When the guard said Lamar’s cellmate was a man named ‘Wendell White’, Lamar Casper was relieved — he sounded like an accountant done up on embezzlement charges. That has gotta be some prissy whiteboi he could control. So Lamar’s jaw dropped when he stepped into the tiny cell and saw Thumper, as Wendell White preferred to be known. He was a burly man in his mid-forties, maybe fifties, with a powerhouse body and a towering frame, no longer perfectly carved but still bristling with strength underneath inked, callused skin. He looked at Lamar and gave him a slim-eye nod. “You got the top bunk, youngblood,” was all he said, his voice deep and rumbling like a distant volcano. He returned to the Bible study book he was reading. Lamar moved his stuff onto the shelf beside his bunk and silently laid down. Not wanting to attract attention on his first day, Lamar simply stared at the ceiling and kept a tough mien on his face. He knew he was gonna get dubbed a prettyboy in this place, so Lamar had gotta look as rough as he could manage. Thumper began a series of push-ups, loudly, no doubt hoping to bring Lamar’s attention to how much bigger and stronger he was than him. Lamar knew how prison worked, and Lamar was more than prepared to defend himself. You don’t gotta be huge to show a nigga you mean business. Thumper had the thick barrel-shaped body of a boxer, which Lamar later learned he was decades ago, before coming to prison. His great muscles shifted with every thrust of his chest up and down. He stood up and faced Lamar, his chest heaving and beaded with sweat. “You get dirty or what?” “No. What? No…” Lamar said. He was unsure what Thumper meant by ‘get dirty’, but he knew the answer was no. Thumper frowned like a turtle and nodded. “Okay.” “Just in case you thinkin’ about messin’ wit’ me, don’t,” Lamar said, “I can take carea myself.” Thumper stood up on a sarcastic ‘impressed’ face and said, “Well, good for you, youngblood. That’s a good skill to have. But I don’t ram niggas. Maybe an occasional whiteboi, but that’s it. I’m too old for that shit, holding down some squirming bitch, nigga, that ain’t me.” “Good.” “Young pretty buck like you, betcha considerin’ it,” Thumper said. He slapped Lamar’s ass beneath his prison uniform pants, then let his hand rest there. He squeezed one cheek affectionately. “You gonna ram some whiteboi sooner or later.” “No, I won’t,” Lamar said. “I saw you readin’ that Bible. Ain’t nothin’ ’bout ramming whitebois in there.” “The Lord forgives, youngblood. That’s what makes Him great,” Thumper said. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. Lamar rolled over, not liking the feeling of Thumper’s hand resting on his ass. Lamar knew men in prison tended to grow accustomed to physical contact, but that was too much for him. Thumper’s hand fell on the bed in front of Lamar, so if Lamar laid back down on his belly, Thumper’d be groping Lamar’s cock. Thumper leaned in close to speak to him and laid his other arm on the bed, so he now took up most of the mattress with his arms, while Lamar was pressed against the wall to avoid touching him. “You rollin’ with somebody?” he asked. “I’m from California,” Lamar said, “I don’t roll with no one in Baltimore. But I in the Bloods out there.” His hands snaked up Lamar’s shirt, lifting it to check for gang tattoos. Thumper nodded his approval at the claret B above Lamar’s heart. “Come down here and do some pushups,” Thumper said, “If you gonna be in my organization, you gotta be in shape. Ain’t useful to me as a skinny nigga.” Lamar got off the bed and removed his shirt. He been playing basketball for years and was more than strong enough, Lamar thought,and he made his pecs bounce. He thought that’d impress Thumper, cuz Lamar was stacked, he looked skinny, people thoughta him as a skinny prettyboy. But Lamar Casper was something. He got meat. Thumper groped him again, feeling Lamar’s meat, his biceps, triceps, lats and pecs. “Hey,” Lamar said, “You gotta be touchin’ me all the time, nigga?” “Yes, I do,” he said, “Now gimme fitty, youngblood. You do that three times a day from now on. Before e’rry meal, you do fitty pushups. We’ll add more later, that’s a start.” “I know how to work out, nigga,” Lamar said. “I ain’t yo’ bitch.” He stared him down. “I run this organization,” he said, “So unless you wanna be cast out, you gonna have to realize you work for me. You ain’t a bitch… that is a correct ‘stimation of the current sit’ation. I give all my niggas they workout routines. You can’t trust a nigga to do it right. They all dumb in the head, need someone to tell ’em what to do. I know how to train a nigga into a good Blood.” He stepped closer and closer to Lamar and wrapped his arms around Lamar’s waist as though they were about to slow dance. His hands ran up and down Lamar’s torso. “If you don’t let me use this body the way I want, I will find a different way to use it.” Lamar gulped and stayed quiet. He couldn’t speak without stammering, which would make him look weak, so he kept his mouth shut. Thumper stepped even closer, until they were virtually kissing. Lamar felt Thumper’s cock inside his prison pants, pressing against Lamar’s thigh. It was like a flashlight, one of those big suckers, a D cell flashlight. “So get down and gimme fitty,” he whispered, so close Lamar could taste the spittle flying off his tongue with each word. “A guard gonna come get us for dinner soon. I told you to do fitty push-ups befo’ then, so if that guard gets here before you done, there gonna be consequences.” Lamar thought Thumper was going to back away so he could get out from the wall and follow his instructions, but he stood right there. Lamar couldn’t easily move. Lamar finna protest but Thumper threw his eyebrows back. Lamar took a deep breath, inhaling Thumper’s zest, sweat and funk, then tried to squeeze out from afronta him. Thumper gently touched Lamar’s back and belly with his roaming hands but made no effort to stop him from moving. His sweat stuck to Lamar’s shirt, which Lamar took off when he was free. Lamar wasn’t weak, but he wasn’t sure he could do fifty push-ups, especially not with his hands shaking. He got down and began, hoping his counting-off voice sounded more confident than he felt. “One. Two. Thr-.” “Hmm, hmm. Good.” Thumper knelt down near Lamar’s feet, giving him encouragement like a coach. He slapped Lamar’s ass, watching them juicy cheeks jiggle, and Lamar felt Thumper’s cock and balls, dangling beneath his shorts, resting on Lamar’s ankle. Lamar looked back to him, instinctively wanting to protest, but he didn’t. Thumper didn’t seem to notice that Lamar had paused, he was focused on the jiggle of Lamar’s cheeks. Lamar tried to get the feel of Thumper’s balls on his ankle outta his head and focus on doing the push-ups. Lamar was so terrified that the adrenaline helped him along, but still when he got to forty-two, he collapsed, out-of-breath. “I can hear that guard comin’, nigga,” he said, pulling down Lamar’s sweatshorts and drawers. “He comin’ closer. You got eight more to do.” He rested his hand on Lamar’s asscheeks and pushed one finger between Lamar’s crack. He let it rest on the surface of Lamar’s asshole, only the thin fabric of Lamar’s prison pants preventing him from penetrating him. Lamar jumped back into action and did five more without thinking about it, then slowly, wobbly armed and dripping with sweat, Lamar made it through the last couple of push-ups. He straddled Lamar’s hips, so Lamar could feel Thumper’s heavy thick cock pressing against his asscheeks. He leaned over Lamar’s back, almost laying on top of him. “I know I said I don’t ram niggas, but I do love to make a nigga an exception. So don’t gimme no reason, nigga. Don’t e’er question me again.”
Thumper was bossy and mean but not violent, so Lamar couldn’t complain too much. Lamar did hate how touchy he was, but he felt better once he saw that Thumper was just as touchy with the other inmates. Thumper had been behind bars so long he was desperate for a little human contact, no matter where it came from, that was Lamar’s conclusion. At breakfast one night, Lamar saw him wrap one arm around the waist of the man sitting next to him, a Blood named Ruck. As they ate, Ruck straightened his back awkwardly. Lamar saw outta the corner of his eye that Thumper, who continued telling a story about the cop that arrested him, slipped his hand down Ruck’s back and rested his finger inside Ruck’s asscrack. Ruck was a buff bullish nigga whose muscles tightened beneath Thumper’s grasp. His nostrils flared and his eyes darted around like a panicked animal. When Thumper told Lamar to sit by him the next morning, Lamar dreaded knowing that his finger would likely do the same to him. Lamar was proven correct — it was apparently what he did to whichever nigga sat to his right during a meal. As soon as he finished eating, he put his hand on the small of Lamar’s back and dropped his finger between Lamar’s cheeks. His fingertip rested maybe an inch above Lamar’s butthole. The other Bloods at the table made eye contact with Lamar, but no one said anything. When the bell rang to signify the end of breakfast, everyone else stood. Lamar hesitated because Thumper did, and Lamar wasn’t sure Thumper would be okay with him just shoving away from his hand. In the hubbub, Thumper jabbed his finger into Lamar’s ass momentarily. A burst of pain ran up Lamar’s backside. Lamar yelped, then fell silent and looked away from the smirking Bloods. Thumper clasped Lamar’s shoulder with his ass-stinked middle finger and used him for leverage as he stood. Lamar chose not to make a big deal outta it. It was better just to move on with his day. When Lamar got back to the cell that night, he was late, having been processed at his prison job all day. Thumper waited for him in his boxers, a big grin on his face. “I got a surprise tonight, something to welcome you in,” he said. “It should be here any minute. Gimme yo’ routine, nigga.” Lamar got down on the ground and gave him fifty push-ups, which Lamar got through only because Thumper’s shouted encouragement outweighed the ache in Lamar’s sore shoulders. Officer Crabgut arrived a few minutes after Lamar finished. He was a mean white man with wide shoulders and a perpetual sneer standing at the doorway in front of a slim Latino with a trembling frown. Crabgut shoved him in. “You got fifteen minutes,” Crabgut said, “And don’t do nothing that’ll require a visit to the infirmary.” Crabgut closed the door. The Latin boy shook and clasped his arms across his chest. Thumper approached him and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He placed that stinky middle finger of his right hand on the Latin boy’s mouth. “Sssh,” Thumper said quietly, “What’s your name, boy?” “Navarone,” he said. He had a lilting Cuban accent. “Tha’ss right,” Thumper said, “You a snitch, aincha? That’s why Sucio turned you out.” “I’m not a snitch!” “Sucio said you was,” Thumper said. He raised his eyebrows like a dubious schoolteacher. “But I’m not. I didn’t snitch!” he said. “That’s exactly what snitches usually say,” Thumper said. He looked at him. “Go on. I paid for anal for both us. He got good ass, I ‘xpect. Only started getting plowed a few weeks ago.” He pulled down Navarone’s orange prison pants and slapped his ass. “Yeah, this is nice ass. Like that, nigga! I like that!” “I dunno,” Lamar said. He ain’t never ramrod a nigga, and he wasn’t expecting to start his first day in prison. He was only gonna be here seven months. “I don’t really need to bust a nut. I could sit this one out.” “Nonsense,” Thumper said. “I done paid for it.” He smacked Navarone in the backa the head as he bared his cock and slapped it onto Navarone’s trembling asscheeks. “Swallow his dick, bitch.” Kneeling with a sour look on his face, Navarone pulled down Lamar’s pants and took his dick into his mouth in one smooth motion, keeping eye contact with Thumper. He tentatively licked it, but Thumper pushed his head down deeper. He gagged as Lamar’s cockhead hit the backa his throat. “Deepthroat it, bitch,” Thumper murmured. Lamar’s eyes bugged out as his dick firmed up in Navarone’s mouth, much easier than Lamar was expecting. This did not feel erotic to him. It did feel kinda good, but the pleasure seemed very distant. Lamar’s mind remained focused on what Thumper was doing with his hands. What Thumper was doing with his hands at that point, in fact, was making Navarone spread his asscheeks. Thumper lined himself up behind Navarone. Then, without missing a beat, Thumper slipped his half-erect cock into Navarone’s ass. Navarone grunted in pain around Lamar’s shaft in his mouth. His cock was only part-hard and ropy still, and Thumper hadta move it around and grumble some before it firmed up enough to really get to ramming. Once he could though, he did, and Lamar couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Thumper worked his dick deeper inch by inch. He grabbed ahold of Navarone’s hair and placed one hand on the small of his back to keep him in position. His squirming and choked sputtering made Lamar’s dick lose part of his erection — Navarone’s gagging and pained cries were revolting to him — until Lamar realized Thumper was looking at him like something was wrong with him. Lamar didn’t want to get a reputation as a man who can’t perform. And it did feel good! It did! It was just hard to enjoy it. Lamar wasn’t horny before this started, or even after. He wanted to get this over with. Closing his eyes, Lamar pictured his last girlfriend, a dark-haired white girl with a nice ass and huge tits. Lamar played with those tits for hours, and Lamar could almost feel their phantom fleshiness beneath his fingers. With his eyes closed, it sorta worked. That white girl gave shitty blowjobs, and Navarone did the same. Navarone was more focused on the pain in his ass, that was why. But Lamar got into it enough to fuck Navarone’s throat, and spasms of pleasure struck throughout his body. Thumper let his cock plop out of Navarone’s ass. His erection throbbed and dripped with precum and the hog fat he used as lube. He chuckled at Navarone’s exaggerated sigh of relief, then moved over to stand next to him. “What are you doing?” “Come on, I wanna nut in his mouth,” Thumper said, “Ass to mouth is great. We’ll wreck his throat together. Sucio said he can take anything down his gullet.” Thumper took Lamar’s now relimpened cock in his hand and frotted it against his own dick, which was slimy with Navarone’s assjuice. He jacked both cocks off together and pushed them both into Navarone’s tremulous mouth. Lamar was horrified at sight of Thumper manhandling his dick, and he sucked in his breath, hands fluttering uselessly in the air. His and Thumper’s cocks smushed together, Thumper’s a long thick hard shaft that was pulsating hot and glistening with moisture, Lamar’s noticeably thinner and fleshier, only half-hard. Navarone opened his mouth as wide as he could, but only their cockheads fit inside. “Use that tongue, bitch,” Thumper said, “Get all up on my shit, yeah, like that.” Navarone’s tongue delicately lapped at Thumper’s cockhead, wincing at the saltiness of precum and the foulness of hog fat, not to mention his own asshole. Then Thumper smacked him in the back of the head, loud enough for Officer Crabgut to poke his head back inside the cell. “Five minutes, gentlemen,” he said, “Then I gotta take the bitch back.” He stayed to watch with a wry smile as Thumper orgasmed without warning, as though he was waiting to make sure Crabgut could see. He moaned and leaned on Lamar for support. Thumper came a vast burst of jizz, his semen sliding down Lamar’s cockshaft and coating Navarone’s face. Thumper’s muscles all flexed and rippled. Lamar was disgusted and thought he couldn’t cum, but Thumper looked at him like that was not an option. “Go on, you better finish,” Thumper said, his voice now menacing. He ain’t take his dick away from Navarone’s mouth even now that it was limp Lamar thought of that girl, his ex, desperately avoiding the feel of Thumper’s cum-slickened cock sliding against his and the stubble of Navarone’s facial hair on Lamar’s skin.The tension maybe made it easier to get hard though. Sex with women could be tense too, Lamar thought, and it did get his cock going. Navarone finally got to slurping good on Lamar’s cock, while Thumper’s limpness bobbed around on his face. That sent a wave of pleasure through Lamar’s body. Thumper’s hands explored his chest and his back like he wanna feel that pleasure. Lamar sucked in his breath, closed his eyes and stood on his toes as he brought himself to the edge.. Finally Lamar shot a load, the orgasm almost painful. It was thin and watery, and it landed right on the center of Navarone’s tongue. He gagged and squealed, and Lamar breathed a sigh of relief, both from the orgasm and cuz Thumper wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t shoot as much as he was expecting, maybe because of the anxiety of the situation. But then Thumper grabbed ahold of Lamar’s dick and stroked it casually, just a few quick pumps before he dropped it. Lamar’s dick was ultra-sensitive, so his touch sent a shiver of pain up his body. Lamar squealed and stepped away. “Lay off me! What the fuck, nigga?” Lamar said. His heart dropped as Lamar said it because Thumper’s face screwed up in anger. He shoved Lamar against the wall with all his heft. His chest pressed against his, his face millimeters from Lamar’s cheek. Lamar blanched, trying to show strength and confidence. Thumper’s moist cock was hot and heavy against Lamar’s thigh. He eyed him but didn’t say anything. “Hey, you two have a lover’s squabble or what?” Crabgut said. Navarone waddled, bow-legged, out of the cell. “That’s right, a lover’s squabble,” Thumper said, his limp dick smeared juices on Lamar’s hips. He kissed him on the cheek. “Nothing but a lover’s squabble.”
As Lamar grew accustomed to incarceration, things settled into a sort of cruel normalcy. The everyday humiliations of prison life became minor nuisances, and even the food seemed to taste better as memory of a better time faded from Lamar’s grasp. The one thing Lamar couldn’t get used to was Thumper’s touching. Since he never hit him, the guards wouldn’t intervene, no matter how obvious it was Lamar wanted him to stop. None of the Bloods would back him up either, so Lamar had no choice but to submit and accept it as a part of his prison routine. About a month into Lamar’s sentence, the air conditioning broke. Lamar begged Thumper to let them take a break from working out until it was fixed, but he looked at him like Lamar was crazy. “The Vasquenzas ain’t gonna stop. The Crips ain’t gonna stop. The Aryan Way ain’t gonna stop.” He continued naming every gang in this prison. “Okay, okay, I just thought we might wanna keep the sweat down. It smells bad enough in here as it is,” Lamar said. “Fuck you, nigga. You the stinky one, youngblood,” he said, “Go on, gimme some squat thrusts.” As soon as Lamar got started, Thumper stripped off his shorts and boxers, so his cock dangled freely in front of him. He stood there watching Lamar and scratched his balls. Lamar knew better than to complain. Why does old nigga got hang his dong out all the time? Despite the heat and the zesty aroma of old nigga sweat filling up the cell, Lamar managed no to complain as he finished his routine. When Thumper finally told him Lamar was done, Lamar sopped off his sweat with a towel and climbed up to his bed. “Wait, nigga, come on down here,” he said, “I got somethin’ I been savin’ for a rainy day. Or a sweaty day, whatever.” Thumper showed him a long, thin blunt. Lamar didn’t see where he had gotten it from, but he must have had it stashed somewhere in the cell. He grinned, and Lamar’s bitterness about his intimacy vanished. Lamar hadn’t gotten high since before his trial. Lamar sat on the bed next to Thumper. His stark nudity was uncomfortable, but Lamar reminded himself that it was only barely different than the thin layer of fabric Lamar wore. Not really a big deal, Lamar told himself. He lit the blunt with a strike-anywhere match, and they began passing it back and forth. As always, Thumper answered any questions about pre-prison life with vague handwaving and asked probing questions about him and who Lamar knew in the Bloods back in California. The first haze in Lamar’s mind appeared. Lamar felt his eyes narrow to slits. In a way, Lamar was glad he hadn’t been able to smoke for a long time cuz it meant Lamar got baked even on Thumper’s tiny blunt. “You always dodgin’ my questions, Thumper,” Lamar said, feeling bold. “Wuzzup wit’ dat?” Lamar laughed at himself, and Thumper joined in. “You ain’t wanna know nothin’ ’bout ol’ Thumper,” he said, “I got nothin’ important out there in the real world. No career, no family, no friends. All that’s left of me is what’s in here.” “Is it true you was a boxer?” “Shit, I was the best boxer. The Chesapeake Champion,” he said, “Still am. But don’t ax no questions about that, nigga.” He took the roach and dropped it, still lit, in his mouth. He swallowed it and smiled at him. “Hey,” he said, “Gimme yo’ hand.” Too stoned to think about it, Lamar just extended his hand to him. Thumper took it and caressed it, moving it slowly towards his crotch, Lamar realized he expected a handjob and his heart dropped. “Hey, stop-“ “Shut yo’ mouth, Lamar,” Thumper said. He whispered, “Don’t you dare say no to me. You still ain’t my bitch. Nobody gotta know what happens in here. If you say no and I gotta force you into it, then you gonna be my bitch. And everybody gonna know that.” Lamar stopped resisting and looked away from Thumper. He put Lamar’s hand on his dick, and Lamar awkwardly stroked it a few times. Thumper said, “Come on, face me. Do this right.” They both turned to face each other on his tiny bed. Thumper pulled Lamar by the legs closer to him, until their thighs were interlocking. He pulled Lamar’s dick outta the fly of his prison boxers. “See? I ain’t a bad guy. This is a circlejerk, that’s all,” Thumper said. He spat on his hand and flogged Lamar’s dick until it got hard. His hands were softer than Lamar expected, though Lamar felt the calluses and thick muscles underneath his skin. He moved expertly but in a dispassionate way, like a farmer collecting semen from a stud. Lamar was getting a rhythm on Thumper’s dick, which pulsated in his hands. It was disgusting and made him wish he could wear a glove. It was huge too, a foot long at least, thicker than any dick should be. It was slimy with precum in his grip. Thumper shot a load with a deep groan that resonated in Lamar’s ear. Lamar hadn’t thought he was giving a good enough handjob for him to cum so quickly, but Thumper must have been horny. His wad spurted all over Lamar’s wrist and forearm. Lamar held his hand up like a mad scientist witnessing his creation, but he couldn’t reach anything except his own bedding to wipe off with. Lamar gagged and tried to move, but Thumper told him to stay. He used both hands on Lamar’s dick, and Lamar had to admit it was the best handjob he ever had. Spasms of pleasure flew through Lamar’s body, despite his heart pounding and him holding his breath. Thumper moved in rhythm with Lamar’s body, and Lamar could almost forget what a hellhole he was trapped in. Lamar came with a pained grunt, his load making a hot and stinking mess right in the center of Thumper’s waist. Lamar’s grunt turned into a moan as his whole body buckled, and jizz flew over Thumper’s torso. When it was all over and Lamar’s dick was limp once more, Thumper wiped all that cum off with his hands, then wrapped his heavy arms around Lamar’s neck, smearing the cum across Lamar’s shoulders. “There, there,” Thumper said, “That weren’t so bad, nigga, was it?”
As Lamar neared the halfway mark of his sentence, a prison riot led to an extended lockdown. Normally they’d be kept inside for a day, maybe two. But not this time. They ain’t let them out for a month, except for a shower every other week — and even that was each cell at a time, no talking allowed. Luckily Thumper had a few more blunts. He only ever brought one out when Lamar wasn’t looking. He never showed him where he hid them, nor told him how many he had left, so Lamar steady thought they was smoking the last one. Then somehow a day or two later, he’d bring out another. They smoked sitting on the floor, as they done got accustomed to, because the cement was cooler than the bunks. Thumper swallowed the roach, as he stay doing. Then he stood up, his cock dangling afront Lamar’s face. Lamar looked away. “Yo, I ain’t gonna tell no one ’bout this, alright?” Thumper said. “What? You mean the blunt? It don’t matter.” “No, not the blunt. I ain’t been able to get a bitch in here in like two weeks,” Thumper said. “So you gonna have to fill in.” “What?” “I won’t tell no one. Just open yo’ mouth, nigga. It’ll be like it never happened.” “Thumper, stop-…” Lamar shut up when Thumper clasped a hand over his mouth. “What did I tell you about sayin’ no to me?” A part of him wanted to fight no matter what, but Lamar’s brain overruled his heart. There was no way he’d win in a fight, and even if he survived, Thumper would just have him killed later. He’d be remembered as a traitor to his fellow Bloods. Thumper leggo, and Lamar opened his mouth. Thumper looked down at him with sympathetic eyes and shook his pitying face. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You just showin’ respect for yo’ elder Bloods,” he said, “It used to be normal, y’know, to jerk older niggas off in jail. That’s just what you doin’.” His cock slid into Lamar’s throat, rubbing past his tongue, which twisted in revulsion at the flavor. It tasted like pure, distilled sweat, Lamar thought, stale and rancid sweat. It pulsated like a living organism feeding off him. It rocketed right to full erection too, in a matter of seconds. He moaned and said, “Okay, relax yo’ throat, nigga. You doin’ okay. I ain’t gonna beat yo’ ass, just keep on coop’atin’. Don’t give up nigga, and try not to gag so much. I don’t wanna feel like I’m ramroddin’ ya, y’know, you ain’t a snitch. You just showing respect like you should.” As the precum flowed into Lamar’s mouth, Lamar cringed with his eyes. He then shut them, because Thumper’s gaze was too intense. Thumper gripped Lamar’s head and gently plowed his dick in and outta Lamar’s throat, clucking his tongue each time Lamar gagged. Lamar sensed how good it felt to Thumper. His cock throbbed and pulsated, and Lamar found his throat stretching to accommodate Thumper’s mighty meat. “Hmm-hmm, love that dome, nigga…” Thumper stopped talking just before his orgasm, giving Lamar enough time to fill with dread. The hot, sticky taste of precum filled Lamar’s mouth, and he wanted to scream. Both of Thumper’s hands were on Lamar’s scalp, massaging it as he worked his hips in a circle around Lamar’s face. His cum was so thick and luxuriant it spilled out the corners of Lamar’s mouth. He was disgusted, unable to concentrate on Thumper’s words over the feeling of his contorting stomach. “Don’t spit that shit up, nigga, don’t disrespect me like that. Don’t pretend it’s the grossest thing in the world, nigga. It’s my body, show a little a respect. Swallow that shit.” He held Lamar’s head in place until finally Lamar got his revulsion under control and forced the wad of cum down his throat. Thumper looked inside Lamar’s mouth like a curious doctor and was satisfied that it was empty. “Man, Thumper, don’t do-“ “Shut the fuck up, nigga. You done,” Thumper said, letting his dick dangle between his legs. “You did it. Now we ain’t gotta talk about it again.” He leaned forward and kissed Lamar on the cheek. “Go on and gimme some push-ups before we go to bed.”
As Lamar’s release date neared, he got more and more relaxed. The light at the end of the tunnel was coming closer, and some days Lamar was almost giddy. Thumper seemed upset that Lamar was leaving — long-timers sometimes felt like that, watching someone they cared about walk away, and Thumper was a definite long-timer. He’d been locked up for thirty years. After dinner a few nights before Lamar’s release, Thumper brought out a bottle of booze. Not toilet vodka either, this was smuggled-in hooch. “I got us a surprise tonight. A bitch and a bottle. The bitch be comin’ by later.” Lamar ain’t really enjoy getting head from unwilling bitches, but Thumper never asked permission. He assumed everyone stayed as horny as him, and if Lamar demurred even a little, he’d make fun of him for being less horny than an old nigga. Lamar was too handsome to ever admit he wasn’t horny, or everyone would call him a prettyboy who couldn’t perform. “Whatcha gonna do when you get out there?” Thumper asked. He must have been able to tell what Lamar was thinking about from the look on his face. Indeed, as Lamar’s release seemed more imminent, Lamar could think of nothing else. Time slowed down. Every day became interminable, feeling longer than the entire first couple months of his sentence. “Nigga, I am gonna eat,” Lamar said as they waited for the snitch to show up, “I am gonna get my mom to make me something nice, and damn I am gonna eat so much. And then I’m gonna find a bitch, and I am gonna fuck the shit outta her pussy.” The hours drifted on. The bitch never showed up, They later found out Cell Block Zulu was on lockdown, so not even Officer Crabgut could bring Navarone over. Lamar’s last night was shaping up to be the longest and most boring of his life. But at least they had booze. Lamar don’t much like liquor, honestly, and he never had, but Lamar wanted to get drunk and knew Thumper wouldn’t let him refuse anyway. So he played along and took shots with him all night. That made the boredom almost tolerable. Lamar passed out near midnight, glad to finally have his last night nearing its completion. It was a deep, fitless sleep that ended abruptly. He woke up to the feeling of Thumper’s arms around him. His sweaty muscles encircled him, his thighs atop Lamar’s hips, his hands caressing Lamar’s nipples. “Not gonna ram ya,” he said, “But since you leavin’ anyway, I’m gonna have some fun wit’ yo’ ass. Don’t fight this shit, man. I can still tell every motherfucker in the Bloods you disrespected me behind bars. Just relax.” “Thumper, no, wait-“ “Sssh, I know you ain’t just tell me no,” he whispered in Lamar’s ear, “I can still tell Crabgut to frame you for something, nigga. I can keep you here as my bitch as long as I want. I’m doing you a favor by just making you my wife for a couple hours, and you won’t never have to see me again afterward. You can even pretend you was so drunk you don’t remember it. That’s what I’m gonna do. Unless you fight me and make me hold you down.” His dick pressed against Lamar’s asshole but hesitated, as though waiting for him to say yes or no, even though he was going to do it anyway. Lamar didn’t want to say that he agreed to it, so he bit his lip. “Well? Come on,” Thumper whispered. He nibbled on Lamar’s earlobe and wrapped his arms around Lamar’s shoulders, putting him in a loose headlock. “Am I gonna make love to that ass one time and give you a nice reacharound while I do it? Or am I gonna have you punked out for profit for the next seven to ten years?” He waited again. “Huh?” “Fine,” Lamar spat onto the pillow in front of his face, “Do it. Just hurry up.” “Don’t be shitty with me, nigga,” Thumper said, “Or I am gonna get shitty with you.” He pushed his dick into Lamar’s ass, and Lamar howled at a sudden burst of pain. The sound was swallowed up by the pillow, which he bit. Thumper’s thick muscles dragged along Lamar’s back as he pushed down on him with his whole body. He kept his mouth right next to Lamar’s ear and whispered dirty nothings at him, along with exhortations to relax. “Come on, baby, let me in. I know it hurts, baby, but ya gotta relax, okay? I’m gonna get this whole cock in there one way or another, and I know you don’t wanna fight it. You want it, huh? Say you want it.” “I… want it.” “Say my name.” “Thumper.” Pain blistered up Lamar’s spine, as Thumper grunted and moaned in his ear. “Come on, put it all together. Make it sound like you like it, nigga. Make me believe it.” “Thumper, I can’t… I don’t like it,” Lamar said. “Then act, motherfucker,” he said through gritted teeth. Thumper pushed him into position so he could plow him doggystyle. “This position gonna be tough for you, nigga. You ready for it?” This time he didn’t wait for him to respond. He shoved his cock in and Lamar squealed involuntarily, lifting one of his legs up like a pissing dog. Thumper slammed his hips against Lamar’s ass and slapped a cheek. His hands both reached around Lamar’s waist and grabbed his cock. “Okay,” he said, “Here comes the reacharound. See? Not a punk if I get you off too. Don’t bother telling the warden I rammed you. They’ll keep you here for the investigation and then they’ll charge you for sure. It’s against the rules, after all.” “I won’t… snitch,” Lamar said. He could barely speak from the pain in his ass. Somehow Lamar’s dick was getting hard, yet underneath the agony was an undercurrent of sexual pleasure stemming from his freshly stimulated prostate. “I know,” he said. “You ready for it? I’m gonna cum, and this is gonna hurt even worse. But you doin’ good, nigga, you ain’t even bleedin’.” This time it was Thumper’s turn to lift a leg like a pissing dog. He began jackhammering into him with every thrust and let out a loud moan. Lamar could feel precum filling his ass underneath the mounting pain. Lamar screamed, unable to hold it in. He tried to collapse to the ground, but Thumper was prepared and held onto Lamar’s hips to keep him in place. He kept him right in position to ram his cock all the way into. They both ended up on the floor, Lamar on his back and Thumper atoppa him, squirming like an overturned turtle. That was what sent Thumper over the edge, it seemed, because he grunted, the sound resonating in Lamar’s ear. Thumper thrust once more, and a seep of creamy heat filled Lamar’s guts. Lamar squirmed. Thumper gasped. Hot cum spilled out of Lamar’s ass and down his crotch, nestling in his unkempt pubic hair. Thumper gently squeezed Lamar’s cheeks. “That was good,” he said wave after wave of jizz jetting into Lamar’s ass, “Now you sit right there while I get you off.” “Lemme up,” Lamar said, “I can’t cum with your dick in my ass.” “I told you I gonna make you like it, right? I’m a man of my word,” he said, “So I gonna jack you off until you have an orgasm even with me inside you. That way you’ll always remember Thumper White as the man who made you love cock.” “I don’t love cock.” “We ain’t done yet,” Thumper said. His hands rushed up and down Lamar’s shaft, stroking him —Lamar was already hard, a fact of which he was unaware until Thumper started, The sensations flowing through Lamar’s body were intense, and Thumper must have felt them too, cuz he kept moaning like an old nigga into Lamar’s ear. “Now hush up and concentrate. If it takes too long, I’ll get hard and wanna cum up you again.” Thumper’s limp cock was hot and full inside him, but Lamar tried to ignore that and focus on his own half-hard dick. He again thought of his white female on the outside, imagining that she had waited for him, her fleshy pussy spread wide for Lamar’s dick. That triggered an orgasm in Lamar, a pained, strugglesome orgasm that made his whole body ached even as pleasure coursed through his veins. Lamar’s cum shot through the air and landed on his belly in a big puddle. Lamar groaned, shocked at how easy it turned out to be. He shot a bigger wad than he had in a long time. Thumper let his dick flop out of Lamar’s ass, but he stayed there on the floor, his arms wrapped around Lamar. “Thumper?” Lamar said. Thumper didn’t respond. Lamar started to roll off him, but Thumper sleepily rolled over, pinning him with his bulk. His limp cock pressed against Lamar’s asscrack. “Thumper?” Lamar said, resigned to the fact that he was either sound asleep or was pretending to be, and either way, Lamar was going to be spending his last night in Thumper’s arms. Between the excitement of his imminent release, his shame at being plowed and his disgust at being spooned by the burly nigga beside him, Lamar thought he wouldn’t sleep at all. But somehow Lamar managed to find Thumper’s strong arms and hot body comforting, and Lamar drifted off to sleep despite the fat dick wedged between his cheeks. And despite all that or perhaps because of it, it was the best night of sleep in his whole life.
Thumper is a legendary prisoner with a new cellmate, a handsome prettyboy with big doe eyes and a tight ass. Always wanting to be helpful to fresh-faced young inmates, Thumper takes a keen interest in his new bunkmate Lamar.
What is Lamar gonna hafta do to get through his seven-month sentence with Thumper?
Mason is a weak pretty-face white man in prison, his cellmate is the legendary Thumper White, and that means Mason is in for a shock. It turns out Thumper wants something from his prison punk that Mason never expected…
This meek bottom and alpha top are about to switch it up, turning their prison cell upside-down!
Read it now as an ebook or on just scroll down!
Mason Barraughter didn’t feel like a prison punk. He was the same as he always was. But people saw him differently now. Last night, in the dimness of his cell, surrounded by the sheets Thumper had tacked up for privacy, Mason felt like Thumper’s partner, not his victim. Thumper had even given him a reacharound but made him promise not to tell anyone. Now, on his first full day behind bars, Mason found himself sitting at the end of the table with the other Bloods — but he was at the very end, with a few other skinny white boys like himself, all of whom had the hang-dog look of a low man on the prison totem pole. They didn’t talk as they ate, and they all ate as though it was going out of style. Mason could still hold his head high, but he tried to keep it down anyway. He was still new to the prison, so he didn’t want to get himself in trouble with anyone. The number-one piece of advice people had given him was to keep his head down. They meant that figuratively, but he was interpreting it as both figurative and literal. Luckily for him, his prison cellmate (and husband), Thumper, was a high-ranking thug who was widely respected and feared by both the Bloods and the other prison gangs. That meant Mason was safe. “Yo, punk!” Thumper said to Mason from the other end of the table, startling him from his reverie. Thumper was surrouned by thugs with dark faces and grim lips, but Thumper stood up on a jolly stoned-grandpa look. “Gimme yo’ peaches.” At first Mason had no idea what he was saying, his ears struggling to hear over the din and roar of the crowded mess. Then he nodded. Thumper wanted the canned peaches on Mason’s breakfast tray. Mason didn’t even really like peaches, so he wasn’t upset about giving them up. He really didn’t like being seen as Thumper’s punk, but if that (and some canned peaches) was the price of safety, he was willing to pay it. Thumper had promised not to do anything he didn’t want to do inside the cell. Outside the cell was a different story, and Mason handed the canned peaches to the man sitting next to him. Nobody was allowed to get up during meals, so the peaches were passed along until they reached Thumper. He took them and nodded his approval down the table to Mason. Thumper was a middle-aged thug and former boxer, with cornrows and chest hair tinged with gray. He had a big barrel-shaped torso and a scruffy mien to his round face. His nose and ears were swollen and crooked, cauliflowering up like deformed broccoli — signs of his decades ago pro boxing career — and his husky voice sounded like he been breathing stale cigarette-clogged prison air his entire life (which he very nearly had). The other thugs laughed like jagged jackals at Mason’s weakness as the end of breakfast was whistle-blown, and Mason stood up, peachless as a plum tree. Thumper scarfed down the peaches, then put one arm possessively around Mason’s back. He led them both into line, Mason in front of Thumper, whose fingers danced up and down Mason’s spine underneath his prison-issue shirt. “Get in line, maggots!” barked Officer Messypants. Mason didn’t know why the others called him that. It was even written on the nametag pinned to his shirt. “On the double, let’s go!” He chanted his exhortations like a drill sergeant, though nobody hurried and yet Messypants nodded like he was being obeyed. When the line had just started moving, Mason was squashed between the large man in front of him and Thumper behind. Thumper’s hand kept exploring Mason’s back, drifting lower and lower. “Keep it moving, assfucks. Keep it moving,” Messypants said. Mason straightened his back as a sharp pain erupted in his ass — Thumper had put his middle finger in. He just slipped his hand down the back of Mason’s pants and rammed his finger into Mason’s ass. Mason gasped and instinctively clutched the well-muscled torso of the thug in front of him for support as his knees buckled. That finger pushed in to the root, and Mason’s eyes bugged out, as much from surprise as from pain. “Quit it. Don’t attract attention, punk,” Thumper said. He used his other hand to keep Mason upright despite the weak knees. The man whom Mason bumped into scowled in a way that suggested he would have punched Mason if Thumper hadn’t been there. “Yo, Thumper takin’ control of his punk fo’ real.” “That punk look like a female. Why does Thumper get all the girlie-boys?” Mason walked in arduous pain all the way back the cell he shared with Thumper, though his dick got hard too. It was an arousing walk for three reasons: because of the finger in his ass, because that broad-shouldered young thug in front of Mason had a sexy back overstuffed with firm muscles and because they were all crammed in so tight that Mason could taste his back fuzz. It wasn’t until they back to their cells that Thumper let go of his ass and pushed him onto the bottom bunk. “Everybody in. Pod clear!” Messypants shouted. Then came the clank and whir of the automatically closing cell doors. “Gonna plow the shit outta you now,” Thumper said amid the hooting and encouraging catcalls of his niggas. The cell bars provided little privacy, and Mason shrank away from him. “Gonna plow yo’ punk now, Thumper? Make ‘im scream fo’ me, nigga!” “Wreck his ass! Wreck that whitebooy booty!” Thumper closed the sheet he used as a curtain, so once again he and Mason had privacy. The shouting grew dimmer or at least seemed less important when Mason was not visible to them. Thumper smiled at Mason in a way that was either menacing or kind; it was impossible to tell which. Despite that, Mason stayed nervous. He sat like a bunk tumor on his mattress, shrinking into himself or trying to. Was it possible Thumper was going to beat him up? Last night Thumper had given him a reacharound that blew Mason’s mind, but this morning, he had been mean all over again. Mason liked getting “ramrodded”, as they said in here. He didn’t like to admit it because men looked at him weird when he said it, but it was true. He was not upset about taking it up behind. And he didn’t mind losing the peaches. But he didn’t want to get shanked or shivved or whatever, sold to the Mexicans, beaten up by prison guards, extorting into smuggling drugs. A lot of bad things could happen in this place, and Thumper looked at Mason like he was brainstorming ’em. “Hey Thumper’s punk, is he in you yet?! Huh? Tell me when he’s in ya, punk!” “Sorry ‘bout all that,” Thumper said with a seductive growl. His voice was low in tone and volume, and it growled outta him like an underhush. He put his ass-stinked finger in his own mouth and sucked it clean, eyes drilling into Mason’s face. Mason’s dick rocketed to full erection, and he was so shocked by Thumper’s willingness to taste Mason’s assjuice that he didn’t have a response. Thumper smiled. “Outside this sheet, you my punk. Inside it, you my wife.” “I uh… Yeah, I remember you saying that,” Mason said. He had forgotten, and in any case, he didn’t know Thumper meant it so literally — Thumper had said he wouldn’t acknowledge Mason as his wife outside the cell; Mason hadn’t heard anything about being called a punk. But being a slim, young-looking and feminine man in prison, Mason had never expected to have a manly reputation. He never had had a manly reputation in any part of his life. He could handle the teasing if he was sure he’d be safe. And he just wasn’t sure of that. Thumper kissed him on the lips, his tongue shoving in Mason’s mouth, massive arms wrapping around Mason’s body. Mason was so surprised he didn’t kiss back right away, just tightening his body up, and then, entirely out of instinct, he flapped his arms around Thumper’s broad shoulders. “Why ain’t you… y’know, showing me affection? You my wife, Mason,” Thumper said, whispering so close his breath condensed on Mason’s ear. His burly ex-boxer chest seemed impossibly huge next to Mason’s petite torso. Thumper frowned. It was the first time Thumper had said Mason’s name out loud, and it made Mason shudder with desire. The fear he’d felt since coming to prison — since his arrest, really — remained, but now it thrummed under a layer of arousal and want and pulsating passion. He kissed Thumper on the neck. But his kisses stopped because Thumper kissed him too, from Mason’s ear to his lips. His tongue plunged into Mason’s mouth, and they kissed for what felt like an eternity. At last, Thumper pulled away and looked down at his feet like a nervous schoolboy. Last night, Mason’s first night, Thumper had plowed him in the ass and given a reacharound. That had been mind-blowing. Mason would have gladly been called a punk every day if it meant he got that. And he assumed that was what Thumper preferred to do — at the very least, Mason assumed Thumper was a strict top. “Oh, sweetie,” Mason said, turning his feminine instincts up as high as they would go. “I assumed you didn’t want me to be all lovey-dovey. You’re really… into kissing?” Thumper looked down at his feet. “Well… I don’t go kissin’ men, y’know. I’ll let you kiss me, cuz you my wife.” Thumper bit his lip. “I might stop you sometimes. I might get salty wit’ ya ‘bout it, tell you not to kiss me.” He pulled his pants down and flopped his cock out of the fly of his prison boxers. “But don’t stop.” “Okay, sweetie,” Mason said. He again kissed Thumper on the lips, and again Thumper kissed him back, twice as powerfully, wrapping his arms around Mason’s neck and rolling onto his bunk together. Then his lips traveled down Mason’s thin neck. Thumper sucked on it so hard he was sure to leave a hickey, and Mason wondered how he could explain that to the other prisoners. Thumper didn’t stop there. He moved lower, licking Mason’s smooth chest and sucking on each nipple in turn. In the tiny bunkspace between Mason’s and Thumper’s bunks, they were crammed in tight. Thumper took up a lot more space than Mason, so it was like cuddling with a horse. Thumper in fact found it easier to move Mason’s body rather than have Mason move himself, as he kissed his way from Mason’s chest to his bellybutton. “Oh god, Thumper, sweetie, yes…” He moved even further down, and Mason grew increasingly shocked. Where was Thumper going? He moved as though he was going to put Mason’s dick in his mouth, but surely an alpha thug like Thumper would never do that. That was what Mason thought right up until the moment that Thumper lifted Mason’s ass up and rammed Mason’s dick right into his mouth. Thumper suckled on it loudly and Mason yelped in shock. His tight hot mouth encircled Mason’s rock-hard dick. A sensation of warmth and moisture enveloped Mason, who moaned and wriggled beneath Thumper’s touch. It was more intense than Mason thought possible. His whole body pulsated and undulated against the scratchy prison mattress. “Damn, shit, Thumper, you’re… uh…” Mason’s voice trailed off both because the sensations was so intense and because he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t offend Thumper. Precum spurted onto Thumper’s tongue. All this was happening so fast. Mason hadn’t even been erect like two minutes ago, and now he felt his orgasm burgeoning, roiling, deep within him. Mason’s shock made this an especially arousing experience for him, and he moaned out loud until Thumper placed a hand over his mouth. “Don’t make noise,” Thumper said with a low growl, lifting his head off Mason’s cock for a moment. “Or if you gotta make noise, make it sound like you takin’ it in the ass…” “Oh, Thumper, please, go more slowly, your big cock hurts too much…!” Mason said, hoping that sounded believable enough to the whooping masses outside the cell. He didn’t think his acting was very good, but his sexual excitement sounded similar to fear and pain, so no one outside the cell seemed to notice. They laughed and cheered Thumper on. “Shut the fuck up, punk!” Thumper barked. He smacked Mason’s asscheek to make a loud slapping noise. He grinned as he did so, but it actually hurt quite a bit — Thumper wasn’t used to pulling his punches. Thumper sniffed Mason’s ass and winced in disgust or maybe embarrassment. Despite that, he whispered, more softly now, so only Mason could hear, “Gonna eat yo’ pussy, boi. Gonna eat it up…” “Rip that punk apart, Thump!” Without waiting for a response, Thumper plunged his tongue right into Mason’s ass. He was so much bigger than Mason that his face didn’t really fit between Mason’s cheeks, no matter how Mason pulled them apart. Thumper licked as though he was eat out a woman’s pussy, lapping at Mason’s prostate and ramming his tongue as deep as it would go. He licked so expertly and so deeply, and without any hesitation, that Mason could tell he was an experienced rimjobber. “You taste like girl,” Thumper said with a growl, the sound resonating within Mason’s ass. Mason wondered how Thumper remembered that — he had been locked up for something like thirty years. Mason’s back arched as pleasure shot up his spine. As usual, his prostate lit up so much it felt like he was cumming already. The pleasure suffused throughout his body, and he gasped with every thrust of Thumper’s tongue. Mason was entranced by what was happening, so when there was a sudden flurry of movement outside the cell, he didn’t react right away. Thumper did. Thumper dropped Mason’s ass, flipped him over and rammed his dick right in Mason’s hole. His burly hands wrapped around Mason’s neck and squeezed, just enough to make it difficult, though not impossible, to breathe. “Open up, punk!” Thumper barked into Mason’s ear. Well, this certainly did change quickly, Mason thought to himself. His prostate was already alive with desire, so Mason nearly shot his orgasm right then. The only reason he didn’t was that he realized a guard was tearing down the sheet that gave him and Thumper privacy. That was why Thumper switched to plowing Mason — he didn’t want to be seen bottoming. “Inmate White!” the guard yelled, fumbling with his keys to open the cell. “Thumper!” he yelled. “Thumper, get off him!” Thumper pulled his dick out and stopped strangling Mason but left his hand resting around Mason’s neck and his iron-like dick throbbing between Mason’s cheeks. He frowned at the guard. “Get outta here, Messypants!” Thumper said. “We’s makin’ love. Ain’t that right, punk?” “That’s right,” Mason said. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to sound like he was willing in order to make the guard go away or unwilling to make the other inmates think Thumper was still in charge. He settled on willing, since at least that meant this wouldn’t have to end. Mason certainly didn’t want to stop. Officer Messypants hesitated. “Really? Are you sure-?” “Yes, I’m sure! Go away!” Mason said, breathless. He shrugged. It seemed Messypants was not that worried about it. He was glad to have an excuse to walk away. He snorted in disgust and left, muttering judgemental nothings Mason couldn’t hear. “Least you could put the damn sheet back up!” Thumper yelled. “Keep yo’ ass in position, punk!” He had to get out of the bunk to recreate the curtain by hanging the sheet over the cell bars, amid the hooting and laughter of the other inmates. Mason remained bent over, just as he was when Thumper was inside him. “Ram the shit outta him, Thump!” “Wreck that whiteboy! Wreck that whiteboy, nigga!” Then Thumper pounced, jumping back onto the bunk and onto Mason’s back. He kissed Mason’s neck and licked a trail down his quivering spine back to his ass. He licked it again and stuck his tongue deep inside Mason’s asshole. Once again, Mason moaned and had to cover it up to make it sound like pain rather than arousal. “Ram me now, boi,” Thumper whispered in his ear. “Stick it in me. I wanna feel you inside me.” He bent over the bunk while Mason climbed out to get behind him, so nervous his knees shook. He felt like there was some chance this was a big prank, and when he tried to penetrate Thumper, he was going to get in trouble for it. But that anxiety didn’t slow him down. He kneeled behind Thumper’s broad ass and wedged his dick between his cheeks. He had to stand on his ties. Thumper gasped and bit his tongue. Mason placed one of his delicate hands on Thumper’s broad back and its network of scars and prison tattoos. “You ever done this before?” Mason whispered. Thumper nodded. “Yeah. But be gentle. You got a big dick,” he said. He turned his head to the side so Mason could kiss him on the lips. Mason had to come around to the side to reach Thumper’s lips, and his hands gripped his chest. Thumper’s muscles rippled beneath Mason’s touch. “Hey whiteboy! You forgot to tell me when he was inside you, Thumper’s punk!” “I tol’ him not to say nothin’, nigga,” Thumper called out. “When he takin’ my dick, he shouldn’t be thinking ‘bout nothing else, ‘specially not yo’ sorry ass.” “You tell ‘im, Thump!” “Keep that whiteboy bent ovuh propuh!” Mason returned to standing on his toes behind Thumper, and he pushed the tip of his cock in. Thumper’s strapping ass was tight, and Mason had to wait for him to relax to get more than the knob in. That was fine with Mason, who could already feel an orgasm approach. Thumper’s asshole squeezed his sensitive dicktip. He kissed Thumper again and again on the meat of his back, letting his tongue leave a sloppy film over Thumper’s skin. “Oh, god, Thumper, it hurts so much!” Mason said, just loud enough that the men in the other cells could hear. He smiled and giggled quietly. Tricking the other prisoners into thinking Mason was on the bottom was fun, and Mason hoped this would continue throughout his prison stay. Aside from the cramped quarters and lack of freedom, Mason thought, this prison thing might not be so bad. “Yeah, nigga, that’s what I wanna hear!” Thumper growled. He winced in pain but smiled all the same. “Shut the fuck up, punk! Take it!” His body clenched down on Mason’s cock, which slid in deeper, and once again, Mason could feel Thumper’s words through the vibrations in his body. As Mason began working his dick in and out, a little deeper each time, he reached around Thumper’s body for his cock. He gave it a single stroke and was surprised to find it already hard and leaking precum. Thumper’s muscles flexed and he grunted, near orgasm, his back bucking as pleasure wracked his spine. Thumper punched Mason. From his position on his belly bent over the bunk, it wasn’t much of a punch — he had to twist his body and punch upwards, so it didn’t hurt. But it was apparent that Thumper meant it as an outright attack. “Oh sorry-“ “Don’t stop.” Thumper grunted. He let out a moan that he bit back so nobody could hear. “I just need to feel a little affection, whiteboi. A nigga can’t be in charge all the time.” “Oh, okay, okay,” Mason said. He gulped and bit his lip. Thumper’s dick was obviously enjoying itself, throbbing merrily in Mason’s hand, and his ass had been tight at first, but then loosened as though he had done this before. It massaged Mason’s shaft, sending a wave of sensations to course through his body. “You gonna have to hold me down, whiteboi,” he groaned, “Lemme turn around.” He laid on his back, lifting his great, trunk-like thighs up so his feet were by Mason’s head. He guided Mason’s hands to his neck. Mason wasn’t opposed to topping, but he had never done it in a really aggressive way — he had been plowed in an aggressive way, not the other way around. He had certainly never held down or choked a man, especially not a much larger man than himself. But that was what Thumper wanted, and now that he got started, Mason loved every minute of it. He squeezed Thumper’s neck just lightly enough, like Thumper had done to him, and his other hand massaged and kneaded the muscles of Thumper’s chest as he writhed in pain and pleasure, stroking himself off. “You’re so wonderful to me, sweetie,” Mason whispered as he squeezed harder, ramming his meat in as hard as he could now with each thrust of his hips. Thumper outweighed Mason by more than a hundred pounds, so it was obvious that Mason wasn’t holding him down in any meaningful sense. He slammed his rod in and out, marveling at the slap of Thumper’s asscheeks with every thwack-thwack of Mason’s body. A loud thumping sound emanated from the cell — it was Mason’s lean body slapping against Thumper’s jiggling asscheeks. But to the men outside the cell, it sounded like Thumper plowing Mason and Mason noisily begging for him to slow down. “Keep it goin’, Thump!” “I ain’t hear no tears yet, Thumper, so you can still ram him harder! If there ain’t no blood on yo’ dick, yo’ punk can take more!” “I love you, baby,” Thumper grunted. He grabbed Mason by the hair and pulled his head down so they could kiss. “I love you too, sweetie,” Mason said. He had never in his life said that to a girlfriend, but he felt he needed to keep Thumper happy, and at least in this moment, it was true. His dick throbbed and spasmed so intensely he couldn’t focus on much beyond riding Thumper’s ass and moaning in a pained way so the other inmates would think he was on the bottom. As Thumper got plowed, he stroked himself off and grunted. “Ram it deep, punk…” Thumper voice trailed away as he reached orgasm. Thumper’s whole body tensed and tightened before he shot his load. Thumper grunted. He bit his lip and threw his head back. His hands painfully wrenched Mason’s nipples as though they were a woman’s tits. His dick spasmed and the veins of his shaft throbbed beneath his prison-callused fingers. Hot cum sprayed over Thumper’s chest and belly, as his muscles all flexed at once. He had a huge load, thick and creamy, and it trickled over every corner of Thumper’s powerful body. It stuck to his salt-and-pepper chest cornrows and clung there, pearlescent and white, contrasting with his sweat-dappled brown skin. Thumper snorted as he held back a pained gasp. “I know that sound, that’s Thumper cumming all up in his punk’s gut!” Within a few moments, Mason reached his own orgasm. He thrust his dick as deep as it would go within Thumper, coating his insides with hot cum. Jets of jizz spurted into Thumper’s insides. They both grunted and moaned together. The other inmates clapped and cheered. His spine shivered, and Mason had to bite his lip to avoid crying out in a way that made it clear to those outside the cell that Mason was an entirely willing participant. Instead he forced out a pained grunt, which made the inmates cheer as the last aftershocks of his orgasm roiled Mason’s body. “Make that punk yo’ own, Thumper!” But Thumper just smiled as Mason’s dick grew limp in his ass. Thumper’s big, gnarled hands swept over his own chest and body, wiping up every drop of his own cum. Then he brought his hand up for both Mason and him to lick it clean. They did lick it, like a lollipop. Thumper gagged a few times as though he was disgusted by the taste, but he didn’t stop, and each time he did, his body clenched around Mason’s soft dick, sending a shockwave of pleasure up his spine. At last Mason pulled out. Thumper’s hand was clean, and he breathed a sigh of relief now that his ass was empty. Thumper’s horny face disappeared, replaced yet again by thuggish hostility. He sneered at Mason and slapped him. “Take that sheet down, punk,” Thumper said. He added in a whisper. “Pretend yo’ ass hurts.” Mason winced exaggeratedly as he took the sheet down. He blushed at the catcalls of the other inmates and covered his ass with both hands as though from modesty. He pretended to be in agony when Thumper smacked his buttcheeks. “You wreckt him, Thump!” “Yeah! Whose ass is dat, whiteboy?!” “This ass is mine, punk,” Thumper said, beaming proudly at the other inmates. “Right?” “Yes, sir,” Mason said with a grin so slight only Thumper could see it. “I’ll be your punk forever.”
“Shit, I couldn’t get my arms all the way around that bitch-” Banter was interrupted by niggas laughing like hyenas. His lor-nigga voice rose above ’em. “I was fuckin’ her, got lost in her tits, swear to God. Had to send a signal flare up to find my way out. Called my sister to come find me.”
“Shit, I couldn’t get my arms all the way around that bitch-” Banter was interrupted by niggas laughing like hyenas. His lor-nigga voice rose above ’em. “I was fuckin’ her, got lost in her tits, swear to God. Had to send a signal flare up to find my way out. Called my sister to come find me.” Them all was laughing hard as iron, shit. Thumper wanna stick his dick in Banter right now, he got a hardon cuzza this nurse, Nurse Hilary, who came by and took his blood pressure today. Heart doc say Thumper got a rhythm, gotta get his blood pressure took every week. Nurse Hilary was pretty as a brand-new sponge, and she always do get this nigga blood flowing! Thumper heard this story before. Banter fucked a Polish grandmother who was crazy fat. That was the story. Not muchuva tale really. She had fat-chick tits and a fat-chick ass, with a pussy Banter himself could crawl into and read a book if he brung a flashlight. He coulda read The Gnash and the Bile. But there ain’t no point in hearing about it in prison where no such females existed. There was only Nurse Hilary, who was just slightly plump, perfectly round, with tits like headlights on a Mercedes.
omen expect a nigga to make ‘em happy, so if a nigga is glum, she gonna think he won’t ever make her happy.
Rico did got dimples cute as a baby otter, bitches love that. Maybe his frowns turn ‘em off though. Women expect a nigga to make ‘em happy, so if a nigga is glum, she gonna think he won’t ever make her happy. Thumper did tell Rico that, that he gotsta be more agreeable, but Rico plussed, cuzza him not liking it when old niggas tell him what to do.
The whole thing made Thumper dislike everything in the world more.
The music was awful. The women was good, but the music was some titless female singing along with this weird guitar music, disjointed and jaggey, like they kept getting new guitarists cuz the previous ones kept killing themselves. The song was about “black girl magic”, but the singer was a white bitch, sounded like, and the whole thing made Thumper dislike everything in the world more.
