Cell 13 by Duke (duke9555@hotmail.com)
This is a story about love and betrayal in prison and at home. (MM, intr, bdsm)
When I arrived at prison I was terrified. The smell of concrete and steel permeated and hung heavy in the stifling air. The long four hour bus ride shackled in chains didn't do much to alleviate my anxiety. I was assigned cell #13 after a lengthy intake process. We were given two uniforms of state green plus two pairs of white boxers and a pair of cheap work boots along with two pairs of white socks.
I took the fact my cell was number 13 as a foreboding sign from the gods. My sentence was an indeterminate one to three years. My crime was possession of a controlled substance. If I stayed out of trouble while incarcerated I could expect to be free in about thirteen months I was assured by my half-witted defense attorney. I'm your average white male about five feet ten and an unprepossessing one hundred and sixty five pounds. I'm average in all regards.
Of course I had heard all the horror stories about prison. I prayed I could find a way to avoid becoming 'Bubba's' bitch. My wife, the beautiful and very sexy Jane and my fourteen year old son were waiting dutifully at home for me. Both had promised to write and visit often. They kept their promise.
The inmate population was preponderantly Black and Spanish. Whites comprised at most five percent of the population. The guards or corrections officers as they liked to be called were all Caucasians.
I had historically gotten along very well with both Black and Spanish men and women. I had owned a nightclub in New York City ("The Black Cat") before my incarceration. The club catered primarily to Black and Spanish men and women. So my familiarity with their sociological predilections was well founded in real life settings. The tone and texture of their quotidian languages and mores were not as alien to me as they were to my white colleagues in stir.
The edifice known as Lions Mountain Correctional facility was an imposing brick and mortar building of the late nineteenth century variety. It was nestled high up in the mountains of New York State near the Canadian border. There were sections of it that still bore the stamp of its 1890 origins. Most of it however was somewhat more modern, circa 1950's or thereabouts.
In each cell there was a bunk bed a commode a small table and a tiny locker.
I occupied my cell, #13, all by myself for about a week or so. The guards told me my cellmate, Lance, was being disciplined and was in the 'box'. The 'box' I learned was prison idiom for solitary confinement. Lance would be out of the box in a day or two depending upon his deportment the guards said. Having the 9' x 6' cell all to myself was spoiling me. We arose at six in the morning for breakfast in the mess hall.
We were marched to the mess hall for lunch at twelve noon. Dinner was at six in the evening. The 'final count' and lights out was at eleven each night. There were counts of the inmates at various times during the day. For obvious reasons the guards cared more about the inmate counts than anything else in the facility. The food was esculent. It was enough to keep body and soul together.
For the most part the guards were essentially indifferent to the inmates. I quickly saw that as long as they weren't annoyed and the counts went smoothly they left us to our own devices. We inmates had our own little world. It was subject to all the vagaries and petty prejudices that any small community of men might be, only more so. For this was prison, not a boy's camp.
Only thoughts of my wife and son kept me from having a nervous breakdown. We were allowed out of our cells each day besides meals for our work assignments. Each inmate had to have a job or some school to go to each and every day except Sundays. Muslims were given Saturdays off and worked or went to school on Sundays. A large recreation room with a television and tables and chairs was on each cellblock. There were rows of fifty cells to a tier in each building. There were fifteen such buildings. Tiers were five stories high.
The fifth tier in all the buildings were in desuetude and without lights and uninhabitable.
Fifth tier cells were all open and empty. Nobody was permitted on the fifth tiers, including the guards. The railings on the fifth tier were all loose and the steps were dangerous. There were three thousand prisoners housed in Lion Mountain. I was but one. This is my story.
I heard the keys of the guard long before I saw his face. Mike, the nicest and friendliest of the guards approached and opened the door to cell #13. My first reaction to Lance as he ambled into the cell was one of inferiority. Lance stood about 6'2" tall and weighed in at 230 pounds of chiseled granite muscle. His well defined muscularity strained at his green shirt and pants. Lance's face was blank, expressionless, and cold, icy cold.
He had the kind of face that made one wish for a glimmer of emotion on it.
I quickly scampered up to the top bunk. Lance gave me an unexpected wide toothsome smile. Other white inmates had told me the bottom bunk was Lance's.
"Got a smoke?" Lance asked pleasantly enough.
I had received a package from my wife, Jane, only yesterday. I had plenty of smokes. I thanked God I did. I had no desire to get off on the wrong foot with Lance by disappointing him with a negative answer to his first question. I very quickly handed him a cigarette and lit it for him. Lance spoke in a relaxed manner about his trials and tribulations in the 'box' without me asking.
However, he refused to tell me what he had done to get himself thrown into solitary. I didn't press the issue with him.
We spoke of our lives and our respective crimes for nearly two hours. The yell of "MEAL TIME WALKING" was given by the captain of the guard, big Sal. Lance and I as well as the whole cellblock grew silent. We marched to the mess hall in stony silence. I followed Lance as we grabbed trays, utensils, and then our meal. I sat at a table of twenty inmates.
The chatter in the mess hall was stridently staccato and seemingly friendly in tone. Old friends and new, making small talk of prison, and street life. I remained silent. My one friend, Tim, and I exchanged glances and small nods of hello. Upon our return to the cell Lance produced his 'short eyes'. 'Short eyes' is prison vernacular for glossy pornographic magazines. These magazines depicted women in scantily clad outfits and nudes. Very few of the books had graphic sex scenes.
He offered me one or two to peruse. I took them. I didn't wish to appear uninterested in a subject which clearly interested Lance so much, sex. I reminded him I was married and had a wife and fourteen year old son waiting for me at home. Lance grunted approvingly at this reminder. We showed each other our favorite 'bitches' in the short eyes books. Short eyes are a status symbol in prison. Lance had the most in the entire facility. I was duly impressed with his collection of dirty books.
I felt both fear and pleasure at having the top prisoner as a cellmate. To be frank and candid I had a gnawing fear since Lance first entered cell #13. Fear of his astounding physical presence and his daunting and unquestionable superiority over me. My pleasure was derived at watching his catlike and graceful movements. He moved with the grace and assuredness of a jungle beast. His muscles rippled under his clothing like snakes in a bag, a well fitting bag to be sure.
He noticed the picture of my wife and son I had put on the locker.
He said only, "Good looking lady."
I said, "Thanks."
He told me again how lucky I was to have family that visited me regularly. He said, "You're blessed man, blessed"
This was a phrase I was too hear often in the ensuing months. Very quickly it became 'de rigeur' for Lance to hold out his hand anytime he desired a cigarette. I only responded by placing a cigarette in his huge hand. Lance was going to be inside he said for about a year or so. He had violated parole. He was now doing time for parole violation.
His original sentence or 'bid', as the inmates referred to sentences as, was twenty years. Lance had done fifteen years of an original twenty year 'bid'. Lance had killed a white man. He was now nearly thirty nine years old and had spent half of his life in prison. despite this horrifying situation he appeared to be a calm and satisfied man. Underneath this quiescent facade breathed a fire and a fury.
Lance returned from his assigned work in the prison kitchen. He removed his kitchen habiliments as I reclined on the upper bunk. There was one shower for every five cells. Permission from the guard on duty was needed to use the shower.
I didn't want to appear self consciously prudish as Lance prepared for his ablutions by averting my eyes. He held my gaze. He disrobed and chatted with me steadily as he did so. He sauntered to the showers. He held a bar of my wife's Camay soap she had sent to me. He let his towel drop to the stone floor. Lance was an astounding physical specimen. My heart skipped a beat.
The cells were left open during most of the day. They were only locked completely down on last count at eleven P.M. The guards patrolled the cell block corridors of each tier in use. They walked back and forth, back and forth. The 5th tier was conspicuous by its silence and disuse. Inmates freely socialized by visiting each other's cells under the watchful eyes of the omnipresent guards.
**
During my first few nights at Lions Mountain I had heard bizarre noises during most nights. They were definitely the sounds of humans and not of rats as some suggested to me. They were emanating from the 5th tier, I was certain of this. Could the joint be haunted? Things were scary enough without ghosts.
I was soon assigned to work in the prison kitchen. Lance and I were now coworkers as well as cellmates. I hadn't had this kind of propinquity with my wife, I smiled to myself. Lance only snickered mischievously when I asked him about the noise on the 5th tier. After our first day working together we repaired to our cell.
Lance said, "You take a shower first Ron, I'll take one after you."
"No problem," I mumbled in reply.
It was impossible not to be naked in front of your cellmate at some point. Lance's stare bore into me as I hurriedly removed my kitchen uniform. I was bizarrely pleased Lance found me worthy of a second glance. After my shower Lance allowed another inmate to take his turn in the shower.
Lance had that kind of influence with the guards. He remained in the cell with me as I finished drying myself with a new fluffy towel Jane had sent to me. I must admit I was beginning to enjoy Lance's attentive glances. At this point I was beyond ordinary horniness. I had not had sex with my wife or anyone else in months. I was 'backed up' to say the least.
"Don't be shy Ron," Lance said evenly.
"I'm not I'm not," I replied too nervously to sound convincing.
"Ok ok," Lance smiled.
My slender and diminutive dick sprung to life. I stood balancing myself on the back wall of the cell. My towel fell off as I sought to remain upright. I quickly bent to retrieve it. Lance's large black hand got there first. Yup I was standing completely naked with a hard- on before the grinning Lance. My feeble white physique was on full display for Lance's delectation. Lance winked and licked his lips like a man viewing a freshly cooked pork chop.
I was comfortable with Lance. I didn't fear him like I thought I would. My fears were now diluted with sexual overtones. Lance had not shown any evidence of being queer. He had not been the least bit threatening or violent towards me. Quite to the contrary Lance was solicitous and protective of me.
He elicited the feminine side of my bisexuality. I hadn't confided my bisexuality to Lance. I doubted he cared all that much. I had been sexually attracted to Lance the very instant I first saw him. I didn't think I would be well advised to confess this fact to him.
Lance pitched an unbelievably huge tent in his shorts. He looked like he might be trying to hide a small baseball bat.
"Not here, not now," Lance muttered softly.
I looked at him blankly in response.
"Later on the 5th tier," he added mysteriously.
I remained silent.
Lance allowed me to dress unmolested.
A flash of disappointment washed over me quite unexpectedly. I had an inchoate sexual desire for this black Adonis. I melted when he uttered my name. He said "Ron" in an almost romantic manner. At least this is how I heard it. Lance actually asked for a cigarette. We were both sitting on his bunk. Lance began a most remarkable story. Lance told me all the cellblocks were segregated into whites and what he called their "nigger bosses".
I listened in rapt attention to every word of his tale. He told me all the whiteboys did the bidding of their 'nigger bosses' no questions asked. This is how it is. The 'nigger bosses' used the 5th tier as a rendezvous spot for their sexual assignations with their whiteboy 'concubines' sorta speak. With the connivance of the guards the 5th tier was nothing less than a seraglio for satisfying the lustful sexual cravings of the 'niggers'.
The whiteboys satisfied all manner of sexual cravings of their 'nigger masters' on the 5th tier. My mouth was agape at these astounding revelations. This of course was the reason I had heard bizarre noises all those nights. Lance told me my whiteboy friend, Tim, could confirm his fantastic story. He was a regular whiteboy 'date' of one certain nigger on the 5th tier, Saleem.
I had noticed Tim was more than a shade less than masculine. However he was married with two kids. And I was married with one son, and I was excited. Who would know? Behind closed doors and all that stuff. I made a mental note to check with Tim ASAP.
Lance told me a lot of 'niggers' were allowed out of their cells at night. The guards chose which ones and why. Lance was never overlooked. The niggers would in turn choose certain whiteboys to be their 'dates' for that night. Almost all of the guards were voyeurs it turned out. The guards who weren't, minded their own business. What 'goings on'! on the 5th tier I thought. Lance told me which whiteboys were part of this continuing queer orgy on the 5th tier. Many were.
The penalties for refusing an order of the 'niggers' by any whiteboy were beatings and the silent treatment. Neither penalty appealed to me as much as Lance did. He asked me what I thought. I told him I was very much in favor of the whole setup. He laughed contentedly.
"It keeps peace in the joint and makes everybody happy" Lance announced.
When in Rome, I thought.
Lance told me it would be a while before he could arrange for me to be a 'date' for some 'nigger' on the 5th tier. It seemed all the 'niggers' were pleased with the whiteboys they already had. Lance noted that when whiteboys left Lions Mountain replacements were called for. He laughed as he told me he would put in a good word for me with the powers that be.
There was no use in pretending I was some type of macho tough guy with Lance. I wasn't, and he is twice the man I am in all regards. I surrendered my ego to Lance's will.
I wistfully thought of my wife and son waiting for me at home. No time for sentimentality, the niggers needed me, my white skin, and sexual talents right here. I blushed. Here without the influence of any females my girly side dared to become ascendant.
Lance filled me in on the real hierarchy of the facility. The whiteboys were totally subservient to the 'nigger bosses' This was something I had noticed, but not the sexual component. I had missed that. He further told me that the whiteboys who received packages from home were expected to liberally share them with their 'nigger bosses'. This I had seen. I had seen Tim give Saleem, a large black inmate, many items of food and cigarettes. Tim gave them up with no signs of distress or hesitation either. It was all starting to make sense to me now.
Lance also told me that whiteboys with people on the outside were expected to make requests that these persons 'contribute' to the 'nigger fund'. Our people on the outside then received the names and numbers of certain niggers. These niggers were sent their own personal packages over and above what we shared with them. The niggers didn't share with the whiteboys. My weenie dripped precum at this fabulous story.
I spoke to Tim at the library the first chance I got. Tim was twenty-five and about 5' 9" and one hundred and forty five pounds. He was undeniably good looking. Flirting with being pretty. Blonde hair, Tourmaline blue eyes, perfect alabaster white skin. His chest was sparsely sprinkled with light hair. His mouth and lips were pouty enough to be wrapped around a cock I lewdly thought. His girlish good looks were topped off with a very respectable tight and toned physique.
Tim was a swimmer in high school. He was possessed of a small and submissive demeanor. He told me he had never entertained homosexual fantasies. I had no idea if he was telling me the truth or not. He struck me as androgynous in appearance and attitude. Tim was a soft delicate and refined gentleman. He was a college graduate with an excellent job before he was incarcerated. Now he was just a college graduate.
He was at this facility for embezzlement. He allowed as he was at first horrified at being a fuck-toy for the niggers. He further confessed he was now deeply enthralled with being the nigger's whiteboy whore, his new role in life. His nigger boss, Saleem, was one of the more attractive and militantly rough niggers.
They looked like the perfect couple. He six feet even and two hundred pounds and he slight and oh so very white and fey. Tim doted on Saleem's every move and desire. He often washed Saleem's cell on his hands and knees. He washed Saleem's underwear by hand in his sink. Tim shared everything with Saleem. When Tim spoke of Saleem I saw love in his eyes. If not love actually, then lust, most assuredly. Obviously Tim was now a flaming faggot queen. Since I first met Tim his manner had gotten to be very gay. He swished and minced all over the cellblocks. Much to the nigger's delight.
"Oh Ron, these niggers are such men, real men!" He squealed in a womanly voice.
"I just can't help myself, it feels so right, and so good, being their whore" he gushed with a girlish glee.
"Ron, I'm in love with that big black buck of a man, Saleem," he mewled breathlessly.
I was astounded at Tim's confession of love for Saleem. He was doing so much more than 'going along to get along'. Tim was in serious romantic love with Saleem. At the very least, infatuation was Tim's affliction. Tim's wife, Rita, visited regularly and contributed to the nigger fund generously.
I wondered if she knew of Tim's new found 'love' of black cock: And his emotional involvement with Saleem. Tim was a 'high strung' man, and given to emotional flights of fancy I saw. But I was gratified to hear Tim talk as he did. It made my feelings for Lance so much easier to talk about. I felt less odd. I had a soul mate in Tim, it seemed.
"Tim, I melt like a schoolgirl when I see Lance" I confessed to Tim.
We both blushed and giggled like thirteen year old girls.
Tim confirmed Lance's lurid tale of the 5th tier. He told me he wished I would soon join him and the other whiteboy whores on the 5th tier. I told him quite honestly how much I looked forward to it. Tim's confessions got me hornier than I was before. I needed to speak to Lance and lobby for a spot on the 5th tier soon. I needed sex. I needed to be a nigger's whiteboy trash whore slave. My heart pounded and raced in my chest. My dick stiffened. It leaked precum.
Lance was sitting in the sink of our cell when I returned. He was wearing only his white boxer shorts. Lance was rolling a joint. I was still flushed with sexual ardor from the invigorating chat I had had with Tim.
"So did ya talk with your friend Timmy, Ron?" Lance asked casually.
"I sure did" I smiled back.
"So?" Lance inquired further.
"I want to be on the 5th tier Lance!" I effused excitedly.
A deep throated chuckle was Lance's only reply. Then he added, "Ok Ron let's see if I can help you out"
My face was barely large enough to hold my smile.
"Want some Ron?" Lance asked as he pointed the marijuana cigarette at me.
I put my hand out to accept the contraband. I inhaled deeply the acrid weed. My head was instantly light. Lance laughed. Lance sucked on the forbidden plant after I did. We both got high fast.
Lance's magnificent man meat flopped out of his tight boxer shorts. He saw and heard my glance and gasp of shock. My eyebrows were raised in pleasant surprise. I smiled. His cock was very, very impressive indeed. This was the first good look I had gotten at his snake. And a snake it was too. It had to be 7" long and God knows how thick. Though thick it was. It was still an unexcited snake. I schemed to change this state of affairs.
My schemes were about to bear fruit.
"You want this, right whiteboy?" Lance stated rhetorically.
I could only gulp.
"You bet I do big boy!"
He and I both smiled at my awkward boldness. It was the marijuana bringing out my innermost truths. Lance lifted his giant black body off of the sink. He gingerly sat himself down on the toilet bowl. I was at a loss for an adroit approach.
Lance helped me with a well timed, "C'mere whiteboy and suck me off."
I scrambled to the cold stone floor with amazing alacrity. A bit too quickly for Lance's taste I saw. As he said.
"Slow down ho, take off your clothes first stupid," he sneered these words. I responded with
"The guard?"
"Don't worry about that, sweet thang," he said nonchalantly.
I cast a wary eye at the walking guard. The guard gave me the slightest of smirks and kept on walking past cell #13. I removed my shirt and pants very fast. Breaking off a button in the process. Lance was amused at my eagerness. I slowly removed my boxer shorts.
"C'mon let me see that purdy white body baby doll," Lance said seriously.
Lance was accustomed to man on man sex. It was relatively novel for me however, thus my shyness at actually doing it, as opposed to just fantasizing about it. I was once more naked in front of Lance sporting an erection no less. I felt little shame and self consciousness at my teeny paltry five inch boy-cock.
I was sure Lance had seen his share of puny whiteboy penises before mine. Anyway isn't this the way it should be.? A superior black god humiliating a whiteboy whore from the get go? The shattering comparison was quite clear. His huge muscular frame against my slight white frame. His humongous black cock against my miniature white penis. Black trumps white.
He smiled broadly at the scant white meat I was packing.
"Hey that IS a tiny little one isn't it Ronnie!" he said quite pleased with himself.
He added quite unnecessarily "That's so small someone should have thrown it back."
Lance laughed at his own joke.
My shriveled up emaciated little nub of a penis stirred ever so slightly at Lance's cruel but oh so true words.
"Yeah I know it's small," I said sullenly.
My pulse quickened at this slight.
I was into verbal humiliation as well as physical pain and degradation in my life on the outside. I would get my fill and then some at Lions Mountain.
Lance reached out and shockingly touched my dick. I wasn't expecting this move from a macho man like Lance. With two large black fingers Lance squeezed my penis and pulled me down to my knees. My face was only inches away from Lance's black serpent. It looked like another life form, growing from his narrow hips, separate and apart from Lance. I quickly pulled Lances shorts off of his luscious loins and threw them aside.
"Yeah, show your nigger daddy what a good little white cocksucker you are Ronnie" Lance hissed.
"Give him a good blowjob. A real nice one, baby doll. Do it good and daddy will let you be on the 5th tier," Lance said tantalizingly.
Without using my hands I caused his huge soft cock to flop into my open wet mouth.
I was salivating copiously. I was salivating like the hungry bitch I was. I needed this alpha-male's genitals in my mouth to be complete. I wetted his mammoth cock up and down and across. His astounding love-stick was in fact HUGE. The veins very prominent and very dilated and distended. The 'myth' was perpetuated by Lance's tool of love.
The fetid stench of urine covered its mushroom head. I hungrily washed it off with my wet tongue. Lance wasn't circumcised. I wantonly licked his prepuce clean and dry. I gently chewed on his generous foreskin for a few minutes. I simply adored the sensation of Lance's great cock growing inside my soft white pussy-mouth. I moaned appreciatively. Every move my tongue made at it the goddamn thing took in more blood and grew and grew and grew. It tumesced into a turgid, steel hard 11-inch! I estimated.
I was bound and determined to give this nigger the best blowjob I was capable of. I did so want him to want and like me. He helped by pushing his pelvis into me hard. I kept my hands on his hard black muscular upper thighs. With my fingertips barely making contact with his skin I teased him as I softly ran my fingers over his thighs. I moaned some more. I aimed to put on a top of the line show of vulgarity.
He pushed his moliminous meaty cock into my mouth relentlessly. The fucking thing snaked its way to my throat's opening. I gagged. My eyes watered and my nose ran. I saw it was physiologically impossible for me to take this whole black monster snake into my mouth. I worked long and hard on his long and hard love muscle. I relented and put my smallish left hand on the base of his outsized cock. In doing so I brought into contrast my very white skin against his ebony velvet skin.
My wedding band reflected the light of the single bulb that illuminated our cell. I thought of Jane, my lovely wife, at home, waiting with my son, Brian, for my return. And here I was giving a loving blowjob to my cellmate without any threats behind it. I was sucking his behemoth cock because I wanted to. I needed to. I was being unfaithful to my wife with a big nigger buck, and loving it to boot. An evanescent cloud of guilt shrouded my mind for brief seconds. I took in the first 7" or so of Lance's amazing cock within my mouth.
I alternated jerking the remaining cock meat with my left and right hands. The black monster cock was big and heavy. My mouth and hands covered Lance's black meat in white skin. I twisted and turned my head in corkscrew fashion. Between my twisting and turning and bobbing head and my jerking hand action, Lance was forced to moan out.
"That's what I'm talkin bout. Suck daddy's nigger stick PIG! Lap dem balls son."
I loved it when Lance called me a pig.
My weenie was sluicing precum like a motherfucker.
As my mouth and head turned right, I turned my hand in the opposite direction. Clockwise, Counterclockwise, clockwise. Then I reversed the movements of each. It's not called 'head' for nothing. I was using my whole head to give my black daddy a first class blowjob.
Lance's fertile testicles hung like two pieces of strange fruit from a black Sequoia tree.
They dangled all by themselves into the commode beneath him. I licked and lapped each one separately. Taking special care with each one. I lovingly sucked each ball as though it were my last meal. I was breathing heavily. So was Lance. I don't think he expected this much fervor from me.
I was surprising him with my intensity and expertise. I dragged my hungry whore's tongue all over his loins and ran it by his coarse pubic hair. Down the shaft of the huge black cock my tongue travelled. Licking the inside of his smooth black thighs. Lance snorted and threw his head back and took a deep drag of the joint. He put the joint in my face. I adamantly refused to interrupt the fabulous blowjob I was giving him to smoke pot. I knew pot was supposed to be the whiteboy's reward for such favors. I would get my reward when Lance came in my mouth. I was willing to wait.
As fast as I could I bobbed my head up and down on Lance's unforgiving cock.
I went down on his cock with my mouth only till I reached my tiny hand, which firmly grasped the wide base. The cellblock grew eerily quiet. The only sounds were of the slushy gushy squishy wet noises I made as I sucked Lance's man-meat. Every nigger and white inmate and guard had to know a blowjob was in progress. The sounds were unmistakable. I reveled in the spotlight.
My moans grew a tad louder for the audience. My white weenie was as soft as marshmallow. I was so intent upon giving Lance his pleasure I had completely forsaken my own. I leaked precum like a broken faucet.
I was definitely into this shit. I was a true whiteboy whore slave. And I hoped a consummate cocksucker.
A volcano of cum-lava erupted into my waiting and only too eager and compliant mouth. The cum dripped and flowed from my drowning mouth. I caught most of it with my nigger-cum hungry mouth. I felt as though I had achieved a long sought after goal. In other words I felt a sense of accomplishment. My pride was unconcealed.
Lance lifted my face from his wildly spurting cock. From which the last three or four ropes of warm cum hit my eyes and nose. Lance was laughing appreciatively. I continued to massage Lances' great balls as his grand cock spurted and squirted its final load into my already cum-drenched mouth. My cum stained eye and nose were closed shut by drying cum. I was now glad I took off my clothes. I looked down and saw my hairless chest and stomach dripping with even more of Lance's semen. I was covered in his seed.
My thin white body was a willing canvas for his nigger cum. I triumphantly held my mouth wide open. I was careful not to swallow or drip its contents. I said ahhhhh. Then Lance looked at me. Then and only then did I ostentatiously swallow all of Lance's cum that had landed in my mouth. I was quite knowingly putting on a disgustingly lewd show for Lance. Our own little X- rated entertainment one might say. A dirty show for my nigger 'daddy'.
"That's right PIG, show daddy what a cock-sucking piece of white shit you really are," Lance said sternly.
I smiled and licked my lips and said, "Anything for you daddy."
It was quite a sight. Me on my knees and a mouth dripping with a nigger's cum.
I heard the guard say "Wow"! from somewhere far from my sight. Lance's symbol of black superiority: His immense cock, hung low and soft once more. It drooped like a dying python. My tiny 2" soft penis of silly white meat, a symbol of white pride and inferiority hung also, but not so low. I was hung like an insect. With very little imagination one could visualise or mistake my genitalia for a vagina and clitoris.
I sniffed at Lance's detumescent sex organ, like a bitch seeking sexual congress with an alph-amale. I dutifully licked Lance's large love pole clean. He shivered with delight as my tongue sneaked into his piss-hole. I greedily lapped the last drops of nigger cum from Lance's tasty and still giving black tool.
I planted small kisses on his big black balls. I ended it with a small peck of a kiss on his cock's giant mushroom head. My pale white body was flushed pink with excitement. My knees were scraped raw and bloody from the rough and harsh cell floor. I was very tender.
"That was real fine baby" Lance exhaled.
"You're a good cocksucker Ronnie" he continued.
"Now you ready to be MY white pig whore, BOY" he intoned in a deep bass voice I was growing to love.
"Get dressed BITCH!" he said commandingly.
I stood and slowly put my clothes back on, slowly, very slowly. I regained my equilibrium. I retrieved Lance's shorts and held them till he took them from me. His cock, now soft, was more than three times bigger than mine.
I had given Lance the best blowjob I knew how. Though I remained unsure. I ruminated that I should have, could have, done it more slowly, more lovingly, more devotedly. However Lance was apparently pleased with my efforts. I still remained unsure. The blowjob only lasted fifteen minutes by my watch. I castigated myself. It was the first blowjob I had given in many years.
And absolutely the first one I had given to a black man. And without any shadow of a doubt the biggest cock I had ever sucked or even seen for that matter. Its color and size only spurred me on to a better performance I thought. I would only improve with practice I reassured myself. I did so want to be the best cocksucker Lance had ever had, male or female.
I had my work cut out for me.
My eagerness for being Lance's 5th tier whiteboy bitch was stronger now. I had found my niche. I was to be lance's whore. I felt unashamedly exuberant.
All I needed was Lance's approval and invitation. I would do anything to get them. Anything.
I was a good whiteboy cock-sucker, I wanted to be a great one.
Lance and I met behind the cellblock. The area here was dense with dead and dried weeds and the remnants of the last snow storm. No guards or inmates were anywhere to be seen. Lance said
"so you wanna be my ho on the 5th tier eh son?"
I replied with a sincere and heartfelt.
"yes sir, please I really want to be yours. I want to be your 'shorty'."
'Shorty' being nigger slang for either a girlfriend or inferior male friend. Or so I had gathered.
Lance asked and stated.
"You really want this bitch?"
"Ok lets do this Ronnie"
I only lowered my eyes and nodded affirmatively. I nervously bit my lower lip.
"I gotta do this baby," Lance said.
As he balled up his giant black hands into fists.
I murmured, "Please, I Want it. I need it bad."
The look of eager anticipation on my face gave my perversion away.
Lance said, "You be one sick muthafucka" and he laughed. "I'm startin to like you baby," Lance chortled.
An unspoken bond existed between Lance and I now. We both knew I wanted and needed him to beat me and manhandle me. My eyes were aglow with a weird hunger. His punches, though powerful, and sure, were nowhere near as devastating as they could have been I figured. He was pulling his punches according to his sense of how much I could take safely. My smile was a sickly one as his giant black fists crashed into my too soft white belly.
The warm flow of my blood contrasted with the chilly air of upstate New York. My blood gushed and dripped from my face. Drop by drop my blood dripped on the white ground. The snow covered dirt directly beneath me was now a dark maroon from my blood. My dick was never as hard before or after. The last flurry of punches rendered me semiconscious. I was seeing stars.
I was still alert enough to mutter, "Hit me again nigger, do it Lance." The crimson blood looked good on my white skin.
With a crushing right cross Lance lacerated my left cheek. He knocked me completely unconscious with the left that followed.
It was our little secret. I loved it that Lance beat me. It made me so much his real bitch. He owned my body and now my soul. I was his 100%.
"You be up with me in dat muthafucka!" Lance announced excitedly.
I staggered like a new born kitten against the brick wall. Lance grabbed me by the collar and helped me walk back to our cell. My penis was at full attention. My face was bruised and bloody. My stomach hurt like hell. My breathing was forced and labored. Lance handed me a dirty cloth.
I held it to my bleeding mouth and nose. It reeked of sweat.
I had proved my mettle and worthiness to my new master, Lance. I hoped.
Having my ass kicked by this big black god only strengthened my adoration for him.
And his 'respect' for me, and my commitment to him, only increased.
I have never felt more alive.
I belonged to someone.
I now looked forward to my introduction to the secret world of the 5th tier.
I would not let my black master down.
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To be continued?