” Officer Castle said. He started the squad car and headed off.
“Then you’ll take him to the hospital?” Emma asked.
“I don’ need-uh go!” Knuckle said from the backseat.
Officer Castle winked at her. “I’ll make sure he gets took care of, missus,” he said. “Where do you live, miss?”
She gave him directions, but her voice was clipped and her lips were tense, like she was holding back a pout. She kept shooting Knuckle apologetic glances. Knuckle ain’t know how to react, so he just sat there and tried to look like he weren’t in pain, for both her benefit and so Officer Castle ain’t think Knuckle really needed a hospital.
Finally, the squad car pulled into a streetside spot next to Emma’s building.
“You never told me your name,” Emma said after Officer Castle got out. She didn’t move to open her door, so Castle came around to that side to open it. She and Knuckle had a few seconds of perfect silence.
“Knuckle,” he said, his voice a bloody flat croak that ruined the silence.
“I”m Emma,” she said. She smiled so softly she looked like a pillow. Knuckle’s eyes opened wide. His cheeks burned a bright pink.
Then splendid silence ended. Officer Castle opened up Emma’s door, and she got out. He walked her to her front door. Before she went inside, there was an awkward moment as Officer Castle leaned in to kiss her, but she deftly maneuvered away. He did get his hands on her waist though, and he gently cupped one buttcheek before she scuppered into her house.
Officer Castle arranged his now-erect cock in his uniform slacks before he walked stiffly back to the squad car. He got behind the wheel. He whistled. “Reckon I ain’t surprised you got tempted by that sweet young thang. She is a fine woman.”
Knuckle nodded.
“Hmmmmmm…” Castle sighed. “Look, buddy, she a nice girl. She got a nice man for a boyfriend. He gonna set her up wit’ a nice life. Don’chu you ruin that for her wit’cha low-trash self, you feel me? You shouldn’t be messin’ wit’ no local girls anyway. I know Sheriff Torkelson wouldn’t like that at all. He don’t like carnies. So I can’t arrest this Tom fellah for assaulting you. Don’t look like he did much damage anyhow.”
After a long quiet pause, Knuckle said, “Are you taking me to the hospital?”
“No,” Officer Castle said. “I told that nice lady I’d get you took care of.” He pulled into the parking lot of precinct 17. “Don’t’chu worry, you ain’t under arrest neither. Just come in.”
He led Knuckle into the police station, whose lights was mostly off. A few emergency lights remained, along with a room in the back. They navigated among the desks into that backroom, which was the local jail.
A couple jail cells lined each side. One of them was the drunk tank, and it stank of piss and vomit and was choked with passed-out coal miners — there was a brawl in a miner’s bar this afternoon. The rear cell on the left was the one with the light on, and in there was a tall hairy man in his boxers, watching TV.
He was almost as tall as Knuckle, and he was powerfully built too. He ain’t have a barrel-shaped chest like Knuckle though, he was more of a naturally lanky man who grew muscular because there was nothing else to do but work out in prison.
His name was Baker, and he was a trustee. That was why he was allowed a TV in his cell, which was furnished comfortably. He scowled though at the sight of Officer Castle and then Knuckle’s beat-up and bloody body. He turned down the volume on the talk show on the TV.
“Whatchoo want, Castle? I finished cleanin’ the ter’lets,” Baker said.
“Get this fellah bandaged up,” Officer Castle said. “He don’t wanna go to the hospital, and he a carnie, so the hospital prolly wouldn’t want him neither. I’ll get doc’s kit.” He went back out into the main room of the police station and rummaged through drawers.
“Sit.” Baker pointed to the chair in the center of the cell. Knuckle sat down, while Baker used a towel to dab off the dirt and blood on his face. “What happened to you?”
“A fight.” Knuckle ain’t wanna say that he had gotten ganged up on, and he ain’t wanna talk about Emma lest Officer Castle launch into another tirade about nice girls and carnies. So he couldn’t think of any details to add.
Baker let out a hoarse chuckle. “Okay, yeah. Makes sense, buddy.”
By the time Baker got off enough blood to see the wounds, Officer Castle done come back with the doctor’s kit. Baker was experienced with it — he’d worked in the infirmary back in the prison — so he got to work bandaging up Knuckle’s wounds. He put a butterfly bandage on the deepest one first. That made Knuckle wince, as he had to force the torn flesh together.
Officer Castle told Baker a little more about what happened, focusing mainly on how pretty Emma was. Soon Castle was looking dreamy-eyed. “She got legs like you wouldn’t believe, Baker, I ain’t seen ’em till she get in the light of her front porch.” His hands were on Baker’s smooth bare back now, massaging his tattooed muscles.
“Goddamn, I love a girl wit’ legs,” Baker said. He was distracted by applying another butterfly bandage, this time to Knuckle’s side. “You want some ice, fellah? I’ll get’cha an ice-pack.” Baker tried to get up, but Officer Castle clucked his tongue and massaged Baker’s back more firmly.
“Nah, Baker. I put a ice-pack in the bag,” Castle said softly.
Baker grabbed the ice-pack from the doctor’s kit, grumbling. He put it on Knuckle’s sore belly, and Knuckle sighed with relief. Baker gave his ribs a couple pokes to see if they were broken, but Knuckle ain’t seem fazed.
Then Castle took his dick out through the fly of his uniform slacks. It jabbed, already hard, into Baker’s side. Baker grunted and swatted it away. “C’mon, Castle, I is fixin’ him up-“
“Don’t lemme stop you,” Castle said. “Hmmm-hmm, you got nice smooth skin, Baker. No hair neither. Like that. I like that,” he said emphatically. He winked at Knuckle. His dick rubbed Baker’s spine. Then his hands pulled down Knuckle’s boxers.
“Here. Ibuprofren,” Baker said. He handed over some pills he found in the doctor’s kit. He poked around in there as though looking for more bandages, but he was actually hoping to find more pills. He ignored Castle’s fat fingers groping him like a girl.
Before he could put gauze on the asphalt-scraped shoulder, Baker grunted and gritted his teeth. Castle’s cock slid into his ass.
“Carnies do ramrodding, right, fellah?” Castle said, his voice a low simmer. His hands reached around Baker’s body to his chest. One hand squeezed his pec, the other groped the flesh and nipple — you could almost sort of pretend it was a tit.
“Yes, suh,” Knuckle said.
“Well, if you wanna do it next, you can,” Castle said. His whole body tensed as he flexed his hips.
Baker grunted and closed his eyes. “Ow, shit, Castle!” He spread his asscheeks with both hands, which always seemed like it should reduce the pain but never did.
“Hmm-hmm, c’mon, Baker… Moan for me, get me goin’-“
“You goin’, shit, ow, ow, ow, Castle, c’mon! You already goin’ good and hard!” Baker’s knees went weak, and he winced. He took Knuckle’s dick in hand as though to put it in his mouth, but he didn’t, as Officer Castle behind him spurted jizz into his booty.
“Hmmm-hmm…” Officer Castle murmured.
A huge wad of cum bloomed within Baker, whose cheeks went red. He did manage to get Knuckle’s limp dick in his mouth for a second, but then he lifted his head to grab some toilet paper. He sopped up all the cum leaking from his butthole when Officer Castle pulled out. He screwed up his nose at the messy wad of toilet paper in his hand, then threw it away into the little trash bin in his cell.
“Ya turn, big boy,” Baker muttered. He stroked Knuckle’s dick with one hand, which he lotioned up with some vaseline. Knuckle leaned back on the chair.
“Shit, you jack off e’ry dude that come in here?” Knuckle asked.
Baker scoffed. “No. Just the cops and, y’know… visitors,” he said. He shrugged. “It’s better than prison.” He kept stroking Knuckle’s dick with one hand, his butt hovering above it. It stiffened up in his grasp. “I got a pretty loose butthole.” He grimaced as he lowered his ass onto Knuckle’s dick. It entered the hole.
When Knuckle’s hands touched his waist to pull him down, Baker clucked his tongue and stopped him.
“Nah, son, wait. You got big meat, I’m goin’ slow,” Baker said. His eyes flicked back to the TV, which had finished the commercials and was back on the talk show. “And keep it down. I’s still watchin’ my show.”
Knuckle’s hands hovered above Baker’s asscheeks. He didn’t touch it, though the sensations arising from his ass were intense. He threw his head back and moaned.
Cum spurted into Baker’s butthole. A long flow of it filled him up, and Knuckle sucked in his breath. His massive dong flopped out. Baker winced again, ready with a wad of toilet paper to wipe up the cum that plopped out. Baker kept his eyes trained on the TV the whole time.
Finally, Baker’s butt was clean, and Knuckle leaned back in the chair, relaxing. Knuckle’s dick was still covered in juices. He took a deep breath, only for images of Emma to return to his mind.
Baker tossed him the roll of toilet paper. “Clean ya dick up, son. Then get outta my cell.”

The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter Five

The new couch was on sale, but the delivery charges were exorbitant. That was how they got you, Teddy decided.
Well, he decided to show that snooty salesman that Teddy wasn’t gonna fall for his shenanigans. He asked Knuckle to help him move the couch. It wasn’t that heavy. Teddy borrowed a truck from his neighbor, and Knuckle came to help him move it on a day he had off.
When they got the couch off the truck and into Teddy’s apartment, they stopped to drink a couple beers and have a pizza delivered. Then Knuckle helped Teddy get rid of the ratty old couch at the dump and drop off the truck at the end of the street. Teddy hadn’t specifically planned on inviting Knuckle into his apartment again after that.
But Knuckle, in his creepy wordless way, followed, and Teddy hoped to jack him off again, so he didn’t complain. When they got into the apartment, Knuckle immediately opened another beer.
“What happened to your knuckles, Knuckles?” Teddy asked with a chuckle. Knuckles had had bloody knuckles all day, like he got in a fight, but Teddy knew his last couple shifts at Lipsweet had been uneventful.
Knuckles shrugged. “I was fighting last night. In a bare-knuckle boxing league.”
“Really? How’d you get started doing that?” Teddy asked. It was so like Knuckle to have this really interesting hobby that he literally never told anyone about, not because it was a secret, but because nobody knew to ask about it.
“I done it since my carnie days,” he said.
But back then, it weren’t no kind of league or nothing. The carnival just set up fights in the towns they visited, to attract some crowds and make a little money betting on Knuckle. He was still throwing down knuckles when he got sent up a long time ago.
The state prison was the Eastern Panhandle State Penitentiary. That where Knuckle did his nine-year bid. He came out with a crooked nose and one ear ripped up, permanent cauliflower on the other ear.
The prison sponsored the bare-knuckle fighting league to keep the inmates focused on winning insteada picking brawls in the shower or shanking shitheads in the slop hall. The prison allowed each gang to send a fighter into the league, and the prison supplied a guard to coach each fighter.
For Knuckle, the gang was the Gray Snakes. They was bikers, not that Knuckle was much of a motorcyclist, but he was doing dealings with them when he got arrested, and he ain’t snitch not a bit, not even when the sheriff truncheoned him silly. That gave him entrance to the Gray Snakes.
But the Gray Snakes got full members and affiliate members. Full members join on the outside and go through a process — Knuckle ain’t savvy to that process, but it involved bleeding in and bleeding out, he knew that much. A man who ain’t see fit to join up till he get to prison and need protection from the black boys was called a affiliate member. They wasn’t treated as good within the gang, not till they could earn they leather jacket.
So the only way how Knuckle could earn that leather jacket was winning glory for the Gray Snakes boxing with the other gangs. He thought he was gonna win the title fight that first year.
His coach was Officer Turpinelli. He strongly believed that Knuckle was the best fighter in this joint.
So when Knuckle went out there for his first prison-championship bout, Turpinelli was in his corner. He was a middle-aged guido, his black hair now salted with gray, his big milk-chocolate fists callused from a lifetime of amateur boxing and working as a prison guard. Turpinelli was from Staten Island, and he had a thick New Yawker accent. His uniform shirt was mostly unbuttoned to reveal his greasy white undershirt.
“C’mon, Knuckle, you gawt this, you gawt this!” he said when he sent Knuckle out there into the prison yard with a swat on his ass. Knuckle wore only his blue prison shorts, his broad chest — not yet badly scarred — gleaming and bronzed. He was still handsome then, boxy-faced and craggy like an action hero, his torso perfectly tapered and padded with muscle.
His gang was chanting his name. The Gray Snakes were all in one corner of the yard, wearing the full prison uniform — it was a chilly day, and Knuckle, in his shorts and nothing else, still steamed, his hairless chest overheating. Most of the Gray Snakes was eager for Knuckle to win.
But Knuckle wasn’t gonna win. He was told by Denny, the head Gray Snake at the state prison, to throw the match.
Most of the Gray Snakes done bet on the other guy – Deyon Green or Gray or Brown or some color name Knuckle couldn’t remember. Meanwhile Denny been spreading word on the downlow that Deyon was in bad shape. Ain’t nobody betting on him except the Gray Snakes.

So all Knuckle gotta do was take a pounding and make it look real. He was good at getting hit. His face was like stone, and he threw a couple good punches right back. Each time he did, the assembled prisoners erupted in cheers.

Ain’t nobody like the Crips much, so only the Crips was rooting for Deyon. When Knuckle accidentally knocked Deyon to the ground, he thought he mighta won, and his heart sank.
He paused long enough for Officer Bellyfat to hold him back from Deyon, who wobbled but returned to his feet in time. Knuckle kept his face grim and determined. Was the crowd falling for it? He ain’t wanna look to see the reactions on they faces. He could hear them, but he worried looking would make it obvious he was focused on the crowd, not on the fight.
He avoided looking at Officer Turpinelli too. He was sure Turpinelli would know, if they made eye contact, that he ain’t trying to win. He blocked a couple of Deyon’s jabs, then saw a long uppercut coming quick.
Knuckle had only a brief moment to decide — block it and prolong the fight? Or take it to the face and go down? Had the fight gone on long enough?
He ain’t sure he made a decision, but he hesitated long enough that the uppercut hit him good. He really did pass for a few seconds. He coulda got up in time, as Officer Bellyfat was still counting off the knockout, but Knuckle fluttered his eyes like he was dizzy. He stayed on the mat.
“The winner…!” The ref — Officer Brokenose — held up Deyon’s hand, and the colored boys in one corner of the yard all screamed with pride. Deyon was the underdog, so they mostly ain’t expect to win.
And Knuckle’s half-conscious mind struggled avoid smiling, cuz he done won two grand, plus he earned his spot in the Gray Snakes. Blood trickled down his face like a river delta. He heard the dull roar of the crowd and the feigned disappointment of the Gray Snakes — ain’t nobody but them know that they was the only ones betting on Deyon to win.
Someone threw a hunk of wood at Knuckle, and it thunked off his body. Then a coffee mug. Then something wet, maybe spit — he couldn’t tell who was doing what as he pushed through the crowd, blood clouding his vision. He grimaced. He was bleeding from the neck now, just a thin trickle — was somebody throwing glass?
It took a few seconds for Knuckle’s hardened mind to realize a glass bottle got smashed on the meat of his back. He was bleeding like a drain when he finally staggered on sweaty trunks into the locker room.
The lockers stank of rank underwear. The floor was bare concrete spotted with always-wet mildew. A bucket caught a leak that never would get fixed. But it was mercilessly silent.
Knuckle took a deep breath and wiped blood out his eyes. He plopped onto the bench, and Officer Turpinelli came in from the other door with a first aid kit. He ain’t say nothing at first. He just came in, opened the first aid kit, took out a needle and thread and disinfected the needle with a lighter.
He only then noticed the shards of glass in Knuckle’s back. He picked them out with tweezers. “Lotta men bet money on you, Knuckle,” he finally said. “I don’t blame ’em for gettin’ ornery. You coulda won. That Deyon ain’t worth a thing.”
“Yessuh, Officer Turpinelli,” Knuckle said. He ain’t got that raspy note to his voice yet, not till the fire years later, so his voice was low and smooth and rumbling like a distant earthquake. His square jaw worked up and down, and he avoided eye contact with Turpinelli.
“You ain’t give it y’all out there, Knuckle. No disrespect, brothah, but that was a sorry display,” Turpinelli said. He inserted the needle into Knuckle’s back without warning him, so Knuckle flinched. Turpinelli ignored it and stitched up the biggest cut.
“Yessuh,” Knuckle said. When Officer Turpinelli was done with that cut, Knuckle took off his shorts, eager to get into the shower and away from Turpinelli. He wanted back to his cell. The Gray Snakes would protect him from the others — as upset was the others were that Knuckle done lost, the Gray Snakes were gonna be overjoyed about it.
Plus they’d give him liquor, which would be a better pain relief than anything Officer Turpinelli was gonna do. Knuckle ain’t got a choice about that though. He just took his shorts and jockstrap off, and his heavy cock plopped fatly on the bench.
His whole body was so sweaty his skin felt slimy.
“I know we practiced better than that,” Turpinelli said. He stitched up the cut on Knuckle’s temple. He ain’t try to be gentle like he when he did the same thing after Knuckle won a fight. He wrenched Knuckle’s head this way and that. “You listenin’? Listen to me when I’s talkin’ to you, lard-brain!” He rapped Knuckle on the skull.
“Yessuh,” Knuckle said. He winced when the rapping on his head went from playful to painful. Turpinelli slapped him hard on the cheek like a woman. Knuckle’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“You was jack-jawin’ when I know you know better, you shoulda let that punk-ass Crip tucker himself out,” Turpinelli said. He stood back and looked Knuckle’s naked chest up and down. He examined the cuts on Knuckle’s chest, then his back, to see if any others needed stitching.
Then he punched Knuckle right in the gut. Still seating, Knuckle oomphed and clutched his belly for a second. He clambered to stand only to stop himself even before Officer Turpinelli could smack him down. He stood real close to Knuckle and gripped his head with both hands.
Knuckle remained stout-faced naked on the bench. He wrinkled his nose. The smell of Officer Turpinelli’s uniform slacks — clean laundry, old-man balls and loose change — filled his nostrils, now that the swelling had gone down enough he could smell again.
“I am gonna have to teach you a lesson,” Turpinelli said. He unzipped the fly of his ironed slacks, and his stinky Italian hog flopped free. He untucked and undid the buttons on his uniform shirt, so his undershirt was bared, ringed by silver and black hairs poking out from under the fabric.
Knuckle’s loose and crooked nose wrinkled. He hocked up a loogey of blood, spat it on the concrete floor, sighed and looked away. Turpinelli leaned back to make his swarthy cock dangle forward, and he slapped it over Knuckle’s cheek. Knuckle ain’t respond.
“Knuckle?” Turpinelli said. “C’mon, you know what to do. I ain’t gonna put it in ya mouth, you gotta do that. Show me the respect you ain’t been showin’ me.”
He again thwack-thwacked his limp knob on Knuckle’s face, on his nose and lip. Knuckle cringed at the smell of Turpinelli’s crotch hair sticking out the fly of his slacks. He took hold of Turpinelli’s cock with one hand and gave it a few strokes without looking at it..
He spat up more blood onto the concrete floor of the locker room, as he gracelessly flopped Turpinelli’s shaft in one hand. Turpinelli aimed his hips to drag his cocktip over Knuckle’s face, mainly the bruised and swollen area around his left eye. Knuckle winced in pain.
“You wasn’t following the strategy we laid out,” Turpinelli said. He kept his hands on his hips as Knuckle flopped his dick around with one hand. Turpinelli frowned. “Now I look like a fool in front of the other staff.”
“Yessuh. I’m sorry, suh,” Knuckle said. He avoided looking up, his one hand lazily gripping Turpinelli’s shaft as Turpinelli pumped his hips and humped Knuckle’s grip. It was as soft as cooked spaghetti and thick like a doll’s leg.
With another wince that hurt his bruised face, Knuckle put Officer Turpinelli’s cocktip in his mouth. The salty taste of skin hit his tongue. He winced again.
“Hmmmmm, I shoulda been doing this all along,” Turpinelli said with a throaty laugh. “Maybe this is the only way to knock some sense into ya lard-brain.” A jolt ran up his cock, which began to firm. Knuckle slathered spit up and down the shaft, stimulating it with his tongue to avoid putting it back in his mouth — tasted the same, it just seemed less humiliating to lick it like a meaty lollipop. “You need a ongoing lesson to remember to listen to me. I tol’ you he got a strong right hook and a uppercut. I tol’ you what his pattern was. You ain’t look out for it, Knuckle,” Turpinelli said. He began moving his dick in and out of Knuckle’s mouth. He swatted Knuckle’s hand outta the way. “No hand. You shoulda been blockin’ — you remembuh? We talked ’bout it. He always do couple jabs.” Turpinelli jabbed the air with his left fist, above Knuckle’s head as Turpinelli humped his mouth. “Then he hit with the mad uppercut. You left yaself wide open, you lard-brain!” That was a harsh word where Turpinelli came from, Knuckle done gathered. “You got somethin’ to say for yahself?”
He pulled outta Knuckle’s mouth, his dick still only part hard — Turpinelli wasn’t even trying to get hard yet. It poked around on Knuckle’s bruised-up face, as Knuckle took a deep breath. “Sorry, suh. I had a off-day,” Knuckle said. He kept his eyes on Turpinelli’s knob.
Officer Turpinelli scoffed. He rammed his rod back into Knuckle’s mouth. Knuckle slackened his jaw, letting Turpinelli use it. He closed his mouth to hold back a violent gag, but a moist squelching sound did come out, followed by another one.
“Don’t make that sound, it’s gross,” Turpinelli said. His voice was lower now, calmer, his dick good and hard. His veiny shaft throbbed in Knuckle’s throat. Knuckle couldn’t help himself though, suppressing a little gag only to be overcome by a painfully large one. He retched up Turpinelli’s cock. Turpinelli scoffed like he ain’t approve of that sound neither. Knuckle couldn’t help it, as the intense taste and the jab down his throat were impossible to resist.
Before he could take another breath, Turpinelli drilled it back down his throat.
“Look up at me.”
Knuckle cringed but did so. He knew he’d see Officer Turpinelli grimacing at him, frowning, disappointed in him. When he looked up, he also saw his throbbing dick and tendrils of precum clinging to Knuckle’s fingers, but what stuck in Knuckle’s mind was the disapproving look on Turpinelli’s face.
“Open up,” Turpinelli said.
Knuckle was going to say again that it was just an off-day, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Instead, Turpinelli’s dick pushed in.
“Don’chu fight me. I can shift you into gen-pop anytime, Knuckle,” Turpinelli said. He clucked his tongue. “I gotta teach you to respect me.” His cock slid deeper into Knuckle’s mouth.
He choked on it and closed his eyes until Officer Turpinelli clucked his tongue.
“Open them peepers, Knuckle. I wanna see your respect.”
Knuckle’s muscles flexed and spasmed as he held back a gag, and he worked his tongue up and down Turpinelli’s shaft. It tasted stale and salty, especially after precum began flowing and coating Knuckle’s mouth.
Turpinelli stopped moving and grunted with his dick protruding deep down Knuckle’s gullet. Cum flowed, and a rattling sigh escaped from Officer Turpinelli’s mouth. He made a sound like he was gonna talk, but the words were overcome by another sigh and a moan of slow-melting bliss, followed by a flood of sticky jizz into Knuckle’s mouth.
Lotta it spilled out onto his cheeks and chin, and some even got in his nose. Knuckle closed his eyes and tried not to retch. He kept his jaw slack so his mouth drained as quick as it was filled.
Knuckle choked and sputtered, but he ain’t fight back. He had done what he needed to. Now all that mattered was submitting and getting through this. The taste of cum was sticky and intense, but he avoided vomiting too hard, his throat plugged up by Turpinelli’s cock.
At last it popped out, connected with tendrils of saliva to Knuckle’s jaw. Knuckle tried to move away, but Turpinelli kept both his big mitts on Knuckle’s head. His limp dick throbbed and spewed a few final drops onto Knuckle’s forehead.
“Next time, pay attention during your training,” Turpinelli said.
“Yessuh,” Knuckle said. He held back a gag. Despite that, he was glad that it seemed Turpinelli had no suspicion Knuckle threw the match. He breathed a sigh of relief, only for that to cause his nose to fill with the scent of Turpinelli’s gooey jizz, which covered his face. Knuckle couldn’t help but gag.
“Go’n and showuh up, Knuckle,” Turpinelli said. “If I gotta ram some sense into you again, it’s goin’ in the othuh end.”

The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter Six

The city of Martinsburg was vibrant and inky-black tonight, as Teddy strode and Knuckle limped back to Teddy’s apartment. Knuckle was bruised-up again, ice on his black eye, his nose bandaged by the nurse at the fight — Knuckle had just competed in a bare-knuckle boxing match against a stout Bulgarian fellow.
Knuckle limped victoriously because he had smashed that Bulgarian man into the dirt. He limped because the Bulgarian got a buncha good hits in first. Teddy walked with a pumped-up gait to his step because he had bet big-time on Knuckle, and he was now eight hundred dollars richer. He had never done anything as exciting.
The fight was brief, but a half-dozen matches between smaller men came up before the heavyweights. During the bouts between smaller men, Teddy stood behind a short but well-muscled Mexican man with macabre tattoos covering his bare back and neck (and probably his front, but Teddy couldn’t see that). Teddy had gotten up so close to him that he was shoved face-first into the man’s sweaty shoulder muscles.
Seeing that other men were touching each other too, Teddy’s own fingers had moved to the Mexican’s warm belly and up his side. Teddy gripped him as though he was being jostled hard from behind.
The Mexican ain’t respond. His back was so sweaty, his muscles firm beneath a thick layer of padding. Teddy couldn’t help but moan into his manly meat. The roar of the crowd was loud — Teddy couldn’t even have heard the Mexican complain if he said something, but he ignored Teddy’s fingers creeping around to his chest.
Then before Teddy knew it his own dick was out, his hands moving on autopilot now. The Mexican man had a thick layer of fur on his chest, which Teddy teased with one hand, while his other slipped lower, into the Mexican man’s pants.
His dick was warm and wet with sweat, and the Mexican man shouted then, startling Teddy — but he was just cheering because the Mexican fighter he had bet on just won his match. The Mexican still ignored Teddy, giving no signs he had even noticed Teddy’s hand jacking him off his in his mud-crusted workpants or Teddy’s cock leaking precum into the puddle of sweat in the small of the Mexican man’s hairy back.
Teddy had no idea which of them came first. The Mexican’s crotch was so wet with sweat that it wasn’t until his dick got limp that Teddy realized the crotch-sweat was now creamy and sticky with jizz. Then Teddy shot his own wad over the Mexican man’s hairy, tattooed back.
He stepped away. Had anyone noticed? He didn’t think so. Teddy giggled and put his cock away, watching his jizz drip over the Mexican man’s gang tats.
But then Knuckle’s fight began, and Teddy paid attention to that. It was over quick, and Knuckle showed no emotion when the burly black man refereeing the bout held up one of Knuckle’s arms to show his victory.

Then Knuckle collected his share of the take, and Teddy got his winnings from the pimp in a green suit flanked by scantily clad hos. Teddy was so excited he didn’t even notice the hos trying to seduce him or the pimp scowling cuz Teddy ignored the hos.

All Teddy cared about was making sure Knuckle was okay and that he got home okay.
Teddy’s apartment building was quiet and dark by the time they got there. The walls were thin like water, so the sounds of TVs and radios and air conditioners were audible in the halls. They went up the stairs to the third floor.
“Oh, that smell,” Teddy wrinkled his nose. “I think that must be a rat or something. I smell it sometimes.” It was a sort of a cat-piss-in-a-sandbox aroma.
“Meth.”
“The landlord’s a dick. He sent an exterminator around last year, but he was just looking for roaches,” Teddy said. He went to his apartment and opened the door. “Did you say meth?”
Knuckle nodded. “That’s meth. Somebody’s smoking meth.” He strode down the hall to the showers. Teddy shut his apartment door and followed Knuckle.
There, right where Knuckle had kicked his ass a couple months ago, was Bax. He crouched and smoked his meth from a glass stem. The dense smoke filled the shower area. He glanced up at Knuckle when he came in, but he didn’t seem to recognize him.
“Hey, mistuh, you got a nasty scar on ya face, you all beat up,” Bax said. “You look like you went through the ringer, the ringer, the ringer, what is that? What are you doing? You live here, huh, do you? I am just getting high, exploring the linoleum. Linoleum. Linoleum.”
He yelped when Knuckle punched him in the face, then grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him face-first into the wall. Knuckle growled. “I thought I told you to get outta here and nevuh show yo’ face.”
“You bitch-ass! I live here!” Bax spat and fell limp, groaning in pain. Knuckle dropped him to the ground. Bax crawled around at Knuckle’s feet, unable to get upright, either because he was hurt or because he was too methed up, or maybe some of both.
This had all happened so fast that Teddy could do little more than stare. He went pale. He realized Knuckle was talking to him, repeating himself over and over, but it took some time for Teddy to focus.
“If I hit him more, he won’t be able to leave,” Knuckle said.
Teddy gulped. He hadn’t meant for Bax to get seriously hurt, so he didn’t want Knuckle to hit him again. But without a serious injury, Bax seemed likely to come right back.
Teddy slyly smiled. “Knuckle… will you show me what ramrodding is? I’ve heard about it, it’s a prison thing, right?”
Knuckle shrugged and nodded. He got down behind the barely conscious Bax and dropped his pants. He shoved his limp dick at Bax’s butthole. Knuckle seemed unaware until he tried that he had no erection and couldn’t possibly get his dick into Bax’s bony bottom.
The motion definitely woke Bax up thoroughly though. His wiry limbs flexed as he tried to get up. Knuckle smacked him hard. Bax yelped and tried to squirm away, but Knuckle held onto him by the back of the neck.
“Don’t move, punk.” Knuckle rabbit-punched Bax in the back of the head. Bax howled. “I said don’t move. On your hands and knees-“
“What the fuck is you doin’-?”
“Shut up.” Knuckle kept aiming his dick for Bax’s asshole, but he wasn’t hard so it didn’t go in. He did stroke it though with one hand, so it was getting hard slowly. “This is ramrodding.” He was so matter-of-fact that Teddy didn’t realize Knuckle was talking to him.
“Oh, I-” Teddy gasped.
“Ow, ow, ow! You fuckin’ freak!” Bax howled. Knuckle punched him again in the back of the head, then in the side. Bax flinched in agony. He clutched his already-bruised ribs where Knuckle had bruised them again. “Ow! You owe me then! You owe me! I charge fifty bucks to take it up the rear!”
Knuckle shoved his dick in, still only part hard but hard enough now to get purchase on Bax’s buckhole. His dick doubled up then — it looked painful — as it almost slipped out. He kept stroking his pecker with one hand. He plowed his hips, forcing his dick in a little deeper.
“Get ready,” Knuckle said. He kept a tight grip on Bax’s neck. Now that his dick was rock-hard, he forced it in, using one hand to hold Bax in place and the other to motion for Teddy to get ready behind him. “Be done in a sec.”
“I don’t care how quick you done!” Bax roared. He thought Knuckle was talking to him. “You still gotta-!” He squealed as Knuckle squeezed his neck to shut him up.
But Teddy realized Knuckle was telling him to go next. Teddy’s heart raced. Knuckle’s whole body flexed right in front of his face, as Knuckle blew a nut and Teddy massaged his weary asscheeks and powerful back.
Cum filled Bax’s butthole. Knuckle didn’t move a beat or make a sound, he simply kept going, churning Bax’s loose butthole into a giant bubbly mess of white. He stopped only when his balls were thoroughly drained.
“You ready for a go?” Knuckle asked.
Teddy nodded, and Knuckle pulled his limp dick out. Teddy raced to take his place. He got behind Bax, who still squirmed and wriggled, but he didn’t try to get up.
Teddy shoved his dick in. Bax’s grimy asshole gaped in front of him. He howled in pain, and Teddy almost backed off out of instinct.
“Ow, shit!” Bax roared. Teddy wanted to tell him that he would pay for his ass, as long as Bax agreed to leave and not come back.
But mind-blowing bliss enveloped Teddy and compelled him to stay quiet, to push on, penetrating deeper into Bax’s loose hole. There was no resistance in the hole, though he sensed Bax’s whole body trying to flex his butthole — he wasn’t intact and couldn’t squeeze effectively.
It did send a wave of pleasure through Teddy though, whose whole body shook and tensed as he reached orgasm.
A burst of jizz sprayed into Bax’s now-loose butthole. Teddy cried out loud, virtually screaming, the sound ricocheting off the linoleum walls of the shower. Bax sprawled out flat on his belly. Teddy kept humping, making a puddle of jizz form beneath his taint.
Teddy’s cock plopped out of his ass, followed by a pair of giant cumloads dripping onto the shower floor. Bax grunted with relief, then staggered upright on unsteady feet. His pants were around his ankles, and he was dizzy with bruises on his face and ribs. He croaked out loud.
“If anybody evuh see you in this buildin’ again,” Knuckle said, “I will slit ya dumb bitch throat.” He shoved the still-mostly-naked Bax towards the door. “Now run.”
Bax sprinted out with his pants around his ankles.

The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter Seven

Teddy brought a duffel bag of mostly clothes from Knuckle’s place to the big central booking station in downtown Martinsburg. Teddy had never been there before. It was nerve-wracking.
But he made it through the inspection process and was allowed to bring the duffel bag to the prisoner, Knuckle. He had been arrested for that unlicensed bare-knuckle boxing match. He only had to do eight months, which seemed like a long time to Teddy, though Knuckle described it as “as easy as leaves”, whatever that meant.
“Thank you,” Knuckle said, his voice gravelly and grim. He took the duffel bag from Teddy. It had all of his belongings that he was allowed to take with him to prison. Teddy had agreed to store Knuckle’s other stuff in his apartment, so Knuckle wouldn’t lose anything while he was away.
“Don’t mention it,” Teddy said off-handedly. “You sure you’ll be okay in there? I know, you’ll have Buck, just be careful…” Buck Sampson was another bouncer from Lipsweet. He was inside doing a year-long bid for an unrelated incident, and Mr. Gregarian had arranged for Knuckle and Buck to be cellmates. They were both under the protection of the Gray Snakes.
So they should be safe, or as safe as anyone in prison could be.
Knuckle’s lip quivered. It was maybe one-sixteenth of a smile, but it was the closest thing to a smile Teddy had seen yet on Knuckle’s face. All Knuckle said was, “I’ll repay you. Fer bein’ nice.”
“You don’t need to do that, it’s just keeping some stuff in my closet,” Teddy said. But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t the main nice thing Knuckle meant — what he meant was that Teddy had come to see him and said he hoped he was safe. That was the nice thing that Knuckle appreciated.
Knuckle thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll send you a gift. You workin’ tonight?”
Teddy nodded. “I’m going straight to Lipsweet from here.”
And then the guard came to get Teddy to escort him out, so they said goodbye to each other. He made sure to write down the state prison’s phone number and Knuckle’s intake number before he left. Then he went back to Lipsweet to work a shift with a heavy heart.
He was surprised by how much he missed Knuckle. Working the door tonight was Davon, that asshole-pimp, whom the girls loved because he was so handsome. Honestly, Teddy also got a thrill in his heart when Davon spoke to him, but that wasn’t often. He treated Teddy like it was beneath him to talk to him.
Finally, the end of the night came, and Teddy hightailed it home. He was glad to see there was still no Bax in the shower — Bax had finally gotten the message, it seemed. So he showered alone, then got ready for bed.
But there came a low, quiet, knock at the door. “Hey, uh, Teddy? I’m lookin’ fer a Teddy.”
It was a low growly voice, much too baritone and expressive to be Knuckle, though it had a certain gravelliness to it that reminded Teddy of Knuckle. He looked through the peephole.
It was a biker, it seemed. He was a young man with a tattooed gray snake visible on his neck, likely more beneath his leather jacket. Military-style patches dotted the jacket. His hair was jet-black and greasy, and he had a blockish jaw like a caveman.
“Teddy?”
“What? Who’re you?”
“I’m Python. I’m with the Gray Snakes-” He was fixing to say more, but the door opened. Teddy stood there in his sweatpants, his slim torso naked.
“Is Knuckle okay? He only just got to the state prison, right? Did something happen already?”

“He’s fine,” Python said. He shrugged. “Probly. I dunno.” He pushed his way inside. “You got someone you need me to take a run at?” He made little fists and shadowboxed the air. His heavy booted feet clomped on the floor. His leather jacket shuffled with his punches, and his jeans were scuffed and caked with dried mud that he was tracking into the apartment.

“Stop, stop, stop stomping on the floor. My downstairs neighbors hate that,” Teddy said. “I… What? You want to fight someone?”
Python shrugged. “Whatevuh. Knuckle ain’t speak clear. I talked to him a couple hours ago. He say I gotta come do what’choo want.” He looked at Teddy like Teddy was supposed to tell him something.
Teddy just raised his eyebrows. “Okay…”
“He said somethin’ ’bout me bein’ a present, fer you. You need somethin’. Prolly a fight, cuz he wanted me here late at night and said it was gonna hurt,” Python said. He shrugged and cocked his head like he was being punched. His tough-guy jaw chewed. “Whatevuh. I can take some punishment.”
“Oooooh… You owe him a favor, I guess?”
Python blushed a little and looked down. “I, uh… I owe the gang a favor. The Gray Snakes. Like… a lotta favors. Like… ’bout twenty-four grand in favors,” he said. “So they pick me to go fight guys a lot.” He took off his leather jacket and tossed it on the couch. His biceps were bared by a cut-off black tee shirt, which was ripped down the side to reveal his ropy-muscled chest. He again shadowboxed, this time keeping his heavy feet still so he didn’t clomp on the floor. Teddy watched his hefty pecs shifting up and down with each punch. Python was sweaty, jazzed up, like he’d been working himself up for a fight. “So who is it? Ya landlord, I ‘xpect?”
“No, it’s… It’s not that,” Teddy said. “Why don’t you take your pants off? You want a drink?”
“Hell yeah.” He stood there, no longer shadowboxing, just looking at Teddy like he didn’t make sense. “Take my pants off?”
Teddy shrugged as he went into the kitchen. “I have rum. You want some rum?”
“I could murder a rum and coke,” Python said. He stood with his hands on his belt, ready to take his pants off. But he thought he musta misheard that. “What’d you say? You want me to take my pants off?”
“Yeah,” Teddy said from the kitchen. “I don’t have any soda. Or any mixers really. Sorry, I’m a bad bartender.” He chuckled. “I don’t keep anything with carbs in the kitchen, I would just drink too much of it. So you’ll have to drink it straight. You want ice? It’s spiced rum, if that makes a difference.”
“Yeah, ice is cool.” Python scrunched up his eyes, his belt half undone. Finally he shrugged and dropped his jeans. He wore plain white boxers. Teddy came in with the drinks, and Python said, “So you don’t want me to fight nobody?”
Teddy shook his head. He motioned for Python to sit on the couch, but then Teddy didn’t sit next to him. He went to the closet rack of DVDs by the TV, and he found one that was unmarked. “No, no fighting. Just hang out with me tonight.” He put the DVD in the machine.
“Oh, you gettin’ threats?” Python said. “If I gotta get up and out in a hurry, I should have my pants on-“
“No, no threats.” Teddy finally sat down next to Python.
Python’s questions stopped when he saw the screen. It was a hardcore porno. A pretty blonde woman was visible, undressing to faintly heard music. Python’s eyes opened wide. “Oh shit, porno?”
Teddy nodded. “Don’t tell anyone. All porno is illegal in the city of Martinsburg,” he said. He got up to cut the light off, then he got up on the back of the couch instead of a cushion. He sat behind Python, who ignored him, and Teddy casually lifted the wifebeater over Python’s head.
Python was deeply engrossed in the porno and sipping his rum. He barely noticed Teddy undressing behind him.
But instead, Teddy’s dick pressed against Python’s spine. It was rock-hard already, and he rubbed it up and down Python’s muscles.
“Oh goddamn, she’s hot. See how her ass jiggles like that…” Python whistled. He leaned back — still ignoring Teddy’s dick rubbing against him, so his lean put his whole torso in front of Teddy, whose hands roamed across his powerfully muscled torso. Python dropped his underwear.
He had a thick knobbly cock, already hard, as he began stroking it without taking his eyes off the screen. Teddy slid down to the couch cushions and put it in his mouth.
“Ah, shit, you owe Knuckle too? You don’t gotta jerk me off, man,” Python said. But when Teddy didn’t stop, he just sucked in his breath and leaned back on the couch. Unsure whether he was doing something wrong, Python closed his eyes and tried not think about it. His dick slid into Teddy’s soft, warm throat. “You really don’t got to. Ain’t — did somebody — ooooooh, shit, yeah, did somebody tell you you hafta do it?”
Teddy looked up at Python without taking his dick outta his mouth and shook his head, but Python’s eyes were still closed, so he didn’t see that. His cock rocketed to erection in Teddy’s throat.
As Teddy’s tongue worked its way up and down Python’s shaft, his dick throbbed and pulsated its way down Teddy’s throat. Cum sprayed into Teddy’s mouth.
“Ah, shit yeah, oh yeah…” Python murmured, his voice breaking. He took a drink from his glass while cum still spewed from his pecker. The taste was intensely bright, salty and sunny, and Teddy savored every drop’s flavor.
More and more kept coming. Teddy swallowed as much as he could, but he didn’t want to take Python’s rod out, so he let his mouth fill to the brim and overflow, soaking Python’s crotch. Even then he kept going.
“Aaaah, shit, man… Ah, thanks, I needed that,” Python said with a moan. “My ladyfriend don’t never suck me off.” He moaned again when Teddy finally pulled off his cock.
His eyes were still closed, so he didn’t see Teddy kiss him on his grizzled lips until it happened. He didn’t realize Teddy had neither spat nor swallowed. His mouth was full of jizz.
So he slid all of that semen into Python’s mouth when they kissed.
Python gagged, both from surprise and disgust when he realized what was in his mouth. Cum splattered all over Teddy’s smooth face but even more coated Python’s wind-grizzled face and scruffy beard. Teddy kept kissing, as Python squirmed beneath Teddy’s much smaller body. He grunted and squelched around the mask of cum, but he didn’t try to get out from under Teddy.
Teddy stood. He blushed. This was the awkward part. He had a big stiffy, and he gave it a stroke as he got closer to Python’s head. Python sneered.
“Aw, man, buddy, I ain’t know you was gonna want me to do it too,” Python said. His sneer turned into a gulp. One of his great big mitts gripped Teddy’s cock and stroked it lazily, limply. That was nice for Teddy, as his callused hands and disrhythmic rubbing brought Teddy back from the brink of orgasm.
Teddy held back a triumphant grin as Python stuck his tongue out. He didn’t lick Teddy’s dick, he just slowly stroked it in front of his tongue. Precum coated his tattooed hand, slicking up the calluses built up from there from his vibrating motorcycle. Teddy’s hands ran through Python’s tangled greasy mound of hair.
“You owe Knuckle a lot of money,” Teddy said. He leaned forward his dick jabbing Python in the nostrils.
Python gag-laughed. “Ewcchk,” he said, clearly disgusted but not especially upset by it. “Nah, I don’t owe Knuckle nothin’ personally. Knuckle got a higher rank than me.” He planted his tongue on Teddy’s cocktip only for his muscular body to shake as he gagged again.
The sight of that made Teddy moan. His whole body buckled, and he almost came. He giggled and leaned on Python’s tattooed shoulders, firm with muscle. His dick spewed precum that dripped onto Python’s mouth and chin.
“Sorry,” Teddy said. His cheeks were red. “I’m just… so horny. I need a girlfriend.” Python looked away, as Teddy’s dick slid into his mouth. Teddy thought he was going to cum, and he very nearly did, but his rod spewed so much precum that Python’s mouth overflowed and Python gagged.
Python’s whole body squirmed, then fell tensely still.
He patted Teddy on the backside. Teddy retreated, and Python hesitated, one hand up. Python had one hand over his mouth like he was holding in vomit.
Then all at once, his whole hairy body did undulate. He held his mouth shut with both hands and scampered off the couch. He ran to the bathroom.
“Uaaacchhhhkk!” Python spat up into the toilet. He gripped the toilet rim and spat up again. His legs were spread, baring his hairy asscheeks. “Sorry, fellah, I ain’t — I just hate that taste, tha’ss all.” He retched again.
His wiry, almost skinny body was taut, as he spat into the toilet. All of his muscles flexed with each retch.
He had no idea Teddy kneeled behind him. Teddy jerked his cock with one hand while he got into position. Python’s back writhed with each gag, and Python gripped the toilet-bowl rim with his tattooed hands. His asscheeks were spread wide.
So, without a word of warning, Teddy could easily slam his pecker into Python’s butthole, no lube — he was grabbing the bottle of lube from the medicine cabinet as he did it, but his cock moved on autopilot. Teddy gripped Python’s greasy hair.
“Ow, shit!” Python said. His back arched, and his face bumped on the toilet rim. “You gotta give a warning…”
Still holding the unused bottle of lube, Teddy moaned and undulated his body, humping Python’s butthole. Cum flowed into him. Teddy hadn’t meant to cum so quick, but he was already on the verge and couldn’t help himself.
Great creamy gobs of it filled Python up and dripped onto the bathroom floor. Teddy forced his dick in all the way mid-jizz, so Python’s ass squeezed around his cock. A frisson of orgasmic pleasure ran through Teddy’s body.
He pumped his dick all the way into Python’s guts and held it there. Python sucked in his breath.
“Oh god, that feels so good…” Teddy said with another moan. He leaned on Python’s broad back and licked some of the pained sweat up there, as Python violently gagged and groaned in pain into the toilet water. Teddy pulled on his greasy hair, still humping his limp dick in and out and turning Python’s butthole into a frothy mess of jizz.
“Shit, you best tell Knuckle I was good,” Python said, his voice staggered with each thrust of Teddy’s dick inside him.
He winced in pain as Teddy slowly let his limp dick slide out. Python still had his face over the toilet bowl, and when the pain grew exquisite enough, Teddy moaned and Python gagged once more into the toilet water. Then, finally, Teddy was done.
They both took deep chamberous breaths. Teddy leaned on Python’s warm back and hugged his muscles from behind, while Python lifted his head up away from the toilet.
Python grunted. “But can you tell Knuckle you had me beat up a guy? That’s what I’m gonna tell people.”

The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter Eight

Cell 4990 was in the middle of the 49-block of the Epsilon Unit at the Eastern Panhandle State Prison. Warden Clifford was a rather hands-off warden, at least as far as the well-behaved cell blocks went. As long as the gang that controlled each area kept things quiet, they were allowed to do more or less whatever they wished.
So for the Gray Snakes, that meant obeying Jeffers. He was the leader of the Gray Snakes in Epsilon Unit, and he was devoutly religious. Among many other things, Jeffers forbade masturbation.
That seemed ridiculous to the rest of the gang, but there was no getting through to him. Buck and Knuckle shared a cell, one of those pod-type cells. In theory, they had privacy. In reality, Jeffers came in several times a day, and occasionally at night, to make sure they weren’t breaking any rules — no jacking off, no fighting, no “paganism” and no drugs or booze that came from a different gang.
So Knuckle ain’t jack off in the two weeks since he got here.
For the last hour of cell time before lights out, most of the inmates of the 49-Block — a variety of men, not just Gray Snakes — sat in their “stoop” — basically the thresholds of their pods. They could buy or steal a lawnchair to sit in. That hour was free “cell time”, so they ain’t allowed to go nowhere without a valid reason. But they could open their cell doors, and after much negotiating with the guards, they were allowed to sit in the threshold with their feet outside the cell, and they were allowed to lean forward so to see and speak to other inmates in the thresholds of other cells, but the entire chair had to remain in the cell, and the inmate’s center of gravity still had to be within the line, so the bulk of the inmate was in the cell.
The rules had been negotiated down to every last detail, as the inmates greatly cherished their stoop time.
Or at least, Buck did. Knuckle could take it or leave it. He liked that Buck sat in the threshold, so Knuckle had plenty of room to do his nightly workout — he ran back and forth in the narrow space, trying to get his heart rate up.
“Yo, you fellahs horny?” asked a big deep voice from outside the cell. Knuckle turned around and stopped his running, his heavily scarred body dripping with rivulets of sweat. Standing in front of Buck was a tall, reedy and long-limbed black man. “Two packs of smokes and I’ll get’cha started.”
A long empty pause filled the cell. Both Knuckle and Buck nearly said no out of instinct. But, they soon realized, now was a good time to do it. Jeffers was in the clinic tonight for a cardiac event. This big black fellah was not a Gray Snake, and ain’t nobody know him.
Buck scoffed. “Two packs to get started? Expensive, man…”
The black fellah, Damien, shrugged. “Just offerin’, you don’t gotta-“
“I’ll do it,” Buck said with a shamefaced grin. “But come in quick. We Gray Snakes, we ain’t allowed.”
Damien came into the cell with a scowl. “You gotta take it out when I say, honky,” he said. He gave Buck strong side-eye, and he glared at Knuckle too. “I don’t trust rednecks, and I got a nigga who gonna cut’cha if you nut wit’out payin’.”
He got down on his knees and pulled down Buck’s orange pants first. They were loose-fitting, and Buck wore nasty old white briefs stained brown — not stained with poop, but with dirt because he wore these briefs to wrestle outside in the rain with James Callifrey a couple weeks ago. But the black fellah with the ropy arms, Damien, he looked a little sickly at the briefs before tugging them down. He sneered at Buck’s thick dong, picked it up and put it in his mouth.
“Cost you one more pack to nut in my mouth,” said Damien before his tongue flickered over Buck’s soft cock. He thwacked Buck’s dick on his own cheek with a low scowl. Buck ain’t like the feel of his salt-and-pepper stubble, but he ain’t complain. Damien spat on Buck’s cockshaft. “But if’n that nigga gotta come collect off you, the price is double. So don’t try it.”
Buck snorted and pushed his dick in a little deeper, as he gripped Damien’s ears. He smirked when Damien fought back and slapped his hands away.
“Nah, honky-” Damuien said, but he was cut off by Knuckle thwacking his still-limp dick on Damien’s face. Damien crossly pushed him off with one hand, but Knuckle ignored it. He slapped Damien’s crooked nose with his dick. Damien seethed and said, “Nah, you ugly-ass freak. You ain’t — one at a time, first of all-“
Buck interrupted him like he ain’t notice Knuckle was mollywopping the guy, so Buck was still pistoning his hips and forcing his limp dick into Damien’s mouth, even as Damien spoke crossly.
“You gotta wait yo’ — yo’ turn, freak. I only do — one at a time — ain’t — cain’t fit more — than one at a time — gimme a sec — big fella, I’s — talkin’-” Damien ain’t fight back or even move his head away, he just kept talking as Buck drilled his limp pecker in and out. Buck grinned. Damien said, “I ain’t a punk — so you gotta — listen — and do show — some respec’ — nah, nah — I ain’t-” He gagged suddenly, as Buck’s dick was hard enough to hit the back of his throat. His gag turned into a retch, then Damien paused with both dicks half-hard dancing upon his face before he gagged again, opened his mouth and slurped spit up off Buck’s dong. He hesitated and held back another gag before resuming licking Buck’s dong.
Buck said, “If I pull out, can I nut on ya face?”
Damien shook his head. His tongue slurped up and down Buck’s shaft, which was firming up, hot and throbbing, veiny. He kept his eyes trained on Buck, seemingly ignoring what his tongue was doing entirely. He gripped Buck’s dick at the root and licked it up and down, slathering spit on the entire shaft. He moved quickly and deliberately, like he was completing an assignment to cover Buck’s rod with spit.
Knuckle kept his soft cock on Damien’s face. He liked the feel of a warm body touching it. Every minute or two, Damien slapped Knuckle’s dong away. Damien only did one man at a time. That was a rule, and he was allowed to enforce it. But these two giant enforcers for the Gray Snakes were much bigger than Damien. The smell of both men’s low-hanging balls and Buck’s early precum made Damien’s stomach churn. But he focused on slurping on Buck’s cocktip, getting it good and wet. He hoped to get Buck off quick.
“How much for booty?” Knuckle asked.
“Six packs.” Damien kept stroking Buck with one hand, Buck’s cock resting afront his mouth as he spat accusatorily at Knuckle. His voice was moist because his mouth overflowed with Buck’s creamy prenut. “And I am allowed to pick the position, freak. And-“
“Six packs?!” Buck scoffed. Ain’t nobody gonna pay six packs for some booty. You could get slimy, bony crackhead booty for a half a pack. That was gross, but still… Buck ain’t like overpaying.
“Uh-huh.” Damien put Buck’s dick in his mouth so the cocktip stretched his cheek, while Damien’s tongue teased the side of his shaft. One hand gripped the base of his dick, while the other cupped his balls. He pulled it out just long enough to say, “You gotta provide the lube too, freak.”
Knuckle got a hangdog look on his face like he was required to do it. They’d been locked up for so long with all of Jeffers’s rules that Knuckle got plenty of smokes saved up. He ain’t even paid for almost any of them. He stole them off frightened smaller inmates in gen-pop.
He took a cigarette from the pack he was currently smoking, then added six additional packs to the three packs Buck had stacked up by the door.
As Knuckle collected packs of smokes, Buck whistled, his dick still spewing precum into Damien’s mouth. “Goddamn, you make good money. Perry own ya booty, right?”
Damien nodded. He shimmied down his orange prison pants and drawers without even taking Buck’s cock outta his mouth. He lowered his booty. “Lube up first, freak.” His voice was still moistly muffled by all of Buck’s precum, which he spat onto the floor rather than swallow it. “You can get hard rubbin’ my butt, but I only do one at a time. Wait for ya hillbilly buddy to nut before you stick it in.”

Knuckle ain’t acknowledge that. He rubbed hog fat from the prison kitchen onto his soft dick. The creamy white lard got good and greasy once it warmed up to his body temperature, and he kneeled behind Damien, who sat on his bare ass to be sure Knuckle couldn’t get in it.

“Nah, what’d I say? You gotta wait-” Damien snapped. Buck’s dick bobbed and throbbed in front of his face. “One at a time-” He was cut off by Buck forcing his rod back into Damien’s mouth, which instantly filled with his precum. His hands flailed and clawed at Buck’s powerful chest.
But Knuckle was behind him, ignoring Damien’s protests entirely. He didn’t try to get in Damien’s ass, since Damien was sitting on it, but Knuckle did rub his dick on Damien’s smooth back.
“Can I nut on your back?” Buck asked. He smeared precum all over Damien’s face, as he let Damien take a breath.
Damien looked up at him with a sneer and nodded. “Just not the face. You gotta pay for a moufnut anytime it git on my face, you ugly-ass mothahfuckah,” he said. “My nigga Perry’ll come at’cha hard if you don’t.” He held up Buck’s erect dick with two fingers, then ran his tongue up and down the shaft. That sent a shiver of pleasure up Buck’s spine. Damien spat more precum onto the floor.
“Hey, can you get me hard wit’cha mouth?” Knuckle asked. He didn’t take his eyes off his dick rubbing Damien’s smooth spine. He aimed it lower and lower, trying to get it under Damien’s seated body.
“You whiteboys is fulla questions,” Damien said with a snarl. He slathered spit on Buck’s dick, which he gripped with one hand. He shook his head. “No. You gotta pay if you want me to use my mouf. You gotta pay if you wanna use my butt. Two sep’rate transactions, freak, don’t even try nothin’.” He glared at Buck. “You just playin’ now, hillbilly. I can tell. Blow a nut if’n you gonna blow a nut.”
Buck chuckled, his hefty frame and his fat cock shifting up and down with each laugh. “Nah. I don’t gotta hurry. Make it feel good.” He pushed his dick back into Damien’s reluctant mouth and forced it into his throat until he gagged. “Move ya tongue around, damn…”
Damien squirmed and clawed violently at Buck’s back and asscheeks. Buck ignored that for a few seconds, throwing his head back and moaning as Damien’s throat massaged his cock. Damien sputtered out precum when Buck pulled out.
“Whiteboy mothahfuckah-!”
“Sorry, hoss,” Buck said. “C’mon, you gots to get deep. Perry’d get salty if’n I say you just lickin’ it-“
“Hillbilly mothahfuckah, I ain’t just lickin’ it! I do it damn good, e’ery nigga say I am the goddamn best!” Damien said, a little hoarse and moist with precum. He stroked Buck’s dick one hand. “Don’chu tell Perry no lies. He knows. He knows I does it good.” He paused. “And you ain’t allowed — Jeffers gonna be mad ornery if’n he-” Buck again drilled his dick into Damien’s mouth. Damien ain’t fight back even though he was talking. He just slapped Buck’s chest and tried to relax his throat.
However, his movement resulted in him going from seated to crouching, which revealed his ropy-muscled buttcheeks, and Knuckle took the opportunity to sit Damien on his lap. Knuckle aimed his slightly-hard dick for his butthole, but Damien ain’t cooperate, and Knuckle wasn’t hard enough to wedge it in anyway. Damien’s asscrack was slick with sweat though, and it was tight and warm, so Knuckle humped his dick over the inviting hole. Damien winced but he flexed his buttcheeks and cooperated by moving his asscrack up and down over Knuckle’s rod.
“Hey, Damien, how many dicks you take e’ry day?” Buck asked. He sucked in his breath. He was on the verge of orgasm but trying to delay it. Damien’s tongue sent pangs of pleasure through Buck’s muscular frame.
“Five or six. I-” A little gag escaped from Damien, who didn’t let it stop him from tonguing Buck’e piss-slit. The precum flowed clear and copiously over his face and mouth. He kept a sour look on his face. “I try to get at least five, or Perry get mad at me.”
“How many of that’s up the butt?” Buck asked with a snicker.
Knuckle’s dick was hard now. He smeared more hog fat onto Damien’s asscheek. Its creamy whiteness stood out on his dark brown skin. Damien kept moving his ass up and down — he ain’t enjoy working both men at once, but he wanted to get Knuckle off without taking it up the booty, so Damien humped his asscrack over the length of Knuckle’s shaft. Knuckle showed no reaction that, aside from leaning back and watching Damien move.
“Usually none. Just one or two a week,” Damien said. He gritted his teeth and winced like he got a backache. Buck’s dick spewed precum across his face. Buck was gasping, nearing orgasm when Damien stopped slurping on the cocktip. Knuckle’s cocktip pushed into his luby asshole. Damien sputtered, “Ow, shit, freak! Give a nigga shoutout befo’ you stick it in-“
“Sorry, sorry, I thought you knew it was comin’,” Knuckle said without slowing down. He kept pushing. Damien yelped in pain and grunted.
He tried to soldier on. He even opened his mouth and let Buck’s dick in for a second. But as soon as he tasted his dick, he knew he was seconds away from nutting — the precum was intense and rich, and it flowed copiously over Damien’s face. “Nah, you done whiteman. Shoot it on my back-” He gagged horribly on the taste of cum.
Not wanting to get charged for nutting in his mouth, Buck virtually dove onto Damien. Sitting on Damien’s squawking head so he could hump his back. Damien squealed and clawed at the ground as cum sprayed over his lower back. Buck guffawed.
“Got it on ya, Knuckle,” Buck said with a great belly laugh. “Shit, awwwwwww…” Buck moaned. Another wave of cum jetted out over Damien’s back, and then the next jet missed Damien’s back entirely and instead spurted over Knuckle’s scarred chest. Buck laughed again, still spewing nutjuice onto Damien’s back.
None of that stopped Knuckle, who seemed to barely notice his own belly and crotch now dripped with Buck’s cum. More of his jizz dripped down Damien’s back and butt and helped to lube Knuckle’s dick more. Knuckle pushed it in deeper and deeper, pushing past Damien’s resistance and stretching his butt out good.
From the ground, Damien first gritted his teeth and grunted like he could take it. But after a few seconds, he cried out, “A’ight, nah, nah — freak, stop! I wanna change pos’tions. Damn, shit, damn, ow-!”
Buck pulled off and backed away, still dripping precum as he lazily stroked his limpening pud. He chuckled at Damien’s frenzied complaining. Knuckle held onto Damien’s hips, his dick half in and half out. He did stop when Damien said to, but he ain’t take his dick out. He just rested it there in Damien’s tight hole.
“You sure?” Knuckle said. His chest was ruddy, breathing heavy, but his face remained expressionless. His cock pulsated in Damien’s asshole, which clenched around it.
Damien took shallow breaths like a woman in labor, which made Buck laugh as he swung his limp dick around. Damien got back up on his hands and knees, and he looked behind himself at Knuckle. He tried to crawl away, but any movement made the pain worse, and Perry had taught him well to never stop his man. He could ask his man to stop or tell Perry to get more smokes out of him later, but Damien wasn’t allowed to make him stop.
That was bad customer service.
“Ow, c’mon, I said I is allowed to pick the position, freak!” he growled. “You gotta-” He heaved, as Knuckle again used all of his might to push more in.
“I don’t wanna stop,” Knuckle said, still slowly moving his hips back and forth, just a little bit, not all the way in and out. A good six inches of his dick had still never gone in. Damien was impaled on it. He looked behind himself and shook his head. “If you wanna change positions, just say so.”
“Nah, nah, c’mon, stop, stop-“
“What position do you want?” Knuckle asked. “I’ll do it. You wanna do it standing?”
Damien shook his head. “On my back. On the bunk.”
Knuckle finally stopped moving. “That’s my bunk. I don’t want’cha ass-goop on my bunk.”
“Take it out, freak!” Damien howled. He slammed a fist on the floor. Unable to resist, he tried to crawl away — Perry would beat him if he knew — but Knuckle followed anyway, until Damien was in a corner and couldn’t crawl anywhere else. Still, Knuckle pushed. He had a giant rod, bigger than anything Knuckle had taken in the past. “Nah, on my back! On the bunk!”
“Ssssh, don’t be so loud,” Buck said. “Here, on ya back then, on the floor,” Buck said. He pulled the pillows off Knuckle’s bunk and pushed Damien to lay on them on his back. Damien collapsed in agony.
Knuckle fell with him, squashing him to the floor with his powerful chest. Damien managed to collapse on one pillow, which he clutched like a magic talisman and dug his face into it. Knuckle’s dick sank even deeper into Damien’s ass. Knuckle wrapped his arm around Damien’s head and murmured, “Sorry, sorry, I’ll be done in a sec.”
“Git off me, freak!” Damien shouted. His whole body tensed, as Knuckle slammed into him over and over. But Damien was a pro, and he ain’t fight back too hard.
Knuckle grunted and stopped moving. Cum filled Damien up. He hung his head when it started, and he grimaced. “Ew, shit, man, you grimy as fuck, I can feel it, I can feel you don’t shower-“
“Shuttup,” Knuckle said as Buck laughed. Knuckle was still cumming, his whole body shaking like a dog drying off. Then at last, he was done.
Knuckle rolled over. His dick slipped out of Damien’s ass. “Sorry, man,” he said. “You okay?”
“No, fuck!” Damien crawled away with a cry of pain. “Shit!” He grabbed his nine packs of smokes. “I’mma convince Perry that was worth more, you ain’t follow the rules, whiteboy! You in for some shit!”.
He limped out of the cell, carrying his clothes and nine packs of cigarettes in his hands. Buck held back snickers of laughter, while Knuckle watched Damien go with lidded silence.

The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter Nine

Jeffers was released in early March. Knuckle had no idea that was coming, and neither did Buck. It seemed few fellahs in the Gray Snakes knew about it. It threw the whole organization in a tailspin. Jeremy Trudale claimed to be the new leader, but not everybody respected him much. Neither Knuckle nor Buck wanted to get involved — neither were actual Gray Snakes, after all. They were more like affiliates.
Regardless, nobody but Jeffers ever approved of that “no jacking off” rule, so whatever else happened, that was out the door with Jeffers. Nobody much mentioned that at first. The most important priority was choosing a new leader — the Gray Snakes had a shipment of heroin being smuggled in, and somebody was gonna have to take charge to bribe the right guards, disburse the heroin and monitor its sale. Lotta Gray Snakes were giving inklings of a desire to take on Jeremy Trudale, but nobody done make a move yet.
So all the Gray Snakes were on edge, just waiting to see who would get shanked first and who would take charge, who would take possession of the heroin, who would pay for it and make sure none of the fiends used it up. Buck and Knuckle ain’t a part of none of that internal politicking. Neither were to be here that long, and neither wanted to rule over a buncha bikers. So they both kept their head down.
That lasted until Buck came to Knuckle with a proposal. They were lined up to head to the shower. Knuckle wore prison-issue boxers, but Buck was in another pair of filthy briefs. Both carried towels and little plastic baggies of soap.
“Hey, I gots an idea,” Buck said. The line shuffled forward towards the shower. Ten guys were allowed in at once, after ten guys left the shower, counted off by the bored-looking guard at the entrance. “Let’s pick a fellah to pimp out like that Damien homeboy was. We can make a pretty penny off somebody’s booty.”
Knuckle ain’t say nothing. His instinct was to say no. They ain’t have long to go, so picking a punk seemed like a waste of time.
On the other hand, he thought, they could turn some poor bastard’s booty into a mountain of prison smokes that could be converted into cash. Then he and Buck could walk outta here with some real money.
So he shrugged and nodded. “Who?” he asked.
Not that far away was Lance Barrymore, a newly minted Gray Snake who had just arrived. He was young and meaty but not especially big. He nervously waited to shower.
He hated the group showers.
He was crowded among the much larger men, especially that big hairy redneck and the scarface guy. He felt vulnerable. But he was a Gray Snake in good standing, and he was in a cell block controlled by the Gray Snakes. He had been keeping outta the power vacuum in the gang.
The next group of ten were sent into the showers, and Lance was among them, as were Knuckle and Buck. Lance sucked in his breath. The showers were huge and crowded. Some two hundred men filled the space, which was only meant for less than half that. Every couple minutes a small group would filter out, but some men stayed in here for hours — smoking crack or dealing it, or just sitting in lawn chairs and conducting business. The guards ain’t care how long anyone stayed in.
The showerheads were tall pillars that sprayed warm water in a three hundred and sixty degree arc. The group of ten that Lance was in were all Gray Snakes, and they kept together as they went to a mostly unused showerhead. Lance soaped himself up quietly.
His ears pricked up though, because he sensed those two weirdos, the mullet one and the scarred freak, looking at him. His booty shimmered, pale as ivory though most of Lance’s skin was well-tanned. Lance weren’t very big. He was strong enough on the outside — he was athletic, and he worked out, and his job kept him active — but he weren’t big or tough or especially muscular.
Lance’s heart raced. Were they talking about him? Were they worried he would try to take control of the gang? That seemed unlikely, but why else would they be watching him so closely? Lance gulped.
All around him naked men showered. He considered scuppering — he could go to the crowded showerhead a few yards away; that one was dominated by old men and child molesters. Nobody wanted to shower with them.
But that might be perceived as abandoning the Gray Snakes. Part of showering together as a gang was keeping each other safe. And Lance would have to pass a buncha Crips in order to get there. They were sallow and serious black men, showering like soldiers with flat faces, facing outward in an organized circle so there was no getting the drop on any of them.
Lance felt a tight pinch in his backside.
“Oh god, owwwww-!” His screaming was cut off by the redneck, Buck, putting his meaty paw over Lance’s mouth. The other Gray Snakes erupted into a hubbub of laughs and commentary, as Buck pulled Lance towards the pillar showerhead in the center of the Gray Snakes.
Buck and Knuckle were there by the showerhead too, outside the shower spray, and the rest of the Gray Snakes spread out to complete the circle. That way nobody could see Lance — Knuckle and Buck were tall enough that their heads rose above the other Gray Snakes, but Lance was concealed entirely.
Now that Lance was out of the loud shower spray, he could hear the Gray Snakes’ commentary.
“Oh shit, a punk-?”
“Jeremy allow that?”
“He short. He a short punk.”
“Hey, bitch, no screamin’,” Buck said. He was so close to Lance that his voice boomed loudly over the sounds of two hundred men and some twenty showers going at once. His hairy chest was matted to his muscles. “What’s ya name?”
“Laaaaance…” The biting pain in his backside was intense, and Lance realized it was that scarred freak Knuckle behind him, his dick pushing into Lance’s butthole.
“A’ight, Lance, from now on you is our punk,” Buck said, raising his voice so the Gray Snakes could all hear. “That means you gotta make us money.” All Lance could pay attention to was the growing pain in his butthole. He swatted behind himself, where Knuckle’s powerful body gripped his waist and plowed in.
“Whaaaat?” Lance gritted his teeth. “Please, stop, ow-“
“Shut the fuck up,” Buck said and slapped him across the face. “Punks don’t complain. No beggin’, no whinin’.”
“Ow, shit!” All Lance could think about was the pain in his asshole. Knuckle was pounding away at his booty, holding him up when Lance’s knees buckled. A trickle of blood ran down Lance’s leg, but Knuckle ignored it. “OWWWWW!”
He finally stopped begging when Buck gripped Lance’s throat and squeezed. Unable to breathe, Lance’s whole body went limp. Buck let go of his neck and punched him in the belly.
That made all of his muscles go limp at once, as he desperately tried to breathe. Knuckle’s dick rammed all the way in, breaking Lance open and going to ground with him.
“Sssssssshhhhhhiiiiiitttttt!” Lance said, his face slammed into the concrete floor. A massive wave of creamy hot cum filled him up, so deep that all Lance felt at first was the warmth. Then, when Knuckle began to pull his cock out, Lance felt twinges of intense pain and the slimy jizz flowing into him.
He was still loose and gaping, his butt bloody but washed clean by shower water in seconds. Buck slid in before Lance could even think, and the eye-splitting pain began again.
“You understand what to do?” Knuckle asked. He sat down next to Lance like they were having a casual chat. The other Gray Snakes remained in a little circle around the showerhead, blocking Lance and his newly-punked-out booty from the rest of the inmates. Their dicks were right at Knuckle’s eye level, but he ignored that. He asked again, “You understand how to punk, Lance?”
“Ow, I — ow, I don’t — I-” Lance sucked in his breath, unable to think with Buck pounding away at his asshole.
Knuckle grabbed him by the neck. He squeezed lightly, not choking him but definitely getting his attention. “Ignore your asshole. Listen to your assignment,” he said, his voice flat and throbbing in Lance’s ear. “You must jack men off with your mouth and butthole-“
“No-“

More pain exploded in his face, as Knuckle punched him hard, all without any expression on his face. Knuckle said, “Don’t say no to us. You charge one pack for mouth and three for butt for now. Once you get loose, we’ll lower it to two packs for your butt.” Knuckle paused. He slapped Lance. “You hear that?”

Lance gulped and nodded. He gritted his teeth. The sound of Buck’s cavernous chest breathing heavily overwhelmed Lance’s ears, and the blistering pain of Buck’s cock stretching his asshole open made Lance whimper. He lowered his head, unable to think of any possible reaction besides submitting to ensure this ended as soon as possible.
“You live in our cell from now on too,” Buck said. His voice staggered as he reached his orgasm, and he let out a moan. “You sleep on the floor.”
Lance nodded at that too.
The off-kilter flatness of Knuckle’s voice overpowered the showers all around. He said, “Gray Snakes, y’all hear that? We’re paying a third of his take to the organization.” That was generally seen as normal in this prison — not in the Gray Snakes, of course, because all jacking off and all punks were forbidden until this morning, but most gangs required that tax from any members who made money illicitly. The Gray Snakes were paying off guards to look the other away, after all, so the organization demanded its cut.
Plus, the Gray Snakes would make sure Lance worked hard if they were getting a cut.
Lance buried his face in his hands, as he finally felt Buck’s throbbing cock orgasm inside his guts. Cum filled him up. Buck shot a great thick load that spilled out onto the filthy concrete floor, where it was immediately washed down the drain.
Finally, Lance was done. He sprawled out on the floor. “Wait,” he said weakly. He wanted to explain that he was a Gray Snake in good standing. They couldn’t do this to him. But his ass was in such pain that he could think of the words, nor could he think to resist as Knuckle dragged him to the doorway outta the shower.
He left him there on his knees, just a few feet from the guard outside the showers. “Make at least three packs before the end of showers,” Knuckle said.
“Yeah,” Buck added, “And clean ya damn butt up too, don’t come back to the cell with ass-blood running down ya leg.” They both walked out, leaving him there on his knees, ready to earn smokes for them.