The next day, I scheduled a surprise visit to the prison. My real intention was to supervise my wife Samantha and see what could possibly be going down. Between her newly voracious sexual appetite, her admiration for the big black ex-con Tyson who was viciously fucking her friend Alexa, and her shy hiddenness about her time volunteering at the prison, I knew I had to find out the answers for myself.
Luckily, I had the perfect excuse. Recently incarcerated Carl (Alexa's husband) was one of my best friends. It honestly was a shame I hadn't gone to see him yet.
I arrived at the dirty dark prison just after lunch. Everywhere, I saw angry looking men in orange jump suits. They littered the prison yard, either walking suspiciously or lifting weights. They all looked at my fancy new car with something between jealousy and rage.
I signed in with a pretty young receptionist and waited to see my friend Carl.
Carl looked awful. He'd been in prison for weeks, and the usually jovial man I once knew was all scowl. He had big bruises and cuts on his face, and both his arms were crooked, like he had just suffered broken bones.
"Drew, my friend," he said when he saw me.
I asked him what the fuck happened. He told the story like this.
It was the one time a month when his gorgeous wife actually let him fuck her. She usually just read a magazine or filed her nails while he plowed away at her, and he could not have been more excited. She was in the bath getting cleaned up beforehand, and he was laying in bed, naked, with a hard boner ready for her.
That's when the feds came in. Carl kicked and screamed but the burly men just smirked, locked him up, and threw him into the back of the van.
"Which one of us is staying behind to nail that sweet piece of ass in there?" one of them said as they slammed the car door shut with Carl locked inside.
His trial, Carl explained, was like something in a war torn country. The judge took no time before asking the jury for a verdict, and they didn't even leave the room to deliberate.
"I've been here weeks now," Carl said through tears, "And the only thing getting me through all this has been this."
He showed me a picture. It was a tiny photograph of his wife Alexa. She was wearing a tight sweater and her nipples were visible, with just a hint of naval above a hemmed skirt.
"Knowing that my sweet Alexa is out there," Carl said, kissing the photo, "Is all I have."
I didn't know what to tell him. For one, Alexa's outfits had changed significantly since the picture was taken. She now dressed so scandalously that delivery men routinely got a look at her pussy lips when she bent over to pick up packages. Two, there was the matter of Tyson. A big violent black man was fucking her senseless in Carl's house. And he didn't know!
"I admit, the photo gives me more than solace," Carl said, "Sometimes, when I need a reprieve from the terror of my fellow inmates, I offer them it."
Carl explained that for people like him in prison, bigger stronger men came knocking trying to get their rocks off. Luckily, Carl had his photo of Alexa, which he could give to the men to use as masturbation fodder rather than something more severe.
"Sure, I might have to jerk them off to it," Carl said, miming holding a massive cock in his hand and stroking it, "But that's better than getting my asshole rammed."
I couldn't believe how far Carl had fallen.
"Listen," I said, desperately trying to change the subject, "What about Samantha?"
"Your wife?"
"Yes. She's been volunteering here."
"She has? I haven't seen her."
"They say she's... she's a 'care girl.' What does that mean?"
Carl thought for a moment.
"A care girl is one of the volunteers who work in the rec center. They just sit there and change the channel on the TV, put away board games, things like that."
"And you haven't seen her in there?"
"I don't go into the rec center... it's too dangerous. All the men there are the most violent and scary criminals in here."
I gulped. That was who my Samantha was spending time with?
"Though, if that's true," Carl said, "Then, I wouldn't be surprised if your wife was being constantly assaulted."
"What?!"
"I'm just come out and say it Drew--your wife is hot. Gorgeous, even. Those massive knockers. Those sweet lips. That golden glowing skin. I bet every cock in the building is trying to touch her. And with the kind of man who frequents the rec center? Why, she's probably swimming in semen."
I couldn't believe it. My head started to spin. I barely noticed as an attendant came and took Carl away.
"Bathroom," I said, wanting to clear my head.
"Visitors have to use the inmate bathroom," someone said. Before I knew it, someone had led me out into the prisoners' side of the yard and locked the gate.
I was standing out there, all eyes on me. A guard pointed at the far yard.
"You gotta piss? Go there."
I followed his instructions and found myself at the other end of the yard, where a bunch of men lined up with their back towards me. Looking more closely, I could see at their feet was some kind of metal trough. It was one of those long tin bins that was meant to be used as a communal urinal. As everyone pissed, the fluids all combined into a slush that together drained away.
As I stepped up to the trough, ready to at least pretend to piss, I looked down. Where I expected to see yellow urine, I instead saw slimy white fluid. There was ejaculate in the urinal trough!
Immediately, I looked left and saw it. The five convicts to my left all had their cocks out over the urinal and were stroking them. I had never seen cocks like this before. Every man was jet black, like coal, and slick with saliva. The fat cocks were longer than my entire arm.
As I fished out my little penis, I couldn't help but stare at all this raw uncut cock meat.
"Mmmm, she's looking good," one of them said.
"Mighty fine breasts."
"I wanna suck 'em."
"I wanna put my cock on 'em."
"I wanna stuff her fat tits with my cock."
"I wanna cream all over her face."
As these men stroked violently into the urinal below, I finally saw it. If followed their eye level down to a little area below the urinal. There was an underground area, a room, and from the view of the urinal you could see through the window.
And there she was: my Samantha, sitting with her back to the window in a wooden chair. From this high up vantage, we could all see down her blouse, where her two glorious orbs of flesh and cleavage were visible.
These men were stroking their big black cocks to the sight of my wife's breasts.
"I'm nutting!" someone yelled, and a splash of white cum bounced off the tin walls of the urinal and slid away.
"Me too!" someone else said, and the urinal splashed with jizz.
"I'm still going," said a third man, licking his lips, "I'm letting these big balls stay full until she drains them for me."
"You know Carter called dibs on that white bitch."
"Yeah, but Carter shares. Once he fucks her, you know he'll pass her around to us."
I had no idea who this "Carter" was. But their words brought me back to what Tyson had said. That real men shared their women.
"Shit, if it weren't for Carter, I'd have gone into that rec room and blasted the bitch full of cum by now."
"Yeah, and then Carter'd have you strung up by your neck, bleeding out."
"I know, I know. I won't cross Carter."
So who was this Carter who was simultaneously coveting and protecting my wife?
"Shit, what is this white boy doing with his cock out right now?"
Huh? I suddenly found myself at the receiving end of five death stares from the men.
"You staring at our dicks?"
"You wanna suck?"
"Chill," one of them said to the others, "He's not on the inside." He pointed to my visitors badge. "He's a normie."
They all laughed.
"Shit, he's probably just enjoying the show as much as us."
"Yeah, white boy. You staring at those big mommy titties just like us."
"I'm...." I stuttered out of fear, "She's..."
"She's what?"
"My wife," I found myself saying.
"Shit, no way!"
"That hot ass piece of ass is your wife?"
"Why are you not sucking those titties right now?"
"Shit, can I smell your fingers?"
"You come back next time with pics of those juicy jugs, right?"
"I gotta tell Carter about this!"
I walked away from the urinal trough in a daze. The images of those big stroking black cocks was burned into my mind as I got into my car and drove as far away as possible.
--
I was called again and asked to come see Principal Trish.
This was my first visit with her since I saw her avant garde permanence art where dozens of convicts stuffed her face with black cock before ejaculating all over her.
Trish looked pleased when I walked in.
"I have some good news this time Mr. Lokkens," she said, "We can take away some of your son's punishment community service hours."
"That's amazing."
"Yes. The reason for this is because something has come to my attention."
"Yes?"
"Your son is a faggot."
"What?!"
"Yes, I know. I was surprised too."
"What do you mean by that? I thought you said he assured you when he joined the cheerleading squad that he wasn't gay."
"Oh your son isn't gay. The cheerleading squad has reported that they still feel his creepy little eyes drinking them in when they dress in those short skirts for practice."
"Huh?"
"He is definitely attracted to the female form. But you know, he's spent all those hours wiping up the sweat and piss and other fluids of the basketball team... And I just think, yeah, that would turn a little weak boy like your son into a faggot."
