featuring prison guards – Mansploitation

The Prisoner Bottoms

Rob has paid for “seven minutes in heaven” with the inmate of his choosing, but that inmate turns out to be the alpha male thug Nutter, who’s got a secret desire of his own. Nutter can’t wait to get Rob alone so he can learn what happens when he puts a twink on top!

Can Rob handle this prison-life rough trade turned upside down?!

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Read the whole thing here!

Rob strode into prison with as confidence as he could muster — he didn’t want to look like he was a sniveling weakling precisely because he was about to act like one — but his ego quickly deflated. He was searched, poked and prodded by Officer Budinsky. It was demeaning, and it made Rob feel like a prisoner. It both helped and exacerbated the problem that Officer Budinsky was a handsome man himself, with a sturdy physique and a big square jaw.
But Rob wasn’t here for Officer Budinsky. Rob had paid to meet an inmate.
He walked through the state prison increasingly nervous at the hooting, shouting, whooping and thudding he heard in the cells lining every corridor. He was glad when they at last came to Cell Block Omega, which Budinsky had said was not in use due to a sewage line break.
Spread among the cells of Omega Block were eight prisoners who met Rob’s criteria and were willing to let Rob’s tiny twink body service them. Rob had been daydreaming about setting this sort of encounter up for years, and he never thought he’d go through with it until a few months ago, when he realized he needed to just bite the bullet and try. The worst that could happen was being refused by the prison guard he approached.
“Wuddup, Booty!” came a voice from one of the cells.
“Fuckin’ A, man, c’mon, hurry it up!”
“Tell him I’ll do it! Tell him I got the biggest dick, Booty!” They called Budinsky ‘Officer Booty’, maybe because he had a big ass crammed into his too-tight uniform pants. He had powerful trunk-like thighs and thick arms.
“I’ll make his bigguh, I got tasty cum, tell him I’ll be gentle, Booty! Tell him my cum works a treat!”
“Nah, nah, my jizz is the most effective, swear to God, nigga!”
Rob did not tell Budinsky that he thought ingesting the semen of strong, testosterone-laden men would make him bigger, stronger, tougher or possessing of a larger penis. Rob did not believe that, and Budinsky never even asked if that was why he was setting this up. It seemed he assumed though, as several of the hooting inmates made reference to it.
Seven minutes ought to be enough, Rob thought. That was all Rob paid for. Budinsky assured him that these men would be horny and ready to take charge, so the brief duration wouldn’t be a detriment to the experience. Rob wanted to be held down and rammed hard, slapped, treated like a submissive prison bitch, and he was told most prison “bitch-outs” took only a few minutes. The sight of empty cells and the hollering of men in a far off block made him hard even before he had seen a single inmate. This whole prison smelled of men. You could tell no women ever came here, not past the visitation area. Rob had had to adjust his erect cock in his pants several times on the walk through the prison.
The one in the first cell was tall and lean, with dreadlocks and hawkish features. He spoke with a faint island accent, but Rob suspected that was an affectation, he was probably from like Delaware or somewhere humiliating like that. No wonder he was pretending to be from anywhere else. He had an East Coast stawk that was his deeper than his Caribbean lilt. He flopped his dick between his fingers and showed off his perfect six-pack. “Yo, mon, you like me-uh treat you poorly? I will ram you senseless, whiteman. You will cry when I am uh-done wit’chou. I will plow the sissy-boy outta you, and then I gonna plow it right back in.”
Rob preferred men with a little meat on their bones — as much as he wished he could get on his knees and jerk the dreadlocked man off through the cell bars, Rob thought there was someone better in one of the other cells. It’s a good thing he never became a prison guard, cuz he would spend all his time on his knees in front of these men.
Then he passed a burly black man with a wild beard and a sour look on his face. He nodded at Rob, ran his tongue under his upper lip and said, “Damn, whiteboi, you look good enough to eat.”
But Rob moved on. He wasn’t quite right. The next one was Latino and bald-headed. “You wanna be my puta?” he asked as Rob walked past.
The fourth person was heavily tattooed. He didn’t say anything, he just nodded at Rob and bucked forward as though he was going to attack Rob through the cell bars. Rob instinctively shrank back and blushed when the tattooed thug cackled at him.
As soon as Rob came to the fifth cell, he knew he had found his man.
“So, you the man who wanna be my bitch, huh?”
His smooth baritone made Rob blush. He quickly hurried to the end of the corridor to see the others — that just seemed polite, after all, they had come all the way here — but he knew what he wanted. That man in the fifth cell was tall and broad-shouldered, with a powerhouse physique, dripping with muscle and meat. His skin was camel brown and moisturized like a warrior, smooth and glistening, you could tell the sweat would gleam on him. Looked like he scrubbed up though, he was clean and smelled like industrial soap. He didn’t have a six-pack, just a tiny belly, barely enough to grab on to, but that was the perfect size for Rob. There was a crucifix tattooed over his sternum and a gun on each bicep.
“Yo,” he said with a big wide, shit-eating grin when Rob chose him. “I’m Nutter.” He undressed Rob with his eyes, and his dick visibly shifted in his orange prison pants.
“Charles Everly,” Officer Budinsky said. “Mister Everly here is an armed robber and an arms-trafficker-“
“I sold one gun, Budinsky, don’t be dramatic,” he said. He snorted and avoided looking at Rob. “So you the one who wanna be a prison bitch, huh? Ain’t nevuh heard of no one who want that. But you kinda look like a bitch, so it ain’t hard to believe. It’s been awhile for me. I enjoy holdin’ a nigga down and makin’ him cry uncle — not that I stop then, it’s just nice to hear him cry — but I might like-“
“Don’t hurt him, Mister Everly,” Budinsky said. “I’ll be right out here.”
“You think my cum is gonna make yo’ dick bigger, huh?” Nutter asked.
Rob shrugged. “Not really. Some people do. I’ve never been convinced,” he said. “I’m just doing it because I want to.”
Nutter nodded like that was a very good reason. He glanced at Budinsky, who unlocked the cell. “Can we put the curtain up?” Nutter asked with a sultry rumble to his voice.
Officer Budinsky looked to Rob, who blushed again and nodded. “Please! Let’s do that. I wanna have the real prison bitch experience.” Rob’s heart felt like it might jump out of his chest. This was really happening! He couldn’t believe he’d put it off for so long, then it turned out to be easy, and now Rob was gonna get wrecked by Nutter’s huge slab of alpha male prison-starved meat.
“Oh, yeah, that’s what we gonna have, the real prison bitch experience,” Nutter said. He laughed, and the men in the other cells joined in. “I am gonna treat you bad, whiteboi, bad in all the right ways. Hope you wasn’t intendin’ to walk outta here.”
“Destroy ‘im, Nutter!”
“He picked Nutter?”
“Damn-“
“He don’t want a Mexican. Don’t nobody want a Mexican. Even Mexicans is itchin’ to get away-“
“Nutter! Nutter! Wreck his asshole!”
Rob had never felt so weak and submissive. His dick was rock-hard, and it started leaking precum the moment he heard the lock slide into place. The door was shut, and the prison cell was stuffy. Nutter’s smell and body heat filled the air.
“Gonna destroy you, pansy,” Nutter said with a sneer. He quickly hung up a sheet that blocked the cell from view. Rob shivered as he anticipated what was going to come next. Nutter towered over him by more than a foot, and he must have outweighed Rob by a hundred and fifty pounds or more.
“Make him squeal like a piggie, Nutter!”
“I will!” he called out. Once the sheet was hung up, however, his smile changed. He sunk down so he looked Rob right in the eyes. It almost felt like he was going to kiss Rob. He whispered, “Yo, I got a proposition for ya. I been in this place fo’ a long time, and I done had a million prison bitches. I plowed ‘em up, and I wrecked ‘em, and I moved on to the next. I wanna do somethin’ different.”
“Oh… like what?”
“I want you to ram me,” he said. He looked down and bit his lower lip. Then, for the benefit of everyone listening on the other side of the curtain, he called out, “You know what prison lube is? It’s how we get a bitch to deep-throat. Lemme spit in yo’ throat, lube it up real good.” He spat on the ground, and everyone cheered him on. Then he whispered again, “I wanna taste yo’ dick and feel you inside of me.”
“Are you serious?”
“This is a serious place, and I am a serious nigga,” he said, his face flat. “Come on, honky. I know you came here to bottom, and I’ll plow the shit outta you — literally — if that’s whatchoo want. But I wanna get it up the ass. I can’t let anyone in here know a white man got me up behind. That’ll ruin my rep. So this my only option. I ain’t think I ever gonna have the chance to bottom for a pretty boy like you. Whatchoo think?”
“Are you serious? Hell yeah,” Rob said, focusing hard to keep himself from being too loud. This was all happening so fast, it was hard to recalibrate his expectations. It wasn’t what he had come in here for, but he couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than plowing Nutter’s massive body.
“Alright,” he grinned. “Let’s hurry up, or we gonna run outta time. Seven minutes ain’t much.” He hesitated, then stooped over and kissed Rob on the lips. He was halting and slow. His tongue pushed into Rob’s mouth.
Though his passion was lacking at first, a few seconds in, Nutter let out a moan that resonated in Rob’s mouth. His tongue suddenly moved, clobbering Rob’s own tongue, and his thick fingers grasped Rob’s shirt. He ripped it, buttons flying to the bunk and dingy toilet in the corner of his cell.
“I ain’t hear him squeal yet, his mouth full?”
“Sounds moist in there, I can kinda hear it. He plowing that fairy in the face, I think.”
“Nutter, how that sissy-boi takin’ it, mon?”
“You can’t hear him choke, nigga? Guess his bitch mouth is just too full to choke. He ain’t breathe in a minute, son,” Nutter said. “Got too much dick in there, and he lovin’ it, like a fuckin’ Big Mac and shit!” His big eyes twinkled as he pecked Rob on the lips and then worked his way down Rob’s pale, lithe body. He shuddered like he was surprised at the taste, and he stopped to suck on Rob’s nipples. Then he licked Rob’s flat belly and stopped only when he reached Rob’s pubic hair (which he kept trimmed very short).
Nutter was so much bigger than Rob that even getting on his knees wasn’t enough, he was still too tall to swallow Rob’s dick. He had to get on all fours, with his plump ass high in the air, while Rob stood on his toes in front of Nutter’s face.
But when he did get his head in position, Nutter wasted no time in swallowing Rob’s dick to the root. He seemed surprised that Rob’s cock wasn’t as proportionately small as his body was. He motioned for Rob to make some noise. An immediate shudder of pleasure wracked Rob’s body, as Nutter’s warm mouth encircled his cock.
Rob blushed but spat and sputtered, hocking up a few loogies and even sticking a finger far enough down his throat to gag once, making a sound that could be heard outside the cell. That made the other men laugh and cheer, banging on the bars of their cell.
“That sounds right, nigga!”
“Choke him! Show him how we do it!”
In no time Rob was rock-hard, and he started getting into it. Every time the men quieted down, he made it sound like he was getting throated and loving it, and they’d laugh again. Even Officer Budinsky chuckled quietly.
“You got this, Nutter!”
Nutter had a broad back, pocked with a few scars and marks, plus some dark blue prison tats that Rob couldn’t quite make out (some kind of writing, he thought, possibly Hebrew, like an Old Testament verse). He stroked Nutter’s muscles, trying to reach his plump ass, but he was much too short. Instead he grasped at Nutter’s back and shoulders, sighing as pleasure moved through him. They both threw their heads back and moaned. Rob’s moan was drowned out by Nutter’s, and Nutter made his sound exaggerated and comical so it wasn’t obvious to their audience why he was moaning.
“He change his mind about being a prison bitch, Nutter?”
“No, he ain’t! He is lovin’ every second of it! He’s serious.” Nutter guffawed, then aimed his voice at Rob. “You should commit some crimes and shit, whiteboi. You could be the queen bitch in this place!” Nutter said. His voice was joyous and light-hearted, even as his face was serious, gasping, with Rob’s dick throbbing against his nose and cheeks.
As he resumed slurping on Rob’s dick, Nutter moved his head more and more aggressively up and down. Rob felt like he was being attacked by Nutter’s massive head, which made him throw his head back and moan — he covered his mouth with a hand to muffle the sound. Nutter took Rob’s hands in his and wrapped it over his head. The sensation was exquisite, and it felt so good Rob’s toes curled and his hands formed fists at his sides. It felt so good it hurt, and Rob had to avoid moaning lest the thugs outside this cell realized what was happening.
Rob had been on the receiving end of a jailhouse-style throating on several occasions, but he had never topped for that kind of scenario.
But he wanted to give Nutter what he desired. He held onto the ragged short afro on Nutter’s head, gripping his hair, and he slammed his dick all the way in. Nutter let out a chortling gurgling sound with a moistness that made everyone else burst into cheers. To Rob, it sounded much too deep to be his own voice — he was more high-pitched and feminine than that — but luckily it seemed the other inmates didn’t realize that. They had never heard Rob before today so they had no basis for comparison.
“Ram ‘im harder!”
Nutter pulled off and laid on his back on the bare mattress on the bunk in the cell. He snorted and sniffled, wiping fluids off his face, and he smiled silently at Rob. He let his head hang over the foot of the bed. “That’s the proper position for a prison bitch, alright, pervert? Get ready to get yo’self throated.”
“Yeah, plow ‘is gullet, nigga!”
“Ram ‘im! Ram ‘im! Ram ‘im!”
Rob squealed loudly, blushing as the other inmates cheered him on. Nutter was in exactly the position Rob liked to get throated in. Rob had never in his life been on this side of it. He approached Nutter’s broad face and pushed his dick past those thick, juicy lips. His cock slammed into Nutter’s throat, making him retch and writhe atop the filthy prison mattress.
“He regrettin’ signin’ up fo’ this yet?”
Incredible pleasure rocketed through Rob’s spine. He had never felt like this, not even on those few occasions when he got to top someone. Bliss roiled his body and made his knees weak. He shuddered and moaned quietly, every ounce of concentration he could muster going towards not being so loud that he alerted the others to the fact that he wasn’t bottoming as they thought.
Precum flowed down Nutter’s throat. From the reaction on his face, it seemed he had little experience with that. Did he like the taste or hate it? Rob couldn’t tell, and in this position, he didn’t have to care. He felt like he was overpowering Nutter, whose muscular limbs contorted as he accepted the throating. His muscles flexed and bucked as though he was fighting back, and his movement made the bunk beneath him move. The sound of steel scraping against the prison cell floor caused a torrent of cheers from the other cells.
He pulled off once again, grabbed Rob’s slick dick. He lowered his head farther, so he could suck on Rob’s balls. Then he called out, “He suckin’ the sweat off my balls now, what a nasty punk he is!” He let both of Rob’s balls fit easily in his big mouth. He suckled loudly, making a sputtering sound that provoked more cheers from the other cells.
“Nasty! Can’t believe he signed up for this!”
Then Nutter pulled away, stood up and turned around, in a hurry like he had just remembered they were on a time limit. Spit clung to his lips in tendrils, and his ruddy face was moist with tears from lack of oxygen and sweat dappling his forehead. Rob too was sweaty and exhausted, sensations still flowing through his veins, and he had to focus to avoid nutting.
“Four minutes left, guys,” Officer Budinsky said. “You better hurry up.”
His ass was much wider than Rob’s body, not because he was fat, it was just big and broad and juicy. Each cheek was nearly twice the size of Rob’s head. He lowered his ass onto Rob’s dick, slowly. Rob still stood at the foot of the bed, so Nutter crouched on all fours on the ground and backed up until his ass lined up with Rob’s crotch. His crack was choked with sweaty hair, which Rob would have gladly licked clean like a good prison bitch. He felt like he was losing his entire body in the choked masculine jungle of Nutter’s ass.
“Gettin’ in his ass now, Budinsky, cool yo’ jets,” Nutter said. “Don’t worry, he gettin’ e’ry inch of me that he entitled to. Don’t you worry yo’ sweet redneck head about that, Budinsky.”
“You alright in there, sir?” Budinsky asked through the curtain.
“Yeah…” Rob said, too embarrassed to think of anything else to say. He wasn’t sure how to say it that wouldn’t give away what was really happening in here. “I… uh, he’s treating me right.”
“That’s right, he is! Nigga please! Showin’ you how it’s done!”
“You mean he treatin’ you wrong, but he doin’ it in the right way.”
Rob gulped as Nutter penetrated himself with Rob’s dick. Rob gingerly gripped his shoulders and held on while he began humping back, gradually losing his inhibitions. Another jolt of pleasure ran up his body from the moment his dick poked through that jungle of sweaty ass-hair and into his tight hole.
When Nutter grunted in pain, he covered it up with a louder roar, an aggressive sound that made the other inmates whoop and holler along with him. Nutter threw his head back and wordlessly moaned, smiling at Rob even as he grunted out threats and insults.
“Gonna ram you so hard you wear a diaper, honky…” Nutter said out loud, with as much confidence as he could muster.
Rob was not an actor. He tried to pant like a submissive man might — he should have been better at it, since that was the role he normally played, but everything happening here was outside his wheelhouse. He couldn’t remember what kind of sounds he might normally make in the reverse of this situation.
“Make ‘im beg for mercy, nigga!”
It was clear that Nutter wasn’t kidding about having never gotten it up the ass — not that Rob ever doubted him. His asshole was so tight that Rob had to really shove to get his dick in there. There was no time for a gentle approach either. Rob pushed it in farther and farther, and when Nutter didn’t stop him, he began to ram his shaft back and forth, uncaring of his resistance or the hairs that Rob’s dick accidentally ripped from his crack.
“Teach ‘im a lesson! Fuckin’ white man, comin’ in here, tryin’-a get it up the ass and shit…”
Each time Rob rammed his dick into him, Nutter winced and blanched. The whole experience was so incredible that each time Rob thrust past Nutter’s resistance in his ass, a surge of awkward pleasure hit him and Rob moaned in a pained, struggling way. It genuinely did sound like a prison bitch getting plowed, which just egged the other inmates on.
“Wreck him! Ruin him! Show him how we do it, nigga! No mercy!”
“No mercy!”
Rob did indeed plow with no mercy. Of course it was Nutter who responded, “He takin’ it, nigga. Ain’t like a prison bitch, he been opened up a million times before. Kinda nice plowin’ a bitch who ain’t too squirmy. Gonna fill him up wit’ some nut.”
“Two minutes left, guys. You still alright in there?”
“Yes! Yes, officer…” Rob said, his excitement making everyone, including Budinsky, laugh. “I’m, uh… I’m just finishing up.” He threw his head back and moaned as wave after wave of unimaginable bliss washed over him, so intense it was painful as he lost himself in the massive muscled ass trembling before his gentle frame.
Nutter’s ass clenched when he approached his own orgasm. He had started jacking himself off. Rob tried to give him a reacharound, but he could barely reach all the way around, so he just fumbled with Nutter’s powerhouse body while slamming his dick in and out of Nutter’s jiggling, tight ass.
“Aw, shit…” Nutter grunted. “You take dick good!”
When Rob’s orgasm finally came, it felt like it had been a lifetime, way more than seven minutes. Rob yelped and scratched at Nutter’s back — he was so big and thick-skinned he didn’t seem to notice — while intense pleasure suffused both men’s bodies, in sync with each other like no one Rob had ever been with before.
Cum flowed into Nutter’s ass, a huge load that dripped out and down those giant trunk-like thighs. It splatted on the floor, but still Rob came. Nutter roared as he shot his own load into his hand and all over his chest. He managed to make the roar sound like a manly cavemanesque grunt.
Rob’s entire body went limp. He knew they were running out of time, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out, not yet. He kept it there, stimulating Nutter’s prostate while Nutter’s body writhed and flexed with both bliss and agony, pride and shame visible on his contorting face.
Nutter turned around, his massive chest gleaming, covered in his own cum. Rob licked every inch of it, savoring the meaty feel of the man’s muscles. Nutter made sure the cum reached up to his face, so when Rob moved upward and kissed Nutter on the lips, he tasted it. He had to climb the man’s mountainous torso to get there, gripping his throbbing muscles with Rob’s delicate fingers.
They shared cum for another minute or so, stopping only when Officer Budinsky counted down the last thirty seconds. Rob was bashful and hurriedly cleaned himself up with a napkin before putting his clothes back on. Nutter just stood there, covered in fluids, his cum mingling with his sweat so it wasn’t obvious what it was. His dick dangled between his legs.
“Damn, Nutter, put some clothes on,” Officer Budinsky said when he reached zero and pulled the curtain down.
Rob was bright red, too scared he’d blurt out what happened to say anything at all. He quickly dressed and clasped the sweaty small of Nutter’s back.
“Bye, Nutter, that was amazing. You’re the best prison alpha-“
“Shut up, bitch, I ain’t tryin’-a please you,” Nutter said. “You come back here again, and I’ll fist you, punk.”
Rob just nodded and followed Officer Budinsky out. He pretended his ass hurt as he walked past the other inmates.
“Was that everything you thought it was gonna be?” Officer Budinsky asked once they were out of Cell Block Alpha.
“No,” Rob said. “It was completely different, and so much better.”

The Prison Guard Bottoms

Ramon is a flamboyant twink behind bars, but his release is coming up soon. That’s when a guard brings him a special visitor… Barrack Zales is a new prison guard caught smuggling in drugs, which means he’s in for a special punishment.

This is a punishment that Ramon is gonna enjoy doling out!

Read it now as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The night before Ramon’s release date, he couldn’t sleep. He had been dreaming of this day for what felt like a lifetime. He tossed and turned. It was the worst night in the state prison since his very first, when Ramon wept and trembled in fear until dawn.
Now he thought he should feel good about his imminent release, and a part of him certainly did. But a part of him also wept and trembled in fear until dawn yet again. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he walked out those doors. He didn’t have a plan, aside from the vague boilerplate “integration plan” he had come up with during his legally-mandated meetings with a parole officer.
When the first rays of sunlight came through the tiny window in one corner of his cell, Ramon’s heart skipped a beat. He got up and paced since he couldn’t sleep anyway. He could only walk three feet back and forth in his cell, so it his pacing was subpar, but that was the best that could be managed in his rinky-dink prison cell.
Footsteps echoed in the silent corridor of the protective-custody cell block. There were three guards — including Officer Uglymug — escorting another uniformed guard that Ramon didn’t recognize. The other guard appeared to be new, with a clean uniform and an unfaded ID badge, polished black boots and an insecure swagger.
Was he under arrest? His hands were behind his back as though handcuffed, but Ramon couldn’t see whether they were.
Ramon’s anxiety about his imminent release diminished as he tried to figure out what was happening. Newly-hired guards sometimes thought they could smuggle drugs in and sell it to the inmates easily, since that happened in the movies all the time. But the state prison had ways of preventing that, and it was common for new guards to work a day or two and then be seen leaving the prison in handcuffs (they never served a sentence here).
Officer Uglymug opened the door to Ramon’s cell. He smiled broadly. “You are one lucky sissy, Mister Mercado,” he said. “Meet Barrack Zales, a former guard here.”
Barrack smiled wanly at Ramon. “Congratulations on your release,” Barrack said. His voice was deep and gruff, and he sounded confident, but it was a faux confidence, like he really was insecure but tried to hide it.
“Thanks, Officer Zales,” Ramon said.
“Don’t call him that,” murmured Uglymug. “He ain’t an officer.”
“Oh… Okay, well, then, Barrack,” Ramon said. He stuck his hand out to shake, but Barrack was handcuffed, so all he could do was nod back.
“Barrack here thought he could smuggle heroin into my prison,” Officer Uglymug said. “He wanted to get inmates like you addicted so he could profit off you-“
“That ain’t what I was planning!”
“Oh? What was your plan again?”
“I was… I mean… I wasn’t gettin’ no one addicted,” he said. “I was just gonna sell…”
“You were going to sell drugs at inflated prices to people who would otherwise be in rehab, but aren’t since they get drugs from you,” Officer Uglymug said. “Can you explain the morality of that to me? It sure sounds-“
“Okay, we’ve been over this, man. I’m doing what you want,” Barrack said. He rolled his eyes.
Officer Uglymug stared daggers at Barrack until the silence was so thick it could be stabbed with a shiv. Then he turned back to Ramon and smiled again. “But we decided to spare the taxpayers the expense of a trial. We think you can, uh… well, insert the law into Zales through the asshole, and I figured that’d be a good going-away present for you too.”
Another long silence filled the cell. Ramon cleared his throat. “So… you want me to cornhole him? Instead of being arrested, he gets it up the ass from me?”
Barrack flared his nostrils. “I’ll do whatever you want, man.” He flexed his biceps the best he could with his wrists handcuffed behind his back, and his big bear-like pecs jiggled beneath his uniform shirt. “I don’t care.” Despite his words, it sounded like he did care very much. He looked nervous and vaguely ill. He ignored it as Uglymug undid the buttons of his uniform shirt, which couldn’t come off without removing the handcuffs, but Uglymug let the shirt fall off his shoulders behind his back.
Ramon sighed. “Hell yeah, come on in, Barrack. I’ll do you so good you decide to go to prison for fun.”
Officer Uglymug laughed, but Barrack bristled and rolled his eyes, staying put until Uglymug shoved him forward. The Uglymug closed the door behind him. He remained outside Ramon’s cell though, watching through the cell bars.
“Can I get the handcuffs off?”
“No,” Uglymug said. He stood there with his arms folded over his chest once again.
Barrack straightened his back, towering over Ramon. He struggled against the handcuffs on his wrists, muscles bulging as though he was seriously trying to tear the handcuffs apart with his raw strength.
“Well, I guess… Why don’t we get started?” Ramon said. He pulled down the fly of Barrack’s uniform slacks and removed his throbbing slab of thick dickmeat.
One “good” (relatively speaking) part of coming to the state prison was that Ramon got to show off his substantial dick. Everyone assumed that since he was a little man, he had a small cock, and Ramon was glad to prove them wrong. It had been enough to make him into a celebrity on his first day. The Aryans called him the “Mexican wit’ a big prick”.
Now Barrack sighed and shook his head when he saw it. He looked away, and he gulped.
The tension in the cell remained thick, as Ramon gently picked up Barrack’s meaty member. He swayed it back and forth in his hand. It was thick and juicy, and it made Ramon lick his lips. Then Ramon walloped Barrack’s dick with his own, and they sword-fought there — well, Ramon did, Barrack stayed still like a stone statue, wrinkling his nose, keeping his chin high, like he was pretending not to notice Ramon smashed both limp cocks together. Ramon liked the feel of Barrack’s fat limpness rubbing against his own, leaving a layer of masculine sweat and grime. The tension in the cell diminished, replaced by a comfortable arousal. Ramon’s hands roamed all over Barrack’s body.
When he got to Barrack’s nipples, he tweaked one, then the other, then both, and Barrack twitched. His pecs rippled. Barrack bucked, and Uglymug laughed out loud.
“You seriously uncomfortable with that shit, huh? You were never gonna like workin’ here,” Officer Uglymug said with a big grin on his face. “Can’t be squeamish if you gonna be a prison guard.”
Ramon kept jousting with Barrack, who faced away from him, his body stiff but tense. Ramon’s cock was firming up, so their jousting turned rapidly from dickfat jiggling together to Ramon stabbing his erection into Barrack’s soft cock and trimmed pubes. Barrack wrinkled his nose.
“Get on your knees,” Ramon said, then added, “Bitch!” Uglymug reacted with thunderous applause.
Barrack sneered and lunged like he was going to punch Ramon, but his arms were still handcuffed, so Ramon held firm. He didn’t flinch. Barrach growled.
“Get on your knees,” Ramon said again.
Barrack gritted his teeth and sunk to the ground on his knees. His eyes narrowed into slits aimed up at Ramon.
He was still much too tall to swallow Ramon’s dick like that. Ramon stood there with his hands on his hips. Even on his knees, Barrack’s face was even with Ramon’s bellybutton. Ramon rubbed his erect dick between Barrack’s massive pectoral muscles. Barrack ignored it.
“Ya gettin’ titty-humped, nigga,” Officer Uglymug said. “I think you’re gonna have to go lower than that to swallow his dick.”
“Take your time though,” Ramon said with a smirk. He really meant that, he was enjoying humping Barrack’s muscles. He wasn’t gonna cum like that, but Ramon was in no hurry. Anything to distract from the stress of his imminent relase was worth it. His dick rubbed on Barrack’s sternum, which made his pecs ripple, so Ramon switched to thwacked his erection on the meat of Barrack’s muscle.
Barrack scowled but did open his mouth. He stooped over and took Ramon’s stiff dick past his lips. He gagged loudly, and spit choked down Ramon’s shaft, which he spat out. There was something defiant in his gag, like he was proving that he couldn’t do this.
Little did he know — or maybe he did know — that a gag wasn’t gonna stop Ramon Mercado. Gagging made Barrack’s muscles flex, and it sent a squeezing shiver of pleasure up Ramon’s spine. He smiled.
When Barrack had regained his composure, Ramon rammed his dick in, laughing as Barrack sputtered, eyes opening wide. Ramon’s cock throbbed in his throat, and since he was handcuffed, with his arms behind his back, he could do nothing but submit while Ramon drilled into him.
“Yeah, make him choke!”
“Hmmm…” Ramon gripped Barrack by the head and pushed his dick in, not throating him down like a lot of men in this prison do — Ramon had found his mouth was in strong demand during his time here — but more making love to his throat, humping his tongue, and making sure Barrack tasted Ramon’s cock with every inch of his mouth.
“Gag him! Gag him! Gag him!” Uglymug chanted
The tightness of Barrack’s throat was exhilarating. Every time he gagged on Ramon’s cock, it sent a wave of pleasure through Ramon’s body. He moaned and blushed at how intense his reactions were. He hadn’t topped anyone since well before coming to this prison, so it was nice to experience a hot mouth on his cock again, even if it was unwilling.
Copious spit leaked out his mouth, as Barrack was unable or unwilling to swallow anything. He drooled up on Ramon’s shaft, his whole body buckling when he gagged. Ramon was gentle now that he was getting into it, forcing — gently — oh so gently — his cock down Barrack’s throat. When he did it slow enough, Barrack was unable to spit it out, as he could only retch.
Ramon was in charge of his gullet though. He forced his cock down there then held it in place, as he played with Barrack’s face and head. He had handsome features, big ones too, Barrack was a large man with a big head and big everything on it. Ramon’s petite hands played with his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, his ears, and Barrack glowered and simmered, erupting in a furious choke every few seconds.
At last, Ramon pulled his cock outta Barrack’s mouth, quickly lest he bust his nut. He did not want to finish this until he had gotten up Barrack’s behind.
“Lay down on your back, here on the bunk,” Ramon said. He blushed as he pointed to his bunk.
When Barrack hesitated, Ramon frowned. Officer Uglymug pulled out his cattle prod, which made Barrack roll his eyes and shake. He struggled to fit his broad body into the bunk. He was too tall, so his feet had to curl up so that his head could rest over the edge, and it was difficult to balance himself with his hands still cuffed behind his back.
“Up like this, so I can really get deep in that throat,” Ramon said. He lightly tapped Barrack’s cheeks, then leaned down and kissed him on the lips. Barrack had nice, full lips and a big tongue, which lay in his mouth like a dead fish. He didn’t kiss Ramon back. He just stayed limp as Ramon explored his mouth.
When his burgeoning orgasm had died down, Ramon placed his spit-dripping cock right at the entrance to Barrack’s mouth. Barrack’s lower lip quivered — it was his upper lip at the moment, because his head dangled upside-down over the end of the bed — as Ramon wiped precum off on his handsome face.
His chin and cheeks were smoothly shaved. Ramon slid his dick over the man’s face until Barrack’s entire face glistened with pearly white pre-cum. He gagged every few seconds even when Ramon pulled his dick away, as the smell of precum had seeped into his skin. Ramon thwacked his erection on Barrack’s nose.
There was a symbol of three claws tattooed onto Barrack’s neck. Ramon rubbed them with one thumb as he played with the precum on Barrack’s face.
“What’s the significance of this tattoo?”
Barrack bit his lip. “It’s a gangsta thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re a gangsta?!” Officer Uglymug barked angrily. “What? Why did they even hire you? You got a fuckin’ neck tattoo…”
“Fuck you, Uglymug.”
“Shut up, you don’t get to call me that,” Uglymug said.
“You fuckin’ bitch-ass-!” Barrack’s shouts were muffled moments later by Ramon’s balls, which dropped right into Barrack’s mouth. They were sensitive, and his mouth sent tingles of sensation up Ramon’s body, but Ramon did so mainly to shut him up. He didn’t want this to turn into a fight between Barrack and Uglymug. Ramon could end up blueballed.
Instantly Barrack gagged on the sweaty ballflesh coating his tongue and slipping into his throat. His mouth quivered and the fluids pooled there, a mixture of Barrack’s and Ramon’s bodily secretions filling up Barrack’s mouth. Barrack’s mouth filled and overflowed with drool and ballsweat, as all his muscles flexed when he struggled not to retch. Ramon’s balls filled his mouth and tickled his throat.
“Gargle, motherfucker,” Ramon said. He had to repeat himself as Officer Uglymug turned the cattle prod on again before Barrack did so.
He wasn’t able to gargle in any meaningful sense, because as soon as he moved his tongue at all, he gagged profusely. He spat up a giant ball of spit that landed on the uniform pants he still wore. Ramon wiped up all the saliva he could with one hand and smeared it over Barrack’s face.
“You are one nasty shit,” Officer Uglymug said, as though he was both impressed and sympathetic to Barrack’s struggle.
“Open your mouth wider,” Ramon said. He demonstrated an open mouth. Barrack had a large mouth by nature, but Ramon thought he could do better. “Open that mouth, bitch.”
Barrack looked away, then scrunched his eyes shut.
“Nah. Look me in the eye like the bitch you are,” Ramon said. He was petite, even effeminate, so he knew he sounded ridiculous calling someone else a bitch. But that was what made it so humiliating for Barrack.
“Shut up,” Barrack muttered, his voice weak cuz he was struggling not to gag. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide.
“Let’s see how this does,” Ramon said. He pushed his dick in slowly, dragging it out so Barrack tasted every drop of salty precum on his tongue. Barrack held out until his nose nestled into Ramon’s crotch. His throat squeezed around Ramon’s shaft. But Ramon was relentless — he had been a bottom in prison for years, so he knew a lot of tricks to force someone into deep-throating a huge cock.
“That was pretty good deep-throating,” Ramon said, as he let his erection slide out so Barrack could take a breath. “You’re learning… Good job.”
“You fuckin’ pansy!” Barrack screamed.
“That was rude,” Ramon said with a laugh. “I’ll give you a choice for this next part. Do you want to lick my ass? Or would you rather drink some piss?”
“Fuck you!”
“Both? Really? Officer Uglymug, did he really say he wanted to both lick asshole and drink piss?”
“That’s what I heard. He said, ‘I love licking prostates, almost as much as I love drinking urine.’ I heard him say that,” Officer Uglymug said with a chuckle. “Thought it was weird, but you know… I don’t like to judge.”
“That was a really good impression, Officer Uglymug. Sounded exactly like him,” Ramon said. He paused. “Maybe you can help with this. My dick is hard, and I’m not sure I can piss.”
“I’d be glad to assist, inmate,” Uglymug said. He pulled out his thick cock, and he left it dangling out the fly of his uniform slacks.
“Stick your tongue out, bitch,” Ramon said. When Barrack didn’t immediately comply, Ramon grabbed his tongue with his fingers and pulled. He had a notably long tongue, at least two inches sticking well out of his mouth. Ramon shuddered with anticipation. He had never gotten a rimjob like this. “Keep your tongue out. Remember when folks say you gotta lick ass, that isn’t really what they mean. You gotta stick your tongue inside my ass and lick the insides. Not the asscheek. There’s no point to licking an asscheek. Got that?”
Barrack wiped away tears from his eyes. “Please! I-“
“That was a yes or no question. Do you understand?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Keep that tongue out. Move it around,” Ramon said. He faced his pale, smooth ass at Barrack’s face. “Move your tongue around.” He laughed as Barrack wiggled his tongue. Then Ramon planted his ass on Barrack’s face.
Barrack bucked and screamed into Ramon’s asshole. His tongue flickered away at first, then gingerly touched Ramon’s hole. He gagged as Ramon’s ass-sweat dripped into his mouth.
“Get that tongue in there,” Ramon said. He did not expect a real rimjob, but it was fun to try, and the delay meant he moved further away from the orgasm he could feel gathering deep within.
Barrack struggled to make himself do it. His big tongue pushed into the hole, then out, then back in again. Each time he penetrated Ramon’s asshole, a wave of pleasure washed over Ramon’s body.
Grinding his hips to get his ass lower, Ramon managed to literally sit on Barrack’s face. With Barrack laying on his back on the bunk, Ramon was supported entirely by his head, by his tongue sliding in and out of his slippery asshole.
Ramon’s dick twitched and spasmed. Precum dripped from his shaft. Ramon threw his head back and moaned. He could have cum like this, from the intense pleasure emanating from his prostate. But he didn’t want to.
He pulled away just in the nick of time. Barrack hoarsely belched and gasped for air. He sat up and took a deep breath. His reddish face looked away from Ramon until Ramon pulled on his handcuffs to get his attention.
“Look me in the eye! Beg me for more ass!”
“Please… Please… Uh, Inmate… Please… Let me lick your ass some more.”
“What did I say? Are you supposed to be licking my ass?”
“I mean… Let me lick your rectum or whatever,” Barrack said. Tears winkled in his eyes. He turned to Officer Uglymug. “Please… You can arrest me. I would rather be on trial. Please!”
“Too late now,” Officer Uglymug said. “Besides, you don’t wanna know how they’d treat you when you are convicted. At least this will only last one day, Zales. You ready to drink some piss?”
“No!”
“Well, here it comes,” Officer Uglymug said. He had his hoggish prick out and aimed towards the bunk. After just a moment’s silence, he began pissing, a long, solid stream of acrid yellow piss arcing all the way to the bunk. It soaked into the mattress.
It landed on Barrack’s leg. He squirmed and looked away, then he saw Ramon’s harsh glare. His big, muscled body crept forward and to the ground. He opened his mouth right in the stream of piss, which dripped from his face.
“Alright, lemme take a turn on that ass,” Ramon muttered, as Uglymug was finishing up his stream of piss. He pulled away from Barrack’s mouth and got behind him. Barrack didn’t seem to notice since he was focused on the bitter piss filling his mouth and spilling past his lips. He sputtered and spewed, and he twisted around on the now-soaked mattress.
Barrack had such a wide, broad back that Ramon could barely wrap his arms around it. With his dick wedged between Barrack’s toned asscheeks, Ramon couldn’t reach Barrack’s nipples — it was like climbing onto a great beast whose muscles rippled beneath Ramon’s tiny body.
“What are you doing?!” Barrack screamed as Officer Uglymug finished pissing. Barrack’s face dripped. Since he was in the midst of a furious storm of retches, his asshole wasn’t clenched tight.
A loud pained croaking sound ripped out of Barrack’s throat as Ramon forced his dick in. He pushed it in farther and farther while Barrack squirmed and cried out. With his body unprepared for the sensation, Ramon got most of his cock in before Barrack instinctively tightened his asshole
That made it feel even better. Ramon loved the sensation of Barrack’s entire musculature tightening as he tried to buck Ramon off him. But Ramon just held on tight, his feet no longer on the floor. Barrack roared and screamed.
Ramon had no idea how long that lasted. He held on as Barrack wiggled and squirmed. Ramon couldn’t really ram back and forth at all, he had no leverage with which to move his body. He just gripped Barrack’s muscles and kept his cock all the way in Barrack’s ass, while the writhing of Barrack’s powerful body massaged pleasure into Ramon’s cock.
“God damn, man… Get off me!” Barrack screamed.
Then he went down, and his asshole clenched even tighter again as Officer Zales zapped Barrack with the cattle prod. The tingling of his skin was palpable, and Ramon even squirmed as the electricity poured through him as well.
But it was just a little buzz for Ramon — those cattle prods weren’t set to a strong shock — while Barrack screamed and collapsed into a sweaty, piss-covered heap of limp muscle on the bunk. His entire body tightened and stayed tense.
“There you go, good…” Ramon whispered into Barrack’s sweat-covered face. He began pistoning his hips, slamming his cock in over and over. Barrack’s asshole was clenched tight, but Ramon didn’t care, and he had already torn through his ass once. Barrack couldn’t do anything to stop him as Ramon pounded away at his plump behind.
The sound of Barrack’s tears were music to Ramon’s ears — he had spent years enduring the jeers and taunting of the other guards. He had been extorted and beaten and even worse, and now he got to hear a guard (or a former guard anyway) going through the same tortures.
“At least you get to leave here too,” Ramon said. He hoped his point was getting through to Barrack, but the man was sobbing hard enough that Ramon wasn’t sure he could hear.
Every time Ramon’s cock reached the deepest depths of Barrack’s ass, Barrack’s entire well-muscled body flexed and contorted like he was having a seizure. Sprawled out on the bunk he could do little more than writhe as Ramon slammed his ass again and again.
Finally Ramon could put it off no longer. An orgasm ripped through his body, so powerful it made him gnaw like a baby on Barrack’s shoulder. He grunted. Barrack roared and Ramon barked. They both tensed as Barrack clenched his ass around Ramon’s dick, which spurted a flood of cum into his tight asshole.
It was a huge load, having built up over the last few days — Ramon wasn’t in general population since he was about to be released, so he hadn’t had busted a nut. He hadn’t even masturbated because he hoped to fuck a woman s soon as he was released, and he wanted to have a big buildup of cum. He was glad to have saved it up for something special like this.
He twitched as his passion drained away like the last drops of cum that filled Barrack’s ass. Ramon stayed right there in position, giggling at Barrack’s exhausted choking, as his dick slowly limpened inside Barrack’s ass.
“Do you regret your actions?” Ramon asked. He crawled forward to wipe his ass-dripping cock off on Barrack’s face and lips.
“I do! I’m sorry! I’ll never try anything like it again,” Barrack said. He winced but opened his mouth and even extended his tongue to suck the filth of his own ass off Ramon’s cock. His skin was still so sensitive Ramon shuddered, his knees weakening. Barrack’s tongue sent him to new heights of pleasure, as Ramon experienced the final aftershocks of his climax.
“Good,” Ramon said. He leaned back and took a deep breath of the cum-scented air. He sat on Barrack’s muscled chest.
“You better get your clothes together, both of you,” Officer Uglymug said. “I”m takin’ you both for showers. You’re both going home today, and hopefully, neither of you are coming back.”

The Boston Alpha

Desmond is a petite, effeminate prisoner in a big tough prison, so he never thought he’d find himself in a Twink on Top situation. But that all changes when a tough guy Boston thug named Chowder really wants a party, even if that means this muscular alpha will have to bend over and take whatever Desmond wants to give!

Can Desmond handle this particular slice of Twink on Top?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read it right here

It was the most enjoyable party Desmond Talley ever been to. He knew perfectly well that it was only this fun because he had been in prison for a year and a half before it happened. It was the first enjoyable event in his entire time behind bars. So it felt like an evening in heaven.
It helped that there were no women. That meant the biggest alphas and thugs danced with girlish sissies like Desmond as though he was a girl. He even got to kiss this redneck named Bubba, whom Desmond had been drooling over for months. On the outside, Desmond was invisible at a party — to women, he was a short, negligible pansy, and to men, he was not a woman.
But in prison, he was a king. Or maybe queen.
The guards watched like it pained them to see inmates having a good time. All the gangs were told that they’d be punished if anyone got in a fight during the party. That was why it went off without a hitch.
There was no alcohol, but the guards did allow a little weed in for the night. That was probably a wise decision, Desmond thought. Alcohol would make men fight, but the weed just made them giggle and become overly entranced by nature documentaries.
But all good things come to an end, and this penal party was no exception. Desmond was disappointed to hear the music stop, and the remaining joint roaches were combined into one, then quickly smoked. The guards bellowed at the inmates to head back to their cells. Everyone lined up, dragging their feet, grumbling and claiming they weren’t gonna stop partying even as they did stop. But Desmond was at least happy that the party had gone off without a hitch — there was no fight, no smuggled-in booze, no one got hurt. That meant there was a chance the guards would allow another party in the near-future.
“Talley, hey, Talley… Desmond!” boomed a male voice. It was one of the guards — the one the inmates call Officer Crabgut — who grinned and grabbed Desmond off the line. Desmond was surprised that he said his first name. The guards never call inmates by their first name. “Come on,” Crabgut said.
“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Crabgut said. His belly chortled, his off-gray beard hairs gleaming with sweat or maybe liquor, Desmond was pretty sure the guards were drinking in the monitor-room. Crabgut looked like a drunk. “You’re gonna have a second little party.”
“Do I have a choice?” Desmond wasn’t sure what this was and he was nervous. He didn’t trust Officer Crabgut, whose voice was always menacing. It sounded like a threat even when all he said was it’s going to rain today. Crabgut was notoriously corrupt. That’s not always a bad thing — he was the one who brought weed in — but it did make him untrustworthy. Not that Desmond ever really trusted prison guards.
“Well… yeah, I guess, you can choose,” Crabgut said. “But come see what it is first. You won’t say no. If you refused this, I would be… more shocked than I have ever been in my life.”
It was hard to argue with that, and Desmond was intrigued, so he followed Crabgut into an old disused showering area. Inside the dingy shower were a handful more guards, all brimming with nervous smiles, and seated on the ground in the center of the shower, was Chowder.
Chowder was a leader in a gang called the Jagged Right. He was heavily tattooed, nearly inch of his body covered in Gothic letter, naked ladies, wild animals and an outline of Massachusetts over his left pec. He had a handsome jawline with deep dimples. His broad chest was hairy, and he had developed a six-pack since coming to prison. He was also the tallest inmate in the facility; at nearly seven feet tall, he struggled to fit through doorways and down corridors.
He winced but smiled at Desmond. His dimplesome grin wasn’t unusual — he was outgoing and charming, but he didn’t let that get in the way of business. He was one of the few big alpha males in prison whom Desmond had never jerked off. That was because he had a bitch named Sammi, whom Desmond hated. Chowder plowed Sammi publicly, hard and often. Desmond was jealous because he loved to get plowed hard by alpha thugs like Chowder.
“So, uh… Desmond,” Chowder said. When he spoke, his Boston accent either aroused Desmond or made him laugh, it was hard to tell. “I was, uh… I put togethah that pahty. I was… y’know… Uh, I had to arrange it all, dawg.” He paused like he was expecting a big reaction. “I got the weed, I got the gangs to come together, even the Mexicans-“
“Chowder… come on, we ain’t got all day,” Officer Crabgut said. “Don’t drag this out.” An underhushing from the other guards suggested they thought similarly.
“They said we could have the pahty if I did somethin’ aftah it, to prove I’s really serious about makin’ sure the party was good. I had to show I was gonna make sure it went off without no fightin’ or nothin’,” Chowder said, sucking on his teeth every other word. His thick Boston stawk made it sound like his mouth was full of cranberries. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Desmond… will you… please stick me up the ass.” The guards all whooped and hollered. Desmond blushed even harder than Chowder, who bit his lip. He took Desmond’s hand in his like he was gonna propose. “Will you let me jerk yo’ dick and take it in the ass and lick yo’ ass but only fo’ five seconds? And no kissing, and no tellin’ nobody aftahwahds.” That sounded like something that had been carefully negotiated with Crabgut.
“Oh wow,” Desmond was so excited his knees were weak. He looked to Officer Crabgut, who had a gleeful smile on his face — Chowder was often in trouble for fighting with the guards, so they were understandably glad to watch him get it up the ass. All the guards were beaming.
Everyone looked at Desmond, who didn’t know what he was expected to do. He looked down at his feet, too scared to say anything.
“You gotta say yes,” Crabgut said with a chuckle. “If you wanna do it.”
“Yes!”
They all laughed at Desmond’s excitement and Chowder sighed again, like he mighta hoped Desmond would say no. He took off the plain blue baseball cap he wore — the only non-religious hat anyone at this prison was allowed to wear — and ran his fingers through his clipper-short hair. He sucked on his teeth and spat on the ground. He looked at Desmond sternly. “No tellin’ nobody. ‘Specially not Sammi. I can’t let her find out I cheated on her.”
“Sure! Okay. I promise, nobody will find out,” Desmond said. “I hate Sammi. I never talk to him. I-“
“Call Sammi a her.” Chowder said. He narrowed his eyes to slits, making it clear that was a threat.
Desmond gulped. He knew Chowder, like most prison alphas, referred to their bitches as a woman. Desmond had simply forgotten because he was so excited. “Okay. Yeah, I won’t tell her. Or anyone else. I swear.”
Chowder stood there, his confidence draining as he very slowly dropped his orange prison jumpsuit. The guards laughed and clapped, hooting like he was a stripper. They demanded he dance and shake his ass as he undressed. “That weren’t paht of the deal,” Chowder said, lips clenched grim as a reaper. The guards seemed to accept that, but they got more and more into cheering him on, pretending he was stripping like a dancer even if he wasn’t.
“Whoo-hoo, Chowder!”
“Let’s see ya pussy!
The sight of his bare chest and his rippling muscles made Desmond’s heart skip a beat. Back on the outside, Chowder was a violent thug, or so said the grapevine from Boston, but one of those rather fat swaggalicious men whom Desmond thought were hot even if they had a belly. Chowder always carried himself like a macho, no matter his physique. In his time in prison, however, all of that fat done melted away, leaving behind a mass of muscle and a well-worked barrel chest that bulged from his skin as though begging him to get fat again. Desmond had seen him naked in the shower, of course, so this was hardly the first time, but this was closer and more exciting. His fat cock swayed between his massive thighs. Drool escaped from Desmond’s lips as he caught whiff of Chowder’s post-party musk.
“If I evah catch you lookin’ at me in the showah like you looukin’ at me now, I will rip yo’ goddamn ahm off and smack yo’ face off with it,” Chowder said.
“Uh, Chowder-” Officer Crabgut cleared his throat. “That’s not okay. You can’t control how people look at you.”
“What I can’t control is my reaction when some sissy look at me like he wanna eat me up,” Chowder said through gritted teeth. “You may not plow me in yo’ imagination, okay, not aftah today.”
“Chowder!”
“Fine. I’m sorry, sissy. Or Desmond or whatevuuh. I ain’t tryin’-a police yo’ mind.” He rolled his eyes at Crabgut’s stern face.
“It’s okay. I won’t, Chowder, I promise,” Desmond said.
Chowder dropped his dingy prison-issued boxer, faded bloodstains ominously covering the crotch area. Desmond wondered where that blood had come from. Was it Chowder’s? Probably not, he thought, or he’d a-got his cock cut off.
“Well, you the sissy, right? How do we proceed?” Chowder scowled.
“Uh… I guess… You should swallow my dick,” Desmond said. His voice had never sounded so weak, at least in his mind.
“Hope this party was worth it,” Officer Crabgut said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Get on your knees, Chowder. I mean… Chowdah.” He chuckled and glanced at the other guards as though expecting them to think his joke was hilarious.
Chowder glared at him but sunk to his knees. He was nearly seven feet tall, so even on his knees, his face was even with Desmond’s shoulders and neck. He was nowhere’s near close enough to get Desmond’s cock in his mouth.
As Desmond dropped his own pants, Chowder slunk lower and lower. In the end he laid on his back, propping himself up with his arms, a position that made his pecs bulge. Desmond felt weak and cold, but he was glad no one was looking at his own body, which was skinny and trembling with anxiety. He strained to spread his legs wide enough to straddle Chowder’s chest. He wanted to touch him, but Desmond was still nervous about this — if there was one ironclad rule of prison life that nobody ever broke, it was that slim weaklings like Desmond did not top massive alpha thugs like Chowder.
“Yeah, swallow it, Chowdah!”
“Throat him down, Talley!”
“Just foh’ the recahd, I’m doin’ this cuz I want to,” Chowder said. He spat on Desmond’s dick without touching it. “I could say no. These mothahfuckahs ain’t got proof I agreed to nothin’. And I done it before. Not in prison of couhse, but back in the day, me and my boys shared some dome on the downlow. Ain’t no shame in that-“
“Less gabbin’, more swallin’ nuts!”
“Mollywop him, Talley!”
Chowder glared at the guards, but he sighed, and seemed to decide that just going for it was the best way to get started. The longer he drew it out, the more they were going to tease him. He held Desmond’s shaft with his fingertips, like a disgusting snake. Then at last he opened his mouth, took a deep breath and closed his lips around the tip of Desmond’s dick.
He gagged even before his tongue touched it. He closed his eyes, and his entire muscular chest roiled with disgust, but he didn’t slow down even a bit. He let the rest of Desmond’s dick slide deeper even as his eyes frantically darted around as though looking for a way to escape. Desmond’s pubes enveloped his nose.
Almost immediately Desmond felt a surge of pride and confidence. He felt better than he had since coming to prison, and even before that. He pushed his dick in even deeper down Chowder’s tight throat, ignoring the angry look in Chowder’s baby blues. A tight, squeezing warmth spread through his senses.
“Come on, make more spit,” Desmond said, making the guards laugh. “You’ve gotten dome before. You know how to do it. Make it wet.” He wanted to call Chowder his bitch, but he thought that might be a step too far for the mountainous Bostonian.
Chowder did as he was told, even as his nostrils flared and his eyes filled with hostility. He choked up a mountain of saliva — since he was such a huge man, he produced a truly copious torrent of spit — that dripped down his chin and into his bare crotch. His chest muscles became soaked and goopy.
A shudder of desire ran through Desmond’s body as he gripped Chowder’s broad shoulders. His inhibitions melted away. Chowder was crisscrossed with scars and tattoos, including a scattering of bullet wounds on his back. Desmond reached down to caress his body, savoring the feel of his rippling muscles and their firmness beneath his touch.
That made precum leak from the tip of his dick, which reawakened a torrent of sputtered gagging from Chowder. It sent a frisson up Desmond’s spine. The guards laughed and clapped, again hooting and hollering like they were watching a strip show.
“Suck that dick/suck it like I ain’t rich/suck it like a bitch/suck it till you sick/Like you ain’t nevuh turn a trick/Yeah, suck that dick”
One of the guards was rapping; Desmond wasn’t hip enough to know for sure whether he was freestyling or repeating a popular song. It sounded rehearsed though. Maybe a Macky P song.
Chowder pretended it didn’t bother him, but Desmond could feel him bristling at the teasing. It was funny how Desmond could sense Chowder’s reactions through his muscles’ twitching and the way his throat clenched around Desmond’s spasming cock, like Desmond could read Chowder’s mind through his body. Chowder arched his back as he nestled his nose deep in Desmond’s crotch, easily deep-throating every inch of Desmond’s cock. His new position meant his ass rose in the air.
Desmond lusted after it. He couldn’t believe he was going to get to plow Chowder in that ass, and he wondered if Chowder had ever done it before. He said he shared dome with his baystater buddies on the downlow, but could they have done anal too? He tried to reach but Chowder was too tall for Desmond to reach his ass with his dick in Chowder’s mouth.
“Okay, you said you’ll lick my ass, right?” Desmond asked, remembering that suddenly. His voice was huffy and gaspy because he could feel the early burgeonings of his orgasm surging through his body. He wanted to drag this out though.
Chowder pulled off his dick. Thin tendrils of spit connected his greenish face to Desmond’s cockshaft. Chowder grumbled. “Fo’ five seconds, that’s all I agreed to.”
Officer Crabgut laughed. “That’s just a minimum, Chowder. You can lick his ass as long as you want. We got all night.”
“No!” Chowder snapped down over the chortles of the other guards, who all cackled up the serious look on Chowder’s face.
Desmond turned around and bent over as though he was going to get plowed, as that was the only position that raised his ass high enough for Chowder to lick it. Chowder looked away, breathed deeply through his mouth and closed his eyes.
He dove between those cheeks and slammed his tongue in. He was so forceful — and his tongue was so big — that it almost hurt. Chowder rimmed him more aggressively than anyone had ever rimmed him before, and Desmond got the impression that Chowder had never done it before, not even on a girl. Chowder definitely enjoyed receiving rimjobs from his bitch and he always demanded more tongue-in-ass action, but since Chowder was so much bigger than Sammi, he needed as much tongue-penetration as possible, as deep and as hard as possible. Now Chowder’s cock-sized tongue shoved into Desmond’s ass and explored there, hesitatingly as Desmond’s ass-juices smeared over Chowder’s square-jawed face.
“Five! Four! “
But Desmond then felt a ripple of pleasure emanating up his back as Chowder’s tongue battered his prostate. Chowder moaned into his ass and gagged without slowing down. Desmond’s eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure walloped his petite frame. Chowder’s tongue sucked every drop of grime out of his ass, even as Chowder himself sputtered and choked on it.
“Three! Two! …”
The guards conspicuously stopped counting, but Chowder pulled away from Desmond’s ass anyway. He spat on the linoleum shower floor. He wiped his face off with one hand, and his chin waggled but he kept it together. He sniffed, pointedly ignoring the guards as they cheered. He glanced over and saw one of the guards had bared his hairy ass — extremely hairy, nearly gorilla-like — and winked his asshole in Chowder’s direction.
“If you enjoyed that, give Officer Torelli a try! He got all the ass-hair you could eat, boi! He be a ass-buffet for ya!”
Chowder grimaced and looked away. He sighed as he stroked Desmond’s dick with one meaty callused hand. It was the worst handjob of Desmond’s life, but it was also somehow the greatest, its lack of rhythm and rough texture sending shockwaves of bliss through Desmond’s body while slowing down his arousal enough that he was no longer ready to blow his load.
“Time for the ass, Chowder!”
“Give up the booty!”
Chowder snarled at the guards. He turned around and bent over. His initial position was laughably impossible — he simply put his hands on the floor, sticking his ass in the air so high Desmond’s short little body couldn’t even reach it. Desmond had to stand on his toes to touch Chowder’s asscheeks and tap them, signaling him to lower himself.
“Best get down lower, or we gonna need a winch and a pulley to do this right.”
Chowder dropped to all fours. He had a nice plump ass, just enough padding for Desmond’s taste — a remnant of when Chowder was fat-bodied in his pre-prison life. There was a tattoo on his left asscheek, an arrow pointing to his asshole and the words ‘Cop Kissing Zone’.
Desmond separated those thick blubbering cheeks; at first it was difficult because Chowder instinctively flexed his cheeks, keeping them tight, but he forced himself to relax. His crack was lined with sweat-matted hair. Each of Chowder’s asscheeks was bigger than Desmond’s head, making Desmond feel truly tiny by comparison. He took a deep breath and pushed his dick in.
Chowder bit his lip so hard it drew blood. He breathed through his nose and snorted like a rampaging bull. His face turned bright red from both pain and humiliation. The muscles of his back tensed, lines flexing and curving, distorting the tattoos as he stretched.
“Lookit him take it! Like a bitch!”
“Damn I wish we could fuckin’ tape this. Put it on the Internet, make a goddamn fortune.”
“You bettah not!” Chowder said, but for once his voice was not bristling with confidence and machismo. It sounded like a whine, not a threat. He hung his head.
Desmond hadn’t topped anyone since before he came to prison, so this was a refreshing experience for him. He pushed his dick in deeper and deeper, using copious lube (which was provided by Officer Crabgut — that seemed sweet, Desmond thought, he didn’t need to do that; prisoners usually used hog fat from the prison kitchen, so Crabgut was being nice by providing actual lube). Chowder’s ass was clearly intact, so tight that Desmond struggled to shove every inch in his hole.
Chowder was on all fours, so the more powerfully Desmond slammed into his ass, the more Chowder was forced to lower himself. He winced and dropped his hips, making it easier for Desmond to plow him harder. To his credit, Chowder managed to take every inch even though it was obviously difficult for him.
That hairy Italian guard Torelli took his dick out, wagging it in front of Chowder’s face. Desmond couldn’t hear his words because he was overwhelmed by his incipient climax and the boisterous laughter of the other guards drowned out the hairy guard, but it was clear he offered Chowder a taste of his dick. Chowder frowned and kept his eyes pointed away, even as the guard followed his face with his massive, uncut Italian cock.
Eventually Desmond was ramming with all his might on top of Chowder, his feet no longer on the floor at all. Chowder’s broad muscles rippled beneath Desmond’s face, and he licked the salty sweat that beaded on his skin. Chowder writhed beneath him.
His balls slapped on Chowder’s chunky asscheeks, making them jiggle and ripple. Desmond felt like a weird circus novelty, like a midget plowing a strongman to a shocked crowd. Chowder panted like a dog beneath him.
“God-damn, man,” Chowder said, his fingers and toes curling as though trying to dig into the linoleum floor of the prison shower.
“Yeah! Get ‘im good, Desmond!”
“Lookit his little body on top of Chowder. Looks like a kid whose big bro is lettin’ him beat him up.”
Desmond blushed at the guards’ closeness. They were peering into Chowder’s ass as though they had never seen a butt before and weren’t sure what was actually happening. Having an audience was nerve-wracking for Desmond.
His orgasm came on too soon. Desmond was disappointed, but not surprised, as Chowder’s ass was too tight and too perfect to resist it for long. As he felt it arising deep within him, Desmond wasn’t even sure how long it had been — it felt like just a few minutes, but at the same time, it felt like hours. Surely Chowder would have complained if it had taken that long though, he thought. The guards would have gotten bored.
The most powerful orgasm of his life ran through him. Desmond’s entire body shook and trembled, and he moaned so loud he blushed as the guards erupted in a mixture of embarrassed grunts and excited shouts. Some peered closer, while others looked away.
Cum sprayed within Chowder’s ass, a thick and copious loud that filled up every inch of his insides. Chowder moaned too, matching Desmond’s voice, and he buried his face in his forearm. Then he grabbed the blue baseball cap he had thrown on the ground, and he buried his face in that instead.
One of the guards pulled the cap away and looked Chowder in the eye. Chowder’s red face was tense and a few tears of pain and embarrassment drifted down his cheek. Jet after jet of creamy jizz flowed into him and dripped down his thighs.
“Who’s the pussy-faced bitch now?” the guard asked. “Hope the party was worth it.”
Chowder snarled and grabbed his hat back as his ass clenched again around Desmond’s dick. Exhausted, Desmond fell back. His ass plopped out of Chowder’s ass, and Chowder breathed a sigh of relief. He stood and blushed as the guards laughed at the river of cum dripping down his trunk-like, tattooed thighs.
“Hey!” Chowder barked. “We said no bringin’ it up again after it’s done.”
“Ain’t done yet,” Officer Crabgut said. “It ain’t done until you both get your clothes on. Whatchoo think, Chowder? Was the party worth it?”
Chowder hurriedly threw his underwear on, wincing when he accidentally touched his ass and reawakened a torrent of sensitive pain. He put his jumpsuit on and then hurriedly slipped into his shoes when the guards made it clear they counted that as well. “Yeah,” Chowder said. “The pahty was totally worth it.”
Desmond slow-walked it, both because he didn’t mind the guards teasing Chowder and because he was too overwhelmed to really focus on anything but the aftershocks of orgasmic pleasure wracking his body. But when Chowder was done and he saw Desmond wasn’t, he shot him a few dirty looks. Soon they were both dressed. Desmond still felt weak-limbed from the power of his climax, and he could still taste Chowder’s back-sweat in his mouth.
True to their word, the guards stopped teasing as soon as both inmates were dressed again. There was still some scattered laughter, especially when Chowder winced and skipped a step while he walked towards the door behind Officer Crabgut.
“Hey, if you want — and you don’t think Sammi will mind — you can plow me later. As hard as you want,” Desmond said. “If that, y’know, makes you feel better.”
“I know I can.” Chowder’s voice dripped with menace. “I will.”
Desmond smiled. That promised to be almost as good as what had just happened. He couldn’t wait.

Ain’t nobody allowed to moo at Vagina-Candy.

Niggas was mooing at this prison guard named Vagina-Candy cuz he was Hindu and the rumor spread he couldn’t enforce a rule against nothing that moos

Anyway, we’ll breeze past the next couple hours, cuz it was a buncha boredom, there was supper and some dumbass announcement from the warden — niggas was mooing at this prison guard named Vagina-Candy cuz he was Hindu and the rumor spread he couldn’t enforce a rule against nothing that moos, whenever Officer Vagina-Candy lead a line to mess or something, all them all, like hundreds of inmates just start mooing, and Vagina-Candy be freaking out and shit, Warden said it was a religious and ethnic diversity. Anyway, he acted like it was a fucking genocide. Warden get on the loudspeaker talking about the Holocaust and shit! Making all these rules! Ain’t nobody allowed to moo at Vagina-Candy. Warden gonna put people in solitary if they moo. Actually made a no-mooing rule. It’s prolly still in the rulebook.

From Winston Steel & the White Man

The Cholo Bottoms

Anthony got it bad in prison, and he never thought his fortunes would be turned upside-down! That’s cuz the bad-ass cholo who hurt him is gonna hafta turn around and bend over, so that tiny twink Anthony gets to climb on top!

Read it now as an ebook! Or read the whole thing below!

When Anthony got out of the prison infirmary, he struggled to walk at all. The doctors had sewn up his cuts and got his bruising to go down, but he was still in intense pain with every step he took. That’s because he got cornholed, and it felt like his ass tore in half, like wet tissue paper, like he was being torn up all over again each time he stepped forward. The stairs were especially difficult to make it down.
Much to his surprise, the guards were kind. Officer Bignose in particular allowed him to walk back to his cell as slowly as he needed. Usually he pushed guys along, practically dragging anyone who didn’t hurry.
Anthony’s ramrod was named Franco, but he went by Sucio — a Spanish word that means “filthy or vulgar” and implies sexual perversion as well. He was tall, heavily tattooed from forehead to feet, broad-shouldered and meaty, strong as an ox. He had cornholed Anthony harder and harder until Anthony begged him to stop. He made Anthony lick the prison toilet seat; he stuck his assjuice-stained dick in Anthony’s mouth, and he pissed on his face. It was a tortuous experience.
Anthony certainly didn’t intend to wag his ass at any more cholos. He had thought he’d be able to get on Sucio’s good side by seducing him, but he didn’t know Sucio’s intense desire to remain uno hombre. His authoritarian manhood demanded he take charge of uno pasivo like Anthony.
But he was safe now. Anthony shared a cell with an elderly man, and he didn’t plan on leaving the cell any more than he had to. Sucio was sent to solitary confinement as punishment for the attack, so Anthony didn’t see him for a long time.
When he finally did return to the cell block on the same day Anthony did, Sucio made a kissy face as he walked by in chains, and the sight of that reawakened the lingering pain in Anthony’s ass. Shame flooded him, and he blushed as he looked down at his feet. Everybody knew Anthony was small and weak in comparison to Sucio, but he was still embarrassed for that to be made obvious. Officer Bignose led Sucio through the cell block. When they saw the kissy face, Bignose pulled on the manacle connected to Sucio’s legs, tripping him. He fell in a big bronze lump on the floor.
Sucio’s dingy white prison shorts and wifebeater were filthy with his sweat and raunch from his time cooped up in solitary. Anthony felt a surge of sexual desire, followed by shame. Anthony wished he could have serviced him in a consensual way. On the outside, he’d have said he wanted Sucio to ravage him. But it didn’t go how he had pictured it in his head. Anthony guessed that Sucio would never allow it — Sucio wouldn’t want to do it so Anthony enjoyed it. He was always going to do it harder than his victim wanted. His machismo demanded it.
“Come on out here,” Officer Bignose said, poking his head into the cell Anthony shared with the old man. Anthony had backed away from the door, not wanting Sucio to see him. Fear surged all over again as he wondered if Bignose’s kindness had only been a front for his true aim: retorturing Anthony by setting up another ramrodding. When Anthony didn’t respond right away, Bignose barked his order again, “Inmate Delunez, get the fuck out here right now!”
Anthony trembled but nodded and crept out of the cell. The cell block was having a Sunday afternoon indoors today, since it was raining outside. That meant dozens of men milled about, almost all of them vatos and cholos — Cell S99 was reserved for inmates associated with the Latin Kings. Anthony had only a glancing connection with them, which was why he had been turned out as Sucio’s bitch.
Bignose held a hand up, palm out, which made the cell block stop whispering. They all glared at Bignose. Anthony shivered with fear — was Bignose going to cornhole him now as well?
Outside of prison, Anthony hadn’t been a thug at all. He had only pledged himself to the Latin Kings because he was going in for a year and needed protection, and luckily his brother was a well-respected vato who could vouch for him. Of course, that hadn’t ended up mattering for very much.
“Listen up, you shitheaps. A lot of you are aware of what happened awhile ago. Inmate Delunez here was treated… poorly, to say the least-” Bignose was interrupted by a chorus of cheers and jeers from the assembled cholos, who yelled insults at Anthony. He blushed, especially when Sucio — standing nearby in chains — sneered at him. Someone pinched Anthony’s ass. Bignose whistled and demanded silence; everyone ignored him until he brought out the taser and brandished it. “Shut the fuck up! There’s a prison policy here we ain’t always followed. That’s because the victims are usually as bad as the perpetrators, but it’s a rule we got a right to enforce.”
“Fuck yo’ rules, esé!” Sucio said. He pumped his hips as though literally fucking Bignose’s rules. His dick-bulge shook in his prison shorts, and he rolled his tongue beneath his lips.
Bignose smiled at Sucio. He nodded to the other guards around him, and one of them jumped into action. Before Anthony could process the sudden turn of events, Sucio had a mouthguard placed on his face. Sucio roared and pulled away, but there were four guards on him, and they kept him in place, even forcing him to his knees. His complaints vanished into a wordless burst of syllables.
The mouthguard was a plain piece of plastic with wire forceps-like edges and a strap binding it to the face. It was made for prison dentists who couldn’t otherwise safely put their hands near the inmates’s mouths. Sucio tried to spit but with his jaw stuck pried apart, all he could do was sputter and writhe in the muscular guards’s arms.
“The rule that we’re going to enforce from now on,” Officer Bignose said with a cruel smile, “is that prison tops get bottomed.”
Total silence filled the room. Then there was a torrent of shouting, angry Spanish and vituperative English — a few of them were in support of the policy, it seemed, but many were against it, and some just wanted to watch the world burn. A few of the inmates rushed towards Bignose as though going to fight him, but Bignose flipped his taser on and they backed off when the sound of electricity crackling hit the air.
Silence once again fell over the cell block.
“Now, not all you alpha cholos are gonna get it up the ass. I ain’t got no interest in that,” Bignose said. “But if yer bitch complains, then I’m gonna let him treat you the same way you got treated. That’s how we gonna decide what’s consensual or not. If your bitch is upset enough to file a complaint, he’s gonna get to climb on top of yer stupid ass. Inmate Delunez here is gonna be first.” He smiled at Anthony, and extended his arm like a fancy butler unveiling an expensive dish.
It all happened so fast that Anthony only realized what was happening right now, as he stepped towards Sucio. The inmates mostly quieted down. None of them really loved Sucio, after all. Bignose had no doubt started off with what seemed like terrible news in order to be sure they’d be supportive and happy when he backed up into a less atrocious rule.
Anthony blushed as he took his dick out. He had been showering with these men, and occasionally jerking them off, for more than a month before Sucio attacked him, so this wasn’t the first time they had seen his dick. But he was still self-conscious knowing that they were looking at him now, and no doubt comparing his dick to theirs — when he was just another prison punk, they avoided looking at his manhood; his ass and his mouth were his only body parts that mattered.
But now his rather thick dick was the center of attention. Anthony had never felt smaller, despite the grande size of his meat. Sucio roared as he tried to pull away, but the guards kept him on his knees. His chest and shoulders were soaked with sweat, which made his wifebeater stick to his flesh. His muscles strained the fabric.
¡Destrozar el culo! ¡Que sea sangrienta!
Anthony chuckled as he flopped his limp dick onto Sucio’s face, his heart racing — this felt so dangerous, even if it wasn’t. Sucio’s face was heavily tattooed, seven tears dripping from his eyes (which meant he had murdered seven people, and the fact that one of the tears was colored red meant that one of those seven was either a cop or a snitch).
¡Su garganta es su culo!
Sucio flinched and writhed. He breathed heavily, drool dripping past his lips. It was obvious he was trying to say something but couldn’t with his mouth pried open. All he could do was champ up moutfuls of saliva.
“You ever tasted cock before, bitch?” Anthony asked, simply because the silence made this all more intense, and he felt a need to do something to break the tension. The pain in his ass was gone now, and he smiled as the cholos filling the cell block burst into laughter and applause. Sucio was a powerful gangbanger, and though they were all nominally allied with him, no one liked him — now that he was a bitch, they’d treat him like one, which meant everyone here could move up a rung in the Latin Kings hierarchy.
Fuck ‘is throat, Anthony. Make him choke! ¡Hacer que se ahogue!
Anthony pushed his dick into Sucio’s big, wide mouth. His moist tongue shook as though trying to find a place to hide, but Anthony just pushed his dick all the way in to the root in one smooth motion — Sucio was big enough to swallow a lot of meat. Sucio retched and gagged, a big ball of spit dripping down his chin and onto his wifebeater.
“Keep your eyes open, puta!” Anthony said. He pounded on his thin twinky chest. This was exactly how Sucio had treated him, so he enjoyed returning the favor. “Bitches should look in they owners’ eyes. I wanna see yo’ stupid bitch face suffocating on my cock, esé.”
He rammed his dick in all the way, even lifting one leg to hump his face like a dog. The mouthguard on Sucio’s face pinched at his jaw whenever he tried to open it, so his mouth was open as wide as it would go — every time he stretched it a little wider, the mouthguard didn’t allow it to go back without pinching into his gums.
Anthony rubbed the Gothic lettering tattooed on Sucio’s forehead — Latin Kings por vida, it read. He spat right onto that tattoo, and when he saw that Sucio shook and gagged, he did it again. He spat on Sucio’s nose and hocked up a big loogie, which he plopped into Sucio’s mouth.
This felt so good that Anthony would have gladly kept going until he came. But he felt his orgasm coming and he knew Officer Bignose wouldn’t hold Sucio down again, at least not unless Sucio cornholed him again. So Anthony decided to go after him in the ass while he could.
After all, he wasn’t gonna get more chances to ramrod a muscle-bound alpha like Sucio.
There were now five guards holding Sucio down. One was on each limb (which were also manacled), and one kept him in a bear hug from behind. That one behind Sucio winced like he was disgusted when Anthony pulled out of Sucio’s mouth — he was awfully close to the action, getting splashed. Anthony blushed, still unused to being the center of attention.
The guard with Sucio in a bear hug leaned onto his back, forcing Sucio onto his back as well, his big body resting on the guard’s chest. He squirmed but with his chained arms and legs held by the other quartet of guards, there was little Sucio could do.
Officer Bignose pulled on the chains of Sucio’s legs and attached them to the wall nearby. That forced Sucio’s legs up. Anthony pulled those dingy prison-issued boxers up, revealing a thick and meaty ass coated in kinky black hairs and amateur tattoos. His cheeks quivered and tensed — he was clenching his ass.
Not that that was gonna stop Anthony.
When Anthony saw that cock again, he knew he was going to stroke Sucio off — both because he genuinely wanted to, and because he knew he could get Sucio hard in front of the entire cell block. Nothing would be more humiliating than treating Sucio like a bitch and making him like it, in front of every cholo in this joint.
There was a Salvadoran flag tattooed right on Sucio’s dick, its blue and white stripes waving in unseen wind. Anthony gave it a stroke while just resting his dick at the entrance to Sucio’s ass.
“You want this real bad, donchu?” Anthony asked, then repeated it loud enough that he could be heard over the hoots and hollers of the other inmates.
¡Si, él realmente quiere!
Sucio’s body roiled and writhed. He struggled against the guards holding him down, but there was nothing he could do, especially on his back with his legs in the air — he was like a turtle stuck on its back.
“You ever took it in the ass before?” Anthony asked. Sucio shook his head and heaved out some indecipherable syllables, but Anthony couldn’t understand him. He cupped one hand behind his ear as though asking Sucio to speak up. The inmates behind him all roared their approval of Sucio’s humiliation. Anthony smiled and said, in an overly loud voice, “Oh, you loved getting rammed by sumisos?! Well, I got exactly what you want! Don’t worry, I’ll ram you again whenever you want. You just let me know.”
He rammed one finger in Sucio’s ass, keeping his dick right there so Sucio could feel it. His other hand remained on Sucio’s cockshaft, lightly stroking it — it was just a bit hard right now, no doubt more from anxiety than actual arousal.
Sucio arched his back and clenched his ass when Anthony’s pinkie entered him. Anthony laughed and smacked him on the asscheek, over and over until Sucio let go of his clenching for just a second, long enough that Anthony could ram his pinkie all the way in.
The sweat drenched Sucio’s body now, soaking those guards who held him down. They looked like they regretted agreeing to this — they probably enjoyed the idea of holding a giant cholo like Sucio down while he got cornholed — Sucio had been insulting and threatening them for years, after all — but now realized that the actuality of it was more difficult and less satisfying than they had predicted beforehand. His sweaty muscles and coarse black hairs rubbed all over their bodies, especially the burly redneck guard who held onto Sucio’s bare back.
“Gonna get that ass to open up one way or another…” Anthony shouted over the din — that was another thing Sucio had said over and over while cornholing Anthony hard. Anthony did it the same way Sucio had, by strangling him.
His thin, delicate fingers gripped Sucio by the neck and squeezed, just hard enough to make him heave and writhe. It was a sudden enough surprise that his ass unclenched when Anthony let go a moment later, and Anthony rammed his ring finger in alongside his pinkie. Sucio breathlessly gasped, his tongue writhing in his mouth as he tried to shout.
Anthony had been so focused on watching Sucio’s agony that he hadn’t really taken a moment to savor the fingering. With two fingers now in Sucio’s virgin ass, he wiggled them. He loved that tight moistness and he especially enjoyed how Sucio’s dick pulsated in his hands now that Anthony was on his prostate.
“Muy apretado…” Anthony said with a slow smile. The other inmates rushed forward to either join in or clap Anthony on the back, but Officer Bignose waved them away.
He rammed his fingers in and out, each thrust making Sucio contort. His muscles were pulling the guards this way and that as they held him down — they couldn’t quite keep him from moving, but they could keep him from getting up. His chains rattled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd of inmates.
Then Anthony pulled out. He pushed his dick in before Sucio’s ass had time to clench again, but Anthony didn’t want to go too fast. He just put the tip of his dick in and held on as Sucio flexed all over. Motionless, Anthony bit back his burgeoning climax, so he could drag this out.
Pain rattled up and down Sucio’s body; Anthony could see it in the undulating tension in his muscles, which tightened and loosened in waves from his trunk-like thighs to his broad muscles. Those muscles clenched his ass as though to grip Anthony’s cock.
“Taste some ass, puta!” Anthony shouted, too aroused to think of anything wittier to say. He wished he could — Sucio had thought of lots of (relatively) clever insults and threats to shout as he had fucked Anthony, but Anthony couldn’t think of a single one right now. He just laughed as he pushed his ass-slickened fingers into Sucio’s mouth.
Sucio sputtered and gagged as soon as he tasted his own ass. He spat the best he could with an open mouth, but Anthony just wiped his fingers off on Sucio’s tongue, groaning as he slid a few more inches of his manhood into Sucio’s behind.
“You feel it in you, bitch?” Anthony asked. “Huh? You feel my dick in you?”
Sucio shook his head, throwing his neck back and forth. He wasn’t really saying no, probably didn’t even hear Anthony’s question, but Anthony decided to take it as a no.
“Oh, okay, I’ll ram you harder then, so you can feel it!” Anthony said. He smiled as the cholos behind him screamed their approval.
Make ‘im bleed, Anthony! Wreck his ass!
Anthony pistoned his hips, slamming his dick the rest of the way in. He pushed his cock all the way to the root, which made Sucio arch his back. He gasped and choked on the fingers Anthony still kept in his mouth.
Then Anthony remained still for a moment, working on Sucio’s dick. It was rock-hard, but he gathered that Sucio wasn’t even aware; he was in too much pain to notice his erection. Anthony used both hands on the meaty, uncut shaft, then cupped his low-hanging balls. He gathered up all the sweat from Sucio’s own crotch and then wiped it over Sucio’s tongue, which stuck out of his mouth like a panting dog.
He wanted to really humiliate Sucio by making him cum with a dick all the way up his guts. So he stimulated Sucio’s prostate while stroking off his manhood.
The tension was so great that it was actually quite easy — Sucio was too distracted to fight against it, so his body’s instinctual arousal was enough to send him right over the line. His orgasm was painful, bringing tears to his eyes as his asshole clenched around Anthony’s rampaging dick.
Cum sprayed over Sucio’s chest and belly. He blushed a bright red as the other inmates, his fellow gangmates, all roared their shocked approval. Some of the cum missed Sucio’s body and landed on the face of the guard holding onto his right arm, who flinched but didn’t pull away even as the semen dripped down his lips.
Anthony pumped his biceps over Sucio’s body. He knew he looked ridiculous, since he was acting like he had overpowered Sucio when he was actually about a third Sucio’s size. But it felt good to be victorious — Anthony hadn’t felt like a real man since even before Sucio plowed him.
Gathering that the guards were losing patience and weren’t going to hold Sucio down for much longer, Anthony decided to finish up. He had been on the verge of orgasm pretty much since this began, so he focused his energy on going hard. His hands sopped up all that cum and wiped it off on Sucio’s tongue, making Sucio retch, writhe and clench down on Anthony’s dick.
The pain must have been excruciating; Anthony knew well that getting plowed with a clenched asshole was excruciating, and Anthony wasn’t even using lube besides Sucio’s own spit, so it was no doubt tortuous. He rammed his dick back and forth, cackling with laughter as Sucio heaved for breath, gagging on his own cum which he couldn’t wipe away. Anthony made sure that what semen that did leak out his mouth got smeared all over his tattooed face.
When his orgasm finally hit, Anthony pulled out — a part of him wanted to cum inside Sucio’s guts, which would have been humiliating for him, turning his culo into a panocha. But it would have been invisible to all the men watching.
So he pulled out instead. Sucio breathed a deep sigh until he saw that Anthony aimed for his face. He gagged again even before Anthony had made it to his head, a potent orgasm rocketing through Anthony’s body. His dick was more slimy than he had ever seen it — Sucio’s ass had really reacted to the hardcore fucking, excreting copious fluids that clung to his cockshaft.
He managed to get his dick in Sucio’s mouth just moments before he came. Sucio wretched and writhed, and spat up a big ball of bile that just leaked out over his face. Anthony groaned as the orgasm finally hit him. His little lithe body writhed, ass clenching and fingers gripping Sucio’s face tightly.
Anthony had never seen someone retch so badly. He shot a huge load right into Sucio’s gullet, but Sucio just spat it right back up. Cum dripped from his lips and coated his face, alongside that slimy assjuice that Anthony brought back from Sucio’s hole. His face was shiny with fluids, eyes scrunched up and flashing bright.
A long, loud sigh escaped from Anthony’s lips as he finally fell limp. His knees buckled, the orgasm so intense he could barely support himself. He used Sucio’s meaty belly for support, and he tweaked Sucio’s nipples.
Finally the guards — disgusted by all the fluids that had leaked to every inch of Sucio’s body — slipped away. Sucio dropped to the ground and landed with a thud. He writhed and rolled over, groaning as he tried to get to his feet. He winced in pain every time he moved, just like Anthony had when he had been led away from the infirmary.
Officer Bignose grabbed the chain attached to Sucio’s neck and pulled until Sucio could do nothing more than pull against the chain, n his knees. Bignose pulled the mouthguard off and Sucio screamed a litany of Spanish insults. He couldn’t reach his face to wipe off.
“Shut your mouth, or we’re all gonna ram you!” Bignose said. Sucio couldn’t breathe with his chain pulled taut, so he soon had no choice but to fall silent. Bignose cleared his throat. “I’m gonna take you back to solitary to chill out for awhile. You’re a bitch now. You’ll have to accept that.” The other inmates roared their approval, but Bignose waved them quiet with one hand. “Now thank Inmate Delunez.” Sucio pulled against the chain again as he growled, but Bignose snapped it tight. Sucio sputtered, spit dripping past his lips. Bignose smiled. “Thank him.” When Sucio didn’t respond right away, Bignose whispered something in his ear.
Sucio blanched. “Thank you… Anthony,” he said through gritted teeth. “I… am alegre you done ram me.”
“Why, you’re welcome, Sucio, de nada. Anytime, I’d be alegre to ram you again.” Anthony held his hand up.
Sucio narrowed his eyes but kissed Anthony’s hand like a suitor wooing his girl. Anthony giggled at the sight of his big cholo body being dragged away. The other inmates clapped Anthony on the back, congratulating him and Anthony’s red face smiled.
The pain in his ass had diminished entirely, and Anthony was beginning to think his prison stay might not be as bad as it had initially seemed. He wondered if he could afford to buy a bitch, and if so, he knew exactly which one it would be. Anthony strode back to his cell like a returning champion.

Ofc. Crabgut

Officer Crabgut is a prison guard.

Crabgut was pushing sixty, and he was as gray as a old movie and as ashy as a volcano.

From Tyrell the Ex-Con

copaseptic

It was a Bloods cell — not officially, it was just copaseptic to segregate the cells by race and gang — and they often got into gang business after lights-out.

So he got to lumbering through the cell blocks, knocking on them skulls who be making noise. Cell 55K was a problem that night and most nights round that time. It was a Bloods cell — not officially, it was just copaseptic to segregate the cells by race and gang — and they often got into gang business after lights-out.

From Malcolm Don’t Take No for an Answer

Assumptin’ she hot as can be, suh.

Puerto Rican bitches ain’t in the Bible.

Thumper clasped Steel on the back. “We gots a debate goin’. Does gettin’ head from yo’ female constipate sin?Assumptin’ she hot as can be, suh. Nice tits.”
Steel nodded. “I say it’s a sin, but Thumper think blowjobs ain’t mentioned in the Bible.”
“Nah, if she got nice tits, it’s okay,” Thumper said.
Officer Drybones nodded. “Oh, no, no, that — oral sex, I mean — it constitutes sin. It’s fornication.” He ain’t notice the niggas carrying in boxes of contraband behind him. “God does command us to maintain our bodily integrity against the forces of spiritual corruption.”
“What if she Puerto Rican, does that count?”
“Nah, Puerto Rican bitches ain’t in the Bible,” Thumper said. He smacked one hand on the palm of the other. “I done read the whole thing.”

From Thumper on Parole

Buck the Dumbass: Chapter 2

Buck the Dumbass

Chapter One: Ann Arbor, 1999

Chapter Two: Peremptory Manhood

Chapter Three: Statistics 101

Chapter Four: Systems of Oppression

Chapter Five: Lung Stuff

Bouncering was dull work. Buck ain’t mind it — the pay was good, and the waitresses was purdy as petunias. But damn do it bore him to his soul. He stood there at the door checking idees. Ain’t even gotta look at ’em. Buck held a scanner that said if’n t’was valid, and it do pop up with a high-res photo-pitcher of the feller so’s Buck could check if’n t’was him.
Now and then he gots to punch a man’s lights out. T’was a perk worth remembering, cuz he enjoyed fisticuffs.
But Buck got another job too. His parole officer made him get “gainful employment”. Whatever “gainful” meant, bouncering wasn’t it. Buck axed what “gainful” was, and his parole officer just called him a stone-cold retard. Ain’t ne’er answer.

His gainful job was working as a exterminator. Buck been doing that off and on since the late 80s, working fer Mistah Taggart at Central Pest Control when he weren’t in prison or working on a oil rig. Mistah Taggart learned Buck about all them beetles, cockroaches, ants, earwigs, all them. And rats.

“Slow ya roll, Sampson, nuh-uh,” Crabgut said. “Rat traps is a weapon, can’t give you that. You think I’m a retard like you?”So’s when Buck was in prison and they gots a rat problem, Buck done come up to that guard Officer Crabgut and said he could lay out traps to get ridda them. Crabgut was a jowly, moist-shirt sumbitch, and he looked at Buck like a beetle-meat nugget.
Buck scowled. “But you hirin’ a ext’minatuh to lay out them same traps, he j’st ain’t doin’ it right.” He pointed to a trap. “If’n I wanna use one as a weapon, they’s the’uh. I could grab it. They ain’t sharp though. Ain’t no rat gonna get — he put it right out in the open, suh. T’ain’t-“
“Shut the fuck up, Sampson,” Officer Crabgut said. “Officer Hargrave is the facilities manager, he’s in charge of hirin’ an exterminatuh. A professional put them traps out.”
“I’s a professional too! He put ’em out bad! And he usin’ too much peanut buttuh. And he should use smooth, not crunchy-“
“Rats don’t care, Sampson, you’re crazy. Rats don’t got a peanut butter preference. You just playin’, you tryin’ a-get time outta ya cell,” Crabgut said. “You getting coop-up syndrome. Seen it before.”
“Nah, nah, nah, listen, listen — is he puttin’ traps in the ceiling? Tell him to put traps in the ceiling-“
“Rats don’t live in the ceiling, they don’t live up!” Officer Crabgut pointed to the ceiling, then down to the floor. “They live down. In like sewers and shit.”
Buck narrowed his eyes. “T’ain’t corre’t, suh-“
“Sampson! Quit backtalkin’,” Crabgut said. He brusquely shoved Buck back. “Git! You frustrated, Sampson?”
“Yeah! I got rats in mah cell. Gonna get that… uh… lepto… sis…” Buck was positive he was gonna remember that word right up until his tongue tripped o’er itself. “Leprosis. Or, uh… lepposposis, or…”

“Sampson… You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crabgut said. He again shoved Buck back towards the cells. Buck was tall enough that Crabgut pushed on his side, below his ribcage, steada his shoulder, cuz Buck towered o’er him. “Miguel is ya cellmate, right?”

Buck nodded as he walked back to his cell, Crabgut close behind. Buck’s feet was bare, flapping upon the cold steel floor of the state prison, which ain’t provide shoes big enough fer Buck’s feet. Usually he wore socks, but they was all dirty now, so’s his feetses was bare.
“He a punk, right? Cornhole ‘im. That’ll calm you down,” Crabgut said. He handed o’er two packets of ramen. “Here, I’ll pay fer it. Just don’t get ornery, Sampson. I don’t want trouble. I’s startin’ a three-day weekend tonight, and I don’t wanna deal wit’ ya’ dumb ass.”
“I won’t — I ain’t ornery!” Buck said with a sigh.
Officer Crabgut reached Buck’s cell, then firmly but not violently shoved him into it. “Relax, Sampson. Hargrave will take care of the rats.” He closed the cell door and walked away. Right now was open-cell time, so’s the door wasn’t locked, but Crabgut’d prolly curl his lip at Buck opening it, so’s Buck stood by the door dopeishly.
Laying there on the lower bunk was his cellmate, Miguel, who got a magazine in his hand and a curious look upon his mug. Buck held them ramen packets in one hand.
Buck lit a cigarette from the battered pack by his upper bunk and fumed. “I tol’ him that ext’minatuh don’t know what he’s doin’,” Buck said. “He looked young. He prolly foolish. Mosta ’em don’t wanna come to a prison, so’n they sent the newest rookie, reckon.” Buck took a long drag off his smoke.

Miguel shrugged. “Prison got rats, gringazo,” he said. Then he added a inscrutable hand gesture and sound effect that presumably signified the inevitableness of entropy, the creeping spread of chaos in a post-capitalist society and his stoic acceptance of dhukha, the imperfection and dissatisfaction inherent to existence in Buddhist theology. “Hszhurhppaa.”

Cigarette smoke fuming outta his ugly mug, Buck wrinkled his nose. “I cain smell the rats, Miguel, I smells ’em. Tha’ss rat piss. It’s di’rent than mouse piss.”
“Ay, don’t talk about rat piss, gringazo,” Miguel said, lifting his soccer magazine to cover his face. He was a Latin King, which you could tell by his tats. He done earnt his place among ’em by renting hisself out. Mexicans do that to each other, they do.
So far as Buck was concerned, the most important reason to join up with a gang was to avoid giving up booty. Mexican don’t see it that way. They got l’il peckers, that was why. They was short and fat and got li’l pinkies poking out they oversized bushes. T’weren’t barely a thang to get cornholed by one them.
Miguel was skinny, not fat, but he was short as a donkey was stubborn, and he got a wormy thang. He ain’t like taking it from Buck’s big-boy meat.
Casual as he could muster, Buck tacked up the sheet that covered they cell door and the window in the door. That gave a li’l privacy. When Buck was confident ain’t nobody gonna interrupt, he tossed the two packs of ramen to Miguel.
His bristly mustache jostled as Miguel shrugged, then put the ramen with t’others. Ramen was, ‘long with cigarettes, canned sardines and phone cards, the main currency in this prison. Guards usually toted ramen with ’em cuz they was cheap as hell outside and could be brung in no problem — no restrictions on guards carrying ramen.
Then Miguel got up. He was plum near two feet shorter’an Buck, so’s he dwarfed under him as he smeared a big fistful of prison-kitchen hogfat upon his asscrack. Meanwhile, Buck stroked hisself hard. He fished out a September 1992 issue of a “pickemup truck magazine”, which was fulla purdy ladies near trucks. T’was as risqué as could be easily gotten in prison.
“Go quick, esé. And silencioso,” Miguel said, wiry muscles stretching to get his hand into his buttcrack. He winced as one finger slipped into his hole, then a second. He bit his lower lip. “Shushy, gringazo.”
Buck nodded. “Make guhl sounds, Miguel, I’s picturin’ ya mamacita on mah dick,” he said with a laugh. Miguel sucked upon his teeth. Buck showed him the Latina in the magazine, who was purdy indeed. “She Mexican, and she hot-” He kept one giant hand on his cock, which firmed up in his grip.
“It say right there she Puerto Rican, gringazo,” Miguel said. He winced again as he got a third finger in his own ass, which he forced hisself to endure, as t’would feel better’an letting Buck ramrod him unprepared. His limbs strained and twitched, his tattoos rippling.
“Oh,” Buck’s chuckles turned sheepish. He ain’t see that bit, and Miguel done made his feelings on Puerto Ricans clear as sprite — Miguel soured on Puerto Ricans like tamarind soda. But Buck weren’t interested in the mamacita’s origins, and he got no notions on the nationalities of Hispanics. He liked her ass. He was eye-deep in that magazine when Miguel bent o’er.
T’weren’t a invitation fer Buck to get started. Miguel wanna put his makeshift dildo in his ass, that would loosen him up. Miguel bent o’er to get that dildo from his poke at the foot of his bunk.
But Buck was eyefucking the Puerto Rican lady — who drove a Hyundai! — and he took Miguel bending o’er to mean he was ready. One hand upon the magazine, t’other upon his dick, Buck bent his knees and jabbed his dick like a battery ram.
He missed the butthole entirely.
“Ay ay, wait,” Miguel said. He squirmed, his lubey hands pushing behind hisself upon Buck’s stallion-like body. “Wait!” Buck’s cock stabbed his asscheek hard, like Buck was trying-a poke a new butthole in it.
“Sawry, sawry, I’mma wait, whatchoo wanna do?” Buck said. He was so much taller’an Miguel that t’was hard to get his wang and Miguel’s caboose to line up. He kept thrusting though, having no idear he was ramming Miguel’s back and side hard enough to hurt.
“Ay, ay, wait, lemme get it open, gringazo,” Miguel said. “Ay ay ay.” He found the dildo and smeared hog fat on it. “Don’t press down this time, Buck. You are too big, too grande.” He whistled. Then one hand gingerly inserted the “dildo” — actually a piece of ceramic that broke off a toilet — and t’other flicked Buck’s thirteen-inch rod. T’was thicker’an Miguel’s forearm. He pointed to Buck’s chest. “Don’t press down on my back. You are heavy, and you are hairy, and you smell like a saddle.”
Buck looked at Miguel ’round the magazine. “Maxi said punks gotta-“
“I ain’t a punk!” Miguel said. He done explain this b’fore — Miguel was a Latin King. He hadta pay fer his membership by giving up the booty, but that was a valid membership. A “punk” was not a member of the gang; a punk was owned by the gang. Punks also gave up the booty, so’s the difference seemed negligent to Buck. T’was vital to Miguel.
T’was Buck’s turn to snort like a jaded pony and make a masturbatory hand gesture, which combined to signify his belief in the mutability of socially constructed roles qua the fulfillment of incumbent sociocultural systems and functions, strength and dominance as determiners per se of masculine hierarchies and the civilizational sine qua non of a peremptory conception of so-called manhood to staunch the onslaught of Leviathan.
But he ain’t argue. Once he got his pecker up Miguel’s guts, Buck’d be dictating the position fer sho’re.
“C’mon, I’s hard,” Buck said. He put the magazine down upon Miguel’s bed, hugged his hairy shoulders from behind and pulled him close. Miguel straightened his back.
“Wait, esé, I-” Miguel yelped. Buck’s meaty stomach pressed ‘gainst his head. Miguel squirmed. “It’s still-“
Buck dropped to his knees, which lined his cock up with Miguel’s ass, and he rammed his knob right at Miguel’s butthole, which was stretched wide.
T’was stretched cuz that piece of ceramic dildo was still in there. Buck forgot about that, and his knob jammed into it. Him and Miguel said ow and ay respectively.
“I’ll get it out,” Buck said, slapping Miguel’s hand away. “I’mma lose mah stiffy if’n I don’t stick it in ya soon. Ya asshole is narsty, Miguel.” His crack was lined with black hairs — the cheeks was mostly smooth, but his crack was so hairy Buck ain’t wanna look at it. Buck gingerly used two fingertips to pull the ceramic dildo out, his other hand spreading them asscheeks.
“Put lard on it!” Miguel said. He gave Buck the tub of hog fat, but Buck ain’t take it, as Buck got one hand upon his own cock and t’other spreading Miguel’s buttcheeks the best Buck could without touching any the butthair. “Lard!”
“I will, I will,” Buck said. With a quick thrust, he aimed it fer Miguel’s lubed-up hole, but the tip bounced off. He picked up the tub of hog fat. He tried again, and this time the tip went in. “Got in, keep it open, keep it-“
“Ay! Lard! Put on the lard, esé!” Miguel snapped. His asshole snapped too, and it pushed Buck’s cock right out. Buck still ain’t even open the tub of hog fat.
“I am, I am!” Buck said. His voice was so deep it echoed in the tiny cell, and Miguel hissed fer him to shush. Buck smeared hog fat upon his cock, which was losing its erection. “Sheeit, Miguel, put’cha mouth on it. Get it hard again.”
Miguel smacked his lips shut. “Nuh-uh.” He mumbled. “T’was in my culo, gringazo.”
“Just the tip was, fer like a second!” Buck said. “I swan-!”
“Shush! Keep it down!”
“Why? E’erybody knows you give it up behind,” Buck said.
“They don’t gotta know when!” Miguel said. “Get ya own self hard, Buck.”
Buck grumbled, but he picked up the magazine and stroked his dick again. T’was easier this time since he was lubed up, and his greasy hand slid up and down the shaft. Meanwhile Miguel be working at his own butthole with his fingers. He got four fingers in there.
In a flurry, Buck pulled Miguel’s fingers outta his own ass, then rammed his dick in as far as t’would go — he wanna go fast both so’s Miguel don’t come up with more delays and so’s his asshole don’t snap shut. Miguel wheezed and squirmed, and maybe four, five inches of dickmeat disappeared up there.
“Aaaah, sheeit, here we go-“
“Damn, gringazo, gimme a warnin’,” Miguel said.
“Sawry, sawry,” Buck said. Miguel stood, while Buck kneeled behind him, so’s Buck’s strong arms held him upright when Miguel’s knees got weak. He spread his legs the best he could. Miguel clenched his teeth and his ropy limbs all tensed up. “You’s tensin’ up, Miguel, relax, relax, relax-“
“Ay, ay-“
“You clenchin’, wait, wait-” Buck hugged him close, despite the bristly body hair all o’er Miguel’s chest. It turned Buck off. He couldn’t imagine tits if’n his hands was where’n tits should be and there weren’t no tits, and he used both hands to hold squirmy Miguel, so’s he couldn’t hold the magazine open. Miguel’s asshole was clenching and pushing Buck’s cock out, which Buck accepted was not deliberate — they done go thru this argument — but he got a right to force Miguel to slacken his booty. “You clenchin’, Miguel-“
“Sshhhiiiizzhzhhh!” Miguel roared. He lurched forward, banging his head ‘gainst the wall. Buck tried to support him, but Miguel couldn’t help but wriggle. His tattooed hands clawed behind hisself at Buck’s chest.
“Goddamn that feels good…” Buck murmured. Miguel done took mosta Buck’s shaft, and he was heaving on a rhythm like a woman in labor. Buck tried to keep Miguel in place as pleasure wracked his body, but Buck admired to use one hand to get that magazine back where’n he could see it.
Soon as he leggo Miguel though, Miguel squirmed hard again — that made his ass squeeze and massage Buck’s cock, which was leaking gobs of precum now. That helped further grease up Miguel’s broke-in booty.
Buck worked his dick back and forth, as Miguel’s panting slowed down. Each time he thrust, he tried to force it a l’il deeper, but he ain’t try to ram him too hard, cuz Miguel was a amigo fer real.
Finally Miguel seethed and said weakly, “Ay, wait, gimme a sec, Buck…”
“Nah, I’mma nut real quick, promise,” Buck said. He admired to look at the magazine, but e’ery time he got it in position, Miguel wriggled, and Buck gotta use both hands to steady him. He found hisself looking at Miguel’s back, which got a tattoo of a sexy grim reaper-lady, who filled Buck with contrary feelings. He preferred the magazine.
A rat moved, and Buck jerked away from Miguel. His lard-goop dick popped outta Miguel’s ass.
The rat paused like t’ain’t mean to show itself. Buck stepped to it and stomped with one bare foot, only fer the rat to dart away.
It went to the cell door, and Buck followed, his hardon dripping precum onto the cement floor. Buck hesitated cuz he ain’t wanna stomp a rat with his bare feet. He picked up one Miguel’s prison sandals.
“Ay, shit, la rata!” Miguel jumped up onto his bunk, then winced and cradled his sore asscheeks.
The rat squealed and wriggled ’round the shut cell door, which weren’t latched shut. When it creaked open enough, the rat squirmed out the cell and into the prison proper. Buck chased after it, his erect dick still dribbling onto the cold steel floor. He stopped when he realized he was naked with a hardon afronta the whole cell block.
“Eww, Buck’s bootysmashin’!” Buncha fellers started laughing. They pointed, and ain’t nobody even notice the rat, which disappeared into the walls somewhere.
“Bootysmasher!”
“Hillbillies do that, they do…”
“Ewww, his cellmate’s Miguel, right?”
Buck blushed and covered his crotch with both hands, his fat cock spilling out the sides of his grip. He hurried back to the cell
“Nah, nah, I’s gettin’ ready — I’s changin’ my clothes!” Buck called out, but ain’t nobody believe him. They done seed his dick in the shower, and don’t nobody believe a big-dick man like Buck was going thru his prison sentence without smashing booties. And e’erybody knewed Miguel do give up the booty if’n he get paid.
“You cabronazo!” Miguel hissed. “Everybody saw that-“
“I was goin’ aftuh the rat!”
Miguel still stood upon the edge of his bunk, gripping the upper bunk (Buck’s) to keep his bare feet off the cell floor. He sucked on his teeth. “Is that how you exterminate rats, Buck? You chase ’em each one?”
But Buck just grumbled, as some homeboys knocked upon the cell door and shared hushed laughs. They wasn’t allowed to open the door — T’was unlocked, but opening a cell door without permission was a stabbable offense. They kept banging on it and saying sump’in incomprehensive, maybe pretending they was guards ordering Buck to open the door. They peeked ’round the sheet curtain too.
That all only took less than a minute, and Buck’s hardon was still throbbing. He admired to defend his name, but even as he did, he lined his crotch up with Miguel’s ass — easy to do while Miguel stood upon his bunk. That lifted his hairy asscrack up enough fer Buck to get behind him and ram it right in.
“Shuddup out the’uh!” Buck called out. “I was changin’ mah clothes!”
A twitch came o’er Miguel as Buck’s cock entered his ass once more, and Miguel tensed up again. He clenched his teeth. “Shit, go slow, cabronazo.”
Buck nodded. He lowered his holler-heavy voice. “Spread ya legs, Miguel, c’mon…”
Miguel did so, wincing when Buck’s dick pushed in inch after inch. He shook like a hound-dog shitting a peach pit. His legs spread wide, and he gripped Buck’s bunk, the upper one, fer support.
“Ay ay ay…” Miguel muttered, as pain enveloped him again. Buck’s powerful arms wrapped ’round him so’s he couldn’t squirm too bad. Miguel panted, while Buck’s chest muscles writhed with the intense spasms of pleasure running thru his body.
The sound of the homeboys banging upon the cell door faded. Buck pounded now, relentless, and soon Miguel wasn’t really supporting hisself ‘t all — Buck hugged him and lifted him off the bunk, so’n Miguel was swallowed up by Buck’s barrel chest. Then Miguel could squirm all he wanted, he got no leverage, and Buck could use his ass more like a fleshlight than a pussy.
That hurt, but it sent Buck right o’er the edge.
A thick wave of nut filled Miguel’s ass. Buck let out a long, chamberous moan, and he felt his tensions draining away like melted butter. Crabgut was right, he did needta blow a nut.
“Ay…”
Grimacing his teeth, Miguel scrunched his eyes shut. The pressure in his ass was so intense it felt like he was being split in two, like Buck done broke sump’in in his backside. But Miguel knewed it always felt like this — Buck got big meat. Wave after wave of creamy cum flowed into Miguel, a bigger load than he thought possible. Mexicans ain’t shoot that much he thought, or maybe they was just more apt to pull out and shoot on his back, while Buck preferred to get e’ery drop all the way up in Miguel’s guts.
Buck at last pulled out and sighed, and he put Miguel down. He blanched at sight of buncha black fellers outside the cell, peering in ’round the edge of the sheet curtain blocking the window on the door. They was laughing at Buck wiping his dingdong clean. Buck moved the sheet they got set up so’s it blocked the window again — he ne’er done fix it correct-like after coming back in here. Buck felt like an idiot. Them homeboys was gonna be calling him a booty bandit fer months.
As though they ain’t done it too. Homeboys was all booty bandits, in Buck’s experience. They all either be ramrodding or getting it up the dookie by a bigger one. But they think it’s funny when a whiteboy do it.
“Goddamn that hurt, esé,” Miguel said, caressing his sore ass. A wave of cum poured down his inner thighs as he got off his bunk and stretched his legs. “And you’s estúpido fer goin’ out there. Everybody saw it! Fuckin’ dumbass cabron.”

Buck the Dumbass

Chapter One: Ann Arbor, 1999

Chapter Two: Peremptory Manhood

Chapter Three: Statistics 101

Chapter Four: Systems of Oppression

Chapter Five: Lung Stuff

The Scarred Bouncer: Chapter10

The Scarred Bouncer

Chapter One: An Affectionate Touch

Chapter Two: The Liminal Space

Chapter Three: A Glorious Face

Chapter Four: An Unexpected Connection

Chapter Five: A Deserved Choke

Chapter Six: A Good Friend

Chapter Seven: A Present of Sorts

Chapter Eight: That Sweet Release

Chapter Nine: A Plan for Repayment

Chapter Ten: An Unpleasant Chore

Chapter Eleven: A Sweet Release

Lance Barrymore felt disgusting. Dried cum clung to his cheeks and ear. His legs were weak because he was hungry — Knuckle and Buck took half his food. He had just signed over the money from his prison job too.
“You our punk. That’s like a slave,” Buck said this morning. “So what’s yours is ours.” He got a big grin on his hillbilly face.
Lance’s stomach rumbled as he came to the next cell, where two black men sat in lawnchairs. The thicker one, with a belly, sat in the threshold, while the skinnier one was a bit further back — they switched who got to be further out every night.
Lance winced. “Hi,” he said. “I can jack you off however you want. I’m real good at it.” His voice cracked. The black men laughed and waved him off. “I can deep-throat anything, and you can pound me as hard as you want.”
They again waved him off.
Lance only needed one more pack of cigarettes. If he got one more guy to pay for his mouth, he’d have ten packs to bring back to Knuckle and Buck. They’d let him have a package of ramen before lights-out then.
So he trudged up to the next level. Another pair of black men were in the first cell by the stairs. They sat in lawn chairs hooting and chatting with men in the other cells. They leaned forward as far as they were allowed so they could see the men in lawnchairs doing the same thing at other cells.
“Dance for us, then, bitch,” said the older black man with a scruffy gray beard when Lance approached them with his standard sales pitch. “Lemme see you shimmy.”
The cell erupted in laughter and jeers as Lance did so. He shook his ass at them, dancing the best he could without any music.
“Fine, here.” The older black man tossed two packs of smokes at him from inside the cell.
With a wince and a sigh, Lance picked up the smokes. “I can do it with my mouth damn good,” he said as he pushed past the lawnchair into the cell. “I swear.” He only needed to get one pack tonight, so this two-pack job was extra. Lance thought using his mouth was better than his ass — which was sore already and loose.
But the older black guy just scoffed. He pulled down Lance’s orange prison pants and whistled. “Dance for me more,” he said. He sat on his bunk with his pants around his ankles, limp dick in hand.
Lance shimmied and shook his ass. His pants were around his ankles, so he couldn’t move much, but his ass was bared because he wore boxers with the butt torn outta them. Buck called that “lingerie”.
Both the black guys laughed, the older one slapping his knee and making his dick bounce. He stroked it lazily with one hand, while he motioned for Lance to continue. “Slower,” he said. “Sexier.”
Another wince of humiliation ran up his spine, as Lance did as he was told. He swayed back and forth, so slow it wasn’t even really dancing, but he did twerk his ass at the older black guy while trying to ignore the guffaws of the younger one, who remained by the door.
“Oh shit!” said the younger one with a laugh, speaking to the Bloods in the cell next door. Lance ain’t hear what them other Bloods said, cuz he was in their lotion-scented cell and dancing. “He j’st dancin’ right now. Nah, he dance like a retarded monkey. But he got nice booty. They done rip the back outta his drawers. Yeah, yeah.”
Finally the older one motioned for him to come closer and to sit on it. Lance closed his eyes and did so, sucking in his breath when it entered him. He was loose enough now that he didn’t feel a ton of pain, but it was uncomfortable just the same. He hovered there like he was above a dirty public toilet. The older black man’s knob sat right at the entrance to Lance’s asshole.
“Sit on it,” the older fellah said. When Lance didn’t immediately sink any lower, he gripped Lance’s shoulders and pushed him down.
“Ow, shit!” Lance cried out quietly. Buck would hit him if he knew he had complained, so Lance tried to stay silent. He bit his lip. This guy’s dick wasn’t that big. He could take it. He gritted his teeth and focused on moving his ass up and down.
That rock-hard shaft rubbed between his cheeks. Lance grimaced. He sped up once he felt slimy precum, and he worked his ass up and down despite the intense pressure. He had learned that this was just like using his hand, basically, he was just using his buttcheeks to stroke it.
With a little concentration, he could get a man off lickety-split, even an older fellah like this one. Soon enough, Lance felt a spurt of creamy hot cum jet into his booty, and he pulled off.
“Nah, whiteboy! Shit!” The old man grunted and yelped. He clawed for Lance’s hips, but Lance hurried away and pulled his pants up. The last two jizzwads landed on Lance’s back and his ankle, then he was too far away — he was scurrying out past the younger fellah in the lawnchair — as the older man stroked the last couple drops out. “Fuck you, I’ll complain! I’ll tell Buck you ain’t do it proper!”
But Lance knew Buck wouldn’t care. Buck and Knuckle were going to be released soon. They wanted Lance making money for them as quick as possible, not ensuring customer satisfaction. He’d just tell them he was eager to get to his next “client”.
His ass still smarting, Lance snuck back onto the stairs. He walked very slowly, partially because he was in pain but mainly to waste time. Since he’d made eleven packs of smokes, he just wanted to get back to the cell. Knuckle and Buck would tell him he should keep walking the beat, but his assignment was only to come back to the cell with ten packs, and his pockets were full of eleven — he’d gone the extra mile.
He had no sooner made it to the landing and breathed a sigh of relief when the door from the level below opened. It was Officer Grinharder — so called because he smiled all the time.
“Barrymore? That you?” He came up to the landing Lance was on, stretching his legs.
“Yes, sir,” Lance said. “I was just returning to my cell, sir.”
“You ain’t slackin’, is ya? I’d have to tell Buck,” Grinharder said.
“No! I just made a couple packs off this level. I was gonna try the Latin Kings before lights-out. How much time do I have?”
He looked at his watch. “You got nine minutes. Don’t worry about the Latin Kings, I’ll do it. My wife is at her sister’s,” Grinharder said. “I like the empty house. It’s nice to have the whole place to myself. But I ain’t got no female to get my nut off.” He dropped Lance’s pants and handed him a tub of kool-aid powder — to improve the taste of toilet wine — that’s what the guards usually paid instead of cigarettes. Kool-Aid was cheap on the outside and easy to smuggle in. “I got the cherry kind, cuz Buck said he likes that.” He wrinkled his nose. “Ew, your back is covered in nut.”
“I know.”
Grinharder didn’t even let him get into a comfortable position before he plowed into his asshole. His dick had been hard all day because he was used to his wife giving up the pussy most nights. He sighed like scratching a long-bothersome itch when his dick got into Lance’s well-lubed hole.
“Shit, man, I gotta admit, I kinda like a slack man’s booty,” he said with a chuckle. “Grip the wall.” Lance did as he was told, jutting his ass back. He bit back tears. Officer Grinharder was already ramming his whole dick in and out. “There you go, there you go, oooooh, fuck…”
At least this one was over quick, and his dick was pretty small. Jism again filled Lance, and it trickled down one thigh. He grimaced and expelled Officer Grinharder’s cock as soon as he felt cum, squeezing it like a disobedient turd. Grinharder ain’t realize that sensation was Lance forcing him to stop, so he just sighed and moaned with pleasure as his cock plopped out with a satisfyingly moist sound.
“How much time till lights out?” Lance asked. He slowly pulled his pants back up.
Officer Grinharder blushed. “You got six minutes to get back to your cell. Did I blow a nut in three minutes?” He laughed at himself. “Damn, I must really miss my wife.” He kept muttering to himself as he tucked his dirty dick away and headed off.
Lance limped in agony down the stairs to his own cell. Buck sat in a lawnchair, while Knuckle paced behind him. When he got there, Lance handed over his eleven packs of cigarettes and kool-aid packet.
“I got eleven,” he said. “I did better than I was even supposed to, right? I did good-“
“You done fine,” Buck said, “But you’re early.” Buck handed the eleven packs to Knuckle, who added them to the stacks of smokes they ain’t yet convert to cash. Buck put the kool-aid by the bucket hooch. “You got four minutes.” He pointed down the row of cells. “If you don’t take one more load, we gonna stretch you tonight. Best get a wiggle on.”
Lance bit back tears, but he went down the line of cells. His legs were weak. He felt jizz drying there.
“Jack you off for a pack of smokes. C’mon, I swallow real good,” he said to the tubby black man he first passed. He just grimaced and shook his head, so Lance continued on.
“Hey, I only got a half-pack,” said the burly silver-haired black man in the fourth cell down. He held up a full pack of smokes, but then he emptied half of it into the palm of his hand and he showed them to Lance. “What’ll you do for that?”
“I’ll get you started,” Lance said. That meant he had to jack the man off with his mouth, but he would pull off when he tasted precum then finish the customer off with his hand.
The man nodded. He was Rennie, and he had a fat ugly cock. He let Lance put the tip in his mouth, but then Rennie gripped him by the head so he could hump his throat. As far as Rennie was concerned, that was the whole point.
Lance gagged.
Rennie sighed and closed his eyes. A smirk appeared on his face. He got good leverage on Lance and was able to pound his throat so hard Rennie’s balls slapped on Lance’s chin. Rennie liked hearing that thwack-thwack sound, and he liked the feel of Lance’s struggling-to-breathe nose squashed into Rennie’s hairy crotch.
When he tasted precum, Lance smacked Rennie in the ass to tell him to let go, but Rennie didn’t.
“Shut the fuck up,” Rennie murmured.
He pumped his hips, forcing his dick all the way down Lance’s throat. He sighed grandly, gripping Lance’s wriggling head to keep it still. He used it like a sex toy, keeping his cum-spewing shaft deep in Lance’s gullet.
Great gobs of jizz filled Lance’s belly. He squirmed, but he ain’t fight back, aside from gripping Rennie’s asscheeks instinctively. Though it was painful to take a load deep in his belly — and Rennie ain’t pay for it — Lance preferred that to tasting it and then swallowing it.
He gasped for air when Rennie finally pulled out. His limp dick throbbed and leaked spit, dangling between Rennie’s legs.
“You gotta pay — the rest of — that pack,” Lance said between gasps, wiping his face off. “You didn’t pay — for me to — swallow it.”
Renny scoffed. “You was s’posed to pull off. Not my fault.” He tucked his dick away.
“You wouldn’t let me!” Lance said. He put his hands on his hips and whimpered as he wiped his face off and then pulled his pants up. “You have to pay-“
“Nah, punk,” Rennie said. He lit a black’n’mild.
With a harsh frown and a stabbing pain in his sensitive butthole, Lance limped away. Guards were announcing lights-out over the loudspeaker, so he would be in trouble if caught out of his cell.
When he got back there, Buck still sat in his lawnchair at the threshold, while Knuckle rubbed lotion onto Buck’s back. Lance sniffled and explained what happened with Rennie. He wiped more cum that was trickling into his eye — he didn’t even know where that cum came from? Was that Rennie’s? Or had someone else cum in his hair earlier and it now leaked down his forehead? His voice was weak and wobbly. “That’s why I only made a half-pack. He’s s’posed to pay the rest. I tried to get a whole pack, and he did it, he did cum in my mouth-“
Buck hit him. “You s’posed to collect it, jackass.”

Knuckle ain’t say a thing. He just left the cell and went straight to Renny’s. The guards ain’t come by yet to make them go into their cells for the night, so Renny was still in his lawnchair. Knuckle punched him square in the jaw and took the half-pack of cigarettes that remained.

Renny was rehearsing how he would argue when Buck came to collect, and he ain’t expect Knuckle’s silent ass to be the one to come to him, so he ain’t even come up with something to say before Knuckle wordlessly decked him.
Blood spurted from Rennie’s nose, and he fell limp, sprawled out on the threshold of his cell. Knuckle found the half-pack of smokes in Rennie’s pocket, then grabbed another full pack as well.
“Next time, pay it right,” Knuckle said. He left Rennie there to crawl to his feet and get back to his cell before a guard saw him. Knuckle was less concerned — Officer Grinharder was the one who would check this cell block first, and he was on Buck’s payroll, so Knuckle wouldn’t get in trouble for being outta his cell.
He returned with a pack and a half. He and Buck had accumulated a big pile of cigarettes to sell — the Latin Kings would gladly convert them to dollars. Knuckle kept a running tally of the smokes they had acquired, and he was wondering now if selling them all in one batch to the Latin Kings was truly ideal. Some black guys paid extra for menthols, for example, so maybe they should separate out the menthols and sell them to the Bloods, Knuckle thought.
But when he walked in, Knuckle stopped short at the sight of Lance gasping, Buck behind him ramming his butt. Buck’s big hairy torso took up most of the cell. His eyes were closed, a grin on his face as his shoulders shuddered.
“Owwwww!” Lance cried out, as Buck filled him with cum. Buck’s furry chest was shiny with sweat, which dripped down his body. Knuckle put the new pack and a half with the other smokes.
By then, Buck was pulling outta Lance, and Lance sucked in his breath, closed his eyes and readied himself for Knuckle. “C’mon, guys, I made a whole pack. Two packs, really,” he said, motioning to what Knuckle had brought. “I did what you said…”
Knuckle took his place behind Lance and plowed in next, before Lance’s asshole could tighten up. He was damn loose nowadays, gaping widely. It was in some ways worse than a tight intact booty, but Knuckle kinda liked it this way too — it took little effort, like fucking a nasty slut. It ain’t as nice as a virgin, but it was so much easier.
Officer Grinharder came to the door to shut it then, just as Knuckle was about to blow a nut. He muttered, “Nasty fuckin’ convicts” at the sight of Knuckle ramrodding Lance. Grinharder ain’t leave the cell door though, like he was watching a trainwreck he couldn’t look away from.
As another wad of jism flowed into Lance, he looked up at Officer Grinharder’s smiling face. “Help me…” Lance murmured softly. That could be counted as “snitching”, so he tried to be quiet.
But Knuckle was engrossed in orgasming into Lance’s slack ass, while Buck was washing his dick off in the sink. Neither paid any attention to Lance. Officer Grinharder ignored him too though, sneering at the disgusting sight of Knuckle’s scarred body finishing off in Lance’s booty.
Then he turned around and left, the cell door slamming shut and locking behind him. Lance grimaced, his ass empty now. He raced to wipe up cum with a wad of toilet paper, lest Buck complain that he was leaking a mess all over the floor.
Then Lance gingerly wiped himself clean the best he could. He tried not to make any noise, lest Buck or Knuckle go at him again. They both drank bucket hooch talked — or rather, Buck talked a lot, and Knuckle barely said a word — while Lance settled down on the floor.
They talked about making money in here and the best way to convert those cigarettes and kool-aid packets, plus some other contraband that would be valueless on the outside, into dollars. They had a half-ready bucket of hooch, a bunch of empty bottles, a sleeve of red plastic cups, poppers and anchovies, whipped cream canisters, a lifelike drawing of Jessica Alba, five extra pillows, a shower curtain and incriminating photographs of Officer Manboobs. All that was valuable, but it ain’t easy to determine who would value them each the most. Knuckle in particular was insistent that he leave here with as much money as possible.
Lance quietly laid on his belly to avoid causing any more pain in his tender ass. Soon, he thought, these two would be gone, and he could find a way back into the Gray Snakes’ good graces.
Or so Lance hoped.