Therapist

Rough, thuggish men always fascinated me. I had never although acted upon this predilection, for fear of being preyed upon by opportunistic straight men, who due to their dire financial constraints would seek out soft gay targets. I had a friend who always targeted these kinds of individuals and although he was happy to part with money have his proclivities taken care of. Twice before he had been beaten up as a result, even though the financial transaction had seemingly been amenable to all parties.

The first incident was hardly earth-shattering, but the second incident, had resulted in a hospital visit because of a rather severe beating he took. Apart from the damage to my friend’s décor, the thug also made off with expensive jewellery and watches.

Naturally, any hint of homosexuality always negated the service and respect that heterosexual people take for granted, because of the universal attitude of those in law enforcement, in the belief that, ‘The queer got exactly what he deserved.’

Nevertheless, all my fantasies were about trashy straight men fucking me in some or other trailer park, prison, or police cell, and whenever I encountered a skanky male bull, my imagination got fuelled for the next several weeks.

In the evenings, I spent a great deal of time trolling all the internet sites where pictures of these men nourished this penchant. 

As fate would have it, one day received a call unexpectedly, from a penitentiary asking if I did pro bono work.

Before I continue my story, I feel I should perhaps update you on my professional background and the reason for their call.

The penitentiary believed that being a psychologist, my input could be very useful when assessing prisoners who were due for parole.

The call interested me for two reasons; Firstly, I would have access to the kinds of men that sparked my base sexual interests. The second, and more philanthropic reason, was that some good might come from my findings. I hoped that this mission might ignite a flame that would impassion my literary skills, because I had been looking for a subject to write a meaningful thesis about. The neurotic men, women, and children, who I normally interacted with, offered very little substance in this regard.      

Although my first reaction was to give the woman on the other end of the phone, a decisive and lustful, “Fuck yeah!” Instead, nonetheless, I opted for a far more professional and measured answer.

“Will you be sending me all the details of your potential interviewee’s should I take this project on?” I asked in a calm and restrained manner.

“Definitely,” she answered.

“Good. Then please send me some information as soon as possible and after I have taken a look at it, I shall give you an answer very shortly,” I calmly answered with a soaring heart rate.

That night when I got home after work, I rushed to my PC. Thankfully, the promised information had been forwarded, and best of all, including pictures of the men. Four of the five candidates were not awe-inspiring. Number 5, however, almost made me piss in my pants.

Ezekiel O’Donnell, AKA Zeke, was simply a wet dream come true. There were four mugshots of him, one face on, two left and right side profiles, and the last picture was from behind, obviously showing the tattoos on the back of his baldhead. Zeke had a massive ruddy beard and riveting eyes, and his lips, the bit one could see of them nestled in the luxurious beard and moustache, seemed full and thick. His nose appeared to have been broken with no bridge to talk of, and which then lead downward into wide nostrils.

The little one could see of his shoulders, suggested that he was thickset, a fact supported by his physical stats. Zeke was six-foot-four-inches-tall and weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds. 

As I perused his conviction details, I saw that he was serving an eight-year sentence for aggravated assault. Although the other person had started the fight, when this man’s girlfriend had made a pass at Zeke, Zeke had broken his jaw in two places and cracked numerous ribs on the man’s body, thereby putting him in hospital for six weeks. What also did not help matters, was that he had a former assault conviction, which had resulted in a suspended sentence.

When I got into bed later, all I could think about was the mugshot of the man I would be interviewing. As my mind started working overtime, my right hand went berserk on my knob.

To cut a long story short, one week later I made my way to the prison with butterflies in my stomach.

As I sat in the private interview room, I anxiously awaited Zeke’s arrival. When he arrived, my heart almost stopped. Zeke was magnificent and far exceeded my expectations. I could literally, feel my toes curling with excitement in the shoes I was wearing. Zeke was fuckin’ huge and masculine beyond description. He was wearing a white t-shirt that strained over his muscular arms and a pair of orange overall pants that was a standard issue for inmates. The boots on his feet were huge and his cuffed hands were massive.

As he sat down opposite me, the warden produced a second pair of handcuffs, before both his hands got cuffed to the steel bar on the counter for my protection. As he then placed his meaty hands flat on the surface of the table, I looked down at them. Rough as his broad fingers were, his nails were short-cropped and clean. This sight would become, imprinted on my mind for several weeks thereafter.

As my eyes progressed upward, his powerful and fully tattooed arms, I finally focussed on his mesmerizing green eyes as the warden departed from the room.

“Hi, I’m Andrew,” I said, before continuing, “I suppose you know why you are here?” to which he simply nodded. 

“Tell me how you landed in this situation?” I asked, inviting a dialogue between us.

Zeke then gave me a breakdown of the fight and stressed how sorry he was that he had taken things too far.

“Have you always been violent?” I then asked.

“No, I never start fights, but I sure as fuck know how to end them,” he said, with a remorseful rather than arrogant look on his face.

“Are you sorry about what you did?” I asked.

“Yeah, after six years I know that must never again repeat my recklessness,” he sagely informed me.

“Did you grow up in a violent home?” I asked.

Zeke then went on to tell me about his dad, introducing the subject by informing me that he had grown up in a tough neighbourhood. When he was young, his dad had frequently whipped his arse, but as he grew older, his dad’s fists had taken over from the strap.

Next, after touching after the missing bridge of his nose, he went on to tell me that his dad had once smashed his face.

“Why didn’t you report this?” I asked in disbelief.

“Are you kidding? If they locked my dad up, then who the fuck would’ve fed and kept a roof over our heads?” Zeke asked disbelievingly.

“What did you tell them at the hospital?” I asked in shock.

“That I had fallen on my face,” he answered, before resuming, “The good thing that came from this was, that my dad took things a little easier with me after that.”

“Do you still see your dad?” I responded.

“Sure, things are what they are,” he assured me.

“How have you coped in prison?” I then asked.

“Okay,” he answered, before qualifying, “I have a roof over my head, I get three meals a day, I get to use the gym as you can see,” he said flexing his constrained arms, and then with a strange look on his face, he concluded, “And I even get my sexual needs taken care of.”

“Really?” I asked with a naïve look on my face.

“Oh, common, Andrew, don’t play the innocent act with me. Everyone knows what happens in prisons,” he said with an impish look on his face, before elaborating, “And I have a pretty little prison bitch that takes care of all my needs.”

The moment I had been waiting for arrived, and I almost pissed in my pants once more.

Trying to keep a calm demeanour, “And how does that work?” I asked with my best poker face.

“Well, although most men that go to prison are straight, the lines soon become blurred. When you watch guys getting gangbanged in the showers every day and hear the sexual grunts emanating from the cells every night, I suppose a primeval force takes over and before long one’s sexual urges kick in. In any case, about six months ago a young man that had committed fraud became my cellmate and my next bitch,” Zeke informed me.

Did the boy willingly give in to your ‘urges?’ ” I asked.

“They all eventually do,” he assured me, before explaining, “It’s really simple because when offered the choice of being used by you alone and falling under your protection, as opposed to the alternative of being thrown to the pack and becoming a universal fuck-bunny, guys all see the logic in their dilemma. In any case, the stroppy younger guys who resist often end up in the infirmary with a severely abused backside.”

“Wow,” I said, feigning surprise.

“Naturally, ‘protection’ always trumps the universal mistreatment of becoming a prison fuck-toy,” he casually qualified.

But what if the youngsters report this?” I asked.

“Oh, Jesus, buddy, get a grip,” he replied condescendingly, “Most of the wardens are in on the deal. In prison, you have no rights and you are simply a lowlife fuckin’ criminal who is getting what you deserve. Either you conform or your life can be a living hell. You simply do not have any recourse in this environment.”

“You’re joking,” I countered, now totally stunned.

“Don’t for one second think that trying to change the system won’t lead to dire consequences for a young bitch,” he assured me.

By now, our first session was about to end and I was soon on my way.

That night as I lay in my bed vigorously tugging on my dick, I could not help wishing to be ‘unfortunate’ cellmate.

On my next visit, I concentrated my efforts on getting to know him better so that I could submit a comprehensive report as soon as possible, naturally excluding all the sexual information that I had learned. The two things, that I had also begun to consider, was to find him employment and find him a place to stay if his parole was successful.  

“What kind of work would you like to do if you get parole?” I asked.

I was an electrician when I was locked up, so anything in that field would be great,” he replied.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I offered.

“Seriously… Gee, thanks,” he appreciatively answered.

After another good session, I departed with even more lust for this magnificent alpha. I was determined to try to aid him in his post-prison existence. I wasn’t foolish enough to imagine any more than that, after all, was he again found himself in a natural environment, I was sure that he would revert to his heterosexual proclivities.

When I had bought my home a few years before, a lot of electrical work had been required. Thomas, the electrician who had done all the work, and I had become friendly. Thomas then also took care of my ongoing electrical requirements, thereafter.

When I spoke to him about Zeke, Thomas, however, looked very sceptical despite my assurances. Nonetheless, he promised to give my proposal some consideration.

Fortuitously, a week before Zeke’s parole hearing, two of Thomas’s workers had told him that they were leaving to start their own business. Thomas, therefore, agreed to meet with Zeke, if he got parole. 

A few days before his parole hearing, I submitted my report to the parole board, and agreed to an interview, at Zeke’s parole hearing. I also tutored Zeke about his interview and gave him good advice about how he should answer the questions put to him.

The hearing was a great success and when I told the board that I had arranged an interview for Zeke for possible employment, I could see that they were very impressed. Added to that, my offer to sponsor him by offering temporary accommodation to him in my spare room after his possible release also proved to be a strong incentive in their final decision.

It all went flawlessly and he got parole.

On the day I collected him from the penitentiary, Zeke had a huge smile on his face.

As he got into my vehicle, I asked what he would like to do first.

“Have a shower to wash the smell of prison off me,” he replied.

Once we got to my home, I showed him his bedroom. The elated look on his face when he saw it was incredible.

As anticipated, Zeke then went off to his bathroom for his shower.

When he exited the bathroom, he had a towel wrapped around his hips. I now fully saw his magnificent tattooed body, completely covered by a dusting of ruddy hair.

What immediately caught my attention were the two large green shamrocks tattooed on both his shoulders. His enormous feet were fantastic and as perfect as I had anticipated.

After handing him a beer and reminding him that he needed to take it easy with alcohol, Zeke told me not to worry about that. As he then mentioned and I would soon see, he was not a heavy drinker and had never done drugs of any sort.

Pushing my luck, I then mentioned that his full beard still looked very wet. Without batting an eyelid, Zeke then removed the towel from his hips and commenced rubbing his beard.

As I looked downward, I saw a jumbo-sized uncut pork sausage and ample balls flopping about, and surrounded by a bushy mane of untrimmed pubic hair. His crotch was spectacular!

How I stopped myself from not falling to my knees and giving him a blowjob, I will never know.

After he was done, he once more wrapped the towel around his hips before we moved through to the lounge. I had taken the day off work and there was no pressure on me. I had reasoned that getting Zeke settled on that day was my priority.

As we sat chatting, I told him that Thomas would be calling around later that day to interview him. Zeke could not stop thanking me for all my trouble. During our chat, I also assured him that he was welcome to stay as long as he liked and that I would assist him in finding suitable accommodation when the time arrived.

I then impishly suggested that, if and when, he needed to have a bit of pussy in the future, that he was welcome to invite the woman to my home.

With a chuckle, he replied that as pussy had gotten him into trouble in the first place, he was in no hurry to revisit that episode in his life for the near future. This information was like music to my ears.

Later that day, when Thomas arrived, within minutes it was clear that he and Zeke were hitting it off.

“I know that you have just got out of prison and I am sure you would like to relax for a day or two, but the truth is I need you to start as soon as possible because I am understaffed right now,” Thomas informed him.

“I’m ready and willing to go,” Zeke enthusiastically answered.

“Cool, then I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow,” Thomas, informed him.

“I’ll be ready and waiting,” Zeke countered.

“That’s what I like to hear. I must, however, warn you that within an hour or two, I’ll know if you’re up to scratch,” Thomas warningly replied.

“I’m up for the challenge,” Zeke emphatically answered.

After Thomas departed, I made dinner for us. After helping me with the dishes afterward, Zeke looked at me apologetically and said, “I am exhausted. Today has been incredibly exciting, but I need to get to bed as soon as possible.”

Disappointed as I was by his early departure, I, nevertheless, understood.

Sleep, however, did not come easily to me that night as the vision of his naked body pushed a playback button, repeatedly, in my mind. Thankfully, I finally drifted off to sleep.

The following morning I was delighted to find, that like myself, Zeke was also an early riser. What enthralled me even more, was when he asked if he could join me in my large shower under the pretext of saving water, as they did in prison.

Did I agree...? Well, bet your fuckin’ arse I did.

After two months of visualization, my dream had finally materialized and I was shaking as we entered the bathroom.

As I stood in the shower with my Adonis, I handed him the loofa, presuming that he would first soap himself up. Zeke, however, told me that he was going to scrub me first. As the loofa, guided by his huge hands moved up and down my back, my cock went rock-hard. When he finally instructed me to turn around, I was relieved to see his jumbo sausage was also at full mast, with a pink cherry peeping out of its sleeve, as his magnificent hands commenced their labours. Upon completing his task, he handed the loofa to me and turned his body to face the wall.

As my shaking hands started sculpting the contours of his muscular frame, I was afraid that I might faint. The compass tattoo on the back of his head with tridents marking out the various directions had me mesmerized. Looking down, my eyes focussed on the ample mounds of his butt-cheeks. After running the loofa between the lusty mounds, I could not help myself from running my index finger over his pucker. A huge sigh rewarded my efforts. I also hoped that my tongue would tantalize that spot, in the not too distant future.

After he turned around his eyes bored into me as we looked at one another. His eyes now fully communicated that we were on the same page. Brazenly, my right hand moved to his dick, before I pulled his foreskin back and caressed his glans with my fingers. Through his beard, I could see and hear his open mouth exhaling a lusty sigh.

We did not take things any further because we still had to make breakfast before Thomas’s arrival.

After rinsing and drying ourselves off, however, I felt like, a die had been cast, and could not wait for the evening to arrive. 

How I managed to concentrate at work that day, only goodness knows.

After dinner that evening we sat in the lounge chatting. Zeke had enjoyed his day immensely and by two o’clock, earlier that afternoon, Thomas had sent me a text message to say that he could not be more pleased with Zeke.  

At around nine-thirty when we headed off to bed, no words were exchange as Zeke simply followed me into my bedroom and started undressing.

After getting into bed he lay beside me and said, “Thank you, Andrew,” before gently kissing me.

“Are you missing your prison boy?” I asked.

“Nah, this is infinitely better,” he answered.

“Did you know I was gay when you met me?” I inquired.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Your eyes gave you away when I walked into the room,” he answered.    

 “Well…” I tried to continue before his finger pressed against my lips.

 “Shhh… Enough talking,” he whispered, before his lips once more nestled on my mouth.

Every fantasy that I had ever imagined now flew out of the window because the reality of what was happening was breathtaking.

As Zeke’s body moved on top of me, my heart beat faster than ever before. The ardency of his lip wrestling and the heaviness of his body now cocooned me in an orgasmic embrace, as his hips began to grind his knob into me.

In a dreamlike state, my legs lifted over Zeke’s shoulders, before his gratifying annexation of my body took place. My welcoming arms encouragingly caressed his broad shoulders as I purred my consent in total ecstasy.

As his leisurely thrusting went on and on, the hairy coating of his mouth ensconced me in a luxurious blanket of furry euphoria. Every fantasy was coming true.

Nothing I had ever imagined live up to my evening of bliss, and I got fucked, six-love, six-love, six-love, on Wimbledon’s centre court, on men’s final day. 

That night I slept like a baby, little realizing that even greater pleasure was lying ahead.

The following night as we ate our dinner, Zeke observed me serious before saying, “I’ve made an observation about you in our interactions.”

With the tables turned, given my profession, I was both, taken aback and intrigued.    

“Oh, and what are these observations?” I gingerly inquired.  

Zeke’s face transformed into an air ascendancy as he assertively answered, “I saw through your bullshit instantly. Well… You saw my profile and got horny about the ins and outs of prison sodomy… You are dying to find out what it’s like to be a prison bitch.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I countered meekly.

“Bullshit!” he shot back robustly.

I just sat there like a deer, caught in the headlights. After a very long pause, Zeke again spoke.

“Andrew, when we go to the bedroom in the future, we’ll be in prison, and you’ll be the young bitch that has just been delivered into my clutches, ready to obey all my demands,” Zeke answered in a commanding tone.

I had never felt such a level of excitement in my life as I followed him.

At the door, he told me to wait outside until summoned.

After a minute, an imaginary conversation in the third person with the warden commenced as Zeke lay naked on the bed. It was amazing, and Zeke could easily have been an actor. ‘Their interplay’ was so astonishing that I felt completely convinced by the authenticity.

Warden Wilder was making good on his promise and my pussy was the offering that Zeke had been guaranteed. As I was summoned to the bed, I ambled over like an obedient child, like a prison bitch who was about to be turned out. The verbal interplay had been incredible and I knew that arse was about to be ‘abused.’ Not be outdone by the build-up, I squealed like a prison virgin in the throes of anguish.

If the previous night had been great, this episode was spectacular. Every make-believe scenario exceeded my wildest expectations. The dialogue was contrived but heavenly, and every imaginable cliché was verbalized.  

After that, my bedroom became my penal fantasy of ecstasy. For Zeke, I suppose, it became a home away from home, where he could give vent to the rough dominance he had enjoyed during his incarceration. It was a winning recipe for all concerned.