Warning, this story may contain explicit descriptions of sexual acts between boys of various ages and/or men and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now.
The author retains copyrights to the story.
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By Chris Carr
A few days later, Keone was assigned laundry detail with a number of boys in the basement. Two guards were designated monitors for this detail, easing his anxiety slightly. Keone's duty that day was to transfer the numerous sheets and pillowcases from a huge laundry bin into the big washers. Working with him was Jerrell, a quiet, rather good-looking inmate from another room in Keone's wing. His long hair was braided into shoestring size plaits, falling about his handsome face, framing it beautifully. His skin was a soft peach color, and about his lips was a ring of facial hair, from his moustache, to his foo-manchu style beard. Working expertly, the lithe bodied youth would scoop up big handfuls of stained and smelly linen, tossing them into a washer and start the machine up.
"That's how you do it, shorty, a'ight?" he instructed.
Following suit, Keone scooped up a big load of sheets, a little aghast at the stains of urine and cum splattered on them, and tossed them into another washer. He continued until Jerrell told him,
"That's enough, G, don't wanna put too much."
Keone closed the washer door and started the big machine, stepping back to view his handy work.
"What room you in, G?"
"27," Keone said, delighted the boy was addressing him as G. By addressing him as G, he was implying the boy was a gangsta, as opposed to B, which just stood for brotha.
"Yeah, I think I seen you 'round. How long you been in?"
"Almost a week."
"What you in fo'?"
"Assault and battery, petty theft "
"Breaking and entering, the usual," Jerrell said.
Keone was relieved Jerrell didn't contradict him with the real story, no doubt, circulating the institution. Little by little, Jerrell was winning him over. He'd also noticed Jerrell before and admired his unpretentious, self-assured, demeanor. Jerrell didn't seem embroiled in the fracas of warring factions throughout the prison network like the other boys. He seemed, somehow, independent, and in charge of his own affairs. A glimmer of hope arising in the boy, Keone wondered what the source of Jerrell's autonomy was.
"Yeah, guess you've heard it all, huh? How old are you, G?"
"19," Jerrell said, stroking his foo-manchu.
"19? How you still in here then?"
"System is all fucked up, G. They 'spose to been shipped me out to the pen, but they cain't get they shit together."
"You goin to the pen, dog?"
"Soon as they get they shit together."
"What you in fo?" Keone inquired, captivated.
Keone stared at the boy, stunned.
"Go get us a couple of mo' baskets, li'l man."
Keone walked over to where several baskets of laundry waited and dragged two more bins over to their location.
"This all we do all day?"
"Load 'em, wash 'em, dump 'em, that's it, G," Jerrell said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out. Sticking one in his mouth, he offered one to Keone. Having never smoked before, Keone declined. Jerrell lit his cigarette, the pungent smell biting Keone's nose, and leaned against one of the big bins.
"I hear Malik and his little bitches been sweatin' you."
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"Keep my ear to the ground, know what I'm sayin'?"
"They been tellin' you got ta up da ass, huh?"
"Yeah," Keone said, his head dropping.
"What you goin do, G?"
Keone hunched his shoulders, the prospect of being raped depressing him. Jerrell dumped another load into the last available machine, leaving Keone to contemplate his fate. When he returned Keone inquired,
"How long you been in here, Jerrell?"
Leaning against a laundry bin, Keone watched the youth finish his cigarette.
"Yo, Jerrell, they messed with you when you first got here?"
"Tried to, but I wudn't gone have it."
"So What'd you do?"
"I had connections, G. I worked a little sumpin out."
"Connections? That why you ain't in one of the gangs?"
"'Sright. See, I'm hooked up with the Bloods, B. Fools like Malik know not ta fuck with a O.G. like me." Taking one last drag on his cigarette, Jerrell threw it on the floor, mashing it out with his shoe. Learning the boy's gang affiliation, Keone could understand why he wasn't involved with the petty rivalry inside Forester. The Bloods were one of the most notorious street gangs in the city.
"What if I asked you to hook me up, man?" he petitioned.
"You mean, save yo ass?"
"Yeah," Keone mumbled.
"You ain't wit no gang, is you?"
"You ain't a fag, is you?"
"So you want me to hook you up, huh?"
Keone nodded his head, hopeful. Jerrell studied the boy for a few minutes, lighting up another cigarette. Taking a long drag on it, he blew the smoke deliberately into Keone's face.
"I get li'l niggas askin' me ta hook them up all the time, G," he started. "Most the time it's 'cause they ass is all scared, just like you. See, but what y'all ain't understandin' is that this is the way things is, G. Nigga get locked up, and somebody goin bust yo ass. When you get a li'l time, you'll be doin the same thing to the new niggas, too. Just the way it is, B, 'specially fo a fine ass nigga like yo'self."
Amazed at the way the boys in this place candidly expressed their sexual assessment of another boy, Keone prayed he'd never be in the system so long, he'd do the same. It just wasn't natural!
"What's yo name, shorty?"
"A'ight, Keone, let me let you in on a li'l sumpin, sumpin. Just 'cause you comin' ta me don't mean you ain't got to pay yo dues. I let you off easy, and I'll fuck up my shit. Everything's got a cost, know what I'm sayin'?"
Keone nodded, although he really wasn't clear what Jerrell could be intimating.
"You want me ta hook you up, you got ta take care of me, know what I'm saying?"
Tired of the coded talk, Keone shook his head.
"What you mean, man?"
"Don't be playing innocent on me, B. I know what you really in here fo. I'm just sayin', you want my protection, then you gots ta give a li'l ta get a li'l." That said, the boy gripped his groin lewdly, his dick clearly outlined against his jeans. Alarmed, Keone looked around, checking to see if anyone else had noticed the boy's obscene gesture.
It was all caving in on him, the pressure of penal life becoming almost too much for him to bear. He'd never affronted such overt, same-sex perversion in all his life, and it was all becoming rather overwhelming. What kind of place is this, he wondered? Is everybody in here sex crazy? This was insanity! Boys weren't supposed to be asking other boys to suck their dicks and they damn sure weren't supposed to be doggin' them for a piece of ass! Keone was convinced he was living his worst nightmare. Dumbfounded, he couldn't find the words to respond to Jerrell's proposition. Still holding his dick, Jerrell looked at the boy, finally relaying,
"Yeah, just what I thought, kid. You ain't ready ta pay the price fo yo freedom yet." Releasing his dick, he took another drag on his cigarette.
"You just gon' 'bout yo business, then, B. Far as I'm concerned, this conversation never happened." Stubbing his second cigarette out, Jerrell turned to the first washer they'd loaded and started emptying the damp linen into a nearby bin. Still stunned, Keone stood watching the boy, eventually moving to assist him, the conversation over as far as he was concerned, too.
Later that week, Keone was placed on laundry duty again. Conversation between he and Jerrell was strained, mostly centering around the work at hand. Keone was pleased to find that Jerrell didn't appear to be holding a grudge, however. The youth's calm demeanor served to further demonstrate his remarkable maturity to him. When he had a hard time opening the door on one of the antique washers, Jerrell stepped over to assist him.
"You cain't yank on it like that, B. You gots ta be patient wit it, just like a good piece of pussy."
Keone smiled at the boy's metaphor, delighted he'd made the boy's acquaintance in such a dismal place.
They loaded, washed and unloaded throughout the morning, Keone eventually finding that he had an undeniable urge to take a dump. Unable to put it off any longer he inquired as to where the nearest bathroom was. Jerrell gave him directions, informing him that he would have to get permission from the guard before he went. Walking over to a guard, dancing about from one foot to the other, he requested permission to go the bathroom.
"You got ta take a leak or a dump, 'cause if you gotta take a dump I need ta get somebody ta relieve your post?" the tall, pink faced guard snapped.
Embarrassed, Keone said, "I gotta take a dump!"
"Simmons! Take over for Hardeman's position!" the guard bellowed, ordering an unsuspecting teen to replace Keone.
"Don't take too long," he told Keone. Nodding, the boy jogged off to the bathroom.
Keone was a little disarmed by how far the bathroom was from his post, and more importantly, from the "protection" of the guards, but his bowels were churning so bad, he had no other choice. The bathroom seemed rather isolated to Keone, causing him to stand at the door, hesitant to enter for a few seconds. His impatient bowels signaling him again, he pushed the door open and entered a stall. Dropping his pants, he sat, looking at all the graffiti scrawled on the stall's walls.
"59th St. Bloods!" One caption declared.
"Bloods suck dick" Another retorted.
"I need sumbody to suc my motha fucking dick!" Some horny teen had written. Horny bastard, Keone thought.
To the right of the toilet paper dispenser there was a hole, approximately 4 inches in diameter. Judging from the position of the hole, Keone wisely surmised it probably was placed there for sucking dick. There was another hole to his left but it was much smaller, almost unnoticeable. Lowering his head he observed that the angle of this hole was such that, should someone have been at one of the urinals adjacent the stall, he would've had a birdseye view of their dick. Told you niggas be thinking 'bout dick all the time, he concluded reaching for the toilet paper and wrapping a healthy length of the coarse tissue around his hand.
Reading all the sexually explicit statements scribbled about the walls, and thinking about a nigga actually being on the other side of that hole, sucking his dick, resurrected old feelings in him. The sensation of the coarse paper dragging across his exposed asshole sent sensations throughout his body and out his dick. By the time he'd thoroughly wiped himself clean, he was sporting a raging hard-on, his dick standing tall and erect between his gapped legs. Sitting back, Keone marveled at how hard his pole was, not having serviced it since his incarceration. Relenting to his natural teen sex drive, he gripped it, pulling the foreskin back, his dick growing harder in his hands.
Flushing the toilet, he decided he was due a quick nut. Reclining on the stool, his legs spread, he began stroking his shaft in earnest. His legs gapped further, as he relished the feelings coursing through his body. The sound of the door opening panicked him so, he lost his erection almost immediately. Pulling his legs up, Keone held his breath praying whoever it was hadn't noticed his feet below the stall door. Peeking through the hole in the wall, he tried to ascertain who had entered the bathroom, but the most he could see was from the boy's midsection to his lower thigh, whoever it was too close to the door to see. Good! He thought, they can't see me either. The boy seemed disoriented, his feet shuffling about the floor in uncertain patterns. The door opened again and a familiar voice filled the bathroom.
"God Damn B, you believe this? Got my ass piece of prime meat today!"
"His li'l ass better been here!" Malik's right hand man said.
"A'ight, nigga, you know what we here fo' so let's get it on!"
Keone breathed as quietly as possible, his legs still pulled toward his chest, his pants and briefs still gathered about his ankles. Listening, he determined there were about three boys with Malik, not counting the first one.
"All y'all?" The first boy asked, panicked.
"'Sright, bitch. You start with my man Markus. Daniel, you watch the door, and then you do Twon, then I get my ass!"
There was a small commotion, then Keone heard Malik say,
"What's yo pleasure, Markus?"
There was the sound of a zipper opening, then a quick rustling of clothes.
"I want this bitch ta swing on this" Markus said. Peeking through the hole, Keone saw that they had moved directly in front of him. Markus had opened the front of his pants and his dick was hanging out.
"On yo knees, bitch," Malik ordered.
Keone watched, distressed. The boy knelt, his back to him. In his strained position, he feared he would give out, revealing his presence in the bathroom. Carefully placing his feet against the stall door, Keone watched Markus stand directly before the youth. His groin right at the boy's mouth, he played with his dick, taunting him. It was a rather big dick, and equally wide. Pulling it down Markus released it, his bone hard pole rebounding against his groin, brick hard. Extending it, he grabbed the back of his head, and guided his 8 inches into the waiting mouth. The boy gagged when it hit the back of his throat, but Markus didn't let go, pulling his dick out only to slide it back down again.
"How it feel, nigga?" Malik goaded.
"Like butter, baby," Markus hissed, his eyes closed. He gripped the boy's head in both his hands. Markus worked the mouth over his pole, pushing it down his throat. The youth eventually got the hang of it, his gag reflex lessening. In a matter of minutes Markus was ramming his dick deep down his windpipe, holding the squirming boy's mouth on it. He squeezed his eyes shut and rose up on his toes.
"Fuck his mouth, Markus! Fuck that bitch, man!!" Malik cheered.
Markus grunted and groaned loudly, using the boy's mouth to stroke his dick. Shuddering, his dick started spurting its precious juices down the boy's spasming throat. Yelping, the boy struggled to free himself from the squirting monster.But Malik's knife-boy produced his ever faithful shank, placing it at his neck.
"Swallow it bitch!" Malik commanded. His eyes two large saucers the boy closed them in disgust and swallowed gulp after gulp of the Markus' gushing dick. Markus withdrew, then maliciously rammed his long dick into the teen's windpipe again. He grinned when the boy squirmed on his dick, then pulled it out and stuffed the spit coated prod into his jeans.
"Bitch's mouth was the best yet, Twon. Wait You'll see," he said to knife-boy. Stepping away from the violated juvenile he took the knife from Twon.
Daniel stuck his head in the bathroom and inquired, "Y'all through, 'cause I thought I heard somebody walking down here?"
"No, dumb ass, get the fuck outta here!" Malik bellowed. Turning to Twon he said, "Hurry up, nigga, I don't get this ass, and I'ma take it out yo's tonight!" Alarmed, the boy deferred his turn to Malik gesturing,
"Ain't no big thing fo' me, B. You can gon'."
Malik didn't hesitate, approaching the frightened boy, perusing him lewdly.
"Take yo' pants down bitch," he ordered.
Keone's legs were starting to cramp, and his neck and back muscles ached from stooping to see out the hole. Sitting erect, he felt a marginal degree of relief. His curiosity getting best of him, he soon lowered his head to the hole to watch the proceedings, his heart in his throat. The frightened boy apparently wasn't complying with Malik's demands, angering him.
"Drop yo' pants, I said, bitch!"
The boy stood, frozen, his eyes saucers again. Malik made a motion to his flunky's and in a flash they were upon him. Wrestling the teen against the urinal closest Keone, they snatched his pants down without unfastening them. White lines of ash streaked the boy's hips and buttocks from the pressure of his fastened pants dragging against his skin. Markus grabbed the youth's right hand while Twon snared his left, straddling him over the urinal. Keone watched as Malik stepped behind the boy's circular ass, his pants snarled about his ankles.
"Com'on Malik, don't fuck me man!" he begged, looking over his shoulder in horror. Malik, paid him no attention, opening the front of his jeans and dragging his stiff beam out. It stood proudly erect from the boy's groin a long 8-9 inches, and hard enough to break. Stepping behind the boy, he placed it at his quivering hole. Keone watched, mesmerized as Malik's dick wedged between the twin globes of flesh.
Pleading the boy cried,
"Malik!! Pleeese, let me go, dog!!" Through the hole Keone saw him feebly struggling to move his ass away from Malik's dick but it found its mark nevertheless, slowly sliding inside. The boy's ass quivered as he writhed about, a howl of agony escaping from his mouth. Malik slapped his hand over the boy's mouth, brutally forcing his dick deeper into the quivering ass. The poor kid yelped and cried into Malik's hand as his ass was split open by the invading spear. Cringing, Keone endured the youth's muffled plea's.
"Take it out, man! It hurts!!" he screamed. Malik ignored his cries, his own pleasure of more importance.
Humping atop the boy, doggy style, Malik's ramrod impaled him. Keone shuddered every time the boy wailed, praying it would end. Eventually Malik rammed home, burying his dick deep in the youth's ravaged hole. Seeking to further humiliate him, Malik found the boy's mouth and rammed his tongue inside. Riding him like a bitch in heat, Malik drained his spurting dick, kissing the youth as he did. When he'd grunted and shook himself to satisfaction, he released the kid, ripping his dick from his torn asshole, emitting another howl from him. How was it possible for this torture to go one and no one hear it, Keone wondered, panicked? At that precise moment, his aching muscles gave out and his legs lowered below the door of the stall.
"The fuck?" he heard Malik sputter. Snatching the door open, the gangster glared at Keone, his dick still hanging out his pants, a light sheen of what looked to be blood smeared on it. Keone looked at the boy terrified, his own dick raging hard between his legs, betraying him.
"Look at this faggot, sittin' in here wit a hard-on," Malik decried. His cronies peered around the door gaping at the embarrassed boy and his splitting hard-on. The door to bathroom opened and Daniel shrieked,
Malik regarded Keone for another instant, then, stuffing his dick back into his briefs, fastened his pants and exited. Footsteps were heard running away from the door, another set following a couple of minutes later.
Standing, Keone silently pulled his pants up, fastening them. Stepping out the stall, he beheld Forester's latest victim, slumped against the urinal, his pants still around his ankles. Tears were in his eyes but the emotion translating through loud and clear was sheer mortification. Looking at the boy, Keone saw his destiny and it terrified him.
"You all right?" he finally asked.
The boy said nothing, frozen in his steps. Keone watched as he plummeted into a state of utter derision, right before his eyes.
"He fucked me!" he cried, his eyes filling again.
"His dick was IN my ass!" he muttered.
"His cum is UP my asshole. I'ma get AIDS!" the boy sputtered, tears trickling down his cheeks.
"Dang, kid," Keone said, befuddled, "Can you pull yo pants up?" Fumbling with the hysterical boy's pants, he helped him lift them.
"I'ma get AIDS and DIE!" the boy stammered, as Keone helped him fasten his jeans. As they moved toward the door, he cried in pain, doubling over and grabbing his stomach.
"It hurt so bad!" he cried, leaning on Keone.
"Com'on B, we got ta get outta here before the guards come back!" Keone urged, pulling the boy toward the door.
"My ass! It still feel like he in there!" the boy cried, grabbing his ass.
"I gotta take a shit," he said, leaving Keone.
Keone watched as he entered the very stall he'd just watched the horrendous raping from. Then, his heart racing, he heard the boy vomit into the toilet bowl. Daring to wait a little longer, concerned for the boy's safety, he listened as the boy, flushed. Then he heard him unfasten his pants and sit on the toilet, liquid sounds squirting from his badgered ass. When the boy finished and stood to wipe himself, he cried out,
"Blooood! There's blood in my shit! Oh my God, it's his cum, too!" Overwhelmed, Keone ran from the bathroom, terrified.
Sprinting down the hall, Keone returned to the laundry room and grabbed a guard, proclaiming,
"There's a boy in the bathroom, and he's sick!" The guard followed him back to the bathroom where the boy was now seated on the floor beside the toilet, weeping. Another guard soon appeared while several of the boys from the laundry detail stood in the door, gaping at the poor, crying boy.
"He got his ass busted," they were murmuring to each other. Standing between the crying boy and those at the door, some laughing, Keone felt the axis of his world tilt, his heart sinking as it did. Pushing through the boys at the door, Keone left, seeking to put as much distance between him and the horrible scene possible. A few more guards showed up, ordering the boys to get to their prospective blocks because they were going on lockdown, but Keone didn't hear them his world still shifting. He'd just witnessed the most horrific thing he'd ever seen in his short life and, worst of all, he was now unable to evade the certainty that the same fate awaited him. Remembering Malik's angry eyes staring into his, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach.