regretting – Mansploitation

The Swede

Rob’s stranded on the side of the road in Sweden, where he ends up in the barn of the depressive macho farmer Olle Andersson… can he ease Olle’s woe and his need for man-on-man action?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

This skier, Rob thought, had better be worth it. He wished he had stayed in Stockholm until the weather changed, so he could fly. But after a week in that dismal, gray little city, he was ready to move on.
Sweden, thus far, had been a bust. Boring. Cold. Gray. Not even cold or gray enough to be interesting though. It was precisely as boring, cold and gray as a frozen block of wet newspaper, and it was about as interesting.
The men were skinny prettyboys who weren’t pretty, a milquetoast collection of duds, sour-faced and scrawny like petrified herring. Oh, there were hot Swedettes a plenty: blondes with blue eyes and alluring grins, Saami babes with thickness in all the right spots, even a bubbling squadron of ladies who had filled up the Pressbyrån convenience store that Rob was trying to get gas in at the time — they carried hockey sticks and other gear which Rob later discovered was technically for a sport called bandy, which was hockey using a ball instead of a puck.
Rob set off to look for an allegedly handsome skier Johan Ström. He wasn’t Swedish — Johan was actually Norwegian, but he lived in Sweden, supposedly.
Even that trek to the other side of the country had turned boring and banal. Rob just wanted to go back to his hotel. This whole mission was getting boring. Sweden was a drab green, cloudy, full of emotionless skinny men who made Rob’s dick shrivel up at the sight of them. They all appeared to be sucking on a lemon, Rob thought, but that couldn’t be true because there were no lemons here — that would have been too much flavor for Swedish cuisine. This was a country of heavy, dull carbs with the taste cooked out of them. Here, porridge had been the most delightful thing Rob had yet eaten. It tasted of nothing, which was a step up from other Swedish food.
He was driving through Västergötland in the southwest when his car stalled. It happened suddenly, as he was coasting to a stop near a farm. There was a stop-sign for no obvious reason. No intersection to stop at, just a stop sign like a cry for help from the land itself, begging for a break in the relentless march to the post-capitalist industrial hellscape of the inevitable future.
The car emitted a dull wheeze like a dying reindeer, then shuddered to a soul-shattering stop. Rob tried the key a few times, but it was dead. As if to punctuate the point, there was a cluddy thunking sound and then all of the lights on the dashboard turned on. After a moment, they all turned off. The car had never been more silent.
“Fucking damn it! Sweden is the worst!” Rob got out of the car and muttered obscenities to himself. There was mud and mire everywhere, the ground a soggy, grass-dappled wasteland.
He could either call for an Uber or a tow or call the car-rental company or walk to the farmhouse he saw just over yonder. He figured this area was so rural, he’d probably be waiting awhile regardless, so he headed towards the farmhouse. He called the car-rental agency, and they said they’d send him a replacement car.
What were they growing here?
Rob couldn’t tell. This was some sort of root vegetable, he suspected — though not potatoes. The leaves looked like marigolds, he thought, but were much too long and bunchy, and there were no flowers that he could see. Maybe kale? It looked vaguely kale-esque. Were kale roots edible?
The door to the farmhouse opened well before Rob got there. Out walked an incredible man.
Rob stopped short, both because his eyes opened wide and his heart skipped a beat, and because he wondered if he was in trouble. Would he be perceived as a trespasser? Was this man the studliest Swede?
He very well might have been.
The man stood solidly in front of the farmhouse. He wore a ruddy brown and orange shirt under a navy blue coat and black trousers that ended at the knee, his ankles covered by long white socks. Though his clothing was ill-matched and rough, he had an intensely arousing physique, a splendid work-hewn frame. He was one of the biggest and strongest men Rob had seen in weeks. He was tall and broad, muscular like only a farmworker could be, with layers of heft upon muscle upon brawn. His hair was long and scraggly like a Viking, and it extended well past his shoulders.
“Hallå,” he said gruffly when Rob was close enough to hear him. His voice had a low throaty growl to it.
“Hej,” Rob said, in his rudimentary Swedish. He blushed. “My name is Rob.”
The farmer grunted, eyeing him suspiciously. His gray-blue eyes reflected the limpid white clouds behind Rob.
“Uh, well, sorry for just barging in on your farm. I’m having car trouble out on the road over there — see, you can see my car from here-“
“I know.”
Rob’s face bloomed red, and he scratched his chin. “Ah… You… You already knew I had car trouble?”
“I witnessed it.” His deep voice boomed in Rob’s ears. He sighed as though surrendering to unseen forces. “You may come in. Do you wish to use the telefon?”
“Uh, no, my cell phone is fine, I just called the car rental company,” Rob said. “Thanks though.” He came in and instantly winced as the foulest odor he’d ever had the misfortune of smelling hit his nose. It was like a fish farted out a different, deader fish in an ocean made of skunk-spray. It smelled so bad, so strongly, that it had a physical presence — Rob had to walk through it like it was a rank cotton ball in the air, it seeped into his pores, and he doubled over. “Oh god-“
“Yes, it is bad. I am sorry, I did forget du är amerikan. That smell is surströmming.” He pointed to a can open on the table. Inside was some goo Rob couldn’t bear to look at more closely — it was fish. Was the farmer really eating that stuff? Had Rob interrupted the world’s most disgusting lunch? It did not smell edible.
The farmer waited for a moment, and when it became apparent that Rob was not going to acclimate to this smell, he rolled his eyes and motioned for Rob to come with him. “It is a smell you must get used to.”
“Not with this nose!” Rob said, still gagging even when he finally got out into the fresh air. “Oh god, that was nasty. You eat that stuff?”
He nodded. “It is a Swedish custom.”
“That is a terrible custom,” Rob said, “Absolutely terrible. Get better customs.” He straightened his back. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude-“
“No, not at all, I do not eat it around outsiders because they react as you do. Even most Swedes do not eat it these days,” he said. He sounded mournful, and he looked down at the ground as he led Rob towards a barn. “The old traditions are dying, gentle Rob. They die not like the turnip, which sweetens and grows in quality as it lays dormant in the winter, but rather like the gray clouds themselves, which dissipate into gentle rain and then… nothingness.” He scoffed. “Bah. It rains again.” Sure enough, a fine mist was starting to fall, and a chill was in the air. “Always it is rain. Regnet är ett lager av död på mig. The sky is as sour as life itself. I do not weep it.”
“Oh.” Rob was overwhelmed by the dour man’s aura of angst. Was he suicidal?
Another chill ran up Rob’s spine at the sight of a small gravestone near the barn. It read min älskade Elsa — my beloved Elsa — but had nothing else, no date of birth nor of death, nor any symbols or markings. It was a smallish gravestone, making Rob wonder if it was a child’s. But the look the farmer gave it as they passed was more one of intimate love. Rob could see sweetly summer nights reflected in his eyes, and he knew then that it was no child: it was a wife.
“Yes, that is min älskade Elsa. It is her loss that makes the summertimes so gray. Light itself mourns her,” the farmer said. He looked to Rob and sighed again as though even sighing was an imposition. “I am sorry in my apologizery, I forget my manners. My name is Olle Andersson.”
“Hej Olle. It is nice to meet you.” Rob was lying though. Olle was depressing, and Rob felt tired, like something heavy and oppressive was weighing upon his very soul. Every step grew arduous.
“You can wait for a new car in here, on your precious app that you cling to like a raft in the tumultuous sea of progress,” he said.. “This barn is very nice, there is water and a toilet.” He pointed to a long trough-like sink, presumably for washing the turnips that were heaped up along the wall like forgotten orphans. A door in one corner presumably led to the bathroom.
Aside from smelling earthy and turnipy, it was indeed nice in here. The smell was pleasant in comparison to the surströmming that lingered in Rob’s nostrils. He let the cool farm breeze waft the stink free from his nostrils.
“I’ve never been in a barn this nice. I like it, it’s homey and cozy, it gives me a feeling I can’t quite name…” Rob said. The emotion he was unable to name was mys, and it was as uncommon as pineapple on Olle’s farm. The barn was the only vestige of mys left in this land.
“It will be gone soon.”
“Oh.” Rob was beginning to get depressed too. Olle’s mood was catching.
“The bank is foreclosing on my farm. They will replace it with an electrical substation. I am but the tracks upon which the train of time progresses,” Olle said, his voice flat and squalid. He grabbed a hacka and hung his head, leaning on it. His grim mood had almost made Rob forget how arousing he was, but when he lifted the hacka off its spot mounted on the wall, he had to raise those beefy farm-working arms. Rob saw them bulge against the stiff fabric of his shirt. “Bah! Bättre brödlös än rådlös.”
“How much do you owe the bank?” Rob asked. “Because I have ten thousand krona in my pocket, and I’m looking for someone who can do something for me.”
For the first time, Olle looked genuinely interested in Rob. His eyebrows raised. “Giving me money would be a waste. I have no skills but the growing of turnips.” He picked one up. “Like my beloved Elsa, this turnip is hard and rough to the touch but beautiful and nourishing to the soul.” He bit into it, through the dirt that clung to the skin, his massive teeth tearing into it — were turnips even edible raw? Rob hadn’t thought so, but Olle didn’t seem to mind — and chewed on the bit of turnip in his mouth, clumps cascading out and clapping moistly onto the ground. “But I am, unlike the lowly turnip, worth nothing. I am best replaced by an electrical substation.”
“Oh, no, Olle… You are, uh… Not… Don’t be, uh… sad,” Rob said. He wasn’t very good at cheering people up, and the more time he spent with Olle, the more depressed they both became.
“Bah. I shall stoically surrender to the maw of progress. Let time devour me like so many salted herring,” Olle said with a dismissive wave of his giant hand. He sat and leaned against a mound of turnips. “I will not do your work. Ten thousand krona is not enough to save the farm. It can only buy me a few months, perhaps, at best. Life is an exercise in grayest futility, a sisyphean chore with neither end nor beginning, only an enduring middle. Do not bother to help me. I am strong but dumb like a getabock.” He tapped himself on the skull. “I don’t have all my horses in the stable.”
“That’s fine. I don’t need brains,” Rob said. “Will you cornhole me?”
Olle looked up after a few moments of pondering his words, like it took him that time for Rob’s meaning to sink through the fog of his mind. He grunted. “What?”
“I want to jack you off, and I want to feel you inside me. Is that okay? Can you do that? I’ll give you ten thousand krona. Actually, I’ll give you all the cash I’ve got in my pocket. That’s ten thousand krona, and some Canadian dollars and like two hundred euros. I don’t even know what it all adds up to.”
“And you will… stroke on my penis? Why?”
“Cuz I’m horny.” Rob shrugged. He actually intended to say more — he wanted to taste Olle’s dick because he needed an affectionate touch, because Olle seemed so down, because it was the only spark that could lighten such grayness as hung over Sweden’s much today.
But Olle’s sadness had caught, and Rob had not the energy nor the vitality to explain himself more fully.
Olle furrowed his thick brow again like this didn’t compute. “Are you aroused by turnips?” He picked one up. “Riken är en sexig grönsak. Det påminner mig om Elsa. Turnips smell of her delicate womanhood, and I do miss it so.”
“No, Olle, I’m aroused by you. You’re really intense. You-“
“False.” Olle stood up and sighed. “Fine. Yes. You may do it. It is, at least, more pleasant than washing turnips and praying for the sweet release of death.”
“Yeah… Yeah, that’s… true. It is better than that,” Rob said. He felt like a giddy idiot because Olle was so sullen and aloof. Olle stood still in front of him. Rob was much shorter than he was, so he started by having him shrug off that coat, and then he lifted off the shirt.
Olle stood there, his big broad chest gleaming a porcelain vitblek — obviously he rarely went shirtless in the sun. A layer of blond hair covered his massive pecs, and his fleshy belly was flat, another layer of hair leading over it to his crotch.
“Damn, Olle… No one ever told you you’re handsome. Not Elsa?”
“Bah! Yes, of course, she did say it, but she suffered from the cruel illness that the Danes call true love,” he said. “It blinded her to the truth. Oh what a fool she was. A lovely fool, perfection incarnate, now swallowed by gray nothingness.”
“Okay, Olle, relax,” Rob said. He clutched his chest, kneading the meaty part of his belly — he very nearly had a six-pack, but had just a bit of thickness there, probably, Rob thought, because he ate a ton of carb-heavy turnips. His pecs were nice and heavy too, radiating power even as Olle frowned and ignored Rob’s touch. They weren’t like hard and unyielding stones either, they were booming and manlig and hairy and Rob could feel Olle’s powerful heart beating beneath them.
He sucked on Olle’s nipple, while one hand snuck under the waistband of his trousers. Olle twitched like this had only just now become real, like he had barely noticed until now, as Rob’s hands slipped into his crotch. Rob gripped his cock and squeezed.
It was just as big as he was, Rob though, as wide as a turnip but still soft. He’s not too depressed to get hard, is he? Rob hoped not — antidepressants could cause erectile dysfunction, he remembered reading that somewhere. Olle certainly ought to be on antidepressants.
But before Rob even got those trousers down, Olle’s cock twitched once more, pulsating under his grasp. Olle let out a moan that somehow sounded both pleasurable and sad, som början till en sorglig sång. Rob wanted to sing along with it, but the tune, he suspected, would make Olle cry if he heard another voice sing it.
“You touch me like Elsa…” Olle wiped a single tear away.
“Uh-huh.” Rob decided his best course of action was to just plow forward. Olle obviously was going to continue to pine for Elsa and bemoan his various fates as long as Rob listened. So he just stroked Olle’s manhood as he kissed his way down Olle’s torso.
It popped out, fresh from the dark and damp of his pants but smelling of stale sweat and old turnips, with a bit of that rotten fish-smell to provide a bit of funk. It wasn’t exactly a good smell, of course, but Rob inhaled it deeply as he lowered his head and got to work.
“Her soul lingers here,” Olle said as his dick stiffened up. He turned to face the turnips instead of Rob. “I tell myself that she would have me live on, to endure despite the unbearable grimness of being. But I do not believe it. I am a liar. I can feel her judgments upon me. Oh, my American friend, how I wish I could be carefree as you are.” He plopped back down on his ass on the floor, sprawled out on a bed of turnips, which rolled over the barn.
“I’m not that carefree,” Rob said him, before he went right back to Olle’s cock, which flopped free and slapped against his belly when he laid down. Rob licked him from root to tip, and a shudder of visible pleasure ran up Olle’s spine. At last it was as firm as the uncooked turnips that filled the barn.
But he only moaned as though sad still, even as his dick leaked precum onto Rob’s tongue. Rob deep-throated Olle to the root, his nose nuzzling the warmth and the light brown hair of his crotch, som smakade av ren mark och natt. There, at the base of his dick, was where the earthy soil smell was greatest, and it finally wiped away the last of the surströmming from Rob’s nose.
“This pleasure is a curse. Må min förmögenhet slå mig död, for I can not take this any longer.” Olle’s baritone voice resonated in the high-ceilinged barn.
Rob lifted his head. “Sorry… are you…? Did you want me to stop?”
Olle frowned at him. “No. Do not stop-“
“Oh. You said it was a curse, I just thought-“
“It is utter torture that I should feel pleasure without my Elsa. I am not worthy of it. Min älskade Elsa, how I crave you instead of this wanton lust! I should burn this money and let the bank take my farm, they can sell my battered corpse to the electric company,” he said with an air of resignation on his squarish face He looked back down at Rob and thwacked him across the face with his dick. “Why did you stop?”
“I, uh… You said…” Rob shrugged. He kissed the tip of Olle’s cock. “Are you ready to cornhole me?”
“Yes. You must ride me. Standing is such sweet sorrow. I do not wish for min älskade Elsa to witness me standing for such perversity — I-” He paused and looked at Rob, who used Olle’s thick body for support as he mounted him. Olle cleared his throat. “It is perverse to bring pleasure into a world so saddened by the relentless onslaught of time-“
“Uh-huh.” Rob had to spread his legs wide to fit atop Olle, who continued, ignoring Rob and gesticulating wildly upward, as though he blamed his barn’s roof for all of his misfortune.
Rob didn’t mind having to ride him. Olle’s dick was thick and knobbly like a turnip, and it could easily hurt if he didn’t take it gently. Rob always carried lube in his pocket, so he got his ass good and slick before sitting on Olle’s shaft.
“-Att skiljas är att dö en smula!-” Olle shouted. But Rob had stopped listening as he strained to accept that massive cock. Olle didn’t seem to notice that no one listened but the turnips.
Only when Rob had it in and had sunk down a few inches did Olle stop wailing. Olle’s muscles lay limp, like he was too tired already to even raise his head and look at his dick sliding upwards into Rob’s ass. Rob had to lean on his chest, kneading his muscles as he sank lower and lower.
“Goddamn…” Rob grunted and took a deep breath. At last he felt coarse pubic hairs scratching at his ass, and a moan of unadulterated pleasure escaped from Olle’s lips.
Rob kept his hands on those bulging pecs, which flexed as Olle twisted back and forth without lifting his head up. His arms flailed among the turnips piled around him. Rob played with the sweat-dappled blond chest hairs too, giggling at the sight of Olle groaning and showing a little emotion, just a fleeting bit of bliss visible on his face.
Then, at last, Olle actually gripped Rob’s waist and helped him ride his cock up and down. Rob sighed and moaned along with Olle — adding a sweeter, more mellifluous sound than Olle’s dirge-like wail — as he squeezed his ass on Olle’s cock.
It was as good as Rob could ever have expected. He didn’t know a depressive man like Olle could even cornhole half as good as this. His dick raged inside Rob, finding his prostate and stimulating it until Rob couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was everywhere inside him, and Rob felt his precum flow freely.
Rob stroked himself off, but then found that Olle took his dick in hand. Rob was shocked — he hadn’t asked for that, but Olle, it seemed didn’t mind. He stroked Rob with his big meaty hand, caked with dirt from the turnips. He stroked it furiously, in sync with Rob’s rising up and down on his dick.
It felt like they continued forever, but Rob knew it couldn’t have been very long because his phone didn’t ring to tell him the car rental agency had sent his replacement. It simply felt like a long time because it was the most potent orgasm Rob had experienced since beginning his trip.
“Oh god, Olle!”
Rob’s orgasm began at both ends, with cum spraying into his ass and coating his prostate, just as he reached his own climax in Olle’s hands. Rob cried out and buckled when sheer pleasure washed through him and wracked his body. He gulped, biting his lip so hard he drew blood.
Olle’s squarish jaw clenched shut, and he didn’t even seem to notice Rob shooting his load all over Olle’s bear-like paws and onto his hairy chest. Still more came, wad after wad of creamy juice that coated Olle’s broad body in Rob’s sticky warmth.
The load in his ass was huge too, flowing into him like a river, more and more, gobs of it until Rob could feel it throughout his body and dripping out onto the dirt floor of the barn.
That single glorious moment seemed to last forever. Rob wanted to beg for more, but at the same time, this was too intense to endure. At last, he could take it no longer, and he lifted his ass off Olle’s cock, bit by bit, inch by inch.
Olle showed no emotion, even as Rob panted with anticipation, until Rob’s ass finally slipped off. Then Olle grunted and his whole body writhed. A second little mini-orgasm hit Rob like a steamship as his sensitive asshole adjusted to being empty, and Rob knelt in front of Olle’s still-prone body.
He licked up all the cum that clung to Olle’s big bear-like chest, savoring the sticky-sweetness of his own load. Then he curled up next to Olle, pushing aside turnips to make room. He nuzzled Olle’s bicep.
“Thanks, Olle. I’m glad you’re, you know… slogging through, despite all that… woe you’re experiencing.”
But Olle just nodded. “You will have to go soon. Darkness will fall, and then, I must be alone to experience… myself. Do not return, for I shall be replaced by a power line.”
Rob sighed. “Okay. I won’t be back,” he said.

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.”

Jail Intake

Greg got drunk last night, so when he wakes up, he’s under arrest and being processed by the legendary cruel alpha-male bully Officer Awful! He’s in for a hardcore tale of domination, submission and utter humiliation!

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Read the whole thing here!

Greg was still drunk, but he felt serious now. It had all seemed like a big joke when he was being arrested. He laughed the whole time. But he had been left in the little waiting area for what felt like hours, and the silence and the solitude made him realize he was in big trouble. It was just some drunk-in-public stuff, but he had gotten into it with the cop — into it hard — and they were going to hit him with resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, destruction of property and who even knew what else! Greg was fucked.
Now at last a bulky cop with a shit-eating grin came to get him. That wasn’t the simpering little nerd-looking cop who arrested Greg for public drunkenness. This man had an air of authority.
“Good evening, Mister Hardesty, my name is Officer Auffernan. Some people call me Officer Awful. I don’t condone that,” he said. He held up one hand as though he was testifying in court. “But I don’t forbid it. I’m gonna process you into jail tonight. Now unfortunately our only judge for the weekend has gone home, so you’re going to have wait to be arraigned on Monday.”
“For public drunk’ness?” Greg hiccuped, still slightly drunk.
“I’ll tell you when the time for questions has come,” Officer Auffernan said. “And you should address me as sir.”
“Uh… yes, sir.”
“Hmm, thank you, Mister Hardesty. I’m going to start calling you ‘fuckweasel’. Will that trigger anything in you? Was ya mama raped by a weasel or something like that? Good.” He didn’t give Greg a chance to say anything. Officer Auffernan frowned down at Greg like a disgusting species of frog. “Now what I’m going to do next is punch you right in the belly, as hard as I can.” He lowered his head to look Greg in the eye. Greg blanched, but Officer Auffernan held his head in place. “But don’t you worry, there is a valid penological reason for it.”
Then there was an explosion of pain, so fast that Greg didn’t even realize it had happened until he was already on the floor, clutching his belly. He cried out and twitched so hard his head banged into the wall.
“Now get up and take ya clothes off. I need to search you for contraband. If you is bringin’ contraband into my jail, I will rock ya fuckin’ world, fuckweasel.”
But Greg could do nothing more than groan and squirm. He tried to stagger to his feet, but he was at a loss for breath. He hoarsely squeaked out a gasp, and he managed only to kneel on one foot.
“I said get up and take ya clothes off, fuckweasel!”
Every move he made was arduous. Greg let out a sob and a cry of pain as Officer Auffernan got down real close. He shouted like a drill instructor, his spit splashing onto Gary’s face.
“Take your clothes off, fuckweasel, right now, or I swear to God I will shove this entire jail up your asshole!”
Even as Greg started to unbutton his shirt, fumbling from both pain and terror, Officer Awful kept his face so near his breath condensed on Gary’s cheeks. “Hurry up, fuckweasel. I’ve got a nice hard cot with your name on it. You are gonna regret every day you ever breathed air on this planet, you are gonna feel like a mule rented by a red-headed stepchild if you don’t hurry your stupid ass up, boy. Do you think I am playing with you? Huh? Do you?”
“No! No!” Greg gasped. One of the buttons flew off his shirt, which ripped as he tore it off himself. He threw it on the floor.
Officer Awful pushed Greg over as he tried to drop his pants, and he fell to the ground. “Hurry up, fuckweasel!”
“I’m trying!” Greg ripped the fly of his jeans trying to get them off, as he sobbed into the linoleum floor. It was cold and felt wet, in a vaguely urinal-y way that churned Greg’s stomach. Humiliation rose up in him. He didn’t know how his life was turning out this way. He wasn’t this kind of guy — he wasn’t a criminal, a bad boy.
Was it the alcohol? Greg didn’t think of himself as an alcoholic. He didn’t drink every day. Well… not every day. There was a day a couple months ago… Greg somehow got his pants off over his shoes, which he kicked off as he squirmed on the moist linoleum.
“Alright, fuckweasel.” He grabbed Gary’s hair. His clothes were off, and he lay flat, panting, on the floor. Officer Awful grinned, revealing dimpled cheeks, like he woulda been handsome if he weren’t so craggy and worn. “I’m gonna tell you something in just a second. You should know that I’m telling you this as a friend — or a potential friend — this is not in my position as an officer and representative of the state government.” He took a deep breath as though confiding a great and vital secret. “Here it is: you should beg me to spit in ya mouth. It would make things go easier if you do that, as a gesture of submissive goodwill.”
“What?”
Greg doubled over again as Officer Awful punched him once more in the gut. He was already on the floor, but he now could not get up. Spasms of pain wracked his body.
“No questions!”
Greg gasped for air. He tried to apologize but couldn’t.
“Get up, now, fuckweasel!” Officer Awful mock-kicked him — kicking his foot but stopping it just centimeters from Gary’s body, so Greg flinched and wept each time. He buried his face in his arms. “Gonna turn ya head into my soccer ball, fuckweasel, if you don’t get up.”
When Greg could do little more than crawl, Officer Awful deemed that good enough and opened the door to the next little locked corridor in the jail. Crawling was the most humiliating experience in Greg’s life. His bare ass poked up high in the air, and his knees ached, his stomach ached, everything ached. He wanted to puke, run, cry and hide all at once.
“Please, uh… what, uh…you can do that, uh, spitting thing, just let me up-“
“Don’t you speak like that to me, fuckweasel. If you want something, you address me like a man, as sir, and you plan your words before you open ya mouth. None of this uh or ah business. That’s for girls and pansies, and I don’t see tits or petals on you.”
“Okay, please…” Greg found it difficult to be blunt and not say uh. “Please, you can spit in my mouth-“
‘I know I can. That ain’t what I told you as a friend,” he said. “Wasn’t you payin’ attention? I was tryin’ to be helpful.”
“Please spit in my mouth!”
He smiled again, and took off his sheriff’s hat. “Why, don’t mind if I do.” He hunkered down real close to Greg and hocked up a loogie into his mouth. It was clotty and thick, and it smelled like a doorknob. He spoke moistly as he gathered up spit in his mouth, making Gary’s stomach churn. “In my jail, we call this a ‘bitch-kiss’. It’s how a prison top makes his bottom know his place.” He let loose with another giant wad of saliva and phlegm that plopped in Gary’s mouth.
Greg choked and tried to spit it out, but Officer Awful grabbed him by the neck, squeezing tight enough that he nearly lifted Greg off the ground. Greg squealed and sputtered. Officer Awful spat again, directly into Gary’s mouth, then again. His lips were so close they nearly kissed.
“You feel it, fuckweasel? Ya feel how intimate this is?” He paused and hocked up a loogie in his mouth. He forced himself to couch to fill his mouth even more. He very moistly said, “You my bitch now, fuckweasel. I’m gonna make you open up and suck up the spit in my mouth now. It’s gonna taste real nasty, but you’re gonna choke it down while I watch. You ready?”
Greg shook his head.
“Tough…” He squeezed Gary’s cheeks until his mouth opened, and then a massive mouthful of spit and fluids landed in Gary’s mouth. He still hadn’t swallowed what was already there, so his mouth was overflowing now. Saliva flooded his face from his forehead to his chin, both Officer Awful’s and Gary’s own.
Officer Awful very slowly forced Gary’s mouth closed. “Swallow, fuckweasel. Swallow…” He massaged Gary’s neck like he was forcing a dog to swallow a pill.
Greg gagged and retched, but Officer Awful kept his mouth close and Greg could do nothing but choke back the gags emanating out of his raging stomach. He kept one arm curled over his belly as though to keep it all in. Finally he had quelled the nausea, though he could still taste snot in his mouth.
Before he could recover, Officer Awful dragged him into the next room. A handful of other officers were visible through the windows here, watching and laughing. Greg couldn’t hear them, but he could see their faces light up when they saw him. The nerdy-looking officer who had arrested Greg was there as well, leering at him. They all cheered when Greg let out a choked sob.
“Can… Can I say I’m sorry?” Greg asked. He nodded to the nerdy officer. “Can I apologize to him? I was rude to him before, last night. And… I might have hit him, I don’t remember-“
He doubled over in pain as Officer Awful punched him in the gut again. Through the soundproof glass, the watching officers laughed and cheered.
“You got freedom of speech, fuckweasel. You can always apologize. Jail rules say you can’t ask no questions, that’s why I had to punch you,” he said. “They can hear you through the loudspeaker.”
“Uh… I’m sorry, Officer… Uh… I don’t know your name-“
“Boy, what did I tell you about sayin’ uh?”
“I’m sorry!”
“Well, I appreciate your apology, fuckweasel, and yes, you were quite rude to my fellow officer last night. You said some very hurtful things. Words are weapons, doncha know. So, despite ya ‘pology, you still gotta spend a weekend with me. Don’t worry. I’m sure we gonna be real good friends,” Officer Awful said. “Do you enjoy gettin’ gutpunched?” He did so again, even harder this time, making Greg double over and gasp for air. His flat belly was crying out in pain. He could there was gonna be a huge colorful bruise there tomorrow.
“C’mon…”
“This is not the time for begging. This jail has a begging period every day, please save it for then,” Awful said. Then he directed Greg to stand over the drain in one end of the room, with his legs and arms spread, leaning against the wall. Greg’s bare ass dimpled and jiggled. It was cold in this room.
“Are you gonna…?” Greg wanted to ask if Officer Awful was going to cornhole him. That’s what it felt like in this position. But he couldn’t ask questions. “This position is… it feels like you’re going to cornhole me.”
“Oh. Do you want me to ram you up the asshole til ya buttcheeks fall off? Keep your head still, fuckweasel.” Officer Awful was doing something, getting some piece of equipment ready, but all Greg could see was the wall in front of him. Or was Awful taking off his belt?
“No, don’t! Don’t do that!”
“What was that? Are you begging me to ram you? If you really want me to, I’ll consider it later, fuckweasel. It’s technically against the rules though. Close your eyes,” he said. Then there was a cloud of white powder in the air. Greg coughed and sputtered. Officer Awful made him turn around and covered him in more of the acrid white powder. “Turn back around.”
Greg hacked as he tried to get his breath. His stomach still hurt from being punched, and his drunken headache was getting worse. He could tell — even though he couldn’t hear or see them — that Officer Martin and the other cops in the next room were laughing at him.
Water sprayed onto his back. It was ice-cold, and it made Gary’s balls crawl up in his sac. He gasped and twitched.
“Stay still, fuckweasel!”
The water was so cold Greg couldn’t breathe. His skin tightened up, and his stomach dropped. Officer Awful made him bend backover, sticking his ass in the air. He sprayed water from the hose directly onto Gary’s asshole, which hurt so bad Greg screamed. He clawed at the wall of the tiny room.
Finally the water turned off, and Officer Awful dragged Greg away, into the next room once more. Greg tried to get on his feet, but Officer Awful didn’t give him a chance to. Greg was naked and wet, so he kept slipping and couldn’t even crawl for more than a few feet, he kept collapsing as Awful kicked him and dragged him over the floor.
“Please!” Greg cried out, then clamped his mouth shut lest he start begging again, outside of the designated begging time. He wondered if there was really a designated begging time.
He was dragged over the linoleum floor, naked and wet, dizzy, nauseous. He begged, but Officer Awful barked at him to be silent every time he said anything, so all he could do was pant.
As it turned out, the next room was a medical examination. There wasn’t much to it though — Officer Awful tossed him up onto the cushioned chair and rammed his finger into Gary’s ass so fast Greg hadn’t even finishing sitting down before he felt that finger wiggling inside him.
“Let’s take a walk,” Officer Awful said. “I wanna make sure I search all up in you, and that means you gotta move. Shift your contraband around.”
“I. Don’t. Have. Any,” Greg said, gritting his teeth through the pain. He forced himself to take a step, then another, but every move he made sent waves of agony through his body.
At least he reached the doorway, and Officer Awful gave him a shove. He stumbled forward, Officer Awful moving with him and that finger stayed in his asshole the entire time.
Those other cops were there in the next room, watching and cheering as Greg stammered. He couldn’t even think about a plan because of the pain in his ass.
“Wreck him! Wreck him! Wreck him!”
“Put him on his knees, Auffernan!”
Officer Awful moved his finger like a fishhook, pointing down, and in order to alleviate the pain, Greg lowered himself. Soon he was on his knees on the ground. Officer Awful at last removed his finger.
But the relief was short-lived because he shoved his finger in Gary’s mouth. Greg gagged at the assy taste, but his head was jammed against a wall.
Then before Greg could even get his bearings or stop gagging, his mouth was pried open. He knew what was coming, but it was still shocking to feel that fleshy, rubbery limp cock slide onto his tongue. He choked all over again. Officer Awful let his dick slide out of the fly of his uniform slacks, ramming as much of it as he could fit into Gary’s mouth.
“You got contraband in yer throat, fuckweasel? Huh? If you do, I’ll find it, swear to God, and I will ram you so hard yer mama gonna feel it,” Officer Awful said. “Now listen here.” He rammed his cock in as far as it would go, maybe halfway in, as it started to stiffen up. “My pops always said you ain’t ram a fuckweasel’s throat hard enough till there’s tears comin’ out of his fuckweasel eyes and there’s ballsweat dripping from his fuckweasel chin. Ya feel me, fuckweasel? You had better swallow enough of my dick to rub my balls on your chin.”
Greg was dizzy, and he choked so hard it hurt his stomach, but with Officer Awful’s cock in his throat, he couldn’t do anything but squirm. The wall was hard and stubbly, scratching against his skin as he moved up and down. It was iron-hard, pressing at his throat like a battering ram.
Finally Officer Awful backed off to let him have a breath. Greg collapsed to the ground, but he had no sooner taken a breath before he was on the floor on his back. Officer Awful pushed him into position, then kneeled over his face so that his balls plopped on Gary’s nose.
“You had best loosen up that throat boy, or there is gonna be some consequences. You won’t like ’em one bit,” he said. Then he bent over Gary’s body like he was doing a push-up. He pointed his dick into Gary’s mouth and slammed down with all his weight.
Greg choked once more. He had never regained his breath, and now his throat was sore even before that massive cock pushed in. But Officer Awful was relentless. He pivoted his hips, laughing as Gary’s throat gradually lost its resistance.
Soon Officer Awful’s balls rested on Gary’s nose and eyes. Gary’s whole world went white, and at first he thought it was cum, that Officer Awful had finally shot his wad. But no, he just lost consciousness for a few seconds.
When he went limp, Officer Awful pulled up and out of his mouth. He patted Greg on the back of the head and chuckled as he hoarsely gasped. “There you go, you did it, hoss, good boy,” he said. “That means I am gonna ram you in the ass, but just one time. And then… well, if you be good, I just might let you go. Got it?”
He nodded.
“See, now you answered me without using words, fuckweasel. I don’t like that,” he said. “Not at all.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Greg squealed and sobbed. “I do understand. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I know… Get on your back, lift your feet in the air,” Officer Awful said. He got on his knees. Greg was terrified, and he especially didn’t want to take that massive dick up the ass in this position. But of course, he didn’t have any choice.
“I like rammin’ like this cuz it hurts my bitch,” Officer Awful said as though that was a good rationale. “Plus it lets me finish with a punch and a choke, so you’ll have that to look forward to.”
Greg tried to think of a way to ask what that meant without asking a question, but he had a feeling he knew the answer. Officer Awful smirked at him. He spat on Gary’s face again, and as Greg winced and gagged, he drilled his cock in.
He lightly smacked Greg on the cheek. “I’m in you now, bitch. Guess how many inches you got in ya.”
“Uh… I-“
He smacked Greg harder, and Greg groaned. “What did I tell you about saying uh?”
“You said not to. I apologize. It hurts…”
“Guess how many inches you got in you?”
“Three?” Greg had no idea, it was just a random guess.
“Wrong. Gimme yer hand,” he said. He didn’t wait. He grabbed Gary’s hand and brought it forward to his ass. The movement made the pain worse. He touched Officer Awful’s cock with one hand. There was still a whole lot of cockmeat to go. “Feel that? You only got like a half-inch in your ass.” Greg could hear deep male voices laughing from the other room — the officer who arrested him, maybe more cops too, they were over there laughing as he endured unimaginable agony.
“Yes, sir, Officer Awful.”
“Now start chanting, thank you big brother, can I have another? You got that? Keep sayin’ it ‘till I get all my dick in ya,” he said.
“Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another! Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Greg shouted it at first with nothing happening, but then Officer Awful started to ram his dick in between each chant. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!” Over and over again, he pumped his hips in the silence between chants. And each time, that caused mind-blowing agony in Gary’s asshole. “Thank you big brother, can I have another!”
It continued for what felt like forever. Greg didn’t know how he managed to do it, but eventually he felt that heavy hand close over his mouth.
“Shut up, fuckweasel,” he said with a groan. “I’m all way in you now. You’re my property. Say that.”
“I’m Officer… Officer Awful’s property,” Greg said. He bit his lip and threw his head back. The pain was excruciating, and it quickly got worse as Officer Awful began to gyrate his hips back and forth.
His balls slapped against Gary’s asshole. He wrapped his arms around Gary’s ankles and pressed them close to his muscular chest. His cock throbbed deep in Gary’s ass, which squeezed and churned. He clawed at Officer Awful’s chest, but to no avail. Awful was built like a bear, and he rammed like a stallion.
“Beg me to cum. Come on, be like a porno chick, man. Improvise a little,” Officer Awful said. He spat in Gary’s mouth as soon as he opened up to speak.
“Please… Cum in me… I want your cum inside me…” Greg said through his tears of pain and humiliation. That massive cock drilled into him, back and forth, demolishing his ass, regardless of how Greg squirmed or his hole clenched. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I was rude and drunk… Please fill me up with your cum… Please-“
He was cut off because all of a sudden Officer Awful’s hands slapped Greg’s cheeks. He then squeezed Gary’s throat, hard enough to choke him, and his other hand formed a fist. It hovered above Gary’s face.
Greg tried to scream, but he choked, so all he could do was tighten and spasm. His whole body shook. His asshole clenched around Officer Awful’s cock.
Just when he thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, Officer Awful finally punched him right in the nose. Gary screamed in pain, as Officer Awful let go of his neck and Greg let out a series of hoarse sobs. That cascade of sensations inside Gary’s body was what sent Officer Awful over the edge.
“Cummin’ up in you now, boy, you in the home stretch…”
He gasped. Greg screamed. That spectacled officer, still watching outside the room, clapped and cheered. Cum sprayed into Gary’s ass, deep, hot and creamy. It stuck to his flesh and seeped into him like mud. He choked and gagged even though nothing was in his mouth.
“Hell yeah, fuckweasel, you got a nice ass,” Officer Awful said with a sigh. “Had a nice ass.” His cock spasmed inside Greg, sending more thick wads of cum inside him. It was a massive wad, it felt like, gobs of it spreading to every corner of Greg’s insides. He felt the heat seeping into him.
Then at last, Officer Awful withdrew his dick. The most incredible relief of his life flooded Greg, who closed his eyes. He shuddered, a frisson running up his spine. He didn’t want to ever open his eyes again.
That meant he didn’t see when Officer Awful scooted forward, reached for his mouth to open it and ram his dick inside. The taste of ass and cum intermixed in Gary’s mouth, making him retch and gag so hard his stomach hurt. The shame of tasting his own ass on another man’s dick flooded Gary, and the only consolation was that he was crying too hard to see what he was doing or how many cops were laughing at him.
“Clean up your mess, fuckweasel,” Officer Awful said. He swiped his dick over Gary’s face, making him lick every inch of the shaft, tracing every vein, as Officer Awful moaned and curdled above him. The taste was foul and sickening, and Greg couldn’t stop gagging, both from disgust and from the shame of those other cops watching him at his lowest.
Finally he was done. Officer Awful pulled away, stood and pulled his pants back up. He straightened his uniform. When Greg moaned and tried to stand, he kicked him in the thigh and Greg collapsed to the ground.
“Stay here,” Officer Awful said. “Now that I’m done checking you in, it’s time to show you to your cell. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do that again and again all weekend.”
“You said… you’d let me go…”
“I said I’d consider it. And, I am going to let you go, eventually,” he said. He winked at Greg. “But you still got punishment coming to you.”