'You are only as good as your last picture.' In the porn industry that is especially true. No second chances, a hundred guys are waiting in the shadows of a successful producer. Young men, well endowed, eager to strut their stuff in front of the camera, anxiously hoping to be the next superstar. Let the slightest hint that a producer is on the decline and he becomes poison to the young stud hopefuls.

Anthony Monavano, 'Little Anthy' to family and business associates was the benchmark in the gay porno movies. With a dozen highly profitable videos in circulation he was now afforded the respect shown for a 'made-guy.' Well, almost, older family members would forever look at him and see a 'punk.' And the assertion had merit; he had spent much of his youth in various correctional institutions. First at the infamous juvenile facility in Tallulah, Louisiana, where he was raped and brutalized until his family managed to have him transferred to a boot camp program. However, his exploits at Tallulah followed him and he once again became a punk.

When Anthony reached his eighteenth birthday, he was transferred to Angola a.k.a., 'The Farm.' Louisiana's notorious state prison to serve the remainder of his sentence for a drug conviction; about the drug thing, it was for disturbing GHB to muscle bound studs.

It was a sweet deal, the gym studs used the stuff to build muscles, and as payment they would do a little porn. When ever Anthony needed something extra, all he had to do was to increase the amount of drug. He bragged that he could turnout anyone once they were hooked on the muscle-growth drug.

Like all good scams, eventually they must end; the source of the drug dried up, but it was the muscle studs who finally fingered Anthony as the drug supplier. His trial was accelerated through the new drug court. He had hoped to remain free while his trial was being decided, however, his freedom was short lived, and soon he found himself in the big house.

His first day in general population was not wasted trying to make friends; Anthony was searching for men of power and respect, he needed to find someone fast before some joker took a fancy to him and made him his bitch.

Sitting off to the side of the basketball court was four old men. Anthony recognized Joe 'Banana' Jackson, a low-level former mob figure from his old Ninth Ward neighborhood in New Orleans. He rushed up and spoke to the old gentleman.

'Sir, I'm Anthony Monavana, I remember you from the old neighborhood when I was an altar boy at St. Roach' He didn't really remember Joe Banana, as he was called, but felt the need to make a fast connection.

The old man squinted as he tried to remember the young man. 'So how ya doing boy?'

Clearly not having a clue as to Anthony's identify, he turned to his elderly inmate friends and shouted to the nearly deaf man on his right. 'Boy from the Big Easy altar boy at my old church. Probably got his first blow job from Father McGrath!' The old men laughed, the near-deaf one yelled. 'That old cocksucker still at St. Roc boy?'

Anthony sniggered and pretended to be embarrassed and said, 'No sir, he was long gone before I became a altar boy, but his replacement, Father Marsa, sucks a mean dick.' The old men laughed and Joe Banana motioned for Anthony to sit on the bleachers in front of them.

Joe put his hands on Anthony's shoulders and began to massage them. He leaned forward and whispered in the boy's ear. 'So what ya getting friendly for boymaybe you one of those little queer boys that needs to find him a daddy?'

Anthony turned his head and kissed the old man's hand. 'Something like that sir. I like to pick the bastard that's going to fuck my brains out.' He looked into the old man's eyes hoping to see lust, but finding only the dull lifeless reflection of his soul.

'Alright kid, I'll watch ya ass and keep the jokers and bootie bandits from tearing ya a new one, but from now on you going to turn tricks for me. I personally don't cotton to all that queer stuff, but selling your fine young ass could turn a nifty profit.' Joe lightly slapped Anthony on the cheek and stood up and nodded to his old friends. 'Time to put Little Anthony to work.'

Anthony walked in front of the older men; Joe kept a hand on the back of Anthony's neck occasionally directing him as if he were a pet. They walked the entire perimeter of the field nodding at men who had shown interest in Anthony. It was clear to all the inmates that the new meat had a daddy and for a carton of cigarettes you could have a go at the sexy young man anal or oral.

They paused at the door to the men's room and looked back. Three men walked toward them their hard cocks tenting out the orange jump suits. Inside Anthony was backed into a stall and told to strip. He had barely finished removing his clothes when a big man forced him down on the commode and shoved his thick cock in Anthony's mouth.

The convict grabbed handfuls of Anthony's jet-black hair and forced the last few inched of his giant tool down his throat. After five minutes of pounding Anthony's face, he shot nine thick wads of cum before he pulled out. He leaned down and kissed Anthony on the mouth and said. 'Bitch, you and me are going to be doing a lot of business.'

After wiping his still throbbing cock on Anthony's cheek he grabbed a handful of hair and cleaned the final traces of cum and stringy slobber from his dick. The big man could not resist one final kiss and a hug. He backed out of the stall, pulled his big cock back into his jump suit and zipped up.

'You know me and my buddies were just about to make our move on you when you hooked up with Joe. I sure would love to have you to curl up with at night. By the way, my name is Hankbe seeing you sweet cheeks.'

Joe told Hank's buddies that the boy was through for the day and to come around tomorrow about the same time and he would let the kid give them head. One guy said he was looking forward to some boy cunt, but Joe told him that took special planing and he would get back to him.

The entourage of elderly Mafioso retraced their steps around the field showing off the new acquisition. Anthony's face and hair carried the telltale signs of his session with Hank. Joe Banana insisted his new punk hold his head up proudly as the procession tottered along. 'Boy, a picture is worth a thousand words, them pecker-tracks on your face and in your hair gonna give everyone of them swing-dick cons a boner.'

To be continued...



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