In His Father's House 2

IN HIS FATHER'S HOUSE - 2, Rev.

All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, “In His Father's House” is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net

In addition to numerous articles on the problems faced by juveniles incarcerated in adult prisons - especially those sentenced to life sentences without the possibility of parole - the author is especially indebted to three books: Santos, Michael G., Inside, Life Behind Bars in America (New York: St. Martin's Griffin edition, 2007); Parsell T. J., Fish, A Memoir of a Boy in a Man's Prison (Cambridge, MA; Da Capo Press, 2006); and Gagnon, Robert J. 053803, Life at Fifteen, updated ed. (n.p.; Robert J. Gagnon-Paperback, 2006). Echoes of each will be heard in my story that follows.

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, please respect yourself and those around you by practicing safe sex.

CHAPTER 2

(Revisiting Chapter 1)

No mistake made by the police was mentioned by the attorney - and there were many such as questioning the boy without his father or mother present and before the public defender arrived. Jeb was never put on the stand; no witnesses were called. No effort was made to counter the rumor that there had been a sexual element in the murder. The attorney offered little beyond his summation. The trial lasted less than a week. Neither Jeb's parents nor any other members of his family ever appeared. The jury deliberated for less than three hours before returning a verdict of "guilty of aggravated murder". Before he pronounced sentence, the judge spoke to Jeb in open court, castigating him as a murderous pervert who did not belong on the same planet as "good" people. Stating bluntly that he would have ordered Jeb to be hanged had it been possible under the law, he then sternly sentenced the fourteen year old to life in prison without the possibility of parole. The teen's eyes, expression, and stumbling gait as he was led from the courtroom suggested that he had long since fled that monstrous place.

(Continuing Our Story: Absorbed into the System)

The young teen might have feared his brief return to the County jail where he had been held for the early part of his penal experience. For better or worse, however, the manner in which he had been savaged during the trial essentially "anesthetized" him. It was a thoroughly defeated lad who was relieved of his belt and shoelaces in the holding cell - as if he had the energy to commit suicide. Finally led through a tunnel into the adjoining jail, he mindlessly followed orders to strip and was inspected, fingerprinted, and photographed. Pushed into the cell that was to have been his new home for several days, the fact that he had missed the last meal of the day was little noticed. Indeed, the crowding, the heat, and the lack of food barely registered as he awaited a cell in a state prison. On that first night, the fourteen year old simply lay on a thin pad that barely covered a steel shelf and sobbed.

He was to receive an early lesson in the attitude of prisoners towards those who harm children. An attempt on his life in the breakfast line, barely foiled by an alert guard, led to his being transferred to Faston State Prison later that same day. There, the entry process was the same as he stripped and was inspected, fingerprinted, and photographed. After a few days in isolation (termed "protective custody"), the decision was made to keep him at that prison for some five weeks during which time he would be "classified". That is, a formal decision would be made with regard to the level of prison security demanded by his case. More informally, he would be oriented to prison life. Data were gathered from his legal record, physical, educational, and vocational testing, plus a psychological exam and a meeting with a classification committee. A decision was then made about the prison that could provide the program best suited for his incarceration. In his state, there were several possibilities: camps where he could gradually be integrated into the life of the community over a relatively short-term, minimum security prisons where he might occasionally work outside under close supervision (e.g., work gangs) and, for that matter, find it possible to earn a bit more freedom within the institution, maximum security prisons where the inmate received close supervision within the institution and, even, a supermax prison where activities of the most dangerous criminals were subjected to the tightest control possible given available technology and personnel.

In truth, given his sentence of life without parole, there was little doubt that Jeb would be housed in a maximum security prison. Nevertheless, the formal decision delivered one more blow to the young teen's morale...his sense that his life was essentially over, that he no longer controlled any aspect of his mind, body, or soul. Indeed, it seemed that every aspect of his entry into Halstead State Prison was designed to deepen that impression. Chained and manacled, he was transferred to the new prison in a windowless van that carried one other white man, a Latino, and eight blacks. After he and three of the blacks had been marched to the area that housed his day room, related cells, and guard facilities, they were herded into a holding cell. One by one, the prisoners would be taken into the dayroom to undergo the familiar entry process. After it was completed, they returned to the holding cell where they slumped down on a steel bench that folded into the wall.

After two of the black men were finished, Jeb was called over to a table in the day room where a medic was seated. A burly guard stood nearby. "Strip!" the medic said authoritatively. Jeb hesitated. He stood in an area where he was fully visible to other inmates who, for one reason or another, remained in the room. Somewhat more forcefully, the medic repeated his command: "Strip!" Blushing, the youngster obeyed. At 14, Jeb's body didn't show a great deal of definition, but he had shot up to 5'6½" in his first major teenage growth spurt. While he had thinned out considerably relative to his rather dumpy build at age 12 (when he badgered his parents constantly about "getting fat"), his torso, bubble butt, and thighs still boasted solid beef...about 140 lbs of it! The muscle in the new flesh was there to be developed. It helped, of course, that he had been active in sports back into grammar school. He was not particularly hairy. Yes, there was a puff of blond fur in each armpit, a decent-sized blond bush above his genitals, and a light glaze on his powerful calves. The rest of his body, however, remained relatively smooth. In all this, of course, he was not hugely different from many 14 year olds. Whereas early genital growth is quite common among teens, however, the fact remained that his genitals - i.e., his penis, scrotum, and testicles - were huge! Truth was, he was probably packing 90 percent of his adult genital size - and we're talking about an adult male who was hung! A relatively smooth, pale nutsack stretched well down between his thighs. Two massive, plum-sized balls weighed it down to the point that it swung back and forth as he strode across the floor. His thick, uncut cock hung down a bit less than seven inches over the sack. Hard, it measured something more than 9.0 inches! Rare was the male beholding this array of equipment who could avoid taking a second look and then gasping, snickering, snorting, or going rock-hard on the spot.

The inmates in the day room were absolutely breaking up: laughing, whistling, and inviting Jeb to join them. A glare from the guard silenced them. When the medic suddenly turned towards the boy and saw his stuff for the first time, he involuntarily let out a long wolf whistle. "I read about that in your file, Taylor," he said as he gestured towards the...display, "but I hardly believed it. You'll be very popular," he added dryly. No one was particularly surprised that the medic's hands managed to touch nearly every square inch of Jeb's body, plus his rectum and lower colon, before he was finished. Packing up, he turned the sniffling youngster over to the guard who guided him through the remainder of the entry process. It wasn't long before they returned, Jed carrying clothes and the pad for his bed. Silently, Jeb preceded him into the holding cell and slumped down onto the bench. Great tears stood out on his face, but he said nothing as he guard went about assigning the blacks to cells in the complex.

The remaining prisoners - mostly blacks with a few whites and Latinos - who lived in the cells that opened onto the dayroom returned ere the hour was up. From the corner of his eye, he noticed animated discussions going on between them and the inmates who had remained in the room during his physical. Though he was greeted by many of them before and after supper, he found it difficult to ignore the many obscenities and whispers that he felt largely concerned him. Hadn't an earlier acquaintance told him not to take any crap off anyone while in prison? Hence, when his immediate cellmates invited him to join them for cards, he was still sufficiently pissed that he stomped off to the exercise room for a long, exhausting workout. Returning - hesitant, ill at ease and, frankly, just a tad

scared - he found that no one was angry with him. In fact, they invited him to a "welcoming party" when everyone was available the next day.

(Fish Fry)

[Author's Note: The remainder of this chapter includes graphic details of a gang rape. Please consider carefully whether you choose to continue reading.]

Jeb was much relieved. Frankly, the prisoners whom he had met at County and at Faston State had generally scared the hell out of him! Though there were no other teens, those who occupied his section of Halstead were at least friendly, interested in him, and clearly going out of their way to make him feel like less of an outsider. Hell, there were even two whites! Manny, dressed in white due to his kitchen assignment, brought in a large black plastic bag containing "punch". "Shots", a well-built black guy who also worked in the kitchen appeared with small jars, laughing that their punch would "incinerate" paper cups! There it was: juice, bits of fruit, sugar, yeast...all cooked for a couple of days and then allowed to cool and "age"! After a white guy named Fletch, probably in his 20s, dipped one of the jars into the bag and handed Jeb a pint of a deep purple liquid, the newbie (rather ostentatiously) took a deep swallow. After a second, his eyes seem to bulge and he sprayed a bit as he yelled, "FUCK! Oh, man, that stuff's deadly! WOW!" The crew laughed heartily! As each con managed to talk with him individually, he threw an arm around his shoulder in a comradely manner and got him involved in small talk. It was a nice scene and he was enjoying himself thoroughly. For the first time since he left home - and, maybe, for some time before that - he felt g-o-o-d! True, every time he turned around, his jar was refilled, but hell! It was great to be with friends, getting a buzz on! Besides, as the party continued, the initial rawness and acidity of the "punch" bothered him less and less, and the warmth spread throughout his guts.

The party had to have been underway for some time when Pete, one of several guys in their late 20s or 30s, hooked an arm around his neck and with a sharp jerk momentarily drew him into his body. "You havin' fun, Big Guy?" he giggled. Jeb propped himself up against Pete's heavy shoulders and, slurring his words a bit, mumbled with teenage bravado that he had been to "plenty" of team parties and this party was the very best! Stumbling a bit, he added that he seemed to be a "little higher than usual". (Little did he know that a "little something extra" had been added to his punch.) "Man," he continued, giggling, "You guys are the very best."

Pete looked carefully into his eyes. (Pause.) "Jeb-boy," he responded, "I'm bushed. Let's move into our cell for a couple of minutes where we can rest and hear ourselves think." The boy allowed himself to be helped into the cell. As he attempted to sit down on the floor, he shook his head vigorously. For a moment that seemed to bring him to, but he lost his balance and sat down heavily on the floor. "Three sheets to the wind" he mumbled, looking up at Pete with dazed eyes and a stupid grin.

Pete calmly sat down and in the most friendly, supportive manner continued speaking with the youngster. "Jeb, I heard something curious over in Building B the other day. Seems one of the guys hails from a suburb of your hometown, Gold Star. He said that most people think you raped little Bo Simms when you murdered him. Did....." "No-o-o-o-o-o," a terrible cry from Jeb interrupted his question. "That's ok, Jeb," Pete continued, a strange look in his eyes. "You're among friends." NO! Jeb screamed, the words gushing from his mouth like water from a breached dam. "It's just that he saw me and Junior back in the woods. He was running away yelling for his daddy, Deputy Simms. He..." Abruptly, Jeb cut off the stream of words and slumped back against the wall of the cell. "No?" Pete asked calmly, as if Jeb hadn't said a word. "Didn't the judge at your trial call you a 'murderous pervert'? Didn't you have to do something more than kill the little tyke?" "No..." Jeb whispered weakly, great tears running down his face, all traces of a supporting skeleton having seemingly melted within his body.

"Well, maybe, Jeb," the older man continued. "Hold on now, I've got a couple of other things that have me confused. "If you're so lily-white...if being a fag is so horrible...aren't you uncomfortable being in a dorm where there are so many of them?" Jeb simply continued looking at him, horror splashed across his face, his eyes beginning to jump around. "How about me?" Pete continued meditatively...as if his soul had suddenly glimpsed the Eternal River. "Aren't you just a little curious why I helped fourteen men...real men...throw a party for a punk, a little turd who isn't worth knocking into next week with the back of my hand? Sorry to tell you that there's no free meal...or free punch...either one."

Jeb wasn't there for that last question. Indeed, it was several minutes before he realized he was completely naked and that he was resting on the back of his shoulders. Widely separated, his heavy legs were being held vertically while Pete crouched between them, calmly opening him up. Despite cries, moans, and the most pitiful pleas, the powerful figure wouldn't stop until his hand, wrist, and even some of his forearm were plunging smoothly in and out of the lad's lower body. When Jeb next emerged from the darkness, he found himself being lowered to the floor on his stomach. Someone roughly held his face to the floor while another thrust an arm under his stomach and roughly jerked his body to his knees. He was almost sure it was Pete who growled, "Ah, 'me darlin','" as he kicked his lower legs apart and thrust his hand between his legs. The dorm boss was chuckling as he played with the teen's massive equipment. Finally, he grabbed the youngster's cock and pulled it way back between his legs. Jeb shivered as the man's lips rolled the foreskin off his impressive glans and tasted his conquest, a taste that was every bit as sweet as anticipated. Soon the sweat was dripping from his body as the heavy, muscular con rode him hard until both males suddenly stiffened, convulsed, and fell moaning to the deck.

Fortunately, Jeb's forays into consciousness were limited for much of the next hour. He did realize that the rape continued. He inferred (correctly) that he was passed from one con to another. For instance, he came to on his back, his heavy thighs extended over another man's shoulders, the man's tongue deeply exploring his mouth. Every quiver of his body gave witness to the ecstasy that gripped him as the man's cock punched deep into his bowels. Strangely enough, he also remembered momentarily regaining consciousness in a circle of light, heat, and laughter. Though everything was blurred, it appeared that he was bouncing up and down in a man's lap as onlookers howled in laughter and spilled the heavy purple liquid onto his head and down his body.

It was dark and quiet in the cell. Jeb had again regained consciousness, but remained silent and unmoving. His head throbbing, sick to his stomach, he could do no more. Pete was whispering to a guard over by the bars. "You sure you got this brat under control?", the guard asked. "Since the 1970s, I've learned that when his type show up, good men lose their jobs. Better to hit them early and hard!" "Yep," Pete replied. "He's not likely to give you any trouble. He got the full works...a welcoming party hosted by yours truly." A worried note crept into the guard's voice as he asked, "He's ok? You didn't cause us any medical problems, did you?" "Nah," Pete said, "but I don't think he's going to shoot his mouth off again. We even went further. Cap won what was left of him in a card game. Starting tomorrow, the little bitch belongs to him." "That's not going to cause us trouble with the blacks, is it?" the guard asked with a shudder. "What do you take me for, boss?" Pete retorted. The blacks in this dorm ran the proposal by their leaders early in the afternoon. They bought it...unanimously." "Cool" the guard muttered as he turned away to continue his check of cells in the dormitory. "Nice job, Pete!"

A voice came down sharply from a shelf across from Pete's: "You're a son of a bitch, Pete! The kid didn't want it." "Don't sweat it, Cap." Pete replied promptly. "Gotta do what you gotta do. You didn't want to fuck him and you didn't have to. While you've got to finish breaking him in, you won him fair and square. You always did have a touch with cards! Don't sweat it!"

Jeb was quiet the next morning, but not particularly withdrawn. He got Cap's coffee without direction. Then he stood in line to get his owner's breakfast and laid it out on his favorite table. When Cap had to answer a call to the library, he followed along dutifully. He wasn't even particularly bothered by passing comments such as "Hey, there's Cap's new bitch." At least he belonged somewhere! That afternoon, Cap fucked the boy - and took him again at bedtime. Still sore back there, Jeb didn't particularly like it, but no one would have known it from outward appearances. He even smiled briefly in Cap's direction. Actually, the fourteen year old was beginning to think: For instance, he wondered if he hadn't gotten exactly what he deserved...maybe what he needed. He had to admit that some of it hadn't felt half bad! The good looking youngster grinned at Cap again...and received a quiet smile in return.

(To Be Continued)