Prison Meat Ch. 01

Prison Meat Ch. 01


This story is entirely fiction—it has a copyright and can not be used without written consent.


PRISON MEAT: Part One “Prison Barter System”

Joe lay motionless in the hospital bed; the cavernous prison ward was dark, illuminated only by the red glow of the exit signs. A soiled neck bandage covered a four-inch slash, received defending himself from the “bootie-bandits.” In the distance Joe could hear the faint squeaking sound made by the orderlies rubber sole shoes as they minced along on the tile floor. The sound grew louder, Joe pretended to be asleep. The two orderlies stopped at the foot of Joe’s bed and chuckled.

“Hey Joe, you asleep or just faking it?” They took hold of his feet covered by a thin sheet and gently spread his legs apart; they licked their lips and moaned at the sight of the huge mound of cock. “It’s alright Joe Baby, you get some rest you’ll need all your strength for the party we got planed for you.” Joe could hear the laughter fade as they walked to the end of the large ward.

Another late night visit was coming, more rough handling of his already sore cock and balls. Joe supposed it could be worse, they could have punked his ass while he was still drugged from surgery. However, that was not a major concern from these two guys, they were really into heavy-duty prison meat and loved to suck it off repeatedly. For a lesser-endowed inmate, wakening from surgery strapped down in an infirmary bed under the care of the infamous duo was a thing of dread.

Joe grinned and whispered to himself. “No more Indian meat for those bastards.” He had been planing his escape for months and managed to steal a set of keys from one of the orderlies he face fucked during the last late night session. While one of the orderlies stood by the door as a lookout the other guy would get his fill of cock. Joe waited until it was Jamie’s turn, a really a small guy, only about four and a half feet tall and easily manipulated. Joe made him lay down on the hospital bed, then mounted his face, forcing him to take half of his big cock. As Jamie gagged and pushed against Joe’s rock hard abdomen, he was unaware that Joe had unsnapped the key ring from his belt.

Jamie loved being manhandled and told Kent, the other orderly that Joe liked it rough, squealed in little high-pitched voice and lied about taking every inch of Joe’s dick. “God, I’m going to have to have throat surgery after taking that bad boy!” He fanned his face and fluttered his eyes for dramatic effect.

Kent was six foot, four inches and built like a tank, He towered over Joe but he was gentle as a lamb. Kent would have Joe lay on his back, take hold of his ankles and lift Joe up as he tried to devour his cock. It was always a struggle for Joe to cum after his multi-climax with Jamie, but he knew Kent would not stop until he got a mouth full of hot cum.

Crouched on the polished floor Joe groped his way across the dimly lit ward, stealthily inched his way pass the rows of wheelchairs, slid on his stomach under the hospital beds, occasionally startling some half-awake inmate. About midway down the ward, a hand reached down and grabbed hold of his skimpy hospital gown. Joe froze.

“Where the fuck ya going sport?” It was Jimbo, a mass of proud Aryan Redneck, and a really evil bastard who made life as miserable as he could for other inmates.

Joe looked up at Jimbo and forced a smile. “Would ya believe I’m just stretching my legs?”

Jimbo leaned down, put his lips to the side of Joe’s face and licked him. “I been catching the late night action you and them faggot orderlies been up to. They really seem to go for your dick, but you never get them off. So the way I figure it’s time you started re-cip-ro-cating…know what I mean Vern?” Jimbo slipped down to the floor straddled Joe’s back.

Joe turned over and found Jimbo’s big uncut cock inches from his mouth. “No way man, I don’t do that…you need to get Jamie!”

“Look half-breed, I know what ya up to and I’d make you take me along if I didn’t sinop escort have this banged up foot. Since I can’t go that route, only one thing left you can do for me old buddy.” Jimbo pulled the foreskin back on his heavily veined cock, revealing a large purplish-red head. The smegma was overpowering and Joe had stomach spasms as the odor penetrated his nostrils.

“Suck it or you can kiss your escape goodbye.” Jimbo sneered and pushed his cock to Joe’s lips.

Joe knew the probability of another chance to escape was slim. Jimbo would make sure the guards learned about his escape plans. The final persuasive factor was the bootie-bandits; he had successfully defended himself against them three times. The odds were stacking against him escaping being turned out. Cons were already taking bets as to when Joe would get his cherry busted, and who would get first dibs after he had been broken in.

Only one thing left to do. He closed his eyes and put his lips around the smelly thing. He gagged and tried to pull away from the rancid cock, but Jimbo had a hand on the back of his head and forced his cock down Joe’s throat. After fucking Joe’s mouth for about five minutes, Jimbo groaned and blasted his thick cum, telling him to swallow every drop of his Aryan dick juice.

Four Corners State Correctional Institute was a minimal security prison built on Navajo Nation Land and leased to the state, small by today’s prison standards and old. The red brick neoclassical structure was almost a hundred and fifty years old, it looked out of place stuck in the barren desolate New Mexico desert.

The ringed moon gave off an opaque glow; the clouds appeared as black cutout patterns. Joe waited until the moon was completely shrouded in a heavy black cloud and raced across the dry sandy prison yard, stopping at the tall fence, heavily fortified with coils of razor wire at the top. With his hands he dug around the base of the third section of fence and found the wire cutters that a fellow inmate had placed there for him.

As payment for the cutters, Joe owed two hundred 37¢ stamps, the currency of choice in prison now that cigarettes were band. That was a staggering amount for a con, but it could be arranged with careful attention. The barter system in prison was complex, but effective. Joe studded himself daily, working around the almost constant disturbances and the occasional general lockdowns; it took almost six-weeks to get all the stamps he needed.

Jack Daddy coordinated the entire event. He acted as the major pimp for the joint and lined up all the players. Promoting his studs like prizefighters, quoting from a long stat-list, sometimes lying about their sexual proclivity. Jack would even have his people work behind the scenes and hype it up with potential customers of the flesh trade. When the time came to sell the goods, nearly every con showed an interest, if not for their personal consumption, maybe as a future addition to their own collection of punks. Always mindful of the truism: this year’s stud is next year’s bottom, especially if they were young and good looking as Joe was.

In the middle of the common area, Jack Daddy presented Joe: “Check out this magnificent body…he’s cut like a Greek god! But that’s as far Greek as my boy goes …he don’t suck …and you can forget about him taking it up the ass. So you’re thinking, what good is he, what can he do?” Jack Daddy look around the room for guards, satisfied none were lurking in the shadows he turned to Joe. “Hop on up this here table and let me demonstrate to these fine folk your hidden talent.”

Embarrassed, Joe hopped on the table and unzipped his orange jumpsuit, pushed it off his shoulders and it fell to his feet. All eyes were glued on Joe’s cock, even soft it was an unbelievable eight inches and thick. Joe spread his legs and put his hands on his hip as Jack Daddy had instructed him earlier.

“Yea baby, this ain’t no Greek tool, this be genuine Apache meat!” Jack Daddy reached up and cupped Joe’s balls. “Heavy and sivas escort full, needs to unload real bad.” He gripped the shaft of Joe’s cock and slid back the foreskin. “Did you ever see a dick so perfectly round and straight as a arrow?” Joe’s cock was getting hard and several cons were licking their lips wondering how big would it get. Finally at full mask, it stood straight out, thicker than a man’s wrist and 10½ inches long.

Joe pulled up his jumpsuit leaving his hard dick sticking out the front. He locked his hands behind his head and twisted his upper body. He looked out over the con’s heads and stared into space as Jack Daddy had instructed.

“How much?” A red faced older con said.

“Just 40 stamps and you feast on this nutritious, USDA Grade A Meat.” Jack Daddy reached up and caught a drop of pre cum from Joe’s glans penis, sending a slight trimmer through young Indian’s body. “Oh yea, our boy’s hot to trot…so who wants it now?” Jack Daddy smiled and sniffed the finger glistening with Joe’s pre cum.

A slight man with slicked back gray hair and steel rim glasses spoke up. “I’ve got 40 stamps, but I need to hear the conditions…what do I get for 40?”

The large black man’s voice rumbled like a Harley. “Well Slick, you get to swallow as much of that big bad boy as you can take and you get a full load of heavy cream. So you ready to make a date?” Jack Daddy’s porcelain white smile was accented by two gold crowns. His skin was so black it was difficult to isolate his features.

The men started to crowd the table and a few got brave enough to reach for Joe’s cock. However, Jack Daddy’s lighting fast reflexes snatched the hands away before they could cop a feel. “No touching the goods unless you pay and then you can feel all you want.” He signaled one of his assistants over to make the bookings. He looked up at Joe and winked.

Joe and Jack Daddy had agreed on a 30/70 split, with Jack getting the lion share of 70%. Joe tried to calculate the number of blowjobs he would receive in order to reach his goal of two hundred stamps. He clucked as he imagined his old schoolteacher back on the reservation presenting the math problem on the blackboard for the class. “Now class, if Joe needs 200 37¢ stamps to pay the con for the wire cutters, and he receives 30% of the blowjob fee of 40 stamps, how many blowjobs must Joe get in order to purchase the cutters?”

Ken Stalls, the old cock sucker/teacher on the reservation, was around thirty-five years old, tall and slim with curly reddish brown hair, a perfect color match for his heavily freckled face. One thing for sure if old Ken was around, he would purchase most of the blowjobs for himself. Ken started going down on Joe as soon as he became his teacher. The first time was during a school trip for some of the boys on the reservation. Ken and four of his friends, acting as chaperons, took twenty kids on a bus trip to Carlsbad Cavern. They spent the night in a cheap motel. Most of the boys were eighteen, recent high school graduates, it was a senior trip for them. Joe was the youngest and Ken insisted he stray in his room with three other boys who were just a bit older. That night Ken sucked each of them off. He finally singled Joe out because he had such a big dick; he called his chaperon friends to his room so they could check out the boy with the huge cock. Naturally they all had to suck Joe off. He didn’t get much sleep that night, but he learned just how valuable a big piece of meat was.

At eighteen Joe left the reservation for a job in Santa Fe that Ken had arranged for him. His official job classification was bellboy, but an hour after he started working, Joe found out his other duties. The tight fitting pants he was given left nothing to the imagination and the hotel guest could not take their eyes off the bulge in his crotch.

His first blowjob was from a well-dressed businessman; he had carried the man’s bags to his room and placed them on the luggage rack. Joe turned around and saw the man standing with tekirdağ escort his back against the door. Smiling, he held up a fifty-dollar bill and told Joe to lay back on the bed.

Ten minutes later Joe stuffed the bill in his pocket and asked the gentleman if he needed anything else. The man smiled, and said he would give him two hundred if he would come to his room that evening after he got off from work and let him fuck him in the ass.

Joe passed on the offer and went back to the lobby. Pacu, the round-faced Mexican desk manager, smiled at Joe and called him over to the counter. He told Joe to hand over the fifty-dollar bill and he would take out his cut. Joe looked baffled, but handed the bill to the Mexican, who handed him twenty-five dollars from a special locked drawer. He explained the setup and told him that he would get more after he paid off the finder’s fee they advanced to Ken.

Ken had told the hotel owners that Joe would not suck cock or take it in the ass, but that fact, coupled with his large endowment, only enhanced his macho status and made Joe much in demand.

Trouble started the second week at the hotel, word of mouth about the new boy spread quickly and the guest began requesting Joe. This greatly disturbed the pecking order among the bellhops and a few complained to the desk manager that they were being cheated out of money. The situation was exasperated even further when Pacu laughed, telling the boys that their dried up little dicks just didn’t ring any bells with the guest now that a real stud was available. He suggested that they offer more services, maybe getting into the kinky stuff.

Not long after the talk with the bellhops Pacu, desk manager, informed the owners that the locked box had been burglarized and fifteen hundred dollars was missing. Hotel security started interviewing all the employees and discovered that Joe was missing and notified the Sheriff’s office that he was the major suspect.

They found Joe at the reservation staying with his grandfather; he had been attack by the other bellhops. They threatened Joe and told him if he were still around the next morning they would cut him and make sure nobody would ever want his dick again.

The trial was a sham, Joe’s coworker lied, saying they had seen him with a roll of bills. The fact that Joe was still black and blue from the beating he had received did nothing to sway the jury and they found him guilty. The judge was the only member of the court that felt Joe was innocent but was bound by the jury decision and sentenced Joe to five years. However, he could exercise some leniency so he sent him to a minimal security prison, Four Corners State Correctional Institute.

The wire cutters were where they were suppose to be and there was a little something extra; rolled up and stuffed in a plastic bag was a blue jumpsuit and one orange. Joe smiled and said, “Who said cons are heartless…thank you my man, I hope no shit comes down on you for helping me.”

The blue jumpsuit was two sizes too larger; an out of state drilling company logo was on the back: Lone Star Drilling Co., Dallas, Texas. Joe rolled up the cuffs and sleeves, stuffed the orange in his pocket and headed south across the desert in search of the highway. He knew walking in the desert at night was crazy, he could easily step on a rattler, but walking on the prison road at night was a sure way to get caught.

When Joe reached the highway he was prepared to thumb a ride and take the first vehicle that stopped for him. The direction was not a concern; he needed to put some distance between him and the prison. Joe watched the moon rise in the sky and estimated the time was near two-o’clock, about four hours until sunup. He waited for what seemed like hours pacing nervously from one side of the highway to the other. He remembered the orange and sat down on the warm pavement to eat it. He was hungry and easily convinced himself that it was the best tasting orange he had ever eaten.

Joe stretched out, looked up at the sky, watching as the black silhouette clouds parted and the light of a thousand stars, and full moon chased away the darkness and lit up the desert. A smile came to his face and he started to feel better about his chances.

To be continued…

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