Prison Bitch

Prison Bitch

6.

That shit with the warden had to be dealt with and swiftly. Riley walked toward the phone and leaned against the wall, waiting in line. The guy in front of him offered his place, but he refused politely. Now wasn't the time to look impatient; the guards were watching him, and he couldn't trust any of them. Clear as fucking day, they had their loyalties straightened with the warden.

They probably thought he was some shmuck, some rich idiot, ripe for pushing around. The warden talked high about not threatening him, but Riley hadn't been born yesterday. The fuck was the guy's problem?

He was too damn greedy; that was his problem. Riley made a bored face while he punched in the number.

"Cobra." The guy on the other end sounded both as insolent as ever, but still happy to hear him.

"You know those cookies you brought me when I broke my arm in junior high?"

"Need something baking?"

"Yeah. I want my woman to see how good they taste. And my uncle."

"Your uncle from the other side of the town?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Alright. I'll send someone soon."

Riley walked away and smiled at the guard watching him.

"In the mood for cookies, Cobra?" The guy sneered at him.

His grin widened. Yeah, they were watching and listening in, the fuckers.

***

Dylan couldn't say if the attention he now got for being Cobra's new woman sat well with him. Especially since two guards followed him so closely that he felt the need to ask them if they wanted something. He was a changed man since he had walked in that place, so he kept his head down and his mouth shut. But it was still fucking unnerving to feel those two so close, up in his business. He operated the sewing machine, trying to look focused on his work, but his shoulders were hunching on their own accord.

When one of the guards put one hand on his shoulder, a guy called Martinez if he remembered well, it took him everything he got not to jump.

"Mrs. O'Connor, come a little with us."

Mrs. O'Connor? That didn't sound right, and the way the guard said it, like it was some good joke, either. He nodded and put his work away. Martinez walked in front, the other was right behind him.

"What's this about, sirs?" Dylan asked politely.

"You'll see. Are you in a hurry? Some big date with your spouse?"

"No, sir," Dylan replied and held his head down.

The small interrogation room gave him the willies.

"Sit."

He obeyed, then clenched his hands together and held them in his lap. The guard who played the subordinate stood so close if he moved his head one inch, he'd bump right into the man's crotch. Martinez sat across from him, dragging the chair on purpose and looking at him intently.

"Cobra fucks your ass," he started.

"He does what he wants," Dylan replied.

A smack upside the head convinced him right away that it wasn't some courtesy call.

"Don't play the wiseass," Martinez warned him. "Or Butch here is going to show you that you don't get to play with us, bitch."

So Butch was the name of the gorilla trying to push his dick in his face. He was really subtle about it, too.

"Now, the matter here is simple," Martinez said. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, inmate."

Dylan looked because there was no other choice for him. Whatever he could read in the guard's cold eyes, it wasn't any good for him.

"All the pillow talk, everything Cobra shares with you, what you will make him share with you, you come to us with it."

Dylan nodded. "He doesn't say much, though. I mean, I don't exist for him more than as holes to fuck." He didn't intend to beat it around the bush and pretend he didn't understand what they wanted from him.

Butch caressed his cheek with a fat finger. "A pretty thing like you," the gorilla said, "I bet you can make him talk."

Martinez looked at his pal with mocking eyes. "Pretty thing? I get why the other lowlifes locked in here think so. But you, too?"

"A mouth's a mouth. And he's got a cocksucking mouth on him." Butch caught Dylan's chin hard and made him look up.

Martinez let out a sigh. "You have about one year more, and you're out. It's up to you. It can be hell, or it can be sweet, sweet heaven."

"Sweet heaven? I doubt it." Dylan looked at Butch while talking, because the asshole hadn't let go of him.

Butch grinned. He was a huge asshole that, out of uniform, most probably looked more like he belonged with the thugs he held behind bars.

"Let me show the bitch what waits for him if he says 'no'," Butch said.

"Are you going to take long?" Martinez asked.

"No. Open your mouth, bitch."

Dylan had to admit that he had had it with how often he had been called that ever since he had set foot in this hellhole. A part of him wanted to refuse, to tell them to fuck off. That was the problem with hope. When Riley started treated him like a human being, Dylan had begun to have that, a little bit of hope.

And now, he was going to get skull-fucked by that gorilla and put back in his place, where he belonged.

Butch didn't waste time and pulled out his cock, just as thick as the rest of him. Dylan closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Was that supposed to be his punishment? He had been practically sucking dick to survive for a while now. Nothing new.

The slap made his head sway and almost hit the table. His ears were ringing. Butch laughed. "You're going to look at me while you suck me off, you cunt."

Dylan just nodded and turned slowly. He looked up, and Butch grinned.

"Just to be clear," Martinez said in the same bored voice, "it's not going to be just the cocksucking. We're going to bank on you, letting every piece of shit in this place do you how they want, while all the guards won't see anything. Do you understand?"

Dylan nodded, his eyes still on Butch. The gorilla was using his cock, now pushing it through Dylan's lips.

"Wouldn't want to give your family some sad news," Martinez added.

What a joke. As if his family cared. No one had visited him ever since he had been locked up. Or after he had left home.

He didn't even have the luxury to close his eyes and pretend to be somewhere else, while Butch squeezed his nose with two fingers, forcing him to gasp and take that thick cock deeper. Dylan struggled against the suffocating sensation, and that only made his tormentor laugh.

"Let the poor fucker breathe," Martinez said. "We need him alive."

"You don't understand how good it feels to have them struggling like this around your cock. I'm telling you, man, it's fucking it."

"I have a wife and kids," Martinez said in a disgusted tone. "Just let go of his nose."

Dylan breathed in, panicked yet relieved, as soon as Butch let him. Then, as he had expected, his head was grabbed and the asshole skull-fucked him for a few minutes that felt like years, until he unloaded his balls in Dylan's throat.

He was trembling when Butch pushed him away. To get some time, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth.

"Don't take these as idle threats, because they're not."

"What, exactly, do you want me to do?" Dylan asked, keeping his eyes down. By now, he should have been used with that kind of treatment and the taste of jizz at the back of his throat. Still, he felt ill in his stomach as if he'd been deepthroating and swallowing for the first time in his life.

"Cobra has a soft spot when it comes to women. Ask him anything and he'll give it to you," Martinez explained.

"I'm not a woman."

"You're his woman. In a place like this, it's enough. A guy wants to get his dick wet, he's going to make do with whatever's available. You're good enough for that, Hill."

His last name was still better than 'bitch'. Still, Dylan winced, hearing it. He had given up on it like some old sweater, but it wasn't like others in the world cared about his sensibilities.

"This is what you're going to do. Casually, like you just want to make conversation, ask him about his businesses. He has many of them. Find out where he can be hit. Where he cooks the books, things like that."

"Why would he confide in me? I'm a stranger. Ask his woman. The real one."

"We asked her. She gave us plenty, but it looks like Cobra and the missus are not on the best terms lately. So, she's not up to date, so to speak. We know he's managing his little empire even while he's here. We need to know what he's up to."

"He might not tell me anything," Dylan pointed out.

Fuck his life. Either way, he was screwed. By these assholes, if he didn't come up with proper information, or by Riley, once the guy found out Dylan was crossing him. And he would find out, Dylan was pretty sure of that. After all, who was he, Dylan Hill? A dumb bitch.

"Try your hardest, sweetheart," Butch said while caressing his hair in a gesture of false affection, "or I'll have to try my hardest with you, and I can tell that you won't like it. Is it clear enough for your stupid little brain?" He knocked on Dylan's head, hard and hurting.

"He'll do that," Martinez said like he wanted to placate his pal. "Now, let's take him back to his work station. The inmate needs to earn his keep."

They both laughed at that, like it was some crude joke. Dylan bit on his bottom lip while he was marched out of the interrogation room.

His life was fucked.

***

Riley had come to develop a special sense ever since he'd been nothing but a scrawny teenager trying to get ahead in a world with guys bigger and meaner than him. That sense told him when people were hiding something from him.

And pretty little Dylan was fidgety and scared, huddling on his bunk bed, shooting glares at him, like he didn't know whether to start cussing at him or begin crying.

"What is it?" he asked while leaning against the door and watching the prison life go by. Minutes until lights out, and then he'd be able to unspook Dylan out of his whatever that was with a good fuck, which he also needed.

"Why does it have to be something?" Dylan asked.

Even his voice was trembling. Riley didn't turn to look at the guy. What could it be? With women, there was always something. Outside, he wouldn't even struggle to guess. He'd just flaunt his money, telling the woman to pick whatever color she wanted, be it shoes, purses, cars, or fucking puppies. "Because you want to say something to me, something you think I'd think it would be unpleasant for me."

"Like what?"

Riley wanted to bang his head against the door a little. "And you're wondering why I'm telling you you're like a woman. Just look at you, trying to hide what you want, when you know very well I'll find out."

Dylan remained silent.

Riley set his jaw hard. "If it's other cocks you want, the answer is 'no', and don't make me repeat myself. I'll fuck you until you won't be able to walk, and I mean it."

"I don't want that."

Riley observed the guards, their movement. From time to time, one of them shot a look to their cell. He lived and breathed in a fucking nest of snakes.

He turned and looked at Dylan. "Get your ass down. Go stand over there," he pointed at the corner that was the most hidden from strangers' eyes, "pants around your ankles and open yourself before they call lights out. Do it."

Dylan scrambled to obey, and Riley could tell the guy was doing as told by the rustling of clothes and small hitched gasps. He would have felt like fucking laughing if he didn't have a shitshow on his hands already. His cock was getting hard as he heard the squelching noises made by Dylan getting his ass ready to get fucked.

That was good, 'cause Riley needed a quick hard fuck to clear his mind and vent off some of his frustration. In a few days, he'd get his next conjugal with Lola, and when she came around, he wanted to be so properly screwed that showing off her tits and ass wouldn't help her get out of what Riley was getting ready for her. He wasn't in the habit of telling a woman she was a bitch to her face, but Lola was playing with fucking fire.

Yeah, he didn't need to let his anger get the better of him. First, he needed to make her confess to her sins, like a good girl, which she most probably wasn't. Then, he'd make a clean break and eliminate one problem. It was just his gut instinct telling him that she was two-timing him, but before that conjugal, he'd have a clear confirmation from his baker, too.

The prison turned dark. Riley smirked and got out of his undershirt as he headed towards the back of the cell. Dylan's ass was standing out, nice and white. He grabbed the slender hips and his cock went through with just the proper amount of resistance.

"Yeah, baby," Riley groaned in satisfaction. "You know what daddy wants, don't you? What a nice wet pussy."

He hoped to rile up Dylan some, just to have someone to put in place until he got his hands on the right people. But the blond head remained bent, and those cat-like eyes had to be either closed or staring at the floor.

Riley grabbed Dylan's head and made him turn. He made a move to kiss him, but Dylan pulled away. "The fuck?" he growled. "Do you want to piss me off?"

"I don't want you to kiss me," Dylan hissed at him.

"Suit yourself." Riley pushed his head away and grabbed a hold of his wavy hair.

Dylan's ass was a fucking delight, and Riley felt slightly appeased by how the guy arched his back, letting him wreck him good and proper. The fucking problem with women; even when their pussies got wet, they still had something to complain about.

He'd find out later. Now, he pressed Dylan's face against the wall, and pumped harder. From time to time, he smacked one ass cheek, then the other, just for the pleasure of hearing the other gasping like he was offended or something.

"How are you holding up, sweetie?" he asked. He slowed down on purpose, to last longer. He was moving in and out of Dylan's ass so easily that he was in danger of losing his load any second now. Each time he bottomed out, the sensation moved through his cock, egging him on.

"Just come already, asshole."

"Nah, nah, nah, not asshole. Call me 'daddy', baby."

"Fuck you, Riley."

Alright, so Dylan was not scared. He was majorly pissed for some reason. Well, tough luck. Riley was way more pissed than him, and had serious problems, unlike a fussy chick with nothing in her brain.

Only that Dylan wasn't a fussy chick. Riley felt something needling at his brain. He pushed it away. With each line they traded, Dylan's ass was getting tighter. It didn't matter if it was on purpose, or the guy was just getting more pissed, too.

"Rub that dick, unless you want to go to sleep on a pair of blue balls," he told his partner.

"I'm not hard," Dylan protested.

Riley smacked his ass one more time, harder. Dylan moaned. "Yeah, right." He snuck one hand underneath the guy's body to feel him up. He laughed when he felt how hard the guy was. So, he flicked the hard dick to tease it, which only made Dylan say something nasty about Riley's mother.

"Stop it," Dylan growled at him.

"Nah, I won't." Riley continued to fuck him, slapping the hard dick from time to time, just to make its owner get angrier and angrier. "Whatcha gonna do?"

"What can I do?"

The words were hurled at him in anger, but there was also something else, ringing of bitterness. Riley held Dylan's cock and began to move his hand to the rhythm of his hips. He gave up on slapping the perky butt, too, so that he could hold the other close and kiss his cheek, even if Dylan was holding his face turned away from him still.

Whatever was there, he'd dig it out. But now, it looked like they both needed to come. So, Riley continued, at a patient pace, while holding Dylan close and paying attention to him until the guy was weak in his arms, breaking down from coming. He continued to hold him but moved faster, to get into the rhythm he needed, Dylan's ass wide open for him.

He growled as he came. That was some fucking A ass right there.

Dylan moved away, quick to wash himself, while Riley braced the wall, calming down his breathing. "Tell me what the fuck is wrong."

"Nothing, it's nothing," Dylan said quickly while washing his ass.

"You won't die if you keep my cum in you a little longer," Riley said, closing his fists. He had just come, it had been fucking good, but nothing else was better.

***

Dylan knew his fate was sealed. There was no way he would be able to lie to Riley. He could try. Yeah, it didn't work. Even now, while he still pretended to be busy washing himself, he felt the other's presence. The man was lying on his bed, waiting for him.

And what was his life, anyway? He had never been too philosophical about it, and now was a bad time to start, but the truth was, for that little time Riley showed him that he could be treated as a human being, he felt that it was enough to warrant his loyalty.

Dumb ass bitch was just about right to describe himself.

"What's it all about? You worry about when we get out or something? Don't. I'll leave you phone numbers, addresses, whatever you need to get in contact with me," Riley said. "I won't let you sleep on the streets if that's what you think."

Dylan turned, completely surprised. "Are you going to fuck me again once we're out?"

Riley lay on one side and was staring at him, as much as that could be done, with only a few of the outside lights still on. "Did I say anything about fucking? I fucked you too much, and now your mind is full of my cock."

"Aren't you funny now?" Dylan said.

"What I'm saying, sweetie, is that I'm going to take care of you. You probably don't want to get back to sucking dick on camera for a living after your stint inside, and I can help you get on your feet. Is that why you're scared and pissed?"

He was, both scared and pissed. But he hadn't even thought so far ahead. He was actually impressed and touched Riley would even consider this kind of thing. "No," he said slowly. "But thanks for caring, anyway."

"Don't get all depressed on me now. I don't like tears."

"I won't." Dylan took a moment, weighing his options. Either way, he was fucked, right?

"Why didn't you want me to kiss you? Got a crush on one of them boys?" Riley continued to needle him.

Dylan laughed and shook his head, but he wasn't in the least amused. "Unless you count yourself as one of them boys," he replied without thinking.

"What?" Riley asked. "For real, sweetie?"

Dylan straightened up. "No, no fucking way. I was just saying. Fuck it."

Riley moved from his bed. It was clear as day why they called him Cobra. He moved silently, and there was something menacing about him, how he used his body, something that told anyone with half a brain not to cross the guy.

He stopped in front of Dylan and tipped his chin. "I suppose that's a reason for you to want me to kiss you, not the other way around."

Dylan closed his eyes. Yeah, he was a stupid bitch, but it was the only way for him to be. "I sucked off a guard today. That's why--"

"The fuck, Dylan?"

He grunted as Riley grabbed him by the arms and shook him. "Not by choice, obviously. Let go."

Riley pushed him away. "What happened?" His voice was dark and threatening.

Dylan gulped. "Two came and took me. Martinez, and this new guy, Martinez said his name is Butch. They want me to sweet talk you into telling me secrets about your business or something. I had to tell them 'yes'."

"And where does your mouth on that guy's dick come into it?" Riley hissed at him.

"Butch wanted to give me a little preview on what's going to happen if I refuse. He skull-fucked me and held my fucking nose to suffocate me while at it. Trust me, it wasn't pleasant if that's what you think."

Riley turned, growled low in his chest, and leaned against the top bunk. Dylan threw nervous looks outside. If those guards were looking, what would that look like to them?

"Listen carefully, sweetie," Riley started in a low voice. "I'm sweeping this cell every day, so they realized quickly that they can't place a bug around here. So, they won't know what we talk, okay?"