Yarmouth Jail

"Yarmouth Jail"

by decal decal02@hotmail.com

"Look, Brandon, I know it's 3 in the morning, but you gotta get me out of here," I cried out into the phone.

I wish I could have called my roommates. Matt, Jay and Daniel -- each of them would have immediately dropped anything to help me. But they were also probably under arrest and god-knows-where in this town jail.

Yeah, that's right, Peter Walter Holmes III in jail.

Nobody would believe it possible (except maybe the tabloids), but here I stood at a fuckin' pay-phone with a guard glaring at me like I was some murderer ... or worse. They had even confiscated my clothes "as evidence" and given me this ugly orange jumpsuit to wear. It wouldn't be so bad, but the suit was torn ... torn in some rather revealing places. Anybody even glancing at me could tell I was completely naked underneath. When I asked the booking officer to allow me to at least keep to my underpants, he gave me a look that spoke volumes ... like in "strip those off, punk, if you know what's good for you".

Anyway, after I handed him my sweaty white CKs, without a word he left the room with my clothes, leaving me there standing naked. I looked around and noticed the large mirror on one wall. Shit, I thought, probably one-way glass ... with a bunch of cops waiting for me to jerk-off or something. Along with those thoughts came a stirring in my gonads. I've always been a bit of an exhibitionist, but I was in enough trouble as it was. There's a time and place for everything ... and this was not the time to throw a boner ... even though the thought of hitting that mirror with a load of cum filled my mind big time. Of course, with those thoughts flooding my mind, my ol' pecker started to lengthen and thicken. I quickly sat down on the only chair in the room, a gray-metal thing that gave a freezing shock to my warm butt. I pressed my thighs tightly around my hardening penis, trying to make it go soft again by thinking about anything but that I was naked with hidden cops staring!

at me.

A few minutes later the booking officer returned with the jumpsuit and a clip-board with a form on it. I reached for the suit, but he told me to sign the form first. It listed all the things taken from me, including 'underpants, white, Klein, 32", soiled, torn crotch'. Jeez, did they have to describe my briefs in such detail? God knows where this form would end up. Probably entered into some computer where it will be accessed by anyone searching the Net. Ah, yes, let's search Yahoo! for "underpants, torn crotch" ... why, look at this, it's Peter Holmes's arrest record.

When he found out what I was doing when the four of us got picked up, Brandon Oliver Wendell Holmes, my eldest brother (by 12 years) and self-appointed keeper of the family honor, wasn't going to kill me but it would be the next closest thing. As I signed the form, I wondered what would be worse ... losing the generous allowance from the trust fund Brandon administered ... or listening to his fundamentalist, Bible-thumping preaching about my immortal soul. Rather get a job, I thought, as the officer took the clip-board and handed me the jumpsuit.

I stood up and turned away from him and the mirror. Fortunately my dick was settling down and behaving. As I stepped into the jumpsuit, I noticed that the seam in the crotch was torn open. Then there was a long tear on the right side from the arm-pit to below the hip. I looked up at the officer and he said something about not having enough in the budget this year ... insinuating that if I had a problem, it was my fault. This whole situation was like a set-up for some jail-bait porn flick. Only this wasn't some hot fantasy. It was very real ... and happening to me.

"Look. Can't you wait a few hours," my brother mumbled, still struggling with being awakened out of a sound sleep. "I can get there around 10." I could tell he was pissed.

"Look, Brandon, they have me in a cell with some guys who look like they'd rape their own grandmothers."

I glanced at the guard. He was rolling his eyes at my desperate lie.

"You scared, bro?" Brandon asked. His voice now had an edge of compassion.

"Yeah ... real scared."

"I'll get there as soon as I can," he said. "Where are you again?"

"Yarmouth."

"It'll take me at least an hour and a half. OK?"

"OK," I answered, "and thanks."

"You know you're going to owe me big time," Brandon said with a laugh.

"Yeah, I know."

God, did I know ...

"All right, Holmes, don't just stand there, get moving," the guard barked out as I hung up the phone.

I looked over at him. Tall ... thick-set ... a no-nonsense, no-mercy look on his face ... a massive bulge showing in his pants (can you believe I was checking out his crotch at a time like this???). The guard was waiting at a heavy metal door. This was it. I was actually going to be locked up ... locked up behind bars.

"Where ... where are my friends?" I asked as the guard led me past the cells. A few of them were occupied, but I was too nervous to look to see who was in them.

"Don't know," was all he answered as he opened a cell door and motioned for me to enter. A chill went right through my body as I heard the metal door slam shut behind me. Then the sound of the key. As the guard walked away, I was near tears.

"Who's the new guy?" I heard in the distance.

"Oh, him? The Holmes faggot," the guard's voice answered.

I don't think I've ever felt so alone. Then I looked up. Shit ... I wasn't.

The day had begun innocently enough -- Jay taking Matt, Daniel and me on a day-trip in his '85 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. Midnight blue, power everything, dark blue cloth seats, a back seat with leg room for days, and a custom music system to blow your ears out. Jay had just gotten it and was beside himself with excitement. Me, I'm a sports car type, so I couldn't figure his fascination with this huge hunk of Detroit metal. But he was happy and that's all that mattered.

The four of us had been rooming together for three years in this large, old four-bedroom house just a few blocks from the Brown University campus. During that time we had become very close friends. Even the matter of my being gay and their being straight made no difference. (Not that I was really out. I wasn't. In fact, other than a few of anonymous blow-jobs in campus rest-rooms, I really wasn't out sexually either.) I guess as the four of us lived together, it sort of got figured out. It wasn't spoken, but it was understood. Right after the beginning of our second year together, the occasional fag jokes stopped. I didn't really notice it right away. But one evening a buddy of Daniel's was over and he cracked one. I laughed to be polite but Matt, Daniel and Jay sat there in silence. Then Daniel simply said that such jokes weren't acceptable in our place. I was blown away. In fact, tears welled up in my eyes. The next day I got up the nerve to thank Daniel. "No! t a problem, dude," was all he said. He even gave me a hug.

What also amazed me was how they continued to feel comfortable rough-housing with me or hanging around the house in nothing but briefs or boxers (Jay was a boxer guy). Why, there was even that night toward the end of our second year when we all got a little stoned and put on some straight porn videos. It wasn't long before we were all stroking boners through our underwear. At first I tried not to look at my roommates, keeping my eyes glued to the screen.

But then Matt said, "Hey, Pete, what you think of that monster dick?"

I was just stoned enough not to freak out at being asked that.

"It's sure a big one," I answered.

"You like it, dude?" Daniel then asked.

"Yeah," I answered.

After that I started glancing at my buddies ... not staring, mind you ... just glancing. I realized that it was OK with them. We ended up that night in a circle jerk ... just like little guys. Matt shot the farthest, but I was right behind him. Late the next morning I tumbled out of bed and staggered downstairs feeling both hung over and anxious, worried that things might be different among us ... you know, morning-after regrets. But nothing changed. In fact, Jay gave Matt his nickname "Shooter" right after that. They started calling me "Shooter Junior", then just "Junior", but it didn't stick. Soon it was back to Pete. I guess the main thing was that they let me know that my being gay was no big deal to them.

So, did I want to get it on with them? Yeah, sure I did. Especially Daniel, with his slightly Asian looks, his hairy, defined chest, and the way his boxer-briefs hugged his ample genitals and muscular ass. Plus he's tall ... I like 'em tall. But I didn't want to fuck things up with my buddies, so I kept myself satisfied with jerk-off fantasies, nothing more.

Anyway ... it was a Saturday and we all decided to break in Jay's Caddy with a drive to the Cape. Matt's family had a beach house a few miles before P-Town. It was going to be a hot one, so a day at the beach was a unanimous choice. But we got a late start ... so by the time we made it to the house and changed clothes and then shopped for beer and snacks ... we weren't sitting on the sand until 2:30. But we still had a blast ... playing volleyball, drinking beer and checking out the gorgeous bods around us.

One chick in particular really stoked Daniel's hormones. He made this major play for her and she kind of strung him along for about an hour ... then her boyfriend made a belated appearance. To say the least, Daniel was frustrated and pissed. At the height of his venting he whispered to me: "Shit, Pete, that cunt makes me almost wish I was queer." Before I could absorb what he said, Matt dragged us back to this marathon V-Ball match, where we trying ... unsuccessfully ... to defend Brown's honor against an arrogant bunch of BC jocks.

"You OK?" the tall, lanky Puerto Rican asked me.

"Yeah, I guess," I answered as I stared at my cell-mate. He didn't look threatening ... but still ... I was not prepared for this. My first thought was why the hell he got to keep his clothes, a pair of faded and torn-at-the-knees, loose-fitting jeans and a white T-shirt with a large, faded Tommy Hilfiger logo. The second came quickly after ... why was I sharing a cell when so many were empty? But then suddenly, all I'd been through hit me with a vengeance, and I started shaking uncontrollably. So much for the macho, don't-mess-with-me persona I'd been trying to put out there.

"Hey, kid, it's going to be all right," the man said as he moved up to me, took my arm and helped me over to one of the four beds in the cell ... the farthest from the cell door.

He guided me down on my back and sat down next to my knees. After a few moments, my shivering started to ease. I looked up into his face. He was smiling ... an OK smile, I decided.

"How fucking embarrassing," I said to him.

"First time, huh?" he asked.

"Uh, huh," I mumbled with a nod, then said, "Last time, too."

"Name's Miguel."

"Peter," I said.

There was silence between us for a few minutes, neither of us really looking at the other. This Miguel was older than I first thought ... mid-40s maybe. There was a long, thin scar over his right eye. The black man looked like he'd had a hard life.

"Breaking and entering," he suddenly said.

"What?"

"They caught me breaking into a store," he answered.

I didn't know how to respond and said nothing ... just looked away.

"You?"

"Uh ... speeding."

"You're shittin' me," Miguel said with a loud laugh.

"It's true," I protested. "I was a passenger in a speeding car."

"You weren't even driving? Come on ... it had to be better than that to land you in here."

"I'd rather not talk about it," I answered quickly and a bit too loudly.

There was another long silence. I glanced up at him. His eyes were down. Then it suddenly struck me that from where he was sitting he could see up the torn crotch of the jumpsuit and must have a clear view of my genitals. My first reaction was to try to sit up, but with a hand firmly placed against my chest, Miguel eased me back down.

"Relax, kid, you need to rest," he whispered. He didn't take his hand off my chest. Rather he started to lightly rub me through the rough orange cotton. Then out of the blue he asked, "You gay?"

"What ... what do you mean?"

"That 'Holmes faggot' shit. Is it true?"

Panic seized my chest.

"I gotta get up. My brother's going to be here any minute."

"Nobody's going to get you outta here until after 7," Miguel said, pressing down harder on my chest. "It's the rules."

"But ..."

"Sorry, kid, no, ifs, ands or buts around here. Trust me. These cops are tough and mean. The captain would have their badges if they broke the rules."

"But my brother will be here in ..."

"Believe me, they'll make him wait."

I stopped resisting his hand pressed against my chest and sunk back into the mattress.

"This can't be happening to me," I said.

"Accept it, pal. We're gonna be spending a few hours together."

Maybe Brandon wouldn't have killed me before. But now? Dragged out of bed, then made to wait. He'd be furious.

Could it get any worse?

As if in answer, I felt Miguel's hand reach into open crotch of my jumpsuit.

We had finished up the day with pizza and more beer at the beach house. Showered and cleaned up, we sat around in our underwear toasting our surprise victory over those BC guys. We had shocked and embarrassed them in front of a crowd that grew steadily over the late afternoon, drawn by the increased energy and intensity of the game. We got smeared at first, but then the four of us suddenly started to click. We became a fuckin' machine. It was great.

I was frankly surprised that I played so well, since I found myself constantly distracted by this Italian hunk on the other side of the net. He was the only one of the eight of us wearing a Speedo, and I could swear that the excitement of the match had him semi-hard most of the time. He drove me crazy, which he must have sensed, because he'd often casually grope himself when we faced each at the net. I'm proud to say that his attempt at distraction only worked a couple of times ... the last of those times Daniel kicked me in the ass ... hard ... and with a look of anger told me to pay attention to the game. Then he grinned.

Adding to his celebration, Jay had scored with this Harvard chick, who, he claimed, jerked him off when they went out into the ocean for a swim. However, when for about the sixth time he bragged about how hot she was, the three of us could take it no more and chased him around the house, finally pouncing on him and pinning him to the floor. As he squirmed and struggled, howling in protest, an erection worked its way out the fly of his boxers. (Now, this was unusual because none of us threw boners when we wrestled - as you might imagine, always a struggle for me.) We ignored Jay's plight and debated his punishment, which for him was always a tickling. We'd learned early on that the guy was hopelessly ticklish. So, while Matt and I held him down, Daniel went for his ribs. Jay somehow always finds this reservoir of strength at such moments and he quickly broke free.

"You guys are all pricks!" he yelled at us as he struggled to get his rod back under cover. He was clearly embarrassed at throwing a boner while wrestling with us. The rest of us just rolled around on the floor laughing, which only made him madder and he stormed off. When Daniel got up off the floor, his gray boxer-briefs were tented with an erection, too. Now I was really surprised ... two with hardons?! Daniel's earlier "makes me almost wish I was queer" came back to me. But once again I got immediately distracted.

"Last one in the car walks," Jay shouted from the front door.

Amid loud curses at Jay the three of us quickly scrambled about getting our clothes on and gathering up our stuff. Matt was the last one out the door because he had to lock up, and damn if Jay didn't drive off making Matt chase the car two blocks. From the back seat Daniel and I grinned and waved through the back window at our hapless roomie. Matt isn't one to get angry. When he climbed into the front seat, he simply turned to Jay and quietly said, "When you least expect it ...", letting his menacing voice trail off. Since that is what Matt always says, the three of us howled in laughter, which is exacting what he expected. What tension among us vanished in that moment.

It was around 11 when the Caddy pulled onto Route 6. Jay cranked up his CD player with a mix of Depeche Mode, Morrissey and Pearl Jam. I stretched out my long legs, reveling

in all the back-seat room and shut my eyes, loosing myself in "Black Celebration." A few minutes later I was brought back to the here and now by Daniel pushing on my shoulder.

"Pete ... Pete ..."

He was leaning over, his face near my ear.

"Yeh, what?"

"That cunt was a real bitch, wasn't she?"

I couldn't believe that he was still upset about that coed who'd played him for a fool.

"She was, bud, but you gotta let go of it," I shouted above the music.

"But she's gotten me so fuckin' horny I can't see straight," he yelled back.

"Let it go!" I said.

My antenna picked up on the possible "can't see straight" innuendo, and I was just about to dismiss it when my gaze fell to Daniel's lap. His tight, white sweatpants showed the unmistakable signs of an erection ... and Daniel was rubbing and stroking the long, thick bulge. I was so surprised that I stared down just a little too long, long enough for Daniel to catch me.

"See what I mean, Pete," he whispered loudly, his lips not quite touching my ear. "I'm really in a bad way."

Daniel wasn't the only one "in a bad way." I felt my own dick swelling in the tight confines of my 501s. Jeez, I thought, what the fuck is going on. Daniel slouched down in the seat and stretched out his legs. He continued groping and playing with himself ... now with both hands. He turned his face towards me, that 'I'm up to no good' grin on his face.

"Don't you think we should christen the Caddy?"

"Huh?"

"You know ...," he said as he did a jerk-off motion over his crotch.

"Jay'll kill us," I responded.

"Yeah ...," Daniel said, his grin even wider.

He lifted his T-shirt and untied his sweatpants. With a lift of his ass, he shoved them down off his hips. He leaned forward and finished pulling them off over his white Nikes. Then he laid back into the seat, only his gray boxer-briefs covering his aroused manhood. He slipped a hand down into his underpants and started to jerk himself. He leaned against me.

"God, that feels great," he whispered in my ear. "Hey, come on. You, too."

When I hesitated, Daniel grabbed at the waist of my Levi's. I struggled a little bit, but I was much too excited and aroused myself to put up much of a fight. Daniel soon had my button-fly open.

"What if they look back?" I whispered urgently as Daniel began trying to pull down my jeans.

He stopped a moment and stared at the front seat.

"Look," he whispered in my ear. "Jay's driving and Matt's asleep and the music is so fuckin' loud they're never going to hear a thing."

Then he was back to tugging at my 501s. I lifted my ass and helped him pull them down and off. As I leaned back in the seat, I saw that the head of my rock-hard dick was sticking out past the elastic waist of my white CKs. I decided to leave it exposed and started rubbing and squeezing the shaft through the soft cotton. I looked over at Daniel, who now had both hands buried in his boxer-briefs, stroking his erection and pulling on his balls.

"This is hot, man," he said. "Make it last, OK?"

For the next five minutes or so we played with ourselves through and under our briefs. I made no pretense of not looking at Daniel's crotch. I let my eyes feast on his masturbation. And Daniel seemed to get off on it.

"You like looking at my cock, buddy," he whispered in my ear at one point. "You like seeing it hard, don't you?"

"Yeah ... I do," I said, hardly believing that I was admitting at last to my long hidden desire for my friend. Daniel quickly reached around my shoulders and pulled me down toward his legs. I suddenly found my face pressed into his boxer-briefs. He grabbed my head and began rubbing my face roughly against the hard bulge of his masculinity. He stopped when he felt my lips find the head of his cock. I sucked it in. The taste of Daniel's pre-cum filled my mouth. As I started to suck on him through the gray cotton, Daniel released my head and leaned back. I felt more than heard his groan of pleasure. I worked my hand up through a leg opening of his briefs and found his balls. They were large and rested close to his scrotum. I began gently squeezing them. This time I heard his groan over the loud intensity of "Boy Racer." I found out later that it was at this point that a very much awake Matt, also hearing the groan, turned in his seat. I couldn't wait any longer to feel Daniel's naked dick in my mouth, so I pulled the waist of his boxer-briefs down and swallowed his erection.

"Make it last ... make it last ...," I thought to myself, fighting the desire to bring him off quickly so that I could feel and taste his juices. About six and a half inches, Daniel's cock was perfect for sucking. Its head wasn't too wide so that it eased comfortably down my throat without making me gag. I paid attention to the underside of his shaft and just under the crown with my tongue. I wondered if Daniel enjoyed being tongued there as much as I did.

Daniel's hand found its way down my back to my ass. As I sucked on his pole, he squeezed and rubbed my cotton-covered cheeks and explored my crack. He found a small tear along the seam in the crotch of my CKs and began fingering it. A few moments later I felt the tip of his bare finger touch my asshole. The next thing I knew, I felt a pulling at my briefs. I only heard the tearing sound because the music had stopped between cuts.

That's when Matt climbed into the back seat.

As if we had choreographed it, Matt was quickly sitting at one end of the seat, his pants and briefs down ... I was on my stomach my mouth wrapped around Matt's cut seven-plus incher ... and Daniel? Well, Daniel was back there messin' with my ass through the hole he'd made in my CKs. The fairly obvious thought that I was about to get my virgin ass fucked did not cross my mind for several minutes. I guess I was too focused on having my mouth around Matt's dick. Now, HIS made me gag. While Daniel allowed me to suck him, Matt wanted a little face-fucking action and was thrusting his pelvis up into my face. I had to hold onto his hips firmly to restrain him from tearing my throat apart. This only seemed to excite him more. Now, Matt has quite a reputation among our women friends and acquaintances as an energetic plowman ... so I was finding out.

Daniel began spreading suntan lotion around and into my asshole (SPF 15 where the sun don't shine), and that's when I realized what was going to happen to me. I remember thinking two things: I'm glad it's Daniel and I hope he takes it easy back there. I need not have worried. He took time massaging and relaxing my hole with his fingers, several times leaning over my back to tell me he was going to be as gentle as he could.

"Got a rubber?" Daniel called out.

"Yeah, sure," Matt said as he reached into his pants pocket and tossed the small foil envelope to him. All this time Matt continued to fuck my face, easing up only when I sensed that he was about to cream into my mouth. But then a few moments later he was thrusting up into me again. Thoughts that he was saving up to fuck my ass after Daniel was finished began to excite me.

Then I felt Daniel's cock ... slowly pushing into me. The pain I felt was indescribable. But my mouth was full of dick, so I couldn't protest.

"Relax, buddy, relax," Matt said above me.

But I'd never been ass-fucked. What the hell did it mean to relax? Telling me to relax wasn't what I wanted Matt to say. "Get that cock out of Pete's ass" would have been more appropriate. I felt Daniel hips touch my ass cheeks. He was in ... all the way in. I started to groan in pain when Matt's cock wasn't deep in my throat.

"Jeez, Danny, he likes it!" Matt cried out.

To tell you the truth, in that moment and with those words Matt came near to losing what is most precious to all us guys. But then something started to happen. As Daniel slowly eased himself in and out of my hole ... yes, I started to relax. It still hurt like hell but it also felt ... felt somehow wonderful. Daniel must have sensed it, too, because he began to pump into me with increasing speed and abandon.

No shit, Pearl Jam's "Deep" was blasting from the speaker near my head.

A minute or so later, I heard a cry above me ... a very loud cry. Matt grasped my head with his hands and held it down. My mouth was flooded with his hot, wonderfully bitter-sweet cum. While I was gulping to swallow as much as I could, strange things started happening around me.

Daniel was still wildly fucking me.

Pearl Jam had stopped playing.

But there were lights all around.

Jay was shouting something ... but not from inside the car.

I realized that the car wasn't moving.

The door Matt was leaning against opened and he tumbled backward out of the car. He cried out as my teeth painfully scraped the top of his erection.

I lifted and turned my head, and my eyes opened wide into the beam of a flashlight ... behind it the face of a police officer.

Daniel screamed that he was cumming.

My own orgasm struck, sending a torrent of cream soaking through my briefs into the soft cloth of the Cadillac's back seat.

"All right, both of you, out of the car," were the next words I heard. I was no longer a virgin.

"Nice cock, kid," Miguel said. "I like 'em uncut."

From the moment the booking officer took my clothes, I had steeled myself for something like this. In fact, if the truth be told, there was a part of me hoping it would happen. But I still fought him.

"Don't do that," I said firmly.

My dick had responded quickly to his manipulation. I was fully-erect and rock hard. I tried to rise up but his other hand was still planted on my chest, holding me down. I reached down and grabbed the wrist of his fondling hand.

"Stop it!" I said louder.

"Relax, kid," he said as he removed his hand from my chest. He pried my hand loose and placed it on his thigh. "You know you want this."

Miguel's hand returned to my genitals. His other hand went back to my chest, but this time, he slipped it under the long tear in the jumpsuit and started to rub and squeeze my nipples. I couldn't help it ... I moaned.

"See ... you do like it," he said triumphantly. "Say it."

"Huh?"

"Say you like it."

When I hesitated he pinched my nipple real hard.

"Ouch! That hurt!"

"Say it!"

"No!"

He started to squeeze my balls, slowly increasing the pressure. "Shit, stop it. OK, I like it ... I like it."

"Good boy."

With that Miguel lowered his face to my crotch and with one quick movement took my erection into his mouth and down his throat. Jeez, I couldn't believe it. His nose was buried in my fuckin' pubics. As he started to suck me, he moved my hand up his thigh until it was resting on the massive bulge of his aroused manhood. I began to grope and squeeze the hardness straining under the worn, soft denim. You gotta believe that it wouldn't take long for me to explode. But Miguel sensed how close I was getting and released my throbbing, jerking cock just in time. I looked at him, my eyes pleading with him to finish me off, but he just stared down at me and smiled.

"See, I told you you'd like it," he said.

He waited a few moments, until he was sure I wouldn't shoot off with the next touch. Then he began to mess with my foreskin. Even I had not done some of the things he began to do with it. Pulling it gently, twisting it, slipping his finger under it to rub the slick and super-sensitive head. Then he lowered his face and began to play with my hood with both his fingers and his tongue. Any and all resistance to Miguel ceased. I began to try to open his pants. He helped me unzip the fly. I reached my hand in and felt the soft cotton of his briefs covering the massiveness of his meat.

Miguel then stood up and pulled off his T-shirt. His hands went to the waist of his jeans and he pulled at the waist button and shoved them down off his hips. The white of his classic Jockeys contrasted with his dark brown skin. The outline of his cock was thick and long. A large spot of pre-cum stained the spot near is left hip where the head of cock pushed out, the thin cotton almost transparent. He squeezed his rod and I watched as another large pearl of pre-cum oozed through.

"You like?"

"Yeah," I said.

He quickly kicked off his shoes and climbed out of his jeans. Then, still in his Jockeys he climbed on top of my chest. He grabbed my wrists and leaned forward holding them firmly against the mattress. The bulge of his shaft lay across my lips.

"We're gonna get caught," I said.

"Don't you worry," Miguel responded. "The guards won't come back here for hours. Now you just make me feel good."

I needed little encouragement. It was the biggest cock I had ever seen and I wanted it. I lifted my head a bit and started licking and sucking on his dick through his briefs. As I sucked around his cock head, more pre-cum oozed and I sucked it hungrily into my mouth. It had a strong, bitter taste but I decided that I liked it.

"Chew on it," Miguel said.

I began to lightly bite on the shaft and around the crown.

"Harder."

I began some serious chewing, trying to eat through the cotton to the hidden black rod. Miguel moaned loudly. After several minutes of this, he let go of one of my wrists, reached down and pulled at the leg opening of this briefs. With a loud tearing of cotton, his cut monster finally was free. I went for it and started mouthing and sucking on the large mushroom crown, tonguing his wide piss-slit. He clasped my wrist again and leaned even further over me. He tried to push the full nine-inch length of his cock into my mouth and down my throat but I could only handle about half of it. He proceeded to fuck my face with rapid-fire thrusts. I had to open my mouth so wide to take him, my jaw began to ache. Any moment now, I kept thinking, he's going to cum. I wanted his cream real bad. Suddenly, however, he stopped jack-hammering my battered throat.

"You ready, boy?" Miguel asked. "For ... what ...," I replied as I tried to catch my breath and regain my composure.

"I want the beautiful white ass of yours," he said as he quickly climbed between my legs and lifted my ass up off the mattress.

"Oh, God, mister, please don't," I cried out. "You're too big."

"Hey, you'll love it."

"You'll kill me with that thing."

"Trust me, Bruce."

"Peter."

"Huh?"

"The name's ..."

"Oh, yes ... sorry ... Peter," Miguel said.

I couldn't believe that at a time like that I was correcting him about my name. I looked up between my legs. He was fumbling with the foil wrapper of a condom. I watched him pull the condom free and slip it over his manhood. Then he was squeezing this small tube of KY and spreading the lube into my hole. I couldn't believe how prepared he was.

"Hey, boy, you're kinda loosened up back here," Miguel said as he probed me with one, then two, then three fingers. "Somethin' tells me some other prick's been up your pretty ass ... and not so long ago."

Miguel's face broadened into a big, toothy grin. He was spreading KY all over his latex-covered cock. Oh, God, I thought, I AM going to die. Daniel's pole hurt like hell and wasn't near as thick or long as what Miguel began to slide down the crack of my ass.

"Now you just relax, boy."

There was that 'relax' shit again.

"Please, sir, don't ... please ..."

"Sir? ... hey, I like that, boy. You're showing proper respect now."

The head of his cock pressed against my sphincter. One moment he was out, the next he was in. With one relentless thrust Miguel stabbed my gut. I think I screamed because the next thing I knew, his hand was over my mouth.

"You damn well better shut up," he hissed. He was pissed.

I bit his hand ... hard. He yanked it away and yelled. I tasted blood in my mouth. Now he really was pissed. He raised his fist to smash me in the face.

"You take it easy with that fuckin' thing, you bastard!" I yelled up at him.

His fist stopped inches from my nose.

"Well, well, you do have spunk, kid," Miguel said with a laugh. "OK, OK, nice and easy coming right up."

He began a slow fuck of my ass, even stopping to add more KY for lubrication. But, God, it hurt worse than anything I'd ever experienced. His restrained fucking went on for several minutes. I wanted to yell but didn't. My groans, however, became increasingly louder.

"OK, boy, take it like a man!"

With those words Miguel started pounding my ass fast and hard. The effect on me was immediate. It was almost like I lost consciousness. I became lost in the sensations coursing from my ass to my brain to my toes. All I could feel was the pounding of his manhood into my gut ... that was all that mattered ... and ... I loved it. I was brought back suddenly by Miguel's cries of imminent orgasm. I became aware that I was throwing my ass up to meet his downward thrust. The fatigue in my back told me I'd been doing this for awhile. One final thrust deep into me and he froze. His hot cum was filling the condom deep inside me. In the next moment or two I felt myself exploding. I looked down toward my upraised crotch and exposed erection just as my load shot out all over the orange fabric of the jumpsuit.

I passed out moments later.

I was awaken by someone shaking both of my shoulders.

"Holmes! Come on ... wake up, kid!"

I opened my eyes to a face I didn't immediately recognize.

"Your brother's waiting to take you home."

"Br ... brother?" I slurred.

Then the fog began to clear and I remembered where I was, why I was here and what had happened to me. The booking officer helped me to sit up. I groaned in pain. I looked around. Miguel was lying on a nearby bed. He seemed to be asleep.

"Yeah, your brother," the officer said as he helped me to my feet and guided me out of the cell.

I was surprised at how gently he was treating me. He took me to a large bathroom with a shower and stripped off my jumpsuit. I pointed at the toilet and he nodded. As I sat down to shit, he stepped out of the room. A few minutes later, he knocked.

"Just a minute," I called out.

When he heard the john flush, he opened the door and entered with my clothes, which he placed on a chair. He went over to the shower, turned it on and pushed me in. The hot water immediately began to revive me. As I soaped my bruised and sensitive ass, I wondered if it would ever stop aching. When I stepped out, the officer was standing there with a towel and he helped me dry off.

"Now get dressed," he ordered.

I pulled on my T-shirt and lifted my Levi's.

"Where's my underpants?" I asked.

"Don't know," was his clipped reply.

"But ..."

"Forget it and get dressed!" he barked.

As I quickly finished pulling on my clothes and shoes, my mind shifted to my upcoming meeting with Brandon. I pulled on my watch and checked it. 7:20. I started to freak out inside. I hadn't had time to come up with my defense ... some excuse, some reason, some anything to get me out of this horrible jam I was in. The officer suddenly pulled me up by my arm.

"Come on," he said. "Can't keep that brother of yours waiting much longer."

The officer led me to the jail's waiting room. I looked apprehensively around but did not see Brandon. "Must be with the captain," the officer said. "Has been insisting on seeing him ever since he arrived."

"When was that?" I asked.

"A little before 5, I think," he answered. "You can sit over there and wait."

I sat with my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. At this very moment the captain was probably telling Brandon about my being picked up in the back seat of a speeding car blowing one guy and being fucked by another and about my being spread-eagled against the car in 'underpants, white, Klein, 32", soiled, torn crotch'. In a few minutes I knew that Brandon would be completing my humiliation.

Then it was suddenly clear to me that I had to stand up to him ... actually, that I could stand up to him. I also decided that I wouldn't let him get to me and would just laugh him off with something flippant like, "Bran, remember, one in six, and I'm ours." I knew he'd come unglued, but he'd also know that he couldn't intimidate me any longer. I was preparing myself for this big moment when I heard a door open down the hall, followed by a familiar voice.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, I appreciate your understanding."

My mouth dropped open at the sight of Miguel in a police captain's uniform, his hand placed lightly on my brother's shoulder.

"Hey, look," Brandon was saying back to him, "I know how hard it is to keep these college kids in line."

"I just wish we hadn't made a mistake in arresting your brother ... oh, there he is now."

Miguel walked quickly up to me, hand extended. A bandage covered the fleshy part of his palm. Still trying to process what was playing out before me, I reached out numbly and took his hand.

"Peter. I'm Captain Lopez. You don't know how badly I feel about what's happened."

"Well ... I ...I ...," I stammered, not knowing what to say.

"I take full personal responsibility for the mistake. Getting caught ... alone ... speeding in a borrowed car ... should not have turned into an arrest."

"But ...," I started to say.

"What the hell were you doing out alone last night anyway, Pete?" Brandon asked.

What Miguel was doing finally started to register.

"I ... well ... well, Jay got this new car, and I was just trying it out," I said.

"Like you told us to, Peter, we called your roommates," Miguel quickly said. "We explained everything. Your friend picked up his car up a couple of hours ago."

"Oh, good," I replied trying to suppress a grin of relief.

"What I still don't understand is," Brandon was saying, "if this was all a big mistake, why didn't you release him to me hours ago?"

"Bran," I said, not giving Miguel time to answer, "they got rules here, and the captain would have had the badge of any officer who broke them."

"That's right. I run a tight-ass ship around here, Mr. Holmes. I know you know how important that is."

"Well ... yes ... of course ...," Brandon stammered.

With that Miguel slipped a card into my jeans pocket.

"Let me make it up to you, young man. Call me anytime."

Brandon was still shaking his head as I followed him out the jail house door.

The End