Doug Ellis

As communications technologies proliferate and diversify, a new generation of security difficulties are presented to prison systems and for all kinds of reasons satellite technologies, telephony, access to data control systems, the internet, digital copiers and even photography are tightly controlled in prisons. Walkie talkies might seem like the tools of a bygone age but a mobile phone lost on a wing would be like a loose canon so most prisons ban even basic mobiles from secure spaces within the complex. Even so, as with the presence of drug dealing in secure institutions, there is always a way in for the determined smuggler. In prison every member of staff is responsible for security or its failure.

Although security searches of all incoming staff were part of the requirement of the basic security system. It was common knowledge that there simply was not the funding for such a level of staffing which could make it effective. The priority for the security department was containment, so the trafficking of unsanctioned favours into and out of the prison was tolerated or at least overlooked. This included class A drugs, lesser narcotics and a whole host of other things, including, almost unbelievably, prostitutes.

Perhaps it was the defiant arrogance of his black AMG Mercedes on a regular officer's pay, perhaps the thin, slightly crooked line of the fiercely shaven lips, perhaps the unassailable swagger of his overconfident walk, the large kit bag he always brought in, or the 'roid driven way he always slammed down the big dumbbells with which he punished his upper body but Bantock really did not like Lee Dursley.

So the day that Dursley was seen in the changing room at the gym block with his phone by an auxiliary member of staff, Bantock was quietly informed and he instinctively knew this was not just an honest mistake and the incident brought a welcome focus on the needs of the job and not on his own problems

Robert Kirkland, a colleague from basic training more than a decade before and now a security senior, picked up Bantock's call with his usual buddy manner but fell quickly into his official seriousness immediately the situation was described. No indication had been given to Dursley that he'd been seen with a mobile phone inside the jail so Kirkland was free to proceed to investigate the man without alerting his quarry. Security is a paranoid business and Bob Kirkland had often seen irrational anxiety lead to wasted time and effort while really dangerous situations could arise under the noses of the same officers and go uninvestigated. Bob had a similar distrust of Dursley to that felt by Harry Bantock, lots of the staff were phased by him and the man was moody. Long before the corridors and gates of prison wings were wired for CCTV, security had ways of "seeing" what staff and inmates alike were up to.

Kirkland wrote nothing down and said nothing to his boss. All kinds of things could happen to an officer who challenged his superiors' authority or integrity. Kirkland had a mortgage and 2 kids in primary school, he already knew a lot about illegal activities conducted with the knowledge of his immediate superior and Bantock was not the only officer in a key position who resented such flagrant corruption and vice. He also knew that both his boss and the Governor were in the same Freemason's lodge. The walls of the prison were permeable only to permitted staff, vetted volunteers, visitors and by legally and illegally transmitted goods and services. That left a lot of scope. Anyone who Kirkland suspected could act both internally and externally against him and he knew it. He might hit a few rats but the rest could overrun his life very easily. This was not a time for hasty actions.

Meanwhile, Doug lay in his bunk and meditated on the sinews of his lower back his butt and the outside edges of his thighs, all of which tingled and buzzed with a satisfying warmth brought on by the final super set of squats and burns in yesterday's workout.

Afternoon lockdown and time for private thoughts and this was the way the internalised Doug Ellis liked to pass his hours. Letting the body and the conscious mind sink into total relaxation and allow visualisation to patrol every fibre of his body under a steely discipline. By this self examination his thoughts could reach any part, stimulate or suppress, focus on fibres or fluids and monitor repairs. He wasn't worshipping his own body, merely maintaining it in incredibly fine, detail. There was a strange power in this process which refreshed him. He was also aware of the sexual power his body possessed but that knowledge lay locked in the vault of his mind, he neither exploited it nor showed any interest in the effect his sexual aura had on others. Perhaps because he had no control over how or whom it effected, that was their business, wasn't it? No prison wing could be so closely guarded as Doug Elis' sexual feelings.But sexuality is a projection and however private,it can and will influence other people.

By contrast, next door, Higson took a long loud piss into the enamel steel slop pail. The sunlight from the high window caught the curve of his bare arse as he stood confidently, shaking the last drops from his cock, he bent to pull up his shorts and a loud snort came from Carson lying in the lower bunk.

"Fuck!" blurted Carson "Fuck! Gotta fuck!- I'm dying, Man."

Higson spun round to see the red bearded monster fisting a super fat 8" cock, so hard you could knock nails in with it. Higson was overcome by his own fantasies and frustrations and without the slightest desire to suck it or engage in any kind of foreplay with another man he bent over and pulled his arse cheeks as wide as he could exposing the hairy ring that Carson had dreamed of fucking. He couldn't make his expectations any more plain than that. For both of these uncultured, uneducated men, brutal desire had just driven right off the road.

To his surprise, the rumble of lust echoing in Carson's cavernous, furry chest, faded to a whimper as his goal came into view. Instead of Higson being greeted with battering ram at his longing sphincter, the giant red-head sprang surprisingly lithe from the lower bunk, spun on his knees and crashed his bearded face into the cleft between Higson's arse cheeks, snuffling porcine grunts, "Mnnh, Hnnnmh, Ncunt, cunt, mcunt, Hmn!" his tongue taking away Higson's virginity and his breath in the same instant.

Eyes rolling, Higson's hand slapped into the wall for support and his legs quivered and buckled with this totally new experience as Carson nibbled and gobbled and bit and prodded. "Mnnh, Hnnnmh, Ncunt, cunt, mcunt, Hmn!" was all that Carson could manage as he feasted on Higson's hairy hole, his fat tongue winding up into Higson's body pushing him into the wall and into a wracking orgasm that blasted cum all over the battleship grey paintwork. Carson grew more excited yet as Higson's ring clamped down on his probing tongue, he reached between Higson's shaky legs and deftly scooping up the slick goo, slapped it onto his tumescent cock head, then with a reluctant grunt and a smack of his lips, he rose, placed a hand on Higson's shoulder, his blazing hot, fat glans at Higs' wet hole and was amazed at the smooth, slippery way his engorged cock head plopped through the outer ring with a breathless whimper from its owner. The heat travelled up through Carson's cock as Higs' arse hole enveloped his great, thickly veined rod. It was all too much for the sex starved giant and his load exploded in that warm wet gateway as a howl, as if a man had been beaten, signalled Higson's reception of Carson's gift and the yell of a triumphant victor trumpeted from Carson.

The sounds were mistaken by some as the termination of an argument and officers playing poker below agreed they could go and clean up the wreckage and the blood and / or bodies later.

Higson crumpled under Carson's body weight and lay awkwardly, his crooked boxer's nose pressed into the wall, Carson's hard prick up his arse, cum in his hair, cum dripping out of his hole, cum still dribbling from his own cock.

"Fucking bitch!" Snorted Carson as he twisted himself round so he could force his cock home. "Cunt, cunt...cunt!" as he prodded experimentally at Higson's limp body on the floor, pausing between each obscenity until the next thrust of his hips. His eyes were wide and as if gone mad, so disbelieving was this massively built ogre, up to his grizzled plums in a bloke almost as strong as himself, poking his arse filled with the jizz from both of them and it was the hottest, tightest fuck he'd ever had. He bent forward and bit into the roll of muscled, bristly skin at the base of Higson's tightly cropped skull for oral stimulation, brought his corded, hairy arms under the ribcage of his prone cellmate as he tried to lift himself and in a crushing bear hug began to pound his cock into the newly deflowered Higson. Still breathless and almost passing out under the weight and power of Higson's enormous form, Higson bleated and whimpered as his imagination pictured the massive red penis, like a punching fist, driving in and out of his body, the feeling of overwhelming, of total surrender, of suffocation under a mountain of flesh, muscle and matted sweaty red body hair.

Suddenly Carson pulled out his dick with loud plop, flipped the gasping Higson over onto his back, like a lifeless, dummy, naked legs slapping into the floor and straddling the bewildered man's chest rammed his dripping, quivering, obscenely inflated cock right down the prone Higson's virgin throat, pumping his second load into the bucking suffocating body below his balls. With a laugh and a final cry of "Cunt!" , he finally slid his flesh hose from its excruciating hole and the coughing, gasping body beneath him in panic, desperately struggled for oxygen. Cum and saliva added to the river of salty tears caused by his choking, Higson's scarred face was purple with coughing and the fight for breath but far from trying to throw the huge, half naked man off in a hail of curses once he'd got his breath, he lapped at the underside of Carson's big sausage dick as it lay across his nose and forehead, teasing the drips of their combined cum from the pubic hair around Carson's large testicles and delightedly, experimentally feeling them move and glide in their sack as they lay on his cleft and stubbled chin, abrading them playfully with the sharp bristles, a free hand stroking his engorged, cock into a second, ball busting orgasm which shot right up over the parting in the mighty river of red hair that flowed across Carson's massive shoulders and down his bare back.

"Filthy cunt!" was all that Carson could summon up with an evil smile that suggested there would be more of this kind of fucking and pretty soon. He tensed his cock muscles to twitch his cock and make it bounce on his playmate's craggy face.

There is no privacy in a prison wing, there had been no care taken in 315 to disguise in any way what was going on. In fact, had the cell door swung open and the officers below decided to investigate and crowded round the cell doorway or the whole fucking wing population come round to ogle the proceedings, neither Higson nor Carson would have stopped, so oblivious were they to their surroundings. The pair of them just lay there on the floor in a heap, they stank of sweat and cum and they chuckled about what had happened with Carson's two thickest fingers occasionally frigging Higson's talented arse hole and Higson lapping a last dewy drip from Carson's seeping meat.