Owned In Prison! By Throne (77 Pages) (Patreon)

Owned In Prison!

By Throne

© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to ​[email protected] 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***

All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real.  The acts in the following written work are only consensual  sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.

Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities. 

OWNED IN PRISON!

by Throne  (aka HARD TIME) 

"I really don't think you should," Alanna told her husband.

"Are you crazy?" Charles shot back at her.  "If I blow the whistle on this, I'll be reaping the rewards for years."

"Maybe you should talk to your boss first."

"That dumb..."  He shook his head.  "I don't see why."

"Well, he would know the right way to go about it.  Contacting the authorities and everything.  And I'm sure he'd see to it that you got everything you deserve for what you're doing."

"I suppose," he agreed reluctantly.  "I just can't believe that those mobsters have been using the company to funnel money all over the place.  Or that Mr. Lord didn't figure out what was going on.  Or which employee is doing it.  Thank goodness I caught on."

"Okay.  But don't do anything until you talk to him.  You could do it first thing tomorrow."

"Sure.  Okay.  I just hope he's smart enough to realize how much potential trouble I'm saving him."

"I'm sure he'll understand exactly what you want to do and take all the necessary measures."

"Right.  I'm going to fix myself a drink.  After that I'll be in the den, catching up on sports scores." 

Alanna watched him leave the room, her short small-framed husband.  She stood there letting the tension drain out of her curvaceous form.  She had on a tight sleeveless dress that showed off her big bust and otherwise trim figure.  Charles' wife shook back her long blond hair, went into the bathroom, and opened her phone.

The next day at work, late in the afternoon, Charles was preparing to talk to Mr. Lord.  The bigshot hadn't been willing to make time earlier.  He kept his employee waiting until the end of the day.  When Charles entered the executive's office he gave the towering Black man a puzzled look.  Who were those two men in dark suits, standing to either side of his desk?  They looked like police detectives but why would they be here, when Charles hadn't yet revealed what he knew?

One of the serious looking pair spoke Charles' full name in an interrogatory tone.  The office worker said that was who he was but then, when he tried to ask them a question, they closed in on him.  Suddenly he was being told he was under arrest for a series of white collar crimes.  Cuffs were snapped onto his slim wrists.  Before he could recover from that shock they marched him to his office, in front of everyone, and took him inside.  When they checked his desk there was a clear plastic bag full of white powder.  That hadn't been there ten minutes ago.  One of the detectives examined the contents and said it was cocaine. 

With his head spinning, Charles was led out of the building and put in the back of an unmarked police car.  He was taken to the station and put into a holding cell.  An hour later there was talk about drug residue found in his home.  Alanna showed up, her face a mask of anger. 

"I feel so betrayed, Charles.  To find out that you've been running mob money through the company, while Mr. Lord was treating you so well.  And then the drugs.  Not only at work but in our home.  Right now I don't even want to talk to you."

"But... but..."

Just then Mr. Lord entered the room.  He put a comforting arm around Alanna's shoulders.  "I'm so sorry for you, dear," he said tenderly.  "But remember that you can count on me for whatever you need while you're going through this nightmare your husband created.  I hope they don't offer him bail.  If they do, I advise you not to pay it."

"Wait," Charles said.  "What are you talking about?  Mr. Lord, someone must be setting me up."

"Don't try to lie your way out of this.  I've been helping some federal agents check your files and you're in a lot of trouble.  The way the accounts were done, we can't prove that the mob was involved, but it's definite that you were breaking one financial law after another.  And with the drugs involved, whatever judge you face will NOT be lenient.  Plus, you won't qualify for some country club facility.  No, Charles, you'll be going to The Island."

That prison was notorious for being almost run by the inmates.  It was a hellhole.  They couldn't send him there.   He wouldn't be able to take it.  Alanna put a hand over her face and Darren Lord gathered her into his long arms.  He held her close while her body shook.  At least Charles had the consolation that, despite her anger, she could still cry for him.  But as Darren led her out the door she looked back, wearing an inscrutable expression. 

All too soon, with the preponderance of evidence against him, Charles found himself heading for prison.  As he was let out of the police van, his hands again cuffed, he looked up at the grim grey walls.  The cuffs were removed and a hulking guard hustled him through a metal door and into a small room.

"Let's go," said the guard.  "Strip."

"In front of you?"  He pointed to a convict, a wizened old Black man, standing nearby.  "And him?"

"Davis is a trusty.  Helps me with these things."

"But I can't..."

"You can strip right now or I'll send you to the showers.  Do you know what happens to little guys like you in there?"

"You don't mean...?"

"Yeah, I do.  So are you going to strip?"

Charles hurriedly unbuttoned the top of his shirt and kept going.  After he got it off, the shoes and pants followed.  Socks.  For a long moment he stood there in just his jockey shorts, aware of how plain they made it that he had an undersized penis.  The guard's stare didn't waver.  The trusty stood by looking entertained.   With a sigh Charles removed his final piece of clothing.  As the trusty moved in he tensed, but was too afraid of the guard to resist.  Those aged Black hands patted him down, even though he was nude.  Then the man donned a rubber glove and made a performance of putting lube on one finger, and then a second, and finally a third.  He gestured for Charles to bend over.  With a shudder, the new convict put his hands on the edge of a table that was bolted to the floor.  The internal exam took longer than he thought it should and was terribly uncomfortable, both physically and psychologically. 

At last he was handed a convict's shirt and pants.  But when he put them on the shirt had no sleeves and was cut to leave his midsection bare.  The trusty stepped up and tied the shirttails together in a bow in the front, just below his breastbone.  The pants were tight and way too short.  The bottoms of his buttocks were left bare and the rear seam pulled up between them, separating and accentuating his bottom halves.  None of what he had on matched what the trusty was wearing.  The shoes they gave him were more like bedroom slippers. 

He finally said to the guard, "This can't be right.  Why do I have to wear this fag outfit?"

The uniformed man shrugged his broad shoulders.  "I guess it came from one of our cellblock queens who got paroled.  Luck of the draw."

"But I can't..."

The big guard stepped very close and sneered down at him.  "You can do whatever we tell you to do, Fresh Meat.  That's what you got and that's what you'll wear."

Charles stood there, too frightened to move.  He nodded dumbly.  When he found his voice he said, very meekly, "Yes, Sir."

"That's better.  I suggest you talk very softly like that if you don't want any of the guards to think you're challenging them.  And even more with your fellow inmates.  Understood?"

Keeping his words barely above a whisper, he repeated, "Yes, Sir."

"Good.  Now let's see who your cellmate is."  He consulted his computer screen.  "That's not too bad.  You got old Shifty Fairfield.  Strictly a conman.  No record of violence.  Easygoing and well behaved.  At least you won't have some big ape pawing you for half of every night."

"Thank you."  It bothered him to have to sound so unmanly but self-preservation was his first concern. 

"Davis will show you to your new home."

The older Black man took Charles' wrist and led him out of the room.  The new arrival didn't like being touched by a person of color.  He'd always been uneasy around them.  But he tried to focus on the good fortune of getting an unthreatening cellmate.  They got to a guard station where a man at a desk checked the paperwork Davis was carrying.  When it was compared to what was on the computer screen the guard frowned. 

"Looks like there's been a change.  Fairfield is getting somebody else put in with him.  It's a guy who's being moved, and you'll go where he just left.  So that puts you with -- oh shit -- with Marcus."

The trusty's eyes went wide.  "They're tossing this white boy in with Marcus?  Holy crap."

"Wait," Charles said, forgetting to keep his voice down.  Then he remembered the warning and softened is tone.  "I mean, are you sure that's where I'm supposed to go?"

"Right.  Some kind of last minute order came down from up high.  In fact, here comes Marcus' old cellmate now, to get his transfer finalized."

The man was led in by a short muscular guard.  He was around Charles' age and had a similarly small build.  He was also wearing a modified version of the standard prison garb.  His top was simply cut off straight, just above is navel, and the pants were almost as brief and tight as what Charles had been given.  There was no hair on any of his exposed skin and his shortish hair had been put into tight curls with something used to keep it that way.  He even had eyeliner and lip gloss on. 

"Please," said the feminized man.  "Don't put me back in there with Marcus."  His voice was modulated to the far end of the girly speech spectrum. 

"Don't worry," the guard told him.  "This guy is taking your place, Kitten."

The little man looked at Charles with pity but then his expression turned to relief.  He muttered something about escaping from Hell and then was told to sit down.  The guard who had brought him pushed Charles toward the barred exit door, which slid aside so they could leave.  It clanged shut with a sound of finality.  As Charles was walked past rows of cells there were catcalls and jeers from the watching cons.

"Hey, sweetie.  Want a date?"

"Those hands look real soft."

"You got a pretty mouth."

"Wag that ass, sugar buns."

Some of the suggestive remarks came from Black men, which made them twice as unsettling.  The guard laughed and told one of them, "If you want this one, you'll have to go through Marcus."

"Damn.  Is that fish replacing Kitten?"

"Right.  He's Marcus' new punk."

That provoked comments from one cell to another, all of them remarking on Charles' misfortune.  The half-naked prisoner shuddered as he contemplated what his fate might be.  All too soon they stopped at an empty cell, into which he was ushered.  The door slammed behind him.  He was alone but there were many pictures on the wall of sexy women, all of them white, and a few of famous Black athletes.  Charles spotted one of a notorious football player with his blond girlfriend and had a mental flashback to seeing Alanna with Darren Lord.  He went and sat disconsolately on the bottom bunk with his head in his hands. 

Minutes later he was shaken from his inner thoughts by a loud voice.  "Well look at that.  I lost my Kitten but got a pussy in her place." 

It was a huge Black man, well over six feet tall, with a rock solid physique.  His muscles must have been given daily workouts with prison yard weights.  The cell was opened and he stepped inside, his attitude showing that he considered himself the Lord and Master of that limited space.   Charles slid off the bunk and stood up shakily.  Marcus moved in to give him a critical eyeing.  He put his big paw of hand on the smaller man's shoulder.

"I see they got you dressed pretty for me.  You in the special program?"

"No, Sir," he answered tremulously.  "At least I don't think so."

"Then you got to sign up for it."

"What program should I ask for?" he said in his unmanly new way. 

"It's the sissy one.  For guys who think they're girls and want to look that way.  So somebody thought up this deal where they get make-up and shit."

"Oh, but I'm not like that.  So I shouldn't..."

"You shouldn't give backtalk," Marcus snapped and brandished his heavy fist in front of Charles' face.  "Not unless you want to wear bandages instead of lipstick."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't understand.  If that's what you want, I'll definitely talk to someone about it."

"Damn straight you will."  His demeanor relaxed.  "Hey, snowflake.  You got to understand how things work in here."  He pushed Charles backward so that he sat again on the bunk.  Marcus put himself next to him, so close that their hips touched.  The dark man's long arm went around his new cellmate's shoulders.  "If we gone be bunk buddies, we got to get along.  And I'm going to be like your protector.  Know what I mean?"

"Yes.  I think."

"Let me explain, princess."  He gave Charles' shoulder a hard squeeze.  "I'm going to look after you.  Like I'm your Daddy.  Or Uncle.  See?  I put out the word that nobody ain't supposed to mess with you.  So when you go to the showers and that sweet pink ass of yours is all bare, ain't nobody going to grab it and bend you over.  Know what I'm saying?"

"You're talking about... non-consensual sex?"

"What the freak?  Talk normal, boy."

"I meant, you're talking about... making me a Prison Bitch?"

"That's what it's called.  Getting some stud's Johnson up your poop chute.  Or down your throat.  These brothers can have you sucking cock like a street corner ho in no time.  That's why you need me to be your, like, Uncle Marcus.  Let me hear you call me Uncle."

"Yes, Uncle Marcus."  He risked lowering his voice slightly. 

"Heh.  Who's your Uncle?"

"You are."

"Good.  But don't sound so butch.  Let me hear it again, but like my little white angel."

"You're my Uncle, Marcus.  You'll take care of me and protect me.  You'll make sure I don't get my... um... ass taken.  And don't have to... err... suck any cocks."

"Something like that.  We get into the details later.  Right now we got to talk about how you got to thank me for being so good to you."

"Th... thank you?"  Charles sounded entirely girly. 

"Right again.  Now let's get a look at what's under that slutty get-up you wearing."

"But I can't... I mean, the guards..."

"The guards, they my friends.  I help them keep stuff running pretty smooth and they look the other way when I need some what-they-call private time."  His face turned hard.  "So let's see what you got, Pinkie."

Charles shuddered.  Almost the last thing he wanted was to be naked in front of this thug.  But being thrown to the rest of the inmates would be so much worse than anything Marcus alone might to do him, he concluded.  So he untied the shirt's tails and then unbuttoned it.  Off it came.  To get out of those tight shorts he had to wriggle them over his soft rump and thighs, giving an unintended performance.   Marcus ogled him with undisguised lust.  Once he was naked and had been made to turn slowly around, the Black giant patted his muscular thighs and beckoned Charles to sit on them.  As the nude man put himself on that broad lap, a guard strolled by.  He glanced sideways at the scene, chuckled to himself, but then kept going.  Marcus really did have clout in here.

"See now?  That wasn't so hard, Short Stuff."  He ran his hand over Charles' bare thigh, making him shiver.  "Course, once you get in the pansy program, they gone offer you some hair remover stuff.  Rub it on, wait five minutes, and shower.  You ain't got much growing on you anyways, but it all got to go."

"Whatever you want, Uncle," he responded, anxious that the wrong words might upset him and unleash his wrath. 

"We learning to get along.  That good."  He brazenly put his hand over Charles' genitals and held them firmly.  "You sure ain't got much down here, now do you?"

"We'll, I'm about average," he claimed, his words sounding so odd in that high wispy voice.

"Average like fuck.  You small down there.  Say it for me, about how you got a tiny dick and balls."

"I have a very small... penis.  And testicles."

"Try that again."  There was another tightening of those powerful fingers.  It made Charles grunt.

In the most girly way he could manage, Charles said, "I have a tiny dick and itty bitty balls.  I'm smaller than most guys."  Without thinking he added, "Back in school I got laughed at in the locker room."

"I'll bet you did.  Called you Finger Dick and names like that.  Right?"

"Yes.  I was..."  His cheeks grew warm and he knew he was blushing.  "... Ladyfinger." 

"HAW!  Jest like them cookies.  That's a good one.  Now wiggle that booty around some."

"What?"

"Move your ass, sucker, unless you want to get it spanked hard.  Do like you're giving me a lap dance."

Charles did his best, squirming his bottom and jerking his narrow hips.  He understood why Marcus wanted that as he felt the man's prick grow beneath him.  And grow.  And grow.  It couldn't be that big yet there was no other explanation.

"Now you hop off there and get to where you can get a close-up look at my business.  Like on your knees."

The undressed man did as he was told.  He didn't hesitate.  Disturbing as all this was, at least he hadn't been hit.  Marcus reached into his pants and worked free his member.  It was long and thick.  The Black man shamelessly gave himself a few strokes and got it fully erect.  Charles nearly went cross-eyed from his up-close look at that more than a foot of cock, with impressive girth, wrapped around by thick veins, and sporting a fat knob.  The imposing man's balls were of a size to match. 

"Go on now," Marcus lightly coaxed.  "Touch it, snowdrop.  Get both your hands on my rod."

Wishing he could avoid this horrible indignity, that there were some way to turn back the clock and not have any of his troubles occur, Charles nevertheless reached out and got all his fingers on that warm tower of power.    His grip couldn't extend all the way around its thickness.  He stayed perfectly still, not wanting to encourage Marcus sexually in any way.

But his cellmate insisted, "Go ahead.   Feel it all over.  Get to know my tool.  Check how heavy them balls are.  Lean in and take a whiff of my, you know, my stank."

Charles did it all.  His skin was crawling with revulsion.  This was beyond scary.  Past unnerving.  If only there was some way to flee.   Despite all that, his hands moved tentatively up and down the stalk, lingered on the head, and obediently cupper the scrotum. 

"The thing is," Marcus said as if sharing a confidence, "I think down inside you already a sissy.   Wanting Black cock.  Just needed to get in there and touch one to get you to where you tell yourself that, yeah, you been looking for this a long time."

"No."  It was too much.  Charles forgot his need to not dispute anything Marcus said.  "I'm not that way.  Never."

Staying calm, Marcus went on, "You been telling yourself that, but I see the way you looking at my Johnson.  The eye don't lie.  I know that face, like you ready to drool, you want it so bad."

The kneeling man played his ace card.  "I'm married.  I have a beautiful wife."

"With that midget dick?  She must love your bank account and all them charge cards.  That girl like to spend your money?"

"Well, yes but..."

"And buy herself all kinds of pretty stuff to wear, that maybe she don't wear so much when she with you?"

"I guess.  Some of her clothes.  But that doesn't mean..."

"And she don't make a lot of noise in bed.  Don't kick her feet up and the air and holler when you inside her."

"No.  Our sex life is very pleasant and... and..."  Charles was suddenly questioning his sexual prowess.

"And she always be trying to get you to do the deed?  She all the time want it?"

"Not really.  Her libido... her sex drive... isn't that strong."

"And she never dated no guys before you?  Don't have nothing to compare your baby dick to?"

"Of course she did.  Alanna is a very attractive woman.  But that doesn't mean she contrasts me with however many men... a lot I guess... she had before me."

"And even if she did, you'd come out on top, cause you keep going for like an hour."

"I don't.  I mean, intercourse doesn't have to go on and on.  A woman can be satisfied if sex is just... if a man..."   His words lacked conviction and then trailed off. 

"You been lying to you-self, boy.  That women didn't never get no proper loving from you.  Short dick and no staying power.  Ain't no woman wants that.  And if you be honest to you-self, you gone admit all that."

"Well... some of it... maybe."

"So if you wrong about that, probable you wrong about the sissy stuff."

"I don't think it's the same because..."

"You don't think?  I think now you hugging my piece with both hands even though I didn't tell you to be giving it so much attention.  I just said feel it and you still tightening and loosening them slim girl fingers to keep me hard.  Why you want me all stiff like that?  Why you trying to get me to where I got to have some of what I got to have."

"I didn't know I was..."  Charles looked sick.  Marcus couldn't be right about him having those secret desires. 

The naturally dominant man laughed.  He gently loosened Charles' grip on his penis and moved his hands aside.  Marcus put his cock back into his pants and stood up.  He told Charles to get dressed.

"What your name anyway?"

"Ch... Charles, Uncle."

"Well, Uncle Marcus don't want to call you that.  Instead I be calling you... Charlie?  No.  How about... Chicken?  Or just Chick.  Yeah.  I know you like that."

"Yes, Sir, Uncle."

"Good.  Now they gone call us for lunch real soon.  I want-a show you off to the brothers and the rest of the boys.  I own you now.  And we get you all signed up for that sissy program thing.  That help you admit how you always been a sissy inside.  And not no good in bed with your hot wife.  And thinking about Black cock even when you didn't know you were thinking about it."

"Yes, Sir."

"That's what I want to hear.  No sass.  Just your sweet girly way of talking and that look in you eyes that says you thinking about Uncle's supersize sausage.  Truth?"

Charles answered unhappily.  "Truth, Sir."  

He didn't believe all of that, or at least not most of it.  But Marcus had driven a wedge into his certainly and would work to enlarge the breach.  He could have just taken Charles right away.  But the Black powerhouse had already given Kitten a going-away present, which consisted of one load of cum down his accommodating throat and another up his wide-stretched ass.  Marcus enjoyed playing with a fresh victim like Charles, breaking him down in stages, watching him fight back and then surrender to the inevitable.  On the other hand, Marcus was perpetually horny and couldn't go too long without release.  He could allow Charles to hope for a short while longer before he turned him.  Once he busted a nut in the white guy, a process would be started that he would carry to it's unavoidable conclusion.  When Kitten had arrived he was a regular man, with no thoughts of touching or being touched by another male, let alone becoming a total sex slave to one, and being loaned out to others.  Now, however, Kitten was a complete submissive, thinking only of how to please Alpha males.  He had been broken in ways that could never be repaired.  Kitten would soon be disappointed with his new, undemanding cellmate.  Very soon the sissy would be helplessly seeking guys to submit to and cocks to penetrate him top and bottom.   Charles -- Chick -- was next.

Before they left for the mess hall, Marcus gave Charles quick instructions on assuming a feminine gait and mannerisms.  There was a brief practice session and then it was time.  Charles swung his hips and kept his wrists limp.  He hated what he was wearing and how his movements and that outfit made most of them men stare at him.  They sat at a table where Charles was the only white guy.  Marcus knew all the others and chatted casually with them.  He didn't announce the presence of his new cellmate but waited for someone to inquire. 

"Yo, Marcus, my man.  Who's your new friend?"

"This be Chick.  She learning how to be friendly to her Uncle.  We just taking it slow cause she still thinking she ain't a fag."

"Miss Lilywhite got to have her head straightened out."

"Oh, she gone get UN-straight.  Girl still don't understand how much she want the Black Anaconda."

The nearest men laughed.  Marcus gave Charles' bare thigh an intimate squeeze.  To the white man's shock, it made his penis tingle.  He was convinced he didn't honestly crave that sort of attention or anything to which it might lead, but he also feared that Marcus' words, like Iago's, had the power to persuade unnaturally.  The Black man took half of his prey's food without Charles daring to object.  When they got up, Marcus openly fondled his rump, digging his blunt fingertips into the exposed nether parts of his cheeks.  Charles pressed back against the offending hand, instead of pulling away.  Why did he do that?  And how come his dick was tingling again and his scrotum tightening?  On the way back to their cell they were allowed to detour so that Charles could sign up for the Gender Fluid Program with Marcus looking over his shoulder as he did it.  They were told the new member would have a trusty as his guide, someone called Sugar.  That name didn't sound promising, but then neither did Chick. 

Back in lock-up, they talked some more, with Marcus reinforcing his ideas about Charles being a sissy by nature.  Though the Black man wasn't educated, he had plenty of practical understanding.   Part of that was an innate ability to read someone, detect their weaknesses, and take advantage of those to devastating effect.  He knew Charles wasn't a born sissy but could be transformed with the application of the correct pressure in the right amounts, along with some physical persuasion.   To Marcus this was a satisfying game, even though he was already confident of its outcome.  There were times when he wished he could take even longer, but the demands of his randy cock could not be denied.

Charles was having his last day before the big change would begin. 

At lights-out time, Marcus got into the lower bunk.  When Charles breathed a sigh of relief and tried to take the higher sleeping space, the Black man quietly corrected him.

"You sleeping with me.  It help you to sort out your confused mind.  Let you figure what it is you insides want."  Marcus slid toward the back of the narrow space and held up the side of the blanket covering him.  "Get on in here with your pretty butt up against my parts, Snowy White."

Charles did it, snuggling back against the much larger and stronger man.  Marcus' arm went over him and held him in place.  The Black convict's cock was pressed against his cellmate's bottom, with only two thin layers of material between them.  Charles whimpered.  Marcus made a soothing sound.  His fingers stole up under the abbreviated top to find Charles' nipples, one at a time, and lightly play with them.  The white captive moaned and experienced that increasingly familiar and very pleasant sensation between his legs.  He involuntarily wriggled his hips.

"You sending me a signal, Chick?  Telling how you maybe starting to figure you want it, honest and true?  Hmmm?  No need to answer now.  We got lots of time for you to come around.  Years of time.  Ain't that right?"

In a choked whisper, Charles answered, "Yes, Uncle.  Years."  Unless by some miracle he was freed from this unthinkably terrible place.

After breakfast the next morning, Charles had to meet with Sugar, in a private room where, to his disappointment, Marcus was also present.  Sugar was a slender Black guy in his early twenties, with high cheekbones and very full lips.  He wore his hair natural and only about two inches long.  There was light green shadow on his eyelids and pale yellow lipstick on his mouth.  He had a customized prison uniform, but his shirt had been turned into a vest and his shorts were as brief as Charles' but also cut up the sides and then held together with crisscrossed leather laces passed through eyelets, revealing more skin.  He spoke with a pronounced lisp and affected overly feminine movements and gestures, the most queenly of prison queens. 

His greeting to the involuntary new sign-up was, "Welcome to Paradise, sister-girl."

Sugar gave Marcus a plastic bottle of depilatory for Charles to use in the communal showers, to remove all his body hair.  Then she sat her new charge down and went to work with cosmetics.  While applying eye-liner and blush and brush-on lip color, he complimented Charles' smooth unblemished skin and assured him that he would be regularly supplied with more sissy-styled outfits.  And he told him how lucky he was to have a 'stallion' like Marcus as his 'Uncle'.  Plus he lightly touched him in a lot of places where make-up wasn't being used. 

"Now get up from that chair, Miss Chick, and look at yourself in the mirror there.  Sorry it's metal instead of glass, but we got to be careful."   Cupping his hand alongside his mouth, as if relaying a secret, Sugar loudly whispered, "We got a lot of bad types in this place."  He fluttered his eyes at Marcus.  "But not your man.  He the best.  If you be a good girl and do what he say.  Otherwise you in trouble.  And then I try to sneak in and take you place.  Except Marcus, he prefer you white sissies, go figure."  He finished with a raised hand and a snap of his manicured fingers.

Charles went numbly to the mirror.  What he saw was even worse then expected.  His face was made over to appear totally like a girl's and, not only that, but a girl who wanted to seduce any man within sight.  His eyes appeared larger and his mouth fuller.  There was a small fake shadow artfully applied beneath his lower lip to suggest a pout.  He hated it.  Marcus took the pale face between his oversized mitts and held it, then grinned broadly.  He obviously approved.

"Yo, Sugar.  You did good, girl."

"And you know how to pay me back, lover, if you ever get tired of your white bitch."

"Maybe that happen.  Check me back in a couple months."

Sugar laughed and struck a hands-on-hips, petulant pose.  "You come running for Sugar when you want the sweetest."

"We see about that," Marcus said good-naturedly.  He told Charles, "Let's get moving, creampuff.  I want-a flash you around some more."

"Good advertising," Sugar offered, though to Charles that choice of a word was enigmatic. 

After a walk past other cells they were back in their own.  Marcus kept looking at the convict he was sharing it with, a special interest evident in his gaze. 

"You know," the Black man said, "I can feel them signals you sending out."

"Wh... what?  I mean, what, Uncle?"

"How you using sissy tricks to get me checking you harder.  The way you standing and talking."

"You're wrong," Charles said cautiously.  "I think.  It's probably just the way Sugar made me look."

"No, girl.  This is besides that.  You got your sissy-thing going on real strong.  And it's working." 

"Um, Marcus, I think you're mistaken."

The intimidating convict dropped his pants to his ankles and sat on the side of the lower bunk.  "You get over here and prove I ain't right.  If you can do that, maybe I leave you alone."

"You mean...?"

"I mean get over here on your knees."  He snarled the added word, ''Bitch."

"Yes, Sir," Charles said automatically.  He sank down in front of the dark figure and that awesome cock.

"Listen up," Marcus told him.  "Don't mean a thing if you say 'no' while I'm soft.  Get where I'm coming from?"

"I think so."

"Which mean you got to do the trick to my stick.  Make it hard, Vanilla."

"Do I have to?"

The harsh way Marcus glared at him was all the answer Charles needed.  His hands moved with a volition of their own and retook the positions they had occupied last time.  It was like a learned behavior.  His fingers began to tighten and relax, thumbs making miniature circles.  Marcus nodded approvingly.  His tremendous organ began to grow, soon attaining its most impressive dimensions.  Charles goggled at it.  He involuntarily licked his lips.  When he tasted lipstick he realized what he was doing and pulled his tongue back into his mouth.  He became aware of his nipples, as if a low electrical current was running through them.  The same sensation flowed through his penis.  He thought it twitched. 

"Yeah," Marcus decided.  "I can feel it.  Different than before.  You putting some magic in them fingers."

"I don't know what I'm doing that's not the same."

"Like I was saying, you don't know but you do know.  Chick be taking over in your head.  You getting hungry for a mouthful of what you gawking at."

"But I... I..."

"And see what you went and done now.  Right there on the tip.  You made a little raindrop come out.  What you gone do bout that?"

"Do?  Uncle?  Sir?"

"Can't just leave it hanging there, waiting to drip.  Got to make it go away."

"I could get a few sheets of bathroom tissue and..."

"No way, Chick.  Can't break the mood.  Wouldn't be fair to you or me.  Uh, uh.  Got to just stick out that pretty pink tongue and lick it off there.  Get to getting, Hot Lips."

The white con couldn't take his eyes off that glittering man-juice.  There wasn't much of it but taking it into his mouth would signify so many things.  Charles extended is tongue.  A vision of Alanna flashed into his mind.  If she could see him now he would plummet into a pit of shame.   He trembled all over as he brought his head forward and the tip of his tongue met that wetness.  Instantly he tasted its saltiness.  His gag reflex tried to trigger but he was able to control it.  As he drew his tongue back in he closed his eyes.

"Whoa," Marcus said.  "You got to keep watching what you're doing."

"But I'm done."

"You stop paying attention and you don't see that second drop sneaking out.  Now you got to do it again, you got me so heated up."

Charles sniffled.  He stretched his neck to repeat the odious act.  Did he miscalculate or did Marcus shift his hips forward?  Either way, the end of that massive manhood pushed against the tongue, pushing it back slightly. 

"You see what I see, Chick?  Like how you trying to just take in the whole head.  Better get it out of your system, girl.  Otherwise how you gone know if you really wants it?  Go on now.  Fasten them lips around me.  Just the head.  Ain't like you're giving a proper blowjob or nothing.  Only being a tease, the way sissies do some of the time.   But I don't mind.  Have your fun."

Confused by the Black man's slippery reasoning, increasingly unsure of himself, Charles inched forward on his knees until the big knob was in his wide-open mouth but not touching him at all.  Marcus expected more.  Charles closed his lips.  That persistent leaking had to be dealt with too, so he lapped the end of the cock.  His mouth was so full.  And Marcus' manly scent was suddenly overwhelming.  Charles blinked.  Marcus told him to swirl his tongue around the widest part, the corona, and the kneeling husband did it.  He wished, please don't ever let Alanna find out about this onetime happening.  Please.

"Damn, girl.  You got born with a cocksucker mouth.  Ain't no doubt."  He sighed.  "Just give me a little more and then you can tell me it ain't so." 

Charles sucked and swirled.  For some reason he ran the flat of his tongue over the underside of Marcus' cockhead, against the highly receptive frenum.  That made Marcus' powerful thigh muscles tense.  The kneeling convict couldn't believe he was there, looking so girly, with the end of a Black man's cock in his mouth as he serviced it.  At last he risked backing off.

"Please," he said.  "I'm sure I don't want to do this.  There's no way."

"You sure?   Fine.  Just one thing.  Get up on you haunches like a dog begging for a treat."

"Get up on...?"

"Do it."  There was a suggestion of threat from Marcus. 

The shamed convict assumed that position.  He said, "I don't understand.  If I know I don't want any of this why are you...?"

"Hey.  Your words are saying one thing and your lil dick is telling me another."

"What do you..."  As Charles spoke he looked down and what he saw made him gasp.  His dick was rigid and pressing out against the front of those snug shorts, making a very small bump and even a wet spot.  "OMG."

"So don't be telling what's going on in your head when I can see what's happening in your pants." 

"But I'm not gay."

"Tell that to my prick, that you were sucking on like a whore trying hard to make her rent."

"Uncle.  I'm straight."  With that femme voice he didn't sound convincing.

"We can both think about that while you finish what you started."

"There's no way..." was all he said before Marcus' open hand hit him alongside the head.

"Now get that sissy mouth back where it belongs, Your Royal Whiteness." 

Defeated and with the side of his face smarting, Charles sank back into his previous posture, with that blacksnake in front of his face again.  He spread his jaws and, as if he was in a trance, took in the bulging cockhead, sealed his lips behind it, and resumed his oral action.   Marcus gave a crooked smile and let his head fall back.  This was going to be one entertaining sissy, and so much fun to break down to nothing, step by torturous step.  Charles regulated his suction and kept his tongue moving.  He took in another inch of meat and then two, but that was his limit.  He put his hands under Marcus' ball sac -- his soft hands -- to massage the heavy testicles.  The sissy -- which is what he was at that moment -- bobbed his head to add to his new owner's pleasure.  He sensed that Marcus was gradually building toward a climax.  If lapping up a few drop of pre-cum was so damaging, how much more significant would glugging down a full load of semen be?  The Black man groaned.  He clenched and unclenched his firm buttocks.  His back arched.

Under his breath Marcus muttered.  "Gone-a bust my nut.  Gone-a spray your tonsils, White Stuff.  Gone-a..."

And then he was spurting, flooding Charles' mouth, with overflow running into his throat.  The warm ooze choked him but he forced it down.  His eyes watered.  Breath hissed through his nostrils.  He was acutely humiliated.  Even so, his tiny dick was still as solid as could be.  There was spunk puddled on the floor of his mouth and coating his tongue.  He made himself ingest more and kept doing that even as he used his hand to milk out whatever remained in Marcus.  The big man growled his satisfaction and withdrew from Charles' face.

He told his sex slave, "Not bad, Chick... for a start."

The next day, after lunch,  they were summoned to Sugar's workspace again.  This time he had a new outfit for Charles.  The pants had even less covering in the rear.  And the top was more like the upper half of a bikini. 

Marcus told the presiding sissy, "I hope you ain't gonna just let them bra cup things hang there.  Need something to fill them up."

"Got it covered," Sugar assured him.  "Took some goodies from the party supplies that dude, the dumb-ass social worker, left with us."

"Dumb, but be fine to bend over and butt-plug, if I could."

"For you, yeah.  I'd just like to suck his cock.  Show him how right a queen like me can treat him.  Anyway, I got balloons for tits.  Just fill them up with warm water.  Give your girlfriend here whatever size you want, long as they'll fit in that top."

"Fill them up.  I want boobs that are busting out."

"They're colored balloons.  No flesh tone.  Not for Miss Blue Eyes here."

"That's cool.  Make them red or something, so everybody see they fake."

Sugar laughed.  "You like it like that, Chick?"

Charles frowned.  "No.  But whatever Uncle wants is what I should have." 

There was resentment in his voice but also acceptance.  Marcus liked it when they still had some fight in them.  He also liked it when they were all-the-way wrecked and just took whatever you did to them, with that trapped-animal quality in their eyes.  Sugar found two bright orange balloons and filled them with water.  Marcus recalled the time they'd done the same thing to Kitten, but used piss to inflate the faux boobs.  The Black sissy stuffed the bloated bags into Charles' top and adjusted them, again taking a few free feels and enjoying how much it obviously disturbed his subject.  Then he had Charles saunter around in full pansy mode, his balloon bust jiggling like crazy.  The white sissy just wanted to return to the relative sanctuary of their shared cell, but Marcus steered him toward the prison yard.  Once they were out there, the division into racial groups was very evident.  Marcus gravitated toward the Blacks.  He also appeared friendly to a degree with the Latinos and less so with the white men, who tended to be tattooed and surly.  But it appeared that everyone owed Charles' cellmate in some way and displayed at least a modicum of fealty.  Charles found that reassuring.  But then Marcus had him posing and touching himself for the edification of the Black crowd.  There also seemed to be an element of that 'advertising' again. 

Finally they went inside and returned to the cell.  Marcus had hushed conversations with several guards, for who he made Charles' assume more suggestive poses.  Then it was back to the mess hall for dinner.  The daily routine was already getting stultifying and boring for the new arrival.  On the other hand, it was preferable to a more chaotic situation or one in which Charles would find himself in jeopardy.  As lights-out approached, Charles got a nervous stomach.  What, if anything, did Marcus have planned?   The answer came soon enough.  Marcus stripped out of his pants and stood at the foot of the bed with his remarkable cock on display.  Without being told to, Charles went and knelt in front of him.  The Black man silently congratulated himself for the rapid progress he was making. 

Marcus looked down at his plaything and decided, "My balls got all sweaty.   They need a tongue bath."

Charles hugged himself, feeling his fake bust shift under the pressure of his arms.  He slowly let go of himself and got his hands on Marcus' strong thighs.  It gave him a sense of security to please the big man, knowing that he would be protected in return.  He lifted the heavy cock out of the way and got his mouth close to the target.  The distinctive smells of a male body, specifically the genitals, was powerful.  He breathed it in, his chest rising and falling.  Then Charles licked the large scrotum several times, raised it so he could lap the underside, and even planted a few kisses on it.  He just wanted to keep Marcus happy.  That's what he told himself.  He wasn't being turned sexually.  That potent Black cock grew and was soon at full erection.  Charles had one hand on it and began to stroke lightly while still slurping balls.  He used his tongue on the space between Marcus' male parts and the tops of his legs, the crease where sweat and secretions accumulated. 

"Damn, Chick.  Look what you done.  Got me all stiff again.  Now you got to finish what you started.  Get my Johnson in your mouth and empty out my balls." 

Already in position, Charles took the head into his mouth and began working on it, using his lips and tongue while moving his jaw, as if he was chewing gum.  He took in an additional inch and then another, proud of his accomplishment.  At the same time he continued pumping it, careful not to rush anything.  He moaned around the thick intruder.  Worked his head back and forth.  His gag reflex was still there but he was taming it.  Marcus put his hands on the sides of his sissy's head but didn't exert any force. 

"Feels good," he complimented.  "You sure come around quick.  Must-a been waiting a long time to get your first Black cock.  Now you can't get enough."

Those words gave Charles pangs of regret and concern.  He shouldn't be doing this.  And definitely shouldn't be showing such enthusiasm.  Yet he couldn't help it.  His lips slid up and down that thick shaft.  His hand kept stroking it further down.  Marcus tensed, held his breath, and blasted out his copious cream.  Charles had to struggle to get it all down but he did it.  He kept sucking until he was pushed away.  Again he had an unbidden erection. 

"Not bad," Marcus allowed.  "But you got to slow down some.  A sissy like you need a try hard to keep his man smiling."

"Yes, Uncle."

The next day they had time in the communal shower.  Marcus made Charles take the hair remover with him.  In front of twenty inmates he had to rub it all over himself.  Marcus had told him to do it sensually, so to the other men it appeared that he was trying to tempt them.  Then Charles had to stand away from the shower heads for five minutes while the depilatory did its work.  When he stepped back under the spray, all his body hair was washed onto the drain plate.  He stood there looking less masculine than ever.  His small genitals seemed even more immature without any hair near them.  The other convicts admired him. 

Marcus told one of them, a hulking Black brute, "Take a feel if you want, Turk.  See how you like Chick now that she's smooth all over."

The huge man got his big hand on Charles' wet chest and ran it down his front.  He lingered on his pale male parts and, when he released them, there was another shameful erection.  He pawed his ass and made him squirm.  Soon Turk was hard too.  His cock was even larger than Marcus'.  He held it up against Charles'.  Others commented on how small the white guy's penis was. 

"It's like a roll of breath mints."

"Or a baby carrot."

They guffawed and did imitations of his sissy body language. 

"I could get into what he's showing off."

"Yeah, like his ass.  I'd love to get into that."

Marcus stepped in and grabbed Charles' upper arm possessively.  He gave his bottom a hard slap and walked him out of there.  By the time they were dried off and back to their cell, the insatiable Marcus was ready for more sex.  He was also ready to go further.

The Black man opened his shirt.  He told Charles to kiss his chest and six-pack ads, which the weakling did without hesitating.  Then he had to pull down Marcus' pants, which he accomplished with some reluctance.  He was still trying to think of a way out of this situation.  Marcus had a latex glove he had gotten from a trusty in the infirmary.  He tugged it on over his large fingers and called Charles to come to him.

"Here's the deal," Marcus began.  "I'm ready to pop your cherry.  My prick belongs in your ass, girl.  But I ain't gone-a do it unless you ask me for it."  He extended his index finger.  "Lick this and get it good and wet."

With his heart beating unnaturally fast, Charles did as he was told.  Marcus pulled him close and wrenched down the back of the sissy's shorts.  Seconds later the saliva-covered finger was probing at Charles' anus and then got crammed inside.  The white guy howled and reflexively tried to break free.  Marcus worked the digit around inside him.  Charles calmed down and then moaned from the stimulation he was getting.  His moans turned into purrs and he ground his hard little dick against his captor.  Marcus kept his finger moving, varying his pace.  When he nearly stopped, Charles made a sound of disappointment.  As he sped back up, the smaller man mewled with pleasure.

"Now," Marcus said, "you want me to stop?"

"I... it's..."  Charles whimpered in surrender.  "No.  Please don't stop, Uncle.  It feels amazing."

"So I keep going?"

"Yessss."

"I can make you feel even better, Chick.  You want that?"

"Please."  He ground himself back against Marcus' hand. 

"To do that, I got to pull out my finger and stick in my prick.  So if you want me to keep on keeping on, what you get gone-a be a hell of a lot bigger than my finger.  And make you feel a damn lot better.  What's it going to be, Snowflake?"

Charles' hips wouldn't stop moving.  He whimpered.  "Your prick... (gasp) is too... (pant, pant, pant) BIG.  It'll tear me apart."

"Nah.  I got you all loosened up.  And I go easy cause it's your first time.  You relax and it'll be all good.  Just got to say yes.  Let me hear it."

"I can't.  It's too much.  OHHH.  That's feels incredible.  All right.  Yes.  Please, Uncle.  I have to have your prick up my ass."

"Okay.  But only cause you asked for it."

Charles' delirium of need receded just long enough for him to comprehend what he had done.  He wanted to reverse his decision.  But that persuasive finger got him babbling again.  Then Marcus pulled it out, tore off the glove and tossed it aside, and barked at Charles to take off his shorts.  The dazed sissy did it.  Marcus told him to grab the support that held up the top bunk. 

"You look like a dancer hanging onto her stripper pole, Blondie.  Get them hands lower so you ass stick out more.  That's what I'm talking about.  Now hold on tight.  You going on the ride of your life, bitch."

Suddenly he was directly behind the quaking sissy.  Marcus got his cock aligned with the entrance and jammed the head in.  Charles wailed.  Black hands got an unbreakable hold on his hips.  Blunt fingertips dug into soft flesh.  There was natural lube in the entrance.  An added inch was shoved home, and then another.  

Charles pleaded, "I can't take it.  Pull out."

Marcus grew still.  He twitched his hips to transmit positive sensations without another jolt of pain.  Charles relaxed.  Marcus fed in another inch.  The recipient sobbed but then mewled with satisfaction.  The Black man kept going, inch by inch, until he was buried all the way to his balls.  He paused long enough for Charles to catch his breath and then began a well-paced in-out rhythm.  Before long he had his cellmate thrusting back to meet each stroke. 

"It hurts," Charles repeated.  "But it hurts so good."

"Heh.  That means you turned the corner.  Now you a sissy through and through.  Won't never stop wanting this.  Be the kind of girl who can't say no."  Marcus reached around and under.  "That little pink dingus harder than ever.  Telling me you want a helping of Uncle's spunk in your guts."

Charles groaned.  Part of him still didn't want any of this.  But the rest of him, Chick's part of his personality and body, was desperate for it.  He wanted it to stop and she insisted that it go on, harder and faster.  He pushed back against the ramming cock and Marcus' balls touched his own, much smaller ones.  The white guy squealed.  He sweated and held the bedframe while Marcus had his way with him.  All at once the Black stallion doubled his tempo and drove himself beyond control.  He spurted deep into Charles' body.  At the same moment Charles squirted out his thinner, less plentiful ejaculate, his hips angled so that it went all over the floor.  For long seconds their bodies were locked together, until Marcus pulled out his flaccid member.  Charles collapsed to his knees.

Marcus reached up to the top bunk to retrieve something.  He held it in front of Charles' eyes so the well-used man could see that it was a tampon.  There was fresh pressure but a lot less of it as the slim tube was inserted where that ginormous tool had just been.  Charles' sphincter held it in.  Marcus tugged on the string to make sure it was staying there.  Then he called for a guard, a wide-jawed Black one, who laughed at the sight of the exhausted white guy and let Marcus out to go get himself cleaned up.  When Marcus returned Charles was still where he had left him, sniffling.

"Hey," Marcus snapped.  "You made a mess on my floor, whore.  Lick it up." 

"Yes, Sir."  Charles performed the odious task.

"And I owe this guard a payback for letting me visit the showers and wash my Johnson.  How bout he stick his cock through the bars and you give him head?"

It wasn't really a question.  Charles was stunned.  In his small girly voice he said, "I thought I only had to do that for you, Uncle.  That you would protect me from the rest of them.

"You thought wrong, Chick.  I keep everybody from smacking you around and busting you up.  But when I owe somebody or want something from them, you're like my super-credit-card.  Pay for everything with white boy's mouth and maybe his ass."  The guard had already freed his cock and had it where it could be reached.  "Now pay the man."

Charles crawled to the dangling Black cock and, with one shoulder against the bars for support, began to manipulate it with both hands, soon bringing it to fullness.  It was smaller than Marcus' but not by much.  The sissy's balloon boobs wobbled as he fastened his lips around the rigid length.   He lavished attention on the head before taking in as much as he could.  His hands went to the rest of the length and to a pair of heavy balls.  He felt betrayed by Marcus.  Now he knew why his owner -- because that's what he was -- had been showing him off so much.  As he worked on the rampant organ, his negative emotions were somehow turned around because, in the end, though he was doing this against his will, still he felt dependent on Marcus and therefore in his debt.  He had to perform these acts and excel at them to please the man who was becoming the center of his existence.  The guard reached in to grab his head.  He pulled Charles' face so close that the cock he was servicing went partway into his throat, and it didn't choke him.  As the guard pumped his hips the act became less one of Charles giving head and more one of him having his mouth used.  It went on for several more violent minutes and then the guard fired his spunk down the sissy's gullet.  When he released Charles the overtaxed prisoner fell over on his back and lay there, murmuring to himself.   Marcus went to his property and put a bare foot over his mouth.

"Lick it," he said sternly.  "Show me how much you appreciate that I take care of you.  Get your tongue between them toes, girl.  Let me see how a bitch who knows her place does it." 

Marcus kept Charles busy that way for five minutes on each foot, talking to him the entire time, reinforcing the ideas that the sissy was worthless except for how obedient he could be, how well he pleased Marcus or anyone else he was told to, and how much degradation and discomfort he was willing to accept.  Marcus wasn't just playing with his mind; he was reprograming it.

The next afternoon when they went to the prison yard, Marcus led Charles past the weightlifting area and into a shadowed place where they were less visible.  A tall lanky Black man approached them.

Marcus said, "Yo, Deal.  You got something for me?"

"Sure thing."  From under his shirt he produced a plastic baggie with five large, neatly rolled joints in it.

"What you want for that?"

"Ten minutes with your punk and his sweet mouth."

Rubbing his chin, Marcus offered, "Five minutes."

"Come on, man."  Deal passed him the bag.  "That's the good stuff.  Not that shit we sell to the white boys when they visit the hood."

"All right," Marcus allowed.  "But next time you get a big batch, you give me a quantity discount."

"Done," said Deal.  They shared a hand-slap.

Then the slim Black man caught Charles' ear between his thumb and forefinger, gave a twist, and led him further from the  sunlight.  They stopped by a metal door.  There was a barred window in it through which a Black guard watched them with a grin.  Deal forced Charles to his knees, pulled out his still soft Black cock, and slapped it against his face several time.  It started to get hard and Charles reflexively fastened his lips around the end.  It was as long as what Marcus had but not nearly so girthy.  He sucked more in and got it the rest of the way hard.  To his surprise he was able to take it into his throat without choking.  He bobbed his face up and down on it.  That went on as the minutes ticked by.  Then he switched to a faster tempo, slowing on each pullback to pay extra attention to the receptive head.  Finally, when he calculated that the time was almost up, he worked faster again, with one hand on the root delivering short sharp jerks.  His thumb applied added pressure to the underside of the shaft and he suctioned powerfully at the top.  Deal cursed and snapped his hips forward, froze like that, and fired his spunk down Charles' esophagus.  The kneeling figure made sure to milk him dry.  Marcus would want him to do that.  At last Deal pulled out and wiped his cock off on Charles's face.  Then he turned and walked away.

Charles got to his feet.  He returned to Marcus like a dog to its Master.  The Black man let him stand there for a minute.

Finally he said, "Slow day out here.  No more cons for you to suck right now."

"Thank you, Uncle.  May we go back to our cell now?"

"You ain't done yet."

"But you said..."

"No more cons.  You still got to pay that guard --  the one behind the door -- for letting you do your thing right in front of him."

"I..."  He hadn't expected that.  "Okay."

Charles went disconsolately back to where he had been.  The Black guard sneered at him.  There was a hole in the door about the size of the bottom of a quart bottle, with a metal plate behind it.  The plate slid aside and the guard put his cock through it, in glory-hole fashion.  Charles cringed inwardly and moved near, then sank to his knees.  He gingerly took the member, which was impressively large, and tenderly licked the head, starting out slowly and then picking up speed, switching from using his tongue to fitting his lips over it as the length finished getting hard.  Then he combined sucking and pumping to bring the man to the edge three times.  It gave Charles a sense of control to at least be able to direct the energy of the man behind that door.  Charles doubled his efforts and made him pump out his semen in thick gouts that hit the roof of Charles' mouth and sluiced down his throat.  It was disgusting but at the same time rewarding.  He was good at it.  Not until the man's audible breathing slowed back down did the sissy let most of him slide out of his mouth, cleaned behind the head, and gave the knob a final tongue polish.  Only after the flaccid organ was withdrawn through the opening and the plate put back over the hole did he rise and head back to Marcus.

In the days that followed the sissy got used frequently to pay debts, gain favors, or just so someone would owe Marcus afterwards.  The cons and guards only had access to his mouth, but Marcus used his ass at will.  Charles' old identity became buried under mounting layers of Chick's persona.  He had to sleep with his Black Master, usually with the big man's cock against his bare bottom, and the constant threat that Marcus might wake up at any time and want sex.  The more sleep deprived Charles became, the more pliant his mind was, and the easier Marcus found it to implant suggestions in it.  He continually hammered home the idea that Charles had for a long time been a sissy at heart and just needed a push to make him that way completely. 

The same guard who he had sucked off through the bars showed up to talk to Marcus about something special that was planned.  They spoke sotto voce so Charles couldn't hear the details.  But his sissy name, Chick, was mentioned several times and there was some nasty laughter at whatever else as being discussed.  The event was scheduled to take place late at night on Saturday.  That gave Charles three long days to worry about what his role in it might be.  Meanwhile he was still made available to whoever Marcus wanted to let feel his body, pinch or caress him, and inevitably use his mouth.   Some of them preferred to pull out at the last second and blast their loads all over his face. 

The cellblock sissy spent every minute worrying about what would happen on Saturday.  When the time finally arrived the guards went around letting select prisoners out of their cells.  Most of them were Black.  There were a few Latino men and a pair of heavily tattooed white brutes with shaved heads.  Everyone proceeded down a long corridor and into a storage room.  There was a mattress on the floor around which the cons formed a ring.  The guards seemed relaxed, presumably trusting in Marcus.  Then the door opened again and one more guard entered, dragging a desperate looking prisoner.  It was Kitten, who had been Marcus' previous cellmate. 

"Hey, little buddy," Marcus said to him with easygoing familiarity.  "Real good to see you again.  How you been?"

"I've been... okay," he answered nervously. 

"Glad to hear that.  But I been hearing something else.  Like how you been badmouthing me.  That true?  You been dissing your good pal?"

"I... um... was just... you know... talking about when we were together and you... sort of... were awfully rough on me."

"Didn't I protect you, pussy?"

"Well, most of the time.  I mean, I know you had business to do, and letting guys use me was part of that, but..."

Marcus held up a large silencing hand.  Charles stood off to the side, adjusting his balloon boobs and wishing his prison garb hadn't been made so feminine. 

"The thing is," Marcus explained, "once I own you I never stop owning you.  And if you my property, ain't right for you to talk me down.  So now I got to teach you a lesson.  And since I don't know who all you ran your faggot mouth off to, I got to have all these dudes see."

"But... err... Sir," Kitten said weakly.  He reached out imploringly.  "I didn't mean anything..." 

"DAMN!"  Marcus scowled at the much smaller man.  "You raising your hand to me, powder puff?"

Kitten stared at his extended arm, realized that the Black man was intentionally misinterpreting his gesture, and grabbed his own pantlegs.   "N... no, Sir."

"But I saw you do it.  So now you calling me a liar?"

"I didn't... it wasn't... I'm only..."

With impressive speed Marcus stepped forward and slapped Kitten hard across the face, his open palm hitting one side and then the back of the same hand striking the other cheek.  Kitten staggered back, stunned.  Marcus rushed at him, grabbed his unmuscular shoulders, and forced him to his knees.  The Black man dropped his pants, so that his massive cock was directly in front of Kitten's face. 

He yelled at him, "Maybe you better apologize.  Show me how sorry you are."

"Y... y... yes, Marcus.  Whatever you say.  I'm so sorry.  I was stupid."

Charles' cellmate spun around so that his ass was facing Kitten.  He shouted at Charles to come to him.  When Marcus pointed at the floor, Charles instantly got down.  Now that jawbreaker cock was aimed toward the second sissy.  Marcus took his heavy member, which was still hanging, and used it to smack Charles' face several times.

He told his new victim, "You wouldn't never talk no shit about me.  Would you, Chick?"

"No, Uncle.  Never."

"Never badmouth me."

"I swear."

"So get busy and good-mouth me."

Charles took the dark meat in both hands and reverently raised it to his lips.  He stretched his mouth around it and began to suck industriously. 

Marcus turned his head and snarled at Kitten, "What's the matter with you, ass-wipe?  Get your face all up between my butt cheeks and let me feel your tongue."

Kitten gagged but, at the same time, separated Marcus' buttocks with his fingers and buried his nose and chin between them.  When Marcus loudly sighed everyone knew that Kitten was serving his ass, outside and in.  Rather than risk some similar fate -- it would be simple for Marcus to pivot so that the kneeling pair switched jobs -- Charles used every cocksucker move he had learned to keep his owner happy.  The entire time he was mouthing that Black cock he could hear Kitten moaning and whimpering.  Then Marcus grunted once, twice, and blasted his usual heavy load down Charles' throat.  There was so much that the sissy gagged some up and had it running out of the corners of his mouth.  Marcus stepped off to the side, leaving the submissive twosome swaying, looking at each other.

"Go on, you two angel-food pansies.  Give each other a big sloppy sissy kiss, with lots of tongue."

Charles was revulsed, but Kitten could think only of self-preservation.  The ass-server shuffled forward on his knees, grabbed Charles' head with both hands, and mashed his lips against the others'.  Kitten shoved his tongue into Charles' mouth and kept their lips sealed together for long seconds.  Then he backed off just enough that Marcus could see his tongue darting in and out between Charles' lips.  Finally Marcus grabbed Kitten by his hair and dragged him across the room, to the skinheads.

"Okay," Marcus declared.  "I'm giving this piece of trash to you, like we talked about.  I ain't charging you nothing cause that's what he's worth.  But remember the rest of our deal.  You treat him like trash, bang him around, and give him so much cock, especially up the ass, that he won't be able to see straight.  Plus you got to let the Spanish gangs use him."  To Kitten he said, "How long you still in for, pussy?"

"S... six more months, Sir."

Turning his attention back to the white duo, Marcus advised, "By the time this piece of crap gets out of here, I want his head so messed up that he won't be able to see a dude without thinking the man is going to take him.  I'm figuring once he's out, our Kitten will end up on his knees every chance he gets, with meat in his mouth and, if he gets what he wants, more of it up his tailpipe."  He laughed.  "Right?"

The skinheads obviously didn't like dealing with a Black guy, but they were happy enough to get Kitten for free, with no restrictions, and would have absolutely no problems fulfilling Marcus' vicious commands.  They each grabbed one of Kitten's slender arms with viselike grips and half-walked/half-dragged him out of the room.  The Hispanics followed them.  Charles shuddered.

Now Marcus focused on his cellmate.  He said, "I got some real good news for you, Chick.  That wife of yours must have had a change of heart.  And your old boss, I guess he felt sorry for your sad ass.  So they pulled some strings and your sentence been reduced."

"You mean I'm going home?  Soon?"

"Real soon.  In six weeks.  So since you got a lot a time cut off your sentence, I got to see that you get all the sissy action you're going to miss, in a lot less time.  Get out of them clothes.  I want you on the mattress on your hands and knees.  The brothers are going to get free samples of you, Chick.  And I mean all of them."

Charles looked around in a panic.  Black dicks were appearing one after another.  All of them were big.  Some were enormous.  There were ones with fat heads and others with extra girth, plus a few with both attributes.  The skin tones covered a wide spectrum of beige, brown and black.  He swallowed drily but started to strip.  Once he was naked he assumed the position.   The mattress exuded a faint odor of past sexual escapades.  Convicts began to move closer.  One knelt in front of him, his Billy club of a cock already hard.  Another got behind him and rubbed his fat tool against Charles' bare ass to get it stiff.  By reflex the submissive prisoner opened his mouth, to have a cock knob shoved into it.  He began to suck and swirl at once.  From behind he felt rough fingers part his ass cheeks.  The head of a second cock touched his rosebud.  He whimpered around the one in his mouth.  Then some spit went onto the one at his rear entrance and the thick head was crammed inside him.   He groaned around the mouth-filler as inch after inch penetrated him from behind.  Charles was being enthusiastically spit-roasted by two sex-hungry Black cons. 

An unwanted erection sprang up between Charles' legs.  He tried to tell himself that none of this was exciting to him, but it was difficult to deny his body's reaction.  As much as he attempted to assure himself that what he was experiencing was simply a reaction to having his nether erogenous zone stimulated, he couldn't convince his own mind it was true.  Maybe Marcus had been right and this was something he had secretly longed for, without even admitting it to himself, while he was still with Alana.  He tried to think his way out of it but to no avail.  It's not easy to concentrate while you're being two-pronged.  The cock in his ass was so large, stretching him so painfully, it made him want to scream.  But the one in his mouth, and now halfway down his throat, made any sort of outcry impossible.  He could only stay there, in that shameful position, naked, on the unclean mattress, while he was double-donged. 

Marcus encouraged, "Don't hold back, brothers.  Get way down deep in that throat.  Slam that ham hard."

Charles used his best sucking techniques.  He shoved his ass back to meet each stroke.  His mind was overcome by the need to do whatever it took to keep those two Black men content, even as they were ravaging him.  The one in front grunted and let loose the contents of his balls.  The other dug his fingers into Charles' soft hips and shoved himself in to his root while he blasted out his cream. 

Before Marcus' property had any chance to recover even partly, there were two more Black prisoners taking the initial pair's place.  His throat was again invaded, and his sphincter once more forcibly widened.  While he was suffering those painful indignities, he also had to listen to those men and the many waiting for their turns.

"White and tight, this sissy is all right." 

"Sucking me like a high price ho." 

"Look at that ass.  Sweet as a peach."

"With not even any peach fuzz." 

"Smooth and pink all over."

"He sure don't like this.  Check them sad eyes."

"Maybe he do like it.  His baby dick is all hard."

Two more loads were fired into him.  He gagged as his throat tried to reject the fresh helping of semen.  His gullet convulsed and cum ran out his nose.  Charles was crying but at the same time he began shoving back to meet the thrusts of the rearward invading cock.  The men laughed and did knuckle bumps.  Several bottles of contraband wine appeared.  The guards watched everything avidly, making no moves to interfere.  This place was absolutely corrupt.  The air was beginning to stink of sex.  Cum ran down the insides of Charles' thighs.  He took a new cock into his mouth, shorter than the last but thicker.  Someone plunged into him from behind and began pumping like a wild rutting animal.  He groaned around the fat organ that pressed down on his tongue and pushed up against the roof of his mouth.  Worst of all, he wanted to touch his own cock.  What the hell was happening to his mind?  Why was he responding this way to being gang-banged?

After those two were done and had wiped their messy cocks on him, he was flipped onto his back.  A short lean con straddled Charles' chest and got the head of his tool into his mouth.  Another knelt behind him and put the victim's ankles on his broad muscular shoulders before he stuffed his cock into the oozing rump-hole.  Now that Charles was face-up, his stiff penis was much more visible. 

"Look at that midget dick."

"And them mini-balls."

"Like a itty bitty pickle and two olives."

"Bet he never got no bitches on the outside."

"Now that we getting him trained to like having his butt plugged, maybe he won't want no pussy no more."

There was lots of wine swilling and raucous laughter.  Marcus was never far away, directing the scene with a few words here and a gesture or two there.  Despite all the noise, including his own non-stop moans, Charles did pick up a word of what Marcus was saying to one of the guards.  He heard 'wife' and 'boss' and 'release date' and even the phrase 'after he get home', but there was never enough to put it together into anything coherent.  The guy riding the sissy's ass pulled out at the last minute and sprayed his spunk all over Charles' belly.  The one in his mouth backed up enough that, when he spurted, his load all stayed in Charles' mouth, and there was so much that half of it ran over his chin and onto his neck.   

Those two convicts were replaced by a hulking powerhouse and a short wiry one with fire in his eyes.  They flipped a coin to see who got which end.  The big one won his tail and the short guy his mouth.  Too bad for Charles, they both sported huge cocks. 

"Please," Charles said after licking excess semen off his lips.  "Let me catch my breath.  You guys are so big."

"I ain't all that," the short one said.

"I meant..."  The overused prisoner said, his throat raw from being rubbed so hard so often.  "... you're too big... down there."

"Hell, ain't no 'too big' for white sissy boys like you.  A crank like this is what you be living for.  Truth."

"No," Charles croaked.  "I'm not really..."

The bigger Black guy -- much bigger -- snarled, "What he saying?  This white boy dissing us?  He talking shit about me and you?"

"You know, Jefferson" Marcus contributed, "he is kind of down on us brothers.  Men of color.  Boys from the hood."

"Well fuck that," big brawny Jefferson barked.  "Ain't nobody gone do that around me."  To the smaller con he said, "Hey, Willy.  Give me a couple alone with vanilla ice cream here.  I turn him into a vanilla milkshake."  He paused thoughtfully, as if trying to figure if he had said something clever, then grinned and laughed.  "Yeah."

Willy stepped back.  He was dancing around, eager for a turn with the scared white guy.  But he also knew better than to get between Jefferson and whatever he wanted.  He had seen the bull of a man bust heads over who was going to use a bar of soap first or whether someone had broken into a line.  Jefferson clamped his massive hands on Charles' ribcage and lifted him bodily into the air, holding him aloft with ease, with them facing each other.  The huge man's cock was rock hard, the thick knob leaking clear sticky fluid.  Charles' cried out in terror as he was slowly lowered toward that ass-splitting pole.  His panic made him clench his sphincter but Jefferson got everything lined up and jerked his hips at the same time he brought Charles down.  That killer cock punched into the victim's guts, making him scream wildly.

Jefferson said, "You don't... badmouth me... or my friends... never."  He punctuated each phrase by jamming Charles down further onto that brutal pole. 

"Noooo," the impaled prey hollered.  "You're too big.  I can't stand it.  You're tearing me apart."

With a laugh, Jefferson bent his knees slightly, leaned his muscular torso back just a little, and buried himself to the root in Charles' tortured ass.  Then he began raising and lowering the white guy through sheer brute strength, pounding his rear, and slamming his innards.  Next Jefferson held Charles still to fuck him with mighty thrusts of his Black hips, working that attacking cock like a piston in a chamber.  Lubricated by earlier deposits of spunk, Charles' asshole was slippery but still kept trying to close from fear, which made the assault hurt terribly.

"You have to stop," the living sex toy pleaded.  "Your cock is wrecking me.  It's too much.  Too hard.  Too long.  Too thick."  And then he started babbling, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, nose running, holding his face between his hands.

Jefferson growled, "Gone to bust my nut." 

He grunted, gave a half dozen violent thrusts, and blasted his load into Charles bowels.  The suspended figure froze, his fingers bent into claws, head thrown back, and spontaneously came all over Jefferson's deeply ridged six-pack abs.  The Black giant looked down at the runny mess.

"Day-am!" he swore, pulled Charles of his cock, and slammed him down hard onto his feet. "Yo freaking better lick up your white-boy cream and I mean RIGHT NOW."

Charles stood there swaying, blinking, his mouth opening and closing without forming words.  He realized what he was being told to do and what the consequences would likely be if he failed to obey.  He staggered back, repositioned himself, bent forward from the waist, and stuck out his tongue.  As shameful it was, he had lap his own ejaculate off the Black stallion's heavily muscled midsection.  Everyone watched and laughed, though they didn't get loud for fear that Jefferson would think they were laughing at him and go on a berserk rampage.  Charles felt those sweat-sheened muscles against his tongue as he licked. 

"How bout that," Willy commented.  "The snowflake like Black cock so much he lost his cool.  Saying he ain't no faggot but shooting when he got your freaking nightstick up his tailpipe."  His joking tone calmed Jefferson. 

"Yeah," agreed the towering man.  "Say he ain't no fag... but he is."

When Jefferson laughed at the how witty he though he had been, Willy wisely laughed along with him, and added, "You the Man, man.  Help little lily-white get to know his-self better.  Bring out his pansy side.  Takes a real man to fix a sissy boy."

Jefferson shifted his prognathous jaw side to side, nodded, and shoved Charles so hard me went over backwards.  The beaten Caucasian got as far as turning over and rising onto his bent arms before Willy stopped him.

"Don't bother getting up, not-a-faggot.  You perfect right where you be."  He knelt in front of him, his Black cock out and ready to be serviced.  "I seen you sucking pricks already.  You know how to do it good.  Just like some hoe working a dark alley.  Bet you got a regular spot, like right between two dumpsters.  Am I right or am I right?"

His mind in disorder, Charles looked up at him and said in his faint breathy voice, "Yes, Sir.  You are right.  Whatever you say."

The lean Black face leered down at him.  Charles' built-in fear of dark men made his heartbeat accelerate.  Was this horror ever going to end?  Willy's cock-head bumped Charles' lips and his mouth popped open automatically.   From the sidelines Marcus smiled approvingly.  Yeah, this was working real good.  He watched with interest as the white guy went to the limit, licking and sucking and kissing and ball-lapping.  Willy was pleased with the results but still kept up a steady stream of invective and innuendo.

"You ain't nothing but a pansy-ass, boy.  I know you got a secret.  This something you love. Never happier than when you got a cock in you mouth.  A big... long... thick... Black... cock that's ready to shoot.  You hungry to bust my nut and get another mouthful.  Always need more of that protein shake.  HA!  Just give me a knob-job.  Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm saying.  Let the rod out and just keep your lips tight on there, right behind the head.  That's a damn knob-job.  Rub my balls, snow-boy.  Smell that funk.  Taste me.  Now make me cum or I make you sorry.  That's it, sissy.  Suck it good... and..."  He swore vociferously.  "I'm a shoot my shot."

Willy spurted and kept on spurting. It was the biggest load Charles had gotten yet.  He gulped it down but there was more.  It ran out the corners of his mouth and hung from his chin.  When Willy at last stopped, Charles had to struggle to catch up with the backlog.  Then he had to get the final drops with added lip and tongue action.  When Willy pulled out Charles took several deep gasps of air.   There were still a half dozen Black cons waiting to take him wherever they could.  It was like it would never end.

After it was all over he could barely stand.  Marcus supported him, showing uncharacteristic concern.  Charles leaned on the tall Black man, who walked him to the bathroom.  When the white prisoner sat on a toilet, his owner stood in front of him and took out his dark cock. 

"Hey," Marcus said.  "You going to be leaking spunk out your ass for a while.  Want to give me a blowjob, long as you're in position?  You don't have to if you don't want to.  I mean, it was me brought you to this party and made you the guest-of-horror."

"That's right."  Charles gagged up some semen but then swallowed it back down. 

"But it was me kept it under control.  Them animals would of torn you apart, Chick."

"I guess that's true... Uncle."

"So..."

"So you did me a favor... sort of."

"Damn straight I did."

It was like logic was being turned upside down.  Charles somehow felt beholden to Marcus.  He reached out, took the dangling meat, and tugged it to life and then to full hardness.  He pulled on the ringleader's shirt to bring him nearer, and capped the end of his cock with his mouth.  Unseen by Charles, Marcus smiled down on him.  He had the snowflake so he didn't know who-from-what.  All he understood was that Marcus owned him and it was his job to keep his owner happy.  He took in more and more of that enviable organ, even as he was trying to recover from what the man it was attached to it had put him through.  Yet Charles wasn't able to relax until he coaxed Marcus to empty his balls down his throat. 

After that, life settled into a routine.  Charles was always ready and even eager to please the man he called Uncle.  More comfortable wearing his sissy prison garb and balloon boobs.  When Marcus loaned out his mouth or ass or both, Charles just accepted it as an extension of satisfying him.  It was like that Black man was a pimp and his white cellmate was his whore, so controlled and conditioned that he would fight for the right to be used and shared.  The submissive one had internalized every lesson he had been taught. It went on that way for the remainder of Charles' truncated sentence. 

When the last day came, Charles was moved to the cell across from Marcus, where he could still see the man he had spent so long with.  A strange form of separation anxiety took hold of him.  He felt insecure and unprotected.  A new cellmate was brought and shoved into Marcus' space, like a piece of raw meat being thrown to a ravenous tiger.  The victim's name was Lee.  First Marcus slapped him across the face.  Then he used his body to slam him back against the rear wall and pin him there. 

"You nothing but a pussy boy.  Understand?  You do just what I tell you.  Don't give me no backtalk.  And stop looking at me like that.  Why you crying?  Did I say you could cry?  Get out of them prison blues, white-bread."  He backed up and stood there with his fists balled, looking ready to throw a flurry of punches, while Lee trembled and hurried to get out of his clothes, all the while begging for mercy.  Marcus shoved the naked new arrival down onto his knees.  "How long you been sucking cocks, boy?  I asked you how long."

"I... I'm not gay... Sir.  I'm married and I shouldn't be here.  I..."

That was as far as he got before Marcus yanked hard on his hair and smacked his face a half dozen times.  "I asked you how long you been sucking cocks, fairy.  Don't lie or I'll make you cry."

"You... I'm..."  The guy was badly rattled.  At last he saw the way to avoid more brutality.  He choked out, "I've been sucking cocks for a while now, Sir."

"And what kind you like best, Lee?  Big Black ones?"

"Uh, right.  Yeah.  Black cocks are the best. Big ones."

"Then you in luck cause I got just the thing you wanting.  So get it out of my damn pants and get busy.  Show me you real good at it."

Charles saw Lee get his first of many tastes of Marcus' unwashed cock.  He watched as the guy swallowed his first helping of cream.  And as Marcus felt his ass and declared it ready for taking, whenever he felt like it. 

The Black man declared, "I going to keep you stripped for a while, so you knows your place.  And your name ain't Lee no more.  It's Pussy Face, cause I'm going to ball that pretty mouth like a pussy and the rest of your face don't matter."  Like a drill sergeant with a new recruit he screamed, "What is your name?"

"My name is..."  Lee's voice quavered.  "... Pussy Face.  Sir."

Sometimes Marcus liked to use a lightning attack instead of his slower methods, especially when he was trying to impress someone.  His former cellmate was shaken by what he had just seen.

Soon after that they came to take Charles away.   Marcus didn't say goodbye.  An hour later the white prisoner's paperwork was done and he was dressed in the clothes he had worn on the day he arrived.  Outside the gate a car was waiting for him.  The driver was his old boss, Darren Lord.  He drove to Charles' home and walked with him to the door.  Alana opened it and Darren stepped inside like he belonged there.  Charles' wife gave the Black man a warm hug and thanked him for bringing the ex-con home.  When Charles opened his arms to her to be hugged, she turned away, went to the living room and sat on the sofa.  Darren went there too, put himself right next to her, and draped his long arm over her shoulders.  She looked only slightly different than her spouse remembered, with longer hair, more make-up, hoop earrings, and a weight gain of maybe twenty pounds, much of it in her bust.  Charles sat on a chair across from them.

Before he could say anything, Alana spoke.  "There've been some changes.  To agree to release you, the court had several conditions.   All of your assets were put into my name.  I own this house, both cars, and everything else, down to and including the clothes you're wearing.  You're in a special zero-tolerance program and if I make the slightest complaint you head directly to jail, do not pass Go, don't collect 200 dollars."

Mr. Lord said, "You understand, boy?"  His tone was impatient.

Charles said numbly, "Yes.  Yes, Sir."

Alana went on, "And as part of your release agreement you will spend time at a halfway house for recently freed convicts.  How much time will be determined by my input and the judgement of that facility's management.  Right?"

"I... guess so."

"Don't guess," Darren barked.  "Just tell her 'Yes'."

"Yes," Charles answered.  "Whatever I have to do to stay out of The Island."

"Don't forget that," Darren told him firmly.  "I'll be giving you a job, though it'll be more in the janitorial field.  And as your boss, I have the same responsibility as Alana here." he squeezed her shoulder. "To send you back if that's what I decide you need.  Plus I'm part of the management of that halfway house.  Got it?"

"Yes, Mr. Lord."

"And there's been one more change," the Black executive declared.  "But I think maybe Alana wants to tell you that."

"Thank you, Darren."  To Charles' shock she turned her head toward the man next to her, tilted back her head, closed her eyes, and parted her lips invitingly.  The Black man gave her a passionate unrushed kiss.  As if nothing unusual had just happened, she continued, "Because you were away, and after all the reports we received about you... well... getting in touch with your inner gay self, the side you hid from me for so long, even though you know how much I despise that sort of dishonestly, I turned to Darren for comfort.  He was a bulwark of emotional strength for me and, after I saw some of the tapes from the prison's security system, of you seducing men and pleasuring them, my relationship with Darren became physical.  You can live here, Charles, so long as you're on your best behavior and do exactly as you're told, but one slip-up and you're gone."

"Back to The Island," Darren reminded him.  "For a long time."

"Now in the interest of total honesty," Alana said to her shattered husband, "Darren and I have decided you should see us in bed together, so you won't form any illusions about me taking you back."

"But... but..."

"But," Mr. Lord reiterated, "either one of us can send your ass on a return trip to jail with one phone call.  And since you're going to see us naked, we want you undressed too.  Now."

They watched the rattled husband get to his feet and begin disrobing.   He remembered that  his body hair was still gone from the depilatory that Sugar had started giving him early in his prison stay.  He blushed as he got out of his shoes and socks, shirt and pants.  Charles stood there in just his jockey shorts.  He didn't want them to see his pubes denuded of hair but what else could he do?  So he shed his last piece of clothing and stood there naked.  Darren grinned and Alana pointed and laughed.  Then the lovers shared a heated kiss. 

After they stepped apart, Alana said, "I hope you like my new look, loser.  This is the way Darren likes me.  The hair and earrings, my tits bigger."

The Black man told Charles, "Let's go, creampuff.  Into the bedroom."

Creampuff was one of the insulting names Marcus had called Charles.  It was like the husband had awakened from one bad dream only to slip into another.  He followed them and when they began to undress each other, it was so upsetting that he wanted to run away and hide.  So why was his dick getting hard?

"Hey, look at his little pecker," Darren told Alana. "He's all worked up about seeing us screw."

"No," Charles said.  "Please, don't make me stay here while you... you..."

His wife suggested, "While we fuck our brains out?   While Darren makes me feel like a real woman?  While he gives me what you never could?  Maybe we should have left you in there with your Black boyfriend and all the other guys you seduced."

"It wasn't like that."

"Hey," Darren cautioned.  "No backtalk from you, boy."

Seeing the hopelessness of his plight, Charles shut his mouth.  The lovers finished getting bare-assed and shared one more kiss.  The sight of Black hands on a white ass was unnerving.  Alana made her spouse turn down the covers and fluff up the pillows.   Close to tears, he stepped back so they could lie down next to each other.  While Charles tried not react, they got busy.  First there was prolonged foreplay.  Darren's cock was huge.  Then came the main event.  He had incredible staying power.  Alana wrapped her legs around his very fit body and encouraged him with moans and cries and praise, between which she trashed her husband.

"Yes, Darren.  Give me that piledriver cock.  It makes my husband's look like a bite-size cookie.  Your balls are so big and his are barely there.  He's better off sucking Black pricks and getting his tail-end reamed by them.  Look at him over there.  What a weakling.  A total -- OMG!  You're giving my pussy such a stretching. -- a total candy-ass."

"Damn right, girl.   He's never going to feel the inside of a woman with that baby thing again."

"Only with his tongue."

For nearly an hour Charles had to listen to his wife purring, flattering her lover, and hollering through two bed-shaking orgasms.  The third time Marcus put her over the top, the Black stud allowed himself to finish as well.  The cuckold had never lasted more than a few minutes without losing control and squirting.  The pair on the bed came down from their sexual high and lay there looking at each other with deep affection.  It was painful for Charles to see their closeness are be reminded of how much he  had lost. 

Then Darren sat up on the side of the bed, facing the white wimp.  Charles was seized by memories of prison life and how Marcus sometimes sat on the edge of the lower bunk in their cell, with his cock hanging out.  Alana's  spouse licked his lips, groaned, and sank to his hands and knees.  As if drawn my an invisible force he crawled toward the big man.  His wife sensed that something was happening and got up behind Darren, her breasts pressed against his broad back, hands on his solid biceps.  Though the ex-con was struggling to resist, he kept getting closer.  Marcus' cock -- no, Darren's -- Marcus was still back at The Island -- Darren's cock was slick with his semen and the copious fluids produced by Alana's raging lust.  Charles whimpered.  He didn't want to do this.  Not with his bride watching.  But he was too deep under the control of what had happened to him behind bars.  He got the head of Darren's spent cock in his mouth, closed his eyes, and sucked.  The long shaft hardened.  Inner peace spread through Charles.

Alana swore colorfully.  "If I had any doubts about him being a faggot, I sure don't anymore."

Darren deduced, "What Marcus did to your sad-sack husband while he was inside, it rewired the chump's brain.  Now he can't live without tasting dark sausage.  Maybe he'll get past it -- if he doesn't run into a lot of Black dudes who like sissies.  I can tell he doesn't want to do it, but he can't help himself.  And I can tell that he's had a lot of practice.  He's so good at what he does."

"It's easy when you love your job," Alana suggested.  "And check how he's swallowing more and more of you.  I'm married to a deep-throater.  Holy crap, he's got your balls on his chin already.  He's such a fairy.  No wonder Marcus renamed him Chick."

"Yeah," said Darren, his voice thick with lust.   He restated, "So damn good at what he's doing."

Alana kissed her Black bedmate, stroked his chest, and whispered lewd remarks to him, making sure they were loud enough for Charles to hear.  She went on, "Do it, babe.  Shoot your load into his pansy mouth.  I don't care because I'll never be kissing him again.  Give him what he wants so bad."

"Happy to oblige.  Get ready, Chick.  Because here it comes."

Seconds later, Darren growled from behind gritted teeth and released the contents of his balls.  For a powerhouse like him it was easy to ejaculate again so soon.  And the second helping was not diminished.  Charles got more than a mouthful.  He mentally compared that repeat performance to his own attempts, which required plenty of recovery time before he was ready to go again.  As he had always done with his cellmate, he kept sucking and used his fingers to extract every possible drop of the thick salty cream.  When he at last took his mouth away from that enviable organ, Darren leaned back, raised one leg, planted a big foot in the middle of Charles' narrow chest, and pushed him over backwards.  The sissy landed on his hard.

"Holy cannoli!" Alana marveled.  "Can you believe that?  Chick's shrimp-dick is hard.  He got all juiced up from gobbling your cock."

"Wonder if eating pussy will have the same effect?"

"Maybe it will, if the pussy is filled with man-cream.  Like mine is."  She told Charles, "Come and get it while it's fresh, Chick.  I'm guessing a sick geek like you can get off on anybody and anything, at any time, so long as it's freaky."

He slurped the Bull's nut-butter out of his wife's body and gulped it down.  This was even more disgraceful than getting it from the source.  He licked and suctioned.  She gasped and told him to pay some attention to her clitoris, which was noticeably swollen.  He did it until, loudly and with much quivering, she climaxed.  That created more juices, which he also had to lap up and swallow.  Charles was left dizzy, exhausted, on the verge of an attack of weeping, and still stiff.  His tormentors went to get showered.

Darren told him, "I know you're jazzed up from having my business halfway down your throat, but you're not allowed to play with your pickle."

"Right," seconded Alana.  "No pickle playing."  She giggled at how funny that sounded.  "We might have to figure a way to keep you from choking the chicken.  Or in your case, the chicken finger." 

"When he gets where we're taking him," Darren assured her, "they'll have a way of fixing that problem." To the naked cuckold he said, "Now go kneel in the corner, facing the wall."

When they returned, wrapped in towels and looking refreshed, Charles was still where they had left him, with spunk dried on his lips and chin.  Darren and Alana got dressed.  The Black man had clothes in the closet that used to contain Charles' shirts and jackets.  Where the missing garments were now, their owner didn't want to speculate on.  He had a bad feeling he would be getting dressed in the basement... or garage.

They were going to take him to the halfway house or whatever it was, for recently released prisoners.  He was still naked.  Alana got an old, faux-leopard jacket and tossed it at him.  He put it on and waited for the rest of his outfit, but no more was coming.

He objected, "I can't go anywhere like this.  It's a girl's jacket."

"You do look odd in that," his wife conceded.  "So I'll have to make you look more girly, to match what you're wearing."

She snatched a tube of lipstick off her dresser and smeared it over his mouth, doing an intentionally sloppy job.  Then she mussed his full head of blond hair and sprayed it into an approximation of a punkish style.  She even gave him an old unwanted pair of her slippers, pink ones with little bows on them.   Charles recognized them as ones he had bought her as a gift.  They hustled him through the house and breezeway, and into the garage.  He saw his old clothes hanging on an uncovered rack.  There were also several coveralls, presumably for his new job as a maintenance worker, and they were pink.  He went to the back door of his car -- Alana's car, he corrected himself, as he no longer owned anything -- and waited for it to be unlocked.  Instead the trunk was opened and Darren shoved him toward it.  Charles climbed clumsily into the small space, between a dirty blanket and a pair of snow boots whose large size declared that they were Darren's.  The trunk was slammed shut, the engine started, and away they went.  Charles couldn't even see where he was being taken, which heightened his sense of anxious vulnerability. 

After an uncomfortable ride, the trunk was opened.  Charles blinked in the sudden daylight.  They were in a parking lot behind an old brick building in what appeared to be a rundown part of the city.  Standing with Darren and Alana were half a dozen young Black men, in hip-hop clothes and sporting appropriate hairstyles.  They had varying body types and skin shades, but all wore hungry expressions as they leered down at the new arrival. 

A tall stocky character with gold chains around his neck, from one of which hung an oversized dollar sign of the same material, offered his hand.  "Come on, white stuff.  Let's get your ass inside, so we can all get to know each other real good."

Charles accepted the proffered hand and was half-helped, half-yanked from the smelly space.  The other Blacks crowded around him and herded him through a battered metal security door, down a bare corridor, and into a low-ceilinged, paneled room.  There were sofas and chairs, an old refrigerator, a folding table surrounded by mismatched chairs and, ominously for Charles, a bed with a lumpy mattress and bunched up sheet and blankets, plus two pillows, in the corner.

"My name's Skin," said the one who had pulled him from the trunk.  "You get to know the other brothers soon." 

It looked like they were eager to become acquainted with the frightened figure in a woman's flashy jacket.  All of them were undressing him with their eyes.  Having nothing on under that single garment added to his nervousness. 

"When I called ahead," Darren said, using his quietly commanding executive voice, "I asked you to pick up something for your new friend here, who likes to be called Chick.  You got that?"

"Sure thing.  And thanks for that damn fine contribution you made to the program and our clubhouse here.  I mean our rehabilitation facility."  He broke the final two words into their component syllables.  "A brother helping brothers."

"It's cool," Darren told him.  "Long as all you take special good care of Chick... while I'm giving a helping hand to the cellblock queen's wife."

"Hey," said Skin with a knowing smile.  "We happy to reach out to a ex-con like us, even though he different.  But the faggots gone fit right in with us, and we gone to fit right into him."  He reached into his pocket.  "And here's that dingus we picked up from the sex shop, down in the middle of all them titty bars and hooker hotels."

Alana went to Skin and held out her hand, which he promptly filled with whatever he had purchased.  Darren told the cuckold to shed his coat.  Shivering despite the warmth of the place, Charles did as he was told.  The Black hip-hoppers openly ogled him.  They were fascinated by his smooth hairless condition and crowded around to feel his satiny pink skin, while he writhed under their eager explorations.  His penis grew stiff in spite of his desperate desire for it to stay down. It was uncooperatively sending the wrong message to them. 

His wife said, "I can't put this on him while he's hard.  Can somebody do something about his little stiffy?"

"Easy to fix that," Skin announced.

His hand flashed out to slap Charles' dick hard from overhead, then snapped up to backhand his exposed balls.

The white guy wailed but his erection vanished.  Two of the Black roughnecks held him, one on each pale slender arm, while Alana gave him a close look at what she held.  He had seen those on-line.  It was a male chastity device, with a small tube to contain the penis and a sturdy ring that fit behind the balls for it to be locked to.  Once on it would be unremovable without the key.  Whoever held that had total control over his ability to achieve erections and to be able to ejaculate.  Charles could only imagine how chronically sore his testicles would be after only a short confinement in the pink plastic tube, and fear how much worse his pain and discomfort would become as time passed. 

His bride squatted down and fitted the device onto him, being none too gentile while she did it.  Slipping a small padlock through the spaces provided, she rose and gave him a devilish grin.

"I think you should close that lock, Chick," she decided.  "While you tell your new friends how accommodating you're going to be for all of them."

He got his trembling fingers on the lock and, by touch, assured himself it was in position to be shut.  His words were unsteady as he extemporized in his lilting girl voice, "I'm really glad to be here, fellows.  I'm sure we'll get along.  I'll try real hard to be your pal."  He grimaced as he squeezed the lock and a faint click signaled that it was engaged.  He checked Alana for approval but she appeared unsatisfied, so he added, now meeting the eyes of those six thug-types, "And in prison Marcus, who I called Uncle, taught me how to give head to Black cock and how to take even the biggest ones up my ass."

The hungry-eyed Black ex-prisoners smiled wolfishly at him.  Skin said, "Real good that you here.  Darren tell me you going to be staying a week, 24/7, while him and that fine lady takes a vacation.  Then we have to trade you back and forth with them, and with your new job cleaning some local apartment houses the man owns.  You gone be extra happy, meeting the folks what lives there."

Charles had a vision of Black faces sneering maliciously at him, Black hands grabbing with impunity.  And he would be dressed in those awful pink coveralls he had spotted in the garage.  Most likely, he told himself, Darren wouldn't let him wear anything under the single-piece garments.  His life had gone down the drain and a stopper had been put in the plughole so he couldn't retrieve it.  His lipstick-messed mouth turned down in a clownish frown.

One of the other Black guys stepped up.  "Yo, I'm Bumper."  He was tall like Skin, but thin, with lean muscles in his arms shown off by a sleeveless, military-green, undershirt.  The bulge in his tight jeans, however, averred that he was well nourished in at least one place.  "Some other sissy from inside sent you a present.  Bitch named Sugar.  Got her hands on a sewing machine and played some changes on a set of prison blues."  

He gave Charles what he had been holding.  It resembled what the white con had worn while in prison, a standard uniform cut down and tailored into an abbreviated, unmanly version of what it had begun as.  He cringed at the all-too-familiar clothing.  The top was like a bra and the bottom hardly more than a thong, with the zipper-less fly sewn shut.  He had wanted something to wear, but not this.  He pulled the top on over his head and got its empty, capacious cups properly aligned.  Then he stepped into the barely-there bottom half and tugged it up over his hips.  The rear seam went deep between his buttocks, separating but not covering them. 

"Let's see you move in that, bitch," Skin called out to him.

"Shake what you got, All-Right All-White."

He had to mince around and assume enticing poses.  There were hoots and catcalls.

Suggestions were made.  "Jiggle that booty."  "Twerk it."  "Give me a lap dance."  "Strut like a hoe."

It came back around to Skin, who finished with,  "You can be a pole dancer, cause I got a long thick pole for you to dance on."

The last one approached  Charles with something in his hands.  It was a pair of grapefruits.  He handed them over and they were still icy cold from the fridge.  For a suspended moment the sissy just held them, not sure why he had been given those.  Then it came to him that they were to fill the cups of his top.  He crammed them in, creating an obviously fake cleavage.  The chill hurt his nipples but also made them hard and tingly.  The message of sexual frustration raced to his dick but its attempt to engorge was stymied by the cock lock.   He moaned and reflexively turned to his wife for help but she was already saying her goodbyes, telling the guys to ignore him if he got upset, because he really did like to be manhandled and used, which they would be able to tell from the way he panted and moaned.  Darren was giving Skin and Bumper last-minute advice.  His boss and wife were going to abandon him here to this... this... pack of animals. 

Alana blew him a kiss.  Darren gave him a thumbs-up.  They left and, before the door could close, another young Black man strolled nonchalantly in.  He eyeballed the sissy and nodded approvingly. 

"Day-am," the newcomer exclaimed.  "I didn't know this place came with it's own in-house faggot."

They all laughed.  Something in Charles snapped.  He blurted out, "You're nothing but a pack of mongrels."

"Here we all are," Skin fired back without missing a beat.  "So-White and The Seven Dogs."

There were knuckle bumps and high-fives all around.  But then Skin said, "Good one, but we got to give paybacks for Chick disrespecting us."  He singled out one of them with his gaze.  "What you think, Crush?"

The guy who answered to that name was of average height, with exceptionally broad shoulders and a barrel chest, plus long arms.    He came toward Charles with a bandy-legged gait. 

He said, "Girl needs some spanking."

Hauling Charles to a chair, Crush sat and dragged the sissy across his lap.  He smacked him hard on his upturned, mostly bare ass, over and over, until the cheeks were red and Charles was sobbing.  The young Black man rubbed the sore areas, feeling the heat he had generated.  Then he stood Charles up and rose alongside him. 

"That'll teach you to watch your mouth," Crush said, "And we got the word you have mad skills with that mouth, but not for talking."

Skin closed in on him from another angle.  "I love white butts and I cannot lie." 

The two of them picked up Charles in a firemen's carry and toted him to the bed, where they tossed him onto it.  Indelible memories of a small room with a mattress on the floor resurfaced.  The grapefruits shifted around against his chest.  He sniffled and bit his lips.  They flipped him onto his hands and knees.  Crush knelt in front of his face, while Skin got behind him to undo and tug down those abbreviated shorts, all the way to his knees.  Somebody tossed Skin a bottle of liquid soap, which he used as lube.  Crush bared his cock and rubbed it all over Charles' face to get himself hard.  Skin needed only to press his tool against that soft hairless bottom to give himself an erection.  The sissy opened his mouth the way he had been conditioned to.  There was pressure against his bung.  He sucked the head of one cock while another entered him from behind.  As Skin went further the liquid soap, not meant for internal use, began to burn Charles' tender tissues.  He moaned around the girth of Crush's impressive cock. 

An unfamiliar feeling took hold of Charles.  He couldn't identify it.  Then, as he was being pounded from behind and half-choked in front, he understood.  He wanted Marcus to be there as his protector.  The Black cellmate still had him emotionally dependent, even though they were far apart.  If only he were there, no matter what happened or how many cock's went into him, how many loads of cum entered his system, Charles would still have a sense of security, the belief that Marcus was there to keep things from going too far.  That was how skillfully the big man had manipulated Charles' mind.  What Marcus lacked in book knowledge, he more than made up in street smarts and intuitive understanding. 

Skin kept banging away, making the grapefruit knockers rock forward and back.  Crush came like a firehose down Charles' gullet.  Moments later Skin did the same into his bowels.  They pulled out and Bumper appeared.  The wiry man had his pants off.  When he was dressed the outline of a large cock had been visible.  Now that it was uncovered and hard -- excited probably just from watching Charles' get double-plugged -- it was enormous, and got thicker near its root.  If he thrust all the way in the penetration from the widest part would be unbearable. 

Charles begged, "Please don't put that in my ass.  It's more than I can take.  Even I have my limits.  I won't be able to walk right for days."

"You won't be on your feet much anyways," he was assured.  "And what about me?  Ain't no damn bitch that'll take my banger in her booty.  Even regular white sissies, who get all google-eyed when they see my monster Black cock, want their mouth on it but won't bend over for me.  Afraid I might break them in two."  He chortled nastily.  "But the word is that you like it rough."  He got behind Charles.  "And for it to go on and on."

"That's not true," Charles insisted.

"I was also toll you like to make pretend that you don't like it.  Get all girly-scared and shit.  Well, this your lucky day, faggot."

"Those are lies.  Whoever told you that is a liar."

"You calling our friend Darren a liar?"

"What?  He told you...?  Wait.  He might have framed me in the beginning.  Alana may have helped him.  You have to stop and..."

But Bumper didn't stop.  He shoved right in, two inches at first, paused a few seconds, and pumped his hips once more.  When he kept doing that and added his final three inches, the widest part, Charles screamed loudly.  One of the Black guys waiting to use him checked the victim's balls and announced that they were drawn up tight as could be, an irrefutable proof that he was enjoying what was going on.  Bumper began working himself in and out, intentionally going all the way with every stroke, giving Charles' asshole a workout like it had never had before, even through all his ordeals.  This was something worse.  He was reduced to blubbering and then, as Bumper persisted, to ceaseless, low-volume whining.  At last that rampant cock spurted its heavy load.  At the same time, Charles' inferior dick spasmed and semen dribbled from his chastity tube.  Any chance that he had possessed of recovering from his stint in prison and reestablishing his old sexual personality was gone.  He would always be the most pathetic of sissies, helplessly craving what he didn't really want.  Bumper pulled out.  Charles collapsed into his own wet spot. 

The final guys checked him.  One said, "She-it, Bumper.  You stretched him out so bad we can't use him back there."

"So what?  Stick your Johnson in Chick's mouth.  Ass ain't tight now.  Lips always are.  And his butt gone close up good pretty soon.  You can have it then.  Just get on with your business."

Charles resigned himself to giving several more blowjobs.  These guys wanted him to take his time and use all the tricks he knew.  There was ball lapping and licking pre-cum from their piss-slits.  By the end his belly had more helpings of cum in it and the last studs were quite satisfied.  The week ahead stretched out in Charles' mind like an endless road that he would have to travel.  He lay flat, pressed his face into the mattress and whimpered.  Putting his weight on them made those twin grapefruits hurt his chest.  He would be here for seven days, his wife was having incredibly good sex with her Black lover, Charles was going to start a new job as a pink-clad janitor in buildings full of the dark-skinned people he had always been so uneasy around, who Darren would probably alert to his sexual availability, and he was locked in chastity.  His balls were throbbing.  And he was already yearning to be taken again by virile Black men with huge cocks. 

Had some part of him always wanted this wretched fate?  Was Marcus right about Charles secretly longing for exactly what he was getting?  He tried to focus but it was difficult.   He was overcome by memories of his cellmate, the guards, Sugar, Kitten, being on the mattress, Skin, Crush, Bumper, the bed -- and dread of what would come next.