Doing Time

“In a minute you’re going to stand spread eagle against the bars,” I said quietly. “You’ll face this way while I punch you in the balls three times.” I watched as fear rippled across his muddled brow. “If you resist, or try to protect yourself, I’ll up the count to an even dozen.” I went and stood waiting for him to position himself.

He slowly stood and moved towards the bars as directed. He was desperate to speak, but dared not. He arranged himself as directed.

“At the end of your three blows, I’m going to ask you a question,” I informed, “if you lie, you’ll get the nine outstanding.” He was white.

The moment he lent back to the bars I slammed a closed fist into his basket. He instantly dropped to his knees, sapped of strength. He recovered six or seven minutes later and received his second blow. He again collapsed, but this time he began begging for ‘no more’.

I let him be and went back to my book. As he crawled to the pan and had a minor spew, I put my foot beside his hand and pointed to the bars. Given he knew what was coming, he could barely force himself to stand. When he did, it came anyway.

* * *

This time he lay on the floor in fetal for a good half an hour. In the end I grabbed a face washer and dabbed his sweat laden profile. He lent with his back against the bars.
“Are you settled enough to concentrate?” I asked.
“Yes.” He replied quietly.
“Good, lets make a start,” I suggested. “Who’s cum is in the balls I’ve just beaten?” I quizzed. He paused.
“Yours.” He replied quietly, with a sigh. Now he knew where the beating had come from.
“Good. Right answer,” I praised. “Now, back up. Same starting position against the bars. As fear gripped his face, I remained silent, waiting. He stood and arranged himself.
“I’ve got another question; you know what happens if I don’t get the truth?”
“Yes Sir.” He nodded.
“How many times a week are you wasting my cum?” I asked.
“Four.” Came the reply, he wasn’t lying.
“For how many weeks?”
“Three.” Again, it was the truth.

“Get your jeans off, stand here in front of me.” I directed. “I appreciate you speaking the truth.” He nodded and he moved to stand before me as instructed. I reached up and took his sizable balls in a firm but not painful grip.
“Permission to speak freely.” I said. He relaxed and took a breath.
“When I was at Pensworth, I emptied my sack three times a day, here I don’t know what to do, I’m so fucken horny. I’m desperate all the time.” The words poured out of him.

“Well, you’re not at Pensworth any longer, you’re here. If your full balls are driving you mad, I don’t give a shit, that’s your problem.” I said, without a trace of sympathy. “You touch your hard dick again, I’ll give you your nine owing, do you understand?”
“Yes master” he said, beaten.

I retained my grip and stretched his balls low. I took out the padlock from my pocket.
“This stays on for the next twelve weeks. Seven days for every load you spilt. Your balls will ache like a bastard for the next week, but you’ll get used of it.” He looked horrified.
“What about the shower, the guys will see me, take me!” he panicked.
“The guys see you shaved like a pussy every day, they don’t have the guts.” I said preparing for lights out. I slept like a baby.

The guys didn’t take him, and I could tell his eggs were in fact aching like a bastard. I smiled to myself, it was great that we’d found an accommodation.

* * *

A week after the nut beating incident, I was stopped on my way to morning gym by a young-looking inmate. I’d seen him around, but we hadn’t spoken
“Sorry to bother you,” he started, as I took in his lean six-foot frame. “I’m Cory Jackson, I just wanted to say thanks.”
“What for?” I asked, unsure of his angle. Why did this guy’s energy spook me?
“I arrived at Pensworth, a month before it closed.” He explained. “They moved us all here.”
“I know,” I answered. “My cell mate is ex-Pensworth.”

“That’s what I wanted to thank you for,” he spoke quickly. “Gruller was my cell mate at Pensworth. He fucked me so bad.” He paused, his head down. “He said he was going to keep selling my arse when we arrived here.” I nodded, understanding his fear. I’d heard the same story from others.
“Then you stopped him.” He added, “I saw now you’ve put a lock on his nuts. That’s great work.”

“Well, that’s between him and me.” I cautioned.

“What are you in for Cory?” I asked, wanting to move away from my business.
“They got me on a shitload of stuff,” he answered, huffing as if badly done by, but not adding detail.
“Like?” I pressed.
“Rape, blackmail, deprivation of liberty,” That sort of bullshit.” He paused. “I thought maybe you and I could play sometime.”
It clicked, I finally knew who this guy was, this was that slave jerk from Valley Nights. I paused and nodded towards his package. He unbuckled and dragged out his sizable junk. I reached down and cleanly took his balls in a full grip.

“You and Gruller don’t sound so far apart, in base attitude.” I tightened my grip and dragged his nuts upwards. He started to freak, he’d seriously miscalculated. “Not sure you and I have much in common. What do you think?”
“No sir, no sir.” He panicked. “I won’t bother you again.”
“Good.” I replied as I gave him a final threatening squeeze. We were done.  

* * *

Over our first two months as cell mates, Gruller had been steadily improving his grooming, I was impressed. He was becoming highly skilled at shaving every part of his body, it was almost hypnotic to watch.

Overall body-wise, he was simply a joy to look at.

From time to time, I just had him pose in various positions. I had taken up sketching and found it relaxing to draw his almost perfect form. If I wasn’t in prison, I could almost imagine heaven like this.

I found that I was getting progressively hornier, I knew I was getting close to taking his cherry. I had him make sure he cleaned himself out every night just in case the mood took me. A week later it did. I sat on the bed and had him hold his ankles in front of me. I lubed up and inserted a finger, his sharp breath in, indicated a new chapter had just begun in his life. I inserted a second, this one was met with a grunt as he steadied himself with a wider anal stance. I took my time savoring the look of his ring gripping my digits, as I slid them back and forth.

I applied more lube and went for the third. He was in pain now, but the truth of it was that it would have been nothing compared to the suffering he had inflicted on others. Still, I didn’t care about the others, this was my journey and I’d do as I pleased.

I was ready, I had him lie on his back so I could study his face. As commanded, he held his feet back as I positioned myself between them. I placed my cock head against his ring and applied steady unyielding pressure. He held out for as long as he could when bang, I was in!  Two inches just like that! He half squealed; half swore, but held on for dear life. I was in no hurry, I was going to be doing this for years, there was no rush.

His face screwed up as I pushed another inch in, then another. He started to thrash around grunting under the strain. He couldn’t believe it hurt so much! I was in heaven. His arse gripped my cock like a rock climber grips his life line, it was so warm, so moist, so absolutely fantastic. I adjusted my position to account for the four or so inches now buried within his cavity. I pushed against his hamstrings and sent another two inches home. This time he did scream, this time he did plead, asking me to take it easy.
“Please! Please!” Oh how his world was turning.

I took my time as I prepared for the last thrust, I teased him a little by saying we were just under halfway in. His eyes rolled, sickened, I let him know that we would be doing this every night from now on. I doubt much was going into his head, but I was saying it for me. I leaned forward and buried my bone to the hilt. I was home.

That night was one of the most amazing nights of my life. After a while he loosened up and throughout the rest of the lock down, I fucked and fucked and fucked again. My cock was sore to touch the next day, but it was nothing to the pain of my fuck toy. The next morning, he could hardly get out of bed. I let him stay which is more than he would have done for his victims.

The day after he was still sore, but moved a little more freely. It was obvious that he had been done over, so I dragged him to the showers, just to let the general populous know he was mine, all mine.

Three days after his cherry, I was horny again, we fucked and it was easier for him this time. Over the course of the next six weeks, we established what would become a fairly standard pattern of sex every second night, intermixed with the odd head job at any time of the day or night.

As his arse grew and adjusted to the poundings, he in spite of himself started to get into it. So much so that he asked one night for permission to cum. He did and covered his chest, neck and face in thick luxurious ropes of jizz.

I really enjoyed sex with my boy. Over time I sculpted a perfect sexual match for myself. He excelled in everything I loved doing. From time to time, he would shift his body to a new position, extending his sexual skill base.

Once a month I would allow him to cum. I usually made sure I had finished everything I wanted to do first. He savored those nights of release, like a man hungry for it. His life had changed so dramatically in the last year, he accepted the small graces given with humility and gratitude.

* * *

I had a small group of friends, that were basically good guys caught up in a bad system. They would drop by the cell to chat, play cards or just hang. Gruller would lie quietly on his bunk or ask permission to go to the gym. The guys knew the story with him, and never asked the sex details. Once or twice a month I’d shout them a head job with swallow. They never failed to complement me on my training and how my toy would go out of his way to do such a fine job. I never indicated he should, but Gruller knew what was expected and delivered as required.

Gruller’s jeans eventually arrived at the point of just being rags. I think he worked out at the eighteen-month mark, that he wasn’t going to have them replaced, and from then on nursed them as much as he could. His body had retained its trim toned structure and he had accepted that his life was pretty good, compared to what it could have turned out like. I still enjoyed just having him around the cell.

Without warning I would be struck with horniness and pound him for all he was worth. He had gotten well and truly used of it, and genuinely enjoyed the bouts where he was allowed to cum.

At the three-year mark, I announced he was going back to school. Over the following four years he gained his year 10, year 11 and graduation certificates. In the beginning he was hopeless and uninspired. A twelve-week re-application of his ball padlock caused a rethink. He applied himself.

Over time his confidence grew and he began to enjoy the schooling. He had to repeat the difficult subjects, but he passed, and his self-worth grew with his academic achievements.

I never let him fuck anyone in the first six years we shared a cell. On his graduation I hired the best and most skilled punk in the wing. They fucked themselves silly. He treated the punk with great respect and it occurred to me that he may be able to save himself after all.

* * *

During my last week behind bars, he spoke of the dramatic changes that had taken place in his life. He was looking forward to wearing clothes again, he said smiling. He wanted to finish his time and make something of himself. Maybe even get married and have kids. I spoke to Fat Tony and made sure he would be kept out of trouble for his last year, true to his word Tony matched him with a clean cut crim with no interest in attracting attention.

On my last night we made love. I would miss him but I had the rest of my life to discover.

He too had the rest of his life to stay out of trouble, as far as I know that’s what he did.

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Luke