Prison Meat

From a distance Pat watched as Queequeg walk toward them, his skin glowed in the setting sun. Striped down to his black Speedo, with an obscene bulge jetting from the crotch he proudly displaying the blue/black tribal inking that ran the length of his body.

'Do you find the tattooed hulk sexy? Look how his muscles flex when he walks...undulating, like a tsunami, smooth and swift...Tom, how do you feel about Queequeg?'

Tom's chest swelled up and his face got darker. 'What the fuck ya mean...how do I feel?'

Travis' antenna perked up. He had anticipating something diabolical was fermenting in Pat's head but never would have imagined, even in his wildest nightmare, Pat would try something involving Tom. A chill ran up his spine, Queequeg over powering Tom and having his way with him, the entire thing caught on camera. No doubt about it, the studio would make a killing from the video release. However much the video brought in it would be chump-change compared to the live cam showing with over a million worldwide subscribers.

'Hey big guy!' Pat said. 'Sit down and take a break, I'm sure you've been working your ass off...and the asses of my crew!' Pat handed him a fresh joint. 'The good stuff, Ty-Gold with a little kiss of hash...courtesy of our good buddy Tom.'

Queequeg smiled at Tom and said. 'You always got the best connections...real radical shit. So tell me how things been going with you?' Queequeg put his hand on Tom's shoulder.

Pat's eyes were like glowing green embers as he watched his Maori warrior turn up his seductive charm. Tom was out of his element and unsure how to react, small talk continued in a perfunctory routine with little interest or knowledge of what was being said. Pat watched Tom's face with anticipation, searching for that foible in the human condition that would betray his inter thoughts, leaving the soft underbelly exposed to his raptor-like seducer.

Pat imagined the questions racing in Tom's head: how would he hold up in a fight with Queequeg, would he provoke a fight or jump him, had Pat put him up to it?

Hesitantly Tom reached for the joint; with lighting quick reflex Queequeg wrapped his long fingers around Tom's hand. Surprised, he tried to pull his hand back from the iron grip, panic flashed in Tom's eyes and everyone watched to see if his reaction would be Fight or Flight.

The tattooed hulk grinned and locked eyes with Tom. 'Hold on! Let me give you a shotgun...Pat says I do it better than anybody...Ain't that right Hoss!'

'Got that right big guy.' Pat was fascinated seeing the size difference in their hands. Tom wasn't a small man; yet, when compared to Queequeg it looked dwarf size.

The tattooed giant took a super drag and passed the joint to Pat. Next he coned his hands around Tom's nose and mouth and slowly released the smoke. Tom felt small with his face wrapped by two massive hands, he thought it might be a test, one of many to follow that night, and Tom was determined not to loose his cool, bitch-out and draw away before all the smoke was exhaled.

'Damn boy! You got some heavy-duty lungs.' Queequeg smiled in Tom's stoned face. 'You okay, seem a little wobbly.' With his right hand firmly locked on the back of Tom's neck, he used his left hand to explore the hard body, running his hand up the shirt feeling the deep cuts of sculptured chest. Tom was in an undead-like state, physically and verbally unresponsive, except his probing eyes, they followed the tattooed hulk as he explored his body. Getting bolder, Queequeg started groping Tom's crotch and chuckling when he felt a boner.

He looked over at Pat and got a nod so he eased Tom down on the carpet and straightens out his legs. With the dexterity of a surgeon his large fingers had Tom undressed in seconds, with his pants and boxers down to his knees and his shirt open. Queequeg leaned forward and swallowed the entire nine-inches of thick cock.

Armed with a digital camera, Pat danced around the hot action snapping pictures like a director, giving Queequeg praise and instructions as he took shots from every angle. Pat reached in his shirt pocket for one of his infamous little suppositories and tossed it on Tom's washboard abdomen.

'Let just cut to the chase Queequeg...shove that fuck-bullet deep...we'll have this hot macho-man moaning like a cheerleader getting dicked by the team under the bleachers.' Pat stood over Tom, the camera inches from his raging hard meat stick. 'Skin it back...yeah, damn that's a fine looking cock head. Now finish stripping him and raise his knees up so we can see that soon to be departed cherry ass.'

Travis hadn't made a sound, he was in complete shock and his big blue eyes expressed it all. 'Pat, I hope you know what you're doing...the man will go ballistic when the drug wares off. By the way I saw you spike his drink...pretty slick, he didn't suspect a thing. What was that shit. Something new? He's like a zombie'

Pat said. 'My friend with Aztecs Productions in Venezuela sent it to me...shit grown everywhere down there...people have used the stuff for centuries. It's similar to scopolamine, except the Vic doesn't remember a thing...' Pat chuckled. 'However, the pain in his throat when he swallows and the racked-out sore ass might be a giveaway.'

Travis couldn't take his eyes off Tom's big thick cock, erect like a rocket ready for blastoff. He could only see Queequeg's back, but from the rapid movement of his elbows, he knew his lover must be getting a royal finger fucking and the tattooed giant was pounding the hell out of his monster cock.

'Travis why don't come and sit by Tom's head so you can see everything.' Pat started into his photographer-shuffle. 'By the way, it wasn't my decision to explore Tom's nether region...the million plus subscribers to Deadwood Clandestine, Inc. spy-cam show were responsible. After viewing last year's Big Top, with Butch the hunky straight Marine getting ravished by Queequeg, thousands of subscribers flooded the studio demanding more. So the producers made up a poll with names and pictures of everyone, for the subscribers to rate from one to five stars. Also, they were to line up the 'dream combination,' which one does what and to who. Our own Maori warrior was the favorite and the most requested combination was Queequeg takes Tom, in a quasi-barbarian production...' Pat took on his ringmaster persona. 'Messieurs, it is with great pleasure I give to you...The Viking vs. The Mogul!'

'Now Queequeg don't suck him off anymore, I want him to shoot his load while you finger fuck him...he shoots cum like Old Faithful, three foot high and lots of it...should be some good shots.'

Travis took his place at Tom's head. The cocks mesmerized him; his long-time favorite mouth watering love stick was throbbing ready for explode; a few feet down was an angry beast-of-a-cock, so large and grotesque it jolted his senses. His concern was not so much for himself, although he would never attempt it sober. His fear was for Tom, the largest thing ever to be inserted in his virgin butt were the fingers fucking him now.'

'Whoa! Look at him go!' Pat scrambles with his camera to catch the mighty leaps of cum. 'Oh man, the viewers are gonna eat this shit up! Bet I could bottle it up and sell it on e-bay!'

Pat watched Queequeg scoop up Tom's copious deposits and slick up his monster cock. Pat franticly snapped the lens as fast as he could, knowing the producers needed the pictures fast as promotion stills for the fuckfest later that evening.

Both Travis and Pat were tenting their pants as they watched Queequeg raise Tom's beefy legs onto his shoulders. His grin was more an evil smirk, and his dark sunken eyes seemed to penetrate the mind, reading your thoughts. Thoughts that invariably involved Queequeg's mighty cock and the damage it could cause.

Travis' ass muscles clinched as he starred at the dick of death, it was a virgin's nightmare. Asking the question over and over in his mind, would it stretch to accommodate or rip the entire length of the rectum? Tom had clout; surely they would never sanction such a serious injury to placate the perversions of a few subscribers?

Queequeg held Tom's legs straight up, bent down and started eating out his cherry ass. Tom's response was immediate; he moaned and twisted like the virgin he was, almost loosing his mind when the tattooed giant forced his tongue passed the anal ring. He left the opening dripping with saliva and positioned his huge member at the opening.

Pat snapped a close up of his magnificent savage, grinned and said. 'No can do my gargantuan friend...dismount now! Cease and desist! Don't you dare shove your stallion fuck shaft in that virgin ass! Show time is later this evening and millions of prying eyes will be watching while you bust that cherry.' Pat chuckled. 'Don't make me call security!'

Travis' mind had tripped several circuit breakers. He had freed his cock and was slowly jerking, riveted on the action in front of him. He was totally off guard when Pat sat behind him, grabbed Travis' cock with his right hand, and with the left he tightly held a fistful of balls, gently rolled them around while he whispered in his ear.

'You're thinking about that big cock, aren't you. Wondering...just wondering what it would be like...could you take it up the ass, would he be rough. Maybe setting your mind on being a mouth whore, but could you even get that big fuck stick in your mouth. Ah, such are the dreams of the phallus worshipers. Tell you what, I'll stand by while you try it...nothing ventured, nothing gained. I'll stop the hulk if it get out of hand.'

Pat motioned for Queequeg to kneel down in front of Travis so he could make love to his huge cock. Straddled directly over Tom's face, Queequeg looked down into the misty eyes of the drugged stud. Tom was riveted as he watched Travis' tongue glide over the huge cock, licking off his very own cum.

Pat took up a position lying on his side so he could snap close-up pictures of Queequeg's hot pulsating cock. Carefully focusing on the peach size head as it dripped pre cum like a leaky faucet, first collecting on Travis' chin, then forming long strands of clear drivel before dropping down, pooling on Tom's face.

As Antonio and Joe walked down the main street of Deadwood he pointed out various storefronts and the program that was conducted there. Stopping in front of large window they tried to pier into the dark room. Antonio explained that it was a training center to teach recently paroled guys a trade.

'Diesel engine repair.' Antonio explained to Joe. 'Without Pat assistance, teaching these guys a skill...most would be right back in prison in no time at all. The recidivism rate is like fifty percent...restitution can be a bitch when you don't have any money coming in...Parole officers! Don't get me started...'

Joe thought it might be a good time to find out more about Antonio. 'I know you said the Mexican police are looking for you...what do they want you for?

Antonio laughed. 'I was wondering when you would start with the questions...' He saw the worried look on Joe's face. 'No problem...I'm glad you asked, but it's gonna take some time to tell everything.' Antonio took Joe's hand. 'I'll take you to my secret place...when I need to have some downtime alone I go the old livery stable. My first hiding place after I climbed the fence and got cut up, I hid in one of the old stalls.'

They climbed a ladder to the hay loaf and Antonio retrieved an old army blanket and spread it out over the hay. Next he pulled out a saddlebag containing his stash, they sat cross-legged on the blanket while he rolled two joints and told Joe his life story.

It was necessary for Antonio to start his story in Chile where he was born, his father had been a low-level diplomat connected with a trade consulate in Mexico. At the age of ten Antonio's father defected to Mexico with his family, narrowly escaping the ruthless clutches of Gen. Pinochet. The family was granted asylum and Mexican citizenship, unfortunately a new regime came to power and restored ties with Gen. Pinochet's government; once again the Diaz family felt threatened, and tried to maintain a low profile.

During his sophomore year at the University of Mexico, Antonio decided to take a little summer break and make some money, his family was stretched to the max. His friend Rudolph, a.k.a. Radioman, he always seemed to have on earphones and the volume cranked to the max; he had painted the scene at Puerto Vallarta as a playground for lonely rich American women. He claimed to have been a rich ladies summer boy-toy, giving him expensive clothes and jewelry; when she left she gave him a wad of American dollars.

Antonio and Radio took jobs as pool boys, serving drinks to wealthy guest, and it wasn't long before a midlife couple was attracted to the boys and invited them to their suite. Wendell Foster was a tall tanned girlie-man, a film producer, obviously gay and given to sweeping dramatics; the boys secretly gave him a nick name, 'Big Gushy.' He was totally smitten with Radioman, no mystery there; the boy was a walking sex magnet.

Jean O'Keeffe was an actress, although her last picture had been twenty years earlier, she had what theater people call Star Quality. Antonio loved being around her, she was smart, funny and although she was older than Antonio's mother was, her libido was that of a much younger woman and she more than satisfied the younger man.

Antonio and Radio made a pack, whatever happens in Puerto stays in the port. When his friend started walking around with nothing but an erection, Antonio was lost for words and had a bad vibe something was about to ruin their sweet setup. Wendell and Radio drank at a dangerous pace, Jean and Antonio pleaded with them to slow down, but they didn't, even adding to their regiment aberrant behavior, was obsessive oral sex preformed on Radio. The older man became obsessed over the huge cock, performing an Olympic-like marathon of phallus-worship.

Wendell suffered a stroke while undergoing repeated deep-throat on a thick eleven-inch Mexican teenager cock. The coroner's report read like an erotic story or perhaps a snuff movie script: Copious amounts of seminal fluid and active sperm were recovered from the stomach and intestines. Multiple oral sodomy contusions and lacerations were evident as well as impacted sperm. Death was due to asphyxiation.

Jean fled the country before the police arrived to investigate the murder; after they had looked around for five minutes they called it a homicide and arrested Rudolph.

Strangely, the boy condemned himself, over and over he said. 'My dick killed Wendell!' The tabloids in both countries quickly jumped at the story with headlines that suggested the movie producer had been choked to death from repeated oral sodomy. Jean's pictures were included with the crime story; after her public relations people spun the story her image was plastered across the nation, she became a cause celebre and frequent talk show guest. Jean's career was once again active; most pleasing for her was the reassurance of interest in her old movies, even talk of a new picture.

Rudolph hanged himself in his jail cell; however, friends and family didn't believe that story. When his body was delivered to the funeral home they discovered he had been severely beaten.

The prosecution attorney was livid when he found out the defendant had escaped a murder trial He had counted on this hi profile case to advance his political career; determined not to be denied, he filed new charges against Antonio as a coconspirator and issued a warrant for his arrest . Antonio escaped minutes before the Federally arrived at the apartment he had shared with Rudolph. With no time to prepare after the anonymous caller told him of the new charges and to leave immediately, he snatched up a few dollars and three avocados his mother had sent him and ran out the door with his school back pack still hanging on his shoulder.

A trucker hauling watermelons destined for a San Diego Wal-Mart saw Antonio thumbing a ride and figured him to be an American student doing a little partying in Mexico. More important, the boy didn't look like an illegal immigrant. Hank Crockett's disdain for wetbacks was legendary, formally with the Minuteman Militia a private army of nearly one hundred assisting the Border Patrol guard the Mexican border. The government dismissed them after discovering ties a white supremacy group.

A confrontation began the moment Antonio greeted the trucker in Spanish. Hank's face almost exploded with rage and he slammed on the air brakes, yelling that he didn't pickup Mexican hitchhikers.

Quick thinking on Antonio part, he re-thanked the trucker for stopping, this time he spoke flawless English, enunciating every syllable, sounding very upper echelon. Hank the trucker mellowed instantly, thankful that his instant assessment ability hadn't been compromised; he could still spot a wetback a mile away.

Antonio instantly fabricated a person history for Hank, shamelessly borrowing from his spring break fling with Hollywood actress Jean. The trucker was buying the story completely, even asks for an autographed picture and wrote down his address.

Antonio told the trucker he was stopping off in Tijuana to meet up with some friends. He was tempted to stay with the driver and roll across the border, but feared the authorities would be waiting.

***

Travis had methodically cleaned all his lovers cum off Queequeg's heavy veined cock. He removed his upper and lower teeth and grabbed hold of the egg size testicles one in each hand, forcing them between his fingers so they lay in the center of his palm. He gently pulled back, prompting the tattooed giant to jabber off a string of swear words.

Queequeg yelled. 'Bitch Mother Fucker! Let go my damn nuts!'

Travis didn't say a word, just increased the pressure as he pulled the big hulk closer until his cock was inches from his lips. Travis chuckled and opened his mouth wide, swallowing the entire head, forcing his dagger-like tongue into the piss slit driving Queequeg crazy and causing him to depart from his usual stoic nature, to yelling and swearing at the Trav.

Threats and intimidation bounced off Travis like water on a ducks back. To drive home his point he pulled hard on Queequeg's balls forcing a few more inches of heavy cock in his mouth. He could feel the chill that raced through the big guy's body; his cock pulsed with minor tremors . As Travis' mouth preformed a merciless sexual ritual, the giant hulk actually utter a 'please.' It was almost perverse hearing submission from the lips of one so strong and unyielding, prompting Travis to wickedly gum-bite the area directly behind the glans penis.

As Trav sucked and polished the majestic fuck stick, a hand reaches up and wrapped around Queequeg meat. Totally surprising everyone, Tom tightened his grip and started a rhythm, milking the big piece of meat into Travis' mouth.

Queequeg bent down looking through a tangle of arms and found Tom's eyes; he could feel the lust, he yelled for Tom to grip it harder and jack the fuck out of it.

Pat moved to the left side for a better view, he told Trav to let go the balls his arm was getting in the way of the pictures. He was light headed from the hot action; no director could have ever staged the tantalizing action that unfolding in front of him.

Without warning the giant cock exploded like a sperm fountain overfilling Travis' hungry mouth and splashing down on Tom's face. Travis bent the still rock-hard cock and aimed it at Tom's lips, he grabbed the balls and pulls while viciously twisted them around. With his hand firmly wrapped around the shaft he starts to beat the meat with vigilance.

Travis yells at Queequeg. 'Listen you big fuck! I'm gonna pull your nuts off if you don't shoot a load in Tom's face.'

The words were still resonating when the colossal fuck stick erupted again flooding Tom's face with thick cum that cascaded down to his chin. Travis pulled on the balls hard forcing the big cock to press against Tom's lips. Quickly Pat pushed down on Tom's chin forcing his mouth to open. Seconds later Queequeg unloaded the last of his juice in Tom's mouth. Forced to take a load, it was a first for the Outlaw and he didn't know what to do.

Travis yelled. 'Swallow baby...Queequeg's got the sweetest cum I've ever tasted...Pat says it's from all the avocados he eats...sure hope you like avocados.'

***

Antonio's luck was holding Hank wheeled his humongous rig off the Mexican Interstate 1-D onto highway-1, a less traveled road into Tijuana. As they were saying their good-byes the trucker reminder the boy to send an autographed picture of his mother.

He assured the big man that a picture would in the mail in about a week, jumping out of the cab Antonio gave him a thumbs-up gesture as the eighteen wheeler lumbered forward creating a cloud of black diesel smoke

. He hated lying to Hank, but the FBI and half a dozen other agencies were most likely monitoring her mail and telephone hopping he would contact her.

After walking a few miles the outskirts of the city began to appear, the neon-heavy block buildings oozed a pustule imitation of the glitzy-glamorous good life. Ahead he could see a service station sign, Mex Oil & Gas, and hurriedly crossed the highway. It was new and modern, surrounded by long lines of motorist eager to fill up before crossing the border into California, land of skyrocketing prices.

He purchased a two-liter bottle of spring water and six Granola bars inside the Quick-Mark putting a major dent in his travel funds. As he was standing at the checkout he sensed someone was watching, nervously his eyes scanned the room, behind a glass wall separating the food store from the coffee shop were three sets of hungry eyes.

On first assessment Antonio thought they were like him, college students, maybe Mexican American judging from their clothing, except it was all-wrong, an Ole Miss cap and a UCLA tank top. Or the combination that defied all reasoning, a Yale baseball cap and a Harvard Law tee shirt? The largest of the trio smiled and with a finger motioned him over. Apprehensively he crammed his supplies in his backpack and went over to their booth. The big guy made the smaller guy switch seats so Antonio would have to set next to him.

'Hi guys!' Antonio said standing beside the booth. 'Name's Antonio and I'm a student at the University.'

'Sit yo-self down, An-ton-io!' He reached out and grabbed his hand pulling him down. 'They call me Juan, this ugly hombre is Nester...the little guy, well he has lots of names. You can start off with Luis.'

'Happy to meet you fellows.' Antonio said with an uneasy smile. 'Do you guys go to school around here?'

Nester's laugh was sinister. 'Yeah, we be students and shit... Tijuana U, school of hard knocks...where you can learn those life-skills that make a flying-fuck difference...like hot wiring, breaking and entering, and all kinds of confidence games.'

'You got that right Papi.' Juan said. 'But you failed to convey the true advantage of a TU education...that enhanced psychic ability...like spotting an undercover Federally, or the nervous dude on the verge of becoming a snitch, or scooping out a punta even before he knows he's one.' Juan grinned and looked at Luis. 'But one of the most useful trade skills is spotting a guy on the run.' Juan's right hand gently massaged Antonio's neck.

Nester reached in his back pocket, pulled out a folded tabloid, and slammed it down on the table. 'Hey dude, you're famous! I never met a guy that kills with his dick...my props bad boy!'

Juan and Nester were laughing their asses off as Antonio checked out the magazine. If he had to come up with worse case scenario he was certain the tabloid story would claim the prize. They had taken pictures from the hotel security tape, showing the Jean and Antonio kissing and playing poolside, dinning at the fancy restaurant; they even had pictures of Rudolf and Wendell shopping for clothes. Rudolf was totally naked in one picture trying on swimsuits.

'Tell me something...' Hector jabbed his index finger on the blacked out area of Rudolf's nude photo. 'What we talking about size-wise...this big stud must be packing some killer-meat!' Everyone but Antonio roared with laughter and Juan hi-five Hector.

'Killer-meat! Man you-so-bad...shows some respect for An-ton-io's friend.' Juan's face was a mirror of deceit; he turned and looked at Antonio. 'Man, we sorry your roomy snuffed himself...but seriously dude, in prison for a sex crime! The cons would have eaten him alive.'

Antonio jumped up, and reached down for his backpack, Juan's hand struck faster than a snake grabbing his wrist. Antonio struggled and tried to peel-off Juan's long fingers. A shouting match between the two guys drew the attention of the entire coffee shop.

Juan lowered his voice and said. 'Sit yo ass back down before somebody recognizes you and calls the police!'

Antonio face was crimson and he was so angry his entire body trembled. 'Just let me go! No body killed Wendell, he was on drugs and choked...that's the truth man! The only charged me after Rudolf killed himself...the chief prosecutor is no good, pure trash, using this case to boost his political carrier.'

Juan and Hector cracked up and Juan, still laughing, shook his head and said. 'Everybody knows the prosecutor is a slime-bag! Hell, most of his undercounted money is from extortion. Rich American comes down, party too much and go to jail. Now this is the fun part where District Attorney Hugo Ferreira puts the squeeze on, painting a picture of what a Mexican jail would be like for them. The rich tourist coughs up dollars and the DA's office frees them from jail on their own recognizance, pending trial.'

Hector points to his Harvard Law tee-shirt and says. 'These guys can be so grateful...give you the shirt off their backs!'

Juan looked into Antonio's eyes and said. 'How's tricks? Gigolos make good money I bet. That old actress bitch made ya get down and do the nasty...did ya have to eat out her wrinkled old snatch? Kinda like eating a catchers mitt, all dry and dusty.'

Antonio was fuming; his voice was almost shouting volume. 'Asshole, Jean was classy lady...good looking even! You'll never experience someone of her caliber, because you're just a sewer rat! Now what do you want...what's it gonna take for you leaches to go away?'

Now Juan was angry and concerned that Antonio would make a scene and involve the police. He motioned with his hand for Antonio to keep cool. 'Ok killer-dick! What I want is some of the money and rich bobbles that the old actress laid on ya...I'll even escort ya to a secluded spot on the border few people know about...crossing over is easy and no Border Patrol check that section. What ya say, shake on it and we leave right now!'

Antonio's head was spinning; the chance of freedom was stronger than his fear of what Juan would do when he found out he had only a few Pesos.

To be continued...