Hard core stories for the hard core. These stories are all fantasies and should not be taken as portraying either the actions or the inclinations of those individuals appearing in the accompanying photos or gifs. All photos and gifs are reblogs. If you want a post or photo of or about you deleted, please let me know and I will delete it.
Kyle knew
what was going to happen. They had made that crystal clear at intake when
they fitted him with his cock-cage, literally welding it onto his junk,
laughingly telling him he wouldn’t be needing his little boyclit anymore.
Outside, in the world, he was a stud, a dude who just had to smile at a girl
and turn on the charm and he’d have her in the sack in an hour, spreading her
legs as he plowed out her pussy. But those days were over. For at
least the next two years, he’d be the one spreading his legs, he’d be the bitch
moaning and squealing as her pussy was fucked. He was a prison punk now
and he was about to be raffled off to one of the older prisoners.
They’d told him that it didn’t
matter too much who won him. “A pretty boy like you is gonna be
fucked hard by anyone you end up with. And rented out, too. You’re
gonna be real popular inside, boy. Real popular.” When Kyle
objected that he didn’t want to be a prison punk, he didn’t want other dudes
fucking him, the guards had laughed at him again. “You’re gonna find
out real quick, boy, that what you want doesn’t mean jack around here.
You’re gonna do what you’re told and you’re gonna learn to either like it or
keep your goddamn mouth shut and just do it.”
Montcalm Prison had been in
private management for ten years now. And early on the new management had
discovered that one of the easiest - and cheapest - ways of keeping tensions
tamped down was to provide their hardened inmates with a way of releasing their
sexual drives. Of course, prisoners had been doing that for years,
cornering younger inmates in the showers or toilets or other out-of-the-way
places and taking their pleasure of them. But this catch-as-catch-can
system generated almost as many tensions as it relieved with constant fights
flaring among the most dominant cons over a particularly desirable
young ‘fish,’ to say nothing of the occasional ‘fish’ who foolishly
attempted to resist an older con’s importunings. It was both to alleviate
these problems and to regularize the process of choosing a sex object that
management had instituted the weekly raffle of new inmates.
Though new inmates arrived pretty
much every day and were released to the general population immediately after
intake, particularly attractive ones were culled out by the guards and put into
holding cells. While they were in these holding cells, the guards not
only informed these prisoners of what their status would be in the prison, they
gave the new inmates a crash course in the types of services they would be providing
on demand. Needless to say, their time in the holding cells was both
traumatic and painful for these new inmates, most of whom, like Kyle, had been
anal virgins when they first walked through the prison gates. That
condition, of course, never survived their first night in the holding
cells.
Then, every Friday afternoon,
those inmates who had been culled were brought out and raffled off to the older
cons. Invariably, their time with the guards in the holding cells had
sufficiently cowed the new ‘fish’ so that they meekly stood there as the
random drawings were held, passively if not happily accepting their new status
as prison punks. Management had determined that a one-in-ten ratio was
optimal, so given a prison population which generally hovered around 2,000,
they tried to keep the number of ‘prison punks’ at approximately
180. Given inmate turnover, to say nothing of the recurring damage that
all of the prison bitches suffered from the hard use they endured on a daily
basis, management endeavored to make sure that two or three new punks were
raffled off every week.
As Kyle stood there, his caged
boy-clit on full display, awaiting the drawing of the number of the lucky con
who would become his new cell-mate, his new owner, he tried to keep up a stoic
demeanor, even though he was truly terrified. It had been bad enough
sexually servicing the guards while he was in the holding cell. They had
fucked him frequently, ignoring his cries and tears, laughing at him as he
pleaded with them to stop or at least not fuck him so very hard. And even
though the trauma he’d suffered had been awesomely painful and completely
humiliating, they had warned him that it was nothing like what he faced once he
became another prisoner’s ‘punk.’ And looking out at the hardened
cons as they eagerly awaited the drawing, their faces suffused with undisguised
lust, Kyle realized that the guards hadn’t just been playing mind games with
him - the uses he’d endured in the holding cell would pale by comparison to
what these men would do to him, how they would use and abuse him every day for
the next two years.
And the worst thing was that Kyle
already knew that there was no one he could turn to for help. No one in
the prison system, from the warden down to newest guard - who had actually
already fucked Kyle during his stay in the holding cell - would lift the
smallest finger on his behalf. He was totally, completely at the mercy of
the prisoner who won him. And looking out at the crowd of cons milling
around in front of him, Kyle could tell that ‘mercy’ was not a quality
that resided in any of them.
Suddenly, the guard conducting
the raffle motioned for Kyle to step forward. Immediately, shouts and
catcalls rained down on the new ‘fish,’ as the men outdid themselves in describing
in lurid detail just what they intended to do to him. Despite himself,
Kyle began shaking uncontrollably as the guard stuck his hand into a bowl
filled with crumpled pieces of paper. The man extracted one slip and
read, “8435983.” Immediately, there was a shout of triumph from a
corner of the room. And then a burly, thirty-something monster of a man
stepped forward, his eyes alight with anticipation. He pushed his way to
the front of the room until he stood directly in front of the quivering
boy. “You’re mine, bitch,” he proclaimed, reaching forward and
grabbing Kyle’s imprisoned boy-cock and giving it a painful tug forward.
“Not so fast, Snake,” the guard
intervened as the victorious con began pulling Kyle through the
room. “I need to uncuff the punk first.”
“Whatever,” the con identified as
Snake replied, coming to a stop. While he waited for the guard to uncuff
Kyle, the big con amused himself by squeezing the boy’s perky nipples, grinning
and laughing when Kyle recoiled from the pain shooting through his
chest. “I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you, boy,” he
promised. “I’m gonna have lots of fun with you.”
Once the cuffs were removed,
Kyle’s hands naturally swung forward towards his exposed
crotch. “Don’t even think it, bitch,” Snake warned the
boy. “You keep your hands behind your back, just as if they were
cuffed. Understand, bitch?”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle meekly
responded, moving his hands back behind his back, knowing he was no match for
this dude, knowing that any resistance on his part would be the height of
futility. And Kyle made no effort to resist when the man announced that
he “wanted to see his bitch’s pussy” and spun him around. In
seconds, Kyle’s red jumper was coiled around his ankles and he was being bent
forward as a huge finger pressed against the already swollen lips of his anal
opening.
Kyle squealed uncontrollably as
Snake roughly forced his finger up into the boy’s pussy, rooting around inside
of him, roughly exploring the hole he’d be filling with his huge cock multiple
times every day. Kyle could feel himself blushing a bright scarlet as he
was finger-fucked in front of the whole raucous crowd and it was all he could
do to keep from crying in the total humiliation he felt at being so publicly
molested and abused.
“The bitch is plenty tight
alright,” Snake proclaimed as he finally extracted his finger, “though
he’s obviously no virgin.” And as if in confirmation of the last
observation, a loud raspberry fart ripped out of Kyle’s fuck-hole, carrying
with it a large dollop of spent ball-slime, remnants of one of the many loads
of guard-spunk Kyle had taken up his pussy earlier that day as the guards gave
him one last gangbang before he was released into the general population.
Hearing and seeing this obvious proof of how well Kyle had already been broken
in, the entire room erupted in cheering and ribald commentary.
Too embarrassed to even look up,
Kyle kept his eyes cast down to the floor as Snake spun him back around so that
he was facing his new ‘cellmate,’ his new owner. “C’mon, bitch,” the
man said, once again grabbing a hold of Kyle’s caged-cock and pulling him
forward, “it’s time I got to know you better. A lot better,” he
added as knowing laughter erupted all around him. Effectively naked with
his jumpsuit still hobbling his ankles, Kyle stumbled behind the man, carefully
keeping his hands cupped behind his back, all too aware that his time in hell
was just beginning. His life as a jock-stud was over for good. From
now on, he’d be a prison punk, a sex-toy for hardened cons to use and abuse
however they wanted. And even Kyle didn’t doubt that, after two years of
living the life of a prison punk, he’d never be able to reclaim his
self-perception as a Real Man. He was a prison punk now. He’d be a
prison punk forever.
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Kyle knew what was going to happen. They had made that crystal clear at intake when they fitted him with his cock-cage, literally welding it onto his junk, laughingly telling him he wouldn’t be needing his little boyclit anymore. Outside, in the world, he was a stud, a dude who just had to smile at a girl and turn on the charm and he’d have her in the sack in an hour, spreading her legs as he plowed out her pussy. But those days were over. For at least the next two years, he’d be the one spreading his legs, he’d be the bitch moaning and squealing as her pussy was fucked. He was a prison punk now and he was about to be raffled off to one of the older prisoners.
They’d told him that it didn’t matter too much who won him. “A pretty boy like you is gonna be fucked hard by anyone you end up with. And rented out, too. You’re gonna be real popular inside, boy. Real popular.” When Kyle objected that he didn’t want to be a prison punk, he didn’t want other dudes fucking him, the guards had laughed at him again. “You’re gonna find out real quick, boy, that what you want doesn’t mean jack around here. You’re gonna do what you’re told and you’re gonna learn to either like it or keep your goddamn mouth shut and just do it.”
Montcalm Prison had been in private management for ten years now. And early on the new management had discovered that one of the easiest - and cheapest - ways of keeping tensions tamped down was to provide their hardened inmates with a way of releasing their sexual drives. Of course, prisoners had been doing that for years, cornering younger inmates in the showers or toilets or other out-of-the-way places and taking their pleasure of them. But this catch-as-catch-can system generated almost as many tensions as it relieved with constant fights flaring among the most dominant cons over a particularly desirable young ‘fish,’ to say nothing of the occasional ‘fish’ who foolishly attempted to resist an older con’s importunings. It was both to alleviate these problems and to regularize the process of choosing a sex object that management had instituted the weekly raffle of new inmates.
Though new inmates arrived pretty much every day and were released to the general population immediately after intake, particularly attractive ones were culled out by the guards and put into holding cells. While they were in these holding cells, the guards not only informed these prisoners of what their status would be in the prison, they gave the new inmates a crash course in the types of services they would be providing on demand. Needless to say, their time in the holding cells was both traumatic and painful for these new inmates, most of whom, like Kyle, had been anal virgins when they first walked through the prison gates. That condition, of course, never survived their first night in the holding cells.
Then, every Friday afternoon, those inmates who had been culled were brought out and raffled off to the older cons. Invariably, their time with the guards in the holding cells had sufficiently cowed the new ‘fish’ so that they meekly stood there as the random drawings were held, passively if not happily accepting their new status as prison punks. Management had determined that a one-in-ten ratio was optimal, so given a prison population which generally hovered around 2,000, they tried to keep the number of ‘prison punks’ at approximately 180. Given inmate turnover, to say nothing of the recurring damage that all of the prison bitches suffered from the hard use they endured on a daily basis, management endeavored to make sure that two or three new punks were raffled off every week.
As Kyle stood there, his caged boy-clit on full display, awaiting the drawing of the number of the lucky con who would become his new cell-mate, his new owner, he tried to keep up a stoic demeanor, even though he was truly terrified. It had been bad enough sexually servicing the guards while he was in the holding cell. They had fucked him frequently, ignoring his cries and tears, laughing at him as he pleaded with them to stop or at least not fuck him so very hard. And even though the trauma he’d suffered had been awesomely painful and completely humiliating, they had warned him that it was nothing like what he faced once he became another prisoner’s ‘punk.’ And looking out at the hardened cons as they eagerly awaited the drawing, their faces suffused with undisguised lust, Kyle realized that the guards hadn’t just been playing mind games with him - the uses he’d endured in the holding cell would pale by comparison to what these men would do to him, how they would use and abuse him every day for the next two years.
And the worst thing was that Kyle already knew that there was no one he could turn to for help. No one in the prison system, from the warden down to newest guard - who had actually already fucked Kyle during his stay in the holding cell - would lift the smallest finger on his behalf. He was totally, completely at the mercy of the prisoner who won him. And looking out at the crowd of cons milling around in front of him, Kyle could tell that ‘mercy’ was not a quality that resided in any of them.
Suddenly, the guard conducting the raffle motioned for Kyle to step forward. Immediately, shouts and catcalls rained down on the new ‘fish,’ as the men outdid themselves in describing in lurid detail just what they intended to do to him. Despite himself, Kyle began shaking uncontrollably as the guard stuck his hand into a bowl filled with crumpled pieces of paper. The man extracted one slip and read, “8435983.” Immediately, there was a shout of triumph from a corner of the room. And then a burly, thirty-something monster of a man stepped forward, his eyes alight with anticipation. He pushed his way to the front of the room until he stood directly in front of the quivering boy. “You’re mine, bitch,” he proclaimed, reaching forward and grabbing Kyle’s imprisoned boy-cock and giving it a painful tug forward.
“Not so fast, Snake,” the guard intervened as the victorious con began pulling Kyle through the room. “I need to uncuff the punk first.”
“Whatever,” the con identified as Snake replied, coming to a stop. While he waited for the guard to uncuff Kyle, the big con amused himself by squeezing the boy’s perky nipples, grinning and laughing when Kyle recoiled from the pain shooting through his chest. “I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you, boy,” he promised. “I’m gonna have lots of fun with you.”
Once the cuffs were removed, Kyle’s hands naturally swung forward towards his exposed crotch. “Don’t even think it, bitch,” Snake warned the boy. “You keep your hands behind your back, just as if they were cuffed. Understand, bitch?”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle meekly responded, moving his hands back behind his back, knowing he was no match for this dude, knowing that any resistance on his part would be the height of futility. And Kyle made no effort to resist when the man announced that he “wanted to see his bitch’s pussy” and spun him around. In seconds, Kyle’s red jumper was coiled around his ankles and he was being bent forward as a huge finger pressed against the already swollen lips of his anal opening.
Kyle squealed uncontrollably as Snake roughly forced his finger up into the boy’s pussy, rooting around inside of him, roughly exploring the hole he’d be filling with his huge cock multiple times every day. Kyle could feel himself blushing a bright scarlet as he was finger-fucked in front of the whole raucous crowd and it was all he could do to keep from crying in the total humiliation he felt at being so publicly molested and abused.
“The bitch is plenty tight alright,” Snake proclaimed as he finally extracted his finger, “though he’s obviously no virgin.” And as if in confirmation of the last observation, a loud raspberry fart ripped out of Kyle’s fuck-hole, carrying with it a large dollop of spent ball-slime, remnants of one of the many loads of guard-spunk Kyle had taken up his pussy earlier that day as the guards gave him one last gangbang before he was released into the general population. Hearing and seeing this obvious proof of how well Kyle had already been broken in, the entire room erupted in cheering and ribald commentary.
Too embarrassed to even look up, Kyle kept his eyes cast down to the floor as Snake spun him back around so that he was facing his new ‘cellmate,’ his new owner. “C’mon, bitch,” the man said, once again grabbing a hold of Kyle’s caged-cock and pulling him forward, “it’s time I got to know you better. A lot better,” he added as knowing laughter erupted all around him. Effectively naked with his jumpsuit still hobbling his ankles, Kyle stumbled behind the man, carefully keeping his hands cupped behind his back, all too aware that his time in hell was just beginning. His life as a jock-stud was over for good. From now on, he’d be a prison punk, a sex-toy for hardened cons to use and abuse however they wanted. And even Kyle didn’t doubt that, after two years of living the life of a prison punk, he’d never be able to reclaim his self-perception as a Real Man. He was a prison punk now. He’d be a prison punk forever.