Date: Sat, 8 Oct 2016 15:00:15 -0400
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: A Taste of Prison

                        A TASTE OF PRISON
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     "Yeah, you wanted to see me?" Matt said to Mr. Caine. He was dressed
in the uniform Mr. Caine's office had supplied him, even though it reminded
him uncomfortably of the prison uniform he had so recently discarded. But
when you take a job as a security guard for a private mansion, you don't
get to choose what you wear. The problem was that he didn't yet have a
shield or anything to help break up the blue-denim look. Light blue shirt
over dark blue pants over black shoes. It reminded him of his home for the
past five years, and even now he was on probation, he couldn't fuck up this
job no matter what. So he bit back the complaints and stood there, feeling
like less of a man, because a taste of prison still lingered, wearing these
clothes.
     There was a lot of "man" to Matt Bates. Six foot three and two
seventy-five, and there wasn't any fat to any part of it. He'd spent his
five years in prison making lavish use of the exercise equipment, pumping
iron for two hours a day, until he was a mountain of muscle encased in a
body covered with tattoos and rank chest hair. His head was shaved and a
blue tattoo of a dragon wrapped around his bare scalp with the head
reaching down to peer toward his nose. With his bushy eyebrows just below
the dragon's snout, it gave him a perpetual-looking scowl. His cheeks were
cherubically round, which didn't diminish his raw, fierce expression in the
least, even in a pose of submission.
     Mr. Caine looked up from him from behind the severely functional desk;
this room was his home office. He was dressed in a full business suit even
though it was nearly ten o'clock at night. "Yes, Bates, thank you for
coming in. I want to talk to you about a little independent project I need
your help with. It's the reason I hired you, frankly."
     "Yes, sir?" Matt perked his ears at this. What the fuck did Mr. Rich
Bastard Caine want of him? Independent project. "I'm not doing anything
that would violate my probation, sir." He warned.
     "No, no, of course not." Mr. Caine went on. "Have you been reading the
newspapers lately?"
     Matt shook his head. "No, sir, except the classifieds when I got out."
He'd been too busy with his own parole and the processing of getting out of
prison. Too much going on to sit and read about other people's problems.
     "I hired you because you have recently experienced prison."
     "Yes, sir." Matt carefully kept his voice level. He didn't like being
reminded of prison, it had been five years of hell, only made tolerable
because he was one tough bastard, and even then, he'd had to watch his ass
every second of that five years.
     "I'm about to go into prison."
     "Sir?"
     "I've been convicted of securities fraud." Mr. Caine informed
him. "Your formal job will be to guard my property until I get out of
prison. I was told by the prosecuting attorney that he was going to push to
dump me into McCormick Prison. The general population."
     "Oh." Now Matt understood. He'd gotten this job, a puzzling one to get
when you're a con on parole, and are hired to be a security guard, not that
he had griped about it. "So what do you want from me? Information about
which guards to avoid and which prisoners to watch out for?"
     "Yes, in part." Mr. Caine paused. "I've been informed by others about
that, though your viewpoint will be appreciated. I've been told more than I
ever wanted to know, so I'm fully aware of what goes on in prison. I'm
aware of what's going to happen to me if they put me into the general
population. As the district attorney has threatened of me, if I don't
inform him about my associates, which I can't do. A securities broker who
breaks client confidence never gets to work as a broker again."
     "I can understand that." Matt agreed.
     "So I'm bound for prison. And look at me, you know what'll happen to
me in the general population." Mr. Caine was younger than Matt by maybe a
half dozen years, one of those young, overeager, fresh-from-college,
wanna-be-rich types. They get busy, make money hand over fist and buy big
houses and expensive things, get into debt, get into shady deals to make
the money to cover the debts, and then they're talking to guys like Matt
because now they're going into prison where they'll get gang-banged daily
for the duration of their stay.
     "Yeah, I know what'll happen to you." A pretty boy like Ronald
Lawrence Caine really shouldn't be dumped into general population, with his
salon-dressed hair of deep, russet-brown, smooth, nearly-feminine face of
soft lines and deep pastel-blue eyes, a body less masculine than beautiful,
the form captured time and again by the old Greek sculpturers to express
their deities. Yeah, the goons in McCormick were going to be all over this
guy like flies on shit.
     "So I need your help."
     "How?" Matt wanted to know. "Man, there's nothing I can do to stop
those guys. They'll claim you and sell your ass for cigarettes until even
you won't want yourself any more."
     "I know. But you see," Mr. Caine gulped and looked younger than he
was, "I have to know what it's like."
     "What it's like?"
     "Yeah. Knowing is less scary than not knowing. If I'm going to get
butt-fucked in prison, I need to find out what it's like to get
butt-fucked."
     Matt's face crinkled, in confusion rather than rage. "You want me
to..." Then it dawned on him. "You want me to fuck you? Here and now?"
     "No, no, not here. Come with me. Downstairs, in the basement."
     "I don't know about this."
     "A thousand dollars." Mr. Caine babbled. "I'll pay you a thousand
bucks, cash, right after, if you'll do this for me. I have to know. Please,
man! Don't let me find out when I get there! I couldn't handle it, man, I'd
go nuts!"
     Aw, Jesus, what did I do to deserve this? Matt asked the heavens in
silence. I get out of prison, supposed to keep my nose clean and my
behavior in the law, and I got some guy wanting me to rape his ass in the
basement?
     But what choice did he have? It was this job or no job. "All right,
but only once, you get me? One time and that's it!"
     "Don't worry about that. Tomorrow, they'll take me into custody and
haul me off to McCormick Prison." Mr. Caine assured him.
     So Matt followed him out of that office and through the beautifully
appointed house. He'd always dreamed of living this way, some day, it was
why he'd gone into crime. Not that burglary had worked out for him,
naturally.
     The basement wasn't dark and dingy, but it had a concrete block in one
corner and bars across the opening. A fucking fake prison! How long had
this guy been setting this crap up, anyway?
     He peered inside when he got there. Yep, it had a small prison-style
bed and a chair. No prison toilet, anyway. Maybe this guy had paid someone
to quick-install the prison bars over the door to a small room that had
already been there. Buy an old bed and chair and stick in there and presto,
a fake prison cell.
     "Give me five minutes and then come on in." Mr. Caine told him. "From
there, just treat me like this was a real prison and I was the guy you were
out to fuck. Get as rough as you need to, I need the real experience
here. A taste of prison life. It'll make the real thing a lot easier to
take."
     "No, it won't." Matt predicted.
     But Mr. Caine went on into the cell, and started tearing off his
clothes.
     Matt waited until the man was down to just a pair of boxers, the
clothes he kicked underneath the bed. Lay down on the bed. "All right, I'm
ready." He breathed a heavy breath as he said that.
     "Okay, but remember. You asked for it." Matt said.
     "I know. Just do it like it was real."
     So Matt walked in and stood over the man. Shit, he was a fucking
pretty piece of man-ass! Matt had taken other men in prison, most of them
willing but some not so much. This guy was prime meat, all right.
     He reached down and began to undo his belt. He moved in complete
silence.
     Mr. Caine couldn't bear the silence. "What are you going to do?" he
asked.
     "Shut up!" Matt growled.
     "I only asked what...."
     "Shut up, punk!" Matt grunted.
     Mr. Caine started to get up. "Look, I'm not looking for any trouble,
but..."
     When he got to his feet, Matt, who had just finished unbuttoning his
fly, hauled off and slugged Mr. Caine right in his stomach.
     "Oof!" Mr. Caine doubled over and Matt grabbed his shoulder and spun
him around and shoved him back onto the bed. As the man was bouncing and
trying to get his wind back, Matt pulled his pants and briefs down and
grabbed Mr. Caine's boxers by the waistband.
     "Oh, oh, God!" Mr. Caine moaned.
     "Ah, shut up, you're going to get it and you'll love it!" Matt
snarled.
     "Please don't hurt me, please! I can pay you money, man, I have
money...."
     "Shut up or I'll let you choke on this a while first!"
     "Oh, God! Please, let me put something on it, at least!"
     "Fuck that!" Matt told him as he yanked those boxers down those pretty
legs and revealed the small, pert, pair-of-bubbles-shaped ass. "Man, that's
a pretty butt you got on you. I'm going to love it, don't you worry, I'm
going to love you right."
     "Oh, man!" Mr. Caine moaned.
     "This is what happens to you in prison." Matt reminded him. "Best you
get is a bit of spit like this!" He hawked noisily into his palm and rubbed
it on his dong. He had a major mean organ on him, ten solid inches of hard
man-rod, and the spit he laid on only gave it a light shine. "Then they
just pull your butt apart like this." His big paws of hands on those
bubbles pulled them apart like a ripe melon, and the split between, an area
of slightly darker color than the pink-white bubble cheeks, and then his
cock was plowing into that cleavage, like a chisel splits a chunk of
firewood in two. He missed the sphincter on the first stab, but then he
jabbed again, a little lower down and this time his glans pierced the
tender tucker of flesh and he knew he had the right spot.
     Mr. Caine howled. "Oh, oh, guard! Guard! Someone help me, please!"
     "Yell all you want." Matt growled at him. "Fucking guards don't
care. Hell, some of them may come in and want a turn at you. So shut the
fuck up before you get yourself really chain-fucked!"
     "Oh, oh, God!" Mr. Caine sobbed, but he said it softer.
     "You wanted to know what it's like in prison. Keeping your mouth shut
about your fucking little pansy buddies outside? Man, you're so fucking
stupid, you belong in the general population! All you're good for is to get
this pretty ass fucked over and over. And you'll get it when you get
there. Trust me on that. The pretty ones get really messed up, the first
weeks. The lucky ones get bought by one of the big ones, the rest are on
their own. They don't last long, either they hang themselves or they end up
in the psych ward. It ain't pretty."
     "Oh, God! What can I do?" Mr. Caine moaned.
     "Tell the D.A. what he wants to know." Matt said and he punctuated
that by shoving his cock into that lovely, lovely ass.
     "Ahh-ahhhhh!" Mr. Caine's groan sounded almost like a sigh. "I can't
do that, I just can't."
     "Then you need to make friends with some big, tough guy in prison and
hope he keeps you for his personal fuck-toy. Then you only get rammed by
one dong instead of a lot of them."
     "Like you?"
     "Yeah, someone like me." Matt said. "You give me a good ride, and
maybe I'll protect you a while. Can you do that?" He shoved his cock the
rest of the way in, now he had his cock in that sweet, pretty ass all the
way up to his ballsac.
     "Huh-unnnhhh! Yeah! Yeah! I can do that." Mr. Caine groaned and he
grunted, wriggled and Matt felt the ass accommodating his prick. Shit, now
it felt good. Fucking an unwilling ass was more about domination than
pleasure, you get a tight sphincter that fights you and tries to spit your
dick back out. And blood, lots of blood. But this ass, Mr. Caine wasn't
bleeding, or not much (there was some moisture running down his balls that
may have been blood), and the tunnel his prong had invaded was wrapping
itself around like a warm, warm flannel blanket. Nice! Real nice!
     "Hang on for the ride." Matt told him and began to thrust his cock in
and out of Mr. Caine's warm butt. Mr. Caine grunted and moaned and after
the first few strokes, began to move in synch with Matt's motions.
     "Yeah, yeah, that's the way. Milk my cock with that ass, milk it for
me!" Matt grunted.
     He slapped the buttocks, hard and Mr. Caine yelped, but that also made
the ass release and make the way even more comfortable. "See, I slap your
butt and that makes you turn loose. You turn loose and you're an easier
fuck. Now you're my little cock-pig, so let's hear you grunt. Come on,
piggie, grunt for me! Grunt, you little shit-faced pretty-boy, grunt or
I'll make you squeal!"
     "Unk, unk, unk, unk, unk!" Mr. Caine grunted. He did sound like a pig,
doing that.
     "Yeah, nice, real nice!" Matt said. "Now, roll over, I want to watch
your face while I fuck you. Come on, roll on my cock like a pig on a spit!"
     Mr. Caine moaned but he began to roll. As he did, Matt levered himself
up and onto the bed itself, into a kneeling position, and when Mr. Caine
ended up on his back, he was resting on his shoulders and the rest of his
body was on Matt's thighs, and his legs were splayed out, waving in the
air.
     Matt caught hold of those legs and now he was able to fuck-thrust into
that ass, in rapid-fire motions that made the old bed squeak and shake.
     "Oh, man, oh, man!" Mr. Caine gasped. "Man, I can't take this, I can't
take this!"
     "Sure you can!" Matt grunted. "You got all of it now, but you have to
get me off. Come on, wiggle that ass and make me come! Sooner I shoot, the
sooner it's over! Now get to working my butt. And squeal, piggie, squeal!"
     "Unk, unk, unk!"
     "I said squeal, damn it!"
     "EEEEEEE! EEEE, EEEEEEE!"
     "Yeah, you're my piggie, aren't you? Aren't you?"
     "I'm your piggie, I'm your piggie!"
     Matt looked down at this beautiful, pretty-boy man under him, and his
cock was buried in this pretty ass and he owned it, he fucking owned it!
"Oh, yeah, yeah, ah, ah, AHH, AHHH, I'm coming, man, I'm coming, you're
mine now, I own you, coming, coming, own you, coming,
AH-AH-HA-HAH-AH-AH-AHHH, GUH-HUHHHHHH!"
     His wads blasted into that tender butt and when it did, Mr. Caine's
eyes widened out as he felt the hot, salty, surging flow and he screamed
out a final yell like a pig, "EEEEEE!" and then he was coming, ejaculating
all over himself while Matt loaded his butt full of hot spunk, watching
Mr. Caine's face flushed and softened into pretty-boy delicacy while he
squirted on himself like a helpless little puppy, and then he was done and
Matt was done and Matt slid backwards on the bed as he released the tension
in his body and that brought him down onto Mr. Caine's body and he was
lying down onto Mr. Caine, smashing the smaller body down into the old,
sagging mattress and the spunk he'd shot on himself now smeared onto Matt's
shirt, soaking it and Matt's sliding chest smeared it back onto Mr. Caine
as he came into full contact and was face-to-face with him, their noses
touching, their mouths touching, not a kiss, just two exhausted men too
tired to move and then Matt's face slid down and over Mr. Caine's shoulder
and onto the pillow.
     After a short pause, Mr. Caine said, "So this is what it's like in
prison?"
     "Yeah, more or less." Matt told him, a soft voice into the ear so
close to his mouth. "Most guys won't be this easy on you, though."
     "Easy?"
     "Yeah, easy. I could have made you hurt a lot worse, and there are
guys in there that will make it hurt you. They get off on hurting
you. They'll shove stuff up your ass, too. You think my cock was big and
hurt, imagine me shoving my fist up there."
     "Oh, God!"
     "But if you really can't tell about your buddies in the fraud, then
that's what you're going to have to deal with. If I were you, I'd talk."
     "Yeah, I get what you mean. Okay, let me up and I'll give you your
thousand and you can go out and get accustomed to your work station the
rest of the night. Tomorrow, this place will be locked up, so you'll want
to make sure your work station has all you need out there."
     "Yes, sir, thank you, sir." Matt said as he pulled his spent cock out
of the ravished ass. Their positions had changed, fuck or not, here, he was
the employee and it was time to toe the line.
     So he got to his feet, pulled his pants up and fastened it, redid his
belt and walked back out and up the basement stairs. He waited for
Mr. Caine to come up which he did, looking the same as he had when he
walked down, and back in the home office, he opened a safe and pulled out a
thousand dollars, ten hundred-dollar bills, and handed it to Matt.
     With that warming his pocket, Matt went out to his little hutch that
would be his work station, a small guard-house like structure about five
feet on a side. It was just inside an iron gate that he had a key to and
could open as needed for visitors. Even a small television set to let him
watch TV while he whiled away the long, nighttime hours, assuming you
wanted to watch the four network stations through the antenna on the
roof. Maybe he could ask for cable TV to be put in?
     His only job duty was to unlock the gate and let Mr. Caine's vehicle
out the next morning about seven-thirty in the morning and then his shift
was done and he turned over the job to the day guard and was free until
eleven o'clock tomorrow night.
     Or so he thought. He got a call at three o'clock in the afternoon,
woke him out of a sound sleep. He crawled out of his crummy welfare-hotel
bed (little better than the prison bed he'd left or that one that Mr. Caine
had stuck in his basement) and answered his cell phone. "Yeah?"
     "Mr. Bates? This is Officer Phearson from Abercrombie Men's
Institute."
     "Yeah?" Matt knew the place, it was a cushiony men's minimum-security
facility.
     "We have a new inmate here, a Ronald Caine."
     "Yeah?"
     "He's listed you on his visitor list and we need you to fill out some
paperwork to be allowed to visit him. Can you come up to our facility in
the next day or so, so we can fill things out for you?"
     "Yeah, I guess so." Matt would have to get permission to leave town
from his parole officer, but if it was part of his job, then he'd have to
get it from the guy.
     "We know the separation can be painful, but we'll try to make the next
three years as easy for you and your partner as we can."
     "Partner?"
     "Yes, you will find our facility to be very understanding of your
needs."
     "What needs? What the fuck is this?"
     "I don't understand, Mr. Bates. Mr. Caine has listed you as a Class A
visitor. Do you know what that means?"
     "No."
     "Conjugal visits, Mr. Bates. Again, our facility is very
understanding, you won't be inconvenienced and we can permit twice-weekly
visits. We can even arrange travel on the vans that bring inmates here on
occasion if you'd like."
     "Conjugal visits?" Matt chewed this over. "Conjugal visits."
     "Yes, didn't your boyfriend explain this to you?"
     "No, he didn't. Okay, I'll be up there tomorrow or the next day,
okay?"
     "Very good."
     Matt hung up as soon as he could after that and leaned back. He wanted
job security, well, you can't get more secure than that! And a few more
tastes of prison would be well worth the chance to fuck that sweet ass some
more!

                             THE END
               Comments, complaints or suggestions?
             E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM