"Ain't done this before, have you pretty boy? Well, you're going to get real good at it in days to come. He grabbed my hair with one hand and his dick with the other and forced his tool into my mouth. And don't do nothin' funny while you're about it." "Maurice ain't going to help you none, pretty college boy. "Maurice," I called out plaintively, begging for help.
"Suck me," Bobby Joe commanded in a husky voice. The blow caused me to sink to my knees, my back to the tree, and Bobby Joe was standing up against me, his pelvis pushed into my face. But Bobby Joe lashed out with a hand and caught me as I ran past him and slammed me up against a tree. I tried to make a break for it then and run back to the road, where maybe I could get some help from the other guards. Bobby Joe had one of those championship dicks in length and Maurice's was regular sized but was extra thick, and his balls hung low out of his fly. Maurice and Bobby Joe watched me work for a while, and the first thing I knew they both had their dongs out of their pants and were working them. The very worst situation I could think of. "Oh, God," I thought, as I stumbled off into the brush, trailed by Maurice and Bobby Joe. The rest of you go back to what you're doing here."
Bobby Joe, you come on over there with us. You can't go there alone, and if a guard goes, that will leave too few guards here, so. "Okay, now go on over into the picnic area and start working," Maurice said. I was in very good shape and was better hung than the average. So, I stripped all the way down to my work boots and could see that this gave both Maurice and Bobby Joe a little thrill. "The clothes will still be here when you get back." I started to argue, but I could see that this would just get me into more trouble, so I started to move off toward the picnic area. Not many want to picnic next to where a chain gang is working." We'll see that no one goes in there, but not much of a chance they will. "You can go on into the woods there a bit and clear brush over by the picnic area. "Good point," Maurice said with a big smile. "And because you didn't do what I asked, you can go ahead and strip all your other clothes off too and work that way for a while." My eyes flicked over to Bobby Joe, and I could see a wide smile of appreciation on his face. "Sure thing, Sir," I said and I stripped my shirt and undershirt off. "I said for you to take off that shirt, son, and I meant what I said." Maurice stomped over to me, and all of the inmates stopped to watch us. "I'm okay the way I am," I answered in the most pleasant voice I could muster. "Take off the shirt, I said," Maurice boomed again. "Take off that shirt," Maurice called out to me in a booming voice. The other inmates quickly followed suit in stripping down to their waists-all except for me. It wasn't long until he was so heated up that he stripped off his shirt and undershirt and was swinging away, covered with sweat that matted the thick, black hair on his chest and arms into swirls and made his undulating muscles gleam in the sunlight. Everyone, of course, except Bobby Joe, who seemed to be a special friend of Maurice's.īobby Joe was probably the best and fastest worker among us. Maurice clearly was in charge and everyone there, including the two other guards, were afraid of him. We had small saws and machetes and were clearing brush and saplings back some twenty minutes from the road. It was with great dismay that when I jumped up into the back of the van, I saw both Bobby Joe and Maurice among those who were going out on the detail. We were going out to a rural spot to clear brush from the side of a road running through a heavily forested and hilly area. On my seventh day, my first work detail came up. I stopped going to the workout room, but the inaction was making me so jumpy that I volunteered to go out on work details. And not a lockup in a suburban county like the one I lived in but in a county back in the hills, where life is a lot rougher than where I came from. Thirty days in a county lockup had been my sentence. But I'd just finished my first year up north at Yale, and I was on the top of the world. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn't have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I'd actually done.