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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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.”

Mafia Punishment

Tedi is an effeminate twink who never thought the Mafia would come to him to help dole out punishment. But when one of the Caprinelli family’s enforcers is proven to have snitched, Tedi is all too eager to get down and dirty teaching that uomo a lesson!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

The wedding was a nerve-wracking affair, even for Tedi, and it wasn’t even his wedding. He was a long-time friend of the family, but the family in question was the family — the Cavollos. They were the most powerful Mafia clan in New Jersey. The Cavollos themselves had never acknowledged it, except for Sonny, and he only obliquely referred to it on a few occasions when he was drunk.
Tedi had grown up as Sonny’s best friend, and stayed with him in college and ever since. They had drifted apart only slightly as they each developed an independent life. But when Sonny got married, there was no one to be best man and compare d’anello except for Tedi.
The wedding was held in St. Michael’s Cathedral on Staten Island. It was a beautiful affair, and everything went exactly according to plan — with one exception: a groomsmen who was missing.
There were five groomsmen (il testimoni) who had come to the wedding rehearsal. They weren’t exactly friends of Sonny’s, but they were closest thing Sonny had to a friend besides Tedi — made mafia men simply didn’t have close friends. Tedi was an exception because he had been friends with Sonny for a long time, he was not in the mafia or otherwise involved in any kind of crime, and he was small, delicate and weak. Nobody treated him like a serious rival.
The five groomsmen were Francesco Lancinelli, Frankie di Pietro, Joey Rizzoli, Baldo Bianchi and Demetrio Collera.
Tedi enjoyed jerking them off once, along with the groom himself, during the bachelor party — they had sworn an oath to god not to fuck any stripper or whore. So they let Tedi jerk them off while a stripper ground her feminine wiles on their bodies. That had been a good night for Tedi, even if it ended with an argument (apparently there was a leak in their organization, and Francesco disagreed on who it likely was).
It was Francesco who had disappeared before the wedding.
The weirdest thing about that was that no one mentioned it. Tedi’s nervous mind noticed it just before the wedding began — he counted only four groomsmen. But he assumed the fifth was around somewhere, and he was so anxious about the ceremony that he couldn’t even focus enough to figure out who was missing.
Once the I dos were said, Tedi stood there in his lavender suit, just a few feet from the four burly Mafioso. He realized it was Francesco who was missing.
Francesco Lancinelli was the biggest, the least handsome and the toughest of the five groomsmen, and he had the most massive cock. Tedi loved jerking him off. He had a crude caveman-like face, with rough-hewn jawlines and perpetually stubbled chin, his beard hair always uneven due to a network of scars crisscrossing his neck and face. He had the kind of domineering personality and massive muscles that repelled women. Tedi felt sorry for him, but was also hopeful that he’d come calling to Tedi to ask for more dome in the future.
But now where was he? And why had no one noticed? His name was even listed in the program for the wedding, but no one remarked on his absence. It was only as the reception began that the horrifying thought he could be dead assaulted Tedi’s mind. Was that possible?
No, of course not. The Mafia was a lot of things, but they were not clinical and detached. If a groomsman had died between the wedding rehearsal and the wedding, it would have been announced; they would have mourned him at the start of the wedding; Sonny would have worn a black armband or something like that. They wouldn’t just proceed with the wedding like nothing had happened.
“Hey, Tedi, come on,” Sonny said once he had finished his traditional dance with his new wife. His voice sounded distant even though he was right next to Tedi. He had to scream to be heard over the crowd. He grabbed Tedi by the arm and pulled him away.
“Where are we going?” Tedi asked, but his weak voice was lost in the din.
He followed Sonny, whose body shuffled thickly — he had been putting on weight since he got engaged — in his tight tuxedo, which was plainly uncomfortable for him. He had loosened his tie, which hung around his neck. Much to Tedi’s surprise, he led Tedi out of the church and into the Italian-American community center next door.
Then he breathed a sigh of relief that he was away from the crowd. Sonny stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He leaned against the wall. The bulge in his pants suggested he was going to ask Tedi for dome — that was probably why he had left the church, Tedi decided, to get do it somewhere other than sacred ground.
But why did he want dome just hours before he’d be able to be with his wife in lawfully-wedded bliss? Was he really that horny? Maybe it was the stress, Tedi decided. He grabbed the bulge and smiled at Sonny. Tedi had long been jerking his friend off.
“No,” Sonny said. “That ain’t what I brought ya here fo’, man.”
“Oh?”
Sonny shook his head. He gulped nervously. “Come on.” He opened the door to a deep storage closet, piled high with boxes and athletic equipment. There was a crowd of men in tuxedos. Since they all wore the same clothes and had the same slicked-back black hair, Tedi didn’t quite recognize them right away in the dim light of the closet.
Then he saw that they were the four groomsmen. Frankie, Joey, Baldo and Demetrio all stood there, clustered around another tuxedo-clad man who was slumped over a chair sideways, so the arms of the rickety wooden chair supported his belly and chest.
After a few seconds, Tedi realized that the man who was slumped over was fully conscious, that he was Francesco and that he was tied up and gagged. His hair was slicked back like all the others, but his tuxedo was ruffled, torn in a few spots, and he had a fresh black eye.
“Hey, guys. What’s going on? What happened to Francesco? Is he okay?”
“No, he ain’t,” Sonny said with a chuckle. He stepped forward, pushing past Tedi in the tiny closet. He slapped Francesco on the ass through his tuxedo pants. “Francesco… He fucked up, Tedi. He’s the snitch. He’s been leakin’ like an old man’s dick.”
“What?”
Sonny laughed cockily. “I ain’t know a simpler way to say that, Tedi. He’s a snitch. He’s a person who snitches. He has snitched. You want me to translate into Italian?”
“Oh, I mean… Oh…” Tedi didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Sonny never really discussed Mafia business. He sometimes talked about the “import/export” business in ways that made it clear what he was really talking about, but he was rarely so blatant and open about it.
“We’re gonna punish him. We would do it ourselves, but…” Sonny said with a dry chuckle. “We ain’t want to. It’s my wedding day. My giorno sacro…”
“And I think it’s gross,” Joey said. He was the handsome one, the one who always had a girl hanging off his arm. He had deep dimples and smooth skin. “Francesco here is hairy come un barbaro, and if you think I’m shaving his ass, you got another thing coming.”
“Wait, so… You want me to…?” Tedi’s heart started pounding as he realized they wanted him to ram Francesco.
As if he had only just figured it out as well, Francesco squealed through the gag in his mouth. His muscles struggled against the bindings keeping him on the chair, and he fought so hard the chair itself nearly fell over. Sonny and the others laughed.
“So, how about it, Tedi?” Sonny asked. “You wanna wreck this snitchin’ rat?”
“Uh… Well… fuck, yeah!” Tedi said. He blushed as they all cheered. Francesco bleated, screaming profanity the best he could with what appeared to be underwear shoved in his mouth.
Sonny removed a pocketknife from his tuxedo slacks. For a moment, it looked like he was going to stab Francesco in the asshole. But he just sliced through the man’s pants, leaving a shadowy hole in front of his ass.
That wasn’t enough for Tedi. He liked ass, and he wanted to see it. He pulled on either end of the tear in the slacks, trying to rip the entire bottom off. But he blushed — the fabric was too tough, and Tedi was too weak. He strained for a minute or two before Baldo, the strongest one here aside from Francesco himself, grabbed the fabric from him. He ripped the entire ass of the slacks off.
Francesco had a beautifully thick ass, brimming with plump muscle and coarse black hairs. There was a big splat of scar tissue, vaguely circular or spiral-shaped, but distended by time, on his right asscheek.
“You want him to swallow your cum too?” Sonny asked. “Or are you just gonna go straight for the ramrodding?”
Tedi shrugged. “I… I mean, won’t he just bite down?”
“We got a plan for that,” he said. “He won’t bite.”
A part of Tedi didn’t feel confident in that. But he rarely got the chance to ram a man in the ass, especially not a big hairy macho like Francesco.
“I, uh… I just want his ass, honestly. I’d love to see him swallow some dick though. Would you guys ram his throat?”
They all looked around like no one wanted to do it but no one wanted to say no. Tedi blushed. Francesco heaved and screamed the best he could through his gag.
Demetrio laughed. “Ain’t you required to give yo’ friends favors on your wedding day, Sonny?” They all laughed along with him.
Sonny shook his head even as he said yes. “We, uh… Yeah. I guess we might as well. We’re gonna ram you in the throat, you little snitchin’ bitch.” Francesco struggled against the gag in his mouth, which Sonny pulled off. Francesco gasped for air, but Sonny spat on his face and barked for him to be silent. “I’m gonna give you a choice for how this ends, motherfucker. You can jerk us off and take it from Tedi, do everything he says, no matter how gross. You got that? Repeat it for me, Francesco, so I know you understand.”
“Sonny, I ain’t sellin’ secrets to the Caprinelli family-“
“You shut up! We found that book in your house, Francesco. We saw it. We got records from Tranquillo Caprinelli. We got a mole too, rat, and I ain’t tell you word one about it.”
“Sonny-“
“You know how I told you we was gonna hit the Caprinelli house on Saturday?” Sonny asked. “Well, they was waiting there with guns ready. They knew we was coming. Only we wasn’t coming, Francesco. We wasn’t coming at all. I told Demetrio we was doing it on Friday. I told Joey on Tuesday. Baldovino on Thursday, and Francesco the Saturday before that. But we ain’t hit them any day. I just waited to see when they thought we was coming. That was yo’ day, Francesco. What made them think we was gonna hit them on Saturday?”
“Sonny… We used to be friends…”
“Huh? You was gonna let me walk into a trap, motherfucker. They was gonna blow my brains out,” Sonny said. “So don’t you talk to me about friendship, or loyalty. Sputo sul vostro onore!” Sonny spat on his face again, and the others joined in. Tedi enjoyed watching Francesco’s moist, craggy face scrunch up and beg; he wrinkled his nose at the saliva dripping from his cheeks. His muscles were tense — at the moment, Tedi couldn’t have stuck anything in Francesco’s ass, which was shut tight with terror. But he wasn’t trying to. He caressed those plump cheeks and fingered the rim of his puckering asshole.
“Now I was tryin’ to explain your two options befo’ you in’rrupted me, Francesco,” Sonny said. “I’m gonna let you choose. Option One begins with you taking it in the ass from Tedi — and you better thank yo’ hairy culo di una scimmia that the rest of us won’t touch it, cuz that’s nasty — and jerking on dicks. You gonna swallow a mountain of cum. You ain’t nevuh gonna be a real man ever again, you’ll be a frocio zoccola. And then I’ll buy you a bus ticket to Las Vegas. You can sell your body or whatever, just drink yourself to death there. I don’t care what you do. That’s Option One, Francesco, questo è Opzione Uno. Can you tell me that in yo’ own words so I know you unn’erstand it?”
Sonny often spoke like this to the men under his command. Tedi didn’t usually get to witness it, but he knew it — Sonny wanted to make sure the pig-headed brutes who worked for him understood their mission, so he always made them put it in their own words. Sonny was arrogant and patronizing, so Tedi wasn’t surprised that most of the men who worked for him hated him.
“Sonny…” Francesco hung his head over the side of the chair. Sonny slapped him. Francesco sputtered. “I… I can… submit, and uh, let yo’ friend cornhole me. And jerk all you off. That’s Option One. You’ll let me go to Las Vegas afterwards.”
“You make it sound like a vacation. It’s more of an exile,” Sonny said. “But you’ll be alive. Opzione Due is less pleasant, but more final. Tedi here is gonna cornhole you hard. I just might order Joey to do it too, even if he don’t want to-” Sonny said with a laugh suggesting that wasn’t serious — Joey’s eyes opened wide and he turned slightly greenish; he was a handsome, cleanliness-oriented and organized man, deeply religious but with a bevy of loose women following him around every night, so he was the last one who would likely deign to ram Francesco’s hairy asshole. Sonny smacked Francesco’s ass, which quivered and twitched.
It also opened up. Since Tedi’s finger was waiting there at the entrance, he slipped it in. It was just his pinkie for the moment, and just down to the first knuckle. But Francesco’s face turned bright red and he let out an agonized roar. His muscles flexed against the ropes tying him to the chair. His asshole clenched on Tedi’s finger.
“You got a finger in che culo, paisano?”
“Yeah, Sonny. Just one finger for now,” Tedi said.
“Option Two, Francesco, has got one major benefit. We ain’t gonna plow you in the mouth if you ain’t gonna swear you won’t bite down. So you won’t have to swallow any Italian dicks,” Sonny said. “But we is gonna sell yo’ ass to the Bloods.” He cackled as Francesco squirmed and struggled against his bindings. He slapped Francesco’s face. “And you know what those moolies are gonna do… They gonna plow you with big black dicks. They gonna let some crackheads plow you, just to watch you squirm and collect diseases. They hate Italians, and they hate disloyal rats, so you is gonna wish you was dead. Then you will be dead. They’ll just toss you in the ghetto with black cum all over your face, maybe a crack pipe in your ass. They’ll make sure the cops put it in the papers that you was just a hobo killed by the moolie hobos you was jerkin’ off for pennies. Yo’ mama gonna curse yer name, Francesco.”
“Sonny-!”
“You can choose now, Francesco,” Sonny said. “Which one is it gonna be?”
Francesco let out a sob, then bit his lip. As he acknowledged his submission and finally gave up the struggle, knowing how this would turn out, his ass unclenched long enough for Tedi to get a second finger in there. Francesco yelped like a puppy in pain.
This time, Tedi didn’t just stick his fingers in to the first knuckle and stopped. He seriously fingered Francesco, ramming his fingers in until he felt resistance, and then just a little bit farther. He liked watching every muscle on Francesco’s body shake and tremble with each thrust of Tedi’s fingers.
“I’ll… take Option One,” Francesco said. “I swear… I’ll do it. I’ll jerk you off.”
“You swear an oath on yo mama’s name?”
“Yes. I swear… on my mother’s name,” Francesco said. “I’ll jerk you all off. I won’t bite down. Just… let me go. Let me move to Vegas.”
“You fuckin’ pansy,” Sonny said.
They all took their dicks out. A part of Tedi wished he’d get to jerk them all off, but he would rather ram Francesco. He had to move a box off the shelf to use as a stool in order to get his crotch lined up with Francesco’s ass. As he did, the other five jabbed their limp dicks into Francesco’s mouth, one after another.
Francesco gagged and retched so loudly Tedi wondered if it was audible outside this closet. He choked, sputtering as he spat onto the ground. Each of them had thick, long uncut cocks, which they seemed to have trouble getting hard at first.
They flopped their dicks against his face, like kids who had never gotten dome. But as they took turns forcing their dicks down his spasming throat, jousting nervously atop his face, they became more and more confident, and they egged each other on.
La bocca è la mia figa!
Tedi had no such difficulty, his dick was already hard even though he hadn’t touched it yet. He rammed his two fingers in and out of Francesco’s ass, while his free hand stroked the writhing muscles of his back through his tuxedo. Then he rammed a third finger in, ignoring the resistance he felt.
A ear-piercing scream rang out, and Francesco’s body burst out with sweat all at once. Tedi laughed along with the other mafioso, who looked away as their dicks got hard. They had all gangbanged whores before, and they all knew they had each let Tedi jerk them off, but they had never had their dicks out like this, with each other and without a woman in the room.
With Francesco bent awkwardly over the plain wooden chair — which loudly rocked as he struggled — Tedi had to climb on top of him to really get his dick in. He pulled his three fingers out and plunged in, his toes gripping the side of the chair as he crouched over Francesco’s bare ass.
The position was awkward for Tedi (and, of course, Francesco), but that didn’t detract from the arousal he felt. He even used Baldo’s shaved head for support as Baldo waited for his turn on Francesco’s mouth.
Costringerlo a soffocare, Baldo!
Tedi shuddered as intense pleasure rolled through him. The curly black hairs of Francesco’s ass were a tangle he had to push through, and he felt a few hairs rip out as he went. That must have sent another layer of pain through Francesco’s body which rippled as he struggled.
Frankie was a heavily tattooed thug, who normally wore his pants slung low and a backwards baseball cap, speaking in a black accent. He was Italian but he didn’t always act that way, which was something the others made fun of him for. But now he spoke Italian as he violently throated Francesco. It was he who came first, pistoning his dick deep into Francesco’s throat and laughing when he choked up copious spit and bile onto the closet floor.
Take it bitch, you fuckin’ snitch! Choke on that shit! Here, open that mouth up so I can spit in it some more…
The smell of cum filled the air before Tedi realized Frankie was actually finishing. Then he saw the pearly white stuff dripping from Francesco’s mouth, collecting in a puddle on the floor. Some of it splashed on Joey’s fine dress shoes, which he made Francesco lick clean. Frankie sighed breathed heavily, wiping his cummy cockshaft off on Francesco’s face.
“Lick that nut off my shoes, bitch,” Joey said. He smiled as Francesco gagged but did as he was told. His tongue haltingly caressed the expensive Italian leather shoes Joey wore, and he managed, with great difficulty, to force himself to lick the entirety of both shoes.
Mi permetta di usare quella gola, paisano!
As the others continued taking turns on Francesco’s throat, Tedi borrowed the knife from Sonny. He wanted to see Francesco’s bare muscular back, so he sliced through the tuxedo jacket, shirt and the dingy wifebeater he wore underneath.
“You couldn’t even put on a clean t-shirt for my wedding?” Sonny asked when he saw the undershirt. “You worthless sac of shit!” He slapped Francesco’s spit and cum-covered face, uncaring of the fact that he got his friends’ fluids on his hands. He just wiped his fingers off on Francesco’s face.
The more violently they went after Francesco’s throat, the more Francesco choked, the more they made each other laugh and the more comfortable they got shoving their dicks against each other. They tried to make him jerk all five dicks at one — which was obviously impossible, but they tried, ignoring the semeny residue that smeared between all five cocks.
Sonny was the one who rammed Francesco’s mouth most delicately. He didn’t want to get stains on his nice slacks, so he angled his body away the best he could. He gripped Francesco’s hair as he reached his own orgasm.
Tedi’s fingers massaged Francesco’s broad shoulder muscles. He had a Jesus tattoo over his left shoulder and an Italian flag beneath that. Tedi kissed them both as he pounded his dick into Francesco’s ass. The size difference between them meant that Tedi had to really hold on tight or slip off, especially as Francesco became so sweaty his back and ass were slippery. Tedi clutched and clawed at his beefy back.
When he shot his load, Sonny held onto Francesco by the ear. He slammed his dick in and out quickly, laughing as Francesco choked on each thrust. His choking turned into loud retching when Sonny shot a load right down his throat.
Assaggiare il mio sperma! Does it taste like yo’ mama’s pussy?
Tedi’s own orgasm was coming quickly, but he wanted to wait until the others were done. He loved watching their potent muscles ripple beneath their tuxedos, sweat beading on their tense faces as their orgasms rolled over their bodies. He could sense their nervous anxiety — none of them had ever cum like this; they all talked about how they would take a bitch if they were in prison, that had come up during the bachelor party, but this was the first time they actually had to perform without women around. Tedi could tell they were glad they hadn’t been impotent or small-cocked or unable to cum. He slowed down his gyrations, burying his face in Francesco’s back muscles as he flexed his hips, grinding so he hit the sensitive sides of Francesco’s asshole.
Then came Joey, who as usual was too squeamish to really get in there like the others — he hated filth and seemed to very much want to back out. He grumbled, jacking himself off. His face turned red when he finally came, and he stepped forward at just the last moment to spray his load right onto Francesco’s quivering tongue.
Questo è sporco…
Tedi watched as Francesco squealed loudly, his whole body palpably rejected the snotty cumload on his tongue. He sputtered and spat, but most of it clung to his mouth. Before he even could spit or swallow, Baldo pushed his dickhead in.
Baldo had a shaved head. He was short, but thick-bodied, built like a bull, complete with a squashed nose and cauliflower ears, both remnants from his former career as a boxer. Though his head was bald, he was the hairiest one there, and his chest hair poked out from under his tuxedo.
He didn’t seem to care about the cum still stuck to Francesco’s tongue and lips. Baldo plunged his dick in there, watching as his buddies’ cum stuck to the shaft. Baldo smiled and let out a low growl that made the hair on Tedi’s neck stand on edge. He felt Francesco’s asshole clench too, in that moment. It was a menacing growl, Baldo being the only one of the five who really seemed to enjoy Francesco’s mouth.
Tu sei il mio sperma grondaia…
That only left Demetrio, who was nearly done as Baldo pulled away. But first Demetrio made Francesco swallow all the cum in his mouth. He opened his mouth to show its emptiness to Demetrio, who cackled as he shoved his spasming dick in.
Mi permetta di vedere la tua bocca vuota, voglio vedere voi ingoiare tutto!
Francesco’s ass clenched again when Demetrio’s dick spewed cum down his throat. Francesco sputtered, his face turning brighter red as lack of oxygen joined the humiliation that already ruddened his features. His asshole remained clenched tightly as all five guys flopped their limp dicks on his face, making him smell their balls and lick the remnants of cum from their piss-slits.
It was the sight of that that sent Tedi over the edge. He lay atop Francesco’s sweat-covered body, clutching his muscles, his hair and the remnants of his tuxedo. He flexed his hips over and over, rejoicing in the tightness of Francesco’s ass, which he knew he was wrecking — if Francesco had relaxed his asshole, it would have hurt less, but Tedi knew from experience that his involuntary clenching made the pain worse, made the ache last for days afterward and ruined his sphincter. Francesco was always going to feel like a loose slut if anyone ever touched his asshole again.
Francesco sobbed, begging his former friends to believe his innocence, though he didn’t sound totally credible — even Tedi, who didn’t really know what was happening, thought he sounded like he knew he was caught. Tedi sighed, nibbling on the Italian flag tattoo over Francesco’s back, as his orgasm rocketed up his spine. It was an incredible climax, and it made Tedi shake back and forth like he was having a seizure. He grunted, losing his twinky delicacy.
He jabbed his dick in and held it there while the first wads of cum sprayed inside Francesco, who screamed and squirmed. There was a loud shattering sound, and then pain erupted in Tedi.
He was on the ground. It all happened so fast that Tedi had no idea what was going on at first. He lay there as he drained his nuts into Francesco’s straining ass, and Tedi realized that the chair had broken — Francesco was strong enough he had pulled hard and shattered the wooden legs of the chair.
When he fell, Francesco’s arms were beneath his chest, and his limbs were still tied to each other. So all he could do was writhe painfully on the rubble, while Tedi clung to his back and filled him up with his seed. He nibbled on Francesco’s back flesh.
Damn, Tedi, ti sei scopato lui così forte che lo ha rotto!
He lay there, enjoying the undulations of Francesco’s muscles and the clenching of his ass as Tedi’s dick grew limp inside him. Francesco roared his frustration anew, as though he thought he should be able to escape now that he had broken the chair. But he was still tied up, and now he was in pain because had fallen as well as because he had a dick in his ass.
His asshole quivered when Tedi finally pulled out. The others tucked their dicks away in their tuxedo pants, and Sonny lightly smacked Francesco on the cheeks. Francesco blubbered an apology — he wasn’t making clear words, but it sounded like he was finally admitting he was guilty.
“Thank you for being honest, finally,” Sonny said. He put the nasty old pair of briefs back in Francesco’s mouth, leaving him there on the floor with a bare ass and back, his body and mouth covered in cum. “We’re gonna go finish out this reception. I gotta see my beautiful bride. There’s a bus to Las Vegas at midnight. These guys’ll make sure you’re on it, Francesco,” Sonny said. He spat another big ball of spit onto Francesco’s face. “If we ever see you in New York again, I’ll wreck you myself, hairy ass or no, and then I let the blacks kill you. Got it?”
“Yes, Sonny.”
“Thank me for letting you do all this instead of just killing you, which is what my father wanted, by the way,” Sonny said.
“Thank you, Sonny,” Francesco said through his tears. His massive muscles were loose and slack now, like he had lost his manhood and could no longer use his strength.
“You’re welcome, rat,” Sonny said.
Tedi let out a cruel smile and a feminine giggle. “Sonny… is it okay if I stay here with him? I’ll… take care of his ass. I promise I won’t untie him.”
Sonny had a disgusted sneer on his face, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Do whatever you want with him. Frankie, you stay outside the closet to make sure Francesco doesn’t get away. The rest of you, come with me. We got a reception to finish.”
And they all walked out the door, leaving Tedi alone with a quivering pile of muscle.

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 6

The White Trash Veteran

Bits of brain was softly salty, and clots of blood sparked a metallic fire on Goose’s tongue. Them was Sam’s brains he was tasting, slimy and slippery, savory in a unsavory way. Sam’s head exploded, so his brain filled the air that previously tasted only of steamy wetlands and muddy bark. The toothpaste in Goose’s mouth frothed up and out, and the sizzling bite of gunpowder filled the air.
Campfire smoke dried Goose’s lips, as he hurried into cleaner-tasting air away from the ambush and the puffs of gunpowder from the gunshots him and Harley and them — Fuckhead Squad — aimed behind theyselfs. Mud boot-splashed up onto Goose’s face and mouth. He mighta ate a gecko. Acrid ash filtered onto his tongue, and so did the dreary rinse of a slow drizzle. Vietnamese rain tasted of old tea and fresh earthworms.
Prolly the sniper was aiming for Goose, Goose reckoned that now. But Sam done got in trouble for collaborating with the Americans, so at the time, Goose thunk they was ambushing Sam to execute him as a traitor.
In the next couple seconds, Masterson and Berringer took it too. Goose ain’t gotto taste they brains though.
Goose stood with his hands in the air, surrounded by the comfortable trailers of his West Virginia home, tasting the blood and chewy ear of a Vietnamey he done bit before they got him and Harley surrounded in that jungle. He saw cops pointing guns at him, but his tongue stayed trained on Vietnam. Surrender tasted like chicory.
He musta done gone and went off again. He frightened the ladies of Smashwood Trailer Park enough that the police came to take him on away.
Buck sawn it. That put shame in Goose’s soul. He admiredta be the rock for that boy, and there he was shrieking and screaming like a sheep at slaughter. He mighta begged, he dunno who he was begging for what, but Goose felt it happen and Buck prolly seed it. A boy need a rock to anchor him, like a man need a wife to tame him.
He’s in jail again. Goose be jammed, a pecan stuck in driftwood.
“Martin.” T’was Masterson’s voice. He came outuva mist yanway into Goose’s cell, followed by Berringer. Them both was yankees, but Goose got no quarrel with ’em. A distant drum sounded, bouncing on the sobs of a melody.
“Where’d you two come from?” Goose asked. He sat up upon his bunk. “You dead.”
Berringer nodded.
“You aren’t. You’re as alive as the jungle,” Masterson said.
Goose liketa say something. He got too many words fighting for a spot upon his tongue, so his mouth only opened, and nothing came out. Masterson waited long enough for Goose to not say all the things he wanna say, and Masterson and Berringer nodded like they knew ’em already.
“Your heart is on fire, your pain a lie, and yet still, you may wash away your unlovelies,” Masterson said. Berringer nodded like a turtle.
“I don’t unnuhstand,” Goose said. He weren’t expecting clarity though, so he ain’t ask no questions. “I wish I died the’uh wit’choo.”
Berringer shook his head. “You don’t. You have a son to be here for. You came home for him.”
“It don’t really feel like I came home,” Goose said. “The resta Fuckhead Squad done move on, I ‘xpect. Those that lived.”
“No,” Berringer said. “They didn’t. They ain’t.” A smile fooled upon his face. “They ain’t done move on still.” His yankee accent clashed with his Appalachian words. “Nobody has. Maybe nobody does. They are all hungry ghosts, and we are mere peaches.”
“The past never goes away, Martin,” Masterson said. Ain’t nobody in the Army call him Martin. His squadmates called him Goose. Officers called him Sampson. Only in death did his proper name emerge.
“Why not?”
“The past is your river. Remember that rivers never flow in a circle,” Masterson said. “Your pain and your anger is the Navy bringing you home. The route is long, but the way is wise.”
Berringer added, “In life, in death, in the next life, in heaven or hell, home is always there, waiting for you with enlightenment and grace.”
Goose shrank back. He ain’t understand they’s words, but he couldn’t concentrate on ’em anyway. Masterson and Berringer remained blurry like glasses, and the mist they arrived in spread into Goose’s cell. “I dunno what you is sayin’,” Goose said. “What if’n I hurt my son?”
“What happens will happen and will be a step closer to home, for him and for you,” Masterson said.
Goose sniffled. “Things felt right in Vietnam. With y’all and me and Harley, when we was together, it felt right. It wasn’t, but it felt right, or that part of it did.”
“That is because we were on the same path to different homes then,” Berringer said. “The brotherhood of the same path can still be there for you.”
“Seek brotherhood, and you will find home,” Masterson said. “Go now, Martin. You have work a-plenty ahead of you.”
They walked back into the mist then, leaving Goose to his studyment. He dried out for what may have been eons in the jail cell. He dunno if he slept, he dunno if he raged and fought someone, he dunno if he sobbed or hung hisself. He just was.
By the time Goose’s head was clear as a mirror, he was sitting in the interrogation room in Precinct 17. Sheriff Torkelson came on in. He had a dense mustache, properly trimmed, though his chin and cheeks was grizzled with unshaved scruff. His work-hard face was haggard as a burnt-down barn.
Sheriff Torkelson looked down his nose at Goose for a long time. Then he sat in the chair opposite Goose. “You gonna behave proper, son? I don’t like fellers kicking up in mah town.”
“Yessuh.”
A long pause sat between ’em. Goose was still dazed, like he was wrapped in cotton balls. He couldn’t remember how long it’d been since the cops came for him. He wouldn’ta been surprised to learn that was an hour ago or last month.
“So what happened?” Sheriff Torkelson asked.
Goose shrugged. “J’st lost it, suh,” he said.
“Lost what?”
Goose shrugged again. “Dunno. But it’s gone.”
“You gotsta get a grip, son. War’s over. Act like it,” Torkelson said. His mustache showed off a frown. “Don’t nobody got no sympathy for a stuck man. Move yaself on, or I’ll move ya.” Sheriff Torkelson wrinkled his nose, which made his mustache wrinkle, which caused his lip to tremble, which resulted in the dimpling of his cheeks.
“Since you a veteran, I’ll give you a chance to prove yaself, to show that you is dedicated to stayin’ outta trouble.” Torkelson stood up. He looked down his nose at Goose, then he dropped his uniform britches just low enough to bare his crotch. He lowered his tight-whites too, and his fattyfoo popped Goose on the forehead.
With a roll of his eyes, Goose opened his mouth. He considered saying no, telling the sheriff to send him to prison, but Goose ain’t wanna miss out on Buck. If he was in prison, he wouldn’t even get a visit with Buck, and he wouldn’t be able to send no money to Miss Junebug (that’s who Buck was currently staying with and pretending she was his grammaw).
So he parted his lips, and Sheriff Torkelson pushed his cock in. The flavor of unwashed flesh hit Goose’s tongue. He done tasted much worse. He ain’t pluss about it. He just closed his eyes and pretended he was floating down the lazy Monongahela, going with the flow, accepting the currents and rapids for what they is. Can’t blame a dick for stiffing, can’t blame a river for flowing, can’t blame a feller for doing what is to be done.
Ain’t so bad. Goose focused on not gagging. Steve and Sam and all the rest was exaggerating when they went gaggy-waggy. Or maybe Goose’s pecker tasted worse than others. Maybe bigger dicks tasted worse than littler ones.
“Hmmmmmmm…” Torkelson murmured. His balls swayed afronta Goose’s chin. Goose’s lips stretched around the shaft until he could swallow the whole thing.
It firmed up slowly against Goose’s tongue. Torkelson pumped his hips, humping the wetness of Goose’s mouth. Goose’s muscles tensed and quivered, as it took all of his concentration to not gag. It weren’t hard. Or maybe it was, it seemed like it’d be easy if he could quit off thinking about it. Like maybe if he was watching TV, then it’d be fine.
Torkelson’s whole cock fit in Goose’s mouth, and his nose got a deep sniff of Torkelson’s coppery pubes. His face was nuzzled deep in that crotch hair, which mighta been longer than his dick. The hairs was scratchy and woolish.
“You might wanna take a job on an oil rig,” Torkelson said, his voice rumbling and wavering, like he was stone-facing, though Goose could see only them short and curlies. His pecker pulsated against Goose’s tongue. “Get yaself outta town, make a few bucks. Can’t get in trouble if you is tired from work. You unduhstand me?”
Goose nodded with the cock in his mouth, and the motion triggered a gag he couldn’t swallow down. A mouthload of saliva and precum plopped into Goose’s lap. That liketa trigger another gag, maybe even a retch, but Goose worked out that one. He choked it back.
“Cuz this is ya second chance, son-” Torkelson grunted, and his voice broke. He put his hands on Goose’s head, leaning onto him and pumping his hips back and forth. He was treating Goose’s throat like a pussy now, and his droopy ballsack slapped over and over on Goose’s chin. “You won’t get a third one.”
Cum spurted into Goose’s mouth. It was goopy and cottony, intensely salty, and Goose couldn’t help but retch now. Sheriff Torkelson let out a hair-raising moan, and his sweaty balls crawled up in his sac. Fat bursts of jizz overflowed from Goose’s mouth and splattered all over his face.
“Swallow it, son,” Sheriff Torkelson said, his dick throbbing in Goose’s mouth like a second heart. A few more drops dribbled into Goose’s mouth. “Don’t let it spill,” he said as he slowly withdrew his cock, which dribbled a couple final drops of nut onto Goose’s chin.
Goose hadta fight against his urge to gag or spit or let it plop outta his mouth. That was tough. That was worth a gag. Goose couldn’t resist anyway, so he let himself gag as he struggled to swallow. Jizz slid like snot down his throat, and it sat hotly in his belly.
“Ewwcckkk…” He did spit up some. It even came out his nostrils when he couldn’t keep it down. It wetted his shirt to his chest. He recomposed hisself, then let out one more gag.
“Hmm-hmm…” Sheriff Torkelson murmured as though he was expecting yet disappointed by Goose’s gagging.
Goose looked up and quieted his throat. “Yessuh,” he said, clutching his belly to keep from spitting up all that jizz he just swallowed.
“Get outta here, son,” Sheriff Torkelson said once his dick was tucked away. “And don’t lemme catch you raisin’ a ruckus again in mah town.”