Date: Fri, 6 Oct 2006 17:46:45 -0400
From: Duke <duke9555@hotmail.com>
Subject: Cell 13

Cell 13
by Duke (duke9555@hotmail.com)

***

This is a story about love and betrayal in prison and
at home. (MM, intr, bdsm)

***

When I arrived at prison I was terrified. The smell of
concrete and steel permeated and hung heavy in the
stifling air. The long four hour bus ride shackled in
chains didn't do much to alleviate my anxiety. I was
assigned cell #13 after a lengthy intake process. We
were given two uniforms of state green plus two pairs
of white boxers and a pair of cheap work boots along
with two pairs of white socks.

I took the fact my cell was number 13 as a foreboding
sign from the gods. My sentence was an indeterminate
one to three years. My crime was possession of a
controlled substance. If I stayed out of trouble while
incarcerated I could expect to be free in about
thirteen months I was assured by my half-witted defense
attorney. I'm your average white male about five feet
ten and an unprepossessing one hundred and sixty five
pounds. I'm average in all regards.

Of course I had heard all the horror stories about
prison. I prayed I could find a way to avoid becoming
'Bubba's' bitch. My wife, the beautiful and very sexy
Jane and my fourteen year old son were waiting
dutifully at home for me. Both had promised to write
and visit often. They kept their promise.

The inmate population was preponderantly Black and
Spanish. Whites comprised at most five percent of the
population. The guards or corrections officers as they
liked to be called were all Caucasians.

I had historically gotten along very well with both
Black and Spanish men and women. I had owned a
nightclub in New York City ("The Black Cat") before my
incarceration. The club catered primarily to Black and
Spanish men and women. So my familiarity with their
sociological predilections was well founded in real
life settings. The tone and texture of their quotidian
languages and mores were not as alien to me as they
were to my white colleagues in stir.


The edifice known as Lions Mountain Correctional
facility was an imposing brick and mortar building of
the late nineteenth century variety. It was nestled
high up in the mountains of New York State near the
Canadian border. There were sections of it that still
bore the stamp of its 1890 origins. Most of it however
was somewhat more modern, circa 1950's or thereabouts.

In each cell there was a bunk bed a commode a small
table and a tiny locker.

I occupied my cell, #13, all by myself for about a week
or so. The guards told me my cellmate, Lance, was being
disciplined and was in the 'box'. The 'box' I learned
was prison idiom for solitary confinement. Lance would
be out of the box in a day or two depending upon his
deportment the guards said. Having the 9' x 6' cell all
to myself was spoiling me. We arose at six in the
morning for breakfast in the mess hall.

We were marched to the mess hall for lunch at twelve
noon. Dinner was at six in the evening. The 'final
count' and lights out was at eleven each night. There
were counts of the inmates at various times during the
day. For obvious reasons the guards cared more about
the inmate counts than anything else in the facility.
The food was esculent. It was enough to keep body and
soul together.

For the most part the guards were essentially
indifferent to the inmates. I quickly saw that as long
as they weren't annoyed and the counts went smoothly
they left us to our own devices. We inmates had our own
little world. It was subject to all the vagaries and
petty prejudices that any small community of men might
be, only more so. For this was prison, not a boy's
camp.

Only thoughts of my wife and son kept me from having a
nervous breakdown. We were allowed out of our cells
each day besides meals for our work assignments. Each
inmate had to have a job or some school to go to each
and every day except Sundays. Muslims were given
Saturdays off and worked or went to school on Sundays.
A large recreation room with a television and tables
and chairs was on each cellblock. There were rows of
fifty cells to a tier in each building. There were
fifteen such buildings. Tiers were five stories high.

The fifth tier in all the buildings were in desuetude
and without lights and uninhabitable.

Fifth tier cells were all open and empty. Nobody was
permitted on the fifth tiers, including the guards. The
railings on the fifth tier were all loose and the steps
were dangerous. There were three thousand prisoners
housed in Lion Mountain. I was but one. This is my
story.

I heard the keys of the guard long before I saw his
face. Mike, the nicest and friendliest of the guards
approached and opened the door to cell #13. My first
reaction to Lance as he ambled into the cell was one of
inferiority. Lance stood about 6'2" tall and weighed in
at 230 pounds of chiseled granite muscle. His well
defined muscularity strained at his green shirt and
pants. Lance's face was blank, expressionless, and
cold, icy cold.

He had the kind of face that made one wish for a
glimmer of emotion on it.

I quickly scampered up to the top bunk. Lance gave me
an unexpected wide toothsome smile. Other white inmates
had told me the bottom bunk was Lance's.

"Got a smoke?" Lance asked pleasantly enough.

I had received a package from my wife, Jane, only
yesterday. I had plenty of smokes. I thanked God I did.
I had no desire to get off on the wrong foot with Lance
by disappointing him with a negative answer to his
first question. I very quickly handed him a cigarette
and lit it for him. Lance spoke in a relaxed manner
about his trials and tribulations in the 'box' without
me asking.

However, he refused to tell me what he had done to get
himself thrown into solitary. I didn't press the issue
with him.

We spoke of our lives and our respective crimes for
nearly two hours. The yell of "MEAL TIME WALKING" was
given by the captain of the guard, big Sal. Lance and I
as well as the whole cellblock grew silent. We marched
to the mess hall in stony silence. I followed Lance as
we grabbed trays, utensils, and then our meal. I sat at
a table of twenty inmates.

The chatter in the mess hall was stridently staccato
and seemingly friendly in tone. Old friends and new,
making small talk of prison, and street life. I
remained silent. My one friend, Tim, and I exchanged
glances and small nods of hello. Upon our return to the
cell Lance produced his 'short eyes'. 'Short eyes' is
prison vernacular for glossy pornographic magazines.
These magazines depicted women in scantily clad outfits
and nudes. Very few of the books had graphic sex
scenes.

He offered me one or two to peruse. I took them. I
didn't wish to appear uninterested in a subject which
clearly interested Lance so much, sex. I reminded him I
was married and had a wife and fourteen year old son
waiting for me at home. Lance grunted approvingly at
this reminder. We showed each other our favorite
'bitches' in the short eyes books. Short eyes are a
status symbol in prison. Lance had the most in the
entire facility. I was duly impressed with his
collection of dirty books.

I felt both fear and pleasure at having the top
prisoner as a cellmate. To be frank and candid I had a
gnawing fear since Lance first entered cell #13. Fear
of his astounding physical presence and his daunting
and unquestionable superiority over me. My pleasure was
derived at watching his catlike and graceful movements.
He moved with the grace and assuredness of a jungle
beast. His muscles rippled under his clothing like
snakes in a bag, a well fitting bag to be sure.

He noticed the picture of my wife and son I had put on
the locker.

He said only, "Good looking lady."

I said, "Thanks."

He told me again how lucky I was to have family that
visited me regularly. He said, "You're blessed man,
blessed"

This was a phrase I was too hear often in the ensuing
months. Very quickly it became 'de rigeur' for Lance to
hold out his hand anytime he desired a cigarette. I
only responded by placing a cigarette in his huge hand.
Lance was going to be inside he said for about a year
or so. He had violated parole. He was now doing time
for parole violation.

His original sentence or 'bid', as the inmates referred
to sentences as, was twenty years. Lance had done
fifteen years of an original twenty year 'bid'. Lance
had killed a white man. He was now nearly thirty nine
years old and had spent half of his life in prison.
despite this horrifying situation he appeared to be a
calm and satisfied man. Underneath this quiescent
facade breathed a fire and a fury.

Lance returned from his assigned work in the prison
kitchen. He removed his kitchen habiliments as I
reclined on the upper bunk. There was one shower for
every five cells. Permission from the guard on duty was
needed to use the shower.

I didn't want to appear self consciously prudish as
Lance prepared for his ablutions by averting my eyes.
He held my gaze. He disrobed and chatted with me
steadily as he did so. He sauntered to the showers. He
held a bar of my wife's Camay soap she had sent to me.
He let his towel drop to the stone floor. Lance was an
astounding physical specimen. My heart skipped a beat.

The cells were left open during most of the day. They
were only locked completely down on last count at
eleven P.M. The guards patrolled the cell block
corridors of each tier in use. They walked back and
forth, back and forth. The 5th tier was conspicuous by
its silence and disuse. Inmates freely socialized by
visiting each other's cells under the watchful eyes of
the omnipresent guards.

**

During my first few nights at Lions Mountain I had
heard bizarre noises during most nights. They were
definitely the sounds of humans and not of rats as some
suggested to me. They were emanating from the 5th tier,
I was certain of this. Could the joint be haunted?
Things were scary enough without ghosts.

I was soon assigned to work in the prison kitchen.
Lance and I were now coworkers as well as cellmates. I
hadn't had this kind of propinquity with my wife, I
smiled to myself. Lance only snickered mischievously
when I asked him about the noise on the 5th tier. After
our first day working together we repaired to our cell.

Lance said, "You take a shower first Ron, I'll take one
after you."

"No problem," I mumbled in reply.

It was impossible not to be naked in front of your
cellmate at some point. Lance's stare bore into me as I
hurriedly removed my kitchen uniform. I was bizarrely
pleased Lance found me worthy of a second glance. After
my shower Lance allowed another inmate to take his turn
in the shower.

Lance had that kind of influence with the guards. He
remained in the cell with me as I finished drying
myself with a new fluffy towel Jane had sent to me. I
must admit I was beginning to enjoy Lance's attentive
glances. At this point I was beyond ordinary horniness.
I had not had sex with my wife or anyone else in
months. I was 'backed up' to say the least.

"Don't be shy Ron," Lance said evenly.

"I'm not I'm not," I replied too nervously to sound
convincing.

"Ok ok," Lance smiled.

My slender and diminutive dick sprung to life. I stood
balancing myself on the back wall of the cell. My towel
fell off as I sought to remain upright. I quickly bent
to retrieve it. Lance's large black hand got there
first. Yup I was standing completely naked with a hard-
on before the grinning Lance. My feeble white physique
was on full display for Lance's delectation. Lance
winked and licked his lips like a man viewing a freshly
cooked pork chop.

I was comfortable with Lance. I didn't fear him like I
thought I would. My fears were now diluted with sexual
overtones. Lance had not shown any evidence of being
queer. He had not been the least bit threatening or
violent towards me. Quite to the contrary Lance was
solicitous and protective of me.

He elicited the feminine side of my bisexuality. I
hadn't confided my bisexuality to Lance. I doubted he
cared all that much. I had been sexually attracted to
Lance the very instant I first saw him. I didn't think
I would be well advised to confess this fact to him.

Lance pitched an unbelievably huge tent in his shorts.
He looked like he might be trying to hide a small
baseball bat.

"Not here, not now," Lance muttered softly.

I looked at him blankly in response.

"Later on the 5th tier," he added mysteriously.

I remained silent.

Lance allowed me to dress unmolested.

A flash of disappointment washed over me quite
unexpectedly. I had an inchoate sexual desire for this
black Adonis. I melted when he uttered my name. He said
"Ron" in an almost romantic manner. At least this is
how I heard it. Lance actually asked for a cigarette.
We were both sitting on his bunk. Lance began a most
remarkable story. Lance told me all the cellblocks were
segregated into whites and what he called their "nigger
bosses".

I listened in rapt attention to every word of his tale.
He told me all the whiteboys did the bidding of their
'nigger bosses' no questions asked. This is how it is.
The 'nigger bosses' used the 5th tier as a rendezvous
spot for their sexual assignations with their whiteboy
'concubines' sorta speak. With the connivance of the
guards the 5th tier was nothing less than a seraglio
for satisfying the lustful sexual cravings of the
'niggers'.

The whiteboys satisfied all manner of sexual cravings
of their 'nigger masters' on the 5th tier. My mouth was
agape at these astounding revelations. This of course
was the reason I had heard bizarre noises all those
nights. Lance told me my whiteboy friend, Tim, could
confirm his fantastic story. He was a regular whiteboy
'date' of one certain nigger on the 5th tier, Saleem.

I had noticed Tim was more than a shade less than
masculine. However he was married with two kids. And I
was married with one son, and I was excited. Who would
know? Behind closed doors and all that stuff. I made a
mental note to check with Tim ASAP.

Lance told me a lot of 'niggers' were allowed out of
their cells at night. The guards chose which ones and
why. Lance was never overlooked. The niggers would in
turn choose certain whiteboys to be their 'dates' for
that night. Almost all of the guards were voyeurs it
turned out. The guards who weren't, minded their own
business. What 'goings on'! on the 5th tier I thought.
Lance told me which whiteboys were part of this
continuing queer orgy on the 5th tier. Many were.

The penalties for refusing an order of the 'niggers' by
any whiteboy were beatings and the silent treatment.
Neither penalty appealed to me as much as Lance did. He
asked me what I thought. I told him I was very much in
favor of the whole setup. He laughed contentedly.

"It keeps peace in the joint and makes everybody happy"
Lance announced.

When in Rome, I thought.

Lance told me it would be a while before he could
arrange for me to be a 'date' for some 'nigger' on the
5th tier. It seemed all the 'niggers' were pleased with
the whiteboys they already had. Lance noted that when
whiteboys left Lions Mountain replacements were called
for. He laughed as he told me he would put in a good
word for me with the powers that be.

There was no use in pretending I was some type of macho
tough guy with Lance. I wasn't, and he is twice the man
I am in all regards. I surrendered my ego to Lance's
will.

I wistfully thought of my wife and son waiting for me
at home. No time for sentimentality, the niggers needed
me, my white skin, and sexual talents right here. I
blushed. Here without the influence of any females my
girly side dared to become ascendant.

Lance filled me in on the real hierarchy of the
facility. The whiteboys were totally subservient to the
'nigger bosses' This was something I had noticed, but
not the sexual component. I had missed that. He further
told me that the whiteboys who received packages from
home were expected to liberally share them with their
'nigger bosses'. This I had seen. I had seen Tim give
Saleem, a large black inmate, many items of food and
cigarettes. Tim gave them up with no signs of distress
or hesitation either. It was all starting to make sense
to me now.

Lance also told me that whiteboys with people on the
outside were expected to make requests that these
persons 'contribute' to the 'nigger fund'. Our people
on the outside then received the names and numbers of
certain niggers. These niggers were sent their own
personal packages over and above what we shared with
them. The niggers didn't share with the whiteboys. My
weenie dripped precum at this fabulous story.

*

I spoke to Tim at the library the first chance I got.
Tim was twenty-five and about 5' 9" and one hundred and
forty five pounds. He was undeniably good looking.
Flirting with being pretty. Blonde hair, Tourmaline
blue eyes, perfect alabaster white skin. His chest was
sparsely sprinkled with light hair. His mouth and lips
were pouty enough to be wrapped around a cock I lewdly
thought. His girlish good looks were topped off with a
very respectable tight and toned physique.

Tim was a swimmer in high school. He was possessed of a
small and submissive demeanor. He told me he had never
entertained homosexual fantasies. I had no idea if he
was telling me the truth or not. He struck me as
androgynous in appearance and attitude. Tim was a soft
delicate and refined gentleman. He was a college
graduate with an excellent job before he was
incarcerated. Now he was just a college graduate.

He was at this facility for embezzlement. He allowed as
he was at first horrified at being a fuck-toy for the
niggers. He further confessed he was now deeply
enthralled with being the nigger's whiteboy whore, his
new role in life. His nigger boss, Saleem, was one of
the more attractive and militantly rough niggers.

They looked like the perfect couple. He six feet even
and two hundred pounds and he slight and oh so very
white and fey. Tim doted on Saleem's every move and
desire. He often washed Saleem's cell on his hands and
knees. He washed Saleem's underwear by hand in his
sink. Tim shared *everything* with Saleem. When Tim
spoke of Saleem I saw love in his eyes. If not love
actually, then lust, most assuredly. Obviously Tim was
now a flaming faggot queen. Since I first met Tim his
manner had gotten to be very gay. He swished and minced
all over the cellblocks. Much to the nigger's delight.

"Oh Ron, these niggers are such men, real men!" He
squealed in a womanly voice.

"I just can't help myself, it feels so right, and so
good, being their whore" he gushed with a girlish glee.

"Ron, I'm in love with that big black buck of a man,
Saleem," he mewled breathlessly.

I was astounded at Tim's confession of love for Saleem.
He was doing so much more than 'going along to get
along'. Tim was in serious romantic love with Saleem.
At the very least, infatuation was Tim's affliction.
Tim's wife, Rita, visited regularly and contributed to
the nigger fund generously.

I wondered if she knew of Tim's new found 'love' of
black cock: And his emotional involvement with Saleem.
Tim was a 'high strung' man, and given to emotional
flights of fancy I saw. But I was gratified to hear Tim
talk as he did. It made my feelings for Lance so much
easier to talk about. I felt less odd. I had a soul
mate in Tim, it seemed.

"Tim, I melt like a schoolgirl when I see Lance" I
confessed to Tim.

We both blushed and giggled like thirteen year old
girls.

Tim confirmed Lance's lurid tale of the 5th tier. He
told me he wished I would soon join him and the other
whiteboy whores on the 5th tier. I told him quite
honestly how much I looked forward to it. Tim's
confessions got me hornier than I was before. I needed
to speak to Lance and lobby for a spot on the 5th tier
soon. I needed sex. I needed to be a nigger's whiteboy
trash whore slave. My heart pounded and raced in my
chest. My dick stiffened. It leaked precum.

Lance was sitting in the sink of our cell when I
returned. He was wearing only his white boxer shorts.
Lance was rolling a joint. I was still flushed with
sexual ardor from the invigorating chat I had had with
Tim.

"So did ya talk with your friend Timmy, Ron?" Lance
asked casually.

"I sure did" I smiled back.

"So?" Lance inquired further.

"I want to be on the 5th tier Lance!" I effused
excitedly.

A deep throated chuckle was Lance's only reply. Then he
added, "Ok Ron let's see if I can help you out"

My face was barely large enough to hold my smile.

"Want some Ron?" Lance asked as he pointed the
marijuana cigarette at me.

I put my hand out to accept the contraband. I inhaled
deeply the acrid weed. My head was instantly light.
Lance laughed. Lance sucked on the forbidden plant
after I did. We both got high fast.

Lance's magnificent man meat flopped out of his tight
boxer shorts. He saw and heard my glance and gasp of
shock. My eyebrows were raised in pleasant surprise. I
smiled. His cock was very, very impressive indeed. This
was the first good look I had gotten at his snake. And
a snake it was too. It had to be 7" long and God knows
how thick. Though thick it was. It was still an
unexcited snake. I schemed to change this state of
affairs.

My schemes were about to bear fruit.

"You want this, right whiteboy?" Lance stated
rhetorically.

I could only gulp.

"You bet I do big boy!"

He and I both smiled at my awkward boldness. It was the
marijuana bringing out my innermost truths. Lance
lifted his giant black body off of the sink. He
gingerly sat himself down on the toilet bowl. I was at
a loss for an adroit approach.

Lance helped me with a well timed, "C'mere whiteboy and
suck me off."

I scrambled to the cold stone floor with amazing
alacrity. A bit too quickly for Lance's taste I saw. As
he said.

"Slow down ho, take off your clothes first stupid," he
sneered these words. I responded with

"The guard?"

"Don't worry about that, sweet thang," he said
nonchalantly.

I cast a wary eye at the walking guard. The guard gave
me the slightest of smirks and kept on walking past
cell #13. I removed my shirt and pants very fast.
Breaking off a button in the process. Lance was amused
at my eagerness. I slowly removed my boxer shorts.

"C'mon let me see that purdy white body baby doll,"
Lance said seriously.

Lance was accustomed to man on man sex. It was
relatively novel for me however, thus my shyness at
actually doing it, as opposed to just fantasizing about
it. I was once more naked in front of Lance sporting an
erection no less. I felt little shame and self
consciousness at my teeny paltry five inch boy-cock.

I was sure Lance had seen his share of puny whiteboy
penises before mine. Anyway isn't this the way it
should be.? A superior black god humiliating a whiteboy
whore from the get go? The shattering comparison was
quite clear. His huge muscular frame against my slight
white frame. His humongous black cock against my
miniature white penis. Black trumps white.

He smiled broadly at the scant white meat I was
packing.

"Hey that IS a tiny little one isn't it Ronnie!" he
said quite pleased with himself.

He added quite unnecessarily "That's so small someone
should have thrown it back."

Lance laughed at his own joke.

My shriveled up emaciated little nub of a penis stirred
ever so slightly at Lance's cruel but oh so true words.

"Yeah I know it's small," I said sullenly.

My pulse quickened at this slight.

I was into verbal humiliation as well as physical pain
and degradation in my life on the outside. I would get
my fill and then some at Lions Mountain.

Lance reached out and shockingly touched my dick. I
wasn't expecting this move from a macho man like Lance.
With two large black fingers Lance squeezed my penis
and pulled me down to my knees. My face was only inches
away from Lance's black serpent. It looked like another
life form, growing from his narrow hips, separate and
apart from Lance. I quickly pulled Lances shorts off of
his luscious loins and threw them aside.

"Yeah, show your nigger daddy what a good little white
cocksucker you are Ronnie" Lance hissed.

"Give him a good blowjob. A real nice one, baby doll.
Do it good and daddy will let you be on the 5th tier,"
Lance said tantalizingly.

Without using my hands I caused his huge soft cock to
flop into my open wet mouth.

I was salivating copiously. I was salivating like the
hungry bitch I was. I needed this alpha-male's genitals
in my mouth to be complete. I wetted his mammoth cock
up and down and across. His astounding love-stick was
in fact HUGE. The veins very prominent and very dilated
and distended. The 'myth' was perpetuated by Lance's
tool of love.

The fetid stench of urine covered its mushroom head. I
hungrily washed it off with my wet tongue. Lance wasn't
circumcised. I wantonly licked his prepuce clean and
dry. I gently chewed on his generous foreskin for a few
minutes. I simply adored the sensation of Lance's great
cock growing inside my soft white pussy-mouth. I moaned
appreciatively. Every move my tongue made at it the
goddamn thing took in more blood and grew and grew and
grew. It tumesced into a turgid, steel hard 11-inch! I
estimated.

I was bound and determined to give this nigger the best
blowjob I was capable of. I did so want him to want and
like me. He helped by pushing his pelvis into me hard.
I kept my hands on his hard black muscular upper
thighs. With my fingertips barely making contact with
his skin I teased him as I softly ran my fingers over
his thighs. I moaned some more. I aimed to put on a top
of the line show of vulgarity.

He pushed his moliminous meaty cock into my mouth
relentlessly. The fucking thing snaked its way to my
throat's opening. I gagged. My eyes watered and my nose
ran. I saw it was physiologically impossible for me to
take this whole black monster snake into my mouth. I
worked long and hard on his long and hard love muscle.
I relented and put my smallish left hand on the base of
his outsized cock. In doing so I brought into contrast
my very white skin against his ebony velvet skin.

My wedding band reflected the light of the single bulb
that illuminated our cell. I thought of Jane, my lovely
wife, at home, waiting with my son, Brian, for my
return. And here I was giving a loving blowjob to my
cellmate without any threats behind it. I was sucking
his behemoth cock because I wanted to. I needed to. I
was being unfaithful to my wife with a big nigger buck,
and loving it to boot. An evanescent cloud of guilt
shrouded my mind for brief seconds. I took in the first
7" or so of Lance's amazing cock within my mouth.

I alternated jerking the remaining cock meat with my
left and right hands. The black monster cock was big
and heavy. My mouth and hands covered Lance's black
meat in white skin. I twisted and turned my head in
corkscrew fashion. Between my twisting and turning and
bobbing head and my jerking hand action, Lance was
forced to moan out.

"That's what I'm talkin bout. Suck daddy's nigger stick
PIG! Lap dem balls son."

I loved it when Lance called me a pig.

My weenie was sluicing precum like a motherfucker.

As my mouth and head turned right, I turned my hand in
the opposite direction. Clockwise, Counterclockwise,
clockwise. Then I reversed the movements of each. It's
not called 'head' for nothing. I was using my whole
head to give my black daddy a first class blowjob.

Lance's fertile testicles hung like two pieces of
strange fruit from a black Sequoia tree.

They dangled all by themselves into the commode beneath
him. I licked and lapped each one separately. Taking
special care with each one. I lovingly sucked each ball
as though it were my last meal. I was breathing
heavily. So was Lance. I don't think he expected this
much fervor from me.

I was surprising him with my intensity and expertise. I
dragged my hungry whore's tongue all over his loins and
ran it by his coarse pubic hair. Down the shaft of the
huge black cock my tongue travelled. Licking the inside
of his smooth black thighs. Lance snorted and threw his
head back and took a deep drag of the joint. He put the
joint in my face. I adamantly refused to interrupt the
fabulous blowjob I was giving him to smoke pot. I knew
pot was supposed to be the whiteboy's reward for such
favors. I would get my reward when Lance came in my
mouth. I was willing to wait.

As fast as I could I bobbed my head up and down on
Lance's unforgiving cock.

I went down on his cock with my mouth only till I
reached my tiny hand, which firmly grasped the wide
base. The cellblock grew eerily quiet. The only sounds
were of the slushy gushy squishy wet noises I made as I
sucked Lance's man-meat. Every nigger and white inmate
and guard had to know a blowjob was in progress. The
sounds were unmistakable. I reveled in the spotlight.

My moans grew a tad louder for the audience. My white
weenie was as soft as marshmallow. I was so intent upon
giving Lance his pleasure I had completely forsaken my
own. I leaked precum like a broken faucet.

I was definitely into this shit. I was a true whiteboy
whore slave. And I hoped a consummate cocksucker.

*

A volcano of cum-lava erupted into my waiting and only
too eager and compliant mouth. The cum dripped and
flowed from my drowning mouth. I caught most of it with
my nigger-cum hungry mouth. I felt as though I had
achieved a long sought after goal. In other words I
felt a sense of accomplishment. My pride was
unconcealed.

Lance lifted my face from his wildly spurting cock.
From which the last three or four ropes of warm cum hit
my eyes and nose. Lance was laughing appreciatively. I
continued to massage Lances' great balls as his grand
cock spurted and squirted its final load into my
already cum-drenched mouth. My cum stained eye and nose
were closed shut by drying cum. I was now glad I took
off my clothes. I looked down and saw my hairless chest
and stomach dripping with even more of Lance's semen. I
was covered in his seed.

My thin white body was a willing canvas for his nigger
cum. I triumphantly held my mouth wide open. I was
careful not to swallow or drip its contents. I said
ahhhhh. Then Lance looked at me. Then and only then did
I ostentatiously swallow all of Lance's cum that had
landed in my mouth. I was quite knowingly putting on a
disgustingly lewd show for Lance. Our own little X-
rated entertainment one might say. A dirty show for my
nigger 'daddy'.

"That's right PIG, show daddy what a cock-sucking piece
of white shit you really are," Lance said sternly.

I smiled and licked my lips and said, "Anything for you
daddy."

It was quite a sight. Me on my knees and a mouth
dripping with a nigger's cum.

I heard the guard say "Wow"! from somewhere far from my
sight. Lance's symbol of black superiority: His immense
cock, hung low and soft once more. It drooped like a
dying python. My tiny 2" soft penis of silly white
meat, a symbol of white pride and inferiority hung
also, but not so low. I was hung like an insect. With
very little imagination one could visualise or mistake
my genitalia for a vagina and clitoris.

I sniffed at Lance's detumescent sex organ, like a
bitch seeking sexual congress with an alph-amale. I
dutifully licked Lance's large love pole clean. He
shivered with delight as my tongue sneaked into his
piss-hole. I greedily lapped the last drops of nigger
cum from Lance's tasty and still giving black tool.

I planted small kisses on his big black balls. I ended
it with a small peck of a kiss on his cock's giant
mushroom head. My pale white body was flushed pink with
excitement. My knees were scraped raw and bloody from
the rough and harsh cell floor. I was very tender.

"That was real fine baby" Lance exhaled.

"You're a good cocksucker Ronnie" he continued.

"Now you ready to be MY white pig whore, BOY" he
intoned in a deep bass voice I was growing to love.

"Get dressed BITCH!" he said commandingly.

I stood and slowly put my clothes back on, slowly, very
slowly. I regained my equilibrium. I retrieved Lance's
shorts and held them till he took them from me. His
cock, now soft, was more than three times bigger than
mine.

I had given Lance the best blowjob I knew how. Though I
remained unsure. I ruminated that I should have, could
have, done it more slowly, more lovingly, more
devotedly. However Lance was apparently pleased with my
efforts. I still remained unsure. The blowjob only
lasted fifteen minutes by my watch. I castigated
myself. It was the first blowjob I had given in many
years.

And absolutely the first one I had given to a black
man. And without any shadow of a doubt the biggest cock
I had ever sucked or even seen for that matter. Its
color and size only spurred me on to a better
performance I thought. I would only improve with
practice I reassured myself. I did so want to be the
best cocksucker Lance had ever had, male or female.

I had my work cut out for me.

My eagerness for being Lance's 5th tier whiteboy bitch
was stronger now. I had found my niche. I was to be
lance's whore. I felt unashamedly exuberant.

All I needed was Lance's approval and invitation. I
would do anything to get them. Anything.

I was a good whiteboy cock-sucker, I wanted to be a
great one.

Lance and I met behind the cellblock. The area here was
dense with dead and dried weeds and the remnants of the
last snow storm. No guards or inmates were anywhere to
be seen. Lance said

"so you wanna be my ho on the 5th tier eh son?"

I replied with a sincere and heartfelt.

"yes sir, please I really want to be yours. I want to
be your 'shorty'."

'Shorty' being nigger slang for either a girlfriend or
inferior male friend. Or so I had gathered.

Lance asked and stated.

"You really want this bitch?"

"Ok lets do this Ronnie"

I only lowered my eyes and nodded affirmatively. I
nervously bit my lower lip.

"I gotta do this baby," Lance said.

As he balled up his giant black hands into fists.

I murmured, "Please, I Want it. I need it bad."

The look of eager anticipation on my face gave my
perversion away.

Lance said, "You be one sick muthafucka" and he
laughed. "I'm startin to like you baby," Lance
chortled.

An unspoken bond existed between Lance and I now. We
both knew I wanted and needed him to beat me and
manhandle me. My eyes were aglow with a weird hunger.
His punches, though powerful, and sure, were nowhere
near as devastating as they could have been I figured.
He was pulling his punches according to his sense of
how much I could take safely. My smile was a sickly one
as his giant black fists crashed into my too soft white
belly.

The warm flow of my blood contrasted with the chilly
air of upstate New York. My blood gushed and dripped
from my face. Drop by drop my blood dripped on the
white ground. The snow covered dirt directly beneath me
was now a dark maroon from my blood. My dick was never
as hard before or after. The last flurry of punches
rendered me semiconscious. I was seeing stars.

I was still alert enough to mutter, "Hit me again
nigger, do it Lance." The crimson blood looked good on
my white skin.

With a crushing right cross Lance lacerated my left
cheek. He knocked me completely unconscious with the
left that followed.

It was our little secret. I loved it that Lance beat
me. It made me so much his real bitch. He owned my body
and now my soul. I was his 100%.

"You be up with me in dat muthafucka!" Lance announced
excitedly.

I staggered like a new born kitten against the brick
wall. Lance grabbed me by the collar and helped me walk
back to our cell. My penis was at full attention. My
face was bruised and bloody. My stomach hurt like hell.
My breathing was forced and labored. Lance handed me a
dirty cloth.

I held it to my bleeding mouth and nose. It reeked of
sweat.

I had proved my mettle and worthiness to my new master,
Lance. I hoped.

Having my ass kicked by this big black god only
strengthened my adoration for him.

And his 'respect' for me, and my commitment to him,
only increased.

I have never felt more alive.

I belonged to someone.

I now looked forward to my introduction to the secret
world of the 5th tier.

I would not let my black master down.

=========


To be continued?